#untuck NOW queen...

[captainzigo]

[sweetlemondream]

made these in a frenzy... dale cooper says happy pride diva

[bestdressedinred]

just two 🏳️‍⚧️

[renightmare31743]

[s0domizer]

my daily contribution to this fandom. pls take it as an offering.. id like to make friends hehehexhahjs

[soullessjack]

hey is this anythign

[minka-cola]

[mildmayfoxe]

hello my friends. who’s watching drag race this season

[soupouls]

best satori and marisa interaction

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aegon has been in love with reader for years but she got betrothed to Aemond. She finds Aegon drunk at her door and she takes him in. He tells her he loves her and make smut happen please

I've been on a roll with these request this week! Only three days until the start of Season 2 *screaming*

Question: Should I add Cregan Stark to my character list? If yes, please send requests for him <3

Warnings: 18+, smut, drunk!Aegon, unprotected p + v, cheating (on Aemond)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When the news dropped, Aegon was devastated. He had always known his feelings for you ran deep, but hearing that you were to be betrothed to his own brother made him regret not asking for your hand sooner. The thought of losing you to Aemond gnawed at his heart.

In a fit of fury, Aegon stormed into Aemond's chambers, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘’You knew of my feelings for her, how can you do this to me?’’ he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. 

Aemond looked up from his book, his expression calm and composed. ‘’Father wanted to unite our families. I’m only doing my duty,’’ he replied, his tone measured and devoid of emotion.

Aegon’s frustration boiled over. He slammed his fist on the table, making the goblets and plates clatter. ‘’Fuck duty!’’ he shouted. His voice broke as he continued, ‘’I just…I just want her.’’

Aemond sighed, placing his book aside. ‘’I was asked to marry her, not you. You already have the throne.’’

The throne was given to him because he was the first son. Aegon never asked for it, never cared for ruling or showed interest in politics. He would rather spend his life with you and Sunfyre than sit on the Iron Throne. 

‘’I would exchange my birthright for her in a heartbeat,’’ he confessed, his voice unwavering.  

Later at dinner, Aegon didn’t come down to eat. He couldn't beat the idea of seeing you sitting beside Aemond during a meal. So, he stayed in his chamber, drowning himself with wine. His goblet wasn’t even empty that he would fill it up again. 

He drank until the sun went down and his pitcher was almost empty, and fell asleep on his couch with his goblet in hand. It wasn’t surprising considering how much he had drunk. 

When Aegon woke a few hours later, the castle was sleeping under the cover of darkness. He stood and found himself stumbling through the corridors. His feet carried him to your door in the guest wing, having been many many times. You always took the same chamber when you visited King’s Landing. Aegon raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door creaked open.

You expected to find a servant with your tea, but instead found your uncle Aegon. A frown of surprise and concern creased between your eyebrows. ‘’Aegon? What are you doing here?’’

He swayed slightly, leaning heavily against the doorframe with his undershirt untucked from his breeches. His eyes were red, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. ‘’You can’t marry him. Please, don’t marry him,’’ he mumbled, his words slurred from the wine.

You should have walked him back to his chamber or alert the Queen of her son’s state, but instead you stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. 

Aegon stumbled through the doorway, and you came to his side, helping him sit onto the bed bench. He leaned forwards as you let go of him, resting his forearms on his thighs and his spinning head in his hands. 

You watched him with a heavy heart, guilt knotting your stomach. ‘’I’m sorry for the betrothal. I wanted to tell you myself, but our parents sent the ravens before I could.’’ 

‘’Don’t marry Aemond.’’ Aegon grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him. ‘’Don’t do this to me.’’ He looked up at you, his eyes pleading. 

You stayed silent, looking down at him. There were a hundred reasons you should put a stop to this right now. Aegon was drunk. He wasn’t in his right mind. And yet, seeing him like this, vulnerability written all over him, made your heart ache for him. 

‘’You’re drunk. This wasn’t a good idea. Let’s get you back to your chamber.’’ You reached for his arm to help him up, but grabbed your wrist. ‘’Aegon…’’ you sighed.

He pulled you closer to him, but you remained standing. Aegon’s voice was barely a whisper, his words more a plea than a demand. ‘’It’s me you should marry, not my brother.’’ 

You pulled on your wrist, but his grip only tightened. ‘’Aegon, let go. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.’’ 

He shook his head, his eyes fixated on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. ‘’I know exactly what I’m saying. I…I love you. I always have. And I can’t bear the thought of you marrying him.’’ 

Your heart was racing in your chest. 

Despite the feud between your mothers, you and Aegon had always been close. He was there when you claimed your dragon, took the blame when you got caught stealing lemon cakes in the kitchen, and always invited you to dance at gatherings, even though he hated dancing. He even exchanged letters with you when you moved to Dragonstone, secretly writing back despite his terrible handwriting and his mother's interdiction. You were his favorite person, the only one he felt truly cared for him.

And now, he was sitting in your chamber, confessing his feelings to you out of pain and desperation.

You wanted to scream. 

At yourself for not recognizing his underlying feelings. At him for not saying those words sooner. At your mother and grandsire for arranging a betrothal with Aemond. He was closer to you in age, mayhaps it was the reason for their decision? And most of all, at the cruel twist of fate that had kept you blind to what was right in front of you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Thoughts swirled chaotically in your mind, overwhelming you. You needed time to think, time to process everything. 

But time wasn’t in your hands, it was ticking and passing fast, so you crashed your lips on Aegon’s. He brought you down to his lap, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed across your hips and thighs and everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to bring you closer. You could taste the wine on his lips, the bitter alcohol still lingering in his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair as a moan left his throat, igniting the fire between two dragons.

Impatient, Aegon pulled at the laces of your nightgown while you discarded him of his undershirt and threw it on the floor. Your nightgown found the same fate, goosebumps rising across your skin from the cool air or the room. 

His hands skimmed along your sides, coming to rest on your hips as he rocked against you, his body betraying his need. The rough fabric of his breeches brushed against your bare cunt, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. 

Your lips moved from his lips to his jaw, trailing a path of kisses along his jawline and down to his neck. His breath caught in his throat as your lips and teeth found the sensitive spot between his collarbone and throat. Aegon let out a soft moan, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving small imprints that would surely turn into bruises come morning.

His hands continued to roam, exploring every inch of your body that he could reach. He moved his lips down to your chest, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your breasts. You arched your back in response, the feeling of his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

What you were doing was wrong and breaking many rules, but you couldn’t stop. It felt too good. 

Aegon pushed you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he found your lips again. His hands fumbled with the ties of his breeches, desperately trying to undo them while keeping the kiss going. A soft groan escaped him as he managed to push them down, freeing himself from the constricting material. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine. His body was hot and demanding as he pressed himself closer to you. A gasp left your lips when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, surprised by how warm it felt. 

You gripped his shoulder as Aegon pushed himself inside, your walls closing around him in a snug grip. Aegon’s breath hitched from how tight you felt, his eyes closing briefly as he sank deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as your body adjusted to him. 

When he started to move, you felt like he was splitting you in half…but in a good way. You clawed at his back, soft little sighs spilling from your lips as Aegon thrusted into you. 

Unfortunately, the pleasure didn’t last long. You were so wet and squeezing him too good that after only a few thrusts, Aegon spilled inside you. 

In his defense, he was drunk and not entirely in control of his cock. 

The sunlight coming through the large window woke you up. You turned away from the window and buried your face into your pillow, trying to fall back asleep, but your arm came into contact with something — someone. 

You opened your eyes, the late events of the night surfacing, and saw Aegon lying beside you. He was still fast asleep, his white hair tousled and messy. His face was relaxed, a stark contrast from his drunkenness. For a moment, you just watched him. He looked so peaceful and calm when he slept.

The light streamed over his face, illuminating the sharp planes and angles of his features. You reached out, gently brushing away a strand of hair from his forehead. 

He stirred at your touch, but didn’t open his eyes. ‘’What is it, Mother?’’ 

You chuckled softly, watching as Aegon stirred in his sleep. 

He mumbled again, shifting under the covers. His eyes still closed, he reached out blindly and brushed his fingers against your waist. The contact startled him, not expecting to find another body in his bed, and he opened his eyes. 

A mixture of embarrassment and confusion flickered across his face, remembering his drunk stumble into your chamber. 

‘’I’m sorry for last night,’’ Aegon apologized, his voice strained and hoarse because of how dry his mouth felt. ‘’I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?’’ 

You decided against mentioning his short sexual performance. ‘’More than usual? No.’’ 

He laughed, then groaned as his head pounded. 

‘’Aegon?’’ you said quietly. He hummed. ‘’Why didn’t you say you have feelings for me?’’ 

‘’Because I enjoy self-sabotaging my life.’’ 

You swatted his arm. 

‘’I need to speak to my mother,’’ you declared after a moment of silence. 

The hour was early, but she should be awake. 

You climbed out of bed, your naked body exposed in the bright light of day as you moved around your chamber. There was an ache between your legs, reminiscent of Aegon’s passage inside your intimate part. 

‘’I do not wish to go through the same suffering she endured in her first marriage.’’ You grabbed a dress from the wardrobe and dressed yourself. It was more difficult without the help of a handmaid. ‘’And I know exactly how to convince her to call off the betrothal. I broke my vows to Aemond, I let you take my maidenhood. They will have no choice but to let us wed.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios@shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

[chubbybunnytgirl]

untuck NOW queen (but it's about her belly from her waistband)

[asmodeauxx]

I regret to inform that there is not a lick of regret in those eyes

was doing research into imps n stuff for my little OC project and I saw this

I know what must be done.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Bane of my existence

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! reader

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: 18+, NSFW

Your history with Benedict Bridgerton had long been marked by sharp barbs and subtle jabs, a rivalry that stretched back to your earliest years. From the very moment you first met, your differences had been irreconcilable, and thus, the Queen’s daughter and the second Bridgerton son had found themselves at constant odds, locked in a battle that spanned childhood, youth, and now adulthood.

The first incident you could recall occurred at the tender age of eleven, at a garden party your mother had hosted. You stood with all the grace befitting a royal, posture straight, hands folded properly before you, while Benedict, with his shirt untucked and face smeared with dirt, had bounded into view.

"You appear as though someone carved you from stone," he had declared with a cheeky grin, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "All stiff and far too serious."

Your nose had wrinkled in disgust at his unruly appearance. "And you, sir, resemble a wild beast escaped from the forest. Have you no sense of decorum?"

Benedict had merely laughed, unbothered by your rebuke. "What’s the use of decorum when fun can be had?"

It was then, you supposed, that the antagonism between you was born an endless exchange of insults that grew fiercer as the years passed. Every ball, every gathering, every accidental meeting in the gardens of your respective homes became a stage for your verbal sparring. You, the epitome of refinement and dignity, and he, the charming rogue who seemingly cared for none of it.

In your teenage years, things only worsened. Benedict had grown into his looks, tall and handsome, with a carefree demeanor that drew many an admirer to him, though none more unwillingly than yourself. At a ball hosted by the Queen herself, you had stood across the room, watching with disdain as Benedict flirted shamelessly with a young debutante. It irked you, though you could not understand why.

"Are you jealous, Your Highness?" he had teased when he caught your gaze, his lips curling into a wicked smile.

"Jealous?" you had scoffed, lifting your chin. "I am merely astonished that you manage to capture the attention of anyone at all, given your deplorable manners."

Benedict had sauntered closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "You wound me. Perhaps you care more than you let on."

"I assure you, I do not," you had responded icily, though the rapid beating of your heart betrayed you.

Yet the more you pushed him away, the closer he seemed to draw. His infuriating charm, his roguish wit it all aggravated you beyond measure. And still, you couldn’t deny that some part of you thrived on the challenge he presented. You were two forces constantly in opposition, and neither of you could back down.

But the night that truly shifted everything came much later, when the two of you had grown into adults,adults with a history of conflict, yes, but with something deeper stirring beneath the surface, though you were too proud to acknowledge it.

The night of the fateful ball had begun like any other. You arrived, as you always did, resplendent in your finest gown, your chin held high as you entered the grand ballroom. You had resolved to avoid Benedict Bridgerton altogether that evening, for the mere thought of another sparring match with him exhausted you. But, as always, fate had other plans.

Across the room, you saw him leaning casually against a pillar, his eyes scanning the crowd with that familiar look of lazy amusement. His gaze met yours, and though you tried to look away, something held you in place. It was infuriating, the way he could draw your attention with so little effort. You scolded yourself for the flush that crept up your neck as you turned to your current dance partner, determined to focus on anyone but Benedict.

In your determination to be rid of him from your thoughts, you had flirted with the gentleman in your company more boldly than usual, laughing at his every remark and placing your hand on his arm in a way you knew would be noticed. And noticed it was.

Benedict had appeared by your side, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing with something dark and unfamiliar. "Might I cut in?" he asked, though his tone was not so much a request as a command.

Your dance partner had stepped aside, leaving you standing there with Benedict, your heart racing in anticipation of yet another argument.

"Have you something to say, Mr. Bridgerton?" you asked coolly as he led you to the edge of the ballroom.

"Oh, plenty," he replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "Is this how you secure a gentleman’s affections? By simpering and laughing at their every word?"

You had stared at him in shock. The barb was sharper than any he had thrown before. "What concern is it of yours how I behave?" you demanded, your voice trembling with barely contained fury.

"I had thought you had more dignity than to act like... like a common flirt," he bit out, the venom in his tone unmistakable.

His words struck you like a blow to the chest, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek, betraying your anger and hurt. The look in his eyes changed immediately regret flickered across his face, but it was too late. You turned and fled, refusing to let him see how deeply he had wounded you.

For weeks, you shut him out completely. You ordered the guards to turn him away from the palace, refusing to see him whenever he came to call. The hurt he had inflicted upon you ran too deep. You had always sparred with him, yes, but never had he been so cruel. And what’s worse, you hated how much his words had affected you. Why did it matter what he thought? Why did “he” matter at all?

Yet, despite your attempts to forget him, Benedict occupied your thoughts at all hours. His absence gnawed at you, and though you refused to admit it to yourself, you missed him. You missed the way his presence had always drawn a spark from you, the way he challenged you in a way no one else ever had.

The culmination of your silence came at Lady Danbury’s ball. You had resolved to enjoy yourself that evening, to forget Benedict Bridgerton and all the chaos he brought into your life. But, as you danced with another suitor, you felt that familiar gaze upon you once more. Benedict’s eyes followed your every move, and something inside of you stirred, a mixture of longing and anger.

As you flirted with your current partner, you saw Benedict’s expression darken, his gaze narrowing in jealousy. Without warning, he stormed across the ballroom and interrupted your dance, his voice tight with barely restrained fury.

"May I cut in?" he asked, though it was clear he would brook no refusal.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, allowing him to take your hand and lead you from the crowded ballroom. He guided you into a private study, closing the door behind him, his expression one of frustration and desperation.

"I cannot stand it any longer, Y/N," he began, his voice low and urgent. "This charade between us it must end."

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin in defiance. "Charade? What nonsense are you speaking now?"

"I love you," he said, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. "I have always loved you, and it is driving me mad. These games we play this endless fighting I cannot bear it anymore."

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden confession. "You... love me?"

"Yes," he breathed, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours. "And I fear I have ruined everything with my careless words. I never meant to hurt you that night. I was jealous of seeing you with another man, when all I have ever wanted was you."

For a moment, you were silent, your heart racing as his words sank in. This was what you had both been avoiding, what had simmered beneath the surface for years. All the arguments, the rivalry, the tension it had been love all along.

"Benedict," you whispered, your voice soft as you reached out to touch his cheek. "Why did we waste so much time fighting?"

"I know not," he replied, covering your hand with his own. "But I swear to you, I will fight no longer. I will love you, if you will have me."

Your heart swelled with warmth as you stepped into his arms, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "Then kiss me, Mr. Bridgerton, and let us end this foolish war once and for all."

And kiss you he did. It was a kiss filled with years of longing, of frustration, of love that had been denied for far too long. As his lips met yours, you felt every barrier between you crumble, leaving only the truth of what you both had known all along. You were meant to be together, and nothing not even years of rivalry could keep you apart now.

When the kiss finally ended, you rested your forehead against his, a smile curving your lips. "It appears we are not enemies after all."

"No," Benedict whispered, his arms tightening around you. "We are lovers, and we always shall be."

Benedict's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed at Y/N. The years of tension between them had finally reached a breaking point. With a swift motion, he lifted her onto the nearby desk, their lips crashing together in a passionate kiss.

"Benedict," Y/N gasped as his lips trailed down her neck. "I've never... This is all so new to me."

He paused, looking into her eyes with tenderness. "We'll take it slow, my love. Trust me."

As they continued exploring this new intimacy, Benedict guided Y/N gently, explaining each sensation and asking for her consent. Y/N's reactions were filled with wonder and growing desire.

"Is there more?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes shining with curiosity and trust.

Benedict smiled warmly. "My love, there is so much more. But only if you're ready to take that step. We have all the time in the world."

Y/N's heart raced as she gazed into Benedict's eyes, her body trembling with anticipation. "I'm ready," she whispered, her voice filled with trust and desire.

Benedict's hands gently caressed her face. "Are you certain, my love? We can stop at any time."

Y/N nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair. "I want this. I want you, Benedict."

With tender care, Benedict began to undress her, his lips trailing kisses along each newly exposed patch of skin. Y/N gasped at the sensations, her inexperienced body responding eagerly to his touch.

"Benedict," she breathed, "what are you doing? It feels... incredible."

He looked up at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Allow me to show you, darling."

Benedict's fingers deftly unlaced Y/N's corset, his touch sending shivers down her spine. As the garment fell away, he paused, drinking in the sight of her.

"You're breathtaking," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Y/N blushed, unused to such open admiration. "Benedict, I..."

He silenced her with a gentle kiss. "Trust me, my love. Let me worship you as you deserve."

His lips trailed lower, exploring newly exposed skin. Y/N gasped, overwhelmed by the sensations. Her fingers clutched at the desk's edge, her body arching towards Benedict's touch.

"Oh!" she exclaimed softly. "Is this... is this what it's supposed to feel like?"

Benedict looked up, his eyes dark with passion. "This is just the beginning, darling. There's so much more to discover together."

Y/N trembled with anticipation as Benedict's hands gently caressed her thighs. His touch was reverent, exploring every curve and contour of her body with tender care.

"Benedict," she whispered, her voice quivering. "I've never felt anything like this before."

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with love and desire. "I promise to make this perfect for you, my darling. Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable."

As his lips brushed against her inner thigh, Y/N gasped softly. The sensations were overwhelming, but exquisite. She tangled her fingers in Benedict's curls, urging him closer.

"Please," she breathed, though unsure exactly what she was asking for. "I need... more."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Benedict's skilled ministrations sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her fingers tightened in his curls, holding him close as she arched against the desk.

"Benedict," she gasped, her voice trembling with newfound desire. "I... I feel like I'm about to..."

Benedict looked up, his eyes dark with passion. "Let go, my love. I've got you."

With a soft cry, Y/N surrendered to the sensations, her body shuddering with release. Benedict held her gently, whispering words of love and praise as she came down from her high.

As Y/N's breathing steadied, she gazed at Benedict with wonder and adoration. "That was... incredible," she murmured. "Is there truly more?"

Benedict smiled tenderly, caressing her flushed cheek. "Only if you're ready, darling. We have all the time in the world."

Benedict's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed at Y/N. With gentle but firm hands, he guided her to the edge of the desk. "Are you sure about this, my love?" he asked, his voice husky.

Y/N nodded, her eyes filled with trust and longing. "Yes, Benedict. I want you."

Slowly, reverently, Benedict joined their bodies. Y/N gasped at the new sensation, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He moved carefully, allowing her time to adjust.

"More," Y/N breathed after a moment. "Please, Benedict."

A smirk played on his lips as he gradually increased his pace. The room filled with their soft gasps and moans as they moved together, lost in passion.

As their climax approached, Benedict pulled away, finishing in a nearby handkerchief.

Y/N looked at him, confused. "What was that?"

"My seed," he explained gently. "I want to marry you properly before we risk creating a child."

Y/N's eyes widened with understanding, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "Oh," she whispered, her voice a mix of embarrassment and awe. "I hadn't even thought about... children."

Benedict smiled tenderly, cupping her face in his hands. "There's no need to be embarrassed, my love. It's all part of the beautiful journey we're embarking on together."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with emotion. "You're always so thoughtful, Benedict. It's one of the many reasons I love you."

"And I love you, my darling," Benedict replied, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Now, we should probably make ourselves presentable before someone comes looking for us."

As they began to straighten their clothes and hair, Y/N couldn't help but giggle. "What will we tell people if they ask where we've been?"

Benedict's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Why, we were simply engaged in a heated debate about... art. Yes, art. That sounds believable, doesn't it?"

Y/N playfully swatted his arm. "You're incorrigible, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Only for you, Your Highness," he replied with a wink.

Benedict's eyes lit up with joy as he gazed at Y/N. "My love," he said softly, taking her hands in his, "shall we share our happiness with the world? Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

Y/N's heart soared at his words. She nodded, tears of joy glistening in her eyes. "Yes, Benedict. A thousand times yes!"

They shared a tender kiss, sealing their promise to each other. As they parted, Benedict's expression turned playful. "Well then, future Mrs. Bridgerton, shall we go scandalize the ton with our news?"

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Lead the way, my love. I can't wait to see Lady Whistledown's column tomorrow!"

Hand in hand, they left the study, ready to face the world together. As they stepped into the ballroom, all eyes turned to them. The whispers began immediately, but Benedict and Y/N paid them no mind. They had eyes only for each other.

And just like that, their story became legend the tale of the Queen's daughter and the artistic Bridgerton son, whose rivalry turned to love against all odds.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Who You Belong To

Pairing: Raymond Smith x Reader x Tangerine

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only

Notes: Aaaaaaand 800 years later, I finished writing one of those things I said I was writing. Not Beta-read.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content—cumshot, oral sex, fingering, rough sex, vaginal sex, threesome, creampie, cumplay

Summary: It’s in the way Tangerine’s jaw tightens; in how he yanks the cigarette from his lips and flicks it away rather than savoring the last drag. It’s in the way he yanks your car door open, snaps, “In,” Rather than hold it open for you with a wink like he usually does. Raymond trails you all the way to the car, giving Tangerine a knowing, scathing look over the top of his glasses before he turns down to you with a warmer, far more hospitable gaze.

You know it’s a mistake as soon as it happens. You and Tangerine aren’t exclusive, of course. You’re certain he’d balk if you ever called him your boyfriend, your significant other, or anything of the sort. He’s your fuckbuddy, and that’s that.

But he’s also a possessive little fucker. So you realize that the second he sees you with Raymond—the second he clocks your rumpled, untucked blouse and his ruffled hair—he’ll know.

You can see that he does. It’s in the way Tangerine’s jaw tightens; in how he yanks the cigarette from his lips and flicks it away rather than savoring the last drag. It’s in the way he yanks your car door open, snaps, “In,” Rather than hold it open for you with a wink like he usually does. Raymond trails you all the way to the car, giving Tangerine a knowing, scathing look over the top of his glasses before he turns down to you with a warmer, far more hospitable gaze.

“Lovely doing business with you,” Raymond says. Maybe he knows he’s twisting the screws. Maybe he had been able to tell before—from the way that Tangerine watches you, from how his tone would soften as he turns from speaking to Lemon to speaking to you. Maybe Raymond can tell, and truly didn't care as he bent you over his desk in the Lore of the Land, just after you’d finished talking business. You’ll likely never know. So for now, you just give him a smile and grit out your thanks.

Raymond nods and turns his gaze to Tangerine, shutting your door gently—the exact antithesis of Tangerine’s behavior just moments ago. You watch as he and Raymond share a contentious gaze before Tan is rounding the car to get into the driver's side. You flinch just a touch as he slams the car door shut and starts up the car. You glance at Lemon over your shoulder, and find him pointedly avoiding your gaze.

The ride back to the safe house is uncomfortably silent. You turn on the radio once, and hear three solid notes of Queen's Don't Stop Me Now before Tangerine's hand shoots out, whacking off the power again. When you look at him, he keeps his focus set staunchly through the windshield.

That's bad.

Usually he'll at least shoot you a wink and a smile before refocusing on the road. Now, you just get a good view of his tense jaw, his harsh expression, and one short, irritated sniffle.

--

Tangerine's out of the car first. You don't move; you don't even flinch when the car door slams shut again.

"...I'm just gonna sleep in here," You say after a moment. Lemon snorts.

"That's not gonna solve anythin'. He'll just come an' find you."

You groan, kicking your feet childishly before you finally get out. You shut the door, rounding the car to Lemon's side and looking up at the large, dark townhouse that you've rented for your short stay in London.

"...I'm gonna get some chips," Lemon says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, great! I'll—"

"Go see if Tan wants anythin', will you?" Lemon plows on, beginning to wander away. "Text me. Thanks—and good luck."

You puff out an irritated breath, watching him go. You consider going somewhere else yourself, but a little bit of you knows that you're probably better off just taking your lumps now.

 --

You can hear Tangerine upstairs—stomping from room to room, opening and closing doors, cabinets. You sigh heavily, shrugging out of your coat and kicking your shoes off. You hang the coat up on one of the hooks, double-check that you've locked the door, and then make your way upstairs.

As you round onto the landing, you spy Tangerine out of the corner of your eye, heading down the hall. For a moment, you consider following him. Then you turn, heading into the kitchen instead. You can probably get a drink in before he loses his sweet mind on you. 

You pour one for each of you. Hell, if he doesn’t drink it, you will. You push yourself up onto the counter, swinging your feet. You hear him stomping his way down the hall, then it goes quiet. You can feel his looming presence as he waits in the doorway. You don’t turn to meet his gaze; you don’t ask if he wants his drink. You just take a sip of yours. Tangerine brushes past you, taking up his glass. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him throw it back before he slams the glass down. You spare him a scathing glance before taking another sip from your glass. 

“What the fuck was that?” He spits. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Oh, you’re not.” 

“No.” 

“Really.” 

“Not a clue.” 

“You’re going to pretend that nothing happened?” 

“What exactly do you think happened between myself and Mr. Smith?” 

Tangerine rounds to stand in front of you. You’ve no warning before he’s shoving his hand up your skirt. You suck in a nervous breath, but don’t move otherwise, even as he spears two fingers into your still-slick, tender cunt. He crowds closer as your pussy throbs around the intrusion. 

“You’re gonna tell me you’re this wet just from him holdin’ a fuckin’ door open for ya?” Tangerine glowers at you down the end of his nose. “Hm? You’re really gonna tell me that?” 

“...Depends.”

“On?” 

“Whether or not you’d believe it.” 

Tan’s expression closes off, eyes going dark, and mean. He begins to pump his fingers roughly, palm grinding against your clit. Your lips part in surprise, hips jolting into his touch. 

“Ah no. No no,” He shakes his head. “You an’ I both know what the fuck you did.” 

“And you and I both know that I can fuck whoever I goddamn wa—ant,” Your breath hitches in your throat as Tangerine gives a particularly rough shove of his fingers. 

“Sweet that you think that, sweetheart.” 

Tangerine raises his other hand to grasp your throat. He draws you close by it, forehead knocking against yours. He draws your lower lip between his teeth, giving it a harsh tug before he draws his head back. 

“Take my cock out,” He orders. You reach down, working at his button and zip, hissing as Tangerine’s fingers flex around your throat. “What’d you do for him? Huh?” Tangerine asks. 

“Who says I did anything for him?” You ask, grasping Tangerine and giving him a few strokes. “Maybe he did it for me.” 

“Would explain why your cunt’s so slick. What, he slobber all over it?” 

“Slobber has to be the most unsexy word in the English language.” 

“What, ahead of moist?” 

“I don’t think moist is actually all that bad—Sonofabitch,” You draw in a gasp as Tangerine draws his fingers out of you, pinching your clit. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but Tangerine muscles between them, shifting from foot to foot. 

“You gonna give me any more lip?” 

“I think that’s almost guaranteed, Tan, yeah.” 

“Christ alive—You just never know when to stop, do ya?” 

“Never have a good reason to—oo,” You hiss as Tangerine draws you across the counter, shoving his cock into you without warning or hesitation. “Fucking hell.” You reach out, curling your fingers in the fabric of his waistcoat. 

“There are those sweet words I like so much. You woo ‘im with those, too?” Tangerine’s words are punched out word by word, matched thrust for thrust. You whimper at his harshness, and the way his hand slips from your throat to squeeze the nape of your neck. It’s a treatment you’ve only ever been privy to when a job has gone wrong, or very nearly wrong. In your estimation, this had been a pretty calm interaction. You’d gotten in and out in one piece; you’d even managed to make a friend, in a sense—though Tangerine clearly hadn’t warmed to Raymond the way that you had. 

“What was he like? Huh?” Tan grunts, “Did he fuck you like this?” 

“N-No,” You mumble. 

“No?” “Nn-nn.” You let your lips curl into a malicious smirk. “He did it better.” 

“Fucking—” Tangerine pulls out of you, yanking you off of the surface and turning you around. He shoves you into the counter, bending you over hard marble and driving into you. Your breath punches out of you, head bowing forward. You’re glad he turned you around; he can’t see your giddy grin. You knew he’d take the bait. You’re certain you could come like this, but—

You whine as Tangerine pulls out. You begin to turn to look at him, to ask, but he presses his hand between your shoulder blades, keeping you down over the counter with a grumbled order of, “Stay the fuck there.” His voice is breathy, and low. You can hear his heavy breathing, and the slick stroke of his hand on his cock. You draw in a whimper, fingers flexing against the counter as you feel his cum splatter across your plumped, heated pussy. You wriggle, toes curling in your shoes. 

“Gimme your phone,” He orders. You fish into your pocket of your jacket, passing it over before Tangerine plucks ut out of your hand. You swipe your tongue across your lips. 

“What are you doing?” 

Tangerine doesn’t answer for a moment; you just feel him shoving your skirt up, followed by the sound of the camera shutter clicking a couple of times. Then the skirt is dropped back down, and you hear the tapping of Tangerine typing. 

“What are you doing, Tangerine?” 

“Showing your friend…” He tosses the phone onto the counter beside your head. “Who you belong to.” You flinch as he slaps your ass roughly, and you feel the heat of him falling away. “Get yourself cleaned up, love.” 

You push yourself up on shaking arms as you hear him walking away. You turn your head, eyeing the photo sent to Raymond’s contact—Tangerine’s hand, his signet ring fully visible, grasping your skirt and displaying your cum-splattered cunt. You shiver, bowing your head forward as embarrassment flashes through you. It’s heightened as your phone flashes with Raymond’s incoming call. You don’t dare not answer him. You reach out with a shaking hand and tap to accept the call before raising it to your ear. 

“...Bring him to the address I’m going to send you,” Raymond orders. 

“I have to get cleaned up—” 

“Don’t. Just come over here.” 

“Now?” 

“Now.” 

--  

You mumble your thanks as Raymond passes you a glass of scotch. You don’t take a sip right away. You just shift from foot to foot as you lean back against his counter. Raymond’s home is just like his desk at the Lore of the Land—pristine, neat, with everything in its place. Raymond shoots you a wink as he turns back toward you, and you have to bite back a smile. 

Tangerine’s watching closely, and you’ve been in enough trouble today as it is. 

You watch as Raymond rounds to where Tangerine is sitting at Raymond’s dining room table, proffering a glass to him as well. Tangerine’s gaze darts between it and Raymond; you can see his eye twitching a touch at Raymond’s boozy little olive branch. When Tangerine doesn’t take it, Raymond sets it down on the table in front of him with a mutter of, “Right.” 

Then Raymond turns, heading back toward the kitchen. He stops between the two of you, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I seem to have ruffled a few feathers.” 

“You didn’t ruffle anything—” You start to insist. 

“That shit we handled with you an’ Pearson, she wasn’t part’a the deal,” Tangerine cuts over you.

“I didn’t think that she was.” Raymond’s brows raise. He seems more amused than annoyed; Tangerine seems like he’d like to rip Raymond’s head off just about now. 

“And I didn’t act like I was,” You counter. 

“If I’d known that…associating with your colleague would’ve made such an impact on your mood…” Raymond smiles, leaning against the counter beside you, “I would’ve done it twice.” 

You scoff a laugh, unable to help it. “You’re not making this better.” 

“Who said I was trying to?” 

“Wow.” 

“Alrigh’,” Tangerine hops up, grasping the glass of scotch and draining it before slamming it down so hard that you’re certain it’ll crack. “We’re going.” 

“I think you ought to stay,” Raymond says. “I could teach you a thing or two.” 

“There is not a goddamn thing you could teach me.” 

“I think there are a few things that I could teach you.” 

“Like what?” 

“How to treat a lady, for one.” 

“You think I don’t know how to treat my girl?” 

“Your girl?” Raymond repeats, brows tipping up as he glances between the two of you. “Oh…That’s not what she told me.” 

Panic and arousal surge through you as Tangerine’s gaze snaps toward you, eyes narrowing a touch. You just give a little shrug, raising your glass to your lips and taking a sip.

“Did you get cleaned up?” Raymond asks, glancing toward you. You shake your head. Raymond hums thoughtfully, holding his hand out to you. You hesitate, glancing warily toward Tangerine before you set your glass aside, taking Raymond’s hand. You let him lead you to the table, biting your lip as he nods for you to sit on the edge of it. You settle down, scooching back and letting him push your legs wide.

“Now,” Raymond slides his hands up over your bare thighs, “Typically, I do not abide by mess.”  

“You told me not to clean up,” You pout.

“I did. I think we could teach your friend a lesson.”

“A lesson,” Tangerine repeats, shifting from foot to foot and folding his arms across his chest. “You fuck ‘er once and you think you’ve got the lay of the land? You think she knows what she likes?” 

“Not at all,” Raymond smiles, fingers stroking over your plumped, tender cunt. “I know what she needs.” 

If you were a touch less tense, you’d be able to laugh at the way Tangerine goes red with irritation. 

“You don’t know jack shit, mate,” He seethes. 

“Oh?” Raymond glances up at you, shooting you a wink. “Well, why don’t you come and show me what I don’t know.” 

It’s all Tangerine needs before he’s practically charging across the room and shoving Raymond out from between your legs. Raymond hardly wobbles as Tangerine drops into the chair in front of you. You yelp as he grasps you by the hips, tugging you to the edge of the table and diving in. You draw in a gasp, eyelids fluttering as Tangerine laps hungrily at you. Your gaze flickers to Raymond, grinning as he rounds to lean down beside you. 

“Is that what you needed?” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. You smile hazily, tipping your chin up pleadingly. 

“Yes, Raymond.”

Raymond smiles, catching your lips in a kiss. You prop yourself up on your hands, wobbling just a touch as you raise one to cup his bearded cheek. You suck his plush lower lip with a soft sigh, parting your lips to tease his tongue with yours. You groan as you feel Tangerine draw back.

“Oi!” He barks, “The hell is it worth being down ‘ere if you’re just gonna suck fa—” 

Tangerine doesn’t finish his argument as you feel him pressing sharply against your cunt again. You turn your head from Raymond’s engrossing kisses, eyes widening at the sight of Raymond’s palm resting on the back of Tangerine’s head, shoving him down. You scoff out a stunned laugh as Raymond’s fingers tighten in Tangerine’s hair. You hinge forward as you feel Tangerine moans against you. 

“I didn’t think he’d take this from anyone,” You admit, shifting and propping one of your feet up on the table and easing your hips down against his lips. Raymond hums, nuzzling your jaw. 

“People like him can talk a big game, but they need someone to answer to.” 

“And that someone is you?” You tip your head to the side, raising your brows.  

“Right now,” Raymond smiles. “But if you play your cards right, it could be you.” 

“I’m usually the one taking orders.” 

Tangerine draws back with a sucking kiss, grunting. “She’s bloody good at it, too.” 

You pout, reaching down and giving his forehead a gentle push. 

“I’m right here, asshole.” 

“Be kind,” Raymond urges, squeezing the nape of your neck in a tender scolding. “He’s a little mouthy, but he’s a good boy who cleans up his messes.” 

“Don’t call me a boy,” Tangerine hisses.

“Don’t act like one,” Raymond bats back without blinking an eye. He just shoves Tan’s head back between your thighs, and you jump at the bristly scrape of his mustache, unable to help the way your thighs tense and twitch around his head. You expect more of a fight, but Tangerine just grasps your thighs, fingers tightening around your hips as he groans against your slick, heated flesh. 

“Do you think you can handle it?” Raymond asks against your jaw. 

“Handle what?” You breathe, and your head spins as he tips his chin up, murmuring low in your ear:

“Both of us.” 

--  

It’s not the fight you imagined. Tangerine has fallen in line just as well as you have, and is on far better behavior than you could've ever imagined. He hisses through his teeth as you blink hazily up at him, your lips parted and your jaw dropped as he eases his cock in and out of your panting mouth. 

You hear tandem groans, and you arch your back, tipping your hips down toward Raymond as he eases into your aching pussy. He shushes you softly, fingers skimming over your supple hips and gently nudging you to settle back down onto the table. It’s a struggle; your torn between obeying his command and fucking down against his length. You whimper as Raymond begins to fuck you with long, languorous strokes. It’s an almost lazy punctuation to the way that Tangerine’s hips thrust and jerk, spearing his dick into your mouth. 

“Slow down,” Raymond counsels as he draws his cock back, lingering with the tip tucked snugly in your cunt, “You’ll pop before she’s anywhere near.” 

You turn your head from Tangerine, letting him slip from your lips as you peer up at Raymond, quipping, “He usually does.” The words are hardly out of your mouth before you’re yelping, knees jolting around Raymond’s hips as Tangerine slaps one of your tits sharply, growling, 

“Cheeky.” 

“Dickhea—” You hardly get it out before Tangerine grasps your head, shoving his cock back between your lips. You whine as you feel Raymond’s hands plant on either side of you, his hips beginning to punch more harshly, despite their slowed thrusts. You raise a hand, grasping Raymond’s forearm tightly as your body fights to recognize and categorize every feeling rippling through you. It’s difficult to focus. There’s heat all around you; your mouth is heavy with Tangerine’s weight, your lips stretching with his girth, your tongue, thick with his taste; your cunt stretches and aches as Raymond measures and doles out his thrusts with even, steady, measured composure. 

You want to rattle Raymond. It’s not fair that you can so reduce Tangerine to wanton neediness, but seem to have no such effect on Raymond. Why can’t you shake him? Why can’t you—

Your mind turns to static as Tangerine makes you gag, and Raymond’s cock brushes a spot inside you that makes you keen and throb. You’re so—so full. You’ve never felt so terribly overwhelmed, so horribly distracted while having sex. Tangerine is wonderful on his own, of course, and has been a taskmaster in his own right, but he shows an almost childish impertinence now in the way he shoves into your mouth with a force that has spit and precum spilling from the sides of your parted lips. Raymond’s measured pace is almost more of a hindrance than a help. His counter-pace is driving you to distraction. You can’t bring yourself to time your movements to Tangerine or Raymond’s thrusts. You’re caught too sharply in between. You’re—scrambled. Tangerine is in a race to the finish line; Raymond seems to have all the time in the world. You’re just grasping to each of them in desperation, practically struggling to breathe, let alone respond to the way the two of them use you so thoroughly. 

“You’re going to bust, aren’t you,” Raymond asks him almost boredly. Tangerine doesn’t even argue, just groans as his grip tightens in your hair. You splutter and choke, eyes watering as his hips rabbit, and his cock spills down your throat. You tighten your grip on Raymond, on the only thing anchoring you. Tangerine groans low in his throat, hips jittering before he plops back into a seat with a panting gasp. He doesn’t remain stationary for long—Raymond reaches out, gripping Tangerine’s head and steering him toward your still-stinging nipple. Tangerine seems to almost stumble out of his seat, hands planting roughly beside your body as he swirls his tongue around the pebbled flesh. 

--  

It’s almost mesmerizing, the way Raymond takes you apart. A single strand of hair springs loose from his neat style; his cheeks tinge pink from exertion; the swell of sweat makes his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. Now and again, his tongue sweeps over his plush lips before they part in a shuddering pant. 

He’s rattled, just a little. It makes you preen, and arch down into his touch, tipping your head back to allow Tangerine more room for his bruising nips, and sucks, and kisses. He doesn’t let up, even as you grasp and tug his hair with a warning groan. 

“Poor baby,” Tangerine murmurs. “All wound up, aren’t ya.”

“Shut up,” You mumble shakily. 

“Took so long for fancy-pants to send you off, mm?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Should’ve told me you were such a soft-touch. Needed a little pamperin’.” 

“I don’t need to be pampered—Oh!” You shriek as Raymond lands a stinging whack to your hip. 

“Be nice,” Raymond tuts as he thumbs one of your tender nipples. 

“I am being nice,” You whine. “He’s being an ass.”

“Such pretty words from such a messy mouth,” Tangerine coos. You whimper despite his taunts, tightening your grasp on his hair and on Raymond’s forearm as the coiling feeling in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. Your hips tip down against Raymond, and against his attentive, slick fingers as he swipes them over your throbbing clit. Your orgasm wells up slowly, and you moan as you cum. The sensation seems to ripple through you, your jaw dropped in heated want as your cunt ripples around Raymond’s cock.

You’re vindicated by the grunt that seems to be punched out of him, and the way his cock pulses and twitches. The heat and slickness of his spend makes your nails rake down over his forearm. He hums softly, bowing over you. You shiver as he presses a kiss to the other side of your neck. 

“Atta girl,” Raymond murmurs. “Is that what you needed?” 

“Mhm,” You hum high in your throat, heavy eyelids dropping as you nod dazedly. Raymond squeezes your hip, giving you a moment before he draws back. 

“Fuck,” You breathe as he spreads your thighs. 

“Tangerine,” He urges. You watch as he grasps the back of Tangerine's neck, steering him back between your thighs. You jump at the first brush of his tongue, jolting up and eyeing Tangerine as he laps at your aching cunt, and Raymond’s spend. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Reminding him,” Raymond murmurs, brushing his beard roughly against your neck, “Who you belong to.” 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell

[themotherofblood]

chapter 5 | RIVER OF FIRE | blood runs thick | d.t x reader x r.t

masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter

synopsis: the aftermath of Alicent being wed to Viserys.

~ “Did you think it all true, all these things will catch up to you now.” ~

It truly wasn’t much of a bother, was it. Here you were, threading together a bouquet with gold silk threads and next to you paced Rhaenyra, cursing practically anyone that would dare interrupt her maniacal pacing. Five steps she would walk forward, mutter curses under her breath and then she would turn, walk five more. The antechamber almost grew hot, burning along with Nyra’s ire, the dragon flames within her burnt so bright, you feared for the Queen’s life.

She was just next door, being readied for her wedding by her Hightower cousins, you could hear the rambling and muffled giggling and jangles of gold bangles and necklaces. Her wedding to Viserys - by the gods - even now brought bile to the back of your mouth coating it with bitter thickness. It wasn't unheard of but perhaps when the bride bleeds from so close to home, one might truly weep for her virtue. Even if she were to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a girl and a grieving King. What bore far more pain was that she hid it, for months she hid her ongoing relationship with the King, from you, from Rhaenyra. Being unable to aid Rhaenyra through her grief to which Alicent sewed parts of Rhaenyra back together with such ease. She is wise, truly wise, yet she hid this. Rhaenyra believes her a traitor now, for weeks she voiced the fear of Aemma’s memory fading if Viserys were to remarry, Alicent listened and yet said nothing.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the doors to Alicent’s bed chambers opened, ladies poured out one by one, bowing to you and Rhaenyra before heading for the Grand Sept, the bells had begun to ring, marking the King’s arrival to the Sept.

A girl of six and ten turned into a woman, Alicent stood at the door with a stunning ivory gown, her cape sleeves curving around her figure and intricate gold metal work placed on her shoulders to mimic dragon wings, her beautiful brown hair pulled up. She was radiant as always, you couldn't help but smile at her, it was her wedding day after all.

Alicent’s eyes flicker to Rhaeyra, expecting to find some warmth within the purple of her eyes, Nyra gives Alicent a once over, taking in what had seemed like a nightmare come true.

“You look lovely, your grace” the hint of sarcasm coated thick in Rhaenyra’s voice as she bowed to Alicent before taking her leave.

You pitied her, the smile you gave her after screamed so, the Queen loved by all but the one closest to her. You walked her, reaching out to fix an untucked ribbon and then handing her the bouquet.

“Is there no way that I might mend this?” she sighed, sorrowful and guilty.

“Not today.”

She looked defeated as you fussed with pinnings of her wedding dress.

“Not today, because today is about you, our petty problems will be with us tomorrow too, my lady.” you give her a once over before once more smiling at her “today you become Queen.”

This time she matches your smile, a long breath shaking away the sorrow weighing upon her shoulders. You walked behind her, lifting her long train with both arms as she proceeded to walk.

There was this joy, your friend was being wed, a momentous event but you couldn’t breathe past how terrified Alicent looked, and torn over how perturbed Nyra appeared to mask her strong need to sob. Your lover and your companion, both bleeding from the wounds of court and you could help but one, a side that you had to choose. She had ripped through two dolls, sobbing over the one gown she managed to steal from her mother’s chests. She didn’t want a stepmother but most of all she didn't want to have to lose a friend so cruelly. No matter how tightly you held Nyra through the nights and gave her comforting touches, the dark shadow of doom that seemed to follow never left her, it loved her more than you could. More than the sunshine could cast a shadow, it persisted. At supper and at tea, it pained you to watch her so.

So much so, she wrote to Daemon, begging him to return, to stop this madness, speak some sense into his brother but what was done couldn’t be undone by a banished prince, now could it?

You reached for Nyra’s hand as you stood amongst the people, watching the Targaryen cloak draped over Alicent taunt her. All would be well, all must be well, you prayed. A marriage for the stability of the Realm, even with an heir, the lords never truly seemed satiated.

As Alicent and Viserys turned with their heads held high, the crowds cheered, roared in an out pour of joy. A new Queen had blessed the Realm, soon she would bless the Realm with a son.

A son, you looked to Rhaenyra. The whites of her eyes had gone red, moist.

“She is no Queen of mine.” she angrily whispered to you.

In the vast toll of things, one thing you had expected less. Rhaenyra had charged her ladies to be so frigid to the Queen. You sat with her and her ladies, leisurely pushing your needle through the fabric and then back out, every now and then glancing at Alicent and the growing mound of her belly hidden behind the plush blanket she sat under.

A rabid dog with a mustard collar, that’s what you were to her. Shielding her from the bitch-like behaviour many of these courtly ladies had directed towards her. Loud mouthed wenches, snickering behind her back, most of them had expected to be Queen– now they lick their wounds, playing those half cooked political games to gain Alicent’s favour. Most of all, you shielded her from Rhaenyra’s wrath, raging just as hot as Syrax’s fire, burning all those who might to diminish it, though you– immune to the brunt of it all, both figuratively and literally. The Targaryen in you kept you Valyrian-clad, and Rhaenyra’s lover in you kept you protected.

You looked out the window this time, you were sure she was up there– somewhere so high where if she was to let out rageful screams, she would be the only one to hear. Well– her, Syrax and perhaps a vulture or two. You and her had talked about it at length, while Viserys saw the possibility of a spare, all Rhaenyra saw was an heir, to overshadow her, to depose her before her father sold her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. A castle? Gold? Armies or perhaps a foreign political connection, casting her away. Just as Jaehaerys’s daughters suffered, so would she.

Your mother Daenereys was probably the most fortunate of the lot, along with her sister Alyssa. Both women married the men their hearts desired, Alyssa and Baelon producing the purest of Targaryen children and your mother bringing Dorne into the fold by marrying your father Allyrion Martell. You however bleed Martell through and through, unlike your brother that possessed purple eyes, the ravenous features of a true Dornish woman embraced you as you grew, full lips, sun kissed glow, a distinct head of loose curls, leaving but a few streaks of white, just like Princess Rhaenys.

That was besides the point that even with the macabre tradition of the Dornish and the contumacy of Targaryen traditions, you couldn’t fathom admitting that you indeed wanted Alicent’s child to be a boy, for that little child to be heir so you and Rhaenyra could fly east, just like you always dreamed of, marry and live in a quaint little hold with servants purchased from sold jewellery and a farm of your own. Yet once a prey tastes blood, it can only want for more, Rhaenyra’s purpose was this, to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she found power within the title bestowed upon her and just as demanded flaunted his oddities with immunity so would she, you could do naught but follow her, obey her commands and prepare for the day that she would sit the Iron Throne– with a husband on her back instead of you.

You couldn’t give her heirs of her blood, no blood magic nor prayer could change that you too were born a girl, and the unnatural pairing of the two of you would lead to carnage.

“Princess?” the voice of Enorah standing by the doorway tore your attention, you looked at her, momentarily stunned– returning to the world of the living “The Princess Rhaenyra has demanded your presence in the Godswood.”

Demanded

Rhaenyra knew at the cusp at which she played at, your afternoons were Alicent’s by the King’s “suit,” you turn to Alicent apologetically.

“My Queen if I may…”

“Go on, I have my other ladies to keep me company, perhaps I might return to my chambers for some respite.”

You looked around the ladies scattered across the chamber floors before neatly putting away your embroidery ring, you stood, back straight and shrouded in formality. You bowed to your friend before taking your leave.

You knew how you find Rhaenyra in the Godswood, hair mussed— stinking of dragon on the rage of the fourteen flames in her eyes.

“Why must you be with her?”

Something so sacred but irreparable, such a bind of sisterhood never found again. Squandered yet again by what you knew to be the ugly politics of lords in their ivory towers. What irked you the most was the price paid was you— your companions barely old enough to bleed let alone be pawns to whatever bargains were being struck in the Great Halls of the Red Keep.

You remembered the fight they had so vividly, almost envisioning it as you entered the Godswood.

“Rhaenyra, slow down!” You huffed, hiking your skirts to chase behind her.

Viserys had just announced his proclaimation, you stood there. Among the choices he had, along with Laena. Alicent too was— oddly among the lot. It wasn’t a surety until he said her name.

You were sure Rhaenyra felt it harder than you did, right in your gut. A dagger wound, you should have seen this coming. She looked torn, regrettably so, but why? She would be Queen.

Thus you chased out Rhaenyra, down the stairs and to the Godswood where she wiped at her angry tears.

Dear gods

When the realization set it, your closest friend had lied to you, through her teeth. Under the disguise of consolement and wise words of religion and perhaps comfort. She hid her “affairs” with Viserys.

For her sake you wished that she would steer clear of Rhaenyra but such fate was beyond her for she too followed.

“You!” She whipped her head furiously towards Alicent.

“Why? I wept to you, afraid for my mother’s memory and you betrayed me!”

“Rhaenyra truly—“

“You do not speak! You do not breathe near me.”

“Ever again…”

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 6

part 5 | could we? wood we? - - - - -

💤 | cuddles

Kara Zor El, eater of foods, saver of worlds, and, above all else, lover of cuddles, was in a predicament. 

More specifically her predicament was around the whole ‘lover of cuddles’ thing which, normally, wasn’t a predicament. In fact, normally it was second nature. Because of course she was going to sweep Alex into a giant hug any chance she could. And obviously she was going to drag Nia, kicking and screaming, onto a shared loveseat at game night. And most definitely, her internal clock was going to wake an hour early every time Lena slept over to sneak in some extra pre-work cuddles.

Which would have been so normal.

But then Kara discovered The Line in Lena’s closet. And then in the woods there was The Moment.

This was why Kara now lay awake, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she and Lena had plastered to her ceiling three weeks ago mulling. 

And not the good kind that comes around the holidays and brings festive cheer and warmth and tidings of comfort. 

No. There was absolutely no comfort and definitely no festive cheer. This was the kind of mulling that led to existential crises and fretting and second guessing and exactly four inches of space between herself and a soft, slumbering best friend. A demilitarized zone. A limbo. A Line.

And such a predicament it was because, up until recently, it hadn’t crossed Kara’s mind that these late nights turned sleepovers turned early morning cuddles might have toed a line. A line that seemed to loom larger and bigger and greater and cloudier with each passing day because the looming felt heavier and weightier and - oh gosh Lena just looked so peaceful when she slept.

Kara blinked away from her best friend’s curled form and back to the constellations above, settling on the Coma Berenices Lena insisted on making room for just down from Ursa Major. She replayed the Queen’s story in her head, trying to ignore the fact that, normally, she’d already be curled against Lena’s back with a hand wrapped around her waist and nose pressed to her exposed neck. And normally that would have been met with a small sigh and a hand curled around said arm wrapped around said waist and then maybe - maybe - once the soft, steady breathing meant Lena was asleep, then maybe she’d have normally pressed her lips to her neck as a friendly - platonic - goodnight kiss. 

But tonight played out differently than that.

It began like most: Lena came over with a bottle of wine, a bag of take-out, and the soft kind of smile Kara pretended was only ever meant for her.

It continued as usual: they lingered in the kitchen while the bottle was uncorked, the containers were portioned onto plates, and that same soft kind of smile Kara pretended was only ever meant for her lingered behind stories of their days.

It even managed to stay normal through the first thirty minutes of the docuseries: a glass of red was topped-up, the empty plates were stacked on the coffee table, and the soft kind of smile Kara pretended was only ever meant for her was paired with a contented sigh as tucked legs were untucked and extended across Kara’s lap.

And Kara kept it cool as a cucumber. She didn’t overthink the shared blanket wrapped around them or the slip of her hands beneath the soft weave to settle on Lena’s legs or the muscle memory that sent those same hands lightly massaging tight calves or how those same hands wandered and settled where socks and sweats didn’t quite meet or how they danced across the exposed patch of skin or how a yelp of realization flew out of her mouth when she realized what her treacherous hands were doing.

Admittedly, that last bit was not a cool cucumber sort of thing to do. It was more of a ‘having kittens’ moment.

And that’s when the night derailed.

“What’s wrong?” Lena asked a half-standing Kara tripping over the blanket and spilling confused noises from her mouth. 

“I-I… I gotta-”

“Go.”

Surprisingly, it only took a moment for Kara’s adrenaline-fueled brain to connect the dots: she glanced at Lena who was glancing out toward the city, face serious and full of intent.

“This can wait; Supergirl can’t,” Lena continued, reaching to pause the show.

And yea, maybe Kara should found her big girl pants and told Lena there wasn’t an emergency and that her super hearing hadn’t picked up some tragedy that needed her attention and that actually it was because the pads of her unreliable fingers were toeing the friendship line and the hilarity of them being fingers and not toes was not lost on Kara but this was not the moment or time for laughing. This was a time for panicking. 

So Kara didn’t put on her big girl pants. Instead, she got rid of her pants and flaunted her Supergirl outfit and flew out into the night without so much as a cat to untree.

She kept to the skies until well past the soft murmur of Lena’s heartbeat confirmed a deep slumber before, like the coward she was, Kara crept back into her apartment and settled - floated? hovered - just above the mattress.

And mulled.

She hated lying to Lena. Of all the people in her whole multi-planetary life, Lena’s trust mattered to her the most, yet it was hard to tell the truth about something Kara didn’t even fully understand. Was there something to understand?

Her brow crinkled. It was a crinkle that Alex would poke at and Nia would prod at but one Lena would wipe away with a soft brush. Kara wasn’t quite so gentle. She rubbed her nose a bit too aggressively, and maybe that aggression rattled the air a bit too much because the calm of Lena’s breathing broke and her heart stuttered and curled form unrolled and a pair of sleepy eyes landed on Kara’s still very crinkly face.

“Hey,” and ooph did Lena’s sleep voice hit in ways Kara couldn’t articulate. She didn’t try because a hand had already climbed its way to Kara’s forearm and squeezed. “Everything ok?”

“Yea.”

“You sure? Because… Kara are you floating?”

“I, uh… didn’t want to wake you?”

A soft, sleepy chuckle crawled across the mattress and dragged Kara onto the mattress. “My hero.”

The words tickled Kara’s ears. And other things.

“Everyone safe?” Lena continued, pulling the duvet to cover both of them before finding a home nestled into Kara’s side.

“Mhm,” Kara managed, throat tight, pulse racing, and body temperature sweltering past the surface temperature of the sun.

“Good,” Lena hummed and sighed and tucked closer with a comforting arm slipping onto Kara’s waist.

It took seconds for Lena’s breathing to slow and fall back into a rhythmic slumber. Meanwhile, Kara hardly breathed at all, fighting her natural instinct to squeeze an arm around Lena and in lieu of honoring the line.

The line that had already been crossed. And honestly? Crossing the line felt nice. It felt good. It felt perfect.

So, yea. Kara Zor El, eater of foods, saver of worlds, and, above all else, lover of cuddles, was in a predicament. Because her best friend in the whole world was curled around her and maybe - maybe - Kara wanted to keep crossing the line. Because maybe - maybe - Kara wanted something more.

- - - - - -

part 7 | mistletoe magic