#which is an equally delightful treat

[phibsies]

love when emmet hits the :/

[iamthepulta]

(Currently a tie between the Podcast and Zine Map~)

I looked for map references and fell back on Avenza again: they really are a valuable vintage map resource. Cannot recommend highly enough. (Also their digital maps are georeferenced!) They don't have geological maps, but they do have a few styles of world maps. I'm going to hop back into SSkies to get a better idea of where the climates, orientations, and geological formations are~

[sgt-tombstone]

When Johnny asked Simon to come home with him on leave, he had never expected… this.

Johnny’s flat in Glasgow was a tiny thing, barely large enough to fit one, much less two massive soldiers. They made it work well enough, as long as neither of them minded being constantly wrapped up in each other, always within reach, and neither of them did. Their last mission had gone to hell in a heartbeat, and the 141 were lucky to be alive; Price had sent them all home on mandated medical leave, and Simon and Johnny were taking full advantage of the time off base to reacquaint themselves with each other being present and tangible and alive.

That didn’t change the fact, though, that his flat was only slightly larger than a postage stamp, which was fine for a few days, but he had sensed Simon getting antsy, feeling caged in, and had suggested visiting his parents for a couple of days, if only to get out of the house. It wouldn’t be any less oppressive—the MacTavish family was massive and overbearing on the best of days—but it would offer some reprieve from the near-constant contact and the stifling city.

Which was how Johnny found himself staring down at his lieutenant, his partner, curled up on his back on his parents’ couch, fast asleep, a green dinosaur stuffed animal clutched against his chest.

It didn’t look particularly comfortable; Simon was too tall, his legs too long, to be able to stretch out completely, so his knees were hiked up, his socked feet flat against the cushioned armrest. His neck was at an odd angle, resulting in his chin nearly touching his own shoulder, his unmasked cheek squished slightly where it was pressed against the leather. And the stuffed animal…

Johnny had bought it as a gift for one of his nephews, a toddling bairn who had struggled with nightmares, and the shopkeep who sold it to him had assured him that the little beads in the dinosaur’s tummy would provide enough weight to be a comfort without being dangerous. Evidently, his nephew had taken one look at Simon Riley and decided that the scarred soldier needed it more than he did.

Both of Simon’s arms were wrapped around the soft toy, squishing it against his chest, rising and falling with every slow, deep breath. He looked at peace in a way that Johnny hadn’t seen him look in a long time. They had spent the day surrounded by fussing family members and babbling children, their attentions split between warm homemade meals and whatever trinkets had caught the toddlers’ interest. Johnny would’ve felt bad; he was long used to his family’s antics, had grown up surrounded by siblings and cousins and extended relatives. But Simon had taken to it like a duck to water, effortlessly shifting focus from one person to another, treating each with equal sincerity and devotion, the same way he did in the field. It had been a delight to watch, especially when his mam and sisters had taken advantage of Simon’s distraction to shoot Johnny knowing glances.

“Gonna stand there all night, sergeant?”

Johnny startled, not enough to move, but enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing. He recovered quickly though, too well trained to do anything else. Simon hadn’t moved, hadn’t even opened his eyes, and it would’ve unnerved him if he hadn’t spent the last two years cementing himself as a permanent fixture in Simon’s life and, therefore, becoming incredibly used to his partner’s uncanny sense of perception. Even, apparently, while asleep.

“Just wonderin’ if Gaz’d ever believe me if I told him, sir.”

“Take a picture,” Simon grumbled, his voice deep with sleep. “It’ll last longer.”

Johnny snorted a quiet laugh, already imagining the look on his fellow sergeant’s face. He didn’t pull his phone out, though, just like Simon knew he wouldn’t. These moments were for the two of them alone, raw and bare and soft.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he whispered, reaching out to run his hand through Simon’s hair. It was tangled from the grasping of tiny, fisted fingers throughout the day (Johnny’s nephews had never seen blond hair before and, as such, had been absolutely enraptured by Simon’s head of golden hair), and he didn’t mention the way Simon pushed into his hand, seeking touch and warmth like a cat. He also didn’t mention the way Simon continued to hug the stuffed animal to his chest as he unfurled his long legs, stretching slightly, his knees popping, before drawing himself up to his usual towering height. His eyes were half-lidded with sleep, soft in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, the green dinosaur tucked safely in his arms as he followed Johnny upstairs.

In a week, they will be back on base, back to their tactical gear and their sidearms and their razor-sharp focus. They will be shipped out to some foreign soil, either sweltering heat or numbing cold, either dry deserts or soaking rainforests, and blood will be spilled, probably their own, definitely their enemy’s. They will once again be hardened soldiers, products of war, and there will be no room for such softness. Which was why Johnny reveled in the way Simon curled around him now, in a bed two sizes too small for two muscular men, a warm blanket blocking out the worst of the Scottish chill, a green weighted dinosaur stuffed animal clutched in two massive arms against an equally massive chest.

He tucked his nose against the nape of his partner’s neck, one arm thrown over Simon’s hip, and drifted off to the quiet sound of breathing, of comfort, of peace.

[helen-with-an-a]

Christmas Eve (18+)

Did I technically write a Christmas fic back in august? Yes, yes I did. Oh well. Also, will I ever learn to write shorter smut fics? Probably not. Hope everyone has a veyr merry christmas and a happy holidays.

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Description: Not much else to say beyond a smutty, indulgent Christmas Eve fic.

Word Count: 6.2k

TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus, fingering and strap usage (all R receiving: sub-ish reader; dom-ish Lena)

Munich at Christmas was like stepping into a fairytale, a magical transformation where the city seemed to be lifted straight from the pages of a storybook. The cobblestone streets and buildings, bathed in a soft glow from countless twinkling lights, created a scene of enchanting beauty. The crisp, cold air was rich with the enticing aromas of roasting chestnuts and spiced mulled wine, mingling seamlessly with the cheerful strains of festive music and the lively chatter of holiday shoppers. Every corner you turned revealed a new wonder, from the meticulously adorned Christmas markets brimming with handcrafted ornaments and delicious treats to the captivating window displays. The gentle dusting of snow on the historic city added a timeless charm, making it feel as though you had been transported to a world where reality and fantasy intertwined. It was an experience unlike anything you had ever known before, utterly enchanting and deeply immersive.

Experiencing Munich at Christmas with Lena was like stepping into an entirely different realm – one where magic seemed to breathe life into every moment. The city's festive lights, casting a warm, golden hue, mirrored the sparkle in Lena’s brown eyes, which glistened with an extraordinary brilliance that seemed to enhance the holiday magic around you. The crisp winter wind, playfully nipping at your cheeks, had a special way of turning Lena’s face a delightful shade of pink, which stood out beautifully against the snowy backdrop. Her laughter, clear and bright against the wintry air, harmonised perfectly with the joyful ambiance of the season. Wandering through the bustling Christmas markets and admiring the sparkling decorations, each shared glance and tender touch between you felt imbued with a deep, intimate charm, making the experience even more special.

It was Christmas Eve – the anticipation in the air palpable, like the calm before a beautiful storm of festivity. This was your second holiday season with Lena, and there was a special warmth to the occasion. This year, you were spending it together.

Last year had been different. You were in Munich, immersed in the whirlwind of establishing your new life and settling into your new routine, while Lena remained in Wolfsburg, tending to her own commitments and responsibilities. You had managed to visit your family for a while, taking a break from the hustle and bustle of Munich whilst Lena ad returned to her family, spending the holidays with her parents.

Now, however, everything was different. You were wrapped in each other’s arms, lying snuggled up on your bed. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the gentle, soothing presence of Lena beside you. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm, golden light across the room, creating an intimate haven away from the wintry chill.

As you lay together, t the quiet hum of the city outside and the faint, distant sounds of holiday celebrations were nothing more than gentle background whispers. The peacefulness of the moment felt almost sacred, as if the world had paused just for you two.

“Can you believe it’s Christmas?” you whispered softly, careful not to disrupt the serene bubble you were both nestled in.

“It’s gone by scarily fast,” Lena murmured in reply, her voice equally gentle. Her fingers, delicate and soothing, traced through your hair with a tender rhythm that deepened your relaxation as you pressed your face further into her chest.

“But it’s been a good year, I think,” you continued, reflecting on the time that had passed.

“A very good year,” Lena agreed, her words carrying a warmth that matched the cozy atmosphere around you.

You let the question linger in the quiet space, pondering the highlights of the year that had flown by. “What was your favourite part?” you mused, intrigued by her reflections.

“Hmmm,” Lena considered, her fingers continuing their soothing journey through your hair. “Well, football-wise, I’ve got to say the Olympics. I know I wasn’t there for the actual thing but qualifying and seeing all the girls was absolutely insane. Or maybe qualifying for the Euros?”

“And outside of football?” you prompted, eager to hear what else had stuck out to her.

“You,” Lena replied simply, her voice filled with an earnest affection that made your heart swell.

“So cheesy, baby,” you laughed, though your embrace tightened around her, savouring the genuine sentiment behind her words.

“What can I say?” Lena continued, her tone playful yet heartfelt. “I moved in with my favourite girl. I get to wake up with the love of my life in my arms every day. I got to celebrate my birthday with you in person – not just over the phone. You were there for me when I did my knee, in ways I didn’t even realise I needed. I just love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.” You whispered, your voice a tender caress in the stillness of the room. As you spoke, you looked up at her, allowing yourself to fully take in the serene beauty of her face illuminated by the soft, warm light. Your gaze lingered on the subtle blush that coloured her cheeks, a delicate hint of pink that seemed to glow even more against the backdrop of the room’s gentle ambiance.

You leaned down, allowing yourself to savour the moment as you pressed a languid kiss to her lips. As your lips met hers, you could feel the subtle texture of her skin – soft and velvety, with just a hint of the natural warmth that had made her blush. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a lingering caress that spoke of the bond you shared and the comfort of being together. Each movement was a delicate dance, a melding of sensations that heightened the sense of closeness and connection.

You could taste the faint hint of the mint she’d had earlier, mingling with the natural sweetness of her lips, creating a sensation that was both refreshing and deeply satisfying. The kiss deepened as you pressed closer, savouring the intimate warmth and the gentle way her lips responded to yours, creating a moment of pure, unspoken communication.

You gently shifted your position, moving with a deliberate grace until you were straddling her. Her hands, guided by a touch that was both tender and appreciative, trailed down your body with a soft, almost exploratory movement. They found their way to your arse squeezing gently, the touch warm and affirming as if she were appreciating the closeness between you.

You allowed your fingers to slip beneath the hem of her hoodie, seeking the bare skin of her abdomen. The sensation of her warm, smooth skin against your fingertips was electrifying. You traced light, playful scratches along her abs, feeling the subtle shift of her muscles under your touch. She shuddered below you, letting out a quiet whimper at the feeling.

“Oh, I like that sound,” you teased softly, a playful glint in your eyes as you registered the reaction. Lena wasn’t usually the most vocal of lovers, her expressions of pleasure often subtle but profoundly meaningful. The gentle moans and sharp, breathy gasps she made were a personal symphony to you, each sound a cherished note in the intimate music.

With a deliberate and affectionate touch, you pushed your hand up further, exploring the smooth, warm curve of her breast. The sensation of her skin against your palm was intoxicating. Your thumb lightly brushed over her nipple, feeling the delicate response under your touch. The soft, responsive sigh that escaped her lips was like a gift, a sound that made your heart swell with pleasure and affection.

“I like that one even more,” you murmured with a loving smile, leaning down to capture her lips with yours again. The kiss was tender and lingering, your tongue licking into her mouth with practised ease.

You felt Lena’s hands begin to gently paw at the hem of your top, a silent and tentative request for permission to remove it. The touch was light and almost hesitant, filled with a soft, unspoken yearning. You pulled back slightly, giving her a reassuring nod that allowed her to proceed. With a delicate, practiced motion, Lena began to gather the fabric, her fingers deftly working to bunch it up as she prepared to remove it.

As you pulled the material over your head, the cool air met your skin, heightening the sensation of Lena’s lips as they began to explore. Her kisses were gentle and deliberate, a tender exploration that traced a path across your exposed skin. Each touch of her lips was a sweet caress or a teasing bite as she marked her path.

When Lena’s lips finally found their way to your nipple, the sensation was electrifying. The softness of her lips, coupled with the occasional light scrape of her teeth, sent shivers of pleasure through you.

You couldn’t help but moan, your sounds spilling out almost embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the room. Your hands flying to her head, your fingers locking themselves in her hair trying to keep her against you.

Soon, you found yourself lying comfortably on your back, your hair spread out around you like a halo of soft, dishevelled strands. The cool bedding beneath you contrasted with the warmth of your skin.

As you settled into this new position, your gaze followed Lena with a mix of admiration and anticipation. You watched as she stepped into her harness with practiced ease, her movements fluid and confident. Each motion was deliberate, showcasing her well-toned physique. The harness itself was sleek and black but it was the way it accentuated her body that caught your eye. Her muscles, sculpted and defined from both athletic training and natural grace, were highlighted as she adjusted the straps. Your eyes lingered appreciatively on her form, tracing the contours of her strong shoulders, the curve of her waist, and the firm lines of her abdomen. The play of light and shadow over her skin only served to enhance the visual allure. You found yourself captivated not just by her physical appearance but by the confidence and poise with which she wore her body, making every movement seem both effortless and graceful.

When she turned back to face you, you could already feel the blush rising on your cheeks, a warm flush that betrayed your appreciation. Her eyes caught the telltale signs of your reaction, and a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Were you staring at me?” she asked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt that matched the glint in her eyes.

“Just appreciating the view,” you replied with a cheeky grin, trying to downplay your obvious admiration.

“So you were staring?” she pressed, her tone light but with an edge of mock seriousness.

“I was looking at my sexy-ass girlfriend who is getting ready to fuck me into the middle of next week. If that’s a crime, then lock me up, officer,” you said, your voice dripping with playful confidence and affection.

Her eyes widened slightly at your bold statement, a mix of surprise and amusement dancing in her gaze. “I didn’t know you were into role play,” she teased, her tone lightening even further as she walked closer, clearly enjoying herself.

Before you could muster a witty retort or respond to her teasing, she took decisive action. With a sudden, swift movement, she grabbed your hips roughly, her hands firm and assertive. She pulled you along the bed with an effortless strength, guiding you until your legs dangled off the edge, a deliciously vulnerable position that had your mind reeling at the possibilities of what was about to happen.

“Fuck me,” you breathed out, the words coming as a whisper, still shocked from such a causal display of strength.

“Not yet,” she smirked, her voice a sultry promise as she leaned closer, the playful edge in her tone contrasting with the palpable desire in the room. Her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you want to look away.

You watched with a mix of anticipation and admiration as Lena, her movements deliberate and teasing, slowly sank down onto her knees. Your body was propped up on your elbows, giving you a perfect vantage point to observe the graceful way she moved. The slow descent was both captivating and arousing, making you grow wetter by the second.

“Wait,” you called out, a note of concern slipping into your voice. “Your knee, Lena. Be careful.” Panic fluttered in your chest, a sudden rush of worry that overshadowed your earlier excitement. You could see the faint tension in her posture as she adjusted her position, a reminder of her recent injury that had been a concern for both of you.

Lena looked up at you with a reassuring smile, her expression warm and calming. “I’m okay, Schatz,” she murmured, her voice gentle and soothing as she pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to your thigh. The tender gesture was reassuring, helping to calm your mind a little.

“No wait,” you floundered, your concern not yet fully eased. “Uh, here,” you stammered as you twisted your hands around in search of a solution. Your fingers fumbled as you reached for a pillow, your mind racing to find a way to ensure her comfort and safety. You managed to grab the pillow and quickly brought it down, handing it to her to gently rest on.

The sight of her settling onto the pillow, her movements now cushioned and more comfortable, brought a wave of relief. You watched her with a mix of gratitude and affection, feeling a deep sense of care and protectiveness. The moment, while filled with tension, also highlighted the tenderness and attentiveness that characterised your relationship.

As Lena adjusted her position, her eyes met yours with a grateful smile, a silent acknowledgment of your concern and effort. The warmth and appreciation in her gaze were palpable.

“You can continue,” you said with a rueful smile, nodding at her to restart where you had just left off.

“Oh, can I?” Lena replied, her voice laced with a teasing edge that hinted at her eagerness to resume. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and affection.

“Yes, yes you can,” you confirmed, sticking your tongue out cheekily. Your legs shifted slightly, opening up a little more as a subtle invitation for Lena to come closer.

Lena responded to your playful invitation with a smile that was both appreciative and teasing, a soft curve of her lips that spoke volumes. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of affection and mischief, clearly enjoying the moment. Her movements were fluid and confident as she approached, her eyes never leaving yours.

Your heart quickened with each shuffle she made toward you, the tension in the room quickly growing. Her hands reached out with deliberate intention, fingers brushing lightly against the waistband of your knickers. The gentle touch sent a shiver through you. Lena paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. The gesture was playful yet questioning, a subtle way of seeking your confirmation. You met her gaze with a nod, lifting your hips slightly in response to her unspoken query.

With a playful wink, Lena pulled your underwear down, her movements both confident and tender. The fabric slipped away effortlessly, and she tossed it over her shoulder with a flourish.

As the underwear disappeared from view, you couldn't help but laugh at her playful action. However, the laughter quickly transformed into a deeper, more sensual moan as Lena's lips began to explore the inside of your thighs. Her kisses were soft and deliberate, each one sending a gentle wave of sensation through you.

Her lips traced a path along your skin with a loving, exploratory touch. The contrast between her playful behaviour and the intense pleasure she was delivering created a heady mix of emotions. The laughter that had escaped your lips was quickly overtaken by the growing waves of pleasure, your body responding eagerly to her tender ministrations.

You moaned loudly as Lena’s lips finally found your clit, the sensation instantly electrifying your senses. Her touch was both deliberate and exquisite, a combination of short, teasing kitten licks and long, languid strokes that created a rhythm of pleasure that was both intense and thrilling.

At first, you were a bit confused, as Lena’s movements didn’t fall into her usual, familiar rhythm. The shifts in her touch were subtle but noticeable, leaving you momentarily disoriented as you tried to decipher the change. The sensation of her tongue against you was different, more varied and less predictable than the steady, comforting patterns you were accustomed to.

When her tongue moved sideways across you for a second time, a spark of realisation ignited in your mind. The way she was using her tongue wasn’t random or arbitrary; she was creating a deliberate, rhythmic pattern. Each stroke and flick seemed to follow a unique sequence, and it became clear that she was spelling out something personal and intimate. As the realisation settled in, you understood that Lena was spelling her name with her tongue. The cheeky fucker.

“Lena," you gasped, your voice catching in your throat as the pleasure intensified. "Baby, please." The words came out as a desperate plea, a combination of need and yearning that conveyed how much you were feeling. Your body was reacting uncontrollably to her touch, and you instinctively reached down, fingers finding their way to her hair.

You tugged at her hair gently, a physical request for her to continue. Lena responded with a soft, amused chuckle against you, the sound vibrating through her lips and into your sensitive skin. The hum of her laughter sent a new wave of pleasure cascading through you.

Finally, Lena settled into her usual rhythm, her movements becoming smooth and instinctive, like a dance you both knew by heart. Her touch became more assured, each action precisely timed to maximise your pleasure. She knew exactly when to suck, applying a perfect amount of pressure that created waves of sensation, and when to flick her tongue with a practiced flick, hitting just the right spots to drive you wild.

You groaned deeply when Lena’s finger slipped inside, the sensation immediately sending a jolt of intense pleasure through your body. Her touch was deliberate and skilled, the way her finger glided in and out with a smooth, practiced motion.

She quickly added a second finger, the sensation shifting as your body adjusted to the new pressure. The initial sting was sharp, a brief and intense feeling of stretching that quickly evolved into a deeper, more satisfying pressure. The feeling of her fingers working inside you, her tongue working the nerves in your clit had you gasping for breath.

It didn’t take long for the familiar bubble of pleasure to start growing in your belly. The sensation began to build with an intensity that was both thrilling and overwhelming, as if a rising tide of pleasure was gathering strength deep within you. Your breathing quickened, becoming shallow and rapid as Lena’s relentless pace continued unabated. The rhythm she maintained was both steady and relentless, each motion pushing you closer to the edge with an almost hypnotic precision.

As the pleasure intensified, you could feel your body responding with a heightened urgency, each breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. The buildup was unmistakable, a powerful, pulsing pressure that seemed to grow with each stroke and touch. Your senses were fully engaged, every nerve ending alive and acutely aware of the sensations Lena was creating.

“I'm... Baby, please. I’m going to. Can I, please?” you groaned, the words slipping from your lips in a series of desperate pleas.

She hummed her answer, a soft, approving sound that resonated with a gentle, reassuring vibration, not wanted to break her steady, relentless pace. You could feel the pleasure intensifying with every deliberate movement. Your toes curled instinctively, The tension in your body was palpable, each muscle taut with the building excitement.

“Oh, my god,” you moaned loudly, the sound escaping your lips without permission. Your eyes squeezed shut even tighter, the intense pressure building to an almost unbearable peak as the bubble of pleasure finally burst. The sensation was explosive and all-encompassing, a sudden release that washed over you with a powerful surge.

As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, you were left in a state of blissful exhaustion, the echoes of your moans and cries slowly fading into a contented sigh. Your body twitched uncontrollably, small spasms coursing through you as the aftershocks of your climax rippled through your system. Each involuntary jerk was a reaction to the lingering stimulation, a sign of just how deeply she had worked you through the intensity of your orgasm. The sensation was almost too much, your body hypersensitive as she continued to guide you through the final waves of pleasure.

With deliberate care, Lena began to pull her fingers out, her movements slow and gentle, mindful of your heightened sensitivity. The withdrawal was tender, her touch soft and soothing as she eased you back down from the peak you had just reached. Before fully drawing away, she leaned in to place a final kiss on your clit, the gesture both affectionate and comforting. The kiss was light but lingering, a sweet, gentle goodbye to the pleasure she had just brought you, leaving you with a final shiver of satisfaction.

As she drew back, you couldn’t take your eyes off her, captivated by the sight of her in the aftermath of such an intimate moment. You watched as she brought her fingers to her lips, her gaze still locked on yours. Slowly, she licked her fingers, appreciating the taste of you with a hum of approval. The sound was soft, almost purring, as she smiled, clearly pleased with the taste and the experience you had just shared. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and affection.

Lena reached out for you, her hands gentle yet insistent as she guided you to sit up. The warmth of her touch was comforting, her fingers brushing over your skin with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. As you adjusted to the new position, she moved with fluid grace, lowering herself into a crouch before you. Her eyes held yours, filled with a mix of affection and lingering desire, and you could feel the magnetic pull between you, drawing you closer.

Without hesitation, she leaned in, capturing your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. The intensity of the moment surged back to life as your mouths collided. It was raw and unrestrained, a collision of emotions and sensations that left you breathless. The taste of yourself on her lips was unmistakable. The salty-sweet tang blended with the warmth of her mouth, creating a unique flavour that was as intoxicating as it was intimate.

“Turn around,” Lena whispered, her voice soft yet commanding, the words sending a shiver down your spine. Her fingers, still warm from the heat of your body, traced soothing patterns up your thighs, the touch both calming and electrifying. Each gentle stroke of her fingers was a promise, a tender reassurance.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, the breathlessness from your kiss still lingering in your chest. As you turned, the world seemed to narrow down to the feel of her fingers on your skin, the warmth of her breath ghosting over your back, and the quiet, heady rush of expectation that made your heart race.

When you finally settled into position, your back to her, you could feel the intensity of her gaze, the way her eyes lingered on every curve and line of your body. Her fingers continued their gentle exploration, trailing up and down your body with a tender, almost reverent touch. She guided you to bend over, her hands gently pushing and pulling your body exactly where she wanted it. “So beautiful”

Lena’s hand remained firmly on your waist, a grounding point that kept you connected as she prepared to take you to new heights of pleasure. Her grip on you was steady and reassuring, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to remind you of her presence and control. The warmth of her hand contrasted with the cool air around you.

With her other hand, she gripped the strap, her movements slow and deliberate as she guided the smooth plastic against your slick, sensitive skin. The sensation of the strap running up and down your soaking pussy sent a shiver through you, each pass sending sparks of pleasure rippling through your body. The coolness of the plastic was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from you, intensifying every touch.

She took her time, teasing you with each slow, deliberate stroke. The plastic slid effortlessly through your folds, collecting the wetness that had pooled there, heightening the anticipation with each pass. Slowly, she sank into you. The deliberate pace she set was maddeningly slow, every movement designed to drive you wild with desire. You could feel every ridge, every contour of the strap as it brushed against you.

Lena’s hand on your waist tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of her control, of how well she knew your body and exactly how to push you to the edge. The pressure she applied was just enough to keep you on the brink, teasing you with the promise of more while drawing out every ounce of pleasure she could.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, instinctively chasing the friction, but she held you steady, keeping the pace agonizingly slow. The rhythm she set was torturous in the best possible way. Each time the base of your strap bumped your clit, you felt a surge of electricity shoot through you, your body responding with a keening need that only she could satisfy.

“Faster.” you huffed, your voice tinged with desperation as the need for more intensified within you. The words came out ragged, each syllable laced with the urgency that had taken hold of your body. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the burn of need coiling tighter in your core. You didn't need to see her face to know she was grinning, revelling in the power she held over you, and how utterly desperate you sounded.

Without missing a beat, Lena shifted her position, moving over you with the grace of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. You felt her gather your hair up into a loose ponytail, her fingers tugging gently at the strands before giving a sharp, commanding pull. The sensation sent a jolt of excitement through you, your scalp tingling as the mix of pain and pleasure heightened your arousal. The action was assertive, a reminder of who was in control, and it left you even more breathless than before.

“Is that how you ask for things, Schatz?” she taunted, her voice dripping with playful dominance. The teasing lilt in her words sent another wave of frustration crashing through you, and instead of speeding up like you had begged for, she slowed down even further. Each deliberate stroke of the strap against you was achingly slow, a calculated move designed to prolong the torture and push you to the edge of sanity. The maddening pace made you whimper, the need for release becoming almost unbearable.

"Please, baby. Please go faster," you pleaded, your voice barely more than a whisper, laden with the kind of raw, unfiltered need that left you feeling vulnerable.

"Much better," she hummed, her tone rich with satisfaction. You could hear the approval in her voice, the way she relished in your submission. The sound of her humming was like a soothing balm, a sign that you had said exactly what she wanted to hear.

With that acknowledgment, she finally began to increase her pace, the sensation becoming more intense with each movement. The sharp contrast between the agonizing slowness and the sudden increase in speed made your body hum with relief and pleasure. The rhythm she set was exactly what you needed, each thrust of the strap hitting that perfect spot, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

You could tell she was close too. The subtle shift in her breathing and soft sounds gave it away. The quiet grunts that slipped past her lips, normally so controlled, now carried a raw edge of desperation. Each sound was a clear indication of how close she was to losing herself in the pleasure, just as you were.

Her movements became more insistent, more urgent. The steady rhythm she had maintained now quickened, her hips moving with a newfound determination that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You could feel the heat radiating from her.

You gasped as you felt her hands leave your hair, the gentle tug that had grounded you moments before now replaced by a different kind of touch. Her fingers trailed down your spine, each inch she covered sending a shiver through you, the sensation both tender and electrifying.

When her hand reached around your waist, you could feel the anticipation build as she moved with the precision of someone who knew exactly what you needed. The moment her fingers made contact with your clit, a spark of pleasure shot through you, so intense it nearly made you buckle. Her touch was deliberate, a perfect balance of pressure and movement that had you writhing beneath her.

She began to rub in fast, tight circles, her fingers working in perfect harmony with the thrust of her hips. The dual sensation was almost overwhelming, the combination of her hand on your most sensitive spot and the insistent rhythm of her movements driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Every stroke of her fingers, every push of her hips, brought you closer to the edge, your body responding to her touch with a raw, undeniable need.

Her fingers moved with practiced skill, knowing exactly when to apply more pressure, when to slow down, and when to speed up, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you. The insistent rhythm she had set became a crescendo, building you up higher and higher, until you were teetering on the brink of release. The sensation was overwhelming, your body alight with the intensity of her touch, the pleasure mounting to a fever pitch as she expertly guided you toward your climax.

“Cum with me, Schatz,” she grunted, her voice rough with the strain of holding back her own release. The command in her words sent a jolt of anticipation through you, your entire body responding to the urgency in her tone. You could hear the need in her voice, a raw, unfiltered desire that mirrored your own.

The way she said it – low, breathless, yet full of authority – left no room for hesitation. It was more than just a request; it was a promise, a vow that you would reach that peak together, bound by the shared intensity of the moment. Her breath hitched as she spoke, a clear sign that she was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender.

The sound of her voice, thick with desire, spurred you on, pushing you closer to the brink. Your muscles tensed in response, every nerve in your body tuned to the sensations she was creating. The connection between you was electric, a palpable current that ran through you both, linking your pleasure to hers.

Each thrust, each stroke of her fingers on your clit, was designed to push you both over the edge, the final push you needed to let go completely. The urgency in her voice was matched by the urgency in her movements, her body driving into yours with a force that spoke of her own desperation. The moment was intense, overwhelming, as you felt the pleasure build to an almost unbearable level.

And then, with her words still echoing in your mind, you felt the dam break. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body giving in to the release that had been building, spurred on by her command. You could feel her shudder against you, the shared climax bringing you both to a place of pure, unadulterated bliss, a moment where nothing else existed but the two of you, together in the throes of ecstasy.

She stilled inside you, her body pressing against yours as the aftershocks. slowly faded into a warm, lingering glow. Her hands, which had been so urgent and commanding just moments before, now rested gently on your lower back, the touch tender and reassuring

The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, heavy and laboured at first, but gradually evening out as you both began to catch your breath. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, a quiet, shared understanding passing between you as you remained connected, neither of you in a rush to move or break the silence.

Her fingertips traced small, soothing patterns across your skin, a soft caress that sent gentle waves of warmth through you. The weight of her body was comforting, grounding you in the present as you both basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking. The air between you was thick with the scent of sex, mingling with the subtle aroma of her skin, creating an intoxicating blend that made you want to stay in this moment forever.

She slowly slid out of you, her movements careful and deliberate, not wanting to cause any more discomfort than necessary. The sensation of her leaving your body left you feeling both empty and vulnerable, a sharp contrast to the fullness and intensity you’d just shared. A soft whimper escaped your lips, the involuntary sound a mix of sensitivity and the lingering remnants of pleasure.

"I'm sorry, Schatz," she murmured, her voice tender and filled with concern. Each word was a gentle caress, meant to soothe you as she eased herself out of you. Her apologies were soft and sincere, spoken in a tone that carried both regret for the momentary discomfort and a deep affection that made your heart swell.

She kept her hands on your body, one stroking your side in slow, comforting circles, the other brushing lightly over your hip. The warmth of her touch, combined with the gentle rhythm of her words, helped to ease the ache that came with her absence. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“C’mon,” she said tenderly, her voice warm and soothing as she helped move your spent body toward a standing position. Her hands were gentle but firm, offering a steady support that you gratefully leaned into. The effort of moving felt almost herculean in your exhausted state, but her reassuring touch made it easier.

“Shower time,” she added with a soft smile, her eyes glinting with a mix of affection and determination. The promise of a refreshing shower was just what you needed to feel a bit more human again, even if the idea of moving felt like a monumental effort at the moment.

“Tired,” you murmured, your voice heavy with fatigue as you allowed yourself to be guided. The weariness in your body was palpable, a deep, lingering sensation that made each step feel like it was dragging through molasses. You leaned into her, finding comfort in her presence and strength.

“I know,” she said sympathetically, her voice a gentle balm to your tired nerves. “We just need a quick shower, and then we can get into bed.” The thought of slipping into the cool sheets, finally able to rest, was enough to make the effort seem worth it. Her words were a promise of relief, a gentle encouragement that made the prospect of moving seem more manageable.

With her guiding you, you began to shuffle toward the bathroom, each step a bit easier with her support. Her touch was reassuring, her presence a comforting anchor as you made your way through the dimly lit hallway. She guided you with a practiced ease, her hand warm against your back, making sure you didn’t wobble or lose your balance.

As you reached the bathroom, she turned on the shower, the sound of the water cascading down creating a soothing backdrop to the moment. The warm steam began to fill the room, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You could feel her gentle hands massage your hips and back gently, her movements both efficient and tender, always mindful of your tired state.

You leaned into her as she helped you into the shower, the warmth of the water beginning to ease the last remnants of tension from your muscles. Her touch was gentle as she lathered soap over your skin, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate motions that felt like a soft massage. The water and her soothing presence worked together to wash away the exhaustion, leaving you feeling cared for and cherished.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” you muttered sleepily, your voice barely more than a soft murmur as you burrowed deeper into her.

Her smile was immediate and bright, a tender expression that lit up her face with genuine warmth. She chuckled softly, the sound a sweet, melodious note that blended with the calm that washed over you.

“Merry Christmas, Schatz.”

[pearlywritings]

Neuvillette nsfw alphabet

tw: female immortal reader (implied dragon), unprotected sex, marking, a/b/o elements (heats/ruts/bonding mark), breeding

word count: 4.2k+ words

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Neuvillette knows that as his equal you can take what he gives you in the heat of the moment, yet he never fails to check on your well-being after the lovemaking. His scaly knuckles would run down your cheek and brush the stuck locks to the side, mesmerizingly violet eyes reading into your expression, making sure you are still with him. Then he’d asses if there is some evident ‘damage’ (which in reality are particularly hard bites and accident scratches - something you give him too in an animalistic urge to mark, yet he doesn’t bat an eye, instead worrying for you), and if needed, go fetch some ointment to treat it. He’d have two glasses with water ready for you both to savor, because hydration is important, and, as he is usually the first one to finish his, get to clean you up or go to run a bath.

With this man as your husband you don’t have to lift a finger - he appreciates you so lovingly and devotedly. However, he won’t stop you, if it’s your wish to take care of him. He’d especially be grateful for the help with drying, brushing and braiding his hair for sleep, since it takes too much time because of the length. Will melt if you pepper his face with kisses, happily squinting and holding you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is naturally drawn to your neck. That’s where the most important manifestation of your bond is blooming, bitten into your skin; that’s his safe place when you come to visit him and he gets you to sit on his lap with face buried in the crook between the neck and the shoulder, inhaling your scent; that’s also his favorite place to leave kisses on, quite chaste press of his lips, but still very intimate. And oh how much he adores decorating it both by jewelry and his marks - the sight of you wearing either proudly makes him purr in delight.

On himself… If he has to choose, he’d say it’s his neck too, for similar reasons. But also maybe his legs, because you often compliment the elegance of their length and slimness, yet never deny the strength of them, especially when they are the sole support of both of your bodies in the heat of the moment.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As you are mates of many centuries, he always goes raw and prefers coming inside (if you do not desire to have children, he is alright with that, taking special safe medication together with you). Neuvillette is always fascinated with the way his cum escapes your pussy in watery trickles, marking your thighs, making them glisten. It’s also enjoyable to fuck it back into you. His usually stoic and calm face flushes red if you accept his cum in your mouth after sucking him off and let it trickle a little from the corner of your mouth, only to swipe it with your tongue seductively.

During mating seasons cums abundantly - after all, those times’ purpose is to breed. He can give you multiple loads before even exiting your overflown heat to switch position or take a break.

When it comes to you - he is exceptionally keen on making your squirt. After the first time it happened, Neuvillette was never the same man. If he has to, he’d beg you to drench his mouth, or hand, or pelvis, and work extra hard to achieve it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

After spending a small eternity with each other, it’s hard for Neuvillette to think of something occupying his mind without being ever voiced. Throughout your lives you’ve tried so much together, even had your periods of experimenting with something marked ‘extreme’ for your human bodies. Unless…

There are rare times when your husband has fantasies of what it would’ve been like if he had not been born into the human body. If he had a proper dragon transformation, like you initially had. In his mind the image of your big scaly bodies is beautiful, complimenting each other’s colors perfectly, blurring together in the moments of passion. It’s primal, it awakens in him something long-forgotten, the echoes of his past life.

He never really tells you about these thoughts, because he doesn’t want to seem unsatisfied and ungrateful for what you have - believe me, he is more than pleased. But you do sense something occasionally during his ruts in the ways he growls deeper, pushes his body onto yours more, pinning you without any opportunity to escape, rutting his hips more animalistically than humanly… You’d lie if you said you didn’t like it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Neuvillette was aware of dragon customs and knew what mating was. However for the longest time it was unavailable to him and he resigned to the idea of never experiencing it since he now had a human body. Such a difference from ‘proper’ dragons only added to his loneliness, not to mention, he never really tried to seek a lover and once he became the Iudex of Fontaine it was put on the back burner.

You were the one who changed that. Only after meeting you his ruts were set into action, only after realizing you were his mate it occurred to the Hydro dragon that he was normal and could be happy according to his nature. With you he grew and gained his experience, exploring his and your bodies, likes, dislikes and limits.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As long as he can get his mouth onto your neck - Neuvillette is happy with any position. However, it’s hard to deny that his cock twitches, getting harder, and eyes turn wild when you get in a submissive position on your hands and knees, arching your back for him. It vividly reminds him of the usual beginnings of your heats. In the process he loves tugging your body flush to his chest, arms wrapping around your middle to reach for your breast or clit, or to gently grab your chin to turn your head back for a kiss.

When it comes to oral, the Iudex loves it when you are sitting on a chair or the edge of the bed, with him on his knees on the floor. As the man is almost constantly in his work mode, it’s important for him to have a reminder that he too can be in a position that lacks dominance. Please, bury your fingers in his hair and press his face more into your pussy, tug on it when it’s too much - no guarantee he will stop though, after all, he wants you to cum on his tongue to the point of absolute bliss.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is quite serious, since for him sex - or in your case it’s more of a love-making - is very important, because it’s one of the ways to validate your union. It doesn’t mean, however, that he is going to have that usual stoic and unreadable look on his face while he is balls deep into you, no. Sure, there is a certain level of concentration etched into his features, but overall he blushes, he squints in delight, he gets sloppy when he is close and your walls keep squeezing him like a vice, and his praises might get frantic and incomprehensible when he is the one overstimulated.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oh he is so lucky - due to his genetics the man lacks body hair at all. His skin is smooth with occasional areas covered in pretty blue scales and it’s hard to resist the desire to run your palms all over his body. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Your partner is very romantic even when he isn’t trying. He never forgets to sing you praises and kiss your skin in whatever place he can currently reach. Before the very moment of intimacy it’s not uncommon for you two to share a romantic dinner or a walk around the city or outside of it - your husband loves taking you on those, trying his best to clear every evening from extra work to spend with you. 

When it comes to mating seasons, he is attentive and meticulous in helping you with establishing your nest - the sacred place where you’ll spend quite a few days wildly fucking. In the very beginning you were in charge of building the nest before your heat and he was responsible for it before his rut, presenting it to the respective partner for approval, but so many years later, you always do it together, relishing in the intimate moment.

Don’t get me started on taking baths together. Having you close to his chest, surrounded by his element, probably brings the closest to ‘sappy’ out of him, making him putty in your hands.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You see, his sex drive is not that high. Having sex once a week is more than enough for him and just spending time with you in whatever scenario perfectly quenches his thirst for intimacy.

However he is still a man with a gorgeous woman as his wife, so obviously there are times when his need for you is clawing at his insides, but for some reason you cannot help him. If he can, he tries to surround himself with your scent, and only then does his hand wrap around the aching length, imitating your caresses. Sure, the action lacks the usual level of intimacy, but it’ll make the yearning bearable until he can have you properly.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Marking. This one is obvious, taking into consideration his animalistic side. More often than not it’s leaving hickies, but he is particularly keen on biting - both giving and receiving. There is nothing that can make him shudder more than your fangs sinking into the side of his neck as your bodies are tightly intertwined, or into his thigh, as you hold one of his legs under the knee, to make the spread wider, or nibbling on the pointy tip of his ear if you are feeling playful. And vice versa, when you writhe under his body, loudly moaning from every thrust of his hips, and he warms your neck with his breath before biting, or playfully clenching his teeth around your buttock when you don’t stop teasing him with the shaking of your hips, or leaving two tiny marks from his fangs on the inside of your wrist.

Cockwarming. Literally best thing ever. When Neuvillette works from home, he adores you coming to him in the middle of day for some quality time together with his dick buried between your gummy walls. He takes a small break so you could get him all hard and dripping with your hand, while his fingers scissor your pussy, and then has no difficulty with maintaining his concentration as one of his arms is wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest, settling his shaft even deeper into you. Most enjoyable for him however is to cuddle in bed as your bodies are connected and falling asleep and waking up while nestled in your heat.

Skinny dipping + petting. That is not something you two practice often, but on a rare night, in a secluded area, when and where no one can disturb you, Neuvillette abandons his prime and proper visage of a Chief Justice, just like his clothes, and joins you in the water in all his naked glory. Partly it allows him to enjoy swimming in your company, feeling the cool water with every cell and scale of his body, but then transforming into your body tightly pressed against his, languidly and slowly kissing, all tongues and a little bit of teeth, while his palms run up and down your body, squeezing at your breasts, toying with the nipples, grabbing your hips or ass when you move a bit away from him. Your nails are digging into his shoulders and gently rake down the back, making him shiver, hands palming his pecs and fingertips tracing down his slightly outlined abs, occasionally surprising him with the grip on his thigh to move his leg over your hip. On such nights your love-making back home turns deliciously desperate.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed in the bedroom of your home - pretty classic. It’s his safe place, it’s where he starts and finishes his day with you (unless he is staying overnight to deal with the paperwork). It’s where the mix of your scents is more potent and it’s probably the sturdiest piece of furniture in your house - measures had to be taken after the third accidentally broken one…

In the water is another preference of his - no matter if it’s a big bath in your house or a huge lake somewhere outside the city. As the Hydro dragon, he has a very convenient feature - his cock produces enough precum and slick even in the water, so you don’t have to worry about not being lubricated enough on your own.

An interesting fact: the two of you found a cave in one of the mountains, in which you can get only from the underwater and after some redecoration made it your alternative place for sex, for times when staying in the Court of Fontaine feel suffocating.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Neuvillette is a stoic man, but if you need him carnally all you have to do is ask. He’ll be happy to oblige after some discussion of how your evening should proceed.

If you want to get him all hot and bothered without being too forward - caress his horns. But please, be very delicate - as they are not a solid bone structure, they are quite sensitive to the touch. It’ll help to relax your lover. When you might want to attack his pointy ears, gently nibbling and whispering your horny thoughts, but vaguely, to leave him guessing your intentions. The combination will leave him pretty hot under the collar, with the pants being a little bit tighter than a couple of minutes ago.

Wear something he picked specifically for you - the new lingerie with some beautiful jewelry he gifted you is the true delight to the dragon’s eyes.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Will not share you with anyone - that’s where his natural possessiveness shows its ugly head. But in return he would never even fathom the idea of asking you to share him with someone.

Public sex (doesn't apply to secluded areas in the waters) - first of all, he cares for both of your images; secondly, his attires are so awfully complicated and he insists on wearing them daily and his hair is so long, that it’s nearly impossible for him to get himself look presentable quickly after the two of you fucked.

Roleplay related to his job. It’s weird to him and he doesn’t want to start seeing the court process as a field of sexual opportunities.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Neuvillette loves giving. Your smell is intoxicating, your taste is addicting, the way your walls convulse around his tongue and thighs clamp around his head - all these things make him want to stay mouth buried into your pussy forever. He doesn’t have a preference - whether it’s him delving from above or having you sit on his face; what matters is if he can make you squirt on the first try today or on the second. Loves how your engorged sensitive clit pulses on his tongue.

Being on the receiving end makes the man more responsive later during the actual fucking. His beautiful eyes grow watery when your warm throat envelopes his length, the cockhead bullied between its tight grasp and your skillful tongue when you draw back. Cheeks grow warmer when you start leaving wet kisses all over his dick, murmuring how pretty it is. Will let out a needy whine if you grab his thighs and throw his long legs over your shoulders - after this show of strength there is a great chance that he is going to be submissive tonight.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Your husband prefers it slow and sensual. Sex usually happens in the moments when none of you have to rush somewhere, so why would you rush in bed? When you have so much time to feel every single vein on his cock with your slippery walls as he languidly thrusts into your heat, when he can kiss and lick and nip on every inch of your neck, when you have an opportunity to cradle him in your arms close to your body, moving your hips together with his, when it’s so easy to roll over and be the one on top, slowly riding the man underneath you, intertwining your fingers with his.

First couple of days of your heat/his rut are, however, a completely different story. It literally starts with tearing clothes from each other bodies, to finally let your scorching skin meet his. The pace is fast and wild, orgasms are being chased with desperate need for more, more, more, to the shake of your legs, to the labored breathing by your ear, to the blooming marks all over your bodies.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Neuvillette prefers not to indulge in them, after all, a proper sex is much better, but sometimes your two have them. Mainly it’s when he has to get ready for work, but you beg him to squeeze the morning sex in those few free minutes he has in his routine, or when your heat hits unexpectedly, leaving you both unprepared, with a huge amount of work he has to attend to urgently, so he mates with you once or twice in the nest to scent it and give you at least something for while you are waiting for his return.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Neuvillette sticks to the routine. Being together for so long has its perks in figuring out your and his preferences and ways to spice your sex life on occasion. Of course, sometimes it can get boring, he understands that. He is not usually the one to bring up something new to try, but will not be opposed if you suggest. Just give him some time to do his research on the matter. Won’t be discouraged if on the first try it didn’t work due to his and your lack of experience in it - your man is patient and will offer to try again, maybe, with a different approach.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

While possessing the body of a human, his stamina is still better - can easily go up to the three quite long rounds and, if you desire more, after a break can go again. 

Obviously during the mating season his stamina gets much crazier, though rounds become shorter but grow in number, because the main purpose is to breed as many times as possible. Yet he still doesn’t forget to take breaks, keep you both hydrated and fed. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I am not sure if this man can be called old-fashioned, but he doesn’t exactly see appeal in them. Sure, they can keep you satisfied when you are needy, but isn’t it better to get that satisfaction from your partner? Might try a couple with you, but won’t choose any for himself to keep using in the future. At the same time will not forbid you from getting some for yourself, but, please, be so kind, do not mention to him the times you indulged in them, unless you want your husband to get jealous and show you that he is obviously better at bringing you pleasure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t like teasing you. It brings him so much joy to give you everything he can, not asking for anything in return, yet gratefully accepting when you reciprocate. When you are the one teasing, however, he can’t help but indulge, be it walking around your shared house in nothing but his unbuttoned shirt, or letting his cock slip from your tight hole right when he is on the verge of cumming.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Neuvillette isn’t really loud. He is sighing against your lips, panting into the crook of your neck, groaning into your soaked pussy, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, quietly moaning. But oh boy, the louder sounds he makes sometimes  are always so arousing - gasping in the air loudly, whining with his head thrown back, growling with his fangs on display.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The room is dimly lit by a few stray candles here and there, but far enough from the bed not to be accidentally knocked over. The bed itself is the perfectly planned mess of sheets, pillows and some of the clothes, among which two naked bodies are curled one around the other. The layer of sweat shines in what little light reaches the sacred place, red and purple marks blooming akin to the spring flowers, littering the skin of your lover and yours.

Neuvillette is nose buried into your nape, chest flush to your back, with one arm squeezed under your side and wrapped around the waist; the other is holding your leg under the knee, angling it enough to let him rut into your pussy from behind. What was supposed to be a small break, half-turned into another round, but it’s no surprise: after all, it’s just the second day of your husband’s rut. The man is heavily panting, hot breath tickling you and making you squirm in his hold, and then being drawn to him even tighter with a deep growl rising from his chest. Hormone-fueled and needy, Neuvillette is put in a daze with only one thought overtaking his mind - breed, breed, breed...

He snaps out of it a little, however, when you thread your fingers between his resting onto your side and reach your free hand behind, to bury into the wild mess that became of his morning braid, mindful of his horns.

“Beloved,” you croon, clamping around his dick and forcing a soft whine out of him, “kiss me, please.”

And he obliges, leaning forward, running his nose over your jawline, waiting for you to turn your head, so he can claim your puffy lips. When you do just that, he kisses you hungrily, immediately pushing his tongue into your mouth and against yours. 

His hips never seize their movement, maybe slowing just a tad. Sharpened nails dig into the plush of your thigh, sure to leave five pretty crescent moons on your skin, but you are keen on every single touch he has to offer, softly moaning into his mouth. When lips disconnect, Neuvillette chases after you, but your head falls back onto one of the pillows, neck aching from an awkward angle. He understands, focusing instead on littering your shoulder with the new portion of small marks, a content rumble in his chest vibrating against your back.

”My mate,” he groans huskily, breaking the lock of your hands and reaching his down, index and middle fingers pressing against your clit, making you jolt and moan blissfully with the first forceful rub, “I want you to cum for me, I need you to cum for me, dear…”

“Mmm, you want me to get your cock wet?” You can’t help but tease him, squeezing his length on purpose, just to hear him whine. “Want me to tighten real nice for you to cum too?” You feel him nod against your nape, whispering a rushed string of yesyesyesyes.

And who are you to deny your sweet loving husband?

As much as your practically glued to each other position allows, you try to move your own hips to rub yourself both onto the pads of his fingers and meet the thrusts of his cock. Neuvillette increases his pace too, delivering each thrust with precision, rubbing tight circles on your nub and nibbling on your bonding mark - all to make you go crazy with desire in seconds and make that knot in your belly snap. And when you are almost there he bites onto your neck harder, pushing himself to the hilt and with a satisfied purr listen to your wanton moans and cries as you are cumming undone from his skillful ministrations.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

While not very thick, Neuvillette is long. Around 7.2 inches with a couple of pretty blue veins running along the pale length. Curves upwards and slightly to the right.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As mentioned above, not really high. His love and yearning for you are more based on affection, than desire. So, if cockwarming in bed late in the evening with you closely cuddled to him with a happy and serene look on your face is the only sexual act he is going to have for a week - so be it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Quite quickly. His every day is quite exhausting, even if he never complains, so when the stress is milked out of him with his cum, the man turns into a lazy, but very content lizard. Surrounded by the warmth of your embrace, among the sheets and pillows that smell of your combined scents, with your fingers gently combing through his hair or drawing incomprehensible figures on his back, the heavy lids of your husband fall closed and breathing grows even. Not a minute later he is happily sleeping.

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 1 - Child's Play

Word count: 1.7K

Born during a warm summer storm, Daenys Targaryen came into the world only one year after her brother Aemond, unaware that her arrival would be met with her father’s painful indifference and an ever-present frown on her mother’s brow. Daenys spent the first years of her life wondering what it could be that made her parents treat her so. The possibility of being an unwanted child quickly dissipated after Daeron was welcomed with warm caresses and kind smiles. She considered that her gender might be the reason for such treatment, but her mother doted on Helaena, and every one of her peculiarities was watched endearingly by the rest. Daenys even proved herself extraordinary when, at the age of nine, she claimed Silverwing, one of the largest dragons in the history of Westeros. This achievement earned her the praise of her uncle Daemon and the jealousy of Aemond, but to her mother, it was just another source of worry rather than a remarkable feat.

The answer came to her one morning as the maids made her and Helaena’s beds, unaware that she was still in the room, looking for a book: she resembled Rhaenyra too closely in her youth. Unfortunately, there was nothing Daenys could do to fix the issue her parents saw in her, for it was intrinsic to her very being. To her father, she was a disappointment, a feeble attempt at replacing the realm’s former delight; to her mother, a constant reminder of the girl she grew up with, a friend turned adversary she both despised and deeply missed in equal measure.

It was oddly liberating for Daenys to realize that it wasn’t something she had caused or could change, making any blame directed towards her utterly senseless. With time, Daenys learned to ignore their judgmental gazes, cutting remarks, and outright indifference. It hurt, yes, but Daenys was a dragon, and dragons had thick skin—thicker even than the armor of Aegon the Conqueror. 

She was now eleven, still a girl, but one who carried herself with regal composure and a dignity beyond her years. Daenys had long lost interest in her sibling’s squabbles or her nephew’s frolics: she only found true enjoyment in riding Silverwing. Her dragon was a magnificent beast, doing justice to her name with her silver scales that covered the entirety of her body, surpassed in size only by the old and mighty Vhagar. Unlike Laena Velaryon’s dragon, Silverwing was an affable and docile creature, considered friendly by the Dragonkeepers, which made sense given that her previous rider had been Good Queen Alysanne. Claiming Silverwing had given her a sense of belonging she had yearned for in her early childhood, reminding her that it did not matter what others saw in her: she was a Targaryen princess in her own right, a unique dragonrider with her own life and her own story. She might resemble her half-sister, but she was not her. 

Despite her obvious inability to treat Daenys as she deserved, Queen Alicent found comfort in her daughter’s disregard for the Velaryon boys.  This indifference was, of course, a result of the poison Alicent had been dripping into Daenys’ ear all her life, perhaps in an attempt to draw her girl away from Rhaenyra as much as possible. The Queen was fearful that her daughter would discover she had more in common with the King’s firstborn than just appearance, and her sons were the first tie she made sure to cut before it could bind them together. Thus, while Helaena played with little Lucerys and Aegon bickered with Jacaerys, Daenys simply ignored them, regarding the bastard boys as unworthy of her attention.

As Silverwing landed in the Dragonpit, her song alerting the Dragonkeepers that the Princess had returned from her morning ride, Daenys was met with her brother Aemond already there, watching. The egg placed in his cradle at birth had never hatched, and the boy still hadn’t found the courage in him to claim one of the wild ones. Daenys often thought about how unfair it was, since Aemond was more than eager to be a dragonrider, yet he might never know what it feels like to bond with one.

“Mother is cross with you,” he informed his sister as she patted Silverwing’s head, the dragon answering with a contented murmur. 

“I wonder why,” Daenys replied, showing no sign of concern over her brother’s words.

“You didn’t break your fast with us. You know she does not like it.”

“Ah, yes… I didn’t want to listen to them fighting about Rhaenyra’s baby,” she said, “has she had it yet?”

Aemond nodded and walked with his sister through the dark corridors connecting the Dragonpit to the Red Keep, his back straight, always trying to make himself look taller than he actually was.

“Yes. Another boy. Healthy and strong.”

At her brother’s comment, Daenys snorted. It was an ongoing joke between her and her brothers how Rahenyra’s offspring looked nothing like Laenor Velaryon and way too much like Ser Harwin Strong, the Commander of the City Watch. It was an insult to the realm, something Daenys condemned greatly, often using her mother’s words when discussing the issue with her siblings.

“I’ll apologize to mother, then. She must be upset enough as it is,” the girl stated, stopping at the door to her chambers. She was in urgent need of a bath, especially if she was planning to visit her mother. “I’ll be studying with Helaena in the afternoon, if you’d like to join.”

Aemond shook his head, his eyes kind when he looked at his sister. 

“Aegon’s asked me to accompany him to see how they feed Vermax. I don’t want to, but…”

“It’s alright, Aemond. Your moment will come, I’m sure of it,” she comforted him. “I wish mother would let us sail to Dragonstone… you could try to claim Vermithor. He coils with Silverwing when we fly to the Dragonmont, but never lets me get close.”

The idea had crossed Aemond’s mind more times than he cared to admit: their great-grandfather, Jahaerys I, had ridden Vermithor, just as his sister-wife Alysanne had ridden Silverwing. Their reign had been a peaceful and prosperous one, and the pair had loved each other dearly. It was a nice thought, one that Aemond indulged in whenever he pictured himself as a man: riding one of the largest dragons in the world, with his sister by his side.

A beautiful dream, but a childish one.

The door opened suddenly, a maid letting the Princess know that her bath was ready. With a squeeze on his arm, Daenys said goodbye to her brother and disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors.

_______________________________________________

Queen Alicent was too busy feeling outraged by Princess Rhaenyra’s indecency, so Daenys avoided her mother’s scolding without much effort. Daenys was sitting next to Helaena, who was lost in her thoughts, explaining the various facts she knew about the bug she was examining. It was obvious that Alicent found her daughter’s explanations odd and perhaps a bit disturbing, but Daenys appreciated that at least her mother was making an effort to understand her, something that most people chose not to do. Listening to her sister’s voice, Daenys paid little attention to the book resting on her legs, a story about Valyrian customs. Helaena was a good sister, despite her distant mind and how little they had in common: where Daenys was daring and audacious, Helaena was calmer and gentler, both in speech and action. Sometimes, Daenys wished she could be a bit more like her sister; perhaps that way her mother would love her a little more.

“It has eyes, though… I don’t believe it can see,” Helaena explained, the centipede walking freely through her hands.

“And why do you think that is?” their mother asked.

“It is beyond our understanding,” she replied.

“Perhaps to cry for its own ugliness,” Daenys joked, and she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a laugh cross her mother’s features.

The door burst open, and a guard stepped inside the room, carrying Aemond by the arm. He was crying and covered in ash.

“After how many times you’ve been warned, must I confine you to your chambers?!” their mother scolded him, grabbing him by the arms to ensure he was unharmed.

“I just-,” he tried, but was quickly cut off by Alicent.

“What were you doing down there alone?”

Aemond’s eyes darted towards Daenys, which was enough for Alicent to draw her own conclusions.

“Again?!” she roared, letting go of Aemond and speeding toward Daenys. She grabbed her arm and pulled her up by the sleeve of her dress. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop filling your brother’s head with fantasies about those beasts?!”

“I didn’t! I just told him he would claim a dragon someday, it’s not-”

“As if he needed more encouragement!”

The grip Alicent had on her daughter’s arm started to hurt, and tears began to prickle at the corners of Daenys’ eyes.

“Mother, it wasn’t Daenys,” Aemond tried to defend his sister. “She encouraged me to claim a dragon, yes, but I wouldn’t have gone down to the Dragonpit had it not been for their teasing…”

“Whose?” the Queen inquired.

“Aegon,” Helaena chimed in, her eyes still observing her bugs, but somehow able to pinpoint the culprit right away.

“Yes, and… those bastards…” Aemond added, his voice barely a whisper when he pronounced the word. “They made fun of me, tricked me into believing they had found me a dragon and it… it was a pig,” he explained, visibly embarrassed.

It was only after realizing that it had been the boys who had pushed Aemond to act so recklessly that Alicent became aware of the strength she was using to hold her daughter’s arm. She immediately let go. Daenys’ face was red and her eyes watery, but the girl hadn’t uttered a word of protest to her mother’s abuse.

Alicent sighed, and for a moment she looked older than she was. 

“Go wash, Aemond,” the Queen commanded her son, who turned on his heel immediately, making his way to his quarters. “We shall finish later, yes?” she proposed to Helaena, who had been a mere witness to the whole spectacle. She bent down to kiss her eldest daughter’s head and, without sparing Daenys a single look, left the girls’ chambers. It was only in Helaena’s solitary company that Daenys allowed herself to cry. Her arm hurt, but what hurt the most was that not a single day went by without her mother scolding her for something she had done or said. 

“Don’t cry, Daenys,” she heard Helaena say after some time, her gentle fingers combing through her little sister's hair. “None of this will matter soon.”

_______________________________________________

No Jace in this chapter, but he's coming! I just wanted to set the tone a bit and introduce our lovely Daenys.

If you liked this, let me know in any way! :)

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

nymph. [part 3] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings:  fluff, talks about slavery and territorial expansion, mythological figures treated in a simple way

A/N: My dears. I have to admit that I am proud of what I have done so far writing this series. Wow, a series! What was supposed to be just something short has now another chapter and I think there will be a few more. Please forgive me that not much is happening here. I wanted to introduce our characters to a new environment, it took me a while. I hope you will be understanding and gentle with me. Thank you for your wonderful reaction when I announced writing another chapter. It was really encouraging. I send you all my love.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

Rome was dazzling. All the buildings, temples and roads, palaces and squares were full of its inhabitants. And Marcus, welcomed in this center of the world as equal to the gods. 

The victories he brought with him and laid at the feet of the Emperor, earned him the recognition and love of the people. The empire grew in strength and power, thanks to General Acacius. 

And then there was you. 

Marcus made sure you were transported by his most trusted men to his home. He didn't want you to be in the palace, not yet.

The whispers of envious people, the jealousy and treachery, he didn't want to expose you to that. But there was something else. Something he was afraid of, but he didn't tell you about it.

Marcus was afraid that your appearance among the noble people of Rome from the Emperor's entourage would arouse unwanted interest from him. You could be considered by them as a spoil of war, his private concubine, someone equal to slaves. The thought itself stirred the blood in his veins.

He was calmer and better at playing his role as the Emperor's pet, knowing that you were waiting for him safely in his chambers.

"What troubles you, Acacius? Let me free your head from your worries." The curious voice of Emperor Geta reached his ears.

"It's nothing, my lord." Marcus nodded, his lips twisting into a small smile.

Geta watched him carefully "You're tired, aren't you? All this war, conquering... All men need to rest now, and so do you." He placed a hand on his shoulder and led him through the room filled with guests "I can offer you something that will delight your senses. The highest quality company, beautiful and fresh, with firm breasts..." he laughed quietly.

"You are generous, my lord." Marcus nodded humbly "I would like to be home though. In a bed other than the one I had in the camp."

"Alone?"

He was saved from answering by the music that suddenly started and distracted the Emperor. Soon the man finished his wine and let the guests surround him. The party was in full swing, and Marcus eagerly noticed the dark sky outside the window. The thought that you were alone in his house haunted him.

This place was a mystery to you. Previously, you had spent most of your time in and out of temples, but mortal homes never interested you. You walked barefoot through the rooms, occasionally spotting the servants who were busy preparing to welcome their lord.

The young girl who had been assigned to you dutifully toddled after you, clearly confused by your behavior.

"My lady." she said as you circled the inner garden of the house once again. "My lady, wait. Perhaps I should draw you a bath? You must be tired after such a long journey."

"Bath?" you didn't take your eyes off the stone bust standing against the wall.

"Yes, my lady." the girl approached, clearly pleased that she had caught your attention. "We have prepared a room for you."

You finally looked at her. She was beautiful. Her skin was kissed by the sun, her eyes large and dark, and her brown hair, which she had braided in a simple way, fell down her back.

"What is your name?"

"Melitta, my lady." she curtsied slightly and lowered her gaze. You repeated her name quietly, then gave yours, which made a shy smile appear on her lips. You unexpectedly grabbed her hand. "Lead me, Melitta. I feel like I won't be free from you if I don't take this bath."

"Our lord is kind and gracious to us. Not like some other masters..." Melitta's soft voice surrounded you as her graceful and skillful hands washed your body. The bath was warm and stuffy, filled with the scent of incense and enveloped in the warm light of candles. "His return was long awaited by us."

"Have you been in his house for a long?"

"A few years." she replied quietly. "But I am grateful for every day. General Acacius is..."

"Where are you from?" you interrupted her, you saw the surprise written on her beautiful face.

"What do you mean, my lady?" she asked.

"How did you come to Rome? You are not from here, I can feel it."

Melitta lowered her gaze, reaching for the oils standing on the floor next to her. Although your question didn’t hurt her, she felt awkward.

"My lady, asking a slave something like that is inappropriate." she said quietly as if she wanted to discreetly draw your attention to your lack of manners "It doesn't matter where we're from, now we belong to General Acacius, to Rome."

You turned around so you could look into the girl's face. "For me you are a person. You have a name, a family, roots. Your work, and the work of people like you, create this world."

"But we are still slaves... I mean no more than...than..." she grabbed the bottle with the amber liquid inside "Than that! Not all of us are born free, my lady. Maybe in your world it's easier, but it's only a world of ideas."

You lowered your gaze. Melitta's words echoed in your head, but you knew she was right. 

When you served your mistress, when you accompanied Minerva to her temples, or when you walked step by step behind Marcus - you never thought about how the Empire was built. To you all mortals were the same, too young, fragile, fleeting... Now you were one of them.

"Forgive me, please." You said quietly as Melitta helped you dress in clean, soft clothes. "I didn't mean to hurt you." 

"You didn't hurt me, my lady." She replied. "You noticed me."

It was late when he arrived at his estate. Cicadas were playing loudly in the garden, and the familiar rustle of sandals heralded the arrival of Antigonus, the steward of his house. The older man bowed low.

"General." He bowed low "It's good to see you in good health."

"I'm glad to see you too, Antigonus." Marcus replied, patting the man's shoulder "Is everything alright? How is our guest?"

"Everything has been prepared for your return, my lord. Melitta has taken care of your guest, taking her to her chamber."

The two set off down the dark corridors of the quiet house. "Oh, and she stayed there?" Marcus asked, feeling the corners of his mouth curl up, because he probably already knew the answer.

Antigonus sighed. "Your guest is very..." the man searched for the right word in his head "Curious." he said finally "But she's also beautiful and has a sharp mind. I had a hard time convincing her that she didn't have to help with the little chores in the garden. She seemed concerned."

"I guess. Don't worry, Antigonus. She's different from the ones we know, but she'll steal your heart."

"My lord."

The man noticed with concern that Marcus was heading towards where his bedroom and study were located. This worried him a little.

"If you wish to visit your guest, we've assigned her rooms on the other side of the house." he said.

The glow of the torch illuminated the General's tired face, but a smile was on his lips, "I think I'm where I should be. Good night, Antigonus." he replied and pushed the door open slightly.

The chamber was bathed in warm light, and the long shadow of a familiar figure was reflected on the wall. He noticed movement behind the delicate curtains covering his bed.

Gods, he would give anything to be able to immortalize the sight of you in some way. Every time his eyes looked at you, Marcus felt as if he was experiencing some indescribable miracle or grace. Even though you were already beyond his dream image, he still couldn't believe that a being so beautiful and extraordinary was within his reach.

You sat on his bed dressed in flowing robes that his servants had prepared for you. Around you were maps and other writings, you must have moved them there from his study. A small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows as you studied carefully what was before you, trying to understand it all.

"This is an unusual sight." he said quietly, and you flinched like a startled doe.

He emerged from the shadows and approached the bed. Your eyes followed his every step, a smile spreading across your lips as he finally stood before you. You sat back on your heels and rose slightly.

"Marcus..." his name flowed from between your lips like the sweetest song of praise.

He stroked your cheek, then leaned down to brush your sweet lips. "I thought I'd find you sleeping, not planning the expansion of your empire. Should I call you general or emperor now?" he said, chuckling.

"Call me whatever you want." You replied, taking his colossal hand in yours and kissing the back of it tenderly. "I saw this on your desk, I couldn't help myself."

"Curiosity can be dangerous, little bird. But tell me, please, what are you looking for there?"

Your gaze wandered back to the maps lying on the white sheets. Numerous lines intersected to form the borders of the country, the letters formed the names of cities and regions, but it meant nothing to you. You only saw that what was marked as the Empire was growing on each successive map.

"What's all this for?" you asked. "Why are you conquering more lands? Why are you killing each other? Our gods can be merciless, but you, humans, can be more terrible than them."

Warm fingers stroked your chin as Marcus considered your words. These thoughts had been haunting his mind for some time now. Did you know him that well?

"The Empire must be strong," he finally answered. "Our victories give it power and authority."

"They also give you new stomachs to fill. Meanwhile, you flood the fields with blood, you don't sow seeds for bread there."

He knew you were right. Gods! Marcus knew that perfectly well. He sat down next to you, and you greedily slid onto his lap. Your closeness gave him solace.

"The empire must grow to exist." You continued. "The beast must devour new victims to grow, and what if it doesn't find them anymore? What if it starts eating its own children?"

A grimace crossed his face. You saw the tiredness in his eyes, you didn't want to add to it, but only he was able to explain to you the world that you were now a part of.

"We have to believe that we are ruled by people who know how to prevent this from happening." He finally said.

"Do you believe in your words, Marcus?"

"I'm trying."

You took his face in your hands and placed your forehead against his. "I wish I could take away all your worries, my love. I wish I could find a better world for us."

He hummed quietly, his hands wandering over your back, sliding under the soft fabric wanting to feel the warmth and delicacy of your body.

"Now you are my world and I will defend it at all costs," he said quietly. 

Your body tensed as your lips collided. It didn't take much force to push him onto the sheets, sharing a precious breath with him. You made love, pushing away from your thoughts everything that cast a shadow over your feelings. 

It wasn't until later, when you were asleep, cuddled up to his side, his body free from the tension of the day, that Marcus still considered your words. The words you had spoken, the words that had filled his mind and heart for so long.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist

[lovingpiastri]

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY (op81 x female!reader)

ꪆৎ who the hell cares if it is 2024! oscar's one true mission is to show you all his love languages. even the 'outdated' ones..

warnings: tooth rotting fluff!

dating in the modern world is possibly every hopeless romantics most haunting nightmare, their bane of existence if you will. unlike enamoured couples in the fifties, people these days have lost the plot of loving one another, & displaying affection seemingly became equally as difficult as scavenging for a needle in a haystack. most loverboys adapted into heartless playboys alike to all the cliché 2000s chick flicks that the protagonist has their heart stringed tugged by.

on the other hand, oscar piastri would never resemble anything remote to those ruthless segments of crap. afterall his most favourite thing was to cherish you and he had the most unique methods of doing it in this loveless generation.

1. illegally burning cds with all your most adored melodies and harmonies of songs. perhaps the riskiest one of all but it's the thought that counts . for the longest time music has been your escapism, and it's only fair for oscar to gift relaxation for you on a silver platter. sure he could create you a lousy spotify playlist , but it's the effort that adds the cherry on top.

2. sharing a sickenly-sweet milkshake in a time capsulated 80s diner that has been stuck in a forgotten for far too long . the delightful gesture has a silent intimacy, one that's almost to difficult to spot yet it's most definitely present. especially when your foreheads clash together on accident as you both lean in for a long sip of the vanilla treat.

3. holding up a much-too-heavy boom box outside your home, alike to lloyd dobler, in attempt to serenade you using only the most romantic frank sinatra song 'love is here to stay'. all whilst swaying to the sound of the jazzy saxophone and the amorous piano instruments working in symphony. oh what a dork!

4. even remembering the tiniest details about you never fail to make you giddily kick your feet, so it was excellent that oscar didn't happen to have short term memory loss! from how you prefer your coffee down to your silly catch phrases when something unfortunate occured. he remembered them all.

5. dragging you along to a much too exhausted photo booth, a machine in desperate need of repairing yet the damage was what made the gesture all the more amorous. the old strip of film was threatening to rip apart even when brand new, so as one would (or just oscar) he stored it in his phonecase, resembling a display case in a museum which entrapped the most compellingly stunning soul: you!

©lovingpiastri

[ak319]

oof, i loved arthur’s reaction to her escape attempt! imagine if it’d been longer, like you said reader was around 15-19, if she were 15ish and he found her again when she was in her early 20s or something 👀 maybe even with a family of her own

(AN: Oh. My. GOD! *screams*, straight outta a soap opera but make it darker, lol. I had so much fun writing it!!!.) Alter version of this Warnings/MDNI: Not incest, strictly platonic, abuse, death// I don't condone such behaviour

You'd found a quiet, unassuming happiness on the ranch, a kind of peace you'd never known before. The people Annabelle left you with were very good at covering your tracks and gave you the best opportunity to start your new life. Sure, there was the occasional pang of guilt, a fleeting thought of your brother and how he might have worried after your sudden disappearance. For leaving without a word. But you consoled yourself, convinced it was for the best. He was your guardian, not your puppeteer. The dread of him coming and taking you back didn't fade though. Both of you had conflicting views, you needed freedom, and space to grow into yourself instead of witnessing the dangers and the crime they committed there and pretending it was fine, and the Alder ranch had given you exactly that.

The work was hard, but you loved it, and the Alders treated you like family. And then Farris arrived. When you were 18.

When he arrived, you were wary at first, assuming he’d be just another complication, perhaps a jerk. You already feared meeting new people but he quickly proved you wrong. Farris was thoughtful, with an understated kindness that made him easy to be around. His silence wasn't standoffish; it felt respectful like he knew you had your own reasons for being there, just as he did. He had a way of giving you space without making you feel lonely, and when he did speak, it was usually to ask questions that felt... refreshing. He genuinely wanted to learn from you, which was a new experience, and something that made you feel a bit prouder of the knowledge you'd gathered on the ranch.

And there was something undeniably magnetic about him. He was handsome in a way that didn’t demand attention, with an earthy charm that suited the simplicity of ranch life. You caught yourself smiling at his quiet humour, the way he’d sneak a comment here or there to lighten the load. Working alongside him, you felt more like an equal than you had in a long time, and that feeling, that respect, was something you hadn't realized you’d been missing all along.

When Farris confessed his feelings, it caught you so off guard that, for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Someone wanted to be with you? You, with your past and all the silent shadows that came with it? But Farris was gentle, giving you time to think, to consider your own heart without pressure. And you did think, a lot, trying to let this possibility unfold in your mind. Eventually, with a shy, tentative "yes," you opened up, your whole being feeling like a flower cautiously reaching toward sunlight, still uncertain yet irresistibly drawn.

The two of you became the talk of the ranch, your quiet glances and shy smiles making even the Alders chuckle with delight. It was sweet, people said, watching you both, a pair of lovestruck teens caught up in something innocent and tender.

Farris eventually opened up about his past, speaking softly, as if sharing a guarded wound. His parents had been trapped in a constant cycle of bitterness, each too absorbed in their own struggles to think about him. They didn’t care for each other, for the vows they’d made, or even for the boy caught in between. By the time they split, he’d been left to fend for himself, a ghost drifting between them, unwanted. Yet here he was, looking at you with such hope, with a gentleness that was born from hardship but longing for something better, beautiful and loving than what his parents had.

He wanted a love that was real, something far from the fractured, selfish version he’d grown up with. And he wanted it with you. That simple, earnest wish kindled something inside you, something bright and tender, something you hadn’t dared hope for until now.

Now, at twenty, you’re happily married. Farris has never once wavered from his vow, not for a single moment. He’s never let you feel the sting of loneliness or regret. He’s only ever been there, his love a steady presence, his every word and gesture a reminder that he’s here for you, that he will always be here.

He knows pieces of your past, the fragments you were willing to share. You chose to tell him only as much as felt necessary, as much as you felt safe giving away. He’s never pressed for more, never pried into the shadows you’ve tried so hard to leave behind. Instead, he accepted every part of you, the parts you showed him, and the parts you held back. And in his acceptance, you’ve found a peace you didn’t think possible, a quiet sense of safety that feels like home.

You both thrived together in the quarters on the ranch, living in a cozy one-bedroom home that felt like a world of your own. It was small, yet everything you needed was right there, wrapped in love and laughter. But Farris, with his dreams and ambitions, wanted something more, a life away from the ranch and its unpredictable weather.

So, you both made the leap and moved near Valentine, a small community with friendly faces and warm hearts. Farris found a job at a nearby publishing office, where he poured his creativity into his work, while you channeled your talents into selling beautiful embroidered fabrics. Farris supplied your creations to the local markets, and together you earned enough to not just survive but to thrive.

In the evenings, your home transformed into a small haven of learning. You taught the local children, sharing knowledge and igniting a spark of curiosity in their eyes. For you, spreading knowledge felt like soaring through the sky; every lesson was a chance to lift someone else up. You found joy in teaching, especially the girls, encouraging them to embrace their potential and dream big.

⋆⋆⋆

You were now eight months pregnant, combing your hair in the mirror after freshening up in the morning. When you were satisfied with your appearance and turned around, you saw Farris walking towards you, shaking his head in what seemed like mild disappointment.

“What?” you chuckled, touching your hair and turning back to the mirror to check for anything on your face.

He didn’t say anything at first, instead reaching for two bracelets from the jewelry box he had gifted you. He gently put them on your wrists, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“You know how much I hate seeing you empty-handed, not looking like a newlywed bride,” he said, his voice teasing yet affectionate.

You let out a laugh, a genuine one that echoed through the room. “That’s because I’m not! It’s going to be a year soon, I’m not so new anymore.”

He frowned playfully and pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist. “It doesn’t matter. For me, it’s important to see my beloved ready. It makes me feel happy to see you every time, all dolled up.”

Farris gave a little smirk, his eyes glinting with that familiar playfulness. “And what’s wrong with getting ready for me?” he teased, adjusting the bracelets on your wrist as if they were the final touch to a masterpiece. “It’s a good thing. It should be the first thing you do after waking up, come out looking all lovely, and before I get home too. And it’s not up for debate, alright?” He tapped your nose, his tone both firm and light-hearted, making you grin and blush at the same time.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, shaking your head at his silly demands, which you knew were simply his way of showing how much he adored you. You couldn’t imagine a day without his little ways of making you feel cherished. You are officially spoiled rotten.

"You and your demand of seeing me ready all the time.. I literally just woke up..." You tried to stifle a yawn, still sleepy-eyed as you leaned into him, but Farris only chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with that familiar fondness.

“Well, that’s on you,” he teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “If I had my way, you’d wake up ready for a wedding every day.”

You let out another laugh, warm and easy. “You mean you want me walking around in a heavy gown and jewels while I’m like this?” You gestured to your rounded belly, the weight of the baby beneath your hand both grounding and joyful.

He grinned, resting a hand over yours. “Every bit of it. The bracelets, the smile, all of it. Even just like this, especially like this.”

A soft warmth bloomed in your chest, and you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling content in a way you’d never quite known before. “You’re lucky I indulge you as much as I do,” you murmured, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile in your voice betrayed you.

“Well, c'mon, that's my right as your husband now, and I’m grateful every day,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His hands stayed on your shoulders, steady, as though grounding you there with him. "After all I earn for you, to buy you all this so you wear it. Not keep them in a damn box."

He leaned down, his voice a quiet murmur. “You’re glowing, you know. It’s like… even the smallest things make me grateful that you’re here. That you’re mine.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. “I know,” you murmured back, brushing your fingers lightly over his hand. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And this little one,” you added, giving your belly a gentle pat, “well… I think they’d agree.”

He chuckled, a sound that felt like sunshine on a quiet morning. “Then I guess I’d better keep making you happy, huh? Not that I’d want to do anything else.”

He drew you into his arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another, softer one, on your lips. His hand drifted down to rest gently over your belly, his thumb tracing gentle circles.

“Love you both,” he said quietly, the words wrapped in tenderness. You rested your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and let out a sigh of pure contentment.

“Love you too,” you whispered, letting yourself sink fully into the embrace, savoring the warmth and comfort of the moment.

⋆⋆⋆

Before you knew it, time slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, and you were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Adia, a precious gift that illuminated your lives in ways you never imagined. Farris had poured his heart and soul into building another room in your small house, carefully crafting every plank and stone, each stroke of his hand a testament to his love and commitment since the moment he learned you were expecting.

Now, Adia was six months old, a bundle of joy who filled your days with light. You had just finished your evening classes and, with a sense of anticipation, hurried to cradle your daughter, who stirred from her peaceful nap.

"Aww, my cutie," you squealed, "Look who's finally back to earth." The innocence of her giggles somehow bittersweet in the quiet of the house.

You carried her into the kitchen, “Let’s get some (coffee/tea) ready before dad comes home,” you said softly,

“Let me heat those pastries too-” you began, but were abruptly cut off by a sharp knock on the door. Confusion twisted your stomach as you approached, pausing just before turning the handle. A sudden thought struck you like ice water.

Farris has keys. Why would he knock?

With a racing heart, you crept to the window, peering through the curtain. The dim light of the lamp outside cast eerie shadows across the porch, and your blood ran cold. There they were, three masked men.

Charles stood at the front, his fist raised to knock again, while Sean shifted nervously beside him, eyes darting around as if sensing the gravity of the moment. But it was the figure in the distance that sent a chill through your bones.

Arthur.

Leaning against his horse, Arthur's entire form was cloaked in black, the cigarette smoke curling from his lips, lingering like a sinister whisper in the dusky air. He stood there with an unsettling casualness as if the weight of his presence meant nothing to him. He looked more dangerous than the last time you had seen him, if that was even possible. But you knew better. He was not here to offer a friendly visit. No. His intentions were laced with malice.

He looked like death himself.

“I swear, Arthur, this is the house. I saw her here,” Sean insisted, his voice taut with urgency.

Panic gripped you. No, no, no. You backed away from the window, the world narrowing down to the pounding of your heart and the cold sweat that broke out across your skin. One hand flew to cover your mouth, the other instinctively clutching Adia’s small head to your chest, as if you could shield her from the impending storm.

This has to be a fucking nightmare.

The dread of your past clawed its way back into your mind, and you jumped at the sound of another heavy knock, followed by murmured voices. The familiar cadence of Arthur’s tone sent a wave of nausea through you. It felt like a sinister echo from your past, threatening to shatter the fragile peace you had fought so hard to build.

What if Farris comes and they do something to him? The thought twisted in your gut, a dark cloud overshadowing your desperate need for escape.

No, please, God.

You raced to turn off the stove, the pot of simmering pastries forgotten, then dashed for the back door, your only thought to reach Farris or find help. But as you flung the door open, dread flooded through you. There stood Charles, frozen in place, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else, guilt.

"N-no, please...Charles.... don't. Leave me alone, I beg you..." you stammered, your voice trembling.

He took a step back, but his eyes betrayed him, brimming with remorse. "I am just following orders."

Before he could close the distance, instinct kicked in, and you slammed the door shut, your breath coming in panicked gasps, adrenaline coursing through you. Even Adia seemed to sense the shift in the air, her small body tensing against you as you bounced her gently, cooing in a feeble attempt to soothe her. But the noise around you grew louder, the panic rising like bile in your throat. You needed a weapon, something to protect her.

Suddenly, the front door was thrown off its hinges, splintering wood echoing through your small sanctuary. Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, reverberating in your chest as you sprinted to Adia’s room, locking the door behind you with shaking hands.

Then came the shattering of the back door, another sound that sent your heart racing as you backed away in horror, retreating to the closet. You clutched Adia tightly, covering her mouth with your palm as silent tears streamed down your face.

Everything is over.

Everything you had built, your little heaven, was about to be shattered. The weight of dread pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. His anger was palpable, suffocating, reverberating through the very walls of your home. After all these years, if he had still found you, it meant he had been hunting you, waiting, and his patience had finally run out.

An impatient Arthur was not a forgiving one.

'Farris, don’t come home. Please, just don’t.' The words twisted in your throat, heavy with despair, as you whispered them into the darkness. It was the first time you ever wished for him not to return, and the realization shattered your heart.

“Shh, baby, please,” you murmured frantically, rocking Adia gently.

This time they didn't bother kicking the door, it was simply blown to pieces. The door frame splintered, and you could hear the heavy footsteps.

It took no longer than 5 seconds for him to fling the closet open and stare down, with eyes that now were empty. So different, so fucking different from the ones you grew up with.

"A-arthur..." You whimpered out shaking your head as if telling him to just forget all this and go.

"Grab the fuckin' kid, Charles."

"No- NO! NO! ARTHUR! Don't you touch her!" But it was futile for you to fight against the latter as he snatched her like a doll and took her out with Sean. You leapt after her but Arthur grabbed you by the hair and slammed you to the ground, wasting no time to pin and immobilize you.

“Had fun?” he sneered, landing a blow to your face that sent stars dancing in your vision. He held back, just enough to keep you conscious, but the intent was clear, this was just the beginning. “Oh I bet you did, right? While I worried sick day and night!”

The next hit came like a thunderclap, the sting of his palm echoing through your skull. “Fuckin' left after everything I did! Like I didn’t even fuckin’ matter to you at all! And then what do I find? That you are here, enjoyin' your life, OPENING YOUR LEGS FOR SOME GUY!?”

You coughed blood and managed to stop him from hitting again another "A-arthur, s-sorry. Please, don't...I'll visit you in the camp whenever you want me to, you can come here when-" He landed another slap and then gripped your chin with a bruising force shutting you up, the pressure on your throat tightening to the point where you struggled to breathe. You were sure that you were going to die then and there. His fingers dug in, a cruel reminder of the power he wielded over you.

“You don’t get a say in this,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing, a dark promise wrapped in each word. “You’re comin' with me, whether you like it or not. And if you make a sound, I’ll make sure your precious little lover pays for it.”

“NO! I-I’ll go,” you gasped, each word a desperate attempt to stave off the storm brewing within him. “I’ll go with you.” Adia's wails outside the room made the situation only worse, every fibre of your being just telling you to rush out and hold her to your chest.

Every fibre of your being screamed against this nightmare, but the thought of what he could do to Farris, the man who had given you a life, a family, made your heart race with terror.

Arthur’s grip slackened just a fraction, enough for you to catch a gasp of air, but his expression remained cold, and calculating. “You better mean it, or I swear to God, I’ll burn everything you love to the ground just to watch you squirm, just like you made me, for all these fuckin' years."

He yanked you to your feet, his grip on your hair forcing you to stumble forward, a reminder of his unyielding control.

“Adia…” you whispered, desperately trying to reach him with your thoughts. Pleading him pathetically again, once fucking again. It's never going to end.

He didn’t respond, but the sight of Charles trailing behind, cradling your daughter, confirmed your worst fears, they were taking both of you. The cold night air bit at your skin, amplifying the fear clawing at your insides. Sean’s sympathetic glance pierced through your growing anger, igniting a furious spark within you. You lost it when he mouthed a 'sorry'.

“Fuck you,” you spat, the words slipping out before you could contain them.

Arthur halted, his body tense as he turned to face you, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “The fuck did you jus' say?”

“I-” You hesitated, the weight of your situation pressing down harder with every passing second.

But before you could form a coherent thought, a voice shattered the night.

“HEY! (Y/N)! Who the hell are you guys!?”

Your heart plummeted. “FARRIS, NO! RUN, PLEASE!”

Arthur’s gaze flickered with annoyance, and without a second thought, he threw you aside like a ragdoll, sending you crashing into Sean’s waiting arms.

“What, not happy to see your brother-in-law?” Arthur taunted, a cruel smile spreading across his face as Farris stepped into view, his expression shifting from shock to rage, but he knew better than to lose his cool in front of these criminals.

It was the brother you had warned him about, the outlaw who had haunted your past like a shadow.

“Look, I know how you must feel,” Farris began, his voice steady despite the terror swirling around. “But we’re married now. You can’t just take her away from her family, Sir. Not like this.” His calm facade masked the storm brewing beneath, his protective instincts surging in response to the sight of you, bruised and at the mercy of men he had no trust in. Not to mention his daughter being held by one of them.

“How I feel? I'll tell you how I felt. I barely slept not knowing if she's even alive out there, in this brutal world, searchin' for her at every chance. How I feel, my ass,” Arthur’s voice dripped with venom, his eyes narrowing.

“You son of a bitch, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Just let him go, Arthur, it's not his fault! Don't do anything to him! You can kill me if you want!" you pleaded, your voice breaking as you looked between the men who now stood as barriers in your life, one of them representing something you desperately wished to protect. “Please, don’t do this.”

Farris took a cautious step forward, his body tense, but he had to for his family.. “You don’t have to do this, Sir. She's your family, don't hurt her like this, don't take her away like this, from me, we love each other...please. Think of the child at least.." He pleaded, trying his best to win this losing battle.

"Is that so? Alright."

Arthur drags you forward, placing the pistol in your trembling hands. Farris stands there, helpless, his gaze moving from Arthur to you, filled with confusion and a sorrowful acceptance.

Arthur leans in close, his whisper twisted with venom. "You’re the one who ran, sister. You wanted this life, didn't you? Now, you end it. Show him you’re done."

You shake your head, choking back sobs. "Please, Arthur... don’t make me do this! Please!"

Arthur’s hand closes over yours, his grip unyielding, forcing your fingers around the gun. "No one to run to this time," he says, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. "If you want to keep breathing, you’ll do as I say. Or maybe he’d prefer a slower death? I’ve got time.”

“Do it,” he hisses, tightening his hold until the gun aims squarely at Farris.

Charles steps forward, desperation flickering in his gaze. He turns to Arthur, his voice low but urgent. “Arthur... come on. Just let him go,” he pleads, his hand shielding Adia's eyes. “He’s done nothin’ worth all this.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, his eyes cold and unyielding as he keeps the gun levelled. “Stay the fuck out of this, Charles,” he warns, his voice a harsh whisper. “She made her choice the moment she left without a word. This is your punishment, ya' hear me?.”

You glance at Farris and the sadness in them nearly undoes you. His lips part, trying to reassure you even in his final moments. But the fear is there, and the heartbreaking acceptance, as he takes one last look at Adia in Charles's arms and then meets your eyes. He nods, just once, his lips moving in a silent farewell. “I love you both, never forget it and this isn't your fault. Remember that," he whispers, his voice barely reaching you.

Arthur digs his fingers into your wrist, forcing you forward. "Go on then," he sneers, "show him how much you love him."

"Fa-rris no, please, I love yo-" The words painfully get stuck in your throat, as you hiccup.

Your vision blurs, but with Arthur’s iron grip guiding you, your finger finds the trigger, pressed down by his strength, leaving you powerless. The shots echo through the stillness, ringing in your ears as you watch the light fade from Farris’s eyes.

4 shots.

He drops to his knees, his gaze still locked on yours, one last shuddered breath escaping him.

Arthur finally releases you, and you collapse, the gun falling from your hands as you sink to the ground, numb with shock and despair.

"See?" Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence, laced with dark amusement. "This was always your choice. Remember that."

“No!” you choke out, tears streaming down your face, screams sounding raw and primal, rip from your throat as your heart shatters into fragments. You lunged toward him, instinctually rushing to his side cradling him.

“Farris! No, no! Please, don't! I am so sorry!” Your voice was a repetitive haunting echo in the cold night air, but he didn’t respond. You couldn’t breathe, a flood of emotions clawing at your throat.

Arthur stepped forward, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he savoured your despair. "Guess, he just had to die today. Did a mistake comin' back. And you..."

With a swift movement, he grabbed your arm and pulled you away, dragging you toward the waiting horse tethered nearby while you thrashed and tried to reach back into Farris's embrace. “This is how you pay for your betrayal, to me and the gang,” he hissed, hoisting you onto the horse with a force that left you gasping.

“HE DID NOTHING WRONG! YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL! YOU ARE ALL FUCKED UP!" you pleaded, tears streaming down your face, blurring your vision as you turned back to where Farris lay. The cold grip of dread consumed you, and every fibre of your being screamed for answers.

Arthur merely chuckled, a dark and chilling sound that reverberated in your ears. “Wrong place, wrong time. It’s a shame, really, right boys?"

He mounted the horse behind you, the weight of his presence suffocating.

You felt the horse begin to move, hooves thudding against the ground as the distance between you and Farris grew. You strained against the reins, desperate to look back, to Farris or to see Adia safe in Charles's arms but Arthur’s grip on your waist was unyielding.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, your heart racing with each passing moment. “Farris! Farris!” The name escaped your lips like a prayer, but the silence that answered only deepened the void within you.

Every beat of your heart echoed the same questions, how could he do this? Why would Arthur tear apart the life you had fought so hard to build? You started thrashing trying to jump off the horse and when that didn't work you started smacking yourself on the head.

“Stop wailing like a fucking lunatic,” Arthur growled, his voice low and menacing as he grabbed your wrists. “You’ll only make this worse for yourself.”

And so you cried, tears mingling with the night for the life you had lost and the love you had been taken from.

⋆⋆⋆

You stumble back into camp, hollowed out by grief, barely feeling the hands that try to guide you or the murmurs of people around. It’s like your own heartbeat is drowning out everything else, each beat a cruel reminder that you’re alive while he’s… Farris is gone. Every step feels heavier, like dragging chains through mud, and the weight of it pulls you into a fog that you can’t see your way out of. It’s all too much, and you can’t bear the thought of another breath in this place, under Arthur’s shadow.

Arthur’s voice comes from behind, gruff and dismissive. “Get her settled, Miss Grimshaw. She’ll calm down soon enough.”

It’s a trigger, hearing his voice, so callous, so indifferent. The anger wells up, fierce and desperate, drowning the fear as you pivot, finding him with your gaze. Arthur turns, catching sight of you just as your hand reaches out, fast and resolute, seizing the gun holstered at his hip. You grip it tightly, the cold metal a final, grim comfort.

“Hey!” Arthur’s eyes flash, more surprised than afraid, but he freezes, hands raised as if to placate you, assessing the danger in your expression.

“What’re you doing?” His voice is low, a warning, but there’s a crack in it, something uncertain. He’d expected grief, but not this.

You steady your trembling hands, the barrel pointed between you and him and everyone around. Your voice, a rasp torn from the depths of your pain, barely makes it out. “Why should I stay? Hm? After what you’ve done… after you took everything from me?”

Arthur’s expression darkens, his jaw clenched, but he doesn’t make a move. The camp falls deathly silent, all eyes watching. “You wouldn’t, stop it." He says, but there’s a flicker of doubt there. He didn’t think you had this in you.

“I have nothing left,” you hiss, the tears burning in your eyes as you hold his gaze. "Just...why Arthur..?"

Something flickers in Arthur’s face then, a flash of worry, but he schools it quickly. “Put it down. Now. You’re no good to anyone dead. Least of all that little girl of yours.” His voice cuts, striking right at the fragile remnants of your will.

At the mention of Adia, your grip weakens and you glance at her, your baby who will not even properly get to know her father. The thought of her, defenceless and alone, keeps you anchored just long enough for the fight to drain from your muscles. Your hands go limp and Arthur immediately takes the gun from your hands. You snatch your daughter from Charles, your knees hitting the dirt as the tears finally spill over, and Arthur is there, one hand resting on your shoulder as if he’s won some twisted victory.

But he can’t take your grief. That’s yours alone.

There were old faces and new ones at this camp, but you couldn’t bear to see anyone, each familiar visage only serving as a reminder of the life you once knew, a life that felt like a distant memory now. Even Annabelle has died, as Hosea informed you with a heavy heart. It just couldn't get any worse.

You spent days in a daze, confined within the solitude of your tent, surrounded by the oppressive security that hung in the air like a storm cloud and staring at your wedding ring sometimes, reminiscing about the fairytale of life that got snatched from you in a blink of an eye. Each moment dragged, your sense of time warped as you replayed the events that had brought you here, Farris, Arthur, and the unbearable weight of loss.

You hold Adia close, not letting anyone near her, not the women from camp who bring food and clean clothes, and especially not Arthur. Each time he approaches, there’s something in his gaze, a mix of guilt and a twisted sense of responsibility, as if he’s trying to make up for what he’s done. But you don’t forget, and you don’t forgive. Never.

You could never forget how he looked at her with disgust that day, his contempt for you and your choices etched deep into his features. Calling you all sorts of names. Reducing you to some mere wench.

He tries, though, lingering outside the tent with trinkets and offerings. Small things, toys he’s scrounged up from nearby towns, little comforts he imagines will make it easier for you both to settle in here. You can see the frustration tightening his jaw every time you refuse to accept anything from him, every time you turn your back, clutching Adia tighter.

“Y’ain’t lifting a damn finger here,” he announces one morning to the others, his voice rough with command as if he’s declaring some kind of victory over the damage he caused. He stands tall, as though he’s your protector now, trying to mould himself into something noble. “Keep her off chores, you hear?”

His words carry through the camp, but they’re hollow, a show for the others. To everyone watching, it’s Arthur taking care of his sister and her child, doing what any family man should. Yet to you, it’s just another layer of manipulation. His guilt is a quiet thing, veiled beneath the orders he barks, the food he insists you eat, and the rare times he offers to hold Adia.

Then, one fateful day, you discovered you were pregnant. The news came as a surprise, a sudden twist in a life already tangled in chaos. For a fleeting moment, happiness flickered within you, a light in the darkness. Yet, that joy was overshadowed by your relentless sorrow for Farris. You cried daily, the tears mingling with the hopes and dreams you had lost.

No one left to wait for now, no one whose warmth you could sink into at night, no one to smile at as you fuss with your hair, adjusting every strand just right. Who would make you feel seen and safe, someone to dress up for, to look at with eyes full of love, watching their gaze soften in return? Your hands remain empty now, the very same hands that Farris doted on , the fact that the last thing he saw was them holding a gun at him. Your heart would shatter physically every time you think about it if it was practically possible.

He wouldn't be here to witness the birth of his second child.

“If it’s a boy, what a fine addition that would be, right Arthur?” you overheard Dutch say one day, his voice carrying through the thin fabric of your tent. You cringed at the thought. You knew exactly what Arthur’s vision entailed which was a shadow of Dutch's, raising your blood, his nephew, to be just like him, a cold-blooded killer, a reflection of the darkness that now surrounded you. The thought filled you with dread, the prospect of your child inheriting that legacy.

You were going to raise your son like how Farris was. A gentle soul.

As you held Adia close, her soft breaths a balm against the tumult of your thoughts, it steeled your resolve. No matter the cost, you would raise your children to know love, to know compassion and to see beauty in a world that had torn you apart.

[yoonlattesworld]

Love me Noona: JJK Teaser

Synposis: he is a strange man. You've thought this since the first day you met him. See, there are countless of pretty freshman girls in your college. Some of them so pretty that it made you wonder if he's blind or something. Because despite so many beautiful girls of his age dying to be with him, he wasn't even glancing at them. Why? Because he, Jeon jungkook, the most popular freshman in your college, was interested in you, a boring senior who'd rather die than attend a damn party. So even though he was a strange man, hearing him say "good morning Noona!" became a part of your morning routine.

Genre: Noona romance, smut, fluff, angst, pairing fresh man koo with senior mc,college au

Warnings: smut, older reader, riding, bold koo, tattooed koo, flirty koo, mentions of fight, koo punching someone, raw sex, a little cum play, grinding, switch koo, will be updated with the one shot.

Author's pov

"I can't believe we're getting so many assignments even with the exams coming" yoona grumbled as she angrily typed in her laptop. At this rate the poor laptop will start crying too.

Sighing tiredly you made a noise of agreement while rubbing your forehead because of the forming headache. "Mr Kim is cruel" you mumbled taking another sip of your iced coffee as another whine left yoona's lips.

A frown made its way to your face as you realised that you drank the whole cup as the only liquid coming through the straw was a few drops of water of the melting ice. Standing up with another sigh you looked at your equally tired best friend "you want anything? I'm going to the cafe"

She immediately nodded and smiled gratefully as she took out her wallet "one hot coffee please. My treat" you hummed with delight, taking her card "thank you" blowing her a kiss you let out a small giggle as she blowed one back and turned around. While walking towards the gate of your college,you heard some commotion and looked towards the noise for a second to see people forming a crowd around someone.

Thankfully the line wasn't too long so you were able to come back quickly. Perhaps you were too quick to get back to your seat and finish the damn assignment because one second you could see yoona waving at you and one second all you could see greyness and-

"oh my-!" you gasped sharply as you collided in a firm chest causing you to stumble back as both the drinks spilled from your hand. Your eyes were clenched shut as you waited for your body to fall on the hard ground but instead you felt muscular arms wrapping around your waist and your hands flied to grip whatever they could.

As you came back in your senses, the first thing you heard was a heart beat, and the next thing you heard was a low chuckle "you okay there?" and the last thing you heard was a raspy voice which sent chills down your spin. Your eyes widened as you hastily stepped back, now noticing that you were in the arms of an unfamiliar man.

Feeling a rush of embarrassment you bowed your head "i-im very sorry-" as you looked up, your breath got caught for the second time as your eyes took him in. When you felt his muscular body against you, you were sure that his face would be on the rougher side. So you were very surprised when you found yourself staring at a pair of big doe eyes and a small bunny smile.

"it's okay. It was my fault too" he raised his eyebrows and for a second you thought you were looking at a small kid. But then you also realised that you had to crane your neck upwards to look at his face properly. Even in his grey t shirt you could see the outlines of his muscles. The way his arms flexed as he raised his hand towards you "jungkook. Jeon jungkook "

Your eyes widened slightly as you quickly looked away and judging by the small smirk hanging on his Lips, you're sure he caught you checking him out "y/n. L/n y/n" smiling softly you took his hand, staring at how his hand fully engulfed yours. For a second he didn't leave your hand and kept looking at you but when you cleared your throat, he smiled, his hand leaving yours.

"y/n l/n 3rd year" you looked at him questioningly as he mumbled to himself but then noticed that he was looking at the Id card hanging on your neck "so you're a senior " he mumbled yet again and you wondered if he was talking to himself or you.

You were surprised when he looked at you with a smirk. The soft doe eyed face completely disappeared and instead you mischief in his eyes which seemed to sharpen with his smirk "then...." you hummed smiling at him as you saw a few people looking at you both out of the corner of your eye.

"Good morning Noona. I look forward to getting to know you"

For some reason you wondered if the tilt in his voice was your imagination or not. Because right now he was looking at you with eyes so intense that you felt your heart beat increasing.

Still, you smiled yet again as you nodded "likewise, jungkook"

[itspileofgoodthings]

Also it’s really fascinating because in a certain way Austen finds the trope of redemption through romance/good girl fixes bad boy dead but in an even realer way Henry is just the wrong candidate for it. Or, to be even more accurate, the setup of Henry and Fanny is the wrong match for it and that’s what makes it funny. The truth is that Henry objectifies her, NOT physically. His appreciation of her beauty is hands down the most romantic thing he feels for her but he objectifies her morals and her goodness, in essence: her character. He, and in a different but equally real way Mary treat Fanny like a doll and every time she does something of quality they react with surprise and delight as if a doll had done it. The fact that the surprise and delight are genuine makes it worse because it’s even more objectifying. They’re like “look at the doll speak! The doll said something incisive and profound! The doll doesn’t even know of what quality she is made because she’s so simple! Noble simplicity!” And it is objectively condescending and—not to beat a dead horse here!!!— truly objectifying. They both see and sense her superiority to the rest of Mansfield but that doesn’t mean that they treat her like a person. Henry makes much of her, refuses to listen to what she actually wants, enlists Sir Thomas against her, feels no scruple whatsoever about putting pressure on her, and doesn’t know her well enough to know that she does “know her own mind” despite not knowing her own manner. He’s also the wrong candidate for this trope because he’s too knowing and observant. He KNOWS he’s in the trope. He’s kind of like “hmmm Fanny redeeming me, Fanny changing me, wow, love to consider it from a moral aesthetic point of view, what a flower in her cap that would be and how it would stick it to the rest of the Mansfield crew” and so he’s not set up to be surprised or charmed into compassion and real love 1) because he’s self-aware of the good it would do him and 2) because he gets ahead of the good by manipulating it for his own schemes. Alleviating boredom/sticking it to Mansfield and co. being the two main ones for as far as I can tell. He even knows that if he just waits, if he just holds out that “absence, time, and distance,” as he says, will speak for him. Will clear his way. Will work on Fanny’s heart. Because it IS a powerful trope for a reason! And especially if Edmund was out of the picture re: Mary what else would there be for her to do? But that’s the thing. He SEES the truth of it and sees the inevitability of it but only because he’s thinking of this in terms of winning—winning her, but also just winning at the scheme, pulling the con. True love doesn’t do that. The absence, time, and distance of which he’s speaking would be enacted by someone with a loving heart in such a different way because it would just be the simple act of compassion and not wanting to trouble the beloved that would be the motivator. It would be Darcy going back to his normal life after the Hunsford proposal with no intention of winning Lizzy back or determination to pursue her or need to clarify anything past the letter but still with love in his heart for her. Henry doesn’t have that love and never did and so cannot be changed by it. He plays the stakes of it all like a game and because Fanny isn’t playing it at all he loses, in every possible way.

[city-of-heavenly-heartbreaks]

Can't get enough of Emmrich and his skeleton son 😭

I think it's safe to say that Emmrich is unanimously one of the favorite companions among everyone right now, and how could he not be? He's delightful to talk to, his personal questline is great, and MANFRED 😍 I love the idea of my 25-year-old, rough n' tumble Rook with bad humor and heart of gold being immediately sold on this posh gentleman ONLY because he comes with an adorable skeleton buddy 😂 Then, as it turns out, he's pretty cool in his own right. He treats Rook like an equal, despite being more experienced and talented, which is something she doesn't get from a lot of adult figures (looking at you, First Warden). Honestly, their relationship reminds me of having an older coworker that you don't expect to have anything in common with at first, then they turn out to be one of your favorite people there.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Madhubala (Mughal-e-Azam, Barsaat Ki Raat, Mr. & Mrs. '55)—The Venus of India; heart-throb of all who saw her; responsible for the sexual awakening of every single desi lesbian I know (including me!) And my god, she is breathtakingly beautiful. Look at the subtle grace with which she moves, and that smile - the kind of radiant smile that can make you laugh with sheer delight, or cry because of its hidden pain. Those wild curls! That Cupid's bow! The way she tilts back her head and smiles at you with mischief dancing in her eyes! She has a way of looking at the camera that makes you feel she's sharing a private joke just with you; it's something about that quizzical twist of the lips and eyebrows. As an actress, she is inimitable; she seems to effortlessly inhabit roles ranging from a heart-broken courtesan to a laughter-loving socialite. Fun fact : she's had quite the fan following in Greece! Stelios Kazantidis even wrote a song as a tribute to her.

Olivia de Havilland (Adventures of Robin Hood, Gone With the Wind, The Heiress)— The woman who took on the Studio System at the height of their power and Won! A double Oscar winner! Is magnetic and beautiful in everything she's in and gave us all the juicy scandal with her sibling rivalry with Joan Fontaine! Before the Oscar Slap was the Oscar sister snub! Also everything she wears in Robin Hood she makes beautiful even a purple green and orange monstrosity how does she do it! Anyway this scene is one of my old Hollywood favourites

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Madhubala:

An icon of Bollywood, who was well known for her beauty and has continued to inspire performances and songs into the 21st century. She was at times described as "the number one beauty of the Indian screen" and "the biggest star in the world".

SHE IS EVERYTHING AHHH. JUST LOOK AT HER SMILE-

She's been nicknamed the Marilyn Monroe of India and was one of the highest paid actresses in the Hindi film industry (the term Bollywood did not exist yet) during the 1950s. Also an extremely talented dancer and singer

SHE'S JUST SO STUNNING, like seeing her eyes IMMEDIATELY CAPTIVATES YOU, THE DANCING, THE BEAUTY!!!!!!!!! She worked in Bollywood for over 20 years and passed away at a sad early age of 36, BUT THE IMPACT SHE HAD WAS UNMATCHED!!!!!

That sassy sideways glance she does always has me WEAK AT THE KNEES. And when she's making silly faces at the camera to mimic someone ahhhh my gay little heart <3

Olivia de Havilland:

She is just perfection. She has a smile that is looks like it is barely holding back, and yet so reserved as well.

Broke the contract system and won freedoms for actors (the de Havilland Law is still in effect I believe). 2 time Oscar winner. Beautiful and smart

She legally challenged the movie studios' unfair contracts and won, setting a precedent for other actors to be treated more fairly. This was at great cost to her financially and essentially getting her blacklisted for years but the resulting judicial opinion is still known as the De Havilland Law and has won her a great deal of praise and admiration.

Her performance in The Heiress is one of my all-time favorites, she’s so good at making melodrama feel real and grounded without sacrificing any of the passion/drama.

Serenely beautiful, she struck a balance between crowd-pleasing fluff and prestigious drama. Famously at odds with her equally successful sister Joan Fontaine, she was too much of a lady to ever say anything public. Successfully sued Ryan Murphy for portraying her as a saucy gossip in Feud.

the period costume + eye patch combo in That Lady is just an absolute serve

She has the most adorable and cherubic face and voice

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (11)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He pretended that it was only about physicality, about what he could do with her innocent, warm body. He treated her almost like a servant, making her help him with his bath, with combing his hair, with his dressing. He pretended that he wanted to discourage her with this, to show her that he did not see her as an equal, that there was nothing to be done about the way he was.

That there was no turning back for him.

To his surprise, she seemed delighted. She obeyed his orders with a care, contentment and devotion that made his chest burn with delight.

He never caught her with a grimace of displeasure or impatience as she handled his moist, hot body.

Even when she had his fat cock deep inside her mouth, she looked almost angelic, licking and sucking it, driving him insane with her innocent attitude.

He noticed with surprise that instead of getting bored with her, as he had so far with women, he was fucking her more and more regularly, simply couldn't get enough.

He never had enough.

Her body was always soaking wet for him, her insides moist, hot, inviting, squeezing him wonderfully.

He would catch himself sometimes, during the Small Council meetings, that he drifted off with his thoughts to their close-ups, to their bodies entwined in a tight, intimate, sticky embrace.

One trait of his wife, apart from her devotion and dedication to all his wants and needs, made her particularly winning his respect and favour.

She knew when to keep quiet.

He could not say the same about the ladies of the court whom he had known and observed since childhood.

Always so fucking chatty, engrossed in gossip.

Even his servants with whom he happened to get close psychically before his wife showered him with words of their boundless devotion, confessed to him their feelings that he did not want to hear about.

He didn't want to hear that she loved him.

He wanted to fucking feel it.

He wanted every inch of his body when he fucked her, every shiver, moan or look to prove to him that she was only his.

She fulfilled her duty with greedy commitment, her weeping cunt clenching on his cock in spasm again and again making him fill her with his warm seed.

He himself had no desire or need to put his feelings and emotions into words. Everything he wanted to convey to her he showed her with small gestures which she could already read perfectly.

She understood his cool approach enough to know that the last thing he could say about her was that she was indifferent to him.

He let her snuggle into him at night when she felt the need, deciding after deep thought that it was natural for a woman in the darkness of the chamber to seek comfort and refuge in her husband, her protector.

As she pressed her face to his bare chest he embraced her, holding his large hand on her back or head, protecting her from whatever she was hiding from.

From now on his inner fortress did not separate her from him, but protected them both behind its walls.

She deeply suffered at the sight of her monthly bleeding. He knew it bothered her and that she felt that she was disappointing him in this aspect, still not bearing his heir in her womb.

From his perspective, however, it had only been a few months since their nuptials. He knew it something beyond her control and that by the time her flower withered, she would be able to give him many children.

He forbade her to apologise or speak about it, saying that they were performing their duty properly and the rest of it was the decision of the gods.

His words somehow reassured her and she did not mention it again.

Occasionally they exchanged only a few words during the day, so it could be considered that their relations were cool. He felt, however, that she was now his closest confidante.

More than her he trusted only his mother.

Obviously, he watched her every move and they both knew that any wrong action would cost her everything. She, however, seemed to be well aware of this, and her attitude was to be the proof that he could count on her complete devotion.

All these months he felt something that he had not experienced for many years.

Peace.

Her presence, at first a uncomfortable, had become craved for him, needed. He was no longer able to fall asleep alone, without her warm body lying next to his in his bed.

When he woke from the nightmare again, dreaming that Luke had once more sliced his face open and the maester had cut out his defective eye from his skull, he would only lift an eyelid to see if she lay beside him.

He stared at her, at her gentle, soft face, listening to her calm, quiet breathing until he fell asleep again.

He knew that in his absence she felt alone, locked in the Keep like a prisoner.

Apart from him and Helaena, she had no one.

He took it as a sign of her wisdom that she did not socialise with the other ladies of the court. He knew their nature, the fact that they would have ripped her to pieces, drawing on her handfuls.

She made the right decision by trusting only him.

Her husband.

Not wanting to be completely blind to her needs, he allowed Ser Criston to train her while he was at council meetings and it caused a sensation. His mother was not content with his decision and demanded an explanation.

He, however, recognized that there was nothing to explain.

It was worthy of his wife to share his passion.

Listening to his grandfather's discussion with his mother and brother, he would sometimes stand at the window, watching from above how his lady-wife was forcing her way towards Ser Criston with loud clangs of their blades.

He felt arousal at the sight, his cock throbbed impatiently in his breeches, ready to possess her again.

When he returned to his chamber, she smiled softly at the sight of him, already half asleep, rising slightly on her elbow, her body wonderfully bare and exposed, his.

She knew that there was no point in putting on her nightgown, since he would have ripped it off her anyway.

She only had time to suck in a loud breath as he turned her onto her stomach, drawing her hips to him in one, sharp motion, untying and lowering his breeches, releasing his swollen erection.

He spread her legs to the sides like sweet, ripe fruit, looking with contentment on her slit leaking with her moisture, and guided the fat head of his cock to her opening, forcing his way inside her with one, sure thrust, tilting his back head.

Her fleshy walls clenched against him from all sides, making him pulse hard inside her. He began to slowly root into her with shy clicks of her moisture, rocking his hips back and forth, making her whine sweetly. He watched mesmerised as he stretched her tight core to the limit, bumping his thighs against her buttocks with loud, wet slaps.

"Did you enjoy your time with Cole?" He hummed, panting along with her, his fingers digging into the soft, firm skin of her hips as her walls squeezed him tightly, sucking him inside. He let out a sigh of contentment and tilted his head as her hips began to respond slowly to his thrusts.

"– mhm –" She cooed, pressing her sweet, swollen lips together. Seeing this, he grabbed her by the waist and forced her to sit backwards on top of him, her back pressed to his chest.

He discovered that this was his favourite position to fuck her.

He could penetrate her even deeper, watch with delight as he opened her wide on his cock, at the same time caressing her bud with his one hand, kneading her breast with the other, his puffy, moist mouth trailing over her neck.

It aroused him to think that he was fully clothed when she was completely bare and vulnerable.

His.

"I saw you through the window today." He purred into her ear, speeding up his pace, pounding into her with sharp, deep thrusts of his hips, she had to reach back with her hand and grab his hair to catch her balance, bouncing on his swollen manhood with the lewd click of her moisture.

"I thought that I'd put my sword inside you as soon as I return to my chamber." He gasped, running his tongue over her neck, she whimpered at his words, her walls clenching against him greedily.

He knew that it aroused her, his lewd words made her nipples hard while he teased them with his fingers, pulling them and rubbing with his thumb, her fleshy insides throbbing and twitching hard in delight.

"− Aemond −" She mewled as if begging him to save her, she always uttered his name in such a way that he instantly sped up, his thrusts more brutal and sure as if he wanted to pierce her stomach. They were both panting and moaning loudly at this point, their eyes clenched shut, consumed by their pleasure.

"Beg your husband, wife. Beg him to fill you, and maybe he will." He hissed in a raspy voice, close to fulfilment, all welted and sweaty, clasping his hand tightly on her firm, soft breast. He heard her sob before him, aroused and thirsty, craving her wonderful relief and his seed inside her.

"− please − ah − please, husband, fill me − please, please, please! −" She cried loudly, a low, throaty groan stuck in his lungs as he felt her come hard, her body trembling in front of him in convulsions, her mouth wide open from pleasure.

"− so fucking impatient − fuck! −" He growled, pressing his face to the hollow of her neck, inhaling her scent, the aroma of her sweat and the oils in which she had bathed with him that afternoon, coming inside her with a low sound of overwhelming relief.

They were both breathing heavily, his arms embracing her tightly, hugging her to his chest.

The moment right after their intimate approach was always the time of their greatest tenderness, their sweetest, most innocent gestures.

He would then run the tip of his nose over her face, listening as her breathing calmed slowly, placing soft, lazy, wet kisses full of contentment and all over her skin.

This was time for her, her reward for her devotion and faithfulness, for making him content, for his affection for her.

Staying with her like that he forgot, if only for a moment, what a bad state his father was in.

He had not attended to the meetings of the Small Council for months because of his health condition.

He had only visited him once, when he was sleeping, but had left immediately, unable to bear the sight. He didn't know how he felt about it, looking at his old, dry face filled with pain and suffering.

The real ruler of the kingdom now was his grandfather, with the silent support of his mother.

He knew that Otto, although he showed worry at the king's weakness, deep down felt satisfaction at how much power had come into his hands.

His father's deteriorating health had forced him to start thinking seriously about what could happen in the not-too-distant future.

About what would happen if his father died.

He didn't trust this whore, his half-sister, the mother of the fucking bastards.

He didn't believe that she would take power peacefully.

The thought that Luke, as her son, could empower himself, feel he had the right to command him, made him boil inside as if lava, not blood, was flowing inside him.

No, he could not allow that to happen.

No bastard, no Lord Strong could stand in his way.

When his mother informed them at the council meeting that Vaemond Velaryon had officially questioned his right to inherit Driftmark, he barely restrained himself from a low, wicked chuckle.

He thought the gods were cruel, but just.

He felt a hot excitement bordering on madness at the thought of seeing him again; Luke didn't know how well prepared he was for this encounter.

He felt darkness spread through his heart like a vine, a desire to fulfil the prayer that he had made before the gods of his ancestors in his temple of Fire and Blood.

He didn't share his thoughts with his wife.

He didn't want to frighten her.

She knew that something had changed, that his tense body was filled with aggressive anticipation, that his silence, even greater than usual, was a sign of the calm before the storm.

That something inside him was waiting to explode, to destroy everything around him, including them.

Even in moments of such overwhelming rage and the desire to kill that besmirched his heart, she calmed him down with her understanding silence, her soft touch, her gentle gaze.

He fucked her like a crazy, wanting to assure her in this way that the absence of his words did not mean a lack of desire from his side.

He needed the heat of her body more than ever, the thought of her, falling asleep filled to the brim with his spend, calmed him down.

She was his.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics

Others: @dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @helaenaluvr @tssf-imagines @heavenly1927 @hiatuswhore @it-is-getting-better @linkpk88 @luna-salem @toodlesxcuddles @happinessinthebeing @siriusblackrunmeover17 @alaaaaaaa @ladybug0095 @barbiegirlaemond @random-ocity

[chocodile]

How would Hyden feel/react to being ignored, intentional or otherwise?

Unlike Ambroys, who needs attention like everyone else needs oxygen (and begins to suffocate without it), Hyden doesn't particularly care what other people think about him.

He is confident that he can command attention when he wants it and is used to being treated with respect. In fact, he's so used to being fawned over by sycophants that encountering someone who was openly rude to him would immediately pique his interest. It breaks the pattern he's used to and is a new type of social interaction, and novelty is the one thing Hyden craves more than anything.

What does rudeness imply about the person he's speaking to? Do they hate him for one of his past (mis)deeds? Oooh, which one, which one? He's dying to know! Are they so fed up with court politics that they're looking to self-immolate and torch their reputation? Oh my, imagine how delightfully unhinged someone like that must be! He'd love to probe around in their brain a bit before they burn enough bridges to disappear from court socials entirely. Or do they simply not know who he is? In this case, he can delight in watching their growing horror as he reveals his status to them and they realize who they've slighted.

It's win/win/win for Hyden. He delights in finding someone who violates social norms like a bored zoo animal enjoys a puzzle treat dispenser. He'll shred them with his claws and teeth until the treats fall out, at which point he'll become bored and drop whatever broken pieces remain. Their insults and social snubs can't hurt him any more than a jack-o-lantern full of raw meat can hurt a tiger.

This is the reason he found Alex so fascinating at first and couldn't resist needling and baiting her. She hated him enough to treat him differently than the rest of the Rising Dawn did (I can't imagine why), and he could tell she was obviously cut from a different cloth than the rest of them. But without the leverage of his wealth, social status, and magic power, he found himself on equal footing with his prey for the first time. His antagonism earned him a bloody nose and a black eye. Ever since, he's been more sullen around her and less willing to pick fights. Maybe he's finally learned a lesson? For once?

[sirowsky-stories]

For The Love Of A Grump

Summary: Pero reflects on how you made his birthday the best it possibly could've been.

Requested by @chaoticfestninja

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Pero Tovar x female reader, but told from Pero's pov. As always, my Pero has issues with self-worth, but this story is a positive one, focused on his perspective of being loved. Word Count: 900

   He’d asked you to keep it small, and you had. But you’d also made it enormous, somehow managing to incorporate the entire world into the intimate celebration, and for the life of him, he’s never known how you do those things.

   Dragging him out of bed first thing in the morning, almost before the sun had even risen, he’d grumbled at you, truly feeling upset that you hadn’t let him sleep in, or even wished him happy birthday before ordering him to get dressed and hauling him out to the car.

   The drive had been long and listening to your upbeat sing-along with your favorite pop music radio station, had eventually worn him down and made him laugh.    He’d never been able to resist your joyous energy and the way you seemed so unaffected by his general grumpiness.

   It was exactly what had eventually convinced him he’d already fallen for you, that day in the pouring rain two years ago, when he’d gotten angry with you for not even letting the autumn weather get to you. As if that could ever be a bad thing.

   That was the moment it had dawned on him, the only reason he would’ve been so upset was if he hadn’t wanted your positivity to infect him. But it already had, and he was already lost in it by then, craving it so badly it had frightened him into trying to scare you away.

   You’d been immune to his mood swings from the start, never backing down no matter how terribly he’d treated you, and so impossibly elated whenever he’d showed you even a hint of happiness, that your very skin had seemed to shine with your joy.

   He’d loved you long before he’d been able to understand it, but you’d known from the moment you’d met him, and you’d been determined to help him see it.

   He trusts you beyond all reason, which was why he’d kept his mouth shut that morning in the car, not letting himself gripe at you. He knows better. You had a plan, and whatever it was, he’d be stupid to interfere with it.

   The beach had been deserted that time in the morning, the ocean calm and pink in the first light of the day. Growing up far from the coast, he’d always been enchanted by the sea, drawn to it and calmed by it, so you’d brought him there to start the day off in the best possible way.

   Breakfast on a blanket in the sand, followed by soothing cuddles and soft kisses, while the waves had begun to gently roll against the land. You’d let him doze off in your arms, giving him back the desired sleep-in you’d robbed him of earlier.

   Getting back in car, you hadn’t brought him home, but instead taken him on a remembrance tour of your relationship, driving past all the places where you could recall something significant happening between you, and it had amazed him how much you’d held onto. Especially all the bad, which you somehow managed to see the positives of.

   The next stop had been his favorite lunch diner, where you’d made sure the staff had treated him to their birthday special, complete with a song and dance routine which had left him laughing with equal parts embarrassment and delight.

   But it was the afternoon which had really taken him to a sense of wonder, as you’d borrowed a pair of horses and taken him on a cross-country ride which had lasted until nightfall, over giant plains, mountains, rivers, and which had seen the two of you cook dinner over an open fire.

   And even though you’d been all alone, not seeing another person for the duration of the journey, the vast sky above you, as well as the wonder of the natural features you’d navigated, had spoken to his heart about the connectivity of all things. From the distant sun, to the little bird which had taken refuge on his shoulder, under the brim of his hat, to escape the afternoon heat for a minute.

   Out there, he had been reminded of how small he is, but at the same time, how wonderous it is that one little person could’ve found his soulmate at all, within this chaotic and artfully crafted world.

   The evening had been spent among the sheets, where you’d allowed him to show you every nuance of his affection and desire for you, and it was only when his strength had finally run out and he’d tugged you into his arms to feel your stubbornly stoic and unfathomably kind heart beat against his ribs, that you’d finally wished him a happy birthday.

   Because you’d known, the same way you always know these things, that he would only hear the truth of your words once you’d already expressed them in every other way possible.

   Not because he doesn’t believe what you say, but simply because that’s how little he thinks of himself.

   You are the only proof he’s ever had, that his life and existence has any meaning. He lives for you and the joy he somehow gives you by merely being there.

   And as he falls asleep with you safely tucked against him, he thinks that one day he might be able to deserve your love. If he keeps letting you guide him.

   If he keeps letting your unbridled positivity infect him.

   Forever.

THE END