#sweet chestnut tag

[meowizard]

cr oc masterlist <3

stick o'rock (she/jer)

i talk about her here

juniper (he/they)

i talk about him here

roseroot (she/quer)

i talk about quer here

oat coffee (she/it)

talk to her here

i talk about her here

yule log (she/her)

talk to her here

camellia (they/her)

talk to her here

sweet chestnut (she/her)

talk to her here

guiding light (he/it)

talk to him here

shallot (they/her)

i talk about her here

inkcap (it/its)

hawthorn (he/him)

mistletoe (she/faer)

yew (dry/ad)

crowned cream cake (she/it)

pomegranate mousse cake (she/pom)

tropical soda cake (they/she/he/it/surf/sa/nd)

black licorice cake (he/him)

very berry cake (she/kix)

rocky road (they/them)

bitter kola (he/him)

choco wafer (she/they)

kuding tea (xe/xem)

pumpkin pone (it/she/they)

taro (he/him)

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER PRT.3

REQUEST : hii! i jus wanted to know if your remus lupin, “not so secret admirer” was gonna continue with more than two parts? i’m really enjoying the story 😽 ⏤requested by anon

TAGS. : casanova remus makes an appearance ; good news for reader ; date at the three broomsticks ; oversized sweater sharing moment ; remus is a gentleman ; most of the time ; he's so dreamy ; and flirty ; and a tease! ; you're too cute for him ; he thinks you're absolutely precious! ; lowkey idiots in love ; it's finally happening! ; you both have an effect on each other ; making it official hehe~ ; final part~

LENGTH : 1.8k

← PART ONE | PART TWO

Sirius whistles a sharp, short tune and wiggles his brows at Remus, “look over there, Moony~” Sirius sings as he gestures towards you from across the field, “your missus wants you to go over and give her a big ol’ smooch,”

“Shut up, Padfoot,” Remus laughs and playfully hits his best friend on the shoulder as he passes him on his way to you. He doesn’t care much for all the teasing; he’s been counting the days, and now, he’s counting his steps —the closer he gets to you, he starts to run. Remus doesn’t care if he looks stupid or overly eager, not when you’re smiling at him so beautifully; he wants to see you smiling from closer up. Just as he’s a few meters away, he hears you call out to him and his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“I got top marks!” 

From where they were scattered around at the base of the ancient tree arching over the black lake, the Marauders eye their tall, love struck friend as he runs to you with, suddenly, open arms. 

“Looks as happy as a Niffler with all that treasure in his arms,” James laughs as their rambunctious group grins, snickering at the sight before them. Remus shouts in joy, his elation heard from across the field as he picks you up by the waist, only to pull you close moments later for a prolonged embrace. The sight warmed their hearts despite their determination in denying it. 

“He should really just kiss ‘er already,” Peter whines, his impatience drawing more snickers from two of his best friends. 

“You read my mind, Wormtail,” Sirius laughs, throwing his arm across his ratty friend’s shoulders, “wanna place your bets on when he’ll finally grow the balls to kiss ‘er?” all the boys share a wide grin and start placing their bets, Peter offering his treasured sweets, James, his full allowance for Hogsmeade weekend and Sirius, his recently concocted potion for a devious prank. 

“You sound like you’ve run a marathon to get here,” Remus throws his head back slightly, eyes shining with fondness as he lovingly caresses your warm cheek with the back of his hand. 

“I—” you take a moment to catch your breath, giggling briefly from your own embarrassment but the warmth ins chestnut-brown eyes calmed you down, “I thought you were in the library,”

Remus’ brows fly to his hairline from surprise as you hide your face in his sweater; a feeble attempt at sheltering away your sheepishness. You had been running about Hogwarts castle for him? The tall brunette doesn’t know whether he should laugh in good humour or kiss you stupid. 

The urge to kiss you was undeniable, however. Especially when you were being so adorable, hiding your sweet face in his chest like that. His long arms wrap around you, pressing you further into his warmth and comforting scent. The motion makes you sigh dreamily only to stutter when you feel a soft pair of lips press a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Congratulations…” his soft, deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. The sentiment was whispered with such sincerity, it made you swoon. Only you were allowed to hear his praise and your entire form lifted like a weightless cloud. You felt floaty and light. You want him to praise you more, you want him to kiss you more too. The last time he kissed you was the day before your exam - it was torture waiting for your exam to get marked. But he made the wait worth it, “How about that date? Huh?” 

Pulling away, you tilt your chin to peer up at him with a timid flutter of your lashes, “I was promised a butterbeer too…” 

The mix of your mischief and undeniable cuteness had Remus’ heart racing a mile a second; he couldn’t help but release the tension in a short laugh, “you can have as many butterbeers as you want!”

Hogsmeade weekend couldn’t come sooner enough. However, as soon as the awaited date had arrived, your excitement was turned into dread. An entire afternoon spent with Remus. You can imagine yourself already making a mess of things and, knowing how clumsy you get when you’re nervous, you’re sure it isn’t long before you’re tripping over air and making a spectacle of yourself. 

“Easy there,” Remus coos at you softly when you jump in surprise from his sudden actions, “sorry about that but you were shaking like an autumn leaf, sweetheart,” he flashes you an apologetic smile before his expression melts into adoration at the sight of you in his oversized grandpa sweater, “is that better?”

You manage a timid nod, avoiding his beautiful eyes as you slip your arms into place, adoring the familiar comfort the warmth and smell of his sweater brought you. It was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. This was Remus; he wouldn’t do anything to make you feel bad or embarrassed just because of a silly mistake. You peek up at him from beneath the cover of your lashes. He’s so tall and handsome and just so… perfect. A gentle giant, topped with messy brown hair, soft eyes and covered in mysterious, faded scars but remains ever kind. This is why you fell for him, why he has such an effect on your heart, why he has such a pull on your entire being. He is safety and comfort and love all moulded into the beautiful gentleman that he is. 

With a surge of bravery, you inch closer and closer to your Hogsmeade date’s side until you’re practically pressed into him. Remus smiles at you but tries to hide away his blushing cheeks by keeping his gaze forward as he leads you down the path to the Three Broomsticks. It isn’t until he feels your small, soft hand slip into his much larger one that he finally glances down at you. The two of you meet eyes once more before you’re hiding your embarrassment away by burrowing your face into his bicep. 

For the love of Merlin, could you stop being so lovable and precious?! Girls like you were his number one weakness — you were going to kill him at this rate!  

“If you keep at this cuteness act, I’ll have no choice but to wrap you up in my arms and run back to the castle so I can have you to myself forever, little dove,”

Was he just playing around or was he being serious?

You look up and stare into his eyes — you couldn’t quite tell… 

As promised Remus treated you to as many butterbeers as you wanted, not that you wanted much anyway. Not only that but the butterbeer does a good job of warming you up and you didn’t fancy having to take off Remus’ generously offered sweater so you’ll stick to your second butterbeer for now. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anymore? I did make a promise,” Remus urges gently but when you politely shake your head ‘no’ and wrap your arms around yourself to burrow your nose under the stretched out collar of his sweater, he instantly knew your reasoning. You make it so easy to fall in love with you, “Is there something else you’d like then? Maybe a dessert? I don’t feel like I’ve rewarded you enough for a job well done on that test,”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blurt out, “Being with you is reward enough,”

…did you think he was joking when he told you his intentions on the way here? 

“I wasn’t joking, little dove,” he hears you softly hum in curiosity, asking him to elaborate, “I will keep you all to myself if you don’t stop being so adorable,”

“I-I don’t mean to—” he laughs at your flustered state and picks up your hand to kiss your knuckles. 

“I. Don’t. Care,” it was a threat but one that was lovingly spoken into your skin as he kept your hand raised to his lips. Your eyes meet his over the bumps and grooves of your knuckles. He was being very sincere. 

“…how—“ you hesitate, biting your lip and avoiding his eyes momentarily, “how about a compromise?…” bargaining for your freedom — this wasn’t something you expected the afternoon to turn into. Nevertheless, you’re willing to play along, bearing in mind the serious undertones of your conversation. 

“I’m listening,” he hums and he almost sounds like he’s purring; a familiar glint of mischief reflecting in his eyes as he focuses his gaze onto your hand. You watch as he admires the way his fingers interlock with yours, forming an intimate hold where his larger hand appears to devour your smaller one. He looks into your eyes again, a small prompt asking you to continue with the proposal. 

“How about we promise to see each other every day at lunch?”

“Not good enough,”

You nibble on your bottom lip and miss Remus’ lingering stare, “breakfast and lunch?”

“Still not good enough,” he’s smiling —no, he’s smirking at you. What happened to your gentle giant?! He’s supposed to be kind and sweet, not a tease! You’re dangerously close to having a heart attack and he’s showing no mercy!

“D-dinner too, then?”

“Your suggestions are not satisfactory,“ his words are that of a professional, “and I’m getting very impatient, my dear,” you’re speechless as he holds up your hand and rolls the long sleeve of his sweater down your arm, exposing your skin where he begins to pepper a light trail of kisses down. 

In between your flustered state and racing mind, you don’t know how your panic managed to translate your thoughts so articulately, “How could I possible work out a compromise with you then?!”

“You’re a smart girl, you know what I want,”

“No, I—”

“What I want is what you want…”

His words make you pause. For a moment, you can hear nothing but your racing heart pumping blood past your ears, see nothing but Remus’ smirking lips and piercing brown eyes, feel nothing but his lips on the skin of your arm, taste nothing but the lingering alcohol on your tongue. It takes one big inhale to muster up enough courage, furthered by your earlier two frothing tankards of butterbeer, “be my boyfriend then…” you sound like a shy but demanding, spoiled child. One that Remus would happily pamper to your heart’s content. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart,” his kind smile makes your heart race and an elated grin slowly grows on your lips before he’s leaning across the table at lightening speed, your hand still held captive in his, “Lets seal it with a kiss, shall we?”

You expected him to kiss your forehead. But no. No, this kiss was so much better. 

He tastes like chocolate and buttery, foaming beer.   

A/N : Goodness did this take a long time, im so sorry my darlings! i don’t know why i consistently kept getting writers block when it came to writing this fic. i think it’s partially to do with the fact that i never really intended to continue the original timestamp hehe~ nevertheless, it’s here and i hope you darlings enjoyed the read!

NAVI. 

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @rosalyn-s @thelastbrainceliishere @littleshadow17 @b-i-h-i @babiely @nickkie99 @hehehhehexd @imdoingbetternow @regulusblacksposts @nicassie @lovelyygirl8 @onedaysoonyoullsee @jennieasfrance @onlyfredslibrary @soradragon @idli-dosa-reblogs @remusparkers

[radio-writes]

What is Left of Me Without You?

Synopsis: Your husband didn't love you, not yet at least—that's what he told you. First, he wanted to see just how much you loved him.

Warnings: dubcon, smut, oral - m receiving, sex, abusive relationship, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, some misogyny, angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader, reader is somewhere on the ace spectrum too

MDNI

To everyone in your town, you and your husband were the picture perfect couple.

Alastor, the bright, charming, down-right intoxicating radio host, walking down the street with you, his absolute darling of a wife on his arm.

Smiling, giggling, sharing hushed whispers. It looked as if the two of you were lost in your own lovely little world.

Even behind closed doors, Alastor proved himself to be the perfect gentleman. You never wanted for anything, never grieved, never felt lonely. 

If you so much as glanced at something by a storefront, Alastor would have it tied with a bow at the foot of your bed.

If anything caused you grief, or even inconvenienced you the slightest bit, Alastor would have dealt with it by the end of the day. 

If you ever felt lonely, well...

You supposed you didn't really have the right to feel lonely. Alastor was always there, wasn't he?

You woke up to the sound of your husband's humming. His smooth voice glided over each note skillfully as you peeled your eyes open.

The sight before you wasn't anything new: the other half of the bed empty and already fixed up. 

You turned to sit up, and found Alastor in front of your vanity as he straightened his bowtie. He caught your eye through the reflection, and his smile broadened.

The greater half of New Orleans would probably kill to be in your place right now. Seated in a lavish bedroom, your famous, dapper husband walking to your side of the bed to place a kiss on your hand. 

"Well good morning, darling! Don't you look adorable in this state." His sweet words greeted you.

It was there again, that odd feeling that sunk in your gut. What was that?

"Good morning, my dear." You greeted him back, ignoring whatever it was. A tired smile graced your lips as you peered up at him. "Headed to work already?" You asked him. 

"Why, of course! Who else would wake up New Orleans and tell all those sleepy bones to shake a leg and hop to work?" He struck a pose, hand on his chest. "Only yours truly, of course!" 

His warm chestnut eyes met yours through the lenses of his glasses. You let out a tired, soft laugh as you glanced away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks.

You adored this man—every single bit of him—so you found it hard not to get flustered over him, even after all this time. Hell, you were still counting your lucky stars that he chose to marry you of all people.

Why? Well, you tried not to ask yourself that.

He'd already given you his answer, hadn't he?

Alastor placed a chaste kiss to your cheek, quickly pulling you out of your thoughts before they could spiral. You looked back at your husband as he said something about having to run off or risk being late.

You remained sat in your bed, smiling and watching with hearts in your eyes as your darling husband waved on his way out of your room. 

"Looking forward to what you'll cook up this evening, sweetheart!" Alastor grinned, right before the door shut behind him.

And it was there again.

The gnawing feeling was coming by more and more frequently now. What was it?

Was it actually loneliness? But that would be so silly, wouldn't it?

Your husband didn't love you, but he trusted you. And that should be enough for now.

At least, that's what he said when he proposed.

You and Alastor knew each other for a very long time, and basically all of New Orleans knew you took a very strong liking to him.

Alastor had raised the proposition back then. You remember how he had explained that it would be a good thing for both your sakes. How you'd get to be with someone you loved oh so much, and how convenient it would be for him to finally get marriage out of the way. And even more so with a cherished friend like you!

Sure, you hesitated back then; unsure if you really wanted to marry a man who didn't love you the way you did him. But he sung you praises, he sung you promises.

You were darling, you were beautiful, you were smart, you were kind. How could he not grow to love you in your marriage? How could he resist falling for a such a doll who was offering him her heart?

So you said yes. 

Because you loved Alastor with every bit of your heart, but he simply just wasn't ready to love you back yet.

And he was such a lovely man who never failed to shower you with affection. Maybe you were just asking for too much—fretting over such small things—for you to feel upset about waking up without your husband beside you. 

And—and he was a radio host, after all. Of course he had to get to work early.

You really didn't need to spare it another second of thought.

No, what you really needed to focus on was how you could help your dear, hardworking husband.

You shook your head and slapped your hands softly against your cheeks. You've got to knock that annoying feeling loose. It was all so pointless.

With a more determined look, you got up from the bed. You neatly fixed the sheets and pillows, taking extra care to make sure every single wrinkle was smoothened out.

You silently ran over the list of tasks you had to do today.

Obviously there's cleaning and making sure the house was in order. It would be a real shame if Alastor came home to an untidy space. He's already out working late for both of you, the least you could do was make sure he had a clean home to rest in.

You ought to make time to drop by the market for some fresh meat to cook up. Alastor would surely be famished after work, right? And your mama always did say that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach. 

You could also drop by the tailors and get the hem of one of your Alastor's dress shirts straightened out. He hasn't said anything about it, but he's avoided using that particular one for a while now. You knew the uneven stitches had to be bugging him.

Oh, you really needed to pass by a locksmith, too. That dang lock on the basement door still had not budged no matter what Alastor did, and you just could not find the key anywhere.

You've been waving the issue off for a while now—Alastor was right in saying there's no real rush to it, nothing really important down there, anyway—but it'd be nice to have the extra storage available to you again.

You let out a huffed breath and placed your hands on your waist. You held your head high and ready. "Right. Let's get this show started."

It was a busy day, as it always was for you. The hours ticked by as quickly as loose sand through an open palm.

You didn't have time to feel lonely, not when you were too busy scrubbing with all your might against a particularly stubborn grease stain on your sink. 

When the house was finally all neat, you got yourself ready to head out. Hair done, just a touch of make up, and a rather modest dress—at least as modest as Alastor had bought you. That man did lean towards the more finer tastes.

You felt it was a bit much just to do a few errands, but you were the sweet wife of a local personality. You had an image to uphold. You had to make sure you didn't do anything to tarnish your darling husband's reputation. 

This was just part of the whole package, you supposed. Nothing that can be done about it.

Heading out into the afternoon sun, you painted on a bright smile for all the kind people that greeted you. Cheery, happy, friendly. Oh, but not too friendly.

Meek, quiet, all prim and proper. The makings of a fine lady worthy of her spot by the dapper radio host's side.

You dropped your husband's shirt off by the tailors first. They seemed to be more than happy to rush your request once you let slip who it belonged to. They promised they could have it ready in just a few hours. You thanked them softly, and noted how they were such jolly workers, laughing even as you left the store.

You dropped by the locksmith before the market, not really wanting to carry out a bunch of raw meat as you went about your day.

The nicely dressed man was a bit—difficult to talk to. He seemed to think you had no idea what a door even was. He had just started explaining how you open a doorknob when you felt your cheeks start to strain from how hard you worked to maintain a smile.

"Oh dear me, would you look at the time," You politely cut him off, pretending to be shocked at how late into the day it was. "I am so sorry, sir, but my husband should be coming home any minute now and I haven't even started on dinner!" 

A lie. Alastor always came home late.

The man raised a brow at you in disbelief. Not that he didn't buy your act, but more judgmental that a woman would be so careless as to forget to take care of her spouse.

You ignore the look he gave you, keeping your shy smile on. "Maybe you could just sell me the tools. I could get my husband to work on it."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," The man shrugged. "I'll get what you need in a split, so you can run back and make a quick stew at the very least."

He ended up selling you the tools, along with a bunch of other needless things, with the assurance that your husband would definitely need them all.

You bit your tongue as you smiled and thanked him.

Why on earth would you need a box of nails and a bottle of glue to split a lock open?

But you really did not have it in you to stand in that shop any longer.

Besides, how would it look if the papers caught whiff of Alastor's sweet little wife yelling and lecturing a local shop keeper.

You couldn't burden your husband like that.

You hurriedly rushed to the market before they could close, buying the best cut of meat they still had at this hour, before you made your way back to the tailors to check on the progress.

The workers snickered as you entered, but you really didn't think much of it until they pulled out the dress shirt you dropped off.

A large, nasty stain of lord-knows-what sat right at the center of what used to be its pristine white color.

Your smile strained badly. "Oh dear, what on earth happened?" You asked with feigned worry. You already knew what happened.

"Afraid we spilled a bit of lunch on it, sweetie." One of the ladies explained, her companions giggling behind her. "Couldn't be avoided, unfortunately."

You felt your eye twitch.

"I'm sure a lovely doll like you could find a way to fix it. Wouldn't want that hotty husband of yours to leave your pretty face for something like this, would ya?" She went on.

"You better run, though. I heard the cleaners were planning on closing up early today." Another bitch woman spoke up.

Had you been any less horrified at your husband's ruined shirt, you would have been fuming.

You quickly took the shirt and paid, rushing out before you did anything stupid. Like cry.

Oh Alastor's rivals would have a field day twisting a story like that.

As you left the ladies called out "We did straighten the hem, darling!" And a more snarky, muttered comment, "Although, you'd think someone as handsome as Alastor could find a gal that could do something that simple herself."

The walk back home was probably the most tiring part of it all. Having to keep your back straight, your smile lovely, your voice friendly. Never letting the kind people know anything was wrong.

Because you knew those kind people were all itching to have any reason to gossip about your husband.

And you just couldn't have that.

Your shoulders finally sagged as you closed the door to your house. Your smile dropped immediately as you leaned against the door in exhaustion.

You stuffed the ruined shirt in your bag, thinking maybe your can throw it out later on, but you just knew Alastor would notice it was missing. He won't be happy with you, that's for sure.

Never mind that you've bent over backwards for the better half of a year to cater to him. Never mind that you've hidden all your faults under the rug. Never mind that you've been absolutely devoted to him even before your marriage.

You had to be perfect.

But you weren't. And you knew that. It seemed every other woman in New Orleans knew that. And now with the ruined shirt, Alastor would know that too.

He'll see you as less.

It's there again, that's stupid heavy feeling in your gut. Whatever it was.

You sighed in defeat. If you couldn't get the shirt fixed, maybe you could at least make sure he had a good meal to come home to? Maybe that could make him overlook your faults this time.

You burnt it. Somehow,—despite normally being an amazing cook every other time besides tonight—you managed to burn dinner.

You put your hands over your face, groaning in frustration, just absolutely exasperated. Why on earth was everything going wrong today. Why couldn't you just do one thing right? Why couldn't you just be of some help to Alastor? Why—

You lifted your face from your hands, attempting to slow your breathing. Your eyes glanced around your ruined kitchen and your burnt dinner, and that stupid shirt peaking out of your bag, and...the door to the basement? 

Right! Maybe there could still be one thing you could do right today.

You wiped your hands over your apron, immediately scrambling for the tools you bought earlier today. 

While you weren't the smartest when it came to these things, surely you could figure something out to try to loosen the lock.

You've watched your gentle husband fiddle around with the lock many times before, never opting to break the thing. You suspected he didn't want to look in any way violent in front of you, but you always thought it was so needlessly complicated.

You grabbed a hammer from the pile of junk and made your way towards the basement door. You tested the lock's strength with a few, rather light, taps of the hammer head. It didn't feel that sturdy. You thought you could definitely break it with a bit of force on your end.

You gripped the handle with both hands and brought the hammer down on it.

Once. The sound of metals clashing echoed in your house

Twice. You had to do at least this today.

Thrice. You can't be useless to him.

You smashed the hammer down onto the lock one more time and the battered thing fell to floor. 

Your eyes widened, lips spreading into grin out of relief.

Thank heavens, you managed something today. Alastor would be glad to hear this, at least. 

You bent over, picking up the fallen lock from the floor.

A weight pressed against you from behind.

Startled out of your wit, you stood up straight, just in time for whoever it was to flatten your body right against the basement door.

"What a lovely sight that was." You hear Alastor's voice right by your ear.

His head found home where your shoulder and head met. His nose trailed up against your skin as he breathed you in.

A gasp escaped your parted lips as you feel his hands squeeze the flesh of your hips harshly.

"Alastor?" You were partly dazed, confused what was happening.

His hips pressed against yours at the sound of his name from your mouth, and you all but recoil.

Alastor was rarely handsy, and that was fine by you. You actually realized that you much preferred it that way. Alastor's love being the only thing you ever really wanted from him.

Moments like these have always caught you off guard.

Because your husband knew that. He knew you weren't comfortable with being intimate. He knew you'd much rather have him just sit by you. He knew you weren't one to jump his bones.

And Alastor normally respected that.

"What a naughty little doll you are," Alastor's breath hot against your skin. "Welcoming a man home all bent over, presenting yourself." He whispered.

Your eyes widened, attempting to turn to face him, but his body kept yours pinned to the door.

"Baby, no. I," Your breathing had gone a bit ragged. "I was just picking up this lock here."

You raised your hand, showing the broken, battered lock in your grip. "I finally managed to open the stubborn thing." You tried to smile up at him over your shoulder, expecting praise.

Alastor's eyes stayed on the lock for a second too long you think, before his hand circled your wrist and yanked your arm behind your back. His swift hands made your other arm follow after it immediately.

The ache in your limbs, the grip he had on you, the shock of it all made the lock tumble right out of your grasp.

Alastor let out a hum of disappointment. "That's a real shame, sweetheart. I thought you were finally opening up to me." He said, his voice still filled with mirth. "Could have really used it tonight, too."

You felt him ground his hips against your clothed ass. His half hard cock evident against you.

He used one hand to keep your arms where they were, the other made its way to caress up your torso. His large palm trailing past your breasts, ending up by your soft cheeks.

Contrasting with the ones that held you still, his fingers were gentle against your face. His fingertips barely ghosted over your skin.

"I had a rather rough day at work, you see. Could you blame a man for wanting a little comfort from his wife?" He whispered.

The words hung in the air. Your lips unable to deny him, but unable to agree all the same.

A heartbeat passes, and suddenly you were free. Alastor stepped back from you, your body relaxing at the absence of his towering figure. 

"But what kind of ruffian would I be to force a lady to do that against her will," Alastor said, his tone rather carefree.

You turned around to finally face him, only to see him looking else where.

Your eyes followed his line of sight and you noticed the ruined shirt, pulled out of the bag, sitting right next to a burnt dinner, all framed by a horribly messy kitchen.

Alastor looked back at you, his charming smile ever present. "I'm sure you excel at all the other aspects of being a wife, anyway." He says, as if he hadn't just seen the failure you've made of your day.

He began to walk away, and your hand reached out before you could even think. Almost as if on reflex. Almost as if it's what you had to do.

You meekly pulled him back. His eyes watched you, almost expectantly, as you cupped your palms against his cheeks, and invited him down to meet you.

Your lips brushed chastely against his as he let out a satisfied hum.

You pulled away just enough to speak, your eyes looking up at him as your breaths mixed. "What...what can I do for you, my love?"

Alastor's smile stretched, his lips dipping down to meet yours again for a second time. His hand quickly found its way to the small of your back, heavy as he ushered you out of the kitchen.

"I think that's better discussed in the bedroom, darling." He purred against your ear.

You swallowed thickly against your tightening throat. 

Normally Alastor's hands on you were cherished, but you wanted nothing more than to squirm away from his hold right then. You knew where this was heading, but it just was not something you ever found appealing.

But you could do it for Alastor, right? You have done it for him before, anyway. 

Even if you didn't particularly enjoy it, at least you'd be satisfying your husband. At least you'd be close to him. At least you'd be useful to him.

Alastor, like the chivalrous gentleman he is, opened the door of your bedroom for you as he lead you in. You heard the click of the lock behind you, right before you were quickly tossed onto your bed.

You squealed as your felt your body bounce against the soft sheets. Your dress bunched up your thighs as you adjusted your legs.

Alastor stood at the foot of your bed, working his bowtie off with nimble fingers. "Darling, why so tense? It's only me." He says, his voice almost soothing.

But it was there again. That annoying feeling. It seems heavier than ever.

Was it really loneliness? 

How could you even be lonely now, when the man you love was waiting to mount you.

"I'm just nervous, that's all, darling," You managed to say honestly. "It hurt quite a bit last time."

Your eyes watched closely as Alastor's hand made quick work of the buttons in his vest, shrugging it off and placing his knee on the bed. His eyes trained on your reactions all the while, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty on your face as you bit your lip.

"I know a way we can ease that," He said. He reached out his hand to you, inviting you to take it.

Your shaky hand didn't hesitate. Because you'd do anything for this man.

You loved Alastor, so much, with your whole body, but he seemed to revel a bit too much in that knowledge.

He knew you could never deny him. So when your hand was in his, he pulled you closer, watching with delight as you awkwardly crawled to the end of your bed.

"Care for a box lunch, darling? It'd hurt less if we're a lot more slick." Alastor teased, chuckling as you looked at him with confusion.

The gears seemed to click in your head when one of his hand rested on your hair, the other worked his belt off.

"Oh," Was pretty much all you managed to squeak out. It was definitely not what you expected. 

You hadn't noticed that you tried to pull away until Alastor applied a bit more pressure on your scalp to keep you still. 

He pulled his heavy cock free from its confines. He ran his hand over it, lazily pumping the hardening member in his palm as his gaze was transfixed on you.

Your wide eyes watched every movement of his hand. Panicked, you seemed. Not unlike many panicked does he's shot down in the past.

Not unlike many panicked other things he's felt lose life under his hands.

"Something wrong?" Alastor mused, head tilting as he watched you flinch at the sight of his dick twitching.

Your eyes finally pulled away from your husband's groin, looking up to meet the man's lidded gaze behind his glasses. "We haven't really tried that before and," You bit your lip, unsure on how to proceed. "It just seems a bit deviant." 

"Well then it's lucky we're both in such safe company then, isn't it?" The hand in your hair loosened it's grip, opting to softly comb through your hair. The slight tension in your shoulders melted away. "I've been rather curious about what all fuss was about, didn't really have a partner I trusted enough before to try, though." 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. He saw how bad you messed up today, didn't he? He saw how miserably you failed at the simplest of tasks. But he still trusted you? He still trusted you enough to do something as unorthodox as this?

"I suppose I've been rather curious about it myself." You smiled up at him nervously, your hand reached out by your own choice to hold his hefty cock in your palm.

You were lying.

He knew you were lying and he loved it.

"Then open up, my dear." You heard him say, gently guiding your head closer to his crotch.

You decided looking up at your husband was easier than watching your own hand pleasure his shaft. You kept his gaze as you parted your lips, letting your soft tongue meet the skin of his head before wrapping your lips around it.

There was a rather salty taste in your mouth, a bit of his precum leaking onto your tongue. You tried not to cringe at the taste, choosing instead to focus on the way Alastor's brows furrowed when you took more of him into your warm, obedient mouth.

"How do I taste, darling?" He teased, knowing you couldn't answer. 

He looked down at you expectantly. Not knowing what else you could do, you began to slowly bob your head, keeping your lips wrapped around his shaft.

You took your time, slowly letting more of him past your lips each time you sank your head back down. Eyes trained on your husband's face, part of you wondering if he'd praise you if you did a well enough job. But it seemed your efforts offered far too little friction for Alastor's patience.

His hips started moving against your face. Softly at first, but he soon began to push at your head to meet his thrusts.

The head of his hard cock nudged your throat and you choked. Your hands immediately went to his hips, nails digging in with how hard you held onto him. 

Tears forms in your eyes as you looked up at your husband, and your heart immediately filled with panic when you were met with a look of disappointment. 

"Hmm. Seems this might have been too much for you to handle." He sighed, finally pulling you off his dick.

A string of saliva stayed between the head of his cock and your lips as you coughed and gasped for air. 

But even as your jaw throbbed, you went to reach your hand out and tried to lean back in towards his dick. "No, no. I can do it, I promise," You said hurriedly.

"There's no need to force yourself, my darling wife," Alastor tutted, pushing you back by your shoulder, stopping you from getting another chance to prove yourself. "We can't help that you have your limits."

"I just need practice." You swore, looking up at your husband. You hated that you disappointed him again.

His fingers reach out to tilt your chin up, making space for his lips at your neck as he slowly pushed you back into the bed with his own body.

"If you ask nicely enough, I'm sure we can have you try again another time," Alastor said softly, as if granting you such a troublesome request.

The back of your head softly met your pillows as Alastor nudged your legs apart with his knee.

He slotted himself between your legs, grinding his slick cock impatiently against your panties. His groan was practically breathed into your ear.

You wanted to hear more of it. While you weren't particularly eager for sex, you were starved for your husband's praises. And if this is what it took then so be it.

You bucked your hips up to remove your underwear, your groin meeting his lazy thrusts as you did. 

"And here I was beginning to think you didn't want me." Alastor jested as he parted from your neck to help you rid yourself of your underwear. His long fingers slid the flimsy thing down one leg and let it stay on the other.

"There probably isn't a woman in this apple that doesn't want you, my love." You half-joked, but your soft laugh abruptly ended in a gasp.

Alastor pressed the thick head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pushing in just the smallest bit. "You're most likely right," He said, watching as your eyes closed at his trespass. "But you are the only one lucky enough to have me."

And you should know it.

Your back arched as your husband pushed past the tight hole of your entrance. What little resistance your walls made barely bothered him as his throbbing head forced your walls apart.

His hands dug into the sheets by your body. The smooth covers wrinkling in his grip as he strained to stay still.

"This alright for you, darling?" He asked, running his thumb softly under your eye to coax you into looking at him.

Your heart fluttered. Even when in such carnal need he cared about your silly little wants. You pry your eyes open to see Alastor peering down at you with a smile.

"I could stay with this much if you need me to." He told you, rocking hips barely moving. The head of his cock nearly slipping out before he pushed back in, just until it disappeared again into your warm walls.

He was being so kind and accommodating, you couldn't bring yourself to be so needlessly selfish.

Your cunt strained to take even just his very tip, but it was so pointless to let something like that get in the way. Your petty little apprehensions shouldn't matter. Not when you're with your husband.

Your lips strained to force a smile. "I think I can take more, my dear."

It was all Alastor really needed to hear. he dragged his dick out of you, letting it slip out. Wanting you to feel how empty you were without him. Before he rammed his hips against yours; sheathing his cock fully in your warm cunt.

"What a gal," Alastor praised. "Loving, kind, and gentle, but takes a cock like she's on the clock in a call house."

Alastor loved the way you keened at his words.

He loved the way you yearned for his touch, even when you both knew it wasn't your game.

He loved the way you worshiped him, always so desperate to please him.

Oh, how he loved how you were always so ready to give him everything. 

Alastor loved you, but just not in the way you hoped.

When you woke up the next morning, the view in front of you wasn't anything new.

Alastor's half of the bed was empty. The previously rumpled sheets for the previous night's rendezvous were pristine and smoothened out once more.

It was there again. Whatever that feeling was. 

You assumed it's going to be here for a while.

Alastor seemed to have already headed out before you awoke, not that it felt any different from other mornings.

With a sigh you made your bed. Once again going over everything you had to do for the day.

You had to clean—because you always had to clean—but more so now knowing you left quite the mess yesterday. You have to stop by the market once more, maybe look through clothing stores to find a new shirt for Alastor.

You didn't want him upset with you over that after all. While he didn't bring it up, you knew it still likely bothered him.

You made your way to the kitchen, ready to get the day started.

Except something glimmered as you walked by it. Your head turned to its direction, seeing the same padlock you broke the night before in perfect condition—back on the door to the basement.

Your brows furrowed as you approached it. Fingers gingerly examining the cold metal.

But, how could it be back on here? You swore you broke this stubborn thing last night.

From the corner of your eye, you see a note on the counter, immediately recognizing Alastor's messy handwriting. 

Yes, of course. He must have replaced the old one and fixed whatever damaged you did on the door while you were asleep. That would easily explain it.

You picked up the note, smiling softly to yourself at how silly it was to be confused.

It was a brilliant bash, my darling, but it seems this lock is just much too sturdy :(

Don't fret! I'll find a way to open it eventually! Do try to stay away from the tools though, dear. We wouldn't want you hurting your soft delicate hands!

Yours, Alastor

P.S.

I'd prefer a little less char on the meat this time! Haha!

You tried to reread the note several times, wondering if your husband was pulling your leg again. 

You broke this lock, you knew you did.

You swung a hammer at it thrice and it broke. 

Thrice? Or was it four times?

Whatever, the count didn't matter.

Or did it? 

You remained where you stood, confused at what to believe. The note still clutched in your hands.

Did you really break the lock last night? Or were you just so desperate to get something right that your fooled yourself into thinking that?

If you broke the lock then why was it still there now? Why would your darling husband tell you otherwise?

The only reasonable conclusion was that you didn't.

Surely, that made sense, right?

Your eyes stared at the note. Alastor's name seemingly bright against everything else. 

No other possibility made sense. Besides, if Alastor trusted you enough to marry you, it only made sense to return that privilege.

Right.

Your eyes lifted from the note, to the kitchen in front of you. The mess you made still loud and present and ugly. 

There was no use standing there fretting over such a silly, pointless, thing. Not when you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Who really cares about a dumb little lock, anyway? Didn't you have such a long list of tasks to do today?

Like proving your worth

To yourself

To the world

To your husband. 

Part 1 of 2 I hadn't intended for this fic to run as long as it did, and the best part was yet to come. It would have taken ages to get this out if I didn't cut it into half. Anyway, Read part 2 of 2 here!

[novaursa]

Between the Flames (Part 2)

- Summary: Gwayne and you rekindle your flame as a celebratory hunt proceeds.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top. The timeframe of events in both parts 1 and 2 is unspecified, place the plot wherever you wish it in your imagination.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 812

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The first light of dawn creeps into the camp as you step out of your tent. The air is crisp with the chill of morning, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders, taking in the stillness that clings to this early hour. The fires from last night’s revelries are mere embers now, and the camp is draped in a quiet so deep it feels like the world holds its breath.

Your eyes sweep over the clearing, searching for a familiar face, but Rhaenyra is nowhere to be found. Of course she’s not. Your sister has likely slipped away with Ser Criston Cole, her sworn shield, to chase whatever solitude she can grasp in this suffocating charade. Rhaenyra has always despised these hunts, the feasts, the endless parade of lords fawning over her as if she’s a prize mare. You sympathize with her distaste, but unlike her, you’ve remained tethered to these duties out of some misguided sense of loyalty to your father and the memory of your late mother, Queen Aemma.

A flutter of resentment stirs in your chest. You’ve followed the rules for so long, always the dutiful daughter, watching as your sister rides free while you remain in the gilded cage of expectations. Yet yesterday, when Gwayne Hightower had found you in the crowd of nobles and knights, that sense of duty had wavered for the first time in years. His presence had unraveled something in you, a thread of emotions carefully tucked away since your father denied him your hand. His smile was the same, a little boyish even after all this time, and his eyes held that familiar warmth as they met yours.

The memories from years ago flood back, his hand brushing against yours, the quiet exchanges between dances, lingers in your mind like the aftertaste of wine. You had long buried those feelings, or so you thought. Yet now, in the stillness of dawn, all you can think about is how his presence stirs a longing you’ve tried to forget.

For once, you allow yourself to act on impulse.

You move with a sudden resolve, heading towards the small paddock where the horses are tethered. Your chest tightens as you glance around, half-expecting someone to stop you. You see Ser Harrold Westerling, his gray hair wild with sleep, standing at the edge of the camp. He’s too far away to notice you yet, still groggy and unconcerned as he yawns and stretches.

Before he can spot you, you make your way to your mare, a beautiful dappled chestnut with a silky black mane. She snorts softly in greeting, stamping the ground with her hoof. You pat her neck, her coat warm and smooth beneath your gloved hand. "We’re going to do something foolish, my sweet girl," you whisper, a half-smile playing on your lips.

With practiced ease, you mount the mare, settling into the saddle. The forest looms ahead, its dark arms open and inviting, promising the kind of freedom you’ve denied yourself for too long. A breathless excitement quickens in your chest as you lean forward, giving your mare a gentle nudge. She responds instantly, trotting lightly across the camp, her hooves barely making a sound on the soft earth.

"Princess!" Ser Harrold’s voice rings out, sharp with alarm, but you’re already gone. The wind rushes against your face as you break into a gallop, the camp shrinking behind you as the trees blur past. The thrill of disobedience courses through your veins, each beat of your heart in time with the rhythm of your mare’s stride.

The forest is alive with the songs of morning birds and the rustling of leaves. Sunlight dapples through the canopy above, casting golden patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, you let out a breathless laugh, the sheer joy of riding unbound filling you with a wild sense of elation. You understand now, at least in part, why Rhaenyra flees these events; there’s something liberating in leaving behind expectations, even if only for a short while.

You slow your pace once you’re deep within the woods, guiding your mare along a familiar narrow trail framed by ferns and moss-covered stones until you reach an edge of a small brook. The peace of the forest wraps around you like a soothing balm. Here, away from prying eyes, from duties and titles, you can simply be.

But your thoughts inevitably return to Gwayne. You remember the way he looked at you last night, the warmth in his eyes tinged with something deeper. You can still hear his voice in your head, low and intimate as he leaned in close during the dance.

“It has been too long, Y/N,” he had said softly, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “I barely recognized you the day before… though you’ve grown only more beautiful.”

A faint blush warms your cheeks at the memory. For years, you had pushed thoughts of him aside, thinking them childish fancies, a promise he couldn't keep, but his presence has reignited a spark that refuses to be smothered.

Lost in thought, you nearly miss the sound of hooves approaching from another direction. Your mare’s ears prick forward, alert, and you turn your head just in time to see a rider emerging from between the trees. The sunlight catches on silver armor trimmed with green—Gwayne.

Gwayne Hightower woke with the first rays of dawn creeping through the canvas of his tent, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. Sleep had been restless and fleeting; the events of the previous night still clung to his mind like a shroud. He could still feel the weight of Daemon Targaryen’s gaze—a sharp, cutting thing that held a silent promise of retribution. Daemon had watched them dance, his eyes like twin embers, waiting for any excuse to ignite into something more dangerous.

But Gwayne hadn’t cared. Not then, and certainly not now.

All that mattered was you.

He could still feel the ghost of your hand in his, the way your touch sent a spark straight through him. You had tried to maintain a careful distance, the practiced grace of a princess who had long learned to hide her heart behind a veil of propriety. But Gwayne knew you better than that. He knew the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, the way your voice dropped ever so slightly when you said his name. You could hide your emotions from most, but never from him.

He’d known you since you were both children, and in all those years, nothing had truly changed between you. Even now, after all the time and distance, after the layers of courtly masks, you were still the same girl who had stolen his heart. And he would not—could not—let anyone take you away from him. Not Daemon, not even your father. The King could deny him the match all he wished, but it was a hollow decree. He knew, deep down, that you were his. You always had been, from the moment you’d shared your secrets and desires with him years ago, in the quiet, hidden corners of the Red Keep.

And when he had seen Daemon’s eyes on you, the dragon’s possessiveness simmering beneath the surface, Gwayne had only felt his resolve harden. Daemon could try to intimidate him all he liked, but he would never understand that what bound you to Gwayne was deeper than mere attraction or lust. It was years of unspoken promises, of shared dreams and whispered hopes, of a love that had grown in the shadows of duty and expectation.

Gwayne exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he pushed himself out of bed. The air was crisp, the early morning dew clinging to the grass as he dressed quickly in his riding leathers. His mind drifted back to the last time he had truly held you, before politics and power had pushed you both into your separate roles. Back then, you’d been freer, more open, before the weight of a princess’s crown settled on your brow. And yet, last night, in those fleeting moments when your eyes met his, he saw a glimpse of that girl again. The one who had wanted more than what was being offered to her.

He knew you would not remain at camp long today. You despised these hunts as much as Rhaenyra did, though you bore it more quietly. And as if the gods themselves sought to reward his patience, his instincts proved correct when he caught sight of you slipping away, mounting your horse with a grace and ease born of years of practice. Ser Harrold’s groggy warning echoed across the clearing, but you were already gone, disappearing into the forest with the wind in your hair.

Gwayne’s heart leapt in his chest, a sense of urgency and determination driving him into motion. He wasted no time, striding swiftly toward his own horse, a powerful black stallion bred for speed and endurance. He swung into the saddle with practiced ease, feeling the familiar weight of the reins in his hands. Without hesitation, he urged his horse forward, following the path you had taken into the woods.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. Gwayne’s focus narrowed, his gaze trained on the faint trail you left behind—hoofprints in the soft earth, the occasional disturbed branch. He knew where you were headed; it was the same place you always sought when you needed to escape the world, a secluded glade hidden deep within these woods.

The sound of rushing wind and the rhythmic thudding of hooves filled his ears as he pushed his stallion harder, driven by a mixture of anticipation and longing. Every beat of his heart felt in tune with the ride, each breath drawing him closer to you. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined the look on your face when he found you—the mix of surprise and exasperation that you could never fully hide, tinged with that unmistakable affection that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing a clearing bathed in soft morning light. And there you were, seated on your mare at the edge of a small brook, the sound of trickling water a soothing backdrop to the scene. The sight of you, framed by the dappled sunlight, took his breath away for a moment. You were like a vision from a dream, your hair catching the golden rays as you gazed thoughtfully at the water. The serenity of the moment only heightened his determination to be by your side.

You must have sensed him approaching, for you turned just as he entered the clearing. The surprise in your eyes was quickly replaced by a familiar warmth, though you tried to maintain a composed expression. “And here I thought I’d managed to escape everyone,” you said with a hint of teasing in your voice.

Gwayne brought his horse to a stop beside yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you truly think you could slip away from me so easily, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You should know by now that I would follow you anywhere.”

Your expression softened at that, and for a moment, the carefully maintained walls you kept around yourself faltered. “And what brings you chasing after me, Ser Gwayne?” you asked quietly, your gaze locking onto his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. “Surely you have other duties to attend to, other places to be.”

He leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I have no duty more important than being where you are,” he replied, the words simple but weighted with meaning. “No place I would rather be than at your side.”

You looked away, as if trying to hide the emotions that flickered across your face, but Gwayne knew you too well. He could see the struggle within you, the war between obligation and the desires you kept buried. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours where it rested on the reins. “You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N,” he said softly. “Not here. Not now.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the reins as if grounding yourself. “And what if hiding is all I have left?” you whispered, a note of vulnerability slipping into your voice. “What if it’s the only way I can survive this game we’re all trapped in?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened with resolve. “You’re more than what they want to make you. More than a pawn in this endless game of power. You’re you—the woman I’ve loved since we were children, the one I would fight for, no matter the cost.”

You met his gaze then, something in your eyes softening. The walls you’d built around yourself cracked, if only for a moment, and Gwayne saw the woman beneath—the one who wanted more than duty and expectation, the one who longed for freedom, for love, for something real.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmured, a faint smile touching your lips. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding.”

Gwayne’s heart swelled with hope, with the belief that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to stop running from what you both knew had always been there between you. He leaned closer, his voice a gentle whisper. “Then let’s take this moment for ourselves. Forget the world outside, forget the dragons and the thrones and the knives hidden in every smile. Let’s just… be.”

For a long moment, the world held its breath as you considered his words. Then, slowly, you nodded, the tension easing from your shoulders. “For a little while,” you agreed, your voice soft, a hint of relief in your tone.

And so, you rode together through the sun-dappled forest, leaving behind the weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the court. In this fleeting moment, there was no war of crowns or claims, no dragons or scheming lords—only the two of you, and the promise of something that could be, if only you dared to reach for it.

In the quiet sanctuary of the forest, with nothing but the rustling leaves and distant birdsong to bear witness, you and Gwayne finally dismount from your horses. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm, golden light across the clearing. There’s a silence between you—charged, electric—heavy with all the unspoken words and emotions you’ve held back for years. The bond you thought had frayed with time is alive once more, vibrant and undeniable.

You both step closer, drawn together by a force that feels as natural as breathing. Gwayne’s eyes are locked on yours, his gaze intense, full of longing and a possessive tenderness that makes your pulse quicken. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in the small space between your bodies crackling like a fire about to be kindled.

His hand comes up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

You close your eyes briefly, savoring the feel of his touch, the way it melts away the years of separation, the walls you’ve built to protect yourself. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur, though there’s no conviction in your words, only a breathless longing. The ache in your chest is one you’ve carried for so long, buried deep beneath the layers of duty and decorum. But now, with Gwayne so close, it’s impossible to deny how much you want this—want him.

His thumb tilts your chin up, and you meet his gaze once more. “Perhaps we shouldn’t,” he agrees, his voice soft but edged with determination. “But I won’t let that stop me. Not anymore. I won’t let anything keep us apart again.”

And with that, the dam finally breaks. Your lips crash together in a kiss that’s searing, urgent, full of years’ worth of pent-up desire and emotions. There’s no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss is fierce, almost desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for every lost moment, every day you spent apart. His hands are on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist with a possessiveness that makes you gasp against his mouth.

Your hands roam over his chest, fingers fumbling with the ties of his tunic, the urgency mirrored in the way he pulls at the laces of your dress. Every touch is fevered, every caress driven by the need to feel skin against skin. Clothes are shed with haste, your lips barely parting even as you struggle to rid yourselves of the barriers between you. His breath is hot against your neck, lips trailing down your throat as he shrugs off the last of his garments. Your own dress falls away, pooling at your feet, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air—but the heat between your bodies is enough to chase away the chill.

There’s no room for words now, only the rhythm of your breaths, the thrum of your heartbeats in perfect harmony. He draws you close, lifting you with ease as your legs wrap around his waist, your bodies fitting together as if they were made to do so. The first touch of him inside you is a heady rush, a mix of pleasure and familiarity that sends a shudder through you both. He moves with a gentle haste, his grip firm on your hips as he sinks into you fully, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

You cling to him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your lips find his again in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. The rhythm comes naturally, an instinctive dance that’s both achingly familiar and exhilaratingly new. Even after all the time that has passed, your bodies remember each other, falling into a perfect sync that leaves no space for doubt or regret.

His movements are steady but urgent, each thrust a declaration of the need that has burned between you for so long. Your moans mix with his, the sound of your shared pleasure filling the secluded clearing. There’s a raw intimacy in the way your bodies move together, every touch, every gasp a reaffirmation of what you’ve both held onto all these years. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath ragged as he whispers your name, the sound of it like a prayer.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You don’t respond with words—there’s no need. The way your body arches into his, the way you tighten around him as pleasure builds in your core, says everything. You’re his, just as he’s yours, bound by a love that neither time nor distance could ever truly break.

The tension coils tighter with every thrust, every brush of his lips against your skin, until it’s too much to hold back. Your release washes over you in a wave of bliss, pulling a cry from your lips as you cling to him, every nerve alight with sensation. Gwayne follows you over the edge, a low groan escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the world seems to hold still. The forest fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Your breathing slows, and you feel Gwayne’s grip on you soften, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, there’s a tenderness in his gaze that makes your chest ache. “I’m never letting you go again,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a fierce kind of love. “Not for anything. Not for anyone.”

You reach up to cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I never wanted to be let go,” you confess, your voice a whisper. “I’ve only ever wanted this… us.”

In the silence that follows, there’s a peace that settles between you—an unspoken understanding that whatever lies ahead, you’ll face it together. For now, in this stolen moment, the world beyond the forest doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way your hearts beat in time, the bond between you rekindled and stronger than ever.

And in that quiet, sunlit clearing, you both allow yourselves to believe—if only for a little while—that the future might hold more than just duty and sacrifice. That it might hold a chance for the love you’ve both fought so long to protect.

Daemon Targaryen stood near the edge of the camp, eyes narrowed into slits as he watched you and Gwayne ride back into the clearing. The sight of you both—your hair disheveled, lips still slightly swollen from hurried kisses—made his blood boil. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened, his jaw tightening as a cold fury settled into his bones. Gwayne’s smug look didn’t help; the Hightower knight sent him a knowing, defiant smirk as he rode past, one hand resting possessively on your waist. The message in his gaze was clear: I’ve won, and you know it.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sneer. Foolish boy, he thought darkly. You’ve no idea what you’re inviting.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what had transpired in the woods. He recognized the flushed skin, the barely concealed satisfaction on both your faces, the way your eyes avoided his as you dismounted. You carried yourself with that fire he adored—back straight, chin held high—but he could see through it. He could always see through you. There was anger beneath your proud exterior, frustration burning just as fiercely as his own. 

As you handed the reins to a stable hand, Daemon moved with predatory grace, intercepting you before you could disappear into your tent. He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising, his eyes burning into yours. 

“What were you doing?” he hissed, though it was more accusation than question. His voice was low, dangerously controlled, a seething threat simmering just below the surface. 

You jerked your arm free, glaring up at him with barely concealed fury. “I could ask you the same, Uncle. Spying on me as if I’m one of your lackeys?” Your tone was sharp, dripping with defiance. You took a step closer, your voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “What right do you have to question me? You’ve made it clear what I am to you.”

The words cut him, though he’d never admit it. His eyes darkened further as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You were gone longer than a mere ride warrants, Princess. And you return with that Hightower pup, wearing a look that tells me everything I need to know.”

You bristled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “And why do you care, Daemon? What difference does it make to you what I do or with whom?” Your voice wavered with barely restrained emotion—anger, frustration, and something more, something raw and wounded. “You never wanted me, not really. Not as anything more than a consolation prize because you couldn’t have her.”

Daemon’s gaze sharpened, the accusation hitting too close to home. He reached out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Watch your tongue,” he growled, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, don’t I?” You yanked your chin from his grasp, your eyes flashing with contempt. “You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t see the way you look at her—my sister? The way you’ve always craved what you can’t have? You wanted Rhaenyra, not me. But Viserys wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t let his precious heir fall into your clutches. So you settled for me instead, the lesser prize.”

The truth in your words stung more than Daemon cared to admit. His mind raced, fury and something far more dangerous swirling within him. You had never been lesser to him—never. But he had to grit his teeth against the admission. For a heartbeat, his anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of something deeper, something that threatened to expose him in a way he despised. 

His grip loosened, but his gaze remained intense, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. “Is that what you think? That you’re second to her?” His voice was lower now, softer but no less dangerous. “You’ve always seen yourself as Rhaenyra’s shadow, haven’t you? But let me tell you something, Y/N—you have just as much fire as she does. Maybe more.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Words, Daemon. Just more of your pretty words. You think they’ll work on me after all this time?” Your tone was bitter, but there was a note of pain beneath it that you couldn’t quite hide.

His eyes hardened again, his intensity returning full force. “You are not some replacement,” he snapped, each word deliberate, almost vicious in its conviction. “You’re mine just as much as she could ever be. Perhaps Viserys keeps me from her because he fears what we could be together—but he gave me you because he thinks you’ll be easier to control. And perhaps, for once, he’s right.” His eyes bore into yours, daring you to deny it. “But don’t ever think that makes you lesser, Y/N. You’re every bit as valuable as she is—to me and to this cursed family.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and old wounds. The tension was nearly unbearable, a volatile mixture of rage, passion, and something neither of you wanted to acknowledge aloud. 

You glared at him, chest heaving as you fought to control your breathing. “You claim I’m yours, yet you push me away every time I get too close, every time I try to see beyond that mask of arrogance you wear. You want me just enough to keep me tethered, but never enough to make me truly believe it.”

Daemon’s expression softened just a fraction, the cruel edges giving way to something almost tender. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, and his gaze softened, the fierceness replaced with an intensity that was somehow even more dangerous. “You’ve always seen through me, haven’t you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why you’re the one thing I can never let go of, no matter how much I try.”

You felt your breath hitch, the admission hanging in the air between you. For a moment, the storm in your chest subsided, replaced by the ache of knowing that no matter what you said, no matter how much you tried to fight it, a part of you would always be drawn to him—like a moth to a flame, even if it meant getting burned.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the anger returned, raw and unfiltered. You pulled back from his touch, your voice tight with resolve. “I may be yours in your eyes, Daemon, but I refuse to be something you settle for. I’ll be more than just a placeholder for your desires.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and stormed toward your tent, leaving Daemon staring after you, a storm of conflicting emotions raging behind his eyes. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tense as he fought to rein in his temper. He had always believed he could control everything, bend the world to his will—but in this moment, watching you walk away, he was reminded that some things, some desires, were far beyond his grasp.

But as he stood there, alone in the clearing, a dark, determined smile tugged at the corners of his lips. If Gwayne Hightower thought he could claim you so easily, he was sorely mistaken. Daemon had lost too much already—he wouldn’t lose you too.

One way or another, you would see the truth: that no one could ever truly have you but him.

The final day of the hunt dawned with an oppressive sense of inevitability. The skies were overcast, a muted gray that reflected the tension simmering beneath the surface of the festivities. Lords and knights milled about the camp, preparing for the last chase, but the air was thick with unspoken rivalries and hidden agendas. For Daemon, it was more than just another hunt—it was the culmination of days of mounting frustration and a terror he refused to name, all centered around one person: you.

He had prided himself on control—control over his ambitions, his desires, his enemies. But you were slipping through his fingers, and it clawed at something primal within him. The sight of you laughing, exchanging warm smiles with Gwayne Hightower, had become unbearable. It wasn’t just anger that churned in his chest; it was fear. The fear of losing the one person who had managed to burrow past his defenses, the one thing he had convinced himself was his.

As the sun climbed higher, the hounds were readied, and the nobles began mounting their horses. Daemon’s eyes never left Gwayne, who was exchanging pleasantries with his sister, Alicent. The Hightower knight held himself with the same confident ease as always, his armor gleaming, his expression serene. But beneath that polished exterior, Daemon could sense a defiant edge, a silent challenge that sent a pulse of fury through him.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He swung himself onto his horse, cutting through the throng with a focused determination. The murmured conversations around the camp fell away as he approached Gwayne, who turned to meet him with a calm gaze, as if he had been expecting this confrontation.

“Ser Gwayne,” Daemon drawled, his tone laced with a false cordiality that didn’t reach his eyes. “It seems we find ourselves in each other’s company once more. How fortuitous.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t waver. “Prince Daemon,” he replied smoothly, inclining his head in a respectful nod. “It’s always a pleasure to be in such esteemed company.”

The formalities hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Daemon leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Let’s not pretend, Hightower. You’ve been playing a dangerous game, and I can see right through it. You think you can steal away what belongs to me?”

Gwayne’s smile was subtle, infuriatingly calm. “I’ve stolen nothing, Your Grace. But perhaps what you think you own was never truly yours to begin with.”

Daemon’s hand clenched around the reins, his knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “You’ve never understood what binds us—what we share. You think you can walk in, flash a few smiles, and she’ll forget everything?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened, the mask of politeness slipping away to reveal a fierceness that matched Daemon’s. “What binds you?” he echoed, his voice low and firm. “Do you mean the way you push her away, yet cling to her when it suits your pride? Or the way you try to control her, hoping that she’ll never see she deserves more than to be someone’s second choice?”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of rage and fear twisting inside him. Gwayne’s words cut too close to the truth, exposing the very thing he feared most. He had convinced himself that he was the one who understood you, who could offer you what no one else could. But the thought that he had lost you, that you had found something in Gwayne that he couldn’t offer, was a poison he couldn’t swallow.

His voice was a growl, low and venomous. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? Like you’re the hero in some ballad. But you’re nothing more than a lovesick fool, blinded by a girl who’s outgrown you. Do you really think she’ll choose you when all is said and done? You’re a Hightower—nothing more than a tool for your family’s ambitions.”

Gwayne’s eyes flashed with anger, his composure cracking just enough for Daemon to see the fire beneath. “And what are you, Daemon? The rogue prince, the discarded brother who can’t win his brother’s favor, who takes whatever scraps he’s offered because he’s too afraid to admit what he really wants?”

The words hit like a hammer. Daemon’s control snapped, and before he could stop himself, he spurred his horse forward, closing the distance between them until they were nearly nose to nose. His voice was a low snarl. “You know nothing about fear, Gwayne. You don’t know what it’s like to feel something slipping from your grasp, to see the one thing that keeps you from losing yourself slipping away. I would burn the world to keep her, and you’d be the first I’d cast into the fire.”

Gwayne’s gaze didn’t falter, but there was a flash of sympathy in his eyes that stoked Daemon’s fury even more. “That’s where you and I differ, Daemon,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with pity. “You believe in owning, controlling. But I believe in letting her be free, even if it means losing her. Because what she needs isn’t chains or possessive declarations. It’s someone who sees her as an equal, not a prize to be won.”

Daemon’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, fingers twitching with the urge to draw it and end this insufferable man’s righteous speeches once and for all. But he held back, knowing that doing so would only prove Gwayne’s point. Instead, he leaned in, his voice icy and full of dark promise. “You may have her now, but don’t mistake this for the end. She is mine, whether you—or even she—realize it yet. And one day, when you’re just a memory, she’ll see that.”

With that, Daemon yanked his horse’s reins and rode away, his heart a tempest of emotions he couldn’t fully name—anger, fear, desperation. It terrified him, this loss of control, the realization that he was losing his grip not just on you, but on himself. But he would not give in, would not let you slip away without a fight.

As he rode toward the front of the hunting party, his mind raced with dark thoughts and unspoken plans. He had lost control once, but he would not let it happen again. Whatever it took, whoever he had to destroy, he would make sure that when all was said and done, you would see that you were his and his alone.

And in the distance, Gwayne watched him go, his jaw clenched, his own heart heavy with the knowledge that this confrontation was only the beginning of the battle to come.

[cevansbrat0007]

Indecent Exposure Pt. III: Poolside Promises

Summary: You convince Ari to finally let you have a little fun this summer. But at what cost? Check out Part One!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Allusion to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

Almost Two Weeks After Your Father's Departure...

You glide through the water effortlessly, seeking a brief relief from the summer heat. While the news had promised you and everyone else that today’s weather would be one for the books, the warnings still hadn’t been enough to prepare you for the heat that assailed you the moment you’d stepped out the back door. 

However, it’s not until you allow your head to break through the surface that you realize you were no longer alone. You had company. And he was also staring at you.

Again. It was something he had a habit of doing.

“Can I help you?” It’s a flatly delivered question. 

The man only shrugs, dragging a hand through his shaggy, chestnut brown locks. Frankly, he looked so much like his brother you were almost surprised that you’d never really noticed just how many similarities they actually shared.

Same striking blue eyes. Same massive build. Same chiseled jaw that looked great with or without a beard. But where Steve always possessed an aura or control, Ari emanated something a little more raw and untamed. 

You found found that it sometimes did funny things to those annoying butterflies that had seemingly taken up residence in your belly these days.

“Did you need something?” You try as you continue to tread water in the middle of the pool.

“Nothing you're quite prepared to give, sweet Clover.” Ari responds cryptically, his head cocking to the side as he continues to survey you. 

“Then why the hell do you keep staring at me?”

That was another thing you’d recently come to learn about Ari over the last couple of days. He didn’t seem to care whenever you decided to take a spicy tone with him – a fact you’d discovered when you’d found him sitting in your father’s study just the other morning.

You’d been so happy until that moment, especially since you’d previously been granted three days free of Bucky, Steve, and Andy. Your time alone had been glorious, even if it had proved to be short lived. 

You watch the older man closely, fascinated by the increasingly pronounced tick in his jaw. Hell, if he was allowed to stare then so would you. However, the question was, who would blink first?

Turns out, that award belonged to Ari. 

Humming a tune under his breath, he proceeds to grab a lawn chair before pulling it closer to the edge of the pool. Neither one of you says a word as he takes a seat, his sinewy muscles bunching and flexing beneath the thin fabric of his light gray t-shirt. 

“Just came out here to check on you.” He reaches up to scratch at his beard. “See how you were managing in this heat.”

“I’m managing by planning to spend all afternoon in the pool, like any other sane person would.”

“Ya know, I’m pretty sure Bucky and the boys made it clear that they don’t appreciate your little penchant for snark.” He muses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  

Probably. You inwardly concede. It definitely hasn't been winning you any favors. Which is why you often preferred to play the part of a mute. Whenever they allowed you to, that is.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you.” You respond honestly before closing your eyes and flipping your body so that you can float on your back, giving Ari a glimpse of your peaches and cream-colored bikini.

“That’s cuz’ not too much bothers me. I don’t allow it.” 

“Hmm…” You spread your arms, silently wishing you could simply float away from this conversation entirely. “Maybe you should talk to the others about that. Seems like I find a new way to piss them off every time I open my mouth.” 

“Nah.” Ari shrugs away your words as he continues to appear unbothered by the heat. “Something tells me they don’t quite know just what to do with a pretty little thing like you.” 

“Oh. And you do?” Well, you could safely say that you hadn’t been expecting that answer. 

“I’d certainly like to think so.” 

His statement hangs in the air as you both fall silent. While you weren’t quite sure what your would-be caretaker was talking about, it was definitely enough to make you think. And it’s at that moment that you decide to change tactics. Instead of floating here annoyed, perhaps it was time to use Ari’s seemingly indulgent personality to your benefit. 

A friend of yours was throwing a party tonight. And you wanted to go. 

When you’d previously brought it up to Bucky and Steve, they’d both hemmed and hawed over the subject – asking you all kinds of questions and refusing to give you anything more than a non-committal “we’ll have to see” or "we'll have to sit down and talk about it". And when you’d tried to play the ultimate trump card by calling your father, he’d sided with them. 

“I’m not there, pumpkin.” Your Dad had said while you’d been holed-up pouting in your room. “I asked your Uncles to watch over you, which means I’m gonna have to defer to them in situations like this one."

And, as luck would have it, you hadn’t been able to get your answer before they’d just up and disappeared on you like the overbearing assholes they were proving themselves to be.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I trust the judgment of anyone who’s crazy enough to sit out here in this heat and roast – not when there’s a perfectly good pool, like, right in front of them.”

“Not sure that pool of yours is big enough for the both of us.” Ari mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Although you get the feeling he’s talking more to himself than you. 

“It’s plenty big.” You eagerly reassure him, adjusting your position so that you can float closer to where your pseudo-guardian is sitting. “See? There’s aaall this space.”

For a second Ari appears unsure. And the closer you get, there’s no denying the fact that he was finally showing signs of feeling the heat. It’s hard to miss the thin line of sweat dotting along his brow.

“C’mon…” You urge, playfully splashing him. “Don’t be such a hard ass, Uncle Ari.” You decide to tack on the last bit for his benefit, all the while trying hard to keep the edge out of your tone. But if he notices, he thankfully doesn’t comment.

“Fine. Melt.” You heave an exasperated sigh when he still doesn’t move. Climbing onto a nearby pool raft, you turn your attention back to your companion. “Jesus, you guys are always so serious, like all of the time. I mean, what’s wrong with having a little fun?”

“Alright.” That’s all you get before he reaches to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted body hiding beneath.

You scarcely have the chance to appreciate the sight before you’re treated to the sound of a splash. You let out a squeal as water goes splashing everywhere, rewetting your already rapidly drying body. Seconds later, Ari’s head breaks through the water.

“Happy now, princess?” He disappears again, only to reappear closer to where you’re currently lounging. 

“Depends.” 

“On?” He asks, seemingly content to tread water alongside you. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t at least admit that the man was kind of attractive.

Or, as your friends had put it, sexy as hell. Yeah, you weren’t quite sure how you felt about that one.

“Well…” You hedge, giggling when he splashes you to encourage you to hurry up.

“Out with it, Clover. A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.” Or fucked. He silently adds.

“There’s this party I kinda wanted to go to tonight. All my friends will be there and I haven't really had the chance to celebrate my birthday with them yet.” You finish, your teeth going to worry your bottom lip. 

Ari studies you for a moment as he tries to figure out the best way to respond. “What did Uncle Steve and the others say?” He already knew that you'd asked them, and he wanted to make it clear that he’s not one to be so easily manipulated. “I’m assuming you asked them first.”

“They said “maybe”. Well, two of them did anyway. But then they left without ever giving me a real answer.” 

“I see.” He offers you a cheeky grin while pausing to swat at a wayward fly. “Maybe we should call them. See if they’ve finally made up their minds–.” 

“No!” You shoot straight up on your perch, accidently flipping the raft and sending you tumbling back into the icy cool water. You come up sputtering and coughing, and while you can’t quite tell, you’re also fairly certain that Ari is laughing at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah.” You gag, hating the taste of chlorine. 

Ari nods before moving to retrieve your float. He’s even kind enough to hold it still long enough for you to climb back on it again. Only once he’s satisfied that you’re secure does he seem interested in continuing the conversation. 

“So…it sounds like you really wanna go to this party. Don’t you, Clover?” 

“Yes.” You breathe, refusing to say anything more than that just in case he was actually considering it. You’re so desperate that you don’t even balk when he begins swimming towards the edge of the pool, dragging you along with him. He doesn’t speak again until he’s reached his destination. 

“Tell me, will there be any drinking at this party?”

“Wha–no!”

“Now’s not the time to lie to me, princess. Will people be drinking at this party?” He reaches up to cup your chin, his brilliant blue eyes boring into yours as if he's attempting to unravel all of your secrets.

One by one.

“I swear! Grace’s parents would positively kill her if they found out she threw that kind of party.”

Ari quietly mulls over your answer before deeming it to be honest enough for his liking. “How about boys?”

Fuck. While you couldn’t be honest, you also didn’t want to lie. Not when you were this close to getting what you wanted. Which was freedom. 

“Her little brother will be there. He’s a couple grades below us. But it's not like she can kick him out or anything.”

“Just her little brother, huh?” You could tell he was feeling more than a little skeptical. However, you’re surprised when he seemingly lets it slide. Releasing his grip on your chin, he gives you a little push, content to let you float away. 

“I swear. We can’t do anything too crazy with him around – he’d rat us out sooo fast.”

Please believe me. Please believe me. Please believe me. 

Holding your breath, you watch as he climbs out of the water. He makes a beeline for your towel, patting himself dry to the best of his ability before draping it over his shoulder. 

“Okay, sweetheart. I might be willing to make an executive decision on this one, provided you’re willing to do something for me in return. Something that’ll keep at least some of the heat off of me when it comes to dealing with Steve and the boys.”

What you didn't know was that they had already discussed your desire to attend this party – him, Bucky, Andy, and Steve – and they'd decided that the answer was "no". But since you'd gone the last couple days without throwing a tantrum, Ari felt inclined to give you what you wanted. It also helped that he found your bratty ways to be rather endearing.

So long as you weren't outrightly disrespectful.

“Anything.” The word flies out of your mouth before you can catch it. And just like that, that damn tick in his jaw is back.

“The only way I feel comfortable enough letting you go is if you promise to text me every 30 minutes. Doesn’t have to be long. Just a message to let me and the other guys know you’re okay.”

What the hell?

You open your mouth to protest before deciding you’re better off not. Right now, you’d take the win and try to renegotiate the rest later. 

“Take it or leave it, princess.” 

“I’ll take it!” You reply, albeit probably a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you so much!”

Ari doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead that damned tick of his only seems to grow even more pronounced. “Alright.” With that, he turns and begins striding towards the door. “I’ll, uh…I’ll get you another towel.” He pauses once he reaches his destination, turning to face you once more. 

“And Clover?”

“Yeah?” You call back, feeling happier than you have in almost two whole weeks. 

“Don’t make me regret this." Ari rumbles, allowing you to get a good, long look at his muscled, hair covered chest. "I'd hate for my kindness to come back and bite me in the ass. It would be a shame to start the summer off on such a bad note.”

“I…”

His words leave you so speechless that you can only watch as Ari proceeds to waltz through the sliding door, leaving you outside all alone once more. But not before reiterating his promise to bring you another towel so that you can get ready for lunch.

“Well, fuck…” Is all you can muster before rolling yourself off your float and into the cooling expanse of the water. You swim down to the bottom, touching the floor with both hands as you work to center yourself. 

You hold your breath for as long as you’re able before the need for oxygen forces you to resurface. As you greedily gulp air into your burning lungs you tell yourself not to give a fuck about Ari and his bullshit. Instead, you decide to focus on the most important aspect of tonight, namely…

Just what in the hell were you going to wear?

END

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

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J, mafia AU, smut, ring

You know how I like it 😉😘

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Thank you so much, I couldn't have made it without all of your lovely support. I'm so happy to have found you as a friend. Hope you enjoy my silly little Mafia AU!

Coup d'etat

Rated: E

Words: 999

Tags: Mafia AU; dark Eddie Munson; intrigue; blood and violence; bondage; nudity; explicit sexual content; consensual non-con

“Nice pool,” Eddie drawls, walking back from the patio into the house. “Could’ve made a bit more of an effort to clean it. I said to leave the place as you’d like to find it, Dick.”

Richard Harrington’s eyes scream bloody murder, but he doesn’t dare speak. Jeff and Frank have him flanked on either side, guns ready in their holsters, and Gareth is manning the door. Just a precaution. Harrington has been in the business for long enough to know he has lost. All of his most loyal henchmen are dead or on the run, and the more fickle ones have joined Eddie’s side.

“Aw, don’t pout.” Eddie pats the man's cheek jovially. “This is just how it works. Survival of the fittest and all that. Now, I believe that concludes our little tour of the house? Or am I forgetting something?” 

Harrington’s face twitches. Jeff laughs and rolls his eyes. 

“The bedroom, Eddie?”

“Ah, of course!” Eddie snaps his fingers, like he only just remembered. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

*

A giant bed dominates the far wall of the master bedroom. On the mattress, wrists tied to the headboard, is a boy. The soft, muted light glows off his naked skin. 

“Ah,” Eddie mutters. “That’s what I’m talking about. Turns out you can follow directions.”

Harrington says nothing. The boy, who stopped tearing at his restraints when he heard the door open, stares at him with wide, panicked eyes. 

“Dad? What- … Who are those people?”

Eddie coos. With a few long strides, he’s at the bed, sinking down onto the mattress. One of his hands finds the boy’s bare ankle, sliding up his leg to a firm, freckled thigh.

“Aw, darling. He didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what? Leave me alone, perv!”

The boy tries to shy away from his touch, but he doesn’t get far, bound in place as he is. Eddie chuckles. 

“Shhh, honey,” he scolds, cradling that pretty face with both hands. “It's okay. The name's Eddie, I work for your dad. Well, worked.”

The boy blinks at him, hazel eyes large and confused. Eddie laughs softly.

“See, the firm’s under new management. My management, to be more specific. I’m trying to keep it minimum bloodshed, so your old man’s gonna make himself scarce and I’ve agreed not to bother him. In return, I get to keep this fine house … and everything in it.” 

Understanding dawns in those pretty eyes. 

“No! Don't- don't touch me. Stay away from me.” 

Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and wipes the first tears away as they spill over.

“Oh no, sweet thing. It’ll be alright, I promise. I’ll take such good care of- wait a sec.” 

Because one of his hands has just slipped up to the boy's temple, fingers carding through thick, chestnut hair - only to come away red and sticky. The boy flinches, but Eddie grabs his jaw, holding him in place so that he can comb his hair aside. There’s a large, bleeding bruise on his temple. For a moment, the only sound in the room is that of the boy's hitched breathing. 

“Dick?” Eddie growls. “Explain this?” 

“He fought back,” Harrington mutters defiantly. “What was I supposed-” 

Eddie has him up against the wall, gun to his throat, before he can finish the sentence. 

“Are you kidding me? Trying to slip me damaged goods? I should fucking kill you, you son of a-” 

“Eddie,” Frank mutters. “C'mon, man.”  

Eddie blinks. 

“Right,” he says. “Get him out of my sight.” 

Relief washes over Harrington’s face as the gun disappears from his throat - only to be replaced by incredulous horror a second later, when Eddie holds out his hand before his face, palm up. 

“Go on, Dick. It's traditional, right? A sign of respect.”

Harrington growls. His hands curl into fists. Eddie smirks, raising an expectant eyebrow. Then, quickly, as if the touch will burn him, Harrington bows his head and kisses Eddie’s rings. 

“Not so hard, was it?” Eddie calls after him as he is escorted out. The door clicks shut. 

Eddie's smile slips. 

“Shit, Stevie,” he breathes. He's back on the bed in an instant, tilting the boy's head with gentle fingers to look at the injury. “What'd you go and do that for? I told you not to fight.” 

“And I told you it had to look convincing,” Steve retaliates. “Was I just supposed to let them tie me up and tear off my clothes and thank them for it?” 

Eddie's mouth twists into a grin. 

“We both know that's how you like it, honey.” 

He leans in, claiming those plush lips for a long, filthy kiss. Steve puts up a brief symbolic struggle, but Eddie growls warningly and slips a hand between his legs, and his protests turn into the sweetest little moans. Eddie only allows them to part once they're both out of breath and Steve is starting to buck and grind in his hold.

“Everything went well, then?” Steve asks. His voice is hoarse and raspy, and he needs to stop halfway through for another moan. “The- … the security codes all worked?” 

“Flawlessly, you sly little minx,” Eddie murmurs. He bites down on the perfect stretch of that long throat, rolls Steve’s balls in his hand, and delights in the full-body shiver it gets him. “That old asshole didn’t know what hit him.” 

Steve lets out a breathy laugh, rolling his hips to meet Eddie’s touch. 

“Good. Now untie me, so we can celebrate.” 

“Oh?” Eddie smirks, crawling further down and leaving a trail of biting kisses all over the soft skin of Steve’s chest and stomach. “But I am celebrating already.” 

Steve groans. “Eddie, c’mon!” 

“Ah-ah-ah, Stevie. There’s people out there who think I’m gonna ravage you tonight,” Eddie tuts, grabbing the boy’s twitching hips and blowing a warm stream of air on that pretty, flushed cock. Steve fucking mewls. The sound is like the sweetest music. “Be a good boy now. Gotta make it convincing, no?”

Part 2

More celebration ficlets

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Forever And A Day

Title: Forever And A Day

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Geralt x Black!OFC 

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Geralt and Lavinia share a passionate reunion.

Warnings: pining, soft!Geralt, oral sex (f receiving), attempted oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids

A/N: I used a prompt from this post by @creativepromptsforwriting: “I told you we would see each other again.” Found inspiration from this post from a tag game on tumblr. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Her hickory-colored eyes stay on his mind for days leading up to when he will get to visit her. Along the path, there aren’t many moments to look forward to. But to see the look on her face after all this time? That moment is worth all the orens on the continent.

Geralt takes notice of himself more intently. He bathes in a lake, ridding himself of the scent of horses and the remnants of the Fleder that he killed earlier. As he washes his hair, the water around him goes from crystal clear to opaque. He carefully washes his skin, every scar on display, rinsing off the suds from the soap he bought in the last town.

The strong aroma of rosemary and lavender calms his nerves as it clings to his skin. He thinks of how different he must look after the last time they were together. Fresh marks litter his skin at different stages of healing. His hair is a bit longer, enough to warrant him tying it up on most days. 

After dressing in fresh clothes, he hefts on his boots. Stuffing his soiled clothing within the pack that Roach wears, he lifts a leg to put his foot in the stirrup. Roach huffs and moves just out of reach. Geralt raises a brow, moving closer to Roach and lifting his leg again. The chestnut mare groans and steps away from him again.

“What has gotten into you?” Geralt asks, scratching behind her ear. Roach thrusts her snout in his direction, snorting as she takes in his new scent. He smiles, his large hand moving to stroke her muzzle gently. “Don’t worry, Roach. When we get to her cottage, I’m sure Lavinia will take her time pampering you. She always does. Brushing you, putting flowers in your hair, and she may even have a treat or two for you.” Roach nickers and allows Geralt to climb atop the saddle again for the tail end of the journey. 

Less than two hours later, they reach the road that leads to her homestead. With his keen eyes, he can already see her. She tends her garden, kneeling to pick the ripened vegetables and herbs that grow thanks to her green thumb. The crunching of pebbles and dirt under boots and hooves alerts her to their approach. 

Brown eyes meet yellow, and the rest of the world vanishes. 

Lavinia looks away, placing the wicker basket full of nature’s bounty on the ground before standing to her full height. She dusts off her apron, moving an errant curl from her face. By the time she looks up, she is face-to-chest with the man she thought she would never get to see again. 

Geralt uses a hand to lift her chin, delicately stroking his thumb against her jaw. He inhales her scent, a heady perfume of sweet honeysuckle, and the kindling fire burning between her thighs. He growls lowly, his body reacting to her arousal. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against hers as her hands clutch the front of his chemise.

Closing the gap between them, her lips graze his tentatively, as if unsure that the kiss is wanted. His answering groan of satisfaction is all the incentive she needs. Tilting her head, she captures his lips, swallowing his hum of approval. She welcomes his endeavor to take over the kiss when his tongue prods at the seam of her lips.

As she allows his tongue entry, his hand tangles in her hair while his other hand snakes around her waist to bring her impossibly closer. He tastes the berries she ate earlier¾tart yet sweet. Devouring her moans, he can hear her heart beating faster inside her ribcage. Her slippery tongue against his is almost too much, as his growing arousal presses against her.

He slows the kiss to a lazy meeting of their lips, only slightly less intense than their previous activity. She reaches up to cradle his face as she breaks the kiss. They stand there in the garden, breathing each other’s air for but a moment, when a low nicker comes from the ignored chestnut mare.

“She missed you as well,” he laughs, looking at Roach.

Breaking away from Geralt, Lavinia turns to smile at the horse. “My dear sweet Roach, has he been treating you well?” She bends to reach into her basket for an apple, feeding it to his trusted companion.

It brings warmth to his heart as he watches their interaction. Roach happily snorts as she receives attention. He could get used to hearing Lavinia’s laughter as it echoed in the wind around them. Grabbing Roach by the reigns, she walks toward the small stable behind her cottage.

“Let’s get her settled. Bring that basket along with you,” she calls over her shoulder.

Geralt smiles, watching the two of them in the stable. Lavinia takes her time brushing Roach’s coat. Combing out her mane, she braids in some wildflowers. Adding a ribbon at the end, she smiles at her handiwork before glancing at Geralt. Giving Roach one last scratch behind the ear, she walks over to him and tucks a strand of milk-white hair behind his ear. 

Geralt looks down at her, and his lips twist in a sinister smile. She yelps as he bends quickly to lift her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. He grabs the basket on his way out of the stable and walks into the warm, cozy cottage. Setting the basket on the dining table, he continues on his way to her bedroom.

Letting her down, he walks her backward until the backs of her knees meet the edge of the bed. Pushing gently on her chest, he helps her lay back. He kneels on the floor between her spread legs to remove her boots. Smoothing his hands over her stockings, he hooks his fingers in the top of them, guiding them down her toned thighs and calves, letting them pool on the floor.

Wrapping a hand around her foot, he lifts it to kiss her from ankle to thigh. Mirroring the action on the other side, he continues to kiss higher and higher up her leg until his mouth hovers over her apex. His warm breath ghosting over her mound sends a shiver up her spine, making her hips raise slightly.

“Please, Geralt. I need you,” she whispers, her breasts heaving with her erratic breathing.

Leaning in, he licks a stripe between her outer labia, his tongue splitting her in two as it gathers her nectar. Swirling around her engorged nub, he sucks it between his lips. She attempts to enclose his head between her thighs, but he grips her flesh and holds her open to him. When her folds open, he dives in headfirst to lap up the slick that escapes her.

He turns his attention back to her pearl as he begins to use a single finger to tease at her opening. Listening to the sounds she makes, he knows that she is so close. Sliding his finger inside her, he sets an excruciatingly slow pace. Twisting and turning his digit inside her, he feels for her inner bundle of nerves. 

Once he finds it, he inserts another finger. Rubbing small circles into her spongy center, he presses in harder until her walls clamp down around him. He continues to flick his tongue against her sweet spot as she moans and gasps through her climax. When she has calmed down, he removes his fingers and sucks them into his mouth.

He stands, climbing between her legs and pulling his chemise over his head. As he does so, she sits up. She runs her hands over his scarred skin, his yellow eyes following her movement as her hands lower to the hem of his pants. She makes quick work of the buttons and is rewarded when his girthy member springs up in front of her.

She wraps a small hand around him, finding she needs to use both to encircle him. She strokes him slowly, her eyes widening as pre-cum leaks from his thick tip. Using a thumb, she gathers his seed and swirls it around his mushroom head. She leans in, licking a stripe over the underside of his length, earning a low growl from him.

He removes himself from her hands, knowing he won’t last if she uses her hot mouth on him. He kisses the frown off her face, covering her body with his own. “As much as I would love to feel your mouth on me, the urge to be inside you in a different way is much too appealing to ignore,” he hums, using one hand to tease her petals with his erection.

Gathering her wetness, he taps the tip against her sweet spot, then slides between her lower lips. Once sheathed inside her, they hissed in unison. Her, at the feeling of fullness. Him, at the tight fit of her warmth. He sits there, allowing her to get used to his tumescence.

As her legs wrap around his hips, she tilts her pelvis just slightly, and he knows she is ready for him. He retracts his hips until just the head remains inside then thrusts in fully. He does it again and again, setting a punishing pace.

The sounds of her moans and his grunts mixed with the slapping of slick flesh, fill the air. The intoxicating smell of their pheromones blends into a spicy, sweet bouquet. As his hips piston inside her walls, he kisses her yet again, feasting on her lips and taking her breath away.

He breaks the kiss, nibbling her jaw and licking at her sweat-slicked neck. She turns her head to give him better access, whimpering as he sucks a hickey into her flesh. His tongue soothes the tender skin as he feels her depths begin to quiver around him.

He snakes a hand between them to toy with her swollen button. The pad of his thumb brings her to her second orgasm of the night. He picks up the pace as he journeys toward his release. His hips stutter soon enough as he thrusts deep inside her to bury himself to the hilt. He fills her, painting her walls with enough spend that it begins to leak past his softening thickness.

He presses a kiss on her throat before moving to lay next to her once he slips from her folds. He opens his arm, and she rests her head on his chest. Throwing a leg over his, she tangles a hand in his chest hair. 

“I’m so glad you made it back to me, Geralt,” she beams, idly drawing patterns across his skin.

“I told you we would see each other again. No one, man or monster, could keep me away from my love for long,” he reassures, closing his eyes. He hears her heartbeat quicken and smiles to himself.

She lifts her head to look at him, bringing a hand to his face. Raising his head, he meets her lips in an unhurried kiss. He tangles his tongue with hers until he takes the lead. He reaches down to grasp her leg, maneuvering her to be on top as he sits up.

She wraps her arms around his neck, breaking the kiss to rest their foreheads together. “I love you, Geralt.”

He looks into her eyes, seeing their future together in those dark orbs. Savoring this moment, a slow smile spreads across his face. “I love you, Lavinia. Forever and a day.”

“Forever and a day,” she murmurs.

A/N: This is the first time I have written Geralt. I hope I did him justice. He’s my comfort character, after all. This particular Geralt is a mix of the videogame version, the book version, and the Netflix version of him. This version of him smiles and can be soft while still able to use a sword one-handed to take down a foe. *swoon*

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[pinknipszz]

“hello sweet precious,” you croon at the warm bundle in your arms. hardly three weeks old, it fusses a little when you lift the sand-washed silk to gush over its bonny face. “i wish i could keep you forever. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

the summertime sun is your company—aside from the newborn babe and your ichor-stained husband, who meditates beside you on the decorated blanket with his legs crossed, an ankle over his shin in quarter lotus. the air is thick with the smell of fresh-cut fruit. there is sake too, brewed in oak barrels, courtesy of uraume.

you lean over the edge to pluck a white iris from the earth. a wail comes from underneath you at the sudden movement, but you hush it quickly and say: “this flower makes for exquisite perfumes that smell sweet and slightly herbaceous. i want to wrap you in silk that is exactly this color.” 

roused from his thoughts, your husband cracks an eye open, leering. “do not waste any more energy on that wretched vermin.” his voice rumbles in the cavity of his cruel, muscle-bound body, each word punctuated by equal amounts of scorn. “it does not matter what kind of silk you wrap it in, wife. i will get rid of it later.”

you huff and turn your sweeping gaze over the vast expanse of scattered flowers. right. you did not give birth to the thing in your arms—a servant did. a foolish one who had slept with the arborist who trims your chestnut trees, or so uraume had told you over barley tea. you had been delighted; your husband, not so much. 

but a small part of the king of curses is still human, still weak to the whims of his darling wife, so he let you keep the parasite that had been propagated by his bastard servants. you lean against his imposing figure and sigh woefully. something must have changed his mind. “will you bring it back to its parents?” 

a large tongue peaks through the gash in his stomach as he settles into a more comfortable position, picking up a plate of tangerines and throwing a few slices into his mouth. you watch him bite into the soft flesh with sharp teeth, already copper-stained from his recent venture. “no,” he says. “i will eat it.”

you understand him, then, and peer up into the sky. your vision burns a bit just to see the summertime sun perched perpendicular to the horizon, high above maple trees where kodama and kitsune come alive. when a plump slice is brought to your lips, you briefly wonder if tangerine tea would pair well with iris.

a question dances on the tip of your tongue, and your husband, in all of his omniscience, seizes it with a searing kiss before you can lock it away and throw the key. you cannot help but mirror the wicked grin on his face.

(masterlist) | (a/n: morally gray reader ig? anyways the baby doesnt have a specific gender but there were subtle hints that it was a boy if anyone caught them. also there was more to this but I got lazy. rip!) tag: @lem-hhn

[rivetingrosie4]

Sweet Love (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 3)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for the edit above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Arthur & reader visit the doctor’s office to see their baby for the first time. Some thoughtless rudeness threatens to derail their happy day. a/n: It’s just imaginary. It’s not real.

Tags: fluff without plot, fluff & angst, romantic fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Arthur, parenthood, mentions of sex, romantic teasing

Word count: 4,250

The paper underneath you rustles as you swing and bounce both feet at the edge of the exam bed by your ankles; but you can’t help it. Never in your wildest dreams did you actually think you’d ever get here.

Yet here you are, with Arthur by your side, filled past the brim with the most effervescent sparkles of nerves and anticipation. To actually see your baby. Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. No one else’s. The product of your deep and steadfast love. After so very many, many years of so deeply pining, watching almost everyone around you know the precious gifts of their own children and parenthood, it’s finally your turn. Finally. It’s almost too much to hope for and be grateful for, all at once. You never thought you’d ever get here.

Where you lie waiting in the sterile obstetrics room, you glance to look at Arthur. He’s clad in a blue and green plaid lumberjack’s soft flannel. And he’s filled with just as high a mound of bubbly nerves as you—some of the same, but some of a different kind. Anxiety and excitement, longing and terror, all stirred to the beautiful hue of Arthur Morgan’s heart, the only one you know so well. You can tell by the way he labors to silently breathe in, holds it a beat, and purses his lips to produce protruding cheeks as he silently releases, so you might not hear it. By the way he shoves his fingers back through his honey-chestnut locks. By the way he taps the sole of his black leather boot—the pair with the classic western flourish above the toe that you love so much—against the floor’s shining white tile.

You bite your lip against a growing grin and reach to slip your fingers into the natural pocket created by the web of his relaxed hand.

At the contact, he glances to you, and his face immediately relaxes into a knowing smile, eased by familiarity, love, and the renewed comfort you gift to him. His large hand clasps around yours, and his thumb brushes your skin. You join him in a growing smile as you hold onto him right back.

Suddenly there's a knock on the exam room door, and as it opens, all at once the resting butterflies in your belly are spurred to fluttery life again.

You look to the door and sit upright, taking a shallow breath and gently holding it as the doctor walks in. He’s a somewhat older gentleman with graying brown hair.

“Here we are. Good m—” He tilts his wrist and glances at his silver watch. “Well I guess it’s not morning anymore. Sorry to keep you folks waiting.” He sits on a round stool with a black cushion, and its wheels sound out across the tile as he rolls it closer. “I’m Doctor Kellerman. Good to meet you.” He takes your hand by only the fingers and shakes it, then shakes Arthur’s. In the next moment, he’s glancing down to the paperwork on his clipboard. “How we feeling today?”

It takes you a split moment to put into practice the knowledge that you’re the reason everyone in the room is here.

“Oh! I’m feeling fine,” you smile at his downcast face, since he hasn’t looked up from your chart. Your hand instinctively slides forward to rest on your belly, though it doesn’t look much bigger than usual, with the flab you store there. “Fit as I’ve ever been,” you airily chuckle. Looking to Arthur at your side, you smirk. “We’ve been staying as active as we ever were, or maybe even more so.”

“Yeah, it’s been more,” Arthur quietly mumbles with a chuckle in confirmation.

“Getting outside, and eating all the leafy greens, and…takin’ naps when I need to,” you chuckle as if you’ve made a fine joke. “I even got him to do stretches with me every morning!”

The doctor glances up with a genuine smile. “That’s great to hear.” Just as soon, his eyes return to your chart. “I see your last period was…”

“January thirty-first,” you finish for him.

“Ahhh… Valentine’s baby, eh?”

You fight not to warm as you steal a glance at Arthur with a pinched smile. “Guess so.”

“You’ve been trying many years?”

“Just about a year and a half.”

“Thirteen weeks…” he says as he flips a page back and forth, then looks up at you. “You’re in a little later than we usually like.”

As he glances back down, you clarify, “Yes, this was the very soonest they could get us in for our first appointment.”

“I see…” he mumbles.

“But we cleared our schedules for whatever they could give us, the very soonest,” you add, looking to Arthur for a nod, then back to the doctor. “We’re takin’ this baby very seriously. Doin’ everything we can to keep ‘em healthy and happy.”

“That’s great,” he responds with a smile as he finally claps the chart closed and returns it to the counter. “Seems like you’ve got the right mentality,” he says as he turns to wash his hands at the sink. “Keeping yourself as healthy as you can be is a great place to start.”

“Oh yes,” you smile. “I’ve been reading up on everything I can, researching, even watching YouTube videos.” You suddenly gasp a little in excitement. “I saw this one lady on there, she’s always been an avid hiker—and, well, we love to hike too,” you glance to Arthur, whose smirk gradually grows to a grin in conjunction with your eager babbling, though it’s unknown to you after you’ve returned your gaze to the doctor. “And she captures these beautiful videos of her hikes. And now she’s seven months pregnant and still hiking! I could hardly believe it. Of course, she doesn’t manage the big, tasking hikes. And she never ever goes alone!” you assure the doctor. “But because she’s been taking it slow and steady, she’s still hiking! At seven months!”

You grin as you finish your story, though the doctor’s back is still turned to you. “I just think it’s so wonderful. I’d love to be able to do that. Do you think I’ll be able to do that, doctor? Take gentle hikes at seven months?”

“Uh… Maybe ten years ago. But with a geriatric first-time pregnancy?” He tips his head as he switches on the ultrasound machine. “Probably not.”

Just like that, you feel as icy as the vast and empty planes of snow you had experienced with the gang in Colter, some years ago now. The high, craggy ridgelines you’d squinted at from above your wool-lined collar, their peaks untouched by anything but the flakes that fell and gathered in the tors and the winds that yowled and whistled.

Your smile from moments ago softly falters, and your brows slowly pinch up tight. But you fight hard to keep your staggered smile as the tears rush to your eyes.

What was there you could have ever done? How had it ever been a circumstance you’d had any power over, whatsoever? How had it ever been a gift you could manufacture from nothing? If it had been, you would have seized it years ago. How many years had you ached, your hope dwindling as your age grew? And did all those years now mean nothing? How often, how continuously, how deeply had you longed for love of your very own with a partner and children of your own; had longed for just one chance to jump at? Just one single chance? But hadn’t life kept it all far away from you, so far, for so very long?

It was life, nothing but life—this thing that has always simultaneously coursed through you and encased you in its cruel, clamp-like vise. Like a vital coffin.

As Arthur watches you, he recognizes the graciousness and understanding of your trying to maintain a smile through your depth of feeling and hurt, not wanting to be as fragile as you think yourself to be. He knows you to be strong.

It’s why he has to reel back his fury for a few moments, containing it to the single, elongated exhale from his nostrils as he leans toward you across the armrest of your exam bed and gently takes your hands.

Reaching for a box of gloves on the wall, the doctor asks, “You don’t have any allergies to latex or any cosmetic ingredients that you know of, do you?”

You quietly splutter and gulp as you shake your head and muster a calm, normally-toned, “No.”

Another knock on the door.

“Come on in,” the doctor says.

The nurse who brought you back to the room enters.

“They’re wanting to know if or when they need to set her up with an appointment for a future ultrasound,” she says directly to the doctor.

“Oh sure,” the doctor says, beginning to flip a big calendar on his desk as he waves the nurse closer. He murmurs to her in very quiet tones: “It’s advanced maternal age with high risk, elderly primigravida, so we’re gonna wanna do another in about three months.”

You have no recourse but to silently, slowly breathe through an open mouth and swallow repeatedly past the lump in your throat, as your smile finally disappears in full. But Arthur couldn’t be more spellbound or enchanted as he watches the tears remain clung to your eyes, not one trickling down your beautiful cheeks.

“Possibly one additional,” the doctor continues his discussion with the nurse, completely oblivious to the inner struggle to prevail that he’s spurred in you, that no one but Arthur knows you’re conquering. “But we’ll wait to see how the next ultrasound goes, and if both are healthy, she won’t need another.” He points to a square on the calendar. “Barring other appointments, why don’t we do this day?”

The nurse nods and retreats through the door, closing it behind her.

“We’ll have to do abdominal, rather than vaginal, since you’re further along than usual for the first ultrasound,” the doctor says. “All right,” he sighs as he turns to you with a grin. “Ready to get started?”

He’s greeted with your puffy, red eyes that look everywhere else and Arthur’s white-hot, enraged glare, trained dead-center on his forehead. And his smile slides off his face.

The legs of Arthur’s chair squeak against the tile as he abruptly stands. He can’t even be bothered to attempt a kindly mask to hide his fury.

“Doc,” he begins, managing an easy and lighthearted tone for the address that somehow seems more menacing when combined with his fatal expression as he turns him and walks him toward the door. “Why don’t you and I have a little chat.” The terse word is tart and clipped on his tongue. “Out in the hall.”

You watch Arthur’s tall, broad form disappear when he pulls the door closed behind him.

You sit alone in the exam room, waiting.

A few unintelligible words, low and quiet—Arthur’s voice, muffled.

Then the wall is hit hard with something and rattles. Before it can finish shaking, there’s a new acerbic sharpness in Arthur’s raised, growly tone.

You must’ve gasped and jumped a little, and your damp eyelashes still blink with the sudden shock. You might’ve even made out the sound of a panicked, huffed grunt in the midst of whatever happened on the other side of the wall.

After a moment, the image comes to you, very vividly: Arthur suddenly taking the doctor by the collar of his white coat and ramming him up against the wall with a few deadly words, a stern snarl to his lip, and a feral look in his eye.

A prickly, chilled mingling of emotions washes over you—amazement, disbelief, even a bit of near-horrified abashment, and worry that Arthur will receive unfavorable legal repercussions. But there are a few emotions that stand above the others, though you’d initially struggled to decipher their shape and quality. The wondrous stirrings of the deepest love. The warm and enveloping sensations of being protected and cared for. Even desire.

The tiniest twitch of a smile flicks onto one corner of your mouth.

There are several minutes more of quiet—during which your thoughts start to return to the horrendous notion that Arthur could be apprehended for assaulting the doctor—before the door finally reopens and Arthur reappears.

His caustic expression from minutes ago is wiped away. His smile is easy. Relaxed, even. Void of a hint of tenseness or concern.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Sorry we took a while.”

At the sight of him, and knowing at least part of what he’s done, your mouth quirks and tightens into the kind of little smile you know you shouldn’t be wearing.

As he walks towards you, a slight lean to the side gives you the vantage point to see none other than a completely different, female doctor towing behind him.

Her grin is bright, buoyant, and—somehow, given the circumstances—even completely authentic and natural. Uncoerced.

As Arthur settles in close beside you again, you mumble very quietly from the side of your mouth, “I sincerely hope there won’t be any arrests today…?”

“Nothin’ to worry about, just take it easy and look at the screen,” he mumbles between his teeth in a light, wry tone.

You stifle a chortle behind your nose, imagining what possible kinds of threats Arthur could’ve employed, how dreadfully terrified to his core the doctor must’ve been to not only allow a switch of caregivers, but to willingly and practically forget the whole incident.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Mahajan,” she says warmly, extending a hand. Her handshake is full and comforting in its grasp. “I’ll be conducting your ultrasound today. And before we get started, I want to let you know that, should you remain healthy and well into your third trimester, and should you feel up to it, there’s no reason you couldn’t enjoy healthy activities such as gentle outdoor hikes.”

Like a kid who’s just opened up a new toy, your grin widens as you look at Arthur. His knowing grin is better than a snuggly blanket as he gazes at you and nods once with a wink.

“Always accompanied, of course,” the doctor smiles with a gesture towards Arthur. When she looks back to you, your gaze is pulled to hers in an effort to give polite attention. “You’ve got a good one here, Mrs. Morgan.”

You immediately turn back to Arthur with a warm, enamored, affectionate smile.

Noting the enraptured, desirous way you both gaze at each other right there in the middle of the exam room, the doctor is reminded of something.

“Oh, and um,” she begins, bringing a finger to her lips as if in thought, “another healthy activity during pregnancy is lovemaking.”

You immediately turn to look at her with an inward breath, your smile momentarily wiped away. As an airy laugh comes to you, the others are given reign to chuckle. Chancing a glance at Arthur, you try to hide the smile appearing on your mouth by curling your lips inward and pinching down on them tightly with your teeth.

Arthur is leaned back casually in his chair, his forearm resting over his thigh. When you catch sight of the look on his face—a subtle mixture of gratification and mischievousness all veiled by an attempt at nonchalance—a thought crosses your mind. But it’s too silly to be real.

Then when he meets your eye and fails to prevent the rising smirk at the corner of his lips, you outright gasp.

“You didn’t tell her to say that.”

When he wheezes, you swat him, and he sits up with a snicker.

The doctor chuckles pleasantly. “He may’ve asked me to remind you, but it doesn’t change the truth of it.” While you’re busy continuing to playfully swat him and listening to his snickering that you adore, the doctor continues, “It increases blood flow, stimulates activity inside the womb, lowers blood pressure…” she rattles off, “and keeps you two close, which’ll be very important during such a big life change.”

“There now. Did you hear the good doctor?” Arthur says, trying to force the mirth on his face to smooth. “I’ve got a bonafide prescription to sex you up.”

Though you can’t help but giggle, you keep it murmured low and quiet, like simmering, scratch-made strawberry jam in the base of your throat. “Shh-shh,” you try to quietly scold him.

“I’ve reviewed your chart, so let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh yes, please!” you return your attention to the doctor.

After gloving up, Doctor Mahajan flips on the ultrasound computer to your right. She asks you to lift your blouse and unbutton your jeans, and she squirts a chilly gel to your belly. You watch as she gently presses the transducer into the gel on your belly, turning and rolling it over your skin.

Your and Arthur’s gazes are transfixed to the screen as fuzzy, meaningless blotches of black and white suddenly play across it. You both simultaneously scramble to reach for each other’s hands, clasping tightly to each other as Arthur takes a full breath and slowly releases it.

The moment you have been waiting for your whole life. Now somehow finally, suddenly here.

The smudgy noise on the screen clears, and there’s your baby. Curled and caressed inside you. Precious and brilliant and beautiful.

Your breath is whisked away. Speechless and taken completely by incredulousness, you turn to look at Arthur with drawn brows. He tries to chuckle to play off his awe, but his breath is caught too.

“There we are,” the doctor quietly says. “Baby Morgan.”

Your gaze is arrested by your baby on the screen. The swooping slope of the curve of their head, ending in a little button for a nose. Arms and legs and feet.

“This fluttery bit here,” the doctor gestures to a point flapping swiftly in the midst of their chest, visually different from everything else. “Baby’s heart.”

Your bottom lip drapes wistfully open, and your eyes are glued as you take in every moment.

“Oh, see, they’re turning on their side, turning back,” the doctor smiles as baby’s limbs disappear for a moment and reappear. “It’s a little too early to tell the baby’s sex, but we should be able to see at your next appointment.”

She takes multiple measurements from head to rump on the screen, to verify your baby’s age and due date.

When the baby appears to give a few little kicks, the three of you quietly chuckle.

“Baby’s brain and sensory input are developing, so this is just a way for them to become more aware of their own body and their environment,” she explains. “It’s a little early now, but you’ll be feeling that before you know it.”

Reaching for a button on the keypad, she says with a reassuring nod, “I’m going to give you about ten seconds of audible heart rate, just to limit the amount of waves baby’s exposed to this early.”

When you both nod, she presses the button. A loud, quick wub-wub fills the room.

You take a breath and whisper, “Oh my God,” looking to Arthur with a faint smile.

Arthur is mystified. A single breathy laugh escapes him, but his expression is totally awestruck.

“Baby’s heart is very robust and healthy,” the doctor smiles.

And yet, Arthur’s is weak. Trembling with trepidation like stalks of overgrown sweet grass swept by ferociously rolling fetches. They have their anchor of earth to cling to. What does he have?

He gazes at the screen, into his baby’s current world of warm womb and peaceful, pocketed embrace. He watches his baby wiggle and kick, each movement so vibrantly charged. He lets his gaze trace his baby’s perfectly precious outline, the slope of their forehead and nose, the flutter of their strong heart. And he is a goner.

It doesn’t matter that he’s petrified his baby could be torn from him again. It doesn’t matter that he’s nervous he’ll screw everything up. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure neither happens. He’ll do whatever needs to be done. He’s ready to dive headfirst into the risk of pain and heartache. Because in an instant, he’s been filled—overwhelmed and overtaken—with enrapturing love. Too big to grasp, too deep and beautiful and mysterious to have edges. A love that calls to attention and demands eager and ardent self-sacrifice. A love that somehow carries with it equal measures of unbridled, airy giddiness and heavy weight. A love that somehow nails to the beams of a parent’s life both an assured unworthiness and a boundless, indescribable gratefulness.

Because he is already so desperately, limitlessly in love with his child. Your child. Together.

You turn to the screen again and watch your baby move and bow and kick.

Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. You’re not watching a video of someone else’s baby. You’re not dreaming and imagining. This is your baby. Your. Baby.

In these few instants that seem like hours, the face of your whole world and life and being have eclipsed and shifted. You’re completely overwhelmed. With love and joy—not at all more than what you have for Arthur, but different. It fills and quickens and overtakes you. So much that it almost hurts. So deep and resounding that it propels a new purpose and a new drive within you. So sweet and so precious that if you’d been standing, it undoubtedly would’ve brought you all the way to your knees.

“Baby.” You breathe it as you reach out and touch the flat surface of the screen, swiping your fingertips over the outlines and substance of your child’s precious form.

The culmination of your life’s dearest, deepest hopes and dreams and desperate longings. The manifestation of your and Arthur’s love. There, on the screen. But not on the screen.

“Oh-” You chuckle at yourself and sniffle as you bring your hand to your belly, above where the transducer meets your skin. For the screen only shows you what you can’t see inside.

Inside you.

Of all people, you. Finally you. Finally, your very own baby.

Arthur can almost read your thoughts as he watches your eyes redden and your face crumple like newspaper, sift like sand. And now, there are your tears. Overflowing and pouring down your cheeks in flooded streams. Not one allowed for the asinine doctor; whole oceans given for your child.

God, how he loves you. Didn’t think he could possibly love you any more, and yet, here it is. You are his anchor. He doesn’t need any other. And he is yours.

Wordless, you gasp and sputter and hiccup as the tears flow down both sides of your face in rivulets, dripping one after the other from your jaw.

Arthur thumbs the back of your hand, not offering you a tissue or requiring you to stop or hide your tears. He understands.

It’s another few minutes of enjoying your baby’s tumbling movements on the screen, before your tears finally slow and dry.

When you approach the jeep in the parking lot, you’re still awed and glowing with it, and almost wracked to fatigue by its powerfully engulfing wave—this love.

As you slip your hand into the jeep’s door handle, your thoughts turn to the man you love just as much, if not more. You couldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow your heart has expanded to accommodate all this added and immeasurable love.

Arthur bought the hunter green jeep as soon as he’d found out you were pregnant. ‘More of a family car,’ he’d said. Of course, that was nine weeks ago, and the jeep has already seen plenty of proper use—the splashes of dark mud above its tires from rugged, off-road terrain a clear sign of that.

You both climb up into your seats and fall into a natural rhythm of quiet breath after the jingle of the keys when Arthur leaves them in the ignition.

He looks over at you and watches your stunning face as you gaze forward, contentedly and placidly lost in your thoughts. To him, you’re made even more pricelessly, sweetly beautiful by the person you are.

“‘M proud of you,” he quietly muses.

You look back at him and start to smile. Out of all the things he could say first, that’s what he’s chosen.

“That was our baby,” he says, the low gravel in his voice now silken. “Just…”

“Amazing,” you say together.

You nod with a misty smile and gaze down at your belly before gazing forward through the windshield again.

He reaches for your hand and brings it to his mouth. “I’m gonna take you home and make sweet,” he presses a kiss to the segments of your fingers, “sweet,” another kiss to your fingers, “sweet love to you.” With that, he kisses the back of your hand. “Mama.”

You simply turn to look at him with a growing, winsome smile. His eyes flit up to yours in the midst of a kiss. It’s the very first time in your life anyone has ever called you that.

“All day and all night. And you best just get used to it.” He gently returns your hand to the seat and starts the car.

Your smile brightens to radiant.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says with the glint of a wink. “Doctor’s orders.”

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | v.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Peering outside the window, you unleash a melancholy sigh. The sky is bright and blue above campus, not one cloud darkening its expanse. 

A stark contrast to your somber mood. 

You wish you could soak up the warmth of the sun spilling through the glass window of the café, but you’re too high-strung to bask in the sunny weather. 

"Here you go," Ethan enthuses, yanking you away from your lugubrious train of thought. 

You give him a wobbly smile, accepting the steamy cup he slides between your hands. In the process, your fingers brush against his own, and Ethan’s throat bobs. His gaze lingers where your hand touches his for a few seconds before he scratches the back of his neck and sits in front of you.  The spicy, warm scent of the drink engulfs your senses in a blanket of comfort and familiarity. Your lashes flutter in awe as your eyes round.

"H-How did you know my coffee order?" 

He shrugs, a lopsided smile canting his lips. 

"I think Mindy mentioned it." 

"Did she?" 

His smile broadens. "I think. How else would I know it?" 

You press your lips together. You suppose it does make sense. Still, it astonishes you the heap of little things Ethan has noticed about you since you met him. 

Acceptance settles within you beneath his unflinching gaze. 

"You're right." You nod then spot the little plate Ethan placed near the edge of the table. Your mouth waters at the sight, your stomach wrenching. When’s the last time you had a proper meal, or something sweet? "Oh, you got me a pastry too." Fingers stretch towards the appetizing treat but retreat as Alana’s voice rings in your head. Sending Ethan a contrite glance, you twist your hands in your lap. "I'm sorry. That's very nice but… I can't accept it."

Ethan’s bushy brows draw together. 

"You don't like sweets? I didn't realize." 

You wave your hands before you as you rush to elaborate, "I do. It's not that." A deep exhale drops from your mouth. "Alana…the captain of my team. She said we all needed to lose five pounds before the next game. So no one on the team is allowed to have carbs."

Your cheeks come aflame under his intense stare. The anger in his tone startles you. 

"That's mean. Who does Alana think she is?" he scoffs. His tone softens as he adds, "Besides, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen. You don't need to change a single thing about yourself."

A spontaneous smile blooms on your face at his compliment and the sincerity laced in his words. 

"Thanks, Ethan. That's so sweet." His chestnut gaze beckons you, drifting from your face to the pastry. You nibble your bottom lip, stomach clenching. Alana would be pissed if she knew…but you’re also starving. You don’t ponder for long before reaching across the table for the sweet delicacy. "I guess I'll have it anyway. Just promise me you won't tell her."

"My lips are sealed."

Ethan patiently watches you take a few bites, a grin etched on his boyish features. As soon as the sugar melts on your tongue, your spirits are lifted. 

When you’re done eating, he pulls out books, paper and pens from his backpack. 

You remember why you’re here and straighten your back. 

"So, where do you want to begin?" he inquires, unscrewing the cap from his ballpen and beginning to scribble on a piece of paper. 

You fidget and cast your eyes downward. 

"I'm not sure," you mumble. 

"What do you struggle with most?" 

Embarrassment tickles your insides. 

"Uh…Everything?" He gawks at you and your face heats. "This class is way too hard for me, Ethan."

He shakes his head, that gentle, encouraging smile never leaving his lips. 

"You're selling yourself short." At your crestfallen expression, Ethan offers, "We'll start at the very beginning and work our way from here. How does that sound?" 

You gape at him, your chest swelling with hope. For some reason, you nearly expected him to give up on you right here and there. 

You know you’re not exceedingly bright and that you narrowly got into college. If it weren’t for Chad and Mindy helping you study for the SATs and giving you tips…you’re convinced you wouldn’t have made it at all. 

"Amazing," you chime, plucking a chest-deep chuckle from him. 

Hours fly by at the café as Ethan takes time to break down concepts, make you flash cards and draw figures to help you understand the basics of economics. 

You lose track of time, hanging to his every slow, patient word. Every time you ask a question, he never gets upset or belittles you, instead going over everything again without ever losing his cool. 

While some areas are still fuzzy at the end, you feel a lot more equipped to understand the course material than before. 

Ethan encourages you, promising the more sessions you’ll have together, the more things will make sense. 

And you actually believe him. 

"You're like the best tutor ever." 

You bounce in excitement as Ethan giggles.

"I didn't do much."

"Not true. You make complicated stuff sound easy, Ethan."

His cheeks glow pink at your praise. 

Leaning forward, you confess, "Even Mindy gave up on helping me with my assignments. She didn’t have the time…or patience. And she’s my best friend." Slanting your head sideways, you beam at him. "You're the smartest guy I know so I appreciate you taking the time."

Ethan ogles at you before clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. "Anytime," he says while putting his books back in his bag.

"Can I keep this?" you inquire, gathering the stack of papers covered in Ethan’s neat handwriting. You’re touched that he took the time to explain all this to you. 

"Of course, it’s all for you. If you need anything, just text or call me." His inflection lowers as he bashfully looks down. "Even nighttime is fine."

His words summon flashes of the night before. Overwhelmed, tears begin pricking behind your eyes. 

"Nighttime…" you quaver. You blink and salty water fills your gaze. Ethan immediately gets up and joins you on the other side of the table, handing you tissues and carefully putting a hand on your shoulder. Once again, you wipe your tears. You wonder how there’s still water left in your body considering how many times you’ve bawled your eyes out today. 

"I’m sorry," you blubber.

"It’s okay." He rubs your back, licking his lips before he whispers, "You don’t need to shed so many tears over him, you know?"

A shuddering breath cascades through your throat while you gape at him in confusion. 

"What?"

His jaw clenches, his gaze darkening somehow. 

"That alpha douchebro Connor. He doesn’t deserve you crying over him."

"It’s not…" you trail off, shame creeping inside you. You have no desire to revisit the events from last night. Every time you recall them, a wave of sickness takes hold of you. 

Ethan continues, his voice even harsher than before, "Truth be told I bet he had it coming." Your jaw drops. Ethan’s shoulders heave and slump as he explains, "I heard he was awful to girls… and that you weren’t the only one he was texting before he died."

Shock ripples through you at this newfound knowledge. It’s dumb and irrelevant now, but you thought Connor genuinely liked you at least. 

Sure, he got carried away that night and got a little pushy, but you’re sure he just had one drink too many and wasn’t acting like himself. 

Your forehead wrinkles as you chide him, "That’s an awful thing to say. Regardless of what he did…no one deserves to die like that, Ethan."

Ethan sighs and lets out an awkward laugh. 

"You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. Murder’s like…fucked up, I guess."

"Y-Yes, it is," you reply, taken aback by his casual tone. 

Gaze still holding yours, he bends over you and adds, "But he was a lame dudebro, and you can do so much better. I hope you know that."

You sink in the depth of his warm, brown orbs, both flattered yet a little unsettled by his fervent statement. 

It’s something even Mindy told you before, that you only fall for douchebags that don’t deserve you, but you never felt that was true. 

Still, no one ever said that to you with such emphasis. 

"I…appreciate it," you reply, rubbing your puffy eyes as fresh tears threaten to spill.  

His large hand travels up and down your back. 

"Is there something else by any chance? I’m a pretty good listener."

Heat rushes to your cheeks. There’s no way you can tell him what occurred. The mere idea makes you want to die. 

Your mouth trembles as you dip your chin.

"No, there isn’t."

After a few minutes of silence, Ethan’s gentle voice sweeps over your temple. 

"Can I do anything to make you feel better?" 

Your eyes lift to his, deep brown pools filled with concern. 

You mull it over. There is one thing. A thing you sometimes do with your friends, but you’re a bit self-conscious about revealing it to him. 

"I…" You emit a thin, unsure laugh. "No, that's silly. You're gonna think I'm, like, so shallow."

His thumb settles between your shoulder blades, caressing softly. 

"I won't judge you, I promise. Just tell me."

"When I feel bad…" You squirm and evade his focus, gaze darting about the café as you mumble, "I like to go shopping and eat ice cream afterward."

Ethan snickers, but not in a mean way. Mirth lights up his features. 

"I don't think that's silly at all, especially if it helps you feel better." His face softens. "I can take you if you want."

"Really?" Surprise and happiness coalesce in your tone. You hate shopping alone. Your brows knit as a thought resurfaces. "But I promised Mindy and Anika we’ll meet up later..."

Ethan sends you a wide grin. 

"I’m sure they’ll understand."

Going on a shopping spree with Ethan is surprisingly fun. He doesn’t mind how many outfits you try, praising your choices every time. 

And if sometimes his eyes rest upon you a tad too long, that strange smirk playing on his lips, you let yourself ignore that. 

After all, a lot of the clothes you picked display quite a lot of skin. 

Boys always stare, you’re used to that. 

And it’s just Ethan looking. It’s not like he’s getting any ideas. 

When it comes time to pay for your purchases, he stops you before you can collect your wallet, placing a stack of bills on the counter instead. 

You give him an open-mouthed stare. 

"Ethan?! Are you crazy? That’s a lot of money. You don’t have to-"

He grabs the clothes from you and gestures at the cashier to put them in bags before you can even think of returning them. 

"No way I’m letting you pay. My treat, okay?"

"Ethan…"

His tone gets firmer, quieting your protests. 

"I insist."

Your body deflates as you’re stunned by the shift in him, particularly his staunch refusal to let you argue. 

"Okay," you concede. 

After leaving the store, with Ethan carrying your bags and refusing to let you lift a finger, you get on your tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. 

Red spreads on his face as he peers down at you. 

"You’re so nice to me," you say cheerfully.

He just smiles at you in that lopsided, mysterious way he does. 

"Well, I'd say you more than earned it."

~

[meowizard]

eventually im gonna make a masterpost/presentation for my snowfall village lore but here's some random snippets i dont think ill fit in but don't want to forget:

for a while they dabbled in wood carving but after the Winter they were not trading wood with the cocoa tribe so they had to make the most out of all their resources

as a result only old furniture has decorative designs. little sheep and glacé berries are popular

yule tribe is also a thing that exists/existed. inhabitants include(d): kuding tea's father, yule log cookies ancestors, carol cookie, clover cookie,,,,,, macaron cookies ancestors?

small marine animals are kept by children. they keep them in buckets and hide them somewhere outside for a day until they get bored. this is not an encouraged practice.

kneading fluff is a common stim. like cat.

nose rubs are a thing too, although that's just in cacao kingdom as a whole and not unique to snowfall village

since sherbet's passing, his house is deemed a shrine. no one goes in there except to mourn

(cotton eventually gets over it and allows it to be opened up for oat coffee. but thats a Whole Thibg)

[erenspussy420]

Two Face Pretty Boy (Neige)

Word Count 3.7 k

MDNI 18+ ONLY SMUT

FEM READER/ NEIGE LEBLANCHE, slight Reader/ Vil Schoenheit

Warnings: Dubious consent, vulgar language

Tags: Alternate back story for Neige

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In the world of acting, one must always be in character to succeed. That was the first lesson.

No one really knows where Neige had come from. One day he just appeared at the orphanage alone and was drowning in a knitted sweater too big for him. He wore confusion like an old friend when he was left by the doorsteps, resignation of his new life came second like an uncle no one wanted to see.

Several days and several nights, Neige didn’t recall much of the beginning. Mostly it was a dark, grayed tone but always a shiny gleam of redness that glimmers in his dreams. All he can remember is a heavy hand that gently guided him to the door, his sweater being the only part of his life that wasn’t taken away. Mostly due to Neige tackling anyone who tried to pull it off of him.

It was the third day of May, when an apple was placed in front of him. Lucious and full of juices behind its bright waxy surface. The fruit a tempting shade of red, Neige had followed the apple on the outstretched hand, and up to bright yellow eyes that belonged to Hop. “You look hungry,” were the first words, followed by the kindest words Neige could remember,” Come sit with us.”

 Sometimes fate works in funny ways.

No one knows where he came from, neither did the dwarves, all seven of them. Neige is going to take what the world gave him with both arms and bare white teeth. He doesn’t remember his old life, but all it left him was the understanding that everything can be taken away on the whimsy of others. 

Perhaps that’s why he was ruffled haired, and dirty with ashes on his cheek, chasing off bullies from his new family. Dirty, but fed. One day they leave the orphanage quite young, opting on their own to get by. Better this way, Neige thought at the time, easier. It was not easier, he learned but he was molded by his tale.

A poor boy who cleaned homes with his seven brothers, no matter if he was human and they from dwarven blood, he worked himself to the bone washing filthy floor boards and defiling rotting gardens. His clothes were always tattered and drowning him in excess fabrics, and hunger gnawing at his belly. But as long as Grum cheeks were full, where Dominic didn't have to scurry for tape when his old glasses fell apart, or worry where Shelpie fell asleep at— whatever it took, no job was too much for him. Their dream, a wish made by Toby who tossed one of their coins into a rotting well, was to have a warm cottage in the woods. 

Ebony hair, skin white as snow and eyes like roasted chestnuts.

The day Florian's Wonder Talent Agency recruited him was the day Neige could finally breathe. Taking him and his brothers to a clean apartment, where the fridge is full and he can sleep easier at night.

Before he gets tossed to the wolves.

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"I'm gonna treat you like a whore." The sweet voice mutters. It sends sparks running down your spine as Neige sucks down on your neck , leaving his marks for anyone to see. He’s greedy, he wants everyone to know that you were his. Walking around printed on by his lips, his adoration comes covered under the night. As much as he would love your marks on him in turn, his agency would throw a fit at any blemishes on his skin.

Annoying, but that’s fine. He can have other things that tie you to him. His red ribbons in your hair with his initials, your school tie made into a bow he wears with his uniform. The world can do what they want, take a poor boy and make him a prince but it never really took what made Neige into the man he is.

His eyes, hard as flint when they took him under their hands. Become a prince for the public, sweet and gentle and innocent. The world adores Neige LeBlanche, and that version of him loves them right back.

All sweet smiles with closed eyes.

The crafted mask hides a two faced boy, a good heart always, but a sharp tongue and steely eyes framed with large lashes. Fair skin like snow, eyes like a doe, fluffy ebony hair, and those lips that were soft like rose petals. Soft pale pink lips that let slip the filthiest words from a sweet face. Not that anyone knows that ‘cept you and his actual friends.

(And perhaps Yasmin when he caught him with a cigarette between his lips)

 Your giggles end with a soft squeal when he nips harder, another love bite to the collection. Gods, he loves that noise you make. With a soft sigh, you relax in his arms as Neige makes his way to your collarbone. His hands run down your body, caressing your curves, and brushing over the sensitive spots he knew so very well. One hand massages your ass before squeezing a cheek.

“Missed me?,” came that cheeky smile he adores.

“Always princess.” 

His mood is much better, squeezing your flesh.

 Affectionate, he rubs the very warm spot where he marked you. A twinge of possession heats his core, desires her to take her again as much as he likes. Soft sighs between quirk firm kisses, and muffled moans. His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, tasting the flavor gloss you like so much. Apples, his eyes flicker for a moment. 

You squirm, his grip on your ass a bit tighter.

Whoops, he has to be careful, it's not your fault, he’s being like this, nope. His mind a buzz, his hand sneaks itself over your thighs caressing the warm flesh. Neige was focused solely on you, but some recent scenes at his new film brought an unwanted guest. Eyes like Amethyst have no place near him. Your panties had been slid off, hanging pitifully around your ankle as he rubs over your folds, pressing on them feeling that pulse. Rather a really annoying, second hand model was. A tick pulsed on his head at the mention of his so called rival, but he has nothing to do with now. Or even with his dear love.

Oh yes, Neige made sure of that with such great pleasure.

He hums as he sucks on your nipples, swirling his tongue over the lovely bud.

The VDC was just for fun. Dominic and the rest of his brothers all wanted to have one big finale to their Sophomore year and who was Neige to deny them that? To be honest, it was like as if Neige killed two birds with one stone, he got to enjoy one more hurrah before his work life took over and he gets to fuck with Vil Schoenheit’s head one more time.

It's not like he hates Vil. But he sure as fuck didn't care about him either. Still, there was a part of him that did enjoy watching Vil’s smile strain at casting roles he passed up on mere inclination for a more gentle ‘look’.

Vil made a great mistake bringing you that day to the VDC. It felt invigorating, watching that perfectly crafted face finally break so openly, mauve painted lips twist with sour palatable envy. Retribution Neige believes, from making him a poisoned drink of apples. How dare he, was all Neige could feel that day. He couldn’t remember much from waking up, but the sensation. The sensation of his hand trembling as he reached for the tempting apple juice to bring to his lips. Never had his stomach twisted at the scent of apples in his life.  His revenge will come, one day.

And it did, literally in that same second you fell into his arms. The warmth in your eyes did more than make Vil soft on you. It brought back the twinge of gentleness back into Neige. Soot covered, messy with hair that came from a fight it was quite the sight to see. But under the layers of exhaustion that cling onto you like a second skin, Neige spotted a kindness in you that refused to die.

It reminded him of something.

Something good. 

“Mmm, damn princess look how wet you are,” Neige chuckles huskily, he pulls out to show you the strings of thick slick coating his fingers,” Mmm Look at that, so shiny how tasty.” He sucks his fingers, tongue swirling around so as to not miss a single strand.

Slim fingers slip you, exposing you to him, they were careful in their actions, but damn the pretty mouth from their owner is not. The fingers slip into your wet fold, parting them before slipping into you, rubbing you and stretching your walls adding more fingers as time goes on. He switches from rubbing your cute clit, to light pinches as his fingers curl into you. He even slaps your folds, enjoying the debauched way you thrust your hips up at him. You try not to moan too loud, but the sensation of being finger fucked is making you light headed. Neige curls his fingers in you, brushing the nerves that make you buck your hips into his hand wildly, a needy groan leaving your throat as he does. Watching your body suffer and tremble under him, soaking sheets with your juices slipping down your thighs.

He couldn’t help but slide his cock between your folds.. The pressure of his heavy cock between your folds brought a new wave of fluids pushed on by the pulse of your pussy.

An impish giggle escapes his parted lips, a heady darkness tints his eyes as he gazes at the scene of his cock being sandwiched, lathered up with slick by your folds. You shudder and little soft gasps escape with each brush of his swollen head catches her clit.

“Look at that,” he coos bending over her,” You love it when I do this don’t you?”

What a sinful expression you have on, your eyes screwed shut with that dopey smile as you pant his name. Neige can’t wait to have you warm his cock, he’s been denied you way too long. He swaps between his fingers in her walls and coating his cock with her cot slick. He needed you, he missed his sweet princess.

Those videos you sent him were not enough. Fucking his hand thinking of your tight cunt is nothing to the real you and Neige’s starving.

The wetness of his thighs brought his attention to your soaked pussy, laughing softly at the sight Neige cooed at his princess. “Look how wet you got for me! See how needy you are, your pussy practically sucking me in! You think you’re ready, my princess?”

He pressed taunting hot kisses, nibbling at your lips as you gasped out,"Yes."

“Yes what?” He asked.

Neige prodded your cheek with the tip of his tongue, a long stripe on your jaw. You shudder, a whine escaping you,”Yes, I’m ready!”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Neige pretended to mull over it, his eyes crinkled at the sight of that panicked look on your face when he pulled his hand away.” It doesn’t seem like it, haaa, oh well,” he drawls, the sweet smile grew pointed as traces her labia,” I guess it can’t be helped–”

“No come back!” You plead him, clinging onto an amused Neige,”Please fuck me!”

The grin on Neige’s face, the curves of his smiling benevolent eyes was downright wicked to the sight of you thrusting yourself back on his wet fingers. He chuckles, that sweet voice of his too lovely to be denied,” Beg my dove,” He coos taking his fingers away from the pulsing slick walls, he lines the head of swollen cock to  you folds rubbing his cock between them, lubing it in your slick. He grunts, tilting his head back as his cock begins twitching, being slicked up. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, the corner of his lips grinning in satisfaction of how wet you are.

You bite back a squeal as the head of it catches your clit, making him laugh huskily. His tip pushes into your cunt, drawing a loud gasp from his princess. Her body shudders in glee being finally filled.

“Please! Please! Neige I need your co—,” a loud ring interrupts your begging much to the dismay of you and Neige. A scowling ‘tsk!’ cuts through your moaning, as he snatched the phone off the sheets. He pushes into you deeply, drawing a long raspy gasp as you arched up feeling his cock make itself at home. Her feet tapping against his back in jolts, usually he would love this but the text of words on the white screen made him still.

Even your pulsing walls, eager to devour him didn’t distract the way his body went taut seeing not what it was but rather whom it was.

Chestnut brown eyes hardened at the name that flashed across your phone. 

Vil

"Haaah~ What does the second best want?" the annoyance dripping in his sweet voice. His thumb is swiping through your phone. You bite back a whine, as his hips press into you. Even reading the texts from before, years of acting doesn't betray the stoic expression on his face. At the end, he scoffs.

Spider webbing cracks grown beneath his thumb.

You can feel the throbbing vein of his cock in you, as he laughs reading the text. The grip that held up your leg grew tight. "Pft, What's this?" he holds the phone up dangling it towards you to look."He is actually begging you to go out with him! I wonder, what does Second Best do, if he knew who was in you right now?"

You tense up at the sight of the texts, your name on display with a message from Vil. Scoffing Neige, changes it then angles down the phone at you, and you shake feeling the head of his cock hit the spot that made your legs feel jolt under him. No, focus! It's hard to keep your head grounded, not when he's keeping you on his lap, rocking his hips against you that has your toes curl in pleasure.

“I wonder if he would like to watch me fuck your brains out?” Neige thumb swipe the screen.

 "Mnn.. No, don't," you protest weakly, fingers digging into his shoulders, you close your thighs around his waist. Enjoying the rocking of Neige hips, focus…” Don’t send it…Neige!”

 Neige sighs, shaking his head at you with mock disappointment, he leans down, resting his head between the crook of your neck. Despite his sweet look, the hand that gripped your thigh, rubs it slowly, creeping towards the plush of your ass. "How would he feel seeing my cock in your pussy?"  Neige mouth kisses your neck, its distracting, as he questions you with each kiss becoming closer to nips,"Tell me, do you think  he'll lose it if he sees me fucking your pretty hole?"

Your phone tapping your shoulder much like a sickle on stone.

Images of Vil kissing you and Neige being the one to fill your pussy, swapping between them or Sevens having them spit-roast…–!

You try to keep the moan in at the sheer idea of it, Vil watching as Neige fucks you, but the throbbing between your legs gives you away. Neige laughs,"Oh? Do you want it? You want me to fuck you in front of him? Want to scream my name as I fill you with all my cum, while he watches?"

And Merlin, he pushes his cock into you with a deep thrust, his grip on your hip possessive. The sheer idea of it makes his toes curl. Getting to see the fury coated in desperation and heartbreak in Vil’s eyes would be worth it.

Cause if you do, then Niege will make sure Vil never gets to experience this, by the fair queen’s  hand in retaliation that meets the cold steel of a sickle—

"No, wait-!" Your protests fall, as Neige hands back to resting on your hips thrusting into you with a visceral primal claim. The sound of wet flesh fills the air. You squirm in his lap feeling all the shots of pleasure shock you, his thrusting has slowed leaving you to his mercy as he looks down on you with those dark brown eyes. His free hand caressed her jaw gently, the swipe of his thumb over her lips as he took her in with this expression that dashed away any anger he had over Vil. 

Serene almost.

 Then his smile ruined it, all sharp at the corners, his canines more prominent than the photos make it seem. The sweetness of Neige LeBlance was not there, but rather Neige the man who did many things to get where he is.

No one knows where Neige came from and he's more than fine with it.

“Neige?”  He smothers your voice under a kiss, tossing your phone to the side letting it bounce behind her head. Hot tongues play with each other, his princess’s mewling reverb in his chest as he keeps fucking her pussy into over stimulation. His grip on her thighs is strong keeping her in place as he takes her over and over. His balls smack her ass with every hard thrust into the sheets. 

“Mmmm Niege…Neige,” You pants, whimpering between kisses.

“That's it princess,” Neige muttered as he grinds into her,” Say my name. Say it nice and loud.” His fingers tug at her nipples, drawing mewls from her,” You sound so good princess. Who's making you…,” a low grunt leaves him as he speaks with hard thrusts,”...feel…so..ngh,” he squeezed her breasts as he plucked her nipples,” good. You squeeze me so fucking good.”

“Oooh Neige,” You groan, whimpering loud and clear.

His name fills the air with sweet mewls and cries, his smile growing with the matching pace of his thrusts meeting her own.

“Mmm you feel the way you squeeze me? Fucking love my cock,” Neige croons kissing and nipping along her jaw.

He loves loves how much her walls squeeze his cock, how her nails drag down his back. It felt so good, the way his muscles near his belly feel nice and tight. His knee digs into the mattress as he pulls her up on his thighs, to continue going deeper and grinding against the sweet nerves that made her spasm on his cock. His hand caresses her belly, heading lower and there, he presses down as his paces became shorter and desperate with the gaining of hitting that release.

Faint words register in your ear, faint but familiar. You can almost pinpoint it but it does when the head of Neige's cock buries itself in a bundle of nerves, her core desperately trying to keep him in. For a moment the world goes fuzzy as the tingling sensation melts into your skin. You don't know what brought Neige like this today, but you're grateful for it.

Neige, however, didn't feel quite ready to finish just yet. He grinds himself into her, slow and wretchedly cruel from letting her reach her peak. His head nudges between the crook of her neck kissing her up her jaw and over her ear. The action sweet melts her, but of course nothing sweet comes by itself in this world.

“Choose, Vil or me?,” Neige growls as he goes rougher pulling her closer, his ball aching to spill into his princess. Your eyes widen at the question, biting your lip as if to not say, but he isn't having that.

His hand slaps your pussy, finding your swollen clit as he runs hard swirls over it. A heavy gasp leaves you, the wet slickness between them drips more down her thighs.

“Who princess?,” Neige croons, his voice haunting her with the deep heat that grows in her belly.  He looms over her, his smile is wicked as his swirls become long slow sweeps of her sensitive nub,” Who do you want more than anything?”

Her legs jolt and thighs shaking as the fantasies roll in, chestnut eyes and mauve painted lips….

“Mmm that's..nnmm…good,” Neige grits his teeth with a hiss,” you want it that bad huh? But he doesn't get to have you, my sweet dove. Who's cock is in you? Who’s the one making you soaking wet?”

You tried to keep your voice down but you can stop the way your body twitches and seize,” Neige!”

Hot gushes of cum fill your cunt, the sensation making you pulse madly with greedy suction. Your chest rises with each harsh breath, drinking in air as much as you can as your skin cools. Above you, you barely could concentrate with Neige’s long deep grunt as he kept your thighs gripped tightly against him, determined to keep his seed from leaking. A vain attempt from the rivers flowing down your stomach.

Slowly you open your eyes,” Neige that was so good….Neige?”

You gaze up at your boyfriend to ask why he was so quiet and to come cuddle with you. However, spotting your phone in his hand your words die on your tongue.

“You didn't.”

Your words fall on deaf ears as Neige smiles shamelessly,” Did you get your answer?”. No words can describe the way your mouth feels open as realization hit you to who Neige could be speaking too.

Neige laughs as he hears the absolute venom from Vil, the words fall over him like water as he strokes your belly. Even as you shudder under him, his touch is gently rubbing down your calves and thighs.

“Neige, what are you…?” Your voice dies as Neige holds a finger up to his lips.

“So Schoenheit,” Neige drawls, beads of sweat fall from his chin onto your skin ,” how about it? Interested in one of the roles with our dear heroine? Who knows, I might consider giving you the starring role.”

[19calicos]

i know where to look — kuroo tetsurō ˎˊ˗

✶⋆.˚ chapter four: a cat named ube ( 𖦹 )

currently playing: lo que tú me das by juanpalitoschinos

cw: weed mention, gun mention, language

kuroo’s not sure how long he’s followed this black cat for, but he’s thankful for the break she gave him. he met her – ube, according to the fish-shaped tag – after he walked out of his last class for the day, when he made eye contact with the cat and got locked in her gaze. normally he would have gone to the library to get ahead of some work or to home for some rest and relaxation, but something in him decided it would be better to spend time with the cat.

ube walked around the surrounding streets of campus with familiarity. kuroo tailed after her with his hands in his pockets, gaze casually locked on her, stopping whenever she stopped and bending down to her level whenever she did. heads followed wherever ube and kuroo went, but he didn’t pay much attention. he figured all eyes were on ube anyway, with how charming of a cat she was.

“hm, i wish i still carried around cat treats,” kuroo thought aloud to himself with a mumble. unsurprisingly, there were a number of cats that would hang around nekoma high. it didn’t matter if they were a stray or not, they received love all the same from nekoma’s students, and that included kuroo and the cat treats he carried for those cats and his own.

kuroo fondly recalled when he brought home a stray tabby sometime after he first moved, and how his parents were initially against keeping it. they eventually agreed though, and he figured it had something to do with how difficult it was for him to adjust to his new environment. in a way, the cat (which he named chestnut) was his first friend, his second being kenma. and in a way, he saw chestnut in ube, with how in their own world they both were.

ube paused by an open door, and it was like the sun shone only for her. kuroo bent down to her level and rested his cheek in his palm, watching her stretch and do as cats do. her black fur was sleek and shiny, sparkling like a diamond in the light. green eyes blinked up at kuroo and he held his hand out for her to sniff again, only this time she nuzzled the top of her head into his palm. his eyebrows raised, and his heart melted as the biggest grin crept onto his face.

yeah, there wasn’t anything else like getting a cat to like you, especially this quick. ube walked through the open door, and he followed like it was his life’s purpose.

“ube! welcome back sweet girl, i missed you.”

kuroo’s eyes flickered up, and for a moment he couldn’t fucking believe that it took a cat named ube to finally see yn for more than five seconds, and up close too. his ears warmed to a subtle pink at the sight of them, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw how ube circled around one of yn’s legs, rubbing her head against the inside of their ankle. 

ah, so this was the skate shop he was told about. oikawa did end up asking atsumu offhandedly about yn, and he reported back to him that yn worked part time at the local skate shop. kuroo thanked ube in his head for leading him here as he scanned the multicolored skateboards on display, the vibrant graffiti on the left wall, and a corner with a sleek cat tree, complete with two ube-purple bowls for food and water.

yn held their arms out to ube as an invitation, and it was one she accepted. they finally laid eyes on kuroo as they stood up, ube cradled in their arms.

“oh! hi kuroo, uh, i didn’t expect to see you here. it looks like you’ve met ube,” they said after a beat, blinking twice, as if with disbelief.

there was a small smile from them, and kuroo returned it with a larger one. fuck, kuroo’s voice was caught in his throat, and the butterflies in his stomach were flaring his nerves, egging him to run away and puke. still, he swallowed it all down, mind set on proving kenma wrong that he wasn’t going to fumble this chance.

“hey yn! yeah, she was laying outside one of my classes and i just followed her here. she’s really friendly.”

kuroo took a couple steps closer. he raised his hand up and looked to yn for permission to pet, and with their nod, he affectionately scratched ube’s head, cooing as she closed her eyes.

“so you work here? this place is really cool.”

“yeah, it’s a part time job that i’ve had for a bit. i used to live around here actually… i got my first board from here as a kid.”

“woah.”

a thought appeared in kuroo’s head, and with yet another nervous swallow, he looked up at yn again.

“hey, um, remember how you insisted on owing me a favor? could you teach me how to skate?”

yn’s lips parted, probably in shock at such a sudden request, but they immediately grinned.

“you want to learn how to skate? after my board almost knocked your head off?” they asked with a chuckle, bending down to let ube run off to her cat tree. 

kuroo nodded eagerly and gestured to the boards around the shop. “yeah! i mean, i could get around campus faster on a skateboard, and you seem like you’ve been skating for a long time, so i thought maybe you’d be a good teacher.”

okay, kuroo was very much making it up as it goes. but, he thought to himself, he has a point. yn had the guts to land a skateboard from more than ten stairs up, and they managed to land it, and they said they’d been skating since they were a kid so that was like, over ten years of experience at least. plus, skate lessons from them would be a surefire way to get to actually talk to them and maybe even be friends.

“sure,” yn breathed. they turned on their heel and motioned for kuroo to follow. “do you want to look at some boards then?”

smooth and successful. “yeah! yeah, i’d love to.” kuroo replied, following after them with a new spring in his step.

prev | masterlist | next

more:

⟢ atsumu doesn't always have crazy shits but whenever he does he never sprays the bathroom because he gets noseblind from how long he fights for his life on the toilet for

⟢ noya did in fact make it in 30 minutes. not sure how he didn't get pulled over for speeding but hey he has a cool little fish tat on his bicep now

⟢ kuroo bought his first skateboard that day lol !!! he asked yn which one they thought was cool and then bought that one

⟢ he also asked yn what cat treats ube liked best ... and then he bought them right after he left the shop. literally made a bee line for the pet store like a man on a mission (he does not want to look at his bank account anytime soon. skateboards and cat treats are expensive !!!)

⟢ after kuroo left, yn went into the back room and screamed into one of the pillows on the couch, then said they were leaving early to take a nap since they were so on edge and nervous for the entire time kuroo was there #SocialBattery. osamu and noya watched everything and were tempted to live tweet it all

⟢ this is not proofread i just wanted this chapter out sooo badly since like 4 days ago 😭😭😭

tags: @eggyrocks @whorefornoodles @sereniteav @bedeater @itsdragonius @spicana @localgaytrainwreck @sunafc @scinclaitnoir @staygoldsquatchling02 @rrosiitas @yuminako @zahrawr-likes-red @walllflowerrrsss @unwindwithme @mfcherry @giocriedpower @ahdbodhr @hyenagoated

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (2)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The noise of the crowd was a constant, thunderous hum that filled the air as you prepared yourself for the joust. The tourney grounds were alive with color and movement, the banners of noble houses snapping in the wind, the smell of churned earth mixing with the scents of roasted meats and sweet wines. It was a spectacle that King’s Landing had not seen in years, and today, it was all in your honor.

Your squire, a young Tyrell boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a nervous energy about him, was busy readying your horse. The beast was a magnificent stallion, bred from the finest stock in the Reach. His coat was a deep chestnut, almost black, with a mane that shimmered like polished mahogany. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy coat as he pawed at the ground, eager for the upcoming challenge. His eyes, intelligent and bright, reflected the excitement of the day, mirroring your own anticipation.

"Steady, Stormwind," you murmured, running a hand down the stallion’s neck. The horse snorted, tossing its head as if in agreement, and you couldn’t help but smile. Stormwind was not only powerful but also fiercely loyal—a trait you valued deeply in your mount. 

The young Tyrell squire handed you your helmet, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. "Good luck, my prince," he stammered, eyes wide with awe as he looked up at you.

You gave him an encouraging nod, slipping the helmet under your arm for the moment. "Thank you, Ser Trystan," you said, using the title you knew the boy aspired to one day earn. "You’ve done well. Stormwind looks ready for anything."

The boy beamed at the praise, the nervousness in his eyes giving way to a spark of pride. "I’m glad to be of service, my prince."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind you. "Nephew!"

You turned to see your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, striding towards you. He was already clad in his own armor, the dark, polished metal reflecting the sun, the Targaryen dragon emblazoned boldly on his chest. His presence, as always, commanded attention—his confident gait, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the gleam in his eyes that spoke of both mischief and a thirst for glory.

"Uncle Daemon," you greeted him with a respectful nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s good to see you."

Daemon clapped you on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Happy nameday, Y/N. The years have treated you well, it seems. I hear you’ve become quite the capable dragonrider in your time away. Even the Dornish trembled at the sight of Silverwing."

You chuckled, shaking your head modestly. "Silverwing did most of the work. I just held on."

Daemon laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "Don’t be so humble, nephew. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Today, the court will see for themselves what you’re made of." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing. "I expect you’ll give them a show they won’t soon forget."

You met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes clear. "I’ll do my best, Uncle. But I’m sure you’ll make your own impression out there."

Daemon’s smirk widened. "That, I can promise. But remember, it’s your nameday. I’m content to let you have the glory today." He gave you a final pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you on the field."

With that, Daemon strode off towards his own preparations, leaving you to focus on the task ahead. You turned back to Stormwind, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you mounted the stallion. The weight of your armor settled comfortably on your shoulders, the reins firm in your grasp as you guided the horse towards the starting line.

The cheers of the crowd grew louder as you approached, the anticipation in the air palpable. You could see the royal box from where you sat, your father standing at the forefront, his face lit with pride. Beside him, Rhaenyra and Alicent were already in their seats, their gazes fixed on you. Rhaenyra’s smile was bright, filled with a mixture of pride and affection, while Alicent’s expression held a softer, almost admiring quality. 

You raised your lance in salute, first to your father, then to the rest of the crowd. King Viserys waved back enthusiastically, his voice booming over the cheers. "Ride well, my son! Show them the strength of House Targaryen!"

Your heart swelled with determination at his words. This was your moment, a chance to show the realm that the Targaryens were as strong as ever, and that their future king was more than ready to lead.

As you took your position at the end of the lists, your opponent appeared on the other side—a knight clad in the colors of House Bracken. The red horse gleamed on his shield, his visor down, obscuring his face. He was a formidable opponent, well-known for his strength and skill, but today, you were confident in your abilities. 

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, signaling the start of the tilt. You spurred Stormwind forward, the stallion leaping into action with powerful strides that ate up the ground beneath you. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on the target ahead—the oncoming knight, his lance lowered, his intent clear.

You felt the familiar rush of the joust, the thunder of hooves, the wind whipping past your ears. Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, your aim precise, your focus unwavering. The distance closed rapidly, and just as the two of you met in the center of the field, you leaned into the strike.

Your lance struck true, slamming into your opponent’s shield with a resounding crack. The impact jolted through your arm, but you held firm, watching as the Barcken knight wavered. For a moment, it seemed he might recover, but the force of your blow was too strong. He was thrown from his horse, landing heavily in the dirt, his lance shattering into splinters beside him.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the roar of approval washing over you as you circled back to the starting line, victorious in your first tilt. Stormwind pranced beneath you, his energy undimmed, as if reveling in the glory alongside you.

In the royal box, King Viserys cheered loudly, his face beaming with pride. "That’s my boy!" he shouted, his voice carrying above the din. "Well done, Y/N! Well done!"

Beside him, Rhaenyra’s smile was radiant, her hands clapping enthusiastically as she shared in your triumph. Alicent, too, was applauding, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she watched you.

Further down the box, Lord Otto Hightower nodded approvingly, his expression calm but his eyes reflecting satisfaction. He leaned slightly towards Viserys, speaking just loud enough to be heard. "The prince has truly grown into his own, Your Grace. He will make a fine king one day."

Viserys nodded, his smile not fading for a moment. "Indeed, Otto. He’s everything I hoped he would be and more."

In another section of the stands, Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon exchanged a glance, their expressions more reserved. Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, watched you with a mixture of pride and something more complex—a recognition of the weight of the crown that would one day rest on your head.

"He’s impressive," Corlys commented, his voice low, but with an edge of admiration. "The boy has the makings of a true Targaryen king."

Rhaenys nodded, though her eyes remained thoughtful. "Yes, he does. But I wonder if he truly understands what it means to carry the weight of that legacy."

Corlys glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "He’ll have to, in time. But for now, let’s hope he enjoys his moment. The realm is watching."

As you completed your victory lap, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, you felt a surge of exhilaration and pride. The first tilt was yours, a testament to the skill and strength you had honed over the years. But more than that, it was a reminder to everyone watching that House Targaryen was still the mightiest in the realm.

You returned to the starting line, your gaze lifting once more to the royal box, where your father stood, his eyes full of love and pride. The next round awaited, but in that moment, you felt invincible. Today was your day, and nothing could diminish the glory of the Targaryen name.

As the next knight prepared to face you, you readied yourself for the challenge, determination burning bright within you. This was only the beginning, and you intended to make it a day to remember—for yourself, for your family, and for the realm.

The tourney grounds were abuzz with excitement as the next round of jousts was set to begin. The energy in the air crackled with anticipation, and the stands were filled with spectators eagerly watching every move of the knights and their steeds.

The knight who had just won, a Baratheon, called out to the stands, his voice strong and carrying easily over the crowd. "Lady Rhaenys Targaryen, Queen Who Never Was, I ask for your favor!"

A murmur spread through the audience as all eyes turned to the royal box where Rhaenys sat beside her husband, Corlys Velaryon. The Baratheon knight’s choice was a deliberate one—by choosing Rhaenys, he paid homage to her strength and legacy, but the title he used carried a certain sting, a reminder of the Iron Throne she had been denied.

Rhaenys, ever composed, allowed a small, knowing smile to grace her lips as she rose, acknowledging the knight with a nod. She lifted her hand and let a favor, a ribbon of deep blue, flutter down to him. The crowd erupted into applause, though there were those who caught the subtle tension in the exchange.

Beside her, Corlys shifted in his seat, a frown darkening his features. He leaned closer to his wife, his voice low but edged with irritation. "You shouldn’t allow him to call you that, Rhaenys. It’s a slight, a reminder of what was unjustly taken from you."

Rhaenys glanced at her husband, her expression calm, almost dismissive. "It’s just a title, Corlys," she replied, her tone measured. "Let them call me what they will. It doesn’t change who I am or what we’ve built together."

Corlys huffed quietly, clearly displeased but respecting his wife’s decision. "Still, I don’t like it. You deserve more than to be reminded of old wounds."

Rhaenys placed a hand over his, her gaze softening. "You’re a good husband, Corlys, but you mustn’t let such things bother you. We know our worth, and that’s what truly matters."

Before Corlys could respond, the attention of the crowd shifted as Daemon Targaryen prepared for his next tilt. He had chosen his opponent carefully, with a calculated intent that Rhaenyra recognized immediately. As she watched her uncle raise his lance and point it at Ser Gwayne Hightower, her brow furrowed in disapproval. This was not a random choice; it was a deliberate act of provocation aimed directly at the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

Rhaenyra leaned closer to Alicent, who sat beside her, nervously picking at the skin around her fingers, her anxiety apparent. "He’s doing this to spite your father," Rhaenyra murmured, her tone edged with concern. "He knows exactly what he’s doing."

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering with worry as she watched her brother, Ser Gwayne, prepare for the tilt. "I know," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "I wish he wouldn’t."

The signal was given, and Daemon and Gwayne charged at each other, their horses thundering down the lists. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, the tension palpable. In a flash, Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne with such force that it shattered upon impact, the blow violently dismounting Gwayne and sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed by a murmur of mixed reactions. Some cheered for Daemon’s prowess, while others whispered in concern for the fallen knight. Otto Hightower’s face drained of color, horror etched in his features as he watched his son struggle to rise, dazed and bruised.

Daemon, ever the showman, circled his horse back around with a triumphant air. But instead of immediately acknowledging his victory or his opponent, he rode directly toward the royal box where Alicent sat. The tension in the air thickened as Daemon approached, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Lady Alicent," Daemon called out, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "would you grant me your favor?"

Alicent froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was not what she had expected. She had hoped, in the quiet recesses of her heart, that if anyone were to ask for her favor today, it would be you. But now, with all eyes on her, she felt trapped.

Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold with a frown, understanding Daemon’s intent all too well. He was not only rubbing salt in the wound by asking for Alicent’s favor but was also making a pointed statement to Otto and the entire court.

Alicent hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the favor she had prepared. With a deep breath, she dropped the ribbon—a delicate piece of green silk—down to Daemon, who caught it with a flourish. The crowd erupted into applause, though the undercurrent of tension was undeniable.

Rhaenyra leaned toward her uncle as he passed by their box on his way back to the field. "Congratulations, Uncle," she said, her voice carrying both genuine admiration and a hint of reproach.

Daemon smirked, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you, dear niece. Let’s see if your brother can match me," he teased, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous light.

Rhaenyra forced a smile, but her eyes followed Daemon warily as he returned to the field. She knew her uncle well enough to recognize that his actions today were more than just about winning a tourney—they were about making a statement, and that statement had clearly unsettled more than a few members of the court.

As Daemon moved off, the focus of the tourney returned to you. The crowd, still buzzing from the previous tilt, quieted with anticipation as you prepared for your next round. You could feel the weight of their expectations, but you were undaunted. The lance in your hand felt like an extension of your own body, and Stormwind beneath you was eager for the challenge ahead.

The signal was given, and with a powerful kick, you spurred Stormwind forward. The earth trembled beneath his hooves as he charged down the lists, your focus narrowing on your opponent. You felt the wind whip past your face, the cheers of the crowd fading into the background as the world narrowed to this single, decisive moment.

As you and your opponent closed the distance, your lance lowered and your aim true. The impact, when it came, was a bone-jarring collision of wood and steel, but you held firm. Your lance struck your opponent’s shield squarely, and with a mighty effort, you felt the resistance give way.

Your opponent was sent flying from his horse, landing hard on the ground with a thud. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the sound of your victory echoing through the tourney grounds. Your father, King Viserys, stood from his seat, clapping enthusiastically, his face a mixture of pride and joy.

Rhaenyra and Alicent joined the applause, though each had different emotions swirling within them. Rhaenyra was filled with pride, but also a renewed sense of possessiveness. Alicent, on the other hand, clapped politely, though her earlier anxiety had not entirely dissipated.

In the stands, Rhaenys watched you with a measured gaze, while Corlys, clearly impressed, leaned toward his wife. "The boy is exceptional," he murmured. "There’s no doubt about it. He’s everything a Targaryen prince should be."

Rhaenys nodded, though her expression remained contemplative. "Yes, but let’s hope he navigates the politics as deftly as he does the tourney field. Strength is one thing—wisdom is another."

As you circled back to the starting line, the crowd continued to cheer, and you raised your lance in acknowledgment. The day was far from over, and more challenges awaited, but for now, the Targaryen name had been upheld with honor and glory.

You prepared for the next tilt, your heart steady, your focus unwavering. The cheers of the crowd, the pride in your father’s eyes, and the knowledge that Rhaenyra and Alicent were watching—all of it spurred you on. This was your day, and you intended to make it one that would be remembered for years to come.

The opponent before you now was one of the Florent brothers, a knight known for his skill and speed on the field. His armor, decorated with the sun and fox emblem of House Florent, gleamed in the sunlight, and his stance on his horse was confident, almost cocky.

But you were not to be underestimated. The adrenaline of the previous tilts still coursed through your veins, and the roar of the crowd only fueled your determination. You glanced briefly towards the royal box, catching the eager gazes of Rhaenyra and Alicent, their eyes fixed on you. The sight of them watching spurred you on, a reminder of why you fought today—not just for glory, but for the pride of your house and the love of your family.

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, and with a powerful kick, you urged Stormwind into action. The stallion surged forward, his powerful hooves pounding the earth as you charged down the lists. Your lance was steady in your grip, your eyes locked on the Florent knight, who mirrored your movements on the opposite side.

The gap between you closed rapidly, the wind rushing past your ears as time seemed to slow. You could see the dare in your opponent’s eyes, but you did not waver. With a precise flick of your wrist, you adjusted your aim, your lance striking the Florent knight’s shield with a thunderous crack.

The impact was immediate and decisive. The force of your blow shattered your opponent’s defenses, and before he could recover, he was sent flying from his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers, the victory swift and clear.

You circled back to the starting line, but instead of preparing for another tilt, you guided Stormwind towards the royal box. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as they realized where you were heading, the anticipation palpable in the air. Ladies in the stands leaned forward, their breaths held, hoping that you might stop before them, hoping that today they might catch the eye of the prince.

As you approached, the excitement among the ladies was almost tangible. You could see the hope in their eyes, the way they straightened their backs and smoothed their dresses as you passed. But your gaze was fixed ahead, your mind made up.

Instead of stopping before any of the noble ladies vying for your attention, you brought Stormwind to a halt directly below the royal box, where your sister Rhaenyra sat. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, surprised and intrigued by your choice, while Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what you intended.

You looked up at her, a soft smile playing on your lips as you raised your lance in salute. "Princess Rhaenyra," you called out, your voice clear and strong, "would you do me the honor of granting your favor?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled with delight, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. This was more than just a simple gesture—it was a public declaration of the bond you shared, a victory that she relished deeply. The attention of all the other ladies in the court paled in comparison to this moment, a reminder that she still held a special place in your heart.

With a graceful movement, Rhaenyra untied a ribbon from her sleeve, a delicate piece of Targaryen red silk, and leaned over the edge of the box to drop it into your waiting hand. "With all my heart, dear brother," she said, her voice filled with affection and pride.

You caught the ribbon with ease, tying it carefully around the tip of your lance before raising it high for all to see. The crowd erupted into applause, the gesture admired by all. It was not just a victory in the joust, but a victory in the hearts of the people—a symbol of the unity and strength of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra’s eyes followed you as you rode back to the field, her heart swelling with pride and a sense of triumph. This was her victory, too—a small but meaningful reminder that, despite the attention you garnered from others, the bond between brother and sister was unbreakable.

Beside her, Alicent watched the exchange with a soft smile, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. It was clear that your relationship was something special, and Alicent was content to see her friend so happy.

As you returned to the field, ready to face your next opponent, the favor of Rhaenyra tied proudly to your lance, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Today was a day to be remembered—not just for the victories won on the field, but for the connections reaffirmed in the heart of your family.

The cheers of the crowd filled your ears as you took your position, the anticipation of the next tilt mounting. With the ribbon of your sister’s favor fluttering in the wind, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenge came at you.

The next knight approached, the crowd’s excitement building once more. As you prepared to charge, the weight of the day’s events settled comfortably on your shoulders. This was your day, your moment, and you intended to seize it with all the fire and fury of your house.

With a final glance at the royal box, where Rhaenyra’s smile still shone brightly, you lowered your lance and spurred Stormwind forward.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its light over the tourney grounds as the final tilt of the day approached. The crowd was loud with excitement, their voices blending into a chorus of eager anticipation. This was the moment they had all been waiting for—the final showdown between the two most formidable competitors: Prince Daemon Targaryen and Prince Y/N Targaryen.

You sat atop Stormwind, the powerful stallion beneath you steady and poised, sensing the importance of the moment. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and resolve. The previous tilts had been challenging, but this was different. This was Daemon, your uncle, a man known for his skill, cunning, and unpredictability. The tension in the air was palpable as you both prepared for what would undoubtedly be a clash to remember.

Across the field, Daemon adjusted his helmet, his expression hidden but his demeanor unmistakably confident. His dark armor gleamed in the sunlight, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned boldly on his chest. He was already mounted on his dragon-black stallion, Caraxes, named after his own fearsome dragon. The horse, like its rider, was a creature of raw power and grace, snorting and pawing at the ground in anticipation.

The horn sounded, signaling the start of the final tilt, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence, their eyes glued to the two dragon princes facing off in the lists.

You took a deep breath, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. With a firm grip on your lance, you spurred Stormwind into a gallop. The stallion surged forward with powerful strides, his hooves pounding the earth in a rhythmic thunder. Across the field, Daemon did the same, his own mount racing towards you, the two of you closing the distance with alarming speed.

Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, aiming for the center of Daemon’s shield. The world around you faded, leaving only the blur of your uncle’s form charging towards you, the glint of his armor catching the sun, and the rush of wind in your ears. You tightened your grip, bracing for impact.

The collision, when it came, was fierce. Your lance struck Daemon’s shield with a resounding crack, but he met your blow with equal force. The impact jarred through your arm, but you held firm, refusing to yield. For a moment, it seemed like the strike had been a draw, both of you remaining in your saddles, but then Daemon leaned into his strike, his skill and experience showing as he directed the force of his lance just right.

Before you could fully adjust, you felt the world tilt beneath you. The force of Daemon’s strike, combined with the precise angle, knocked you off balance. Time seemed to stretch as you felt yourself falling, the ground rushing up to meet you. The impact was hard, the breath knocked from your lungs as you hit the dirt.

The crowd gasped collectively, the sound of your fall echoing in the stunned silence that followed. From the royal box, Viserys had already risen to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw you go down. "Gods, no!" he breathed, his voice tight with fear. But as you quickly pushed yourself up, shaking off the disorientation from the fall, he let out a long sigh of relief, his body sagging back into his seat.

Rhaenyra, who had been on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the railing, exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her eyes were wide with worry, but as she saw you stand, a rush of relief and pride filled her. She could see you were unharmed, but the sight of you on the ground had shaken her deeply.

You rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your armor, your pride bruised but your spirit unbroken. You could feel the sting of defeat, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you had given everything in that tilt. Stormwind stood nearby, having stopped shortly after your fall, the loyal stallion snorting anxiously as if to say he was ready to try again.

Before you could fully gather your bearings, Daemon was there, dismounting with the fluid grace that came naturally to him. He approached you with a look that was half smirk, half respect. "Not bad, nephew," he said, his tone carrying both praise and a hint of playful mockery. "You almost had me there."

He extended a hand, offering to help you up. There was no malice in his gaze, just the familiar gleam of challenge that always seemed to light his eyes.

You took his hand, accepting the gesture, and he pulled you to your feet with a firm grip. "Almost," you replied, your voice steady, though there was a spark of competitiveness in your tone. "But you got me in the end."

Daemon patted you on the back, his smirk widening into a grin. "Today, perhaps. But don’t let it weigh too heavily on you. We’re both dragons, after all, and you fought well. The court will remember this day, not just for my victory, but for your strength and skill."

You nodded, appreciating the words, though the sting of defeat still lingered. "Thank you, Uncle. But next time, I won’t be so easy to dismount."

Daemon chuckled, clearly pleased by your response. "I wouldn’t expect anything less." He gave you a final nod of approval before turning to face the roaring crowd, raising his lance in acknowledgment of his victory. The people cheered loudly, celebrating the spectacle they had witnessed.

From the royal box, Viserys beamed with pride, his worry from moments before forgotten. "That was a fine match!" he declared, his voice booming over the noise of the crowd. "Both of you did House Targaryen proud today!"

Rhaenyra, still shaken by the sight of you on the ground, managed a smile, though her concern for you was evident in her eyes. She watched as you walked off the field with Daemon, your head held high despite the outcome. Alicent, sitting beside her, glanced at Rhaenyra and saw the worry that lingered beneath her composed exterior.

"Are you all right?" Alicent asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Rhaenyra nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave you. "I’m fine. It’s just… seeing him fall like that…"

Alicent placed a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. "He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He’s always been strong. And you saw how he got back up. That’s what matters."

Rhaenyra finally tore her gaze away from the field to look at Alicent, offering her a grateful smile. "You’re right. He’s strong." But even as she said it, the image of you lying in the dirt lingered in her mind, a reminder of how much she cared for you, and how much she feared losing you.

As you and Daemon made your way off the field, the crowd continued to cheer, the happenings of the day’s events leaving everyone in high spirits. You may not have won the final tilt, but the respect you had earned was clear in the cheers and the admiring glances from the crowd.

Daemon, ever the warrior, clapped you on the back once more as you both approached the edge of the field. "Come, let’s find a drink and enjoy the rest of the day. You’ve earned it, and so have I."

You nodded, the tension of the tilt finally starting to ease as the prospect of celebrating with your uncle and the rest of your family took hold. "Lead the way, Uncle."

As the two of you walked off the field, the weight of the day’s events still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Though the final victory had eluded you, you had proven yourself today, not just to the court, but to your family. And in the end, that was worth more than any trophy or title.

Jugglers, dancers, and bards filled the air with music and laughter, while the smell of roasted meats and sweet treats wafted through the air. The day had been filled with adrenaline, and now, as evening approached, the court gathered for the grand feast that would conclude the festivities.

Inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep, long tables were laden with platters of food, and goblets of wine flowed freely. The room was alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying the sounds of celebration. The lords and ladies of the realm, dressed in their finest, mingled and conversed, their faces flushed with the warmth of the firelight and the effects of the wine.

You found yourself seated at a table near the head of the hall, surrounded by some of the most powerful figures in the realm. To your right was Lord Tayland Lannister, his golden hair and fine clothes a clear testament to the wealth and influence of his house. Across from you sat Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, his eyes sharp and calculating as he sipped from his goblet, his mind clearly at work even amidst the festivities.

"Your accomplishments in Dorne have become the talk of the realm, my prince," Tayland said, his tone filled with admiration. "It's no small feat to have secured our borders against the Dornish. Your leadership has brought peace to lands that have known only strife for too long."

You inclined your head in thanks, though you remained humble in your response. "The credit belongs to the men who fought beside me, and to Silverwing. She was the true force that kept the Dornish at bay."

Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "Don't sell yourself short, my prince. It takes more than just a dragon to win a war; it takes a leader who can command respect and inspire loyalty. You've shown that you have the makings of a true king."

You nodded, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate the compliment, Lord Corlys. But the work is never done. The realm is vast, and there are always new challenges to face."

A flicker of something passed through Corlys's eyes—perhaps ambition or a calculated desire. He chose his next words carefully. "Speaking of challenges, the situation in the Stepstones remains unresolved. The Triarchy grows bolder with each passing day, and their presence in those waters threatens the safety of our trade routes. The realm cannot afford to ignore this any longer."

Tayland Lannister nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The Sea Snake is right. The Stepstones are a vital passage for trade, and the Triarchy's control over them is a serious threat. The crown would do well to consider taking decisive action."

Corlys seized the moment, his tone subtle but insistent. "A leader of your experience and skill, my prince, could make all the difference in securing those waters for the realm. With your influence, perhaps the crown might be persuaded to take a more active role in the conflict."

It was clear what Corlys was suggesting—he wanted you to influence your father, King Viserys, to commit to a campaign in the Stepstones. The thought lingered in your mind, but you were well aware of the delicate nature of such matters. Viserys had been reluctant to engage in another conflict, especially after the long campaign in Dorne. He was a man who valued peace, and while he respected the needs of the realm, he was not easily swayed into war.

Before you could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a different sort of commotion. A group of lords, eager to ingratiate themselves with the crown, approached your father, each of them accompanied by their daughters, who were of marriageable age. They vied for Viserys's attention, each one eager to present their daughter as a potential bride for you.

"My daughter, Lady Elinor, is as wise as she is beautiful, Your Grace," one lord said, his voice oozing with pride. "She would make a fine match for the prince."

"Lady Alisanne is skilled in all the noble arts, Your Grace. She is well-versed in history, languages, and music," another lord chimed in, his daughter standing demurely beside him.

Viserys smiled politely, listening to their propositions, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He had waited years for this moment, to have his son by his side once more, and he was determined to enjoy the evening without being burdened by matters of marriage and alliances. He responded with a noncommittal nod, offering a few kind words but making no promises.

As the lords continued their attempts to press the matter, Otto Hightower, ever the strategist, nudged his daughter Alicent, who was seated beside him. He leaned in close, his voice low but firm. "Alicent, you should seize this moment. The prince is listening to all these offers, and if you wish to catch his attention, now is the time."

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to where you were seated, engaged in conversation with Tayland and Corlys. She knew what her father was suggesting—she had seen the way the other ladies had looked at you during the tourney, the way they whispered among themselves, hoping to catch your eye. But before she could muster the courage to act, someone else stepped forward.

Rhaenyra, who had been watching the proceedings from a distance, sensed the moment and made her move. She approached you with a confident stride, her presence commanding immediate attention. The lords and ladies around you parted, making way for the princess as she reached your side.

"Brother," Rhaenyra said, her voice warm and filled with affection, "I've been looking for you. Surely you don't intend to spend the entire evening in conversation with the lords?"

You turned to her, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of your sister. "Of course not, Rhaenyra. I wouldn't miss the chance to spend time with you on a day like this."

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at the lords who had been vying for your attention. "I thought you might be in need of rescue," she teased, her voice carrying just enough playful humor to defuse the tension.

The lords who had been pressing their daughters as potential brides exchanged glances, recognizing that the moment had passed. With polite bows and murmured excuses, they withdrew, leaving you and Rhaenyra standing together. Viserys watched the exchange with a smile, pleased to see his children together, the connection between them as strong as ever.

Alicent, who had been about to rise from her seat, hesitated and then sat back down, her expression unreadable. Otto frowned slightly, but said nothing, his mind already working on another approach.

[kairiscorner]

ok but like, he would be a sweet big brother (and a minecraft veteran).

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

he has a soft spot for the little fella — miles 42 x reader

you had to do the laundry and cook some dinner like your parents asked you to, and miles was down to help, but you insisted he could just sit back and watch over your little sibling. he didn't wanna make it known to you he had zero knowledge on babysitting so he just awkwardly sat down next to them. after a few minutes of silence, miles kept looking at your sibling from the corner of his eye, watching them play on their ipad, making sure they wouldn't fall over or do something stupid.

he decided to sit there in silence and look at his phone and wait for you to finish your chores, when all of a sudden, your younger sibling tapped his shoulder. he looked over at them and they moved closer to him, showing him the game on their screen. "oh, minecraft?" he asked the kid, and they nodded. "do you know how to make a fishing rod?" they asked him, their big doe eyes looking up into his own chestnut brown ones.

miles began to teach the kid how to craft the necessary items they needed, but the kid didn't stop there. they showed miles around their minecraft home, their horses and cows, and their dog. miles chuckled because the kid was so imaginative, so creative with their little minecraft home. "ey, invite me over sometime, will ya? i can play with you on your server when i get home." he offered the kid with a smile.

your little sibling beamed up at him. "you would?" they asked him, and he nodded, grinning all the while. "of course." your little sibling was overjoyed, they had never played with anyone else before, not until miles asked to play with them. they reached in to hug miles and thanked him happily for wanting to play with them. "i'll make you a big house! i'll put it by the lakes, oh! and i'll make an army of iron golems to protect you!" they exclaimed as miles ruffled their hair and chuckled lightly. "thanks little fella, i'll take you to the nether and we'll explore there, whaddya say?" he offered as your sibling smiled widely. "i've never gone there i'm so scared of the ghasts... please keep me safe, big bro!" they pleaded miles.

he had never been called that before, 'big bro'–it felt... gratifying, in a way. it felt rewarding, warm, and just overall good. he liked your little sibling, they were so sweet and they liked him too; he was worried your sibling might find him weird or too quiet, but not at all! he smiled and pinched your sibling's cheek playfully, with them giggling at the touch. "oh, you bet i will. those ghasts aren't ready for your big brother miles." he said with an air of confidence as your sibling was building a nether portal in creative mode for miles to play right now.

maybe he was a natural at this, maybe he just got lucky your sibling was so friendly and amicable–or maybe... he just happened to end up being a really good older brother figure for them, even if he had doubts in the beginning.

tags !! @k4tsu3 @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @popeheywardssecretgf @solecitoszn

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A & 🕶️, the rest is up to you! <3 (@a-little-unsteddie)

Thanks for the prompt. I'm having way too much fun with this mafia AU! 🤣😎

@a-little-unsteddie

Forbidden flowers

Words: 971

Rated: M

Tags: Mafia AU; mob boss Dick Harrington; mobster Eddie Munson; obsessive behavior; stalking; lust at first sight; sexual fantasies; violent imagery

Notes: Part 1

Richard Harrington’s house is a fucking palace. 

The fact shouldn't be as surprising, maybe. It pays well, being the boss of the city's criminal underbelly, even Eddie knows that. Not like he's planning on staying one of Harrington's lowly little hitmen forever. Don't get him wrong, he's good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go on doing it forever, bloodying his hands fighting the boss's fights. He wants his own share of the money, the power, the splendor of it all. A guy can dream, can't he? 

Speaking of dreams, even his wildest ones seem pale and bland, now that he's seen the house from the inside. Leaving the higher-ups to talk business in Harrington's office, he has strayed through light-flooded halls decked in expensive art and sculptures, footsteps echoing on marbled floors, until he finally found a pair of glass doors leading outside. 

The patio opens into a lush garden. It looks like something from an Italian postcard - dominated by gleaming marble and lean pillars, overgrown with a sea of white and purple hydrangea bushes. Their fragrance hangs in the hot summer air, thick and sweet and almost cloying. Sparkling behind the blossoms is a huge, lavish pool. 

In the water is a fucking nymph. 

Eddie pauses, unlit cigarette halfway to his mouth, ducking between the flower bushes to hover closer. The boy in the pool doesn't notice him, too focused on doing his laps. Eddie watches his lean muscles flex as he glides through the water, watches how sun-bronzed skin glistens in the sun, and feels something curdle in his gut. 

Want. 

White-hot and all-consuming, more overwhelming and intense than anything he's ever felt in his life. 

He doesn't know how long he stays hidden between the flowers and stares. At some point, the boy swims over to the far end and hoists himself out of the pool - one long, graceful ripple of those muscled arms and shoulders. He shakes the water from his thick, chestnut hair before padding over to the deck chairs standing a small way off, still blissfully unaware of Eddie’s eyes following his every move. A small water bottle is standing at the ready on a side table, droplets of condensed liquid glistening on the glass. The boy takes it, tips back his head and empties it with a few deep, greedy gulps. His throat - long, and graceful and dotted in moles - bops with it. Then, not bothering with the towel hanging over the backrest, he flops down on one of the chairs, sopping wet and half naked, stretching out in the sunlight like a content cat. 

Eddie decides one thing, then and there. 

Fuck the money. Fuck the splendor and the power and the glory, fuck all of it. Let him just have that boy. 

Let him feel that body writhe under his. Let him tangle his fingers into that glorious swoop of hair and tilt back that head, let him sink his teeth into the soft, golden skin of that neck. Let him hear his own name, near unrecognizable with despair and pleasure, fall from those pink lips. Let him have all of this, and he'll die a happy man. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

Eddie lets out a startled noise he'll absolutely deny making later and whips around. Gareth is leaning in the open patio door, regarding him with crossed arms and a furious expression. 

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Eddie croaks. 

Gareth shakes his head at him. 

“Long enough to see you slink around in the bushes, staring at the boss's son like a total creep,” he hisses. “C'mon, let's go. Harrington will take out your eyes with a rusty screwdriver if he catches- are you listening to me?” 

“No,” Eddie says absentmindedly, already pushing apart the branches again. Lilac petals rain down onto his boots. “That's Harrington's son? Didn't even know he had one.” 

“No, that's his gardener,” Gareth scoffs behind him, but still goes on to answer Eddie’s unspoken question. “Rumor has it daddy and him don't … get along that well. Harrington wants him to take over the firm but Junior isn't exactly interested. Likes the money and the lifestyle, obviously, but not so much the violence and bloodshed that comes with it.” 

Eddie thinks he'd drench the entire world in blood for one taste of those lips. 

Gareth tugs on his arm.

“C'mon,” he says again. “Before anyone sees us. I'd like to keep my eyes, I'm sorta attached to them.” 

Eddie sighs in defeat, casting one long, reluctant glance through the leaves and petals. Then, following a sudden impulse, he reaches out and snaps off a branch with a thick, vibrant cluster of violet blossoms on the end. 

Gareth gawks at him. 

“Are you insane? You can't just pluck flowers from the boss's garden!” 

Eddie shrugs lazily, bringing the blossoms up to his nose. Their scent is sweet and enticing and full of forbidden possibilities. 

“Don’t see him around, do you?” 

Gareth groans and turns to go. “I dunno why I put up with you.” 

Eddie smiles, slowly following after his retreating back. At the threshold, he pauses and turns one last time. The boy is dozing in the sun, eyes closed, droplets of water glistening on his body like so many tiny diamonds. Eddie raises the branch in his hand - a secret parting salute. 

“See you soon, little nymph,” he mutters. 

He strides towards the front door with a new spring in his step. Because he knows exactly what it is he wants now, and he knows that he will not stop before he has it.

And if that means wrestling Richard Harrington’s crown from his cold, dead hands, and setting his empire aflame, and painting the ashes red? That is something he will gladly do.  

Steve, meanwhile: Huh, wonder who that loser lurking in the flowers was. What a weirdo. Kinda cute, though ...

Part 3

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