#thunder rift

[1-50thofabuck]

By request, notes and room descriptions from a past adventure: Mage Island

As the opening of the doc explains, [t]he following are notes and outlines for my personal use, running an adventure wherein PCs are exploring a small magical university on a similarly small island. The goal was to find information on the Rod of Many Parts, which I had introduced into a campaign taking place in an expanded Thunder Rift, which was placed in the mountains to the east of Darokin.

More details can be found within. Let me know if you use any of this in your own games, I want to hear about it!

[littlelewdmable]

Attack Of The Redheads 4: Enhancements

Nora: Hey Penny, you're a robot right?

Penny: That is correct.

Nora: So can you like, change parts of your body.

Penny: Yes. I can grow 2 inches taller or shorter if I wish. Any more and I would need to be refitted.

Ruby: That's cool.

Nora: Can you make your boobs bigger?

Ruby: Nora!

Penny: Yes I can.

Ruby: Penny!

Nora: Can you match me?

Penny: I can. *Grows breasts to match Nora* See?

Nora: Awesome!

Ruby: No fair!

Nora: Now do Yang's!

Penny: *Grows breasts to Yang's size* Task completed.

Nora: Oh, we're going to have fun with Jaune tonight. *Evil laughter*

[aurelion-solar]

Wild Rift Patch 4.2 Skins

Shan Hai Scrolls Nautilus & Jhin

Sentinel Graves, Diana & Olaf

Thunder Lord Ornn

Dragon Guardian Galio

[lumiidragon]

I’ve decided that being involved in the TNR’s side of the fandom as a person who likes TNR but not enough to agree with the other fans about the stuff that’s blatantly not good or wonky about the series just makes for casual discussion with these fans...a headache. So I probably won’t bother with fanart for it anymore or community indulgence at that. Wanting to push away from the HTTYD community a bit anyway.

[little-cereal-draws]

Ok but if Polites lived until Mutiny, it would've been so much more tragic.

He would've been defending Odysseus' decisions out of loyalty to his friend but also 100% understanding Eurylochus' very valid concern of starving to death. He would try to stay as neutral as possible and talk both of his friends down but would ultimately be unable to stop their sword fight. They are way past listening to his reasoning.

As a last-ditch effort, he throws himself in between them.

Right into Eurylochus' sword.

Odysseus and Eurylochus freeze as Polites clutches his stomach.

It was a strong thrust, intended to kill, and cut right through Polites' worn-down armor. As he falls back, both of his friends rush to his side in terror and guilt. His voice is wet and warbled by the blood seeping between his lips as he tells them they need to be kind. They used to all be brothers. What happened? How did such a big rift grow between them? Please, please swear to him to stop fighting.

They both swear and Polites' eyes glass over, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

There's a moment of silence broken only by the rumble of thunder.

Odysseus fails at choking back a sob.

He looks up at Eurylocus, tears and rage in his eyes. "You did this," he whispers.

[eevees-hobbies]

Nasty Girl (Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji) - NSFW

Author’s Note: I was sitting in traffic, and Lick or Sum by GloRilla started playing, and I thought, “this would make Kaji blush if it blasted through his headphones.” Anyway, GloRilla and Tinashe songs are referenced below, but you don’t have to know those songs to enjoy the story 🙂

Synopsis: New Fear has been Unlocked: not disconnecting your music from your boyfriend's headphones. Now, he just has to match your freak. 

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji. Sensory Deprivation (hearing), lyrics are explicit, Kaji imagines you giving him a lap dance, mention of Kaji smelling your sex, cunnilingus, p in v, dom behavior, dirty talk, use of the words slut and brat, ass smacking, talk of worshipping that ass, and technically a cumshot/creampie combo. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact. 

Word Count: 2.4K

Divider by @strangergraphics. Story banner by me.

If you and Kaji could add music sharing to the official list of love languages, it would be underlined, bolded, and highlighted as it serves as an integral part of your relationship.

You appreciate Kaji’s favorite genres. Some of your dates with him include attending concerts—hard-hitting drums and thunderous electric rifts from bands like Metallica, Slipknot, and Megadeth make up some of your fondest memories with him.

Kaji enjoys listening to you express your musical taste, too. You are most certainly not a monolith; your taste in music varies, drifting through the ebbs and flows of enjoying different beats and sounds as you float between different genres depending on your mood.

While some of the songs you like may not resonate with him personally, he’ll always nod along as you gush about your favorite artists. He adores how your face lights up, whether you’re talking about rock, metal, hip-hop, or everything else in between. So when you apologize because you’re "talking his ear off," he’ll shake his head and encourage you to keep going. “Please tell me more about Megan Thee Stallion’s new album.”

Not only do you two exchange opinions on music, but it also isn’t unusual for you to borrow his headphones to listen to your playlist. 

One day, you were preparing to make dinner, so you reached for your cell phone to put on some motivational tunes to get you through the monotony of dicing vegetables.

As you pushed play on your phone, you tilted your head to the side. You didn’t hear lyrical prose coming from the speakers. Instead, you heard the distinct sound of deafening silence. You pushed the play button again, considering that maybe you hadn’t pressed the correct area on the screen.

Still, nothing. 

As you pick up your device to investigate whether the volume is on, Kaji, seated on the couch in the other room, scrunches his nose. 

The music from the band In Flames suddenly stopped and was replaced by what he assumed to be something you were attempting to listen to. 

His eyebrows furrow as he genuinely listens to the lyrics.

Lick on my clit, make this pussy cream. Do this motherfucker how you do them Russian creams.

Yeah, there’s no doubt that this is from your playlist, and it was certainly…graphic. 

Kaji rises from the couch and approaches the kitchen doorway, pausing under the doorframe to admire you. His eyes wander over your shape, your ass jutting out a bit as you lean your elbows on the counter. 

The lyrics are still drilling into his ear, raunchier and more explicit than the first few lines he heard, but he can’t help but wonder if you’d be willing to sing these lyrics to him. He imagines your pretty lips mouthing filthy shit into his ear. 

His cock twitches, thinking about you dancing to the song, flirting your hips and ass in his lap as you tease him, letting his hands explore your body as you dip low and bend over, letting him see the way your ass eats up the fabric of shorts. Before he knows it, he’s rock hard, the outline of his dick protruding through his black skinny jeans. 

You still haven’t identified the problem, and right as you consider force-closing the application, you feel Kaji press his body against your back. You jump a little at his sudden presence and open your mouth to tell him to give you a warning next time, but before you can, he places one shell of the headphones over your ear, leaving the one closest to his mouth uncovered.

“Interesting taste you have. What did she say? ‘All over his breath like pussy flavored gum’”

Well, damn, then.

Your knees suddenly feel as though they may not be able to keep you upright, trembling and unstable, as if you’re a new babe learning how to walk again. You feel the warmth of his breath, sweet and cherry-flavored, on the back of your neck. 

Your boyfriend never talks like this. Kaji isn’t vanilla by any means, but he definitely doesn’t say things like GloRilla does in her song. 

You laugh nervously. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how hard he’s pressing your body into the edge of the counter.

“I didn’t realize that I hadn’t disconnected Bluetooth.” 

“No, looks like you didn’t.”

Kaji reaches up and places the other headphone shell over your ear—music drowns out any of the sounds in the kitchen, like the ticking of the clock on the wall or Kaji’s breathing in your ear. Instead, it’s replaced with the beginning of Tinashe’s Nasty.

I've been a nasty girl, nasty.

As she asks if anyone’s going to match her freak, you can feel Kaji’s hands tracing down your body, squeezing your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers lingering over your nipples despite the presence of your bra. He knows your body so well that he can locate them simply from memory. 

As he glides his hands down your stomach, you prepare for him to touch you where you need him the most. The drooling, twitching mess that she is needs him.

But Kaji’s hands move behind you instead of touching you where you ache. You let out an audible whine that earns you an unseen smirk. Yeah, he knows what you think you need, but he knows better. 

Need somebody with a good technique Is somebody gonna match my nasty?

He crouches down, hands lifting your dress; you don’t need a verbal command to know to kick up your feet so he can pull your panties down and toss them to the side. 

If you keep up with me I'll keep on comin' back

With his strong hands placed firmly on your ass, his fingers grip and fondle the plush flesh, earning a strangled moan from your throat. You wiggle your ass in an attempt to get him to stop toying with you and touch you. But all you earn is a searing smack to your ass cheek and Kaji’s eyes appreciating the way you jiggle for him. 

If you do it too good I'm gonna get attached

You yelp, your skin feeling a brief sting from his palm. You pout, but honestly, you only have yourself to blame, and you should absolutely know better. Kaji prefers it when you behave yourself, but when you are fervent about acting up? Fine, either a firm smack to your ass or clit, or a hand wrapped around your throat is quick to put you in your place. 

But he’s not cruel. Punishments are his last resort, and as he presses his lips to the tender spot where he smacked your ass, offering you a gentle peace treaty, you’re reminded of that. 

You once again jerk from his touch, feeling like something is pricking at your ass, but the kitchen counter and the way he’s keeping you held against it leave you with limited escape routes. 

Kaji licks the indentations his teeth made on your cheek, a low growl erupting from his throat.

Fuck, he wouldn’t call himself an ass worshipper, but he’d be willing to drop to his knees and press his forehead against the filthy ground on the street to pay homage to yours. 

Cause it feels like heaven when it hurts so bad Baby, put it on me I like it just like that

“Kaji, that hurt!”

The benefit of you being unable to hear is that Kaji doesn’t have to answer you. If he did, you’d probably hate the answer. A monotone “Good” from him would probably warrant an attitude from you. And he doesn’t want attitude—at least not at this moment—he just wants a well-intentioned taste. 

You gasp as he presses his face into your sex, nose nudging against your folds, inhaling all of you. His mouth is watering as his tongue licks up and down your already wet slit, your slick sticking to your folds in the way fresh honey sticks to a honeycomb. His fingers spread your cunt open, eyeing the way you already dribble like a slut for him.

Your eyes roll back as he delivers a peck to your pussy, then a longer kiss until his mouth forms in an opened-mouth make-out session with her, not being liberal with the use of his tongue. You begin to press yourself back onto his mouth, daring his tongue to be even deeper. And Kaji doesn’t fight you; you give a silent thanks that he’s allowing you to fuck his tongue. 

He brings his hand between your thighs, allowing the palm of his hand to rub against your clit as you bounce back on his face.

“You’re so messy,” he growls into your cunt as your slick drips down his chin and drenches his palm. And it’s the god-honest truth; your cunt is dripping, hot, wet, thick, and languid, coating his tongue and throat with your essence. You’re his favorite indulgence. When he has a sweet tooth, he doesn’t think of or crave candy; he thinks of you. 

As your cum cascades into his mouth, his tongue cleans up every inch of you, tongue sliding between your folds, over your clit, your clitoral hood, and even your inner thighs. By the time he considers it a job well done, you’re glistening in his saliva more so than your cum. 

Wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, he rises again to take his place pressed against your back.

“K-Kaji,” your moan is desperate as you press your ass against his crotch. “Need you so bad, baby!”

Kaji can’t help but keep his eyes on you as your head falls back to rest on his shoulder. You don’t realize how loud you’re being with the music playing in your ears, but he desperately hopes the neighbors can hear every single thing you yell. 

Each gasp and moan leaving your lips has him throbbing, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes travel down to your neck, watching you swallow so thickly, eyes pooling with desperation and pleading to have him, him, him.

He hikes one of your legs onto the counter, forcing you to knock over some of the produce you were planning to use for dinner. 

He’s not very patient, even in moments where he wants to savor you; he’s his own worst enemy and too eager to feel you around him. He’s already stretching your cunt apart with the head of his dick, and you lean over to give him a better angle. 

Kaji, ever the appreciative one, bottoms out immediately, stretching your hole to the thickest part of him.  

With each jerk of his hips, the headphones shift until they clatter onto the counter in front of you. The sounds you were unable to hear before overwhelm your senses immediately. You catch the end of Kaji sputtering your name so loudly that you’re surprised you didn’t hear him over the music.

“Fuck, why are you so messy?” He rasps out, breath shakey and labored not from exertion but from simply being so consumed by his desire for you he can’t help but suck in too much oxygen. 

“M-maybe it’s the way you just slobbered on my pussy?”

“Oh, god. There’s that fucking mouth. Headphones must be off.” You earn another smack to your ass and the quickening of his ruts into your sopping cunt. “Like you better when you’re too busy moaning like a slut to be a brat.”

You practically mewl in appreciation of being called a slut and a brat in the same sentence.

“Yeah, look at ya squeezing me tight, brat. Jerkin��� me off with your needy pussy.”

You bury your face into the crook of your elbow, moaning and face heating up because he’s fucking right; your pussy is wringing him, hoping to coax every last drop of his cum out of his balls.

Kaji hisses. Without warning, your cunt clamps down onto him, halting his rutting, “Fuck, pretty girl. Already?”

You whine because, really, what the fuck were you supposed to do? He should be praising you for holding on this long.

As your clenching stops, he has a bit more clearance to continue his thrusts, bottoming out into your tight, orgasming sex. The wet, squelching sound your pussy makes as Kaji hilts you are loud,  filthy, lewd, practically sounding of nothing but sin. He can’t help but think, “like those songs she likes,” as he whimpers at the thought.

“Fuck, well, I’m glad you’re feeling good. Gonna let me cum now?” He’s teasing you because, of course, he can cum. You aren’t stopping him—the more the fucking merrier. You try to utter precisely that, but he juts his hips sharply, knowing you were going to say something with that smart-ass mouth of yours, the tip of his dick drilling against your g-spot.

Your nails scrape against the counter, trying to grip and claw at something. “K-kaji, I’m…!”

You bite your lip, that all-too-familiar tightening overtaking you until it bursts, and another orgasm rips through you. 

Kaji groans and pulls out with urgency because there’s something he has to do. Call it a compulsion or whatever label you want to assign to it, but it’s something he’s compelled to do to you when the urge to cum inside doesn’t sway him.

He spreads your labia with his thumb, butterflying your pretty pussy for him. He’s giving himself solid pumps with his free hand, eyes never leaving your ass, loving the way it looks sticking out like this for him. He gasps, his moan raspy but so deliciously loud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck here it c-comes!”

His cum shoots out, splattering all over your waiting hole until it’s so covered by his thick, white seed that he can’t see your opening anymore. And the final part of the ritual? Smearing it all over your folds, the fleshy pink of you, and pushing it back in with the tip of his dick for good measure.

“What even is that fetish called?” you mumble.

“I don’t have a fetish. I just like doing…this.” He can’t tear his eyes away at how pretty she looks, covered in white.

He finally places a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand reaching around your fucked out and bent over form to grasp his headphones. “Forget cooking. Let’s order in.”

And maybe after this romp in the kitchen, you both had inadvertently conditioned yourselves to use certain songs to initiate sex. His dick automatically hardening when you play songs that bring him back to the moment in the kitchen, and him placing the headphones over your ears as he fucks you to the same music that celebrates getting your back blown out.

[kaylasficrecs]

jj maybank recs - part 2

clashing | imagine, angry fluff | @mildkleptomaniac

thunder storm | imagine, flangst, comfort | @sevenwivesofrafecameron

members of the heartbreak club | one shot, angst | @pogueszn

pieces of you | one shot, flangst | @obxsummer

lean on me | imagine, flangst | @obxsummer

heart of gold | au, series | @obxsummer

home | imagine, fluff | @vivwritesfics

missing piece | imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @maybankswhore

rough days | drabble, flangst, comfort | @jjsbank444

slow dancing | imagine, fluff | @aidansloth

having a clumsy gf | drabble, fluff | @maiiuelle

our song | imagine, fluff | @maybankswhore

the summer playlist | series | @pogueszn

bellyache pt 2 | two shot, angst | @pogueszn

the one where jj doesn't know you're sick | imagine, flangst | @mvybanks

risk | one shot, flangst | @featherandferns

you belong with me | one shot, flangst | @qlossytbh

starry night | one shot, fluff | @qlossytbh

mile marker | au, one shot, flangst | @loveharlow

the fire | imagine, flangst | @featherandferns

hurricane agatha | imagine, flangst | @abrunettefangirlnerd

overwhelmed | imagine, flangst | @abrunettefangirlnerd

different | imagine, flangst, comfort | @silent-stories

never grow up | imagine, fluff | @cherryobx

accidentally hurting you during sex | imagine, trifecta | @sleepyjuice

always toying | drabble, fluff | @sleepyjuice

silent rift | one shot, flangst | @shortnspidey

i care for you still | imagine, flangst | @cosmicmunsonwrites

yes to heaven | one shot, flangst | @stargirlinterludefr

and we both drew blood | imagine, trifecta | @cosmicmunsonwrites

lifeline | one shot, flangst | @obxsummer

back to you | one shot, trifecta | @peavhyshy

stains | two shot, flangst (more angst) | @locker42

put the pieces back together | imagine, flangst, comfort | @extratragic (tw)

kick his ass | imagine, angsty flangst, comfort | @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo (tw)

bad day | one shot, flangst, comfort | @mydogisveryadorbs

sick girlfriend | drabble, fluff | @maybanksprincess

you & me | imagine, fluff | @roanofarcc

[pokemonheritageposts]

Could you do top 10 Gallade cards?

hey, since this is a 5 pokemon line at this point, let's make it a top 15!

this line has so many incredible cards fr

15. Ralts (illus. Yuka Morii, Sun & Moon - Lost Thunder 149/214)

14. Gardevoir (illus. Sanosuke Sakuma, Sword & Shield - Astral Radiance TG05/TG30)

13. Ralts (illus. Midori Harada, EX Power Keepers 59/108)

12. Kirlia (illus. Sanosuke Sakuma, XY BREAKthrough 69/162)

11. Gardevoir & Sylveon GX (illus. Atsuko Nishida, Sun & Moon - Unbroken Bonds 205/214)

10. Gardevoir EX (illus. Mitsuhiro Arita, XY Steam Siege 116/114)

9. Kirlia (illus. sowsow, Sun & Moon - Cosmic Eclipse 81/236)

8. Gallade (illus. Huang Tzu En, Sun & Moon - Cosmic Eclipse 244/236)

7. Mega Gardevoir EX (illus. Megumi Mizutani, Generations RC31/RC32)

6. Gardevoir (illus. TOKIYA, XY Ancient Origins 54/98)

5. Gallade V (illus. Souichirou Gunjima, Sword & Shield - Lost Origin TG19/TG30)

4. Gardevoir EX (illus. Kuroimori, Scarlet & Violet - Paldean Fates 233/91)

3. Iron Valiant EX (illus. kantaro, Scarlet & Violet - Paradox Rift 259/182)

2 (TIE). Ralts/Kirlia/Gardevoir EX (illus. Jiro Sasumo, Scarlet & Violet 211, 212, & 245/198)

1. Gardevoir (illus. AKIRA EGAWA, Sword & Shield - Silver Tempest TG05/TG30)

[logos0]

Through the Storm

You had always hated storms. Not the ones outside—the crashing thunder and relentless rain were oddly comforting—but the ones that raged inside your mind. They brewed at inconvenient times, bringing doubt, anxiety, and an unbearable weight you could never fully describe. Being with Leah had always been your calm in the chaos, but lately, even she felt like a ship lost in the swell.

The rift started small—a disagreement over her schedule, a misunderstanding about a missed call. Leah was always busy. Between her training sessions and commitments to the England squad, it sometimes felt like you were just another appointment she pencilled in. You tried not to let it bother you, and at first it worked, but as time passed, you could not push down your frustration. Your feelings no longer simmered under the surface but started bubbling over at the worst moments.

It all came to a head one night after her return from an away game. You hadn’t seen her in weeks, nor had you been able to call her, and while you wanted to savour her presence, the frustration you’d been holding in came spilling out instead.

"You’re never here, Leah," you said, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness. "I get that football’s your life, but am I even part of it anymore?"

She stood in the doorway, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, exhaustion painted across her face. "Of course, you are," she replied, her tone sharp with defensiveness. "You think I don’t miss you when I’m gone? You think this is easy for me?"

"Well, it doesn’t feel like it," you shot back, tears welling in your eyes. "You come home, and it’s like… I’m just a stopover before the next big thing. Like I’m not enough."

Leah dropped her bag and stepped closer, but you turned away, wiping your eyes furiously. "Don’t say that," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You’re everything to me."

"Then why doesn’t it feel like it?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Leah stood frozen, her eyes searching yours for something she couldn’t find. Those eyes which had pulled you into a ban so long ago and now were tormenting you. "I don’t know how to fix this," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

And just like that, the storm between you grew too wild to tame. Leah left that night, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sound of rain pounding against the window.

The days that followed were agonizing. Leah texted you sporadically, but the messages felt hollow, as though she was trying to bridge a gap that words alone couldn’t mend. You left most of them unanswered, unsure of what to say—or if you even wanted to.

Until one night, a week later, when your phone buzzed with a message that was different from the rest.

Leah: I’m outside. Please, just… let me talk.

You hesitated, your heart battling between wanting to see her and wanting to stay angry. But the thought of her standing outside in the cold, waiting for you, tugged at your resolve. With a sigh, you grabbed a coat and opened the door.

Leah was there, drenched from the rain, her usually confident demeanour replaced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard. That reminded you of times long past. She looked at you with those piercing eyes, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

"I know I’ve hurt you," she began, her voice steady but soft. "And I’ve spent the past week trying to figure out how to make it right. But the truth is, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that I can’t lose you."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each word. "Leah… I just feel so invisible sometimes. Like you’re here, but not really here. As if I am just another appointment, a chore."

She nodded, stepping closer. "I know. And you’re right—I haven’t been fair to you. I’ve let football take over everything, and I thought… I thought you’d be okay with that because you’re so strong. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking you for granted."

Her words hit you like a wave, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying. Leah reached for you, hesitating for a split second before pulling you into her arms. You let yourself melt into her, the warmth of her embrace cutting through the chill of the rain.

"I’m sorry," she whispered into your hair. "For everything. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough, because you are. You’re more than enough. You’re my everything."

You pulled back just enough to look at her, her face inches from yours. "I don’t need you to have all the answers," you said quietly. "I just need to know that you’re willing to try."

Leah nodded, her expression serious. "I’ll try every day for the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes."

Her lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as if she were asking for permission to fix what had been broken. You kissed her back, the storm inside you finally beginning to settle.

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. Leah was here, and so were you—together, ready to weather whatever came next.

[laurfilijames]

Breathe

Part 9

Pairing: Will Miller x female reader

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Unprotected intercourse. Alcohol consumption. Swearing.

Summary: Will's feelings come to light in the aftermath of your run-in with Cam, and after more rifts between the two Miller brothers, your relationship progresses to the next step.

A/N: I'm not sure how many chapters will be left as this series starts to come to a close, but I hope you enjoy this next one and continue to be patient with me while updates take longer. Below is the link to the song featured in this chapter ⬇️

Series Masterlist

---

“Are you sure you’re not upset?”

“I’m sure.”

Will heard you sigh, and stood from where he knelt in front of the open fridge, meeting eyes with you as you held the door for him and passed him groceries to put away.

Your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth, the same worried expression you’d had on your face the whole way back to his place still dressing your features.

He wouldn’t deny he felt something.

Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Not jealousy or even that he felt threatened by Cam, but something in him burned and had made him turn quiet in the truck, his thoughts taking him away which in turn made you anxious.

Each time he looked at you those undetermined feelings grew, brewing inside him with a demand to be acted on, making Will feel on-edge and short, his mind constantly mulling over the interaction and imagining the one that had happened at the bar that he didn’t witness, and the more he thought, the less he said.

You had turned away after handing him the last of the food needing to go in the fridge, working on unpacking a bag into the cupboards, and without thinking, Will walked over to you and grabbed the box of cereal out of your hand and placed it on the counter.

His look was stern while yours was confused, neither of you speaking as you shared a loaded glance that might have finally revealed everything he was feeling, his hand grabbing the hair at the back of your neck and tugging, angling your head to tilt back before he crashed his lips against your open mouth, kissing you hard.

Your hands tore at his shirt, untucking it from the waist of his jeans and then moving to the buckle on his belt, your kisses desperate and wanting.

Before you had a chance to get any further, Will roughly turned you around, his large form hovering over you from behind, his breath hot on your ear.

His hand slid between your legs, stroking you through your jeans from the back, the pressure he was applying making the material rub on your aching cunt in a wonderfully cruel way.

“Bedroom. Now.”

The way he growled those two words made you moan with need, your entire body alight and tingling with arousal, feeling his large hand splay out on the small of your back just as it had earlier when you had run into Cam.

You did as you were told, marching to his room despite your legs feeling numb from the nervous excitement pulsing through you, knowing if you stopped or hesitated, Will would simply pick you up and get you there himself.

You stepped inside and spun around, holding your breath as you watched him slam the door behind him, his eyes darkened and heavy with a level of desire that made your heart thunder in your chest and your cunt pulse with need.

He ripped his shirt over his head and then stepped toward you, gripping your chin with enough force but still somehow gently, your eyes fluttering closed as a heaviness that you knew was from lust overtook them.

You moaned softly when you felt his thumb graze over your bottom lip, waiting, hoping, wanting him to unleash whatever it was he was experiencing on you.

“Will…”

His name came off your lips so sweetly, so softly, followed by a small sigh that was mixed with a whimper, the sound making every part of him ignite with a need to claim you.

Still holding your chin between his finger and thumb, he crashed against your mouth, his tongue diving in deeply to taste you, swallowing each breathy cry that passed through your lips.

After a moment he let his hand fall to your neck, gently cradling your vulnerable column in his grasp, the thrum of your heartbeat vibrating against his palm as he reluctantly broke away from your kiss, his hands moving to grip the hem of your shirt and lift it off of you.

You looked at him calmly and full of trust, a tell in your gaze that he knew no one else would ever be lucky enough to receive and he would never take for granted.

You hummed and closed your eyes when his fingers slowly unfastened the button on your jeans, your body completely still other than your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he slid the zipper down and pulled the denim to the floor.

Will pressed a kiss on your bare thigh while he helped you step out of each leg, moving up to pepper across your hips, and you squirmed slightly at the sensation as his hands splayed out on your waist, his nose running up from your navel to your chest and further still to your neck as he stood tall again.

He spun you around, his mouth landing on your neck as he peeled the straps of your bra down each arm, moving to kiss each shoulder in turn once they were bare, one of his hands unclasping the hook at your back.

His lips returned to your neck, sucking and licking at your tender skin, his fingers reaching around to pluck at your nipples that hardened from being uncovered and from his touch, your bum pressing into his cock that strained in his jeans when you arched into him.

He sighed against your skin, relishing in this moment, knowing only he got to undress, reveal and expose every sacred part of you increasing his desire to love you even harder.

Keeping one hand on your body, squeezing and caressing your flesh, he used his other to unfasten his jeans, ridding them as quickly as he could, his cock springing out to hit your cheeks when he pulled his boxers down his legs. Done with undressing himself, he slid his hand in the waist of your panties, rubbing your clit and smearing your slick up until you were whining and your breathing was growing ragged, your body simultaneously moving into and away from his touch.

“On the bed,” he ordered, his voice gruff.

You took a step forward, crawling on your hands and knees onto the mattress, the view making his cock twitch. He eagerly followed, his fingers catching in the waist of your panties to pull them over your ass as you moved forward, showing him your wet cunt that was more than ready for him.

Him and only him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, swiping two fingers through your folds, his eyes locked on your core like he was in a trance.

“Will, please,” you begged, your plea his to fulfill.

His.

He leaned over you, his hand smoothing over one of your cheeks to spread it apart, his thumb brushing your puckered hole as he did, his other bracing on the bed beside yours where he covered it and locked his fingers between yours.

Edging closer to you, he rubbed his groin against your lifted ass, his dick knocking against you as he settled behind you and between your legs.

Will moved his hips back and forth, dragging his cock along your folds, your hips lifting to try to land him inside your waiting pussy, and finally he did, a low groan coming from him as you cried and gripped the sheets with your free hand.

“Will!” you wailed, needily and submissively.

He pulled out slowly and drove back in again, filling you with himself, watching you melt to his movements.

It was his cock you were taking, your pleasure brought on by him, the reminder making him almost feel dizzy.

He moved the hand that was groping the flesh on your hips down to your stomach, securing it on you as he shifted forward to move you both further onto the bed, keeping himself buried in you as he adjusted.

“Lay down, sweetheart,” he urged, swelling with pride as you promptly abided, never hesitating to follow his instructions out of the pure love and trust you had in him.

Covering your body with his, he laid on top of you, rutting deeply into you with powerful strokes, the fat head of his cock hitting your g-spot each time.

He kissed your upper back, shoulders and neck, feeling you move under his weight as much as you could, your sweet moans filling the air and filling him with a satisfaction like no other.

He swore each time he pressed his lips against your neck you would declare your love for him, singing it over and over as your mantra that gave him every bit of confidence that no one else would ever have the privilege to be loved by you.

“Fuck – I love you, Will!”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he would insist in return every time, never missing an opportunity to tell you and never wanting your love for him to feel unreciprocated.

“God, Will…” you continuously moaned, his name never sounding sweeter than off your lips.

He thrusted in you deeper, slower, giving you everything he had, your body responding to his generous pleasure in fits of cries and the roll of your hips.

He growled against your neck.

It was him who was making you moan and writhe with pleasure.

His cock filling you up.

His mouth tasting your sweat and feeling the softness of your skin.

You squeezed his hand, a signal of nearing your peak, encouraging him to fuck you harder and more thoroughly than ever, a sense of avariciousness blanketing him and turning him feral.

“I want to hear you scream my name,” he barked, his teeth grazing the skin on your nape where you shuddered and took in a sharp breath.

You reacted almost immediately to his ministrations, your form tensing below him, your muscles spasming and tightening, choking him as you came hard and soaked his cock that he pumped in and out of you furiously, his hand that wasn’t still holding yours sliding under your body to massage your clit.

His name cut through the air sharply.

Loud and unrestrained.

His name and no one else’s.

He bucked into you wildly, his open mouth smearing spit across your shoulder, continuing to rub your swollen bud roughly until he felt you explode around him again, all of it leading to his own end.

Your tight walls coaxed every drop of cum out of him, pulsing and drawing every ounce of his hot load, filling you to the brim as you squirmed underneath him, his eyes finally able to focus again where he saw your own saliva staining the sheets beside your face, your cheeks wet with tears and sweat, and you’d never looked so beautiful.

Will quickly pulled out of you and flipped you over so you were on your back, pushing back into your messy cunt while he grabbed your hand and locked your fingers together, bringing them up beside your head as he kissed you fiercely, still doing everything in his power to show you that only he could love you this much.

“Will…” you breathed when given a moment to, angling your hips to put him deeper inside you, the way you called his name different than just moments ago; full of love and adoration and devotion, just as you were still full of him.

He smiled against your lips, confident that no matter what, his was the name that would always tumble from your fucked-out lips, your body and heart his to possess.

You were sure it was just the drinks and the music and being with your friends that had you smiling the way you were, but as you sat at the well-used table at the country bar downtown and your mind began to drift to thoughts of Will, you knew the grin on your lips was all down to him.

“Man, you’ve really got it bad,” Grace laughed, like she knew exactly what you were thinking.

You simply nodded and shrugged, knowing there was no point in denying it or trying to pretend otherwise.

“And you said he has a brother, right?” your other friend Jess asked, having joined the three of you tonight.

Nicole nodded enthusiastically, “He’s just your type, too.”

“You don’t say! Well if he’s even half as good looking and satisfying as Will apparently is, I’ll have won the lottery!”

“I can introduce you,” you chimed, taking a sip of your drink.

“Yeah, I won’t hold my breath! It took us enough to just get you out of Will’s bed to come out with us tonight.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up, and you looked down at the table, your finger tracing in the wet ring of condensation from your glass, thinking back to that last few days and how simply perfect everything was.

Despite having spent every moment possible together, you felt like a part of you was missing, having agreed to peel away from each other so you could see your girlfriends and Will could go out with the guys after Benny’s fight, no amount of time together feeling like it was ever enough.

As if you sensed it, you looked up and through the crowd dancing between the bar and the front door, seeing five familiar men strut through, a pair of icy blue eyes locking with yours.

You laughed and bit your lip, more heat coursing through your body as Will matched your smile and winked at you, and you gave a wave to Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Tom who all made their way to the bar to get drinks.

“Out of all the bars…” Tom said with a chuckle, and you heard him ask the bartender to send another round of the same drinks to your table.

“We won’t bother you ladies!” Santiago called, earning some comebacks from the girls, but all you and Will could do was share a look that made your heart beat faster in your chest and butterflies swarm in your stomach.

Benny scoffed at Santiago’s remark. “Well now, I didn’t agree to that…” he drawled.

His blue eyes were fixed on Jess, grabbing his beer and sauntering over where he pulled out a chair and sat backwards on it next to her, introducing himself with as much confidence as ever despite the fresh bruises and cuts on his face.

The rest of the guys went and found their own table not too far off, forcing you to try to pretend like it wasn’t killing you to be so close yet so far away from Will, having a perfect view of him laughing and talking with his buddies and brothers-in-arms, vowing to focus on your own friends who you loved more than anything and deserved your attention.

It was almost thrilling in a way, acting as if you weren’t head over heels in love with each other and were strangers instead, sharing loaded glances across the tables that separated you that gave a hint of the types of fantasies playing out in your minds that were in fact very real and recent memories, feeling like every song that played was about you.

Jess and Benny were hitting it off, tucked together closely in their own little world while you, Nicole and Grace continued on with your night, laughing and singing and dancing, and whenever you checked over at the other table, Will and the other guys were relaxed and enjoying themselves.

Another hour or so had passed, a decent, warm buzz flowing through your veins as you watched Will lean against the bar nursing his beer while chatting with Frankie.

You continued to refrain from going over to him, choosing to admire him from afar and wait until you got back home to get your hands on him, but every time you saw the muscles in his back flex whenever he moved it became increasingly difficult, your draw to him its own beast.

The way he would look over his shoulder at you didn’t help your cause either, his gaze loaded and full of a knowledge of exactly what was happening with your body each time he did, completely honed in on the way you would shift in your seat like he was perfectly aware of how wet your panties were or how it felt whenever your shirt grazed over your peaked nipples.

You had just given yourself another reminder to be patient and wait until you were home to talk to him, knowing if you went within a foot of him your hands wouldn’t be able to stop touching his thick, warm body and you would be inclined to press your lips on every part of him you could while trying to remain respectable in a public setting, but then your favourite song came on and any restraint you scarcely had went right out the window.

‘You Look Like You Love Me’ by Ella Langley and Riley Green came over the speakers, pulling an even broader smile out on your cheeks until they hurt, and without hesitation, you were on your feet and essentially floating over to Will.

You were already singing the lyrics, watching as Will’s grin stretched wider and his chest moved with a chuckle, a look that was full of endearment directed at you as you stood beside him and sang to him.

“Excuse me, you look like you love me,” you sang, your hand trailing up his arm and across his back, your touch making him melt as he continued to smile and nod in agreement to the words of the song.

He pivoted to face you, his large hands landing on your hips that swayed to the tempo, a familiar hunger mixing with the adoration on his features.

“You look like you want me to want you to come on home…”

He nodded again, a quiet ‘Yeah’ sounding off his breath.

Before you could get another line out his mouth was covering yours, bending you back to dip you as he supported you with his arm on your lower back, your friends all cheering around you.

You gasped for air when he pulled you up again and broke your kiss, seeing him lick his lips that were still stretched in the most gorgeous, crooked smirk, and you knew you couldn't be expected to wait any longer to have him.

“Take me home, Will,” you whispered, a seriousness falling over your words despite the cheery tone of the song still playing around you.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he purred, his lust-filled eyes flickering over your features.

Will made sure rides were arranged before you left, confirming with Frankie that he would help get the rest of the group home in his truck and that the other girls would get a cab as was previously planned.

“I can’t believe Benny and Jess,” he commented, smiling as he looked back over his shoulder at them while he held the door open for you.

“They suit each other,” you said warmly, a sense of contentment and joy filling you and feeling like everything was finally turning out right.

Raindrops sprinkled on your head when you stepped outside, the night air dewy and warm, breathing in the smell of rain instead of stale smoke and spilled beer.

The lights on Will’s truck flashed twice as he hit the button on his keys to unlock it, illuminating the steady streams of rain that seemed to be falling more with each second.

You went to step around to the passenger side, but stopped when Will called to you.

“Hey, get back here.”

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes and a playful grin tugged up one side of his mouth, his hands held out with his palms facing upward for you to take which you happily did.

He closed his hands around yours and pulled you into him, kissing you hard, a low chuckle rumbling through you as he wrapped his arms around your back and held you closer to him.

You let out a squeal that was swallowed by him, the rain falling faster and harder and soaking through your clothes within seconds, the sound of each drop hitting the hood of his truck echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet parking lot.

You threw your arms up around the back of his neck, arching your body into his, his hands roaming your back and lower to your bum, squeezing and groping you without shame.

“Mmm,” he growled against your lips, slowing your kiss as he brought his hands up to hold either side of your face.

The smile on your lips was lazy and swollen and they glistened with moisture from both the rain and his mouth, the orange glow from the light pole in the corner of the parking lot illuminating them and making him even hungrier to get you home.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he declared, kissing you again as the rain continued to fall down on you, feeling rushed and unhurried all at once.

Will sighed for the third time, adjusting his pillow on the bed and turning over frustratedly.

You didn't say anything, waiting to see if he would calm down or if the situation was about to escalate.

Benny’s t.v. was so loud in his room it was as if it was on the nightstand beside Will’s bed, and his loud laughter that followed the noise of the show was just as extreme.

“Ben!” Will shouted, propping himself up and hitting the wall behind him with his hand.

He waited a few seconds but nothing changed, the volume remaining the same as he clearly went unheard.

“Ben!” he yelled again, hitting the wall three more times. “Turn it down, man! Fuck!”

He fell back against his pillow hard, breathing out heavily as he ran his hand over his face.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do you want to go to my house instead?” you offered, knowing this likely wasn't going to end well, the tension between the two brother’s having increased over the past week.

They were all little grievances that seemed to be adding up; getting in each other’s way or eating the last of whatever food, a mess left in the kitchen or one of them doing a load of laundry while the other was in the shower, the small spats evolving into something you knew would come to a head.

Benny laughed even harder and Will shook his head in agreement. “Yeah. Before one of us punches the other.”

“You mean you punching him?” you giggled, climbing out of bed to get dressed.

“Exactly,” Will said, his eyebrows high on his forehead as he stood and grabbed his boxers from the floor and then a t-shirt. “I love the kid and I appreciate him taking me in, but man does he ever get on my nerves sometimes.”

You stopped where you were on the opposite side of the bed, frozen and without thinking as you blurted out something you had been considering for weeks now.

“Move in with me.”

Will stopped too, his hands landing on his hips after having pulled on his track pants. staring at you across the queen sized mattress.

“What?”

“Move in with me,” you repeated, smiling as you shrugged, your heart pounding in your chest as you saw the grin on his face grow.

“Really?” he asked, his tone and expression completely surprised.

“Yeah, really.”

You stood there nodding, watching his features change from shocked to elated, an emotion turning his blue eyes as wet as the waters they resembled as he walked over to you and grabbed hold of your face, leaning down to kiss you.

It had felt a bit silly to keep going back and forth between houses, one of you usually forgetting something you needed or having double of everything so you didn’t have to drag everything to and from, and since you got back together there wasn’t a night you could go without sleeping beside each other.

You were so nervous to ask, but this seemed to be the best way to go about it, your instincts taking over and giving you the confidence needed to get out of your own head and dive in, knowing from his reaction that he wouldn't be anything other than happy and excited.

He pulled away from you and looked at you with so much love and appreciation in his eyes, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks as he worked to get his words out.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he began, glancing down briefly between your bodies to try to control his emotions. “I've spent so long never having a home, bouncing from place to place between deployments, and when I did have my own,” he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “the other person didn’t want me to be a part of it.”

It always broke your heart to hear of the hell his ex put him through, unable to believe someone could treat him so poorly when all he ever was was loving and honourable, and it made your decision in asking him to live with you even more right.

“I want you, Will. I want all of you, always,” you whispered, nudging his cheek with your nose, feeling his breath gasp out onto your lips when he exhaled a relieved cry.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him tight until he was ready to pull away from you.

“Let’s go home, Miller,” you smiled, holding his hands where he squeezed yours three times.

He pulled in your driveway and parked his truck just as he had all the other times before, only this time it felt different.

Your house had always felt like home to him, but now it actually was, and the feeling he had in his chest was overwhelming.

“You can start moving your stuff over tomorrow,” you said, making him look over at you with a soft smile. “I’ll be at work but you might as well get a start.”

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded, smiling bigger.

You both got out of the truck and started walking toward the door, you filing through the keys on your keychain for the one for the front door.

“I’ll get you one made tomorrow,” you said, putting it in the lock.

“Are you sure you want this?” Will asked, making you stop what you were doing and turn to face him.

A solemn look was on his face, his apprehension and insecurity clear on his features even in the dark.

“Will…” you urged, stepping toward him. “I’ve never been more sure. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He smirked and looked down at the porch, sighing as he seemed to realize that his anxiety was getting the better of him.

“I was thinking about asking you for a while now, I was just nervous and thought it was too soon or you wouldn’t want to–”

He cut you off when he crashed his mouth against yours, pulling you into him at the same time he turned the doorknob to open the door, walking inside while still attached to your lips.

You broke apart after a minute, and you stood breathless as you watched Will gently close the door, keeping eye contact with you the whole time.

The smile he gave you and the look in his eyes lit your skin on fire, and you held your breath without thinking, watching as he walked toward you slowly.

“If this is going to be our house,” he spoke carefully, “Then I’m going to need to fuck you on every, single, surface…”

He closed the space between you, forcing you to lean back against the small hall table that sat on the wall, the clink of his keys in the dish where you kept yours making you jump.

“Starting now.”

A wicked smile that made you melt dressed his gorgeous lips, his face hovering beside yours but not touching you, teasing and testing your patience.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he cooed, and as you did, your track pants were already being tugged down your hips, your panties along with them, and you braced your hands on the wall knowing that the table wouldn’t support the force he was about to unleash on you.

“Are you wet for me, baby?” he asked, driving his hand between your legs where he stroked through your folds to check.

You gasped at the sensation and pressed your hips down to increase the contact, needing to feel as much of him as you could even if you weren’t ready to take him yet.

It didn’t take long though, feeling your slick accumulate and spread on his fingers the moment he planted his lips on your neck and started kissing you, your moans sounding out to mix with his heavy breathing as he got more worked up with each second that ticked by.

You reached behind you and grabbed his hard cock through his pants, running your palm up and down his length that strained through the soft material, his teeth nipping at the skin on your neck in response.

“Fuck, sweetheart, let me in that pussy,” he growled, pulling his pants down where his cock sprung free and you were able to massage the silky, bare skin before he shoved it between your cheeks and dragged it in and out to prep it with your arousal.

Just to be sure you were lubricated enough, Will spit in his hand and covered his shaft, his teeth clenching together tight as he did, watching you arch your back to shift your ass closer to him, your legs spread to display your waiting cunt for him.

He drove in hard between your folds, filling you in one swift movement, his thrust slamming you forward with such force it jolted the table against the wall, your hands flying up to stop yourself from falling into it too.

Will didn’t seem to care about marking up the paint or how unsteady you were on your feet, hammering into you with a ferocity that made your head spin and your body respond by succumbing to his movements, feeling your climax already building quickly, a shiver running up your spine.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his pace increasing despite you finding it unbelievable that it could, and he wrapped one hand around to your front that wasn’t holding your hips to keep you on his cock, grabbing at your tits that shook under your thin t-shirt.

You did everything you could to find something to hold onto, the wall no use with your hands slipping down it, the table shaking violently in front of you, but it was all you had, and as you landed your palms on it you saw the dish holding both your sets of keys in it wobble to the edge and fall, the glass smashing on the floor.

A laugh escaped you, quickly turning into a cry as Will continued to destroy you, his name coming off your lips in a mix of a plea and a praise.

“God, Will!”

The tip of his cock hit your g-spot with each blow, making you ache and melt with each second that passed, your mouth hanging slack while uncontrollable moans came out of it, your resolve reduced to nothing.

“Look at you taking my cock so well,” he praised, a bit of amusement heard in his voice, giving your nipple a twist before lowering his hand to your clit where he rubbed it quickly and aggressively as he kept his brutal tempo.

“Fuck!” you wailed, your eyes squeezing shut as your body jolted from his advances, slipping between falling apart and holding off your imminent orgasm, wanting it to happen just as badly as you wanted this to never end.

“God damn,” he muttered, stealing a glance down at his cock disappearing in and out of your cunt that leaked and coated him with your cream.

That addictive, blinding euphoria ripped through you, making you buckle and collapse in a spasm but Will was there to catch you, supporting you with his arms wrapping around your torso while he rammed into you and prolonged your high, letting up something he could never consider.

Broken wails of his name decorated with curses spilled from your mouth, feeling your body start to come back to functioning right when he was losing his control, his grunts bellowing out loud and clear behind you as he used you to fuck to his end.

He held you close to him, gripping your flesh tight as he bucked furiously into you and filled you with his cum, and you purposefully squeezed your walls around his pulsing cock to draw every last drop out of him.

The scruffiness of his beard scratched your neck, adding to the overwhelming sensations already bombarding you, feeling goosebumps erupt on your skin as you shivered and his breath blew out on the wet spots left behind on your neck from his mouth.

He stuttered his hips against your ass one last time, a quiet curse coming off his lips as he started to settle from his high.

Will pulled out of you and assessed the area around you, seeing the shattered glass to the left of where you both stood, and carefully kneeled on the rug, his hands smoothing down your waist, his lips meeting the soft skin on your hips and bum.

He heard your smile, a sated noise passing off your lips, making him ache to have you close to him again and not wanting to move on from this moment quite yet.

Grabbing your hand, he tugged on it for you to follow him.

“Come here a sec,” he requested quietly, looking up at you as you turned around and complied, meeting him on the floor where he pulled you to lay with him.

Will sighed and let his head thud against the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling as he relished in the movement of your fingers gently sweeping up and down his stomach after having lifted his shirt up, your head nestled on his chest.

“So, every room in the house?” you asked, a playfulness clear in your voice.

“Not just every room,” he corrected. “Every surface.”

You squealed when he pinched your ass, pulling you tighter to his body where his laugh rumbled through him and onto you, your hand dancing up the trail of blond hairs that connected his navel to his groin.

You shifted your feet and kicked one of your sets of keys that had fallen, the jingle of them making you giggle and readjust your head on his chest after glancing to see you hadn’t hit any of the broken glass.

Will grabbed a chunk of it and held it up. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“You better wait to see what else we end up breaking.”

He laughed and let the piece fall back onto the floor beside him, turning his head to press a kiss on the top of yours, and inhaled another deep, satisfied breath as he closed his eyes, thinking how lucky he was to be loved by you.

---

Part 10

Taglist:

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@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

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@christinhunnam @hp-hogwartsexpress

[justhereforxreaders]

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part One: The Oath

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: after three years of peaceful living on Dragonstone, Prince Jacaerys stumbles upon an answer to his growing anxieties of mastering dragonriding. But when this new companion is discovered prematurely, how will the Princess respond?

Warnings: mentions of blood loss and wounds

soundtrack

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part four: the test

part five: precipice

part six: pieces and players

part seven: the rift

You stand silently in the throne room of Dragonstone awaiting judgment while a storm rages outside the black stone walls. Two kingsguard are posted at the large doors opposite the throne. Their eyes fixed on your small, shivering frame. A flash of lightning followed closely by the crack of thunder causes you to jump and one of the kingsguard calls out to you from across the room.

“We said be still!”

You nod curtly and continue to stare out the windows at the rain. Tears begin to flow against your will as another bolt of lightning strikes nearby and you try your best to remain still.

This is not what I wanted. You think to yourself, reflecting upon the events that led you to be separated from your dragon and now, possibly, from your closest friend.

Jacaerys Valeryon had discovered you and your dragon living within the natural caverns beneath the fortress of Dragonstone nearly four moons. The two of you became quick friends, meeting in secret to train one another. He had witnessed your skills on dragonback firsthand when he and Vermax happened upon you and your dragon one morning before the sun had risen. Your deftness alone would have been enough to impress the young Prince but after watching the two of you dive into the sea to escape their curious pursuit, he knew he needed to seek you out. In exchange, he had offered you the chance to hone your skills in combat. Being common born, your abilities with a blade were much more crude than those of the knight trained prince. You relished the opportunity to learn how to properly defend yourself.

You are pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the ornate doors swinging open. A small procession of colorful lords file into the great hall surrounded by armored knights that begin to peel off in pairs to stand along the walls as they approach. The last two take positions on either side of you. Once the guards are in their places, a caller steps forth to announce the silver haired woman standing alone in the doorway.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, heir to the Iron Throne!”

The caller bellows throughout the room while the woman walks with purpose through the grand hall to take her place upon the throne. Once seated she meets your gaze. You cast your eyes down to the black stone below.

“This council has been brought together to address the matter of this child’s involvement in the endangerment and injury of my son, the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” her voice becomes shaky when she says his name but she does her best to gain her composure before addressing you directly, “What do you have to say in your defense?”

You hesitate for a moment, steadying yourself with a breath while trying to remember what you had intended to say. But when you look up to see tears welling up in the Princess’s eyes, only one thought fills your mind.

“Is Jace going to be alright?” You ask timidly.

“That does not answer the Princess’s question, child,” snaps a silver haired man standing below the throne. “We want to know how this happened.”

The Princess’s eyes remain fixed on you. She examines you carefully as you wipe the lingering tears from your face and begin recounting everything.

“The Prince and I have been training together for quite some time.” The Princess raises an eyebrow at this but you continue, “We flew out to practice on dragonback this morning when the wind rose up quickly around us. We couldn’t outrun the storm and when it consumed us, we were both thrown into the sea. The dragons were nowhere to be seen, whisked away by the tempest, so we began making our way to shore but-” you shutter and grow silent, remembering the deep wounds carved into your friend’s shoulder. “Jacaerys had been injured. I believe Vermax may have tried to take hold of him as he fell. He lost consciousness during the swim and I carried him the rest of the way.”

Once the words leave your mouth there is a beat of silence before you begin to sob, the horror fresh in your mind of Jace going limp in your arms. You can barely hear the low murmurs that flurry around the room until the Princess brings them all to a halt.

“How could you be training on dragonback? Were you both astride Vermax?” The Princess calls down to you from the throne, her tone shifting from sorrow to accusatory.

You freeze while the tears continue to pour. Jace had recently begun trying to convince you to reveal yourself to his mother. He was certain you would be offered a proper bed to sleep in but when the subject of revealing your dragon was brought into question, he was unsure of how the Princess and her second husband would respond to someone outside their blood to being bonded to a dragon. The discussion ended shortly after expressing this to you.

Now faced with this dilemma, without Jace’s guidance, you decide to remain honest. Still holding onto the glimmer of hope that you will find acceptance and refuge among this family.

“No, Your Grace, I was riding my own dragon.”

Amidst the uproar, the man with silver hair draws his sword and storms down the steps toward you.

“Who are you to have claimed one of our dragons? We should have your hands you thief!”

“Daemon, no!” The Princess shouts and the room falls silent once again.

The man stops his advance but his sword is still drawn in your direction.

“I am no thief,” you manage to say with a quivering voice. “My mother was an acolyte of the priests of R’hllor on the outskirts of Asshai. When I was six years of age, a lord came to our temple to enlist the help of the red priests in hatching a dragon egg.”

Another round of concerned whispers echo throughout the hall.

“I know not who the lord was or where he acquired the egg. It made no difference as during the ritual the temple caught fire, leaving myself and my dragon as the only survivors to emerge from the ashes. We had been traveling west across Essos together for nearly eight years until she finally led me to this island four moons ago.”

The man, who you now identify as Daemon, looks you up and down and begins speaking a language you cannot understand. When he meets your eyes and sees your confusion, he scoffs and turns to Princess Rhaenrya. They have a brief exchange in the foreign language before they are cut off by a frantic man in robes entering the room.

“The prince has awoken,” he exclaims, out of breath.

Rhaenyra immediately stands and makes haste to the door, followed closely by her guard. However, Daemon stays put in front of you.

“We shall reconvene at a later time,” the Princess calls over her shoulder as she exits the room. “See this child placed in a room under watch until-“

“Wait, no!” You cry out, interrupting the Princess. With the relief of knowing that Jacaerys is alive and conscious, the fear of your dragon’s safety fills the entirety of your being. “Please let me return home! I need to know if my dragon is safe.”

Her and Daemon make eye contact above your head.

“We cannot allow you to leave until a decision can be made,” she says plainly, a slight look of remorse flashes across her face, before she disappears out the door without a second glance.

The lords disperse around you. All except Daemon who still stands with his sword drawn.

“How do you command a dragon of you do not speak High Valyrian?”

“I don’t,” you reply, confusion evident in your voice, “I have been at her mercy since she grew large enough to ride. I have simply trusted her instincts.”

He chuckles lightly, “I wonder then, if you were to make a command of her, would she return that sentiment? Would she trust your instincts? Is she truly bonded to you? Or were you a convenient mean for survival?”

He sheaths his sword and walks away from you, taking a seat on the steps below the throne. The guards at your sides escort you out of the hall, leaving Daemon’s questions to rattle around in your mind.

- - - - -

Dragon-riding was an art that did not come naturally to Prince Jacaerys. He had been so relieved when his family left King’s Landing, as it meant he no longer would be sharing dragon keeper lessons with his spiteful uncles. This relief was short lived however, as once Vhagar had been claimed by Aemond, a frantic drive to master the sky filled his entire being. Once Vermax became large enough to ride, he trained often and obsessively, stealing the joy from what was previously a childhood dream of the young prince. Until he began training with you.

Although he initially approached your training with the same urgency, he soon found an unexpected solace riding alongside you. With you, it never felt like a burden or duty. It felt like freedom. It felt like peace. You had turned the sky into a safe haven.

Which is why the sight of you being thrown from your dragon in the middle of that storm was on an endless loop in his mind while he fell in and out of consciousness. Despite the pain of the maesters working on his wounds, he wouldn’t allow himself to be pulled into sleep until he knew you were safe. Thankfully, once their work was complete and the discomfort from their treatment had ended, he was able to fully recover his mind from that haunting vision.

He sat up slowly in his bed, head still spinning, to see the maesters cleaning up their instruments.

“What happened? How did I get here?” He mutters.

The maesters whip their heads towards the prince at the sound of his voice and the room buzzes back into action.

“Inform the Princess!” Grand Maester Gerardys commands to the room before taking place at Jace’s bedside. “Steady, my Prince, the wound is freshly stitched and you’ve lost much blood.” He attempts to help the boy back down but Jace protests.

“No,” he mumbles, using his good arm to weakly bat away the Grand Maesters hands. “Tell me what happened.”

Gerardys sighs. “You were found wounded on the beach with a stranger who refused to leave your side.”

The rest of the memory flashes through Jace’s head. The gust of wind and rain that ripped him from his dragon’s back, the pain of Vermax’s claws in his shoulder, finding you in the cold water, your arm around his body as he grew even colder.

“Where is y/n?” His eyes snap open.

“Taken before the council to face judgment for your endangerment.” The maester gives up the fight with his stubborn patient and returns to his supplies laid out on the table.

“But-” Jacaerys begins before being cut off by his mother.

“Jace!” She cries as she burst through the door and runs to his side, embracing him as gently as she can manage.

“Mother, where is y/n? They have done nothing wrong, they saved my life.” He takes a moment to catch his breath after the words tumble out of his mouth. Still struggling to keep his grip on the waking world.

Rhaenyra releases her son and she looks over him. Her face grows stern at the mention of your name, which she had neglected to ask for.

“And why was your life at risk in the first place? Who is this dragonrider that you’ve kept secret from me? And why trust a stranger to train you over Daemon or myself?”

Jacaerys turns away sheepishly, trying not to dive too deeply into the sliver of joy he had found in your presence. “Y/n is my friend, not a stranger. As well as a skilled dragonrider.”

“How could you know that Jace? How do we know this isn’t a trap set by our enemies?”

He considers this briefly. Trying to determine how he can convince his mother that you are not a threat to them. Wishing desperately to cite the countless occurrences of your trustworthiness and honor that he has already witnessed. But he knows that it is not just his mother that he is speaking to. He is also speaking to the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the Queen cannot afford to place that much faith in the feelings of a young man. So instead, he decides to respond like a future king.

“Why would our enemies want us to gain such a powerful advantage? Supplying our cause with a large dragon and a masterful rider does them no favors.” Prince Jacaerys states.

Rhaenyra is taken aback by Jace’s strategic thinking. She looks over his face and ponders his words while tracing the healed scar down her arm. A bitter reminder of her own betrayal by someone she once held dear.

“Do you trust this person with your safety? With the safety of your family?” Rhaenyra questions, her eyes momentarily welling up against her will.

Jacaerys meets her gaze and nods solemnly. The Princess grabs her son’s hand tenderly.

“If this to be our decision; to allow an outsider to inherit the power of our house…” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “Then this not an ally we can afford to lose. And we must ensure their loyalty to my claim to the throne, as well as your own.”

- - - - -

The room you are placed in offers little comfort while you wait for your fate to be decided. Housed high in the tower, it sways ever so slightly with the wind. Exhaustion from the events of today combined with the gentle motion of the room threaten to lull you to sleep but the distress at being away from your dragon for the first time in years keeps you from finding any rest. You sit on the hard floor with your back up against the wall, facing the door, counting the seconds between lightning strikes and rumbles of thunder.

A knock on the door startles you and you spring to your feet as a kingsguard steps through the doorway followed closely by Princess Rhaenyra. You notice her face appears less grim than it had been in the throne room. She examines you from head to toe then finds your eyes. They soften ever so slightly before she speaks.

“Jacaerys is resting and the maesters are confident he will make a full recovery.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and nod at the Princess’s words but the worry still lingers on your face. She continues.

“We have also received word that Vermax has returned to the dragonmont with a large black dragon in tow. Both weary but seemingly unharmed.”

You gasp as though this is the first real breath you’ve taken all day and place your hands over your eyes as tears flow freely down your face. Their intensity dies down, however, as you recall the Princess’s final words to you in front of her council. A new dread fills your stomach.

“And what is to be done with me?” You ask in as neutral a tone as you can manage, dropping your hands from your eyes but still staring intently at the stone below.

The Princess lets out a heavy sigh and takes a step closer to you.

“We would ask that you swear an oath of loyalty. Declare fealty to House Targaryen and to myself as heir to the Iron Throne. And for this you will be granted permission to serve our house as a dragonrider.”

You shake your head, trying to comprehend her words.

“And what would my service entail? What would be expected of me?”

“The same that I ask of every lord and lady sworn to me. As well as every member of my family that commands a dragon; that should this house become threatened, they will heed the call to arms and meet the enemy with fire and blood.” Her voice becomes foreboding as she recites the words of her house. Indicating to you that this is less of a choice you are being offered, and more a sentence that you are being served.

“Though I hope such a need will never come,” she adds, trying to lighten her tone.

Your thoughts turn to your dragon and the years you have spent protecting each other. You may not speak the same language but you know you trust her with every fiber of your being. And, although the gods may have left a foul taste in your mouth for prophecy and purpose, you do believe she chose you as her rider for a reason. If taking this oath is the only way you can continue to be allowed to live alongside your dragon, then so be it.

You raise your head, sparing a quick glance at the kingsguard, before your eyes meet with the Princess’s. “I am at your service, Princess.”

“We are glad to have it, y/n.” She says with sincerity. “The hour has grown late, let us see you to a more suitable chamber.” She turns and begins walking out the door, beckoning you to follow.

You fall into line behind her down the winding stairs.

“Once you are settled,” she calls over her shoulder, “if you are not spent, I can take you to the dragonmont.”

You nod fervently and small smile flashes across her face.

[sl-ut]

like real people do

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

description: abby is one hundred percent, totally, and completely straight. that is, until she meets y/n.

warnings: UNEDITED, swearing, slight hints of nsfw, alcohol consumption, a hint of homophobia? (not really but just in case)

words: 5.9K

date posted: 08/02/24

The years had not been kind to Abby. By the time that she and her friends were celebrating her twenty-first birthday, the woman had suffered many losses; the death of her mother at a young age, her father’s murder a few years back, and most recently, her breakup with Owen. She was quick to discover that the universe was not exactly on her side. 

From her perspective, Owen was not just a boyfriend. Of course, he was hardly even that at most times, but he also represented the time in her life where everything was good; Salt Lake City, spending time in the woods with him and her dad, playing stupid little games to pass the time with him, Manny, and Mel…he reminded her of when everything was easier. She sometimes felt guilty for this, considering that she sometimes couldn’t tell whether her emotional attachment to him was because of how much she cared for him or for the impossible standards she’s always held him to. 

Seattle represented a new beginning for her and her friends. They were able to find a new community, stay together, and live a semi-normal life that even the Fireflies were unable to offer them. Things were good there, people generally liked her, and she was quickly making her way up the ranks as one of the top WLF soldiers, though there were certainly some downsides. At the WLF compound, she began to see things in a new light; She was able to focus on herself for once, do the things that she wanted and branch out more than before. She was no longer limited to the small world of the few Fireflies who actually made it out of Salt Lake City. 

It’s for this reason that she holds herself at least somewhat accountable for how things ended with Owen. Of course, she didn’t blame herself for his infidelity, nor for him choosing to do so with one of her closest friends, but she knew that it was her distance that caused the rift to form between them. She felt betrayed by them, obviously, but as time passed, it seemed clear to her that she was more hurt by the fact that it was her two closest confidants who had caused the pain, not the fact that Owen and Mel had been sleeping together for months before she and Owen called it quits. 

Her saving grace during this period of her life came in the form of someone she would later consider her best friend, despite how offended Manny gets each time she calls her that. Her first interaction with Y/n was the moment that she knew she needed to have her in her life, one way or another. 

She hadn’t noticed her right away, but who would? Amidst the thunderous crowd of the cafeteria just before lunch, it would be nearly impossible to notice anyone who she wasn’t directly looking for, which in a way, is how Abby noticed her to begin with. Manny was actually the one to sniff her out first, as he so often did with pretty girls, his midnight black hair standing out against the white fluorescent lighting. She beelined for him, an annoyed expression crossing her features as she figured out the reason why he’d been late for patrol.

“Manny!” She barked, “How many times do I have to drag your ass to the gate before you actually show up on ti–”

Her attention was immediately caught by the figure sitting across the table from him, eyes falling on a young woman with a look of shock on her face, clearly concerned by the large woman who’d nearly pulled Manny out of his seat with only one hand.

“Abby!” He greeted, doing his best to brush it off, “I was just on my way to meet you when I got distracted by this one,” He winked at the girl with a laugh, “Don’t blame me, it’s entirely her fault. Cierto, hermosa?”

Every engorged muscle in Abby’s body had to hold her back from physically gagging at his obnoxious charm, but she was a bit relieved to see that the girl did not seem to be falling for it so easily. 

“Whatever,” the blonde shook her head, trying to suppress any of the nerves that seemed to have wormed their way into her bloodstream under the girl’s stare, “We’re late, and I’m not taking anymore shit from Isaac over you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He shrugged, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he began to head towards the door, offering a short goodbye to the girl before jogging to catch up with the blonde, who’d sped off in an attempt to get herself away from the girl. 

“Cute, right?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his lips.

She shrugged, “Yeah, your standards seem to be on the rise, finally. What ever happened to the medic–what was her name again? Ginger?”

“Me and Y/n? In my dreams, sure,” He stared at her with a raised brow, “I’m not exactly…her type.”

Something clicked in her mind, and made the twisting feeling in her gut worsen. Goosebumps prickled at her skin as she thought back on the roaming stare of the girl in the cafeteria–Y/n, as Manny had called her. Had she been checking Abby out? And why did that idea excite her so much?

“Oh,” she hummed.

“You, however… you definitely were. Did you see the way she was looking at you? Like she wanted you to–”

“Shut up, would you?” She sneered, “I’m not–that’s not–”

“I know,” he sighed, though a knowing look crossed his features, “I know.”

A few days had passed before Abby had run into Y/n again, only this time, it was a much more pleasant interaction. Abby had been spending a lot of time in the library, especially since her breakup with Owen and even ended up sleeping there some nights when Manny took the liberty of reserving the room for himself and whatever girl he was dating at the time. She found some peace there, burying her nose into random books from before the outbreak and pretending that, for just a few minutes, she isn’t just the top scar killer in the WLF. There was hardly ever anyone else there, which was a definite plus; She still had a long way to go before she’d be used to all the attention she gets around the arena. This day in particular. though, someone else occupied her usual seat in the furthest corner, by the window. 

She jumped in surprise at the sight of another person in her place, holding her palm to her chest to hold in any noise that may have emitted from her throat. The girl raised her head to look over the thick spine of the hardcover book she was reading, surprise evident on her own face as well.

“Sorry,” Abby choked out, “I just wasn’t expecting…I’m usually the only one here.”

“Oh,” Y/n sat up straighter, laying her book page-down on the table in front of her, “Yeah, I usually take the book back to my room, but my roommate is a little…busy at the moment.”

Abby snorted, “I get what you mean. Mine too.”

There was a beat of silence before Y/n chimed in again, “What are you reading?”

Abby glanced down at the book in her hand, eyes scanning over the faded words on the cover. She actually hadn’t known what book she’d taken off the shelf, just slowly making her way through every book in the library, “Uh, Jane Air–Eyre. First one I grabbed.”

“That’s a good one,” Y/n nodded, “One of the classics, I think they used to call them.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Abby mentally kicked herself, of course she would completely blank in front of the girl she’d been thinking about all week (but she was still, totally not into her). “Uh, what about you?”

Y/n smiled, “A Complete History of the Western World. Call me nostalgic, but I like learning about how things were before.”

“Me too,” Abby smiles, “In a way, it’s kinda comforting to see that this isn’t how things always were, you know?”

Y/n grinned, which quickly turned into a frown, “Sorry, I didn’t even…I’m Y/n.”

Abby smiled tightly, cheeks burning red as she reached forward to accept the hand offered to her, “I’m–”

“Abby,” Y/n smiled bashfully, “I know. You’re Manny’s friend, and sort of a big deal around here.”

Abby shrugged, the red of her cheeks now stretching to reach the tips of her ears, “Yeah, that’s what everyone seems to say. Not sure if I really live up to that expectation, though.”

Y/n chuckled before glancing down at her cracked wrist watch, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows as she closed her book and stood up from her seat, “Sorry, not trying to run away from you or anything, just lost track of time. Talk to you later, Abby.”

The next few weeks passed with several more interactions between the pair, and Abby would actually consider Y/n to be a friend. They could often be found in the library together, or grabbing a bite to eat with one another and sometimes a few others. Manny often grumbled about Abby swooping in and stealing his friends, but he always seemed to be more than happy to see the two of them together. That strange feeling did not disappear, though, like Abby thought it would. In fact, it got considerably worse.

Instead of having a little bit of nerves around her, Abby was struggling to keep herself from constantly pulling her into her lap, or reaching out to hold her hand across the table, or to tell her how deeply in love with her she wa–except Abby is straight. She likes guys. She dated Owen, and she was deeply hurt by his betrayal, right?

That’s what she told herself. Each longing to touch Y/n was just her own loneliness talking, every time she wanted to be held, it was her basic human need for affection, not because she was romantically or sexually interested in another woman. In fact, she had a little bit of a crush on one of the guys she went on patrol with the other day, or so she told Y/n. She made an effort to make it abundantly clear to the girl that there would be no romantic relationship between them, and was relieved when Y/n didn’t seem to put off by it. She continued to hang out with her, and to invite her to different social events around the arena.

This one was different, though. Abby went, fully intending to spend the night by Y/n’s side, people watching and making fun of Manny as he struck out time and time again. She had arrived to the party with Nora, a bit of pep in her step as she slid into the common area, face falling as she immediately took notice of Y/n on the couch across the room, a soft smile on her face as she listened intently to whatever the girl next to her was saying, her arm curled loosely around Y/n’s shoulders.

Abby felt sick, almost giving in to the instinct to turn and run, and she is positive that if it hadn’t been for Nora being right behind her, she probably would have. She hesitantly stepped further into the room, glancing around awkwardly in hopes of finding someone to hide her from Y/n before she could catch her attention, though it only took a moment’s glance for Y/n to turn her head and shout, waving both Abby and Nora over to where she and the other girl were sitting. 

The girl’s name was Samyah, and Abby decided on the spot that she hated her. She hated the way that she talked, the way she dressed, they way she smelled, the way that Y/n looked at her, and most of all, she hated the way that she held Y/n’s hand as she led her out of the common room, hooded eyes making it clear what was about to happen. But it didn’t really matter, because Abby is straight and this wasn’t going to last anymore than one night.

Except it did. Weeks later, Samyah was still very present in Y/n’s life. Abby cringed every time she had to witness them kiss, or touch each other in any way beyond what could be considered platonic. She prayed every night that something would happen, that Samyah would cheat or die out on patrol, anything to have her away from Y/n for more than a few hours at a time, but when it really happened, she couldn’t help but fear that she may have willed it into existence–Abby wasn’t a religious person, but this seemed to be a bit too on the nose for it to not have been divine intervention. 

Y/n and Samyah had been hooking up for a few weeks when Y/n turned up at Abby’s room, cheeks glossy with tear stains and eyes burning red. Abby was quick to take her into her arms, ignoring the selfish part of her that was singing at the mere contact. She held her tightly, sitting her down on the edge of her bed and stroking the back of her head soothingly, waiting for her to tell her what had happened. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” She had whispered into her hair before pressing a firm kiss there.

It was less than a moment later when a sharp sniff could be heard and Y/n’s watery voice began to retell what had taken place earlier that evening.

“Samyah has a boyfriend, apparently,” She wept, “She told me she isn’t gay, she just wanted to see what it was like.”

Abby’s entire body burned hot with anger, and then with embarrassment. What would Y/n think if she were to tell her that she’d been wondering the same thing? How would she be able to move forward knowing fully-well that she was no different from Samyah, someone who she had been condemning over the way that she treated Y/n? 

But was it the same? Was it really? Since she had met Y/n, she hadn’t even glanced twice at Owen, let alone any other man. She was all she could think about, day and night, and yet she still couldn’t seem to come to terms with the fact her feelings for her might have been more than platonic. It wasn’t as if she were too ashamed or was actually against the idea of her dating another woman, she was just confused as to why these feelings hadn’t come up before. Sure, there were times where she thought Mel was the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, but that was back when there weren’t many other girls around (and she wasn’t screwing her Abby’s boyfriend), and there was once where she’d had a rather promiscuous dream about Nora, but nothing had ever evolved further than that. 

These thoughts started to keep her up at night. She liked Y/n, she really did, but was it worth risking her friendship only for Abby to decide that she wasn’t gay at all? What if she was just curious? It was normal for people her age to be interested in exploring these things, only she was sort of stuck in a situation where she was unable to. She couldn’t go to Y/n for help with this, that much was blatantly obvious, but what about someone else? She tried to think of other girls she could go to for help, but there was no one who she could immediately think of that she could go to without also risking her friendship with Y/n; she’d been insistent early on in their friendship that she was not interested in women at all, especially when Y/n made it clear that she most certainly was, and more precisely, in Abby, so what would she think if she found out that Abby had slept with another woman after insisting that she wasn’t interested? That might be more dangerous than going to her for help.

It was getting harder to ignore, as well. Y/n was increasingly dependant on Abby for comfort for weeks after she ended things with Samyah, not that Abby minded, but it was growing more difficult not to hold her to her chest as they share a pillow every night, to not reach out and take her hand every time they walk side-by side, to not push her onto the bed every time she undresses in front of her, to pin her down and–

Then Y/n moved on. She was still quite upset, but she had decided that she wasn’t going to spend any more time dwelling on someone who obviously did not care about her, so she met Reagan. Abby didn’t hate Reagan the same way that she had with Samyah, she clearly liked Y/n and treated her as well as she could, considering that they were in the middle of the apocalypse. She was funny, and she fit in with the rest of their friends better than Abby would have liked; she wanted to hate her so much, but the only reason she could think of was purely out of selfishness, that being the fact that Y/n spending time with Reagan meant that she was not spending time with Abby, and after a few weeks of near constant contact with one another, Abby was sure she was going through withdrawals.

It all came to a head when Manny demanded that she take some time off of patrol. With Reagan always around, she had taken it upon herself to start accepting extra duties to avoid having to spend time with the group, and more specifically, Y/n. He’d made some arrangements and assigned someone else to her shift without even telling her, and all but dragged her down the hall and into the rec room. Y/n and Reagan had yet to arrive, but Abby knew that, if she was going to be forced to sit and watch Reagan practically hang off of the girl that she was probably in love with, she was gonna need a drink.

Abby wasn’t normally a big drinker. In her early days in the WLF, there had been a few times where she’d had more than she probably needed, but it also meant that she didn’t necessarily have the highest tolerance, especially with Manny being the one mixing her drinks. He’d been more than excited when Abby went for her second drink, and decided that they needed to go drink for drink with one another. Needless to say, by the time Y/n arrived, Abby was drunk. 

“Abs!” The voice sounded excited as they curled their arms around Abby’s neck from behind, leaning over the back of the sofa she was sitting on to hug her warmly, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

It almost felt like time had stopped the moment her eyes landed on Y/n, admiring the glint of the dim lights on her clean skin. Her hair was still damp, she’d just showered before coming to the party, and Abby couldn’t help but wish she’d also done so by the pooling of sweat on her forehead and palms. She leaned her head back against her shoulder, turning to glide her nose against her neck in a much more affectionate manner than she would have if she had been sober.

“Hi,” She mumbled, “You smell good.”

“It’s the lotion we found on patrol a few weeks ago,” Y/n laughed, “And you’re drunk.”

Abby shrugged, “No, just a little tipsy.”

Nora scoffed out a laugh as she plopped down on the armchair next to her, “Tipsy? Please, she’s been letting Manny mix her drinks all night.”

Y/n pulled away, leaving Abby to let out a small whine of defeat, “Uh oh. Something must be wrong to have you drinking Manny’s concoctions.”

“Hey!” The latino appeared seemingly out of thin air, “You’ve just lost yourself drink privileges.”

She raised her hands in surrender, “Not the threat you think it is, pendejo.”

Y/n threw herself onto the couch next to Abby, settling close enough for their arms to press against one another and sending Abby into what she assumed could only be early heart failure. 

“Seriously though, where’ve you been?”

The blonde shrugged once more, “Busy, I guess. Lots of patrols needed to be covered.”

“So you covered…all of them?”

Abby was quiet for a moment, then quickly changed the subject, “Where’s Reagan? Aren’t you two basically attached at the hip or something?”

The smile on Y/n’s face flickered for a beat, and Abby immediately felt a pang of guilt squeeze at her stomach and regret filled her for hurling such a harsh tone at her.

“Something came up,” Y/n turned her gaze to her interlocked fingers in her lap, “She’s not gonna make it.”

Abby recognized a familiar sadness in her voice, one that she had hoped to never hear again, so she dropped the topic and instead found herself falling into a conversation similar to one they would have had before Reagan came into the picture. Things felt right again, especially as Y/n’s hand grasped onto her thick bicep everytime she laughed, and she didn’t push her hand away when she reached over and rested it on her knee–that had to mean something, right?

After Abby finished her fifth drink, things began to get too fuzzy for her to handle, her head dropping back onto the back of the couch with a grunt, her eyes squinting shut in a weak attempt to refocus herself. Y/n glanced up at her, concern painting her features as she reached a hand up to stroke Abby’s flushed cheek. 

“You feeling okay?”

Abby grunted in response, leaning her cheek even further into her hand.

Y/n chuckled at her, pulling herself away to stand up and taking hold of Abby’s hand. The blonde’s eyes popped open at the contact, staring up at the girl with hooded eyes as she attempted to pull her to her feet. Abby pushed herself up, forcing her entire body weight into Y/n’s figure faster than she could have anticipated, almost knocking them both to the floor.

“Woah, steady girl,” Y/n laughed, slinging one of her arms over her shoulder, “I think it’s time to get you to bed, don’t you think?”

Abby nodded sleepily, allowing her to pull her along down the hallway, thankfully not having to climb any stairs to Abby’s room with the girl who was 95% muscle on her back. She was able to get her into the room and seated on her mattress with very little trouble–Abby was very compliant with every order that came out of her mouth. 

She sat back, allowing her to wipe a wet cloth over her face gently, her eyes struggling to stay open even though she was eager to see her face up close and personal once more. 

“Can I ask you something?” She murmured quietly, using every ounce of her strength to keep herself from moaning under Y/n’s touch. 

“Of course.”

She paused for a moment, almost like she was thinking it over, though she had no control over the words that spilled out of her mouth, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Y/n stopped her movements, causing Abby’s eyes to shoot open and fall on the grinning face before her. She laughed softly, then louder until her laughter filled the room and bounced off of the walls. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she lifted a hand to cover her mouth to contain her giggles, “That’s just not what I was expecting. But,” Y/n reached around and tugged the elastic out of Abby’s blonde hair, carefully untwisting the braid until her long hair settled around her shoulders, “I think you are very pretty.”

She smiled, mumbling out a quiet thank you.

“I have another question.”

“I think it’s only fair that I get to ask you one first.”

Abby raised her eyebrows, but was quick to nod in agreement. 

Y/n leaned back against the footboard of Abby’s bed, setting the cloth aside, “Why’ve you been ignoring me lately?”

“I’m not–” the blonde argued, pausing to compose herself, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”

“Abby.”

The blonde girl winced at her stern tone, wary of meeting her gaze, “Look, it’s not like I don’t wanna be around you, it’s just…” 

Don’t say it, her very sober subconscious was pleading with her, please.

Her drunk mouth didn’t listen, “Reagan.”

“Reagan?” Y/n frowned, “What about her?”

A small smile appeared on Abby’s lips, “Nuh-uh, it’s my turn.”

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance, but urging her to ask nonetheless.

“Do you love her?”

“Do I–Abby, why are you asking me this?”

Her bashful eyes fell to her lap, “I think you know why.”

“No, Abby I don’t–”

Her words were silenced, a hum of shock vibrating through her throat as Abby lurched forward, lips pressing sloppily against her own. Y/n froze, neither pulling away nor reciprocating, just remaining in place until Abby pulled away for air. 

Abby smiled, resting her forehead against Y/n’s softly. She was drunk, yes, but she had never felt more sober and in-tune with her own feelings as she was then, just after kissing the girl she was so hopelessly in love with for the very first time. 

The spell she was under broke the moment her eyelids fluttered open, allowing her to spot the hooded stare and tear-stained cheeks of the girl in front of her.

“Y/n? What’s–”

“You’re drunk, Abby,” she scowled, pushing herself away, “You should go to bed.”

“What? I just–No, please don’t go.”

Y/n turned to face her sharply, “Why? So you can use me for your own pleasure and then kick me to the curb?”

“What?”

“I mean–Jesus, Abby. You were there after Samyah. You were the one who told me she was such a bitch, that I deserved better, but you’re doing the same goddamn thing. Worst of all, you know how I feel about you, but you made it very clear to me that you didn’t feel the same, so I backed off.”

“I love you,” She stammered out, “I-I’m in love with you.”

Y/n laughed bitterly, shaking her head.

“Please,” Abby, fell to the floor as she tried to push her body off of the bed, “I’m telling you the truth. I-I didn’t know before, but I do now.”

Y/n sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose to collect herself, turning to face her once more before fleeing the room, “Go to bed, Abby. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Except they didn’t talk the next day. Or the one after that. Abby basically avoided Y/n like the plague after doing what she did. How could she? Everything that Y/n had said to her was true, she’d known it for weeks. Hell, it was the exact reason why she hadn’t made a move on her sooner. 

She knew she couldn’t escape her forever, though. The WLF stadium was pretty big, but they would both be living there for the rest of their (hopefully long) lives and would be bound to run into each other at some point in that time. She was also already in a fairly deep state of depression because of what had happened between the two of them, but also because of how much she just missed having her around. 

Which is why she found herself outside Y/n’s bedroom door after returning from a particularly risky patrol that had ended in only four of them returning from a group of seven. Abby was shaky as she made her way back inside the compound, her muscles screaming with every step and her body begging her for a shower and a long sleep, but her feet mindlessly carried her in the opposite direction of her own room. Her fist rapped against the thin wood before she could even process it, but she couldn’t run away now, not when she’d been pinned under a scar only an hour ago with a knife to her throat. 

Y/n looked a bit dishevelled as she opened the door, and Abby immediately thought the worst; had she really just shown up at her door at night? What if Reagan was in there? What had Y/n been doing in there when she knocked? Had Abby really interrupted her having sex with someone else?

But the lazy yawn that escaped her puffy lips forced Abby to realise that, no, she hadn’t interrupted her with someone else, she’d woken her up, which somehow made her feel worse.

“Abby?”

“Sorry, uh, is this a bad time?” She shifted her weight back and forth nervously. 

“No, I was just–no, it’s not,” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, “You’ve been avoiding me. Again.”

“I know,” Abby frowned, “I’m sorry. For everything. You have every right to be mad at me–fuck, you have every right to never wanna talk to me again, but I just have to let you know how sorry I am and how much you mean to me.”

Y/n shifted her gaze to the floor for a moment before nodding, glancing back up at Abby and stepping back to open the door wider, “Wanna come in?”

Abby nodded eagerly, stepping inside with caution. She glanced around, taking in the small changes that had been made since she’d last been here. Y/n bedroom was, well, hardly even a bedroom. It was about the size of a large broom closet, just enough room to jam two twin beds and two small dressers inside, though she and her roommate had taken the initiative to make it somewhat cosy inside. Thankfully, the second bed was empty that night, meaning that she didn’t have to hold back.

“Wanna sit?” Y/n motioned to the foot of her bed as she took a seat near the headboard. 

“Uh,” Abby glanced down at her dirty attire, “I shouldn't. Sorry, I didn’t even change before I came here–fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

Y/n shook her head, “Hey, it’s okay, Abs. We can sit on the floor?”

The blonde’s shoulders loosened at the use of that nickname, almost like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders as she lowered herself to sit directly across from Y/n on the carpeted floor. 

It was quiet for a beat, both of the girls sitting in silence as they watched, both anxiously waiting to see who would speak first. 

“Did you mean it?” Y/n was the first to crack.

“Did I mean…”

“You know what I’m talking about. You were drunk, but you avoided me like a clicker, Abby, so please don’t play dumb and just talk to me.”

Abby cleared her throat, “Yes. I meant it.”

Y/n let out a heavy breath, and Abby couldn’t tell if she was relieved or even more upset with her answer, “Okay, so you meant it. But why couldn’t you just tell me that? You knew how I felt about you when we first met, but you told me you weren’t interested so that was that.”

Abby shook her head, “It wasn’t like that. When we first met, I was…still dealing with how things ended with Owen. I was angry and hurt, and I really thought I would never get over it. But then, after a little while, I started to realise that I wasn’t heartbroken over him, I was angry that he and Mel didn’t have the decency to talk to me before they started fucking behind my back.”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded, “But after that? Is it some kind of internalised homophobic shit going on? If it is, you could’ve talked to me about it, I could’ve helped you.”

“It’s not that. It wasn’t that I was scared or ashamed of myself, it was that I didn’t even really think about it, I guess. Then, when I finally did, you were with Samyah, and then that ended and you were so upset, and that got me thinking that…I don’t know, what if I was the same as her? What if I was just wanting to experiment? I didn’t wanna talk to you about it because I didn’t wanna lose you, and I didn’t want you to think that I was the same as her,” Abby could feel her eyes stinging from the sudden onset of tears, “And then by the time I realised that that wasn’t the case, you were already with Reagan.”

Y/n opened her mouth to speak, but Abby cut her off.

“I know, you’re with her, and if that’s what you want, then that’s fine. I want you to be happy. But I can’t leave here knowing that I didn’t tell you that I am in love with you, so much that I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

Y/n didn’t answer, not verbally. Instead, she threw herself across the room, clambering into Abby’s lap and messily pressing her lips against hers. Abby was quick to reciprocate, her lips moving against hers steadily and conforming the once sloppy movements into a more slow and rhythmic embrace. Her arms moved to wrap around her waist, palms sliding up and down her back greedily as Y/n gently took Abby’s flushed cheeks into her own hands. 

When they finally pulled away, they both broke into wide grins, leaning in to peck each other once more. 

“Reagan and I aren’t together. I guess I was just on the rebound and she was looking for a fling, but it’s over.” Y/n whispered, “ I love you too, so much that I do know what to do with myself.”

Abby laughed, eyes trailing down her body and finally settling on the dirt and mud and blood that had transferred from her own dirty clothes to Y/n’s. 

“Shit, sorry, got you kinda dirty.”

Y/n glanced down at herself, then shrugged with a sly glint in her eye, “It’s okay. It just means that we’re both gonna have to go shower before bed, right?”

Abby stared at her in awe for a moment, brain finally catching up to her words as she jumped to her feet, hauling Y/n up into her arms as she began a quick march in the direction of the women’s showers, the otherwise quiet hallway being disturbed by Y/n’s squeal of surprise and laughter as the tall blonde carried her. 

Though the laughter was certainly more bearable to the surrounding rooms than the sounds that echoed from the showers over the next hour, though Abby couldn’t find a single ounce of concern for the others in the moment, just glad that she was finally able to hold and touch and kiss Y/n, just like real people do.

[littlelewdmable]

Attack Of The Redheads 5: Mimicry

Nora: Okay, now lets see how far your changeability can go!

Penny: *Naked* I'm ready!

Jaune: Who should we start with?

Nora: Who all can you do Pen-Pen?

Penny: All of our team and PSBY.

Nora: How about Ruby?

Ruby: Why me?

Jaune: Your the closest to her body type.

Ruby: ...Whatever.

Nora: Do Ruby Penny.

Penny: Transformation in progress.

Penny: *Grows her breast to a B cup, a nice bouncy bubble butt, and fat thighs* Done.

Nora: Looks good from the front~.

Jaune: Can you turn around and bend over a bit Penny?

Penny: As you please, Boyfriend-Jaune. *Turns around, bends over slightly*

Ruby: Is that really what my butt looks like?

Jaune: Yep.

Nora: That's a certified Rubooty right there.

Ruby: ...Are my thighs really that fat?

Nora: Yeah! And they're awesome.

Jaune: Thick thighs save lives Ruby.

Ruby: ...Can you do Weiss now Penny?

[spurbleu]

mouth, reprieves ♛︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. Ken Sato is a bitter loser. And you are patient- if not a little giving.

warnings: mdni, blowjob

word count: 2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

A pity bloated between your lungs.

The loss wasn’t significant, only by a point. But you supposed that’s what made it sting - the stain of ‘so close’ and ‘almost’ near wicked in the grooves of the bat hold, or the home plate- plastic patched in rifts of dust and dirt (hard to swallow, all of it). Its grief was visible- slumped shoulders and buckling knees stuck to the grime on their uniforms, the announcer’s voice coming in- static and lame.

“And that is a wrap for the Giants 3rd game of the season. First loss this year- what does it mean for the future?”

It rattled the stadium- the echoing disappointment. It folded in the gaps of the chairs, salting the air in a bitter, frustrated sigh. You were unsure if you wanted to join the chorus or curse it.

The memories seeped through- distinct. The pull of his lips when they met yours. The twitch of his knuckles when he held his liquor. His light heels after his last physical therapy session (when magnified- wings. Stamped on the bone of his ankle- fluttering- impatient). The thrum of his snore, thick with anticipation- and expectations (never met).

Kenji’s first game of the season- a loss.

You didn’t take the frigidity personally. You knew the clouds in his iris, the roll of thunder from the back of his throat and off his tongue, was just an indication he cared. The breakage of his indifference, esteem cracking through its steel walls. He had learned to remove blame from his teammates- but as a result the weight on the breadth of his own shoulders grew immense.

It simmered- his insecurities. Boiling beneath the thin patches of skin where he slid on his knees- tender and spiteful. Drives home were borderline silent, aside from the heavy breath against his philtrum and the shifting of his shirt as you rubbed the tense muscles connecting his shoulders. Sometimes, it felt like talking to a wall- resistant to reassurance- as if the letters in ‘you did just fine’ and ‘I’m proud of you’  were venomous (fearful of the gentleness in cyanide).

But it was how he was. Equally as accepting of praise as he was averse to it. A paradox at home base.

You stood on the balls of your feet, swallowing dry air in timid gulps, watching the entrance to the locker room doors. Other wives and girlfriends- some children- and family members stood there in tense guilt- hands itching to embrace the men in a hug that promise ‘next time’.

Eventually, the belly of the stadium spit the players out, slick in its drooly chagrin.

There was a drop to the regular sharpness of his cheeks, ending at the base of his lips- dry and cracked. His hair stuck to his forehead- wet with outlines from the notches of his helmet- which was tucked under his arm (it looked more like a burden than a prize- its frequent glimmer dimmed by dust). The valley under his eyes a depressing shade of plum- his eyes dimmer yet festering.

But it was his brows that exposed the loss of immunity. Pleats in the center of his face, furrowing so low, that if you weren’t close enough, they would have looked joint with the shadow they caused.

When he found you amongst the hushed comfort, the rigidity in his shoulders collapsed into a softer word, striding towards you like a kid who broke a window (baseball myth, but maybe you’ll let him live in it for now).

“H-“

He curled into in gap of your shoulder and your neck, arms lazily embracing the small of your back and pulling you into his chest. You felt the hairs of his brows sink deeper into your shoulder, his breath fanning on your collar bone.

Your hand came to fill its gaps with the tangle of his hair, palming his temples. This embrace was familiar- not because he lost often, but because you found it somewhere in every day. The mornings during breakfast, pillow talk under plains of insomnia, the after-sex glow. Touch tugged a heart string in you both, and although there was no proof, you swear you could feel his heart slow when it kissed yours.

(He made you a romantic, and even after years the shoe still feels too big)

You pull away, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He didn’t kiss you back, but you didn’t mind. It was more of a reminder anyway- a way for you to say I’m here.

“Let’s go home.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

Looking from a doorway in the movies always appears more tranquil than it actually is.

There is nothing peaceful about watching your partner blister under their own defeat. The bounce of his knee, a desperate attempt to relax the tension that mends his muscles to the bone. You, left in your own uncertainty, bit the bumpy flesh behind your bottom lip, legs flinching with the impulse to do.  

Comfort, rally, motivate. Your mind searched for a better plan of action in the rise and fall of his shoulders, as he scrutinized the recordings of the game in dim light under a magnifying glass (ants in summer heat).

The body talks. Yours was saying thousands of things at once- none resonating. Dry hands, calloused by hourglass sand and the gruff reality of your own exhaustion, would do nothing but stir him from his own brood then bring him deeper into it. Your mouth would say filtered words with little connotation, leaving you both in a spell that felt purposefully blundering.

Then a spark, somewhere lower than your hips. A blushing growth- spoke in deep tones of arousal and charity.

Alone, your hands and mouth proved useless.

But together…

You pushed yourself off the wide wall, shuffling over in your pajama set loud enough that he could hear you coming. He didn’t move, eyes still trained in silent remorse as he watched his tapes. Your heart dragged on the surface of your ribs- pity.

You came to stand in front of the television, reaching behind you and grabbing the remote before forcing his chin up with your other hand. His jaw rested on your curled fingers, vulnerable. His eyes looked burned at both ends, the wick of his iris without fire, or rebuttal.

You took a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms on his slumped shoulders. A beat, before he caved into you, pulling you into the crook of his hips. You molded into him, taking a moment to turn the television off, dowsing you both in a dark, somnolent ease.

You familiarized yourself with every version of this pose. In his lap, drowse eating at both of your guts, limbs pulling each other closer still. It wasn’t a planned routine- just comfortable. You’d heard the line ‘we were made for each other’ about a dozen times in different movies and books- and although you found it cliché- there was a truth to it.

Good love can be cliché. Done over and over because it feels right. Kenji- his arms and his heart- feel right to you and they always have.

(Again, he makes you a romantic).

“You were amazing today, baby.” You said into his ear. He huffed- but you took his grip on your thighs as encouragement.

You kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and with each purse of your lips you tried to make a point. “You are the best baseball player in the league,” you continued down to his neck, hands coming to rest on his collar bone, “one game doesn’t change that…”

You felt his throat rumble, and it took you a few kisses to realize he had spoken.

“Keep…going.”

Fuck.

It was embarrassing to be aroused when you’re supposed to be comforting someone, but God. The timbres of his voice, their effortless depth and coon, pleading you of all people to do more was enough to make you start riding his thigh.

You reminded yourself that tonight was about his pleasure, and your own would have to be on the back burner.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, cool flesh meeting his hot abdominal, twitching under your nails. You traced the shadows of his muscle, enjoying the mumble that shook his adams apple as you kissed under his jaw.

“You’re talented and everyone knows it,” down the dip between his collarbones, “you’ve carried the team and brought them together…” your hands made your way to his chest, where you could feel his heart beating under the grooves of your palm. Good. You tapped his shoulder from underneath his shirt, and he understood, immediately shedding the shirt and throwing it carelessly into the dark.

You continued down his stomach, sending occasionally glances up. His face was veiled in something rounder now- the earlier layers of woe and its harsh lines drawn by the furrow of his brow replaced by something a little more sanguine. It peaked from behind the whites of his eyes and glowed under the plush of his cheeks in a blooming pink.

You dragged your lips further down, navigating the narrow of his waist, “You’ve got a handsome face to match your wit,” you kissed the band of his sweats, before you curled the digits of your fingers over, peeling it back to reveal the near painful tent spring from the cotton of his boxers, “and…fuck your big…”

You swallowed, massaging the cusp of his cock, feeling as he curved his hips into your palm, a soft moan breaching the clench of his teeth. You looked up at him- beautiful in the light of his own rousing. His throat bobbled; words caught in his tonsils.

You didn’t need him to speak- you knew what they were.

You brought back to his boxers, cock slapping the underside of his stomach. He sucked a breath through his teeth above you- desperation in the discoloration of his bottom lip- bruised. The shroom cap was weeping your name in a pearl of pre-cum, which you massaged with your thumb. You slowly pumped his length in your hands, hand moving in slow, tight swells at the base of it.

You knew it well- you had felt it a dozen times over. The vein that crawled from its root on the right side- thick- spelling your name in morse. The deepened pink as it ran up to his tip, the glans warm in hot colors of desire. The velvet that patched its stiff underside was particularly memorized- molded in the walls of your cunt.

But there would always be that stutter in your breath- your body talking in haphazard beats- a need he fills to the brim. It wasn’t shock, it wasn’t admiration, but you settle for somewhere in between.

“You’re so strong- from your injury, to protecting the city,” if felt somewhat strange- authentic compliments paired with the pumping of his cock, the tip of his jaw and buck of his hips begged your fruition in low moans, “there is no other man like Kenji Sato…”

A gruff groan from the pit of his lungs made your own sex thrum with a familiar density, and you let a soft moan escape your own lips as you slipped them down his cock.

Hypoxia bloomed in the back of your throat- bright purple capturing oxygen. You let your maw clench and reel at the pressure- familiar but desperate for accommodation. Your breath came out in a single syllable against the base of him, nostrils flaring.

He moaned above you, the tremble of his ecstasy rolling down his shoulders and to the bridge of his cock, rattling your tonsils with an unflattering gag. His hands came to hold your hair, grip massaging the back of your scalp with a needy grip.

“Hah…shit…you’re too good to me…”

You bobbed your head in protest, tongue flattening to cup his front. Your fingers worked what your mouth couldn’t, fondling the sensitive bonds of his groin- slick in saliva. He let out a gruff growl, holding your head with a fatal grip- pushing you down to swallow more of him.

You held his thighs for balance you kneeled between them- tears pricking your eyes. You swear you feel him at the ends of your tongue as he rolled his hips into your mouth- hollowed cheeks to take the grit of him- avoiding grazing teeth.

You glanced up at him- met with the bend of his jaw- mouth open as he moaned your name like a mantra. It was so melodic- and for something so lewd it was sweet. Honied in the places that we were taught filthy- buried beneath the stickiness of arousal and sex was something warmer.

You sped up your pace- promising a song from him as you pushed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, tightening the plunge of your throat.

“Ohshit- fucking hell you feel so good baby…so good to me,” His ruts were becoming sloppy, breaking under the weight of his own overstimulation, “I’m gonna cum down that perfect mouth of yours…”

You loved him like this. Goo in your hands, the sharper edges of his jaw and his tongue softened when laid next to you. Saying your name like he’d forget it- hoping it brands into his flesh, maybe his bones. It brought your own weeping hole thrilling pleasure- the puff of your heart rapid.

Lost in rapture- the smaller moments and the forgotten words- somewhere in the craters of your bodies. You’d accepted it- becoming idyllic- eased into a life where love could mean so many things at once and all be right.

As in- the kiss goodnight is just as important as the blowjob after a loss.

You were made ugly- snot drippling down your lips in blunt weeps, tears wetting your lashes in asphyxiation. You were positive the round of your cheeks was rosed- glossed by the precum and spit that wetted your lips as you slipped up and down, tandem rhythm with his hips.

You could feel strands of your hair being ripped from the sensitivity of your scalp- his hands gripping hard enough it felt as though he’s trying to hold your skull. His moans were restless now, a wet and sickening chorus to the hymn of your nose hitting his stomach.

“Shit-shitshitshit oh fuck I’m cu-cummm uhmm…”

It painted the cave of your throat, the cap of your tongue, the roof of your mouth- ruthless. Filled your throat in hues of stress, lost to the compassion of your molars and the crest of your mouth. You could feel the excess ropes peel back the corners of your lips as it bubbled to meet his pelvis, which was still fucking your mouth in a noisy, orgasmic frenzy.

It slid from your fissure with a quiet pop, and you took his wrists, pulling them limply from your head as you stood, sitting back on his lap, softening cock resting behind your ass. You kissed his throat, feeling the shuddering breaths that fogged the air around you, catching his expression- knotted brows and tight nose- compressed in a vague expression of lust- and thanks.

You ran your fingers through his hair- kissing up to his ear, “I meant everything I said, earlier, y'know.”

You felt him nod shakily. “I know…sometimes I just like to hear you say it.”

You snorted- there he was. “Cocky bastard.”

He chucked, pulling you into his chest, smile soft against the indent of your shoulder. “Well, you had it down your throat.”

You pulled back, giving him his first real kiss of the night. Admittedly, it was to shut him up, but when he pulled you closer still, lips molding to yours in the way they always do, you both knew it was because you wanted to.

You pulled away, eyes opening to his face- lips pursed and eyes closed (adorably stupid, stupidly adorable- somewhere between the two) you laughed, pressing a kiss between his brows.

“Okay Mr. Romance let’s get you to bed.”

You began to slide off his waist before he pulled you back down, eyes open and revealing something much more earnest. The harsher edges of his face seemed to smooth over (rock eroded, calmed), and he leaned his head to your chin.

“Thank you.”

You sighed into his hair- deep down you wanted to say he didn’t need to thank you. But he had enough about him tonight.

“You’re welcome- my throat is going to be sore because of you.”

His head came up to meet yours, and you knew he was back when you saw his classic smirk pull at the corners of his lips. “Should I loosen it up again?”

You rolled your eyes, sliding off his waist before grabbing his hand and pulling him up. You wrapped your arms up to base of his shoulder blades and he returned the embrace, body molding to the shape of your front.

The sensitive part of you wanted to stay like this forever- pushing into him- held- safe. If you closed your eyes, you could, and somewhere in your forever you heard,

“I love you.”

[moghraidhs]

dragon's blood

summary: you and aemond have always been close. but when your brother is killed, the ensuing rift threatens to tear you apart for good.

warnings: targcest, character death, derogatory language, implied sex. minors dni.

You could count on one hand the number of times you and Aemond had been separated.

As children, you were almost always together: running hand in hand through the halls of the Red Keep, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the library while taking turns reading out loud to each other. Even on that horrible night in Driftmark, when the crack between your mother and his had become a gaping chasm, you had stood next to Aemond, your fingers twined with his as you watched his wounded eye getting sewn up.

Over the years that had passed, the two of you had kept writing letters to one another, and when your parents finally caved and gave permission for your marriage, it was the happiest day of your life. Even Viserys' death not long after the wedding and the subsequent coup from the "greens" hadn't obliterated your hopes for peace. The terms for the two sides meant nothing to you: they were your family, and surely that meant things would be all right.

That was what you thought.

Until the night Aemond came back from his mission to Storm's End. It was late, and you had been sitting up in your room reading in front of the fire. Engrossed in your book, you almost didn't hear him come in, but when you looked up, there he was: a ghost with hair and clothes soaked through from the storm, and an expression on his face you had never seen before.

"Aemond?" You put down your book and approached him, concern tugging at your chest. "Are you alright? Did something happen to Vhagar–?"

"Lucerys is dead."

You stopped short. Rain slapped against the window and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, but all you could hear was the beat of your heart, loud in your ears.

"What?" You almost didn't recognise your own voice.

Aemond's expression seemed to have been carved out of stone, but you could see a mix of emotions in his eye before he spoke again. "He's dead. Your brother is gone."

You stared at him blankly. Somewhere inside you, there was a little voice working its way up to a scream, because that couldn't be true, it just couldn't. Luke was little more than a baby; he'd barely even ridden Arrax more than a few times.

"I-I don't understand," you said in a small voice. But then you looked at Aemond's face, and you knew.

He said something, you know he did, but you couldn't hear it over the roaring in your ears. Your knees hit the floor and someone was screaming, and it was only when the maesters forced the milk of the poppy down your throat that you realised it had been you.

The morning after you were told, you had woken up to see Aemond sitting beside your bed. He had told you what happened, everything, and when it was over he stood up to leave. "I'm sorry," he said, and you could see it on his face: pain and regret like nothing you had ever witnessed before.

But for once none of it mattered, because your baby brother was dead and you hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

You couldn't remember what you said. You only knew that Aemond's eye had gone cold and hard, and he had walked out of the room without saying another word.

Several months had passed since then. War between the Blacks and Greens was now in full swing - your grandmother Rhaenys was dead, and King Aegon was currently bed-bound in his chambers recovering from the injuries that had almost killed him. Which left Aemond in charge.

The two of you hadn't spoken since that day. Aemond had gone to fight soon after, and now that he was back in the palace, he avoided your presence like the plague. At first, you had been glad of it, still raw and hurting from Luke's death and from the knowledge that this was only the beginning. But as time passed, you had come to miss your husband more than you thought possible. If there was one thing this wretched war had taught you, it was that taking your loved ones for granted was nothing more than sheer foolishness. You knew Aemond had not meant to kill Luke; continuing to throw all your hurt and blame in his way would only bring you more pain when this war eventually stole him from you too. And that, you were sure, your fragile heart could not survive.

Speaking to him, however, was a matter of near impossibility now. What with his duties as regent, training, and flying with Vhagar, Aemond was kept busy almost all hours of the day. Those hours that were not busy he spent in his rooms on the other side of the Red Keep - away from yours. You wanted to go and see him, but every time you started, fear made you shrink back. What if it was too late? What if he could no longer forgive you either? What if…

While you were still deliberating, another problem had arisen. As Rhaenyra and Laenor's only legitimate child, your marriage to Aemond had at first been looked at by the nobles as a great advantage, but now that the war was on, the people who had once welcomed you now looked at you with suspicion. Some of the younger nobles in particular made their distrust of you very clear. Slurs like "whore", "traitor", and "spy" followed you around, subtly at first and then less so. Your separation from Aemond did not help matters, and all in all life in the Red Keep had become well-nigh unbearable over the last few months.

Matters came to a head early one morning. As you picked your way across the empty keep courtyard after some time spent in the library, you caught the eye of Ser Derion, one of the nobles whose family was attached to the Greens. He and two of his friends had been training by the practice dummies, but on seeing you, they approached.

"Where are you off to, my lady?" Ser Derion sneered. "Coming back from sending secret messages to the enemy?"

"I've been in the library, if you must know," you said flatly. "And if it brings you any comfort, I haven't sent or received any messages from my mother or brother since before the war began." You moved to step past him, but he blocked your path. The other two men fell in step beside him, cutting off your escape route.

"You shouldn't be here," Ser Derion said, his green eyes boring into yours. "They should've imprisoned you in the dungeons along with the rest of the traitors when the old king died."

You glared up at him despite the fear prickling its way down your spine. You were all alone, and where you were the guards at the main door couldn't see what was happening. "I'm no traitor," you said as firmly as you could. "I'm the regent's wife, and your king's good-sister. If any of you retained the smallest particle of wit after so many times being hit in the head at tourneys, you would know better than to make accusations without proof. Now let me go." You took advantage of their gap-jawed astonishment to step to the side and keep moving, your heart pounding in your throat. Now all you had to do was make it back to your room and–

A hand grabbed your arm roughly, and you were shoved back against the wall with a force that reverberated through your bones, knocking all the air from your lungs.

Ser Derion stared down at you, eyes gleaming with hate. "You'll pay for that, you little–"

You drove your knee upwards as hard as you could and were rewarded by his shout of agony. He doubled over, cursing violently, and you took the opportunity to run.

You didn't stop until you reached your chambers and shut the door behind you. Only then did you sink back against the wood, breathing heavily, your body trembling from adrenaline. That had been too close. And Ser Derion wouldn't forget it, which meant you had made an enemy.

~

You had hoped to forget about the incident, but when you woke up the next morning, one look in the mirror sufficed to burn those hopes to ash. There was a nasty bruise circling your upper arm in the shape of a handprint, and another blooming splotch of colour on your back where you had hit the wall. Putting on stays would only cause more pain, but you had no idea how to get out of this without anyone knowing about it.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even hear the door open. Only when you caught a movement in the mirror did you look up, startled, half afraid Ser Derion had come back.

But it was Aemond's gaze that met yours in the mirror - a half-second before he caught sight of your back.

You spun around and tried to yank your robe up around your shoulders, heat searing its way through you. "Are you incapable of knocking?" you demanded, trying to keep the waver out of your voice.

Aemond didn't answer. Two strides forward, and he was in front of you. He grasped your shoulders - firmly, but not hard enough to hurt - and turned you back around. Silence stretched between you for one beat, then two, before he spoke.

"Who."

You shivered. His voice was pure ice. You shrugged out of his grasp and pulled up your robe, trying for a smile that felt far from genuine.

"No one. It was an accident–"

"That's a lie." His words cut through your excuse like the crack of a whip. When you peeked up at him, the expression on his face made your chest tighten. You'd heard all Targaryens had a bit of dragon in them, and there was something unnerving about the fire burning in his eye right now. "Who did that to you?"

"Why do you care?" You knew you were only throwing wildfire onto the flames, but this was the first proper conversation you'd had with your husband in months. You had almost convinced yourself he had forgotten you, shut you out in that brutally ice-cold way of his. "We are as good as strangers now. You shouldn't let the welfare of a traitor concern you."

Aemond's jaw clamped tight. For a moment you thought he might be about to say something equally cutting in return, but then he turned and stalked out of the room.

You tried not to think about the faint flicker of hurt that had crossed his face. Or the fact that once again you had managed to drive him away, and the aching loneliness left in his wake.

~

Two or three quiet, solitary days passed. You kept to your chamber, except when you visited the Sept to pray or spent time with Aegon to give Alicent some much-needed rest. One afternoon, as you returned from one such visit, one of the maids came running up to you with wide eyes. "Princess, please come quick!"

You frowned, alarm slicing through you. "What is it?"

"Ser Criston sent me, princess. Your husband–Prince Aemond–" The maid shook her head. "Please hurry!"

You followed her quickly. Your heart beat wildly in your ears. Aemond was…what? Hurt? Dead?

No! Your steps quickened as you rejected the thought. No, he couldn't be. You wouldn't let him, not when you still needed to make it right.

But as the maid led you to the training yard, it quickly became clear that your husband's life was not the one in danger.

A small group of knights and courtiers huddled in a corner of the courtyard, faces shocked as they whispered furiously to themselves. Ser Criston stood a little apart, his eyes grave and hand taut on the handle of his morningstar.

In the centre of the courtyard, Ser Derion sprawled on his back, panting and bloody. A sword was pressed against the great vein in his neck, a slice away from ending his life. And holding the sword, looking almost unrecognisable in his anger, was Aemond.

Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, your mother had once told you. The blood of the dragon runs thick.

Well, if that was true, then your husband resembled a dragon in human form - a dragon that was a breath away from destruction. And you needed to stop him. Not because Ser Derion deserved your mercy - but because Aemond did not deserve the trouble it would cause to kill him.

You took a step forward, and then another, heedless of the maid's frightened little squeak of "Princess!" Carefully, you approached Aemond, stopping just a little short of him.

"Aemond?" you said softly, not wanting to startle him.

He didn't look at you, his eye still on Derion, who was drawing in short, gasping breaths, his face ashen with terror.

You reached out and put a hand lightly on his arm, feeling the tension radiating through his whole body. "Aemond," you repeated, a bit louder this time. "Aemond, don't."

He turned his head at that, the anger still visible on his face. It should have frightened you, but it didn't. If anything, it comforted you. Because it meant you hadn't lost him. He still cared.

You reached up to cup his face, ignoring Ser Criston's sharp intake of breath nearby. "He is not worth it," you said quietly, just for the two of you alone. "I am well. All is well. Please, do not."

Aemond looked at you, and you could see the fire disappearing from his eye, feel the tension in his body start to ease. He took a deep breath, and then turned back to Derion. Slowly, he lowered his sword.

As soon as he was out of danger, Derion scrambled to his feet and all but ran from the courtyard, not daring to look at you. You couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of satisfaction at that. The fear he had experienced today would serve as a fitting punishment for a long time.

After he was gone, you looked up at Aemond. His gaze met yours for one second, and then he looked away. He handed his sword back to Criston and walked out of the training yard, ignoring the way people stepped as far away from him as possible.

He was running again. But this time, you weren't going to make the mistake of letting him go.

~

That didn't stop the nerves that fluttered in your stomach a short time later as you stood in front of his door. You'd gone back to your chamber to change and wrestle with a fresh burst of cowardice, and now here you were.

Don't run. You're a dragon too.

The reminder made you straighten your spine. You raised a hand and knocked on the door. After a short time, but what felt centuries to you, you heard Aemond's voice. "Come."

You opened the door and stepped in. The warmth of the room enveloped you instantly, hotter than was normal. That meant…

Your eyes were drawn to the tub in the centre of the room, and your husband seated in it. His hair was down for once, and you could see the outline of his broad shoulders through the cloud of steam from the water.

Gods be good. Your whole face felt hot, and for one wild second you felt like running away. But then you told yourself not to be stupid. You were married, and it wasn't like you had never seen him like this before.

Only…it had been such a long time. And perhaps he would not want to see you.

Still, there was only one way to find out.

You stepped up behind him and knelt down by the tub, using your dress to cushion your knees. You picked up a washcloth from the nearby table and ran it lightly up his arm towards his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?"

He hadn't turned his head, but you felt him stiffen. Even though the question added to your nerves, you refused to back down this time.

"I came to see you."

The only answer you got was one of his customary "hm"s, but he didn't pull away. Taking this as a good sign, you continued your movements.

"How did you find out?" you asked after a few seconds' silence. "That it was Ser Derion, I mean."

"He likes to talk when he's drunk," Aemond answered. "It seems like you made quite the impression on him."

A small smile curved your mouth. "He shouldn't have scared me, then. You were the one who taught me that move."

A hum that was more like a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. "He shouldn't have scared you at all."

"Would you have killed him?" You weren't sure why, but you needed to know that.

For the first time since the conversation had started, Aemond turned his head to face you. His eyepatch was gone, and he had taken the sapphire out, so all that stared back at you was one blue eye and an empty hole. It would have been terrifying to some. To you, it felt more like an expression of trust. He never let anyone else see him like this, not even Alicent.

His voice was quiet, but you caught edges of his previous anger, licking around the words like dragonfire. "He would have deserved it."

"His father is on the Small Council - friends with your grandfather. Why would you–"

"You are my wife." He didn't raise his voice, but there was no mistaking the force behind the words. "My wife," he repeated, and cupped your chin to lift your eyes to his. "That means no one is allowed to hurt you." His gaze flickered down to your lips, the two of you so close there was a breath between you and a kiss. "Not even me."

Just like that, the light went out in his eye and he started to pull away, but you caught his hand. "Aemond, please. Don't run from me."

"I killed him." He looked at you again, as if daring you this time. "I killed your brother."

"Vhagar killed my brother. I know you tried to stop it - that you would have tried. She's an old dragon that has seen too many battles and now recognises more foes than friends. That is not her fault, and neither is it yours." You linked your fingers with his, just like you had all those years ago. "I blamed you because I was shocked, and grieving, and I thought having someone to hate would ease some of that pain, but it did not. It only made it worse. This war is full of people who hate, and it will only get worse if we turn on the ones we love."

You touched your forehead to his. "I loved my brother, and I miss him. But you are my family too. Ānogar ānograro. And I do not want to lose any more time with you."

You pressed a kiss to his lips, and after a second, Aemond responded, pulling you in closer. Water splashed over the sides of the tub as he tugged you into his arms, but neither of you cared at the moment. This was something that had been too long coming.

Some time later, you lay in the big bed in the corner of the room, your head resting on Aemond's chest. You looked up at him, a smile touching your mouth.

"What is it?" he asked, frowning a little.

"Only that this is the most relaxed I have seen you in a long time."

His mouth curved reluctantly. "I haven't had much to smile about. Not without you."

You nodded. "I know the feeling." The last few months had been the longest you two had ever been separated - the near-decade between Driftmark and your marriage did not count due to the letters that had bridged the gap. No, not speaking to Aemond, not being near him, had left a hole in your heart that you had only recently come to realise. And now it had been filled again.

You held his hand tightly. "Don't leave me again." Realistically, you knew it wasn't a promise he could make. War had a way of destroying even the brightest hopes. But you needed to hear it anyway. Needed to hear that he would fight his way back to you, no matter what, and that somewhere on the other side there was a future where the two of you would never be parted.

His lips brushed your forehead. "Not while I still have breath."

In this moment, it was all he could give. And for you, it was more than enough.

[peppymintdreams]

Faithful to the King

Lord Diavolo x MC

The kingdom you called home had been nothing more than a hollow shell for as long as you could remember. The palace gleamed with wealth, each opulent room a monument to corruption, while the people who toiled in the fields and villages were starving, dying under the weight of the royal family's greed. The king and his court were cruel beyond words, their hearts blackened by decadence. It was no secret that they lived lavishly off the sweat and blood of their people. The royal family's cruelty was the very foundation of the kingdom’s decay.

You had grown up in the kingdom’s shadow, a "peasant" by status, though you carried blood that was tied to the higher ranks of the village. Despite your position, you had watched as your people were ground into the dirt. The kingdom needed a savior—a liberator. But who would dare to challenge the monarchy? Who could even hope to do so?

The answer, you found, lay in the realm of the unknown—the Devildom.

You had learned of dark magic, of ancient rituals whispered by those who had dared to walk the forbidden paths. Your desperation had pushed you to study these lost arts, to summon an entity powerful enough to topple the evil that reigned in your kingdom. There was only one being you knew of who could accomplish such a feat: Diavolo, the King of Hell himself.

You knew the price. You had heard the rumors. A deal with a devil was never free, but what choice did you have? If you were to free the kingdom, you would need power—unimaginable power.

On that fateful night, you stood alone in the deepest recesses of your cottage, the air thick with the scent of burning herbs and candles. You muttered the incantation, your voice trembling but determined. The symbols etched into the floor began to glow as a low hum filled the air. With every word, you could feel the air grow colder, darker, as though the very fabric of reality was bending to your will.

And then, before you, a rift tore open in the fabric of the world. The ground trembled, and from the darkness, he emerged.

Diavolo.

The King of the Devildom. A figure that was both mesmerizing and terrifying, his presence commanding and undeniable. His golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race, his lips curling into a smile that was both sinister and entrancing.

"Ah, so you’ve summoned me," Diavolo’s voice was rich, deep, like thunder rolling in the distance. "A mortal, no less. You must be desperate, to reach out to me."

You didn’t flinch. "I seek your help," you said, your voice steady despite the shiver running down your spine. "The royal family in my kingdom is evil. They care nothing for their people. They live in decadence, while the kingdom crumbles beneath them. I want to see them fall. I want to see my people free."

A glint of amusement flashed in Diavolo's eyes, but there was something else—a dark interest, a spark of curiosity. He tilted his head, regarding you with a mixture of admiration and caution.

"Bold," he mused, stepping closer. "And what do you offer in return for my help? The price is never small when dealing with someone like me."

"I offer you my soul," you declared, your voice unwavering, though your heart ached at the weight of your words. "In exchange for your aid in bringing down the royal family and claiming the kingdom for myself. I am willing to bind my fate to you, Lord Diavolo, if you will help me."

Diavolo’s smile widened, his sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. "A soul for the fall of a kingdom," he mused, as though testing the weight of your words. "I find your offer... tempting. But are you certain? The cost of such a pact is not one easily undone. You will be mine—body, soul, and everything in between. You will belong to me forever."

You took a deep breath, knowing that the moment you sealed this deal, there would be no turning back. "I would rather be yours, Diavolo, than live in a kingdom ruled by monsters. I will make them pay for their sins."

His laughter rang out then, rich and dark, a sound that sent a shiver of both fear and excitement through you. "Very well, mortal," Diavolo said, his voice soft but laced with power. "Your soul is mine. And in exchange, I shall grant you the power to destroy the royal family and claim the throne as your own. But know this: you will have no other master. You will walk by my side, as my consort, my partner in both power and desire."

You felt a surge of energy, a sudden rush that left your senses reeling as the pact was sealed. The magic crackled in the air, binding you to him in a way that left your very soul trembling. The weight of your decision settled over you like a cloak, but it was not one of regret. It was a cloak of purpose.

Diavolo's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. "When you claim the throne, remember this moment," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Remember who made it possible. And remember that it is I who holds the strings of your fate, mortal."

As the rift between the realms closed, you were left standing alone in the aftermath, your mind racing with the enormity of what had just transpired. But the excitement, the anticipation of what was to come, burned brighter than any fear you had. The royal family would fall, and you would be the one to deliver their doom. The kingdom would be free. And once it was, Diavolo’s kingdom would have its own place in your heart, and you would have no regrets.

But as the darkness of your pact settled in, you knew one thing for certain: nothing would ever be the same. You had given your soul, and now, you would be bound to the devil himself. And yet, despite the price, a strange thrill coursed through your veins.

You would bring them to their knees. You would bring them all to their knees. And in the end, you would rule by Diavolo’s side.

The throne would be yours, and the kingdom would be free—forever.