#shields her away from it and speaks out

[sort-of-a-hero-that-way]

Dennis shielding Dee whether it's physical harm or a verbal confrontation. And thinking about ada's tag alongside the gifs

They're both of equal threat to him...

[rafesproperty]

Rafe Cameron x Shy GF <3

Rafe Cameron x Reader + a little platonic Barry x Reader cuz I just love Barry

Soo Rafe is an ESTP, which is probably the most outgoing personality type and they get along with introverts pretty well. Rafe would so adore his shy girl who’s just so dependent on him for everything. Luckily he’s always got you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Topper and Kelce didn’t really understand why would Rafe date you out of all people. You were always quiet, never speaking up, never showing up to parties, and if you did you’d stay glued to your friends' sides and never really speak to anyone.

It baffled them, actually.

But neither Topper or Kelce actually knew Rafe. He didn’t need a wild fire on top of his own messy chaos of a life. He needed the calmness. He didn’t need a girl who’d party her night away and dance with everyone and leave him hangin’ alone. He needed someone who’d be glued to his side, tug at his sleeve and beg for him to stay there and shield her with his body.

He needed someone he could just keep on his lap when he did lines and talked to people, and you'd just stay there, like an obedient scared puppy, playing with his fingers.

He didn’t need a girl that would be outgoing, speak up for herself, independent, talkative with other people. He enjoyed speaking up for you, ordering your food, picking your deliveries up, giving you rides everywhere because you hated public transport, holding you close to him, knowing feeling that you physically desperately need him everywhere with you. Even if you wanted ice cream that was sold two blocks down the street you'd ask him if he'd join you. Call him selfish, but he loves to be the one you constantly need and hide behind. He is obsessed with it. Always ready to provide and protect his girl.

And it’s not like you were like that all the time. The second you two were alone in his car, house or just away from everyone else you were joking around, dancing with him, calling him mocking nicknames like dude, bro, dummy, or the more intimate ones like baby, Rafey, my sweet boy, you'd jokingly call him my husband, my man, my love (all of these worked him up and you knew it), you’d tease the fuck out of him, crawling into his lap like a desperate bitch, grinding on him because you needed him right now. Pulling him in to kiss him. And God, he loved it. To be the only one to see this side of yours.

You were so polite to everyone too, always saying please and thank you in the quietest voice with a blush on your cheeks, but he knew you could be a loud, moaning, dirty mess under him. He knew you could ride him through multiple orgasms with zero shame. Only he knew you rocked your hips desperately against his mouth and squeezed your legs around his head to keep him there. Only he knew you'd get down on your knees and do absolutely everything for him.

You've met Barry a few times whenever Rafe needed cocaine from him and couldn't wait, he'd just drag you along and tell you to stay in the car. But the wait eventually got long and you followed after him.

Barry immediately offered you drugs and Rafe almost broke his face... but this little incident aside you actually clicked with Barry immediately. He wouldn't even let you speak, he just talked away, spilling info and gossip about Rafe as if he wasn't just standing right there.

"Ah shit, and you like this j-crew lookin' ass?" You giggled. "Yeah, I do," you gave Rafe a smile. "A lot."

You and Barry became friends. Rafe wouldn't let you hang out with him alone but the three of you actually hung out a lot at Barrys. He quickly understood how shy you are and he maybe had a little soft spot for you too, keeping an eye on you in public whenever Rafe needed to take care of something quickly.

You were getting a drink with Rafe at the Country Club, Topper and Kelce were there too, when Barry pulled up on his bike and made his way over to the two of you, ignoring all the Kooks that gave him dirty looks.

"Country Cluuuuub princessssss," he yelled in his accent and made his way over to you, "what's good with you girl?" He chuckled as you two did a quick handshake you've taught him.

Rafe rolled his eyes and immediately threw his arm around your shoulders in a protective manner.

Topper and Kelce stared in awe. You, who barely spoke any words to them, were all of a sudden buddies with the drug dealer?

[prythianpages]

Be Patient | Azriel x Reader

summary: After the mating bond snaps, Azriel follows you to the Day Court, where he spends seven days patiently longing after you.

warnings: fluff, mild angst bc of Az pining and lowkey being a menace in day court and reader being a little dense, also this is really long, 11K, my longest one shot ever...

note: This is a part two to Be Safe but can be read as a stand alone too. Huge shoutout to @stormhearty , @daycourtofficial & @thecrowesnest13 & the sweet overexcited anon who helped me with this! This is set pre-ACOTAR events and I realized my mistake in naming Helion as High Lord because I think he became High Lord UTM? so for this fic's sake, let's just assume he was already High Lord..

Mate. 

The realization crashes over Azriel like a tidal wave. It’s almost suffocating. Mine, the bond in his chest roars. Protect. The emotions swell, fueled by his shadows whispering and urging him on to go and keep you safe. Because who better to do so than him?

Before he knows it, he’s following you into Day Court, his shadows swallowing his form until Mor’s and Cassian’s laughter are distant echoes.

Piercing violet eyes greet him as soon as he steps out from his shadows, blocking his view. It’s almost as if he had been expecting Azriel. Talons rake across the shields of his mind and Azriel reluctantly lets him in. Go back, Rhysand asserts, holding the shadowsinger’s gaze.

I can’t, he nearly growls in his mind. 

The thought of leaving you, not being by your side is insufferable. It’s this very thought that has some of his shadows dancing toward you, the shadow curled around his ear whispering to him about your whereabouts. You stand, a couple of feet away, speaking with Helion. You’re completely oblivious to the two Illyrian males glaring at one another.

What do you mean you can’t? Rhysand doesn’t even attempt to hide the irritation in his tone.

Azriel then shows Rhysand what happened just moments ago. The mating bond snapping into place right as you were winnowing away. He leaves out the part where Cassian and Mor had been teasing him but he suspects Rhysand was aware of that.

Rhysand lets out a sigh, running a hand down the length of his face. What appears to be exhaustion tears through his features before he leans in toward the taller male. “Really?” He whispers in an exasperated hush. “Right now?

Azriel falters with a huff, his head following the direction his shadows had gone. It’s only when his gaze lands on you that it softens. “You say it like I had a choice.” 

But boy is he glad it is you.

”Fine,” Rhysand sighs after a long moment of silence. He knows he can’t do anything about it, the determination in the Shadowsinger’s eyes burning bright. He’d fear going against the Cauldron if he did. “You can stay. But—“ he lifts a jewel adorned finger in warning“—you distract her—“

Azriel’s head turns back to Rhysand and there’s a frown on his face. ”I don’t distract her.”

”Please,” Rhysand chuckles in disbelief. “Listen, I’m happy for you. Truly. But we didn’t come all this way for nothing and I need her to be able to focus. She can’t even think properly around you and if she finds out you’re her–”

“She thinks about me?”

Rhysand shuts his mouth with a withering stare.

Azriel’s shadows are then whispering madly, coercing him to turn his attention back to you. You’re giggling and smiling at Helion, cheeks flushed with a blush. Azriel flushes too but for an entirely different reason. Helion has your hand in his, amber eyes holding you captive, as he’s slowly lifting it up to his lips. 

Shadows are coiling softly around your wrist and before Helion can kiss your hand, your hand is being pulled away from his. Helion’s brows furrow, hand falling to his side as one lone shadow floats in front of him. He is not fluent in shadows but the way it writhes at him gives one clear message.  

”Oh, hi!”

Azriel watches, taking note of the small fond smile that forms on your face as you recognize the dark tendrils wrapped around your arm. Your eyes find him almost immediately and then you’re walking toward him.   

“Azriel, what are you doing here?”

“Shadowsinger,” Helion purrs in greeting, a pleased smirk on his face that grows at Azriel’s indifferent nod. “I was not aware you were coming too.”

Rhysand places a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the soft, black leather. Don’t say anything. Rhysand warns in his mind. We’ll talk somewhere else.

Rhysand forces a charming smile onto his face and Helion’s eyes flicker with interest. “I apologize for the short notice but Azriel is here to… escort y/n.”

“Escort?”

Both you and Helion say in unison. Though Helion’s tone carries mirth, yours carries shock. Confusion clouds your features, worry flickering in your wide eyes. Rhysand must’ve eased your mind, for Azriel feels the tension leave your muscles shortly afterwards. Still, you inch closer to him, as if seeking the comfort of his presence. He instinctively mirrors your movement, the blue siphons on his leathers brushing against your arm and gleaming in response.

 “You offend me, Rhys. I’ve welcomed you to my court with no ill intention.” Helion chides, though his voice is light with humor.

“y/n here is just very precious to us,” Rhysand says, choosing his words carefully. “I hope you can understand.”

Azriel’s shadows whisper the details of the scene around him, noting the apologetic look Rhysand sends to Helion. The High Lord of Day chuckles, but Azriel’s focus remains steadfastly on you. You turn to him with a questioning smile and he returns your smile, the warmth in his hazel eyes answering your unspoken question.

“I can see why,” comes Helion’s response, gaze lingering on you with an appreciative gleam.

Azriel’s head whips fast toward the High Lord of the Day Court and another sigh escapes Rhysand.

**

“Seven days. That’s all I ask.”

“That’s seven days too long, Rhys.”

Rhysand falters back, appalled by those words. He lets out a small laugh.  “Too long? Seven days is too long but a whole century wasn’t?”

“It hasn’t been a century,” Azriel hisses and Rhysand raises his brows. “It’s been eighty nine years. Besides, it’s different now.”

You’re his mate now.  

The mating bond had snapped into place with such force that he was still reeling from its impact. It was as if every emotion of his was amplified, sending a startling quiver through those golden threads in his chest. Jealousy jerked the most. It’s why every few seconds, his gaze flickered towards the hall you had disappeared into with the High Lord known for his scandalous appetites. One of his shadows had stayed with you and though he knew it would come back if Helion tried anything, it did nothing to ease him. He should be beside you right now. Not beside Rhysand, who seemed keen on keeping you from him.

“You saw the way she looked at you when you arrived.”

Azriel turned back to Rhysand, that image of you reappearing in his mind from Rhysand’s perspective. Surprise had flickered across your features, but like a passing storm cloud, it swiftly gave way to brightness. Your eyes sparkled, your lips curved into a fond smile. Without hesitation, you left Helion's side, drawn instinctively toward Azriel.  It was as if nothing else mattered but him, as if there was no one else in the world but you two.

The bond in his chest sings in delight because overriding all other emotions swirling madly around, there is love.

Azriel had loved you long before the bond’s sudden manifestation. His feelings had grown silently over the years, nurtured through shared moments and unspoken gestures. He knew he had to confess his feelings to you–something that had been eating at him for years. Eighty nine years to be exact, as he pointed out just a moment ago.

But fear always held him back.

Fear that he had mistaken your kindness for something more. Fear that he would ruin the decades of friendship you two had built. Fear that you loved him but not enough to see past his scars.

He realizes now how ridiculous those fears sound.

The kindness you harbored for him was not the same kindness you showed others. Your friendship was strong and precious, something he would fiercely protect no matter what. Your hand always sought his, never showing disgust towards the marred roughness of his own. You had even dedicated so much of your time to researching Prythian’s herbs and treatment for burns, working with Madja to make a special concoction–a soothing balm to alleviate the inevitable pains. 

By the Mother, he was a fool and it took the bond snapping into place to realize it.

“Yes. You both are.”

Now, the golden threads in his chest urged him to confess, to bridge that small lingering distance between you–

“But you can’t. Not now.”

“Get out of my head,” Azriel snaps, glaring at his brother.

“Well, I can’t help it if you’re thinking so loudly,” Rhysand replies, a touch defensively. “Look, y/n has been looking forward to this trip so much. If you tell her about the bond, it will consume her every thought and cloud that brilliant mind of hers. I know this is selfish of me but I need her to be focused and you to be patient.”

Azriel’s glare wavers. He knows how much this trip means to you. It was the first time Rhysand was entrusting a task upon you outside of the Night Court’s borders. Getting to see the magnificent library of the Day Court was also all your bibliophile heart could talk about. His desire to protect you and respect your focus battled fiercely with his yearning to tell you about the bond.

“Seven days?”

“Seven days,” Rhysand confirms, the tension easing from his face. “Then, she’s all yours. Just be patient.”

Azriel scoffs. “I’ll be so patient.”

But as they both join you and Helion for dinner, something tells Rhysand that this is going to be a long week.

**

Helion had hosted an extravagant feast for you all last night, even bringing out his finest, aged whiskey to celebrate. He had toasted it to Azriel, the surprise guest, with a cheeky wink. When his flirtatious efforts went ignored, Helion had turned his affections toward you. A notion that left Azriel seething and Rhysand on guard.

After dinner, Helion had given you a brief tour of the palace and introduced you to the fae you encountered along the way. To Azriel’s relief, the room he’d be staying in was right across from yours. His shadows had eagerly scouted the halls and both your rooms, becoming attuned to every creak and sound as an extra measure of safety. They fell asleep before he did and were the ones to wake him up when they heard you shuffling around your room.

As Azriel laces his leathers, the dark tendrils rush toward his door, peeking out underneath. It seems they are just as eager as he is to see you.

“Good morning!” You chirp happily, practically buzzing with excitement as you greet him at his door. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” A lie. Your joy is so contagious it’s easy to mask his exhaustion, his smile matching yours. “Did you?” 

He had, in fact, not slept well.

How could he when his anxiety began to gnaw at him? Because what if you grew tired of waiting for him within these seven days and gave into Helion’s charm? Each time he closed his eyes, his mind flashed with images of you reciprocating Helion’s advances, and sneaking off into his chambers in the middle of the night...

You give a noncommittal hum in response, pulling him out of his inner turmoil and bring him back to you.

 “I’m really glad you’re here, Az.”

Azriel’s shadows mirror your enthusiasm. A faint blush takes over his cheeks as you grasp his hand to tug him along with you. “Rhys has private business to attend to with Helion and I did not want to do this alone,” you say, waving your bucket list in the air with your free hand.

Of course, you had a list of things you’d like to do in Day. It instilled another fear into Azriel because what if you fell in love with Day and refused to go back to Night? He eyes all the bullet points on that list of yours and refuses to let himself make that fear come true.

Anything you loved here, he would make sure to remind you that the Night Court could do better.

“And who better to spend the day with than my loyal shadowsinger, right?” You remark with a playful glint in your eye.

“Right,” Azriel replies and there’s a brightness in his heart at your words. My loyal shadowsinger. His shadows dance in agreement.

But there is one thing the Night Court can’t replicate, a truth he reluctantly acknowledges as you both step outside into the warmth of the sun. 

A radiant smile breaks out on your face as you bask in the bright sunlight. Its golden glow kisses your skin, highlighting every feature he adores.

His leathers are not meant for this type of weather. He can feel himself growing hot, his shadows already endlessly working to keep him cool. Though you were dressed in something lighter than him, a pale blue dress, some of them flit toward you to do the same.

Azriel allows you to pull him along, savoring the feel of your hand in his. The cobblestone streets of the Day Court’s market are narrow, flanked by vibrant stalls and lively vendors. He tucks his wings tightly against his back to avoid brushing against the bustling crowd. His grip on your hand is firm. He tells himself it’s to ensure he doesn’t lose you amidst the sea of fae, but deep down, he has no intention of ever letting go.

Your first stop is a quaint little shop that, according to your research, sells the best espresso in Prythian. Azriel prefers his coffee black but you convince him to try Day’s specialty, a honey lavender latte. 

You watch him, awaiting his response.

“I hate it,” he tells you, though it’s surprisingly good. Really good.  “Velaris has better coffee.”

You take your drink back with a shrug as you head to your next stop. The flower market. As you stroll through the market stalls, you point out a cluster of flowers, your voice tinged with excitement as you describe their origins and meanings. You’re like a living encyclopedia and Azriel has always admired this about you. He asks you more questions, even if he already has the answers. Just so that he can see the light in your eyes dance with every word you speak.

A beautiful pink blossom catches his eyes as he’s read about it before, already familiar with its meaning. An idea sparks into his mind. Maybe, if he starts dropping hints, it’d make his impending confession go smoother. He tugs on your hand gently. “And this one?”

“It’s a pink camelia. A symbol of love, adoration and longing.”

He tosses a coin to the merchant and then picks the prettiest pink camelia among the bunch. He tucks it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. The shadows that cling to him, hiding from the sun, peek out from above his shoulders, stirring in anticipation as you look up at Azriel and smile.

“y/n, I–”

His words hang in the air, the tendrils too distracted by you to notice the merchant approaching. Suddenly, a hand appears between you both, golden bracelets dangling before your eyes. “A pretty bracelet for the pretty lady?” the fae male asks. “They’re one of a kind!”

Your eyes widen as you take in the shimmering jewelry. “How much?”

“Ten coins,” the merchant replies, but as his eyes roam over you, he adds, “But for you, five.”

“Okay,” you agree, not having the heart to say no.

You reach for one of the gold bracelets, its chain holding a gleaming sun made of amber in the center. Before you can even open your coin purse, Azriel shoves ten coins into the merchant’s awaiting hand, his glare sending the man skittering away.

“Thank you,” you say to Azriel, struggling to clasp the bracelet around your wrist. Azriel gestures for you to let him help, and you do, watching the subtle furrow of his brow as he fastens the hook. “But why did you give him ten coins? He said five…”

“I didn’t,” Azriel lies smoothly for the second time this morning, and when your eyes narrow in suspicion, he simply smiles and tilts his head toward the right. “Shouldn’t we be heading to the art gallery if we want to make it to the water fountain show in time?”

That gets you going.

Your hold on his hand tightens as you lead the way to the art gallery. There, you’re captivated by the various amounts of artwork from Day, one of them being a very detailed and very naked sculpture of Helion. Azriel can’t help but remind you of the beauty of the Rainbow of Velaris, tugging you along, using the water fountain show as an excuse to get you to leave quicker. 

Afterwards, you visit a bookstore and many other stores, discovering that the bracelet on your wrist was not one-of-a-kind. They are available in various stores, each offering different variations. Instead of feeling disappointed, you find one specially for Azriel. Its chain is silver, adorned with a glimmering moon made from moonstone, a perfect complement to your amber sun.

By the time you both return to the palace, the sky is painted with hues of twilight, signaling it’s almost dinner time. 

“Thank you for helping me carry all my stuff,” you say with a sheepish grin, glancing at the bags scattered on your floor, most of them filled with gifts for the rest of the inner circle members since they couldn’t come along.

“Of course,” Azriel replies with a soft smile, his eyes warm. He had refused to let you lift a finger.

Standing on your tip-toes, you aim to kiss his cheek but underestimate the height difference, your lips landing on his jaw instead. The touch has the same effect. Azriel blushes, his wings twitching slightly, and his shadows snicker behind him. He hopes you can't hear them.

“Are you sure–” he clears his throat “–are you sure you don’t need help packing them up too?”

Your eyes light up and then you’re pulling him into your room. Unfortunately, no more kisses came from that. However, the shared smiles and easy conversation made it all worth it.

Be patient, he reminds himself. But he can't help but think of the golden threads unraveling in his chest, giving them an experimental tug. There’s no response, yet he hopes that yours will entwine with his any day now, binding you together forever.

**

As the golden, morning light of the Day Court bathes the grand hall, Azriel waits for you to enter the place where you'd have breakfast together. When he hears your approaching footsteps, he turns.

Suddenly, he finds himself unable to think. Unable to breathe, even.  

 You were beautiful. He was well aware of this, always has been. But today, you were absolutely stunning, like a goddess descended from the heavens. 

The dress you wore was different from your usual Night court dresses and though it screamed Day court fashion, Azriel couldn’t bring himself to care. The delicate ivory, flowing fabric draped elegantly over your body. His eyes trace every detail of the dress, from the plunging neckline to the high slits that reveal the soft and inviting skin of your legs. There’s a tightness in his throat when he catches a glimpse of the gold garter adorning your thigh.

“Good morning,” you greet him with a smile, a hint of shyness in your eyes despite the boldness of the dress.

"Morning," he barely manages to say.

“Good morning indeed,” Helion purrs as he appears behind you, Rhysand at his side.

Azriel, captivated by your beauty, barely registered the expression on Helion's face. Meanwhile, his shadows moved with a protective instinct, delicately brushing against your legs as if to shield you from Helion's lingering gaze. 

As you approach him, Azriel's heart continues to hammer against his chest. He musters up a smile. Though small, it’s full of admiration and awe. 

Helion chuckles. “My oh my, Rhysand. I did not know your Shadowsinger was capable of smiling.”

Rhysand lets out an amused exhale. His tone is light but it carries a subtle warning. “He’s capable of many things, including patience.”

A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw as he falls into step with you. He doesn’t notice the small frown that takes over your features. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice sweet despite the slightly sour expression on his face.

You shake your head in protest. “You look all hot and bothered.”

Azriel chokes on his spit. “Excuse me?”

“You’re already sweating,” you explain to him, reaching up with your free hand to brush his dark curls away from his forehead. His wings flutter in response to the surprise touch. “And it’s barely morning. Come on, you’re not wearing those leathers today. I’m sure Helion left some clothes for you too.”

Azriel heats up at the mention of Helion’s name, his mind briefly flickering to the thought of the High Lord leaving such a dress for you. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it further as you tug him back toward the room he’s staying in, mumbling about how Azriel has a death wish for wearing such thick clothing in the Day Court.

But it’s the High Lord of the Day Court who has a death wish, Azriel thinks.

“We won’t be long!” You call over your shoulder to Rhysand and Helion, who both give a dismissive wave.

Helion shakes his head in amusement. “Are they always like this?”

Rhysand lets out a snort. “Unfortunately.”

“Come. Let us have a drink. I believe we’re in very much need of one.”

“This early in the morning?”

“My friend, have you not had orange juice and champagne? Such a lovely, delightful combination. I call it a mimosa…”

**

Back in Azriel's room, you rummage through the clothes Helion had left for him. His eyes soften as you continue to fuss over him. Though he complains about it, he secretly loves when you fuss over him. He has to peel his gaze away from you when you bend down to pick up a top, his thoughts threatening to drift elsewhere if he doesn't.

Hot. Bothered. His shadows repeat your words from earlier to him and he eyes them with a glare.

Despite Helion’s wish for Azriel to wear a toga like he proudly does, Azriel is relieved at what you picked out for him. He’s also touched that you know him well enough to pick something close to his taste.  “Here,” you say, holding up a pair of loose fitting dark trousers and a sheen, flowy white top with a deep v neck similar to the one of your dress. “This will be perfect for today.”

“Fine,” Azriel murmurs, reluctantly taking the garments from you. Your fingers brush against his, sending a spark through him.

“I trust you can dress yourself from here,” you tease, giving him a playful pat on his shoulder.

Azriel lets out a scoff, resisting the urge to reply with a roguish remark. He quickly changes into the clothes you picked out for him, not wanting to cut into your breakfast time any more than necessary. Today is a busy day for you, as you will spend most of it in the library, researching all about the death gods for an assignment Rhysand gave you.

When he steps out of the room, your eyes light up as they look over his body. His muscles flex instinctively when your gaze lingers on the tattoos swirling on his chest. You blink, and with a smile say, “Radiant.”

Azriel feels the blood rush to his neck. He’s received many compliments before but never something as bright as “radiant.”  He suddenly yearns to hear more–only if they come from your pretty lips.

“Y/n, have I ever told you how much I—” Your eyebrows raise in curiosity, and he loses his resolve, Rhysand’s warning echoing in his head. “—appreciate you…”

Those were not the words Azriel had intended, and he lets out a defeated breath. Yet, your smile does not falter. Instead, you hook your arm through his, beaming up at him as you guide him through the halls.

“I believe you have but please, enlighten me again…”

**

Helion’s gaze fixes on you and Azriel as you finally joined them for breakfast. Dressed in resplendent Day Court fashion, the two of you look ravishing, and Helion cannot decide who is more captivating–you or the stoic shadowsinger at your side. 

His affections have always met a brick wall with the Illyrian male. So naturally, when another pretty face shows up at his court, he focuses all his attention on you. He savors your sweet reactions and Azriel’s jealous ones, sensing more between you two. He’s determined to unravel it.

After breakfast, Helion sidles up beside you, flashing a charming smile. “Allow me to admire you more closely, Lady Y/n,” he says, his voice smooth and rich as he extends his hand.

Azriel’s jaw clenches, his shadows swirling restlessly when you take Helion’s hand. Helion’s smile widens, and then he gestures for you to spin. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

You gasp, eyes widening in delight and cheeks tinting with a delicate blush. “You know Shakespeare?”

“Know it? I live it.” Helion responds. “I have his original copies in my personal library. You can come take a look, if you’d like. Just give me a day to…organize things.”

Azriel’s eyes narrow, not liking the intonation in the High Lord’s voice. Helion can feel that primal instinct–the possessiveness Azriel feels for you–simmering beneath the surface. His eyes widen slightly in acknowledgement and then he’s turning to Rhysand.

"Helion,” Rhysand drawls, confirming his suspicions. “As y/n’s escort, you're making Azriel's shadows rather restless.”

Helion laughs, a rich, melodious sound that fills the room. "I can't help it if your historian is so captivating, Rhysand," he says, winking at you and delighting in the response it shakes from Azriel.

**

Azriel falls into step behind you as Helion guides you all toward the magnificent library of the Day Court. Sunlight streams through towering windows, casting rainbows across the marble floors. You had praised it as the biggest and most beautiful library in all of Prythian. As Azriel stands in front of the entrance, he reluctantly acknowledges that none of the libraries in the Night Court could come close if this is just how the entrance looks.

As Azriel moves to step inside with you, Rhysand stops him.

"What are you doing?" Azriel huffs, peering over Rhysand's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the awed expression on your face as Helion talks to you. "I'm Y/n's escort, remember?"

“There’s no need for one in the library. You’ll only be a distraction here.” Rhysand replies and sensing his apprehension, he adds. “She’ll be safe here. I promise.”

“But–”

“No,” Rhysand interrupts and Azriel’s gaze hardens. A playful glint dances in Rhysand’s violet eyes. “Go take a walk, a cold shower or perhaps, read up on some poetry.”

 With that, Rhysand enters the library, motioning for the guards to shut the door. As the door closes, a single dark tendril manages to slide through. 

I don’t resort to poetry, Azriel thinks bitterly and he swears he hears Rhysand’s chuckle in his mind.

**

That night, during dinner, Helion took all your attention as the two of you quoted and mused over poetry, Rhysand chiming in occasionally. Azriel remained silent, a muscle ticking at his jaw.

The following morning, Azriel didn’t get a chance to speak to you much either. You and Rhysand were deep in discussion, strategizing how to tackle the vast array of books about the old gods. Azriel hadn’t even finished his coffee when you abruptly stood from your seat, mouth still full of food, and hurried off towards the library. The golden threads buried deep in his chest stirred with your passion.

So while you spent your day in the library, engrossed in your research, Azriel decided to spend his day doing his own research. He had his shadows sneak into your room and retrieve one of the poetry books he is certain you bought with you. You read one every night before bed.

Azriel reads some of the poems, engraving the words into his memory, just in case. He ends up falling asleep in his room, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. His shadows stir him awake, hours later, pointing to the clock hanging across from him. It’s almost dinner time so Azriel freshens up and then makes his way toward the library. 

“Hey, you,” you greet Azriel happily, two of his shadows trailing behind you, as you step out of the library. The second one had joined you this morning as the first one had been feeling lonely. “I think they like me better than you.”

“Keep them,” Azriel shrugs. When you're not looking, he gives them a knowing nod, though his voice feigns annoyance. “Traitors.”

“What did you do today?” You ask, falling into step beside him as you two walk toward the dining hall. “Anything interesting?”

“I learned something.”

“Yeah?”

Azriel turns to you, his expression serious as he clears his throat. "She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright... uh, meet in her something…eyes…?"

You blink at him, confusion furrowing your brow. "Something eyes?"

Before Azriel can explain, Helion chimes in, that cheeky grin plastered on his face. "It's 'Meet in her aspect and her eyes,’" he corrects smoothly, his eyes twinkling with amusement, as he beckons for you to take your seats.

Azriel shoots a glare at Helion and Rhysand kicks him under the table in warning. Helion chuckles, unfazed by the death stare coming from Azriel as he continues. 

“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of Cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

“Oh, Lord Byron!” you say in recognition, turning to Azriel with a look that soothes his embarrassment. “She Walks in Beauty. What a lovely poem. Did you know it was one of my favorites?”

“I didn’t,” Azriel replies casually, though inwardly his heart races and his shadows race to cover the blush delicately tinting his neck. Of course he knew it was your favorite. You had scribbled hearts all over the page in your book. “I just liked it and thought I’d share it with you.”

Your smile widens, touched by his gesture. “I thought you didn’t fancy poetry, Az.”

“I thought the same,” Rhysand says, eyes narrowing at Azriel.

"I'm full of surprises," Azriel says dryly, meeting Rhysand's gaze evenly.

“Well, let’s hope it’s the last of your surprises.”

“I believe I also have some of Lord Byron’s works. How about I finally show you my personal library after dinner?” Helion speaks, directing all attention back to him.

Azriel opens his mouth to protest, not liking the inviting gaze in the High Lord’s eyes, but Helion interjects smoothly. “No worries, escort, ” Helion says, his grin widening. “I’ll take good care of y/n.”

Azriel sulks, a bitter taste in his mouth from Helion’s effortless charm throughout dinner. He tries his best to keep you from leaving, insisting you try every single dessert laid out on the table. Barely halfway through, you slump back in your chair, claiming you can’t eat another bite without bursting.

His ears perk up and he sends a small prayer to the Mother that your full stomach dissuades you from visiting Helion’s personal library, his own stomach not being able to handle the thought. Tonight, it seems The Mother does not favor him. When Helion offers you his arm, you take it excitedly, oblivious to the sulking Shadowsinger you left behind. 

Rhysand laughs, finding amusement in the entire situation, while Azriel shoots him a cold stare. If Rhysand hadn’t ordered Azriel to keep the truth of the bond from you until after your trip here, you wouldn't be alone with Helion now. 

Yet, Azriel can't help but bitterly reflect that if he had only been upfront about his feelings from the start, he wouldn’t be tormented by such longing now, the bond in his chest roaring at the thought of you with another male.

“I think y/n is more than capable of handling a flirtatious High Lord.”

Azriel’s lips twitch into a brief, reluctant smile. “She is. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Cheer up, Az,” Rhysand teases, lifting his glass in a mock-toast to his friend. “There’s always more poetry to practice. Or perhaps, you should stick to brooding. You’re much better at that.”

“Pass the whiskey,” Azriel replies tersely, his lips pressing into a tight line.

“Patience is a virtue, Az.”

“So is silence.”

**

You’re swooning, over the moon, after exploring Helion’s personal library. He showed you his special editions of Lord Byron’s and Shakespeare’s works, allowing you to take one back to your room with you to read. You clutch the book to your chest, humming softly to yourself.

When you reach the hallway, you linger there for a moment, sparing a glance toward Azriel’s room. The night is still young and you’re surprised to see no light seeping through the door. Has he gone to bed already? Worry knits your brows as you wonder if he’s okay. He has been acting strange since he arrived. He had quoted poetry at you for Cauldron’s sake!

You walk toward his door and knock. There’s no answer so you knock again. “Az?”

You frown when you’re met with silence and your hands itch to open the door but you hesitate. He could either be asleep, out flying or out training. He had been eyeing the training grounds of Day during Helion’s tour.

With a sigh, you step into your room and decide to get ready for bed, making a mental note to check up on him in the morning. The day had been long and filled with unexpected twists and tomorrow would only bring another long day. Your eyes were tired from reading so much fine print.

As you're fluffing your pillows, you hear the sound of heavy, booted footsteps. Your mind wanders to Azriel but it can’t be. His steps were always quiet, silenced by his shadows. There’s a pause in the steps and a brief moment of stillness.

Abruptly, your door swings open and you let out a small gasp.

You watch as Azriel stumbles in, your heart flying to your chest in relief. His usually graceful steps falter as if the weight of his massive wings is too much to bear. Shadows cling to his wrists, doing their best to keep their master steady.

A look of pleasant surprise softens his features when he spots you, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of you in your nightgown. He brings a hand up to his neck, rubbing it in an attempt to make the flush spreading across his cheeks go away.

“Y/n,” he hiccups with a pleased grin. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, stifling a laugh at his adorable state. “This is my room.”

Azriel’s expression morphs, his eyebrows furrowing and a slight pout forming on his lips. “Didn’t get to spend the day with you,” he mutters, his voice tinged with frustration as he sways slightly. “Or night… you spent it with Helion instead.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Are you jealous, Az?”

Another hiccup. “Maybe.”

Your stomach flutters at the way he admits it so openly. The two of you have always had a playful, flirty dynamic. It had never gone beyond exchanged glances and lingering touches, though. Azriel never let it, and a part of you feared it was because he was too kind to reject you outright. Now, you begin to wonder if you had misinterpreted the situation all along.

“Well, it’s still night,” you tell him, “And you’re here with me now.”

“I am,” Azriel acknowledges with a hint of surprise, as if realizing it anew. “And I know poetry too…”

 He straightens up, attempting to appear serious again despite the slight slur in his words. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height... uh, something about sight, I think?”

Did he somehow know this was another of your favorites? It seems unlikely. In all the years you've known him, Azriel has never shown interest in poetry. Or at least up until two hours ago. You should check his forehead. What if he was coming down with something?

Instead, you clear your throat and help him out.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight. For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee–” your voice wavers at the look Azriel gives you, his hazel eyes shining with an emotion that threatens to weaken your knees. “–to the level of every day’s. Most quiet need, by sun and candle light…”

“I love thee too,” Azriel breathes, holding your gaze and stepping closer to you. “Freely–purely…no, freely as men strive for fight.”

“Right,” you correct with a laugh. “Freely as men strive for right.”

Azriel’s pout deepens, yet there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t laugh at me,” he mumbles.

He continues to make his way toward you and you hold out your arms, worried he’ll lose his battle with balance. He ends up slumping face-first onto your bed, his wings splaying out behind him. “Can I stay here? Just for a little bit. I missed you all day.”

“Yeah,” you reply with a soft smile. You missed him too. “But can you make room for me on my bed?”

“Mmm,” Azriel hums, turning on his side. He pats at the space right in front of him, his shadows moving to rest behind him to give you space. “Come here, my pretty historian.”

You feel a rush of warmth course through you, momentarily flustered by the nickname. Looking at Azriel, you hesitate. It wouldn’t be the first time you two shared a bed but it’d be the first time you’d share one in a bed not meant to accommodate for Illyrian wings. 

Maybe, it’s best if you help him to his room. Your eyes look toward his shadows and you notice them slowly curling around his back as if going to sleep themselves. They would be no help and neither would Rhys as you were sure he was sharing his night with a pretty fae or two. And you would definitely not be able to carry Azriel back to his room on your own.

So when Azriel pats the bed again, you join him. He frowns when you don’t nestle against him as he wished. Instead, you slip under the covers, resting on your side to face him fully. He adjusts to mirror your position, close enough that you feel his warm breath, noses and hands brushing against each other.

“You smell good,” he says, eyes half-lidded. “Marry me?”

You smile, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Is that all it takes to marry you? To smell good?”

Azriel’s eyes flutter close, a contented sigh escaping him. “I’d marry you, even if you didn’t smell good,” he says, his words mumbled but filled with affection.

Your heart swells and you lean in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, feeling exhaustion come over you when Azriel yawns. 

“Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he murmurs, already drifting off to sleep, a peaceful smile on his face. “My sweet, pretty ma–”

A shadow, one of the ones that have taken a liking to you, crawls over you and rushes to Azriel, curling around his mouth to silence him. You are too tired to think about it, simply letting sleep claim you in each other’s comforting presence.

**

Azriel wakes up with a soft groan, still enveloped by your scent. His shadows stir as he does and he hesitates opening his eyes, not ready to face the aftermath of his drunken state. The impending headache is already breaking the surface. When he opens his eyes, he finds you missing. His worry is eased when one of his shadows brings a small piece of paper to him.

He shifts, moving into a sitting position. One hand rubs at his head while the other takes the note you left for him. 

To my star breaking poet, you looked too peaceful to wake. I left some water, tea and bread on the nightstand. Enjoy.

-your pretty historian

His lips tug up into a smile. He turns his head, finding the drinks and food you left for him. He doesn’t dare touch them though, despite the bond in his chest yearning for him to. He then searches for the clock in your room and his eyes widen. It’s past noon. Azriel has never slept this late or felt so rested, especially after a night of heavy drinking. 

Taking a deep breath, he allows himself to fall back onto the bed, running his hands through his hair and pulling on it. He lingers there a moment longer before finally rising and heading to his room to bathe and get ready for the day. Knowing you'll be in the library all day, he wonders what to do with himself, having given up on poetry after his unsuccessful attempts.

**

Azriel makes himself busy by wandering the palace, feeling a bit uneasy walking so freely in the open. He’s so accustomed to blending into the shadows that this exposure feels unnatural. His shadows cling to him, hiding beneath his cloak, equally uncomfortable with the brightness. The day is cooler, so he’s donned his leathers, a small part of him hoping you'll fuss over him again when you see him.

He visits the markets, but they seem less vibrant without you by his side. He then goes to the training grounds of Day, catching up with his missed training and releasing his pent up frustrations with a training dummy. Upon returning to the palace and washing up, he heads towards the library. Though he can’t enter, he knows there are small tables and padded chairs just outside. He found you there during one of your breaks yesterday, so he sits at one of the tables, hoping you'll come again.

A newspaper rests on the table before him, so he picks it up to pass the time. After reading through it twice, he moves to a different table with a chess set, his shadows engaging him in a game. After losing to them three times, he leans back with a sigh. He really should’ve brought some of his unfinished reports to work on.

Overcome with the bond, he had followed you without hesitation, not anticipating that Rhysand would keep him from telling you about it. He didn't have a plan, so while he wasn't happy about it, at least it gave him time to come up with one. The minute you’d go back to Night, Azriel was set on visiting your favorite restaurant and making reservations. He’d surprise you with a day full of your favorites, ending it with his confession, where he hoped you would accept him. 

It was one thing to love him back. Another to accept him as your mate.

Before he knows it, the sun begins to set, his shadows buzzing with life as darkness takes over. You still haven’t stepped out of the library. He wonders if you've eaten or had enough water. One of his shadows slips out from underneath the library doors and flutters back to him. It reports that the other shadow, still with you, helped you reach for books and turn pages. It had even wanted to brush your hair back when it fell loose from your tie but was met with an invisible force. High Lord, the shadow hissed and he realizes Rhysand knew him better than he thought. That unwanted chaperone…

When he learns you've skipped lunch, his worry deepens. He paces back and forth in front of the grand doors, his heart aching with the intensity of the bond. Every instinct within him urges him to protect and care for you. Unable to hold back any longer, he takes advantage of the darkening sky and slips into the library.

The shadow that had reported to him leads the way, darting ahead. His other shadows eagerly rush forward, reaching you before he does. They greet the lone shadow that had stayed by your side like long-lost friends reuniting.

Azriel’s heart calms when he finds you asleep, slumped over a desk and surrounded by a mountain of books. You're curled into yourself, goosebumps forming on the exposed skin of your arms. He gently removes his cloak from his leathers and drapes it over you.

You instinctively snuggle deeper into the cloak, half asleep. “Smells s’good,” you murmur, and the bond in his chest tightens.

He gently removes your glasses, the ones you wear when doing prolonged near work, and places them carefully into one of his pockets. There’s a faint glimmer surrounding you and he’s relieved that whatever barrier Rhyand had placed upon you was weakening by the second. Almost like clockwork. He easily breaks through the magic shield, blue siphons gleaming. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his shadows sighing in response.

His touch lingers on your face, thumb ghosting over your cheek.  “It’s time for dinner.”

You let out a groan in protest, not wanting to move from your spot.

“You need to eat, Y/n,” he whispers softly. “And then, you can go to bed.”

You blink sleepily at him. “Will you carry me?”

“Of course.”

As he lifts you into his arms, your warmth and the scent of your hair envelop him. The bond in his chest thrums with joy, his shadows harmonizing in response.

Three more days, he reminds himself. Three more days until he can finally speak of the feelings swelling in his heart. Be patient…

**

After another day of researching death gods, your mind feels heavy with overwhelming knowledge. Exhausted, you keep to yourself during dinner. You can feel Azriel’s worry, can feel the way the shadows that linger in your presence caress the back of your neck in an attempt to ease you. Rhysand slips into your mind and after assuring him you were just tired and had a headache, he lets you excuse yourself. Helion, ever the caring and doting High Lord, sends you off to bed with a tea to soothe your headache.

You’re quick to wash up and change into your nightgown, slipping under the warm covers with the tea Helion gave you in hand. It has a rich floral scent and as you take your first sip, it brings instant relief to the dull ache in your head. When you’re done, you place the empty cup onto your nightstand and lay down, closing your eyes.

You find yourself trapped in a dark, oppressive forest. 

The trees are twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. In the distance, you hear the sinister laugh of Koschei, the death god who you've learned loves to trap women. His voice is a chilling whisper, echoing through the trees, “You cannot escape me.”

Suddenly, the scene shifts, and you’re back in the Court of Nightmares, having to suffer through another court affair. Your hair is pulled so tight into a bun and the corset of your dress barely gives any room to breathe properly. The oppressive atmosphere presses down on you, taking even more of your breath away. You’re standing before your father, his eyes cold and unyielding.

“You will marry Lord Berbrooke.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes widening in fear as Lord Berbrooke appears at your father’s side. Your hands reach for your father’s arms, a desperate attempt to stay with him instead of leaving. You’d much rather continue to endure a life of neglect and solitude than a life that promised violence and bruises.

“Grandfather wouldn’t want this.”

Your father yanks his arm out of your grip, staring you down with a glare. “Your grandfather is dead. It does not matter what he wants.”

Fear grips you as Lord Berbrooke steps closer, a predatory smile on his face. You try to run, but your feet are rooted to the spot. He laughs, the sound chilling you to the bone. It morphs into the sinister laugh from earlier. Lord Berbrooke’s face flickers and shifts, morphing between his own and what your mind imagines of Koschei.

Panic surges through you, and you cry out for help, but your voice is swallowed by the darkness.

You wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing and breaths coming in ragged gasps. Goosebumps prick your skin as the sinister laugh echoes in your mind, refusing to fade. Panic grips you, and without a second thought, you throw off the covers and rush out of your room, desperate to escape the haunting sound that seems to follow you.

**

Something deep in his chest stirs, flooding him with unease. The bond. Something is wrong. Azriel’s head instinctively turns to his door, shadows sensing your presence in the hallway. Though small and quiet, he can hear your pacing and sense your hesitation as you face his door.

Azriel rushes to the door immediately and opens it. Concern etches on his face as he takes in your trembling form, the way your hands are covering your ears and eyes stricken with pure fear.

His hands reach for yours, gently removing them from your ears. Your eyes remain frantic, scanning over him, as if trying to discern if he is real or not. Without another word, Azriel pulls you into his arms, the familiar warmth and scent of him grounding you.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he murmurs. His hands rub soothing circles on your back, and you cling to him.

“I had a nightmare,” you whisper, pulling back slightly and looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “About Koschei, and then I was back in the Court of Nightmares. My father… Lord Berbrooke…”

Azriel’s eyes darken with anger and protectiveness. You don’t need to say any more for him to understand. “You’re safe now,” he says firmly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His words and the strength of his embrace begin to calm the storm inside you. You bury your face in his chest, taking in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Can I stay with you?”

“Always.” Azriel answers and then he’s guiding you into his room.

He helps you to his bed, tucking you under the covers before carefully settling on the other side. You nestle closer into his chest, your head finding its place against his heart again. His chin rests atop your head and neither of you speak for a while.

“Thank you,” you breathe, voice heavy with emotion.

Azriel knows your thankfulness extends beyond tonight. He had been the one to save you from that dreadful fate that night in the Court of Nightmares. He had been the one to bring to Rhysand’s attention of your grandfather’s forged will, helping you search for the real one. And when Rhysand had moved you to Velaris, Azriel had been your first friend.

“Do you feel better or would you like me to make you–”

“I feel better,” you interrupt, not wanting him to leave, even if it's to make you another tea. “Just your presence is enough,” you confess quietly. “You have a way of making me feel safe and at peace, Az.”

At those words, Azriel feels like he might burst with emotion. He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.  If only you knew…

**

As you walk through the library of the Day Court, you take one last look around, letting your gaze sweep over the grand space. The high, arched windows allow streams of the setting sun to filter in, casting a warm glow on the polished marble floors. There are rows upon rows of polished wooden shelves and books of every size and color line them, their spines creating a mosaic of knowledge and history. The scent of parchment and old leather, is one you’ll always hold dear.

Tonight is your last night here. A trail of shadows follows you, blending into the shafts of the light and shadows cast by the towering bookshelves. Rhysand, lounging in the entrance of the library, notices the once unusual sight that has now become routine.. 

“What are you, a Shadowsinger now?” he quips.

You glance back, catching a glimpse of Azriel’s shadows entwined with your own. They’ve become increasingly protective of you lately, always trailing close, whether you're heading to the library or simply going about your day. What you hadn’t noticed until now was how their numbers had grown since last night.

“I’ve never seen his shadows act like that,” Rhysand comments.

“Oh really?” 

Rhysand nods, a glint dancing in his eyes. He gives a small wave to one of the tendrils peeking over your shoulder, lips curving upwards when it cowers away.  “They usually stick to him, rarely leaving his side. It seems you’ve captured their interest as you’ve captured their master’s.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his implication. “I guess they like me,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

Rhysand’s grin turns knowing. “It’s more than that, Y/n. Azriel’s shadows are an extension of his will. They’re drawn to what he cares about most.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “I suppose I should thank them for showing me such care.”

Rhysand chuckles. “Or thank Azriel.”

**

Rhysand’s words linger with you throughout the evening, much like Azriel’s shadows. A spark of hope blooms in your chest, daring to blossom into something more. You knew Azriel cared for you, but caring for others was in his nature. That’s who he was—caring and protective.

You glance at the shadows caressing your arms, a pensive frown tugging at your lips. In all the years you’ve known him, you had never seen his shadows linger on Rhysand or Cassian. Or Mor, who you were so sure held the Shadowsinger’s affections. 

You recall the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the rare smiles he reserved only for you, the protective glances he shot your way whenever danger was near. Your heart races as the pieces start to fit together, a mixture of shock and elation coursing through your veins. Dare you hope that the man you had loved in secret for so long might feel the same?

The idea seems almost too good to be true, and yet…his shadows were here, with you, wrapped around your fingers. Quite literally. 

You look down at the shadows twining with your fingers, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. For the first time, you allow yourself to entertain the possibility. 

With this newfound hope, you head toward the Day Court’s kitchen. 

After praising the chef one night, he invited you to his kitchen, offering to teach you how to prepare some of the Day Court’s delicacies. Eager to express your gratitude to Azriel for always being there for you and to Helion for being a gracious host, you decide to finally take up on the chef’s offer. Perhaps, you can even sneak in some of Azriel’s favorites into tonight’s menu.

**

As it was the last night of your stay, Helion had invited close friends and other allies of his court, filling the grand dining hall with laughter and conversation. You quietly took your seat across from Rhysand and beside Azriel, murmuring a soft greeting. Helion winks at you and the shadow around your arm tenses.

The High Lord of Day stands from his seat, at the head of the table. He raises his glass with a broad grin. “A toast to the Night Court, our cherished guests. It has been an honor to host you all, and I sincerely hope we may have the pleasure of your return soon.”

Everyone at the table raises their glasses, including Azriel—though only after a nudge from you. His expression remains flat and dry as he lifts his glass. You clink yours against his with a teasing glint in your eyes, coaxing a small smile from his lips.

Helion takes a seat and with a wave of his hand, tonight’s feast materializes in front of you. There’s a slight raise in Rhysand’s brow, betraying his mild surprise. Every single platter–from the appetizers to dessert seems to be a perfect blend of Day and Night delicacies with the names to match. There’s the bruschetta, the bread slices topped with sun-ripened tomatoes, fresh basil and a hint of night garlic. Then, there’s the spinach artichoke dip made from sun-infused spinach, blended with moon-cheese and served with nightshade vegetables.

Rhysand looks up, turning to Helion. “Compliments to the chef.”

Helion’s eyes twinkle with delight as he meets your gaze.  “And y/n,” he says. “She collaborated with the chef to create tonight’s dinner.”

You smile, a touch of pride warming your cheeks as you look around the table. However, the smile quickly fades when you hear a sudden spluttering. It’s Azriel. He spit his food out, his face a mask of horror and conflict. 

“Azriel?” you ask in concern.

He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’m not hungry,” he mutters, his voice suddenly tight.

Your face flushes and a nervous laugh escapes you.  “Relax, it’s not poison,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood. But your attempt falls flat. 

“I’m not hungry,” he repeats more forcefully, then turns and leaves the room, his movements stiff and tense.

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears, the hurt and confusion overwhelming you. You slump back into your chair. “I don’t think I’m hungry either,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Rhysand nudges your foot from under the table. “Don’t mind him,” he says softly, violet eyes filled with sympathy. “Please, eat. You’ve worked so hard on this.”

You nod, trying to muster the strength to lift your fork, but the sting of Azriel’s rejection is too much. You push the food around your plate, your appetite completely gone. The evening that had started with such promise now feels like a distant memory, overshadowed by whatever tension has now befallen between you and Azriel. 

In the corridor outside the dining hall, Azriel leans against the wall, his heart pounding. He knows he’s hurt you, but the thought of unintentionally accepting the bond is too much for him to bear. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of the fragile line he’s been walking.

One more night, he reminds himself. One more night and then he can tell you everything.

He can only hope you don’t already hate him for tonight.

**

Tossing and turning, you let out a long breath as you stare up at the ceiling. Your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you hadn’t indulged in the dinner you had put so much effort into crafting. How could you, when the one person you made it for refused to have even a bite? 

His reaction had been as clear as day. Repulsed.

Now, doubts flood your mind. What if you've completely misread everything? The shadows beside you, initially a source of comfort, were beginning to stir unsettling thoughts in you. Maybe Azriel sent them not because he cared so deeply for you but out of obligation and pity?

You're not a High Lord like Rhysand, nor a warrior like Cassian or Mor who fought in the war. You’re just a noblewoman from the Court of Nightmares who fled from a forced marriage. How typical and utterly helpless. That’s what you’ve been since you met Azriel.  It shouldn’t have shocked you that he followed you into Day Court. 

Any hope that had blossomed in your heart now withers. You were a fool to even entertain the thought. You’ve known Azriel for almost a century and in those years, he’s never hinted at seeing you as anything more than a friend so why would it change now?

Throwing off the covers, you sit up abruptly, gaze flickering towards the door. The urge to confront him grips you fiercely. He did not have to return your feelings but he didn’t have to hurt your feelings so harshly by spitting out your food. You had to settle whatever this was now, even if it left you broken-hearted. 

Without bothering to change out of your nightwear, you leap from your bed. The shadows on your bed stir awake and your footsteps quicken, fearing his shadows would reach him before you could.

They beat you to it, even going as far as opening the door for you, allowing you to barge into his room. You’re not surprised to see Azriel wide awake. His shadows must’ve warned him beforehand. He sits on his bed, already facing you and you hate the way your gaze falls to his bare chest. Your eyes trail up the intricate tattoos etched there, slowly making your way up.

The words catch in your throat. You’re nervous. A foreign feeling around Azriel. It makes you want nothing more than to turn and run out the door. His shadows shut the door behind you as if sensing your thoughts.

You refuse to meet his eyes, fearing what you’d find in those hazel depths. “You hate me don’t you?”

The words tumble out unexpectedly, sending a chilling shiver through you. His gaze flickers downward, catching the way you nervously fidget with your fingers, before lifting with intent and searching for your eyes. 

“What?”

The sound that leaves Azriel borders on what sounds like amusement, and you cringe, turning your head away. Tears prick your eyes, his shadows rushing to wipe them away gently, coaxing your gaze back to their master. When his eyes meet yours, all you see is concern. 

A strange sensation creeps along your ribcage as he stands from the bed, stepping closer to you.

“I don’t hate you.” Azriel states firmly and when his words don’t soothe you as he expected they would, he frowns. His hands replace the shadows brushing against your face. “What makes you think that? What’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that question,” you laugh humorlessly, casting your gaze down. “Something has gotten into you. You’ve been acting so differently, and at first, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought as I seem to be wrong every time–”

“It does matter. Tell me.” 

It’s now or never. Your throat tightens as you muster the courage—the last bit you have, having used most of it to barge into his room. 

“We’ve been walking a fine line, you and I. For decades. Almost a century... And now, I realize you’ve simply been too kind to reject me. I’m sorry if running to you after that nightmare was too much, but did you have to spit out my food? I would’ve preferred if you’d just told me you didn't like me instead of showing me.”

“You’re not making any sense right now.” Azriel says.

“Neither are you.” You shoot back.

“I don’t hate you,” Azriel repeats, hurt flashing across his face at the thought of making you feel that way.

“You spit out my food in front of everyone, Az.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

You feel Azriel’s hand tense against your face. “I can’t say.”

Your breath hitches, and you take a couple of steps back, removing his hands from you. “Because you hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes shut tightly for a moment, his head turning toward the window. He feels the faint warmth of the rising sun and inhales deeply. There’s something burning bright in his eyes when he looks at you again.

“Because you are my mate.”

Mate.

A vulnerable shakiness accompanies the word. The words hang in the air, heavy and shocking. The feeling teasing at your ribcage begins to crawl upwards. Your heart skips a beat as it meets your chest, awakening something deep inside you that you hadn’t realized you had.

Mate.

“I’m your what?” You gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as the golden threads of fate begin to unravel.

“You feel it now, don’t you?” Azriel approaches slowly, his expression tense and cautious. “You’re my mate. The bond snapped as you were winnowing away. That’s why I followed after you. I wanted to tell you, but Rhysand asked me not to. At least not until we were done here.”

Your racing heart sinks into your stomach. More tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision.  “So you don’t want me as your mate either…”

“No,” Azriel’s eyebrows knit together so hard you worry they’ll stick, shadows swirling around him like storm clouds. His hand reaches out for you but you take a step back.  “I’m happy it’s you. Relieved. I’ve loved you for so long...”

Your tears fall freely and he takes another deep breath, wings shuddering along with the timber of his voice. “Gods, do you know how agonizing these past days have been for me? Watching you fall in love with this court, with—” He hesitates, unable to say his name “—it’s High Lord.”

His words ignite a spark within you, fanning the hope that had begun to take root in your chest.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fall in love with this court," you begin and Azriel gives a subtle wince, looking away from you. "But Day is not my home."

Slowly, Azriel looks back at you, and a torrent of emotions floods over you. You're uncertain if they are yours or his, as the bond between you surges like a turbulent river.

“The Night Court is. That’s where my family is. That’s where you are. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not even Prythian’s best library.”

Azriel’s eyes soften and when he takes a step forward, you don’t step back. A glimmer of hope lights up his features.  “And what of it’s High Lord?”

“He’s nice but he’s not you.” You say with a soft smile. “I love you and only you.”

Azriel cups your face in his hands, leaning his forehead against yours. The smile that breaks out on his rivals the brilliance of the rising run behind him. “I’ve admired you, desired you for so long…I just didn’t want to rush you and when the bond snapped, I feared it’d overwhelm you."

You look up at him, the raw honesty in his eyes reflecting your own emotions. “So, what now?”

Azriel brushes the last tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and reverent. “Be mine?”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

“Always.”

And then you kiss him, the bond between you shimmering and glittering. A tangible, golden connection intensifying with every heartbeat.

a/n: I don't like the way I ended this 😭 not my best tbh, I just feel like it was missing something. I honestly wasn't expecting the high demand for a part two to Be Safe so I hope you enjoyed some of this as much as the first part. Anyway, here's a little meme I had made for this fic while I was procrastinating on finishing it.

here's a bonus scene.

tag list (tagged all those who commented and reblogged with tags, in case you wanted to read more. sorry if I missed some!): @jswizzlewrites , @hellodarling1357, @fxckmiup, @pricklepearbloom,

@tothestarsandwhateverend, @mika-no-sekai-blog, @cherryjain17, @illyrian-dreamer,

@darlingbravebelle, @katherinejess, @lady-of-tearshed, @daisesarelove, @beardburnsupersoldiers

@assriels, @sunshinepeachx, @buckyandgeraltsupremacy

@brieflyclassymortal, @thesunloveschips, @silver-flames-47, @ladybirdbeetle7, @everythingacotarbxm1012

@starlitlakes, @mxtantrights, @itsallacotar, @mother-above, @andreperez11

@coolepowersthings, @littlebookbengal, @lipstickmarks, @aneekapaneeka, @harrypottergirl162

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

@the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human

[xo2dee]

ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʟᴀᴍʙᴇɴᴛ

⛧ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sukuna x (Fem)Reader

⛧ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: true form!sukuna, pregnant!reader, heian era customs, pregnancy, mentions of cannibalism, sukuna being an asshole (what do you expect)

⛧ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3767

⛧ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Carrying the King's of Curses child, you knew wouldn't be easy, but you were more than happy to have a baby of your own. Even if said baby was growing rapidly while being the source of your bad back and changing appetite.

⛧ᴀ/ɴ: sukuna fluff is hard to come by in my opinion and so sorry if he's ooc but i wanted him like this. also, this is for lemon and ava, two of my favorite sukuna babes 🤍

⛧twitter - ao3

Wrist flicking out, you fanned yourself, eyes heavy with the sleep you had been fighting as you pursed your lips and eyed the blooming trees of the garden. Spring was rounding itself off, the scorching weather approaching you knew in weeks as you could only prepare yourself to be practically bedridden due to your ‘condition’. You’d only arrived a year and a half prior, and you quickly realized you had not seen much of the palace still after taking a husband, be it due to the duties of a noble person who were bound to spend most their days inside and entertaining themselves another way.

You held back a snort, fanning yourself harder as you stopped and eyed a nearby bush full of bright fruit and as red as your husband’s eyes.

…Husband.

In your youth, you supposed the daydreams of living in nobility were only achievable through luck. Or perhaps told through a fortune told from the Omikuji you required as a teen, taking the fortunes of ‘blessing’ and ‘marriage’ with a grain of salt until you had grown into an adult and ran off to be elsewhere from the clutches on an arranged marriage. Into serving nobility, to becoming nobility wasn’t necessarily on your list, your marriage by all means was an unlawful one. Forged from blood and flesh when you remembered instead of sipping sake in front of the Gods, your husband-to-be curled his fingers around your wrist and bit into your palm to instead partake in you.

You had been enamored by him since you first met him, eyes memorizing every inch of his unusual face before taking his thumb into your mouth when he smeared his own blood across your lips. It had sealed your fate that moment, your love and lust for him bursting forth like a raging inferno then and during the commutation of your marriage. Something that had finally taken into effect and was weighing down on you heavily.

One you supposed was the reason for the wariness when it came to serving you.

Cutting your eyes to the side and slightly behind you, you held the sigh in, your attendant keeping her eyes on the ground (perhaps watching your feet when you walked) as to shield her pensive expression from you, however you were not the unobservant type and focused on the knot between her eyebrows. Mai, your first and most loyal attendant, was never one to shy away from pestering over you, speaking her mind and filling in for advice whenever you needed it, so to see her quiet and on edge grated your nerves more than you liked to admit. She had been your first friend when you arrived, and you absolutely despised when she reverted back into the meek and submissive attendant she played whenever your husband was around, and it was enough to make you frown and worry if you had done something wrong.

You sighed loudly, snapping your fan shut and turning to the woman slowly, “You look like you have something you want to say.”

Mai’s eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, long and curled as her doe-like eyes rose to meet yours. She seemed to mull over your statement, before bowing her head in submission and speaking quietly, “Permission to speak?”

A smile graced your lips, softening your expression and nodding to her in return, “You always have permission with me, Mai.”

And just like that, Mai’s entire attitude flipped at your nonchalance. Straightening herself up, she dropped the service act and eyed you with suspicion and wary, mixed in with tired disappointment at having to cater to your more… reckless wants. “It’s just that Lord Sukuna has told us to monitor you and keep you in the palace when he’s away. And you’ve disobeyed that… again.”

Ah, there it was. With a scowl threatening to mar your face, you turned your back to her and began to pick through the strawberries in the bush you had been eyeing before, “I’m in the gardens. That’s still the palace… Is it not?”

“Yes, but –”

“This one looks ripe…” you cut her off, not necessarily wanting to hear her prattle on about how your husband made it horrifyingly clearly that you were to say inside at all times when he wasn’t at the palace. You’d heard it all before so many times it had been practically engraved into your skull with ink, and you were fed up with sitting on your knees inside away from the outside world and learning calligraphy constantly. Lips downturned you plopped a good-looking strawberry into your mouth, humming at the juice and tangy sweetness that exploded upon your taste buds, before your stomach gave an abrupt twist and a foot kicked out against your ribs. You winced and rubbed at your belly while the fruit suddenly tasted foul, and you swallowed with a grimace, “I hate how hungry I get nowadays, especially when I seem to crave more than just human food.”

Mai had been watching you like a hawk, leaning forward to intercept you whenever you reached for another fruit, “Oh, let me get it for you –”

“Please, Mai, I can pick my own strawberries. You worry too much.” Batting her hand away, you plucked it, hiding it in your sleeve and turning to her with an exhausted smile as she took your fan from you.

“Yes, My Lady. But please consider my words, we can keep you entertained in the palace.” You watched the lines on her face carefully, creased at her eyes and wrinkles forming at her forehead, and you could only wonder if your pregnancy had been the cause of her newly formed stress (partly, you knew you could’ve blamed it on your husband, his aggressive and aloof behavior all in one keeping most of the servants on the tips of their toes, but you quickly squashed it whenever you remembered she tended to you entirely).

Of course, you knew she was only doing her job, however her job was also giving you a severe case of claustrophobia being cooped up inside all the time. It wasn’t like you were planning to ever leave the palace’s premises either, just small strolls in the garden or spending time by the pond to cool off. Honestly, you had reason to believe she and your husband were just worrywarts (yet for the latter, you would keep that strictly to yourself).

You nodded your head in the direction you wanted to go, signaling Mai to walk beside you as you sighed and lowered your voice, “The midwife told me exercise will help…” you caressed your palm over your protruding stomach, “The baby is already huge and only seems to keep growing. A little sun helps me too, Mai… I can’t stay cooped up forever.”

Mai took a few moments to respond, her shoulders relaxing and her voice regaining familiarity, “I’m only worried since the last time you fainted out here.”

Lips thinning outwards, you remembered it all too well. Not necessarily fainting, though you blamed it on the many layers you wore around the palace and how warm it was getting outside, but you remembered the aftermath and how your husband had all but slaughtered a few lowly servants in retaliation as to letting you out (and because of his temper). You had thought the gore would’ve had you running, but you’d grown so used to him murdering someone whenever they slightly pissed him off you could only sigh at the thoughts. Of course, you knew Mai’s worry also came out of fear, however you weren’t about to let him do anything to her. “I know, but I feel fine… Just swollen feet and my back aching every time I move.”

And the baby kicking at your body whenever something displeased him.

Mai sighed your name exasperatingly, dropping the formalities, “Please, given your condition I think it’s best if you return to the palace.”

Irritation began to seep in your muscles, your baby moving in response to your emotions as your feet marched faster to walk. If you wanted to walk around the garden, you were allowed to, you would deal with your husband later if he found out. “What my husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him… Just another stroll and we can go back in, I’m getting tired anyways.”

“My Lady – oh!”

Mai abruptly skidded to a halt, body bending quickly into a low enough bow for the towering sight of your husband appearing before you both. You spared her a quick glance, flickering back to your husband, Lord Sukuna, when you realized he wasn’t the least bit concerned over her. He kept all four eyes on you, a challenging glare in them and you nearly wanted to laugh at the sight of two of his arms crossed and the other two planted on his hips. He looked every part of a disappointed husband – a father in the making, and you could already feel the talking your ear was going to get. Ah well, you could always feign falling asleep on him, that seemed to always make him softer.

Bending slightly into your own bow, he spoke, addressing Mai with a singular command, “Leave,” and you only returned back to your own height whenever you peeked that she was gone. You held back the groan at the pull your spine gave, wincing slightly at the shine of the sun before his large form eclipsed it as he finally moved close to you with no one in sight. The familiarity of his warmth and scent eased some of your irritability, wondering why he was back to early and ecstatic that he came to look for you once he couldn’t find you.

You smiled up at him, rolling the strawberry around your fingers before gesturing with your head to the path you had been walking, “Walk with me?”

Sukuna was ever-so unwavering in his staring, watching you practically dawdle in your place with the world’s most unamused expression, “Weren’t you told to stay inside?”

You repressed a shudder at his rough voice as your skin prickled, another sigh leaving while your shoulders slumped; caught. “I might remember you telling me that.” He seemed to not be in the mood for your sweettalking.

A loud exhale made your smile turn sheepish. “You piss me off.”

You knew that was coming, pulling out your hand from the sleeve to produce the strawberry from before, letting his eyes follow the way you rolled it into your palm, “But you’re here now… Nothing could really happen now since I have you.”

Sukuna’s eyebrow furrowed, eyes narrowing inward before he scowled at you enough to let his upper lip slightly curve over his teeth, “Changing the subject won’t help you. Are you gonna walk back, or do I have to carry your ass and –"

In a bold move you silenced him, pressing the strawberry to his lips with two fingers and slightly pushing it forward in hopes he would eat it. His eyes couldn’t narrow or glare any further, shooting from you to the fruit, and holding them there for a few moments and you wanted to giggle because it nearly looked like he pouting. Your husband never really ate human food, perhaps to humor you before he would spit it out and complain about the horrid taste it gave him, however there were a few times his interest would peak and want a bite of whatever you had in your hand – especially when said food seemed to satisfy you so much. You supposed it was his curiosity to understand you better, having a human in such close quarters and as a wife was perhaps as jarring as it was to have him as your husband.

Toying with him, you said, “It gave me bad taste earlier… Want to try it?”

Sukuna’s lips twitched behind the fruit, a clear sign he’d indulge you that time and when you went to move your hand away from him, one of his hand snatched your wrist with a small squeeze. An unspoken word for you to leave your fingers on the fruit and indulge him. And you did so with coquettish blink, pressing the strawberry harder against his lips until they gave way and his teeth were biting into it with the juice from inside sliding down your fingers as he slowly and sensually ate the strawberry from your fingertips. It didn’t help that he kept his eyes on your own the whole time, your cheeks burning as you never were able to get used to your husband’s forward assertion on sensuality.

Your breath caught and eyes widened when his tongue slid over the length of your fingers before slipping in his mouth and sucking on them until they were free of any residue stickiness. You couldn’t help the rapid beat of your heart, lips parting as his thumb tapped in rhythm to your pulse point before he let go of your fingers with a loud ‘plop!’ and a satisfied hum rumbling out of him as you could only gaze dumbfounded at the saliva coating your fingers. After a few moments you cleared your throat and swallowed, eyeing him warily as you knew his stomach probably wouldn’t last long and he’d be hacking it up with loud complaining.

And on cue, you watched fascinated as the mouth on his stomach frowned.

Oh, here it comes. It never lasted long in his system.

You sighed as he spat it out, licking his lips and scowling at the ground, “You’re right, tastes like shit.”

“Would you like me to say something to the servants?” you asked, mentally cheering with a soft smile on your face when he fell into step with you to walk along the gardens. It was never hard to get what you wanted out of him.

“It’s not poor gardening skills, it’s you.” You opened your mouth, ready to backtalk at the insult, yet he silenced you with a hand raised before one of his fingers traced along your cheek, “Weren’t you waddling in and practically whining for some of my food?”

How could you forget, a week ago you’d been lured out of your bed chamber by the most mouthwatering smell and your baby kicking incessantly once your stomach growled. You had stumbled upon Sukuna and Uruame, the latter making Sukuna’s dinner and the dinner something you never were to partake in since his appetite did not quell your hunger. However, when you found yourself salivating with your stomach rumbling and your baby kicking, it was a jarring experience to come to realize you were indulging in cannibalism and liked it. Liked it so much your child never rolled in a fit that night and Sukuna had been extra attentive to you afterwards with his praising.

An answer was on your tongue, though you chose to neglect saying anything when your taste buds twitched at the thought of that dinner and instead enjoyed your walk in peace. Your husband only snorted, a slight laugh leaving him at your pout before he returned his limbs to himself and rolled his gaze forwards on the path you’d been on. Times with him were normally relaxing as he was actually rather lazy when he had nothing to do, his affections ranging from just enjoying your presence in silence to twirling your hair around his finger whenever you were close enough. You never minded, glad to spend time with him though it was equally as nice whenever he seemed get even clingier once finding out you were pregnant.

Even his soft, lingering touches moments ago set your heart ablaze, and you wondered if he felt the same whenever you ran your fingers through his hair whenever he felt like resting his head in your lap.

Minutes into your relaxing walk you felt it, an agonizing cramp pulsing in your back and the soles of your feet screaming in protest at being mobile for too long. Of course, you get some time to do something with him and your body halts that and screams at you to stop. You didn’t want to say anything, not wanting to bother him nor ruin the peaceful moment you were so grateful to have. Although the pain in your body had other plans, cramping upwards and throbbing whenever you tried to take another step so much you immediately had to double over with one hand resting on your stomach.

You stopped, the other hand moving to hold your aching back, and you were vaguely surprised he stopped at the same time. A wince and awkward bouts of silence later, you groaned and straightened back up, “I’m sorry, I think it gets worse every day.”

Sukuna remained silent and still, before a rumbling from his chest prickled the hair on the nape of your neck. “Hm, almost like you should’ve listened to me.” He was back in that disappointed husband stance, and you knew if you were to look into his face you’d see the smug grin at your misfortune. Gritting your teeth you didn’t give him the satisfaction, watching glumly as he sighed rather loudly and moved away from your side to continue walking in the direction of this palace.

You reaped what you sowed you supposed, having to walk back alone after being told not to be out of the palace when he wasn’t there. And your body complaints for moving about too much agreed, a quiet moan of frustration leaving you as you closed your eyes and counted to ten to calm your nerves, reopening them when the pain muted itself into a dull ache for the time. However, you completely clammed up at the sight of your husband bent down in front of you, the black of his haori draped over his shoulders shielding your view of his sculpted back and his face turned forward giving you no indication of what he was doing.

Yet, he did seem like he said something, though you were too befuddled to even understand what he had said.  

“What –”

“Are you deaf?” he interrupted, turning his head slightly and motioning with his head from you to climb onto him, “I said get on, before I change my mind.”

He wanted you… to ride… on his back? Never once did he ever engage in something like that with you (besides carrying you in his arms, but that had been the night of your wedding and he’d practically tossed you on your beds afterwards), though you weren’t about to pass by the chance for him to carry you. Though you weren’t too sure how to climb on his back and hold on so heavily pregnant, Sukuna didn’t have four arms for nothing you supposed.

Not wanting him to change his mind and keep him waiting, you clambered onto him to best you could dressed in several layers with your legs kicking free to slip underneath the lower set of his arms. You held back a squeal when your baby kicked at all the movements, arms flying forward to nearly constrict Sukuna’s airway off as he in return grunted and stood to his full height while beginning to move forward in a slow pace. You were grateful he was taking it slow, still trying to get comfortable and trying not to think about how bad it would hurt to fall off his back from his enormous height…

“Stop fucking squirming…” he grunted again, readjusting you with his arms as your body reclined higher up on his back and he continued walking, “Acting like I’ve never touched you before.”

“It’s not that. He – “ you cut yourself off, you hadn’t necessarily told him that you believed your baby was a boy, and you didn’t want to hear any of his teasing, “the baby kicks and squirms whenever I move too much.” Or whenever he hears your voice, you groused, further proving your point when he kicked at you again whenever Sukuna spoke once more. You wondered if he could feel the kick on his back.

“Damn.” A pause of silence and Sukuna was jostling you on his back, “How much does that prick weigh? Or is that all you?”

Your hand itched to slap the back of his neck, though you held yourself together and only offered him a scoff while making yourself comfortable, “He takes after his father.”

“And he wiggles like a worm, just like his mother.”

You had half a mind to say something about him referring to your child as a boy, your cheeks hot when you rested your chin atop his shoulder and eyes growing lidded with sleep while he inadvertently rocked you with his steps. You bit the inside of your cheek in a girlish thought that your husband was walking slower on purpose, rolling your ankles to stop you from kicking your feet at the idea he wanted to spend more time with you alone. Then again, he was doing all of it for you when he could’ve just left you alone, or not come out to find you at all.

Maybe some days he missed you as much as you missed him.

In a bold declaration, you pushed yourself forward until your nose was skimming Sukuna’s cheek, a chaste kissed you placed there seconds later whenever he didn’t say or do anything to push you away, “Thank you, my Lord.”

Sukuna hummed low in his throat, a deep rumbling that vibrated against your arms and soothed your aching ribs, “Don’t get used to it. I just didn’t want to wait around for your slow ass to waddle back in.” Though he sounded rather harsh, you knew he was just doing roundabout affection in his own way.

Your head lolled against his, the leaves on the trees above swaying you into a warm midday nap the longer you watched them through your eyelashes, “Take me to bed?”

You didn’t necessarily hear his response, though you weren’t dreaming it when his fingers tightened the hold he had on your thighs, the warmth he emitted doing wonders for the pains in your body as he secured you further into his back to ensure you didn’t fall off. You couldn’t help the smile, your cheek smushed into his shoulder as you took one final look at the sunlight path before you both and closed your eyes as exhaustion took its hold over.

With a last conscious thought, you reminded yourself to thank Mai later for allowing you a nice stroll in the garden – especially when you were doing it with your family.

[softbabybelle]

corruption 001. 𓍯𓂃 rֶָ֢ cameron

rafe cameron x shy!reader

𝜗𝜚 Summary : rafe finds sarah's best friend sitting in her room after she sneaks out to see her boyfriend, topper, and offers to keep her busy while teaching her something new.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.5k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : weed, smoking, drvgs, suggestive.

part 2. part 3.

by the time sarah had re-entered her own bedroom, you were laying on your back across her bed, twisting your hair above your face, absentmindedly playing with the strands.

"i have a favour to ask." upon hearing your best friend's voice, you turned so you were laying on your stomach.

you liked having sleepover's with sarah but sometimes, she wasn't all that reliable. "m'kay." though you already had an idea what following words would pass her lips.

"i just got off the phone with topper and he wants me to go meet him." she settled herself against her drawers. "but my dad'll kill me if i stay out past curfew. think you could cover for me?"

you batted your lids at the girl, frowning for various reasons. you'd brought all your stuff so you and sarah could hang out, you were getting a little tired of her using you as an excuse to see her boyfriend and you were downright petrified of ward cameron. there was something awfully frightening about your friends' parents.

but you didn't like to be troublesome. so a small "okay." passed your lips with a thin smile.

it took sarah less than twenty minutes to get ready and before you knew it, you were waving goodbye as she snuck out the window.

she left the tv on so you could watch one of your shows but you were much more inclined to reading the book in your bag. at this point, you'd grown accustomed to sarah leaving you during the middle of your sleepover's, you had to come prepared.

the reason she invited you over and snuck out was because she knew ward wouldn't dare go near her room when she had a friend over. none of her family did.

well, none aside from one.

"sarah!" you heard a familiar voice from behind the door followed by a bang against it that rafe cameron would later excuse as a 'knock'. "listen, i know you took my fuckin' charger, so give it ba―oh."

rafe was sarah's older brother, you'd seen him around plenty of times and he'd surely seen you. at this point, you practically lived in the house. many times you'd sat across from him at the dinner table or sat on the beach chairs with sarah while he was in the pool. though you didn't often speak to him.

perhaps that was your fault more than it was his, though.

"you're here." he stated, glancing around the room for the white charger he was missing.

rafe often initiated conversation with you but it was only in your shy nature to nod after he said something and use less than two words to communicate before scurrying down the hall after sarah.

this time, she wasn't here to be your human shield.

"uhm, yeah." you sort of just squirmed, hoping he didn't ask about why you were in here alone.

but you didn't often get what you hoped for. "where's sarah?" snatching up the charger. upon his question, you blinked at him, a stretch of panic flashed across your face. you didn't even need to say anything, your look gave it all away. "snuck out with topper, huh?"

your top lip snuck your bottom teeth in. "please don't tell." you weren't used to being so confined with rafe. sure, you'd been in a hallway with him before but come to think of it, you weren't sure you'd ever been in a small room like sarah's, alone, with the door shut.

"wasn't going to." he counters. his eyes pass over the room, raking down to you. you were sitting on the bed with a little book in your hands, pink bookmark sticking out from the page you left it on. "you don't need to be sittin' pretty in here all alone, though." he approached the door before turning to face you. "you comin'?"

it was as if he'd expected you to follow. you hastily stood, pink blush across your cheeks. "where are we going?"

he shrugged. "my room." as if it'd been obvious.

a nervous pit swirled in your stomach. you hadn't spent enough alone time with rafe to be invited into his bedroom. sarah was the one out of the two of you who talked to many guys. you kind of just stood idly by, a nervous look on your face as you bit your bottom lip and angled your head to look at the ground. you supposed rafe wasn't so bad, though.

after all, you practically grew up with the boy.

but that didn't make it any easier.

"so, uh, how's school?" he sniffed, inviting you into the room before shutting the door closed.

you'd been around sarah and her friends long enough to know that the smell swirling the room was weed. something you'd never so much as touched. the room also had a smell of some expensive cologne, the same one you often detected from rafe.

"it's okay." you offered, standing idly near his dresser, hands messing with the hem of your shirt. "what about you?"

a soft sort of smirk fell across his face. "i'm not in school anymore." he reminded you before taking a seat on the bed, taking something out from the beside table's drawer.

"i knew that, sorry." you felt your face flush. you hated this, always making yourself look silly when you spoke to rafe. it was why you avoided him in the first place. you wanted nothing more than to run out of the room to where you came from. but sarah was gone, meaning you had nobody to use as an excuse or a getaway.

you'd merely have to endure.

he didn't say anything, only offering a humorous huff from his lips.

"you mind?" your eyes trailed down to what was in his hands, the source of the smell you'd detected earlier. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

"oh, uhm." your eyes snapped up to meet his, head feeling floaty at the name. "i don't mind if you smoke. it's you're room."

again, he offered no response but continued to take out his pieces. he was currently in search of a lighter. "what are you standin' all the way over there for? sit down. i don't bite." but there was a quirk to his lips when he said it that made you think he did bite.

"sorry." you mumbled before shuffling to the bed to sit on the furthest edge you could.

you didn't miss the way rafe rolled his eyes. he looked back at you, studying your features. "split one with me?" he was testing the waters. he knew you enough to gauge assumptions about you. asking him? you didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't have sex. you were the type of girl who stayed in your friends bedroom reading a book while they snuck out to meet their boyfriend.

he wanted to see if you'd give in.

your eyes were watching his hands, the way he rolled paper between his fingers. "uhm, 've never smoked."

ding ding ding.

he cocked his head. "want to try?" he could see immediate panic flash across your features. in a way, it was exactly what he wanted. he wanted to soothe you into this, not for you to instantly kneel at his every command. he knew you weren't easy. "c'mon, baby, 's just me. promise i won't let anything happen to you."

"i don't know." you shook your head slightly.

you were no stranger to the names he used on you. he often spoke them in a soft yet playful voice, especially around sarah. you just thought he liked seeing his sister get angry, tossing a pillow his way and telling him to stop treating you like one of his 'notches on his belt' but if he was only keen on making sarah angry, then why was he calling you such things while you were alone, sarah nowhere in sight?

"how long have you known me?" since you were very, very young. "one can't hurt. you trust me?" you slowly nodded, eyes still wavering to his hands. "so what'do you say?"

you knew you shouldn't. if your parents ever found out, they'd kill you with their bare hands and rafe would be next in their death note journal.

but there was something about the way he was looking at you that had your stomach folding in two.

besides, you never did like upsetting people.

if you didn't say yes, rafe would think that you didn't like him. he would be upset that you'd be so mean to refuse such a kind offer.

so nonetheless, a small squeak of an "okay." left your lips.

"atta girl. c'mere." he gestured down and you blinked at him confusedly. was he asking you to sit in his lap? you swallowed thickly. "c'mere." he repeated, this time between a soft chuckle. he reached out for you, helping you to sit flush against his lap.

instantly, you swore you had never been so red in your life.

your eyes were all wide and embarrassed, cheeks flaming red hot while you tucked your bottom lip under your top one again. a habit you supposed you'd die with. to say you were shocked to feel his hand against your face was an understatement. his thumb pulled at your lip from between your teeth, securing it away from harm. "don't do that." he mumbled. "you know how to take a pull?"

awkward and embarrassed were two words you swore were forgetting their meaning. this was above and beyond that. "you just... suck, right?" you squirmed in his lap at your own words.

"inhale, sweetheart." he moved the rolled blunt up to your lips. "open." you complied and he stuck it between the two, lifting the lighter to set the top to a low burn. "don't try to keep it in, 'kay?"

you nodded, inhaling the blunt and finding a strange sensation fill your mouth.

you'd never smoked a cigarette before, much less a blunt.

it was a weird feeling but you did what he said, you didn't try to keep it in. you moved the blunt from your lips with your fingers and didn't feel the need to couch heavily. you just blew the smokey air back out.

"good girl." the soft pads of his fingers trailed softly against your bare thighs below your sleep shorts. you felt your stomach do flips at the praise. "did so well. you sure you haven't done this before?"

you nodded with a slight giggle. "'m sure."

you watched as he lifted the blunt to his lips, taking a drag, then another. he didn't seem as phased as he did. "mm, don' know if i believe you on that one, princess."

"i haven't!" your hips gently reached up against his own. "swear." before simmering back down.

he lifted the blunt to your lips. this time, he didn't need to tell you to part your mouth, you just did it. "cross your heart 'n hope to die?"

he was staring at you so intently that you swore you'd never seen anyone's eyes so vividly, never been more interested in the squiggles of blue in someone's iris or the way his pupils slowly began expanding.

all you could offer was a slow nod as he watched you take another inhale of the blunt, eyes suddenly now steady on your lips, watching you stain the end of the paper pink with lipgloss.

a smirk fell on his lips as he leaned back onto the headboard. one minute, you were too shy to leave sarah's room, now you were sitting on his lap, smoking a blunt with him.

rafe merely had a way with women.

"so what, you feel like 'm corrupting you yet?" his steady smirk and sly hand trailing up your thigh.

a giggle passed your lips as you shook your head. "no."

he hummed. "plenty of time for that." you weren't too sure what he'd meant, though you hadn't actually asked him either.

it didn't take long for you to get high. rafe realised this within less than a few minutes. your pupils had turned wide, eyes gone glassy and suddenly you couldn't stop licking your already wet lips. you were staring at him, a little too much, not that he was complaining. he'd spent too long waiting for you to shyly meet his eye. with the weed in your system, you couldn't seem to look away.

"can i ask you something?" his voice was low, hardly a whisper as he spoke now, as if afraid he'd awake something and the room would turn to dust, the moment would fade from his memory and this moment would dissappear.

"uh-huh." you were busy looking at him, downright gawking. your eyes were shamelessly staring right at his lips.

he wasn't as buzzed as you. but to be honest, he'd been doing this a long time before you. "have you ever been kissed?"

it was his turn for his eyes to advert to your lips. all glossy and wet. for the thousandth time, your tongue peaked out, wetting them again before biting your bottom lip.

he couldn't get you to stop biting it, no matter how hard he tried.

he'd merely have to train you, when the time came.

"mm-mm." you shook your head at him. finally, your eyes broke from his lips and looked up at his eyes. he could see now, how truly buzzed you were. your eyes were all red and glassy, it was almost as if he could feel you floating. you tilted your head at him. "are you gonna kiss me?"

his hands ran up and down against your skin. "do you want me to?" a hesitant nod followed his question. "say please." pulling the blunt up to his lips for another drag. it was almost out now.

it was a mindless tease but he felt you squirm in his lap again. "please, rafe." voice but a whiney murmur.

he blew the smoke out from his lips and watched it fall into your own parted mouth.

your eyes fluttered shut and he didn't give you a chance to think, his lips replacing the smoke. his were hungry, your's were soft, inviting. and he took the invite as soon as it'd been handed to him. his hand ran up your back, shoving your body as close to his own as he could. he wanted the heat to envelope him, wanted your skin against his own. wanted so badly to rip off every piece of clothing that tainted you. wanted you to be his for the taking.

but the way you suddenly pulled back, those doey, bloodshot eyes and fearful voice murmuring the words, "you're not gonna tell sarah, are you?" told rafe exactly what he already knew.

he need to be patient with you. take his time unravelling you until there was nothing left.

he shook his head, fingers soft against your face, running across your cheek.

"don't worry, sweetheart, your dirty secret's safe with me."

[entitled-fangirl]

Fatherhood.

Single father!Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: the reader comes across a young boy. It seems the boy's worried father becomes quite taken with her.

A/n: He's got cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man 👀

Part 2

Masterlist

..........................................

She gasped when something grabbed her leg. 

The lady looked down to see a small boy, no older than two, holding her leg tightly. "Oh."

She ran a hand over the boy's hair as she looked around for someone, anyone in the crowd—his parents or her guard. Neither were in sight, it seemed. 

So she managed to pry him away enough to bend down to his level. 

"Where are your parents?" She whispered to him. 

When he didn't answer, she brushed his hair back from his forehead. "That's alright. We'll find them, yeah? They must be missing you fearsomely. What is your name?"

The boy stared with watery eyes. 

"Well," the lady continued, "Will you let me help you?"

The boy managed a nod and accepted the hug she offered him. 

She thanked the merchant that she had been speaking to and picked up the boy, now focusing her attention on the people rather than the goods they were selling. 

Darkish hair, she assumed from the boy's looks. Someone with blue eyes. Surely he was precious to someone.

"Hey," she lightly reprimanded when he tucked his face into her neck. "I need you to look for them. I don't know what…" Her voice trailed off. The boy was tired and scared and she could hardly blame him.

She roamed the long street once over, just looking for someone that lost their child. A worrisome mother or a stern father. But nothing. 

She sighed, rubbing the boy's back, "Father won't like this."

She continued on as before, shopping lightly with the boy in her arms. Her heart was warmed by the soft snores that came from his small body.

She walked down the cobble road, noticing a guard whose eyes lit up at the sight of her. It sent her on edge. She turned the other way. 

Another guard was coming from that direction. She froze. 

Trying another way, she tried to use the crowd to manage around them, but was met with another guard, quite literally running into him. She backed up in fear, her free hand over the boy's head as if she could protect him. 

"Hand over the boy, my lady."

They looked so angry. "N-No." She tried to display confidence but that's hardly what she accomplished. "Whatever the boy did, I can pay for-"

"My lady!" Her guard's voice came through. 

Her guard, Ser Marten, pushed through the guards and the crowd that seemed to not even notice the chaos that was happening. 

He pulled an arm around her. "Are you alright, my lady?"

She nodded and looked at the other guards. Her eyes flitted down to the sigil that laid on their cloaks. 

Stark. 

She feared Lord Stark was more cruel than she made him out to be, having three grown men chase down a small boy. 

"I won't ask again. Hand over the boy," one of the guards tried again.

"Ser," Ser Marten tried to ease. "Whatever the boy has done can be paid-"

The guard behind her reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. 

Ser Marten's eyes widened, and he pulled his sword from its sheath. "Unhand her."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" A loud voice echoed through the street. 

The crowd practically split in two as the great Lord Cregan Stark ran to them. "Where-" He paused. "You've found him, my lady?"

Her brow furrowed. "W-What?"

"Unhand her and go," Cregan barked at the guards. "And you," he ordered Ser Marten, "Do sheath your sword. I'll not have violence on my streets."

Ser Marten blinked and did as he said. 

"You may go as well."

Marten looked between the two, only stepping back at the sight of his lady's nod. 

With him gone, she felt vulnerable. 

Cregan held his arms out, expecting her to hand him the boy. 

She turned away from him out of instinct, shielding the boy. "I-"

He frowned. "My lady." He extended his arms further. 

"Whatever he's done, my lord, I can pay for. I am not the richest and I hardly know what House Stark would want, but I can try. Please, don't hurt him."

Cregan's mouth opened in a reaction of shock. He tilted his head. She was more than meets the eye. "My lady, I am only a worried father. Please."

A feeling of embarrassment filled her stomach. "Oh." She pulled the boy out in her arms, seeing that, indeed, the Sigil of house Stark laid on the boy's chest. "Oh, forgive me!"

Cregan took his son with caring hands, careful not to wake him. "Oh, my boy," he sighed as he held him close to his chest. "Gods, I've never felt fear like this." He closed his eyes, not caring if he seemed weak for a moment. He was a terrified father and he wasn't afraid to seem it.

"Do forgive me, my lord. I-I didn't not realize-"

"-You did not realize that you held my future, the future of the North, in your arms?" He let out a breath of a laugh. "I owe you greatly." He looked down at the sigil on her cloak. "Lady Bolton? Are you Lord Bolton's new wife?"

She flushed. "No. NO. I am his daughter." She smoothed down her skirt in embarrassment. 

"Ah, forgive me. I thought his second wife was young. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"You weren't," she assured. "She's not much my elder. An honest mistake."

"But you are still of House Bolton? Unmarried, I mean?" He asked.

"Yes, as of the current time, yes."

He nodded with the information. "Strange to see a childless woman with such motherly instincts. He seemed quite content with you."

"He was quite frightened to be alone."

Cregan hummed. "Let me reward you. You've protected my boy and returned him to me."

"No, I couldn't-"

"-Nonsense. It's the very least I could do."

She watched the boy stir in the large man's arms. His tiny hand gripped Cregan's fur cloak tightly, as if finally feeling the full comfort of his home again. "Knowing I've done you a service is gratitude enough for me."

"Please." He looked around. "Are you alone, my lady? Surely I would have heard of Lord Bolton's arrival before this."

She nodded. "I come to the market every few months. This is the only place I've found dried lavender. Father says I have an obsession," she laughs. "Perhaps so. But I'm old enough now of course to journey alone. With my guard."

"And have you found it this time?" 

"Hmm?"

"The lavender?"

"Oh. Um," she looks around. "No, I haven't."

Cregan sighs. "That's a shame. Are you sure you won't accept a reward?"

She smiles. "Truly. I am sure." She reached out to brush the boy's hair, but stops herself when she realizes how inappropriate that is now that she knows it's Stark's son. "G'day, Lord Stark."

He stops her before she can turn to leave. "Lady Bolton. Do I get a first name?"

"Y/n."

He repeats it, as if committing it to memory. "Good day, my lady. I won't forget your kindness."

…

Cregan was honest about that. He didn't forget her kindness.

…

"My lady."

Her handmaiden interrupts her quiet time. 

"There's a gift for you, my lady."

Her eyes lit up. "What? From who?"

"I'm not sure. Shall I bring it in?"

She nodded and watched the woman disappear for a moment before reappearing with a small cloth sack.

She took the bag with nimble fingers, pulling it open. 

Dried Lavender. 

A small letter laid inside, sealed with wax, but no sigil.

A small gift to represent my gratitude.  - A relieved father

She let out a breath. How thoughtful of him to scour the market for this, even after she was unable to find it. 

"Who is it from, my lady?"

"Just a man I helped back in Winterfell."

"Well, how thoughtful."

Yes, she thought, Cregan Stark was quite the thoughtful man.

…

Cregan sat at his council meeting, his boy, Rickon, sitting in his lap, tapping his wooden horse against the table as he played with it. The northern lord hardly noticed the sound at this point, the boy's antics becoming second nature to him. 

"I agree, my lord," one of his councilmen spoke, "perhaps that would be best for the North."

A servant interrupted. "Forgive me, my lord. But it's a letter."

Cregan's mind snapped as he looked up. "Is it? Hand it here."

The servant walked it over to him and dismissed himself.

Cregan's fingers brushed over the wax. 

The Bolton sigil. 

He could practically feel his hands shake as he opened it.

My heart is lightened at the news of your relief.  I thank you for your gift. It was more gracious than I fear I deserved. I'll remain in awe of how you managed to find exactly what I had failed to.  My house, my father, and I as well, remain loyal to you.  - Y/n Bolton

"My lord?" One of the men asked lightly.

Cregan looked up from the letter.  "Write urgently to Lord Bolton. I have an offer."

Cregan tutted lightly when Rickon reached out for the letter. "Easy, son. This is your father's keepsake."

…

My dear lady,  I fear writing yet another letter to you may be deemed inappropriate to some, but they do not understand the kinship we share.  My son grows by the day, and still, I remember the day you and I met so starkly.  Take this gift, and dare I ask that you think of me when you wear it. - A content father

The bottom of the letter was all scribbles and scratches from the quill, no doubt something that his son had added. It made her heart warm, like perhaps maybe the babe was trying to say something to her as well.

Her eyes wandered to the dress that he had gifted. A Stark blue. She thought it perhaps a bit too bold for the man, but she wouldn't deny his wishes. 

Her father may question it, but he couldn't refuse such a thing. 

She took out a quill.

…

I am starting to believe that you have overdone your gratitude. I fear as a young lady, I have not much to give, but perhaps it is true that the thought of a gift is greater than the price or amount of the object itself. I find that this specific type of fabric strips make for wonderful ties for the hair. I mean no harm, but I did notice the way you grew annoyed at the hair in your eyesight when we met.  I'm going to send this now before I realize the intent of my actions and grow embarrassed.  Do tell your son I enjoyed his drawings per your last letter. - Y/n Bolton

Cregan held the fabric strips in his hand, rubbing the soft material. 

How ink on a page could make his heart feel alive, he wasn't sure.

…

Cregan spent the next two days in contemplation. 

While he wanted to immediately write her back, he knew that he should wait. The letter to her father surely arrived at that point, and he didn't wish to seem overly hasty.

But when another letter from her arrived, he almost ripped it in earnest to view its contents.

I fear our letters must come to an end.  My father had spoken of a marriage proposal and it seems quite unladylike to be writing such letters. Though we two know of our kinship, I fear it is unfair to my future betrothed.  Please forgive me, and know that this was not of my choosing.  - Y/n

He paused at her lack of a last name. 

She wrote as if she had no idea. Her father hadn't told her the entire truth. 

He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands over his eyes. He wanted to ease her worries, tell her the truth, but it was not yet his place, and he was to wait for her father's response. 

But it ate at him. What if Bolton was truly marrying her to another? It made him sick. 

There was a sound in the doorway. 

Cregan looked up to see Rickon standing with his toy on ground, obviously fallen from his hand. He smiled at him, "Hello, son."

Rickon took his time leaning down to get his horse, then took steps around the long table until he got to his father. 

Cregan waited patiently, not wanting to rush or correct his boy, but once Rickon was close enough, he reached out and held him up in the air. The little son's squeals filled him with joy. He brought him down to kiss the boy's cheek then set him on his lap to face him. "What have you been doing, my boy?"

Rickon set his horse on Cregan's chest, his attention enamored on it. 

The lord brushed his son's hair from his face with a longing look. "Think I'll get to hear that voice anytime soon?"

Rickon hit his horse against the man's chest, causing a sigh to come from his father. 

"Well, maybe eventually, hm?"

Everything sat in such uncertainty. He only hoped that it all worked out as he had planned it.

........................................

A/n: part 2

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[shrimpybbq]

season 4 pt1 with rafe, high school gf and their son!

rafe and high school gf who spread his dad’s ashes together. they’re on rafe’s boat together as he spreads the ashes, her arms wrapped around his waist comfortingly. he wouldn’t want anyone else to be with him for this moment

rafe is pretty content with hiring a babysitter to look after the kids when he wants to spend some time alone with his girl, and when he decides to compete at the enduro, he deems the day kid-free. no one would think the couple had two kids and a house together as they stood together on the beach, her hands brushing tenderly against the nape of rafe’s neck as he sat on his bike.

“You’ve got this baby, you know that? It’ll be a piece of cake,” she said, her voice quiet. This was a moment between the two of them, and no one else needed to hear. Rafe still disliked sharing intimate moments in public brazenly, but he still needed reassurance and love.

He nodded, bringing her closer to him as he placed a quick kiss against her lips. “I’m gonna win this for you, baby.”

rafe absolutely adores when he gets to bring his smokin’ hot wife out with him to the events on figure 8. he loves to let his girl get dressed up and all pretty (for him), knowing she sometimes felt frumpy after looking after their kids all day. they’re at the club when rafe starts yelling at a random girl, enraged by her comment about his dad. his wife now having to drag him away with the help of topper, her hands soothing over his chest to try and distract him. it had been really hard for him since his dad died, and he swore he’d only survived bc of his wife and kids.

the couple are at the club they frequent together when hollis speaks to rafe, who after their conversation was no longer paying attention to the older woman, instead focusing on the girl he suddenly tucked under his arm

“And who is this?”

“This is my wife,” Rafe said with a smirk, his arm wrapping around his girls shoulders, placing a quick kiss to the top of her head. At that, the older woman’s smile dropped minutely, quickly excusing herself.

“Who was she, baby?” His wife asked, watching as Rafe turned the business card over in his hand.

“Uhh.. the biggest realtor/cougar on the island.”

“Oh ok, sounds like just your type, huh?”

“Baby, nonono, why would I want a cougar when I have the hottest milf standing in front of me?”

Rafe shielded himself from her playful swats as she came closer, his arms wrapping around his wife’s frame easily and lifting her off the ground.

“Come on baby, you know you’re the only one I want.”

rafe talks about his business deals with his wife often, her lounging on the pool chair as he vents his frustrations. he felt she was the only person he could tell everything to, and she would provide him with advice and solutions that actually helped, not just telling him what he wanted to hear

their son is resting on the other pool chair, exhausted after playing in the pool for hours with his mother and father, whilst their daughter rested on her mother’s chest, sleeping after being fed

rafe feels all of his frustrations slip away when he’s with his children - their innocence and happiness making him feel much lighter

girl dad rafe! he loves charlie but there’s something about his little girl who looks so much like her mother, who adores him and always outstretches her chubby little fingers towards him, that makes rafe’s heart melt

he spoils his little girl more than he should, buying her all the little dresses and shoes and accessories a baby could ever need

rafe who asks his wife to teach him to braid so he can practice for when she’s older!!!!!

girl dad rafe training charlie to be protective over his sister and make sure he’s always by her side

rafe had been addicted to coke, and while he’d managed to give it up, he had replaced the coke with alcohol. high school gf notices and does her best to reduce his intake, but truthfully, after seeing how difficult is was for rafe to stop the coke, she knew that this was probably the best she would get for a while. still, he doesn’t escape without a raised eyebrow when he goes to get another drink from the fridge

topper who knows never to talk bad about rafe’s girl - EVER. he made that mistake once and lived to regret it, having to lie to his parents that he fell from his bike. topper actually likes her now, and he gave himself the title of uncle topper to the cameron kids

as a husband, rafe is so handsy in public. he doesn’t care what people think about him anymore, so he lets himself squeeze and touch as much as he wants

beach time bby! i feel like honestly, rafe doesn’t like bringing his kids around the drunken kooks. they’re rowdy and rude, and rafe is trying to be better

so instead, he loves to take the family down to their private stretch of beach adjacent to the house, and relax and play with the kids. it’s so peaceful to him, and he truly feels content with his life in those moments. he’s got his hot as shit wife in a little bikini with their daughter tucked in her side, and little charlie is climbing all over rafe as he tries to get his father to throw him in the water again

oh he 100% helps his wife pick out her bikini that day, tying the tie for her, his hands roaming a little too much as she giggles in front of him

she had told him once that she felt insecure after having their children, her body a little different than it used to be. truth be told, rafe loved it. every time he looked at her body naked, fucked her or held her in his arms, he was reminded that she brought their children into the world. she gave him purpose and love

(he also likes that her tits are bigger from breastfeeding and loves to squeeze them whenever he can)

rafe is such a good dad bc he puts everything he has into being there for his children. they’re his entire world and everyone can see it

still, he needs frequent reassurance that he is nothing like the father his dad was, instead, he cares and nurtures his children

rafe discusses his plans to make amends with sarah with his wife, and she gives him strategies to try and talk to her (not that he tends to take them), but she also misses sarah

charlie who still asks for his aunty every now and then, making his mothers heart break. sarah hasn’t even met their daughter yet :(

when he makes the decision to do the deal with hollis, he does it for his family. he wants to look after them, and this deal would do that for them.

but when she hits on him, sensually touching his hand, he makes his priorities clear to the woman as he scoffs, pulling away from her

“I’m married…. And you know that - you even met her. I’m doing this deal for her, and for our family, so….”

rafe has problems but that man is so loyal, he actually couldn’t ever imagine wanting anyone else. he fought so hard and went through so much to keep his high school gf by his side and now he feels that she is the only person in the world who understands him fully. in his mind, it’s them against the world

click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

[emacrow]

Kronos and the art of trying to figure out standing, walking and modern clothes.

By the time the Justice league and Dark Justice got the cultists into custody. Diana and Zatanna being the only females heroines there at the moment to help Kronos stand on her two legs, help her walk and got a spare Robe to cloths her after making all the male heroes turn around after they both glare at them all, Zatanna magically braid Kronos's hair so it wouldnt dragged onto the dirty floor while Constantine who trying to drink himself into oblivion.

Danny was still completely in curled up baby koala cling in Clockwork's arms, watching with wide eyes, mouth gaping at Clockwork's otherwordly appearance.

"Close your mouth Danny, it's like you never seen me up close before." Kronos said to him while danny shut his mouth before opening it again, whispering a bit.

"You didn't tell me you look so pretty without that purple gown covering your hair." He quietly said, reaching his small hand out and up to pat the moving birthmarks marks of ancient clocks symbols and number shifting and morphing on her warm cheek, feeling the soft puff breath from him, Clockwork was alive and breathing..

Diana glanced a bit at the now two reborned Goddess of time and baby godling looking with wide eyed in pure amazement like at Kronos, even patting her cheek as if to see if she was really there. She, quickly wiped the side of her left eye from the tear forming, steel herself from the inevitable stray thought of godling child demised that obviously happen in Kronos's arms for her to held the child closer to her chest as if to shield him from harm.

Diana will have a lot of questions left unanswered once she sent a letter to her mother about whether the stories of Kronos were warped to the extreme to cover the fact the the God of Time and Space was actually a Goddess due to inequality back then.

First things to do was teach Kronos the modern time of language, women clothes, baby clothes and diapers and keep batman away from her little baby boy who was has the bat-bait of black hair with blue eyes who seemed to had died the same time as his mother by using Superman to distract him with cultists interrogating.

Diana could sympathetic when it come to learning the modern day language back when she used to speak ancient Amazonian and Dead Greek language, and modern bra..

Part 2 << >> Part 4

[luxaofhesperides]

the lost brother - damian

There is static in his ears.

There is a baby in his arms.

His niece. His niece from a brother dead before he was born. The daughter of Danyal, his mother's greatest regret, the ghost haunting his childhood, the brother he never got to have.

She is so small in his arms. Still. Quiet.

It frightens him, cradling such a fragile life in his arms. He's not good with most people, let alone a baby.

Danyal must have been truly desperate to leave her with him.

"Robin."

The voice makes the world come rushing back into place. Damian moves before he thinks, turning his body to shield his niece from danger, but it's only Red Robin standing before him. He stares, wide eyed, until Red Robin pushes his cowl back and Drake stands before him, expression carefully neutral. He doesn't look at the baby in Damian's arms. He only looks at Damian.

"Robin, come on. The Batmobile is right below us."

Damian hesitates, then follows Drake to the edge of the roof. He takes the fire escape down, landing carefully so he doesn't jostle the baby in his arms, and Drake grapples down a moment later, carefully maintaining the distance between them.

He knows it's to keep Damian from feeling trapped, and he's stupidly grateful, though he'll never say so.

The rest of the family will be a pain to deal with. They will demand answers he doesn't have, invade his space, insist on taking his niece from him. At least Drake is quiet and willing to observe without interference beyond getting them all home.

As promised, the Batmobile waits for them in the alley. Drake holds the door open and Damian slides in, adjusting his niece to make sure she's comfortable. She blinks up at him with dark blue eyes.

How strange. He had expected them to be green.

Drake drives them, speaking in short bursts into his comm. Damian brings a hand up to his own, realising rather belatedly that it's muted. Oracle must have grown annoyed at the barage of questions heading his way and silenced them for him.

He'll have to thank her later, once things have settled down.

For now, all his attention is on his little baby niece. What did Danyal say her name was?

Ellie.

Ellie Ellie Ellie.

She reaches up with a small hand, curious, and Damian offers a finger for her to latch on to. Her grip isn't strong, and her hand is small and barely warm.

He holds her closer for the rest of the ride home.

Father wants to take Ellie away for tests. Damian refuses to let go of her, going as far as leveling a sword at anyone who tries.

Drake is the only one who offers to only draw the barest minimum amount of blood for a DNA test, all while Damian holds her.

This, he accepts.

The others hover in his periphery, muttering amongst themselves, but Damian cares little for their thoughts and judgements. He was given Ellie for the sole purpose of caring for her. He will not fail in his duty. If it comes to it that he has to hide away with Mother for the rest of them to calm down, then he will. Surely she'll want to be involved with her granddaughter.

He'll have to tell her about Danyal, anyways.

Father stays at the computer, watching as the results load. He does not look away from the screen to even greet Ellie.

Damian pushes down his bitterness. He knows well the kind of man Father is, now. This is expected of him.

It's Richard that stays by him, hurrying across the Cave with an armful of diapers and baby clothes.

"I wasn't sure what to get, so I got a bit of everything," he explains, setting everything down on the cot where Damian sits with Ellie. Richard cut his patrol short as soon as Danyal left and made an emergency run to the nearest store with baby supplies, pulling sweatpants and a jacket over his Nightwing suit. The collar of the suit peeks out from beneath his jacket, and Damian is sure that it's only the late hour that kept anyone from asking too many questions while Richard was shopping.

"Thank you," Damian mutters. He sets Ellie down carefully, and she blinks up at him with tired eyes. Her face is round with baby fat, but not by much. "How do I…?"

"I think I know how to change a diaper," Richard offers, already pulling a fresh one out of the pack. He gets a small pack of baby wipes out of his pocket and quickly undoes the diaper on Ellie, wiping her down. Damian watches carefully, committing each step to memory as Richard changes her diaper and makes sure she's comfortable.

They're all out of their depths, Damian realizes. Have any of them actually cared for a baby? Pennyworth might have had some idea, and though he died a few years ago, the loss of him aches sharply even now.

"We'll have to figure out how old she is before we get any food for her," Richard murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger against her cheek. His eyes are soft, sad, and Damian lets out a slow breath, relived to know he can trust Richard with Ellie. "What happened?"

It's the question everyone's been asking him, and Damian has refused to answer each time.

But he will answer Richard.

"I saw a person on the edge of the roof as I patrolled. I went down to bring them to safety. He was… I had an older brother who died before I was born. But I know what he looks like. It was him, on that roof."

"You think he came back to life?"

"He must have. He was placed in a Lazarus Pit, but Mother said it didn't bring him back. Perhaps it just took time."

"What made you think it was him, if you've never met him?"

Damian thinks back. The man on the roof was a few years older than Drake, thin and worn-down. His eyes caught Damian's attention first; al Ghul's have very distinctive eyes, and it seems they both inherited that trait from Mother. Beyond that…

Lazarus Pits have magic in them. They wouldn't be able to do what they did without it. Those revived by Lazarus Pits carry some of it with them; it's not Pit Rage, which fades within an hour, but something else that leaves them on the boundary of inhuman. Damian grew up around the Pits and people who used them. He knows what the magic of the Pits feels like, and he could feel it in Danyal.

"I just knew," Damian answers. "Should Mother ever meet him, she'll be able to tell you the same thing: that was Danyal. And this is his daughter."

"Do you know why he left his daughter with you?"

"He asked if Batman was a good father. If I was safe here. Only then did he give Ellie to me."

"He could have stayed to," Richard says, sadness coloring his tone.

Damian doesn't respond. What could he say? Yes, Danyal could have stayed and joined them. He chose not to, for whatever reason. They have not found him yet, and Damian doubts they will find him any time soon.

Danyal is the first son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne. He will not be found until he wants to be.

Damian will have to wait until then.

The DNA results come back after eight rounds of testing.

Ellie is indeed Damian's niece.

The closest matches to her in the database are Damian and Bruce, which all but confirms that Danyal is indeed the first blood son of the Bat.

Father stares down at Ellie with an unreadable look on his face. He doesn't try to hold her; Damian doesn't know if he should be grateful for this or not.

"I have another son," he says. "And neither you nor your mother ever told me."

"He was dead," Damian answers, "What use would a dead child be to you? Even I never met him until tonight. He was gone long before I was born."

"He's still my son!"

"He's a stranger," Damian bites back. "Why do you pretend to care now? He has never been a part of our lives before. You won't even hold his daughter."

Father flinches back, just slightly, but it's enough to know that the barb hit. Damian gathers Ellie up into his arms and heads for the stairs. "I will be going to sleep now. Ellie will stay with me. You are welcome to stay down here to search for Danyal, or you can get some rest to join me in shopping for Ellie. I will call Mother. Good night."

The others don't have the decency to wait until he's completely out of the Cave before they begin shouting amongst themselves. Damian clicks his tongue and looks down at Ellie, who's sleeping peacefully.

"Let's hope you grow up to have more sense than them," he says to her.

He lays her on top of the blankets, then curls up next to her. It's a long time before he's able to fall asleep.

Mother calls first thing in the morning. Damian's barely had time to brush his teeth before his phone is ringing, and he has to rush to catch it before the call ends.

"Is it true?" she demands as soon as he answers, "Was it Danyal?"

Damian bites back a curse. He said he'd call her. It would have been best if he had been the one to break the news, rather than anyone else, but it doesn't surprise him that no one listened.

"It's true," he says. "Danyal was in Gotham last night. He left his daughter in my care before disappearing. I was unable to speak to him more."

"How can that be," she says, breathless, "It's been decades since his death. The Lazarus Pit never returned him to me."

"It was him. That's all I know."

There's a pause as his mother gathers her composure. Then she says, "I will be in Gotham in a week. I will not be kept out of my granddaughter's life."

"I will make sure we have a room ready for you."

"Good. Take care, habibi."

The call ends without any other fanfare. Damian drops his head with a sigh and tosses his phone back onto his desk.

On his bed, Ellie is sitting up, watching him curiously.

"You and your father have caused a lot of trouble already," he tells her, and she claps her hands together.

When he goes downstairs, he immediately makes note of Drake and Brown's presence with displeasure. His hopes for a quiet morning are dashed before he even reached the kitchen.

"There you are!" Brown says far too loudly. She bounds up to him, ignoring his scowl, and peers at Ellie. "Hm, I'd guess around nine to eleven months, accounting for FTT and some malnutrition."

"FTT?" he repeats.

"Failure to thrive. If infants aren't care for properly, which includes cuddling, then they just… don't grow as they should. They end up smaller and weaker than is expected for their age."

"I imagine she was not taken care of properly, wherever she was before. She wouldn't have been left with me otherwise."

Brown looks troubled, but she blinks it away and smiles when Ellie reaches up to grab at her nose. "Hello there," she says in a soft voice, "I'm your favorite aunt. Don't forget that, alright! I'm your favorite."

Damian pushes her away. "She has no favorites."

"Not yet, but it'll definitely be me when she does!"

"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?"

"No. But, in all seriousness, me and Tim are here to help. He gave me a rundown and what happened and I still have a bunch of stuff from my pregnancy classes that can help you. We also got some baby food and milk and formula for the baby, since she'll need to eat and be burped. I can walk you through all of that so you can start getting some experience in baby care."

Ah. He had forgotten that Brown had once been pregnant. That she gave away her own baby.

It must be hard for her to be on the other end of that situation, to watch someone take in a baby whose parent couldn't properly care for her, to muster up a smile and all the information she has to make things better.

"I would… appreciate that, Brown."

"Good! Well, lesson one starts now."

She throws open the door to the kitchen, where Drake is pressing the tip of a feeding bottle against the inside of his wrist. "Come here," he says to Damian. "Hold out a hand."

Curious, Damian does as told, and watches as Drake pressed the warm tip of the bottle against his wrist, where liquid splots out onto his skin. "That's about how warm it should be when you feed her. Here." He presses the bottle into Damian's hands, and it takes some adjustment before he can feed Ellie, who starts off slowly, then with more energy.

Brown tosses a rag over his shoulder, and instructs him on how to burp Ellie once she's finished eating. She coughs up some formula, then settles back into his arms, eyes closing as she begins to doze.

"I'll handle shopping," Drake says. "You need a crib, right? Maybe some toys… Just text me a list, I'll get everything."

"Why are you doing all this?" Damian can't help but ask. "We are not exactly… close."

Drake blinks at him, as though he's confused. "Because a baby is a big responsibility. And just because we don't always get along doesn't mean we're not family. She's my neice too. Doesn't she deserve to have more people in her corner?"

Damian can't argue with that, so he nods and lets Drake go to buy whatever he thinks is necessary. Brown lingers in the kitchen, making breakfast for them both in between sneaking glances at Ellie. Usually being watched so obviously would have him on edge and snappy, but he understands the urge to keep looking; he also can't take his eyes off of Ellie.

For someone so small to go through such hardship already… he doesn't understand how anyone can look at her and not want to keep her safe.

He wonders if anyone is keeping Danyal safe.

As much as he wants to go after Danyal, search for his resurrected brother, Ellie takes priority.

She's the one who's here to stay, after all.

Father doesn't come up from the Batcave all day.

Damian tries not to hate him for it.

He doesn't think he succeeds.

(masterpost for all parts)

[macheriee]

𝒜pocalypse ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⌗ everyone knew the boy’s father was lord commander of the city watch, that much was apparent. to your mother he was another insult to the throne, to you he was just the bastard, until he wasn’t.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 tags enemies to lovers, hate-fucking kinda, aunt-nephew incest, targaryen-hightower!reader, TW: dub-con (oc struggles w/ accepting she got the hots for jace) call it horny guilt lmao but the first encounter is very much dubious but she gives in, lust at first sight, domesticity, fingering, pussy-eating, jace is low-key a simp/sub, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, impact play(?), breeding kinks cause it’s HOTD, rough sex, oc is mean asf at first, happy but angsty ending, light to medium angst, pregnancy mention, kinda canon it lowkey follows ssn 2 n some of 1 but not by a lottt (ex. mentioned scenes/flashbacks), oc n jace have been aged up (20), tweaked a few things to make sense so not completely canon, slow-burn ish but then it’s just fast burn lmao, curly-headed!jace 4ever, TW: oc has a panic attack

ᯓᡣ𐭩 word count 10.7k

your lips my lips, apocalypse..

“Bastards,”

You’ve heard the strange term tumble from your mother and grandsire’s lips the day king Viserys brought forth princess Rhaenyra’s children. They each stood mockingly with their dark unruly curls and equally colored eyes, an uncanny resemblance to the city watch commander.

The truth of it was they were no true Velaryon, nor Targaryen—but a Strong. You wondered if Rhaenyra felt shame the way they came out with their plain features, mayhaps not as your mother said the princess was as stubborn as her dragon mount.

From the start Jacaerys was an aggravating little thing to look at as children when you both clung to your mother’s skirts. His eyes were filled with curiosity as were yours before Alicent found herself shielding you from his sight like she was afraid he’d sully you.

It was clear she had zero desire for her children to associate with Rhaenyra’s much to the king’s dismay (but when has father ever cared?) Your mother hardly kept you out of her sight and if it wasn’t her you were accompanied by your siblings, a handmaid, or Cole.

You never lacked in needing “friends” and grew fine without their company as you had Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. Occasionally you saw Jacaerys and his brother running about like little savages in the halls but you’re pulled away by a Septa just short of crossing paths.

Jacaerys was the one who intrigued you the most. It might have been age but you didn’t understand why it was so bad? What had Jacaerys done for your mother to forbid you from speaking with him? He was a bastard, yes, but what did it exactly have to do with you?

Jace—Jacaerys, wasn’t a threat. You had no throne nor a title of some sorts to claim; there was nothing to your name, so why?

As children during joint lessons there were timid but not so secret glances exchanged. Mostly curiosity but it was something both Cole and your brothers disapproved of, especially Aemond who had come to Helaena’s chambers angry after a lesson in the dragon pits with Aegon and Rhaenyra’s sons.

Eventually they left for Dragonstone, never to be seen again until a day before your tenth name day when you’re called to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral. Why you were called upon such a thing you don’t know, nor care really as you hadn’t known the lady much.

The entire event was a waste—your brother was maimed, the king being the king chose his eldest’s side and the family further divided. Alicent wept and mourned Aemond as Rhaenyra’s bastards would have your brother’s eye. You looked at Jacaerys in anger, resentment, and frustration.

Who was responsible, you don’t care, what angered you was the fact that they paraded their entitlement so freely and shamelessly. Rhaenyra could have outright said she wanted Aemond’s head and your father would still find a way to make excuses for her. (Maybe even give her what she wanted.)

That was the last you ever saw of him before leaving for Kings Landing to resume life without them. You found it much more enjoyable without your half-sister and her family around, in fact you’d rather it stay that way forever.

On occasion you found yourself thinking of your nephew. The memories clung to the walls leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, one in particular haunting:

You and the king stood together atop the balcony watching as Ser Cole trained with the princes—including Rhaenyra’s sons. It was clear Cole favored your brothers evident in the way he praised one side but barked orders (or completely ignored) at the other.

“They’ll make fearsome knights, don’t you think?” Your father turns to you with a gentle smile, his tone warm but distant.

“Possibly, if Aegon ever decides to leave his cups.” You fall into silence shortly after.

You never knew what to say to your father having been so distant and neglected it felt like you didn’t know him at all. You tolerated him at best and affection was out of the question leaving you with nothing, just mere acquaintances.

The king chuckles quietly and his mouth parts to speak with his Hand but Jacaerys interrupts with his angry cry as he charges forward at Aegon. Your lips part in surprise and out of the corner of your eye you see Ser Harwin circling, watching.

Aegon uses the straw dummy to avoid Jacaerys. He’s quick to corner the smaller, kicking Jacaerys down in the process.

“Don’t let him get up.” Cole barks which spurs the commander into action.

You watch in amusement as Cole is beaten to a bloody pulp by the bastard’s father. The king turns with concern, given this was no sight for a lady, “Why don’t you go and see if your mother needs something, perhaps your sister?”

You bow in courtesy, escorted away by your sworn shield but your mother’s apartments aren’t the place you’ll be going, no, you want to watch this mess play out a little longer.

“I wish to see my brothers.” You command softly, already walking towards the training grounds even if your knight was willing or not.

They’re pulling Harwin off when you step foot outside, Jacaerys and his brother huddle close while your older brother in particular looks both amused and bored of the entire ordeal already. No doubt still pissy about being grabbed and promptly scolded by the king (‘Aegon!’) .

“Sister,” Aemond greets once you’ve joined him and Aegon.

“How were your lessons?” You quietly fuss over his messy tunic whilst checking for any bruising or cuts on his face, thankfully none.

Aemond responds in kind with Aegon loudly interrupting but you ignore him and his poor manners. You can’t help the way your eyes flit over him and his brother from across the yard, your gaze scrutinizing and judgemental like your queen mother often wore when she expressed her displeasure.

The little bastard actually rises to the challenge. “Jace!” You turn in time to see him advancing quickly, expression full of anger and accusation.

“Is there something you have to say?” Jacaerys glares.

You look over your shoulder with a cool expression, “I don’t have anything to say, what makes you think that?” It’s agitating having to explain yourself to him of all people.

“Because you look like you have something to say, so say it!” It’s comical the way his cheeks and entire face glow red from anger.

You slowly turned to Jacaerys with folded hands placed politely over your front (as the Septa and your mother taught you), “I was merely talking about how Strong the two of you were out here.”

This immediately draws the attention of Ser Harwin. His face easily betrays his emotions but you simply smile at the commander, “It’s a good thing they have the city watch commander to guide them, isn’t it?”

Challenging little cunt you were, Harwin forces a tight smile, “Indeed, princess.”

He doesn’t get to stay much longer as the guards begin pushing him in the direction of the castle, away from his two Strong boys. You were going to wipe the smug face off that bastard–

Aegon shoves Jacaerys first into the dirt, sending the poor boy flying back as Lucerys panics calling out for him. Lucerys charges with a wooden stick in hand, his face twisted in anger and fear as he swings for Aegon, “Let my brother go!”

You scoff and stick your foot out, tripping the boy as you swiftly place a foot over his back pressing down, “Dohaerās!”

You put more pressure with each passing second he squirmed and cried. “Get off of him!” Jacaerys shoves Aegon off and runs at you, pushing past Aemond knocking him down too in the process.

You turn in time to see a head full of dark curls charging, your father yelling for everyone to put an end to this nonsense. “Or what? You’re going to run to mommy and tell her what I said?”

He stops dead in his tracks when you stalk towards him with a predatory look in your eye, “What’s wrong? Not strong now are you?” You shove him harder, causing him to stumble over the wooden sword, “Better yet, why don’t you call for your father to come save you?”

Harwin stills by the doors and the entire yard grows silent. Jacaerys clenches his fists tightly, “Ser Laenor isn’t here.” He grits.

You lean closer, eyes meeting Ser Harwin’s over Jacaerys’ shoulder, “Is he?”

The ‘Velaryon’ stiffens and you can’t hide your grin, “I was merely joking, relax.” You finish softly pulling away.

Aemond is there holding his elbow out for you to take, the two of you (Aegon included) disappear into the castle passing by the commander. Aemond himself shoots Harwin a look before uttering loud and clear:

“Bastards.” No one corrects him.

You remember the outrage you and your brothers caused with Rhaenyra. She demanded justice—especially towards you after learning you pushed her Luke to the ground and commanded him like an animal. She pushed for a harsh punishment, hell-bent on it.

Alicent, who usually was spoken over by her husband and every other man in her life, for once refused. Your mother made sure of it that no one, not even the king, was to touch or harm you, fiercely defending you against your half-sister.

‘Over words? You wish to have my daughter flogged over an insult?’

Needless to say your mother had the last say after some unsavory words and threats were exchanged in the council room. As Rhaenyra passed you met her eyes briefly before Alicent covered you with her own body.

They left like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. You, Aegon, and Aemond stood over a balcony watching the ships sail and dragons pass overhead. It was as if they were never there to begin with.

It wasn’t always unpleasant you suppose but with age you slowly begin caring and thinking less and less about those Strong boys.

༺ ──────────── ༻

“There’s to be a petition in court.” Your mother solemnly mumbles from her place by the open windows, she’s in one of her moods again and you wish no part of it. Was it Aegon who went and managed to piss her off for the umpteenth time?

You barely look up from the embroidery you’re working on (it’s a beetle for Helaena who has been feeling blue these days), “A petition for what?”

Alicent turns to you with a melancholic look on her face, she’s smiling but it falls short and her somber mood once again returns. “Nothing of importance my sweetling.” She lifts her skirts to take a seat beside you on the floor, “What are you working on?”

“A beetle, for Helaena.” As you’re showing her the doors to your rooms open and a handmaiden stands by with a soft ‘Prince Aemond, your grace,’

“Mother, y/n.” Aemond greets as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, leg crossed over his other. “For Helaena?” He murmurs, leaning down to get a better look.

You speak amongst quiet whispers while Alicent watches, content to see her two children together. “Mother, the petition does it have anything to do with Rhaenyra and her sons?”

Aemond, who had taken the embroidery to try for himself, stops in his tracks. Alicent feared she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, especially not with you two being so perceptive all the time. Her prolonged silence was enough answer anyway.

“Yes,” she finally relents, “Lord Corlys’ younger brother wishes to challenge Lucerys’ claim for Driftwood.”

Her tone is hesitant and careful, she looks at Aemond when she says his name. She’s treading carefully with her third born knowing he was particularly sensitive when he got angry.

“By extension the rest of her I presume?” You reach for a lemon cake mumbling to Aemond (‘Share one with me… I said to split it, not have it all.’—‘I did.’)

With the king bed-ridden nearing death and his first born off at Dragonstone, there was no need to hold your tongue. “Her claim will be questioned, as will her first born and second,” Aemond adds.

“I worry sometimes,” Alicent finally says, silence following, “for you, Helaena, Aegon—the children.” You know exactly what she means to tell.

“I do believe Helaena has been in need of some company. You may leave me, I have Aemond.” You reach for her hands and gently squeeze, “I will catch up with you two, yes?”

Alicent studies your face in worry before settling on brushing a few stray hairs out of your face, “Alright, I will see you.” She lays a gentle kiss over your head and rises to her feet.

Once the doors slam shut you finally release the sigh you’ve held in through the entire conversation with half a mind to ask for a bath to soothe your oncoming headache. “Seems our dear nephews will be arriving on the morrow.” He comments.

“Hm, seems so.” You’re not entirely sure how you feel, are you supposed to feel anything?

Things were different now you suppose, your hatred died down over the years without their insulting presence. You didn’t like them either, merely tolerated the idea of them.

Then there was the great Jacaerys Velaryon, future of the realm and heir to the throne, the same boy who plagued your dreams and memories all these years.

And he was to be here tomorrow, the first since Lady Laena’s funeral (which you had believed to be the last time you would ever have to see him).

“You’re free to speak plainly sister, we’re in private, we don't have to keep pretending.” Aemond mutters, head lolling in your direction as he stares at you.

You tilt your head, “And what would you have me say? That I’m looking forward to their little visit?”

“What excuse will it be this time? I don’t think she can easily sway the people with the evidence right there in plain sight,” he hums.

The more you think about her and her children coming here into your home tainting it all over again—you grow furious.

“Help me up will you? I think I’ll take a bath and meet you with mother.” You hope it will be enough to curb your anger for now.

Aemond holds you upright and levels you with a stare, “Something’s bothering you.”

“Well, yes–”

“Not them.” Aemond replies quietly and for a second you still.

You gently stroke the side of his face, watching as Aemond leans into your touch with a closed eye, “I’m fine,” you murmur, “now go.”

Luckily Aemond’s just as sweet on you and Helaena as he is stubborn and observant. He lets it go (thankfully) and you’re left alone to think about tomorrow. You could easily feign sickness or escape to the Sept (you were due for a prayer anyways) but mother would never let you as much as she would like to—your grandsire’s word evidently still strong over her.

You soak in the boiling hot tub, enjoying the steam delicate scents from the oils you regularly use. “That’s a problem for another day,” you find yourself murmuring to no one in particular as you sink further into the tub, eyes slipping shut.

༺ ──────────── ༻

You had done your best to carry on with your duties the following morning.

Nearly an hour had passed since you sat around staring at your reflection instead of allowing the handmaids to dress you. By this hour you’d be with your mother and Helaena in the gardens. Your absence however prompts the queen to come searching.

“What’s wrong?” Alicent whispers sitting beside you on the bed with worry etched on her brow as she gently moves your hair from your shoulder, “y/n?”

You place your hand over hers, “Braid my hair, like when I was child?” You hold the brush out for her to take.

She has you sit on the floor in front of her, gently combing the hair brush through your soft locks handling each strand of hair with care. The two of you fall into comfortable silence (save for her soft humming). All of your frustrations quickly lift off your shoulders the more you sink into her gentle caring touch.

“The dress is beautiful, when did you have this tailored?” Alicent comments softly, it was no secret to anyone that she saw herself in her youngest daughter—dutiful, composed, a good daughter.

The only difference was you had freedom she never did. While she had been made a child bride by her own father, you remained an unwed maiden at the age of twenty by choice. Alicent didn’t push for proposals and Otto knew better than to try and meddle with you like he had with Aegon and Helaena.

(‘Aemond had it made for me, Helaena has one in blue.’—‘The fabric, I don’t believe we have that around here do we?’) Your doors open and your drunken (maybe hungover) brother comes stumbling gracelessly.

“Well don’t you look darling.” He comments under his breath and saunters over to where you sit, falling flat on his back with his head in your lap.

“Aegon.” Alicent warns as she starts on another braid.

You look down and flick his forehead, “You smell of wine, and you're going to dirty my dress.” Despite the annoyance you still comb your fingers through his hair affectionately.

Aegon snorts unceremoniously, “Is it a crime to visit my sister now? My very beautiful sister—do say, when are you going to choose a husband? You’re past the age, and well nearly every lord in the realm’s been asking for your hand.” He smirks slyly knowing very well the topic of marriage angered the shit out of you.

“Aegon that’s enough, stop pestering your sister.” Alicent sighs heavily.

Your eyes flick over to the wine pitcher in your maid’s hands, the threat clear. A harmless grin forms on his face, one you can’t help but mirror teasingly as the two of you settle in silence as to not disturb your mother with children’s banter. You left that for your niece and nephew to do.

“There,” Alicent shows you through the mirror, “do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you.” You leaned back to lay in her lap.

Normally she would frown at receiving such affections but because it was you she held her tongue, never truly bothered by any of it. She allows it for a little longer before gently patting your shoulder.

“I must go and see to it that preparations for our guests are going well my sweetlings. I will see you in court later.” She departs hastily.

“Have you eaten?” You ask Aegon, who shakes his head as you rise to your feet together, “I haven’t either.”

Rhaenys and her granddaughter are the first to arrive on dragonback, and then your dear half-sister with her entourage of children and Daemon.

‘Ha, so they really did it,’ Lady Laena hadn’t been dead for a week and these two had already frolicked around (the night at Driftmark, you’re sure the two figures on the beach were them).

No one had been there to receive them—you certainly didn’t bother, you doubt any of your siblings would. You’re outside in the yard watching Criston Cole train with Aemond again, your brother much more swifter than the knight in comparison to when he was a child.

There’s a proud smile on your lips when Aemond emerges victorious, looking your way with a grin. “Come to watch me?” He tilts his head.

“What does it seem like?” You muse softly after seeing that Aemond has garnered attention from other knights and maids, making a spectacle of his sparring in a outstandish way.

“It seems you want to spar with me,” he smirks.

“Daor.”

Aemond snorts, “Fine,” he picks his sword back up and points it to Cole, “again, I wish to win this next round in my sister’s honor.”

A handmaid is quick to bring you a chair, the sound of swords colliding once again filling the yard. Aemond’s eager to prove he’s surpassed Ser Criston and judging by the small crowd forming he’s eating the attention right up. You hear distant murmurs and whispers but pay no mind, it must’ve been the women from court again who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

“Just look at their hair..” One of them says.

Everyone knows, father, just look at them..

“Princess? Are you alright, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath in shock and anticipation the entire time.

The swords have stopped and everything goes still, Aemond stands with the tip of his blade pointed in your direction—not at you, but behind you. He had that crazed look in his eye again. You share a look and rise from your seat slowly.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” Your brother’s tone is cold with bitter hate.

Jacaerys stands dumbfounded and unable to form a response, you watch his (soft, plump) lips part but not a single sound comes.

“Nephews.” You quietly say with the tiniest of nods, “It’s been long hasn’t it? I take it the trip over was comfortable, was it not?”

Neither Lucerys nor Jacaerys answer at first with the younger curly-headed boy awkwardly muttering his response, very unbefitting of the next Lord of the Tides.

You barely spare him a look as you turn to Jacaerys, “Would you like me to show you your rooms? I’m sure they’ve been prepared already.”

“..We would appreciate it,” he finally replies, his voice no longer squeaky and high—rather low and suave, “seeing as there was no one to properly welcome us earlier.” His snarky response makes your skin crawl and your temper flare, but for appearances you reel yourself in.

“Apologies, nephews—it’s been a rather exhausting day preparing for the guests.” You force a polite smile.

He fixes you with a dark stare, his gaze dropping from your lips and then back up, “Mm.”

“Follow me,” you hum disappearing into the castle with the two Velaryon boys following close.

Neither one of you made an attempt to speak. What was there to talk about, they were practically strangers and you doubted Lucerys would’ve enjoyed recounting the last time the three of you had the pleasure of sharing the same roof. Jacaerys on the other hand must’ve believed you to be a fool if he thought you hadn't noticed him looking.

Annoyance runs hot through your veins as you finally reach the wing where their rooms sat, “I hope everything is to your liking, don’t hesitate to ask if you need something.”

‘Thank you.’ You hear Lucerys mumble but Jacaerys offers nothing but his heavy stare. “I’ll see you later,” your voice is soft and silky but the lingering (wanton) look you give speaks in volumes.

“Later.” You hear him faintly reply once you’re out of earshot, you can’t help the tiny smirk on your lips.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Court was as you expected—boring and another waste.

You stood by sweet Helaena, who was equally bored, listening as the second son of Driftmark cried over being replaced by a child. A bastard no less, you could only imagine the embarrassment he must have went through—or rather going through because it didn’t seem like he’d be getting a rest from it anytime soon.

During his speech you made eye contact a few times with Jacaerys. You don’t know why it felt natural, like gravity pulled your gaze to him over and over. When you would look he was already watching with the same hunger from before.

The whole fiasco ended in total failure because Vaemond’s killed leaving no challenger. You’re not surprised things worked out in Rhaenyra’s favor after your father wobbled his way to the throne and then had to be carried out because he overexerted himself.

Aemond shields both you and Helaena from the dead body lying on the floor, “That’s enough for today, you’re all dismissed. Someone dispose of the body.” Otto barks through the mess caused by Daemon.

You manage to sneak a last look before being ushered out by your mother and brothers. The walk back quiet and awkward, what was there to say?

“That was..something.” Aegon finally breaks the tense silence.

Your mother doesn’t reply and Aemond snorts, “It was another mess that’s what it was.” You murmur loud enough for them to hear, “Like always, they make a spectacle of themselves and father comes to save the day.”

“Should’ve known father would do that.” Aemond adds in, and it’s true.

You already knew the petition against Rhaenyra’s children of all people would be useless. It was as if the king had a sixth sense when it came to Rhaenyra. Funnily, he was sick enough to be bedridden these past years but well enough to come defend his first born one final time.

“Helaena, why don’t we take the children to the gardens? I’m sure we could both use some fresh air.” You find yourself asking, desperate to forget.

You end up spending the afternoon with Helaena in the gardens talking about everything and nothing. It was always a relaxing affair when it came to your sister and her children. You liked lounging around and watching the twins with a lazy eye. It felt nice having this small escape, kept you from ripping your own hair out over the family drama.

You’re in the middle of playing with Jaehaerys when your mother’s sworn shield interrupts, “Forgive me princesses but your mother has sent me to escort you to tonight's dinner with the king, he has requested all his children be present.”

Helaena’s smile fades and your mood is spoiled for the day, of course the king would pull a stunt like this.

“Hel.” You put a tentative hand on her shoulder, relieved she merely relaxes under your touch. The two of you hesitantly part from the children after promising sweets and more playtime.

Everyone’s barely arriving with your seat being between Aemond’s and grandsire. Aemond looks disinterested (as does everyone else) but you try to put up a farce for the dying old man being carried in. It was possibly his last dinner, might as well make it a memorable one you suppose.

No one wants to speak, Aegon’s got his hands cupped in front of him in exasperation like he’s itching to reach for his wine goblet. Helaena is mumbling to herself mostly and Rhaenyra’s other children stare at their plates.

“Father,” all eyes are on you, “forgive me as I know it was your wish for us to dine together but I’m feeling unwell and would like to rest if I may..” You trail off softly placing your hands on the table, ready to flee.

Jacaerys is still looking down at his plate with a deathly tight grip on his fork. The old croak waves his hand dismissively, smiling painfully, “Yes, go on that’s fine.” He offers a gentle nod at most, you don’t think he even remembers your name.

“Thank you, if you’ll excuse me.” You bow politely,

quickly moving for the exit without a spare glance.

You hear another voice but you can’t make out what they said other than the sound of a chair being pushed out. Something was telling you it was your Strong boy and the thought brings a mischievous smirk to your face as you look over at your sworn shield.

“Leave me, I’ll retire to my rooms alone; you’re dismissed.” You calmly begin walking away.

“But Princess—”

“Go Ser, I will be fine.” You leave no room for argument and hear him reluctantly let out a sigh before heading in the opposite direction.

With the guard handled you find your way through the halls humming in high valyrian until you reach your destination: the king’s council room. It’s dimly lit inside by candles, the windows are open with sounds of small folk singing and dancing heard below.

The slightest creak has you looking to the side without turning your head, “Unwell you said, you must like lying a lot..” He trails off in amusement as he plays with an ornament nearby.

“And what have I lied about nephew? Enlighten me.” You reply softly.

There’s no denying the thrill you’re getting out of this, Jacaerys was bold for following you like this, in a room all alone with no guards around. The secrecy excited you because if anyone were to find you two together—oh they’d think the worst.

An unwed maiden and the prince bastard of Dragonstone.

“You’re acting dense on purpose, putting up a farce—tell me does it make you feel better? Your words, actions—they’re insulting. I don’t think for a moment you’ve had a change of heart.” He scowls, stopping short of the king’s chair.

You spin around to face him with your hands behind your back, “Whatever do you mean?” You can’t help but bat your doe eyes.

Jacaerys hesitates for a second, “You know what I mean, do you take me for a fool.” He says low and threatening, ever so guarded with you.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t know and if you’re just going to keep repeating yourself the door is right there.” You enjoy the look of anger on his face and part your lips to speak once more when he stops you with a hand on your forearm.

The touch is hot, scorching even as you feel the rush of arousal and excitement hit you all at once. No one has ever grabbed you this roughly, or been in the same proximity long enough to keep their head (you had your own way of dealing with unwanted advances).

Yet, Jacaerys still has his hand.

The audacity. “Let go you—” You move to slap him but he grabs your wrist just short of connecting to his face.

“You what? Go on, say it,” he eerily whispers as his hot breath fans over your lips.

Your calm demeanor slips and eyes narrow in anger, “You fucking bastard—unhand me right now!” Your yells are muffled when he seals his lips over yours.

You violently flinch backwards, the kiss bruising as you try pushing him off. In response he merely tightens his hold reminding you he was much stronger than the brat he used to be. Where you move he moves and if you take a step back he takes one forward. Jacaerys slips his hand through your hair and tightly grips, yanking you forward to keep you in place whenever you squirm too much for his liking.

You somehow manage to sneak a hand below your skirts for a dagger you kept and without hesitating bring it up intending to puncture his side. He sees and quickly seizes your wrist, squeezing tight as the blade slips and lands with a clank on the ground.

“I can see the way you look at me,” he whispers all breathless and breathy, “and it kills you to know you want a bastard like me doesn’t it—I wonder if you picture the same things I do,” he briefly pauses as his eyes trail over your swollen lips.

He crowds you into the table with a hand dropping to your hip, “It’s only you and I,” his lips connect with your ear trailing downwards, “you don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go.”

Your spine involuntarily arches from his electrifying touch with goosebumps erupting all over. You can’t help the soft gasp when he tugs you towards him by the hip. The very large bulge in his slacks presses stubbornly into your pelvis, hot and throbbing.

“Jacaerys we can’t,” you begin quietly.

“We can’t or you won’t?” He questions dismissively like he doesn’t believe you.

Your lips part and a shaky sigh escapes when he begins leaving open mouthed kisses over your collarbone and shoulders. You pray he doesn’t leave any marks to the naked eye as you’d hate to have to explain the marks on top of your request for moon tea.

“I can’t.” You hope he’d reconsider but to your utter horror Jacaerys sucks harshly over the soft skin of your chest where your tits sit perfectly cupped and pushed together in your dress.

You cry out from the surprise and sensitivity as your hands came up to grip his shoulders tightly. He gives your other tit the same treatment before dropping to his knees with the same lustful look in his eye from earlier.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he pleads as if he desperately needed to hear it from your lips.

“I..” Do you really want him as much as he believes you do? The very thought of him defiling and tainting your purity caused a dark swirl of emotions within you—you want all of him.

Jacaerys licks his lips hungrily and pushes up your skirts until he’s settled in front of your soft thighs. His hot breath fans over them as he inches closer until he’s eye level with your moistened, throbbing cunt.

“..Yes,” you find yourself whispering after a few moments.

A pleased rumble leaves him and he closes the distance between him and your aching cunt. The first stroke of his hot tongue over your sticky folds has you keening in pleasure and your eyes rolling shut, head thrown back. You can’t help your lewd moan—all high and breathy.

Jacaerys works his tongue over your throbbing clit in firm strokes, hands greedily feeling every inch of your smooth skin. You choke when he throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, the angle shattering as he gains more access to your soft virginal pussy; ripe for the taking.

His lips part over it and he takes your aching bud into his mouth, vigorously sucking and lapping. “Jacaerys–” You choke out as his fingers tread over your folds dipping in to press against your soppy hole, the digits gliding rather easily aided by your dripping wetness.

His middle finger slips through—poking and prodding—until he breaches and pushes past the resisting barrier. There’s a sharp whine as your cunt flutters, greedily swallowing up his fingers, “Mmn..”

You notice how he gets when he hears you make those filthy little noises, the flick of his tongue sharp and his grip growing just a bit tighter. You can’t help eagerly rolling your hips on his face, shuddering as your bare cunt slides over his hot mouth and the tip of his nose dips between your folds brushing over your clit.

“Oh gods,” you gasp breathlessly, hips baring down faster and your grip on the table getting tighter.

There’s a filthy moan below your skirts, the vibrations against your pussy have you mewling needily. With little strength you manage to smother your cunt over his face again until he decides to stop teasing and seals his mouth over your throbbing clit once again.

You whimper out a garbled version of his name as the pleasure simmers hot in your lower belly. Your release hurdles towards you fast, almost knocking the breath out of you from how intense.

“Fuck Jacaerys..!” You gasp as the coil finally snaps; leaving you with legs spread wide and hips angled down with your clit in his mouth and his fingers curled up inside you.

You’re blinded by the hot white pleasure and the slick dribbling down your thighs (to which he greedily licks it up with loud unabashed slurps and moans). You shakily push his head away from your sore spent pussy, whining when he lands one last lick over your throbbing clit before letting up.

Jacaerys stands before you in a disheveled state with his swollen, glossed over lips. His tunic’s slightly rumpled and hair clearly out of place from being buried under your skirts for so long.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly start but he quickly silences you with another kiss, this one sweeter than the last.

You can’t help your sigh leaning into his touch, he treats you much more delicately than his harsh bruising kisses from before. He handles you like you’re meant to be—gentle, pampering, soft. The sentiment leaves you eager but disappointingly he pulls away and just..leaves? If you hadn’t been so out of breath you’d call out to him.

You lay your hand over your chest shuddering at the cool sensation of drying slick between your thighs. A rational side of you argues it’s for the best things ended before escalating but another wants to seek him out.

“Princess?” You hear one of your ladies in waiting from the other side of the door.

You shove your skirts down and fix your hair in an attempt to look modest. “Princess,” her face relaxes and she approaches you with open arms, “your mother sent me, are you still feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine, I’d like to have a bath now,” you take her arm biting your inner cheek to fight the fierce heat blossoming over them from embarrassment, “you shall speak nothing of this to my mother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.”

No one comments on your troubled look while they bathed and dressed you. They knew better than to poke at the dragon; especially one that was upset.

You’re dressed in a white dainty dress you’d gotten as a gift from Aegon (though you suspected he had other intentions when he gifted it to you). You’re left sitting prettily over soft comforters and cushions, skin still smelling like rich oils and softer than a fox's fur.

“That will be all, thank you.” You bid your ladies good night and see them out just as your sworn shield takes his place in front of your chambers.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Sleep does not come as quickly as you had hoped. You’ve lost count of the hour, too entranced by the crackling firewood and waves hitting the cliffs. The candles have long died out and the moonlight took its place as your source of lighting.

You were tempted to escape to Helaena’s room using the secret tunnels but your sister could either be with Aegon or asleep. Your mother was out of question as she would chastise you about how unbecoming it is of a lady to be sneaking around during the hour of the owl.

(You’d never hear the end of it you’re afraid.)

As you roll over onto your stomach your breath hitches when the soft material glides against your swollen cunt. You quietly hiss and rub your thighs to ease the tension but it only worsens. Your clit pulses wildly, simmering heat boiling in your belly.

“Fuck.” You mutter rolling onto your back with your knees knocked apart, Jacaerys had really done a number on you.

You swallowed harshly thinking about his thick fingers and how your pussy was stretched to the brim. Your cunt flutters as you gasp softly, gods how you wanted to finish what he started earlier in the council room.

Would he lay you down tenderly and fuck you sweet or would he have you like one of those women from the streets of silk? Like a whore bent over and mounted like a bitch where he’d fuck years of hate and anger into you. Anger for what you had done and said about him and his brothers.

The thought does not bother you in the slightest, rather you’re aroused. You don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go..

You set your pride aside and slip into slippers sneaking into the secret tunnels. You walk with haste recalling where every room was after Aegon first showed you and Aemond the tunnels. You stand before his door waiting anxiously after giving three hard knocks.

The tunnel floods with light and Jacaerys stands over you, his own body casting a shadow. You stare up at him with parted lips and a dreamy glaze in your eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you closer until your cheek is pressed against his chest.

“Jace,” your voice is nothing more than a whisper yet the grip you have on his robes says otherwise.

He hauls you into his arms leaving you no time to gasp before he’s pinning you onto the silken sheets. He stares down at you intensely, his grip around your wrists tight and secure. Both arms encase you on either side of your head leaving you to marvel up at the Strong Velaryon boy.

Jacaerys says nothing when he tugs his own tunic and robes off with one hand. Each article of clothing falls one by one onto the ground, the bed creaking in protest under his weight as he comes to kneel over you once again.

Throughout this whole ordeal you’ve held intense eye-contact with him, a challenge you most certainly welcomed as he still possessed those flames of desire and anger from before. With a clenched jaw he brings both your wrists to one hand and reaches below with his free to grasp his hard cock.

You can’t help but look, having to bite down on your tongue to hold in the whine that threatened to escape. The weeping head dripped pearly white seed over your soft mound from where he stroked himself. The pulsing heat between your thighs quickly becoming unbearable.

He lowers his hips until his pelvis is smushed into yours, his hard dripping cock trapped between the two of you pressed into your inner thigh. The contact is scalding with the way it throbs, how you yearn for him to take it and fuck you silly with it.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly choke, voice raspy and thick with want & need.

“This will hurt.” He carefully gauges your reaction for any discomfort or hesitance.

“Show me then, my lord Strong. Claim me as you would if I were yours, your ‘plain’ appearance is not of importance to me sweet nephew,” you purr sweetly, “we share blood of the dragon, you and I..”

You decide he needs one last push.

“Imagine a babe just like us…he wouldn’t look like a bastard, no,” his nose flares and grip tightens, “but everyone will know when they see his strong curls—”

A cry spills from your lips as Jacaerys slams his cock into you, buried to the hilt where his soft balls meet your pert cheeks. The pain burns but it’s laced with pleasure in a bittersweet way, still you can’t help the soft hisses that slip through clenched teeth each time he shifts around.

You struggle to house all of him inside, what he lacks in length he makes up for in girth; fat and thick with swollen pussy lips stretched around him wrapped tight and snug. To your utter surprise however, he’s not upset at your small jab—he looks as if he were actually picturing a child with you.

“And yet you still lie beneath me, speared on a bastard’s cock,” he grunts.

Jacaerys rolls his hips, not giving you any time to adjust, “You’ll bear my children fearing they won’t come out like their father—brown hair,” thrust, “brown eyes,” thrust, “every bit of me.” He whispers low and menacing in your ear, his speed relentless and punishing.

The stinging pleasure worsens and your eyes water, it’s a sort of bone deep pleasure balanced out by the pain that was beginning to dull. You were powerless under the Velaryon Prince as you could only helplessly toss your head back from the sweet pain.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To have my bastards?” He licks his lips and switches his pace to a more smoother one, still jabbing nonetheless but albeit more calmer.

You grit your teeth in refusal to answer, but he didn’t need your answer as he descended upon your lips hungrily and fucked into you faster. Your moans get swallowed up by both him and the slick accompanying his wet thrusts causing you to burn with embarrassment over your filthy coupling.

Your traitorous gaze drops downwards again, the sight leaving you in breathless awe. He has specks of blood smeared against his skin, his cock faring no better as it’s covered in creamy pink. You experimentally squeeze around him just to watch his mouth drop open in a small ‘o’ shuddering through the pleasure.

“Again,” he groans softly, “fuck, more.” He gasps while desperately grinding into you.

You wrap your shaking thighs around his waist and tug him closer until he’s trapped against you unable to pull out. He huffs and kisses your sweaty skin, his hips tilting to bump and grind into that sensitive spot from before.

“Oh Jacaerys,” your back arches and toes curl.

Throaty little moans spill from his lips over each rhythmic squeeze around his swollen cock. He fucks into that soft sticky heat just listening to the filthy wet sounds your cunt makes. He enjoys the soft thwacks of his balls slapping against your taint, splattering creamy slick over the sheets.

“Oh,” you shudder, peak hitting harder than ever

You feel the warmth and utter bliss/satisfaction when you come down from your high. Dollops of wet slick spill from the sides of your stuffed pussy, a phantom pulsing sensation most likely from the aftermath of your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna–” He bites back his needy moan, pressing deeply to ensure every drop gets buried in your cunt. It seemed like you were going to pay a visit to the maestar soon for moon tea.

However you were far more concerned about your ability to walk, you could barely even feel the space between your legs much less your cunt and knees.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Peace never really lasts long in the Red Keep, not with the never ending feud between both your families.

From what you heard, shortly after Jacaerys left you the first time he joined dinner again only to find himself punching Aemond while Aegon slammed Lucerys into his plate. Aemond had done it again with his taunts over your nephew’s legitimacy.

Rhaenyra was leaving again after those years gone, which meant Jacaerys would be gone too. You hadn’t voiced your displeasure nor let it show when the boys were seen off to their dragons at the pit. You hid by a column, peeking out watching them saddle up for their journey home.

Jacaerys doesn’t notice you at first but when he does he stops and his gaze softens with pity. “Aunt.” He greets striding over with his arms behind his back.

“Jacaerys.” You greet quietly, refusing to meet his eyes in a stubborn act of defiance.

He tilts your chin up gently and forces you to look, “This doesn’t have to be the end you know,” he brushes a stray hair from your face, “unless you want to stop?”

“I don’t,” you find yourself snapping quicker than he can finish which makes him smile, “you know I don’t. I just don’t see how it’s possible to continue..this, if you’re so far away on Dragonstone.” You mumble and cup his cheek.

Jacaerys leans into your touch with a hum, “I’m a dragon ride away my love,” your cheeks burn at the endearment, “I’ll send ravens if I have to—you don’t need to worry about a single thing.”

You gently peck his lips and sigh, “..If you don't write to me, I will..” You trail in high valyrian whilst squeezing his hand until it pops threateningly. He laughs low and brings your hand up to kiss, instantly quelling your temper.

“I swear it,” he replies, kissing your knuckles once more despite Luke calling out to him in the background, his dragon calling out for him.

You allow a soft smile as you whisper ‘go’, no doubt your mother would be looking for you as well. You watch him leave your side once again only this time you knew he’d be returning sometime soon as the king neared the hour of death.

No one knew of your little letters you exchanged with Jacaerys over the course of weeks. He would send you flowers and other things he’d find around Dragonstone while you sent perfumed handkerchiefs or oil scented letters.

You knew he particularly loved when the paper smelled like you. (You’d be rewarded with vulgar responses.)

‘My beloved, everything reminds me of you and how you might enjoy this if you were here. I’d give anything to have you here by my side dressed in Targaryen colors. I personally think red suits you best my love, don’t you think? I’ll have a dress tailored to fit in all the right places, perhaps we can arrange a slit for easy access? You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?’

If your mother noticed your odd behavior, she didn’t comment. Alicent knew very well what a lovestruck girl looked like as she had been one herself not too long ago. No one comments on the frequent visits to the dragon pit where you’d disappear for hours on end returning once the moon had risen.

The illusion shatters however when Viserys dies.

Right away your mother and grandsire crown Aegon as king. You should feel indifferent about the throne but you can’t help the ugly feeling you get upon seeing Aegon the conqueror's crown over your brother’s head. He was no king. He was not made to be king.

War was coming. With Aegon usurping Rhaenyra, as if that wasn’t enough, Aemond goes and fucking kills your nephew in some petty child’s game.

You heard the boy sunk into the waters after Vhagar mauled his tinier dragon. When you were flying over you heard Vermax’s loud cries of anguish, no doubt feeling his riders emotions as Jacaerys mourned Lucerys.

Your own dragon cried out in return as you swiftly landed and hopped off, stumbling through the sand as Jacaerys quickened his pace. You meet each other halfway with him falling into your arms, brokenly sobbing.

His loud cries are drowned out by the harsh waves hitting shore and seagulls flying around. At that very moment it’s only you and him standing on that beach wrapped up in each other’s arms. You press a series of kisses against his temple, tightening your hold when you feel him tremble.

“Shh.. sh, my love. I’m here.” You murmur soothingly.

Jacaerys swallows harshly, “He…he killed him,” he croaks out, “he’s gone.” It physically hurts seeing him unable to speak, just choking up over his words like a little boy crying for his mother.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You hold him until he grows tired of sobbing, resorting to softer sniffles as he cowers in your hold. Jacaerys has a death grip around your waist where his fingers dig into you unknowingly. “I can’t lose you.” He mutters.

You will never forget the haunting look in his eye. Jacaerys had already lost his brother, he would not be losing you either..

༺ ──────────── ༻

..A son for a son they said after the ratcatchers beheaded Jaehaerys in his sleep.

You were up for days unable to process the grief and horror, moreso you felt for Helaena (beautiful Helaena who hadn’t deserved any of this). The way your mother had allowed the death of a child—her own blood—to be handled was despicable.

You saw Otto Hightower for what he was: a power hungry cunt. Your own brothers were strangers to you, Aemond having killed his own nephew in cold blood and Aegon a bloodthirsty idiot who didn’t know what he was doing.

You understand why Viserys favored Rhaenyra now.

“He’s a fool, mother was right to tell him he would be more useful doing nothing,” you sharply reply.

You’re in Jacaerys’ room after a sneaky endeavor in his bed all afternoon, complaining about your stupid brothers. Your lover lays on his side with a hand supporting his head listening attentively with a loving gaze.

“What was it you said that he told Aemond—I can have to make a war?” Jacaerys snorts in amusement brushing his fingers through your hair.

“He’s an idiot. It’s a wonder anyone can actually stand being in the same room as him, if he’s not crying about Aemond making plans behind his back then he’s crying that no one respects him.” You shake your head.

“Hm, my mother still thinks we can avoid war,” he sighs deeply, “if only it were easy, right?” He slides your hand in his, holding it tightly while stroking over your knuckles with his thumb.

You can’t help but squeeze back, “Patience my love, everyone already sees how incompetent Aegon is. He’s already the usurper in their eyes and nobody really listens to him so to speak.”

“Suppose you're right about a few things.” Jacaerys’ gaze drops to your plush lips, still swollen and bitten-raw from his punishing little nips and aggressive kissing.

Your stomach swoops with excitement as a playful grin forms over your lips, “Only a few things?” You lean down to whisper, lips inches away from his.

He smiles lazily and cups your cheeks, “Of course not you know I trust your judgment, my love.” He mumbles soothingly while brushing over your loose curls.

He looks beautiful like this—the sheets hung low around his bare hips and the love bites littered across his shoulders and neck. You’d like to stay forever like this with him, all tangled up and the only sounds being your soft voices and the waves hitting the cliffs by his open window.

“Do you? Or is my prince only saying that because he desires a kiss?”

It’s comical the way Jacaerys lights up like a child faced with a fresh batch of lemon cakes. He eagerly slots his lips over yours and draws your naked body closer to him until his stirring cock is pressed flush against your hip—still coated in wet slick and oils from earlier.

You reach with one hand to tangle it through his soft curls, yanking his head back, “That isn’t an answer my love; does my prince want a kiss or not?” You ask firmer this time.

His eyes hollow darkly as he licks his lips, “May I? Your prince desires it.” He whispers low and breathy. When he says it like that you simply can’t deny as you eagerly press into him.

Jacaerys wraps his arms around your back and hauls you under him pinning you down against the soft sheets. You moan into his mouth reaching below to grasp his heavy cock in your soft palm and squeezing the head.

“Seems he desires more than a kiss,” you husk, tugging at his cock and enjoying the way he chases your touch.

“I want to claim every inch of you until you’re filled with my cum, maybe this time you will catch,” He finishes with a growl in high valyrian.

His cock slides between your sticky folds bumping and slipping against your clit. You angle the tip downward until it catches against your rim with a hitch, “Jace,” you sigh.

You feel every inch until he’s fed your cunt his cock. The stretch is mouthwateringly good, you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone else who could come this close to pleasuring as Jacaerys did. He wastes no time in rocking into you with long forceful thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” you thread your fingers through his hair turning your head away.

Jacaerys messily mouths along your neck and shoulder with muffled groans while desperately covering every inch of your skin with his mouth. You catch him off guard when you wrap your limbs around him and roll the two of you over.

“Lie back my love,” you seductively whisper.

He watches, entranced as you set your hands over his bare chest and push. The delicious weight combined with the heavenly warmth around his cock has his head rearing back and a long moan escaping.

You bite down on your lip taking in his every reaction. From this angle he strikes deep leaving you with a pleasant ache you’d be feeling the coming days. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, hips stuttering in their movements.

Jacaerys gets his hands over your hips and tugs you back down over his lap causing a groan to bubble out of your throat. He uses his newfound grip to bounce you in his lap until a low fopping sound from his thighs smacking into your cheeks fills the room.

Your gasps come out in short stuttered breaths with the occasional ‘mm’ thrown in there. Mid-roll you manage to firmly plant yourself in his lap trapping his fat cock in your wet cunt. You feel it twitching inside, desperate for another release.

Soft ‘ah, ah, ah’s fill the room alongside the sounds of sheets shuffling and seagulls in the distance. You’re lost in the moment basking in sunny rays and hot bubbling pleasure. His grip not once loosening nor slipping.

“Seven hells, you’re going to be the death of me.” He breathlessly groans.

His cock pulses faintly and then you’re being filled with thick spurts of white. He lazily squeezes your soft cheeks, watching with a blissed out expression. While you had yet to reach your own peak, you also didn’t mind just this.

Your hips came to a stop and you found yourself laying over his chest staring out at the orange-pink sky as you mumble, “I love you.”

༺ ──────────── ༻

Helaena hasn’t spoken much about your nephew since the funeral. She says she’s fine but you doubt that’s any true, you supposed she grieved differently. Helaena has always been a special case (in a positive light).

“Aegon left to battle,” you find yourself saying after an hour of silence, “Aemond too.”

Helaena can offer no insight as she kneels before her caged insects, speaking in soft whispers like she usually did, only this time her tone accompanied by her soft hums.

“How is Jaehaera?”

“..Fine.” More humming.

“And what have you embroidered as of lately–”

“You can go,” she softly interrupts, “everything is fine.” You’re stunned, maybe you overstepped and she wasn’t in need of visitors. That was fine, Helaena’s doing fine—

Your sister reaches over to grasp your hands tightly, staring into your eyes, “Everything will be fine. You must leave or else it will be too late,” a pained smile forms over her lips, “you will be one soon, and then two.”

“..what about you?” Your eyes watered, you dread the thought of leaving her here to suffer alone at the hands of Aegon.

Helaena lays a sweet kiss over your head, “There’s a storm coming, it makes flying harder.”

You wipe your tears and shakily nod, embracing her one last time before rushing through the hidden tunnels to your room. In a satchel you threw a few items of importance along with jewelry you doubt you’d need but something in your gut told you otherwise.

It’s easy to slip unnoticed through the tunnels and keep, the city proves much harder. You manage to pass through the small folk using alleys and hidden paths until you’re outside of the dragon pit. None of the dragon keepers question you and simply bring out Melaxes.

She senses your anxiety and begins to whine, “Shh, lykirī.” You’re quick to soothe her by leaning your forehead against her side.

When she calms down you guide her out of the pit, “Soves,” you murmur and Melaxes roars into the sky disappearing into the thick clouds.

You will be one soon, and then two.

Realization dawns: you haven’t bled for two moons now. Your hand immediately comes up to cover the swell of your stomach. Of course, what were you expecting?

You didn’t drink fucking moon tea and Jacaerys never cared to pull off. Your throat tightens up and tears spring to your eyes, “No,” you claw at your collar heaving.

Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Your eyes widened—Larys Strong had heard talks of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Jacaerys going to battle together..

“Naejot!” You plunge forward until Melaxes zips above the sea, you pray to whatever god listening that Jacaerys is there safe and sound waiting for you.

You leave her not too far from the castle as you run up the hill towards the one place you knew he’d have to be. It’s a miracle no one notices Alicent Hightower’s youngest daughter storming through the halls until you reach Rhaenyra’s council room.

No one’s there.

“Oh fuck..” You whisper with a hand over your stomach, “No, no, no, no.” (There’s a loud ringing in your ear and it won’t stop.)

The tears come before you can even stop them as your vision quickly blurs. There’s something in your throat but it won’t come out no matter how much you heave and gag on your saliva.

“Mmn,” you whimper in discomfort and pain while curling away, refusing to believe Jacaerys was gone. You want your mother.

Your arm shakily shoots out to grab onto the stone for balance, “..please,” it comes out as a wheeze.

“y/n?” Was this a cruel dream? Jacaerys frowns and immediately starts walking to your side, “What’s wrong?”

He’s met with your lips and a tight crushing grip when you bury your fingers through his hair. You fiercely smother him in a desperate kiss which draws out a hiss from him when you bite his bottom lip.

“..We have to leave,” you mumble.

“Leave?” He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Jacaerys, please trust me—we need to go,” you desperately plead.

Jacaerys shakes his head, “y/n you’re not making sense right now, leave where? And what of my mother? What of Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey? What of my duty as heir to the throne? You say it as if it’s so simple.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Why won’t you just tell me?!” He slams his hand over the table.

“I’m expecting a child,” you choke up, “and I don’t want my baby to die, Jacaerys. I want our baby to live.” You cry softly.

Jacaerys goes eerily still, silently watching you weep all you’ve held in until now. His eyes cast downward over the Targaryen pin on his tunic, glistening under the light shining proudly as a reminder of where he came from.

He says nothing and reaches up to unpin the dragon sigil resting over his shoulder. He reaches over to silently do the same with your own before neatly placing both over the table, releasing his sharp breath.

There’s no other way around this regardless if you stayed or not your child was in danger simply by living and breathing. The Greens would come after you, maybe Aemond would be the one to kill you or perhaps even Daemon. Your child would be dead either way as the king made it obvious how he felt about bastard children.

Jacaerys turns to you with a gentle but pained smile, and in that moment you knew what he chose. Your lip curls sadly and with an outstretched hand you accept him. He squeezes tightly like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air.

“I love you.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand manages to sneak between the two of you to press into your stomach where your child would soon grow.

Neither one of you says anything while Jacaerys packs what he plans to take. He writes to Rhaenyra and leaves the letter in plain sight over his desk. It’s quiet but comforting as he leads you to Melaxes and Vermax.

When she finds the letter Rhaenyra weeps. She can’t find it in her to be upset with him and while yes you had been another insolent brat as a child; you were still her half-sister who was now carrying her grandchild.

“If we fly out now we might catch up to them.” Daemon seethes as he paces back and forth before the queen, “This is just absurd, has the boy officially gone mad? A Hightower cunt no less.” He scoffs.

“Leave them, they’ve made their choice and we will make ours.” Rhaenyra shoots a pointed look at anyone who dares protest. She knows she’s vulnerable now that she’s lost two heirs.

..and if she hears the small folk speaking of two dragon riders traveling across the narrow sea, months later after reclaiming Kings Landing; she turns a blind eye and prays.

+ translations:

dohaerās (serve)

daor (no)

lykirī (be calm)

soves (fly)

naejot (forward)

[gtgbabie0]

-Benjicot Blackwood x Arryn!Reader

{Benjicot doesn’t mind getting his hands bloodied if it means protecting your honour}

word count- 1.7k

!CW!//vulgar language, descriptions of blood// Enjoy my lovelies💕

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The Vale was all harsh winds and rain since the sun had first begun to rise above the horizon, a thick layer of fog rolls through the high mountains and over the hills creating a rather eerie atmosphere around the courtyard of Raventree hall.

You sit on the balcony that overlooks the training grounds with your sister, Jeyne Arryn, protected from the light rain by the stoney overhang. You both had been asked to unite your houses for a few days in hopes of getting the men more accustomed to the sword and shield a little faster.

It had been going great in all honesty, they seemed to have lifted each other spirits despite the pressure of the looming war.

“Is your friend down there?” Jeyne smirks, looking over at you with a playful gleam in her eyes.

She takes joy in the way your eyes widen ever so slightly, how you move away from the edge to slouch back into your chair. “No, not yet.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in a harrumph.

You roll your eyes at Jeyne and the sound of her chuckles, smiling into her cup whilst she continues to tease you. Her jabs are soon cut off by the sound of men cheering and metal clanging together in excitement.

You immediately lean back over the stone railing of the balcony, looking down at the group of men searching for…

Benjicot. He had made quite a name for himself over the past few moons, his way with a sword was… wild to put it more kindly. He was a madman on the battlefield, charging in with absolutely no fear, the complete opposite of the shy boy you grew up with.

For a small second your gazes meet. He waves softly, sending you a sweet smile which you happily return before he’s dragged away to the training yard by his friends.

The sound of your sister’s giggling snaps you out of the moment, your face twisting into a small frown. “Do not start.” You huff, slouching back into the chair with a pout.

Your sister makes small conversation, keeping it light as you watch over the training. Benjicot found it hard to stay focused, his mind drifting over to the fact that you were watching him with your pretty eyes.

The pair of you shared plenty of fleeting moments together, lingering touches and sweet whispered words. You danced along the line of friends and something more but neither of you took the leap, too scared of ruining the deep friendship you have.

Benjicot sits on a tree stump, cleaning his sword with a rag as his eyes glance between the balcony where you sit and the men around the training yard. He was miles away, thinking about how he could see you tonight… perhaps a walk through the garden… or maybe sneaking you into the kitchens.

His mind soon gets away from him, all of his thoughts consumed by you… but then again when are they not?

The sound of two rowdy men snaps him out of his trance, his expression immediately darkening with his brows pinched together tightly. They sound drunk as they speak horrid nonsense about women, barely able to hold their swords let alone stand on two feet.

“I’d fuck her… bet her cunt is tight too, ey?” The taller one says, harshly nudging the other man's shoulder almost sending him tumbling to the floor.

Benjicots fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles going white with anger. He hopes for their sake that they’re not talking about you. “Mhm… bet shes a squealer.” The other man agrees, the pair of them chuckling.

The sound goes right through Ben, his blood running cold as he watches them cast their predatory gaze over to you as you lean curiously over the edge of the balcony.

The sword that he was cleaning drops to the floor with a dull thud. He acts way before he thinks, his body moving without hesitation and before he knows it he’s coiling back his arm, colliding his tight fist down against one of the taller drunkards face as the other scurries off.

A crimson colour stains his knuckles, the blood warm and wet in between his fingers. The adrenaline overshadows the pain that shoots down his arm, reducing it to a mere tingle that he’ll surely feel later on. He watches the fool drop to the damp, cold ground, writhing in pain whilst clutching his nose as it weeps a thick red.

Benjicot opens and closes his hand, trying to lessen the ache. “Perhaps next time you’ll hold your tongue.” He sneers before storming off with a mean glare that makes everyone step out of his way.

You had watched the whole scene unfold, worry immediately settling in the pit of your stomach, etching across your face. Your sister tells you to ‘stay put’ however her words fall upon deaf ears as you rush back inside, running down the halls and the twists and turns of the castle.

The Maesters chambers are where you find Benjicot. His aunt walks out of the room with a displeased expression, however, the candlelight gives away the amusement that flickers through her dark eyes.

She greets you with a warm smile, nodding her head. You return the action before slipping into the room, your gaze immediately finding his as he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Hey…” his words break through the silence, the crackle of the hearth taking over once more as you wordlessly walk deeper into the room.

His hand was submerged in a dark oak basin, the water inside had long turned murky with a minty almost medicinal aroma. You sit down on the chair adjacent to his own, brows pinched together in concern.

“Where’s the Maester?” You ask, looking at him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Gone to get some sort of balm… I don’t need it.” His words make you tut, shaking your head as you watch him pull his hand out of the water. He seethes a little in pain, teeth clenched.

You reach over for a cloth, drying off his hand but whilst being careful to not cause him any more discomfort, he was already shifting and squirming in his chair.

“What even happened?” You sigh, holding his injured hand against your lap. Your thumb ever so gently caresses his palm in such a way that it makes his mind spin and his heart skip a beat.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “They— they were making… distasteful… comments towards you. I won’t repeat them.” He tells you, shaking his head firmly.

“How silly… look at your hands over some words.” You scold lightly, although there was no real bite to your soft tone. You couldn’t be, in fact, the thought of him defending you like this sends a pleasant warmth blooming through your chest. Although you wouldn’t tell him that, for his own sake.

“I’m fine, I have no regrets. They deserved it.” He states, watching the way you bring his knuckles into the candlelight to assess the damage.

They were red raw, the skin split open at the tips of each knuckle save for his thumb. A purplish colour tints the delicate skin, the shade darker around the cuts then fading off into a more dull colour. It certainly was not fine.

“You should be more careful.” Your words are hushed, whispered into the air, so soft that if he weren’t sitting so close to you he probably wouldn’t hear you. His eyes meet your own once more, admiring the way the candles cast an orangey light across your pretty features.

His fingers itch to reach out and tuck a loose curl behind your ear, to graze the back of his fingers along to warm cheek. But he refrains, even the mere thought has his stomach swarming with nervous butterflies.

You take another thin sheet of cloth, edges ragged with loose threads and the fabric an off-white colour. He looks at you with a quizzical expression, watching you dip one end of the cloth into the basin.

Before he can ask any questions you’re already leaning closer to him, knees bumping together. Your hand reaches out to ever so gently cup his jaw, fingers curling against his cheek to hold his head still whilst you wipe away a small mud stain just under his eye.

“Thank you…” he says, breath hitching in his throat at the way your thumb brushes along his warm cheek.

“No, I should be thanking you, really.” Your words make him smile, his eyes softening. “Thank you,” You add, your eyes searching his own.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t, not with you so close to him. He fears that he might have ruined the moment when silence wraps around the room. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself or if he should move the hand that rests upon your lap.

He lets out a small noise in the back of his throat, trying to will the words from his lips but none come and it only serves to cause his mind to spiral, cursing himself and his inability to speak.

The feeling of your lips against his cheek brings him back, his worries and fears ebbing away until the only thing that was on his mind is your flowery perfume and the softness of the kiss. He finally lets out a breath. His hand rests against your knee as you pull back, a pang of disappointment hitting his chest.

“You don’t need to thank me… I’d never let anyone slander your name, but either way, you are welcome.” He finally manages to speak, the words tumbling out of his lips rather ungracefully.

You entwine your fingers with his own, minding his roughened knuckles, holding his hand ever so gently with your own. His thumb caressing the inside of your wrist, the calluses feel strangely nice.

“Perhaps afterwards we could walk through the gardens?” The suggestion makes his heart skip a beat, the image was already vivid in his mind, walking arm in arm with you.

“Of course, if it would please you, my lady.” He replies, hoping the words sound more graceful than before.

You hum in agreement, nodding your head. Your warm hands still in his own, the kiss lingering on his cheek, your knees pressing against either side of his own and your honeyed gaze still upon him… he realises he’s completely doomed, you hold his heart in the palm of his hand.

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[rinhaler]

Not me being an absolute slut for step dad Gojo and Uncle Nanami!?!? 😩 sharing is caring!

-Very Much Embarrassed Anon🫂

PERHAPS i got carried away but i hope u enjoy this !! luxe write something under 1k challenge: impossible x

warnings: 18+ MDNI, step/incest, fem!reader, step dad!gojo, uncle!nanamin, implied virgin!reader, threesome, vaginal sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, tit sucking, possessive!gojo, daddy kink, praise, pull out method, orgasm denial, noncon photo taking, slight oral fixation, hair pulling, face fucking.

words: 2.7k

“You know you’re too young for boys, right?” your step-father reminds you, like it’s a mantra he’s told you again and again for years. It isn’t a suggestion or a thought he’s choosing to share. It’s an instruction. “I don’t want you to think because you’re all grown up and going to college now that you can be reckless.”

“I- I know, Satoru.” you smile at him.

Both of your attention is stolen as you hear your uncle, Kento, laugh out a scoff. He tries to conceal it as he ruffles his newspaper and drinks his coffee. You see your step-dad’s brows furrow in annoyance. Or, anger. He looks at you, again, and his expression softens.

“I know you’re a good girl, sweetheart.” he tells you, wrapping his arms around your form and placing a kiss atop your head. Nanami’s eyes peer over his newspaper, locking with yours. A knowing glance to each other before a smirk finds his features. He raises his newspaper, shielding his face completely as he tries to focus on reading.

He lets you go, reluctantly, as you pick up your college bag and grab your phone.

His expression sours as he sees you reach for your phone, smiling at a text message you received. He shouldn’t pry. He knows he shouldn’t pry. But he can’t seem to stop himself as he finds himself leaning across the kitchen island and snatching your phone from your hands. And now he scoffs, scrolling through your messages and looking at the name at the top.

“What did I just say?” he speaks, only an octave away from yelling at you. Your lip wobbles, and he keeps your phone at arm’s length as you try to grab for it. He tosses it towards the kitchen table so Kento can look for himself.

“He was just asking if I needed picking up for my classes, Satoru! You don’t need to worry…” you tell him. Of course this would happen. He’s always been stupidly over protective.

“Well you don’t, do you? That’s what I’m here for. Hell, I’m sure even Nanami would be happy to take you since he came all of this way to spend his off time visiting you.” Gojo reminds you. And you feel a slight pang of guilt at that. You know how hard your poor uncle Nanamin works. He could be on vacation, somewhere tropical, unwinding from the humdrum of his boring office job. But here he is, sitting reading the newspaper and listening to you two argue with each other. “In fact, you’re grounded. I’m keeping your phone and you can forget about going to class today.”

“But—!”

“Don’t whine, I’ll write you a note.” he adds, walking around the counterspace to collect your phone from Nanami. He finishes scrolling, locking it, though he keeps hold of it. “Go upstairs.”

You huff, but grab your bag and do as you’re told. It’s not like he can stop you from being online. You can talk to people on your laptop, after all. Though given the mood he’s in you suppose you’ll have to be stealthy about it.

“You’re too harsh on her.” Kento tells Satoru, earning another disgruntled glance from him. He closes his newspaper and rests an ankle over his knee as he leans back and drinks the remainder of his coffee. “She’s curious, you can’t do anything about that. It’s not like she’ll stay a virgin forever.”

“Tch. Spare me.” he laughs lightly. “You think I don’t know why you’re here? I hear you, you know, when you sneak into her room at night.”

And Gojo revels in how the colour drains from Nanami’s face. He sits upright, his back stiffened straight and he starts to loosen his tie. He should have known, really, it was too good to be true. He should have known he’d always get caught eventually. But by Satoru Gojo of all people?

“I haven’t…” he clears his throat. “It’s not what you think.”

“Sure.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “If I’m bein’ honest… I don’t really care. Who am I to stop you? I’m not blood… like you. Sick fuck.” he laughs, sitting down at the table and looking into Nanami’s panic-stricken eyes.

Your uncle rests his elbows on the table and holds his head in his hands. What is Gojo plotting? Blackmail of some kind, maybe. It’s not like he’s concealed his disapproval for his sisters relationship with him. He’s tolerated him, sure, but he’s a nuisance he thinks his family would be better off without.

“I don’t like this either.” he throws your phone towards the white-haired man and sighs. “But she doesn’t respect you, Satoru. She doesn’t even call you dad. I think she sees you as temporary, so of course she isn’t going to listen to you. Not really.”

“But…” he leans over the table with a smug grin. “She respects you, doesn’t she? Her favourite uncle. I don’t like college guys, I remember what we were like in college, I don’t want her around that.”

“No… maybe she won’t go searching for it if she’s better educated.”

Gojo’s brow quirks in intrigue, a sadistic smile soon follows.

“Who knew a corporate goon could be such a sick fuck, hah?” Gojo laughs, picking up Nanami’s coffee mug for him and walking it to the sink to clean. Nanami rolls his eyes, burying his reddening face in his newspaper again.

You feel a surge of fear stab through you as you hear footsteps climb up the stairs. You hide your laptop back into your bag and turn on your TV, hurrying to find something to watch as a cover. But when you hear a knock, you relax, Satoru never knocks.

“Come in!” you speak, happily, welcoming your favourite and only uncle Nanamin into your room. Though your heart sinks as your step-father follows, crossing your arms across your chest as you huff and pout petulantly.

“Don’t be like that…” Nanami speaks softly, sitting on the edge of your bed and resting his hand on your thigh. “We need to talk to you. And we want to ask you something.” he continues. Your pout fades, then, a slight feeling of anxiety creeps into you as you wonder if something serious has happened.

And Satoru sits on the edge of the bed, too, his beaming blue eyes almost pierce through your heart as he begins to explain. How he’s just worried about you because he knows from experience how college guys can be. How he’s your dad no matter what and he just wants the best for you. And he thinks you need a little help in the right direction on your journey of self-discovery.

“I know you’re a woman now, sweetheart, but you’re still daddy’s little girl. Yeah? So, let daddy help.”

“He- with what?” you blink at him, dumbly, and the delighted snarl on his face almost chills you to the bone. He doesn’t speak right away, so you look at Nanami. But it’s like he can’t bear to look at you as he sinks his head low with shame. “With what?” you ask again.

 “Well, Nanami said you’re curious. So he’s been fucking you, right?”

“No!” you and your uncle yell simultaneously. Did he really tell your insufferable step-father something so personal?

“I told you, I haven’t slept with her. Don’t tease her or you’ll make things worse.” Nanami clarifies before he focuses his attention on you. “But you are curious, aren’t you? You’re getting attention from boys and you’re enjoying it, clearly. They aren’t good for you though, princess. They don’t know how to treat girls right.”

You hum, softly, as he pushes your legs apart, revealing your pink cotton panties to the two of them as they continue to talk you through their thought process. And the touch of your uncle Nanamin is your ultimate weakness. They both get a live response to his action as your pretty pussy starts to gift your panties with a dark, sticky patch between your dewy folds.

“Boys that age, sweetheart, they don’t know what they’re doing. Do you touch yourself? ‘m sure you do, I’m not naïve enough to think otherwise. But that means you like to cum, yeah? These college guys don’t care about that. They just want a little hole to cum in and defile. And we think you deserve better than that.” Satoru explains, his inquisitive fingers begin to prod at your puffy cunt, though you trap his hand between your plush thighs.

“Satoru…” you respond, bashfully.

“No.” he speaks, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down the bed and towards himself. He looks mad, but there’s no real malice behind it. Still your heart is pounding. “I’m your dad like he is your uncle. I’m not Satoru. Who am I?” he asks, reaching under your skirt to pull down your panties.

“D-Daddy… you’re daddy. ‘m sorry.” you whimper. Your eyes flutter as his long fingers invade your pretty, virgin walls. “Hng—!”

“Gooood girl.” he smiles as he begins to curl them upwards. “I slipped right on in, has uncle Kento gotten you used to taking his fingers?”

“Mhmm…” you blush. The man in question bends down to kiss you.

It’s sweet, though you find yourself grabby and desperate as you follow his lead. He pulls away to undress you, unbuttoning your shirt and then his own after throwing away his tie. He helps you out of your bra, and you instinctively go to cover your nipples as you remember who you’re actually in the company of. But Nanami doesn’t want that. He locks his fingers with yours, holding your hands above your head as he begins to suckle on them until they’re both puckered and raw.

“Sit her up, and sit behind her.” Satoru tells his brother-in-law. And of course he acquiesces. You’re moved like you’re weightless as your uncle sits behind you, his clothed cock pressing angrily into the curve of your spine as he continues to torment your tits. Satoru pulls his fingers out of your cunt and sucks them clean, smiling at how your eyes begin to sparkle with wonder as he puts on such a display. “Do not tell your mother about this, understand?”

You nod, obediently. You wouldn’t dream of telling her something so scandalous. Though it does fill you with a slight sense of pride as your Satoru makes it abundantly clear how desperately he’d longed to be the first person to explore your untouched core. He pulls down his trousers and you moan at his smooth, pink cockhead. Though right now it’s closer to an angry shade of red.

He really is desperate.

You wince, slightly, as he pushes his tip inside. Though he retracts it, coating his head in your wetness.

“Fuuuuck, you weren’t lyin’. You really never fucked her, huh Nanami?” Gojo chuckles as he pushes in deeper and deeper. Nanami slots his fingers into your mouth to suck on as you accommodate to the length. “Relax, baby. Clampin’ so much you’re gonna push me out.” he laughs shallowly, his thrusts matching as he begins to work you open.

“D-Daddy!” you gasp, back arching against Nanami’s chest before he pulls you back towards him.

“We’re so proud of you, princess.” Nanami shushes you, placing a kiss to your temple. You look at him with wide, trusting eyes, though he can’t really concentrate as his own fixate on the way your tits bounce with each thrust Gojo inflicts onto you. “Why don’t you show your dad how I taught you to suck cock, hm?”

“Oh? Now that I’d like to see.” Gojo smiles, pulling out of you briefly. The sound of your sticky walls echoes through the room as he pulls out. The men help you onto all fours, and your daddy slots himself right back into your tight heat. The adjusted angle makes you fall forward, your head lolling as he finds a nice little trigger inside of you. “Oh… there, huh? Okay, baby. I’ll fuck you right there.” Satoru tells you as he begins to fuck into you before slowing down.

Nanami takes his cock out of his briefs, tapping the tip against your swollen lips. They open, obediently, and you lick the precum he’s spilling directly from the source. Your hole flutters as he hisses, enamoured by the sensation.

“Perfect, princess. Such a good little girl for me.” Kento comments, and your heart beats harder. You’re almost robbed of all sense as Gojo pistons his hips into you, and he leans forward to grab your hair and wrap it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, Kento, maybe we should teach her how college boys fuck. Since she wanted that experience so badly.” Satoru proposes, and Nanami considers it. He really considers it. And Gojo chuckles at that. “Go on… show her.”

Nanami nods, grabbing the sides of your head and fucking your face like you’re his own personal cocksleeve.

It’s relentless and dizzying and you don’t know how to settle. You can’t possibly as you’re ruined from both ends. There’s no reprieve, there’s no way to relax. You’re trembling and moaning and fuck you never knew sex could be so intense. Nanami is always calm and patient with you. But this isn’t that.

They’ve ran out of patience with you.

It doesn’t matter which way you try to retreat, you’re only encouraging the other one. More of Nanami’s cock down your throat and more of Gojo’s hitting your g-spot.

“W-We’ll have to get you on the pill, sweetheart.” Gojo tells you, but it’s more like he’s telling himself. He knows he can’t cum inside. He can’t, but fuck, he wants to. He fucking needs to. “College guys, they like- leaving their- mark.” he thrusts again and again until he’s on the very brink of blowing his load. But his life won’t be worth living if he knocks his cute little daughter up. His marriage will be over. He’ll lose everything.

And with that, he pulls out and coats your pussy lips with his sperm. The loss of feeling from inside makes you cry out around Nanami’s length, though you still can’t pull away from him as he continues to use your mouth as his own personal toy. You never knew your uncle Nanamin had this side to him.

He’s usually so sweet and patient.

He pulls out, too, depriving you of the taste of his cum and the chance to prove what a good girl you are. Though you take his load beautifully as he shoots soupy ropes across your pretty face. His heart skips a beat as your false lashes flutter and he realises a heavy glob stuck to them.

“College guys, sweetheart, might take pictures of you like this.” Satoru pulls his phone from his back pocket and takes a few photos of your quivering cunt. You’ve been neglected in the worst way, and it’s dawning on you now what he had meant by giving you the college experience. He tosses his phone to Nanami, encouraging him to do the same. Your innocent and betrayed face is captured so perfectly through the lens of the phone, Nanami’s pearly seed is the perfect colour for your complexion.

“College guys would send these around to their friends too, you know.” Nanami warns you.

“But we’ll just keep these between ourselves.” Satoru promises you. “I think it’s only fair we didn’t let you cum this time since you were so intent on disobeying your daddy.”

“I think she’s learnt her lesson, though, Satoru.” Nanami speaks, pulling your hair so that you can look up at him and he can identify if you dare to lie to him. “Fucking college boys doesn’t sound that fun anymore, does it? Say sorry, princess. Your dad might let you cum next time if you’re a good girl.”

You sniff, and hiccup, unsure of where to look.

“’m s-sorry, daddy.” you sniffle, Nanami releases your hair and allows you to look back at Gojo, a wild grin on his face.

“Awe… sweet.” Gojo smiles, circling the bed so he’s standing beside Nanami, both of their eyes bore down at you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “I think we’re owed a thank you, we took the time to teach you such an important lesson, after all.”

“T-Thank you,” you sniff, again, “Thank you, d-daddy. Thank you, uncle Nanamin.”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[maybanksmusings]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; buckle up pookies, as this is merely part one of a multi-part fic that spans as far as the end of season three ( on the fence about season four but we will see ). as noted above, this fic will be canon adjacent, mainly focusing on the storyline as portrayed in the outer banks chapters of the 'netflix stories' mobile app. without any more of my yapping, i hope you all enjoy!

you can't help but squint once you step off the bus, your dollar store sunglasses doing very little to shield your eyes from the burning, outer banks sun. you bring your hand up in an attempt to further protect your eyes, needing to make your way to the seahorse hotel and fast.

a flash of long, blonde hair invades your vision, something you don't think twice about until the body attached to said hair knocks right into you, saturating your white tank top with her oversized cherry-coloured drink.

there's a beat of silence between both of you, behind darkened lenses your eyes bore into the girl before you. if looks could kill.

"shit! i am so sorry!" the blonde apologises, face turning as red as the newfound stain on your shirt. her hand darts out in an attempt to miraculously wipe the stain away "oh god, this is so embarrassing."

a part of you feels empathetic, it was an easy mistake to make in hindsight. another part of you wanted to push past the girl and continue getting on with your day.

"my name is sarah," she continues rambling, her hand still frequently scrubbing at the stain, making it worse "i didn't get your name, well no shit" the last part is barely a mumble, but you still catch it.

an unintentional laugh escapes you, finding amusement in her panicked awkwardness "if i tell you will you stop feeling me up?"

it was a joke, at least mostly, yet sarah froze in horror as the realisation set in. she was feeling up a stranger at the bus stop.

before she can begin rambling again, you speak up "my name is y/n." purposefully, you drop the surname. sure, sarah seemed sweet, but that didn't warrant spilling your life story at her feet.

sarah nodded in acknowledgement, taking a step out of your personal space and taking a proper look at you "touron?"

your face screws up, it feels like she just called you a name you couldn't repeat "excuse me?"

"you're a tourist, right?" sarah clarified, gesturing towards the scruffy backpack hanging from your shoulder.

"not quite," you trail off, unsure of how to broach your new arrival without dropping yourself in hot water "just, in town for a while."

"unlucky you.."

"unlucky how?"

sarah links her arm through yours, all but dragging you down the street alongside her "i'll fill you in on the way."

your protests and kidnapping allegations fell on deaf ears, only being told to stop being dramatic as she dragged you along. eventually, the dragging falls back into you willingly walking with her through pristine neighbourhoods that housed buildings like nothing you had ever seen.

you listened as sarah explained the outlandish rules that accompanied living on the island. the outer banks were essentially split in half, the kooks and the pouges, the haves and the have-nots, the sarahs and the y/ns.

when her pace eventually stalls, you have to tense your jaw to stop your mouth from falling open. you had seen some serious houses on the way here, but compared to sarahs they looked like dives.

"welcome to tanneyhill" sarah beams, but you can feel the uncertainty bubbling inside her as if she was embarrassed "come on, i'll show you my room."

you follow her through the glass doors and into the manor, eyes intently scanning the walls as you climb the staircase "you make a habit of bringing random strangers into your house?"

"do you make a habit of going home with random strangers?"

"depends if they're my type."

your quick rebuttal elicits a laugh from sarah as she pushes the door open, waving you into her room and heading straight for the closet "and what is your type?"

"you sweet on me, stranger?" you tease, your playful tone making it clear you were simply messing with her.

"with my whole heart, newbie" she laughs, the contents of her closet being dropped to the floor as she rifled through it "but our secret love affair must remain hidden as i am a taken lady"

with a dramatic gasp, you slap your hand to your chest and fall back on the bed "you wound me."

"sarah 'the heartbreaker' cameron is what they call me." as you're processing her surname, a white cropped tank is flung at you from the opposite side of the room "now, come on, boy talk"

"what if i wanna girl talk?" you question, holding the piece of fabric up to examine it "sarah 'the homophobe' cameron more like"

as she crosses the room to sit alongside you, sarah rolls her eyes "my sincerest apologies, sex talk then"

"cameron now i really think you want me." you wiggle your eyebrows at her, huffing when she hits you with a pink pillow with a sparkly 's' "hey! watch the rhinestones"

"you know, i was gonna try play matchmaker at the boneyard tonight but if you wanna be like that.."

"you just said a lot of words with very little meaning" you tut, not fully clued in on the outer banks slang.

by now you have risen to your feet, standing between the bed and the window as you changed into the clean shirt, balling up the stained one and stuffing it in your backpack.

"its a pre-storm rager on the beach, the one place kooks and pouges get along. we party as long as we can and when the storm hits, run for cover"

you're only half listening to sarah, instead your attention hones in on the head of curly brown hair down on the dock as it moves along a boat named 'my druthers'.

you barely register the figure by your side, watching just as closely as you were as the brunette is joined by three others, laughing and joking.

"that would be john b," without looking you can hear sarahs grin, mistaking your fascination for attraction.

"routledge?" your mouth opens before your brain can stop it, you knew who it was, but you needed to hear it.

"you know him?"

finally, your brain catches up and you somehow manage to pull a lie out of your ass "not personally, saw him on tv. some appeal for his dad."

sarah bellows out a soft, sad sigh, letting her thoughts be known without saying a word. there's an unspoken air of silence between you, until sarah, literally, shakes it off and stands upright again.

"wanna meet him?" the blonde offers, despite the fact its more of a demand as you're being dragged along once again.

only this time your refusal is much clearer, practically begging the girl to let you go before she managed to get you out into the yard. again sarah is misreading the situation, interpreting your panic as awkward butterflies.

your demands persist, though much quieter as you're dragged further down the dock, closer to john b and his friends.

"hello, ladies" john b's blonde friend greets with a low whistle and a cheeky grin, shamelessly checking both you and sarah out.

for a moment your anxiety vanishes, your entire nervous system sparking still but for different reasons. this might be the most beautiful boy you've ever set eyes on.

this. this was your type.

"you're new" he speaks, gesturing towards you "that's for sure, yet to be a time i've forgotten a face like that." with a wink, he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

you curse god. why couldn't you have met this guy somewhere else? why wasn't he the blonde stranger that took you home?

"you done macking on the kook?" a girls voice echos from behind him, her words and her expression dripping with disgust as she eyed you.

"i'm not a kook." you bite back, sightly too aggressive for a first impression but you couldn't help it with the look of clear disdain embedded on her face.

sarahs arm links through yours, a mumbled "easy, newbie" falling only on your ears "y/n is new in town, i brought her down here while i found out what you guys are doing on my dads boat." despite her civility there's a challenging edge in her voice.

"lest ye forget, i work here."

john b, suddenly emerging from the ships hull and hurling a snide smile in sarahs direction. you had only ever seen him on fuzzy news broadcasts, he was taller than you had anticipated, confrontational too.

though, genetics could explain that one.

"can we help you?" the girl speaks again, sending your eyes rolling as you face john b.

"can you tell your guard dog to stand down? last i checked one of us was invited here and funnily enough it wasn't her"

you hear another boy mumble an excited "cat fight!" to your new, blonde, hyperfixation as they exchange money on bets.

"seriously? i expect this shit from jj but pope? disappointing" john b tutted, sounding like a disappointed father as he got off the boat "not looking for trouble, just bringing back the diving shit, full."

menial conversation is exchanged between sarah and john b, though your attention mainly resides with the newly named jj. he was leaning back against the boat, rolling a joint without a care in the world.

you try to keep the glances to a minimum, after all you had much bigger problems to wade through right now, but you simply couldn't look away. he was the definition of magnetic.

even when he catches you looking, there isn't a morsel of awkwardness, just a knowing look of curiosity that lingered far longer than it should have.

then, he winks. he fucking winks before returning to rolling with that stupid, insanely hot grin on his face. you were far from shy, and only for the audience around you, you would've jumped on him long ago.

any reckless ideas potentially coming to fruition is spoiled when sarah, still linked with you, retreats back toward tanneyhill. with a final glance back at jj, you hold your thumb and pinky to your ear and mouth 'call me', earning yourself a wink and a crossed heart in return.

maybe this wouldn't pan out to be a total shit show after all.

[whosscruffylooking]

Militiae Species Amor Est II

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Re-read Part I Now!

a/n: if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know in the comments!

warnings: // a small threat of violence is made between Iris and her partner, but no physical contact is made. canon typical violence.

word count: 4.2k

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You step cautiously into the grand halls of the estate, the place you once roamed as a little servant girl, where your bare feet had once echoed softly against the cold marble. The air is thick with the weight of memories, each one pressing heavily against your chest. This was the house where you had grown up, where you had once been invisible, and where your life had irrevocably intertwined with his.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts. It rings out, familiar and poised, yet carrying a tension you haven’t heard before.

“Iris. It has been quite some time.”

You turn sharply, your breath catching as you face Lucilla, the mistress of this house—and the mother of the man you’ve spent a lifetime aching for. She stands before you, as elegant and commanding as you remember, her beauty untouched by the years. For a moment, you falter, caught between the awe she still inspires and the fury simmering just beneath your surface. But there’s no time to linger on reverence. Not now.

“We need to help Lucius escape,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire raging in your chest.

Lucilla’s expression hardens, her posture as composed as ever. “You are in no position to plot something like this. An engaged woman. A woman of low birth who has risen to a place of promise.” She steps closer, her gaze piercing, as if to drive the point deeper. “It isn’t safe for you.”

Her words land like a blow. You bristle, your hands curling into fists at your sides as anger floods through you. “You mean to insult me? When you know—when you must know—that I have loved your son since childhood?” Your voice rises, trembling with the weight of years left unspoken. “Do you truly believe that I could ever forget him? Forget the way we laughed, the way we cried, the way you sent him away as if he were nothing but an inconvenience? I have not had a single night of peaceful rest since that day! Not one!”

Lucilla’s carefully composed mask cracks, but you don’t stop. The words pour out, sharp and unrelenting. “And you? As his mother, do you feel nothing? No anguish, no torment? Or do you simply find it easier to look away, to let him suffer alone? Now he’s here—he’s here, Lucilla—and you expect me to sit back, to watch him fight the same fight that took his father from him? With no attempt to save him, no attempt to shield him from even more pain?”

The silence that follows feels deafening. For a moment, Lucilla looks at you as though she’s been struck. Her lips part, trembling with words that won’t come. Then, to your shock, her face crumples, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

She crosses the space between you in an instant, wrapping you in an embrace that is both unexpected and suffocating. Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I subjected one child to a life of pain. I—I couldn’t bear to see you suffer the same. Don’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you to find peace, Iris. Contentment. That’s why—” She pulls back, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “That’s why when Caius’ father approached me, I agreed. I thought he could give you the life you deserved, one free of sorrow. I never meant to make you feel betrayed.”

You push her hands away, stepping back as the weight of her confession settles over you like a leaden cloak. “Peace?” Your voice is bitter, sharp as broken glass. “Do you truly believe I could ever find peace without him? All I ever wanted was your son. Not your pity. Not a life designed to ease your guilt.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You straighten your spine, your voice unwavering. “If you truly cared about me, you would have sent me with him. Instead, you left us both to live lives filled with nothing but longing and regret. So save your excuses, Lucilla. If you truly care now, then tell me—” Your voice hardens, each word a command. “Tell me the plan to rescue Lucius.”

And she does. Through trembling breaths and tear-filled eyes, Lucilla tells you the plan—how her husband, Acacius, will orchestrate Lucius’s escape from the prison. She explains the carefully laid steps, each one steeped in risk, each one reliant on precision. But there’s one missing piece.

“Someone needs to warn him,” she says, her voice wavering as she meets your gaze. “He has to know what’s coming, or he’ll resist. He won’t trust it.”

The moment hangs heavy between you, her words an unspoken plea. You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it,” you say firmly, the fire in your chest burning brighter now. “I’ll warn him.”

Lucilla’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but you shake your head, cutting her off before she can speak.

“No one else knows him like I do,” you continue. “He’ll listen to me. He’ll trust me.”

For a moment, Lucilla studies you, her expression a war between doubt and something that almost looks like hope. Then, finally, she nods, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her choice.

“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. But you’re already turning away, your mind focused on one thing: reaching Lucius.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The corridors of the barracks stretch before you like an endless void, every shadow a whisper of your guilt, every creak of the stone beneath your feet a reminder of what you stand to lose. Wrapped in a dark cloak, the cool air bites at your skin, but the ache in your chest burns hotter. You cling to the cover of night as you make your way toward Ravi, a gladiator-turned-medic who once saved soldiers from the edge of death. Tonight, you hope he’ll save you in a different way.

When you reach his room, you knock softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Ravi.”

The door creaks open, his wary eyes scanning the hall before they settle on you. “What are you doing here?” he hisses. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

“I won’t tell you the details,” you reply quickly, your voice trembling. “If anyone questions you, I don’t want you to lie on my behalf. All I ask is that you point me toward Hanno—let me speak with him privately.”

Ravi’s expression hardens, torn between caution and compassion. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nods. “You shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs, but he leads you through the labyrinthine halls. When he stops outside a cell, his voice is heavy with warning. “He’s in here. Be quick.”

Ravi pushes the door open slightly, just enough for the man inside to hear. “Someone is here to see you, Hanno,” he announces.

Lucius turns at the sound of his name, his face hardening the moment he sees you. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing before he looks away sharply. “I have nothing to say to her,” he bites out, his voice rough, almost broken.

Your heart twists painfully at his words, but you nod at Ravi, signaling for him to let you in anyway. He hesitates, but when he sees the determination in your eyes, he steps back, locking the door behind you as you slip into the dimly lit cell.

Lucius stands with his back to you, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His silence is deafening, but you don’t let it deter you. You step closer, the ache in your chest swelling with every step. Tears sting your eyes as you finally find the words you’ve been rehearsing in your mind since the moment you decided to come here.

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “For how I treated you. For what I said.”

He doesn’t move, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders. You press on, desperate to reach him.

“I never should have assumed you would return to this place—to the pain, to the life you’ve fought so hard to escape—and risk everything for the very place that destroyed your family. It was selfish of me to ask, selfish to think I had that right. I suppose these emotions, these feelings I’ve tried so hard to bury, have clouded my judgment.”

His breathing slows, the air between you thick with words left unsaid. You take another step, your voice breaking now.

“But know this, Lucius: you are far more than just a gladiator. Even before I saw you in those cursed games, you were so much more to me. You always have been. You were the boy who gave me his last piece of bread when I had nothing. The boy who made me laugh when the world felt too heavy. The boy whose soul captured mine long before I knew what love even was.”

His shoulders slump slightly, and though he doesn’t turn, you see his hand tremble. The silence stretches, heavy with everything you’re too afraid to ask. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw with pain.

“And yet you stood there, questioning who I was,” he murmurs. “Doubting the choices I made to survive. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love look at you as though you’re a stranger?”

The words cut deep, sharp as any blade, and tears spill down your cheeks. You move closer, desperate to bridge the distance, to close the chasm that has grown between you.

“I was wrong,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I was so wrong. But I swear to you, Lucius, I have never stopped seeing the boy you were. And I will never stop loving the man you’ve become.”

Lucius stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotions too tangled to name. The air between you crackles, heavy with unspoken words and the years of longing that have built into this single, fraught moment. You search his face for a sign that your words have reached him, that the wall he’s built is beginning to crumble.

Lucius's gaze burns into yours, his expression a tempest of anguish and desire, before he moves. His hands are on you in an instant, rough but careful, as though he's afraid you'll vanish if he doesn't hold tight enough. He presses you against the cold, damp wall of the cell, the chill of the stone seeping through your cloak and biting into your skin. It's grounding, sharp against the heat that erupts between you as his lips claim yours.

The kiss is everything you've imagined and nothing like it all at once-wild, desperate, and unrelenting. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize the feel of you. His lips are firm, demanding, pouring years of suppressed longing into the kiss. You can feel his ragged breaths mingling with yours, and the faint taste of salt from your shared tears lingers between you.

Your hands find his chest, trembling as they trace over the worn fabric of his tunic and the hard planes of his body. His heart is pounding beneath your palms, as wild and erratic as your own. When your fingers curl into the fabric to pull him closer, he growls low in his throat—a sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

The cold wall presses unyieldingly against your back as he leans into you, his body a solid, unmovable force. The contrast of cold stone and his scorching heat sets your senses ablaze. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could somehow fuse the two of you together, and the pressure of his touch ignites a fire that consumes you whole.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you both struggle to catch your breath. His lips hover near yours, as though the distance is too much to bear, and his voice, rough and low, brushes over your skin.

 "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. "Do you see what you've done to me? You've been the only thing keeping me alive, Iris. Even when I hated the world, I still loved you."

Your tears spill freely as you clutch at his tunic, your voice trembling. "I see it, Lucius. I see it, and I feel it, because l've loved you just as fiercely.”

He tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening, and his thumb brushes tenderly across your jaw. "Then let there be no more fear," he whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is softer but no less consuming, filled with a desperate hope that perhaps the two of you, against all odds, can still claim the love that's been waiting for so long.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sun blazes mercilessly as the crowd fills the arena, their cheers deafening and bloodthirsty. Your seat offers a clear view of the sand-covered pit, where the fighters enter with stoic faces and heavy chains. Among them is Lucius. Even in the sea of bodies, your eyes find him instantly.

He walks with his head held high, his shoulders squared. You can see the fire burning in him now—a determination that wasn’t there before, knowing that people are ready to rescue him. The weight of hope, of knowing freedom waits just beyond the reach of this hellish stage, has reignited something in him. Yet, the sight of him under the watchful eyes of guards and the jeering crowd still twists your stomach with dread.

Your fiancé, Caius, sits beside you, oblivious to the storm raging within you. His hand rests possessively on your arm as if to remind everyone—and perhaps himself—of who you belong to.

When the fight begins, Lucius is relentless. His movements are sharper, faster, more focused than ever before. You watch in awe as he disarms one opponent and dodges another’s blade with a grace that feels almost otherworldly. But it’s not enough to calm your nerves. Every strike, every blow he lands only tightens the knot in your chest.

And then it happens. A spear slices across his shoulder, leaving a vivid trail of crimson in its wake. He stumbles, his hand instinctively going to the wound, and for a moment, your world stops.

You stand without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Lucius,” you whisper, though the name escapes like a prayer rather than a call.

Caius turns sharply to you, his grip on your arm tightening. “What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice low but sharp. “Sit down, Iris.”

But you can’t. Your heart is pounding too loudly, drowning out his words. All you can see is the blood staining Lucius’s tunic, the grimace of pain that briefly flashes across his face before he forces himself back into the fight.

“Iris!” Caius snaps, his voice rising now. “This is unseemly. People are watching!”

You don’t care. The moment the fight ends and Lucius is escorted out, you wrench free from Caius’s grasp and run. His angry protests fade behind you as your sandals slap against the stone corridors leading to the medic chambers.

When you burst through the door, Ravi looks up in surprise. Lucius sits on a stool, blood dripping from his shoulder as Ravi prepares to clean the wound. His gaze snaps to you, and for a moment, he freezes, the stoic mask slipping to reveal something raw and unguarded.

“What are you doing here?” Ravi asks, his tone filled with warning.

But Lucius speaks first, his voice low and strained. “Iris.” Your name on his lips feels like both a question and an anchor.

You cross the room in a rush, ignoring Ravi’s protests and Lucius’s raised brow. “Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the cloth in Ravi’s hand. Your fingers tremble as you press it against the wound, but you don’t flinch.

Lucius watches you, his gaze piercing. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but there’s no anger in his voice—only concern.

“And you shouldn’t be out there,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But here we are.”

His hand rises, hesitating for a moment before it brushes against yours, smearing your skin with his blood. “I’ll be fine,” he says, though his eyes betray him.

“No, you won’t,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Not if I lose you.”

Ravi clears his throat awkwardly, stepping back. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he mutters, leaving the room.

Lucius exhales shakily, his gaze never leaving yours. “Iris, you have to be careful. If Caius—”

“Let Caius think what he will,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with conviction. “I won’t sit by and do nothing while you suffer.”

In the space of a breath, his restraint snaps. "Damn Caius," he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, just before his lips capture yours.

The kiss is wild and desperate, like a clash of wills—a battle neither of you is willing to lose.

His hands tighten around your waist as yours tangle in his hair, the metallic taste of blood faint on his lips, a reminder of the wounds he's endured. He kisses you with the fervor of a man who's fought too long to deny what he feels, each movement urgent and unyielding.

He lifts you onto the nearby table, the rough wood cold beneath your legs as papers and tools clatter to the ground, forgotten. You gasp against his mouth, but he doesn't falter, his body pressing into yours as if to prove something-to you, to himself, to the world that's tried to keep you apart.

Outside, the sound of footsteps halts, followed by a frustrated sigh. Ravi's voice mutters something inaudible, and you know he's standing there, trying to give you privacy while also likely cursing your recklessness.

Lucius pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space between. "This is madness," he whispers, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

"Then let it be madness," you reply, your voice just as unsteady. Your hands trail down to his face, cupping his jaw as your thumbs brush over his cheekbones. "Because l'd rather have this moment than a lifetime of silence."

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss even fiercer than before, as though he's pouring all the words he can't say into the connection. His hands linger around your thighs, gradually pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher up your leg.

“Lucius, I—” Ravi’s voice cuts through the haze, and you pull back abruptly, your chest heaving.

Lucius turns toward the door, his body instinctively shifting to shield you from Ravi’s view, though it’s already too late. Ravi stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

“I left you alone for mere minutes,” Ravi mutters, crossing his arms as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you hold your ground, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “I was helping,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

“And clearly you’ve been very thorough in your assistance,” Ravi replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lucius steps forward, his voice low but firm. “Enough, Ravi. You’ve said your piece.”

Ravi exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone finds out about this, it’s not just you two who’ll pay the price. Keep that in mind.” He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath as he leaves.

The door clicks shut, and silence settles over the room once more. Lucius looks at you, his eyes clouded with both regret and longing. “I’ll deal with him,” he says softly, though his hand lingers at your side, as if reluctant to let you go.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The door slams shut behind you as you step into the quiet of your home, the night air still clinging to your skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the events that transpired just moments ago. You barely have a chance to steady your breath before Caius appears in the hallway, his sharp gaze locking onto you as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, hair slightly tousled, your dress still crinkled from the tension of the night.

“Where have you been?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, an undeniable undertone of suspicion that you cannot ignore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, a familiar lie already forming on your lips. “I was just out for a walk,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a slight quiver in your voice that betrays you.

Caius takes a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing, scanning you with unsettling precision. He glances down at your dress, and for a split second, his gaze lingers on a small stain of blood near the hem. His face hardens.

“That doesn’t look like the mark of a walk,” he says, voice tight with suspicion. “Where did you get this from?”

You freeze. The blood—it wasn’t from you, but from the hurried touch you had shared with Lucius. His words echo in your mind, Damn Caius. You can feel the weight of that kiss, the dangerous closeness, and the desperation in his touch. It lingers in your skin, like a brand that you can’t erase.

“Nothing happened,” you lie again, your heart racing in your chest. You want to scream, to tell him the truth, but fear clamps down on your throat. “I helped Ravi again, like I used to.”

Caius isn’t fooled. His eyes flicker with recognition, and before you can take another breath, he’s stepping toward you, his hand gripping your wrist tightly. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you? The Eagle of Rome.”

The mention of Lucius sends a shock of panic through you, freezing you in place. No—you try to deny it, but the truth is already written across your face. “I haven’t—” you start, but the words falter. You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice a razor’s edge, the anger seeping through each word. His fingers are like iron, digging into your skin as he pulls you toward him. “I saw the way you looked at him in the stadium.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as the weight of his accusation hits. Lucius—the name lingers like a forbidden prayer. “I was helping all of the warriors today. I promise you, I didn’t even touch him,” you snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and guilt, but the words feel hollow, like a lie you want to believe but can’t.

“Stop!” Caius interrupts, his voice rising now, each word thick with rising fury. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? That I haven’t seen how you’ve been sneaking around? How you’ve been lying to me?”

His words hit you like a slap. In an instant, his frustration boils over, his anger flaring in his eyes. He moves toward you, forceful and sharp, and you stumble back into the wall, trying to escape his grasp. You gasp, your heart pounding as you try to steady yourself.

But before you can recover, Caius is right there, his face inches from yours, his breath ragged with fury. “You have no idea what kind of reproach you’re bringing against our family,” he spits, his voice dangerously quiet now. “Your actions make us a mockery. The choices you’ve made—make us look like fools.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart aching in your chest. His words cut deeper than you expected, and guilt rises in your throat. He’s right—this has always been the choice, between him and Lucius. Between duty and love. But you couldn’t let go—not when Lucius needed you, not when you were the only one who could do something for him.

“Let me go, Caius,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if asking for the smallest mercy. “Please.”

But there’s no mercy in his eyes now. Only betrayal, and the realization that whatever it is that’s come between you, whatever feelings you’ve tried to bury, are on the cusp of release. He stares at you, and for a moment, you think you see something softer in his gaze—but it’s fleeting. He lets out a jagged breath, his grip still tight on your wrist.

“I never wanted this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that, because you feel the same way. Every word from his lips is a weight pressing you into the wall, and yet, you can’t escape it.

“Clean yourself up,” Caius says, stepping back. His eyes linger on you, raw and unrelenting. “And can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

Caius turns away, his shoulders tense with unresolved anger, and the silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken truths. As he walks out, leaving you standing alone in the dimly lit room, you feel the weight of the choice you’ve made—and the painful certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tag list: @willowpains

[baelabong]

ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ

(ᴋᴀʀɪɴᴀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

rq: yes

Pairing: Knight! G!P! Karina x princess! fem reader

Note/warnings: multiple s*x scenes, swearing, this is all fiction gang, riding Next

“Y/N,” he begins, his tone one of authority. “Next week Wednesday is an important night, not just for our kingdom, but for you personally.”

You nod, trying to keep your expression composed. “Yes, Father.”

He walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm, a reminder of the expectations that have always been placed on you. “Mark’s family is powerful, their influence extends across many lands. A strong alliance with them would benefit our kingdom greatly. It’s time you start thinking about your future… about marriage.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, but you force yourself to remain calm, nodding in agreement. “I understand, Father.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Y/N. But as a princess, your duty to the kingdom must come first. Tonight, you must show Mark’s family that you’re ready to take on that responsibility.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening as you suppress the emotions threatening to break free. “I will do my best, Father.”

He gives you a small, approving nod before turning back to the window. “Good. Now, go prepare yourself for the ball. Remember, the future of our kingdom rests on your shoulders.”

With a final bow, you leave his chambers, your composure intact until you’re out of sight. The moment you reach your own room, however, the dam breaks. You collapse onto your bed, tears streaming down your face as the weight of your father’s words crashes over you.

It’s not just the thought of marriage that tears at your heart—it’s the knowledge that you could never be with the one person you truly love. The unfairness of it all feels suffocating, as though you’re trapped in a cage with no escape.

The door to your chambers opens quietly, and you look up to see Karina standing there. Her expression shifts from concern to heartbreak when she sees you crying. She rushes to your side, kneeling beside you as she gently takes your hands in hers.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” she asks softly, her voice filled with worry. “What happened?”

You can barely speak through your sobs, but the words tumble out in a broken whisper. “It’s so unfair, Karina. My father… he wants me to marry Mark. He says it’s my duty to the kingdom, but… but what about us? Why can’t we be together?”

Karina’s jaw clenches, and you can see the anger flicker in her eyes. She pulls you into her arms, holding you tightly as if she can shield you from the pain of reality. “You’ll always have me, Y/N. I’ll be by your side, no matter what. And if it comes to it, I’ll run away with you. We can leave this place, start a new life where no one can tell us what we can or cannot be.”

You pull back slightly, looking into her eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. “You would do that for me?” you ask, your voice trembling.

Her eyes blaze with fierce determination as she cups your face in her hands. “I would do anything for you. I’d even get rid of anyone who stands in our way… even your father if it meant keeping you safe and happy.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her words, a surge of emotion overwhelming you. The world around you falls away, and all that matters is Karina—her love, her devotion, the way she makes you feel safe and cherished. Without thinking, you crash your lips against hers, the kiss filled with desperation and raw need.

Karina responds immediately, her arms wrapping around you as she deepens the kiss. You can feel the intensity in the way she holds you, as if she never wants to let go. Her hands begin to roam, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

You break the kiss, panting as you look at her with a mix of longing and urgency. “Karina… I need you. Please…”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. In a blur of motion, she lifts you into her arms, carrying you over to the bed. She lays you down gently, her eyes dark with desire as she hovers over you. The sight of her above you, her hair falling like a curtain around your face, sends a shiver of anticipation through you.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice husky, though you can see the tenderness in her eyes.

You nod, your hands trembling as they reach for her. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With that, she kisses you again, her lips moving down your neck as her hands begin to undo the delicate ties of your gown. The fabric slips away, exposing your skin to the cool air and Karina’s burning touch. Her fingers trace over your curves, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as she explores every inch of you.

Your breaths become ragged as her hands move lower, teasing and caressing, until you’re a trembling mess beneath her. The composed princess, who stood so poised before her father, is gone. All that remains is a woman lost in the throes of passion, unable to hold back the moans and gasps that escape her lips.

“Karina… please…” you plead, your voice barely a whisper as you arch into her touch.

She doesn’t make you wait any longer. Her hand slips between your thighs, and you cry out at the sensation, your body reacting instantly to her touch. She watches you, her eyes filled with a mix of love and desire, as she brings you to the edge of ecstasy.

You can barely think, your mind clouded with pleasure as she continues to work her magic. Words fall from your lips, broken and breathless as you cling to her, your nails digging into her shoulders. “Karina… I… I’m…”

“Let go,” she murmurs against your skin, her voice soothing as she pushes you over the edge. “I’ve got you, Y/N. I’ll always have you.”

With a final cry, you shatter, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. Karina holds you through it, her touch never wavering as she guides you back down, her lips pressing gentle kisses to your flushed skin.

When it’s over, you collapse against her, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath. Karina pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you protectively as she whispers soothing words in your ear.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, her voice full of conviction. “And I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

You smile weakly, feeling safe and cherished in her embrace. “And I’m yours,” you murmur, your voice filled with emotion. “Always”

——

The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm glow through the tall windows of your chambers. You stand before a large mirror, admiring the way your gown shimmers like stardust. The intricate embroidery catches the light, making you look like a vision of royalty. You smile softly at your reflection, but the flutter in your stomach isn’t just from the anticipation of the grand ball—it’s from the woman standing just behind you, her presence as electrifying as ever.

Karina, your ever-loyal knight, is supposed to be helping you get ready, but her touch lingers far longer than necessary, her hands wandering over the soft fabric of your dress and the bare skin of your shoulders. Her fingers trace delicate patterns on your back, her breath warm against your neck as she leans in close.

“You look stunning,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “But you know, I could just as easily take this gown off you as I put it on.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at her words, and you bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “Karina,” you whisper, your voice trembling with both excitement and a hint of warning. “We don’t have time for this… the ball—”

“Let them wait,” she interrupts, her hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against her. “You know how much I hate sharing you with them.”

You laugh softly, though it quickly turns into a quiet gasp as she presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, her lips lingering there. “Karina, please,” you try to protest, but your resolve is already weakening under her touch.

She turns you around to face her, her eyes dark with longing as they meet yours. “Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands off you?” she asks, her voice low and husky. “To watch you parade around in front of all those nobles, pretending you belong to the kingdom when you’re mine?”

The possessiveness in her tone sends a thrill through you, and you can’t help the way your body responds to her, leaning into her touch. “I belong to you,” you whisper, your hands coming up to rest on her chest. “But we must be careful. If anyone finds out…”

She silences you with a deep, searing kiss, her hands sliding up to cup your face. The kiss is filled with a mix of frustration and need, her lips demanding as they move against yours. You melt into her, the worries about the ball and the court slipping away, replaced by the sheer intensity of her kiss.

When she finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, her forehead resting against yours. “I’ll never let anyone take you from me,” she vows, her voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine, Y/N. Only mine.”

Your heart swells at her words, and you nod, your hands tightening on her arms. “And I’m yours,” you reply, your voice soft but firm. “Now and always.”

She kisses you again, more gently this time, before reluctantly pulling away. “We should go,” she says, though the reluctance is clear in her voice. “Before I decide to keep you all to myself.”

You laugh softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You always know how to make me want to stay,” you tease, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping back.

Karina watches as you turn back to the mirror, her eyes never leaving you as you finish preparing. She helps you with the final touches, her fingers brushing against yours as she adjusts your necklace, her gaze filled with both love and longing.

“Are you ready, my princess?” she asks, her voice a soft whisper in your ear.

You nod, turning to face her once more. “As long as you’re by my side.”

She smiles, a rare, tender smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

——

The grand ballroom buzzes with life, the music resonating through the space as the elite of the kingdom whirl about in their finest attire. You, Princess Y/N, are the center of attention, as always. Tonight, you're dressed in a gown that shimmers like stardust, catching the light with every graceful movement you make. You smile and nod politely at the courtiers and nobles who bow as you pass, though your heart is elsewhere—focused on the one person who truly matters to you.

From across the room, you feel Karina's eyes on you. Your knight, ever vigilant, stands close to the shadows, her gaze never straying far from you. She’s always been your protector, your confidante, and now, your secret love. The bond you share is a hidden treasure, known only to the two of you, kept safe from the prying eyes of the court.

As you continue to circulate through the room, your attention is suddenly drawn to Prince Mark, who approaches with an easy confidence. His charm is well-known, and the look in his eyes tells you that tonight, his interest is solely on you.

“Your Highness,” he says with a smooth bow, his eyes gleaming as they meet yours. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

You hesitate for a brief moment, your thoughts flickering to Karina. But you know that you must accept; refusing him in front of the court could raise unnecessary questions. With a composed smile, you place your hand in his. “Of course, Your Grace.”

As the two of you begin to dance, Mark pulls you slightly closer, his grip firm but still within the bounds of propriety. The two of you move together effortlessly, and for those watching, you’re the perfect picture of royalty. Yet, there’s an unease in the pit of your stomach, a feeling that only grows as Mark’s gaze lingers on you longer than it should.

“Princess,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “you are even more beautiful up close than I imagined. It’s no wonder everyone speaks so highly of you.”

You offer a polite smile, keeping your expression neutral. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

You nod, allowing him to lead you onto the dance floor. As you move together to the rhythm of the music, he watches you closely, his gaze intent. “You must have suitors from every corner of the kingdom, vying for your hand,” he begins, his voice low and intimate. “But I wonder, has anyone truly captured your heart?”

His question pulls at something deep inside you, and you can’t help but laugh softly, the sound tinged with the memory of the night before—a memory that flashes vividly in your mind.

---

It was late, the palace silent, the moonlight casting a soft glow through the curtains of your chambers. Karina, your loyal knight and secret lover, had entered your room with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. She closed the door behind her, sealing off the world outside, leaving only the two of you in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Without a word, she crossed the room, her eyes locked onto yours. You tried to maintain your composure, the grace and poise expected of a princess, but it all began to slip away the moment Karina reached you. She cupped your face in her hands, her touch gentle yet commanding, and leaned in to press her lips against yours in a kiss that was both tender and full of unspoken desire.

“Y/N,” she murmured against your lips, her voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. “You drive me mad, you know that?”

You smiled against her mouth, your heart pounding in your chest. “And what do you plan to do about it, Karina?”

Her answer was to deepen the kiss, her hands moving to the laces of your gown, deftly untying them. “I’m going to make you mine,” she whispered, her breath hot against your ear. “I’m going to make you forget everything but me.”

You shivered at her words, a quiet moan escaping your lips as she pushed the gown from your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. The cool air of the room brushed against your bare skin, but all you could focus on was Karina—her touch, her scent, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Karina,” you breathed, your hands finding their way to the hem of her tunic, tugging it over her head. “I need you.”

She groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as she kissed a path down your neck. “You’ll have me, Y/N,” she promised, her voice thick with need. “But first, I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say that you’re mine.”

You gasped as her hands roamed over your body, her fingers brushing over sensitive spots that made you arch into her touch. “I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I’m yours, Karina.”

She smiled against your skin, a wicked smile that made your pulse race. “That’s what I like to hear,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your collarbone, over the curve of your breast. Her hands gripped your hips, guiding you back until you were lying on the bed, her body hovering over yours.

“Tell me how much you want this,” she said, her voice low and commanding as she teased you with light touches, her fingers brushing over your thighs.

“I want this more than anything,” you moaned, your back arching as she continued to tease you, the ache between your legs growing with every passing second. “Please, Karina, don’t make me wait.”

She chuckled softly, a sound full of dark promise. “Oh, my princess, I won’t make you wait long,” she said, positioning herself between your legs. “But I need you to know that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this. Do you understand?”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping the sheets as she finally entered you, a cry of pure pleasure escaping your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, her rhythm steady and deep, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

“Karina,” you gasped, your voice breaking as she moved inside you, the pleasure building with each thrust. “Oh, gods, Karina—”

“Louder,” she demanded, her voice rough with desire as she quickened her pace, her hands tightening on your hips. “I want to hear you scream my name, Y/N.”

And you did. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming to hold back. You screamed her name as she brought you to your peak, your body trembling beneath hers as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

---

Back in the ballroom, Prince Mark’s words pull you back to the present, a soft, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you laugh lightly, your mind still lingering on the memory of Karina and the way she had completely unraveled you just hours ago.

The question catches you off guard, and for a split second, your mind flashes to Karina—her steady gaze, the way she always seems to understand you without a word. You quickly compose yourself, offering a practiced response. “As a princess, my duties to the kingdom come first, Prince Mark. Matters of the heart are secondary.”

Mark’s smile widens, but there’s a calculating edge to it. “Perhaps,” he says, leaning in just a fraction closer, “but even the most dutiful princess deserves someone who understands her, who can stand by her side through all challenges. I could be that person, Y/N.”

His use of your name, without the formal title, feels too intimate, too presumptuous. You maintain your composure, though inside, you can feel your frustration building. “Your Grace, you are kind to offer such sentiments, but I believe you overestimate your familiarity with me.”

Mark chuckles softly, undeterred by your cool response. “Perhaps, but I would very much like to change that. I see in you a strength, a wisdom that surpasses others of your rank. Together, we could do great things.”

The dance continues, but your thoughts are no longer on the music or the steps. You’re acutely aware of Karina, standing just out of sight, undoubtedly watching this interaction with a heavy heart. You glance briefly in her direction, catching her silhouette in the corner of your eye. The tension in her posture is unmistakable—she’s holding herself back, maintaining her knightly duty, but you know she’s struggling to keep her emotions in check.

As the music draws to a close, Mark tightens his grip on your hand slightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go just yet. “Think about what I’ve said, Princess,” he says quietly, his tone sincere. “You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are.”

You nod politely, withdrawing your hand as the dance ends. “I appreciate your words, Your Grace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my other guests.”

Before Mark can respond, Karina appears at your side, her presence a reassuring balm to your frayed nerves. She bows slightly, her voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “Your Highness, may I have a word?”

You nod, grateful for the interruption. As you walk away from the crowded ballroom, you feel Karina’s hand brush against yours—a brief, hidden touch that sends warmth through your entire being. Once you’re alone in a secluded corridor, Karina turns to you, her eyes searching yours.

“Are you alright?” she asks, her voice filled with concern.

You nod, though the encounter with Mark has left you unsettled. “I’m fine, Karina. But he was… persistent.”

Karina’s jaw tightens, and you can see the storm brewing behind her usually composed exterior. “I don’t like the way he looks at you,” she admits, her voice low and filled with barely-contained jealousy. “He doesn’t know you like I do, and I won’t let him think he can have you.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on her cheek. “And he won’t,” you assure her softly, leaning in until your lips meet hers in a tender, stolen kiss. “You’re the one I choose, Karina. Always.”

Karina’s breath catches, her eyes darkening with a mix of desire and possessiveness as your words sink in. She tightens her grip on your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Then show me,” she whispers, her voice rough with emotion, as if daring you to prove your devotion.

Your heart skips a beat at her command, the intensity in her gaze sending a shiver down your spine. Without another word, you quickly glance around to ensure no one is watching, then take her hand and lead her down the dimly lit corridor. Your steps are hurried, the anticipation and need driving you forward until you find a door to a private room—one that you know will offer the seclusion you both crave.

You push the door open, pulling Karina inside before shutting it behind you. The moment the door clicks shut, Karina is on you, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s both demanding and filled with raw passion. You respond with equal fervor, your hands tangling in her hair as you press your body against hers, needing to feel every inch of her.

She backs you up against the bed, her hands roaming over your curves, teasing the sensitive skin beneath your dress. You moan into her mouth as she grips your hips, lifting you slightly before laying you down on the bed. She hovers over you, her eyes devouring the sight of you laid out beneath her, your dress slipping off your shoulders to reveal more of your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice filled with reverence as she dips her head to kiss along your neck. Her lips and teeth work in tandem, leaving a trail of marks that you know will be hidden by your gown later, but for now, they’re a claim—her claim—on you.

“Karina…” you gasp, your body arching into her touch as she works your dress down further, exposing your breasts to her hungry gaze. “Please… I need you.”

She growls low in her throat, one hand sliding down your body, pushing up the fabric of your skirts until her fingers find the slick heat between your thighs. “I’m yours, Y/N. Only yours,” she whispers before claiming your lips again, her fingers slipping inside you with ease, making you cry out.

The way she touches you, with both tenderness and urgency, sets your nerves on fire. You grip her shoulders, your hips bucking against her hand as she works you over, her thumb rubbing against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars. But you need more—so much more.

“Karina,” you pant, your voice breathless as you pull her closer. “I want you inside me. Please… I need to feel you.”

She doesn’t hesitate. With a quick, deft motion, she undoes her belt and frees herself, her thick, throbbing cock springing to life. The sight of it sends a fresh wave of heat through your body, and you can’t help but reach out, your fingers wrapping around her shaft, feeling the way it twitches in your hand. She groans at your touch, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head as you stroke her a few times.

“Y/N…” she breathes, her voice strained with desire. “I need you.”

You release her, your hands shaking with anticipation as you pull her down to you, positioning her between your thighs. She lines herself up with your entrance, and you both let out a shared moan as she slowly pushes inside, stretching you in the most delicious way. Your back arches off the bed, your nails digging into her shoulders as she fills you completely.

“Oh god, Karina…” you whimper, your head falling back against the pillows as you feel her cock bulging in your stomach, the veins rubbing exquisitely against your inner walls.

She stills for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the sensation. Her eyes are locked on yours, filled with a love so deep it nearly takes your breath away. “You’re so good to me,” she murmurs, her hands caressing your sides as she starts to move, her thrusts slow and deliberate. “How did I ever deserve you?”

Your heart swells at her words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you meet her thrusts, the pleasure building with each movement. “Karina… you’re perfect. I’m the one who’s lucky… so lucky…”

She kisses you again, her movements becoming more urgent, more frantic as the need to claim you, to make you hers, overwhelms her. You can feel every inch of her inside you, the way her cock drags against your walls, the way she seems to hit that perfect spot with every thrust. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure bordering on pain as she takes you higher and higher, until you’re both teetering on the edge.

“Karina… I’m close…” you gasp, your hands gripping her arms as you feel the coil in your belly tightening, ready to snap.

“Me too,” she groans, her hips slamming into yours as she chases her release. “I’m going to fill you up, Y/N… make you mine…”

“You’re so perfect,” Karina breathes, her voice rough with emotion as she begins to move in earnest. Her hips rock against yours, creating a rhythm that has you gasping and moaning with every thrust. “I want to fill you up with my babies, Y/N. I want you to feel me inside you, to know that you’re mine in every way.”

The words hit you like a wave, and you can barely process them through the haze of pleasure. The thought of Karina’s claim on you, her desire to leave a mark, sends shivers through your body, making your pleasure even more intense.

“Karina… please,” you moan, your hands clutching her shoulders as you try to keep your composure. “I… I want it.”

“That’s it,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear as she leans in closer. “Take it all, Y/N. I want to see you filled with my cum, to know that you’re carrying a part of me with you.”

Her words are almost too much to bear, adding an extra layer of urgency to her thrusts. You’re so lost in the pleasure that the thought of what she’s saying only intensifies the feeling. You moan loudly, your hips bucking against her as your climax draws near.

Karina’s thrusts become more frantic, her cock driving deeper, hitting all the right spots inside you. She reaches down, her hand finding your clit, rubbing it in tight circles to push you closer to the edge. “Come for me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice a low growl. “I want to feel you come around me, to know that you’re mine completely.”

The combination of her cock filling you and her fingers working magic on your clit sends you spiraling over the edge. You cry out, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashes through you. You can’t think, can barely breathe as the pleasure overwhelms you. “Karina… I’m c-coming…”

“Good girl,” she murmurs, her voice filled with pride and desire as she fucks you through your climax. She speeds up her thrusts, her cock pulsing inside you as she chases her own release. “I’m going to fill you up, Y/N. You’re going to be so full of me, you won’t be able to forget who owns you.”

The force of her words pushes you even further, your orgasm extending as she continues to pound into you, filling you with her cum. You can feel her release filling you, the warmth spreading through your core as she moans and groans, her thrusts becoming erratic as she reaches her peak.

Karina finally stills, her cock twitching inside you as she spills her seed, the heat and pressure almost overwhelming. She collapses beside you, pulling you close as you both try to catch your breath. The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the faint echoes of your shared pleasure.

“You’re mine,” Karina whispers, her voice a mix of satisfaction and tenderness as she wraps her arms around you. “All mine.”

“And I’m yours,” you reply, your voice filled with a contented sigh as you snuggle into her embrace. “

Her words send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You scream her name, your body trembling as the pleasure consumes you, your inner walls clamping down around her cock.

The sensation is too much for Karina. With a guttural moan, she thrusts deep inside you one final time, her cock pulsing as she spills her hot seed into you, filling you to the brim. The warmth spreads through you, and you can feel her cum seeping out around her cock, coating your thighs in a sticky mess.

———

The moment is brief, but it’s enough to reaffirm what you both know in your hearts. You pull back just as the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. With a shared look of understanding, you both step back into your roles—princess and knight, lovers hidden in plain sight.

“Tonight, we play our parts,” you say quietly, giving her one last lingering look before you return to the ballroom. “But never forget, it’s you who holds my heart.”

As you rejoin the festivities, Karina watches from the sidelines, her protective gaze never leaving you. And while the world may see you as a princess without a suitor, you both know the truth—a love that runs deeper than duty, hidden beneath the moonlight.

The grand ballroom is alive with laughter and the soft strains of music, guests swirling around in their finest attire. You move through the crowd, your thoughts occupied with the evening's complex dynamics and your secret affair with Karina.

After your quiet, intimate moment with Karina in the hallway, you return to the ballroom, your heart lightened by her presence and the secret you both share.

You exchange fleeting glances with Karina, whose eyes remain steadfast and watchful from the sidelines.

Just as you're about to engage in conversation with a group of nobles, Mark approaches you again. This time, his demeanor is more earnest, and he catches your hand gently, guiding you to a quieter side of the room.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice carrying a note of earnest sincerity. “I have something important to ask you.”

You look up at him, sensing the gravity of the moment. “What is it, Your Grace?”

Mark’s gaze is steady and filled with emotion. He reaches into his pocket and produces a small, elegant box. With a deep breath, he opens it to reveal a sparkling engagement ring. “Princess Y/N, I know that our time together has been short, but in it, I have seen the depth of your heart and the strength of your character. I cannot imagine my future without you by my side.”

He drops to one knee, his eyes locked on yours. “Will you marry me?”

The room seems to freeze around you. Mark’s proposal hangs in the air, the weight of his words heavy and poignant. The unexpectedness of the moment leaves you breathless, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind.

As you open your mouth to respond, a soft touch on your arm makes you turn. Karina’s presence, though discreet, is unmistakable. Her eyes, filled with a mix of pain and determination, meet yours across the room.

Mark’s gaze is unwavering, waiting for your answer, while Karina’s look speaks volumes—a silent plea, a promise of unspoken love.

Oh fuck.

[sherewrytes]

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

idk if i may turn this into a short multichapter fic or not.

On da lookout

Y/n wasn’t one to mingle much with the people in her neighborhood. She kept to herself, except for her small circle of friends and family. Growing up in this part of town meant she knew when to stay quiet and when to speak. And lately, her routine had been simple—wake up, go to her university classes, come home to her family’s run-down house, and try to pretend the world outside wasn’t filled with gang violence.

Today was no different.

The sun was beginning to set when y/n got back to her block. The air was thick with tension, as always. Gunshots had rung out a few blocks over just last night, and the familiar sounds of sirens still echoed in the distance.

She pushed open the creaky iron gate to her front yard, her eyes immediately landing on her cousin, Onyankopon. He was leaned back on the steps, rolling a fat blunt, talking casually with the guys posted up near the house. His presence was both a comfort and a warning. No one messed with her here—not with Onyankopon around. He’d been in the Sixx gang since they were kids, and over time, he became one of their heavy hitters.

But there was someone new with him today. Someone she hadn’t seen before. Her eyes landed on him—Eren Yeager.

Eren’s presence was undeniable. Long brown hair tucked behind his ears, diamond studs glittering in the low light, his jaw sharp and lined with a smirk that never quite left his face. Tattoos crawled up his arms, disappearing beneath his black sleeveless shirt, and the switch sitting casually on his lap sent a shiver down her spine. Not hidden. Not tucked away. Just out in the open like it was nothing, resting like a quiet threat.

They locked eyes. His green eyes, cold yet curious, seemed to see straight through her. There was something in the way he looked at her, something that made her uneasy—like he was deciding something. Whether she was worth his time or worth the trouble.

Y/n swallowed, breaking the gaze, but her body felt frozen in place. Onyankopon must’ve noticed because he chuckled under his breath.

“Don’t mind him, Eren’s good people,” Ony said, lighting the blunt with ease, his voice casual like this was any other day. “This here’s my cousin, y/n. Don’t let her fool you. She’s tougher than she looks.”

Eren didn’t say anything at first, his eyes lingering on her before they flicked back to the blunt in Onyankopon’s hand. He took a deep drag before exhaling, still watching her from the corner of his eye.

She could feel his attention, like the weight of a loaded gun pointed in her direction.

“So,” Eren finally said, his voice low, raspy. “This the cousin you were talking about? Criminal law student, right?”

Ony grinned, proud. “Yeah, she’s smart as hell. Probably the only one in the family going anywhere.” He said it like it was a joke, but there was a dark edge in his voice. He took another hit, then passed the blunt to Eren.

Eren kept staring at y/n, like he was waiting for something—maybe a reaction, maybe a challenge. When she didn’t say anything, his smirk widened.

“I like that,” he said, his tone dark. “Quiet. Observant.”

The tension in the air was suffocating. Y/n knew better than to show any fear. She had grown up around men like Eren. But there was something about him that was different. He wasn’t just a gang member; he felt like chaos waiting to happen. The kind of danger you couldn’t avoid, only hope to survive.

“Well, I’m headed inside,” she said, trying to sound casual, though her voice felt too tight. “See you later, Ony.”

But as she turned to leave, she could still feel Eren’s eyes on her. His stare lingered on her back, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just shifted—that her life, her quiet existence, had just been pulled into something dark, something twisted.

Y/n had barely made it halfway up the steps when Onyankopon’s voice broke through the tense silence. It was low, but she could hear the warning in it.

Next

“Yo, Eren. Not her.”

She paused for a split second, her back still to them, hand gripping the doorknob. She didn’t have to turn around to know Eren’s smirk had deepened, a dark, amused sound rumbling from his throat.

“Why not?” Eren’s voice was lazy, dragging out each word like he wasn’t even trying to hide the threat in it. “You know she’s exactly my type.”

Y/n’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, but she kept still, her grip on the knob tightening. She could feel it now—Eren’s stare. The kind of stare that made you feel like prey in a den of wolves.

“Then why even bring me around your crib, Ony?” Eren continued, voice taunting, challenging. “Especially when we do this shit at mine?”

The weight of his words hung in the air. This shit—gang business, the kind of things y/n had tried to stay clear of her whole life. Guns, drugs, violence. The kind of life Onyankopon was waist-deep in, but she had worked hard to stay away from.

Onyankopon stood up, his broad shoulders tense, the blunt dangling from his lips as he glared at Eren. “I said no. She ain’t part of that. Don’t even think about it, E.”

Eren leaned back on the steps, adjusting the switch on his lap like it was just an accessory. His eyes flicked back up to y/n’s frozen form, a dangerous glint flickering in the green depths. He was still smirking, but there was something more in his gaze now—something darker, more insistent.

“Doesn’t look like she’s not a part of it, man. She lives here, doesn’t she?” He dragged his thumb over the barrel of the gun casually, the metallic sound making the air even heavier. “She’s already involved just by breathing in this neighborhood.”

Ony’s jaw tightened. “She’s family. That’s all she is, Eren. Stay the fuck away from her.”

Y/n could hear the tension building between them, a powder keg waiting to go off. Eren wasn’t the type to take orders, not even from someone like Onyankopon. She wasn’t naive. She knew what kind of guy Eren was. His name had been whispered around the block more times than she could count. Ruthless. Unpredictable. He was known for leaving bodies cold on the pavement without a second thought.

And she had just locked eyes with him. A silent invitation into a world she didn’t belong in.

Why did you look at him?

Finally, she turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her, but her legs felt heavy. The air inside the house wasn’t any easier to breathe, but at least she was out of his sight. She leaned against the door, closing her eyes, trying to shake the feeling of his gaze lingering on her like a physical weight.

But outside, the conversation was far from over.

The moment y/n closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, pressing her forehead to the cold wood. Her heart was racing—not just from the unsettling feeling Eren gave her, but from the weight of his words still lingering in the air. She couldn’t shake the intensity of his gaze or the sharp way Onyankopon had shut him down.

Not her.

She had always been the one who stayed out of trouble, but in that moment, she couldn’t help but feel that Onyankopon had just painted a target on her back. Eren wasn’t the type to let things go, and deep down, y/n knew that the more someone told him no, the more he’d want it.

The low murmur of voices outside suddenly cut through her thoughts, and her stomach dropped. The conversation wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.

She pressed her ear against the door, trying to catch every word.

“I’m telling you, E, you don’t want to go there,” Onyankopon said, his voice low but firm. “Not her. She’s not built for this shit, man.”

Eren’s laugh was sharp, like the flick of a knife. “You keep saying that. But I’m starting to think it’s less about her and more about you not wanting me to touch your little cousin.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched too long, tightening the air.

“You’re walking a thin line, Yeager.” Ony’s voice was quieter now, edged with a warning. “You’re gonna get both of us killed if you keep pushing like this.”

Eren’s voice dropped, the playful tone gone, replaced with something darker. “You’ve been in this game longer, Ony, but don’t forget something—there’s no rank when it comes to what I want. You and I both know how things work. You can play big brother all you want, but at the end of the day, the streets don’t care about blood.”

Y/n’s hand tightened on the knob. She wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that Onyankopon was trying to protect her, or that Eren was treating her like some prize to be won, a game to play. Neither felt good. Both felt dangerous.

Onyankopon’s heavy footsteps echoed outside as he paced, his frustration crackling in the air. “You think this is a fucking joke? You think I don’t know what goes on in your head?” His voice was cold now, the easygoing cousin y/n knew gone, replaced with someone more lethal. “She’s not like the other girls you mess with. She’s got a future, man. She’s gonna be somebody.”

“And what? You’re gonna protect her forever? Hide her from the world you brought her into?” Eren stepped closer, his voice mocking but eerily calm. “We both know that’s bullshit. She’s already part of this, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Y/n held her breath, heart pounding as their voices rose. Onyankopon had been trying to shield her for years—from the violence, the drugs, the blood staining the streets. But it wasn’t foolproof. Being his cousin already tied her to the Sixx gang whether she liked it or not.

And now, Eren had her locked in his sights.

A dull thud outside made her stomach twist, followed by a grunt of pain. Y/n’s fingers slipped on the door handle as she scrambled to open it.

When she swung the door wide, she froze.

Onyankopon was on one knee, blood smeared across his mouth, his jaw clenched in fury. Eren stood over him, the butt of his gun in his hand, still dripping crimson. It wasn’t hard enough to kill, but it was a message. An open threat.

Her cousin spat on the ground, blood staining the gravel, glaring up at Eren with murderous eyes. “You’re outta line, Yeager.”

Eren didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked more amused. His eyes flicked to y/n, who stood frozen in the doorway, and he wiped the blood off the butt of his gun on his black pants like it was nothing. His smile curled at the edges, cold and twisted, sending a chill down her spine.

“I don’t follow rules, Ony,” he said, voice low. “Especially not yours. If I want something, I take it.”

He didn’t say her name, but y/n could feel the weight of the unspoken threat settle over her. His eyes hadn’t left her since she opened the door. The pull of him was dark and magnetic, and the longer she stood there, the more she realized he was waiting for her reaction.

Onyankopon’s heavy footsteps echoed outside as he paced, his frustration crackling in the air.

“You want a future, sweetheart?” Eren asked, his voice deceptively soft, the barrel of the switch pointed lazily at the ground. “You think going to school is gonna save you from all this?” He motioned to the street, the graffiti-stained walls, the gang members watching from nearby corners. “You’re already part of it. You’ve been part of it since the day you were born.”

Y/n’s throat tightened. She wanted to speak, to deny it, but she knew Eren was right. No matter how hard she tried to stay out of the life, it had a way of pulling her back in.

Onyankopon stepped in front of her, blocking Eren’s view, his body tense with fury. “I told you, Yeager. Stay the fuck away from her.”

But Eren’s smile only widened. He wasn’t scared of Onyankopon—not in the slightest.

“And I told you,” Eren whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement, “I don’t take orders.”

The sound of an engine roared down the street, tires screeching as another gang member pulled up in a black SUV. The door flung open, and one of the guys—hard face, tattooed hands gripping an AR—stepped out. His eyes swept over Ony on the ground, then landed on Eren.

“Get the fuck up, Ony,” the guy barked, impatience dripping from his voice. “We got shit to do. Right now.”

Y/n’s pulse spiked, panic welling in her chest. She watched as Onyankopon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting blood onto the sidewalk before rising to his feet. The way he stood was almost casual, the fury from moments ago buried under years of experience. He looked like he’d been through worse.

But as he stood up, his eyes softened when they landed on y/n.

Without a word, Ony reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He flipped it open, tugging out a wad of cash, and shoved it into her hands. “Go study,” he muttered, his tone layered with both worry and regret.

Before she could respond, Eren laughed low, a sound that made her stomach knot. “You’re smart, y/n. Real smart. Criminal law, right? Maybe you can defend yourself when all of this falls apart.”

“Shut the fuck up, E,” Ony snapped, his face bruised but his rage undimmed. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

But Eren ignored him, stepping closer to y/n, his gaze locked on hers. He wasn’t just a threat; he was chaos in human form.

His eyes lingered on her a beat longer before he turned, strolling over to the SUV, calm as ever, sliding in without a care. The SUV sped off, leaving a cloud of dust and the weight of a silent promise hanging in the air.

Onyankopon turned to y/n, his eyes dark with frustration and something else—fear.

“This isn’t good,” he muttered, wiping the blood from his face. “You need to stay away from him, y/n. He’s bad news. Real bad.”

Y/n swallowed, her throat tight. She nodded, but the sinking feeling in her chest told her it wouldn’t be that easy. Not with Eren.

Because in a place like this, no one stayed out of the life. And now that Eren had her in his sights, she wasn’t sure she could ever escape.

Eren's pov

The rumble of the SUV’s engine was a low growl beneath Eren’s feet as he sat in the backseat, one arm draped lazily over the headrest, his fingers idly tapping against the cool leather. The streets outside passed in a blur of darkened buildings and graffiti-streaked walls, the city falling into the kind of quiet that only came when the sun dipped below the horizon. But Eren wasn’t quiet.

His mind was alive.

Y/n’s wide eyes as she stood in the doorway. The way her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him, when she realized what kind of man he was. It was intoxicating.

He could still feel the electricity crackling between them, the way she froze under his gaze. There was something fragile about her—delicate, soft. And Eren had always been drawn to the idea of breaking fragile things.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“I swear, you got a death wish, man.” Onyankopon’s voice broke through his thoughts, rough and laced with warning, but there was something else in there too. A note of frustration. Like he knew Eren was spiraling, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Eren turned his head slightly, his green eyes catching Ony’s in the rearview mirror. “You’re still pissed about earlier, huh?”

Ony wiped the dried blood from the corner of his mouth, the remnants of the blow Eren had landed earlier. “I told you not to fuck around with my cousin, and what do you do? You go ahead and push my buttons.” He laughed, low and humorless. “You always gotta push shit, E.”

Eren shrugged, his eyes drifting back to the window. The city was a wasteland of broken lives, and he’d been living in it too long to care about anyone else’s rules. “Maybe if you weren’t so protective, I wouldn’t be so interested.”

Ony clicked his tongue, shaking his head, but before he could respond, Connie, the driver, spoke up from the front seat. “Focus up, boys. We got business to handle.”

Eren’s smirk widened. He already knew what was coming. Tonight wasn’t just about the usual shit—dealing, collecting, or shaking down some lowlife who couldn’t pay. Tonight was blood.

Connie turned the wheel sharply, veering off onto a side street lined with abandoned warehouses, the kind of place where the police didn’t bother showing up. The kind of place where men like them thrived. The car slowed as they approached a run-down building, its windows shattered, and the stench of decay hanging in the air.

“Target’s inside,” Connie said, voice cold and steady. “One of the boys who snitched to the feds about our drop last month. Boss wants him gone.”

Eren’s heart began to thump harder, not with fear or nerves, but with excitement. His hand drifted to his waistband, fingers curling around the cold grip of his Glock. He had no love for snitches, but that wasn’t the only reason he was eager. There was something else—a hunger deep inside, a need to watch the light drain from someone’s eyes.

Onyankopon sighed, checking the clip in his own gun. “This shit’s getting out of hand. Boss wants us to make an example, but it’s getting too hot.”

Eren leaned forward, voice a low murmur. “You scared, Ony? You didn’t seem too worried earlier when I had you bleeding on the sidewalk.”

Ony’s eyes darkened, but he kept his cool, tapping the side of his gun. “Shut the fuck up, Eren. We’re not doing this here.”

Connie pulled the SUV to a stop, turning to the backseat. “Both of you, lock in. We go in quiet, no witnesses. In and out.”

Eren’s fingers tightened around his Glock, the weight of it grounding him. He glanced over at Ony, who still looked irritated but focused, then back at Connie, who was already stepping out of the SUV, gun in hand. They moved as one—predators stalking through the shadows.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its rusted door creaking as they slipped inside. The stench of mold and stale air hit Eren’s nose, but it didn’t bother him. His senses were sharp, attuned to the thrill of the hunt. Somewhere in the darkness, the snitch was hiding, probably thinking he had a chance.

He didn’t.

They moved silently through the maze of rotting crates and debris, their footsteps barely a whisper on the concrete floor. Eren’s heart raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins as they approached the back of the building, where the snitch was supposed to be hiding out. The faint flicker of a cigarette gave him away—he was sitting near a window, completely unaware of what was coming for him.

Connie gave the signal—a nod—and Onyankopon was the first to move, stepping out of the shadows with his gun raised.

The snitch’s eyes widened, his cigarette falling from his mouth as panic set in. “Wait! Wait, I can explain—”

The shot was deafening in the enclosed space, and blood sprayed the wall as the bullet tore through his chest. But Ony wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his face emotionless as he fired again, this time aiming for the snitch’s knee. The man screamed, collapsing to the ground, clutching his leg as blood pooled beneath him.

“Please, man, I didn’t mean to—”

Eren stepped forward now, crouching down next to the writhing man, his smile twisted and cruel. “You know what I hate about snitches?” he said, voice almost a whisper. “They never learn.”

Without a second thought, Eren pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple and pulled the trigger. The body went limp, blood and brain matter splattering the concrete floor in a gruesome mess.

Eren stood, wiping his hand on his pants, as if it was just another day at work. Beside him, Ony holstered his gun, looking down at the body with a disgusted expression. “You didn’t need to go that far.”

Eren shrugged, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “I did what needed to be done.”

Connie stepped forward, glancing at the corpse before looking at the two of them. “We leave him here. Message sent.”

As they made their way back to the SUV, Eren’s mind drifted back to y/n. There was something about her—something that gnawed at the back of his mind. She was different from the others, different from the life he led. But that just made him want her more.

He climbed into the backseat of the SUV, leaning back as Connie started the engine and pulled away from the warehouse, the smell of blood still lingering in the air.

The night dragged on as they drove through the city, the weight of their brutal job hanging heavy in the SUV. The blood and violence were already starting to fade from Eren’s mind as they approached the boss's place. He was thinking about y/n again, her quiet intensity, the way she’d looked at him—how easily she could be broken.

But before he could entertain those thoughts for too long, they pulled up in front of the nondescript warehouse, the hideout of their boss, Levi Ackerman.

The place looked run-down, like a hundred other abandoned buildings in the city, but everyone in their world knew what happened behind those walls. Levi was a legend, small in stature but ruthless, and when you walked into his space, you left your ego at the door—or you didn’t leave at all.

The SUV’s engine cut off, and the three of them stepped out. Connie gave a nod toward the side entrance, leading the way inside. The inside of the warehouse was dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of whiskey.

Men were scattered around, either counting cash, cleaning guns, or lounging with drinks, but all eyes turned toward them as they entered.

Levi was sitting at a large wooden table near the back, going over some papers with an expression as cold and calculating as ever. His piercing gray eyes flicked up when he saw them approach, his brow furrowing as he noticed Onyankopon’s busted lip.

“Job’s done,” Connie said, cutting straight to the point.

Levi didn’t acknowledge him right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on Ony, eyes narrowing. “Onyankopon,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “What the hell happened to your lip?”

The room went quiet. Eren leaned back against a wall, arms crossed, watching with mild amusement. Ony stayed silent for a moment, his jaw tight, but the tension was palpable. Levi was the kind of man you didn’t ignore.

“I asked you a question,” Levi said again, his voice colder now. “Who got the jump on you? That ain’t like you. You’ve been out here long enough not to get sloppy.”

Ony shifted on his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s nothing, boss,” he muttered. “Family business. Nothing from the streets.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed even further, his suspicions obvious, but before he could press Ony further, Eren let out a low, dark chuckle. It was a sound filled with menace, the kind of laugh that wasn’t about humor, but something more twisted.

Levi’s gaze snapped toward Eren like a whip, cold and sharp. “The fuck is so funny, Yeager?”

Eren straightened up from the wall, that smirk still playing on his lips as he met Levi’s gaze. “Nothing, boss. Just… family business, like Ony said.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but it was more than that. It was a challenge, thinly veiled.

Levi wasn’t a man to play games. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on Eren. “Is that right? You two got something you need to tell me?”

Ony clenched his fists, glancing toward Eren, but didn’t say a word. Levi was the kind of man who demanded respect, and Eren wasn’t exactly known for holding his tongue. This was dangerous territory.

“Nah,” Eren finally said, his voice more controlled now, the smirk fading from his face. “Just a little misunderstanding, boss. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with the streets.”

Levi’s gaze flicked between them, his eyes hard as stone, trying to piece together the puzzle. He knew something was off, but he also knew when to push and when to let things lie.

“Fine,” Levi said, voice clipped. “But if this ‘family business’ spills into my streets, I’ll make sure both of you deal with it. Permanently.”

Ony nodded stiffly, the tension still thick between him and Eren. Levi turned his attention back to the papers on his table, seemingly satisfied for now. “Now, about the job. Connie, give me the details. I wanna know how Rick squealed before he bled out.”

Eren’s mind drifted slightly as Connie began explaining the gruesome details of the hit. He wasn’t concerned about Levi’s warnings. He knew Levi didn’t trust him, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was power, and right now, Eren had plenty of it.

But his thoughts kept pulling back to y/n, her innocence in the middle of this dark, twisted world. He’d seen the way Ony looked at her, how protective he was, and it only made Eren more determined. If Ony was willing to break his cool just to keep her out of Eren’s reach, that only made her more tempting.

Levi interrupted his thoughts again. “Ony,” he said, not even looking up. “Make sure your ‘family’ doesn’t cause any more distractions. We need focus now more than ever.”

Ony nodded, still tight-lipped, and Eren caught the way his jaw flexed when Levi said “family.” It was a warning—and Eren wasn’t going to ignore it.

The conversation shifted back to business as Levi went over their next moves, laying out the plans for upcoming turf grabs and smuggling runs.

But Eren’s mind was elsewhere, scheming. He was patient. He knew how to play the long game. And sooner or later, y/n would be his, no matter how hard Ony tried to protect her.

As the meeting wrapped up, Levi dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Get the fuck out. We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

Eren didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed off the wall, following Ony and Connie out of the warehouse, the cold night air biting at his skin as they stepped outside.

“You got something to say?” Ony asked under his breath as they walked back to the SUV, his eyes cutting toward Eren.

Eren glanced at him, a smirk tugging at his lips again. “Not a thing, Ony. Like you said, it’s just family business.”

Ony’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t respond. They both knew this was far from over.

Levi had barely dismissed them when Eren was already lighting up a cigarette, leaning against the side of the SUV. The sharp flick of his lighter echoed in the quiet night air, the cherry-red glow illuminating his sharp features.

His mind was still buzzing from the mission, the blood on his hands, and the thrill of violence. But most of all, it buzzed with thoughts of y/n.

Connie, always the mediator, shot a glance toward Eren before pulling Ony aside, his voice low. “Yo,” he muttered, his tone more serious than usual. “We gotta talk.”

Ony’s brows furrowed as he wiped the last remnants of blood from his busted lip, annoyed but calm. He didn’t need to ask what was on Connie’s mind; he already knew.

“This about y/n?” Ony asked, his voice rough, cutting straight to the point.

Connie nodded, his voice hushed so Eren wouldn’t overhear. “You know E isn’t gonna let up on her. You saw how he was lookin’ at her earlier, bro. You really think he’s just gonna forget about her?”

Ony clenched his jaw, his fist tightening at his sides. “Y/n is one of the only good ones in my family, man. She’s like a sister to me. She didn’t ask for this life, didn’t ask for none of it. I stay out here doing this shit—day in, day out—so she doesn’t have to want for nothing. So she can get her degree, move up outta this neighbourhood. I ain’t about to let Eren fuck on her just ’cause she his ‘type.’”

Connie’s face was grim as he leaned against the wall, glancing over at Eren, who was puffing away on his cigarette like he didn’t have a care in the world. “fuck outta here with that shit, right? But E, man… you know how he is. When he wants something, he’ll burn the whole damn world down to get it.”

Ony’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring up even harder. He knew exactly what Connie meant. Eren wasn’t just some street punk who’d get bored and move on. He was relentless, obsessive. And y/n? She was innocent, untouched by this world they lived in—exactly the kind of thing Eren craved.

Ony scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated. “I ain’t letting that happen, Connie. Y/n deserves better than this shit, better than Eren. She’s got her head on straight, studying, making moves to get outta here. The last thing she needs is him dragging her down.”

Connie glanced over his shoulder at Eren, who was still smoking, his eyes narrowed and distant, like he wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation. But Connie knew better. Eren was always listening, always watching.

“Maybe talk to Levi about it?” Connie suggested, though he sounded unsure. “Eren’s a problem, but Levi might be able to control him if you lay it all out.”

Ony shook his head. “Nah. I ain’t pulling Levi into this. Last thing I need is the boss thinking I can’t handle my own family business. Besides, if I bring this to him, it puts a target on y/n’s back. I don’t want her dragged into gang shit more than she already is.”

Connie nodded in agreement. “So, what’s the plan then? You just gonna keep Eren away? You know he’s not the type to back off.”

Ony’s fists clenched, his knuckles going white as he fought to keep his anger in check. “I’ll figure it out. But I’m telling you now, Connie, if Eren tries to lay hands on y/n… I don’t give a fuck about his rank. I’ll handle him.”

Connie gave Ony a hard look, knowing the weight of those words. Eren wasn’t just some guy in their crew—he was dangerous, a killer through and through. But family was family, and for Ony, y/n was sacred. She was the only pure thing left in his life, and he wasn’t about to let Eren corrupt that.

“Alright, bro,” Connie muttered, patting Ony on the back. “But you better be ready. Eren don’t quit.”

Ony nodded, his face set in stone. “Neither do I.”

Across the lot, Eren flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his boot. He saw the way Ony and Connie huddled together, the serious look on Ony’s face. He could guess what they were talking about, and it only amused him. They thought they could stop him, keep y/n out of his reach.

But Eren didn’t play by their rules. And when he wanted something, he got it.

He knew Ony was protective of y/n—hell, that was half the fun. She wasn’t like the other girls he toyed with, girls who were already halfway to being broken. No, y/n was different, untouched by the darkness of their world. And that made her the perfect prize.

As Eren climbed back into the SUV, his smirk returned. He could be patient. He could wait.

Because sooner or later, y/n would be his.

And nothing—not Ony, not Levi, not even the whole damn gang—could stop him.

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