#( never great with words; musings. )

[folklouire]

LONELY IS THE MUSE

Vevo Official Live Performance

[sycamorality]

i hear people talk about how they had an older sibling or a friend help them when they played minecraft that they could ask for help for whatever and how nostalgic it is for them but i never had that experience. instead of the nostalgia i feel the anemoia.

but i think i'm having the opposite sort of experience, i'm the older sibling the younger sibling is asking for help from. i'm the one who gently takes their hand and guides them and responds to any questions they have.

i'm the person i wish i had when i was younger

[mkaneshige]

Mark's Musings #52

Don’t leave anything to your question of “What if?” Just keep going and never give up.

[gyuuberryy]

right next door!

pairing: enemy!sunghoon x reader

synopsis: you and park sunghoon have been tangled in hogwarts' most explosive rivalry since fifth year—all duels in corridors and sabotaged potions and lingering stares across the great hall. now in your last year, you're forced to share prefect duties, and between his infuriating teasing and surprisingly caring moments, you can't decide if you want to hex him or kiss him. but when old wounds resurface and the line between rivalry and something else blurs, you'll have to confront why his attention still makes your pulse race—and whether some bridges are better left burned.

genre: hogwarts au, ex friends to enemies to lovers, forced proximity

warnings: highly suggestive content!!, a steamy pool scene, sunghoon gets called an exhibtionist as a joke, mentions of blood status, jealousy, swearing, lots of hogwarts lore references, angst

note: lowkey got inspired to write this after reading deadly education but ended up making it spicy lol. also i haven't specifically mentioned which hogwarts houses the reader and hoon are in since you guys must be different houses so yeah. enjoyyy

word count: 8.1k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the parchment trembled slightly in your grip, the edges crinkling under your fingertips as you stared at the freshly inked letters spelling out your name beside the words girl prefect. your breath caught—just for a second—before a giddy warmth spread through your chest. you could’ve sworn your feet barely grazed the stone floor as you made your way to the front of the classroom.

this was it.

all those late nights hunched over textbooks in the library until your eyes burned. every extra credit assignment you’d taken on, every house point you’d fought for. the way you’d practiced spells until your wrists ached, all for this moment—the recognition you’d craved, the proof that your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.

then the head of house cleared their throat.

“—and your fellow prefect will be park sunghoon.”

the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale.

your head whipped toward him instinctively, muscle memory from years of tracking his movements, and just like always—just like always—he was already looking at you. his lips twitched, not quite a smirk but something dangerously close, his dark eyes alight with amusement.

of course.

of course it had to be him. the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

the head of house folded their hands atop the desk, surveying the two of you with the weary patience of someone who had long since grown tired of your antics. “i trust,” they said slowly, “that this appointment will encourage you both to set aside your… differences and act with the decorum expected of prefects.” their gaze flicked between you, pointed. “no duels in the corridors. no jinxes in the common room. and for merlin’s sake, no more sabotaging each other’s potions.”

sunghoon’s expression was the picture of innocence. “i would never.”

you barely suppressed a scoff. liar.

the moment you were dismissed, you spun on your heel, determined to escape before he could so much as open his mouth. but sunghoon, with his long legs caught up and fell into step beside you with infuriating ease, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to make you stiffen.

“looks like we’re stuck with each other, sweetheart,” he mused, voice dripping with false sweetness.

you clenched your jaw. “don’t call me that.”

“what, would you prefer partner?” he grinned when you shot him a glare, the torchlight catching the sharp curve of his cheekbones. 

“oh, come on. admit it—you’re thrilled. all those patrols together, just you and me.” he leaned in just slightly, and you hated the way your pulse jumped. “bet you’ve been dreaming about it.”

“dreaming of hexing you into next week, maybe.”

he laughed, low and taunting, and you hated the way it sent a prickle down your spine—the way it still did, even after all this time. “you’d miss me too much.”

“in your dreams, park.”

“already there.” he winked.

you stopped short, turning to face him fully. the corridor was empty save for the two of you, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his sharp features that made him look almost otherworldly. 

“listen,” you hissed, “just because we’re prefects now doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten what you did last term. or the term before that. or—”

“you’re really holding onto that?” he tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his side—like he was stopping himself from reaching for something. 

“i’d say it’s flattering, but it’s starting to sound like an obsession.”

your fingers twitched toward your wand. “i swear, if you don’t—”

“ah-ah.” he tutted, nodding pointedly to the enchanted portraits lining the walls—several of whom had paused their conversations to watch the spectacle. “decorum, remember?” his voice dropped, just for you. “wouldn’t want to disappoint the head of house on our first day.”

you forced your hand to relax, but the fire in your chest refused to die. this wasn’t just about rivalry. this was about the way he’d looked right through you fifth year, like you were nothing. like you’d never been anything.

“this isn’t over,” you muttered.

sunghoon’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “oh, i’m counting on it.”

and with that, he strolled past you, robes swishing behind him like a victory banner. you stared after him, torn between the urge to scream and the sinking realisation that this year was going to be very long.

but if he thought for one second you’d let him win?

he had another thing coming.

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

the moment you stepped into the prefects’ wing, the air itself seemed to thicken, pressing against your skin like a warning. this part of the common room was unnervingly quiet—separated from the usual chaos by an ornate archway woven with enchanted ivy that shivered as you passed. two doors faced each other in the dim torchlight, close enough that you could’ve stretched out your arms and touched both at once.

yours. and—

“no.”

sunghoon’s voice curled around you from behind, rich with amusement. “yes.”

you didn’t need to turn to see his expression—you knew it by heart. that lazy, lopsided grin, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners just before he delivered some infuriating remark. your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you clenched them into fists instead, nails biting crescents into your palms.

the door in front of you seemed to taunt you with its very existence.

“this is a joke,” you muttered.

“a hilarious one,” he agreed, brushing past so close his sleeve whispered against yours. he leaned against his doorframe with practiced ease, the flickering torchlight carving shadows under his cheekbones, gilding the curve of his smirk. 

“aw, don’t look so heartbroken, princess. could’ve been worse,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “you could’ve been stuck next to someone boring.”

you shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “right. because you’re a delight.”

he pressed a hand to his chest—the same way he used to when you’d accuse him of cheating at exploding snap—and the familiarity of the gesture lodged like a splinter in your throat. “i’m wounded. after all these years, you still don’t appreciate my charm?”

“your charm,” you spat, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered, “is what got us here in the first place.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

for one fractured second, his mask slipped—just enough for you to catch the flicker in his eyes, the barely-there tightening of his jaw. but it was gone before you could name it, smoothed over with a careless shrug that didn’t match the sudden tension in his shoulders.

you remembered when those shoulders had carried your unconscious first-year self to the hospital wing after your disastrous attempt at flying. remembered how they'd shaken with silent laughter during history of magic when you'd charmed his quill to draw rude pictures on his parchment. remembered most painfully how they'd turned away from you in fifth year, when he'd started sitting with them—the polished, pureblooded group who whispered about blood status in the corridors.

it had started small. skipped study sessions. forgotten inside jokes. then one day you'd walked into the great hall to find your usual seat by the window—your seat, the one he'd saved for you every morning since first year—occupied by some simpering girl from his new circle.

when you'd cornered him after potions, demanding to know what his problem was, he'd just shrugged. "people change." like it was that simple. like four years of friendship meant nothing.

so you'd made sure he remembered.

if he wanted to pretend you didn't exist, you'd force him to notice you. you charmed his robes neon pink during presentations. swapped his pumpkin juice with vinegar. turned all his quills into snakes during arithmancy. each prank was a scream into the void: look at me, see me, remember what you threw away.

now, standing in the dimly lit corridor, the weight of those memories pressed between you like a third presence. sunghoon recovered faster than you did, his smirk sliding back into place with practiced ease.

"still holding onto ancient history, i see," he mused, pushing off the doorframe to take a step closer. the movement brought him into your space, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cedar and ink that still haunted your dreams. "what's next? you gonna charm my shoes to stick to the floor like third year? or—"

"that was you," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. the accusation hung between you, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. you did this first. you started this war.

his eyebrow quirked. "and you turned all my quills into snakes during arithmancy."

"after you vanished my potions textbook the week before NEWTs!"

"allegedly."

"you left my handwriting on a fake love note to flitwick in the margins!"

he grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it was so familiar that your chest ached. "allegedly."

you turned back to your door before he could see how his smile still affected you, how your traitorous heart still stuttered at the sight. but sunghoon, ever relentless, wasn't finished.

"you know," he said, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate—the tone he used to reserve for midnight confessions and hidden corners, "if you wanted my attention this badly, you could've just asked."

your hand froze on the doorknob.

for one suspended heartbeat, the air between you crackled with the ghost of what you'd once been—two halves of a reckless, unbreakable whole. you could almost feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours in the library, the way he'd whisper jokes into your ear until you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

then reality came crashing back.

"keep dreaming, park," you scoffed, shoving the door open with more force than necessary.

his laughter followed you inside, warm and melodic and wrong—because it wasn't yours to keep anymore. "already do," he called after you.

you slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if it could shield you from the way your pulse raced, from the way your eyes burned with something dangerously close to tears. outside, you heard his footsteps pause, followed by the sound of his door gently slamming shut

your chest ached.

this year was going to be hell.

it becomes a thing after that.

you start bumping into sunghoon at the worst possible times—as if the universe has decided your suffering is its favourite spectator sport. like when you drag yourself into the hallway at 2 am, bleary-eyed and half-dead from studying, your vision swimming from hours of staring at ancient runes, only to collide with something warm and solid.

"oof—"

the scent hits you first—cedar and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candies he always used to sneak during classes. your sleep-addled brain recognizes it before your eyes do, and your stomach does a traitorous little flip.

sunghoon steadies you with hands on your shoulders, his own hair sticking up in three different directions, dark strands falling into his eyes. he's wearing what might be the most ridiculous sleepwear you've ever seen—flannel pants with little animated broomsticks that actually move, hanging low on his hips, and a threadbare quidditch jersey that's definitely two sizes too big, slipping off one shoulder to reveal a sliver of collarbone.

you blink.

he blinks back.

for one horrifying second, you're both frozen there in the dim torchlight, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of your oversized hoodie (the one with the cartoon snitch that says "catch me if you can"—a gift from your friend jungwon that you'd never admit to owning).

then his gaze drops to your feet.

and he snorts.

"please tell me those were a gift," he says, pointing at your slippers—fluffy monstrosities shaped like kneazles, complete with little ears that flop when you shift your weight. one ear has started to curl inward from wear. "tell me you didn't willingly purchase those."

you flip him off, shuffling past with as much dignity as you can muster when your slippers make a soft mrrp noise against the stone floor.

"they're warm," you mutter.

"they're embarrassing."

"says the guy wearing pyjamas with his dancing broomsticks on them."

you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning. you can hear it in his voice. "you noticed? i'm flattered."

your cheeks burn. damn him.

he starts stealing your favourite study spot, too.

the one by the window in the common room—the table with the perfect view of the lake, where the afternoon light turns the water to liquid gold and the old oak table bears the carved initials you'd put there fourth year (SH + Y/N, hidden under the edge where only you'd know to look). you've claimed it for years, and everyone knows it.

which is exactly why sunghoon's sitting there when you walk in one evening, already sprawled across the bench like he owns it, twirling his wand between his fingers with lazy precision. the dying sunlight catches on the silver rings he always wears, making them gleam.

you stop dead.

"wow," you deadpan. "you work fast."

he doesn't even glance up from his parchment, but you see the way his lips quirk. "what can i say? early bird gets the view." he finally looks up, and the smirk he gives you is all sharp edges and challenge. "maybe you should try being less predictable."

you consider setting his notes on fire.

instead, you take the table next to his—the wobbly one that always tilts your inkwell—and pointedly ignore the way his knee brushes yours under the table when he stretches.

(he definitely does it on purpose.)

(you definitely don't think about how his legs have gotten longer since fifth year.)

but the worst is the patrols.

being forced to walk the castle's quiet, echoing corridors together—where every footstep sounds too loud, every breath feels too close. 

tonight, he's holding his wand aloft like some kind of dramatic victorian ghost hunter, the lumos glow casting long shadows across his sharp cheekbones, catching on the silver hoop in his left ear.

you roll your eyes. "bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"sorry for not having bat vision like you."

"maybe if you didn't spend all your time preening in mirrors—"

you don't even see the uneven step.

one second, you're scoffing at him—the next, your foot catches on a raised stone, and you're lurching forward with a startled gasp, your wand flying from your grip.

but before you can faceplant into the cold stone floor, his hand shoots out, gripping your elbow and yanking you back upright with surprising gentleness. your chest collides with his, and for one terrifying, electric second, you're right there—close enough to see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough to feel his breath hitch against your lips.

neither of you moves.

his fingers are still wrapped around your arm, warm and firm, and you hate how familiar it feels. how right. how easy it would be to lean in, to—

then he clears his throat and lets go like you've burned him, taking a deliberate step back.

"watch your step," he mutters, already turning away to gather your scattered notes.

you don't miss the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tremble just slightly as he hands your wand back.

the rest of the patrol is silent, but everything left unsaid makes the air between you suffocating.

you pushed open the heavy oak door to the prefects’ bathroom, steam curling around your ankles as you stepped inside. the massive sunken tub glimmered under floating enchanted candles, their reflections dancing across the marble walls. and it seems that no other prefect from the other houses were here.

perfect—just what you needed after a gruelling day of school.

then you heard the water splash.

sunghoon stood waist-deep in the pool, his back to you as he peeled off his soaked white t-shirt. water sluiced down the defined muscles of his shoulders, tracing the elegant dip of his spine before disappearing beneath the waterline. the dim candlelight gilded every curve of his toned arms as he tossed the shirt aside with a wet smack against the tiles.

your brain short-circuited.

he turned at the sound of your choked gasp, water dripping from his dark hair. for one horrifying second, his eyes locked onto yours—wide, startled—before his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.

"enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

you whirled around so fast you nearly tripped over your own robes. "this is a shared space, you—you exhibitionist!"

his laugh echoed off the marble. "shared, yes. which means knocking is customary." you could hear the grin in his voice. "unless you were hoping to catch me like this?"

"i'd rather catch dragon pox!" you fumbled for the door handle, cheeks burning.

"liar," he called after you. the splash of water told you he'd leaned back, completely at ease. "you stared for a solid five seconds."

you slammed the door hard enough to rattle the torches in their sconces.

…

"five seconds?" sunoo nearly spat out his pumpkin juice, eyes sparkling with mischief. across the table, jungwon choked on a laugh, thumping his chest.

you stabbed your fork into a roasted potato with unnecessary force. "i did not stare."

"sure," jungwon drawled, stealing a roll from your plate. "and i'm the minister of magic."

sunoo leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "you two need to either fuck or duel already. the sexual tension is giving me hives."

"sunoo!" you kicked him under the table, but your traitorous gaze flickered across the hall before you could stop it.

sunghoon sat with his usual group, idly stirring his soup. as if sensing your stare, he glanced up—and winked. the bastard had the audacity to mouth "five seconds" before his friends noticed and started elbowing him.

you dropped your forehead onto the table with a groan.

you should’ve known the universe had it out for you.

the thought pounded in time with your footsteps as you stomped toward the forbidden forest, the cold night air biting at your exposed skin. 

of course this would happen on the one night you actually planned to sleep before dawn. 

of course it was a group of reckless first-years from your house who decided to wander off here. 

and of course—because fate had never once been kind to you—sunghoon was the one marching beside you, his shoulder brushing yours every few steps like some cruel reminder of how things used to be.

"this is your fault," you muttered, more out of habit than anything else.

his sigh was barely audible over the crunch of leaves underfoot. "how, exactly?"

"you gave them detention for the dungbomb incident. this is clearly revenge."

"ah yes, because children are famously logical creatures who plan elaborate revenge schemes." his voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was no real heat behind it. just exhaustion. it threw you off—this version of sunghoon who didn't rise to your bait like he used to.

you risked a glance at his profile in the moonlight. the sharp line of his jaw was tense, his brows drawn together in that way they always got when he was thinking too hard. you hated that you still noticed these things. hated that after all this time, you could still read him like a book you'd memorised but pretended not to care about.

the forest loomed ahead, darker than the sky around it. a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"we'll split up," you said abruptly. "cover more ground."

"no." the word came out sharp, surprising you both. he cleared his throat. "it's... not safe. we stick together."

there was something in his voice you couldn't place—something that made your chest ache in a way you refused to examine. so you just nodded, stepping into the treeline beside him, close enough that your sleeves brushed. neither of you moved away.

the forest was wrong tonight.

usually alive with rustling leaves and distant animal calls, now it was eerily silent, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. your own breathing sounded too loud in your ears, your heartbeat pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"this is stupid," you muttered, just to break the silence. "what kind of idiots think wandering into the murder forest at midnight is a good idea?"

next to you, sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh. "the same kind that think turning their rival's hair pink right before a quidditch match is a solid life choice."

the unexpected callback to simpler times caught you off guard. warmth bloomed in your chest before you could stop it, quickly smothered by years of built-up resentment.

"that was one time—"

"and the time you swapped my pumpkin juice with vinegar—"

"you deserved that—"

"and the time you definitely stared at me in the prefect's bathroom for five full seconds—"

something inside you snapped.

"oh my god, are you serious right now?" you whirled on him so fast he actually took a step back. your wandlight threw wild shadows across his face, illuminating the startled widening of his eyes. "you're really gonna act like i started all this? like you weren't the one who—"

your voice cracked traitorously. you hated it. hated the way his expression shifted from amused to concerned in an instant. hated how your eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears.

sunghoon went completely still. "who what?" he asked quietly.

the words tore out of you like a dam breaking:

"who ditched me the second you found a shinier group of friends!"

the silence that followed was deafening.

sunghoon looked like you'd struck him. his mouth opened, closed. for the first time since you'd known him, park sunghoon seemed at a complete loss for words.

you didn't wait for him to find them. turning on your heel, you stormed deeper into the forest, your pulse roaring in your ears. you made it three steps before you heard him move behind you—quick, urgent footsteps—and then his hand was wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

"wait—"

a shrill voice cut through the trees before he could continue.

"oh thank merlin!"

the first-years.

sunghoon's grip loosened immediately, but his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before falling away. the ghost of his touch burned long after he'd turned toward the sound.

the walk back was torture.

the kids shuffled ahead of you, sniffling and covered in mud and leaves, while you and sunghoon trailed behind in suffocating silence. your mind raced, replaying the moment over and over—the look on his face when you said those words, the way his hand felt around your wrist.

at one point, he moved closer, his shoulder brushing yours. "we should—" he started, voice low.

you sped up, pretending to adjust the scarf of a trembling first-year. you didn’t wand to do this now.

by the time you reached the common room, your jaw ached from clenching it. you handed out detentions on autopilot ("no, you cannot serve it together, yes, you're lucky we're not telling the head of house"), your voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

the second the kids scurried off, you bolted for your room, desperate for space to breathe, to think—

—only for a hand to catch the door before you could slam it shut.

suddenly, you were being yanked into his room.

"what the hell—"

"i didn't ditch you."

his voice was rough, raw in a way you'd never heard before. his grip on your wrist was tight enough that you could feel his pulse racing against your skin—or maybe that was yours. you were too overwhelmed to tell.

you glared up at him, chest heaving. "oh, really? because i remember you ghosting me for months—"

"my parents made me."

the words burst out of him like he'd been holding them in for years. he released your wrist to rake a hand through his hair, pacing the small space between his bed and the door like a caged animal.

"they—merlin, they lost it when they found out i was friends with a muggle-born," he continued, voice cracking on the last word. "threatened to pull me out of hogwarts. i had to—" he stopped, swallowed hard. "i had to pretend. until i could figure something out."

the confession hit you like a bludger to the chest. all the air left your lungs at once.

memories flooded back—sunghoon's sudden distance fifth year, the way he'd flinch whenever his new friends made comments about blood status, the times you'd caught him looking at you across the great hall with an expression you couldn't decipher.

"you could've told me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he shook his head, eyes shining in the dim light. "I couldn't. you would've tried to fix it. you would've—" his voice broke. "you would've gotten yourself hurt."

the raw honesty in his words stole your breath. for years, you'd assumed the worst; that he'd outgrown you, that you weren't enough. but this... this was something else entirely.

the air between you was heavy with everything unsaid. you could see the exact moment he realised how close you were standing, because his breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"...i'm sorry," he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it.

the words settled over you like a warm cloak. not perfect. not a complete fix. but a start.

"me too," you whispered back.

when you slipped out of his room and back into yours, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

neither of you slept that night. you lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every look. wondering if this changed everything—or nothing at all.

you woke with a start, your cheek pressed against a half-open textbook. sunlight streamed through the common room windows—you’d fallen asleep at your usual table with the view ofthe lake, the one sunghoon had stolen so often. your neck ached, and there was drool on your parchment.

a shadow fell across your notes.

"rough night?"

sunghoon stood over you, holding two steaming mugs. he looked unfairly put-together for someone who’d also presumably gotten no sleep—his hair slightly damp from a shower, his prefect badge already pinned neatly to his robes.

you sat up too fast, your elbow knocking into an inkwell. "what are you—"

"coffee." he set one mug down in front of you, black with three sugars, just how you liked it. "figured you’d need it."

you stared at the mug like it might transform into a dungbomb. this was new. this was terrifying.

across the room, a group of fourth-years whispered behind their hands.

sunghoon cleared his throat. "patrols tonight. meet at eight?"

"yeah," you managed. "eight."

he nodded, already turning away—then paused. "oh, and y/n?"

"what?"

"you’ve got…" he gestured to his own cheek, mirroring where your face had been smushed against your notes. "ink."

you swiped at your face furiously as he walked off, but not before catching the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

the whispers started the moment you walked in together to the dining hall.

it wasn’t intentional—you’d just happened to leave the common room at the same time, and sunghoon had held the door open for you like some kind of gentleman, and now the your entire table was gaping.

"what the hell happened last night?" sunoo demanded as you slid onto the bench. next to him, jungwon’s eyebrows were in his hairline.

"nothing," you muttered, reaching for the toast.

"nothing?" jungwon leaned in. "he’s been staring at you since you sat down."

your head snapped up. sure enough, sunghoon was watching you from across the hall, chin propped on his hand. when he caught your eye, he smirked and took an exaggerated sip from his mug—the same one he’d brought you earlier.

you kicked sunoo under the table when he opened his mouth. "don’t."

meanwhile, at the slytherin table, sunghoon’s so-called friends weren’t even pretending not to stare. one of them—a tall guy with a permanent sneer—said something under his breath. sunghoon’s response was too quiet to hear, but the way his friend’s face paled was very satisfying.

you found out what he’d said to them later, when you passed them in the corridor.

"—thought you were done with that," sneer-boy was hissing, just around the corner from where you’d frozen mid-step.

"changed my mind," sunghoon’s voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "got a problem with it?"

"she’s a muggle-born—"

"finish that sentence," sunghoon said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "and i’ll hex you into next week."

silence.

you ducked into an alcove before they could see you, your heart pounding. when sunghoon walked past minutes later, alone, he paused—like he could sense you there.

"you can come out now," he called, amused. "unless you’re planning to ambush me again. which, fair."

you stepped out, cheeks burning. "i wasn’t eavesdropping—"

"liar." he fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. "but since you heard all that…" he bumped your shoulder with his. "you’re welcome."

you bumped him back, harder. "idiot."

he grinned.

things changed after that.

sunghoon stopped stealing your study spot—instead, he’d join you there, sprawling across the bench like he owned it. you stopped hexing his belongings—mostly. (some traditions had to stay alive.)

his old friends glowered at you in the halls. yours teased you mercilessly.

and when you had patrols together, the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore—just quiet, comfortable.

(though he did still tease you about the bathroom incident. some things would never change.)

the moment the first raindrop hit your nose, you knew this trip was doomed. 

you'd been assigned to chaperone a group of first-years on their first hogsmeade visit, with sunghoon as your unfortunate co-supervisor—because apparently the universe still hadn't finished laughing at you. the kids had dragged you from honeydukes to zonko's, their excitement barely contained as they pressed against every shop window. 

sunghoon lingered at the back of the group, hands in his pockets, occasionally shooting you glances you couldn't quite decipher.

then the sky opened up without warning. one second you were counting heads near the post office, the next icy rain was pelting down in sheets, sending students scattering in every direction. 

"in here!" sunghoon's voice cut through the chaos as his fingers closed around your wrist. you didn't process where he was pulling you until the bell above the door tinkled and the overwhelming scent of floral perfume hit you.

madam puddifoot's. the most notoriously romantic tea shop in the village, all lace doilies and floating cherubs and couples canoodling in heart-shaped booths. 

"we are not—" you began, already backpedalling, but it was too late. the first-years had already stampeded inside, their squeals of delight echoing off the pink walls.

sunghoon stepped in behind you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he shook rainwater from his hair. "well. this is cozy." 

you shot him a glare that could melt steel. 

"i'd rather swim back to the castle." 

the elderly witch behind the counter beamed at your bedraggled group. "young love! how precious!" 

"we're not—" 

"just chaperones," sunghoon finished smoothly, though the smirk playing at his lips ruined any attempt at innocence.

the next twenty minutes passed in a haze of humiliation. the first-years were seated at a large table near the back, leaving you and sunghoon wedged into a tiny booth for two—one adorned with actual cupid statues that periodically blew glitter into the air. your face burned as a cherub floated by dumping rose petals on unsuspecting patrons. 

across from you, sunghoon looked unbearably amused, stirring his tea with infuriating calm.

"you're enjoying this," you accused, watching as he added a third sugar cube to his cup. 

he raised an eyebrow. "the tea's decent." 

"i meant the utter humiliation of this situation." 

the corner of his mouth twitched. "that too."

a sudden commotion at the first-years' table saved you from responding. one of the girls was pointing between you two with alarming enthusiasm. "are you going to kiss?" 

your teacup clattered against its saucer. sunghoon choked on his sip. 

"we are not—" 

"not in front of you lot," sunghoon interrupted solemnly, sending the table into giggles. 

you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him wince. "you're dead to me."

the rain showed no signs of letting up, trapping you in this pastel nightmare. as minutes ticked by, you became increasingly aware of every accidental brush of sunghoon's knee against yours, every time his fingers grazed yours reaching for the sugar bowl. the shop's enchanted ceiling—currently mimicking a sunset—cast warm light across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face in a way that made your chest feel oddly tight.

at one point, you caught him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite place—something between amusement and that same unreadable look he'd worn in the forest after your argument. 

"what?" you muttered, self-consciously wiping at your face. 

he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear. "just wondering how long it'll take you to admit this isn't so bad."

before you could retort, a chorus of "ooooooh!" erupted from the first-years' table. you looked down to realise sunghoon's hand was still covering yours on the tabletop—when had that happened? 

you jerked back as if burned, sending a saucer clattering to the floor. the resulting cheers from the children made you want to disappear into the upholstery.

by the time the rain eased, your dignity was beyond salvage. the walk back to hogwarts was a parade of giggles and not-so-subtle whispers from your charges. sunghoon walked beside you, his shoulder bumping yours every few steps like he couldn't quite help himself. 

"you realise we're never living this down," you groaned as the castle gates came into view. 

he grinned, that infuriating, lopsided grin that used to make your stomach flip in fourth year and—annoyingly—still did now. 

"where's your sense of adventure?" 

"back in that tea shop, buried under approximately two hundred rose petals."

his laughter followed you all the way up the path, warm and familiar, and despite yourself, you found your steps falling into sync with his. (and if you didn't protest when one of the first-years snapped another photo of you two walking shoulder-to-shoulder—well. some things were better left unexamined.)

things between you and sunghoon had become dangerously comfortable. what started as reluctant co-prefect duties had slowly melted into late-night study sessions where your head would end up on his shoulder, patrols where his fingers lingered a second too long when helping you up, and inside jokes whispered too close to each other’s ears in the great hall. 

it wasn’t a relationship, not really—just stolen moments and unspoken tension that made your stomach flip whenever he smirked at you across a crowded room.

that’s why it stung so much when you walked into the library and saw him laughing with eunji, a bright-eyed ravenclaw a year younger than you both who had newly joined. logically, you knew there was nothing romantic about it—he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as she enthusiastically explained some arithmancy concept, his expression more amused than affectionate. but the way his eyes crinkled at her enthusiasm, the easy way he nodded along—it reminded you too much of how he used to look at you before everything got complicated.

"y/n!" sunghoon called when he spotted you hovering by the shelves, waving you over with that same warm smile that always made your pulse skip. "come join us. eunji’s explaining this ridiculous theory about using arithmancy to predict quidditch outcomes."

you forced your feet to move, your grip tightening on your book bag. eunji greeted you with a cheerful wave, her braids swinging. "sunghoon said you’re brilliant at charms! maybe you can help me understand this part about wand movement harmonics?"

the next hour passed in a blur of half-hearted contributions from you and increasingly animated discussion between the two of them. every time you tried to interject, the conversation would circle back to some inside joke or advanced magical theory that left you feeling like an outsider in your own friendship. when eunji reached over to adjust sunghoon’s grip on her notes, demonstrating some wand technique, you suddenly couldn’t breathe properly.

"i should go," you muttered, gathering your things before either could protest. "forgot i promised to meet sunoo for... something."

sunghoon’s brow furrowed as you stood. "you okay?"

"fine." you forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "just tired."

the walk back to your dorm felt infinitely longer than usual, each step weighed down by memories of fifth year—of sunghoon slowly slipping away from you, of empty promises to study together, of eventually finding him surrounded by new friends who looked at you like you didn’t belong.

hogsmeade weekend only made it worse. you’d been hoping to bump into sunghoon accidentally-on-purpose near honeydukes, maybe share a chocolate frog like old times. instead, you found him outside the three broomsticks deep in conversation with eunji again, their heads bent together over some parchment. when he laughed at something she said, that familiar loud, unguarded laugh that used to be yours, something sharp twisted in your chest.

you turned on your heel so fast you nearly collided with a group of third-years.

"there you are!" sunoo’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts as he and jungwon appeared beside you, their arms laden with zonko’s purchases. "we’ve been looking everywhere—oh." 

sunoo followed your gaze to where sunghoon was now helping eunji adjust her scarf. "that again?"

you let them steer you into the three broomsticks, where jungwon immediately ordered three butterbeers. 

"you’re being ridiculous," sunoo said bluntly as you slumped into a chair. "he looks at you like you invented sunlight. that’s just some kid he’s tutoring."

"but what if—"

"what if nothing," jungwon interrupted, pushing a frothy mug toward you. "remember when you turned his hair pink before the gryffindor match last year? he still smiles when someone mentions that."

the memory should have comforted you. instead, it just made you think of how easily things could change—how sunghoon had drifted away once before, how his parents’ disapproval still hung over whatever this was between you.

by monday, you’d started taking deliberate detours to avoid him. patrols were reassigned, library visits carefully timed, and when you couldn’t avoid crossing paths, you kept conversations painfully polite. sunghoon’s confused frowns and hesitant "hey, wait—"s as you hurried away only made your chest ache more.

"are you trying to break his heart or yours?" sunoo demanded one evening after you ducked into an empty classroom to avoid sunghoon in the corridor.

you pressed your back against the cold stone wall. "it’s not like that. i just... need space."

"from him? or from whatever’s happening between you two?"

you didn’t have an answer.

the tension came to a head in charms class. with flitwick delayed by some mishap in the staff room, the classroom had dissolved into chaos. 

you’d gotten pulled into helping jay, a handsome gryffindor, untangle some particularly stubborn enchanted yarn. his dramatic retelling of his disastrous attempt to knit a scarf for his gran had you laughing so hard your sides hurt.

then you felt it—that unmistakable prickle of being watched.

sunghoon sat three rows back, his usually expressive face unreadable as he stared at you. his quill had stopped moving entirely, fingers clenched so tightly around it you could see the whites of his knuckles from across the room. when jay leaned in to whisper another joke, sunghoon’s jaw tightened visibly, his dark eyes flashing with something that sent heat crawling up your neck.

you forced yourself to look away, suddenly fascinated by the grain of your desk. but like a compass needle finding north, your gaze kept drifting back. minutes passed, and he was still watching you with that same intensity, as if trying to communicate something words couldn’t capture.

when flitwick finally arrived and class ended, you were out of your seat before the dismissal fully left his mouth. you didn’t look back, even when you heard sunghoon call your name in the corridor. your heart pounded as you took the stairs two at a time, your mind racing with questions you weren’t ready to face.

why did his attention still affect you like this? why did part of you still want to turn around and walk straight into that stormy gaze?

and most terrifying of all—what if you’d been wrong about everything?

the uncertainty settled heavy in your chest as you disappeared around the corner, leaving sunghoon and all your unanswered questions behind.

you should've known better than to think you'd have the prefect's bathroom to yourself. the universe had a cruel sense of humour when it came to you and sunghoon.

the massive, pool-like tub was empty when you arrived, steam curling off the water's surface in lazy tendrils. you'd changed into your bathing suit—a modest but pretty thing—before stepping in, sighing as the warm water lapped at your skin.

the golden taps lining the walls gleamed, each set with a different jewel that dispensed everything from rose-scented bubbles to vanilla-infused oils. you'd chosen a mix of both, the sweet floral scent wrapping around you as you leaned back, eyes closed, finally relaxing for the first time in days.

then the door slammed open.

your eyes flew open just in time to see sunghoon stride in, already shirtless, a towel slung low over his hips. your breath caught. he looked unfairly good, water droplets clinging to his skin from the humid air, his dark hair slightly damp like he'd just showered.

his gaze locked onto yours immediately.

"you," he said, voice rough, "have been avoiding me." 

you swallowed, sinking a little deeper into the water. "i wasn't-"

"don't lie." he dropped the towel (thank merlin, he was wearing swim trunks) and stepped into the pool, not breaking eye contact for a second. the water rippled around him as he moved closer, and you instinctively backed toward the far edge, your pulse thundering in your ears.

he stopped you with a hand on your wrist. "where are you going?"

"the-the soap." you gestured weakly to the rose-and-vanilla tap across the pool. "i wanted to.."

sunghoon's grip tightened just slightly. "then go."

you didn't move. neither did he.

the silence stretched, thick with tension, until he finally let out a frustrated breath and tugged you closer. "you're really going to pretend nothing's wrong?"

you bit your lip, glancing away. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"bullshit." his thumb brushed over your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. "you've been dodging me for days. skipping patrols. running away every time i get near you." his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "was it because of him?"

you blinked. "who?"

"that gryffindor. the one you were laughing with in class." his jaw clenched. "are you into him? is that why—"

"what? no!" you gaped at him. "i was just helping him with—"

"then why?" sunghoon's fingers slid up your arm, his touch burning even through the water. "why avoid me?"

you hesitated, then muttered, "you were the one always with that ravenclaw girl."

sunghoon stilled. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. "eunji?"

you scowled. "don't act like you don't know who i'm talking about."

he laughed, low and amused, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "she's my friend's little sister, and, for the record, very much into girls."

your cheeks burned as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "were you jealous?"

"no!"

"liar." his nose brushed along your neck, and you shivered.

"you've been driving me crazy, you know that? watching you laugh with someone else, then running every time i tried to talk to you—" his hands slid down to your waist, gripping tight. "i couldn't take it"

your breath hitched. "sunghoon—"

"let me help you with that soap," he murmured, already reaching for the bottle floating nearby. 

you didn't protest as he poured a generous amount into his palms, his hands smoothing over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch deliberate and slow. when he reached your back, you tensed, but his fingers were careful, kneading the tension from your muscles as he worked the lather into your skin.

"you're so fucking pretty," he muttered, his lips brushing your shoulder. "it's unfair."

you leaned into him without thinking, your head tipping back against his chest. his hands stilled, then slid around to your front, tracing the dip of your collarbones, the curve of your waist. you could feel his heartbeat against your back, rapid and unsteady.

"sunghoon," you whispered, "your parents wouldn't approve of this. of us."

he stilled, then huffed a laugh. "who cares what they think?"

"they pulled you out of my life once already—"

"and i regret letting that happen every day." his thumb brushed your wrist. "they'll give in once they meet you."

your breath hitched. "you're going to make me meet them?"

"yeah," he said simply, pulling you flush against him. "you're gonna be my girlfriend after all."

the word sent heat rushing to your cheeks. "i never agreed to that."

sunghoon's hands slid to your waist. "then say no." when you didn't, his smirk returned. "that's what i thought."

he turned you to face him, his eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. "tell me you feel it too."

you didn't have to ask what he meant. "i do."

his breath left him in a rush, and then his mouth was on yours, hot and desperate.

the kiss stole the air from your lungs, a messy clash of teeth and tongue and aching want. his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid you might slip away, fingertips digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your swimsuit. you whimpered against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging just enough to make him groan—a low, broken sound that sent a fresh bolt of heat straight to you.

"fuck," he muttered against your lips, voice hoarse, "i missed you. you have no idea—"

he cut himself off by kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak. you barely realised you were moving until your back hit the slick marble edge of the pool, trapping you between the cool stone and the hard, burning press of sunghoon’s body.

he kissed like he was trying to memorise you—long, unhurried drags of his mouth against yours, punctuated by little nips to your bottom lip that had you gasping. one of his hands slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip beneath your ribs, until his thumb brushed just under the swell of your breast, featherlight.

you broke the kiss with a gasp, your head falling back against the marble. "sunghoon—"

"tell me to stop," he said, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. his hand stayed where it was, trembling slightly.

you opened your mouth—but no protest came out. instead, your hands slid down his chest, mapping the planes of muscle, the slick heat of his skin, until you were clutching at him helplessly.

"that's what i thought," he breathed, almost a laugh, before his mouth found your throat.

you choked on a moan as he kissed down the column of your neck, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the sting. his hands, bolder now, roamed freely over your body, mapping every inch like it was his right. the thin straps of your bathing suit slipped down your shoulders under his touch, and you shivered, equal parts from the chill of the air and the heat building inside you.

"someone could walk in," you gasped, barely coherent as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

he cursed under his breath, dragging himself back enough to look at you. his eyes were black with heat, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

"then come to my room," he said roughly, his voice pure sin. "please."

you hesitated—but then he kissed you again, slow this time, coaxing, like a promise of everything he wasn’t saying out loud. his thumb rubbed slow circles into your hip, grounding you.

"unless," he said against your mouth, smirking wickedly, "you'd rather stay here and risk getting caught."

you swatted his chest, but the fight had long since gone out of you. your body was already leaning into his, your mouth chasing his kiss. "fine," you whispered. "but only because—"

he didn't let you finish, with a grin, he lifted you out of the water in one smooth motion, making you squeal as he carried you toward the door, his lips finding yours again before you could protest.

“your room is right next door after all, so we don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[candledburns]

brain PLEASE function i am begging you-

[soaln]

can i request hcs of monster trio and ace/law getting jealous of someone stealing reader’s attention?

𝓗𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 ﹒ ౨ৎ

𓏵 ﹒ ┈ warnings : none, pure fluff, gender isn't mentioned I think ｡— ◟ 𖦹

𝓜𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐃. 𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

Luffy, despite his carefree and unrefined nature, is open about his feelings for you. His youthful exuberance and boundless energy make his attachment to you both overwhelming and endearing. If someone tries to take your attention away, he doesn’t hesitate to express his feelings. His face scrunches up into an exaggerated pout, his lips puffing out as he declares, “Hey! That’s my [Y/N]!��� in a tone that is both childish and possessive.

Luffy usually doesn’t care much about competition, but when it comes to you, he will go to great lengths to capture your attention. Whether it’s interrupting conversations with his signature enthusiasm or pulling you into a tight, playful hug, he makes sure everyone knows you are his priority.

If someone continues to ignore him, Luffy's behavior will become even more outrageous. He might start doing silly stunts, telling jokes, or even challenging the intruder to a goofy competition—all to get your attention back. His actions are loud, chaotic, and completely in character, but they stem from a place of genuine affection.

𝓡𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

Zoro’s jealousy is as sharp and precise as his swordsmanship. He’s not one to wear his emotions openly, but when someone catches your attention, his stoic demeanor becomes a little more intense. His arms cross, his gaze narrows, and his silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t need words to convey his displeasure.

If the situation escalates, Zoro's pride won't allow him to stand by without taking action. He'll find a way to involve himself, often pretending that he needs your help with something trivial, like adjusting his swords or reaching for a drink. His movements are deliberate, and his tone remains casual, but his piercing gaze is always fixed on the intruder.

Zoro’s jealousy is subtle yet powerful. He doesn’t create a scene, but his actions and presence are enough to remind everyone—especially you—that he’s not someone to be underestimated when it comes to matters of the heart.

𝓥𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

Sanji’s jealousy is as intense and dramatic as his personality. When someone tries to capture your attention, his romantic nature ignites like a storm. His words are filled with passion and possessiveness, and his voice drips with charming sweetness as he declares, “Darling, you should know, no one could ever treat you the way I do!”

His jealousy is anything but subtle. He showers you with flirtatious compliments while his eyes smolder with intensity, casting pointed glances at anyone he sees as a threat. Sanji's love language revolves around grand gestures, which he uses to remind you—and everyone else—that you are his muse, his one and only.

If the situation requires it, Sanji will go all out. He might prepare an extravagant meal just for you, presenting it with a theatrical bow and flourish. His jealousy is intertwined with passion, spectacle, and an unwavering devotion that is impossible to ignore.

𝓟𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐃. 𝐀𝐂𝐄

Ace’s jealousy is subtle, reflecting his laid-back personality, yet it runs deep. When someone captures your attention, he observes from a distance, maintaining a calm expression while his gaze remains intense. A quiet tension fills the air, and a slight change in his demeanor reveals the depth of his feelings.

If the intruder persists, Ace will step in with his trademark charm and ease. His words are teasing, his tone light, but there’s a possessiveness lurking beneath the surface. “Careful, they might bite,” he might say with a smirk, his voice smooth and affectionate. “You wouldn’t want to get too close.”

Ace’s jealousy is never overt, but it’s always present. He doesn’t need grand gestures or dramatic declarations to remind you where his heart lies. His quiet confidence and subtle actions speak louder than words ever could.

𝓣𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝓦𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐖

Law's jealousy is a masterclass in restraint and quiet intensity. He doesn't engage in loud displays of emotion, but when someone attracts too much of your attention, his presence becomes unmistakable. He lingers in the background, his posture rigid and his gaze sharp, while his silence is heavy with unspoken possessiveness.

His actions are intentional and thoughtful. A gentle touch, a soft word, or a slight change in distance is enough to remind you—and everyone else—that you belong to him. “You seem… quite interested in them,” he might murmur, his tone cool but tinged with a hint of irritation.

When Law's patience begins to wear thin, his jealousy becomes more evident. A slight scowl, a protective arm around you, or a sharp glare at the intruder acts as a silent warning. His love is deep and intimate, and he won't hesitate to defend it with the same precision he uses in battle.

[no-144444]

who's he?- l.norris

summary: you've always been more famous, but now jack whitehall has decided to address it

pairing: lando norris x fem! moviestar! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You sat beside Lando, giggling beside him as the night went on, awkward and long. F175 was a good idea on paper, but it was also the most hunger games-esque things you’d ever seen, and every single person there could feel the awkward and uncomfortable air in the room. 

He reached over and grabbed your hand to play with while Jack Whitehall made his way through the tables as the Williams car was revealed. 

“You alright?” you asked, leaning in to him. 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “All good.”

He was doing great. 2024 had been the hardest season of his life, and he genuinely couldn’t have done it without you. Every time he came home and saw you there, taking time out of your own busy schedule to make him feel better, it meant the world to him. He was eternally grateful. 

Jack pulled up a chair beside the two of you, getting ready for the interview. “Evening guys,” he smiled, settling in beside you. The Williams reveal was over, the lights came up again, and the camera was turned to Lando, Jack and you. 

“Give it up for my main man James Vowels!” There was a break for cheering. “Now, there is only one person I want to talk to tonight,” he announced into the microphone and the crowd went wild. They thought he meant Lando. “Y/n Y/l/n!” 

The stadium erupted in laughter as Lando got cut out of the camera angle, zoning in on your and Jack. Beside you, Lando was laughing harder than anyone, squeezing your hand as he giggled uncontrollably. You were pretty famous, being a huge movie star. At the beginning of your relationship back in 2021, everyone was a bit confused on why you’d picked him, since F1 wasn’t huge back then. Ever since then there’s always been jokes about how he’s less relevant than you, or less famous, etc. Honestly, you find them hilarious.

“Y/n, how are you feeling about tonight, have you ever seen anything like this?” he asked.

“No, I have not,” you smiled, trying to hold in your own laughter. 

“How does it compare to the Oscars?” 

“There’s usually less drummers, for sure,” you joked and the crowd laughed. “But yes, I am very excited to be here.” 

“Do you think Lando’s taking it away this year?” 

You turned to Lando and he smirked, shaking his head. “I hope so,” you shrugged, turning back to Jack. 

“I won’t be famous enough if I don’t,” Lando added, giggling into the microphone. 

“Mate let’s be honest you were never famous enough for her,” Jack teased. “I hope you win this year for your sake,” both you and Lando were uncontrollably laughing now. “So, how was your break? Got a chance to Netflix and Chill?” 

A boom mic was lowered into your face. 

“We did, y’know,” Lando nodded, pushing the boom away. “Wankers.” 

“Please do not curse Lando,” Jack chuckled. 

“That's not a curse word,” he smiled cheekily. “But yeah, we had a nice break. We spent some time with our families and friends, and we went to see Daniel in Perth as well, which was great.”

“You and Daniel are quite close, aren’t you Y/n?” he mused. 

“Yeah, I’ve worked with his partner a lot before, so we’re pretty close.”

“And he introduced us,” Lando added and you nodded. 

“Wow! Daniel Riccardo the match-maker, will he be officiating at your wedding?” Jack asked, referencing the fact that there were a lot of engagement rumours over the break for the two of you. 

You looked down at your hand confused then held it up for the cameras, showing no engagement ring on your finger, then looking at Lando confused, who giggled. 

“It’s on my to-do list, alright?” he chuckled. 

“Better be soon, or else you’ll be too irrelevant to marry her,” Jack joked. “And now, we have the wonderful Kane Brown, give it up!” 

The cameras turned to the singer, and Lando smiled at you. 

“It’s a good idea,” he whispered. “Asking Daniel.” 

“I don’t see a ring on my finger, Norris,” you pointed out again. 

“Soon,” he nodded, sincerity in his eyes. “So soon.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” you chuckled, but you knew he was serious.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[rafecameronssl4t]

Misunderstandings || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Sofia knew what she was doing when mentioning Rafe to you, and she also knew what she was doing when she told you that he never mentioned you, his girlfriend.

Warnings: swearing, fluff at the end, angst

Word count: 873

A/n: kinda really don’t like Sofia 😄

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Hey, what can I get you?” asks a smiling girl you don’t recognize. She approaches the three of you as you and your close friends settle into the bar stools at the country club, ready to enjoy lunch and catch up. It’s been two weeks since you returned from visiting family overseas, and this gathering feels long overdue.

“Just the usual, please, Sofia,” your friends Kaycee and Jada say with a smile to the brunette server. Her natural beauty was almost unfair. “Coming right up. And for you?” she asks, turning to you. “Oh, uh, the same as them, please,” you respond.

She nods with a soft smile before turning around to start on your drinks. “Is she new?” you inquire, gesturing subtly towards Sofia as your friends glance over at her.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. She started just when you left,” Kaycee responds, her attention shifting back to the menu. You nod slowly in acknowledgment, taking in the information before refocusing your attention on the conversation.

“Is Rafe joining us?” Kaycee inquires, her tone laced with curiosity as she turns her gaze towards you. Just as you open your mouth to respond, Sofia interjects with unexpected enthusiasm, her eyes lighting up. “Rafe’s coming?” Her bubbly expression catches you off guard, and you exchange surprised glances with your friends, wondering why she’s so ecstatic about your boyfriend’s arrival.

There’s a brief moment of silence as you all process Sofia’s reaction, the atmosphere around the table becoming slightly more charged with curiosity. You can’t help but wonder if there’s more to Sofia’s excitement than meets the eye, but before you can dwell on it further, Jada interjects.

“Rafe is—” Before she can finish her sentence, you quickly kick her lightly on the shin to shut her up. “Yeah, he is. You know Rafe?” you smoothly interject, trying to keep your relationship with Rafe a secret for now.

You watch Sofia closely, intrigued by her sudden enthusiasm. To your surprise, she responds with a wide smile, her dimples on full display.

“Yeah. Yeah— he’s pretty cute. Great company too when I’m closing up,” Sofia remarks casually, her tone tinged with a hint of admiration. You raise an eyebrow at her words, sensing a shift in the conversation.

“Really?” you inquire, trying to conceal your surprise. Sofia chuckles softly as she dries a few cups, her movements graceful and effortless. “Yeah, you’d think he has a girlfriend, right? With all that charm he has,” she muses, a small sigh escaping her lips.

You exchange a quick glance with Jada and Kaycee, both of them wearing wide-eyed expressions that mirror your own astonishment.

Ignoring the wide-eyed looks from Jada and Kaycee and the unsettling feeling creeping up from your stomach, you clear your throat, attempting to maintain composure. “I for sure thought that he had a girlfriend,” you say, feigning innocence as you try to mask the rising anger within you.

Sofia shakes her head, her demeanor casual as she continues drying the cups. “Nope. He never mentioned he had one,” she replies, her tone nonchalant.

You roll your tongue against your cheek as you lean back, a wave of frustration nearly bubbling over. Despite your efforts to keep calm, the revelation leaves you feeling betrayed and unsure of what to make of Rafe’s silence about his relationship status.

Your phone suddenly pings, breaking the tension, and you glance down at it, noticing a text from Rafe saying he’s on his way. “That’s really interesting. Thanks for letting me know, Sof,” you say with forced politeness, though your lips purse together and you cross your arms, staring down at your feet, trying to process the mix of emotions swirling inside you.

“Letting you know what?” Sofia innocently chuckles, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind. Without answering her, you and your friends silently agree to move to another table to have your meals, needing some distance from the uncomfortable conversation.

“What the fuck,” Jada whispers angrily as you walk away from the bar, her frustration palpable. “How does she not know you’re Rafe’s girlfriend? Everyone on this damn island knows it,” Kaycee adds, her voice tinged with disbelief.

As you find a new table, the weight of Sofia’s obliviousness hangs heavy in the air, leaving you to wonder how Rafe could have kept such a significant detail about your relationship hidden from someone you thought was just a casual acquaintance.

You scoff, the frustration and anger boiling over as you aggressively put your purse on the table. “Obviously not her, because Rafe made her believe that he was fucking single. What a fucking dick,” you huff, the bitterness evident in your voice.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You thought you could trust Rafe, especially after being with him for years now and never bumping into an issue like this. You would have never thought he’d do something like this, keeping such a significant detail about your relationship hidden and potentially leading someone else on.m, especially with how protective he is of you outside.

Fifteen minutes later, you notice Jada and Kaycee awkwardly looking at something behind you, and you can sense that it’s Rafe approaching. You feel his arms wrap around your shoulders, and he leans down to kiss your cheek, but you keep your gaze fixed elsewhere, unimpressed by his display of affection.

The tension in the air is palpable as you struggle to maintain composure, feeling a mixture of resentment and disappointment toward Rafe for his recent actions.

“Hey,” Rafe says to you, but you remain quiet, refusing to engage with him. “Ladies,” he greets your friends with a forced smile as he takes off his sunglasses.

“Hi,” they both respond awkwardly, exchanging glances. The next few seconds are filled with tense silence as Rafe attempts to decipher your mood.

“Uh, we’re just gonna go to the bathroom,” Jada announces suddenly, her voice strained as she gets up, pulling Kaycee along with her. Rafe lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he watches them leave. The lingering tension between you and him hangs heavy in the air, leaving both of you at a loss for words.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Rafe asks, his voice laced with concern as he places his large hand on your thigh. But you quickly remove it, unable to bear his touch.

You can feel the hurt in his expression as he recoils slightly, his hand dropping to his side. The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Despite his attempt to reach out, you remain distant, the sense of betrayal and disappointment still raw within you.

“Do you know Sofia?” you finally speak up, breaking the tense silence. “Who? Oh— yeah. Sof. What about her?” Rafe responds, his confusion evident. You let out a scoff at the nickname, unable to hide your annoyance. “How come she doesn’t know you have a girlfriend?” you demand, your frustration bubbling over.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow at your word, shrugging, “How would I fuckin’ know—““Oh, I don’t know, Rafe, maybe because you’re the one that made her believe that,” you interject sarcastically, rolling your eyes at his attempt to feign innocence. The weight of your words hangs in the air, the tension between you escalating with each passing moment.

“Don’t give me that fucking attitude,” Rafe snaps angrily, his frustration evident. “You’re so full of shit, Rafe. You purposely left out the fact that you had a girlfriend so you could get into her pants!” you retort, your voice rising ever so slightly with indignation. He hushes you, casting a quick glance around the room before grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the table.

Sofia’s wandering eyes don’t go unnoticed as she looks at the two of you with furrowed eyebrows, her curiosity evident as Rafe leads you outside.

“Let go of me,” you demand, pushing Rafe’s hands away from you as you stand your ground, creating distance between the two of you. The intensity of your emotions swirls within you, a mixture of anger, hurt, and betrayal driving your actions.

“Look, I dunno what the fuck she said to you, but it’s not what it seems.” Your lips part in shock at his words. “Then go ahead, Rafe! Tell me!” you demand, throwing your arms up in exasperation. One of his hands pinches the bridge of his nose while the other rests on his hip, a sign of his growing frustration.

“Okay, okay, what—what’d she tell you?” His tone begins to calm down slightly. “She said you kept her company and never mentioned having a girlfriend—” Rafe cuts in sharply, “—she never asked—” “Shut the fuck up while I’m talking!” you retort, your voice laced with irritation at his interruption.

Your grip tightens on your handbag, your knuckles turning white as Rafe throws his head back in frustration, his eyes closing briefly as if trying to collect his thoughts. “She was new on the island and had no one. I was only talking about the places that she could visit around the island- that’s it- I swear.”

“What?” you snap, your eyes locking with Rafe’s as he stares at you intensely. “My phone was literally right under her nose, Y/N. She would’ve seen my lock screen of you,” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. His frustration is evident, but so is yours, each of you standing firm in your stance.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I thought I made it quite clear that I had a missus when I literally picked up your call in front of her on Saturday night.” Your eyes soften at his words. You remember the call vividly: the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations in the background when he mentioned he was at the country club.

You can still hear his voice, calm and steady, as he reassured you of his whereabouts. The memory tugs at your heart, causing a flicker of doubt about your initial assumptions. You begin to question whether you might have misunderstood the situation, your anger wavering as you process his explanation.

You let out a shaky breath, crossing your arms in an attempt to shield yourself from him. “I’m sorry. It’s just—the way Sofia made it out to be, you never mentioned me,” you quietly admit, your eyes fixed on your Herm��s sandals. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken tension, until suddenly you feel his arms enveloping you in a hug.

His embrace is warm and reassuring, melting away some of the lingering doubt and frustration. It’s a silent acknowledgment of your feelings, a wordless apology for any misunderstanding. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to lean into his embrace.

“Babe, ‘s fine, should’ve known she was a jealous little thing,” Rafe murmurs, his lips brushing against the crown of your head as he sighs. With the side of your face pressed against Rafe’s firm chest, your senses are filled with nothing but him. His heartbeat reverberates against your cheek, a steady rhythm that grounds you in the present moment.

NEXT PART

[bunny-jpeg]

springtime on the battlefield

simon "ghost" riley

tags: smut/pwp, gods au, god of war!simon, body worship, plus size/chubby!reader, oral sex (reader receiving), alter sex, references to war & death

a/n: inspired by the prompts "one muse gives the other oral" & "in a sacred place" from this list.

a bride was not meant to cry. it would ruin the wedding, but this was no normal wedding. the expectations that you would meet a lovely man and settle down on a farm in the country seemed like a fairy tale as you stood there dressed in virgin white.

you carried dried flowers and smelled like fresh fruit. you were not going to be married off to a man in town. you were a token of favour for a god. a god who was only worshiped in the heat of war.

"we thank you, dear." the priest said with his hand on your shoulder, "you are doing a great deed, you have lived a fine life." his words felt sour and you could barely contain the small breakfast you had.

it was your wedding day, a bride shouldn't cry.

you were alone in the temple with a man who towered over you. he was taller than anyone you had ever seen in your town. you cast your dead flowers to the side and openly wept.

the doors to the temple were shut from the outside, you were trapped alone in there until he decided to kill you. if you were lucky it would be a quick painless death, but a god known for enjoying conflict may have more toying with token until the light left your eyes.

"you are my wife for the evening."

you nodded meekly, "just kill me already. kill me and give my town what they desire." your bottom lip wobbled. you felt the presence of the god near you. the energy he radiated was near terrifying. you looked up at him and sniffled, "please, make it quick."

but instead of a strike of death. the god of war touched your soft cheek. he noticed the dried cut on it and frowned. as if he didn't have an assortment of scars across his toned body.

"who did this?" he asked lowly.

"did what?"

"the cut, on your cheek. who cut you?"

you reached for your cheek and looked at him, "one of the priests. when i was held before the wedding. so i wouldn't escape. i refused to eat and he... hit me."

he made a noise and said, "then he'll be dealt with." then moved you closer to the alter. his touches were so soft despite his role in the pantheon of gods. he picked you up with ease and placed you on top of the alter. his hands at your hips as he eyed you.

he didn't gaze at you like a hungry man. but rather someone who admired a piece of art. like you were on par with the beautiful statues in the various temples around the country.

you didn't know what to say. you asked him softly, "do you have a name mister god?" you swallowed and froze when he touched your shoulders.

his hands were so scarred, but his touch was so delicate. he looked at you, those dark brown eyes on you. he said softly, "my mortal name is simon. you may call me simon."

you nodded, "alright, simon... are you going to kill me now?"

his blond brows furrowed together, "no." he said, "why would i do that? a husband would never harm his wife." then the mountain of a man dropped to his knees and slowly spread your legs apart, "i have yearned for a mortal as beautiful as you."

"i'm the largest woman in town... far cry from beautiful."

simon shook his head, "no.. divine. heavenly. are you certain you are not a goddess hidden in plain sight?" his tongue dragged across his bottom lip.

"are you trying to make me easier to kill-"

"i'm not trying to kill you, my love. you are my wife, your town gave you to me." he hiked your dress up, "i have every intention of keeping you." he rested his chin on top of your bare pussy, "you are heavenly, i've only stepped foot in the highest peaks of paradise and touching you is the same feeling... will you let me have a taste?"

you swallowed, "i am a virgin."

he kissed your inner thigh as your thighs spread a little further, "then i will take care of you. tonight, i make you feel good and slowly i will learn your body. and you will learn mine." then ran his tongue across your slit. he captured the taste of your wetness on his tongue. it made him shudder.

he had gone a long time without a lover. as much as he wanted to burn your town for trying to sacrifice you, he thanked them for picking well. he wasn't too sure how far the mercy would go.

"thank you."he said before he looked at you one last time, "for this blessing." before he started to properly pleasure you with his tongue. you gasped and clutched onto his short blond hair and without thinking bucked your hips against him.

"wait! ah!" his attention on your clit made your toes curl and you relaxed as he started to orally pleasure you. pleasure ran through you as he moved his tongue. he managed to get a finger in as well which only made you more excited.

you looked down at the god on his knees in front of you. he looked like a devote worshiper. your wetness smeared across his lip, it shined the scar that ran down them. he looked at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

"you're beauti-"

"i'm not."

he held you by the behind a little tighter, "i don't like to argue with my wife. but i will simply show you how beautiful you are." then continued to eat you out. he continued to orally pleasure you till your toes curled in your sandals.

if you were going to live, next time you hoped that you two would make love someone more comfortable. the stone of an alter, while deviously erotic, was not the most comfortable. simon felt so big against you, even while on his knees.

"how does it feel?" he asked as he massaged your thighs as he enjoyed the taste of you. he groaned a little when your soft thighs squished his head a little. he melted against you further. maybe it was because he was primed for war and not love, but this was the most beautiful feeling he ever had in his entire life. it felt like the first signs of spring after a harsh winter.

"it feels amazing."

you held onto the edge of the alter a little tighter. you let him pleasure you. taste every part of your sex, it had pleasure racing up your body in a way that you never felt before. you moaned a little louder as you felt the shudders of warmth through you. this was better than anything you could ever hoped for with a partner. it felt like he was worshiping you rather than you worshiping him. he took the role as your new husband very seriously, that the needs of his wife were paramount.

he wasn't going to devour you or kill you. he wasn't going to end your life, but rather give you a new one as his bride. even a monster of war needed the tender affection of love. he continued to make you feel good,his pace was slow enough not to scare you but with enough pressure that it made the pleasure bloom in your core. you squeezed your thighs around his head as he continued to orally pleasure you. it was a sharp intensity and you panted wildly between sweet moan.

simon knew he was going to keep you.

finally mortals had given him something worth keeping. no amount of livestock or gold could compare to the sweetness that was you. you tugged on his hair and he continued his movements. he dragged his tongue across you stiff clit and then swirled it around which only made your noises louder.

you held on tighter and felt yourself climax on his tongue. you moved your hips so your cunt was pressed firmly against his face. you made a sharp noise and tensed up as you came. the pleasure washed over you.

"simon, ah please." you gasped before you relaxed a little. your hand still in his short hair. you sharply exhaled then tried to catch your breath as the pleasure continued to rack through you.

simon pulled his mouth away and looked up at you with a gleam in his dark eyes. something so different than you expected from the god of war. for a moment he appeared human. but once he was on his feet once more, he appeared like the god many had come to fear.

you swallowed and admired him. you noticed the hard-on in his pants. before you could reach for it in an attempt to repay the favor. he stopped you.

"come away with me." he said. he then cupped your face with tenderness, "let me burn your town down for sacrificing a goddess." he pressed his forehead against yours a little aggressively, "i will take you as my living bride, i will spare you from the horrors. from the pain."

you swallowed, "i don't want you to kill them."

"you show them too much mercy. the people who claimed to love you threw you aside for their petty little war." he pulled you in for a deep kiss and you held onto his wrists.

you held on tightly. when he soon pulled away, he looked at you for an answer. you, however, did not waver, "they were scared. i'll go with you, but i ask you to spare them." a deep part of you wanted them to suffer. but you couldn't bring yourself to say it. to allow simon to do it.

he wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him, "you are much more kind than i am." there was a gravel to his voice, "then they will die with mercy on the battlefield." he kissed you once more before he added, "because no one may harm my wife. not while i am still standing." <3

[lustlovehart]

No Comfort In Sheets

Pairing: Phainon x Reader (1.9k words)

Summary: Phainons exactly where he wants to be, in your arms, sleeping in a bed like lovers do. Little does he know, he's where you want him to be, vulnerable to your touch, and susceptible to your rage... Except, it's never that easy to get rid of "love".

Warnings: Yandere, Implied Nsfw/Suggestive, Possessive Traits, Obsession, Reader & Phainon were in a relationship (Started good then went sour), Violence (Reader to Phainon), Implied Imprisonment

Your body casts a shadow over Phainon as he sleeps, kneeling at his side on the mattress. His hand keeps a weak hold on your waist, almost as soft as his breathing. Almost.

You cringe at the dark bruises on your neck. You can´t see them, but you can feel them—A harsh reminder of what you did only an hour prior. You can still feel him in your core. In your defense, if you ever tried doing something like that with another man, you're quite sure he'd kill them. Or maybe worse.

Your hand glides over his toned abs, your finger sailing over his chest, until you finally graze his throat. You won't kill him. You can't.

Even if you tried, there would be no use.

Truthfully, you hoped your scandal would allow you to bite his jugular and allow yourself a sweet revenge. Maybe even drink his blood like sweet wine. The more you thought about it, though, you fear he would think it was sexy. You allow your right hand to open your nightstand drawer, a pocket knife held within.

You look at the blade once, before looking back at him... What if... it's too messy? By the time he came to, would he be angry with you...?

You suck a breath in when you feel Phainon's grasp on your weight tighten, pulling you closer to him. He's still asleep, but you're reminded that he's still living when he whispers your name.

... Too much mess. Slowly, you place the weapon back in its place.

You opt for sitting in silence as he softly breathes by your side. You wish he were the obnoxious snoring type. If he was, maybe you could justify strangling his pretty neck with your hands.

...

You turn back to face him, your hands ghosting over his neck. With a deep inhale, you slowly inch your fingers on his skin. The moment your the tips of your hand touch him, you watch him visibly shift at the feeling. Yet he doesn't wake up.

It's a great thing you prepared for this. Chances are, he would've woken up immediately at the feeling if you hadn't conditioned him in his slumber by playing with his neck as he slept with you. Agonizingly steady as you wrap yourself around him.

The moment you finally put pressure, in the blink of an eye, you're flipped over onto the mattress, your back slamming on plush sheets as your wrists are bound. You struggle for a moment in reflex before remembering this is Phainon you're up against. You have no chance.

"Ah, you're awake." His disposition is sunny, as if he didn't know you were trying to strangle him. He definitely knows, but he doesn't let it show. He continues to act as if you two are still lovers who can keep living in peace. "Shall we go out?" he smiles, and the sun hits him in a way artists would muse to be a masterpiece. You don't. You think he looks like a beast.

He's not delusional. He knows you hate him now. He knows, you know, that he knows you hate him. But some of him still wishes to keep the facade of "love". A moment passes and he sighs, releasing your wrists before placing a soft kiss on your wrist. He plops his weight down on you, resting his head on your chest. If you were the naive being you were once before, you're sure you would've fallen for his charms once again.

But you don't. You remain firm in your resolve.

"Let's break up, Phainon." Your other five attempts always allow the expression of hurt to appear on his face. You think he's grown accustomed to such trials though, as he only smiles, placing a kiss on your bare chest.

"We can always go to your favorite. And no, we won't." He addresses your demand like an afterthought. Like it's just a temporary, minor snag in your love life.

A part of you wonders what has him so desperate to keep you by his side. Like a lifeline. He realizes life goes on, right? He can't keep you in this loop forever. Amphoreus is planet with a multitude of people he can move on with. Why you?

He plays with your fingers as he goes over the variety of places you both could eat. It's mundane. You want to try strangling him again.

"Ah, but that place has—"

"Why do you love me, Phainon?" you feel like you should laugh. You finally see that face of shock back on his face after so long. You should feel victorious. But you don't. If anything, you feel a sense of guilt eat at you, and you hate it. You shouldn't feel pity at all.

But maybe it’s part of your past surfacing back up to hold him like your soulmate again.

You quickly shove it down.

"Do I need a reason?" You're gonna go crazy.

"No, you don't. But if you had one I'd like to know."

"Have."

"What?"

"I still love you." If you were still in the blooming feelings of affection, you're sure you would've swooned.

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do. If I didn't we wouldn't together in our bed—"

"Your bed, Phainon. Yours." You think you're finally breaking him down. His hand holds yours tighter, like you're on the verge of disappearing, and in a sense, you are.

You don't say anything, but Phainon grows more perturbed, before eventually, he kisses you. Disturbingly, it's not rough like you would expect after seeing him grow frustrated, but it's soft, loving. It's tender enough to make you wanna cry. And you do. You cry, pounding your fist on his shoulder. If anything, it hurts you more than it hurts him, but you keep hitting him. You keep going until he stops you, worrying over your hand. He acts as if he isn't the one to blame for your state.

"Why...? Why did you have to love me...?!" The awkward shift between you two has you remember you're still bare, still vulnerable. Your face of realization has him roll off, allowing you to take cover under the sheets. You hate how, even when he won't let you leave him, he still treats you like the most loving of lovers. "No... not love. Obsess."

His back is facing you. You're reminded of how built he is, how strong he is, and how he's never purposefully hurt you. Oh, but how he has accidentally. He's never realized, though, because all those scars remain buried in your soul, instead of etched in the surface of your skin.

"I realized... I didn't want anyone else to see what you've shown me."

You don't feel sick anymore, nor do you feel anger. In the moment, you think you feel regret. Apart of you wishes,

That you never fell in love with him.

"What did I show you?"

He doesn't answer. But he turns to face you, his blue eyes staring deep into you, like he's committing to memory every part of you, searing it like a brand. You pull to covers up to shield the rest of your skin. You're about to cover your face too, before his hand gently tugs at the fabric, signaling you to at least let him see that part of you.

"Truthfully," his finger brushes your bottom lip, smiling at the feeling under his thumb, "I don't know either." He's back to eating at your personal space when he leans down. "But I just... Have the feeling it has to be just for me."

He's lying. You've known him for long enough to know when he lies. He knows, he just won't tell you... And you don't know if you're willing to risk him finally going full-on obsessed over you.

No, that's not true. He already is in the throes of true obsession. What else do you have to lose?

"I just acted like a regular lover... I never did anything to warrant this! Any of it! I deserve to be outside with someone else—!"

The bed frame slams against the wall from the way Phainon puts his hand on it. Propping himself above you once again. For a faint moment, his eyes glow gold, flickering every so often, before he inhales and places his forehead on yours. His white hair tickles your sweaty skin.

"Who else is there for you?" You don't know either. But anyone else is better than this heir. "What are you going to leave me for?"

...

You think... This is his attempt at asking you why you want to leave him so much; Why you became so desperate to leave his love, you resorted to killing him for this escape? Is it really so worth it for you?

Can't you see all he wants is to give you every part of him? The only thing you have to do is greedily swallow his love.

"For myself."

...

You can see his blue eyes soften. An exhale you think is supposed to be a poor laugh leaves him. He leans in, soft, slow.

But his kiss is excruciatingly gluttonous. Teeth clank, his tongue invades your mouth as if he’s trying to make you taste all of him, his soul, his entirety. His hand pulls your neck in, his other hand rubbing circles into your hips through the blanket. It’s different. He’s trying to overtake all your senses.

He wants your mind too. That’s what he’s doing.

He doesn’t give you time to breathe, stealing your breath like it’s his oxygen. It gets to the point where you can even feel drool on your faces, a mixture of both your essences. You have to breathe through your nose. But truthfully, you think he’s not giving you a break, not because of you, but himself.

It’s he who doesn’t wish to let this end. You think it’s cruel. Not because of him, but… because you’re giving in to his whims.

Hesitantly, your fingers bury themself in his hair, your free hand removing him from your neck, and interlocking with his own fingers. A few seconds and you’re returning it.

Maybe… It’s because you’re desperate, or maybe you’re into his sick obsession and you just don’t know it, but you’re letting him take you over. You’re allowing him to obsess over you.

Why? Why aren’t you taking this moment of vulnerability and running away from him? You just don’t know. Or maybe you do— Ah.

You don’t care anymore.

You move Phainon’s hands to the sheets, allowing him to slowly pull down the fabric. Watching his eyes, they’re incredibly focused on your body being sluggishly exposed. It’s as if he hasn’t seen the sight hundreds of times, like it’s still beautiful to him.

You feel sorrow, sorrow for yourself.

He kisses the bare skin again, his eyes locking in on yours.

You wish, you still cared. 

You can hear him whisper it like a mantra, like a truth that he desperately wants you to believe. A prayer.

“God, I love you… I love you so much, you have no idea—” he springs up and kisses your lips another time, greedily swallowing you in his mouth, before going back down.

God, you wish you cared.

A/n: Phainon, please come home so I can lick your golden biceps plsplsplspls.

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: General Acacius x virgin!wife!Reader

content warning(s): reader insert, no use of y/n, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, oral (f recieving), fingering, loss of virginity, piv sex, innocence kink, self indulgent praise kink, Acacius definitely talks you through it, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, discussion of future sexual acts, AFTERCARE because aftercare is hot, general acacius is in loooooove but doesn't know it yet haha, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: So guys. I saw Gladiator II and it was awesome and Pedro Pascal is the sexiest man alive (in my heart). However, this character's name is not Marcus. I don't know who lied, but we've all been fooled. So in this sequel, the general's name is just Acacius in order to stay at least a little bit true to the actual canon.

I definitely will be writing for these two again because holy shit I made this romantic and I love them so much.

Read wedding day here!

Read bloodlust here!

---

Acacius saw heaven in your eyes, a piece of salvation he never thought he might be able to grasp with his blood-stained hands.

He glanced down your body, wrapped beautifully in your white wedding gown, gold jewelry shining in warm candlelight. For a moment, he wondered Venus herself were tricking him with her immortal seduction.

But the blush of red in your cheeks, the shine of desire in your eyes, the beat of your heart in your chest....

No immortal possibly could mimic such evidence of true, temporary, and precious life.

Acacius had been with plenty women in his lifetime, had thought he understood what desire was.

I want you, you had said.

Now, he thinks he's only scratched the surface.

---

The general-- Acacius -- peered at you like a starving man at a feast, drinking you in, turning the wheels in his head of what he wanted to do first.

He grasped your hand in both of his, studying the golden band on your ring finger. Evidence of your gods-blessed union.

"I want to see you wearing nothing.... except for this," Acacius breathed, his voice low, and dreamy, like the words were slipping from him with no control.

"I'd like that very much," you said, trying to keep your hand from trembling under his touch.

"May I strip you bare, darling?" He asked, calloused fingertips fiddling with the clasp on your golden bracelet.

"Yes."

Instantly, the bracelet fell, and then the other, and then the other. Acacius' gentle touch drove you wild, methodical and sure. He stopped for a moment, glancing at the purity ring on your pinky, and smirked in a way that nearly made your knees buckle.

Glancing back up to your gaze, he held your stare as he pulled the purity ring off. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from yours, letting you smell the sweet cherry wine on his breath.

"Kiss me," you mumbled.

Acacius' smirk remained. "Patience, darling."

He tucked the purity ring into a pocket of his tunic, and turned you around, so your back pressed against his chest. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing he had turned you both to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

"Answer me honestly," he said, trailing one of his knuckles down the exposed skin of your spine. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you shivered at his light touch. "Uh..."

"Don't you lie to me, now. It's a great sin to lie to your husband," he whispered, his teeth nipping lightly at your ear.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I- I've touched myself. I've touched... my..."

"Your cunt?" Acacius mused.

You nodded, your chest rising heavily.

"Did you… like it? When you touched yourself?"

"N-no. I've been told it is not ladylike, to... pleasure yourself in that way."

Acacius kissed the back of your neck, making you arch into his touch. "Oh, my poor darling... there's nothing more ladylike in the world. Don't worry... I will show you how."

A full whimper escaped you at that, and Acacius undid the knots of your dress with a chuckle.

The dress fell, leaving you in only your loincloth, tied at your waist. But Acacius was looking at something else.

His eyes were transfixed on your perked breasts, his mouth slightly open as he wrapped one of his hands around the soft flesh. A high-pitched sigh left your throat, and he reached around with his other hand to take hold of the other breast.

"Do you like it when I hold you like this?" Acacius murmured, his mouth at your temple. He twitched his fingertips to pinch your nipples softly, making you close your eyes in pleasure. "Look at me."

Snapping your eyes open again, he stared you down in the mirror with a small devilish grin. He pinched your breasts again, pulling an answer from you. "Yes, Acacius."

"Good girl," he praised, your cunt throbbing at the words. He let go of your breasts, untying the cloth at your hips until you were utterly bare before him, save for your wedding ring. "Lie down on the bed, darling."

He brushed a palm over your plush backside, guiding you towards the beautiful linen bed. Plenty big for two.

You obey with a shy smile, sinking into the blankets and pillows like you were always meant to fit there. Watching from your comfortable bed, Acacius loomed over the foot, undoing buttons on his tunic, and ties on his robes.

Your lips parted slightly as he exposed the tan, scarred skin of his chest, flickering candlelight bathing him in a warm glow. He studied your expressions like a hawk, watching for any sign of discomfort or displeasure.

As he unlaced the toga and loincloth, leaving him as bare as you were, you had to keep yourself from gasping.

His cock hung heavily between his legs, not even fully aroused but still bigger than anything you had anticipated. He wrapped a hand around his manhood, smirking at your expression, but mercifully saying nothing about it.

“I am curious, my wife,” Acacius began, his voice a rumble. He pulled himself onto the marriage bed, caging you in the sheets with his arms and legs straddling. His eyes never left yours. “What did they say about me? When you learned of our union, what whispers crossed your ears?”

You licked your lips, speaking suddenly a challenge. “Um, that you w-were brave…”

Acacius leaned down, pulling one of your legs over his broad shoulders.

“…and strong…”

He mirrored the motion with your other leg, leaving your weeping cunt exposed.

“…a-and…”

Acacius paused, waiting for your answer. “And?”

“General, I shouldn’t speak ill…” you moaned, wondering if one could combust with desire.

“Tell me the truth, darling. Or you won’t get what you so eagerly want.”

“Th-they said you were cruel,” you stammered, desperately, any wall of self preservation coming down. “They said you took anything you desired, washed your hands with blood, and violence was the only language you spoke. Your rage eclipses that of Achilles, and your eyes blacken every time you raise a banner. You are of Mars himself, shedding blood like you were born to it.”

Acacius’ smirk from between your legs was wicked, and he broke your gaze for the first time since lying on the bed.

He studied your open cunt with a glazed expression, like he was lost in the pleasure of staring at your slick desire.

“If I am of Mars then you are of Venus, my darling.”

His words filled you with affection, the way his knees bent on the bed almost like he was worshiping an altar between your legs.

“So pure…” he murmured, as if the words had slipped from his lips.

Your back arched like a bow as he licked a stripe up your soaking slit, sighs escaping from your throat.

Acacius hummed with delight, fucking you on his tongue lazily, drinking your desire like nectar of the gods.

You buried your hands in his hair hesitantly, unsure of what would be pleasing to him. In all the times you eavesdropped on the married women of the court, never once had they mentioned anything like… this. Never once had they mentioned any of the overwhelming pleasure racking every limb of your body. Never once had they mentioned the lightning erupting over your skin with every brush of his calloused palm.

Acacius trailed his hands down your arched torso, cupping your breasts as his mouth traced patterns over your cunt. Your breathy moans made him chuckle into your flesh, the vibrations making you lift your hips with pleasure.

Throbbing built in your pussy, clenching around his tongue as your desire jumped at every brush of his lips.

“A-Acacius, gods…” you cried out, throwing your head back as a pinnacle raced towards you.

“Relax, my darling,” Acacius breathed, bringing one of his hands down to rest at your soft inner thigh. “I’m going to put my hands on you now.”

“Oh, please,” you begged, unsure of what it was you were begging for.

“Tell me if it becomes too much,” Acacius said, and his hand on your thigh moved.

The gentle brush of his rough fingertips on your slick folds had you gasping anew, pulling lightly on the locks of his hair.

“Such a pretty cunt,” Acacius mumbled to himself. “I have half a mind to just keep you like this.”

You whined in protest, your hips chasing his touch.

“So needy for a virgin.”

You threw your head back as his finger pushed past your slick folds, reaching spots inside of yourself that you hadn’t known existed.

“Oh, so tight, my love. You truly are pure.” Acacius curved his finger, brushing against something spongy, and sensitive. A guttural moan escaped your throat, and he laughed softly. “When the pleasure peaks, do not fight it. Let it take you away, somewhere only you and I exist.”

You nodded at his command, closing your eyes as your head sunk into the linen pillows.

Unrestrained cries erupted from you as he pulled his finger out, and in, and out again, hitting that sweet spot with every push inside of your aching cunt.

When he pressed his tongue to the bud at the top of your core, he pushed a second finger deep into your slick, making you wonder if the gods truly did become man. The stretch of his fingers pricked a pain deep within, making you clench tighter around his calloused fingertips. A slight brush of his rough facial hair against your core was your ultimate undoing.

You called out his name as the pleasure rushed down your spine, into your belly, and built in your desperate cunt. He knew it, too, and continued to thrust his fingers deep inside with renewed enthusiasm. His tongue licked against your clit with hunger, tipping you over the edge.

Cries escaped your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every muscle in your body going taut as the desire took over. Your cunt clenched tightly, chasing his fingers, and your spire curved with tension as the wave of lust claimed you.

Acacius watched with a lazy smile as your core squeezed with your orgasm, evidence of your desire dripping off his lips.

“Acacius… Acacius…” you breathed as the climax subsided, your body relaxing into the bed once more.

“How do you feel, darling?” Acacius asked, crawling back up to press his nose against yours. His brown eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with adoration.

In place of an answer, you buried your hands in his curly, soft hair, pressing his lips to yours. He responded instantly, capturing your mouth with the passion of love and war.

His tongue pushed against yours, pure want seeping from every brush of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hands cupped your hips gently, like he was making sure you were a solid thing he could hold in his hands. Like he was worried you might slip through his fingers.

“I want more,” you whispered against his mouth, and he nodded with his eyes closed, like he was dreaming.

“It will hurt for a moment, but I will be gentle with you,” Acacius breathed, trailing light kisses against your throat. “Tell me when there is pain, or if you wish to stop.”

You nodded against his temple, and he pulled his lips back instantly.

“Say you want me, darling. Say you will tell me to stop if you wish.”

The intensity in those brown eyes, the desperation, had you squirming with desire once again.

You held his face in your hands, tracing your thumb against his rough stubble, studying him.

Acacius' nose was utterly Roman, looking like it had possibly been broken once or twice. Every mark on him was evidence of a man that had seen the Underworld and walked away, but not without a few scars to show for it. Though he had been nothing but gentle with you, there was no doubt he could live up to his reputation of bloodletting.

Still, you held him close.

"I want you, Acacius. I will tell you to stop if I wish to." There was no hesitation, no tremor in your voice.

He sighed in relief, reaching down to his hard cock and bringing it between your legs. You whined at the sensitive touch, and he grunted at the slickness of your folds.

"So wet for me, darling, so perfect," he moaned in your ear, guiding the soft flesh of your thighs to wrap around his hips.

Tentatively, he rubbed his cock up and down your core, getting you accustomed to the blunt feeling. You whined breathlessly, near begging for him to fuck you already.

"Patience, darling. I need to go slow to not hurt you," he mumbled.

The blunt head of his cock pushed past your sensitive folds, and you dug your nails into the strong muscles of his back.

Acacius let out a guttural groan into the heated skin of your neck. "So wet, and tight."

You called his name like a prayer, your head tossed back in pain and pleasure. Over and over again, you called his name.

"A little more, easy, easy..." Acacius moaned, pushing further into your virgin cunt.

You cried out in pinching desire. "S-so much, Acacius..."

"I know, darling. We're halfway there."

You held tight to him, his rough hands on your soft skin distracting you from the stretch of your cunt around his cock. "H-halfway?"

Acacius chuckled, holding still inside of you to let you adjust. "You feel... divine. So, so perfect, my sweet wife."

A high pitched moan escaped you as he pulled back slightly, kissing your neck as he pushed farther in. You clenched around him, and his lips on your clammy skin sent a fresh wave of lust panging though you.

But Acacius stopped, and you gasped in pain again, as if he had hit a barrier in your core he couldn't push past. You knew he could bottom out if he so wanted, but not without tearing you deeply.

Instead of pushing forward, he stayed where he was inside of you, tracing his nose along the curve of your jaw.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear his words.

"Do you want to know what I want, darling?"

You were too breathless to answer.

Acacius continued. "I want to fuck you so well that all of Rome hears you calling my name. I want to mark you with my mouth so you may look in the mirror and think only of me. I want fall to my knees and thank the gods that gave you to me. But for now, my darling... I want you to come on my cock with your most divine cunt."

Your cunt, as if on command, fluttered, and you moaned as he was able to fill you to the hilt without a pinch of discomfort.

"Oh, yes," Acacius whispered, his tongue darting out along your pulse point. You cried out in pleasure as he shifted inside of you, holding tight to his strong back.

"You... are... perfect, darling," he panted, thrusting slowly, in and out, in and out. "So warm, and tight..."

"Acacius, please..."

"Please... what?" Acacius teased, biting your bottom lip slightly as he pushed back into you.

"More... more," you said, digging your nails into the muscles of his shoulders.

Acacius responded in kind, chuckling at your desperation. "As my lady commands."

His thrusts into your aching cunt deepened, becoming harder as you grew needy for his strength. You tossed your head back with a high-pitched cry when he was able to hit that perfectly sensitive spot inside of you, and the reaction made him even more ravenous for you.

"Oh, you take my cock so well," Acacius praised, the words making your cunt clench around him. "So, so good, my darling."

As if he knew what you needed before you did, he pulled his chest away from yours, sitting up on his knees while thrusting into you. He looped his wide arms underneath your spread legs, angling you upwards on his thighs and pulling your hips up off of the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you arched your back off the sheets with a shriek of delight.

"Acacius, Acacius," you cried out, the new angle sending him deep into your core, hitting spots you hadn't even known existed.

"That's it, say my name," Acacius said with a smirk. "Say my name when I fuck you, tell all of Rome who is making you feel this good."

You couldn't stop, the falling of his name from your lips dripping like sweet honey. All you could feel was the sweat of his skin against yours, the calloused of his hands as they gripped your soft thighs closely, and the depths of your core his cock was able to reach.

"You're going to cum for me," Acacius ordered, his words coming out in pants of breath. "You're going to cum for me, because you're a good girl. You're a good girl, aren't you? Letting me fuck her virgin cunt so nicely, such a good girl..."

At his praise, your cunt tightened around his cock, back arching like a bow. As you came, he pressed a calloused hand into the flesh above your pelvis, the pressure making your high all the more intense. You cried out his name, over and over again, the two of you becoming the only people in the world as the tidal wave of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Acacius' thrusts into your aching core sped, became less focused, and you knew he was losing control himself as you came apart underneath him. Your name fell from his lips as he pressed his hand further into the spot below your belly, where his cock seemed to bulge into his palm as your cunt pulsed around him.

"Such a good girl, such a good wife," he moaned. Only when your core could only twitch in response to his strong thrusts did he slow, leaning back over you and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

A warmth pooled within you, evidence of his pleasure. You didn't know if you'd ever felt such an intimate connection with anyone as you did with him, his kiss burning a brand into your heart as the heat of passion faded.

Acacius pulled away after a moment, breathing heavily against your throat. "Hold still a moment," he warned. His palms pressed against your hips, his cock sliding from you with a slight sting. You followed his advice, your legs feeling weak and shaky.

You studied him as he crossed the bedchamber to the washroom, his broad back dimpling with the movement. Returning with a clean cloth and a faint smile on his lips, the dimple in his cheek made your heart swell as he saw your sprawled body on his massive bed.

"Feeling comfortable?" Acacius asked, eyebrows raised with amusement.

You nod, watching him as he crossed over to you, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips as he carefully wiped your messy core.

Breaking from your lips for a moment, he pressed his nose against yours, and you cherished the gentle, intimate gesture.

"Shall I call the servants for a hot bath?" Acacius mumbled, tossing the cloth aside.

"A hot bath sounds divine, but only if we may take one together," you reply, slightly giddy.

Acacius furrowed his brows in confusion. "What is making you laugh, my darling?"

You kissed him again, long and slow. Time stood still, and it was as if you could physically feel the bond forging between the two of you, forging in a slow burn of a crackling fire. It was warm, and easy, and comforting.

You broke away, studying him in his eyes. "You are simply... not what I expected."

Acacius smiled, that damn dimple curving in his cheek.

The most feared general on the continent.

Your husband.

Acacius kissed your forehead. "You, my darling, are everything I've been dreaming of."

---

taglist (people that asked to be tagged in part 2): @marianastudiesart @joeldjarin @fallout-girl219 @shantellorraine @lanadelslay69-420 @pedrofan

my request box is open! would love to hear y'all ideas for Joel, Acacius, Javier, or Oberyn :)

[ddarker-dreams]

As Above, So Below.

Yan Anaxagoras x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalances, some co-dependency and emotional manipulation. Word count: 2.2k.

Anaxagoras is a polarizing figure. 

It’s to be expected, considering his lack of propriety. He cares little for respecting age-old traditions, observing social customs, or sugar coating his words. This has earned him no shortage of detractors. While they might label him a heretic or lob other accusations, even his most ardent opponents can’t deny that he’s brilliant. 

You’re no stranger to his eccentricity. His teaching style fluctuated between the routine and the sublime, you never knew what to expect. Nonetheless, you’ve always felt he takes his students’ edification seriously, hence his extreme tactics. Upon reflection, you concluded that this distinct pedagogy molded your mind into its current shape. Curiosity, drive, and a will to question the supposedly infallible have become your core tenets, courtesy of your professor. 

Who would’ve thought the very skepticism he instilled in you would one day be directed towards him? 

Ever since your most damning accusation left your lips, silence has reigned in his office. You projected a semblance of confidence for most of your exchange, but that façade has long since dissipated. You’re fidgeting, nervous energy building inside like a dam ready to burst. You regret doing this in his office, but the conversation necessitated privacy. The room has always left a strange impression on you. One glance at the notes strewn about his desk confirms the immeasurable gap in your intellect, how he’s discovering answers to questions you’d never think to ask. It’s both awe-inspiring and demoralizing. 

You can feel how he’s observing you, mentally breaking you down to your base components. There are only so many ways one can respond to the charges you’ve presented. Denial is by far the likeliest, followed up by indignation or disbelief. You’d run through this scenario hundreds of times in your head. Each time, he’d said something by now, constructing a meticulous defense. This silence denies you the catharsis rage would allow. Instead, you’re made to sit in a limbo of your own creation, replaying each element of this confrontation. 

Was your evidence lacking? Did your emotions seep through too much, discrediting your logic? Or are you not right in the head, having imagined everything in some paranoia-fuelled haze? 

Gathering your courage, you look up, steeling yourself for whatever stares back.

Anaxa’s composure is striking. He’s smiling, a sentiment akin to fondness softening the lines around his eye. If that wasn’t disconcerting enough, he chuckles, quietly at first, but ending in a hearty diapason. You drop all pretense and openly gawk at him. This goes beyond a few character quirks, this is madness. Righteous fury sends your blood boiling. You stand up, ready to storm out, when he raises his hand, a motion that keeps you in place. 

“Please, sit,” he supplicates. No vestige of his former derangement remains; regardless, it isn’t so easily erased from your memory. Sensing your apprehension, he continues, “Haven’t I taught you to always finish what you’ve started?” 

You part your lips, ready to insist that this is different, but the argument dies on your tongue. He has a way of making you doubt yourself without doing anything. Even now, you’re plagued by an impulse not to disappoint him. Feeling defeated, you return to your seat.

He leans back, crosses his legs, and rests his folded hands on his knee. “How long have you held these suspicions?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Untrue. Try again.” 

“... Since the Month of Gate.” 

“That long, hm?” Anaxa muses. He leans closer, his gracile form hunched forward, like when he’s on the precipice of a great revelation. “We’re in the Six Month now; why wait as long as you did?” 

“Because I couldn’t believe it!” 

He clicks his tongue. “Willful ignorance, then? That’s unbecoming of you.” 

Your heart plummets at his reprimand. Memories of your first few one-on-one oral tests come flooding back, pelting your psyche. He accepted nothing less than your absolute best. You used to think he purposefully set you up for failure, demanding the impossible, but the results proved otherwise. He saw potential in areas you were too frightened to spare a glance. He encouraged — no, demanded — that you face them head-on. Consequently, you discovered yourself capable of feats previously unthinkable. 

That habit of his must extend beyond the lectern. 

“You come to me presenting vague, disconnected data, without the resolve to say what it is I stand accused of.” 

Something in you snaps. “How about falsifying my grades, coercion, bribery, and stalking, to name a few?” 

“An excellent start!” he asserts, slightly breathless from exhilaration. “Finally, we’re getting to the heart of the matter. Your reasoning is solid, if lacking in scope. Expand on your argument.” 

“This— this isn’t a learning exercise. If you don’t take me seriously, I’ll…” 

You trail off, fully aware you lack the means to substantiate a threat. Scowling, you internally berate yourself. He’s successfully stirred up your temper. Who could blame you, though? His disregard is baffling! You know him to be insensitive, sure, but never purposefully cruel. A lump forms in the back of your throat. You fight it with all your might, not wanting to add to your humiliation. He hadn’t made you cry in ages. The last time would’ve been his scathing critique of your first assignment, many years ago. You swore never to endure that again. 

“Don’t look at me like that, my dear,” Anaxa sighs. “I am taking you seriously. Forgive my excitement; I’ve been awaiting this conversation. Now, I know you’re thinking, ‘he’s lost it,’ or something to that effect. Let me reassure you — I’m perfectly sane. How else could I have accomplished what you’ve accused me of?” 

You eye him warily. “So you’re admitting to it?” 

“Not everything. I never tampered with your grades.” 

He’s focusing on the least egregious charge? Wouldn’t anyone else refute stalking or coercion first? You almost left out the dubious grades, it paled so greatly compared to the other accusations. 

“You never told me I failed after an oral test.” 

“I never said you passed, either.” 

“But you looked pleased!”

“Does that translate to a high grade?” 

“It’s disingenuous!” 

“Disingenuous, yes, but falsification? Hardly.” 

“Why is that what you’re caught up on?” you demand, your voice rising in pitch. “The point is, you’re keeping me from graduating. That’s the issue here.” 

“Is it not up to the professor whether their student should graduate or not?” 

Anaxa’s acting facetious to get under your skin and it’s working. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, recalling his lessons about the advantages of preying on your opponent’s emotions in a debate. Is that what this is? Had that been the case, you’d expect a more subtle approach. All this ambiguity is doing you a disservice. He claimed you ‘lacked scope,’ so you opt for a shift in tactics. 

“Why don’t you want me to graduate?” 

“An improvement over your earlier questions,” he notes, nodding in approval. “Still, you should know I dislike giving answers you’ve arrived at yourself.” 

“I haven’t—” 

He interrupts you by speaking your name, his tone low and chill-inducing. Shudders travel along your body. His disappointment reaches into your chest cavity and steals your oxygen. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. This ever-present desire to make him proud has twisted your priorities. Despite yourself, his earlier praise, meager as it was, sent your heart soaring. The acknowledgment of a genius is titillating. 

… Maybe you’re not right in the head either. 

“You’re attracted to me.” 

“A shallow description, albeit accurate.” 

“You don’t want me to leave The Grove.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Some warped sense of attachment, if I had to guess.” 

“Hmph. I wouldn’t call it warped,” Anaxa replies. “The ethics, perhaps, but my intentions aren’t so nefarious. Your talent would be wasted in Okhema. Should you stay, I’d have you as my assistant, a position you’d find challenging and rewarding. Is that not a tempting offer?” 

Your mouth goes dry. 

Tempting? Life-altering would be a better description. The role of assistant to a Sage is enviable for its benefits, monetarily, but more vital, academically. Other scholars are more willing to collaborate, you have access to any materials you research necessitates, and you’re welcomed into previously inaccessible circles. It’s a chance your younger self would’ve killed for. 

However… 

“My intention has always been to return home and apply what I’ve learned. Okhema’s one of the last standing city-states, I want to contribute what I can.”

Anaxa pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re still clinging to those fantasies? Leave that city to the Goldweaver. She has her shortcomings, but when it comes to ruling, she maintains order.” 

“We can’t rely solely on Aglaea. Common people should do their part,” you insist. “I want to see my home prosper, not limp from crisis to crisis.” 

“Such are the times we live in.” 

“So I should just give up, then?” 

“If you have any sense.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘finish what you start?’” 

“We aren’t finished yet,” Anaxa responds, unusually harsh. “Focus on that. Everything else is secondary, a distraction.” 

Your eye twitches. 

“What about what I want?” 

“You want to stay. It’s a misguided civil duty fooling you into believing otherwise.” 

Anaxa’s speaking like he’s objectively correct, as if any claims to the contrary are insipient, a waste of his time. It’s equal parts fascinating and infuriating. You’re reminded of the countless hours spent in this room, passionately defending your rationale against his methodical deconstructions. Except now, it isn’t a theory or method you’re debating, it’s your future. Ultimately, no one aside from you has the final say. His claim that you’re deluded by sentimentality is projection. He’s acting absurd here, not you. 

“I’ve always had great respect for you, professor,” you admit, ignoring a terrible ache in your chest. “You’ve never been afraid to question the status quo, even if it meant challenging the gods. That’s why… that’s why I struggled to believe you’d sabotage me. Call it ‘willful ignorance,’ or whatever, but was it so wrong of me to have faith in my mentor?” 

Anaxa’s eyelashes flutter shut and he smiles. “An appeal to pathos, is it?” 

“It’s called being human, Anaxa.” 

That gets under his skin. His eye is hooded when it reopens, belying irritation. 

“Anaxagoras,” he dryly corrects. 

“Your priorities are a mess.” 

“Insolence should never be tolerated,” he asserts. “I commend your rhetoric. Need I remind you, however, that I’m not to blame for the image you’ve formed of me?” 

You exhale sharply through your nose. So that’s the angle he’s deciding to take? He’s willing to desecrate a shrine you dedicated to him, built with precious memories and experiences?

While studying his physiognomy, you note how stoic he’s become. He’s toned down his usual theatrics. There’s a solemn nature to his gaze, his eyebrow slightly upturned and jaw set firmly. Through his outerwear, you can make out the alchemical symbols inked into his arm. When it comes to pursuing his ambitions, he’s like a man possessed. Nothing is too sacred, not even his own flesh. 

What chance do you have against such determination? 

“You must be lonely, professor.” 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Resorting to insults now, are we?”

“It’s just an observation,” you say. Then, a prolonged pause. “One that you aren’t denying.” 

Anaxa reclines in his seat and clears his throat. “Your company… isn’t unwelcome.” 

It could be your imagination, but you swear there’s a light dusting of pink over his cheeks. He fiddles with the cuffs of his outer garment. Out of all the dubious comments he’s made, that’s what made him self-conscious? The absurdity takes you a few moments to recover from. Anaxa leverages the opportunity, bringing your hands into his. You try pulling away out of instinct, only for him to exert surprising strength. 

Effectively trapped, you cease your futile struggle. 

“Stay,” his voice is so soft, it almost fails to reach your ears. “I’m not above begging, if that’s what it requires.” 

He lowers his head, seeking to propitiate you, as if golden ichor didn’t flow through his veins, denoting his supernal status. He who scorns the divine has taken on the posture of an acolyte. An act befitting a lifelong blasphemer, you suppose. 

Anaxa speaks your full name, each syllable rolling off his tongue like honey. 

“Should you leave, I’ll hasten the eschaton of this world by aiding the black tide.” 

“... And you claim you haven’t ‘lost it?’” 

“Not yet,” he murmurs against your inner wrist. “You’re still here.” 

“What you said could warrant execution.” 

“I prefer to die having had you for myself than to live apart.” 

“You’re mad.” 

“As the progenitor, can a malady fault its symptoms for existing?” 

“Casuistry at its finest.” 

Anaxa finally relinquishes his hold, but not without kissing your racing pulse. 

“Be critical of me all your days, I’ll delight in the offense.” 

You bring your hands to your chest, the skin he lavished in affection tingling. Your head is spinning, like he shifted the world on its axis. His eye scalds you, his magenta pupil burning hot with unrestrained fervor. There's no room for compromise. He will see his designs made manifest or immolate this dying world to punish your rejection.

"What will it be?" he asks.

You close your eyes, unable to withstand his smoldering gaze any longer.

"... My place is by your side, professor."

[ohodie]

SETTLE DOWN!

luke castellan x reader

★ “for crying out loud, settle down!”

ABOUT - you hate his guts. he hates yours. but you’d by lying if you said you didn’t want to make out with him until his lips start bleeding. and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that idea.

WARNINGS - sexual references, sexual comments, enemies to lovers, steamy makeout scenes, no explicit smut. both luke and reader are very horny and very mean sooo two red flags lol

A/N - please don’t make fun of my english/australian vocabulary. i know americans don’t use the word ‘fit’ but LET ME LIVE IN PEACE!!!let me know if you’d fancy a part 2 <3

WC - 3.7k words

it’s hard to recall when exactly your distaste towards luke castellan first developed.

maybe it started off as rude comments and shoved shoulders, or simply the act of tripping over each other's shoes, paired with a few nasty glances. either way, you hated his guts.

this sentiment was obviously returned by luke, who was eager to constantly egg you on and rile you up. maybe he found it amusing- watching the ever so calm and collected eldest daughter of the hypnos cabin going absolutely ballistic whenever luke did something slightly annoying. he loved the way her mature and gentle persona shattered as soon as he provoked her.

it was rather strange how quickly they let their masks slip, letting themselves shout foul obscenities at each other as soon as a conflict arose between the two of them. it was like being near each other was the primary catalyst for their arguments and squabbles- not the actual contents of the disagreement itself, but the players involved.

curiously, luke’s terrible attitude was never extended to anyone other than you. around everyone else at camp half-blood, luke was the perfect gentleman. warm and welcoming to anyone who happened to walk past him, a great swordsman, well-kept, respectful and polite, the list goes on. he was perfect. but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire body shifted. he became something colder, something ravenous- something hungry. he was out for blood, he just didn’t understand why.

you were slumped over a picnic table near the cabins, tiredly observing all handful of half-blood kids from various cabins making friendship bracelets.

it was dark out, the moon and the embers of the nearby fire acting as the sole providers of light for the camp that night.

truthfully, you didn’t want to be there. you would rather be in bed, coddled up between your sheets for hours before heading down to the infirmary to help out the younger kids with their sleeping troubles. maybe afterwards you could go down to the theatre and join in on a few songs with the apollo kids, or even practice sparring with clarisse.

whatever it was, you didn’t want to be there. not with luke castellan’s eyes studying your every move. you didn’t need to lift your head to know he was looking at you- you could feel it. the arrogance was radiating off him and you could smell his pride from across the picnic table. your nose easily picked up on notes of wet grass, a neutral deodorant, pure spite, and vanilla candles.

after what seemed like an eternity, you eventually shot your head up to meet luke’s unwavering gaze.

“someone’s sleepy.” he smirked, his voice calm and cold. he looked satisfied; content with watching you slowly rise in anger as he began to coddle you and patronise your every move.

you ran a hand through your hair, fixing the messy state it was in after laying down for so long. “i’m not sleepy, just bored.” you retorted, letting your hands hold up your head as you stared deeply into his eyes, not breaking eye contact.

luke played along, refusing to blink as he picked up on the competitive gesture. “bored, huh?” he mused, shooting you a cocky grin as he leaned forward over the table. “you’re never satisfied, are you, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, letting your pupils meet the back of your head as you stifled a groan. you slowly covered one side of your face in your hand, hiding your pink cheeks as a result of his use of the nickname ‘princess’.

“don’t you have a loser convention to get to?” you asked, referring to the cabin councillors meeting that he was supposed to be at.

luke shrugged, looking to his side as he watched a young demeter boy making a bracelet. “got cancelled. now i get to look at your pretty little face for an hour straight.”

“i’m going to bed.” you grumbled, standing up from the picnic table, an unfinished friendship bracelet left discarded. you walked away, hearing little to no protests from the rest of the table.

luke’s eyes met the bracelet you left behind, studying it for a moment. the colours were cute and the beads were placed strategically along the string, creating an interesting and visually pleasing combination of textures and shapes. luke’s hand wandered over to the bracelet, quickly snatching it before securely tying it and stuffing it in his pocket.

luke wasn’t sure why he stole the bracelet. maybe he thought he could taunt you with it, or maybe he could just wear it for shits and gigs. it was a pretty bracelet- why wouldn’t he want to wear it?

a week passed by, and it was time for capture the flag.

luke had consistently come out of the games a champion, securing his place as the best swordsman at camp half-blood whenever possible.

you were tired of it. you promised yourself that when the opportunity arose, you would beat him to it. you would earn the praise he revived so effortlessly.

your determination to win capture the flag was also partially encouraged by the events of the previous tuesday.

you, luke, and a few other older demi-gods were forced to monitor the younger campers on a trip to the nearby lake. simple, right? wrong.

things went south fast when luke ‘accidentally’ nudged your shoulder a bit too hard, forcing you to fall into the lake. luckily, you were a strong enough swimmer and were able to get back on land safely.

“sorry about that, y/n. maybe next time you should keep out of the way?” he leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

luke smirked lightly as his dry hand rubbed the soaking wet and now transparent fabric covering your shoulder. his lips softly grazed your neck as you released yourself from his grip, shooting him a dirty look.

“you should watch your step, castellan. things like this happen to anyone.”

luke scoffed, looking you up and down as he took in the sight of your shivering body. “do they now?” he asked, his head turning to follow your figure as you walked past him.

as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but study your body as it became revealed by the fabric of the camp t-shirt sticking to your skin. how could he not admire the way he could see the vague outline of a lacy black bra underneath your top? or the way your wet hair was framing your angry little face? how you stared him down as your friend offered you a towel.

if you weren’t so acutely aware of how your figure was on full display, you would’ve pushed him in as well- but you were way too infuriated to even get close to him at this point… as well as the fact you didn’t think you could handle the idea of him taking off your shirt in front of you, all wet as his hair let water droplets roll down his torso.

maybe you could handle hitting him with a baseball bat a few times, but the idea of his face all beaten and bloodied was strangely appetising as well.

in all fairness, luke’s actions were not unprovoked. it’s not like you didn’t also tease him and fuck around with his temper.

for example, the very day before the incident at the lake, you had used your abilities as a daughter of hypnos to put him to sleep… for 19 hours, causing him to miss out on camp activities and lose hours of valuable training time.

you felt pure bliss watching him as he stepped out of the hermes cabin, confused and disoriented as hoards of campers instantly surrounded him.

“are you okay luke?”

“i heard you were in a coma!”

“we thought you were a goner,”

luke blocked out the concerned comments of his peers as soon as he caught you gazing over at him from the deck of the hypnos cabin.

with that ‘i got you good’ smirk plastered across your face, luke knew he had to get you back. getting to see your semi-exposed and cold, shuddering body in the process of doing so was only a bonus.

he felt a high from getting to see what he caused. what he did to you. it made him hungry for more. how else could he anger you? get you to show him more? how could you return the favour? would you? he didn’t know if you realised the effect you had on him- but he was going to do anything in his power for you to feel it too.

but those incidents were nothing compared to what was about to go down.

2 hours into capture the flag, and you had managed to fool and scare off enough members of the blue team, causing many individual members to go off track. those hours practising sword fighting with clarisse were definitely worth it.

you leaned against a nearby tree, closing your eyes for a moment as you fiddled with your sword. lost in thought, you heard something coming. more specifically, someone. you didn’t even have to open your eyes to know who it was.

“oh, hey castellan. isn’t it past your bedtime?” you asked, rubbing your eyes open as you lazily swung your sword back and forth.

luke scoffed, taking a step towards you. “i think i like you better when you’re drenched in lake water.” he smirked, looking into your eyes without breaking contact. he couldn’t look away. it wasn’t even because he wanted to intimidate you; he simply couldn’t stand to have you exit his field of vision. not right now, at least.

you look a step backwards, getting into position as you use your shield to protect yourself. “are you gonna try to maim me or what?”

luke took another step forward, mirroring your stance as he took the defensive. “and hurt your pretty little body? i’d rather die.”

you turned red, your mouth agape as you processed what he had said. “excuse me?” you spat, your voice breathy as your eyes widened.

“you heard me,” he smiled innocently, deceiving you before beginning to attack. you blocked every move, pacing around the area as you swung your sword at him. “you’re such a fucking prick!” you grumbled, trying to catch your breath as you struggled to mark him with your blade.

“language, princess.” he scolded, still smiling at you as he continued his attempts at disarming you.

that was the moment when you realised something.

you can play dirty.

not with your sleep-themed party tricks or your weak little fists, but with the power of unpredictability. the element of surprise.

you let him get closer to you, pretending to settle down before him. luke chuckled at the sight of your loosened grip on your shield and increasingly tired eyes, noticing the way your footsteps shuffled backwards and forwards.

“someone’s getting tired-“ his cocky sentiment was quickly cut off by the feeling of your hands tightly gripping his arm- his shock only furthering as your teeth dug into the soft skin on his wrist.

he instantly dropped his shield, his sword still held firmly in his other hand. you quickly released him from your bite, taking a step forwards as you put your weight on his shield. “ow- what the fuck?!” he stammered, looking up at you with red cheeks and a bleeding hand.

you were stumped. you hadn’t thought further than getting rid of his shield. “i didn’t mean to break skin to be honest. sorry.” you shrugged, picking up his shield and throwing it far away while he was still frozen in shock.

luke continued looking at you, silent as he became overwhelmed by the feeling of a ruthless war finally coming to an end within his mind.

obviously, he found you attractive. you were a pretty girl. sure, a lot of girls at camp half-blood were pretty. but for some odd reason, he thought you were much prettier. the type of pretty girl that deserved to be called cute nicknames every day and covered in gentle kisses every night. he wanted to kiss you softly, hold you tightly, say you looked gorgeous, make you tacky beaded bracelets that were the same colour as your eyes. he wanted to make you feel loved.

but he also thought you were a brat. always teasing him and only him. driving him insane with targeted comments and insults. purposefully making him look stupid in front of the younger campers and even patronising him for it. luke wanted to put you in your place. he wanted nothing more than to push you onto his bed in the dead of night, marking you as his. he yearned to hear your strained voice whimpering his name as he towered over you. he wanted to exchange knowing glances and pretend nothing had changed, despite the images of your hands gripping his bedsheets as you let out stifled moans etched into his mind.

luke often wondered how the two could overlap. how the fuck could these two perceptions of this one girl coexist? but luke didn’t wonder how it was possible to think about anymore, he didn’t care about that. now, he wondered if it was possible to act on both of his separate desires for her. he wondered if she even wanted him as much as he wanted her- if she wanted him at all.

“hey, i said i was sorry for making you bleed!” you called out, snapping him out of it.

“stop sulking! what, do you want me to kiss it better or something?”

luke blinked for the first time in what felt like centuries, shrugging as he let a sly smile creepy onto his face. “oh, im not sulking.” he insisted as he stepped closer towards the shorter girl.

he extended his wrist out towards you, a deep and bleeding bite mark engraved into the skin. “you gonna kiss it better, or…?”

you turned red, shaking your head. “i was just joking, castellan.” you murmured coldly, trying to avoid his gaze.

he kept his hand extended towards you, temping you to just take it and kiss it to get him to leave. “fucking loser…” you grumbled, holding his hand in yours as you gave his wrist a soft kiss.

“there, better?” you scoffed before luke’s hands began to tightly grip your wrist, spinning you gently onto your back as he pushed you to the ground, hovering over you. luckily, you still had your sword in your hand. you quickly moved it in front of you, holding the blade close to his neck.

“be careful, princess” he cooed, his sword digging into the dirt ground, standing upright in is position as the skin of your right thigh pressed against the blade. his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, keeping you bound to the floor as you began to squirm under his grip. “ugh, are you kidding me?!” you huffed, your face red from the feeling of intimacy between the two of you arising.

luke was basking in it, relishing the moment as he became almost addicted to the feeling of your skin against his. he let out a hitched breath, his eyes trailing down her frame as he finally realised just how close they were. the vulnerable yet stubborn look in her eyes set off a switch in him. you watched him curiously as he suddenly became a flustered mess, quickly scrambling off of you and standing up.

you lifted your back off the ground, using your hands to rid yourself of the dirt that had accumulated on your shirt.

“are you gonna explain whatever the fuck just happened, luke?” you asked, calling out to him from your spot on the ground.

he rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. “shit, y/n- are you fucking stupid?” he questioned, his voice reeking of irritation and frustration. you furrowed your brows, standing up as you approached him, sword and shield in hand. “oh, alright. forgive me for wondering why the dickhead who threw me into a lake a few days ago was pinning me to the ground in the middle of capture the flag for no reason?” i explained, seething as i pushed him back by the shoulders.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you asked again, letting yourself back him up against a nearby tree.

the game didn’t matter to you anymore. what mattered was getting to the bottom of why this prick was fucking around with you. sure, you liked how it felt being pushed against the ground. you liked the feeling of his blade pressing against your thigh. but you liked the boy more than his actions. you hated yourself for it, of course. this was the dude who’s been teasing you about and pushing you around for 3 summers straight- so why the fuck did you think he was the fittest guy you had ever laid your eyes on?

why did you want him to run his hands through your hair? suck on your neck till it went purple? why on earth did you spend countless nights dreaming about him holding you close as he slept next to you?

you were the eldest hypnos daughter at camp half-blood. you could’ve changed your dream easily; came up with literally any other fantasy at the drop of a hat- but you didn’t. you let it continue. because as much as you hated to admit it, you liked him. you wanted him bad. every last inch of him.

luke let your words echo through his mind for a bit. ‘what is my problem?’ he thought, his expression blank as he stared at you. “i don’t know, y/n! maybe my problem is you?” he said, his voice strained, yet still snarky and somewhat dramatic.

you rolled your eyes again, stepping forward. you kept your hands on his shoulders, pressing him further against the tree he was pinned against. “i’m your problem?!” you asked angrily, holding your sword against his neck once more.

“yes! you make me feel fucking weak.” luke confessed, gripping your wrist tightly as he pushed your hand away in order to create some space between his neck and the sword. “i can’t control myself around you.” he exclaimed, pushing his hand against yours as you retracted the blade from his neck.

“you bring out the worst in me, and i hate you for that.” you arched your brows, leaning forward. “that sounds like a you problem.” you quipped, defeatedly pushing the top of the blade of your sword into the ground as you let your newly free hand grip his chin- forcing him to look down at you.

luke’s hand wandered over to your face, his thumb softly grazing your bottom lip as you tilted his chin downwards, letting him look you in the eyes.

“don’t act like you don’t get exactly what i mean, princess.” he cooed, his voice low as his fingers traced over your lips and cheekbones, his other hand gently caressing your jawline as his fingertips wrapped around your neck.

you grumbled, standing on your toes to reach his height. “you’re a prick.” you scoffed, your eyes fluttering closed as you eagerly kissed him on the lips, his cheeks turning red as he mirrored your movements. he let his hands run through you hair, his other hand resting on your waist as he turned you around- pushing you against the tree now.

his hands ravenously scattered across your delicate frame, trying to feel every curve and dent on your face, back and waist. you pressed your body against his as his hands travelled across your form, closing any and all distance between the two.

after a few straight minutes of violently making out, you pulled away for air, staring into his eyes as your lower lip trembled in shock. you both tried to steady your breathing, lost in each other's eyes as your heartbeats returned back to normal.

“i’ll kiss you again if you turn around and let us win.” you said quickly, the offer seemingly the first thing you could think to say.

luke stayed quiet for a moment, before bursting out into hesitant laughter. “i mean, that’s a pretty good offer…” he said softly, letting his fingers trace your facial features as he studied the colour of your eyes.

“sure.” he said, a little smile on his face as you both leaned in again, the kiss a lot more passionate this time around. you held a clump of his hair in your hand, lightly pulling on on it as luke’s fingers jumped between gripping your neck and shoulders- the other hand running up and down your waist and hips.

you felt his knee hit the bark of the tree, slightly bent as it lightly pressed against the inside of your thigh. that’s when your hands began to grip the back of his shirt, your lips gliding down to the side of his neck. quiet moans escaped luke’s lips, only encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hand downwards, tracing circles into your hips as he moved his other arm hand upwards, cupping the space on the side of your breast with his thumb, lightly rubbing your ribcage.

the moment was only increasing in intensity- before luke was cut off my the sounds of someone calling his name. he quickly pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping back.

“right, time to hold up my end of the deal.” he chirped up, leaving one more needy kiss on your forehead.

“oh, by the way-“ he paused, before quickly pulling the bracelet you made the week before out of his pocket. “did you want this back, princess? or can i have it?” he asked cheerfully, his voice low as he looked over you.

“keep it.” you said hastily, your cheeks a vibrant shade of red. luke nodded, giving you one final kiss on the lips as he put the bracelet on the same wrist you had bitten earlier. he gave you a subtle wink and a smile, before jogging away- leaving you frozen in place.

you could hear him talking to his friend from a distance, noting on how he lied to effortlessly- saving your arse over a few kisses.

needless to say, the red team won capture the flag. but luke couldn’t bring himself to care about losing. how could he care about anything other than y/n and her hands and her smile and her eyes? her witty comments and remarks? the way she tilted her head up to look up at him? the way his face fits perfectly in her palm? how could he care about anything else ever again?

[say-al0e]

All Too Well

Rating: SMUT, Minors DNI! No one under 18!

Summary: As a girl, you hoped you would someday marry Gwayne Hightower. That hope disappeared with Gwayne the day he was sent back to Oldtown. Now, as Rhaenyra finds a parade of suitors filling the Keep in search of her hand, one arrives just for you. | Ft. Anon request for: "Do you never tire of your own voice?”, “Now you’re just tempting me to do something we’ll both regret.”, “Guess I’ll have to come inside you, then.” Warnings: Potentially slightly off timeline, brief mention of Rhaenyra's wedding incident, Gwayne already thinks Criston's a little unhinged, unprotected PinV. Think that's it. Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x fem!Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra's twin) [Rhaenyra, Gwayne, Reader are all about 18/19 - Alicent is 20/21] Word Count: 7.3k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

“Laugh all you’d like, you’ll be next.”

The sight of Rhaenyra dressed in red and gold - gilded, gleaming as a Targaryen princess should - stomping through the gardens, annoyance simmering in her violet eyes, drew your amusement, though you were quick to smother your smile as she drew closer.

Scowling - exhausted and annoyed after a seemingly endless barrage of boastful and presumptuous proposals, all from men who wanted little more than a royal mother for their heirs - she settled onto the plush blanket at your side. Without prompting, you closed the book you’d spent the afternoon reading and placed it on the grass, allowing her space to rest her head as your hand fell to her hair.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you assured her - though the glare she leveled at you adequately conveyed her disbelief. 

It was true, you’d spent the morning giggling, not bothering to hide your smile as she was scrubbed and dressed and received a third - or thirtieth, you’d lost count - lecture from your father about duty. But, you weren’t laughing at her.

If anything, you were laughing at the absurdity of it all.

The King, the leader of the realm, was allowing a parade of potential suitors to offer themselves to Rhaenyra - his eldest, if only by a few moments - on a silver platter. The endless stream of lords was one she steadfastly refused to even consider, her heart already in the hands of the Rogue Prince, and you could not help but find amusement in the entire ordeal.

Viserys was going to the greatest efforts to secure a match for her, one that might leave her content - at best - while your own betrothal was not even a consideration.

Such was life.

“I do not believe you,” Rhaenyra insisted, violet eyes narrowing as she huffed. Still, she leaned into the feeling of your fingers carding through the silk strands of her silver hair. “You’re finding great joy in my misery.”

Despite herself, there was no heat to her accusation, no real belief that you found her pain amusing, but you still dutifully attempted to hide your smile.

“Believe what you’d like, sister. However, I do doubt I’ll be next,” you admitted, shrugging as you spared her a glance - somewhat grateful, somewhat incensed by the lack of consideration. “Father’s extended his best efforts to secure a match for you and you’ve succeeded in scarring half the lords in the realm,” you teased - laughing as Rhaenyra lightly pinched your forearm in mock scolding. “My own marriage is of little concern to him or anyone else. Perhaps, instead of a repeat of this spectacle, I’ll be sent away to become a septa,” you mused, only half-joking.

“What a shame that would be.”

Whatever reply lingered on Rhaenyra’s lips was swallowed as you both turned your attention to the young knight, remaining just a few steps from where you sat. Though you had not seen him in years, dressed in the rich emerald green of his house with flaming red hair, there was no question who stood before you.

Gwayne Hightower, once the very object of your girlhood affection, was a rare visitor to the Red Keep these days. 

As children, you spent a great deal of your time together, nearly every waking moment you could spare. You, Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Gwayne were never very far from one another, though you, Gwayne, and Alicent spent far more time in the library than Rhaenyra, who enjoyed nothing more than soaring through the sky atop Syrax.

The four of you were certain that you would grow into adulthood together - Rhaenyra and Gwayne riding off to battle and glory; you and Alicent, settling into gentler, happier lives as you awaited their return. 

That vision of the future brought you joy, excitement. But the vision that truly sustained you was the one in which you spent the rest of your life with Gwayne, happily married and blissfully lost inside a love you had little hope truly existed.

Unfortunately, that vision of the future disappeared in a plume of smoke.

Though his father had spent more time as the Hand of the King than Viserys had spent on the throne, after the death of their mother, only Alicent remained at court while Gwayne returned to Oldtown to live as a ward of Lord Ormund. He was nearly of age, and determined to become a knight, two prospects that meant he was well on his way to joining the City Watch - an order Otto despised, as deeply as he despised the man who occasionally commanded it.

Rather than allow Gwayne to fall into the hands of Daemon Targaryen, Otto sent his youngest son back to Oldtown.

The very moment Gwayne disappeared from your sight, auburn hair blazing in the sunlight as he began the journey to the Reach and blue eyes glittering as they met yours just before the gates shut, any hope of a shared future dissolved.

And the moment Aemma passed, any hope of peace between the Hightowers and Targaryens disappeared with her.

In the years that followed - the years that brought a union between Alicent and Viserys, babies Aegon and Helaena, and a handful of tourneys he should’ve competed in - you’d only seen Gwayne twice. And you found yourself nearly at a loss for words as you blinked at him.

“Ser Gwayne,” you greeted, offering a smile that, though tight - not the welcoming embrace of a one-time childhood companion - was more than you sister seemed capable of as she scoffed. “What brings you to King’s Landing?”

The tension in your shoulders, the tightness of your smile, the sudden weight that seemed to be pressing on your chest; each one answered the question you had no real need to ask. However, despite the discomfort you felt, you smiled politely as you awaited the obvious reply.

As the son of the Hand, a Hightower, he was a suitable match for a Targaryen princess. He would never be the first choice - the second son of a second son whose only acclaim was his lengthy turn as Hand - but everyone knew Viserys had long given up his desire for perfection and only wanted some measure of decency. He trusted Otto with his life and, if Otto put forth his youngest son, Viserys was apt to accept the offer without thought.

The parade of suitors arrived days earlier, each with a more ostentatious entrance than the last, and you knew he should’ve been among them. As ill as it made you feel, as much as you despaired the idea of Rhaenyra marrying the man you’d long dreamt of, if he’d only arrived with the others, there was little doubt Viserys and Otto would’ve been altogether too invested in making a match. And, despite his tardiness, if the King and Hand were so inclined, there was little anyone could do to prevent the pair from marrying.

No matter the damage that might do to your heart.

Seemingly unaware of your inner turmoil, Rhaenyra sat upright and frowned at Gwayne as he took a tentative step closer to where you sat. Bright eyes met yours, alight with an amusement you could not understand, as he hummed.

“My father sent for me,” he confirmed, seemingly unbothered by Rhaenyra’s narrowed violet eyes and sneer as he stated the obvious. “I’m sure it was to join the parade of suitors but I suppose I’ve arrived too late to be considered for Princess Rhaenyra’s hand,” he mused, sparing you a smile that seemed a touch too bright as he did. “How unfortunate.”

Despite his lament, Gwayne did not sound the least bit concerned, a fact both you and Rhaenyra noticed immediately. And while it struck you as both heartening and curious - you would not have to watch your sister wed a man you once dreamt of marrying, but what man in the realm did not wish to marry Rhaenyra? - it drew her annoyance, as did most things to do with House Hightower, of late.

“I can tell you’re positively beside yourself with grief, ser,” she declared, not bothering to conceal the roll of her eyes as she stood, unwilling to be in his presence any longer. “Perhaps your sister, the queen, may offer you some comfort.”

Rhaenyra, not bothering to spare either of you another glance, pushed past Gwayne - a step too close to be an accident - and retreated to the Keep in a flurry of shimmering gold and red.

Silence lingered for a long moment, something uncomfortable and heavy - something you never would’ve expected to experience with Gwayne - as you watched her disappear. Only then did Gwayne return his attention to you with a thoughtful hum. “Still a sore spot, then?”

The last time you saw Gwayne was at the wedding - both of you silently worrying - and he’d been an unfortunate witness to Rhaenyra’s misplaced anger at Alicent.

Unlike Rhaenyra, you did not blame your friend - you blamed her father, you blamed your father - but there was little you could do to mend the rift that had only seemed to grow ever wider with each day that passed. And, with a frown, you confessed as much to Gwayne.

“Alicent has tried, but Rhaenyra…” With a sigh, heavy and clearly communicating the weight on your shoulders, you moved to stand - nodding gratefully at the hand Gwayne offered. “I understand both, I think,” you confessed, retracting your hand and turning your head so he could not see the flush that lit your cheeks as you swallowed all thoughts about the warmth of his hand in your own and, instead, focused on the seriousness of the chasm you spent your days sidestepping. “I wish we could find peace, somehow,” you continued, hoping he did not hear the hitch in your voice as he took another step closer. “I mislike the tension and miss my friend.”

For just a moment, the statement lingered in the still of the garden. It was honest, as honest as you’d allowed yourself to be with anyone in a long time, and you felt a sudden pang of regret as you quickly pasted on your most polite smile.

“Enough melancholy,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. “How was your journey?”

Blue eyes met yours, searching in a way most never seemed to be - questioning, analyzing, rather than accepting the answer at face value - and you felt an almost overwhelming sense of vulnerability beneath Gwayne’s knowing gaze. Just as he had when you were children, still growing into yourselves, he seemed able to understand you when few else did.

And, rather than push you to carry on a conversation you were obviously not looking to entertain, he allowed you to shift the line of conversation. “Long,” he lamented, though he answered with a smile. “It was uneventful, and for that, I am grateful.”

“I’m very glad you arrived safely,” you assured him, though your cheeks heated with the admission. When he dipped his head, hiding his smile for your benefit, you carried on quickly. “Though, I’m sorry you arrived after the suitors were dismissed.”

In a way he seemed amused, a thread of humor glinting in his eyes as he continued to assess you in that all-knowing way of his. “Are you?”

Gwayne’s doubt was evident, a playful skepticism that made your skin heat with something not quite strong enough to be considered embarrassment though it came close enough. Regardless of your words, of the well-plotted act you followed without deviation, he seemed to hear the truth.

Though you would never admit it, you were glad Gwayne seemed to hold no interest in marrying Rhaenyra.

“Of course,” you said, anyway - continuing to follow the script and play your part faithfully. “You’d make a fine match for my sister.”

‘An even finer match for me,’ remained unsaid, though you assumed Gwayne heard it just the same.

For a moment, Gwayne allowed the comment - and its unspoken counterpart - to linger. Instead of rushing to reply, to thank you for the compliment or brush it away with the confident, casual air only he seemed capable of wielding without causing offense, he simply stood with you in the quiet of the garden.

It was only when the clink of armor and the click of heels against stone sounded that he made an effort to reply.

“Your confidence is appreciated, princess, but I believe there are many and more, far finer matches for Princess Rhaenyra. I will lose no sleep because of it and hope that neither will you.”

As Gwayne spoke his last word, the sentiment lingering and charging the air with something so tenuous you feared the slightest breeze might destroy any shred of its existence, he met your eyes. It felt as if everything around you ceased to exist, as if nothing else mattered, as hope began to rear its ugly head.

The warmth of a long buried dream, a long dormant affection, began to simmer in your blood - only to be cooled almost immediately by the bright voice of Alicent calling out to her brother.

“Gwayne!” 

With hurried footsteps and a smile brighter, and truer, than anything you’d seen from her in longer than you cared to admit, Alicent approached the pair of you. If anything about your moment with Gwayne seemed untoward - a Targaryen princess alone with a knight, unchaperoned and standing too close for the sake of propriety - she gave no indication that she noticed and, instead, simply smiled at you both.

“Father just told me you’d arrived,” she continued, “I apologize for not being there to greet you. I was with the children.”

Alicent’s arrival seemed to shatter the glimmering bubble that enveloped you for just a brief moment - something you pretended, hoped, Gwayne felt, too, as his smile grew regretful before he turned his attention his sister. And, as you returned to yourself, you felt the need to place as much space between yourself and the youngest Hightower as possible.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you began, cutting in before they could begin their conversation or dismiss you themselves, “I’ll go see about Rhaenyra and leave you both to catch up. Welcome back to King’s Landing, Ser Gwayne.”

With a parting smile and a squeeze of Alicent’s hand - a gesture you’d taken to providing when you could - you turned and set off in search of Rhaenyra without sparing Gwayne another glance. And as you wandered through the labyrinthine halls of the Red Keep, you could only allow yourself to wonder how long Otto might permit Gwayne to remain in King’s Landing and how long you might keep yourself from dreaming of a future that could never be.

Much to your surprise, keeping away from Gwayne proved easier than you imagined.

While his mornings were spent in the tiltyard with guards and a few members of the City Watch, yours were spent with Rhaenyra as she struggled to keep Viserys from shipping her off to Casterly Rock. While your father had no desire to see Rhaenyra trapped in a situation that would leave her entirely miserable, his patience had worn thin following the parade of suitors and what he deemed her indiscretions.

And following her dalliance with Daemon - and Criston, the truth of which only you knew completely - his patience dissolved completely.

The wedding was to be a grand affair with a feast and more merriment than Viserys’ own wedding - a much larger, brighter, more exciting affair than the solemn ordeal you’d been forced to witness. And, for a brief moment, it very nearly was.

Rhaenyra and Laenor had no romantic love for one another but as they danced, you felt hope they might at least find happiness and understanding in one another.

Even as Daemon stepped in to dance with Rhaenyra, his intention clear to all, things were fine. 

Merriment descended into chaos so quickly that your mind was left reeling. Dancing gave way to shoving, lords and ladies scrambling away from the savagery of Rhaenyra’s sworn sword and the futile attempts of other guards to pull him away. Shouts of joy quickly became shouts of terror, then a stunned silence, followed by a cry of anguish as a man lay dead in the midst of the revelry.

As blood stained Criston’s white cape, Harwin Strong rushed Rhaenyra to safety - easily flinging her over his shoulder and carrying her off as Laenor watched his companion fall - and you were ushered out of the hall by another guard whose face remained hidden in the shadows and flurry of movement.

Confusion reigned for a few long moments and the entirety of the Keep seemed to settle into a stunned silence as you wandered, in something of a daze, into the gardens. 

As time passed - just a few moments or, perhaps, even hours - you settled onto a stone bench and attempted to make sense of the scene you’d just witnessed. Though you knew someone would come looking for you sooner rather than later, you savored the silence as you wondered if there was anything you could’ve done to help prevent the misfortune that befell Rhaenyra’s wedding festivities.

And, though you would never admit it, you found yourself wondering if your own wedding - should you have one, after the disaster you witnessed - would be as memorable.

Before you could think too long and hard about the future - about what changes might be made in the event of your own marriage, about who you might be forced to marry to ease now doubtlessly fractured relationships, about how miserable you may someday be - a voice cut through the still of the night.

“Princess.” 

Gwayne, auburn hair tamed and eyes shimmering in the light of the moon, approached slowly. There was a concern on his face, joined by a barely concealed hint of amusement, that struck an already frayed nerve as he joined the seemingly endless list of those who found the spectacle of your life to be the highest form of entertainment. However, despite the simmering annoyance you felt, the sight of him was something of a balm for your racing heart.

“I was hoping I might find you,” he continued, stepping closer - now fully illuminated. “Though, through all the ruckus in the hall, I feared another guard had snatched you away. Ser Strong lives up to his family name, it seems.” When you made no attempt at a reply, only exhaled heavily at his attempt at levity, Gwayne continued unbothered. “Cole, Rhaenyra’s sworn sword, is… intriguing. He is skilled but has an unquestionable temper that is easily triggered. But, perhaps -“

“Do you never tire of your own voice?”

The question, spat with a venom you hadn’t known yourself capable of, interrupted Gwayne’s soliloquy. If he took offense from, or was surprised by, the outburst, he hid it well. Instead, he simply ducked his head to hide his laughter before returning his attention to you.

“Mm, I’ve been told my voice is rather charming,” he confessed, lips curving into the ghost of a smirk as he stepped even closer. “Unfortunate that you do not seem to agree, princess.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “My apologies,” you hummed, tone softer now. “It is not you I am frustrated by.”

Though it was a partial truth - your true frustration was caused by your father, by your sister, by your lot in life - Gwayne did play at least some small part in the unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

While it was not his fault that you wanted nothing more than to marry him, to disappear to Oldtown and leave behind the madness of the Red Keep and all its political misery, his presence only reminded you of what you could not have. 

Still, Gwayne seemed unruffled. “I take no offense. It has been a rather… exciting evening.”

Scoffing, you nodded. “An understatement,” you huffed, before adding, “I wish for nothing more than a little peace.”

The smile Gwayne now offered was one of understanding, something gentler, as he offered you a hand. “Shall I escort you to your chambers, then? The feast has ended, I’m afraid,” he announced, smile growing just a touch brighter as you accepted his offer.

As you stood, smoothing your gown and inhaling the last breath of cool night air, Gwayne released your hand and waited. It was only when you began to move that he did, too.

Silence had never been one of Gwayne’s strengths - as much as you regretted snapping at him, he did seem to enjoy the sound of his own voice - but he remained quiet at your side for much of the walk through the Keep. It was only as you began the ascent to your chambers that he spared you a sidelong glance.

“Oldtown is most peaceful,” he declared, unprompted, body a respectable distance from your own - though still a step too close for true propriety - as you walked in-step. “Though it is a large city, there is a serenity King’s Landing has not yet achieved.”

“I would love to visit someday.” Much of your life had been spent within the confines of King’s Landing, with only the occasional visit to Drftmark or Dragonstone, and you wished to see more of the realm. “I’ve heard of the beauty.”

“The Red Keep, for all its grandeur, does not offer one a true image of life beyond these walls. There is much to see.” Gwayne’s words, while gentle, held a sadness - a seriousness - you’d never before associated with him. He’d long been bright smiles and sharp jabs, playful taunts and swinging swords. There’d always been a boyishness to him but you were reminded that he was now a man grown as he turned to glance at you. “Do you ever imagine a life lived elsewhere?”

Had the question come from anyone else, you might’ve found offense. Had anyone else asked, you might’ve denied the dreams that often consumed you.

But because it was Gwayne, you felt yourself falter.

“Sometimes,” you began, words trickling out slowly as you attempted to make sense of your own thoughts - of his line of questioning. “I love my sister, my father, Alicent. The Keep is beautiful and King’s Landing has always been my home. But I do wonder what it’s like, what it will be like. I won’t live here forever,” you confessed, casting your gaze to your shoes as you approached your door. “Whoever I marry, surely I’ll go to live with him.”

“Have you given any thought to that?” When you frowned, Gwayne elaborated. “To who you might marry.”

Gwayne’s gaze was intense, searching - overwhelming - as he waited patiently for your answer. There was a glimmer in his eyes, the same one you saw often when you were young, and you swallowed the dreaded hope that dared bloom once more.

“Rhaenyra’s betrothal was more of a concern,” you confessed, tipping your head in an attempt to hide the confession that remained unspoken - the one that told him you often felt an afterthought to your sister.

“My father sent for me,” Gwayne began, pausing only a moment to catch your eye. “It was to be part of the parade of suitors vying for Rhaenyra’s hand but I had no interest in taking part. I have never wanted to marry Rhaenyra,” he confessed, taking a step closer - toeing the line of propriety as he did so. “Surely you know my attention has been drawn elsewhere and has been for a very long time.”

Despite the sincerity, the earnestness with which he spoke, you felt certain that the moment was a dream - or nightmare, depending on whether the person who captured his attention was someone other than you. Though you desperately wanted him to have spent years imagining you would someday be his wife, it felt impossible to believe.

“Rhaenyra is beautiful,” you reminded him, voice small and almost frightened as you waited for him to confess that it was all in jest or reconsider his options.

“No more so than you.” Gwayne stated it as a fact and you blinked.

“She is bolder,” you continued, searching desperately for any reason he might have to want you over your sister - none of which made any sense to you.

“I think you plenty bold.” He took another step closer, now foregoing any pretense of respecting propriety, and offered you a patient smile.

“She will someday be queen.” It was the last reason you could imagine, the one that seemed to draw nearly as many suitors as her beauty, but Gwayne seemed entirely unimpressed as he shrugged.

“I have no desire to be king consort. I’m content with the life I lead, save for my want of a woman who does not seem to recognize her own value,” he mused, tipping his head to meet your bewildered gaze with a questioning look of his own. “What must I do to prove to you that you are the woman I wish to marry, the one I’ve wanted since we were children?”

Without thought, you demanded, “Kiss me.”

Before you could find it within yourself to be embarrassed, Gwayne laughed. “Plenty bold,” he teased, smile soft but real. “However, you are tempting me to do something we’ll both regret.”

“Why is that?”

Gwayne’s lips curved into a smirk, blue eyes glinting with an amusement that you’d always found charming, as he hummed. “I fear if I kiss you now, I may never stop.”

There was little doubt as to what Gwayne meant, little doubt as to why he kept himself a step from you, but you cared little. Despite your upbringing, the teaching of your septa, you cared little about anything other than finally having Gwayne.

“Then don’t.”

Blue eyes flashed with something dark, something hungry, and you could see the restraint it took for him to offer you a placating smile. “I’ve spent my time here waiting for the moment to ask for your hand. When I did, it seemed the Keep erupted in chaos,” he confessed, laughing when you blinked - stunned that he’d already asked. “Neither of our fathers had a chance to answer. If I take you and they choose to deny us, the king will have another scandal on his hands. Two wayward princesses - your jest about becoming a septa may become a reality,” he reasoned, though his hand lifted to your cheek.

“And if the answer is yes?” Unable to help yourself, you leaned into his touch and allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the warmth of his palm pressed to your skin.

“Then they’ll have no choice but to allow us to marry sooner rather than later.”

Gwayne knew the risk was, nearly, entirely your own to take. With his father serving as the Hand, he would not be sent to the Wall for stealing your virtue - you both hoped, anyway - but there was still a lingering fear of the shame that might befall you both if anyone were to see. If both your father and his denied the match, you would be hard-pressed to find a husband and feared you would be left in the same position as your sister.

Despite that understanding, the choice was one you made easily. For as long as you could remember, Gwayne was all you’d wanted, the only man you’d ever considered, and there was little hesitation as you pushed open the doors to your chambers.

“Both are consequences I am willing to accept.”

There was a moment of doubt, a wonder as to whether Gwayne would follow you or if he would allow propriety to dictate his choice, but the moment you stepped into the warmth of your own room, he followed close behind.

The heavy wooden door shut with a finality that seemed to seal your fate, a confirmation that the choice you made in the moment at hand would dictate your future, and you found that there was no fear in what was to come. You would either marry Gwayne, be sent away, or be married for political gain.

At the very least, you would experience his touch before your fate was decided.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, both almost uncertain - you, with inexperience; Gwayne, with a hesitation to potentially destroy your future - before he stepped forward and silenced the endless cacophony of doubt swirling in your mind.

Gwayne’s lips pressed to yours in a kiss softer than you’d anticipated, something almost gentle, as his hands returned to your cheeks. 

Warmth bled into you, the heat of his body pressed to your own as he crowded closer - a dizzying sensation that had you clinging to his biceps in an effort to steady yourself. Everything about him overwhelmed your senses, made it difficult to remember anything other than the longing you felt for him, and you were glad of it as one hand fell from your cheek to rest at your hip.

There was no rush, no hurry, and it eased some of the nerves that still rattled you. 

So many years had passed, very few of them with contact shared between you and Gwayne, but as he stepped with you, deeper into the interior of your chambers, it felt as if no time at all had passed. He’d always been there, in the back of your mind, and you’d long held hope that he would be there in the future - though, of late, you’d hoped that he would be in front of you.

To finally have him as you’d so long dreamt was nearly as instinctual as breathing and you settled into his embrace easily.

Both of you were content to to linger for a moment, one of his hands on your cheek while the other gripped your hip as your hands held tight to his biceps, and savor the kiss. His lips, warm and chapped slightly, moved easily against your own, chasing them each time you attempted to part to catch your breath. His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, a hum of approval escaping as you parted your lips and allowed him to taste you - wine, honey, lemon.

“If I’m to live the rest of my life apart from you, knowing the feel of your lips - knowing how you taste - I may go mad,” Gwayne declared, breaking the kiss and doing nothing to hide his awe as your chest heaved with the effort of catching your breath.

“Then let us pray we will never be parted.”

It was you who surged forward then, reclaiming his lips in a desperate bid to keep him as close as he would allow, and Gwayne responded in kind.

Hands, calloused from years spent wielding a sword, fell to your hips as he continued to blindly inch you closer to the canopied bed. Though you could only feel the warmth of him, just barely, you shuddered at the thought of feeling his bare skin pressed to your own.

Mercifully, as you stepped beyond the privacy screen with only minimal impact with objects unlucky enough to reside in your path, Gwayne’s hands moved to the laces of your gown.

“As eager as I am to take whatever you will give me, we can stop,” he assured you, voice soft, lips only an inch from your own - warm breath fanning across your face as he met your eyes. There was a look of understanding in his own, a compassion few had ever shown for you, and your heart ached. “We can wait, hope that we will be given leave to marry, and save your reputation if we are not.”

“I don’t care about my reputation,” you promised, lifting your hands to rake through the soft strands of his hair. “If we are denied, I’ll at least have this memory to soothe my broken heart.”

With your blessing, Gwayne reached for the final tie - hands holding the fabric in place for only a moment before allowing it to begin falling. As the red fabric began to slip down your shoulders, those warm hands were there to explore the newly exposed skin.

Gwayne’s attention fell to your body, lips no longer chasing your own as he watched your skin be exposed inch by torturous inch with eyes blown black with a hunger you’d never before seen.

One hand lifted to your throat, fingers brushing along your collar bone and across your shoulder - down your arm, pausing only to lift your hand to his mouth where he pressed a soft kiss to the back, those eyes never leaving your own - as the other moved to continue peeling fabric from your body. 

Every inch of skin Gwayne touched, every inch he merely gazed upon, felt warm - kissed by the flames of a desperate need you’d never before felt. Though the room had been comfortable only moments before, it suddenly felt stifling, air thick with a growing want that you nearly feared, as he finally leaned in to press his mouth to your skin.

Soft kisses peppered your skin - delicate, careful things that made you feel revered, worshipped - as he walked you back, helping you step over the pile of fabric pooled around your feet.

The moment the back of your knees pressed to the mattress, Gwayne nipped at the soft skin just beneath your ear. “Lie back for me, my love,” he urged, not bothering to hide his smile as you sighed - just a little lovesick - at the term of endearment. 

As you climbed onto the bed, situating yourself amidst the pillows and fabric, Gwayne made quick work of the clothes he wore.

Unable to help yourself, you watched with unblinking eyes as he stripped beautiful green garments and tossed them into a heap beside the red fabric of your gown. He’d always been beautiful, bright hair and eyes a stunning contrast to the dark green he always wore, but he was even more beautiful than you remembered as he stood before you. The pale expanse of his skin emerged, littered with silvery scars from tourneys and training, and you longed to reach out and touch him.

Before you could, however, he settled onto his knees at the side of the bed and reached for your thighs.

“It is my hope that I can spend the rest of my life between your thighs,” he declared, eyes bright as they lifted to meet your own. “Your sister will someday be queen of the realm, but you shall always be queen of my heart.”

The teasing comment was accompanied by a wink, exaggerated and playful, and laughter escaped you immediately. Even as Gwayne worked to pull the fabric of your small clothes from your body, you shook your head. “I fear I may have changed my mind, ser,” you teased, shifting to accommodate his body as his hands stroked your warm skin. “Is it too late to find a more serious suitor?”

“Entirely, I’m afraid,” he hummed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. “Though the ladies of the realm owe you a debt of gratitude for saving them from my awful jests.”

“Well, if someone must,” you teased, voice faltering as he continued pressing his mouth to the warmth of your skin.

Gwayne seemed pleased with the beginnings of your reaction, nearly proud at the way your breath hitched and your lips parted the higher his lips ventured, and you found yourself entirely unbothered by the thought of him drawing closer and closer to your most intimate area.

Curiosity and a breathless anticipation lingered in the pit of your stomach, entirely overwhelmed by the warmth now entirely consuming you, as Gwayne inched ever closer. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, keeping you still and pliant, as he glanced up at you once more. “And, if someone must taste you,” he hummed, “well, I suppose I cannot refuse my princess.”

There was no time to wonder what Gwayne meant - or where he learned any of what he now used to please you - as he leaned in and began lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.

The warmth surrounding you was now a full on blaze, a fire consuming you entirely, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care that it could easily burn you alive as Gwayne lifted a hand to your aching cunt. Every sensation was new, overwhelming, and you could feel a tingling at the base of your spine that spread throughout your entire body as he licked at the arousal he’d caused.

Though much of the Keep was likely still making sense of the chaos, returning to rooms and inns and dealing with consequences, you kept enough of your wits about yourself to lift a hand to cover your mouth as Gwayne’s fingers joined his mouth in exploring the most intimate part of your body.

Every touch was better than the last, each one pulling sharp cries of pleasure from your throat, and you could feel Gwayne smile as he pressed a finger to your entrance.

“The next time we lie together, I want to hear you,” he declared, breath warm and sending a shiver down your spine as your skin muffled the words.

Gwayne’s bold insinuation that there would be a next time, that you would be allowed to see one another again - perhaps even have the future you’d long dreamt of - had your hand lifting to his hair. A little sharper than you intended, you tugged at the auburn locks and swallowed a moan of his name as he groaned against your skin.

It was all too much, too overwhelming, and you felt the desperate need to have him impossibly closer settle in the pit of your stomach.

With a tug at his hair, you urged Gwayne up, leaning over you - drawing him into a kiss that knocked him off balance. Laughter bubbled once more at the clumsy gesture, as he tumbled onto the plush mattress atop you, but it was quickly swallowed as you both realized the position you were in.

The warmth of his bare skin against to yours, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the bulge of his cock pressed to your thigh - each realization struck you and rendered you nearly speechless as your fingers tangled in his hair. However, the pause only lasted a moment before Gwayne encouraged you to shift back onto the mattress and make room for him in your bed.

“Last chance to be rid of me, princess,” he whispered, knees pressed into the mattress and caging your hips.

“I want you closer,” you assured him, free hand reaching for his shoulder in an effort to urge him closer. “I don’t want to spend more time without you.”

Assured that your decision was resolute, that you had no doubts, Gwayne leaned in once more. With his small clothes gone and your slick coating your thighs, he pressed his mouth to yours as his hand fell to his cock.

“It’ll only sting for a moment,” he assured you, words whispered against your lips as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance. “But once it’s done, you’ll feel incredible. I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours as he began to inch forward.

Just as he warned, there was a stretch - a slight pain that stole your breath and made tears sting at the backs of your eyes - but he stilled above you and began pressing kisses to the heated skin of your cheeks, lips, and chin.

“Now that I’ve tasted you, felt you,” he breathed, “I’m ruined for any others. I am yours and yours alone.”

“Being sent away to become a septa would be a kinder fate than being forced to marry another,” you agreed, breathless and nearly lightheaded as you attempted to calm the beating of your heart. 

Gwayne did not allow you much of a reprieve, however, as the moment the words left your lips, his hips began to shift.

Though you both felt somewhat clumsy, inexperienced and desperate for the pleasure of the beloved you feared you may never feel again, the tingling at the base of your spine spread across your body. It needled at your nerves in the most pleasant of ways, curling your toes and sending your heart hammering against your ribcage as you focused on the feel of Gwayne pressed to you.

Every drag of his cock, every press of his hips to yours, had you seeing stars and you reveled in the pleasure.

“Gods, I don’t want to imagine a life deprived of this, of you.” Every whispered word of compliment, every grunt and groan of pleasure, chipped away at the negative emotions you’d felt for years and while it felt an awfully vulnerable thing to say - something far more serious than you intended for the moment at hand - Gwayne seemed all too pleased to hear the thought spoken aloud.

“Neither do I,” he promised, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “I suppose I’ll just have to spill inside you, then,” he decided, grin growing bright at the prospect - of what life might be like if there was no one to hand you a cup of moon tea and demand you drink it. “I don’t imagine our fathers will deny me your hand if there is a chance you’ll soon be with child.”

The earlier thoughts you’d had about the kind of match Gwayne would make - that he was not perfect for Rhaenyra - mattered little where you were concerned. Though a princess, you were the second and marriage was all that was required of you. A Hightower, the son of the Hand, would do fine for you.

“I don’t imagine they would deny us regardless,” you whispered, though it sounded far less assured than you hoped it would.

A fact he noticed. “Wouldn’t you rather be certain, princess?”

Gwayne’s hips snapped harder, pressing him even deeper, and you felt the breath disappear from your lungs with every thrust. It was more than you could handle, the heat growing impossible to withstand as it blazed across your skin, and you nodded desperately.

“If certainty means a lifetime of this, then by all means,” you urged, voice an eager rasp as you held tight to Gwayne.

Pleasure enveloped you both, then, a tidal wave dragging you under and refusing to relent for what felt like a lifetime. The edges of your vision blurred and your ears rang as you found your release with Gwayne following suit. The warmth of him settled atop you, buried inside you - spilling inside you - was more than you could bear and you bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as loudly as you wished.

As he promised, Gwayne filled you - his seed spilling onto the sheets with the evidence of your tainted virtue - before pulling away to lay beside you.

Strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you tight to his chest, and Gwayne laughed quietly. “I will not accept no as an answer,” he promised, voice quiet but certain as he tipped his head to glance at you. “We will marry and you will find peace in Oldtown, with me. I think you’ll be happy there.”

“If I am with you,” you whispered, offering him a smile, “then I know I will be.”

And, true to his word, the morning after Rhaenyra married Laenor in the quiet of the hall, you found yourself joining hands with Gwayne in a similar affair. While her wedding had been a solemn occasion, the bride and groom both beside themselves with the grief of a life lost, your own seemed a touch happier.

There was the promise of a future with Gwayne, one that brought you an excitement you’d not felt in a very long time, and as you began preparing for your new life in Oldtown, you felt a sense of peace that you knew would suit your new life all too well.

________________________________________________

Author's Note: Clearly, I did not intend for this to get as long as it did. But such is life. Anyway, I have power and internet and water again (hurricanes suck) and am spending my newfound free time writing. Hoping to have a few more pieces up soon. Also first time writing for Gwayne so be gentle. He's younger in this so not quite as sassy and jaded yet. Also I usually try not to write such a specific physical reader and I may not again but this was fun. I don't look like a Targaryen but it's fun to imagine sometimes.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo, @targaryen-madness, @hangmanscoming, @barnes70stark, @mysticaltwoface, @biqueen20, @lolathebunny221, @nourangul, @darylandbethforever9, @liandav, @r-3dlips

[hopesangelsprite]

His Little Angel

Pairing: ClanLeader!Gojo x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being the big boss of an infamous Jujutsu sorcerer family can be pretty hard, but being the wife of said boss is even harder.

Warnings: Groping, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Gojo's Powers, Virginity Loss, Slightly Mean Gojo, Pet Names (Angel, Little Love, etc.), Overstim, Cunnilingus, Semi- Public Sex (behind closed doors but people are still around-), Creampie

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

Viewer discretion is advised.

The first few months at the Gojo estate were arguably the hardest months of your life.

Everything from the elders to the wedding day, the stares and whispers that came with your new title of Madam Gojo; all of it seemed to be a part of some elaborate scheme designed to drive you insane. It didn't help that your husband was almost never around, busy with meetings and overseeing that the Gojo name remained sacred. His absence only gave way to more rumors, whispers of you being unable to fulfill your roles as a wife, that your marriage was one of convenience and that your affections lay with another man.

Only half of that was true. While your marriage had been arranged, born of the necessity to produce a strong, viable heir, your affections lay with no one other than your estranged husband. Though you didn't know him well, you respected the hell out of him for being able to take on the weight of the world and maintain composure under the constant watch of it. You only wished he'd allow you to take part of that weight away, to slow down enough to let you do your duties as at least a business partner if not his wife. "Madam, you're scowling again.", came a quiet voice from behind you, "You'll get wrinkles.". As your consciousness came back to you, you found that you were indeed scowling. The troubles were beginning to get to you.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as your features softened, eyes darting up to glance at your handmaid in the mirror. "My apologies, I seem to be more tired than usual.", you mused as you watched her fingers carefully detangle your hair. In all honesty, it was a surprise you hadn't keeled over from exhaustion yet. Ever since you'd said your vows, your hands had been very full and very busy. Though Satoru took care of mostly everything, there was still quite a lot to fulfill on your end as well. If you weren't overseeing food and flower selections, you were playing nice with the elder ladies at the estate. Being cordial was tiresome and quickly becoming stale.

At your words, the hands in your hair stilled and the eyes trained on you in the mirror narrowed. "You aren't falling ill are you, Madam?", came that same small voice, this time laced with suspicion. You quickly shook your head and sat up straighter in your chair. "No, no.", you answered as smoothly as you could, "I just need a bit more rest, that's all!". There was a moment of silence before she nodded and continued to brush your hair.

That was another thing about the residents of the Gojo estate, they all were obsessed with your health. You understood that you needed to be healthy to produce an heir, but being under constant watch and polite restriction was agitating. It drove you to respect your husband even more when you considered the standard of perfection that he held himself to. After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, your handmaid withdrew from your chamber with a bow leaving you in silence.

The longer you stared into your own reflection, the deeper you found yourself slipping into your mind. On the outside, you were a picture of perfection, pristine and pretty with all the makings of a great partner, but on the inside... on the inside you were falling apart at the seams. You thought you had what it took to be the wife of the strongest, you had been raised to possess all the independence, intelligence, and talent your parents could give you. Still, it all seemed to amount to nothing in comparison to the cunning politics at the Gojo estate where every word had a double meaning, and every smile hid something sinister behind it. Though you had only been married for a short time, you honestly were beginning to think you weren't cut out to be a wife to the man people revered and worshipped.

Behind you, the sound of your door sliding open once again drew you back to reality. Your eyes flickered upward expecting to see that your handmaid had returned only to find yourself staring into the cerulean eyes of your husband. He entered into the room with a grace unknown to normal humans, bowing his head as he crossed the threshold with arms tucked into his haori. The door slid shut behind him, his presence commanding all of infinity to draw to him as well as your full attention. You stood with quickness, bowing deeply while fighting to calm the racing of your heart. "Welcome home, Gojo-sama.", you spoke politely into the room that now seemed to be buzzing with electricity.

A deep, sultry chuckle filled the silence of the room, and you swore the candles around you flickered for a moment afterward. "Rise.", he commanded, and your body followed suit, "There's no need for formalities here.". A sudden heat washed over you at the timber of his voice, stern yet cordial as if the only interactions you'd had with him since your wedding day weren't in passing. As you took in the sight of him, however, any sort of ill feelings you'd been harboring disintegrated into nothingness. Gojo Satoru was a vision of beauty itself. He was tall and broad, standing proudly as his snowy hair fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. His eyes were a sharp blue that pierced into the innermost parts of your being, carefully analyzing all that made you you with every flutter of his wispy lashes. At your silence, his pretty pink lips turned upward into a smirk, the rosy color a stark contrast from his milky white skin.

"I hear that you've been hiding things from me... that you've begun to overexert yourself with the duties of the estate.", he purred with a darkness that made your heart flutter, "My duties.". Your eyes widened at his words, your head shaking in denial as you mentally cursed your handmaid for running her mouth. "I am perfectly well, I assure you.", you replied earning a deep hum, "As for the duties... I was under the impression that I was doing the tasks of a wife, of a partner.".

Gojo traversed the room silently, his footfalls eerily quiet as he invaded your space with an odd gentleness. Now that he was closer, your senses were bombarded with a heavy mint vanilla scent that wafted off him in waves; it made you dizzy. "As a partner, perhaps.", he began while taking your chin between his index finger and thumb and leaning in closer, "But as a wife, your only duties are to live comfortably, look pretty, and serve me well.". From the steeliness in his eyes to the gentle tightening of his grip, it was clear that this wasn't a suggestion and most definitely not up for discussion. A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes as if he could read your mind; you wouldn't be surprised if he could.

"Do you understand, angel?", he pressed while standing up straight and towering over you to which you nodded. With a shaky exhale, you poured your remaining courage into words and answered him, "Yes. I understand, Gojo-sama.". He hummed again, eyes darting over your figure unabashedly. The heat from earlier returned with fervor as you fidgeted under his gaze; the feeling of being exposed screaming at you to hide yourself from him, but his existence demanded that you stay put, that you submit yourself to him. "There goes that damned title again.", he said with a click of his tongue more to himself than you, "Seems like I'll have to cleanse it from your palate.". Before you could fully process his words, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss started slow, gradually increasing in intensity as you let him lead you. The cool of his lips and the mint on his tongue made your spine tingle, a shiver slithering down it as his tongue invaded your mouth drawing from you a whimper. As the kiss deepened, you felt Gojo's hands begin undoing the ribbons of your kimono, the silky fabric sliding of your shoulders to further expose you to him.

More layers began to fall from you until you were bare, shaking under the cool touch of your husbands' hungry hands. For a moment, the air around you grew static with electricity, and as the tension thickening it dissipated you realized that you were no longer in your bedroom. The scent and feel of an unfamiliar mattress greeted you as Gojo broke the kiss to begin marking a trail down the column of your neck. It took you a second, but the realization eventually settled in; he'd used his powers. The thought sent a wave of arousal pouring from you.

More slick began to trickle from you as his lips descended lower and lower until he was placing open mouthed kisses over your clothed mound. Your heart skipped a few beats as you watched him remove the soaked white fabric from you, and your heart nearly gave out completely as he separated your clenched thighs with ease. A strangled moan escaped him as he took in the sight of your cunt, lips plush and coated. "I suggest you be a good little wife and let me have my way with you.", he hissed, and a sudden rush of air made you tremble, "I'd hate to have to pin you down.".

Gojo didn't hesitate to flatten his tongue against your slit, licking upward until his lips latched onto your clit. A breathy moan fluttered from your chest as he sucked hard, cyan colored eyes locked on you as he started devouring you like a man starved. The unfamiliar sensation of his tongue swirling between your folds made your hips buck, your hands gripping the sheets in a weak attempt to ground yourself. Between your legs, Gojo had descended into madness; the sweetness of your pretty pussy intoxicating him with every swallow he drank down. As he suckled at your pearl, breathy moans met his ears, and he felt you begin to shake and inch up the bed.

He released your folds with a wet pop and nipped at your bud, a warning for you to hold still before pulling you back onto his mouth with dark eyes. You tried to protest but the words were ripped from your throat before you could utter them. Another long lick was dealt to your cunt followed by the prodding of his long fingers at your entrance. As his tongue flicked rapidly across your clit, the tips of his fingers pushed past your entrance and began to scissor you open. The pressure that'd been building in your belly grew unbearable, tears prickling at your lash line as a hum from Gojo sent vibrations straight to your core. You opened your mouth to warn him of your impending release just as his fingertips brushed against a spongey spot deep within your velvety walls. You shuddered, vision going white, as your cunt clamped down on his digits; the orgasm rushing over you, pulling loud pleas from your kiss bitten lips.

He let you ride out your high a few moments before separating himself from your folds. He watched you struggle to regain control of your body with pride, hands busy with undressing himself and freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. By the time the spots had cleared from your visage, he'd placed your ankles on his broad shoulders and aligned himself with your entrance. You gasped as you watched his fat, pink mushroom tip slip through your lips. "W-wait! Gojo-sama-", you called only to be silenced by a hard stare from him. "Satoru.", he corrected you with a slap of his tip against your puffy clit, "You'll refer to me as Satoru from now on.".

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the massive length preparing to split you open, possibly split you apart. "Satoru, t-there's no way that'll fit inside me.", you tried to reason with him, "I've never... It'll break me.". A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he started to grind against your mound, precum mixing with your slick and covering his member.

"Don't worry, angel. I'll make it fit.", he assured you as he rolled his hips forward to catch on your entrance. Inch by inch, Satoru began sinking into your cunt with shallow thrusts. The sting of being stretched well past your limits caused the tears that'd welled behind your lash line to fall from your eyes in streaks. At the sight, Satoru cooed and licked them away between whispered apologies and sweet nothings. He promised you that the pain would go away soon, a lie he partially felt bad for telling you. Afterall, he wasn't even halfway in yet.

When he did finally bottom out, he fought against the urge to fuck you into the mattress. Instead, he busied himself with adjusting the both of you, with manhandling you into a deep mating press. In that position, all your senses were once again overwhelmed with him. You could feel the tickle of his snowy locks against your forehead, his scent further addling your already frazzled brain. Your mind only slipped further away when Satoru pulled out completely to slam his hips into yours.

He fucked into you with long, deep strokes, pace slow and torturous. Any pain from earlier was chased away with white hot pleasure, your gummy walls fluttering around him as you fought to keep yourself quiet. You could only imagine what the elders would think of you if they heard you getting ruined, what the maids would whisper about if they heard the sound of Satoru's hefty balls smacking against your ass.

He wasn't having it, though. Swiftly, Satoru took your face into one of his huge hands, squishing your lips into a soft oh. "Ah ah ah, don't you fucking think about it.", he growled as he picked up the pace, "Keep that pretty mouth open for me, little love. I don't give a damn about who hears.". The knot in the pit of your stomach tightened at his words and he didn't miss how you clamped down on his cock. He chuckled at the sensation and took a moment to suck your tongue into his mouth before trickling a large globule of saliva into your own. He pulled back, hips now pistoning into yours as his high drew closer.

Moans and broken pleas bubbled from your chest with every drag and bump of his tip against your cervix, barely registering when Satoru's hand snaked between your bodies to rub quick circles into your already buzzing clit. A desperate scream escaped you at the staticky pops of his cursed energy against the sensitive bundle of nerves. " 'Toru, please!", you sobbed as the knot grew dangerously close to snapping, "I c-can't take it anymore!".

He couldn't hear you though, he was too far away, too pussydrunk to comprehend your words or the flicker of the candles around him. A feral growl tore from his chest as he pounded into you harder. You would've been done for had his reverse technique failed to hold you together while he ravaged you with the selfish intent of pumping you full of cum. He dealt you a few more long thrusts before your chest pressed into his, back arching off the bed. You came with a silent scream, body shaking underneath his as you blacked out for a moment and drenched his cock in a fresh wave of slick. As your walls spasmed around his pulsating head, Satoru's balls tightened and emptied into your needy pussy. "Fuck fuck fuck!",he hissed through clenched teeth, "That's my pretty little wife, take my cum.".

It took several minutes for either of you to begin coming down, Satoru's hips grinding into yours as he fucked his cum deeper into your still fluttering walls. You shivered as even more overstimulation took hold of you. A sudden knock came from the outside of the room, a timid, flustered voice calling for Satoru to meet with the elders; down the hallway you heard the overlapping voices of angry men drawing nearer. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your collarbones, blatantly ignoring the summons he'd just been issued. "Don't worry about them, pretty girl.", he warned, and you felt his cock stiffen again.

"They're the least of your worries tonight.".

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (3) - Mattheo Riddle

The four of you were lounging in the Slytherin common room when the conversation turned to the upcoming Yule Ball. Theo and Enzo were discussing who they might ask when you casually sighed, stretching your arms over your head.

“Haven’t got a date yet,” you mused, your voice carrying a teasing lilt as you glanced at them.

There was a beat of silence before Mattheo turned to you, his brows furrowed. “What?”

You shrugged. “I said, I haven’t got a date yet.”

Mattheo’s frown deepened, looking genuinely confused. “What the hell do you mean you don’t have a date? You’re my girlfriend.”

You bit back a smirk. “Well, yeah,” you said smoothly, tilting your head at him. “But unless someone asks me, I don’t technically have a date, do I?”

Mattheo blinked at you, his mind clearly short-circuiting as he tried to process your words. “But… you’re going with me.”

You stood up, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, your smirk widening when you pulled back. “Am I?” you whispered, before turning on your heel. “I’ll be in the library.”

With that, you walked off, leaving Mattheo sitting there, staring after you like you’d just spoken in Parseltongue.

“What the fuck just happened?” he muttered, completely lost.

Theo and Enzo exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, mate,” Theo said, shaking his head. “She wants you to ask her.”

Mattheo still looked confused. “But why? She knows she’s mine. Why do I need to ask?”

Enzo smirked. “Because she wants the grand gesture, obviously. She wants to be courted, you idiot.”

Realization finally dawned on Mattheo’s face, and then—almost instantly—his expression darkened with something entirely different. Possessiveness.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered, his jaw clenching. “If she thinks for even one second that someone else might try and take her—” He stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. “I need to make sure everyone knows she’s mine.”

Theo laughed. “And what exactly are you gonna do?”

Mattheo’s lips curled into a dark smirk, his eyes gleaming with something mischievous. “I’m gonna make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.”

And with that, he stalked off, already planning something that would make sure no one even thought about asking you to the Yule Ball.

That evening, Mattheo sat in the common room, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he plotted. Theo and Enzo lounged nearby, watching with amusement as he scribbled something on a piece of parchment, crumpled it up, and then started again.

“She really got to you, huh?” Theo smirked, tossing a chocolate frog in the air and catching it with his mouth.

Mattheo didn’t even look up. “She thinks she can walk around saying she doesn’t have a date?” he muttered, shaking his head. “Nah. She’s about to get the grandest fucking invitation Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow. “Just so we’re clear, this is a Yule Ball invitation, not a marriage proposal, yeah?”

Mattheo shot him a glare before refocusing on his task. He wasn’t just going to ask you—no, he was going to make damn sure that no one in this entire castle would dare even think about asking you first.

The next morning, you were making your way to the Great Hall for breakfast, completely unaware of what was waiting for you. As soon as you stepped inside, the entire room went silent.

Your brows furrowed. “What the—?”

Then, you saw it.

At the center of the Great Hall, hovering in midair for everyone to see, was an enormous banner made of swirling green and silver smoke, charmed to hover like a Dark Mark in the sky. But instead of a skull and serpent, the words spelled out:

Y/N L/N—YOU’RE MINE. MEET ME AT THE CLOCK TOWER AFTER CLASS. WE HAVE A BALL TO ATTEND.

– M.R.

Your jaw dropped.

The hall erupted into whispers, students staring between you and the display. The Gryffindor table looked horrified, while the Slytherins were either smirking or looking vaguely impressed.

At the far end of the room, you spotted Mattheo at the Slytherin table, leaning back lazily in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, smirking like he had just declared victory in battle. Theo and Enzo sat beside him, shaking their heads, clearly so done with his antics but enjoying the show nonetheless.

You exhaled through your nose, biting your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Of course he had to be dramatic about it. Of course he had to make sure everyone in the school knew who you belonged to.

With an exaggerated sigh, you shook your head and made your way over to him. The second you were close enough, Mattheo reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you effortlessly into his lap.

"See, princess?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Now everyone knows you have a date."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through your chest. "Possessive much?"

Mattheo grinned, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your neck, not caring that half the school was watching. “Obsessive,” he corrected. “No one else was even allowed to think about asking you.”

Theo, shaking his head, muttered, “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

Enzo just laughed. “This is why no one else even tries to compete with him.”

You turned to look at Mattheo, raising an eyebrow. "You do realize I was always going with you, right?"

Mattheo smirked. "Yeah, but I had to make sure no one else got any ideas." His grip on your waist tightened. "You're mine, Y/N. Always." His expression softened slightly. “Besides, I know you wanted the gesture and if it’s important to you then it’s important to me.”

You sighed dramatically but leaned down and kissed him anyway. “Lucky for you,” you murmured against his lips, “I like when you get possessive.”

His smirk grew. “Oh, princess, you haven’t seen anything yet.”