#shut up tully

[trashcornertully]

getting brain damage thinking abt Damien monsterprom getting pet on the head* and leaning into it and purring like a cat

*by Zoe? Milo? the heist guy made of water from Roadtrip? it doesn't matter

[atopvisenyashill]

not to keep harping on but definitely the complaint i see that really sticks in my craw is that the only reason or the main reason robb planned to banish catelyn to seaguard was because of their argument over jon. it’s certainly a factor but they have spent the entire war arguing over every decision robb makes! ned tells robb “keep your mother in your council” but robb really does not! he has her there, yes, he lets her speak, yes, but oftentimes he will disregard her advice without any appeasement, misstep badly, and be worse off politically in the exact way she warned him of. she’s not the only person he blows off - he’s not exactly nice to edmure either, for example - but cat is right when she suspects there’s an element of “kings are not supposed to have mothers” and “wedded to his war" and she clocks this long before the argument over jon! robb tries to get rid of her at the beginning of a clash of kings when all cat has done is urge him to continue peaceful negotiations with the lannisters!

robb is angry because he’s in over his head and he knows it, and it's got very little to do with jon! robb is losing this war and his best friend was the son of a man who crowned himself and lost the war!! robb knows exactly what’s going to happen to the north if he loses and despite everything, he cannot seem to win despite being a near prodigy in battle tactics. and here his mother has been this whole time, fighting him on every front - just like the lords but he cant punish them for disagreeing can he? - and being so frustratingly right about more things than his lords, and now they’re picking at this wound in their family that has never been allowed to heal and a lot of resentment that both robb and catelyn are feeling at their general situation gets focused in on each other. this is such a tully thing too (pls remember these are canonically unpleasant people!) because look at lysa projecting years of resentment onto sansa, look at the entire cat, hoster, edmure situation, or even hoster & blackfish’s relationship. family is so important to them but in times of stress, “doing everything for family” becomes an anchor pulling them down, until the only thing left is to lash out at each other.

most of the lords are happy to let this nonsense play out! catelyn does not even have the privilege maege & dacey mormont do at being head of their own house - she’s just a wife, just a mother, just a first born daughter. when she disagrees, they don’t see an equal arguing with them, they see a woman sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. they do not give a single solitary shit about like, ~the plight of bastards~ they just believe, like robb, that sansa is currently “tainted” by her marriage to a lannister and can’t be allowed to inherit, that arya is dead, that the boys are dead, that jeyne is not yet pregnant, and a bastard boy castle raised who looks like ned is better than no boy at all (see edric storm, addam of hull, and larence snow). these men have not spent the last fourteen years cooking in their resentment over this situation the way catelyn and robb have!

jon is a reason. but so is rickard karstark, jaime lannister, willem lannister, tion frey, renly baratheon, walder frey, and theon greyjoy. ned is a reason as well, and bran, sansa, rickon, arya, hoster, edmure, perhaps even lysa and sweetrobin. jon is the final straw but robb isn’t (only) sending catelyn away because of some righteous fury on his brother’s behalf! he’s sending her away because she is an easy, socially acceptable target for all his frustrations and failures and fears that he can project on, and punish, in a way he cannot punish his enemies, his lords, or himself.

and catelyn is as always very aware of the deeper motivations in her son’s mind, and resentful that she doesn’t have the power to push back; she’s just a mother, after all.

[eye-candy-film-enjoyer]

If yall can relate to Patrick Bateman, I can relate to these mfs

[catos-wound]

condescending fuck. bro thinks he's priam

cicero, murena 60 // cicero, ad fam 15.6

[jessmalia]

respect to oscar tully for holding his own against daemon

[silusvesuius]

i think elly would be very much into luxury fashion she'd be the #1 birkin bag collector and has an entire closet for them; she only wears designer stuff to go outside and has every best anti-aging skin care product line ever lined up in her bathroom. also she'd run an mlm like it's the navy (it's her side gig she's still torturing people full-time)

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 | angus tully x reader (series finale)

read 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 and 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 first!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | angus has been waiting to see you again, but the more feelings get involved, the more complicated your affair becomes.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), mega angst but also fluff too, infidelity, boring old people parties, reader is still emotionally constipated and angus still has a breeding kink, but that's honestly it it's just a bunch of emotions so strap in folks!

Angus was pretty sure he broke some kind of record, with how quickly he ran back to his room after talking to you on the payphone.

He was sure that was exactly what you were picturing him doing— he’d made it pretty clear what he’d do once you hung up, and you’d made it pretty difficult to do anything else with the way you were talking.  You’d been winding him up on purpose, of course; so yes, you could easily imagine him making a mad dash to his room and slamming the door— if you really ever thought about him outside of those phone calls.

That was the thing Angus couldn’t figure out about you.  Well, there were probably a lot of other things than that, but it was the quandary he spent the most time pondering: does she think about me?

Whenever he mustered the courage to ask you something to that effect, you would either change the subject or give a half-answer.  Something about how you had a dream about him the other night or how your parents asked about him— never what he was really asking.

But, frankly, at that moment as he shut his dorm room door and jumped into bed, whether or not you thought about him much was not as pertinent an issue.  Right then, all he could think about was getting his hand around his raging boner; his mind was just playing everything you’d said to him over the phone on repeat.

I’m touching myself right now, you’d whispered in a sultry voice, I’m so wet, Angus— fuck, I’m so wet…

He’d never had to work so hard to keep a straight face on the phone before… he figured if anyone was really looking, they’d notice how red he was turning or how he kept shifting uncomfortably.  And he told you just as much, which of course only encouraged you.  Don’t want them to know, huh? you’d taunted. Don’t want the other boys to find out you’re listening to me get off?

And no, he didn’t— you were such a precious thing, the boys here didn’t even deserve to imagine you— but when you offered to stop if it was too distracting, he only found himself shakily begging for more.

As he quickly opened his khaki pants and gripping his cock, he hissed through his teeth; his ego could barely take all you’d said about that cock, about how thick and ‘perfect’ (you used that exact word, perfect, and he thought he might float) it was, about how you wished you could come around it right then instead of your fingers.

“It’s all yours,” he mumbled to himself, under his breath, not even really noticing he was saying it aloud.  “You want it, baby?  It’s all fucking yours.”

He groaned as he stroked himself, the precum that had been leaking from his tip for a while making everything even easier.  Shutting his eyes tight, he pictured you, like he always did: all of you, everything, anything he could remember.

You ever think about me? you’d asked him over the phone— and he’d blurted out his always before he even realized you meant while he was getting off.  It was still true, but more specific than necessary.  He craved to hear you say it: I think about you too.  But he didn’t ask, and you just went back to moaning while you rubbed your clit— which, apparently, was already swollen and throbbing— and, well, he wasn’t strong enough to interrupt that.

“Fuck,” he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, finally letting his pace pick up until his hand was a blur: after all that anticipation and all that waiting, there was no use trying to hold back now.  It wasn’t like you were here to worry about him coming too fast, even though you’d still maintained you found it endearing when it happened.

He repeated your voice in his head, the moment that had made him worry he would blow his load in his trousers before he could even get off the phone and back to his room: I’m gonna come for you, you’d warned him in the most beautiful moaning voice, Angus— I want you so bad, oh god— I’m gonna come for you, fuck…

His lip caught between his teeth, his hips rocked up into his own palm.  “Yes, fuck, baby,” he panted, “I— fuck!”

He tried to conjure in his mind how it had felt to come inside you, but he knew even his vivid imagination could never really capture the feeling; nothing could even come close.  Still, remembering it and letting himself indulge in his strangest fantasies for just a moment sent him over the edge.  His face flushed suddenly as he came in long, heavy pulses, the back of his free hand falling over his open mouth yet doing little to suppress his moans.

It was intense— it was certainly better than his orgasms usually were when brought on by himself— but it only satisfied him for a moment.  The moment he was finished, with a deep breath in and his hips relaxing back down onto the mattress, he wanted more— he wanted you.

His heavy eyes glanced to the side, trying to remember what it felt like to lie next to you.  He’d never felt lonely after jerking off before he met you; now getting off seemed to bring a new wave of heartbreak each time.

When he shook off the thought and looked down at himself, he frowned as he realized he’d ruined his own shirt doing that— not that he could fully bring himself to regret it.

No, his regrets only really began a few weeks later, when the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind finally got the better of him.

It was the middle of the night when he wrote it, after he woke up from a dream of you that he just couldn’t shake from his mind.  After checking that his roommate was fast asleep, Angus carefully slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the desk, and pulling out a box of cards and envelopes from one of the drawers.  (He thought he’d never use them when his mom sent them with him at the beginning of the year, but a lot had changed since then.)

Something about the ungodly hour made him more honest— or maybe just more shameless.  He wrote a frantic ramble, everything he’d wanted to say to you that he’d never had the courage to blurt out over the phone; all the feelings he’d felt since that incredible night in the backseat of your car, which he’d assumed would fade… which he’d tried to convince himself would fade.

Unfortunately, even the adrenaline of writing down the thoughts of you he’d been poring over for over a month wasn’t enough to overpower exhaustion: he awoke the next morning slumped over the desk, the pen still uncapped and fallen a few inches from his hand, the letter left folded open.

He awoke to the sound of someone’s door shutting down the hall, specifically; jumping and blinking quickly, he looked at the window— it was morning, though still quite early— and then at his roommate who was, thank god, still asleep.

Angus looked back at the letter in front of him, only making out a few words in his brief glance, before his cheeks began to heat up and he quickly folded it shut.  As more footsteps moved through the hall, the boy in the bed nearby stirred and grumbled to himself, and Angus quickly snatched up the letter and shoved it in his book bag before he was caught red-handed.

Ironically, that little commotion was what actually got the other boy’s attention.  “What are you doing at the desk?” he asked groggily, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his palm.

“Oh, I, uh— I had to do some late night cramming,” Angus explained nervously, “that big Geography test coming up and all…”

The half-awake boy seemed to notice for a moment that the story didn’t really make sense, on account of the empty desk, but he simply shrugged and tossed his blanket aside to get up as well.

For the rest of the day, Angus couldn’t think straight— and not just because of his mediocre rest and achy back from the absolutely terrible sleep posture he’d had.  He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter, even if he honestly couldn’t remember for certain everything he’d said… he couldn’t stop wondering if he should send it to you.  He almost didn’t want to read it again first— he wanted you to read it in its most authentic state, he wanted to mail it before he chickened out just like he had when you said you two could just stay casual.  Even if it made his heart race and his palms especially clammy, Angus decided in the middle of that goddamned Geography test that he was going to mail that letter tonight after dinner: he was finally just going to man up and tell you.

Of course, something went horribly wrong along the way: he made a fatal mistake.  Looking back on it, he couldn’t tell for certain if his mistake was falling for you in the first place, or writing the infamous letter, or shoulder-checking Kountze without holding on tight enough to his bag.

The argument that happened beforehand was petty and forgettable, even if it gathered a small crowd of Kountze’s friends, but it ended with Angus trying to walk away a tad… aggressively, and with Kountze grabbing him by the strap of his bag which not only knocked Angus off-balance but spilled the contents onto the floor of the dorm’s shared room.

Everyone saw the books and papers hit the ground; everyone saw the off-white cardstock land right on top.  Angus reached for the letter quickly, but Kountze beat him there, and held it back with a snicker.

“Well, well,” Kountze tutted proudly, “what’s this?”

“H-hey, don’t read that,” Angus warned, hoping the seriousness of his tone would somehow affect the other boy— but, obviously, it did not.  Kountze started to open it and Angus instantly made a dive for it, only to be stopped by three other students who apparently were curious as well about the letter.  “Don’t fucking read that!” Angus demanded.

“Oh god, it’s to a girl!” he realized.  “Do you have a girlfriend, Tully?”

“I swear to god, Kountze, if you fucking read that—”

“I miss you,” Kountze began to read aloud as Angus thrashed around to try to stop him, “I miss you so much I don’t even know what to say.”

The boys holding Angus back were enraptured as Kountze read the letter; “Do you guys pay this much attention in class?” he mocked them, though they were ignoring him completely as they waited for the other boy to keep reading.

“I feel like I can’t breathe without you— aw, Tully, you’re a poet,” Kountze mocked with a smile.  Angus’ heart raced as he remembered what part of the letter came next.  “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your smile— Jesus, this is some really sappy shit— or what it’s like talking with you for hours, or how it feels—”

He stopped, and Angus froze, and after a moment the group of boys started demanding the conclusion.  “What— what does it say?!” ��Read it, Kountze!”

“How it feels to be inside you,” Kountze continued with wide eyes, staring at Angus’ bright red face as the other boys began to react loudly.

Angus renewed his struggle against the kids holding him back, but even though he was taller than them, he was severely outnumbered.  “Stop— that’s personal!” Angus demanded to no avail.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my hand after having you,” Kountze continued with a laugh.  “From what I hear from your roommate, Tully, your hand is treating you just fine.”

“Shut up,” Angus hissed, but his words had lost their bite as his humiliation grew.

“I should’ve told you before I left—” he started, but finally Angus found some new strength within himself to shake off the boys holding him back: he dove at Kountze and took him down, scrambling to snatch the card away.  He was going to be satisfied with just that, but of course Kountze still had to open his mouth, even when Angus had him pinned.  “Jesus, Tully,” he scoffed, “how ugly is this chick that you got her to sleep with you?”

Angus brought a fist swiftly down to Kountze’s nose, who groaned in pain and held his face as Angus got up and ran away.  The other boys let him pass, thankfully, and Angus wasted no time getting to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Defiantly wiping a tear from his cheek, Angus took a quick look at the letter— wrinkled, stained and scuffed from the fight with Kountze— and crumpled it up, tossing it into his wastebasket before throwing himself onto his bed and hiding his head under the pillow.

He was stupid to even write it, let alone consider sending it; it was no use, you obviously didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about you.  You were the one who said it should just be what it was— a fling.  But Angus felt like he’d been flung directly into hell, the way it tore into his chest to imagine you didn’t really want him.

Even if he never read the letter again that day, he remembered how it ended— and it was the part he couldn’t get out of his mind even when he wanted more than anything to forget it all.

Is this what love feels like?

//

It reminded you a lot of that dinner over Christmas break, except somehow, it seemed like he was staring at you even more.  Shouldn’t he have gotten that out of his system a bit by now?

But then again, maybe you should’ve been more used to it, since it had been over an hour of picking away at this quail dinner, and he’d barely taken his eyes off of you.  Something about him looked different; it was basically impossible that he could’ve visibly aged in just a couple months, and yet he seemed like he was carrying just a bit more age on those thin shoulders.  Maybe it was just the slight five-o-clock shadow over his jaw— but, no, there was a different look in his eyes, too—

Realizing you were, in fact, staring back at him, you quickly snapped your gaze back down to your plate.

You’d been wanting a chance to talk to him before this dinner, to hopefully prevent exactly this issue, but once the dinner ended you found yourself avoiding him.  Of course you weren’t ready to talk to him— of course you had a million thoughts in your head and half of them didn’t even make sense.

For once, you actually tried to talk to all of your parents’ snooty friends, repeating the same answers over and over about how you were going to graduate school in the fall and how you were looking forward to your family’s Paris trip in the summer and all that jazz.  It was worth it to keep Angus off your back for a moment, even if you could still feel his eyes boring into said back from time to time.

Midway through a mind-numbingly boring conversation (if something so one-sided could be called a conversation) with the Gordons about renovations they’d done on their summer house, you glanced around the room over your shoulder and noticed that Angus was apparently absent.  His parents were still there, sitting on a couch— that is, his mom and stepdad— so he couldn’t be far, but out of view he was far enough.  Figuring he’d gone to the kitchen or the restroom, you figured it was the perfect time to disappear into the downstairs bedroom and, hopefully, hide out for the rest of the party.  Excusing yourself quickly, you made a polite dash for the other end of the room.

And yet, somehow, he appeared out of thin air; as you turned down the hallway, only a dim lamp on an antique credenza lighting your way, you heard Angus’ hushed voice behind you.  He laid his hand on your shoulder, and the moment you turned to face him, he was on you— his weight pressed you into the wall and you felt trapped in a way that was annoyingly pleasant.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing you hard and sudden; you whimpered a little, nearly melting into it, before you pushed him back at his shoulders.

“A-Angus, wait,” you sighed.  “You, um… you didn’t call for a while.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “um, I’m sorry— I just got busy with midterms and stuff— but I really wanted to!”

He moved like he was about to kiss you again, but you kept your hand on his chest to keep him away.  “I wanted to tell you…” you trailed off.

“Tell me what?”

“You remember Brian Stevenson?” 

“Oh— um, yeah, I guess so,” Angus frowned a little, clearly confused by what seemed like a non sequitur.  “I used to go over to his house when I was little, although it was just to play with his little brother, but… yeah, I remember him.”

“I’ve been sorta, y’know… going with him,” you explained, hesitantly meeting Angus’ gaze just in time to see the most terrible sadness cover his face.

“O-oh,” he choked out, quickly stepping back from you and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, twisting your loafer-clad foot on the carpet nervously.  “It’s just, you know, he asked me out a couple weeks ago, and ever since then—”

“So is he, like, your boyfriend?” Angus pressed.  You nodded.  He looked away.  “Right— that’s… cool.  That’s cool.”

You bit your lip slightly, hating that he wouldn’t look at you all of a sudden.  “Angus, it’s just that, you know, we said—”

“Right,” he interrupted sharply.  “Right, I remember what we said— what you said, that we weren’t— you know.  That it wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say that—” you tried to correct him.

“You said you were mine,” he added suddenly, making your eyes widen.  “Did you even mean that?”

“I— Angus, come on,” you laughed nervously.  “That’s… that’s just something people say…”

He scoffed, and looked to the side as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek; contempt looked sort of good on him, you thought, except that it was directed at you.  He was trying to hide it, but his eyes were watering.

“I’m sorry,” you began but he cut you off right away.

“No, don’t do that,” he shook his head quickly, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor.  “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

“No— I really am,” you tried to assure.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he insisted sharply.  “It’s— you know, it is what it is.  It was just one of those things.”

“If it’s fine, then look at me,” you pleaded.  He didn’t.  And for a long moment, the two of you stood there, still and silent.

“It’s fine,” he repeated softly, turning on his heel.

“Angus, wait,” you hissed, not wanting to raise your voice with all the guests not too far away— of course, it was fruitless, and he briskly blended back in with the crowd.

Sighing, you dropped your head into your hands.  That wasn’t how you ever wanted this to go, you never wanted to hurt him; honestly, you’d assumed he’d be irritated, but not… sad.  Not devastated.  Of course he would prefer to be getting laid, but you figured he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding some other girl to screw around with— sometimes, you’d wondered if he already had.

It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be casual, it was supposed to be fun.  You couldn’t think of anything you’d ever done, or anything you’d ever felt, that was less fun than this.

//

It made a strange sort of sense that the next time you saw him was at another party.  Of course, this party was entirely different from the last one: for one, it was hosted by your boyfriend, and there sure as hell wasn’t any quail.  There was a lot more alcohol, though.

You were hanging off to the side, not feeling quite up for mixing in with the crowd as they danced to the record Brian had put on.  Even if they spared you from the same boring questions that your parents’ friends bombarded you with, they were uninteresting in their own way as every conversation seemed to come back to politics or pot.

Brian startled you a bit by coming up beside you, resting his hand on the small of your back.  “Hey,” he greeted, and you smiled up at him.  Your eyes lingered on his face— he looked… grown up.  It was probably just because he had a beard; he certainly didn’t always act grown up, but overall, Brian was perfectly acceptable.  He’d asked you out, he’d actually had the bravery for that, so that was a great head start.

You tried to shake the thought out of your mind, looking away from him; it wasn’t a head start because this wasn’t a race.  Who, after all, would he be racing against?

For some reason, your eyes turned to the front door— and you bit your lip as you saw Angus coming inside, slipping off his coat and looking around the room (for you, presumably).  He looked even more haggard than before: a little pale, eyes sunken and dark, and he definitely hadn’t shaved since you saw him.

Brian looked to find where you were staring, and frowned slightly.  “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, um— Angus Tully, his parents are friends with mine, I used to babysit him when he was a kid.”

You knew that wasn’t really what he was asking, so you weren’t surprised when he got to the point more directly: “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, hoping Brian wouldn’t somehow figure out that your heart was racing.

Brian’s hand moved up to your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just as Angus noticed you and hurriedly shoved his way through the crowd to come face-to-face with you.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice raspy and hurried as he took a quick glance at Brian in his peripheral.

“Um— sure,” you agreed awkwardly, not sure which answer would be less suspicious.  Of course, when you glanced at Brian, he just looked mildly annoyed— bored, even.  You realized in that moment that you didn’t need to worry about him suspecting you and Angus of anything, because he barely registered Angus’ existence: he certainly wouldn’t acknowledge him as some kind of sexual threat.

“Privately,” Angus added— and that actually got Brian’s attention, though he seemed more aware of your discomfort than anything.

“Anything you wanna say to her, you can say in front of me,” Brian assured firmly, and Angus swallowed anxiously— it was obvious from the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Actually, uh, somebody was looking for you out front,” Angus told him.  “Something about a keg getting delivered to the wrong house?”

“Shit,” Brian hissed, dropping his hand from your shoulder and looking towards the door again.  “Fucking idiots…”

Having made quick work of Brian, Angus put his attention back on you.  “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.

“W-we can just talk here,” you tried to say, but he was already grabbing your wrist and guiding you out; why did your heart still skip when he touched you?

Once he’d taken you through the kitchen and out to the back porch— where you could still hear the music and chatter, but it was much quieter— you spoke.

“Angus, I really am sorry about— you know— but you can’t just—” you started.

“It’s not over yet,” he insisted, surprising you with his intensity; you leaned back against the wooden railing, and he stood just a little too close with those dark brown eyes piercing through you.

“If you tell me you’re happy with Brian, I’ll leave you alone,” Angus decided, puffing up his chest a bit.

“I’m happy with Brian,” you said sternly.

A brief moment passed.  “Okay, I lied,” Angus admitted.

“Jesus,” you hissed.

“But only because I don’t believe you!” he explained.  “We were so good together.”

“Yeah, we were,” you admitted, “but… it’s over now.”

“No— it’s not.  It can’t be!” he insisted with a whine, and you scoffed as you shook your head.

“Angus, you’re being childish,” you scolded.

“Oh, don’t say that,” he grimaced.  “Don’t hold that against me— I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course you’re not— but you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn right I’m not!” he spat.  “You’re all I could think about, for months!  Months, I couldn’t fucking get you out of my head!  And not just the, you know, the dirty stuff— everything.  Every moment I spent with you, every dumb thing we talked about for hours, every time you laughed at one of my shitty jokes—”

“Angus, please,” you breathed, glancing down; you could only take so much of this, and you worried he was figuring that out.

“Does he make you laugh?” Angus pressed, stepping a bit closer to you.  “Does he make you feel special?  Does he make you come?”

“Yes,” you said sharply, “he’s great, okay?  I’m happy— so please just stop fucking this up for me.”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “you’re happy, I believe you.  But… but what about me, y’know?  He doesn’t need you like I do.”

Your face warmed up and you crossed your arms tighter, staring down at the ground.

“Of course he likes you— who wouldn’t?  But he couldn’t even imagine how I feel about you— how long I’ve been thinking about you.  I mean, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid!  You’re my dream girl!”

“That’s— that has nothing to do with me,” you tried to explain.  “That’s a fantasy!”

“But it’s real, baby,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to gently hold your arms at either side.  “It’s so real, you know it is.”

You didn’t even have the heart to deny it— or to tell him not to call you that.  You knew if you looked up at him, you wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore; he must’ve known that, too, because he delicately lifted your chin until you met his gaze.

And then he kissed you: tender, sweet, and shameless.  He didn’t care if anyone saw, if anyone knew— even Brian.  You, on the other hand, still cared enough to try to stop him; but even you couldn’t resist a kiss like this, and you found your hands pulling him closer as quickly as they’d tried to push him away.

He took you home, without another word about what this meant or where you stood with each other.  You snuck him into your room and he climbed into bed with you and he touched you like he’d been waiting a lot longer than just a few months for this moment.  Frankly, you were beginning to realize that you’d been waiting a lot longer for this, too.

Before, Angus had always been talkative during sex— sometimes annoyingly so.  But this time, he didn’t say a damn thing; neither of you did.  And yet, somehow, just by the way he looked at you, just by the way he held you, just by the way he moved inside you... you felt like you heard more than you ever had.

//

You sat next to each other on the bench, staring forward into the dark treeline ahead— there was still a layer of frost around their roots, and a new snow had begun to fall even if it wasn’t cold enough for it to stick on the pavement.  You tried not to look at him too long, in case it made this any harder, but you did appreciate that he seemed a bit more put together than he had the last time you went a few days without seeing him.  He was clean-shaven, too… is it wrong that you kinda missed the stubble?

“Thanks for, you know… giving me a couple days to think about it,” you mumbled, and he nodded.

“I thought you might have somewhere better to be on a Friday night,” he said— trying to lighten the mood a bit, you could tell; trying to make you comfortable.

“Well, even if I did, I think this needs to be done,” you explained, and he pressed his lips together a bit.

He waited patiently, though, for you to break the silence and explain yourself, even if he didn’t seem too surprised when you did it.

“It was a mistake,” you decided.  “It was great, but it was a mistake— and I’d really appreciate if we could just… let it go.  And if you didn’t tell Brian.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly.  “I wasn’t gonna tell him.  But I still think you should dump him.”

“Well, that’s my decision,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

“I know,” he breathed.

You could already tell, just by the way the next silence began, that he was going to interrupt it with something stupid… you just never expected how stupid.

“The thing is— I love you,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to look at you again as your eyes widened.  “I fucking love you.”

“Angus, I— you can’t—!” you choked out, but he continued before you could try to think of a response.

“I know I do— don’t say I don’t know what that is, or that I’m too young or something stupid like that,” he pleaded.  “I know how I feel, okay?  When you miss somebody this much, when you think about somebody this much— what else could love be, but that?”

You sighed, looking away, and he moved closer to you on the bench.  Even if you knew it was preposterous that someone else would be in the park at the end of the street at this time of night, you still fought the urge to look over your shoulder.

“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” he breathed.  “You love me too, don’t you?  I mean— I thought you basically forgot I existed, but last night… that sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it?  It’s not… it’s not usually like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you admitted, “that was different.”

He perked up, smiling wide when you looked at him again.  “Just say it,” he begged, “say you love me too— ‘cause I know you do.”

“I— Angus, it’s more complicated than that,” you explained.  “We’re still— there’s Brian, for one thing… we can’t really go on like this, you know that.”

“I know— I don’t want to keep doing this.  I want to really be together,” he replied.  You tried to turn your body away from his slightly, but he grabbed your hands and held them tight until you looked at him again.  “I’m almost done with high school— I’ll go to college where you’re going for grad school!”

You shook your head.  “No, you can’t do that.”

“Just think about it: us, together— we could actually go on real dates, and go to college parties together, and, like, study out at the library— or, you know, whatever you college kids do,” he fantasized.  You smiled, but shook your head again.

“We… we can’t do that,” you denied.

He frowned, and turned away from you, staring darkly at the ground.  “I knew it,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  “You’re embarrassed— you’re ashamed of me.”

“What?!” you blurted out.  “Angus, no—”

“It’s okay,” he said in a terribly unconvincing way, crossing his arms.  “I don’t blame you: I’m just some dumb kid from your hometown.  You want a guy your age— not some random freshman… you want something better.”

“That’s bullshit,” you replied instantly, “you can do so much better.”

“C’mon, I’ll never do better than you,” he insisted.

Even though he’d misunderstood you, your heart still swelled a bit at the compliment.  “I meant for college, Angus,” you explained, and he deflated a little.  “You can do a lot better than a state school.”

“Well, I, um… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted nervously.  “My grades are kinda… inconsistent.  And I went to so many different high schools—”

“Who gives a shit?” you scoffed.  “You’re fucking smart— way smarter than anybody else here.  You act like an idiot sometimes, but you’re eighteen, it kinda comes with the territory.”

He frowned, but couldn’t exactly deny it.

“You deserve to go somewhere amazing,” you told him.  “You need to go somewhere amazing— and do something amazing.”

For a long moment, he just stared out into the dark; until, suddenly, he whipped his head back around at you with a quizzical look on his face.  “Wait— is that what this is all about?”

“What?”

“Do you not want to be with me because you think you’d, like, hold me back or something?” he accused.

You blinked quickly; something about the way he said be with me caught you off-guard— like it was a term much more mature than you had expected from him.  Instead of answering directly, you just stammered.  “Well, y-you’re young, and—” 

He cut you off quickly with a laugh.  “Oh my god!  You think I give a shit about that?”

“No,” you shot back, “but you should.  You realize how fucking dumb it would be to change your whole life for the first person you ever slept with?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” he admitted, looking down at his feet swinging over the edge.  “But what if it’s somebody that, you know, you think you really have a shot with?  What if it’s somebody that you feel like you can’t live without?  Somebody that makes you finally get all those songs you hear on the radio—”

“It only feels like this to you because you’ve never felt anything else,” you explained gently.  “It’s your first love.  It fades.”

“But I don’t want it to,” he said instantly, looking at you with the most heartbreaking eyes you’d ever seen.  “God, I don’t want it to.”

You looked up at him as his hand brushed over your face, and felt tears welling before you could fight them off; he kissed you, in a way that you thought he might have never really kissed you before.  In a way nobody had kissed you before, in fact.  It wasn’t very long, but it felt like it might as well have gone on forever.

When he broke away, he kept his eyes shut, and he pressed his forehead to yours as his thumb stroked your cheek.  “Tell me it doesn’t have to end,” he breathed, “please.  Tell me it’s not going to end.”

“It has to,” you whispered back, watching his shoulders sink and bringing your hand up to clutch at his chest.  “It has to end, someday.”

You took a shaky breath, watching a tear fall from his jaw onto your arm, feeling everything you’d held back finally breaking through as your grip on shirt tightened and your lip began to quiver.

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” you sighed.

Gasping with relief and joy simultaneously, he kissed you again, and pulled you closer at your waist, and wrapped you up in his arms tightly.

There was, of course, this nagging voice at the back of your mind— that maybe it didn’t have to end.  And god, you wanted to silence that thought permanently if you could, because it had never done you any good.  That hope had only ever led to pain before.  But, without it, nothing would ever really have a chance: if you weren’t willing to risk the heartache, you’d never let yourself love Angus the way that he deserved and the way that you knew, deep down, you already did.

So, as he kissed you that way you thought people only kissed in movies, and whispered to you those words you thought people only said because they were poets and dreamers, you realized that maybe it didn’t have to end someday.  Maybe he would spend the next several years of your lives convincing you that you didn’t need to protect yourself from your own feelings.  Maybe he would actually have the patience to break down walls he never built, to fix wounds he didn’t leave.  Maybe he was ready to give you something to believe in, something worth taking risks for while you were still young and reckless.  Maybe he, like the oncoming equinox, would melt your ice so new life could grow.

Or, maybe, this feeling he had really would fade once he gained a little more life experience; maybe you would make too many mistakes for him to forgive.  Maybe you would always be friends, or maybe you would have too much history to be able to see each other again.  Maybe you would grow apart— maybe you would have to brace yourself for that, to sit next to him on a cold dorm room mattress as you both realized it just wasn’t working anymore.

The most important thing that you realized in that moment— that eternal moment in his arms, in the dark, in the last snow of Spring— was that it didn’t matter.  It didn’t have to be forever to be perfect; it didn’t have to be the ending to be beautiful.  He loved you.  Even if you were still trying to figure out why, he loved you; and that was true, and real, and special.  His love couldn’t fix you, but it made you feel fixable, and you hadn’t seen yourself that way in a long time— you could only dream that you might see yourself the way he saw you.

When you pulled back from the kiss for a moment, you smiled wide— you laughed, actually— and sniffled as he wiped your tears away.  “I love you,” you told him, and even though he kissed you again, you didn’t stop saying it.  You wanted to keep it on your lips until it didn’t scare you anymore; you wanted to keep your heart open, even if it made you vulnerable, maybe because it made you vulnerable.  After all, you couldn’t ever be sure it wouldn’t come back to bite you… if you could, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Even though all you said to him was I love you, each one meant something a bit different.  I trust you.  I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m going to try.  I’m sorry.  I’m so glad I met you.  I’ll never forget you.  Please don’t let me go.

Somehow, you felt like he heard each one.  Each time he told you that he loved you, though, you heard the same thing: I won’t let you go, ever.

//

Easter Mass was relatively pleasant, if a little too long.  You did notice Angus sitting with his family, across the aisle and a few rows back, but you only gave him a quick wave before the service started and managed to resist glancing back at him after that.

The best part of Easter was always afterwards, though: you stood at the furthest end of the lawn, in front of the ivy-covered exterior wall of the chapel, as children ran around snatching up colorful eggs to collect for their baskets.  Even if it was totally stupid, and irrelevant to the actual message of the holiday that the priest had just spent the whole service hammering in, you got a kick out of the fancy clothes and tiny dress shoes, the squeals of delight, the candy and toys in bright pastels.  You were just thankful the weather had warmed up in the nick of time for all the festivities— indoor egg hunts never have quite the same effect.

Angus sauntered up beside you, sipping on a styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee, and you didn’t even look at each other, but you both smiled.

“They’re cute,” he stated after a little while.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Do you wanna have a kid?” he asked, and you gave him a hesitant glance only to find him looking right back at you— his expression was friendly, but neutral enough that you couldn’t read if he meant having a kid with him or just, you know, in general.

Deciding it must be the second one, you let out a soft, nervous laugh.  “Uh, I dunno… maybe someday,” you offered, as non-committal as possible.

“How about right now?” he challenged, lowering his voice slightly, but not enough to stop you from glancing around to make sure nobody heard.

“Angus, fucking Christ,” you coughed.  “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” he shrugged.  “I mean, maybe I’m not being literal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”

“Well… we can’t,” you mumbled, looking out at the lawn again, hoping not to stand out too much.  “Not here.”

“I know, I know,” he agreed, and the two of you fell back into a silence— an oddly comfortable one, even.  You crossed your arms as you watched the kids run around and he kept sipping on his coffee.  After a few moments, though, you spoke again.

“Meet you in the Sunday school room in the West wing in five minutes?”

“Yup,” he said, already turning to leave.  You smiled slightly to yourself, glancing down at your white shoes planted in the grass.  Even on such a delicately-manicured lawn, wildflowers were already springing up— little periwinkle diamonds scattered here and there.

When what felt like a reasonable amount of time passed, you made your careful and casual exit from the egg hunt to slip back inside.  Once you were away from the crowds and on your way to meet Angus, you couldn’t stop yourself from running… and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

[captainamericasmotercycle]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a fic with Jacaerys x sister! Reader where they are at a gala/feast and ppl keep flirting with reader so Jave gets jealous and stuff. So when they go to their room at the end of the feast Jace makes her ride his face and makes sure she’s loud enough for everyone to hear that she’s his.

warnings: typical canon incest, jace x sister!reader (father is not specified), no dance of the dragons au, 18+ minors DNI, jace hates aemond in every universe, everyone lives au!!!, jace eating u out like a man starved, nyra and daemon giving kris jenner vibes???, cursing, the targtowers and targaryens are besties (kind of)

For your younger brother Lucerys’s name day of ten and five, your family decided it would be best to throw a feast for him.

He was becoming older and would soon inherit Driftmark, he needed a celebration to show that he is becoming a man and no longer a mere child.

Since your mother became Queen and your older half-brother became her heir, many people were interested in the lives of the royal family, so Luke’s name day was flooded with people from all over Westeros.

You were all dolled up in a fancy gown, you hair was braided so elegantly and intricately, and you moved with such grace that most eyes were on you throughout the night.

Luke joked to Jace that you may be able to find a lord husband tonight, but at his suggestion, Jace tensed up and his face hardened.

You sat with your family at the elevated table, you mother was in the middle, Daemon next to her, his daughters on his side of the table, you sat between Jace and your mother, and then sat Luke, Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon.

You watched in awe at the celebration, only imagining how grand a wedding could be.

People danced, wore lavish clothing, gorged themselves in the food, and occasionally approached the table to offer up gifts to your brother for his name day.

It was about halfway through the night when highborn men started to approach you, which was uncommon up until recent.

Every since you had turned ten and eight, and became more developed in certain places, you were consistently approached for your hand.

Lord Oscar Tully was the first to approach your table, you smiled gently at him, knowing his new situation.

“Hello, Princess. You look lovely tonight.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, a dark color dusting your cheeks, he was quite the charmer, and not bad looking either, “Thank you, Lord Tully. I heard about your grandsire, I offer my deepest condolences.”

He nods solemnly, “Thank you, Princess. I may have lost my grandsire, but I have gained a deep power and a great kingdom… one I hope you will consider in your future.”

You smiled gently, “I heard the Riverlands are beautiful, I would most definitely love to see them someday. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I just wanted to come and offer you some company, if you’ll have me?”

You looked to your mother who smiled at you, knowingly. You looked back to the young lord and nodded, “I’d love to.”

You came around the table, taking his arm in yours as he led you to the floor to dance.

Jace’s gaze hardened and he downed his cup of wine, slamming it down on the table harsher than intended. Luke and Joffrey giggled at him, Viserys and Aegon following their older brothers’ actions.

Luke leaned over to his brother, “Careful, your face might get stuck like that.”

“Shut up, Luke.”

“I’m just saying…”

“He’s not good enough for her—”

“You say that about every man and I could hardly agree with you, most of the Riverlands looks to House Tully for direction and leadership; she would be in a great position there as their lady.”

“Do you want me to leave the table and kill myself?”

“All I am saying is that maybe you should focus on yourself instead of our sister… you need to wed as well, create heirs for the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jace rolled his eyes, “You sound like Mother.”

Rhaenyra whipped her head to her sons, “I think he is right, Jace.”

“Of course you do.”

“You are too invested in something that does not concern you Jacaerys. Perhaps you need to start looking for your own Lady Wife.”

“I do not wish to wed.”

“I hate to tell you, but your wishes do not matter to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jace sighed, moving his gaze back to you and Lord Tully. You smiled as the two of you danced. Jace’s jealously only grew as he watched.

Oscar Tully was not good enough for you, no one is good enough for you… except Jace himself.

As the song ended, a new one started. Luke left the table with Rhaena, Joffrey and the twins were led to their chambers to be put to bed, your mother was in an intent conversation with Corlys and Rhaenys, and you had just been approached by Gwyane Hightower.

From the look on Gwyane’s face, Jace knew Gwyane was being smug with you, he scoffed, thinking that you would never be charmed by him, but when he saw you smiling, standing too close for comfort to him, he almost puked his supper all over the floor.

You danced and flirted with Gwyane Hightower for a bit of the night, making Jace more and more jealous.

As you finished with Gwyane, you returned to your seat, a big smile on your face.

“Enjoy your dance?” Jace asked, venom lacing his tongue.

“I did, as a matter of fact, Gwyane is… such a lovely knight. He’s a knight… did you know?”

Before Jace could respond, you were hugged lightly from behind by Helaena. She kissed you gently on the cheek, “Quite the collection of suitors you have assembled tonight.”

You giggled lightly, “I know! Quite fun, to be honest.”

Jace grunted from beside you, making you and Helaena both turn to him, “Are you alright?”

“Just fine,” he held his lips in a thin tight line.

You went back to your conversation with Helaena about her uncle, Gwayne and Lord Tully, when you were finally met by another suitor.

“Sister. Niece. Nephew,” Aemond stood in front of you, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Uncle,” you looked at him with raised brows.

“I was just wondering if you would join me for a dance. I’ve seen all of these useless men that call themselves suitors and figured you needed a more distinguished partner, such as a prince.”

You blinked slowly at him, Helaena nudged you with a smile. You quickly glanced at Jace and thought he looked like he was about to roll over and die.

You stood and came around the table to meet him, you took his offered hand, “Let’s see how well you dance, Uncle.”

Helaena watched the two of you walk away, “A great pair, the two of them, they’ll be fantastic together,” she took a grape off your plate, popping it in her mouth and walking off.

This was Jace’s last straw, seeing you dance with Aemond might have been the most painful thing he’s ever done in his entire life. After watching for just a couple moments, he could not stand it any longer.

His mother rolled her eyes, watching him seethe, “Jace.”

“What?”

“Go get her.”

“What?”

“Go. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jace stood, rushing down to you and grabbing your arm, stealing you away from Aemond.

You followed him, shocked at the sudden behavior. He yanked you to his chambers, leaving the doors open.

Once in his room, you pulled away from him, “Jacaerys! What is the meaning of this?”

“You! You are the meaning of this!” His yelling made you take a step back, he stalked up, putting his hand on either side of your face, holding on tightly, “You think you can tease me like that? Taking any man who offered his hand?”

“Jace-”

“You know they are no good for you. They may be nobles, but are they heir to the Iron Throne? You are simply doing this to upset me.”

Your voice became small, “I did not mean to upset you.”

You could feel wetness pooling in your small clothes beneath your gown. He shoved his face into yours, harshly smashing his lips on yours.

You stumbled back at the forced, you pushed him back to take a breath and think about what you are doing. After a couple deep breaths, you rushed at him, nearly mounting him.

He groped and grasped at every part of you, you doing the same to him. His lips moved down to your neck, sucking lightly at it.

You threw your head back as his teeth grazed the sensitive area of your neck. The two of your shuffled your way to his bed.

“Jace… the doors, someone might see or hear.”

“I hope they do.”

“But—”

He pushed you on his bed, “I want them to hear how good your brother can make you feel, how they will never be me, how they will never taste you.”

He spread your legs, pulling off your underclothes. He grabbed your thighs, flipping you to straddle his face.

You fell forward, steadying yourself up with your hands. You pushed yourself up back in a sitting position.

Jace yanked at your legs, pulling you further down onto his face. You felt his nose buried into your cunt, rubbing against your sensitive bud.

You were about to voice your concerns about suffocating him, but you suddenly gasped out as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe down your maidenhood.

He thrusted his tongue in and out of you roughly, you screamed out for everyone in the hall to hear, “Gods! Jace!”

Visceral animalistic sounds came from the back of your throat, sounds you had never heard before.

In the hall, the attention of the crowds was taken by your yells, guards grabbed at their swords, you mother rose suddenly at your scream, Daemon was on his feet and ready for an oncoming attack.

One of Jace’s personal guards came rushing into the room to promise that no one was in danger and that the two of you were… together in his chambers.

Your mother and Daemon’s faces instantly reddened. They shared a look of embarrassment and pride. On one hand, as your parents, they wanted to kill you both, but as the Queen and King Consort, they knew the realm would be in their children’s hands at their demise.

Tears rolled down your face as Jace fucked you with his tongue. You had never felt such pleasures in your entire life. It made you understand why lowborn men seek out such endeavors at the disloyalty of their wives.

Jace couldn’t get enough of you. You tasted sweeter than anything that’s ever touched his tongue. His tongue moved faster as you panted, moaned, and groaned above him.

As his pace quickened, you felt a tight coiling in your lower stomach.

“Jace… fuck!”

At your vulgarity, he quickened his pace. You came fast and harder than you ever thought you could. Jace took all of your juices into his mouth, not leaving a drop of your sweet release.

You collapsed next to him, panting outrageously. He lay next to you, breathless, laughing to himself. You grabbed a pillow, hitting him the face with it. He took it from you, tossing it on the ground.

He came to hover over you, trapping you beneath his figure. You leaned down and kissed your lips gently, you could still taste your arousal on his lips.

You stared at him with a smile, “I suppose you think making the entire Keep believe we were under attack is funny?”

“It was not I that made them think we were under attack. If I am not mistaken, it was you screaming your head off.”

“You were the one who yanked me away from the celebration.”

“Yes, but you were the one who made me.”

You scoffed, sitting up against the headboard, “Made you?”

“Yes, dancing with that Tully, the fucking Hightower knight, and worse of all, Aemond.”

“Mmm, sounds like you are jealous?” You taunted him sarcastically.

“They are not deserving of you.”

“And you are?”

“I am the heir to the Iron Throne and your blood. I am the most deserving.”

“So are you suggesting I should become Queen one day?”

“Hmm, I do not remember offering my hand to you to wed…”

You hit him in the stomach with the back of your hand, “You just had the entire Seven Kingdoms hear my screams while you were buried up my dress. I would slaughter you and become the heir myself if you did not ask for my hand after that.”

He took your hand in his, kissing the back of your palm, “I shall talk to Mother in the morn.”

You stared at your intertwined hands, “We should return…”

“You think we are able to return after the little show we put on?”

“I suppose you are right,” you sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He got up, leaving you on his bed. He walked to his chamber doors, locking them.

He returned to you, laying on his back, “Perhaps we should just rest now, we shall deal with our consequences tomorrow.”

You lay with him, resting your head on his chest, he brought his hand to rub your arm, coaxing you to sleep.

He pressed a couple kiss to your hairline, “You will be my wife soon enough, dōna tala.”

[bellarkeselection]

Hey could you write for Daemon targaryen like while he's being haunted in harnehal he finds his comfort in a prisoner and falls in love with her targaryen type of love and obsession and he married her like his second wife something he listens to her obeys her admires her while he fights war for rahaenya right guess she isn't happy with their marriage but have to accept as he's crucial for her but later on when they're leading she asks him her head so they both escaped with caraxes alive to anywhere you want

His Compass of Harrenhal

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie

This request will have a couple of parts to it so enjoy and if you want to be added send that below in the comments 😊

I could hear footsteps slowly coming through the castle that I was forced to be a prisoner in. Not physically but mentally inside my mind for years and years to come. Sneaking through the hallway near the kitchen I raised my sword until I jumped around the corner feeling the cold tip of a sword against my throat. “Show yourself you ghost!”

“Not before you reveal yourself first!” I heard a deep man’s voice shifting my gaze up to meet his purple eyes that could only belong to a Targaryen.

I gulped slightly nervous that I must still be having another nightmare. “What is your name, ghost?”

“I’m no ghost, strange woman. I am Daemon Targaryen. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Now who the hell are you!” He growled under his breath glaring his eyes deadly in my direction.

The tip of my sword was pointed up against the fabric of his tunic shirt while he had his sword end up against my throat. Both of us never lowered our weapons while we spoke to one another. “My name is Y/n, Y/n Tully. I was wed to the late lord of this castle until I started hearing and seeing things that didn’t make sense. I’ve been attempting to escape ever since he called me a witch.”

“He’s named you a prisoner then?” Daemon raised a brow at me.

Shaking my head, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “I’m not quite sure anymore. I haven’t been able to trust my own mind to tell me what is real and what is fake for far too many years. Why are you here, if you’re truly here.”

“Have you known any of these ghosts you see to ever have a sword pressing against your throat.” He questioned me.

I replied, beginning to lower my blade off of his chest. “I can’t say that they ever have.”

“Then we may not be alone in whatever is going on inside this dreadful castle.” He placed his sword back in his belt, walking into the kitchen and I followed him knowing it was probably a better option then going back alone to my old chamber room. I couldn’t stand the idea of being a prisoner here anymore than I already had because I feared I wouldn’t make it through another night on my own. Not without Daemon by my side.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been staring into the burning flames of one of the candles I was holding in one hand and my sword tightly clenched in the other. The rain hadn’t stopped at all during the day and I didn’t believe it was going to stop throughout the night either. Hearing footsteps coming into the chambers I scrambled to my feet I spun around aiming my blade towards the shut window until someone put their hand over my mouth causing me to go into fight or flight mode. “Get your fucking hands off of me - gah!” I screamed attempting to cut the ghost with my blade.

“Gīda ilagon. Gīda ilagon, issa klios ābrazȳrys ( Calm down. Calm down, my fish wife ).” I sucked in a breath feeling the tension in my body beginning to fade recognizing the voice that spoke in my ear.

Closing my eyes I paused lowering my sword asking him a question. “Issi ao se vala nyke call issa zaldrīzes dārys? ( Are you the man I call my dragon king? ).”

Daemon’s voice whispered in my ear, hot breath framing on the side of my neck. “Kessa, issa byka ābrazȳrys ( Yes, my little wife ).”

“Daemon!” I squealed out in such a relief flinging my arms around his neck letting my sword clank to the floor without a care in the world knowing that he wasn’t in fact another ghost attempting to haunt my mind night after night.

He wrapped his arms around my waist clinging onto me like he needed me to physically breathe. He buried his nose into my hair barely letting some tears be shed from his eyes. “Y/n.”

Unaware of how long we had been there together we had come up with our own secret code system that we made sure no one else knew except for the two of us and us alone. He was fluent in high valyrian and very few people who weren’t a part of the Targaryen family could speak it. So he would teach me every chance he could when he wasn’t trying to raise an army for his queen and former wife Rhaenyra.

“Touch me, Daemon.” I muttered under my breath barely pulling away from his embrace. Needing just a tiny bit more proof that it was truly him.

He moved his hands up to cradle the sides of my face in his own hands , crashing his lips down onto mine in a very deep kiss leaving me breathless when he broke it. “I’m here, Y/n. Your dragon husband is right in front of you.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck I drew him in for another long kiss. He threaded one of his hands into my hair drawing out a moan from me. We remained attached to one another making our way back to the bed where I collapsed onto my back with him hovering above me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck I went to kiss him but a loud knock came from the other side of the door. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

“I’ll go tell the asshole to leave.” Daemon got up from the bed, flinging the door opened seeing the caretaker of Harrenhal. “What the hell do you want this late hour!”

The man extended his hand holding out a letter. “A letter from Dragonstone, my king.”

“Who’s it from?” I asked him sliding down off the bed walking over to him, taking it from his hands and tearing it open. I began reading it aloud since Daemon seemed to be in no mood for any company tonight except for me. “Dear Daemon, I have been wondering how the search for men for my army is going. It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard anything from you so this is me asking for an answer. I need more men to secure my throne and my birthright. Keep your word and loyalty to your queen and wife , Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“You’re first wife. She’s the one the late king Viserys named his rightful heir right?” I asked him sitting the letter down on the nearest table.

Daemon lowered his purple eyes to meet my gaze. “She’s actually my second wife. My first died on her horse, then her until the night I met you in this castle. I need to give her an army to help her take the throne back.”

“You’ll need the support of the Riverlords. House Tully controls how loyal they are. I can speak to Lord Grover for you.” I draped my arms over his neck and he put his hands on my hips bringing me closer to his body.

Daemon smiled widely down at me, kissing me deeply a second time not caring the lord was here. “Brilliant and beautiful I certainly won with you Lady Y/n Tully.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[lydiadeetzgf]

Invisible String

Oscar Tully x Blackwood!reader

summary: This is the story of Benjicot's younger sister and Oscar Tully. Some would say it was of coincidence, others would say it was fate.

word count: 1.4k

warning: fluff

Author’s note: please let me know what you think of this in the comments! I’m always open to feedback!

Green was the color of the grass Where I used to read at Centennial Park I used to think I would meet somebody there

Blackwood Vale consisted of Raventree Hall and the Godswoods, with a large green pasture in between. The lofty, old stone walls of Raventree are covered in moss. The gate is flanked by two enormous square towers, and there is a square tower at each corner of the wall. It is further protected by a stone-lined, deep moat. There is a large timber keep and a filthy outer ward inside the walls. The solar of Lord Blackwood in the keep is spacious and bright, with enormous dark oak beams. Its walls are covered in wool tapestries, and its latticework doors, which have yellow glass windows fashioned like diamonds, gaze out over Raventree Hall's godswood. It has a chair with a high back. There is a massive, ancient, dead weirwood within the godswood. Hundreds of ravens arrive every evening around sunset and spend the entire night roosting on the dead weirwood, just as they have done for countless years. There is a view of two of Raventree's gates from a height overlooking a stream close to the castle.

Her father had asked her that day to get her brother Benji from the grounds by the Godswoods as it was time for their supper. Just nine name days y/n walked down the green pasters with her black dress with ravens embraided on the bottom. As she walked closer, she saw her Benji, who was only two-name days older than her, training with his friends. The two boys were her brother’s age. One had curly hair, the other straight.

“Benji!” She shouted getting her brother and the boys’ attention, causing them to stop fighting.

“What?!” he shouted back rolling his eyes that his little sister was disturbing them.

“Father says it’s supper and that you need to come back.” y/n said coming closer to face him. 

“Fine.” Benji started to gather his things. Y/n could feel eyes watching her as she face her brother. Once Benji gathered his things he place his hand protectively on her back gently pushing her back to Raventree Hall.

“Are you going to introduce us to your sister Benji?” The boy with straight hair asked smirking, “It would be rude not to.”

Y/n glanced to see Benji rolled his eyes and slowly turned to face the boys. She too turned to see them. The boy with curly hair stared at the girl with admiration in his eyes causing her cheeks to turn red. 

“Y/n this is Kermit and Oscar Tully.” Benji gestured to both the Tullys, “Kermit and Oscar, this is Y/n my little sister.”

“Hello.” She shyly waved at the two.

Kermit bowed, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Oscar didn’t speak but softly waved hello back.

Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see?

By the age of ten and one y/n and Oscar had always seem to end up near each other. One time y/n was in the library reading a book on the Old Gods when she heard the doors smack open. To her surprise Oscar was standing there out of breath. He quickly shut the door and ran over to her. He grabbed her hand and dragged her under the table.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. “Why are we hiding?”

“Mine and your brothers are chase me. They wish to throw me in the river as a happy name day present.”

“It’s your name day?” She smiled at the boy as he nodded shyly, “Happy nameday.”

“Thank you.” The two spend the rest of the afternoon talking under that table.

At the age of ten and two y/n have perfected her embroidery skills, so much that she started to embroider on her dresses. Y/n had a plain dark blue dress in her wardrobe that she wish to dress up for fun. She spent a whole month embroidering the dress for a festival at Riverrun. When the festival came around her and her family arrived at Riverrun. Entering the great hall, y/n noticed Oscar coming over.

“You have fishes on your dress?” Oscar pointed out. Y/n’s plain dark blue dress had be transformed into a dress with fishes dancing with ravens on the bottom.

“Do you like it?” she asked smiling at the boy. “I did it myself. I thought it was fitting.”

“Yes, its very beautiful.” He smiled back blushing, “like you.” He held out his hand towards her, “would you like to dance?”

The girl smiled and took his hand.

Another time was when y/n was ten and three she was walking the riverbank. The Backwoods were in Riverrun as her father had business with Lord Grover. “Y/n!” She heard a voice shout out behind her. The girl turned to see Oscar stumbling along the riverbank behind her, causing her to smile.

“What are you doing here? I thought you would be with my brother and Kermit?” She asked the boy confusedly.

“But I would much rather be here with you.” He smiled brightly. The two continue walking the riverbank enjoying each other’s company.

And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

It was a sunny day in Ravenvale. Y/n was in her chambers getting ready excitedly, as it was her ten and four name day. Her maids were putting on her favourite red empire silhouette dress with an ivy pattern on the long sleeves. As her maid, Anne did her hair there was a knock on her door.

“Come in.” She invited whoever was at the door. The door pushed open to reveal a muddy Oscar Tully. “Oscar!” Y/n smiled standing up and walking closer to him.

“Y/n.” The muddy boy said out of breath.

“Why are you covered in mud?” She looked at him confusedly tilting her head slightly.

“I was in the grounds getting you this…” He caught his breath and brought his arm from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers, lavenders, sweet peas and hydrangeas. “Happy name day, y/n.”

The girl took the flowers gently from his hand and sniffed them, “thank you Os. I love them.” She smiled at the boy, who was grateful she like them. Y/n handed the flowers over to Anne and asked her to place them in a vase by her bed. Oscar then said goodbye and ran off to find his brother and Benji. Leaving y/n to her own thoughts.

She realised that she was nearing the age in which her father would marry her of to some lord in some old castle that did not care or love her and only would use her to produce heirs for himself. She wished to be loved and cared for by some who she would love and care for, she wished for someone to grow old with. The more she thought about it, the more she knew who she wished to marry. She wished for it to be Oscar Tully, the boy who had been by her side since she was nine and onwards. She wished for the boy with curly hair who gave her flowers.

One single thread of gold tied me to you

On a cold autumn afternoon y/n was summoned to the main hall by her father. As she walked the Hall’s corridors, she got more and more nervous. Had she done something bad? Had Benji blame her for something he did and now she had to cover for him again? Is she finally being married of to an old, dying lord? When she near the door to the main hall the guards opened the doors and announced her arrival.

There stood her father and brother along with Lord Grover and Oscar, smiling and laughing. She looked at the gathering in confusion, “you wanted to see me, father?” she asked.

Her father turned to see her standing there and smiled brightly at her, “y/n! come greet your betrothed and his grandsire!”

“Betrothed?” she looked at Oscar, who sheepishly smiled at her.

“Yes, Lord Oscar Tully is to be your husband.” Her father explained. “We just finalised the arrangement.”

“Really?” She smiled at him. Once her father nodded to confirm, y/n ran at Oscar and hugged him tightly almost knocking him to the ground. Oscar chuckled slightly and hugged back. “I’m glad it’s you.” She whispered.

Once y/n was ten and seven and Oscar was ten and nine they had their wedding. It was held at Riverrun and all the noble houses of the Riverlands attended. After the two had said their vows, Oscar passionately kiss her, and she kissed back. As everyone cheered, her brother and Kermit whooping at the two, the happy couple Oscar swept y/n off her feet and carried her down the aisle.

[sorcerousundries]

Running just as fast as we can, Holding on to one another's hand.

Dragon-riding with Jacaerys

Inspired by I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany

Warnings: reader is a princess of house Arryn, reader is betrothed to Jace, Tyland Lannister slander, reader wears a dress, Jace is taller than reader

Translations: Naejot Māzīs - come forward | Sōvēs - fly

Content under the cut

You felt eyes on you from the moment you stepped into the great hall, your mother and father walking dutifully by your side, your fingers gripping and fidgeting the silky sky blue of your dress.

Even during dinner you felt them as if they were trying to burning holes through your dress to look upon the skin underneath, you looked up during the dinner to try and catch the eyes of Jace with his dark curls and amber eyes but the view of him was blocked by Tyland Lannister, out of sheer politeness you had to disguise your disgusted sneer with a strained smile instead. You shivered as he looked away to gorge himself on the view of other unsuspecting noble ladies, you almost gagged at the image of his greasy hair and overly cocky expression.

Even after he had set his sights on a Tully lady you still felt the burning rays of eyes on you, everything felt tight and constricting. The embroidered falcons on your dress felt itchy, the hairstyle your handmaidens had pinned into your head was pulling at your scalp, your hands felt clammy.

You knew you had to leave the hall before you burst into tears, whispering to your mother, she nodded in understanding allowing you to go as you pushed your seat away from the table and darted through the side door leading onto the ramparts, you nearly smiled at thought of being away from the stuffy air of the great hall before your joy was cut short by the stench of sweat and must filled your nose, you couldn’t resist the scrunch of your nose.

“Where are you off to, if I may ask my lady?” He grins wryly, his breath worse than his body odour.

You force your mouth into a smile “I’m just in need of some fresh air, Ser Lannister” you grit through your teeth, he seems to not pick up on the strained nature of your words and extends his arm “well it would be l crude of me to allow a princess of the realm to freeze out on the ramparts, allow me to accompany you my lady” the pungent smell of his underarm sweat hits you in the face, forcing you to restrain your gag, “I’m afraid I have to decline, I am already betrothed, it would be inappropriate for me to take your arm”.

you hoped the prospect of you being betrothed would be enough for him to back away, men like him tended to only back away when another man was involved but you were wrong, he only let out a scoff “I’m sure your betrothed wouldn’t mind, after all he let a maiden as fair as yourself out into the cold of an autumns night alone”.

Your eye twitched at that before you could speak the familiar scent of salt and sea air with a touch of smoke surrounded you as you felt a firm shoulder bump yours and a hand snake around your waist “my apologies Ser Tyland but the lady has already asked me to accompany her” he speaks plainly, the politeness of his words covering the poison he spoke them with.

Tyland hummed “the apologies are all mine, I did not know that the princess was accompanied” liar, you thought gripping onto Jace’s sleeve, the silk material of his tunic grounding you.

He forces a smile, similar to how you did before escorting you around Tyland and through the doors, you take his hand in yours, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles.

“Are you alright” he asks, pulling you into him you walk, you smile “I’m better now, the thought of Tyland Lannister escorting me alone sends shivers down my spine” you reply, jittering at the end making him laugh.

“I meant at dinner, you looked like you were about to combust at any second” he says, his observant nature would never fail to stunt you, you open your mouth and shut it again, lost for words at being clocked immediately.

“I suppose it was getting a little..stuffy in there” you sigh, “I know the feeling, sometimes the only time I truly feel free is when I’m with you” he mumbles, his head leaning down to rest on yours before it shoots back up, “come with me” he says, interlacing his fingers with yours and darting off, you squeal at the sudden jerk of his arm pulling you, you struggle to keep up with him, his long legs eating up the ground as your shorter ones only take up half the space.

Your surroundings are blurs as they rush past, only when you finally stop and rest your hands on your knees do you realise where Jace has lead you. The dragon pit. You look at him with raised eyebrows as he walks a few steps and extends his hand to you, you take his hand and follow him down the cavern.

The pit is dark and almost gloomy a torch is lit every few paces but it doesn’t give much light in the cavern, you cling to jaces arm as you hear the growl and rumble of dragons.

He stops walking at an area of the pit and you stand behind him “Naejot Māzīs” he calls, you hear the rhythmic click of Vermax, you’ve seen the dragon from afar many times but never up close. You hear the shuffling of wings before he comes into the light, bigger than you remember. Heads taller than you now his green and red scales glinting in the light. He clicks affectionately at Jace.

“Will you fly with me?” He turns and asks you, his eyes seeking yours hopefully, you breathe in looking at the dragon, the idea of flying on a dragon was exciting to you but the anxieties still rushed through you..“yes” you agree. Jacaerys smiles, climbing onto Vermax’s saddle before extending his hand to you, you take it, climbing on and sitting behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and leaning your head onto his warm back.

He grips the reins “Sōvēs”, Vermax churrs, flapping his wings a few times before shooting upwards into the air, you feel the wind rush past you and clutch onto Jace tightly holding onto him as you feel Vermax tilt downwards before levelling out, Jace taps your arm and you reluctantly open your eyes.

The night stars twinkle above you as you feel the light spray of sea water beneath you, soaking the hem of your dress, your arms loosen as you look around, the castle blazing with light and figures dancing around the windows, you swear you can briefly see Tyland getting slapped in the face by a noble lady and you giggle, feeling the air rush past your face and muss your hair.

You lean forward planting a kiss on jaces cheek, “thank you” you feel his face warm at this before the stretch of his lips makes his cheeks push out “anytime” your heart warms at the little comment.

you don’t mind being stuck at overly fancy dinners if this is the end result.

[trashcornertully]

Tully dumb thought: Dahlia Aquino should have more body hair sometimes. it's a nice colour it creates contrast. I am being normal and would feel very normal about it

[almightyellie]

i'm not in love

in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.

pairing is angus tully x fem!reader

word count is 3.4k

author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me

you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid

title song is i'm not in love // 10cc

angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script. 

at least, he thought they did. 

“how’s y/n?”

the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.

“what are you guys doing tonight?”

he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”

she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”

“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.

he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus. 

you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.

“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”

angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.

“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”

there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”

“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware. 

“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?” 

he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.

“uh…”

he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.

“angus,” judy warns.

“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”

as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”

“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”

“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”

angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”

“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”

reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”

you blink owlishly. “what? why?”

“they want to meet you.”

“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”

he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”

they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”

“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.

you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”

his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”

you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”

“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”

your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.

the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.

“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.

“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.

it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.

you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong. 

he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two. 

the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship. 

discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.

you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail. 

your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.

you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”

with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”

he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it. 

“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.

he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”

with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”

which he loves about you, naturally. 

he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them

“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”

the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?

slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.

still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”

he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.

“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.

part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.

you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”

he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”

with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial. 

angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be. 

“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”

you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”

he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously. 

you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”

he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”

“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.

self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”

he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood - Do I Wanna Know

Summary - In a heated confrontation between estranged lovers, unspoken truths and unresolved emotions surge to the surface, igniting jealousy and frustration. Within the commotion, raw desire and longing burst forth, driven by an intense, feverish infatuation.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2088

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you'd stay. Baby, we both know that the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day.

"You can stay," I said, propping myself up on my elbow, watching as he began to get dressed, his back to me while he fastened the clasps on his clothes. 

The room felt colder with each piece of clothing he put on, and I couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment settling in my chest.

"No, I cannot," he replied matter-of-factly, his voice void of any hesitation. I sighed, rolling my eyes and stretching out again, feeling the familiar sting of rejection.

"Of course," I mumbled under my breath, not really intending for him to hear. But he did. He turned back to face me, a questioning look on his face, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"You always bolt like this," I added, my voice rising slightly. "Every time we share something, you get up and leave as if it meant nothing."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture I knew all too well. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice sharper now, anger creeping in. "You know it's complicated."

"Complicated?" I scoffed, the word bitter on my tongue. I shook my head, more at myself than at him, wondering how I had once thought this would be different. 

"What's so complicated about wanting to stay?" I pressed on, my voice trembling slightly. "About wanting to see where this could go?"

He shifted uneasily, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the right words were hidden there. 

"I have my reasons," he said finally, but the words felt weak, lacking conviction.

"And I have mine," I shot back, frustration edging my voice. "But I'm here, willing to face whatever comes next. Can you say the same?"

The silence that followed was deafening. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and resolve. The weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air, the things we couldn't say in the harsh light of day, the truths we only dared to whisper in the dark.

His expression hardened, and he took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "I wish I could stay," he said eventually, his voice cold and distant. "But I can't. This is how it has to be."

I nodded, trying to keep my emotions in check. 

"Then go," I said quietly, forcing myself to lie back down as if the act of turning away could shield me from the pain welling up inside. My heart ached with the finality of it all, a dull throb that seemed to echo in the empty spaces of my soul. "But don't expect me to wait forever."

He finished dressing quickly, his movements abrupt and filled with a sense of urgency.

As he approached the door, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at me with a look of finality.

"Don't expect me to come back," he said, his voice carrying a final, unyielding edge.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left alone in the dim, silent room. The darkness seemed to close in around me, each breath heavy with the weight of unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. 

As I stared into the void, I couldn't shake the feeling that this might truly be the end, the final chapter of a story that had once seemed so full of promise.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"It's my pleasure, Lord Tully," I said with a playful smile, reaching out to accept the delicate flower he offered. 

His fingers brushed lightly against my hand before he lifted the flower to place it gently in my hair, his fingers brushing against my temple. The touch was soft, almost reverent.

"Please, call me Oscar," he said, stepping back to admire the flower nestled in my hair.

"Does it look pretty?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. I knew he was watching, I knew he could hear, and I knew he was angry.

"Absolutely beautiful," Oscar murmured, his voice low and filled with genuine admiration. His eyes drifted from the flower to my face, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

I turned slightly, catching a glimpse of the figure lurking in the corner. His jaw was set, his fists clenched at his sides. For a man who vowed not to return, he surely held a great fascination with my whereabouts.

The figure in the shadows stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. 

"Is everything all right here?" Davos asked, his voice dripping with barely concealed anger. His gaze swept over Oscar as if trying to dissect the sincerity behind his smile.

"Yes, everything is fine," I said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. "Oscar was just showing me this beautiful flower."

Davos's eyes flicked to Oscar, his expression hardening. "You should be careful, Lord Tully. Not everything is as it seems."

Oscar straightened, meeting Davos's gaze head-on. "I assure you, my intentions are nothing but honourable."

"Intentions can be misleading," Davos shot back, his eyes narrowing.

The room felt like a battlefield, with me standing in the middle, trying to hold the line.

"Thank you, Oscar," I said again, more firmly this time. "The flower is lovely."

Oscar nodded, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before he turned to leave. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

As the door closed behind him, I turned sharply to face Davos, his eyes piercing through the dim light.

"Was that necessary?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sadness.

His eyes flared with jealousy, the intensity of his gaze searing through me like a brand. "You're really going to entertain him right in front of me?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "You have no right to be jealous. You walked out. You left me."

"I left because I had to," he shot back, his voice rising with an edge of defensiveness. "It wasn't a choice, it was something I needed to do. But that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"Caring?" I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "You think you can just walk out and then come back expecting everything to be the same? You made your choice, Davos. You decided to leave."

His expression softened for a fleeting moment, a glimmer of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. But it was short-lived. 

"I've thought it through. I want you. I've always wanted you," he said, his voice heavy with earnestness. "I realize that now more than ever."

I looked at him, incredulous. "So you come crawling back now, expecting me to just forget everything?"

"Yes," he said, his voice raw and honest. "Because I can't stand the thought of losing you. I can't bear the idea of you moving on without me."

We stood there, staring at each other, the air thick with unresolved emotions and unspoken words. The tension between us was electric, and before I could process what was happening, we both lunged at each other.

Our lips met in a desperate, fiery kiss, years of longing and regret pouring out in that single, explosive moment. His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, as if afraid I might slip away. I responded with equal fervour, clutching his tunic, wanting to hold onto him and never let go.

The kiss was a mix of anger, passion, and deep-seated love, a testament to the complicated relationship we had always shared. Without another word, he lifted me onto the table behind us, his hands firm and possessive. 

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and pulled the flower from my hair. With a determined expression, he crushed it in his hand, the petals falling to the floor like forgotten promises.

I couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the gesture breaking the tension. He grinned, a flash of his old self shining through, before capturing my lips in another searing kiss. His hands roamed my body, caressing and exploring, igniting a fire within me that I couldn't quench.

He pushed me back gently, laying me down on the table, his eyes never leaving mine. The cool surface beneath me contrasted with the heat of his touch, sending shivers down my spine. He leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear. 

"I've missed you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"Show me," I whispered back, my hands finding their way to his belt, tugging it free.

In a frenzy of passion and urgency, we shed our clothes, the room filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and whispered confessions. 

His focus was entirely on me, he trailed kisses down my neck, his hands exploring every inch of my body. 

"I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt before," he promised, his voice husky.

He paused, looking deeply into my eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his tone serious.

I pretended to ponder his question, a playful smile tugging at my lips, before nodding. "Yes, I trust you," I replied.

His eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement. He reached for a piece of cloth, tying it gently around my eyes. The darkness heightened my senses, every touch of his fingers on my skin more electrifying than the last.

With my vision obscured, I felt his lips return to my neck, his kisses trailing lower and lower. 

"I want you to feel everything," he whispered against my skin. His hands caressed my sides, moving with a tender yet firm pressure that made me gasp.

He explored every part of me with an intensity that made my body tremble. His lips and hands seemed to be everywhere at once, drawing soft moans and shivers from me. 

The anticipation, the uncertainty of his next move, made each sensation even more powerful.

As his lips travelled down my body, I felt a surge of pleasure unlike anything before. "Davos," I breathed, my voice shaky with need.

"Just feel," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. His words were a command and a promise, a pledge to make me experience every moment fully.

He entered me slowly, savouring the moment. Without my sight, the sensation was magnified, every movement sending waves of pleasure through me. I arched my back, a gasp escaping my lips. 

The rhythm we found was driven by desperation and need, a physical manifestation of the emotional storm that had brought us to this point.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

"I want you," I gasped, my body responding to his every touch. "I need you, Davos."

"Perfect," he murmured, increasing his speed. His mouth found my collarbone, sucking and nibbling softly at the skin. Each bite sent a shiver through me, the pleasure mingling with a sweet ache. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer.

The intensity built, each thrust bringing us closer to the edge. My senses were overwhelmed, every touch, every kiss, driving me higher. I could feel the tension coiling within me, a tight, burning need that threatened to consume me.

"Davos," I cried out, my voice a desperate plea.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice steady and reassuring. "I've got you."

With a final, powerful thrust, we both surrendered to the climax, our cries intertwining in the heated space between us. The sensation surged through us like an unstoppable force, a wave of pleasure so intense it left us shivering and gasping for air.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, he shifted slightly, his hands moving with a deliberate tenderness. Gently, he untied the cloth that had been concealing my eyes. The fabric slipped away, and I blinked as the room came into focus.

The sight of his face was almost overwhelming. His expression was a mix of relief, adoration, and a deep, unspoken emotion. He looked at me as though seeing me for the first time, his eyes drinking in the flushed, satisfied expression on my face. 

The connection between us felt electric, charged with the intensity of what we had just shared.

I reached up, my fingers brushing his face, feeling the warmth and firmness of his skin beneath my touch. 

"Did you feel everything?" he asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and satisfaction.

I smiled, my eyes meeting his with a mix of joy and contentment. "Yes," I whispered, "every single moment."

Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new. Now, I've thought it through. Crawling back to you.

A/n - Tbh I don't love this one, it didn't really go how I had it planned out in my head but I hope someone out there does lmaoo.

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33

Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

“How did it go?” 

Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon. 

It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore. 

Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.

“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen. 

“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him. 

Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.  

He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.  

He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced. 

The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to. 

“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging. 

Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived. 

“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked. 

“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke. 

Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed. 

“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod. 

“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.” Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.” 

Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?” 

Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father. 

His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.” 

He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side. 

“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.  

There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.” 

Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her. 

In some ways, she was grateful for it however. 

They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare. 

Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge. 

She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom. 

“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered. 

She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.” 

“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered. 

She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again. 

“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes. 

She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself. 

Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle. 

Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.” 

Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar. 

“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin. 

Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder. 

The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away. 

They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest. 

“Thank you, Lady Tully.”

She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him. 

Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.” 

He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did. 

“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.” 

Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing-- 

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words. 

Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him. 

Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him. 

     · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard. 

The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times. 

Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her. 

She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed— 

“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped. 

She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows. 

“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes. 

If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.   

“My Lady?” 

She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail. 

“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.” 

“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back. 

He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that. 

He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face. 

His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place. 

He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked. 

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing. 

The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face. 

He pitied her, truly pitied her. 

“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them. 

“My lord.” 

Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man. 

Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied. 

The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate. 

The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized. 

The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable. 

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly. 

Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again. 

Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently. 

“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze. 

“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.” 

“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath. 

He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment. 

He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours. 

They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said. 

Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior. 

He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window. 

“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.” 

His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?” 

The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered. 

His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table. 

He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell. 

“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.” 

Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments. 

“Thank you.” He quietly replied. 

He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”

“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink. 

In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything. 

“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”

Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.

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[the-fiction-witch]

Little Lady

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - (OC) Lady Melimina (Betrothal) Rating - Sexy Word Count - 3435

Jace lingered on the balcony of his chamber in dragonstone watching as vermax flew around the castle restlessly. He felt angry, so trapped here on dragonstone while the war wages, his mother refused him to go and broker alliances, she refused him to fight, even to fly vermax. She said it wasn't safe. That he was her heir and he needed to be safe... He felt like a coddled princeling. To stand at home with mommy while a war for his family, his claim went on within him. He leaned his back against the stone wall behind him feeling the coldness of the hard stone against his body, a sudden wave of frustration took over him. Being confined on Dragonstone felt like a death sentence. Jacaerys looked up in the sky watching Vermax fly in circles around the castle. It was like he knew what he was going through.

"My prince?" the sound of footsteps come out to the balcony, and his betrothal lady Melimina appeared in her black gown with red pattern in the fabric with a dragon pin at her waist to secure it on her body. She nervously stepped out but kept her distance, "Is something troubling you?

He looked down at her, his eyes piercing into her own gaze and noticed that she kept her distance as if she was afraid of coming closer to him. "It seems like you already know the answer to that" he said before looking back at the sky watching Vermax fly around.

She nodded "She only wishes to protect you My prince." She said softly, "you are her heir, her future. The targaryen future, the Velaryon future, so much rests on you... And ... After what happened… to lucerys" she said tenderly

He exhaled loudly as he heard her speak the name of his younger brother. The memories of that day still fresh and painful as if it had happened yesterday. "I know that, but she doesn't have to keep me on a leash and shut me away in this place. I can fight, I can-" he looked down at his feet clenching his fists before continuing "...I can do more than she thinks."

"I'm sure you can," she nodded trembling slightly at the sight of his fists "but... Patience, is a great thing for the future king also?" She encouraged

His breath grew heavy, anger and disappointment coursing through his veins as he realized how right she was. Being patient was definitely a virtue. He unclenched his fists and took in a deep breath before looking back into her eyes. "You're right." he exhaled as he leaned his back against the wall once again "I'm just tired of this... waiting around while the others fight out there. I want to be a part of this war too."

"And you sit on your mother's council, beside her every discussion of movements and tactics. She is teaching you to lead. I know it's frustrating... And I... I wish I could help"

He chuckled faintly at her comment. A part of him felt a sense of comfort in knowing that she was trying to understand him, trying to help. Even if it might be just a little. He looked down and then at her again, the tension in his body starting to ease as he spoke. "Your presence alone is enough, Melimina. Having you talk to me is help, I suppose. I'd go insane if I stayed here by myself."

She blushed "thank you my prince,"

A small, soft smile appeared on his lips noticing her gentle blush. "There's no need to thank me." he spoke in a low, soft tone. His eyes lingered on her form, taking in every detail. From the way her black dress hugged her to the small dragon pin resting at her waist.

"... I have heard word of discussions to meet with the tullys of riverrun and the freys of the crossing... Your mother had suggested I go" she explained

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "The Tullys and the Freys?" he repeated, processing the information. "And she suggested you go? I wonder why..." he said, a hint of suspicion in his voice

"... My grandmother was a Tully, my prince"

He looked at her with a bit of surprise, the pieces coming together in his mind. "I see... you have family there, then. I suppose that's why my mother thought it a good idea for you to go."

"... Perhaps, if you wish I could ask her to send you instead?"

His gaze snapped back to her, a flicker of hope appearing in his eyes. The thought of leaving Dragonstone filled him with a renewed energy, and he couldn't conceal the excitement on his face as he replied "I... I would appreciate that, Melimina, truly. It would mean a lot if I could go instead."

"... And perhaps," She blushed "... Maybe we might... Go together?" She suggested nervously

His eyes widened at her suggestion, a mixture of surprise and interest crossing his face. The thought of going away with her, together... the idea was both exciting and nerve-wracking. "Together?" he repeated, the words leaving his mouth slowly as if to savor the idea "I... I wouldn't mind that."

"perhaps two dragons could be more persuasive then one. And perhaps the... Royal heir and his... Future wife... The potential future king and queen may... Inspire some alliance?" She struggled not to giggle

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards into a faint smile at her suggestion. The thought of using their status and future titles to inspire loyalty and gain alliances... it was a strategically smart move. But there was more to it than that. It would be a chance for them to get closer, to spend time together away from the confines of Dragonstone, "You're quite clever, Melimina. And you're right again... two dragons are definitely more persuasive than one."

she blushed and nodded "I will put it to her at the council in the morning,"

He smiled and nodded in agreement, a wave of anticipation and excitement coursing through him at the prospect of potentially going on this journey. It was the first time in a long while that he looked forward to something. "I'll be looking forward to that council then. Thank you, Melimina. For considering it, for helping me..." he said genuinely, his expression turning into a soft and warm gaze.

"your welcome, of course I want to help... It ....breaks my heart to see you upset," she explained "and..." She chuckled looking out to vermax still circling, "I know starlight hates to see vermax so stressed,"

He laughed softly, gazing alongside her at Vermax still flying around the castle. The mention of Starlight, Melimina's own dragon, being worried about his own dragon brought a lighthearted moment to their conversation. "Ah, yes, Starlight... she's as perceptive as her owner it seems. We can't have our dragons worried about us too, can we?" he replied, looking back at her with a lighter, more relaxed expression.

"no, they should be down on the caves... Relaxing together" she cooed

His eyes widened at the idea. The thought of their dragons interacting and relaxing together was a cute and endearing image that brought a soft smile to his lips. "Relaxing together, huh? I like the sound of that. Vermax and Starlight... maybe they're already in love like their riders," he teased, his voice playful and lighthearted.

"I've caught them cuddling" she blushed

He was taken aback by the revelation and laughed incredulously. "Cuddling? You're serious?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, unable to believe that their dragons were in a more intimate relationship than they were. A hint of jealousy tugged at him, but he quickly dismissed it as he replied with a chuckle. "I never thought I'd feel outdone by my own dragon"

"out done my prince?"

He chuckled softly and looked back at her, a hint of playful competitiveness in his eyes. "Yes, outdone. Sounds like Vermax and Starlight have a more intimate relationship than we do..” he teased, his voice gentle but with a hint of suggestion.

she blushed "perhaps they do... But their dragons they don't have .. the rules and regulations we do"

He smirked, amused by her reaction and the point she made. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them slightly. "Ah, yes. The rules and regulations... such pesky things, aren't they? They keep us in line, make sure we behave." he said, his voice dropped to a lower, more intimate tone. He continued closing the distance between them little by little, the proximity creating a charged atmosphere that heightened the tension between them. He gazed at her intently, his eyes studying her every feature with a mixture of desire and restraint. "But rules and regulations... They also make things more interesting, don't you think? It adds a bit of... excitement. The thrill of breaking the rules... the forbidden."

she Blushed hard looking out to vermax and the waves, "makes me wonder if you'll have interest in me... When not forbidden fruit"

His gaze followed hers to look out at Vermax and the waves for a moment, his mind momentarily distracted. But then, he looked back at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of intensity and tenderness. "Ah, so you worry that once the thrill of the forbidden is gone, my interest in you might waver?" he asked, his voice smooth and low, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"it does ... Worry me" she admits fiddling with her fingers

He noticed her fiddling with her fingers, a sure sign of her nerves and concern. He stepped even closer, close enough that their bodies were almost touching. "I can assure you," he replied softly, his voice gentle and sincere, "that my interest in you goes beyond the thrill of the forbidden, Melimina. You are more than that to me... and you will continue to be, even when the 'forbidden' is gone."

"... It is another reason I hate this war so very much"

He raised an eyebrow curiously, silently asking her to elaborate on her statement. He listened intently, his body still close to hers as he waited for her to continue.

"if not for the war... We... We'd have been married by now"

His expression softened, his mind going back to the original plan and timeline. If not for the war, if everything had gone in their favor... they would indeed be married by now and ruling from the Iron Throne. "Yes, we would..." he said quietly, his voice laced with a hint of longing and disappointment. He took a step back, his gaze drifting away from her towards the horizon, his mind momentarily lost in thought.

"your mother would be queen. You'd be her heir. I'd be your ... Princess. We might have even had a child on the way by now. You'd be prince jacaerys Velaryon of dragonstone, heir to the iron throne."

Each word she said was like a stab to the heart, a reminder of the potential future that could have been. He had imagined that future too, countless times, and now it felt like it was slipping further and further away. "I know..." he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. He turned his gaze back to her, his eyes full of melancholy and longing. "That was the plan... that was how it was supposed to be."

"well..." She sighed "then we must end this war quickly, so things can be as they should"

He nodded in agreement, the determination in her words reigniting a fire within him. He looked at her with renewed resolve, his features hardening. "You're right," he said firmly, "we need to end this war as soon as possible. I won't rest until everything is how it should be again. Until my mother is queen and I am her heir as intended." He then stepped closer to her again, his eyes locked onto hers. This time, the distance between them seemed even more significant. Their bodies were almost touching, their proximity creating a charged atmosphere that was both electrifying and dangerous. "Melimina," he spoke softly, his voice low and laced with a hint of a promise, "I swear to you that I will do whatever it takes to make our future a reality. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifices..."

"as honourable as that is my prince, I'd prefer you just... Be safe and well by the end. The crown makes no matter to me"

Her words made him pause, a wave of warmth and gratitude washed over him. Her concern for his safety and well-being was not something he was used to. He was the prince, expected to risk life and limb for his ambitions, but hearing her prioritize his safety over the crown made him feel a strange mixture of emotions. "You... you are a rare one, Melimina," he said quietly, his voice tinged with admiration and affection. "Most people in our world would prioritize their own gain and power above all else."

"... I'd be happy… in a little stone cottage with a waterwheel, in the river lands with you. Then all of westeros under my throne and a crown on my head without you"

He was taken aback by her words. The simplicity and sincerity of her statement struck him deeply. It was such an unexpected and yet touching notion. "A stone cottage with a waterwheel in the riverlands..." he repeated thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on her. Her preference for a simpler life with him over a grand throne and crown, it was almost too good to be true. He reached out and lightly touched her arm, his fingers gently brushing against her skin as if he couldn't quite believe she was real. "You truly mean that, don't you?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with disbelief and awe. "You would give up the throne, the crown, everything... just to have a simple life with me?"

"I would. Just somewhere safe, and cosy. Somewhere to raise little children, and... Have vermax and starlight snuggle in the barn together" she giggled brushing her fingers against his but to afraid to touch him quickly moving her hands to her stomach to fiddle with her fingers once more

He chuckled as she described the image of their future life, his imagination running wild. The thought of a quiet, peaceful life with her and their dragons... it was an enticing prospect. His eyes fixated on hers, watching the nervous fiddling and the almost-touch of their hands. "A cosy cottage... Starlight and Verax in the barn... little children running about..." he mused. "It sounds like an idyllic life, almost too good to be true."

"umm, waking by dawn, pressing apples with the waterwheel, feeding chickens, watching the children run, the dragons snuggling and .. having eggs to place in our own babies cradle... Fishing and farming and..." She Blushed but Giggled stopping herself

His lips curled into a small smile as he listened to her daydream. Her descriptions of their simple life painted a vivid picture in his mind, one that was almost too perfect. "And what else, Melimina?" he asked, her sudden pause piquing his curiosity. He watched her blush and giggle, knowing there was more to her fantasy than she was letting on.

"it's foolish" she blushed

His smile widened slightly as he noticed her blushing. He took a step closer, intrigued now by what she was hiding. "No, please tell me. I want to know what else you imagine. It's not foolish," he said softly, his voice reassuring and encouraging.

"... I... Imagined ... Looking out the cottage window while making a nice chicken stew, watching the children play with their baby dragons, vermax and starlight flying across the sky hunting sheep, and... You... Walking out in the summer sun ... Shirtless to chop wood for the fire" she Blushed her fingers fiddling with her dragon pin on her dress unable to meet his eyes she was so embarrassed

His eyes widened slightly at her words, a mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. The image she painted was undeniably captivating, and the thought of being the shirtless, wood-chopping, dragon-riding husband in her dream made him feel oddly proud. "Ah... I see," he said, his voice low and tinged with a hint of amusement. He took another step closer, his body almost touching hers now. He reached out and gently took her chin, tilting her head up so she would meet his gaze.

"forgive me I-"

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on hers, gently silencing her with a soft brush of his thumb against her chin. "Don't apologize," he said softly in a low voice, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "I... I find it endearing, actually. The image of me as a shirtless, wood-chopping dragon rider, tending to our children and their baby dragons while you make a stew." He chuckled again, his smile still evident in his voice. His hand moved upwards, his fingers caressing her jawline gently. He was now so close to her that he could feel the warmth of her breath, her eyes staring up at him nervously. "It's a beautiful dream, I'll give you that..." he said huskily, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and affection. His other hand moved to her hip, pulling her slightly closer to him

"but... It is only a dream. We are to rule.. as king and queen someday"

He chuckled wryly, his eyes never leaving hers. He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek for a moment. "True... we are destined for greatness. But it doesn't mean we can't have brief moments to indulge in our little fantasies, does it?" His hand on her hip pulled her even closer, their bodies now almost pressed together, his touch firm yet tender. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "Imagine it..." he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "Me, coming in all hot and sweaty from chopping wood. You, finishing up your chicken stew. Our children and their dragons playing around us, the dragons cuddling in the corner..." His hand on her hip tightened, pulling her flush against him. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just millimeters away from hers, his lips almost touching hers as he continued

she giggled and blushed even harder at the thought

His lips curled into a smile, his eyes darkened with desire as he watched her giggle and blush. He was enjoying this game of theirs, the way she was reacting to his words and his touch. "And after we've had our dinner, I'd take you by the fireplace..." he said huskily, his mouth still close to hers, their faces almost touching. "I'd hold you in my arms, the fire casting shadows on our skin as I kiss your neck, your jaw, your collarbone..." His hand on her hip moved lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her body, his touch sending shudders through her as he continued to describe their fantasy. "I'd kiss you until you're breathless, until you're craving me, until you're begging for me..." he murmured, his lips now tantalizingly close to her ear, his voice low and full of promise.

she giggled again "... I do hope you've put the children to bed before all this"

He let out a soft laugh, his breath warm on her skin. He pulled back slightly, admiring her flushed cheeks and wide eyes. "Oh, I definitely have..." he said, his voice low and seductive. "The little ones are asleep in their beds, dreaming of their baby dragons and tomorrow's adventures. We're all alone in the cozy cottage by the fire..." his hand on her hip moved lower again, gently caressing the curve of her ass.

"ooh-" she gasped glancing at his hands red blush across her cheeks and nose

He chuckled again, noticing the way her eyes darted to his hands. He continued caressing her ass, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the fabric of her dress, his touch firmer now, more possessive. "Are you enjoying these little... fantasies?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He pulled her even closer, his body now pressing snuggly against hers, their hips touching, his lips ghosting over her jawline.

she nodded "we uhh we should... We shouldn't -"

"We shouldn't..." he repeated, mimicking her tone, knowing full well they should stop. His lips traced a path from her jawline down her neck, to her collarbone. "But do we really want to stop?" His hand on her ass pulled her even closer, his body fully pressed against hers now, leaving no space between them at all. He started gently nipping at her skin, trailing kisses along her shoulder and collarbone, enjoying the way she shivered at his touch.