#the fire makes them even taller

[knifegremliin]

quick sketch of mike's mom :3

[hulloitsdani]

DAY 9: HALLOWEEN!!! HELL YEAH!!!

Someone really has to take these ruffles away from me.

Vampire Kiran, what else can I say! Drawing teeth is fun! Found this pose on Pinterest and decided to keep it simple after the brave alt. I wanted to lean away from a more typical Dracula type, both to avoid similarities to the bridal alt and Henry's Halloween alt. So I landed on a more "blood on the white cravat" type beat. Is going a little feral. As a treat. Might be preparing to claw your eyes out or give you a really big hug who knows.

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[hotyanderedaddies]

Trying to Ignore a Yandere Demon Who Wants to Claim You

[Yandere! Demon x GN! Anxious Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

"Whatever you do, do not-- I repeat: DO NOT acknowledge the demon in any manner. If you do, then he can latch onto you and take you."

The words of the psychic you'd contacted for help kept filtering through your head as you stared blankly forward, forcing your eyes to laser focus in on the bright colors of the TV. The volume was on full blast as you attempted to drown out the sounds of him.

"Darling," that eerie, deep voice echoed out. Its user was so close that could feel its hot breath wafting over your cheek, but you refused to give the slightest indication that you'd heard it.

"If a love demon decides that it wants you, then it'll follow you around nonstop like a lovesick puppy. It'll do anything to get you to notice it..."

The demon playfully ran one of his fingers through your hair, his skin hot to the touch. He completely dwarfed you, looking like he outweighed you by fifty pounds of pure muscle and was taller by at least two feet. His demonic proportions made him look hulking and menacing, yet whenever he looked at you, his mouth pulled into a large smile.... full of razor sharp teeth.

"Will you look at me, Darling?" he asked, sticking out his lower lip mockingly. "I love you. I only want to talk to my darling."

"Don't look at it. Don't listen to it. Don't react to its movements. The slightest indication that you're aware of its presence is a sign the demon takes that you've agreed to be theirs..."

The demon huffed, irritated. He stomped his way in front of the TV and glared at you with his glowing eyes. "I know you see me," he accused.

You refused to stop glancing forward, pretending that you could still see whatever show you were trying to watch.

The demon tore his shirt away from his body, showing off his impressive chest muscles. He held his arms out, as if to show off to you. "Check it out, Darling," he announced, "I'm bigger than most of the other love demons. So I can protect you and take very good care of you."

He slowly approached the couch.

"Because a love demon makes its presence known to only one person: their darling."

"I love you so much, Darling," the demon cooed, placing both of his hands on either side of your face.

You winced internally and tried your best to look deadpan, avoiding the demon's glare with all of your might.

You refused to break, because if you did, then you'd belong to a demon for all eternity.

But damn it, he was persistent.

Ever since he'd made his presence known to you last week, the demon followed you around everywhere you went, trying to get you to acknowledge him:

He'd cause a ruckus in class, throwing textbooks and chairs around, leading to the other students thinking that you were out of your mind and throwing them yourself.

He'd follow you into the shower and jerk off as you bathed, talking about how he couldn't wait to touch you himself.

He'd sing soft lullabies to you as you tried to sleep. And he would frequently get under the covers with you too, snuggling you from behind.

He'd follow you whenever you went grocery shopping, threatening to push one of the elderly shoppers in front of one of the moving vehicles in the parking lot. But you couldn't warn the other person unless you wanted to be taken by a demon. RIP.

He'd even gone so far as to set your dinner on the stove on fire, and you had to mutter loudly that you'd foolishly forgotten to turn the gas off.

He was growing impatient.

"Darling," the demon growled, baring his large teeth at you, "all you have to do is notice me, and I promise that you'll be all mine. All mine, and no one else's. Doesn't my sweet baby want that?"

He bit down on his lower lip for a second before perking up.

Before you could guess what was going on in his mischievous head, the demon pressed his warm lips against yours. They were soft to the touch and warm thanks to his high body heat.

It felt good at first, until he playfully bit down on your lower lip--

With a loud gasp, you jerked back and made eye contact with the demon out of shock. Oh shit...

"Finally!" the love demon laughed as your heart fell to the floor.

He lunged forward and wrapped both of his arms around you, yanking you deep into his embrace as if he were a cage. The temperature seemed to rise rapidly in the tiny living room as the demon began to transport you to wherever he dwelled, and to wherever you knew he'd never let you leave.

"W-wait!" you tried to beg.

"It's too late for that, Darling," the love demon laughed. "You're mine and I'm going to enjoy my prize all night long. I love you, Darling, thank you so much for accepting me."

"If you acknowledge the love demon, they'll take you away to be theirs forever, with no hope of ever escaping them or their crazed love..."

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, fantasy au

gn reader

Thinking about hunter Gojo and the pretty little nymph that gets themselves snared in one of his traps.

You can’t get your poor leg loose, having twisted your ankle in your fall to the ground – something’s wrong with your wing too, you can feel it – the thin network’s been folded, almost broken – so even if you did manage getting loose, you wouldn’t be able to fly away.

Branches snap around you along the crunch of old leaves – and your heart’s beating out of your chest in fear of it – knowing something large and dangerous is not far behind, that whoever set the trap is not something that wishes you well.

“You’re not a rabbit.” The man says, having crept in close before you’d even heard him approach – crouching in front of you with a hunter's grace. Hawk-eyes ice-blue and piercing, hair as white as pure snow.

He’s got three daggers sleaved in his belt – a fillet knife, a gutting knife, and a larger one you imagine is meant to slice throats. He doesn’t carry a sword like most men but has a bow and sack of arrows slung on his back. Otherwise, dressed lightly – brown leather boots, brown slacks, and a blue cotton shirt. You could have mistaken him for a woodland elf if it weren’t for the thick stench of man.

“Eating creatures from the holy forest is forbidden.” You snip, despite your wide eyes and the wobble of fear evident on your lip.

He only smiles at the quip, a grin like a predator humored by prey. “You wouldn’t tell a wolf not to hunt.”

He stalks you, leaning in closer, and you try shuffling away – but the movement only makes you wince.

“I’m just another hungry animal…”

Rope gnaws into your fine skin while his breath puffs hot and dewy on your face.

“And tonight… seems lady luck has favored me once again.”

He gags you and ties you further up before redoing his snare for the next unlucky creature – then carries you over his shoulder until he’s dropping you down on a bed of furs.

Your skin flushes with goosebumps at the thought of being skinned the same way – mouthing a little prayer around the cloth he’s split your teeth and lips with. He’s cut trees down as well; you hear their pitiful screams when he lights a fire with their bodies. You mourn them, too.

At his full height, the man must be two heads taller than any male nymph you’ve ever seen and at least three heads taller than you. You hope you’re enough to satisfy him tonight, to spare the forest of further bloodshed.

You shiver and sniffle when he starts prepping you – removing your clothes and groping your tender, fleshy places with a strength you’re not used to – hands large and crass – kneading you like dough – probably to assess the quality of your meat. He has a smile on his face while at it. 

Humans make you sick – to think he’s planning on roasting then eating you despite the soul fueling your spirit and the beating heart in your chest. But you’ve long known that all death but their own matters little to them – they don’t feel the same way nymphs do – they don’t regard life with the same respect they’ve donned themselves. It must be a sad and lonely existence, you think. It even makes you feel a little sorry for him.

You yelp when his gritty fingers brush the area between your legs – shimmying when he lowers his mouth down to the same place. Oh God – does he plan on eating you raw? While your body’s still hot and pumping blood?

But the bite never comes – not yet eating but tasting it would seem – licking and slurping and sucking on you.

He takes his shirt off. Probably to avoid spilling on it, you think.

You don’t really understand what’s going on until he’s got his fat manhood pointed toward your kernel-sized hole. Eyes wide as he splits you apart slowly and unabashedly – as though it isn't as deviant as a dog mating a cat – sinking in inch after meaty inch.

You whimper at the stretch – wincing when the plush mushroom-shaped head grinds against that special place inside you. 

It doesn’t fit more than halfway, but that doesn’t seem to bother him – rolling his head back with a rusty groan, even with just the tip gaining purchase within you – pounding into you like a beast in his rut.

“What's the matter, pretty nymph? Did you think I was gonna eat you?” He laughs, bearing over you – his hands steadying your hips to meet his sharp thrust – each hit deeper than the last. “I’m the only hunter in this forest; I can eat what I want when I want – but eating you?” He scoffed and snickered. “That would just be a waste.”

The blood on his breath makes you wrinkle your nose – squeezing your eyes shut as his tongue sweeps up the tear streaks on your cheek.

“My stomach’s already full. Time to empty my balls.”

[diushek]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[calypso-rt]

She fell first/He fell harder request (pretty please, you are my one and only writer I ride or die for) She’s your typical sweet shy kind reader kook, a jeans/t-shirt type, a friend of Sarah. He’s always ignored her though in favor of the extroverted sexy kook girls. She glows up a bit becoming more of a woman and dressing figure hugging (though not revealing. She’s still her and modest) and has decided to let go of Rafe, feeling stupid for just having a crush on someone who couldn’t care less about her. Though now she has his attention and he’s feeling some type of way being ignored/the bare minimum short polite conversation when she used to sneak glances at him at the house or find reasons to linger around him…..and he’s def not okay with guys talking to her…while he is glancing from afar with heartache…..and he’s def gonna follow when a guy leads her away from the party and make some heartfelt declaration. I WANT RAFE SIMPING AND BEING A MESS, CHASE HEEEER

-> A/N: i saw this and just HAD to start writing immediately. I love it so much thank you, anon! <3

worth the wait

-> Rafe x F!Reader

It started years ago, slow and quiet, like a secret you kept even from yourself.

You were there, always there, floating around the edges of his world like a soft breeze he never bothered to notice. A friend of Sarah’s, a Kook by default but never quite the type to demand attention.

You were the quiet one. The sweet one. The one who lingered in doorways when he was around, sneaking glances when you thought he wouldn’t see.

(He never did.)

Rafe Cameron had always been too busy looking at girls who weren’t you. The loud, sexy, confident ones who draped themselves over him like accessories, all sun-kissed skin and effortless flirtation.

They knew how to keep his attention. You? You were just the girl in plain clothing, flipping through paperbacks at parties and blending into the background.

You knew better than to hope. But that didn’t stop you from feeling.

Maybe that’s why leaving for the summer felt like such a relief.

A few months away, an out-of-state camp, something new. You didn’t have to be that girl anymore. The one waiting in the wings, the one hoping for a glance that would never come.

You threw yourself into everything: early morning hikes, late-night talks by the fire, pushing past the edges of your comfort zone until you weren’t just existing, but living.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t come back with a whole new personality, didn’t suddenly turn into one of them...the girls Rafe actually looked at.

But you carried yourself differently now. Stood a little taller. Laughed a little louder. You still wore the same clothes, but they fit you better somehow, hugging the quiet confidence you hadn’t realized you’d built.

Most importantly?

You came back over it.

Over him. Over the way you used to linger, over the ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with. It was stupid, really. A crush. That’s all it had ever been.

And if Rafe Cameron had never noticed you before?

Well. That was perfectly fine.

Except… now he did.

It happens at a party, because of course it does.

Figure Eight, same crowd, same overpriced liquor being poured into red cups. The air is thick with salt and smoke, music thrumming under your skin as you weave through the sea of familiar faces.

Nothing’s changed.

Except you.

You’re not lurking on the edges anymore, not pretending to be invisible. You’re here because you want to be, because, for once, you don’t feel like an afterthought in your own story.

And Rafe?

He’s exactly where you left him, stretched out in one of the patio chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, his attention flickering between his phone and the girl curled up next to him. Some blonde, barely dressed, draping herself over his arm like she’s claimed him.

It used to sting, seeing him like that.

Now, you don’t even spare him a second glance.

It’s almost funny, the way his head turns when you walk in: slow and deliberate, like he’s making sense of something his brain can’t quite process. You catch the moment it clicks. The flicker of recognition, the way his easy, lazy smirk falters for half a second before sliding back into place.

You’re laughing at something Sarah says, not even looking his way. Your shoulders back, your head held high, the warm glow of summer still clinging to your skin. And your eyes—God, your eyes—don’t even flicker in his direction.

Maybe it was the liquor running through his blood, but he gets up, the wasted blonde grumbling in frustration as she's pushed aside, and makes his way over to you, heart beating.

“Didn’t know you were back.”

His voice is low, smooth, the same drawl you’ve heard a million times.

You glance up at him, barely breaking stride as you move away from Sarah. “Got in a few days ago.”

His brows pull together. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Sarah knew.” You shrug, effortless, like you don’t notice the way his eyes drag over you, lingering at the way your clothes fit just right. Like you don't care.

(You do. A little. But you’d rather die than let him know that.)

Rafe scoffs, taking another step, cutting off your path like he expects you to stop for him. “Right. Sarah knew.” He tilts his head, watching you too closely. “Guess you’ve been busy.”

You smile, all polite disinterest. “Something like that.”

And then you walk away.

No nervous laugh, no lingering, no waiting to see if he watches you go.

(He does.)

And for the first time in his entire life, Rafe Cameron feels something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his gut.

It takes him a second to recognize it.

Regret.

...

Jealousy isn’t something Rafe Cameron feels.

At least, not like this.

You’re different now. And worse? You don’t seem to give a damn about him anymore.

And he feels it, really feels it, when he sees you laughing with some guy at the party.

Some Kook douchebag he barely remembers the name of, leaning way too close, making you smile in a way that burns in his chest.

His stomach twists. His jaw clenches. His grip tightens around his drink until the cheap plastic cracks in his hand.

“Dude.” Topper’s voice breaks through the red haze, amused and knowing. “You good?”

Rafe doesn’t answer. Just glares at the scene in front of him like he can will it to stop.

(You haven’t even looked at him once tonight.)

You used to... always used to. Sneaking glances, lingering, hoping he’d say something. And now? He could be furniture for all you care.

The guy leans in. Says something that makes you tilt your head back and laugh.

And Rafe sees red.

Before he can stop himself, he’s moving. Drink abandoned, footsteps quick and purposeful as he crosses the room.

By the time you realize he’s there, it’s too late.

“Didn’t think this was your type.”

His voice is smooth, dripping with something too sharp to be casual. You blink up at him, surprised, before your expression flattens.

“I didn’t know I had a type.”

Rafe snorts. “Yeah?” His gaze flicks to the guy beside you, unimpressed. “’Cause last time I checked, you weren’t into desperate losers.”

The guy bristles. “What’s your problem, Cameron?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Rafe—”

But he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking at him.

His jaw is tight. His fists curl at his sides. Everything about him screams territorial, and he hates that he feels like this, like he’s been replaced, like you were his to lose in the first place.

And then you do the worst thing imaginable.

You smile at the guy.

A small, amused, totally dismissive smile, like Rafe isn’t even here.

Like he doesn’t matter.

And that’s when it hits him like a truck, like a gut punch, like a sinking, spiraling, helpless feeling.

He’s screwed.

...

Rafe has never had to chase before.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing now.

It starts with little things. Small, almost unnoticeable gestures that shouldn’t mean anything but do.

One: The Jacket

It’s late. Too late to be sitting out by the beach in just a thin hoodie, but Sarah begged you to stay for one more drink, and you didn’t want to seem like the same girl who used to fade into the background.

You shiver once, just once, and suddenly, there’s a heavy weight settling over your shoulders.

“Rafe—”

“Don’t start,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t just drape his very expensive hoodie over you without a second thought. “It’s cold.”

You glance up at him, suspicious, but he just stares out at the water like this isn’t a thing. Like this isn’t the first time he’s ever done something for you without being asked.

(You don’t give it back.)

Two: The Coffee

It’s early, and you’re buried in a book at a café, sipping on some overpriced latte when a familiar voice breaks your focus.

“You drink that caramel crap?”

You blink up, startled to find Rafe leaning against the table, a fresh cup in his hand. Before you can answer, he sets it down in front of you.

Your usual order.

The one you’ve always gotten. The one you thought no one ever noticed.

Your lips part, but Rafe just shrugs, casual. “Figured you might want a refill.”

Then he walks away.

You stare after him, utterly baffled.

Three: The Save

You weren’t going to call it a date.

Just a study session at the country club with some random Kook guy, an easy way to brush up on Econ while sipping from the drink in your hand.

But Rafe doesn’t see it like that.

He sees some guy sitting way too close, leaning over you like he has any right to, and before you can react, there’s a firm hand curling around your wrist.

“Come on,” Rafe says, voice low and final.

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

His grip isn’t tight, but it’s there. Protective. “We’re leaving.”

You scoff. “Since when do you get to decide where I—”

“Since you clearly don’t know when someone’s wasting your time.” He glares at the guy, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “Trust me. You can do better.”

And even though you should be annoyed, even though you should pull away, you don’t.

Because his fingers brush against your palm for half a second, just long enough for you to realize he’s trembling.

...

You’re not sure what you expected when Rafe finally snapped.

The party is long over. The music has faded, the bonfire burned down to glowing embers, and most of the guests have either gone home or passed out somewhere inside. But you stayed.

Not for him.

(Definitely not for him.)

You just like the quiet. The way the Outer Banks feels when it’s still. When the waves are the only sound, when the sky stretches wide and endless, littered with stars.

You tug your sleeves over your hands, exhaling softly as the wind rolls in off the water. You don’t expect to hear footsteps behind you.

But you do.

“We need to talk,” he says, voice low, words edged in something raw.

You sigh, shaking your head just enough to make a point. “We really don’t.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, we do.”

He sits down beside you on the sand, shoulders touching.

You cross your arms. “You can’t just—”

“Why won’t you look at me?” he blurts out.

You freeze.

He’s sitting too close, his expression a mess of frustration and something else. Something bordering on desperation.

You force out a scoff. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously.” His voice dips, softer now. “You used to. All the time.”

Your stomach flips. You hate that he remembers. You hate that he noticed now and not when it actually mattered.

“I grew up,” you say evenly. “I stopped wasting my time.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, and for the first time, he looks hurt.

“That what you think?” he murmurs. “That it was a waste?”

You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. “What else was it supposed to be?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he just stares at the ground, like he’s struggling to say whatever is clawing at his throat.

Then, finally

“I was an idiot.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Rafe lifts his head, and the look on his face nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Because he’s serious.

“I didn’t see it. See you.” He shakes his head, almost like he hates himself for it. “I don’t even know why. I think—I think I was too busy looking at the wrong things, and by the time I figured it out, you weren’t there anymore.”

Your chest tightens. “Rafe—”

“I notice you now,” he says, shifting closer. His voice is rough, uneven. “I notice everything. The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you get nervous. How you always pick the raisins out of the trail mix after you play golf.”

Your breath catches.

His jaw clenches. “And I hate it.”

You rear back slightly. “What?”

“I hate that I had to lose you to see you.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I hate that some other guy gets to stand where I should have been this whole time.”

Silence.

Loud. Heavy.

You stare at him, heart hammering, every instinct screaming at you to run, because this is too much, too late, too Rafe.

So you shake your head. Swallow down the ache in your throat.

“I don’t...” You inhale sharply. “I don’t believe you.”

Rafe goes still.

You square your shoulders, trying to steady yourself. “You don’t get to do this, Rafe. You don’t get to ignore me for years and then suddenly—”

“I know.” His voice is hoarse. “I know. And I don’t expect you to believe me.”

You falter.

He shifts closer. Slowly. Cautiously. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

“I just…” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “I just need you to know that I’m trying. That I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You swallow hard, pulse hammering.

Because for the first time, he looks at you: not like a challenge, not like something to win, but like something he’s afraid to lose.

And that scares you more than anything.

...

Epilogue: The Payoff

Rafe dedicated any free time he has to you and only you.

It's not really a conscious decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He's utterly determined to prove to you the depth of his feelings.

You’re browsing the tiny, tucked-away bookstore downtown, running your fingers along the spines, when a book suddenly appears in front of you.

"Thought you might like this one," Rafe says, leaning against the shelf like he belongs there. Like he planned this.

You eye the book, one of your favorites. The same one you used to read at parties when he wasn’t paying attention.

Your lips twitch. "You think you can bribe me with books now?"

"Not a bribe." He shrugs, but there's a telltale smirk on his lips. "Just proving I do pay attention."

You try not to smile.

You fail.

Another time, it's late. You’re shivering outside after a bonfire, rubbing your hands over your arms, when Rafe suddenly pulls his hoodie over his head, a sliver of his toned abs showing, and drapes it over you.

You blink up at him. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," he says, but his arms are already breaking out in goosebumps.

You roll your eyes but tug the hoodie tighter around yourself. It smells like him: clean, warm, safe.

He doesn’t ask for it back.

You don’t offer.

He's forever jealous although he's resisted making a scene, knowing how much you hate it.

You’re laughing with JJ at a party when you feel it. The heat of his stare.

You glance over, meeting Rafe’s narrowed eyes across the room, his jaw tight, fingers tapping against the glass in his hand.

You arch a brow. Oh?

"Relax," JJ murmurs, amused. "Pretty sure your boyfriend is about to combust."

You don’t correct him.

And when Rafe gets just frustrated enough to stalk over, hand resting at the small of your back, tugging you just a little closer...

You call that a win.

But he's a bit impatient in his love for you.

It happens in his car.

You're laughing—really laughing—at something dumb he said, and he’s just watching you, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your jaw.

You stop laughing.

The air shifts. Your heartbeat stutters. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up.

But you pull away, grinning as you grab the door handle. "Not yet, Cameron."

His groan is tortured. "You’re actually killing me."

You smirk. "Good."

It takes time.

Little moments. Soft gestures. Proof that this isn’t just some fleeting fascination. That he’s all in.

And when you finally kiss him—really kiss him...

He swears under his breath, pulling you in like he’s terrified you’ll change your mind. Like he’s spent years waiting for this and refuses to waste another second.

His hands frame your face, his lips desperate and sure all at once.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"You’re mine now," he murmurs, voice thick.

You smile.

"Yeah, Rafe." Your fingers curl into his hoodie. "I’m yours."

As if you weren't always.

[romerona]

The Swan Princess; Westeros Version.

The Targaryen Princess is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it). However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, a classic love-hate relationship.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: lost in woods, dragon fire. You are a bit bratty in this one.

Next part

The chill in the air was a far cry from the warmth of Kingslanding, but you hardly minded. The North had its own beauty—the towering pines, the crisp scent of the wind, the distant howl of wolves echoing across the hills. If only the company were as pleasant.

The festivities stretched before you in a blur of movement and laughter, the crackling of firewood and the clinking of tankards creating a raucous melody that grated upon your nerves. You sat at the farthest edge of the gathering, wrapped in a thick cloak lined with white fur, though no amount of warmth could temper the chill in your mood. Your hands remained tightly clasped in your lap, knuckles whitening as you scowled at the merriment before you. It had been your father’s insistence that forced you here—his decree that you must attend, that you must partake in the evening’s revelry.

Worse still, the most grave offence of all, he had instructed you to keep company with Cregan Stark.

Even now, years removed from the infamous cake incident at Aemond’s name day, your sentiments toward the northern boy had remained unchanged. He was still insufferable, still brooding, still insistent upon his wolfish ways as though they were some grand virtue to be admired. And yet, despite all of this, it was not his pride, nor his demeanor, nor even the air of quiet confidence he carried that vexed you most.

No, what was truly infuriating—what you found to be utterly offensive—was the fact that he had the audacity to ignore you.

You had been placed at his side, compelled to endure his presence, forced into this wretched arrangement for the sake of courtesy, and yet, rather than offer you the same indignity in return, he had simply dismissed you. The moment his friends arrived, he had risen without so much as a word, without even the pretence of obligation, and left you to fester in solitude.

He stood now near the firepit, surrounded by a group of northern boys, all older, taller—men who had long since begun their training. Their laughter came in low, rumbling tones, mingling with the scent of burning wood and roasted meat, and though you could not make out his words, Cregan spoke amongst them with ease, his presence welcomed.

You had not seen him in years, and yet you could not deny that he had grown, shoulders broader than before, height now eclipsing most boys of his age. Even his curls, dark and unruly as they had always been, seemed somehow thicker, falling slightly over his brow as he laughed—laughed, as though there was nothing amiss, as though your presence here was of no consequence to him.

Your jaw tightened as you tore your gaze away, huffing in frustration. You would not look at him any longer. You would not care. You were now ignoring him. And yet, your glare turns back at him each time you hear his laugh.

Aegon’s voice cut through your silent brooding, the young prince’s ever-curious eyes fixed upon you with unabashed intrigue. “Why do you glare so?”

You barely turned your head, already knowing who it was. Your younger brother was only a few years your junior, yet he clung to your side like a shadow, a lost pup who had long since decided you were the only one worthy of following.

“I do not glare,” you muttered, though the way your lips curled and your brows furrowed likely told a different story.

Aegon tilted his head, considering you with the sharp, unfiltered perception of youth. “You do. You look as though you wish to set Lord Stark aflame, dear sister.”

You huffed, arms crossing over your chest as you tore your gaze away from Cregan.

"He was commanded to keep me company," you grumbled, voice laced with frustration. "Yet he acts as though I am naught but air. A mere ghost to be disregarded at his leisure."

Aegon made a small sound of contemplation, his expression screwing up as he pondered your words. “Why would you wish for that brute’s company when you have mine?”

His words, meant in earnest, only deepened your scowl. You did not wish for Cregan’s company—not truly. You did not long for his attention, nor did you crave his words. And yet, it was the principle of the matter. You had been made to sit with him, and now he had left you, wholly unbothered, wholly unconcerned by your absence.

Aegon followed your gaze toward the firepit, where Cregan remained engrossed in his conversation, unaware—or perhaps entirely indifferent—to your displeasure. The young prince pursed his lips, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he surveyed the tall boy by the fire. Then, with a small shrug, he turned back to you, his expression equal parts mischievous and concerned. “Truly, sister, if it vexes you so, why pay him any heed at all?”

Your fingers curled into the plush fabric of your cloak, your jaw tightening. Because it was he who had been told to keep you company. Because it was he who should have felt the burden of obligation. And yet, here you sat, the only one who seemed to care at all.

If Cregan Stark would not give you his attention willingly, then you would seize it for yourself.

With a suddenness that startled even Aegon, you rose from your seat, gathering your cloak about you with deliberate precision. The prince started to trail after you both, but you shot him a glare.

“Stay.”

Your steps were swift and sure as you strode toward the firepit, your chin lifted in quiet defiance. The group of northern boys remained deep in conversation, their voices low and unhurried, wholly unaware of the storm descending upon them.

As you came to stand beside him, the lords and boys surrounding Cregan quickly straightened, some bowing their heads in deference to your presence. You, however, afforded them no such courtesy, your lilac eyes fixed solely on the one who had so rudely dismissed you.

Cregan barely spared you a glance. “Princess.”

The half-hearted greeting made your blood simmer. You bristled, tilting your chin higher. “Lord Stark.”

And then—nothing. No further acknowledgement. No shift in posture or interest. Cregan merely turned back to his friends, as if you were no more than a passing breeze.

Your fingers curled at your sides. How dare he?

You cleared your throat, tilting your head with measured patience. “You were tasked with keeping me company, were you not?”

Cregan exhaled through his nose, the sound heavy with exasperation, before finally turning his full attention to you. “Aye.”

“Yet here you are, neglecting your duty,” you remarked, eyes narrowing.

A sharp snicker rang out from one of the northern boys, earning him a withering look from Cregan before the lord’s gaze returned to you. “I did not think you cared for my company.”

“I do not,” you answered swiftly, folding your arms across your chest. “But if I must endure yours, then it is only fair you endure mine.”

Another laugh, low and knowing, rippled through the group. One of the taller boys clapped Cregan on the shoulder, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’ve been summoned, Lord Stark.”

Cregan groaned, dragging a hand down his face as though praying for patience. Then, with great reluctance, he turned fully to you, his stance shifting from stubborn resistance to resigned duty. “And what is it you wish to do, Princess?”

You smirked, pleased to have drawn him from his indifference. “Something more interesting than standing around talking about whatever it is northerner boys talk about.”

Cregan studied you for a long, silent moment, as though weighing the depth of your mischief. Then, with a slow exhale, he gave a small shake of his head. “Fine.”

Turning to his friends, he gave a nod toward the woods. “I’ll be back.”

One of the older boys scoffed, his lips curling around the rim of his cup as he slurred, “Truly? You’d leave us for the spoilt princess?”

A silence fell over the group. A heavy, expectant silence.

The moment the words left his wine-soaked lips, the others stiffened, some even taking a wary step back. The drunken fool clearly did not yet realize his mistake, but they did.

You were no mere noblewoman to be dismissed with a careless insult.

The beloved pearl of the Seven Kingdoms, cherished not only by your father, the King but by all who saw you as the living embodiment of Targaryen's grace and beauty. A girl born of fire and blood, as regal as she was untouchable.

And yet, this boy—this fool—had dared speak of you so carelessly.

“A spoilt princess, am I?” you mused, your tone dangerously even.

Your lilac eyes narrowed, the firelight casting an eerie glow across your sharp features. Though you were years younger, though you stood two heads shorter, you advanced without hesitation, your steps measured, deliberate, until you were close enough to look up at the fool who had so carelessly spoken.

The silence was suffocating.

The boy, for all his bravado, swayed slightly, the haze of wine doing little to shield him from the weight of your gaze. The others watched, rigid as stone, none daring to intervene.

Then, after a long pause, you smiled. It was not kind.

It was the smile of a dragon before it struck. The smile of a queen before she passed judgment. The kind of smile that sent men to their knees in fear rather than admiration.

The boy swallowed thickly, his drunken haze evaporating beneath the weight of your presence.

“Well?” you asked, your voice quiet but carrying effortlessly over the crackling flames. “Do speak plainly, my lord. I would so love to hear what else you think of me.”

The drunken fool licked his lips, throat bobbing as he tried to summon some semblance of wit. “I meant no—”

“You meant,” you interrupted smoothly, taking another deliberate step forward, “to insult me.”

He flinched.

“Or was it my father you sought to offend?” Your voice remained sweet, but the question was anything but. “Perhaps my mother’s memory? My House?”

The boy visibly shrank beneath your gaze, as though the very air had grown heavier. He looked to Cregan, then to his companions, seeking an escape, but none would meet his eye. Smart of them.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to stammer some pathetic attempt at an apology, but before he could, Cregan finally moved.

A heavy hand clamped down on the fool’s shoulder, forcing him to bow slightly under its weight. The pressure was not enough to harm, but it was a warning—a silent command that made the onlookers still, their laughter long since faded into tense silence.

“I believe you’ve had too much wine, Beron,” Cregan said evenly, though there was no mistaking the quiet steel in his voice. “Best you retire before you make an even greater fool of yourself.”

Beron, now pale as freshly fallen snow, swallowed hard. His bravado, so apparent mere moments ago, had fled entirely. With a stiff nod, he stepped back, avoiding your gaze as though even looking at you would seal his doom.

You watched him go, the smirk that ghosted across your lips a silent testament to your satisfaction. Yet when you turned back to Cregan, whatever fleeting amusement you held vanished in an instant, replaced once more by the simmering irritation that had plagued you all evening.

Your lilac eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him as though his very presence was an affront, as though you were still deciding whether he was just as insufferable as the fool you had just put in his place. Then, with your chin lifted in a haughty display of royal indignation, you turned sharply on your heel, your cloak billowing behind you as you huffed and stalked away.

Cregan exhaled, long and weary, dragging a rough hand down his face before shaking his head.

“Seven hells,” he muttered under his breath, before striding after you. It seemed, despite his better judgment, that the wolf had no choice but to follow where the dragon led.

Cregan Stark prided himself on his patience.

It was expected of him as his father’s heir, a virtue drilled into him through endless lessons of duty and restraint. The North was not a place for rash tempers or childish squabbles. A Stark must be measured, composed, and above all, steady as the winter itself—the blood of the First Men ran through his veins, and wolves did not rise to petty bait.

And yet—yet—every time he was forced into your company, that patience unravelled thread by thread.

"Is that how you always spend your time?" you asked, voice laced with disdain as you pulled your cloak tighter around you. The cold bit at your skin, but your words were sharper still. "Standing about like a pack of hounds, waiting for scraps?"

Cregan inhaled sharply, his broad shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured restraint. Do not rise to it, he told himself. He had learned your ways over the years, how you delighted in needling him, in picking at his patience like a raven pecking at carrion.

He exhaled through his nose, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. "We speak of things that matter, Princess. Not childish games."

You tilted your head, the firelight catching in the silver strands of your braided hair. A picture of innocence—if one ignored the glint in your lilac eyes, the one that spoke of mischief, of provocation.

"Oh, I see," you murmured, voice rich with mock understanding. "Of course. You and your very important northern discussions."

Your lips curled, and then you added, as light as silk, "Please, you are raised in ice, you drink only ale, and you spend your days rolling about in the mud like dogs. No wonder you all behave like them."

Cregan’s jaw tightened.

He had sworn to himself—no, he swore to his father—that he would not let you get a rise out of him tonight. That he would be the proper lord, ever respectful, ever unshaken. That he would not let himself be drawn into yet another one of your endless games.

Still, his jaw tensed as he shot you a look. “You claim we are dogs, Princess, yet you stand before our fire, eating from our table, taking from our land. Tell me, which of us is truly the hound?”

Your lilac eyes flashed—not anger, but amusement. And that infuriated him more than anything.

You stepped closer, your perfume—something warm and spiced—reaching his nose. “Clever, almost.”

Cregan hated the way his pulse quickened, just slightly. He hated the way you spoke to him, like he was still a child playing at being a man. He hated the way you always—always—knew exactly how to get under his skin.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to remain composed. But that wasn’t enough. He needed to wipe that insufferable smirk from your face.

And then an idea struck him.

So, he did the only thing he could. He smirked. “Perhaps, Princess, you would rather see something truly northern? Something worthy of your oh-so-refined tastes?”

Your brow lifted, intrigue flashing across your face. “And what could a northern brute possibly have that would interest me?”

Cregan let his smirk widen, taking a step back. “Have you ever seen a direwolf?”

Your interest was immediate. “A direwolf?”

“Aye. There are dire wolves in these woods," he said smoothly, watching you carefully. "I know where a litter has been whelped, I can take you if you wish.”

Your posture stiffened, your lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line. Then— “Truly?”

He shrugged, his voice even. “Do you doubt my word?”

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. "I have heard the North’s wolves are fearsome things, the size of horses.”

“They are,” he agreed smoothly, “but I thought a daughter of the dragon would not be afraid of such creatures.”

Your lilac eyes burned with indignation. “I am not afraid.”

Cregan tilted his head. “Then let us see, shall we?”

He should have felt guilty.

Should have.

But as he returned to his friends, leaving you in the depths of the woods, he found himself feeling nothing but satisfaction.

You had followed him eagerly, your irritation at the feast long forgotten in your excitement to see a direwolf. He had led you deep into the forest, far from the warmth of the fire, far enough that the trees blocked out most of the moonlight.

And then, at the perfect moment, he had stepped behind a tree—and vanished.

You had called his name at first, your voice carrying through the trees with only the rustling of the leaves to answer you. Then came the frustration.

“Cregan Stark, if this is some jape, I swear to all gods!”

There was a pause. Then the crunch of leaves as you turned in place, the sharp inhale of breath when you realized you were alone.

“Cregan, this is not amusing,” you called, irritation creeping into your voice.

Oh, but it was amusing.

Cregan remained just out of sight, arms crossed over his chest, watching. He would let you sit with your own pride for a little while. Let you feel what it was like to be dismissed, to be toyed with. It was not cruel, not truly—he knew exactly where you were. You would be fine. And if this humbled you even a little, then perhaps it would be worth the scolding he would inevitably receive.

So he left. He had walked back leisurely, even laughing under his breath as he rejoined the gathering, pleased with himself in a way he hadn’t been in years.

It would serve you right, little dragon.

You would stomp your feet and pout, calling him every manner of insult, but he would return before long, retrieve you from whatever spot you were sulking in, and that would be the end of it.

At least, that was what should have happened.

But when people began to ask where the lovely princess had gone—when Lord Rickon turned his sharp gaze on Cregan and asked if he had seen you last—something unpleasant curled in his stomach.

His smirk faded.

Cregan made his way back to where he had left you, his steps quickening when he realized the spot was empty. No footprints in the dirt. No sign of where you had gone.

Panic seized his chest as he turned in a slow circle. “Princess?”

Nothing. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as he called your name again.

This was not how this was meant to go. You were supposed to be sitting on a fallen log, arms crossed, scowling at him when he returned. Not gone.

Cregan Stark, heir to Winterfell, had lost a Targaryen princess in the woods. And if he did not find you soon, he was as good as dead.

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. You couldn’t have gone far. You were here somewhere. And the thought that you weren’t—that something had happened to you—made his stomach twist in a way he did not care to name.

You were going to kill him.

Not in the quiet, polite way of the court, with veiled insults and sharp words—no, you were going to strangle Cregan Stark with your bare hands the moment you found him... If you found him.

The forest was darker now, the thick canopy overhead blotting out the last slivers of evening light. You had walked for what felt like hours, your frustration growing with each passing moment. At first, you had been determined—This is fine. I do not need him. I’ll find my way back.

That had been before your gown had snagged on every possible branch, before you had tripped over a root and scraped your palms raw against the cold earth, before your boots had sunk into thick patches of mud that tried to swallow your steps.

Now, your breaths came sharp and quick, little clouds of mist curling before you. You swallowed against the sting behind your eyes.

Cregan Stark, you absolute vile, unwashed, brute— Had he truly left you? Had he meant for you to never return?

The realization struck like a blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. For all your confidence, for all your stubbornness, you were alone in the middle of a vast northern forest, with no sense of direction and no one to call for help.

Your throat tightened.

No. You would not cry. You would not let the woods of the north to best you.

But as you took another step forward, your foot caught on a tangle of roots, and you pitched forward, crashing onto the damp earth. This time, you did not rise.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your fingers curling into the dirt. You would die here. Your body would be found frozen in the snow, your sister would weep, your father would curse the North, and Cregan Stark—Cregan Stark—would suffer the wrath of the crown.

And yet, none of that mattered if you died here tonight.

Tears burned hot as they slipped down your cheeks, your frustration giving way to something raw—fear. You had never been alone like this before. Never without guards, without your ladies and your maids, without your father or Rhaenyra, that nuisance of your younger brother. You had always been surrounded, shielded, protected but now? Only the cold and the distant rustling of unseen creatures.

You shuddered and forced yourself to sit up, hugging your arms to your chest. The cold was beginning to seep into your bones, its sharp bite burrowing beneath your skin, turning your fingers stiff and clumsy. You clenched them into fists, willing warmth back into them, but it was no use.

If the cold did not claim you, the wolves would.

The thought sent another shiver down your spine.

You turned your head sharply, scanning the darkness between the trees, expecting to see a pair of gleaming eyes watching, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. The woods belonged to creatures far older than men—things that did not fear steel or fire.

A shiver ran down your spine, but you gritted your teeth against it, scanning the trees, your ears straining for the snap of a branch, the rustle of unseen movement.

Fear clawed its way up your throat. Was this how it ended? A Targaryen princess lost to the dark? Devoured in the woods like a nameless peasant?

Your fingers curled into fists in the tattered fabric of your dress. No.

A sudden anger filled you, pushing away the creeping terror. No. You would not sit here and weep like some helpless thing. You would not be claimed by the cold or torn apart by beasts.

You were a dragon and you refused to be brought low by wolves.

A sharp gust of wind howled through the trees, but you rose to your feet, unsteady but determined. You would find shelter. You would make it through the night, and you would see Cregan Stark’s face when you returned, standing tall, unbroken, and victorious.

With that thought burning in your chest, you pressed forward, forcing one foot in front of the other. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing on your limbs, but you did not stop. The forest stretched endlessly before you, the trees twisting and gnarled, their skeletal branches reaching toward the sky.

Then—movement. Your breath caught as you spun, your heart hammering against your ribs. Nothing, but something or someone is watching you. You could feel it.

A slow, uneasy dread settled over you, but you swallowed it down, gripping the tattered edges of your dress as you continued forward.

And then, in the distance, beneath the tangled roots, you saw it- a shadow. A large, gaping darkness ahead, half-hidden beneath the twisting roots of an ancient tree. A cave.

Relief surged through you as you stumbled toward it, slipping beneath the jagged opening. The air inside was cool but dry, the ground packed firm beneath your feet. You exhaled shakily, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The cave was deeper than you expected, the air damp, warmer than the biting cold outside, and heavy with something thick and unplaceable. Each breath you took felt weighted, as though the very air pressed against your ribs.

Something about the scent in the air struck you as familiar.

Sulfur. Ash.

It reminded you of the Dragonpit in King’s Landing, of the deep chambers where the great beasts slumbered, their breath thick with smoke and embers.

But that was absurd, there were no dragons this far to the north. You were exhausted, chilled to the bone, your mind playing tricks on you after hours spent stumbling through the wretched woods. That was all.

You took another cautious step forward, a sharp crunch echoed beneath your foot making you still.

The sound sent a shudder down your spine. It had not been the crisp snap of twigs, nor the shifting of loose stone. It had been brittle, fragile—something breaking.

Your pulse quickened, but you forced yourself to move, to push forward despite the growing weight in your chest. Then your foot struck against something hard. A rock? No...

You bent down slowly, your fingers trembling as you reached into the darkness. The surface beneath your hand was smooth, cold—curved in a way that made your breath hitch. You traced its edge, confusion swirling in your chest.

And then, as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you saw it. Not a rock, surely not a branch, it was... a scale. A large, dark, scale gleaming faintly in the cave’s dimness.

A low rumble filled the space, vibrating through the very stone beneath you. Your blood turned cold. A slow, rolling shift of movement echoed through the cavern. Then—two massive, golden eyes blinked open.

Your breath caught in your throat as the darkness moved, no— it was not darkness.

It was something massive, curled within the cavern, its long, jagged horns scraping against the stone as it lifted its head. A deep, guttural growl reverberated through the air, rolling over you like thunder, the kind of sound that rattled deep in your bones.

Your body is locked in place.

It’s a dragon. A wild dragon.

You had never felt fear like this before.

It was not the simple fear of falling from a tree, nor the quick, fleeting terror of nearly slipping off a ledge as you climbed the castle walls. This was something deeper, something that wrapped around your chest and squeezed until your breath came in short, panicked gasps.

The dragon was massive.

Larger than any you had ever seen up close, which is a big feat since you have seen Vermithor, its coiled body filling the dark cavern like a living mountain of scale and muscle. Even in the dim light, you could see the dark ridges of its back, the curve of its wings pressed against the walls of the cave. Its tail twitched, stirring the dust at your feet, and then—

It growled.

A low, rumbling sound, deep as thunder rolling through the belly of the earth. The sound made your knees weak, made you feel small, insignificant beneath its burning golden gaze.

You stumbled back, your hands bracing against the cold stone behind you. Your breath came in ragged bursts, your mind screaming at you to run, run, run, but your legs would not move. You had nowhere to go.

The growling deepened, reverberating in your very bones. You had to do something, anything. And so, in the midst of your spiralling panic, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You talked. In frantic, desperate, trembling High Valyrian, you talked to the beast. "Ñuhon, ñuhon, ñuhon..."

"Nyke Targārien iksan," you stammered, your voice shaking so badly that the words almost slurred together. "Aōha rūvēn iksan, līragon nyke, kostilus." I am a Targaryen. I am your friend, please, do not harm me.

The dragon’s growl did not cease, but something in the way it held itself shifted. Its great head tilted ever so slightly, those massive golden eyes fixed on you, unblinking. Its nostrils flared, taking in your scent, the thick breath of the beast sending a hot gust of air against your face.

"Nyke... nyke jorrāelagon sȳz rūvēn," you continued, your voice no less panicked, but steadier now, clinging to the one thing that had ever given you comfort—words. "Ñuha āeksia, ñuha lenton, ñuha ābrar issi... kostilus, do not hurt me."

The dragon let out a short, huffing sound—not quite a snarl, not quite a sigh. Its wings shifted slightly against the stone, and for one terrible, agonizing moment, you thought it might lunge, might strike.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your heart hammering against your ribs. But no attack came.

Instead, there was another sound—low, almost like a grumble, but different. Less threatening.

You opened your eyes slowly.

The dragon was still watching you, but the growl had lessened into something more like a deep, guttural rumble, a sound you could not quite name. It had listened.

You let out a shuddering breath, your hands still trembling.

"Issa sȳz," you whispered, barely audible.

The dragon huffed again, shifting slightly, its great claws scraping against the cavern floor. It did not bow, did not lower its head in submission—but it did not turn you to ash, either.

You had been heard.

You took a shuddering breath, pressing a hand to your chest in a futile attempt to calm your hammering heart.

"I—I should not be here, you see," you continued, voice wavering but relentless. "I was tricked, abandoned, left to die in this gods-forsaken forest by this imbecile, and I thought this cave would provide me shelter, but instead I find you. And I must say, I do not think this is fair. My father is the King. My sister is Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, and I should not be grovelling before a dragon in the middle of a cursed forest, covered in dirt... fucking stark.

The dragon watched you, unblinking, unmoving, its massive body still half-coiled within the shadows. Its breaths came slow and steady, but the growl had lessened, replaced by something else.

Something like curiosity, so you kept talking.

You told the beast of the cold, how you dislike the chill of the North, how the winds bit at your skin and made your fingers numb. You spoke of your frustrations, of how your father had sent you here, how you had been made to suffer the company of Cregan Stark.

Your voice cracked as you spoke his name, and for some reason, that was when the first tear fell.

You wiped at it furiously, cursing yourself, cursing him, cursing this wretched night. You had been abandoned. Left like a fool to wander the forest, to freeze, to be forgotten. You let out a shaky breath, staring at the dragon before you.

“You would not have abandoned me,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Would you?”

The dragon let out a low, rumbling sound—not quite a growl, but not quite a purr either. Its eyes gleamed like molten gold, sharp and knowing.

And then, to your shock, it moved again.

A slow, deliberate shift of its massive body. Clawed feet scraped against the cavern floor as it unfurled its wings slightly, shaking dust from its scales. Its long neck arched, its nostrils flaring once more.

Then, It lowered its head. Not by much, but enough.

You inhaled sharply, heart hammering, and slowly, hesitantly, you raised a trembling hand. The dragon did not move, it did not growl, did not flinch.

Your fingers brushed against its warm scales. Heat radiated beneath your palm, and for the first time since stepping foot in the woods, you felt safe. Your breath was shallow as you dared to lift your gaze.

Its golden eyes bore into yours, deep and endless, gleaming like molten metal in the dim light of the cavern. And though the beast said nothing—though it made no sound, no movement beyond its slow, steady breathing—you felt it.

Targaryens were of the blood of the dragon. But what was this? It was as though the dragon had recognized you. Not just as a Targaryen. Not just as some lost child who had wandered into its den.

But as its own.

Then, shattering the stillness of the cave, your name rang through the forest, sharp and desperate.

Your fingers curled against the dragon’s warm scales as the peacefulness—the strange, overwhelming sense of belonging—was yanked from you, ripped away by a voice you knew.

Him. Cregan fucking Stark.

You growled, the sound low and guttural in your throat, before turning away from the dragon. The air felt colder now, the cavern’s warmth a distant memory as you marched toward the entrance, your body rigid with fury.

How dare he?

How dare he call for you with such desperation, as though he had not been the one to leave you behind in the first place? As though he was not the reason your hands were scraped raw, your dress torn, your limbs frozen?

The moment you stepped out of the cave, the cold northern air bit at your skin, but you did not falter. Your anger burned hotter than any fire. Cregan’s voice came again, closer this time as he yet again called your name.

And then, you saw him.

A flickering torch in hand, his grey eyes scanning the dark, his normally composed features twisted with something that looked far too close to panic. His tunic was wrinkled, his hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it and his chest was rising and falling heavily, his mouth slightly parted as though he had been running.

Good. Let him suffer.

His head snapped toward you the moment you stepped into the moonlight. The relief that crossed his face was instant, crashing over him like a wave.

“There you are,” he breathed, already moving toward you. “Gods, I—”

But before he could say anything else, before he could speak a single word of apology— You struck him. Not a slap, not a soft shove, but a full-force push against his chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

“You bastard,” you snarled, your voice shaking with unspent rage. “You left me.”

Cregan caught himself, blinking rapidly, as if stunned. “I—Seven Hells, I thought—”

“You thought what?” you bit out, stepping forward, your torn gown dragging over the forest floor. “That I would wait like a dog for you to come and fetch me?”

His jaw clenched, grey eyes dark with something unreadable as he took another step toward you. “I knew where you were. I never—”

“No, you didn’t,” you spat, the fury burning in your chest like Dragonfire. “Because when you finally came back, I was gone.”

Cregan ran a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply, his frustration plain. “You were supposed to stay there—why in the name of the Old Gods would you leave? In woods, you know nought of?”

“Why did I leave?” you echoed, your voice shaking with fury. “Because I was alone, Stark! Because I was freezing, because the wolves howled closer with every hour because I had no reason to believe you were ever coming back for me.”

Cregan’s expression flickered for a moment, something shifting behind his gaze—guilt. But you didn’t care for it.

His mouth opened as if he meant to speak as if there were words he could summon to undo what he had done. But no words came. Instead, from behind you, a deep, rumbling growl filled the air, low and unrelenting, the sound vibrating through your very bones and the ground shifting beneath you.

Your dragon.

A smirk curled at your lips as you turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse the massive, hulking form that emerged from the cave’s mouth. The beast’s golden eyes were fixed on Cregan, unblinking, knowing. Steam curled from its nostrils as it stepped forward, claws sinking into the damp earth.

Cregan did not move, did not reach for the sword at his hip. He only watched, his grey eyes locked onto the creature behind you, his breath unsteady.

A slow smirk curled at your lips.

Cregan saw the shift in your face, and before he could react, you turned and took a few deliberate steps toward the beast, your gown dragging over the forest floor, torn and dusted with dirt.

"Wait, princess..." That was when Cregan moved. His hand shot out, gripping your arm, a firm pull—as if he had any right to stop you.

"Don't you dare--" You yanked yourself free, stepping back just in time.

And that was when your dragon struck, a sharp inhale, the air around you shifting—then flames. It wasn’t a full blast, just a warning—a thin stream of fire erupted from the beast’s maw, aimed straight for Cregan. You barely had time to gasp.

Cregan was fast. Faster than you had expected. He spun away just in time, throwing up his arms to shield himself as the flames roared past, illuminating the trees in a flickering orange glow.

Then, silence, making your smirk disappear.

“Cregan?” Your heart lurched as you watched the fire dissipate, smoke curling into the cold northern air.

For a terrifying second, he didn’t move. But then he straightened, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling sharply. He was alive. But when he turned back to you, you had to slap a hand over your mouth to smother the laugh that threatened to escape.

His normally dark curls were dusted in ash, the very tips of them still smouldering. His face was streaked with soot, and most hilariously of all— One of his eyebrows was completely gone.

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Your mouth fell open.

Cregan blinked, then let out a slow, rattled breath, his expression unreadable.

And then, you laughed.

You tried to hold it back, you really did, but it was impossible. The sight of him, wide-eyed, covered in soot with only one eyebrow left, his expression caught between horror and sheer disbelief—it was too much. A burst of laughter slipped through your lips, bubbling uncontrollably as you pressed a hand to your mouth.

Cregan just stared at you, completely dumbfounded.

Then he scowled. “You laugh? After your beast nearly burned my face off?”

You nod, laughing harder, hands clutching your sides, feeling your knees about to give. You wiped a tear from your eye, finally catching your breath. "That is what you get, for leaving me."

He exhaled sharply, still fuming. “You let your dragon burn me.”

“I did not!” you said defensively, though your voice still shook with laughter. “He did it on his own, and he merely singed you. It was a warning.”

You gestured at the dragon, whose golden eyes remained locked on Cregan as if daring him to try anything else. Cregan glared, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his missing eyebrow.

You tilted your head, examining him. “It is an… interesting look.”

He exhaled heavily, looking toward the sky like he was praying for patience. Then, after a beat, he muttered, “I should have left you in the woods.”

You grinned, stepping back toward your dragon, placing a firm hand against its scales. “And yet, here you stand. With only one eyebrow to show for it.”

Cregan shot you a heated glare, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if he were biting back a particularly colourful string of curses you were certain he was about to unleash—until the sound of approaching hooves shattered the moment.

The rhythmic thud of horses against the earth. The muffled crunch of boots stepping through fallen leaves. Then, the glow of torches flickered through the darkness, growing brighter, closer.

Your father had sent people to find you.

You should have felt relieved. Instead, all you could think about was what he would say—what he would do—when he realized what had happened. You were about to be scolded within an inch of your life.

Cregan must have had the same thought, because his shoulders squared, his expression hardening as he turned toward the oncoming riders.

Your dragon let out a low growl, its tail shifting against the forest floor, and you placed a calming hand on its scales.

You cast Cregan one last smirk. “Shall we tell them exactly what happened? Or shall we let them wonder why the heir to Winterfell is missing an eyebrow?”

His glare deepened, but before he could answer, the first of the riders broke through the trees, their torches illuminating the scene before them.

And just like that, the game was over... For now.

A/N

Hiii, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I wanted to stay true to the Y/N vibe and give her a wild dragon, tho, it's not Cannibal. Figure might as well give you something from the north other than Cregan lol. Tell me what you think was it too corny? Also, I don't know if you noticed but I made a jab to Bran, Three-Eyed Raven, just for funsies.

Thank you sooooo much for the support, the likes, comments and reblogs, you all really make me stay motivated.

<3 Thank you so muchhhh.

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[tasteracha]

a/n: hey @chvnnie remember when you asked me to write this like a year ago? i did it. inspired by that one skzcode clip of seungmin teasing felix and felix getting pissed off. warnings: seunglix x afab!reader, meanish dom felix, sub seungmin, smut - MINORS DNI.

you’re woken up by jarring voices, the tv that had been providing you background noise for your slumber having gone to sleep shortly after you did. it takes you a moment to identify the sounds, your brain coming online a few moments after your heart, beating rapidly in your chest from being kicked out of unconsciousness so abruptly. 

“you don’t have to be so fucking mean all the time,” you register felix’s voice first, a dangerousness hiding in his dark tone that doesn’t come out often. he’s usually so positive even when he’s in a bad mood, optimism cracking away at any negative emotions in a way you admire. 

“i wasn’t being mean,” seungmin scoffs in return, and you can hear him walking down the hallway towards the living room where you laid with bated breath. “you’re just being sensitive, lix.”

oh, he’s done it now. 

seungmin sees you first, a blinding smile taking over his face as he walks over to you to run a hand through your hair. you relax into his touch, relishing in the comfort while knowing that a fight was about to break out soon - you knew the difference between felix being sensitive and being genuinely angry. 

right now, even without seeing his face, you knew it was the latter. 

felix walks into the room and you swear he looks six feet tall, standing with his arms crossed and a look on his face. it makes you shiver though it isn’t directed at you, and it goes unnoticed by seungmin even though his hand is still buried in your hair - he was too occupied with smirking at felix, pouring gasoline into a fire that was already blazing towards the ceiling. 

you know what they say, play with fire and you’ll get burned. you hope that seungmin was prepared for what is about to occur. 

“you want me to take care of this, lix?” you ask, your role of Professional Seungmin Tamer coming increasingly more natural as the days went on. it is a last ditch effort to calm the flames. 

“no,” felix’s jaw is set in a hard line, and you can see his teeth grinding together. “i’ll take care of him myself.”

“take care of him myself,” seungmin mocks, snickering to himself for a moment before choking around it from the sudden feeling of felix’s hand around his jaw. felix has moved like a ghost, crossing the room in quick strides and covering seungmin’s body with his own in a silent motion. seungmin’s hand falls from your hair, reaching up to wrap around felix’s wrist - not moving it away, but rather bracing himself against the storm.

seungmin is usually taller than felix, but he’s left looking up at him because of how his knees buckle. despite his clear disadvantage, seungmin lets out a growl at felix’s touch.

“awh, you going to bark for me?” felix coos at him, not an ounce of warmth behind his words. “puppy.”

“you wish,” seungmin hisses out, the breath leaving him completely when felix tightens his grip on his jaw and uses the other one to brace the back of his neck, trapping seungmin completely against him. 

“how can you say that when i can tell you want me so bad already?” felix says, looking something wicked as he wedges a thigh between seungmin’s legs. from where you are you can’t see the younger man’s crotch but you’re certain that his jeans are tented with arousal; your own core was starting to pulse with heat just from watching them, despite you not being touched by either of them. 

“i don’t want you,” seungmin scoffs, trying to turn his face out of felix’s grip and failing. he was lying; seungmin always wanted felix, but nine times out of ten it was on his own terms. you can only imagine how fast seungmin’s head was spinning right now at the sudden change in dynamics. 

watching seungmin twitch his hips against felix’s thigh was maddening. this is the first time you’ve seen felix take control of seungmin like this. maybe felix would make seungmin ride his thigh - that was something you’d be delighted to see. 

“then why are you so hard?” felix’s mouth twists into a grin, wicked and sharp, as he presses his leg further forward, putting pressure on seungmin’s cock and making him moan. 

seungmin, for all his false bravado, submitted beautifully and easily when it was for you. it didn’t surprise you that he did it for felix too, but the sight of his muscles losing their tautness all at once was something to behold. he falls into felix’s arms, boneless and grinding his hips in little circles against the older’s thigh, the fight drained out of his body as quickly as it had arrived.  

“i hate you,” seungmin mutters weakly against felix’s chest as he chases a high he must know he won’t be allowed just yet. the fight left his body, not his mouth, evidently. 

“you’re just making this worse for yourself with every word,” felix chuckles, dry and mean, as he turns seungmin around and pushes him roughly forward. seungmin stumbles and throws a glare over his shoulder, but the effect is lost when he continues to let felix manhandle him. 

“baby,” felix calls out to you, his tone shifting to warmth instantly. you perk your head up and you can’t suppress the shiver that wracks through your body as he cocks his head towards the bedroom while leading seungmin there, a clear invitation to join them for whatever felix was planning to do. you’re on your feet before you can blink, anticipation burning through your veins. 

you have to pause and take a deep breath when you reach the door frame before going in; you knew that what was about to happen was like a fantasy pulled from the deepest depths of your mind. when you gather the nerve to peek inside, seungmin is already naked on the bed, his bottom lip hidden between his teeth as felix fastens his wrists to the headboard with the soft ropes that typically adorn his own. 

“open your mouth,” felix digs his fingers into seungmin’s lips, ignoring how the younger thrashes against the bonds keeping him in place. felix leans forward so that he’s kneeling over seungmin and slides his free hand into his dark hair, scratching softly at his scalp before curling his fingers into a fist and pulling.  “this is all the lube you’re getting, so unless you want me to fuck you dry you’d better do as i say.”

the words sound unpracticed as they spill out of felix’s lips, but seungmin’s lips part with a gasp nonetheless. he chokes on the digits as felix explores his mouth, reaching every crevice and swiping around his annoyingly white teeth. his fingers coming out glistening with saliva, wet and dripping as he lines them up with seungmin’s hole. 

felix opens seungmin up brutally, sliding two fingers in and cooking them up with a look of satisfaction on his face when seungmin jumps. it was a caricature of their usual dynamic, with felix typically melted into the sheets as seungmin uses him however he sees fit. felix finds seungmin’s spot with practiced ease, letting out a laugh when seungmin cries out at the intense pleasure. he avoids it after, scissoring his fingers almost clinically, teasing seungmin with the sensation that is so close but that he won’t be granted.

contrary to his claim, felix squirts a generous amount of lube on his cock once he undresses before he pushes in slowly, letting seungmin feel the drag of every inch. the younger’s breaths come out in violent shudders, and as you step closer to look his pupils are almost completely blown over his irises, barely a hint of chocolate brown to be seen. 

felix presses a kiss to seungmin’s forehead when he bottoms out, the gentlest touch he’s given him since he started. it shows how spaced out seungmin is that he leans up into the touch, craving felix’s touch like he would starve without it. seungmin’s eyes are glassy, a spaced out expression taking over his face that you’ve never seen before. he tends not to let his guard down, even during the most intimate moments that you share, and you hope that you get to witness this again. 

felix keeps a steady pace, dragging out slowly before pushing back in with a snap, driving seungmin further up the bed with every movement. 

“love?” felix calls out, and both you and seungmin make a noise. you know that felix was talking to you only when he ignores seungmin completely, continuing to snap his hips, pulling breathy whines from seungmin with every thrust. “will you come here?”

he says it like a question but your body thinks of it as a command as you float over to him, stopping just inches from the bed. felix unfastens seungmin’s wrists from the headboard, keeping them pinned together, and pulls him up. he turns him and wraps his arms around his chest until they are both kneeling upright, flush against one another. his cock remains buried inside of seungmin the whole time and you can’t help but give him a look of impressed approval. he looks pointedly at you and then the space he cleared out in front of seungmin in response, and you flush as you kick off your sweatpants and climb into the bed, laying on your back. 

when did felix learn how to tell you what to do with just a look? you didn’t know where this was coming from, but you loved it. 

felix places seungmin gently onto you with the carefulness that you expected from him on any other day. if it weren’t for him not wanting to crush you with seungmin’s weight, you were sure he would have thrown the younger onto the bed with little to no thought. seungmin settles against you like he belongs there, nuzzling his face into the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, and you can feel how hot his cheeks are against your skin. his cock settles between your thighs, hard and rigid, and you let out a sympathetic hum when felix stops him from rutting up against you. he reaches around seungmin and lines the younger man up against your hole, a little clumsy with his movements, and you can feel his leaking cock twitch against you. 

felix pushes seungmin into you with a snap of his own hips, driving himself deep into seungmin as he gets buried into you in one motion. the moans you and seungmin let out harmonize into the thick air, the scent of sex swirling with the noises in a colorful kaleidoscope. the colors burst into fireworks as felix sets a fast pace, pleasuring the both of you so naturally. 

felix leans past seungmin to kiss you over the younger’s head, and seungmin keens at the sight of it. he’s sandwiched between the two of you, chasing pleasure from every angle, and witnessing the two people he loves most in the world make out on top of him - you’re not sure that he can even think in coherent sentences right now. with his cock surrounded by your tight heat and felix’s own ramming into him, you’re surprised he can even keep his eyes open. you know that this is the moment where he surrenders himself to felix completely. 

you reach your limit faster than you ever have, your clit untouched and throbbing; just the obscene sight of seungmin being used between you and felix is enough to bring you to the brink of pleasure.  

“seung- lix, can’t,” you gasp out, every push of felix’s hips driving seungmin’s cock further into you, making you jolt - it’s too much. 

if it’s too much for you, you can’t imagine what it’s like for seungmin.

you thought that felix would take pity on you and let you finish, too focused on punishing seungmin, but instead he pulls out of the younger man and pulls him out of you with a harsh pull. 

seungmin all but wails at the loss, bucking his hips down onto the mattress. you hadn’t realized how close he was, too lost in your own high, but his brow was pinched and his lips were twisted just right to tell you that he was. 

“please, please,” he begs, flipping himself over to kneel in front of felix. “let me come, please.”

“you think you deserve to after what you did today?” felix looks down at him, eyes cold as ice. your own neglected orgasm was brushed away by the sight of seungmin begging. he was usually too proud to beg, too in control of situations to even need to, but in this moment he was completely helpless to felix’ whims. 

“i’m sorry,” seungmin loses control over the tears brimming in his eyes, fat tears dripping onto his cheeks. “‘m sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to-”

he falls forward into felix’s chest, entire body shaking with his shuddering breaths, and you see felix falter for the first time tonight. he looks at you with slight panic, the coldness melting away into affection towards the man crying into him, and you simply nod at him. you know what to do, you blink. you can do this, you smile. 

“puppy,” felix shushes him, running a hand down seungmin’s spine. “it’s okay. you’re being so good for me now, right? my good boy.”

“‘m good,” seungmin hiccups into felix’s chest, nodding his tears into felix’s skin. 

“you’re sorry, and you’ve been punished, right?” felix coos at him, trailing his blunt fingernails up and down seungmin’s back. “you’re alright.”

“i can come?” seungmin’s words come out nasally from his tears. 

“yes, puppy,” felix moves his thigh so that it’s between seungmin’s legs, trapping his weeping cock against the flexed muscle there. “take what you need.”

seungmin whines out a broken thank you and starts his hips at a rapid pace, chasing the high that he had been denied over and over. you lose count of the sniffles, whines, and moans he lets out, but you can tell exactly when he comes because his entire body seizes and his throat constricts around a high keen. 

felix strokes his back through it, shushing him and pressing gentle kisses to his cheeks and face. you can’t help but smile at the gestures, a little overwhelmed at how naturally felix fell into this rhythm.  your smile freezes when his own turns sharp, and he winks at you before flipping seungmin over and sliding back into him. he pushes seungmin down onto the bed and the push of hot breath he puffs out at the impact hits your forgotten cunt. felix pushes one hand down onto seungmin’s nape as he fucks back into him, chasing his own high and nurturing your own. 

you can feel seungmin’s lips trembling against your core with every thrust, his body pushing up against yours until he’s trapped between your legs. he licks at you un uncoordinated motions, but it’s enough. a few beats of time later, between the harsh slaps of felix’s thighs hitting seungmin’s ass and seungmin reaching up to squeeze his hands around your thighs, you come with a content sigh. your legs tighten around seungmin, keeping him close as your hips jerk against his mouth, and the sounds of felix coming are drowned out by the blood rushing through your ears. 

the next few moments pass by like snapshots, blurred images separated by shocks of camera flutter, and by the time your brain catches up with your body you’re laying down in a new position. your head is pillowed on felix’ chest, him sandwiched between you and seungmin, the latter’s fingers tangled between yours. 

“what the hell just happened,” you blink a few times, jaw almost dropping open when you see the utter contentment on felix’s face. 

“i think i discovered something new,” felix’ voice is languid, rumbling against your ear like a muted symphony. 

“if this is what it takes for you to learn things, we need to piss you off more often,” you tease, teasing a finger around felix’s nipple just to hear him hiss and see the soft glare he sends towards you. like a kitten. 

a puppy and a kitten; what were you going to do with these boys?

“speak for yourself,” seungmin mumbles from felix’s other side, coming back to himself slowly. he glances blearily at you, and his drying tear tracks and red rimmed eyes make him look so incredibly beautiful. “i can’t move a single one of my limbs.”

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon: interlude - a tango in barcelona | formula one imagine

interlude: a tango in barcelona

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

dancing around her teammate on and off track, y/n looks to boogie her troubles away.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

may 2020, spain.

life at mclaren hadn’t started the way y/n had hoped. the days were long and surprisingly quiet, the latter mostly due to her teammate and his aversion to acknowledging her existence. she was tired already this weekend and they hadn’t even raced yet.

the barcelona heat was making her race suit stick to her already just walking to the grid for the national anthem. “it’s hot as balls” y/n whined as she slipped between max and george while the choir set up ahead of them.

“oh my sweet summer child, we haven’t even gotten to singapore yet,” max said taking off his ice vest and fastening it to y/n.

“ugh don’t remind me,” y/n wiped more sweat off of her brow, “i think singapore might kill me.”

george laughed, moving his umbrella to the left so it covered y/n as well, “singapore is a baptism by fire, but you’ve done well so far this season so i don’t think you’ll have too hard a time.”

y/n smiled up at the taller brit, “thanks georgie, maybe if you’re such an expert in singapore you’ll be able to catch me.” she punctuated it with a wink, george nearly dropping the umbrella in response.

“do you mind? you nearly took my eye out with this thing!” max hissed at george, flicking the umbrella. george lifted the umbrella to get it out of eye range of the dutchman, who in turn saw it as an invitation to seek refuge in the shade.

“no way verstappen, this umbrella is for pretty people only,” george grabbed y/n’s hand and moved them a couple steps away.

“if that was so, only y/n would be allowed under it beanstalk.”

“if my height is the only thing you can think to insult me about, i can live.”

“oh believe me there’s a lot more stored up, i just wouldn’t want to give you any inspiration for when you take out a backmarker and blame everyone but yourself.”

y/n sighed dramatically, “already? i thought you two were going to cool it down this season. i don’t even understand how you have a rivalry, you’re nowhere near him on track george…” george let out a scandalised squeal, “oh my bad george, you know what i meant.”

“i think what y/n means is that she doesn’t rate you ‘mr saturday’”.

as george went to bite back but the loud horns of the national anthem cut their quarrel off early. y/n fought to keep her laugh in throughout the national anthem, seeing george seething in her peripheral vision. he was so easy to rattle it was practically a pastime of half the grid at this point.

before george could get a dig back in, y/n and max were back in deep conversation, discussing their approach to turn two with just minutes until the formation lap. he yearned to be the one that y/n spilled her tips, tricks and secrets to but like most of his life, the dutchman had beaten him to that honour. now he knew how lando felt.

lando, george and alex had bonded long before 2018, but their three-way title fight in formula two brought them closer rather than forcing them apart. george cherished that friendship, he found it invaluable to have two of his closest friends with him as they entered the cutthroat world of formula one - he just wished he could’ve been that person for y/n.

lando didn’t often articulate it well, but george understood his curly-haired friend’s struggles. lando had gushed all off season about having y/n as his teammate, chatting animatedly about potential roadtrips, shared flights and sleepovers before it was all snuffed out in a moment. george always suspected that lando felt more about their friend than he let on (or thought he let on). once he had thought it was a victim of circumstance, teenage boys discovering what these new hormones were doing to their body did tend to fixate on the one girl in their midst. but as they grew up, that puppy love crush didn’t seem to wain, not that anyone else around them seemed to notice.

a single comment from one max verstappen crushed that. a late night discord call between the rookie trio and max had naturally seen the topic of y/n arise. lando, as usual, started to wax lyrical about the season ahead, with his vision for their teammate relationship constructed in his head.

“mate, we’ve already started.”

“huh?” lando’s voice stuttered over the call, he cleared his throat, “what do you mean?”

“y/n and i,” max continued, “we’ve already started doing sim runs together, watching onboards and all that jazz.” the dutchman said it so casually, unaware of lando’s imminent heartbreak - george’s too, he just hid it better.

“but why? i’m going to be her teammate, not you? why would she even use your sim, she’s racing for mclaren next year not red bull.”

not noticing the path they were hurtling down, max dug his foot in, “no offence lando, but if y/n wants my tips, i’m going to give it to her. it’s noble for you to want to look out for her, but realistically what tips could you give her that are better than mine… i am the only one here who has actually won a race.”

alex loudly coughed, stopping max before he could continue. “it’s getting late, maybe we should call it a night?”

“it’s nine o’clock?” max questioned.

“no, i’m tired,” lando let out an undoubtedly fake yawn, “i think it’s time for bed.”

“okay suit yourselves,” max said, going back to his iracing, “lando, don’t take it too personally that she chose me. we’ve been friends for so long, we don’t know anything but each other.”

“i’ve known her just as long as you!”

it was starting to get a little heated and despite alex and george trying to interject, the two kept going.

“you may have known her just as long, but you don’t know her. we’ve been there for each other at our lowest and our highest. it’s not a competition. i honestly hope she comes to you next season, i don’t trust your team as far i can throw them. it will be good to have someone in her corner.”

“oh well if you’re that magnificent then why can’t you be her white knight all the way from red bull, huh?”

“you know what lando, we’ll talk about this again once you’ve shaken off this weird primal urge you have to ‘claim’ her. a piece of advice, she won’t like that.”

“oh you insufferable little shit-”

“goodbye everyone!” alex interjected, kicking max out of the call.

“what the fuck was that lando?”

“you heard him, posterising, peacocking and then having the gall to say that i’m being territorial over y/n.”

george sighed, his affection for the same girl was going to have to be buried even deeper after this. “max wasn’t peacocking about y/n, lando. if anything he was showing off his wins rather than her,” alex tried to reason.

“no! he can’t let us - can’t let me have anything. it’s always been this way and with y/n it’s like he knows deep down that i want her so he has to have her instead. he’s clinging on to her and shoving it in my face - it’s not my fault he has a shit dad and he attached himself to her because she was the only one not afraid of him - so why am i being punished for it?”

lando’s outburst rendered alex and george silent. the older one was horrified to say the least, the season hadn’t even started and lando’s jealousy was already out of hand.

“lando, that was too far…” alex said softly.

“no! he thinks that because he has a shitty sob story that he can just claim her? she’s her own person!”

“right. i’m going to stop you there before you say something that’ll make me hate you for real. you need to get over what ever the fuck this is so you can be a normal fucking human being next season,” alex tried to reason with lando.

“i am in love with her!”

“are you? or are you in love with the thought of what could happen? have you actually stopped and wondered whether y/n likes you or even likes men? for someone so protective over her, you haven’t considered her feelings too much.”

lando has the foresight to look a little guilty. george stayed silent, he knows alex is suspicious of him too, but that can of worms can wait until another day.

“you need to get a life and calm down. max is one of your best friends and i know deep down you didn’t mean a word you said tonight but you need to get a grip before you say any of that in front of him or y/n because i’m sorry but i won’t be stopping them if they try to hit you.”

lando doesn’t say anything, but the guilty look on his face says enough.

“goodnight.”

the call ended there and was never brought up again. george watched y/n waltz back towards the mclaren garage, a big gap between her and lando. there had been no more outbursts since that night but if what george overheard from daniel, lando had still managed to completely screw himself. was george that angry at that news? not really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the race was pretty uneventful, barcelona usually was. y/n started in sixth and managed to pip charles to fifth after ferrari screwed up his pitstop once again. despite her deep love for sangria, y/n didn’t really feel like leaving her hotel room after she had scrubbed all of the sweat and grime off in the shower.

she was pleased with her points haul, smiling to herself in debrief as they analysed lando’s first lap incident with pierre gasly that lando just insisted was no fault of his own…

her ring tone invaded her peaceful evening, the name ‘albono’ flashing up on her phone. pressing accept,

“how can i help you on this fine evening, mr albon?”

“well i find myself in this fine dancing establishment, looked around and thought it was crying out for a little y/n y/ln action.”

“dancing you say?”

“i’m 100% serious, sebastian of all people has dragged also to a bar where they’re attempting to teach us the tango…”

“oh i love the tango! it’s my favourite dance on strictly…”

“so what i’m hearing is that i should get a tequila sunrise in preparation for your arrival?”

y/n sighed, “yes you may.”

“score! i’ll send you the address and an uber. see you soon.”

so there goes her quiet night in, but who wouldn’t love the chance to tango with your close friends in under the stars? and she had packed her little red number… maybe the y/n who packed that suitcase all those days knew something current y/n didn’t.

y/n elected to skip most of her makeup routine, her skin sensitive from all the sweat in her balaclava, swiping on some mascara, lip gloss and a healthy dose of blush. like alex said, the uber was waiting for her outside the lobby.

the outside of the bar looked closer to a college dive bar than somewhere you’d expect to find a group of formula one drivers, but she suspects that’s why sebastian chose it.

“buenes noches senorita,” fernando alonso gave her a spin on entry.

“gracias nando,” she curtsied in front of the spaniard, drawing a laugh out of the elder driver, “i am sorry to cut this short, but i am tired and i fear i have already promised my one dance to another.”

“how will i ever recover?”

“i think you’ll find a way old man.”

“you wound me, but alex is waiting for you by the bar.”

y/n made her way through the bar, spotting several drivers caught up in their dancing lessons from the locals. she tapped alex on the shoulder, with the tall driver turning, wielding her tequila sunrise.

“nice of you to turn up at last,” alex teased, handing her the drink.

“i’ll have you know i was snuggled up ready for some netflix action before you called.”

“you came all this way for a dance with little ol’ me?”

“of course, alex. i have missed you.”

“i have missed you too, the red bull stuff is piling up and i have been neglecting my big brother duties, i’m sorry. not that it seems to be effecting your rookie season too much.”

“don’t worry about me alex, i’m proud of you and what you’re doing at red bull, even if they’re being unreasonably hard on you.”

alex led her to the middle of the dance floor and put one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder. they started to move to the music,

“i just miss when it was more laidback. i barely have time to stop between sim sessions and media duties and performance meetings. i miss sitting in your driver room laughing at your instagram private messages and watching stupid adam sandler movies.”

alex spun her and as she came back to him she said, “we can still do that alex! you don’t have to be alone, we can still watch adam sandler movies and ignore calls from helmut.”

alex smiled at her as the music slowed down.

“i wish i was here for you more in your rookie season,” alex laments but y/n interjects, “it’s only the fourth race. you’re focused on you and i wouldn’t want anything else. there’s time for us to find our way back to each other. you're a brother to me, like blood, there’s nothing that can destroy that bond.”

“i’m sorry lando is being a prick.”

“it is what it is.”

“no it’s not. we had each other last year, he should be there for you.”

“it’s whatever, i have max, i have you, i’ll survive.”

the music came to an end. the two embraced but when they broke apart y/n started heading for the exit, picking up max on the way through, the dutchman having already booked them an uber. y/n turned and waved to alex, she meant it when she said it was just one dance. she made a ‘call me sign’ and mouthed ‘adam sandler’ before rushing out of the bar with max.

alex turned and made his way to george who was still nursing his first drink at the bar. george didn’t respond when alex prompted him. the thai man nudged george laughing about how ‘y/n knows how to make a short and sweet appearance’ but still got nothing.

“you’re not seriously angry about a tango are you george?”

“no.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” alex whispered, “not as bad as lando but terrible nonetheless.”

“at least i’m not taking it out on her like lando.”

“no, you just use max as target pratice on your dart board for shits and giggles.”

“whatever.”

“fine, deal with it how you wanna big boy, but if you turn out like lando right now, i’ll be down two best friends and up two murder charges.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: my first interlude! @deviltsunoda and i came up with these ideas so i could write shorter things while i have work and you guys still get fed! so enjoy this lil exploration into y/n and alex's friendship (they are so precious to me!) and why lando is being such an asshole... enjoy! the weekend should bring chapter four.

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 05 - Dragon Cock]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Dragon!Yoongi, Fantasy!AU, Secret Love!AU

Kinks: dragon cock, cunnilingus, magical spit, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetrative sex, he tries so hard to be gentle with her, breeding, creampie, multiple orgasms, praise, strength kink, size kink (he is a lot bigger ‘cause dragon yk), giddy aftercare

Wordcount: 5.5k

a/n: i love him i love him i love him!! he is my beloved pookie and i’ve only known him for one day! also, click this link if you wanna see his delicacies :) i’m serious, do it :)

You lived in Bailemon, which liked to consider itself a town, but it was very far from that. It was small, perhaps even small enough to be considered a village instead of a town. Not many outsiders visited Bailemon because it was far from big cities, nestled between two high mountain ranges and hidden in a dense forest. The roads were passable, but not good. People here lived from the forest and from the little mountainous farming they were able to do during the warmer months.

Your town – or village – had a village square where each second day, the farmers and merchants gathered to sell their goods. In autumn, there was a festival of fire held on the square to ward off the evil spirits of winter. Bailemon also had a place of worship, which was considered holy beyond comparison. It was said that on its grounds, evil cannot tread and in times of danger, one should run to it for shelter.

The people in your village were superstitious, they believed in ghosts, dark magic and demons. You knew their superstition to be justified. This world was dark. The nights during the cold months were too long not to bring forth evil. But you also knew that stuff like holy grounds were nothing but lies to make life in the village easier. Evil walks where it pleases, it takes what it wants and leaves no room for escape.

You lived in the village with your aging parents, taking care of them as their only surviving child. You had a brother once, but he walked into the forest one day and never returned. People say that evil spirits got him, but you know that this was a lie because you looked for him. At least you tried to because you never found him nor traces of evil spirits. You are convinced that it was simply a pack of hungry wolves which took him from your family. Or perhaps he ran away to somewhere warmer and happier. You wouldn’t blame him.

As the only living child of your parents, it became your duty to tend to them in their growing age. You earned money forging swords for the Queen’s army and went hunting whenever food ran out. You also helped the farmers shoe their horses and ox and sometimes scared villagers came to you asking for yet another lock for their front door. Your family lived well thanks to you, even if work by the forge was hard and difficult.

If you weren’t sweating by the scorching fire or hunting in the forest, you walked it in search of berries and mushrooms or to train with your sword. The reason however why you walked the woods most, was the dragon living high up in the northern mountains.

Dragons. Yes, they were as real as evil spirits and wicked demons were and your village was under the protection of one.

Dragons didn’t look as one might imagine a dragon to look like, at least not always. They could morph their enormous dragonic bodies into human-like bodies and walk among people. Their eyes, however, always remained a fiery yellow and their canine teeth were always sharp and pointy. They were also taller than normal humans and had scales down their necks and torsos. Some even had scales on their hands and sharp claws which sliced deeper than any blade ever could. In the lands of humans, dragons were considered gods.

The festival of fire was held because of the dragon living in the mountains. A brave soul is sent to his lair to ask him for his presence each year. Then once the dragon comes down from his high home, he lights the fire with his hot breath and with it, wards off the evil winter spirits. Once the fire burns bright, the villagers begin dancing around the fire in pairs, thanking the dragon for the fire and his protection while he sits on a wooden throne, overlooking the dance. He is always alone during these festivities, drinking wine and eating meat, except for when one of the many willing women – and men – try catching his attention. He never reciprocates. 

Marrying a dragon was considered a gift from the gods and not many were successful. Dragons were a distant people – perhaps that is why they became so rare these days – and scarcely engaged with humans except for when they were needed. They lived longer than any human ever would and because of their bigger bodies, many who tried to be intimate with a human, ended up hurting their beloved counterpart. So for the safety of humans, of whom the dragons were very fond, they stayed away from them.

That doesn’t stop you however from regularly walking the path to the dragon’s lair. Sword strapped to your back and with a thick dress warming your body, you walk the steep and stony path. You put your parents to sleep already and locked the cottage. The priest spoke of evil spirits dancing on the wind tonight and you didn’t want to risk anything. You knew that they were safe in your house because you placed dragon ash by each window and door. It was the only thing which truly kept evil away and it is a regular present the dragon gives you.

You take a deep breather once you reach the mountain plateau in front of his cave. Marks of his dragon body landing dig deep into the grey gravel. Small autumn flowers grow in its deep crevices. The dragon placed a pot of flowers next to the cave entrance. You have to chuckle each time you pass it because of its peculiarity. It looks so out of place and yet fits his character so well.

“Yoongi!” you call out the dragon’s name, voice echoing in the big cave. You venture deeper into the cave, leaving the cold autumn air behind. “Yoongi, are you home?”

His lair consisted of two caves. One big and deep and one smaller. The big cave was in the front, welcoming you with endless darkness as it dug deep into the mountain. It smelled ancient and wet in here and there was always a faint sound of water trickling somewhere. Yoongi can fly in it when he is in his true form and hide on the ceiling when he doesn’t want to be found. The smaller cave was where he lived however. You have to take a sharp turn to the right for it and walk through a corridor-like walkway. The ceiling shrinks in height until it was but six meters.

“Yoongi, are you in here?” you try again, entering his true lair. Your voice doesn’t echo anymore. Lantern and torches light up the walls, a fireplace warms the space, expensive rugs cover the stone ground and golden furniture fills the room. Gold, jewels and crystals are scattered all around the cave in heaps or stuffed into big treasure chests. It feels homely here and tonight it is empty.

“Where the heavens are you?” you murmur, looking around the lair. An especially golden cup calls your attention. You bend down to inspect it better, fluttering your lashes at your own distorted reflection. It brings a chuckle to your lips and you straighten up, “how silly I looked.”

You ghost your fingers over a set of earrings next. They sparkle like stars in the sky. They are so beautiful.

“Careful, they’re worth more than your entire village.”

“Oh heavens”, you startle, pulling your sword in instinct and whipping around quickly. The blade graces against your stalker’s throat without cutting them.

“Don’t strike me down just yet”, Yoongi says, lifting his hands.

“You scared me”, you say, touching his chin with the tip of your sharp sword.

The right corner of his lips curls into an amused smirk, revealing glimpses of his long fangs.

“I could tell”, he says blithely despite the sword against his throat.

You put pressure on his chin, forcing his head to tilt up and for his amused smirk to grow. His fiery eyes flicker, a deep growl rumbles in his chest. 

“I could have cut your head off”, you say. 

“And yet you didn’t.”

You flip the blade to its side, forcing him to gulp because of the sharpness against his skin.

“Careful now”, he rasps.

“Mhm”, you decide with a cock of your brow, pulling your sword back. You twirl it once then put it back into its sheath, features warming as you laugh.

His golden eyes soften and a smile curls his lips. He closes the distance, placing his big hands on your waist and bending down to kiss your lips. You rest your hands on his strong chest, getting on your tiptoes to reach him better. He breaks the kiss, rubbing his nose against yours gently. His breath smells fresh and feels warm.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“The cottage was too cold.”

He laughs, “this is the only reason?”

You snicker, dancing your hands to the nape of his strong neck to trace the scales. You shake your head, “no, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“You did?”

“Mh-hm very much so.”

He draws a giggle to your lips. He smiles, tasting it with a tender kiss. “Come here you”, he mumbles and deepens the kiss. He lifts you off the ground for it just enough that you didn’t have to stand on your tiptoes any longer. 

You break the kiss to talk, even if he disagrees with a low growl. His golden eyes gaze longingly at your lips.

“Where were you before I called for you?”

“Deep in the caves, digging for gold.”

“I see and were-”

He interrupts you in laughed words, “will you kiss me or do I have to steal it from you?”

“No. No, I will kiss you. I got the message”, you laugh, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Yoongi purrs deeply, holding you tighter against him as his lips fall into a passionate dance with yours.  

You met Yoongi in the year your brother died. You knew him long before that, but up until then, never talked to him. You simply watched from a distance as he lit the fire and then sat on his throne overlooking the dance. You also watched him refuse countless suitors and return to his cave alone once the festival ended. Other than that, you never engaged with him. You had always found him interesting, because dragons are gods after all and he looked so very beautiful in his human form. His hair was as black as soot, his eyes as golden as flames and his scales were an iridescent of black and gold. He didn’t possess sharp claws, which made his touch so very gentle and tender and his lips were soft and pouty which made his kiss so very addicting.

You talked to Yoongi in the year your brother died. You spent too many days to count in the dense forest in search for him and it happened that one day, you got lost. You tried and tried to find your way back, but couldn’t. Night replaced the day and you already saw yourself freezing to death when he came. At first you thought him to be a bear, but then he asked you if you were lost and you knew that you were saved. You told him about why you were in the forest and he offered you comfort in your painful times of grief. He allowed you to talk about your brother as he walked you back to the village, he even allowed you to cry and assured you that your tears were not “entirely silly”. Once he led you back to your cottage, he gave you a bag of dragon ash and told you to spread it on each window and door to keep the rest of your family safe and you thanked him with promises of praying to him in the worship hall tomorrow. Back then, you thought that you were blessed and lucky to have an interaction with him, but you never could have imagined that this one time interaction became a regular thing.

Ever since that day, he began waiting for you by the forest road, offering you companionship in your search for your brother and like this, your walks in the forest became a regular thing until one day, you took his hand and he took yours, never wanting to let go again.

The people in the village didn’t know about your relationship with Yoongi. It was your wish to keep it secret because you knew that they would ruin it. They would force you to marry him, to bear his children, to become their goddess. You didn’t want this life, you wanted to take care of your parents and help the people with your smithies, not be someone to worship.

Yoongi didn’t mind that you wanted to keep him a secret. He liked it. He had many treasures taken from him because they were precious to him and if it was revealed that you were the most precious treasure of all, it would kill you and him in the process. He cannot lose you, not ever. Not when he walked the earth alone for so long, not when his fiery heart finally had someone to burn for.

Yoongi was lonely before he met you. He had other dragons to talk to, but he enjoyed the company of only a very, very few. He also had lots of suitors, which could have made the nights easier, but Yoongi wasn’t one for meaningless fucking. Yoongi craved connection above all. He craved intimacy and trust and conversation. He craved someone to care for and someone to see him as another living being not as a god. You give him all of this and more, but Yoongi knows that even if you didn’t give him any of that, he would love you. He loves you without reason after all. He loves you simply because it was right.

You break the kiss for air, vision just a little blurry as you look at him. You are eye to eye when you are in his arms, hands running along his scaly neck and strong shoulders. A black tunic sits on his torso, allowing his higher body heat to reach your palms. Even in the iciest nights he will warm you. Sometimes in winter, when your parents were already sleeping and the village was quiet, Yoongi sneaks into your cottage through the window (which is always hilarious because he is very big in comparison to the small frame) so he could warm you as you fell asleep. He is always gone the next morning, only having left behind a fresh bag of dragon ash and a few gold coins you could spent in the big city on food.

“You are so warm”, you say, making his eyes smile.

“You are such a delight.”

Your eyes race between the other’s, you and he feel breathless. Your fingers run up to his slightly pointy ears, scratching him behind them.

Yoongi purrs, tilting his head back as his lids flutter. 

“If you touch me like this…”

“I know.”

It is a silent understanding between you and him. Yoongi sighs your name and pulls you into a kiss. His fangs clash with yours before he naturally fixes his roughness, kissing you oh so tenderly. Tenderly, but also incredibly hungry. You moan, fingers twisting his black locks and legs closing around his waist. He answers you in a guttural growl, fingers grasping you harder.

This is also why you walked the difficult path. Not only did you want to see him, you wanted his body and touch. You craved it like fire craves wood to burn.

Yoongi walks to his bed with you, laying you atop the big mattress. He climbs over you, caging you under his big, strong body. You open your legs willingly, hands slipping from his hair to grasp the sheets instead. 

The kiss breaks because he broke it. His hot breath graces your skin. He cradles your cheek, thumb caressing your temple.

“My treasure, I”, he begins, fingers dimpling your soft thigh possessively, “I need you. I need you so much, I can scarcely breathe. Will you have me?”

You nod your head vigorously, stomach fluttering in what was to come. 

“I need to hear it, please.”

“I will. I will have you”, you allow him, parting your legs. 

Yoongi moans your name and kisses you, pulling you up into a sitting position to take off your sword. Your fingers are busy with his shirt, undoing the knots and bows. You break apart for just a moment, taking off your clothes. You cannot bother to be dressed. 

A moment of calm after the undressing, used to stare at each other. You are both kneeling on the bed, facing each other. He is panting, growling deeply each time he exhales like a dragon ready to spit fire. The sound makes you wetter each time he does it. His torso is muscular and his scales hug his form as if he was wearing armour. They are mostly around his chest and upper back and fade out on his lower torso. His legs and crotch are free of scales, skin golden and sun-kissed and looking so human. You touch him, tracing the scales first before making your way down to his legs. 

He lets you, eyes mesmerised by the plumpness of your breasts and the curves of your bared body. He reaches out, sending his fingers on a walk along your landscape. 

“You are so beautiful”, he speaks softly, eyes gazing at the goosebumps his touch draws to the surface. 

“You are just as beautiful”, you tell him, caressing the silken skin of his stomach.

You reach his hips. His skin is so soft there and sensitive to scratches. You give him exactly that, making his cock twitch between his thighs. 

Yoongi’s cock wasn’t human and the first time you saw it in its full size, you understood why so many dragons ended up hurting their lovers. It was the cock of a dragon, made for dragon. If he was in his true form, you are actually unable to take it because of its enormous size. If he was in his human form, it shrunk with him, but it was still insanely big in comparison to human cocks. His cock curved slightly in the shape of an S. He wasn’t smooth as humans were, instead his length had an engorged tip with a textured shaft, which stimulated even your deepest spots. When he released inside you, his base swelled up, keeping his cock lodged inside you until your quivering walls had enough of drinking his nectar. 

You were scared at first and Yoongi, feeling just a little insecure that you couldn’t like his cock, told you that you could still escape if you so wished to do. The fear in his voice drew you closer to him back then and you assured him that you could make it work because you wanted nobody else to fill you than him. He took your virginity that night and for not one second, you felt pain or discomfort, lying in his arms afterwards while his fingertips drew shapes of adoration on your skin and he whispered how much he adored you.

The memories of countless shared nights draw you closer to him and your hand to his cock, tracing his textured shaft. Despite his many pumps and crevices, his skin was soft to the touch. He was hotter than humans and it made his length feel incredible inside. It is best described as a feeling of burning from the inside in the most pleasurable of ways and once he releases inside, oh, once his hot cream fills your belly to the point of bloating, the heat is so intense that you often end up screaming in ecstasy. 

You close your fingers around his base tightly and drag them up to his tip. The pressure is enough to squeeze droplets of precum out of his slit, eliciting a deep growl from him. 

He frowns, exhaling a hot swirl of breath on your face. It wasn’t painful, simply insanely arousing. His fingers dimple your hips as he grabs you. You wobble slightly from the intense touch, hand trembling around his large cockhead.

“You are playing with fire”, he lulls, eyelids heavy in pleasure.

“I like it hot”, you taunt, twisting your fist around his tip. 

“You drive me insane”, he gets out and slaps your hand away for the sole purpose of pushing you into the sheets. He pins your hands above your head. “One day it will end in your punishment.” 

You moan, writhing under him. You wouldn’t mind being punished if it meant that you could feel his touch.

“Stay like this.” 

You whimper, nodding your head in obedience. 

“I will be gentle, I promise.” 

He lowers his lips to your neck, kissing a path down to your heat. He is hasty in his kisses, letting his impatience shine through this way. Dragons, so he told you, are a greedy people. Once they lust for something - or in his case, someone - they would do anything to claim it as quickly as possible. Stuff like taking it slow and preparing you are foreign to his people, but he does it for you. He is so good in being patient, but sometimes his greed shines through. Tonight for example when he kisses a greedy and hasty path down your body just so he could be between your legs faster. 

He places one kiss on each of your inner thighs, strong fingers gripping your flesh afterwards to pull your legs apart. His fiery eyes race over your exposed cunt, flickering hungrily.  

“You are so wet already”, he rasps. 

“I wanted you all week.” 

“I wanted you more, you have no idea.” 

Patience finally leaves him and he claims what he lusts for most, drawing a yelp of pleasure from you. You arch your back, legs shaking in his hold and fingers grasping his thick hair as he feasts on your cunt sloppily. 

Yoongi pleases you with his mouth for two reasons, he told you. The first reason is his insatiable hunger and greed. You are sweeter than anything he could ever taste and your cunt’s nectar makes his head blurry in pleasure. The second reason is the more important one. It is to make you ready for his dragonic cock. The spit of a dragon is relaxing to a human, it contains elements which not only heighten the sensitivity of their nerve endings, but which also relaxes the muscles so their holes could take a dragon’s cock easily. Yoongi confessed to you back then that the reason why so many dragons hurt their human lovers is because they don’t take time to properly relax them. They let their lust and greed control them and as a result hurt their humans.

Yoongi would never. Yoongi takes his time with you. He licks every inch of your dripping heat, buries his long tongue deep in your walls and pumps it into you until your tightened walls loosened up and you are gaping for his cock. He licks you to orgasm whenever he prepares you and you always shake in his grip, forcing his greed to grow to unbearable levels. Yoongi loves your orgasms as much as he loves gold. 

Tonight is no different, Yoongi draws an overwhelming orgasm out of you. You scream, legs trying to close on his head and weakened body helplessly shaking on the sheets. Yoongi growls into you, pushing his fingers deep into your loose cunt so he could feel your walls tremble. 

He keeps them inside you after your high ebbed down, curling them greedily while his soiled lips kiss up your body. He grabs your wrists and holds them together, big body draped over yours and fingers rubbing your sensitive insides. 

“You’re sweating”, he rasps, gazing at you obsessively.

“Please fuck me, please”, you beg, voice so close to a sob. His fingers aren’t enough. “I need your cock, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

“I will be gentle, I promise”, he says, slipping his fingers from your cunt to jerk his own cock. He guides it to your gaping cunt, rubbing it through your folds. “You are so beautiful, my treasure”, he breathes, giving you all his adoration by pushing into you. 

You gasp, tensing up under him at the feeling of his engorged tip pushing past your entrance.

“Are you hurting?” he asks, moving as slowly as possible. 

You shake your head, gazing up at him droopily. 

“Tell me if it does. You are doing so well, my treasure”, he whispers, fingers rubbing your swollen clit to make the breach easier. 

“It feels so good…” 

You can feel his large tip as it digs deeper and deeper, but what truly feels like heaven are the many pumps and crevices filling you. Your entrance is on pleasurable fire, feeling every texture inch by inch. His saliva made your walls sensitive to the very end, forcing you to feel his textured cock even deep inside. He curves so perfectly that his large tip presses against you deepest pleasure spot, forcing your belly to bulge just a little because he was so, so big. 

“I’m in. Does it hurt?” he asks, keeping still for your sake. His greed tells him to take you rough. It takes everything inside him not to give into his animalistic side. 

You spill tears. 

“No. No, I’m sorry I-” he panics, but gets stopped when you rip your hands free from his grasp to cradle his face instead.

“I love you, Yoongi.” 

He shudders, melting into your hands.

“I love you too”, he gets out and twists the pillow above your head as he begins pumping his cock into you. “Does this please you?”

“A-ah”, you let out, trembling in reaction. 

“Is it too much?”

“No, please…don’t stop”, you croak, rolling your eyes back as you fall into the pleasurable fire. Your lips part, making way for the endless noises of bliss he draws out of you. It feels so good. He feels so good.

“You are so beautiful. Oh, I need you. I want you. I crave you, argh”, he growls, twisting the pillow rougher as his greedy hips pick up speed. Your moans drive him wild, the view of your glowing face has the same effect on him than the view of fresh gold does. He feels high, head pounding as he feeds his insatiable lust with each heavy, deep thrust. 

Your body is so small under him, looking so fragile and breakable and yet you take him so easily. Yoongi rips the pillow, grinding his fangs as he growls. He buries his cock deeper in your gaping walls, forcing your back to arch off the mattress and for your voice to rise in pitch. He lets his tail grow just so he could wrap it around your waist and hold you in this position while he rubbed your pulsating clit and fucked your soft cunt. 

“You’re mine. My treasure, my everything, my beloved”, he chants, deep voice contorted in pleasure.

He is still in disbelief that you can take him so easily. So small, so fragile, so soft and yet you can house him entirely. The first time he laid with you, Yoongi barely went past his first two inches, moving carefully and slowly just so he wouldn’t hurt you. He would have been fine if that was all that you could ever take, but you proved him so wrong. He can be free with you. You can fully take him and it makes you moan so blissfully that Yoongi feels high just from the sound of it.

He is so blessed to have you. His treasure, his beloved, his everything. His tail tightens around your waist possessively, angling your hips so he could go so much deeper. 

You wail his name, fingers gripping his strong arms and legs dropping as they stop working. Only his tail holds you up right now while you shake under him.

“Are you?”

“Yes”, you wail, moaning loudly afterwards.

“I need you, I fucking need you”, he spits, cursing because you anger him in pure lust, “I’m going to fill you with my seed until you’re bursting. I will paint your walls golden, you will be mine. Mine forever, urgh.” 

“Please! Please make me yours, please!” 

Yoongi lets out a dragonic growl, ripping the pillow apart and throwing his head back as your pleas break him. His big balls empty themselves in your trembling heat, giving you so much pleasure that you orgasm again with screams of his name. There is so much of his seed and it doesn’t want to stop, filling you up past your limits so it squirts out of you with each angry thrust. And Yoongi keeps going until his base swells and he genuinely cannot move his cock anymore. 

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, huffing and puffing demonically. His cock is still releasing into you, making you sob because the pressure of his engorged base and swollen tip against your overly sensitive walls makes you orgasm again. 

“Yoongi, I can’t do this. I can’t, it feels too good”, you plead, walls clenching around his swollen cock as they drink his golden seed greedily. 

“I know, my treasure, I know”, he soothes you, “I can’t stop. I’m so greedy, I can’t stop. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t do this, Yoongi. Yoongi please”, you beg, barely able to breathe. While dragon’s spit relaxes, their seed gives a human a rush of pleasure. The first time it happened, you cried because it was so overwhelming. You still need to cry often whenever he breeds you and tonight all that holds you back is the loving embrace of his tail around your waist. It feels so good but also like too much because you cannot stop orgasming.

“Not again, ah please Yoongi!!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s almost over, I promise. Please hold onto me, it’s almost over”, he soothes you, massaging your engorged clit to make it easier to bear. 

Your stomach is so bloated from his seed, you are sweating so much. He can feel one more load building up. 

“I need you to breathe for me. One last time, I promise”, he lulls and rolls his hips into you. 

You writhe and scream, scratching down his neck with all your might. You don’t draw blood because his scales protect him, but he still feels it as a pleasurable tingle. 

Yoongi lifts his head to look at you. It lasts one second because then his eyes roll back as the view of your ruined, drugged body sets him off. 

“I love you”, he wails, bursting into you one last time. He makes you orgasm with him, walls tightening to the point of milking him dry. 

This is what you both needed. To be so connected. 

He drops his head back into your neck, fingers slipping from the ruined pillow to pet your head instead.

“My treasure, oh my treasure, my golden beloved”, he croaks, kissing you gently, “I’m sorry for being so greedy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I’m so happy”, you get out, body laying limp and ruined under him. His swollen cock is still inside you, keeping every droplet of his golden seed in you. It warms you so much, makes you feel so good.

“You are? You’re happy?” he asks.

“So happy.” You hug him with your weak arms, barely able to close them around his broad back. “I’m yours.”

He whimpers, seeking your closeness by hugging you against his chest with his strong arm and his tail. 

“Oh my most loved treasure.” He kisses a slow path up to your face, cradling your cheek with his unoccupied hand. “Will you stay the night? I promise to fly you down to the village by morning.” 

“Yes, I’d like to stay. I couldn’t possibly walk tonight. Not after how you ruined me.”

A shy giggle slips from his lips. You open your eyes, meeting his giddy gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead. The view of him makes his cock feel so much better inside you. You are his. So entirely and willingly his. 

“I couldn’t help it. I missed you so much and, and you are so tempting. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it felt so good. You still do”, you say, clenching around his swollen cock. He shudders slightly, drawing closer to you.

“I promise my cock will soften soon, you just feel so good. I’m trying, but he wants to bask in you longer, I’m sorry.” 

“I hope he doesn’t soften soon. I don’t want this to end.” 

He blushes, but needs to seek more reassurance still.

“Please forgive me for the way I acted when I bred you. I acted like a greedy animal.” 

“Mhm, you did. Because you are a greedy animal. My greedy dragon, mine”, you say caressing his soft cheek.

He leans into your touch, eyes lowering in adoration. You giggle, scrunching your nose cutely. He smiles, brushing some messy strands of hair out of your forehead. 

“I love you, my little human.”

“And I love you, my strong dragon.”

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC: Your Next Relationship (who, where, when)

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile One🐲:

Who: A bombshell—someone sexy. You’ll see this person as eye candy. They’ll catch your eye the second you’re in the same room as them. They have a magnetic aura, they command authority simply with their presence. They could be taller than average. I’m hearing tall,dark and handsome. Where: I’m getting the image of someone’s hands holding your waist, saying, “Excuse me?” Ooooh, this is dangerous. The second they touch you? Electrified. The eye contact lingers, and the sudden rise in temperature sets your body on fire. You’ll fall for each other at first sight. I can feel the sexual tension, the people around too.lol. This is this type of thing when everyone at work can clearly see you guys like each other but you still play it slow. This feels like having a crush when you’re younger. Getting excited to go to work because you know they will be there. This is really cute, you guys make each other blush. When: This could happen when you’re starting something new—maybe a new workplace, a vacation, or even a cruise for some. It could happen after a move, I see movement. You won’t see it coming, but trust me, it’s coming. 18+ Thoughts: “You need a spanking” “Let me worship you” “Moan my name”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two🧚🏾:

Who: You know them. Yes, it’s them. I know you’re tired of hearing about them, but listen—you need to talk to this person. They don’t want to let go. They can’t let you go. It’s you; it has to be you. Wow, someone’s spiraling.This person is losing their mind over you. You might be ignoring them, a little taste of the silent treatment huh? They can’t handle it. Now it’s clear they have no power, and by the way they are reacting, they know time is up? You’ve given a lot of time/chances to this person. It’s funny how karma works, all that time wasted on them is now being repaid by constant obsession and insecurity when it comes to their place in your life. Their position is rocky? Do they even still have one?

Where: I don’t know if this person is blocked, but they’ve spent an insane amount of time in their Notes app, trying to come up with the best way to start a conversation. Adding you on social media with fake accounts? This is actually wild. I don’t feel like they’re dangerous—they just seem desperate for your attention and approval. They seem determinated? Needing to know what you are doing, with whom? This person is unwell. Pile two this is your next relationship reading, but you don’t have to make space for someone in your life when they are in this state. Also you don’t even have to date them, but they have a huge pull on your energy, frantikly trying to hold onto you. They regret not telling you how they felt, how much you mattered. They don’t know why they tried so hard to make you feel like you didn’t. Omgggg this is actually hurting my head.

When: I think you haven’t talked to this person in a while, and that’s the problem. Paranoia has had time to grow, and now it’s like a virus. They’re losing sleep over this. It’s like all those times they tried desperately not to think about you—and succeeded—are coming back to haunt them. And they’re not letting go 18+ Thoughts: “ I want to make it up to you in bed” “Answer my calls” “I miss you caressing me”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three🍀:

Who: You don’t know this person yet. They’re really tall and love earthy colors—green looks amazing on them. This person is crafty and loves spending time in nature. They have this quiet confidence. Where does it come from? From knowing exactly who they are. They are secure in themselves and it shows in the way they walk, talk, breath.lol. This person has a strange effect on you, they feel like a warm blanket, and this feeling is constant. No roller coaster. As if you were spending the early mornings on a beach watching the sun rise. This is finally a love that doesn’t take anything from you, it just adds to your life.

Where: This will happen outside on a summer day—maybe in a garden or a park. This person sees you reading? LOL, they quickly Google the book on their phone before approaching. Smart one! This person knows what they want and doesn’t play games. They’re also excellent cooks! You could meet them at a class someone invites you to—you’re trying it out for free. This person feels so refreshing, they are exactly what you need when you meet them. They see you and already start plotting, They don’t look like it tho. With their dazzling smiles. I’m getting surfer boy energy lol. They seem so zen, so at peace, and this energy will rub off on you.

When: They’re slow-moving, and your paths haven’t aligned yet. I’m hearing that both of you need to make some lifestyle changes before being united. This one is really up to divine timing but it is worth it.

18+ Thoughts: “Let’s break the bed.” “Let me tie you up.” “I want to make you c*m”

✨Psst check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !✨

[muffinlance]

The feral cat gator of a 13 year old freshly scarred Zuko being forcibly adopted by the foggy swamp tribe! Bonus points if they willfully ignore the fact he's a firebender and treat him as a very strange waterbender bending-wise

It was Earth Kingdom ships that drove the metal one onto the reefs, so when the little thing came crawling up through the marsh spitting and hissing and dressed in red, they knew it weren’t no earthbender. No matter how much mud it had tripped in, trying to find where the ground stopped sucking at its feet.

“Wow-ee,” said Old Earl, “that sure is one way of keepin’ off the ‘squito-chiggers.”

And they all watched from Big Earl’s porch, sitting or rocking, as them bugs came for the all-you-can-eat and ended up on the bar-b-que.

“Sure is some weird bending,” said Little Earl, who was taller than Big Earl, but when they'd been twelve and they’d wrestled for the title it hadn't been Little Earl who’d won.

The little thing looked maybe twelve, too. And he was little little. But he had that same look like he was going to shove someone’s face in the mud until they said otherwise, as he stood there all panting and dripping and just realizing they’d been watching him this whole time.

“It’s firebending,” the one-kid mud-wrestler said, as bugs kept pop-snapping into flames around him.

Old Earl cupped a hand over his ear, like he couldn’t hear. And he kept doing it, while the kid got louder and louder about that bending of his, but quieter and quieter about looking at them like they were his next bugs.

“Oh, firebending,” Old Earl said, nodding like he’d only just got it, when the kid had stomped straight up to his chair. “Right, right, Old Jane’s got fire-water-bending, too. Why don’t you take him to her, boys.”

“It’s not-- ugh,” shouted the kid, but maybe he only had the one volume. Certainly only had the one volume for stomping, even though stomping was what got a fellow’s shoes shoved down so deep in the mud they’d be seeing them again as mole-shrimp hats. Not that the kid had shoes. Neither did Earl, Earl, or Earl. ‘Cept for Fancy Earl, but he’d gone off to Ba-Singing-Se, to be fancy.

Anyway, Old Jane was the best at turning anything and everything into fire water, which was the kind of thing a fellow called his or her liquor when they wanted fancy folk to keep right on walking. Was really good for making shouty little firebrands take their naps, too, which let Old Jane get her glowing mitts all over that fresh burn of his. And the love-bites from the shark-wrasses that had probably been half the reason the kid had come a-shore all a-shouting in the first place.

“Nope,” diagnosed Old Jane, when the kid woke back up. “That’s just how he talks. Mother was a screamer-bird, I’d say.”

“You take that back about my mother,” screamed their screamer-bird, who had pretty good hearing for someone who’s ear had lost the same fight as his eye. Anyway, Old Jane had done the best she could about both, and nothing was on fire that shouldn’t be, and she had that extra quilt she’d been working on that needed a body under it

And the waves and the shark-wrasses had all the rest of the kid’s crew

So sure enough they set their little screamer-bird up with a nest and let him cry loud as he wanted.

Anyway, if there was one thing Earl Earl Earl and Jane knew, it was how to make a joke so good the other person didn’t even know it were a joke.

“Firebending,” their little fledgling shouted, and waved his arms around, like all that fire pointed at no one was going to get them startled off.

“A-yep,” nodded Old Earl. “That there is some fire-water-bending. Just like Old Jane.”

Old Jane wasn’t the kind of gal who showed off, but she wasn’t the kind who missed no cue, either. She swirled a lick o’ liquor out of her latest barrel and twirled it ‘round and straight into her mouth, and when she spit it out, it looked so much like the little bird’s breath-o’-fire that he didn’t even notice the spark rocks she kept on her fingers as jewelry. No one did, ‘til they’d seen the trick a few times.

The kid’s mouth hung open so low and so long, a moth-tick flew in. That was some kind of life lesson, that was. The swamp was good at sending those.

The Earth Kingdom sent troops a-stompin’ through, losing boots and scaring catigators out of their sunning spots left and right, askin’ all rumbly about those fires they’d spotted, and if anyone from that shipwreck had made it on shore, and talkin’ about how there’d be money in it for them if they made that last answer a “yes,” sounding like Fancy Earl and all his talk about commerce and living standards.

“Got a few parts of them ship people in the lagoon,” Big Earl said. “Probably still floatin’ if you want ‘em. But we better bring the shrimp-minnow nets, ‘cuase they’ll just slosh on through the turtle-sturgeon ones.”

“...No thank you,” the head stomper said, like sayin’ polite words made a fellow a polite man. He’d tracked those boots of his right up onto their porch without so much as a scuff on their mud rug. Even the kid had used the mud rug. “And the fire?”

“Oh,” said Little Earl, with a grin, “that was Old Jane.”

And she did her trick again, only less tricky, so they could see the spark rocks real good. “You boys want some fire water?” she offered. “It ain’t blinded no one who wasn’t already headed that way.”

They didn’t want any, which was grand, ‘cause she hadn’t really been offering.

When the last of them had gone stomping off back to the kind of land that let people stomp it, it took them two whole hours to lure out the catigators from under the porch. And their little screamer bird, too.

“...Why didn’t you turn me in?”

“What?” asked Old Earl, cupping his ear.

“Why—”

“What?”

“—didn’t—”

“WHAT?”

“—you—”

“Speak up, boy,” Old Earl said. “I never heard such a quiet child.”

And boy, did that set their bird back to singing.

[sourszt]

𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 | torture + non-con

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — art the clown x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, art the clown in general, torture, non-con, slight kidnapping (?), bondage, knife play, blood + blood play, violence, fingering (not sanitary knowing art, wash yall’s hands !!), slight dacryphilia

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — foreword, i do NOT condone anything in this fic ! david howard thornton himself actually said art would be against this and i find art a comfort character, this is just for kinktober purposes 😞 if you guys are NOT comfortable with non-con or torture please do not read this, spare yourself the pain please i beg 😭 i will not be upset bruh

you were a force to be reckoned with, that much was evident.

whether it was because you were drunk or with a friend group that made peer pressure feel good, it didn’t matter to the black and white clown you approached at the club. he had been standing there for the past hour or so, staring at you through the split in the crowd.

obviously he had a crush on you. that was what your friend whispered in your ear with a little nudge to your side and a drunken giggle.

your devil costume left very little to the imagination, faux red leather hugging your curves. that had to be it, without a doubt. you had already been getting attention throughout the night, so this was only more fuel to the fire that was your ego.

his costume was detailed to say the least. the fake blood on his costume looked rusty as opposed to the cherry coloring on everybody else’s clothes and faces. he must’ve made it himself.

it took a few more pushes of encouragement until you finally went up to him, wondering why he was unable to take his eyes off of you. it wasn’t flagged as creepy in your fogged mind, rather flattered.

“you’ve got a staring problem, don’t ya?” you shouted over the music with a giggle, leaning against the bar counter for support. your high heels definitely didn’t cheap out on the high part.

looking at him up close definitely made your mind wander a little more. he was much taller than you — likely over six foot — and seemed pretty lanky under that suit. his eyes were a brilliant blue, starkly contrasting the black makeup neatly circled around them, and they couldn’t seem to get away from you. his hooked nose, as well as his entire face, was painted white and had a singular black dot on the tip of it.

something about him piqued your interest, and it only grew when he didn’t answer you. instead, he smiled and tilted his head down, like he was feigning some bashfulness. it was cute. you respected the commitment to the act.

“i don’t suppose you want something from me?” those drinks you had earlier were kicking in, making your confidence soar to unnatural heights. “what’s your name?”

you expected him to drop his little facade and lean in and tell you. but he didn’t. he reached for your wrist and shifted your palm upwards. you were beyond curious, but allowed him into your space.

he dragged his finger across your palm a few times, you piecing the motions together. a-r-t. “art. oh, your name’s art?” the clown nodded with a wide grin.

that wasn’t his last trick, it seemed. from the palm of his hand, he revealed a fake red rose. the synthetic petals were slightly crumpled and stained with drops of something even darker than its natural color.

it was a little corny, but you blushed nonetheless. it was sweet. he gestured for you to take it, so you did.

“hey, let’s get outta here. the music’s making my head hurt.” the second part was a lie, but your motives were relatively pure. you thought that he was only silent because of the volume. maybe the fresh air would make him open up a little bit more.

art nodded a little too eagerly and started moving you towards the door. you could only give your friends a very brief glance, them offering you smiles and raised thumbs before you vanished outside. you would soon wish that they’d kept you inside.

you took in a deep breath of fresh air outside, observing the parking lot. there was not a person in sight. they were all inside. except for you and art.

art. you spun around to see where he had gone and found him hunched over a black trash bag. initially, you were going to pull him away from it, thinking he was digging through waste when he suddenly straightened up and turned towards you. his hands were behind his back.

words got caught in your throat and you found yourself laughing to fill the silence. a wave of anxiety washed over you until art revealed another fake rose. this one was attached to a plastic stem.

but while you graciously accepted his second offering, you failed to notice the bat he had brought down onto the side of your head.

—

you never had a concussion in your life, but you were sure this was what it felt like.

you awoke to a blinding headache and nausea bubbling in your stomach. your vision refused to adjust properly, but you couldn’t miss art’s black and white suit in front of you. your depth perception wasn’t the most reliable, but your body knew to start acting.

you went to kick and scream but found it futile. duct tape muffled your cries, though it was ripped off faster than you could register it was there, and thick rope around your limbs kept you still against the table you were draped over. a few blinks helped you understand your predicament: you had been moved to some sort of warehouse and were tied down to a cold, steel table that had goosebumps prickling on your exposed skin.

your clothes were intact, which made you sigh. one victory.

though you weren’t sure for how long. art hovered over you from the side of the table, his sick grin mocking you as he eyed you from head to toe. it felt like he had already undressed you just by the way he was sizing you up.

that came next. with his one hand that was free, he started to drag his finger down the center of your chest. the closer he got to the low-cut hem of your top, the louder your protests became. art was prepared for that.

he brought a thick chain with several rusted scalpels and medical scissors down onto your legs, creating multiple shallow breaks in your skin. you screamed out. he whipped you again. this time you bit back guttural cries and accepted his hand.

his face screamed disgust and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe that you would ever ask him to stop. the way his creased white face morphed was eerie. it rendered you silent while he unzipped your tiny red corset.

you flinched when it popped open, exposing your tits. you hurried to cover yourself but your arms only moved as far as the rope allowed you to. either way, art flung his chain at the arm closest to him and you had to choke back a scream.

blood seeped from countless wounds, warmth running down and onto the table. you squirmed and cried as much as art allowed you to. he seemed to enjoy your agonized writhing, running dirtied fingertips over your open cuts.

“please, please,” you whined. it was mindless rambling at that point because you knew he wouldn’t.

he had shifted his attention down to your pleather skirt, slowly undoing the zipper on the side. you wanted to kick and fight but you dreaded the idea of getting cut into even worse. so you let him peel it off of you, along with your panties.

“oh god, oh god,” you sobbed, clamping your legs together to keep some of your dignity. art must have been keeping a spare blade tucked in his hand because suddenly he sliced deep into the side of your thigh. you couldn’t help the scream that tore from you, which earned you another gash along your ribcage.

you started to think he was bleeding you dry as slowly as he could. but not after he had his fun first. your body shook underneath his gloved hand as it traveled down your stomach and towards your bare pussy.

part of you thought he was going to force your legs apart and jam as many scalpels inside of you as he could manage, so you resisted when he tried to pry them open. but when he did, after lashing you a few more times, he ran his blood soaked fingertips through your folds, making it slick for him.

it was nauseating at first. but after he pushed two fingers into you, the strange sensation of his fingerless gloves sliding inside, that feeling simmered into pleasure. you choked on a whine, your body fighting the urge to roll your hips into his hand.

your skepticism prevailed the second he slid his blade across your stomach. you cried out, and art felt your cunt squeeze around his fingers. the reaction was satisfactory to him and he gave you a few more markings before deciding you’d had enough for now.

the blade clattered onto the table a moment later and his freed hand went to your breast. you couldn’t deny what it did to you. the pain was beginning to make you delirious and you melted into his touch a few times. you pulled against your restraints but it didn’t get you very far.

for a while, he worked into a steady pace that had you crying out with more pleasure than pain. your cuts stung, but those sharp pains added to your rapidly building orgasm, that was only really accumulating with your eyes closed.

art didn’t seem to appreciate that, quickly finding his blade and carving something into your skin. it tore you out of your momentary tranquility and a scream ripped from your throat. as you did, his other hand curled inside of you and a moan fought to follow. pain and pleasure battled inside of you, and it was sick that the pleasure was threatening to win.

your body twisted to get away from the scalpel in your side but it was to no avail. he cut and sliced until he had crudely carved the word “CUNT” into the fleshy part of the side of your waist. blood oozed out of the deep gashes and art ran his gloved hand through it, smearing it all over your skin. crimson covered your breast as he came up to grab it again.

you got the message to look him in the eyes while you came, which came soon after he added a third finger. how he was able to do it with ease made you sick. you shouldn’t have been enjoying yourself in any way. you would probably need stitches and therapy after this.

but now, all you could focus on was his long fingers. the feel of his fabric white fingerless gloves inside of you, probably soaked with your blood and slick. your gashes burned every time your back arched off of the table but somehow, it intensified the growing fire in your stomach. that tensing of your thighs, the weak thrusts of your hips that attempted to match his.

it amazed you how he was still silent, blue beady eyes focused on you and only you. they started to widen when your moans went pitchy, like he was encouraging you to let go. he didn’t look so scary then. his face went closer to yours, and he was shocked that you didn’t immediately flinch back.

he offered you slow nods as his fingers continued their assault on you. your thighs parted in acceptance and defeat, your orgasm finally crashing into you. moans came out mingled with sobs because it was over.

your mind was spinning, and he granted you a moment to compose yourself before getting back to work. breathy pants quickly turned into raspy screams once more as he swiftly carved something else into the bloodied inside of your thigh:

ART WAS HERE

[whois-miki]

—- ‘you left your shirt at my cabin.”

warning - like a 2 cuss words, implied make out, persassy

paring - Luke Castellan x Poseidon!fem!reader

others - does not relate to my poll at all, i was just bored

plot -

Luke leaves his shirt at the reader’s cabin

or

Percy finds a familiar shirt with a too familiar pine sent, in his sisters room.

“hello, lovely girl.”Luke mumbled as he wrapped his arm around her waist. she muttered a quick ‘hi’ and went back to what she was doing.

“what’s wrong?” he said, his voice still raspy as he must’ve just woken up.

“nothin’ just thinking.”

“about?” he trailed off hugging her closer

“gods no, Luke! you make it sound like we did something worse!” he chuckled and she could smell the faint sent of a fire place.

after a few more minutes of tranquil, Y/n turned back to the taller boys and softly said, “love, i need to go back to my cabin.”

he sighed deeply and dramatically before letting her go back to the Poseidon Cabin.

“Y/n L/n!”

Percy yelled from his older sister’s room. her head quickly snapped to where the yell came from, she mind went on and on if he found something of Luke’s.

“yes?” she said in fake innocence,

“who’s shirt is this?” her younger brother said holding up a camp half blood shirt with his index finger and thumb like it was going to give him a disease.

her heart immediately dropped at the sight of it. there was no mistake that it belonged to Luke Castellan.

“that’s- well uh, that’s mine.” she quickly muttered out trying to play it off.

Percy quickly looked her up and down and gave her a side eye. “you don’t smell like a fire place, Y/n.” he stated flatly. “you smell more like the ocean and perfume.” he continued

she just squinted at him in confusion before quickly saying, “it is mine, Percy, now stop snooping in my room.” while trying to pull the shirt out of his grip. he quickly pulls it back out of your reach and says, “This is like a size bigger than yours and smells like a fire place, like the Hermes Cabin.” he stated

Y/n’s face dropped a bit before putting on her mask of confusion, and that little break was enough for Percy to realize everything.

“your dating a Hermes boy aren’t you?” he shouted in excitement. she mumbled a quick ‘maybe’, before trying to reach for the shirt again.

“it’s Luke isn’t it?” he said jokingly, she froze in place and avoided eye contact with Percy. his eyes widened at this and ( with perfectly timed actions ) Luke walks into her room looking for her.

“N/n, we need to help the younger campers for archery.” he said looking down at a clipboard, not even paying attention to what was happening. when he heard no response he looked up and looked at Percy, then the shirt, and then at his girlfriend.

“shit,”

“you left your shirt at my cabin.”

“indeed, i did.” Luke mumbled and Percy just looked at the two with his hand on his hip like a disappointed mother.

“y’know, we need to go.” Y/n said gently shoving Luke out of her room and Percy called out to them,

“I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU HURT HER, DUMBASS.”

a/n :

yes! persassy is back, anyways this has nothing to dow it’s my poll even thought Luke Castellan x reader is in the lead. ok love you guys thank you so much for everything!!

[goldfades]

can you do some mom paige for us pretty please

this actually might be the cutest concept i've come with, not to brag but uh

you watch from the porch as paige adjusts the laces on derek’s sneakers, her fingers quick and practiced, like she’s tying up the past and the present all in one knot. the sun dips lower, casting an orange glow over the driveway court, and you can’t help but smile at how small he used to look next to her. your little boy with his gap-toothed grin and his insistence that one day, he’d be able to “take mom down” on the court.

today might actually be that day.

“you sure you’re ready for this?” paige teases, standing up to her full height and giving derek a pointed look. she spins the ball between her hands, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. she’s trying to act unfazed, but you know her too well. there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—a mix of pride and maybe just a tiny bit of panic.

derek grins, taller now than you ever thought possible, with a confidence that makes your heart ache in the best way. “are you ready, old lady?”

“old lady?” paige echoes, mock-offended as she bounces the ball once, hard enough to make a statement. “i’m still the queen of this court. don’t get it twisted.”

you laugh softly under your breath, crossing your arms as you lean against the porch railing. it’s surreal, watching them like this. he’s got her sharpness, her competitive streak, but there’s so much of you in him too—his patience, his quiet fire.

the game starts, and at first, it’s all jokes and lighthearted trash talk. derek takes a shot, and paige swats it away with a grin. “come on, d! you gotta bring more than that.”

but then it shifts. derek gets past her with a quick move, one you swear you’ve seen her do a thousand times, and sinks a layup. he turns, flashing her a cocky smile, and that’s when you see it.

paige freezes for half a second, the ball clutched in her hands, and it’s like the realization hits her all at once. this isn’t her little boy chasing after her in light-up sneakers anymore. this is a young man, strong and fast and determined, standing toe-to-toe with her in a way she’s not sure she’s ready for.

“okay,” she mutters, mostly to herself, before squaring up again. her smirk is back, but there’s a crack in it now, something raw and real.

you can’t tell if she’s about to cry or pull out some WNBA-level moves to humble him. probably both.

she pivots quickly, pushing past whatever moment of realization is trying to overwhelm her, and spins the ball on her finger. it’s her signature move—flashy, playful, a little intimidating—and derek doesn’t even flinch.

“you ready, champ?” she asks, her voice lighter now, but there’s an edge of something sharper beneath it. a challenge.

derek doesn’t answer with words. instead, he spreads his arms wide, crouching into a defensive stance that is so polished, so deliberate, you know paige is holding her breath. he looks so much like her right now that it’s almost comical.

she dribbles once, twice, testing his reactions, and when she goes for her crossover, derek reads it perfectly. he steps in, steals the ball clean, and sprints toward the hoop.

“oh no, you didn’t!” paige calls out, chasing after him with a burst of speed that makes you forget, for a second, how many years it’s been since she was tearing up college courts.

but derek is quick too. too quick. he pulls up just outside the key and lets the ball fly.

swish.

“ha!” derek pumps his fist, turning to face her with a grin that practically splits his face in two. “what was that about being the queen of the court?”

paige stares at him, wide-eyed and speechless, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to break into some long-winded lecture about fundamentals or footwork. but then she starts laughing. not her usual confident chuckle, but a real, uncontrollable laugh that fills the yard and makes derek laugh too, even though he’s not entirely sure what’s so funny.

“okay, okay,” she says, shaking her head and wiping the corner of her eye. “you got one. one. don’t let it go to your head, kid.”

but you can see the way she’s looking at him now, how her expression has softened. she’s proud, maybe even a little in awe, but there’s something else too. a quiet grief tucked beneath all that love, the kind that only comes with watching your child grow into someone who doesn’t need you quite as much as they used to.

“you gonna keep standing there, or you want a rematch?” derek asks, spinning the ball on one finger like he’s trying to show off.

paige’s eyebrows shoot up. “oh, you’re feeling bold now, huh?”

she lunges for him, snatching the ball back before he can react, and charges toward the hoop with a determination that feels almost desperate. you watch her lay it in, clean and smooth, and as she jogs back to her side of the makeshift court, you catch her glance in your direction.

there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. something just for you.

he’s growing up too fast, isn’t he?

you smile at her, a small, knowing smile that says i see you, and i feel it too.

the game gets more intense after that. derek stops holding back, and so does paige. it’s not just a casual driveway scrimmage anymore—it’s two competitors locked in battle. paige pulls out her best moves, step-backs and fadeaways that she used to dominate with back in her UConn days. derek matches her with raw energy and a knack for improvisation that makes you think he might actually have a shot at going pro someday.

“fifteen-fourteen,” paige says, breathless as she dribbles at the top of the key. “game point. you sure you’re ready for this?”

“are you?” derek shoots back, grinning as he wipes sweat from his brow.

you lean against the railing, your heart pounding in your chest, and you wonder if they even realize you’re still there. probably not. this moment is theirs, and you’re happy to let them have it.

paige makes her move, driving hard to the left before spinning back to her right, but derek is ready. he’s there, blocking her path, his hands up and his stance steady. she tries to shoot over him, but he’s too tall now, too quick, and he swats the ball away with a force that makes it bounce halfway across the driveway.

“game,” he says, breathless but triumphant.

paige just stands there, hands on her hips, staring at him like she can’t quite believe what just happened. and maybe she can’t. maybe none of you can.

“guess the torch has officially been passed,” you say, stepping off the porch and walking toward them.

paige looks at you, her mouth opening like she’s about to argue, but then she closes it again. she shakes her head, laughing softly, and pulls derek into a hug that’s more aggressive than affectionate but still manages to say everything she can’t.

“you did good, kid,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, almost fragile.

“thanks, mom,” derek says, his own voice quiet but steady.

and as you stand there, watching the two of them, you feel it too—the ache, the pride, the bittersweet weight of it all. he’s not her little boy anymore. he’s not your little boy anymore. but he’ll always be yours, in every way that matters.

later that night, the house feels softer somehow, quieter. derek is curled up in your lap on the couch, his head resting against your chest, his breath steady and even in sleep. the game must have worn him out, and it’s in this peaceful stillness that you really notice how much he’s grown. his limbs are long now, gangly in a way that’s both awkward and endearing, and his features are sharper, more defined.

paige is sitting across from you, one leg tucked under her, cradling a mug of tea she hasn’t touched. the warm glow of the lamp casts a golden hue over her face, softening the edges of her playful smirk. but there’s something in her eyes, something that lingers even when she cracks a small grin.

“you remember when he couldn’t even dribble without falling over?” she says, breaking the silence. her voice is light, teasing, but there’s a thread of something deeper woven into her words.

you hum, brushing a hand gently through derek’s hair. “barely. feels like it was forever ago.”

“right?” she leans back, balancing the mug on her knee as she looks at the two of you. “i mean, this is the same kid who cried for two hours because he lost his first pair of basketball shoes. two hours, babe. and now he’s out there blocking me like he’s—i don’t know—prime lebron or something.”

you laugh softly, careful not to wake derek. “he’s got your moves, though. the spin, the step-back? that’s all you.”

“yeah, well, he didn’t get my height,” she quips, a hand running through her hair. “dude’s a giant already. where’s he even getting that from?”

but you see it—the way she bites the corner of her lip, the way her fingers fidget with the handle of her mug. she’s trying to hide it, trying to mask the ache with humor, and it’s so her that it makes your chest tighten.

“you okay?” you ask gently, your eyes meeting hers.

paige hesitates, her smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before she shrugs. “yeah. i’m fine. it’s just… weird, you know? one minute, he’s begging me to let him stay up late to watch a game, and the next, he’s dunking on me in the driveway.”

“he didn’t actually dunk on you,” you tease, and it earns you a soft laugh.

“okay, fine, but you know what i mean.” she sets the mug down on the coffee table, leaning forward now, her elbows resting on her knees. “he’s just… he’s not a kid anymore. i mean, he is, but he’s not, you know? like, i remember his first steps. he was so wobbly, and now he’s out there moving like he’s been doing it forever.”

her voice gets quieter, her words slower, and you can see the way she’s fighting to keep it together. “and then his first basket? oh my god, i thought i was gonna lose my mind. he was so proud of himself. remember how he made us watch the highlight reel he edited for three weeks straight?”

“complete with slow-motion replays,” you add with a soft smile.

“exactly!” she laughs again, but it’s shaky, like she’s holding something back. “and now he’s… i don’t know. he’s just different. he’s taller, faster, better. and that’s the point, right? we’re supposed to want him to grow up, but…”

“it’s hard,” you finish for her, because you know exactly what she’s trying to say.

paige nods, her gaze dropping to her hands. “yeah. it’s hard.”

you reach out, brushing your fingers against hers, and she looks up at you with that same mixture of pride and vulnerability that makes your heart ache. “he’s still our little boy, though,” you remind her, your voice barely above a whisper.

she smiles at that, a small, genuine smile that reaches her eyes. “yeah. he’ll always be ours.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the only sounds are the soft hum of the heater and derek’s quiet breaths, and it feels like the three of you are wrapped up in a bubble of warmth and love.

“you know,” paige says finally, her voice lighter again, “i think i let him win today.”

you raise an eyebrow, barely holding back a laugh. “oh, really?”

“yep. totally on purpose.” she leans back against the couch, crossing her arms like she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince you. “i just wanted to boost his confidence. good parenting, you know?”

“uh-huh,” you say, smirking as you run your fingers through derek’s hair again.

but the look she gives you—soft, teasing, and a little bit raw—reminds you of why you fell in love with her in the first place. she loves so fiercely, even when it hurts, even when she’s not sure how to handle it. and as you sit there together, watching your son sleep, you think that maybe, just maybe, your heart has never been so full.

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