#that shot with the moon glowing in the reflection

[marymekpop]

⟢ scenes & themes: joseon attorney - absolute cinema [ep. 01-08] ⟣

[team-frightfur]

Hah! Found it.

Me looking at Yuri before he kills me.

sorry it kind of sucks i tried my best ^_^

[plz reblog]

[oscinhaslandito]

Just Me, Her and the Moon

pairing: lando norris x reader

The evening had settled into a comfortable rhythm. After a laid-back dinner of their favorite takeout, Lando and Y/N found themselves sprawled across their bed. The TV hummed in the background, though neither of them paid much attention to the movie playing. Y/N lays on her stomach, aimlessly scrolling through her phone, while Lando leaned against the headboard, occasionally stealing glances at her with a faint smile.

Every so often, Lando would lean over to show her a meme on his phone. “Look at this one,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Tell me this isn’t you trying to parallel park.”

She glanced at the screen and snorted. “You wish. I’m a better driver than you on normal roads.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Better driver than me? Love, I’m literally a Formula 1 driver.”

“Keyword: Formula 1,” she shot back, smirking. “Take you out of a race car and you’re just a boy who’s scared of roundabouts.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Scared of roundabouts? I’ll have you know, I—”

“Missed the exit last week,” she interrupted, her laughter bubbling over. “Twice.”

He shook his head, fighting a grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky you’re funny sometimes,” she retorted, rolling onto her back with a contented sigh. For a moment, silence fell over them, the kind that felt easy and comforting. She stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting, until an idea sparked.

Y/N turned her head toward Lando, her eyes glimmering with mischief. “You know what we should do?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

Lando gave her a wary look. “Do I even want to know?”

She grinned. “Let’s go to the beach.”

His eyebrows shot up. “The beach? At... what time is it? Almost midnight?”

“Exactly,” she said, sitting up fully now. “Think about it: no crowds, just the sound of the waves, the moonlight reflecting on the water. It’ll be magical.”

“Magical,” he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Or freezing. You realize it’s January, right?”

“Oh, come on, Norris,” she teased, crawling toward him and tugging at his arm. “Are you a Formula 1 driver or a grandpa?”

“Rude,” he muttered, though he was already moving to get out of bed. “Fine, but if I turn into a popsicle, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” she said brightly, hopping off the bed and pulling on the nearest hoodie—his, of course.

The drive to the beach was filled with their usual banter. Lando complained about the absurdity of the whole idea, though his playful tone betrayed him.

“You’re going to owe me so much hot chocolate after this,” he said as they parked.

“Consider it part of my charm,” Y/N replied, hopping out of the car and breathing in the crisp night air. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Now, come on, slowpoke.”

The beach was quiet, just as she’d hoped. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the sand and waves. She kicked off her shoes and ran toward the water, laughing as the cold sand squished between her toes.

“You’re insane,” Lando called after her, though he couldn’t help but smile as he watched her.

“And you love it!” she shouted back, spinning around with her arms outstretched.

He rolled his eyes fondly and jogged to catch up. As soon as he reached her, she grabbed his hands and pulled him closer.

“Feel that,” she said, her voice softer now as she gestured toward the horizon. “The sound of the waves, the stars... it’s perfect, isn’t it?”

Lando followed her gaze, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

They stood there for a while, letting the peacefulness of the moment wash over them. Then, predictably, Y/N broke the silence.

“Race you to the water?” she challenged, already taking off before he could answer.

“Cheater!” he yelled, laughing as he sprinted after her. The icy water lapped at their ankles, and Lando let out a dramatic yelp.

“This is freezing!”

“Don’t be a baby,” she teased, splashing him.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he scooped her up effortlessly.

“Lando!” she shrieked, laughing uncontrollably as he pretended to toss her into the deeper water before setting her down safely.

By the time they made their way back to the car, their cheeks were flushed, their clothes damp, and their hearts full. The walk back up the beach was slower, their laughter subsiding into a quiet contentment. Lando draped an arm over her shoulders as they carried their shoes in the other hand, the wet sand sticking to their feet.

“Alright,” he said, breaking the silence, “I’ll admit this was... almost magical.”

“Almost?” Y/N teased, bumping him lightly with her shoulder.

“Okay, fine. Fully magical,” he relented, a grin tugging at his lips. “But you’re still insane.”

“And yet here you are, willingly joining me in my insanity,” she quipped.

He laughed, shaking his head. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for you.” He sang the last part, classic Jonas Brothers style, making Y/N roll her eyes and calling him corny.

As they reached the car, the sound of the ocean faded behind them, replaced by the gentle hum of the heater as they settled into their seats. Lando reached over to intertwine his fingers with hers, his thumb brushing softly against her knuckles.

Just as the warmth of the car heater began to sink in, Y/N let out a sudden sneeze. Lando glanced over at her, equal parts concerned and amused.

“Bless you,” he said, shaking his head. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

She sniffled, flashing him a sheepish grin. “Maybe, but it was worth it.”

He reached over to tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear, his tone softening. “Hot chocolate and a blanket as soon as we’re home. No arguments.”

“Yes, Grandpa,” she teased, her voice playful despite her slightly stuffy nose.

Lando groaned, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Unbelievable.”

As they pulled into the driveway, the house standing quiet and inviting, Y/N yawned, her head tilting back against the seat. Lando turned off the car, pausing for a moment to look at her.

“You really are something else, you know that?” he said softly.

She blinked at him, her eyes warm and filled with affection. “Good something else or bad something else?”

“Good,” he replied, leaning over to kiss her gently. “Always good.”

And just like that, the night ended the way it began: filled with laughter, love, and the kind of moments that made everything else fade away.

[ikkyfics]

— REMUS LUPIN

fluffy ʚଓ angst ✦ hurt & comfort ☘︎

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⋆˚࿔ 17 works 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

MOST POPULAR

(4.1k) Sweet Lies ✦ — Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

AUTHOR'S FAVORITE

(1.8k) Full Moon ☘︎ — “You didn’t have to come here,” he murmured, almost as a weak attempt at protest. “I know,” you replied, letting your fingers gently caress his hair, a light and repetitive touch. “But I wasn’t going to let you spend this night alone.”

ONE-SHOTS

Discounted Hearts ʚଓ — The 50% discount for couples seemed like the perfect excuse when you asked Remus to come along. You reached the counter, and the barista looked you both over. “Sorry, but... we can only apply the discount if you kiss. House policy,” she announced, her teasing smile dancing on her lips.

(3.6k) When the Stars Fade ✦ — Remus knew—felt—that something was wrong. It wasn’t just the aftermath of the full moon. It was as if the air was heavy, carrying the weight of bitter promises.

(1.2k) Whispers of the Sea ʚଓ — Remus looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."

(1.9k) Lullaby ʚଓ — The quiet cry woke him. Remus approached cautiously, leaning over her. “Hey, my little star, it’s okay. Daddy’s here,” he whispered, his voice so soft it almost got lost in the sound of his breath.

(3.3k) Expecto Patronum ✦ — For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen, but then, a silver light exploded from the tip of your wand, illuminating the clearing. The air grew heavy, as if time had stopped. When the glow faded, a magnificent stag stood before you. Your wide eyes followed it as it trotted across the clearing, majestic and serene. Remus stayed silent, his lips slightly parted. He knew. You knew. There was no denying what it meant. The stag was not just a reflection of your heart, but of what you had always tried to bury.

↳ (6.5k) Finite Incantatem ☘︎ — The days that followed the Patronus were a silent battle. You tried, with all the strength you had, to go back to normal. But what was "normal" when the silver stag continued to haunt your thoughts, even in the absence of its light? You did your best to convince yourself you were fine. And when you couldn’t, Remus was there.

(2.3k) Colors That Speak ʚଓ — “Now it’s my turn.” “What?” You look up, surprised, but he’s already grabbing a blue pen from the table. “It’s not fair if I can’t return the favor.” His tone is mischievous, but the expression in his eyes is so gentle that you can only nod in agreement. When he begins to draw on your arm, something shifts. His touch is gentle, his fingers holding your wrist with a tenderness that makes your heart stumble. He starts with a small star, the line hesitant, but to you, it feels like art.

(3.7k) Unrequited Love ✦ — It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way. And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness. You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

↳ (3.7k) Unrequited Love | part II ʚଓ — Some days he thought about going to you, trying to say something to fix things. Other days, he knew it would be pointless. He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve the smile he used to get, the attention that made him feel... seen. As if all parts of himself, even the ones he despised, were worthy of acceptance.

(4.1k) Sweet Lies ✦ — Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

↳ (1.4k) Consequences ✦ — Remus had never hated himself more. He leaned against the wall of an empty corridor, his fists clenched at his sides, trembling. He wanted to scream, but he felt like it would be pointless. Screaming wouldn’t erase what he had done. It wouldn’t relieve the fact that he had hurt you in a way that never be fixed.

(2.5k) Distraction ʚଓ — But most of all, you wanted him to know. You wanted to tell him how important he was, how he was more than just a friend to you, even if that meant risking everything. And yet, you couldn’t. Not when he seemed so calm, so oblivious to any feelings you might be silently holding.

↳ (1.7k) Attention ʚଓ — "I really don't know how I'm going to get over this," you teased, a smile forming even before you finished the sentence. "Fresh flowers and a book? You're spoiling me, Remus." He laughed, a low, almost contained sound, but you noticed how his shoulders relaxed, as if he were relieved by your reaction. "Well, I'd say you deserve this and more."

(1.4k) Beyond Words ʚଓ — “Tough day?” Remus asked, turning slightly to watch you more closely. You shrugged. “Kind of. Just… a lot of noise. I needed a little peace.” “Well, you came to the right place.”

(1.8k) Full Moon ☘︎ — “You didn’t have to come here,” he murmured, almost as a weak attempt at protest. “I know,” you replied, letting your fingers gently caress his hair, a light and repetitive touch. “But I wasn’t going to let you spend this night alone.”

(1.7k) Letter to Santa Claus ʚଓ — you convince Remus to write a letter to Santa Claus

(1.5k) Adorable ʚଓ — “You know, Remus, if you weren’t so adorable, you probably wouldn’t have gotten the chocolate.”

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Online Meeting 🖥 pt.2

Alexia Putellas x Reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

pt.1

summary :

Over the following weeks, fans begin piecing together clues about your relationship, culminating in paparazzi photos of you and Alexia kissing, confirming the rumors.

The days following the interview were… strange.

At first, the questions from Alexia’s fans had been mild curiosity. Comments under the interview video ranged from playful speculation to downright conspiracies. Fans were, after all, a dedicated bunch—especially when it came to someone as beloved as Alexia Putellas. But neither of you could have imagined how quickly the rumors would pick up.

It started with screenshots. Sharp-eyed viewers had gone back to the recording, capturing the exact moment Alexia's expression changed. Her fleeting smile, the sudden softness in her eyes—it all became fuel for countless fan theories. Some were harmless guesses, others more pointed, as people tried to dissect who could possibly cause the Alexia Putellas to break her professional façade.

Then came the tweets.

*Okay but can we talk about how Alexia got distracted during that interview? Who is she hiding??*

*#WhoWalkedIn ?! I'm convinced Alexia has a secret partner 👀*

*Alexia smiled like that for someone off-screen...what do we think, fam?*

Fan accounts began circulating theories. Old videos, subtle interactions, and even past social media posts were dug up and scrutinized. Someone even pointed out how Alexia had been using the word cariño more often in interviews, but only when talking to someone off-camera or when she was distracted.

You and Alexia didn’t talk about it at first. It was easy to brush off the initial stir as just the nature of her fame. People were bound to overanalyze every little thing. But as the weeks went on, it became harder to ignore.

The two of you were spotted at a small café one evening, trying to keep a low profile. You sat across from her, laughing at a story she told about one of her teammates, and it felt just like any other quiet moment. But as you left, a fan had caught sight of Alexia. Despite her hoodie and sunglasses, she was still recognizable to the most dedicated. She signed a quick autograph, and you both hurried off.

You thought nothing of it until the next morning.

Photos of Alexia at the café began circulating online, and while most fans focused on her casual outfit or her rare public outing, a few of the eagle-eyed ones noticed something else—you. The photos were grainy, taken from a distance, but they were enough. One fan even circled a reflection of your face caught in the window and posted it side by side with blurry images of you from other occasions, piecing together what looked like a shadow of the truth.

Pinterest : sadlittleheart

*Who is this girl with Alexia? She’s been spotted with her "before".*

It wasn’t just the café outing either. Someone found an old photo from months ago, where you and Alexia had been standing too close at a team dinner. The initial photo hadn’t caused any waves back then, but now, with the added context of the interview slip-up, people were connecting the dots.

And then, it happened. The moment neither of you had anticipated but also knew was inevitable.

You and Alexia were walking through a park late one night, trying to escape the bustle of the city. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the quiet paths. It had become your ritual—those late-night walks where no one would bother you, where she could just be Alexia, not the icon or the footballer, but just your girlfriend.

But as you neared a secluded part of the park, Alexia pulled you into a brief kiss, her hand gently cradling your jaw. It wasn’t long, just a sweet, private moment that would have gone unnoticed—except it didn’t.

The next morning, headlines broke across sports and gossip sites alike.

Paparazzi Shots of Alexia Putellas and Mystery Woman Kissing!

The photos were splashed across every major platform, your faces blurred in some, clear as day in others. The intimate kiss, the way her hand lingered on your cheek—it was all out there now, the quiet truth of your relationship exposed.

Fan accounts exploded.

*GUYS IT'S HER. THE GIRL FROM THE INTERVIEW.*

*Alexia has a girlfriend?? She’s so cute with her omg!!*

*We knew it! The way she smiled during that interview—this makes so much sense.*

The shift in public perception was sudden. Where before it had been speculation and conspiracy theories, now it was a full-blown revelation. Fans flooded Alexia’s social media, some supportive, others surprised, but the general consensus was one of excitement. People loved that Alexia seemed happy, even if some had been taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

As the storm swirled around you, Alexia stayed calm. She always did. One morning, you woke up to find her scrolling through her phone, reading some of the more amusing comments with a soft smile.

“They’re really invested,” you muttered, peeking over her shoulder.

Alexia chuckled, leaning back into you. “They always are. But as long as you’re okay…” She turned to you, her eyes searching yours.

“I’m okay,” you assured her. “Are you?”

“I am,” she replied, pulling you closer. “Now that it’s out there… I think I like not having to hide anymore.”

You smiled, feeling the weight lift from your shoulders. The world might know now, but in this moment, none of that mattered. It was just you and her, and that was more than enough.

pt.3

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

off-camera

pair: Walker Scobell x reader

summary: y/n(she/her) and Walker have their first kiss (off camera)

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❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

It was a chilly Friday evening on set, and Walker could hardly contain his excitement. Filming had wrapped up early, giving the cast and crew some free time to relax. The sky was turning a deep shade of purple, stars beginning to peek out, and the air was filled with the kind of excitement that only comes after a long, successful day of work.

Y/N was sitting on a low wall just outside the trailer, her face lit up by the soft glow of the overhead lights. She was bundled up in a thick, oversized hoodie that practically swallowed her whole. Walker thought she looked adorable, like a cozy marshmallow. He found himself smiling as he watched her, a warm feeling blooming in his chest.

He walked over, trying to play it cool. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets. “Mind if I join you?”

She looked up and grinned, patting the space next to her. “Not at all. It’s kind of nice out here, isn’t it?”

Walker nodded, sitting down beside her. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his, even through their layers of clothing. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the sky grew darker and the stars brighter.

“So,” Y/N said after a while, turning to face him. “You did really great today. The directors were all over the moon about your scene.”

Walker shrugged, trying to hide his blush. “Thanks. I mean, you were amazing too. I don’t know how you keep nailing your lines every single time.”

She laughed, a soft, musical sound that made Walker’s heart skip a beat. “Lots of practice, I guess. Or maybe I just have a great scene partner.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words. Y/N’s eyes were sparkling, reflecting the starry sky above. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, and her smile was the kind that made Walker feel like he could take on the world.

“Walker?” she said, her voice a little softer now. “You okay?”

He nodded slowly, his heart pounding. “Yeah, I’m good. Actually… there’s something I’ve been wanting to do.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Walker swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. This was it. No turning back now. “I’ve been wanting to do this,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Before he could overthink it, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering closed. He felt Y/N’s breath hitch, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in too, meeting him halfway.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and oh-so-sweet. It was like a scene from one of their movies, but so much better because it was real. Y/N’s lips were warm against his, and Walker could feel his heart soaring. He reached up, cupping her cheek with his hand, deepening the kiss just a little.

When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, cheeks flushed. Walker opened his eyes to see Y/N looking at him, a dazed smile on her face.

“Wow,” she breathed, her voice filled with wonder. “That was… wow.”

Walker grinned, his heart racing with happiness. “Yeah. Wow.”

They sat there for a moment, just looking at each other, and then they both burst out laughing. It was the kind of laugh that came from deep within, filled with joy and relief and the thrill of a perfect first kiss.

[shebunie]

HIIIIII! could you do a mizu x reader when reader teases mizu so much that mizu snaps and erm...things get suggestive or just plain smut IDK 🙏🏽

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟭𝟴+, 𝗻𝘀𝗳𝘄, 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁, 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗱𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸, 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 (𝗿! 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝗲𝗱𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗶 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱, 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳-𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟮.𝟲𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗛𝗶 <𝟯, 𝗮𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗵𝘂, 𝗜 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝘇𝘂, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱! 𝗠𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗹 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗜 𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗿𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗳𝗳. 𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗦 𝗦𝟮!

"I don’t want company." 

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the tranquil landscape. Mizu, the stoic yet skilled samurai, sat beneath a cherry blossom tree, taking a moment of relaxation from her travels. Her sword rested beside her, reflecting the fading sunlight. However, her solitude was soon interrupted by your arrival.

You, an adventurous and cheeky soul, approached her with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I couldn't resist the allure of a lone samurai beneath the cherry blossoms," you declared, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

“What's gotten you so grumpy?” 

Mizu's piercing gaze met yours, her expression unwavering. "I said, I don’t want company," she replied, a hint of irritation in her tone.

Undeterred, you plopped down beside her, ignoring her warning. "Oh, come on, Mizu! Even a samurai needs a break. Plus, it's a crime to waste such a beautiful evening in solitude," you teased, leaning closer to her.

She sighed, realizing that you were not easily deterred. "I value my solitude. It sharpens my focus and keeps me attuned to the world around me," Mizu explained, attempting to maintain her composure.

You chuckled, tracing patterns on the grass with your fingers. "I get that, I do. But even the mighty Mizu needs a break from being a stone-cold warrior sometimes. Don't you ever get tired of all that serious stuff?"

Mizu's stoic facade cracked ever so slightly as she shot you a sideways glance. "I don't get tired. I endure," she retorted.

Your grin widened, clearly enjoying her reactions. "Endure, huh? Well, how about enduring some good company for a change? It might be just what you need."

A subtle tension hung in the air as Mizu's patience wore thin. "I've endured many challenges and adversaries. Dealing with you might be the most formidable one yet," she remarked, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

A hand to your mouth, feigning shock enveloped your features, “Of course, you seem to be the only one who can handle it anyway.” 

Each remark a playful jab, and each counter a carefully calculated response. The verbal sparring evolved into a dance of wit and charm. Mizu found herself caught in the web of your playful teasing, her steely resolve slowly giving way to the unexpected allure of your company.

As the moon began to rise, casting a silvery glow on the landscape, you decided to up the ante. "You know, Mizu, beneath that tough exterior, I bet there's a samurai with a heart that longs for a little excitement," you mused, a sly grin playing on your lips.

Mizu raised an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and defiance in her gaze. "I have no interest in power or money. I have no interest in being happy. Only satisfied." 

“And what if I told you that a bit of someone, might just be the key to satisfaction?”

You leaned in, your voice a soft whisper against the gentle rustling of the cherry blossoms as you lifted a finger to trace along the jaw of the wielder. The strand of her hair followed the breeze, your eyes traced along the bridge of her nose, down to her upturned lips. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Looking at you.” you voiced, Mizu couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of discomfort and curiosity. Your presence, initially an unwelcome intrusion, now presented a challenge that intrigued her. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, trying to maintain her composure.

"I prefer to be unseen," Mizu remarked, her tone stern, but a glimmer of uncertainty lingered in her eyes.

You chuckled softly, the mischievous glint in your eyes undiminished. "But you look so pretty like this. Do I make you nervous?”

Mizu, unaccustomed to such flattery, found herself at a loss for words. The air around you two was charged with a newfound tension, a delicate balance between the solitude she sought and the unexpected charm you brought. The cherry blossoms overhead seemed to sway in approval, as if nature itself acknowledged the subtle shift in the atmosphere.

Your soft fingers that lingered on her face, held her chin and gently turned her gaze to you. The moon illuminated the scene, casting shadows that played on your features, giving you an almost ethereal quality.

For a moment, Mizu's stoic exterior wavered. She glanced away, the touch of your finger on her skin tingled, breaking eye contact, and the moonlight revealed a hint of vulnerability. "Empty flattery won't change my resolve," she declared, her voice a mixture of defiance and self-assurance.

But you were undeterred, your playful demeanour persisting. "Who said anything about changing your resolve? I just thought you could use a break from it every now and then," you replied shifting your focus on the sword between you, ever so carefully gliding your fingers along the hilt. 

Mizu's internal struggle played out on her face, a silent battle between the disciplined warrior and the unforeseen allure of your company.

“You look troubled,” the sultry tone of your voice called her out. Mizu let out a sigh, her resistance crumbling like a dam giving way to the persistent flow of water. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she found herself drawn into the magnetic field of your presence. "I am not troubled, I just don't want to be bothered," she insisted, though her gaze betrayed a conflict within.

Your fingers continued to dance along the intricate details of her sword, a silent acknowledgement of the craftsmanship that mirrored the complexities of Mizu herself. A sigh escaped your soft lips, “Then I’ll leave you to it.” Standing from your position, smoothing down your kimono as you turned around to leave the stoic wielder alone with the presence of the moonlit sakura’s

Mizu, unable to fully articulate the conflicting emotions within her, found herself reacting on an impulse she didn't quite understand. Her hand, the same one that had just moments ago wielded a sword with precision and control, now held onto the delicate fabric of your sleeve. Eyes, usually sharp and focused, betrayed a mix of uncertainty and something else—an unspoken acknowledgement of a connection.

You turned to look at her, surprise evident in your eyes. The air crackled with tension as Mizu's gaze held yours, the silent exchange conveying more than words ever could. In that brief moment, the boundaries that she had meticulously built around herself began to blur. She pulled you to sit on her lap.

"I didn't ask for this," Mizu grumbled, attempting to salvage some semblance of control over the situation.

With a playful smirk, you retorted, "Well, you did say you endure, right? Consider this endurance training for, an unexpected guest." Snaking your arms around her neck,  the subtle touch of your fingers on the back of her neck sent shivers down her spine.

Long slender fingers gripped your face, squishing your cheeks and making you form a pout, “This persistent attitude of yours reminds me of someone,” Mizu’s patience ran thin on your teasing, a frown etched on her face while she squinted her eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh at her attempt to regain control, your pout turning into a playful grin. "Oh, really? And who might that be?" you asked, your voice a melodic muffled blend of amusement and curiosity.

“Just like Taigen when we were children,” her grip on your plush face remained, a different glint evident in her cerulean eyes, “A fucking brat.” Pushing you down on the soft grass, as she hovered above you, her weight supported by her strong arms.

The world seemed to slow down as Mizu's unexpected move left you breathless. The scent of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, and the moonlight painted a surreal backdrop for the unfolding moment. The playful banter had given way to a charged atmosphere, and the tension between you two became palpable.

Mizu's gaze bore into yours, a mixture of intensity and a flicker of something more. The fingers that had gripped your face now traced a delicate path down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. The weight of her body pressed against yours, and a primal energy passed between you, unspoken yet undeniable.

“I can be a brat.”

The soft rustling of the leaves overhead seemed to echo the beating of your hearts as Mizu's lips, once firm and resolute, hovered tantalizingly close to yours. Her eyes, usually guarded, now betrayed a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

"Oh, I know you can," Mizu declared, her voice low and commanding, fingers gently traced along the collar of your kimono, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. 

"You’ll do as I say," she asked, her tone firm. "no defiance, no resistance. just complete submission." Undoing the ties of her makeshift belt with one hand as the other gathered your wrists, slowly and deliberately tying it together, ensuring you're completely at her mercy. 

Mizu can see the anticipation in your eyes, the desire to be dominated and brought to your limits. “Keep those wrists exactly where they are," she commanded, voice leaving no room for negotiation.

"I want to see just how well you can follow orders." She proceeded to explore your body with rough fingertips, caressing and teasing every inch of your exposed skin. 

You closed your legs together, “I don't think I follow orders that well,” feeling every tantalizing touch of the samurai, goosebumps rising from your skin as your breath wavered. 

Looking at the wielders eyes, a mischievous glint danced in her gaze. "Oh, we'll see about that," she purred, her fingers tracing a slow path up your inner thigh. "Resistance can be quite entertaining."

As she leaned in, her warm breath grazed your ear. "Perhaps I'll have to find more creative ways to make you obey," she teased, her fingers lightly dancing along your collarbone. "You won't be closing those legs for long."

“come on my love speak up, what do you want? you want me to fuck you open for all of them to see?" Mizu whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. She cocked her head to the side, your gaping lips brushing her earlobe as another whine escaped your throat. You whimper, the sudden feeling of her soft lips kissing your body never failing to make you feel crazy.

Mizu’s fingers drift down, fiddling with the hem of your garment before teasing you from the outside. Her boney fingers lightly ran over your underwear, soaking cunt leaking through the fabric.

Whines and begs slipping from your mouth, pleas for her to touch you. But, she stops, looking you dead in the eyes, “what do you want? say it, use your words.” She demands, watching you so closely you could come just from her gaze.

“Please, mizu.. I want you to touch me.” 

Mizu's smirk widened as she leaned in, her fingers tracing a teasing path up your arm. "Well," she purred, "you have to be more specific than that."

Your breath caught in your throat, the anticipation thick in the air. "I want..." you stammered, struggling to form coherent words. Mizu's eyes never left yours, her confidence almost maddening.

"I want your hands on me," you finally managed to express, your voice a mix of need and frustration. Mizu's laughter echoed in the room, low and sultry.

"Such a good start," she whispered, her touch now dancing along your waist. "But you can do better. Tell me exactly where you want me to touch you."

The room seemed to shrink as you gathered your thoughts, desire and embarrassment wrestling within you. "I want your lips on mine," you admitted, your cheeks flushing with a mix of arousal and vulnerability.

Mizu's gaze intensified, a hunger evident in her eyes. "And?" she urged, her fingers lingering on the edge of your anticipation.

"Everywhere," you confessed, feeling the weight of your desire in the pit of your stomach. "I want to feel you everywhere."

Her giggle filled the room again, this time a bit softer. "Now we're getting somewhere," she murmured, closing the gap between you. 

“Here?” you whine at her words, nodding. “Why are you nodding? I said to use your words.” She growled, her brows furrowing.

“I want you to touch my pussy, mizu.” you moaned out, enough to satisfy her.

“On your hands and knees,” Nimble fingers tease and twist your panties until they’re pooling around your ankles. Breath becomes heavier as she starts to kiss a pathway down the length of your back. You give in to her urges; head tipping back as her mouth glides over the plush of your behind. 

Mizu kneels between your legs, sinking her teeth into your ass and moaning in unison with you. Your back arches at the feeling, presenting your cunt for her to feast.

“Pretty girl,” Mizu growls, hands palming your ass, spreading you further apart, “with the prettiest pussy, fuck-”

She delves in. Shiny tongue weaving between webbed folds. She groans, going for a second taste, a longer lick. Mizu slurps at your cunt, the loud, lewd sound causing you to shiver, top half of your body lowering against the tatami floors. The cold sends a jolt through your already perky nipples, and you squirm. 

“Sweeter than sugar,” Mizu licks her lips, eyes memorising the sight of your wet cunt, puffy and pulsing for her -  diving back in, her tongue and lips explore you.

Kissing your puffy clit, causing an erotic moan to leap from your swollen lips. She sucks on your aching clit, flicking the talented tip of her tongue in intricate patterns that have your thighs quivering against her flushing cheeks.

Mizu’s tongue worked its usual magic; sucking, kissing, rolling— your eyes began to water, the feeling of her inside you causing your build-up to come much faster than usual.

Indents of your teeth scatter across your hand and arm after having to bite into yourself to stay quiet. It was the crack of dawn after all. So, you continue to release muffled moans against your skin, eyes squeezing shut in concentration- but fuck  Mizu knows what she’s doing with her tongue.

“Mmhm,” Mizu groans, face smushing into your cunt. Her ego swells with every, jolt of your hips as her tongue catches the perfect spot in each swirl. The way she moved had you crying like a little girl; red-faced and sobbing, begging her to let you cum. “what do you want, again?”

“Please, please mizu, please let me cum. I’ll be good, I promise.”

She’s about to make you cum faster and harder than you ever had in your life. She can sense it in the pulsing of your clit, feel it in the tremble of your legs. God, she wants to beg. 

Feeling you slip over the edge and moaning into you. To catch every essence of your release, she switches to long yet fast licks up and down the length of you;  from your buzzing clit, over your clenching hole.

“Mizu, fuck, oh my-” Your tied hands search for her, finding purchase grasping dark long tresses, “I’m-”

A calloused hand lands on your soft supple skin with a smack. The corner of her lips curls up into a grin when your body jolts, soft whines slipping past your lips.

“We’re done when I say we’re done or has the whore forgotten the endurance training she proposed?” The insult had your tummy flipping and cunt clenching, and of course Mizu noticed.  She took no time slipping her middle finger inside you, your walls sucking her in desperately. 

Leaning over your body, her perky breast mushed against your arching back as her free hand tightly pulled your hair.

“Mizu!” you squeak, clit throbbing, the roughness of her fingers rubbing against the walls of your cunt. “Please—” you whimpered, tear droplets rolling down your cheeks.

“Shut up.” She grunted out, long and slender fingers increasing their pace, pounding that spongy taste of heaven inside you, over and over again.

[srvbryn]

Luke Castellan. Moonlight

Luke Castellan X Hades!Daughter!Reader

FLUFF <333

Summary: "we're running in the moonlight, can you show me the way again?" In which Luke fucking Castellan somehow managed to make you fall in love even more with him (ts doesn't make sense btw 😭)

A/n: GOSHH I love him sm<33 can we ignore whatever he did in the books aaaaa & CHARLIE BUSHNELL is perfect 100% I'm so desperate if you look like Charlie Bushnell hmu 🥹🥹

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a silver glow over the beach as Luke Castellan slipped away from Hermes Cabin.

His mischievous grin was illuminated by the moonlight, and he sought the company of a specific person - (Name), Hades forbidden daughter.

As he approached (Name)'s cabin, the shadows seemed to illuminated around him, concealing his movements.

Knocking softly, he waited for (Name) to open the door, her demeanour reserved and cool, a trait inherited from her godly lineage.

"Hey there, (Name)," Luke greeted, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "Mind taking a stroll with me? The beach is calling."

(Name) hesitated, her shy nature evident, but curiosity sparkled in her eyes. "Sure, Castellan. Just for a little while."

Avoiding watchful eyes, until they reached the shoreline.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air as they found a secluded spot, away from prying eyes.

Luke interrupted the silence. "Wonderful night, isn't it? The moonlight reflects off the water like diamonds."

(Name) nodded, "It's... nice."

As they walked along the shore, "There's something mysterious about you."

A faint blush tinged (Name)'s cheeks. "Being Hades daughter tends to make people wary."

Luke chuckled. "Well, they don't know what they're missing. I find it intriguing."

(Name) shot him a quizzical look. "You do?"

"Absolutely. You've got this aura, but I think there's more to you than meets the eye."

They continued walking in companionable silence until Luke abruptly paused, his gaze fixed on the stars. "Hey, (Name), have you ever wished upon a star?"

(Name) shook her head. "Not really. Why?"

"I heard that wishes made under moonlit skies are more likely to come true," he replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

(Name) smirked slightly, a rare expression for her. "I doubt that."

"Care to test it out?" Luke grinned, taking (Name)'s hand gently. "Close your eyes and make a wish."

As (Name) closed her eyes, a genuine smile played on Luke's lips. "I wish for (Name) to open up, to let people see the warmth hidden beneath that exterior."

When (Name) opened her eyes, Luke's gaze softened. "Well, did it work?"

(Name) blushed, avoiding eye contact. "Maybe a little."

They resumed their walk, the atmosphere lighter. As the night wore on, they found themselves sitting on the sand, staring at the moonlit waves.

Luke turned to (Name), his expression earnest. "You know, (Name), I'm glad I sneaked out tonight."

(Name)'s cheeks flushed again, but this time, it was accompanied by a genuine smile. "Thank you, Luke. I enjoyed tonight."

Luke grinned, his mischief returning. "Well, maybe we should sneak out more often."

The air between Luke and (Name) crackled with an unspoken tension as they sat by the beach.

Luke turned to (Name), his eyes searching hers. "You know, sometimes words aren't necessary."

(Name) met his gaze, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Without answering, Luke closed the distance, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. The world seemed to pause for that stolen moment.

As they pulled away, (Name) looked at him, her cheeks flushed. "Luke..."

He grinned, the spark returning to his eyes. "Some things are better felt than said."

A small smile played on (Name)'s lips. "I never expected this."

"Life's full of surprises," Luke replied, his tone sincere. "And this? This was a pleasant one."

They sat in a comfortable silence, the light casting a gentle glow over their intertwined fingers. Luke couldn't help but break the quiet. "Who would've thought the daughter of Hades could be so enchanting?"

(Name) rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Flattery won't get you far, Castellan."

He chuckled. "Maybe not, but it's worth a shot."

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (driftmark)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (because of some scenes)

- Previous part: lion's den

- Next part: the flint

- Tag(s): @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The dining hall of the Red Keep glowed softly beneath the warm light of a dozen candelabras, their flames casting a gentle shimmer over the long table. The family had gathered as King Viserys wished, the evening an affair meant for unity and harmony amidst the tumult of the court. Silver goblets shone next to plates laden with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and crusty bread. Servants moved quietly along the table’s edges, refilling wine and delivering fresh platters.

At the head of the table sat King Viserys, whose smile tonight seemed genuine, his face brighter with warmth than it had been in moons. At his right was Queen Alicent, regal as ever in emerald silk, her hands neatly folded as she oversaw the table with a critical but composed gaze. You and Jason were seated near Rhaenyra and Laenor on the opposite end, where your eldest children—Leona and Loren—shared animated conversations with their cousins.

It was a scene of relative calm—until Viserys cleared his throat, signaling to the table.

“Before we enjoy the bounty of this evening,” he began, his voice steady but strained with effort, “I would like us to begin with a prayer. A moment of reflection and gratitude is owed to the gods—particularly the Seven—who have given us this meal and this family.”

You exchanged a glance with Jason, whose expression immediately quirked with amusement, though he wisely said nothing. The king was not a man who favored the Seven.

Alicent, sensing her moment, smiled and inclined her head. “A wise suggestion, Your Grace.” She turned toward the table, her voice clear and even. “The Faith has sustained the realm for centuries, uniting all under the blessings of the Seven. It is good that we should take a moment to remember their guidance.”

Jason, seated beside you, shifted slightly in his chair, his posture loose and entirely unbothered as he reached lazily for his goblet.

Alicent caught his movement, her gaze sharpening just a little as she turned her attention to him. “Does that amuse you, Lord Jason?” she asked, her tone polite but edged. “Do you not consider yourself a religious man?”

Jason froze mid-sip, though only for the briefest of moments. A smirk tugged at his lips as he set the goblet down, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I do, Your Grace,” he replied smoothly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I hold the gods very close to my heart. I pray often.”

He leaned closer to you then, lowering his voice just enough that only you could hear. “Usually when I’m between your legs, wife.”

Your eyes widened in alarm as you shot him a sharp glare, cheeks flushing despite yourself. “Jason!” you hissed softly, nudging his shin beneath the table. “You’ll hold your tongue if you value your head.”

Jason only grinned like a cat who’d caught a mouse, entirely unrepentant.

The exchange, however, had not gone entirely unnoticed. Laenor Velaryon, who was seated across from you, had clearly heard the comment. He snorted into his wine, nearly choking on his sip before bursting into laughter. “Gods, Jason,” Laenor coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re going to get yourself thrown out of King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra, seated beside him, gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow. “Laenor, stop,” she muttered, though even she struggled to hide the smirk pulling at her lips.

“Apologies,” Laenor said with a grin, raising his cup to Jason with mock solemnity. “To piety, then.”

“Indeed,” Jason replied, smirking triumphantly as he lifted his goblet in response.

You turned sharply to Jason, muttering under your breath, “That was terrible.”

“And yet you adore me,” he quipped softly, his tone teasing as ever.

Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, your daughter Aemma had struck up an animated conversation with Princess Helaena, whose fingers toyed with a small, delicate beetle crawling carefully along her palm.

“What is its name?” Aemma asked curiously, leaning forward to inspect the creature.

Helaena smiled faintly, tilting her hand so Aemma could see. “I call him Nymis. He’s a dung beetle, but he’s very clever, you know. He always rolls his food the same way.”

Aemma gasped softly, her curls bouncing as she smiled. “He’s so small. Can he do tricks?”

Helaena nodded sagely. “If you watch closely, he’ll always head toward the light. Bugs are wiser than people think.”

At that moment, Aemond—ever watchful and quiet—appeared at Helaena’s other side. He glanced between the two girls, then down at the beetle. “It’s just a bug,” he said dismissively, though his tone lacked malice.

“It’s Nymis,” Helaena corrected sharply, her gaze darting to her younger brother.

Aemma, quick to defend her aunt, folded her arms. “He’s very clever, Uncle Aemond.”

Aemond regarded her for a moment, his eyes narrowing as though considering whether to argue. But after a pause, he sighed and stepped closer, peering at the beetle curiously. “What does it eat?” he asked, his voice softening.

Helaena perked up, pleased to have drawn his interest. “Mostly dung, but sometimes fruit. Shall I show you?”

Aemma nodded eagerly. “Yes, show us!”

The three of them huddled together, their conversation turning quiet and earnest as Helaena explained the beetle’s habits. It was a rare moment of harmony, and you smiled softly as you caught sight of Aemma chatting so gently with her uncle and aunt.

Elsewhere along the table, Jace and Luke were engaged in a lively conversation with Leona and Loren, while Aegon called for a servant to pour him another cup of wine.

“Do you think Vaelora could outfly Vermax?” Jace asked, his voice brimming with challenge as he grinned at Leona.

“Easily,” Leona replied, smirking as she took a bite of bread. “Vaelora is stronger and faster.”

“She’s only faster because she’s smaller,” Luke interjected, his face scrunched in thought. “Vermax is still growing.”

“Morghan doesn’t need to race,” Loren added quietly, his tone matter-of-fact as ever. “He’d win if it came to a fight.”

“That’s not fair,” Jace replied, though he was grinning. “Morghan’s nearly black as night. He’d disappear in the dark.”

“Exactly,” Loren said with a nod.

The children’s banter continued, growing louder with the occasional peal of laughter, as young Tyland and Daena whispered conspiratorially to one another at the opposite end. Daena covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle, and Tyland shot you and Jason an occasional glance, as though plotting something only the two of them could understand.

The dinner continued in this lively manner, the table filled with chatter, laughter, and the quiet hum of conversation. At its head, King Viserys looked out over his family—his daughters, sons, grandchildren, and their bonds—and for once, his smile held no trace of sorrow.

That illusion shattered when the heavy doors creaked open and Grand Maester Mellos shuffled into the hall. His face, ashen and drawn, seemed paler than usual beneath the flickering candlelight. A scroll was clutched tightly in his trembling hands, and the sight of him brought an immediate hush to the table. All eyes turned toward him.

King Viserys looked up from his meal, his brow furrowing. “What is it, Mellos?” he asked, his tone a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.

“Forgive the interruption, Your Grace,” Mellos rasped, his voice dry and cracked with age. “A raven has arrived from Driftmark. It bears grave news.”

The silence that followed was palpable, the weight of it pressing upon the hall like a stone. The maester moved slowly toward Viserys, the scroll shaking slightly in his hands. The king took it, his frown deepening as he broke the wax seal and unrolled the message.

The room watched him, tense and expectant. Rhaenyra’s hand went still where it hovered near her goblet, and Laenor’s easy smile faded into something uncertain as his gaze flickered toward the king.

Viserys began to read, his expression softening—then falling. The light that had brightened his eyes all evening dimmed in an instant, replaced with a somber heaviness.

“Father?” Rhaenyra ventured softly, her voice tentative.

Viserys did not immediately respond. He read the letter a second time, as if hoping its words might somehow change. Finally, he exhaled deeply, the sound a whisper of grief, and looked up at the table.

“It is from Driftmark,” Viserys said quietly, his voice almost hoarse. “Lady Laena Velaryon has passed.”

The words struck the room like a hammer blow. A heavy, stunned silence fell over the table.

Laenor froze. For the span of a heartbeat, he did not seem to breathe. His eyes were wide, uncomprehending, as though the words themselves refused to settle in his mind.

“In childbirth,” Viserys continued, his voice quieter still. “She was taken too soon, and… the babe as well.”

Laenor’s goblet slipped from his hand, hitting the table with a dull thud before rolling to the floor. Wine pooled across the white tablecloth, but no one paid it any mind.

“Dead?” Laenor’s voice broke on the word, hoarse and raw. He blinked rapidly, his gaze darting to Rhaenyra as though seeking confirmation. “Laena is dead?”

Rhaenyra was already rising to her feet, her face pale and stricken. “Laenor…”

“No,” Laenor whispered, shaking his head. His voice grew faint, his chest rising and falling sharply as though the room had suddenly lost its air. “No, it cannot be…”

Rhaenyra stepped around the table and gently took his arm. “Come, Laenor,” she said softly, her voice calm but steady. “Let me escort you back to your chambers.”

Laenor did not resist as she pulled him to his feet, though his gaze remained unfocused, his expression blank with disbelief. “She cannot be gone,” he muttered faintly, his voice more to himself than anyone else. “She cannot be…”

Rhaenyra cast a quick glance at her father, then at you, her expression tight with worry. “I’ll see him to his chambers,” she said quietly, leading Laenor from the hall. His steps were sluggish, as though the weight of the news had turned his limbs to stone.

The hall remained silent even after the doors closed behind them. All eyes turned back to Viserys, whose face was etched with grief. Queen Alicent shifted slightly in her seat, her expression carefully composed, though her hands trembled where they rested on the table.

Jason leaned back in his chair, breaking the silence with a quiet exhale. “Gods,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Laena Velaryon… A fine woman, gone too soon.”

Your hand rested lightly on his forearm, though your attention lingered on the king. Viserys was staring into nothingness, his expression haunted.

You leaned toward Jason slightly, your voice low. “This will have struck Uncle Daemon hard as well,” you murmured. “...and their daughters…”

Jason’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, his green eyes searching your face. “The girls. Rhaena and Baela,” he said softly. “Twins, aren’t they?”

You nodded, your heart heavy at the thought of the two young girls. “Yes.”

Jason frowned thoughtfully, swirling the wine in his goblet but not drinking it. “A cruel blow to lose their mother. And Daemon…” He shook his head. “He will not take this well.”

“Would you?” you asked softly, your voice edged with quiet grief. The thought of your own children losing you—of leaving Jason to raise them alone—sent a chill through you.

Jason turned to you, his gaze steady and uncharacteristically serious. He reached for your hand beneath the table, his fingers curling gently around yours. “No,” he said quietly. “I would not.”

You offered him a faint smile, squeezing his hand lightly. It was a small comfort amidst the somber air that now filled the hall.

At the far end of the table, the children sat quietly, their earlier cheer having vanished. Aegon slouched back in his chair, his goblet of wine untouched as he stared absently at the table. Helaena, still clutching her beetle in her hands, looked toward the doorway where Laenor had disappeared, her brow furrowed in quiet confusion.

Aemma sat beside her, glancing nervously between the adults and her cousins. Aemond had sidled closer, his expression guarded as he looked toward his sister and niece. “Is… is someone dead?” he asked softly, as though afraid of the answer.

Helaena nodded faintly, her voice quiet and almost distant. “Laena Velaryon. She was the twins’ mother.”

Aemma’s face fell, her curls framing her round cheeks as she whispered, “That’s very sad.”

Aemond frowned, as though unsure how to respond. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Yes. It is.”

The older children—Leona, Loren, Daena and Tyland, Jace, and Luke—exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier chatter now forgotten. Loren’s hand rested protectively on the hilt of the sword at his side, as though seeking comfort in its solidity.

At the table’s center, Grand Maester Mellos bowed stiffly before Viserys. “The letter requests the presence of House Targaryen and House Lannister for the funeral, Your Grace,” he said solemnly. “The ceremony will be held on Driftmark in the days to come.”

Viserys nodded faintly, though his gaze was distant. “Of course,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. “It must be so.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, watching the king thoughtfully before murmuring softly to you, “It seems we’ll be traveling again soon.”

You nodded, your expression solemn. “For Laena. And for her family.”

As the servants moved quietly to clear the table, the air remained heavy with grief and unspoken words. The news of Laena’s death had darkened the evening beyond repair, and though the feast had begun in joy, it ended in silence.

The black waves crashed softly against the jagged cliffs of Driftmark, the sound of the sea a steady hum that echoed the somber mood of the gathered family and guests. Grey skies loomed heavy above them, a veil of clouds as mournful as the faces of those in attendance. Lady Laena Velaryon's casket had been lowered into the sea moments earlier, her final resting place among her ancestors, the salt water swallowing her body as if to reclaim one of its own.

The funeral repast had begun shortly after, held within an open pavilion on the grounds of High Tide. Tables had been laid with wine, fresh seafood, and bread, but the atmosphere was tense and heavy. Nobles milled about with muted voices, their faces drawn. Mourning clothes of black and dark greys rippled like shadows in the wind.

You and Jason stood near the edge of the pavilion, close enough to observe without being drawn too deeply into the simmering tension. You rested a hand on Jason's arm as your gaze swept over the gathering.

Jason tilted his goblet lazily in his hand, though his sharp green eyes missed nothing. "Gods," he muttered under his breath. "You can feel it in the air, can’t you? They’re like wolves eyeing one another over scraps."

You nodded faintly, your eyes lingering on the scattered clusters of people. House Velaryon, clad in somber silks, kept to themselves. Daemon stood off to the side, his expression unreadable as he stared out at the sea, a goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. Rhaenyra sat beneath the canopy, silent and statuesque, though the hollows beneath her violet eyes told of sleepless nights. Laenor sat beside her, a near-empty goblet clutched tightly in his hand as he murmured aimless words to no one in particular.

“She seems… worn,” Jason observed, his gaze flicking to Rhaenyra. “Even more so than when we arrived.”

You sighed softly, following his gaze. “Word came of Harwin Strong and Lord Lyonel,” you replied quietly. “An accidental fire, they say, at Harrenhal. Harwin and his father are dead.”

Jason scoffed, his lips curling with disbelief. “An accidental fire? Harrenhal is cursed, yes, but no man of sense believes that. Someone wanted the Strong dead, though I doubt we’ll ever hear who.”

You looked away, your voice low and troubled. “Harwin was more than just her sworn protector, Jason.”

Jason’s brow arched, though he seemed unsurprised. “You think I hadn’t noticed? Half the realm whispers of those Strong boys. It’s no secret what he was to her.”

You shot him a sharp look. “She cannot even mourn him openly,” you said, your voice tight. “Whatever he was to her, she loved him. And now she must pretend as though it means nothing.”

Jason inclined his head slightly, his expression softening as he regarded you. “You should speak with her. Rhaenyra will not want for words, but she’ll need to hear some kindness today.”

You nodded, touching his arm lightly before stepping away. “And you? Where will you go?”

Jason’s lips quirked into a faint, roguish smirk as his gaze drifted toward Daemon, still brooding near the cliffs. “I think I’ll go see what the Rogue Prince is brooding about. He looks in need of company.”

“Or a fight,” you muttered under your breath.

Jason chuckled. “Well, he can take it out on me, then. I’ve had enough wine to make it interesting.”

You moved across the pavilion, weaving between somber faces and hushed conversations until you reached Rhaenyra. She sat stiffly at one of the long tables, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stared down at her goblet. Her expression was carefully schooled, but you could see the grief swimming in her eyes—the kind of grief she dared not show too openly.

“Rhaenyra,” you said softly, stepping up beside her.

She looked up quickly, her violet eyes sharp before they softened at the sight of you. “Sister,” she murmured, forcing a small, tired smile. “You’re kind to come.”

You took a seat beside her, reaching for her hand. “I would not leave you to this alone.”

Rhaenyra glanced down at her lap again, her shoulders stiff. “There is no kindness here,” she said bitterly, her voice low. “Only the weight of what cannot be spoken.”

You squeezed her hand gently. “I know,” you said softly. “I know what Harwin meant to you. And what this loss must feel like.”

Her breath caught faintly, her lips trembling as she turned away. “I cannot even say his name,” she whispered hoarsely. “They watch me for any sign, any flicker of truth. As though my grief were treason.”

You leaned closer, your voice steady and warm. “Let them watch. Your grief is yours, Rhaenyra. No one can take that from you.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a moment, her shoulders rising and falling with a shuddering breath. When she looked back at you, her gaze was softer, though tears still threatened to spill. “Thank you,” she whispered.

You said nothing further, content to sit beside her in quiet support, the unspoken words passing between you as clear as any conversation.

Meanwhile, Jason strode toward Daemon with his usual casual air, a fresh goblet of wine in hand. Daemon stood alone near the edge of the cliffs, the wind whipping his silver hair as he stared out over the vast, churning sea. He didn’t turn as Jason approached.

“If you’ve come to offer condolences, they mean little,” Daemon said coldly, his voice carried on the wind.

Jason smirked faintly as he extended the goblet toward him. “I’ve come to offer wine. Condolences are best left to those who are better at lying.”

Daemon finally glanced at him, his pale lavender eyes sharp and searching. After a pause, he took the goblet with a curt nod. “I suppose that’s better company,” he muttered, taking a long sip.

Jason studied him for a moment before speaking again, his tone light. “She was a strong woman, your Laena. Stronger than most men I’ve known.”

Daemon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You didn’t know her.”

Jason shrugged. “No, but strength needs no introduction. She fought to live until the very end, didn’t she?”

Daemon looked away, his jaw tightening. “She did.”

For a moment, there was silence between the two men, the wind howling around them as the waves crashed against the rocks below. Then, unexpectedly, Daemon’s lips quirked into something that almost resembled a smirk.

“You know,” Daemon said quietly, turning to face Jason fully, “when Rhaenyra told me you sullied my niece during that royal hunt all those years ago, I wanted to cut your head from your shoulders.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A fond memory, then.”

Daemon tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming darkly. “You’re lucky you married her. It saved you.”

Jason let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Lucky indeed,” he replied dryly. “Though I think you’d have found me hard to kill.”

Daemon smirked faintly, though the shadows of grief lingered behind his expression. “Perhaps. But if you’re here to humor me, Lannister, you’ll need more wine than that.”

Jason grinned, lifting his own goblet in salute. “I can oblige you there, Prince Daemon.”

And so the two men stood together, their shared silence punctuated only by the wind and the distant crash of waves.

The wind tugged at Leona's silver hair as she stood with her twin, Loren, near the edge of the open pavilion. The sea stretched out before them, vast and grey, reflecting the gloom that hung over Driftmark. Though the adults were occupied with their grief and hushed conversations, the twins—now ten and already bearing the quiet, watchful air of their mother—took it all in with sharp eyes and open ears.

“Look,” Leona murmured to Loren, nudging his arm and tilting her chin slightly toward the far end of the gathering.

There, beneath the shadow of the cliffs, stood The Sea Snake himself, Lord Corlys Velaryon. Beside him, Princess Rhaenys held herself upright, her stoic face revealing little to those who did not know her well. But Leona, perceptive even at her young age, could see the faint tremble of Rhaenys's hands where they gripped her shawl.

Lord Corlys stood tall, his face hard as granite as he stared toward the pavilion. Though he exchanged words with his wife in low tones, his shoulders were tense—almost unmovable.

“They look… angry,” Loren said, his voice quiet as he stood beside his sister, hands clasped behind his back.

“They’ve lost their daughter,” Leona replied softly, though her eyes never left the scene. “You’d be angry, too.”

Loren frowned slightly, his gaze flickering to his sister. “Is this how grown-ups grieve? Standing like statues and saying nothing?”

Leona tilted her head thoughtfully, as though considering the question. “Maybe they don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s easier to say nothing at all.”

Loren huffed softly, shifting his weight. “Then it’s all wrong. People should say something.”

Before Leona could reply, the quiet hum of the repast was interrupted by a sudden commotion. Across the pavilion, two small figures—undeniably familiar—rushed past a servant carrying a heavy tray of wine goblets.

“Daena! Tyland!” Loren said in disbelief, recognizing their younger siblings immediately.

The two culprits were young Tyland and Daena, both red-cheeked and giggling as they darted between guests with little care for propriety. Tyland’s mop of golden curls bounced as he looked over his shoulder at Daena, who was half-running, half-hopping to keep up.

“Slow down!” Daena protested through breathless laughter. “You’re cheating!”

“I am not!” Tyland retorted, grinning as he bolted ahead, narrowly missing a passing servant.

The servant—a young man who had clearly been tasked with delivering wine to the guests—tried to sidestep Tyland, but it was too late. The collision sent the tray tilting, and a chorus of metallic clinks rang out as goblets toppled, sending wine splashing in every direction.

The worst of it landed on a tall figure nearby—Lord Otto Hightower himself.

The gasp that followed seemed to ripple through the pavilion, and Otto froze mid-step, his expression turning thunderous as the red wine soaked into his pristine, pale green cloak.

“Seven hells,” Loren whispered, barely containing his amusement. “They’ve gone and ruined the Hand of the King.”

Otto turned slowly, his face a mask of cold displeasure as he glared at the flustered servant, who stammered apologies while attempting to mop up the spill with a rag. Tyland and Daena had both stopped dead, eyes wide as they realized what had happened.

Otto’s cold gaze fixed on them. “You there,” he said sharply, his voice low but biting. “What is the meaning of this?”

Tyland swallowed nervously, though his usual Lannister boldness flared as he straightened his small shoulders. “It was an accident, my lord,” he said, attempting an innocent tone.

Daena looked up at Otto with wide eyes. “We’re very sorry, my lord Hand,” she said quickly. “We didn’t mean to.”

Otto stared down at the two children for a long moment, his lips pursed as though debating whether to scold them. Before he could speak, however, Jason’s laughter boomed from across the pavilion.

“Careful, my lord Hand!” Jason called, smirking as he approached the scene with a fresh goblet in hand. “Wine stains, but it does bring out the color in your cloak, don’t you think?”

The remark cut the tension somewhat, though Otto’s gaze remained sharp as he turned to regard Jason. “Your children, Lord Jason, might benefit from a firmer hand.”

Jason, unbothered, shrugged. “What’s the harm in a little trouble? They’re lions, after all. They run where they please.” He gave a pointed wink to Tyland and Daena, who both grinned sheepishly.

Leona shook her head from where she and Loren stood, her arms crossed. “They’re going to get away with it,” she muttered. “Father always does this.”

“Because he likes the chaos,” Loren replied with a grin. “And they are funny.”

The twins’ attention shifted again when they noticed a small, awkward group gathered near the far end of the pavilion. Jace and Luke stood slightly apart from their cousins, Baela and Rhaena Targaryen. The four of them looked uncertain, none quite sure how to approach the other.

Leona exchanged a glance with Loren, a silent decision passing between them. “Let’s go,” she said firmly. “They look miserable.”

Loren nodded, already following his sister as they strode across the pavilion.

Jace noticed them first, his expression brightening with relief as they approached. “Leona! Loren!”

“Hello, cousins,” Leona greeted, her voice calm and sure as she stepped between them. She cast a glance at Baela and Rhaena, who were both quiet, their grief evident in their downcast gazes. “You’re Baela and Rhaena, aren’t you?”

Rhaena nodded shyly. “Yes. You’re the Lannister twins,” she murmured, her voice soft.

Leona smiled faintly, tilting her head. “We are,” she said. “We’ve heard about you. My mother says you’re brave girls.”

Baela looked up at that, her eyes sharp despite the sadness in them. “Who said we weren’t?”

Leona’s lips twitched. “No one. It was a compliment.”

Loren stepped closer to Luke, who was fidgeting awkwardly beside Jace. “What were you all talking about before we came over?” Loren asked.

“Nothing,” Jace replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. “We weren’t really talking.”

“You were all standing here in silence?” Loren asked incredulously, shooting a look at Leona. “That’s boring.”

“We didn’t know what to say,” Luke muttered, looking toward Baela and Rhaena. “They just lost their mother…”

Baela stiffened slightly, her chin lifting. “We’re fine,” she said quickly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Leona softened at that, stepping closer to the other girl. “You don’t have to be fine,” she said quietly. “Not today.”

Rhaena glanced at her sister, then at Leona, her expression uncertain. “Why are you being nice to us?”

Leona frowned faintly, as though the question didn’t make sense. “Because we’re family,” she replied simply. “And that’s what family does.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Jace smiled faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked between the twins and his cousins.

“Come on,” Loren said after a beat, his tone more cheerful as he glanced at Baela and Rhaena. “You can sit with us. No one should have to stand around being sad and awkward.”

Baela shot him a look, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “And what if we don’t want to?”

Loren shrugged. “Then we’ll just stand here with you. It’s your choice.”

Rhaena gave a small, hesitant smile, looking up at her sister. “Let’s sit with them,” she whispered. “Please?”

Baela hesitated before exhaling and nodding. “Fine,” she muttered, though her steps were already following the twins.

Leona and Loren led the way to a nearby bench, pulling the group together as though it had always been meant to be. The weight of grief was still present, but now it was shared, the burden lightened—if only just.

From a distance, you and Jason both noticed the scene, exchanging a small look of approval. In this moment, at least, family held. 

A gentle breeze rustled through the gardens of Driftmark as the children played in small groups, their laughter and soft voices a reprieve from the somber weight hanging over the day. Near the pavilion, under the dappled shade of a tall tree, Aemma Lannister sat beside Helaena Targaryen, the two girls engrossed in their quiet world.

Helaena knelt on the grass, cupping her hands around a fat beetle that she had discovered crawling near a flowerbed. Her pale hair gleamed in the soft light as she inspected the insect with a sort of awestruck fascination. Aemma, sitting primly with her golden curls spilling over her shoulders, watched with wide eyes as Helaena let the beetle crawl along her wrist.

“Does it bite?” Aemma asked hesitantly, leaning just a little closer.

Helaena shook her head with a small, dreamy smile. “No. It’s kind. See how gentle it is? It doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Aemma tilted her head, watching the beetle crawl before turning her gaze toward the small gathering of adults nearby. Her parents were speaking quietly with Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, while Rhaenyra and Daemon lingered further off, their expressions distant. She sighed softly before looking back at Helaena. “I don’t think my father likes bugs,” she said matter-of-factly.

Helaena smiled faintly, not looking up. “Most people don’t. But they’re wonderful if you take the time to see them.”

Aemma pondered this, her brow furrowed in that serious way children sometimes had. “I suppose that’s true,” she said at last. “But I still don’t think I’d want one crawling on me.”

Nearby, just within earshot, Aegon and Aemond stood together, though their postures could not have been more different. Aegon slouched lazily against the trunk of a tree, arms crossed, his pale hair tousled from the wind. He wore a faint scowl, his gaze wandering aimlessly until it landed on Helaena. His lips curled slightly, and he muttered under his breath.

“I don’t want to marry her.”

Aemond, standing straighter and more composed than his older brother, turned sharply at the complaint. His violet eyes narrowed as he shot Aegon an irritated look. “Don’t say that,” he said firmly. “She’s our sister.”

“That’s the problem,” Aegon replied, huffing. “She’s strange. Talks to bugs, sings to herself. I don’t want her.” He gestured lazily toward Helaena, who was still preoccupied with her beetle. “Besides, the gods wouldn’t make me marry her, would they?”

“Stop whining,” Aemond shot back, his tone colder now. “It’s your duty, and you’ll do as you’re told.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the scolding. His attention drifted away from Helaena and settled instead on Leona Lannister, who stood at the center of a small group of cousins with her twin, Loren. The way Leona held herself—straight-backed and regal, her silver hair shining like fire—caught Aegon’s attention.

“Why can’t I marry someone like her?” he grumbled, more to himself than to Aemond. “Leona wouldn’t let me look twice at bugs. She’d probably kill me if I tried.”

Aemond, though annoyed, couldn’t hide the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “She would,” he replied dryly. “And you deserve it.”

Aegon snorted, pushing himself off the tree and stretching lazily. “I’ll wager there’s more wine in the pavilion. I’ll be happier when I’ve found it.”

“Drinking won’t solve anything,” Aemond muttered, though Aegon ignored him, already walking off with his usual air of indifference.

Aemond watched him leave, his mouth pressed into a thin line, before turning his gaze back to Aemma and Helaena. Helaena had released her beetle now, watching it disappear into the grass, while Aemma hummed softly to herself, tugging at a loose thread on her dress.

Taking a deep breath, Aemond approached them, his hands clasped behind his back. Aemma noticed him first, her bright eyes looking up as he came to stand beside her.

“Aemond,” she said cheerfully. “Are you sad?”

The question caught him off guard, and he blinked. “What?”

“You look sad,” Aemma repeated simply, tilting her head as she studied him. “Is it because of the funeral?”

Aemond hesitated, glancing briefly at Helaena, who watched him with her usual faraway expression. He sighed softly and sat down on the grass beside them, his posture still rigid despite the relaxed setting. “No,” he admitted quietly. “Not that. Not just that.”

Aemma watched him carefully, her small face full of concern. “Then what is it?”

Aemond looked away, his eyes fixing on the horizon where the sea met the sky. “It’s because I still don’t have a dragon,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “Everyone else does—Jace, Luke, Aegon… even Leona and Loren. But not me.”

Helaena, still playing with the grass, spoke softly without looking up. “You will, Aemond.”

Aemond frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because dragons come to those who are worthy,” she replied simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Aemond didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, Aemma spoke up again. “I don’t have a dragon either,” she said, smiling faintly. “Neither do Tyland or Daena. Or the babies. There’s lots of us without dragons.”

Aemond turned to look at her, surprised. “But your brother and sister have dragons,” he said, his tone cautious. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Aemma shook her head. “No. Morrath is Mother’s dragon, but I think she’ll give us eggs when we’re ready. Maybe I’ll have a dragon one day, like Leona and Loren.” Her voice softened slightly as she added, “Or maybe not. But I don’t mind.”

Aemond studied her for a long moment, her calmness in the face of his own frustration striking something within him. At last, he let out a quiet breath and said, “When I have my dragon, I’ll share it with you.”

Aemma’s eyes widened in surprise, and her smile grew. “You would?”

Aemond nodded firmly, his expression resolute. “Yes. I promise.”

Helaena looked up at him then, her gaze clear for the first time, as though she were seeing something beyond the present. “It will come,” she said softly. “It always comes.”

Aemma reached out and took Aemond’s hand in her small one, her smile bright and sincere. “Thank you, Aemond.”

The boy’s cheeks flushed slightly, though he said nothing, simply giving her a small nod in return. The three of them sat in silence after that, the wind carrying the scent of salt and sea, the laughter of their cousins a distant hum in the background. For now, amidst the grief and uncertainty of the day, Aemma’s quiet assurance settled something within Aemond.

He would wait for his dragon. And when it came, he would share its fire.

The guest chambers allotted to House Lannister during their stay at Driftmark were stately but cold, as though even the stones of High Tide carried the weight of the day’s grief. A single hearth crackled with a reluctant fire, its glow stretching across the chamber’s darkened walls and pooling at the edge of the grand bed.

Jason stood near the window, his doublet undone, his golden hair catching the dim light as he gazed out toward the darkening sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its reflection broken by waves that rose and fell like quiet sighs.

“Seven hells,” Jason muttered under his breath, his voice carrying just enough for you to hear as you loosened your bodice, seated on the edge of the bed. “Even for a funeral, this whole ordeal felt… wrong.”

You glanced up, your brow arching faintly. “What do you mean?”

Jason turned, his green eyes sharp and unreadable as he regarded you for a moment before stepping closer, his boots muffled by the ornate carpet. “What do I mean?” he echoed softly, though there was no humor in his tone. “This place feels like a barrel of wildfire waiting for a single spark. The funeral, the whispers, the silence—it was all wrong. There’s more grief here than for Laena alone.”

You studied him carefully, sensing the truth in his words. The air around Driftmark had been heavy, full of unspoken animosity—a dread that had bled into the very walls. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Jason leaned down and pulled you toward him, his hands finding your waist as he spoke again, quieter this time. “But I don’t want to speak of it anymore.”

“Jason—” you began, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The taste of wine lingered faintly on his lips, but the heat in the kiss was unmistakable. His fingers pressed gently into your waist, pulling you flush against him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Whatever heaviness had weighed on him moments ago seemed forgotten as he claimed your mouth with familiar confidence.

You let out a soft hum of protest, though it quickly melted into something else entirely as Jason’s hands moved to cradle your face. When he pulled back, his gaze was dark with intent, his smirk faint and roguish. “Enough about funeral pyres and ghosts, wife,” he murmured. “I’d rather remind myself of the living.”

You huffed lightly, though you could feel the flush rising to your cheeks. “Always the insufferable charmer.”

“And yet, you suffer me gladly,” he teased, leaning in again to trail kisses along the curve of your jaw. His fingers worked quickly to untie the rest of your bodice, the silks loosening as his lips found the tender spot just below your ear.

Your breath hitched. “Jason—”

“Shh,” he murmured against your skin, his tone dropping to a low rumble that sent heat pooling low in your belly. “No interruptions.”

With practiced ease, Jason pulled you fully to your feet, guiding you backward toward the bed as his mouth found yours again. The kiss was deeper now, hungrier, as though he were determined to banish every shadow lingering in his mind. You didn’t resist—couldn’t resist—as his hands worked to rid you of your gown, the fabric slipping from your shoulders like water.

Within moments, you were both tugging at one another’s clothes, driven by the shared heat that ignited so easily between you. Jason’s doublet fell to the floor, followed quickly by the rest of his attire, until his skin pressed against yours. He grinned against your mouth, his hands firm on your hips as he lowered you onto the bed. “You’re too beautiful for grief,” he murmured, his voice roughened with desire. “Let me make you forget.”

You gasped softly as he kissed his way down your throat, his body settling atop yours with deliberate care. Your hands tangled in his golden hair, tugging him closer as his name fell from your lips in a whisper. He slid one hand down to grip your thigh, shifting to position himself—

The sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles against the chamber door shattered the moment.

“Lord Jason! Princess Y/N!” a voice called through the thick wood. It was Ser Harrold Westerling, his tone apologetic but urgent. “Forgive me, my lord, my lady, but you are needed immediately in the throne room.”

Jason froze, his forehead dropping to rest against your collarbone as a frustrated groan escaped him. “Gods, give me strength,” he muttered.

“Ser Harrold,” you called out, your voice faintly strained as you tried to steady your breathing. “What has happened?”

“There has been an incident, Princess,” Harrold replied from the other side of the door. “I cannot say more, but it sounds dire. The king has sent for you both.”

You glanced down at Jason, who had rolled off of you and onto his back, his face twisted in a scowl as he stared up at the canopy above. “I’ll have the man crowned if he learns better timing,” he grumbled bitterly.

You sat up, quickly gathering the sheets around yourself as you reached for your discarded gown. “It sounds serious, Jason.”

Jason sat up beside you, muttering curses under his breath as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed his breeches. “It always sounds serious,” he muttered as he yanked the fabric into place. “Why now? Why at this exact moment?”

You smirked faintly despite the tension in the air, shooting him a look as you pulled your gown back over your shoulders. “Perhaps it’s the gods punishing you for being insatiable.”

Jason shot you a wry glance as he buttoned his tunic with quick, agitated movements. “Then the gods have no sense of humor.”

You glanced toward the door, Ser Harrold’s hurried footsteps already retreating down the corridor. “We need to go.”

Jason sighed heavily as he fastened his belt, though his expression was still dark with irritation. “Fine. But whatever this ‘incident’ is, it had better be worth the interruption.”

You rose from the bed and put on your gown quickly, smoothing the fabric as you shot him a more serious look. “If it’s dire enough to summon us, it will be.”

Jason’s jaw ticked slightly, though he relented with a nod. “Then let’s see what fresh madness awaits us.”

Together, you stepped out into the dim corridor, leaving behind the brief warmth of your chambers. The hall was quiet save for the distant hum of voices echoing from the throne room ahead. Jason strode beside you, his usual swagger undercut by the stiffness in his shoulders as his hand found its way to the small of your back.

Whatever awaited you in the throne room, you both sensed it would not be good news.

The throne room was in complete chaos. The air crackled with something sinister, voices rising in a cacophony of anger and fear. The large chamber, usually reserved for solemn courtly affairs, had been reduced to something far more primal—a storm of accusations, blood, and chaos.

As you and Jason stepped inside, your footsteps faltered at the scene before you. At the center of it all sat King Viserys, hunched in his chair, his face pale and drawn with shock and anger. Beside him stood Queen Alicent, her face a mask of barely-contained rage as she gestured sharply toward her son. Aemond sat to the side, his head bowed as Grand Maester Mellos worked quietly, his hands steady as he stitched the wound where Aemond’s left eye should have been. Blood stained the boy’s pale cheek, running in rivulets down to his collar. The queen’s muttered fury filled the room, barely restrained.

“How could this happen?” Jason muttered under his breath, his tone a low growl as his gaze swept the throne room, taking in the chaos.

To one side, Jacaerys and Lucerys stood together, both boys disheveled and bloodied. Luke’s nose was still trickling blood, his face pale and wide-eyed, while Jace looked no better, his hair matted with sweat and smeared blood on his brow. Near them, Baela and Rhaena stood together, their dresses stained with dust and streaks of crimson, eyes blazing with silent fury.

But it was further ahead that you spotted them—your twins. Loren stood protectively near a stone pillar, holding Leona close to his chest. His face was pale, his knuckles white where he clutched at her, and his other arm wrapped tightly around his sister as though shielding her from the room itself. Leona’s face was buried in Loren’s chest, her small body trembling visibly.

Your heart dropped.

“Leona,” you whispered in horror, the world narrowing around you.

Jason was already moving, his voice sharp and furious as he barked, “What happened here?!”

Loren looked up sharply at his father’s voice, his face creased with fear and relief. “Father!” he called hoarsely.

As if on instinct, Leona lifted her head from her brother’s chest—and you felt your breath leave you entirely.

A deep, jagged gash ran across her face, starting near the corner of her mouth and cutting upward toward her ear. Blood streaked down her cheek, smeared by Loren’s attempts to shield and comfort her. Her violet eyes, so much like your own, were wide and filled with pain.

“Seven hells,” Jason choked, his voice raw with disbelief. He was already crossing the floor, his stride furious and unrelenting as you hurried behind him, your chest tight with panic.

Jason reached the twins first, his hands going immediately to Loren’s shoulders as he barked, “What in the Seven Hells happened?! Who did this?!”

“Father,” Loren stammered, his voice shaking, “Leona—Leona didn’t want anyone to touch her—”

“Leona,” you breathed, kneeling immediately beside your daughter. “My sweet girl, let me see.”

Leona shook her head violently, her small hands curling into Loren’s tunic as she clung to him, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “No one.”

“Why isn’t she being tended to?” Jason’s voice roared across the chamber like a crack of thunder, snapping the attention of everyone around him. His face was flushed with rage, green eyes blazing as he turned sharply to the Grand Maester. “Why is my daughter not being seen first?!”

Maester Orwyle, who was assisting Mellos, looked up hesitantly, his voice cautious. “My lord, she… she would not let us touch her. The lady refused.”

Jason’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice vibrating with fury. “She is a child! You let her refuse?!”

Before Orwyle could respond, Queen Alicent’s sharp voice rang out over the din. “And what of my son?!” She gestured to Aemond, whose head remained bowed as Mellos continued his work. “It was he who was attacked—he who has lost an eye!”

Jason turned to her, his face thunderous as he snapped, “Shut your mouth, woman.”

A shocked hush fell over the room for a moment, Alicent’s eyes widening in disbelief as Jason’s words echoed off the walls. Even Viserys flinched faintly at the bluntness of it, though he did nothing to reprimand Jason. Alicent sputtered, her anger surging forward. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

Jason took a step toward her, his entire frame taut with fury. “My daughter is bleeding, her face torn open, and you think I give a damn about your self-righteous screeching?!” He jabbed a finger toward Aemond. “Your son can wait.”

Alicent’s face flushed crimson as she turned fully toward him, her voice trembling with rage. “Your precious daughter did this! They attacked my son!”

Jason scoffed sharply, the sound full of disdain. “Your son is twice their size. Do not speak to me as though this was a fair fight.”

Meanwhile, you remained kneeling beside Leona, your voice low and soothing as you tried to coax her into letting you see her wound. “Leona, my love, I need to help you,” you murmured, brushing your fingers gently over her hair. “Please let me look. I will not hurt you, I swear it.”

Leona shook her head again, her voice barely audible. “It hurts.”

“I know, sweetling, I know,” you whispered, your heart breaking as you pulled her into your arms, careful of her wound. “Mother’s here. I’m here.”

The shouting continued as Jason and Alicent exchanged bitter words, neither yielding to the other.

“Your children are savages!” Alicent barked, her voice rising.

“And your brood are liars and bullies!” Jason shot back, his voice ringing louder. “Do not pretend your son’s hands are clean!”

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice finally boomed over the chaos, though the king’s face was pale and strained. “All of you—enough.”

The room quieted just as the doors to the throne room burst open again. Rhaenyra and Daemon strode in, their faces twin masks of alarm and fury. Rhaenyra’s violet eyes swept over the room in horror as she took in the chaos—the blood, the tension, the sight of her sons battered and bruised.

“What has happened here?!” she demanded, her voice cracking like a whip.

Jason turned sharply toward her, his voice still vibrating with fury. “Your half-brother maimed my daughter and attacked your sons, that is what has happened!”

Rhaenyra’s gaze snapped toward Aemond, her eyes narrowing dangerously, but Daemon’s attention turned immediately to you and the twins. His expression darkened as he saw you cradling Leona, Loren still pale and trembling beside you.

You held Leona closer, whispering gentle reassurances into her ear as her small body trembled in your arms. But in the midst of the shouting and the blood, a sickening thought settled in the pit of your stomach.

Rhaenyra had reached her sons then, crouching before Jace and Luke with her hands cupping their faces, assessing their bruised and bloodied features. Her eyes, sharp and shining with fury, darted across the room, locking briefly on Aemond before narrowing dangerously.

“What happened?” she asked once more her sons, her voice controlled but trembling with barely contained wrath.

Jace clenched his jaw, his face smeared with blood as he pointed toward Aemond. “Him, Mother. He started it.”

“It was not my fault!” Aemond barked suddenly, straightening beneath Grand Maester Mellos’s stitching. His single uncovered eye burned with indignation. “They attacked me first. They jumped on me like wolves!”

“Because you stole Vhagar!” Baela shouted, stepping forward, her dark curls wild around her face. Rhaena stood close to her, her face pinched with grief and fury. “You claimed her without asking! She belonged to our mother!”

“She did not belong to anyone!” Aemond snapped back, his voice rising as he glared at the girls. “She is the largest dragon in the world, and she is mine now.”

“You stole her!” Rhaena yelled, her voice cracking. “You had no right!”

The children erupted into shouts once more, their accusations slamming into the heavy walls of the throne room. Luke, still holding a cloth to his bleeding nose, added, “He called us bastards!”

The word carried like a dagger across the room. Rhaenyra froze. The shouting abruptly stilled as her face turned pale and then darkened, like a storm rolling across the sea. Her voice was low and lethal. “What did you say?”

Luke turned to his mother, trembling, his voice small but clear. “He said we were bastards, Mother. That we weren’t… true Velaryons.”

Silence stretched thin and deadly over the room.

Rhaenyra straightened slowly, her gaze locking onto Aemond with a look that could have withered steel. “Is this true?” she demanded, her voice quiet but heavy with fury.

Before Aemond could answer, Loren, still standing near Leona, spoke up, his voice hesitant but firm. “It is true, Princess. He called them bastards… and then he insulted my sister.” He glanced down at Leona, his expression clouded with guilt and anger. “That’s when we all fought.”

Jason’s face turned a deeper shade of red, his anger renewed as he turned his sharp gaze toward Aemond. “And this,” he growled, gesturing toward Leona’s bloodied face, “this is the result of your ‘fight.’ A boy with a dragon’s arrogance and a butcher’s hand.”

“Enough!” Alicent’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. She stepped forward, her green gown sweeping the floor as she gestured sharply toward Viserys. “Your Grace, it is clear what has happened. My son was attacked—his eye taken from him—and now my family’s honor is slandered further. These children”—she pointed at Jace, Luke, Loren, and Leona—“must be punished!”

“You would punish them?!” Jason barked, stepping forward with such intensity that even the Kingsguard flinched. “Your son maimed my daughter—scarred her face for the rest of her life—and you dare to demand punishment? Be grateful I do not demand his head for it!”

Alicent’s eyes widened, her face pale with disbelief and fury. “How dare you—”

“How dare you,” Jason snarled, cutting her off. “The West will not forget this. House Lannister does not forget.” He turned his glare toward Otto Hightower, who lingered in the periphery of the chaos, his expression unreadable but watchful. Jason’s voice was laced with venom. “Do you hear me, Lord Otto? We will remember.”

Otto’s face remained composed, though his sharp eyes flicked toward Viserys, silently urging him to act.

Viserys, slumped in his chair, looked pale and exhausted, his hand gripping the armrest so tightly that his knuckles were white. The king’s eyes swept the room, lingering on Aemond before settling on his daughter, Rhaenyra. “This… this must stop,” he said hoarsely, though his voice lacked the strength it once held. “We are family. We cannot tear ourselves apart like this.”

“It has already begun!” Rhaenyra snapped, her voice trembling with anger. She stepped forward, pointing a finger toward Aemond. “To call my sons bastards… that is treason of the highest order! I am the heir to the Iron Throne. To call into question the legitimacy of my children is to call into question my claim.”

“And my children?” you interjected suddenly, your voice cutting through the noise. You were still kneeling beside Leona, holding her trembling hand tightly as Maester Orwyle gently worked to clean her wound. “What of them, Your Grace?” You turned your gaze to Alicent, your violet eyes blazing with fury. “If my children are harmed again—if so much as a hair on their heads is touched—I will mount my dragon, fly to Oldtown, and burn it to ash twice over.”

The threat rang through the throne room like a battle drum. The Kingsguard shifted uneasily, unsure whether to intervene as Jason stepped forward to stand beside you, his face unreadable but his anger felt.

Alicent’s face turned white with fury, her mouth opening as if to protest, but she fell silent at the sight of you, a true Targaryen—a dragon in both blood and bearing. Even Otto’s composure seemed to waver faintly, though he quickly masked it.

“Enough of this madness!” Viserys barked suddenly, his voice cracking under the strain. He turned his gaze on Alicent first, then Jason, then Rhaenyra. “I will hear no more. No more accusations, no more threats! You are all family. This is done.”

“Done?” Jason repeated sharply, his lip curling. “Done? My daughter will bear this scar for the rest of her days. You think this is done?”

Viserys turned a pleading gaze toward you and Jason. “I will ensure she is cared for,” he said, though his voice was tired and wavering. “Please… let us not spill more blood.”

As silence fell, the throne room seemed to hold its breath. Orwyle quietly finished his stitching, and you whispered gentle reassurances into Leona’s ear as she clung to you. Jason’s hand rested protectively on your shoulder, his glare still fixed on Alicent and Aemond.

Across the room, Daemon stood watching the chaos, his face unreadable, though there was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. He turned slightly, catching Jason’s gaze from across the chamber. A silent understanding passed between them

This would not be forgotten.

Rhaenyra, her fury barely restrained, gathered her sons to her side, her gaze lingering on Viserys before she turned to leave the room. “Come,” she said sharply to Jace and Luke, who followed her obediently, heads bowed but eyes still burning with anger.

As the doors swung open and the throne room emptied, Jason finally exhaled, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly. “This is far from done,” he muttered under his breath.

You looked down at Leona’s pale face, her violet eyes wide with lingering pain, and brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek. “No,” you whispered softly, though your voice held the same edge as Jason’s, just as confused Lord Coryls and Princess Rhaenys enetered the hall. “This is only the beginning.”

[emma23]

Three minds, one love :

Marc/ Steven/ Jake x reader

The clock on the nightstand ticked softly, its rhythmic beat the only sound in the room as you lay on your side, wide awake. The soft glow of the moon spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bed. Sleep was nowhere to be found, your mind caught in an endless loop of thoughts.

“What’s keeping you up this time, love?” came Steven’s voice, soft and concerned.

You turned your head to see him sitting at the edge of the bed, his reflection faintly visible in the mirror across the room. He rubbed the back of his neck, his brows knitted together in that familiar way that always made your heart ache for him.

“Just... thinking,” you murmured, not wanting to elaborate yet.

Steven’s lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “Thinking, is it? That’s never a good sign. What’s the matter—did Marc do something again?”

“I heard that,” Marc’s gruff voice interrupted, his presence slipping into the forefront as Steven rolled his eyes internally. “And for the record, I didn’t do anything. What’s going on?”

You sighed, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders. “Nothing. It’s just... something Steven said earlier.”

“Oh, here we go,” Marc muttered.

“What did I say?” Steven asked, genuinely perplexed.

“You said you wanted to marry me,” you replied quietly, your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The room fell silent for a beat. Then, predictably, the chaos began.

“You said that?!” Marc’s voice was sharp, incredulous. “Steven, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking the truth!” Steven defended himself, his accent thickening in his frustration. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing to say!”

“You don’t just say things like that!” Marc shot back. “Do you want to scare her off?”

“Oh, stop it, Marc,” Steven snapped, his irritation rare but undeniable. “I meant it. She knows I did. Don’t you, love?”

Before you could answer, another voice joined the fray.

“Dios mío, can’t you two shut up for five minutes?” Jake drawled, his tone low and gravelly. “You’re gonna give her a headache.”

“Jake, stay out of this,” Marc growled.

Jake ignored him. “So, princesa,” he said, his voice softening as he addressed you. “What’s the verdict? Do you like the idea of marrying three lunatics, or should I start planning an escape route?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “You’re all ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculous but charming,” Steven offered, his voice hopeful.

“Mostly ridiculous,” Marc corrected, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his tone.

Jake smirked. “So, you’re not running yet. That’s a good sign.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up in bed. “For the record, I didn’t hate the idea,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steven’s face lit up, a wide, boyish grin spreading across his features. Marc blinked, momentarily stunned, while Jake let out a low chuckle.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Jake said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Settled?!” Marc exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “This isn’t settled! This is... I don’t even know what this is!”

“It’s us,” Steven said simply, his voice soft but firm. “And it works.”

Marc let out a long sigh, his frustration melting into something warmer. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It works.”

Jake smirked, leaning back against the dresser. “Of course it does. We’re a team, after all.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re all impossible.”

“Impossible but yours,” Steven said, his eyes locking with yours.

“And don’t you forget it,” Marc added, his voice tinged with affection.

Jake tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Forever, princesa. Whether you like it or not.”

You laughed, your heart full despite the chaos. As you leaned back against the pillows, your hand resting over Steven’s, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were to have all of them—different, flawed, and utterly perfect in their own ways.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Cathedral, Mountain, Moon: Single shots like this require planning. The first step is to realize that such an amazing triple-alignment actually takes place. The second step is to find the best location to photograph it. But it was the third step: being there at exactly the right time—and when the sky was clear—that was the hardest. Five times over six years the photographer tried and found bad weather. Finally, just ten days ago, the weather was perfect, and a photographic dream was realized. Taken in Piemonte, Italy, the cathedral in the foreground is the Basilica of Superga, the mountain in the middle is Monviso, and, well, you know which moon is in the background. Here, even though the setting Moon was captured in a crescent phase, the exposure was long enough for doubly reflected Earthlight, called the da Vinci glow, to illuminate the entire top of the Moon. Image Credit & Copyright: Valerio Minato :: [Thanks Robert Scott Horton]

* * * *

"The moon suddenly stands up in the darkness, And I see that it is impossible to die. Each moment of time is a mountain."

James Wright, from “Today I Was So Happy, So I Made This Poem,” in The Branch Will Not Break: Poems

[alive on all channels]

[littlejuicebox]

LittleJuicebox Masterlist

Click here for my AO3 account. (Converting is a WiP).

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please DM me and I can send you the google doc link. I have decided to keep tag lists for each individual series so you only get tagged in the ones you want.

My personal favorites are denoted by a +.

GN reader is denoted by a * otherwise assume Fem reader/OC.

Titles colored red are smut or other mature themes, 18+ only.

AstarionxWren Series:

This is a canon-adjacent passion project which focuses on Astarion and Wren, a ranger half-elf with her own backstory. She is based off my first Tav. Do you like angsty slow burns where two broken people find one another and learn to love again? Then this one is for you.

Chapter 1 / Chasing birds to get high (PG) + Chapter 2 / Between comfort and chaos (PG) Chapter 3 / Sunshine and midnight rain (PG13) + Chapter 4 / Protect the flames (M/Gore) Chapter 5 / Blue and silver bonded (PG13) Chapter 6 / Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat (PG13) Chapter 7 / Give peace a chance (M/Smut) + Chapter 8 / Dancing in a burning room (M/Gore) Chapter 9 / Lavender haze (PG-PG13?) Chapter 10 / I want to hold your hand (PG13)

Midnight Chimes Series:

Your parents own a tavern in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was somewhat of a regular when you worked at the bar in your younger years. You don’t exactly trust him. Now you’re an apothecary owner based in Waterdeep, and when the two of you crash on the beach, you aren’t exactly thrilled to see him there, too. But things aren’t always what they seem.

1 / The Prologue +

2 / Three years

3 / Luck +

4/ Ringleader

Midwinter Carol Series:

Eirianwen and Astarion were in love before the Ascension ritual changed his behavior toward her. She refused to become a spawn, and they went their separate ways. The story starts when they run into one another fifteen years later; Eirianwen returned to the city to deliver some news to the pale elf. Meanwhile, the Ascendant had a night time visitor that convinced him to change his ways, and he believes his ex-lover might be the key. Will he be able to change after fifteen years of living life as a debauched degenerate?

1 / The Prologue +

2 / The Barrier

3 / The Carriage

4 / The Auction +

5/ The Repeat

6/ The Affliction

7/ The Interrogation

8/ The Scheme

9/ The Snake

AstarionxReader One Shots and Mini-Stories:

Mini-Stories are grouped together in order and denoted by a “Part X” in sequential order after the title. These are in general "timeline" order and follow my (admittedly self-indulgent) headcanon for Spawn Astarion x Tav but can definitely be read as OneShots. All stories are AstarionxReader, some allusions to reader having spellcaster ability but otherwise no real description apart from being female in about 3/4 of the fics.

Act 1-2:

The little things.

Before someone steals your queen

Act 3:

Drunken nights*+

The nail salon

You'll stay still, won't you, little love? +

Post-BG3:

Mermaid whiskey+

Baking Cookies*

Astarion talks in his sleep Part 1*+

My Sun, My Moon Part 2+

Glowing in the Underdark+

Reflections on one year of marriage

Highharvestide Part 1

Highharvestide Part 2

Handmade+

Dadstarion:

The wish spell worked.+

Daddy?

Little bump.

Labor and joy

Skin to skin.

Milk.+

Little lockpick.

Beach babies.+

A growing brood.

Puppy love.

Stuck.

Pre-BG3 / Random / Ascended Astarion OneShots

Midnight chimes / The Original One Shot

Pre-BG3. You’ve known Astarion for years… or at least, you’ve known of him. You think he’s a rake, but one night he changes your mind. The series "Midnight Chimes" started based off this "prologue."

A Midwinter Carol / The Original One Shot

“A Christmas Carol” but Ascended Astarion is Scrooge. He sees you after your break up 15 years ago, and then has an unexpected nighttime visitor showing him past, present, and future. Will he be convinced to change his ways? The series "Midwinter Carol" started based off this "prologue."

Naughty or Nice?

You’re Ascended Astarion’s little toy in the middle of a party. TLDR; he’s tease and a BDSM dom.

Dancing on my own

[lksvi]

love him and let him love you

𝆹⭒ re6!leon kennedy x gn!reader

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ synopsis — meeting you in raccoon city was a blessing. now, you've become the light within leon's darkest hours.

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ content — fluff, probably some angst?, no uses of [name], i love leon kennedy, focuses on leon, a lot of leon reflecting

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ word count — 2.2k

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ note — the mischaracterization of leon kennedy makes me Sad so i wrote this. also requests r open js as a reminder!!!! enjoy this work!

𝆹⭒ masterlist

Leon is a graveyard of empty promises and bloodied corpses. Too many times has he promised what he cannot uphold, given what he shouldn’t– At his core, he is selfless. His heart beats the same direction of Ashley’s veins and his breath is remnant of Luis’ cigarette smoke. Those things kill, you know, he had said, not yet understanding what Spain had in store for him.

If there was any test of loyalty to his country, it was Spain.

He can’t tell you what he went through. The government holds him on a tight leash, never straying too far from the D.S.O. headquarters. Your home is a temporary peace; a light in the dark. Soft cushions and open windows, moonlight filtered through glass. Tranquility is not often felt by Leon, but whenever he is with you, at your home, with the gentle light of the moon brushing over pale skin, it buries itself into his bones. Carves into the marrow, makes a home of his ribcage.

Peace has never felt so free until he met you.

He thinks of that time often: Surrounded by the groans of the undead, brain matter sticking to the soles of his shoes. Yet, in the darkness of Raccoon City, laid a savior in the shape of you. Leon, a rookie cop who had yet to experience the weight of the world, thought you were an angel. He thought your purpose was to guide him out of the shadows, rescue him from the grime and filth that was Raccoon City.

Instead, he rescued you. Adrenaline pricked at his skin, shot through his veins. He remembers the sight of you: All-consuming fear swimming deep within angelic eyes, covering you head-to-toe. His gun did not feel heavy, nor did the bullet sound loud. All he could focus on was you, you, you.

He did not hear himself ask you, “Are you okay?” He simply saw you nod, and without a second glance, reached out to touch you. Fate intertwined your paths, brought you to him and him to you, for this moment. For Leon to gently grasp your wrist, flesh marred with dried crimson and flakes of dirt. For him to guide you to the police station, luminescent lights flickering overhead.

Underneath the fake lighting, he saw beauty personified. Breathless from running or from the sight of you, he did not know, but even if he wasn’t already panting, he would’ve started at the mere glance of you. He’s seen beautiful women, ones who turn heads and capture the lenses of cameras, but he thinks any lens would’ve shattered upon your grace.

Ever since Raccoon City, Leon has had a sworn duty: Protect the country and protect you. Helping has always been second nature for him, ever since he was six-years-old and standing up for the bullied kids housed in the orphanage, but for you, it’s his first. He helps you before he thinks of helping himself. Even with mundane tasks such as unscrewing the lids of jars and reaching something on the top shelf for you come natural to him.

He’s always helping you. So, he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you help him instead.

It’s long after midnight. Moonlight seeps through panes of glass, illuminating your living room. Tonight is cold and lonely. You reside by yourself, the glow of the television the only source of light within the home. A blanket drapes over you, shielding you from the cold, and a hot cup of tea sits on the coffee table. You’re about to go to bed when there’s a knock at your door.

You weren’t expecting anyone tonight. Confusion knits between your brows, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you stand up. Cautiously, you undo the locks and open the door, surprised to see Leon there. His sleeves are rolled up, dirt and grime stuck to the surface of his knuckles and inside of his nails. Turning up at your house with bruises and scratches are common for Leon, but he looks particularly rough tonight.

“Leon!” You gasp, moving to the side to let him in. A crooked smile plays on nude-colored lips as he steps inside, a shiver racking his frame. Dark blue fabric does little to shield him from the cold. The first few buttons are undone, revealing an array of yellow and purples peeking out from beneath it, along with a few cuts along his collarbone. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for another two weeks?”

A light chuckle escapes him. He’s grateful to be back in your home, the comfort already making a home within his beating heart. “Got back a little earlier,” Leon responds, raspy timbre not giving away his exhaustion. You don’t miss the hitch in his breath when he steps, or the way he tries to conceal his pain. “Thought I’d swing by, pay you a visit. How’re you holdin’ up?”

You don’t answer his question, too busy eyeing the unusual color against his skin, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re hurt,” You say instead. He offers a small sigh, a tug at the corner of his lips. “S’The job, sweetheart. What can you do?”

Gently, you lead him to your bathroom. It’s small, barely able to fit the two of you, but you make it work. You treat him as if he’s made of glass, even if you know he isn’t. Although you don’t know what happens in his line of work, you see the aftermath of it. The angry splotches against his skin, dark bruising and crimson-dried cuts. “Was this one of the rough ones?” You ask softly, even if you know the answer.

Leon can try to lie. He can attempt to conceal the truth behind vague words and shifty eyes, but he doesn’t. He sighs, watches you get out the first aid kit, and nods. “It’s always rough,” He mutters, eyes cast downwards. Talking about work isn’t something he enjoys. He doesn’t like to bring his work home, even if it infects certain aspects of his day-to-day life subconsciously.

He doesn’t trust anyone. He eyes down any suspicious looking person while getting you both coffee, always takes a sip of yours before he gives it to you, just in case. You don’t know he does these things– He’d rather deal with his paranoia himself. He doesn’t want to make you paranoid. Leon keeps you close to him in crowds, a hand splayed out on the small of your back or an arm wrapped around your waist or your hands intertwined. Touching you in some way is a must. If he can’t physically feel you, he thinks you’re going to disappear.

And Leon understands it’s silly. The things he does, the precautions he takes, he knows it’s coming from a place of anxiety. Humor me, won’t you? is what he asks every time, accompanied with a playful click of his tongue. Yet, he’d rather be safe than sorry. Risking your safety in any way is the greatest sin of all, one he refuses to even chance.

You try your best to cheer him up. His job is dangerous, that much you know, but you try to be a beacon of light for him. He has a mansion of his own, but you always welcome your quaint home up to him. A place of safety. At first, he didn’t take it. Showing up at your home was rare, if he came at all. Truthfully, he was worried about infecting your home. Plaguing the air with his anxiety, worries, and fears; somehow shifting the quiet environment to one of chaos.

His own house may be tainted, but he didn’t want to risk yours.

“Take off your shirt for me,” You instruct him. The first aid kit is laid out on the counter, gauze and bandages and band-aids littered about. He’ll never admit it, but he always looks forward to your band-aids. You always go for a colorful theme of some kind. Last time, your bandages were space themed, littered with stars and galaxies and asteroids. He secretly loves your themed band-aids.

This time, they’re Hello-Kitty themed. One of the characters, who you’ve told him is My Melody, takes up the space of the band-aid. His lips quirk in a smile. “Hello-Kitty this time, huh?” He says as he unbuttons his shirt, letting the fabric fall to the ground. Scars litter the expanse of his chest and abdomen, taut skin stretched across muscles. Chasing down Bio-Organic Weapons for a living gave him the physique he dreamed of having as a young boy (with several scars added, too).

He doesn’t say it out loud, but the themed band-aids remind him of Sherry. The young girl you two had taken care of for a short amount of time, who Leon sacrificed the rest of his adult life for. Getting recruited as a government agent was his part of keeping you, and her, safe. In exchange for his recruitment, you and Sherry got to live a normal life. Although Sherry was much more grown up, now. Seeing her in China had been whiplash for Leon.

She was a young woman now, different yet similar to the little girl you two had rescued long ago. He was different, too. No longer a bright-eyed rookie cop who blindly protected in the name of justice. He thinks back to Ada’s words– “You haven’t changed. You just think you have.”– and ponders on if he really has changed. In a way, he has. Gruesome sights and ungodly terrors have plagued him, shaped him into a man of battle. But in a way, he still helps. He still offers a hand to those in need.

Helping people has always been what he wants to do. It sits at the core of his being, flowing through his blood. He thinks of Ashley, Luis, and Sherry– All the people he could and couldn’t save. He will never be okay with not being able to save everyone. It keeps him up at night, infects his dreams until they morph into night terrors.

But he has saved people. Like you.

You nod your head, cleaning the cut on his collarbone and decorating it with a band-aid. He doesn’t tell you that he saw Sherry– Not yet, anyway. He doesn’t want to disturb the serene silence. It brings forth tranquility, a type he only feels when around you. It’s quiet as you continue patching him up, save for your delicate humming (a quirk about you that he loves– Silence often scares Leon, makes him await when the next B.O.W. will find him or when an enemy will come out of nowhere. Your humming doesn’t interrupt the silence, instead making it more peaceful) and the sound of gauze and bandages ripping.

Sleep tugs at his eyelids. It isn’t often he gets the pleasure of falling asleep, but he hopes he does tonight. Even so, he’ll get to lay with you, and that’s enough to relax him.

When you finish, you smile at him. “All done,” You tell him. You card a gentle hand through his hair, brush through the knots with nimble fingers. Luxuries such as brushing his hair aren’t often thought about during his missions. Typically, he comes back with his hair in knots. He hates the feeling of you brushing through them, but he enjoys sitting on the floor in front of the couch, your legs over his shoulders. Leon will turn his head as you’re combing through his hair simply to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, leaving you to complain about having to start all over.

It’s the domesticity that kills him to be away from you. Thoughts of you persist even when he’s on a mission. Close calls have led to him thinking if leaving you, gentle kisses and exchanged laughter, would be the last time he saw you. A few times he’s picked himself up, even when an ache settles itself into his bones and he’s lost blood by the liters, because the thought of leaving you tears him apart. Never getting to see you making breakfast for him or your tongue sticking out when you focus or the blotches on your lips after anxiety-ridden days would break him.

He never wants to leave you. The image of you sobbing, tissues piled high and comforter up to your chin, makes his heart ache. He’s getting up before he realizes it, tugging you close. He hopes you can feel his heartbeat and understand that it beats for you. Leon’s never been good at expressing his emotions, but he hopes you know how much he loves you. How he would die and kill and tear apart flesh a thousand times over just to come home to your sweet smile.

“C’mon, sweet thing,” He murmurs into your hair. Rough fingertips gently scratch up your back, caressing the soft skin. He pulls away, just to see you look up at him. In this moment, he memorizes your eyes and your smile. He memorizes the feel of your skin, the smell of your perfume, the veins that map out a river beneath your flesh. He memorizes you and your love. “Let’s get to bed.”

[nickeverdeen]

Whispers of the heart | Kit Tanthalos x fem!reader

The sound of clashing swords echoed in the training grounds as Kit and Jade engaged in a spirited bout. You stood by, attentively watching the exchange, arrows tucked into your makeshift quiver. As Kit executed a well-timed strike, she noticed your gaze and flashed a triumphant grin.

"See that move, Y/N? You could learn a thing or two from me," Kit teased, her confidence radiating.

You chuckled, taking the banter in stride. "Maybe, Kit, but archery requires finesse, not brute force."

Jade joined the conversation, offering a playful jab at Kit's training style. "Y/N's got a point. Sometimes subtlety can outmatch strength."

Kit, undeterred, twirled her sword with a flourish. "I'll take my strength over subtlety any day."

The banter continued as the trio ventured into a light-hearted discussion about their respective training preferences. As Jade offered guidance on refining Kit's technique, you interjected with insights on precision and accuracy drawn from her archery experience.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm hue over the training grounds. Kit wiped the sweat from her brow, turning to you. "You know, archery might have its merits."

You raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Oh? Admitting that subtlety has its place in the world?"

Kit's laughter rang out. "Maybe I'll ask you to teach me someday, when I'm not busy saving my brother’s ass."

The camaraderie between the three grew stronger with each passing day. As you and Kit continued to exchange playful banter, Jade found joy in watching their friendship flourish. Beneath the moonlit sky, the training grounds transformed into a haven of shared laughter, dreams, and unwavering support.

One evening, as they rested after an intense training session, Kit broached a topic that had lingered in her thoughts. "Y/N, you never talk much about your life before Tir Asleen. What brought you here?"

Your expression softened, your eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the nearby torches. "It's a long story, Princess, but sure I'll share it with you."

Seated in a circle, the trio delved into the intricacies of your past. The night unfolded with stories of a distant village, a peasantry burdened by injustice, and your journey to Tir Asleen in pursuit of a life free from oppression.

As the revelations unfolded, Kit and Jade listened attentively, offering empathetic nods and words of encouragement. The bond between them deepened, transcending the boundaries of royalty and commoner.

In the quiet moments that followed, Kit looked at you with newfound understanding. Their conversations became a tapestry of shared experiences, dreams, and vulnerabilities. You and Kit found solace in each other's stories, forging a connection that defied the societal norms attempting to dictate their paths.

As the moon hung high in the sky, casting a gentle glow over the training grounds, the princess, the archer, and the swordswoman continued their journey of camaraderie, laughter, and unwavering friendship.

———

As the months passed, Kit found herself captivated by more than just your archery skills. There was an unspoken connection between you two, a magnetic force that drew Kit in whenever you trained together. Each clash of swords seemed to spark an invisible energy, leaving Kit feeling a mix of exhilaration and confusion.

Jade, ever perceptive, couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in Kit's demeanor. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she began teasing Kit relentlessly, especially during moments when you were out of earshot.

"Kit, you seem a bit distracted today. Anything on your mind?" Jade quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Kit shot her a glance, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment. "Nothing, Jade. Just focused on the training."

Jade chuckled knowingly. "Focused, huh? Is that what they taught you to call it?"

Kit's cheeks flushed, and she swatted Jade with the flat of her sword. "You're reading too much into it."

Jade feigned innocence. "Oh, am I? It's just amusing how you and Y/N have this... almost sexual tension when you're sparring."

Kit rolled her eyes, attempting to brush off Jade's comments. However, the seed of realization had been planted, and Kit couldn't deny the truth in Jade's words.

One day, as you and Kit engaged in a particularly intense sparring session, Jade couldn't resist making her presence known. She whistled from the sidelines, interrupting your rhythm. "Wow, if I didn't know better, I'd say there's a storm brewing here. Anyone else feel the heat?"

Kit shot Jade an exasperated look, but her heart raced in sync with the rhythm of the blades. You, oblivious to the underlying tension, raised an eyebrow at the teasing.

"What's going on, Kit? Jade seems to think we're putting on a show," you said with a bemused expression.

Kit stammered, attempting to brush it off. "Jade's just being... Jade. You know it."

Jade winked at Kit, enjoying every moment of her best friend's discomfort. "I'm just saying, there's a certain spark in the air. You two might want to address it before the entire kingdom starts placing bets."

As you and Kit continued your training, the unspoken tension lingered, creating a dynamic that neither could fully grasp. Kit, conflicted by her growing feelings, struggled to maintain composure. Jade, on the other hand, reveled in the unfolding drama, eager to see how it would play out.

In the quiet moments after training, Kit often found herself stealing glances at you, contemplating whether to confront the truth or let the unspoken connection linger in the realm of ambiguity.

———

Kit and Jade engaged in a casual discussion as they prepared the training grounds for the day. The morning sun cast a warm glow, and the air buzzed with anticipation. Jade couldn't help but bring up a topic that had been lingering in the air.

"You know, Kit, you don't have to be so subtle about it," Jade remarked with a playful grin.

Kit raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Subtle about what?"

Jade chuckled. "About your feelings for Y/N, of course. Everyone can see it, even Airk and that’s a lot to say."

Kit rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

As they continued setting things up, you approached, having overheard their conversation. You stumbled slightly on purpose, a subtle signal that you were well aware of the topic at hand. Without acknowledging it directly, you joined the conversation seamlessly.

"Morning, you two. What's the plan for today?" You asked, your tone light.

Jade exchanged a knowing glance with Kit, who tried to maintain composure. "Just the usual routine. Kit here is working on her sword skills."

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Sounds like a plan. Let me know if you need any help."

As the training session commenced, you couldn't help but steal glances at Kit in action. The rhythmic clash of swords echoed through the air, and Kit's prowess left an impression. You found herself captivated, realizing that your feelings were evolving beyond friendship.

Amidst the camaraderie and shared laughter, unspoken emotions lingered beneath the surface, gradually weaving a tale of friendship and a growing connection between the princess, the archer.

———

Under the canopy of the garden, you and Kit strolled along, the quiet rustle of leaves accompanying your footsteps. Kit couldn't help but notice the subtle warmth between you two as your hands brushed, each touch sending a flutter through her.

As you walked, your blush deepened, and Kit couldn't help but be intrigued by the unusual sight. Finally, under the shade of a dark tree, you settled beneath the branches, gazing up at the stars scattered across the night sky.

The air held a sense of anticipation as Kit mustered the courage to open up. "Y/N," she began, her voice soft in the quietude of the night, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

You turned to her, her eyes reflecting the starlight. "What is it, Kit?"

Taking a deep breath, Kit confessed, "I… Y/N all I care about is you. And if you wanna come prehaps even run away to live somewhere freely, I would tag along, if that’s okay. ‘Cause I don’t wanna have any adventures unless they’re with you. I should’ve told you sooner, you know? And for that I am so sorry. I love you Y/N."

The confession hung in the air, and Kit anxiously awaited your response. The garden, once filled with the sounds of the night, now held a stillness that seemed to echo the beating of your hearts.

The soft glow of moonlight bathed the garden, casting a magical ambiance over you and Kit. As Kit hesitated, wondering if she had made a mistake, your lips met hers in a gentle yet passionate kiss. The world around you two seemed to fade as you became lost in the warmth of each other's embrace.

You, breaking the kiss with a smile, whispered, "I love you too, Kit."

The admission hung in the air, a delicate revelation that opened a new chapter in your relationship. You continued to sit beneath the tree, your fingers entwined with Kit's as you exchanged stories, dreams, and whispered confessions.

As the night deepened, your laughter echoed through the garden, blending with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the night. Kit, captivated by the genuine warmth in your eyes, couldn't help but marvel at the depth of your connection.

You moved to a quiet corner under a blossoming tree, where Kit often went when she needed some silence. The fragrance of flowers mingled with the crisp night air as you settled, side by side, on a stone bench. The stars above you two twinkled as if conspiring to keep your secret.

In a small awe by the magic of the night, Kit leaned in to steal a sweet kiss, savoring the taste of the moment. You responded with a tender passion, your fingers gently tracing patterns on Kit's arm. It was a dance of hearts, an unspoken language that surpassed words.

As the night wore on, you eventually found yourselves lying on the cool grass, cuddled together like pieces of a puzzle fitting seamlessly. You, usually the more reserved of the two, nuzzled into Kit's embrace, her heartbeat echoing the rhythm of the garden.

Amid whispered promises and playful banter, the hours slipped away, marking a turning point in their lives. Kit, stroking your hair gently, couldn't shake the feeling that your love story had just begun.

The night, filled with starlight and shared secrets, embraced you until you drifted into a peaceful slumber in the garden. The dawn would bring challenges, but for now, you and Kit found refuge in the warmth of your love, intertwined beneath the celestial canvas of the night sky.

———

During the training, Jade couldn't help but notice the unspoken tension between you and Kit. During a break, she decided to address the elephant in the room.

"Okay, spill it, you two," Jade said with a sly grin. "There's something happening here, and I'm not buying the 'just training' excuse."

Kit exchanged a quick glance with you, and you shared a silent agreement to open up to Jade. Taking a deep breath, Kit began, "Well, you see, it's not just training. Y/N and I... we got together"

You, though a bit shy, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's true. We've been getting closer, and our feelings have evolved beyond friendship."

Jade's eyes widened with excitement. "Finally! I've been waiting for this moment. Do you know how long I've had to endure the tension between you two? Spill the details."

Kit chuckled nervously. "It's still new, Jade. We're taking things one step at a time. But there was a moment in the gardens, and, well, things got a bit more serious."

You blushed but continued, "And we decided to see where this takes us. We're not hiding it, but we're also not making a grand announcement. It's complicated, especially considering the kingdom's stance on such matters."

Jade, thrilled by your confessions, grinned widely. "This is perfect! I've been shipping you two for ages. Just promise me I get to be the bridesmaid when you finally decide to tie the knot."

You and Kit laughed, grateful for Jade's support and understanding. The trio continued their training, now with an added layer of shared secrets, inside jokes, and the unspoken promise of a future filled with both challenges and the undeniable bond that tied them together.

————————————————————

Okay this is horrible and is extremely short, but I hope you guys like it! Feel free to give me any suggestions on how I can improve other imagines in the future.

Love you, stay safe and healthy 🫶💚

[zapreportsblog]

❝the witch hybrid and her companion 2❞

✭ pairing : father Carlisle Cullen x reader x imprint Seth Clearwater

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (y/n) is a young witch who Carlisle had saved from the Salem witch trials, she had been been on the verge of being fully brunt to death when he had grabbed and rescued her, she was fifteen when he had turnt her thus making her the first hybrid of both witch and vampire species.

✭ authors note : this is part 2 to this request and I’m resuming from where I left off at

✭ twilight masterlist

In the days following the revelation of Seth's imprint on (Y/N), Carlisle's overprotectiveness had reached new heights. He wanted to know her whereabouts at all times, even when he was at work. While his intentions were rooted in concern, (Y/N) found his constant vigilance suffocating.

One afternoon, feeling frustrated and in need of some space, (Y/N) decided to return to the Quileute pack's house. She was aware that her presence might not be welcomed by everyone, but she couldn't bear the overbearing atmosphere at home any longer.

As she arrived at the pack's house, Paul's abrasive greeting didn't surprise her. "Oh great, the freak's back."

Seth, sitting nearby, growled in response, his protective instincts kicking in. He shot Paul a warning glare before getting up and rushing to (Y/N)'s side. His face lit up with a lovesick smile as he hugged her tightly. "I've missed you," he murmured.

(Y/N) blushed and fidgeted under Seth's warm embrace, feeling a mixture of flattery and embarrassment.

Sam, observing the scene, approached with a curious expression. "Why are you here, (Y/N)?"

Unable to meet Sam's gaze, (Y/N) buried her head in Seth's chest and mumbled, "Just wanted to talk with Seth for a bit."

Seth tightened his hold on her, as if silently claiming her presence. He responded with a determined nod, his expression reflecting his unwavering affection for her.

Sam exchanged a knowing glance with the other pack members, recognizing the depth of Seth's imprint bond with (Y/N). While some tensions still lingered, they understood that this connection was beyond their control and something that needed to be respected.

(Y/N) and Seth, in that moment, found solace in each other's presence, away from the complexities and expectations of their respective worlds.

“Here follow me, I know where we can hang out at.”

Seth gently led (Y/N) toward the beach, their footsteps leaving imprints in the soft sand. The sound of the crashing waves filled the air, and the moon cast a shimmering silver glow over the ocean. It was a tranquil scene, the perfect backdrop for their conversation.

They found a quiet spot on the shore, sitting side by side, their toes sinking into the cool sand. They watched the waves roll in and out, the rhythm of the ocean providing a sense of calm.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Seth turned to (Y/N), his eyes searching her face. "Something's been bothering you, hasn't it?"

(Y/N) sighed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Yeah, it's my father, Carlisle. He's been so overprotective lately, and it's suffocating."

Seth chuckled softly, understanding her frustration. "I get it. My big sister, Leah, can be the same way. They care deeply for us, (Y/N). They don't want to see us hurt."

(Y/N) nodded, appreciating Seth's perspective. "I know, and I love him for it, but I also need some space, you know? I want to have my own experiences and make my own decisions."

Seth grinned, his expression warm and supportive. "You're strong, (Y/N), and you've got a good head on your shoulders. You can handle it. Just be patient with him. He's learning too."

They turned their attention back to the waves, their conversation bringing a sense of understanding and reassurance. In that moment, (Y/N) felt grateful for the bond she shared with Seth, one that allowed them to share their concerns and find solace in each other's company.

As they watched the moonlight dance on the water, they knew that the challenges of their supernatural existence were vast, but with each other's support, they could navigate the complexities of their worlds and the relationships they held dear.

Seth's curiosity lingered in the tranquil night air as he turned to (Y/N) and asked, "If it isn't too much trouble to ask, what was it like back then for you?"

(Y/N) contemplated the question for a moment, the memories of those dark times resurfacing. "During the Salem witch trials?"

Seth nodded, his eyes reflecting genuine interest.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her gaze distant as she began to recount her past. "My mother and I lived in fear, but there was a strange kind of harmony to it. We were both witches, you see. We learned magic from the grand witch, the first to be burnt alive in those trials."

Seth listened intently, captivated by her story.

(Y/N) continued, "The grand witch had been an outcast, feared and shunned by the townsfolk. But she wasn't wicked; she was just misunderstood. My mother and I were the only ones kind to her, and in return, she taught us her magic."

Seth's eyes widened with understanding. "So, you and your mother were accused because of your magic?"

(Y/N) nodded sadly. "Yes. They found my mother using her magic to make the crops grow during a particularly harsh season. The townsfolk believed it was witchcraft, so they killed her. A few months later, they came for me, fearing I was a witch like her."

Seth's expression turned sympathetic as he listened to the harrowing tale. He couldn't imagine the pain and fear (Y/N) must have endured during those dark times.

(Y/N) sighed, her gaze returning to the moonlit waves. "It was a time of persecution and ignorance, Seth. I'm just grateful that I found a family who accepts me for who I am now."

Seth reached out and gently squeezed (Y/N)'s hand, offering silent comfort and understanding. He had glimpsed a piece of her past, and it only deepened his admiration for her strength and resilience.

Seth's curiosity continued to drive his questions as he turned to (Y/N) once more. "Can you tell me what it was like when you were turned into a vampire?"

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, her memories of the transformation still vivid and painful. "It was... excruciating. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. The venom burned like a thousand fires, coursing through my veins."

She shivered as she recalled the sensation, her voice quivering with the memories. "It was like reliving the flames from the stake all over again. But there was something else, something deeper. My own blood fought against the venom, resisting the change."

Seth's expression turned sympathetic as he listened to her describe the agonizing process. "That sounds awful. How did you make it through?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, finding strength in the presence of her friend. "I had Carlisle with me. He saved me from the pain of the stake, and he was there to help me through the transformation as well. He's been my savior in more ways than one."

Seth nodded, his respect for Carlisle growing even stronger. He couldn't imagine the strength and resilience it took for (Y/N) to endure such a traumatic experience and emerge from it as the person she was today.

As they continued their conversation under the moonlit sky, (Y/N) and Seth found solace in sharing their pasts and the challenges they had faced.

As (Y/N) and Seth continued to share their stories and experiences, it became clear that their bond was growing stronger with each passing moment. (Y/N) had learned about Seth's curiosity, and now it was her turn to ask about his life.

"I'd like to hear more about your life, Seth," she said, her eyes filled with genuine interest. "Tell me about your family."

Seth smiled, appreciating her curiosity. "Sure, (Y/N). Well, it's just my mom and my sister, Leah, now. Our dad, Harry, passed away when I was pretty young."

(Y/N) nodded in understanding, a sympathetic expression on her face.

Seth continued, "After Dad's death, it was just the three of us. Leah took on a lot of responsibility, helping our mom, Sue, raise me. She's always been strong and protective."

(Y/N) listened intently, gaining a deeper understanding of Seth's family dynamics.

Seth's smile grew as he recounted more of their story. "Leah shifted first, a few weeks before I did. It was a tough time for us, but she managed to navigate the challenges of being a wolf. When I eventually shifted too, it was a relief to have her by my side, guiding me through it."

(Y/N) was struck by the strength and resilience of the Clearwater family, especially Leah and Seth, who had faced significant challenges at a young age. Their bond as siblings had undoubtedly played a crucial role in helping them weather the storms of their supernatural existence.

As the conversation with Seth stretched into the late hours of the night, the moon hanging high in the sky, he eventually noticed the time. With a concerned expression, he spoke up, "It's getting pretty late. I could ask my mom if you can stay over if you want."

(Y/N) smiled warmly at his offer, appreciating his thoughtfulness. "That's really sweet, Seth, but I should head back home. My family's been worried about me enough as it is, especially my dad."

Seth nodded in understanding, realizing the importance of (Y/N)'s family. "I get it. Family comes first."

As they began to make their way back to the pack's house, Seth walked alongside (Y/N), the night air filled with a sense of companionship and understanding. When they finally reached their destination, Seth turned to (Y/N) with a soft smile.

"Well, (Y/N), thanks for coming to visit and sharing all those stories with me."

(Y/N) returned his smile, feeling a sense of connection she hadn't expected when she first ventured out to the pack's house. She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Seth's cheek. "Thank you for being such a good friend, Seth. I'll see you soon."

Seth's cheeks flushed bright red at the unexpected kiss. He stammered a grateful but slightly flustered reply, "Yeah, definitely. See you soon, (Y/N)."

As (Y/N) turned to head back home, she couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth in her heart. The supernatural world was filled with complexities and challenges, but it was also where unexpected friendships and connections could bloom, leaving a lasting impact on those who dared to embrace them.

As (Y/N) returned home, the familiar embrace of her family awaited her. Carlisle, who had been anxiously waiting for her, enveloped her in a tight hug the moment she stepped through the door.

"I'm so sorry for my behavior, (Y/N)," Carlisle whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I just worry about you, and I love you deeply."

(Y/N) returned the hug, her heart warmed by her father's concern. "I love you too, Carlisle. I'm grateful to have you as my father, even if I'm adopted."

Carlisle smiled, a mixture of relief and affection in his eyes. "You will always be my daughter, no matter what."

Feeling reassured, (Y/N) couldn't help but yawn. The long evening and heartfelt conversations with Seth had taken their toll on her.

Seeing her exhaustion, Carlisle gently said, "It's getting late, (Y/N). You should go to bed."

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before making a request. "Can you stay with me until I fall asleep? Sing me the lullaby you used to sing when I was younger?"

Carlisle nodded, his heart swelling with love for his daughter. He followed her to her room, and as she settled into bed, he sat beside her. He began to softly sing the familiar lullaby that had always brought her comfort.

"The monsters gone, and it's on the run,

And your daddy's here.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl."

As the soothing words filled the room, (Y/N) felt her eyelids grow heavy. She closed her eyes, listening to the familiar melody, and soon, the embrace of sleep overcame her.

Carlisle watched over her for a while longer, a wistful smile on his face. His little girl was growing up, and with each passing day, she was embracing her own unique journey in the supernatural world. He knew that their family's bond would remain unbreakable, no matter how much she changed and grew.

With a final loving glance at (Y/N), he left her room, closing the door gently behind him. The night settled over the Cullens' home, and Carlisle couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and connections that bound their family together, even in the face of the challenges that their extraordinary existence presented.

[mosneakers]

My 𝐓𝐨𝐩 24 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 from 2024🎉

Thank you to the absolute legend @kari-sims for tagging me, your whole post was a magical treat ♥

-> tagging @ravingsockmonkey @lilamausmaus @beebeesiims @bananzerssims @echoweaver @simgnomeful @cinamun @salemssimblr @nova-kim @myopiccc @surely-sims @pixelsinmyveins @pixelshary and anyone else seeing this, don't let the the confines of tags stop you from joining in on the fun ^.^

obvs no pressure to participate, just for fun <33

January

From this chapter from Many Moons Ago- Erik and Agnes Darling 🥺

February

Oh god, it has to be this one. You know the one. My heart sinks seeing it. 😭

March

I really love all the shots from this post— Erwin's close call. I'm very proud of how they turned out, despite how his fate turned out 😥

April

This is when we were introduced to Mackenzie and his very short and very... brutal arc, but it was fun while it lasted. I also loved building a vampiric office lol

May-July

VOID August

Ahhh, the Salient Recollection documentary. By this point I had finally gotten access to a working computer and my creative juices could no longer be contained. It was time for the season 10 finale, and we were going out with a baaaang 😫 This post introduces two new characters interviewing Tycho as he reveals his alien identity in the documentary. September

Hopefully this isn't too much of a spoiler right? Lol hoping everyone is all caught up at this point 😄 But seriously this entire scene was so much work. Working with Coraleye's dress and hair alone, plus trying to capture movement during action shots like this? took hours to edit— plus multiple different versions of the same shot all merged together to get what we see here. It was really important that I captured the fear and desperation and also drama! of the moment though

Also another favorite of mine personally, is this one from this post! By this point I had made probably a million individual glove/suit wrinkles, tears, and hair strands in these edits alone and I think this edit reflects that lol— I also love the lighting and the eeriness of the glow from the TV static behind them, and the desperation and frustration they're both feeling, definitely one of my favorites probably of the year.

October

Oh geez lol October is always a big year for me creatively, so expect a bit more than just one :p

This whole post was so hearbreaking to make for me. Coraleye and Tycho (while incredibly toxic and problematic at times) were my favorite couple I've ever written, and breaking them up was so incredibly painful 😢 I loved how all these shots came out and I'm super proud of them. Take note of how Tatiana's winning the election was foreshadowed in that last shot 👀

Somewhat separately (although stay tuned for season 11, js 👀) from the main story, there's no denying this gifset was undoubtedly my most popular post. I've been in a liminal spaces kick for months now and needed to bring that to my safe space, and let's be honest, the most liminal space of all- the sims!

November

In the finale of season 10, the very last post- Coraleye recounts her mental breakdown. The flashback of cutting her hair at her bathroom sink, tear stained cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and then lying on the ground mourning her friend in front of the house the whole group used to room together at in Britechester—I felt—was pretty powerful. Then the juxtaposition of her months later, seemingly bounced back to her regular flirtatious self while interacting this filmmaker, clearly having him wrapped around her finger, I found quite eerie but also just compelling. Another very proud moment for me. I genuinely just love writing and exploring this character.

December

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ A render I made to show off some cc- but for those who get it, get it.