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melodrama-ticcc · 4 months ago

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— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐗

𝐀 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙄𝙛 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨!

𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵖᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘⁱᶜⁱᵈᵉ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ.

—

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞. 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝.

—

“Dang nab it boy, lookit the dog gone mess you stirred up! And you, you aughtta get your side of the family under control! I ain’t seen a mess like this since them college kids showed up!”

“Don’t patronize me Drayton, I think I know to raise my boy.”

“Then why’s this always happenin’ on your side huh, and the hell we gon’ do now? Your boy ain’t know how to stay outta trouble. Johnny you got any idea the position you’ve put your brothers ‘n I in? Aughtta be ashamed of ya’ self.”

“Now now, don’t you worry Johnny, we’ll get this straightened out.”

“Like hell we will.”

“What I’d like to know my dear, is what that Payne girl from down the way was doin’ there with you.”

The room fell silent.

Not even a peep.

Only the muffled sounds of chickens broke that quiet, and still the three stared to one another expecting an answer from the other. Drayton a way to solve this mess, Nancy an explanation from her boy, and Johnny, who’d been sat right on the tattered sofa like he was just a boy.

“I know you lookin’ out for me, but I fail to see why that concerns you ma’.”

“Oh just wait till your grandpa hears ‘bout this one.”

“Now hold on a second.” Nancy extends her arm to Drayton, whose one word away from letting the entire family in on it. Nancy herself bubbles with aggravation, masking her rage through this bothersome tender mother act. “Oh Johnny,” she sighs, having the seat beside him with her hand placed tenderly against his knee. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, family comes first baby. We can’t keep no secrets ‘round here, gotta make sure we know everythin’ to get this squared away. Now tell me, what’s this pretty lil’ thing doin’ out with you like that, hm?”

Perhaps the only time Johnny’s charm didn’t work was when it came to his folks, they never failed to see right past his guise. He knew better than to fool them.

“I was right when I told y’all ‘bout her bein’ like us, ya’ know? I got a, a real eye for these things. Lemme tell ya’.” He peers to his mother at his left, and Drayton cooped up on the right side of the living room. “I’ve known since that day they had us for supper ya’ know? The very second I saw her. She’s got a fine taste for huntin’, does a real good job of it too. Why, she might even love it more than me. See, she just learnin’ still.”

“If this ain’t hell in a hand basket I don’t know what is boy! You are out of control, now you out givin out information to everybody ain’t ya’!”

“If you did your job and ran this damn family like grandpa did, she’d be one of us already!” Johnny huffs. “She don’t know ‘bout us, just me. Been takin’ her out for weeks and she’s gotten good, we could use her.”

“I’ll be damned if I let my boy get taken advantage of by some lil’ hooker!”

“I’m tellin’ you, she like us. Have her over for supper you’ll find out.”

“You’re out of your god damn mind!”

“You can kill her if she ain’t. But I’ll tell you right now that ain’t gon’ happen.”

“I’ve had enough of this Bonnie and Clyde act, what’s got you’s so fixated on this damn girl?”

“She’s mine damnit, ain’t like nothin’ you’d ever seen before I promise you that.”

“Johnny you ain’t know what you’s talkin’ ‘bout! She’s, why she’s just some tramp! I mean come on.” Nancy can only scoff. “This is real silly.”

“Tch, just like them university girls you’s said was yer’s, the ones that damn near drove this family into the ground?” Drayton laughs at him.

Fury burns in him and turns him red, a frustrated grunt leaving his lips when he slams his fists against the coffee table and stands up all at once.

“I said she’s different! This one’s different!” He screams. “You’re a damn fool if you ain’t see it, this one’s different — she’s different!” He huffs, leaning in real close to Nancy’s face, still seated on the couch and laced with shock, fear, maybe. “And she sure as hell ain’t no damn tramp.”

“Enough.” The room quiets and Nancy stands. “I ain’t hostin’ no supper for some no good lil’ girl messin’ with my baby’s head.”

“Finally you say summin’ that does anythin’ ‘round here, now handle your damn boy.”

“Y’all really think grandpa ain’t gonna want to get s’more hands ‘round here, huh? Like your time ain’t runnin’ out?”

“What in the damned hell did you just say?"

“You heard me, cook.” He snaps. “Ain’t nobody messin’ with my damn head, specially not after what you did to me.”

Nancy’s expression fades from that of indifference to a look of betrayal and hurt.

“Now Johnny baby that ain’t no way to talk to yer’ mother.”

“I’ll talk to you any way I damn well please, just like you gon’ talk to me like I’m some kid. Well I ain’t no more, and I ain’t gonna sit here ‘n let you talk me outta this. She’s comin’ to supper.” Nancy’s countenance softens, sours, like someone had pissed in her cheerios for the last time. Some amalgamation of hurt and anger.

"I’m fixin’ to clean yer plow here soon. We do what’s best for each other, not for your lust. Gon’ end up in the shitter if we ain’t keep this place up tight.”

“You best watch yer mouth ‘fore I ring yer’ neck for even lookin’ at my boy like that.” Nancy coos, a fake smile hiding her heartache. “Johnny my dear, I trust you. Let’s see what this here girl is like, maybe we’re wrong.”

“You fool-”

“Tomorrow evenin’, have her over. Till then you ain’t get out so much as a foot outside that door you hear me?” Nancy storms out quietly, warranting a stark glare from Drayton who then goes back to Johnny.

“Now we aught to lay low. Yer selfish act costin’ all of us the good meat, we got scraps till this blows over and that’s that. ‘N you just wait, Nubbins’ll have your head when he finds out.”

—

“Rebecca . . . .” Worry laces his call, domineering her attention from the dishes to exchange glances with him from across the room, as he shuts the radio off and rises from his seat.

“Yes, daddy?”

“What’d y’all get up to last night?”

“Headed down to the diner in Pfluegerville for some malts and caught a movie at the drive in. The usual, ya’ know? Why do ya’ ask?”

“Curious, you’s never tell me what you two get ‘round to.” Raymond’s voice shakes, congruent with the anxieties that riddle his body. He had no reason to believe the reports made had been them, no matter how closely the description aligned with their appearance had. Johnny was a fine man, he was sure of it, and did a good thing keeping his girl safe. “That all, then?”

“That’s all daddy,” Becca laughs, too loud for his own comfort and he sighs.

“You think I’m lyin’?” She questions, astounded. “Ask Johnny then, he’ll tell ya’!”

Raymond has to take a step back, reigning in his thoughts and quelling the fears within him. It was foolish of him to believe such a thing, that his daughter and he comely partner had committed murder in an entirely separate way region miles away. He felt guilty, perhaps he’d not given the girl enough credit. It was all just some, peculiar coincidence.

“No, no, Becca I ain’t callin’ you that.” Raymond nods. “I believe you, I just like to check in. It’s a father’s right to make sure his baby’s safe now.”

“Yes well daddy, I’m quite safe, peachy keen you’d say.”

“Right, well,” reluctantly he does refrain. “Let’s just make sure we stayin’ ‘round the house instead of headin’ out every night. You still under my roof, after all.”

It would come as no surprise that Johnny neglected their staunch orders, for he always had a mind and manner of doing things according to his own agenda. Caution never did suit him either; there’d been a track record when it came to things like this. The Pfluegerville incident, what happened with Maria, those college kids that came looking for her, and now the case with the imbecilic drunkards from Cedar Canyon. The one thing that remained constant between them all was the way in which he deceitfully maneuvered his way clear of every single one; he hadn’t been caught once.

Due to the bold nature of his work it was only expected they’d come across these complications, none but Drayton had ever done what Johnny had. While they’d wait for prey to come knocking on their door step, he went out hunting. A provider and a damn good one; and even they were not the same. His family would only ever understand it as that; a family affair. They’d hunt for survival and that was that, where, he took great pleasure in killing, hunting them down and watching the life drain from their eyes whilst he strangled them to death. It was no wonder the frustration bubbled and stuck out like a sore thumb, that with the loneliness that would be accompanied by it.

The mockingbirds sing a mawkish song to the storm clouds that sweep in from the north sky, their bolsterous heads an ominous omen in the distance. Fall had settled into the air, the summer heat fading to a soft warmth and then, cool. The winds would blow in, picking up the reddened leaves of autumn and dusting them over the hills to form a crimson sea. They brisk against the dirt and kick up dust, crisping faintly as they get caught in the brush where the tumbleweeds too would bung to the thorny exteriors of sickly bushes. He can hear the crinkling of those leaves from the inside of the truck, just feebly, when he pulls to the front of the Payne estate. It’s there that the air becomes still and the sugary songs those birds once chirped become deafened by the heaviness that fogs the place. Thick and muggy, as though the area itself had been swallowed up by a musk that wreaked of depravity. With it the sunshine fades in the cloak of those thunderheads, there’s a storm on its way.

The hollowed knock he lands on the front door falls on deaf ears, so there is a second, and a third. All harrowing sounds which go unanswered to further perpetuate the persecutory void the pensioned estate had adopted so peculiarly. The wait imparts annoyance from Johnny, who’d never been considered a very patient man. Thus the inclinations to go poking his nose about the place with a somewhat disquieting phenomena burgeoned in the low of his stomach. He decidedly moves to wander towards the pasture out back particularly certain he’d find his objectives buried up to her chin in work. There the gloom outstretches the earthed hills, cattle grazing on grass in the midst of the shadows and nothing but hay bales and hills as far as the eye could see. There he finds Raymond, busied with a preparatory work reinforcing the fences in the fields. He must’ve seen him, for he’d gestured his head Johnny’s way the way he typically had and kept on with his work. He’d only traveled about half way before Raymond called out, rather bluntly.

“If yer’ lookin’ for Rebecca, she’s up in ‘er room.” There’s a stagger to his canter, one that leaves him stopped in his tracks. “Been up there since breakfast. Think she’s upset I told ‘er to stop goin’ out so much.”

“Mind if I check in with ‘er? Don’t mind comin’ to help out afterwards if it’s a problem.”

“Be my guest,” Raymond motions his hand towards the house. Only veering his vision up from his work when Johnny pivots and begins walking back that way. “Say uh, ya’ heard ‘bout those brothers goin’ missin’, out in Cedar Canyon last night?”

He slows, then halts again, a tick tocking in his head as his brow raises. He peers just over his shoulder, able to make out a blurry image of Raymond watching him incredulously.

“Pardon?”

“Ah, nothin’, just summin’ I heard on the radio.”

“Must’ve missed it.”

“Right. Say uh, where’s you ‘n Becca run off to last night?”

There’s a moment of shared silence, and it’s then that Johnny turns to face Raymond in what he could only understand as repudiation. He was suspicious.

“Same as always, sir. Just that drive in out in Pfluegerville. I’m sure you understand, she’s got a real passion for those movies. Tells me she’s loved watchin’ ‘em with you at home.”

“Ah, good.” Raymond smiles. “Just makin’ sure, she’s still my girl after all.”

“Yeah well, she’s a real fine woman.”

“Right.” Raymond stands with a grunt, hunched over nearly. “You go in and speak to ‘er then, and uh, here.” Raymond traverses laggardly, fishing a five out of his pocket and handing it to Johnny. “Say uh, you two go ‘n pick me up sum’ more of them nails.” Raymond tosses the box into his hand. “There’s a storm comin’ in, best to get these sturdy now ‘fore it gets here. Take the truck, keys are on the stand by the door.”

“Sure thing,” Johnny nods his head ploddingly, then he’s on his way back toward the house with a less than ebullient expression. One that’d look sour milk if given the opportunity.

The house is quiet, so much so that the sound of the front door shutting behind him echoes about the chamber. Still silence, the eery and portentous kind.

“Darlin’?”

The cacodemonic sound phases through the home and back to him, and it’s just when he’s about to head up the stairs of the foyer she appears, like a grim shadow in the corner of the graveyard, Ghoulish and Cimmerian. The viscid black sullied over her eyelids and cheeks like soot shadows her beauty. Those pretty features veiled by the severity of her mania.

“Yes, dear?” A desolate gasp for air fuels her quiet call.

“Well lookit’ you,” Johnny muses. “Your father sendin’ us into town for some supplies, best we get a move on now.” It seems futile in that moment, the method of which she agonizingly scales down the steps to him; as though she were an apparition in its desolate descent to hell.

“To town?”

“Look I know it ain’t ideal, but sooner it’s over sooner we can lay low, let’s get on with it.”

“Right. I take it you’ve heard it then, the radio? They got us huh?” She reaches him, slow and laggardly as she comes to rest her head at his chest. “Johnny boy, they saw. I, what’re we’re to do?”

“Tch, come on darlin’, this ain’t my first rodeo. You think I ain’t end up in this kinda pickle before? We’ll be just fine.” The steady hand on her back nudges her forward. “Let’s just get this on over with so we can put it to bed.”

Silence was bliss, except for when it was filled with the incessant anxieties that plagued one’s head. His affirmation hadn’t been taken at face value, and the thoughts that troubled her prior had only begun to swell. Sitting in the passenger side of that old truck, with nothing but the empty grasslands to distract her. His ignorance was her hell, and she could only hope to find some solace in raising her concerns once more.

“Ya know, daddy asked me ‘bout last night I, I think he suspects summin’ of us.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Asked me ‘bout it too.”

Rebecca turns to him, shifting in her seat quickly for his response had stirred a whole heap of worrisome thoughts to further pick at her insides like vultures.

“Oh god he knows it, what’d you tell ‘em? What if we told ‘em summin’ different I, Johnny, what’ll we do?”

“Would you settle the hell down? You’re scatterin’ all over the damn place.” He warns. “I ain’t told him any different than you, only added onto it, aight?”

“Surely you don’t know that.”

“Darlin’, let me worry ‘bout these damn things and just focus on lookin’ pretty. You got that?” She can hear the annoyance in his voice, the aggravation begin, and she takes that as a warning to cease for the time being despite her growing sense of dread.

She settles, still wary and bug eyed when she flips the radio on in an attempt to ease those thoughts. The thoughts that, despite her forlorn efforts tore down her every sense of stability and peace, she couldn’t know for certain. And, until he could prove that to her she wouldn’t find peace. Especially when every station had the report blaring, while she vehemently clicked through radio stations in search for an escape. It seemed no matter what she’d done, the consequences of their recklessness had followed.

The hyper awareness of that damned mistake, toppled with the blaring radio station in the old hardware store downtown had made her to belief they were done for. Shaking there beside her boy, partly clinging to the bend in his arm while she look about like a lost puppy. There, where the eyes of the shop clerk stared into the back of her skull and the few patrons seemed to have their eyes peeled to her every which way.

“Johnny . . . everyone is starin’.”

“Shut the damn hell up would you?” Johnny quips back, causing her to recoil into him. Her eyes still looking sporadically between the three others in the building.

It had seemed like the entire world was against her, when the eyes of many wouldn’t leave her in peace and the radio inside the station began blaring about the same old story, the one they’d so carelessly created last night. That had been enough, enough to push her over the edge and spill the tears hiding behind those eyes. She hits Johnny’s arm, shaking it and pulling and anything she can to get his attention and draw him out.

“Johnny they got us- we gotta go they know they all know.”

“Go sit in the damn truck and shut the hell up.” He shoves the keys into her, an act that has her stumbling back and clutching them to her chest. “Go on, go!” His loud voice only draws more attention to her, more eyes, and when her own gaze makes eye contact with the others in the room she scurries out like a scared little mouse. Clumsily and pathetic, throwing herself into the truck and bringing her knees up to her chest. It was all over, they’d been had.

“What in the damn hell is wrong with you? Makin’ a scene like that?” It wasn’t until Johnny had climbed in yelling that she realized he’d done it just fine, nails in hand. “I told you and I told you, there ain’t no god damn thing to bitch about. Quit your whinin’ and get on with it.” Perhaps he should smack her he thinks, to quell her irrationality.

Aggravation bares an ugly head in him, feasting at his frustrations. She’d not comprehend the grievance of their situation, at least not how he did. She’d make it out to be some big thing, but for Johnny it was a nuisance, and the longer they sat there twaddling with their thumbs the more indignant he became. The frustration turns to virulence, then his face goes red with lividity. His patience wearing thin there is little attempt to withhold his harsh words, she’d know soon enough.

Even as he drives the truck off the main road and back down the way they came she shakes in her place, eyes red and wide, and limbs weak and heavy. It’s as though the world around her spins; she feels nauseated, sick, in a blind panic. It’s then that she begins to cry, silent and painful tears. And Johnny he says nothing, despite her silent calls for help and his callous attitude, speeding the truck down the highway and scrunching his face up in a less than gracious manner.

“They gon’ catch us, ain’t they?”

“I’ve had enough of this god damn act you hear me?” His scream pieces the metallic interior, causing her cries to become vocal. “I ain’t gon’ tell you ‘gain, we’d be just fine if you shut the hell up already.”

“I can’t! Not when they out there lookin’ for us and everybody knows just exactly what we’s look like Johnny, damnit!”

The truck jolts forward when he shifts it into park, and he only stares forward, not making eye contact.

“Go inside and figure out whatever the hell it is you need to shut up while I go on ‘n get these to yer’ pops.”

“Johnny?”

“I said now damnit!” His yell is the last warning that sends her inside without another peep, before he goes off looking for Raymond. Whose leant up against one of the rotted fences out back sipping on some ice cold sweet tea.

“You find ‘er?”

“Yeah, she’s all right.”

“Got them nails?”

“Right here sir,” Johnny plants them in his palm. “Listen uh, got summin’ I need to ask you ‘bout?”

“Go ‘head boy. If you’s askin’ to take ‘er out again tonight my answers no. Needs to stay in ‘fore that storm gets here.”

“Nah, my folks uh, they’d like to have ‘er over for dinner tomorrow night. That all right?”

There’s a long pause, hesitance.

“Dinner huh?”

“You’ll have to excuse my mother. See she’s real skeptical ‘bout Becca, just wants to get to know ‘er is all.”

“Normally I’d say yes, but,”

“Please, sir,” Johnny sort of chuckles. “It’s real important to me, I promise I’ll have ‘er home early if that’s what it takes.”

“Mm.” Raymond hums, thinking. “She ain’t been home much lately, ya’ know?”

“It’ll be a few hours, at most, not more than yer’ out here in them fields. I’ll pay you back what I can in labor. Though I’d do that anyways.”

“All right Johnny,” Raymond sighs, clearing his throat of the sugar from that tea. “Best hope you ain’t disappoint me.”

“You got my word, sir.”

The house is quiet when Johnny recenters, impatiently searching for a troublesome Rebecca who emerges down the stairs with a distressing visage. Viscid black sullied over her eyelids and smeared rouge over her cheeks and nose, she hyperventilates like she’s hard of breath, gasping for air like she’d been strangled.

“May as well run if they gon’ get us, we gotta run!” She screams, clutching onto her messed head of hair. “Run like hell! Now now! We have to go!” She pleads with him, met with a stoic impression by him.

“Now don’t go talkin’ like that on me. You sound pathetic. You give up that easy?” He quips back instantaneously, coming up those steps to meet her midway up the bannister. It’s there her blackened, tear-stained cheeks seem muddy and bedaubed. An angry red peaks out through the smeared makeup, as though she’d been galling at it for some time. “Quit your cryin’. Ain’t no use whinin’ now. We got bigger problems.”

She begins to cry, quietly, her gaze avoidant and peeled to the ground her feet stood over. Those weeps become more and more hysterical, as she clings to the skin of her cheeks for some sort of relief. “I can’t- Johnny, what’re we gon’ do? It can’t end like this, no, it can’t!”

The feeling is anomalous, uncustomary; and yet she feels as though it is normal to experience such a strange sensation. Nobody knew just how deprived one became when their way of life was threatened, and the solitude of their lives became compromised. It felt as though the world itself had ended there, as though Christ himself had come to judge them all and yet he did no saving. For the feeling was real and uncouth, viciously tearing apart all that she had come to love. In its wake a coarse, hollow body in mourning. How pitiful, she might believe those words. Maybe she was pathetic.

“The hell did I just say?” There’s a sharp incantation in his pitch, one that thwarts her head from her mind and draws her to him. His eyes watch over her like he’s studying, an attempt to pull together the pieces and gather his messy thoughts. Then his roughed hands reach to her face, clasping either side of her cheek and staring a hole into her. Straight through those frightened irises and into the darkness that had taken her and plagued her with such terrors. “You aught to learn how to get these thoughts of yer’s under control, shit, just shut up a second. That report ain’t nothin’, station’s pumpin’ those out all the time cause ain’t shit else goin’ on ‘round here. Don’t mean nothin’, we just lay low for a while and everythin’ll blow over like it never happened.” He’s watching her with a fervent intent, one evident in the way his eyes peruse her for signs of doubt. His thumbs glazing over dampened cheeks in a feeble attempt to rid the black smeared about her face. His stern voice quiets to a hushed, more subtle tone. One that matches the touch of his fingertips against her velvety skin. “Actin’ like this ain’t my first time, tch. Come on now darlin’.”

Her lashes flutter open and her sight fixates on him, then, languidly her arms stretch from her face to his. A trembling palm, clammy skin pressed against the sharp line of his jaw. Her hold is a weak and pitiable one, and her whines of desperation shameful. Then she quiets, a polarized decorum haunted by the uncertainty of their fate. Blue eyes wide and wet with fear and lip quivering.

“I don’t too much like repeatin’ myself but perhaps you ain’t hear me.” Johnny is angry, his voice deplorable and cruel. The forceful handful of hair he takes between his fingers and tugs toward his lips sends a sharp sting to her scalp. Met with an ireful groan when she winces into his hold. “Quit yer cryin’ and show me your damn capable, not just sum’ painted up bitch. I said we’d get it straight and ‘less you don’t trust me, and, ha, you’d better trust me, this lil’ pity act of yer’s better get cleaned up real quick.” Each word as cruel as the last it bites, teeth sinking in to create an even deeper wound. She yelps, and in the slew of their shared words she wastes no time in throwing him off of her. Her apoplectic guise becomes her, boiling blood pinks the tips of her ears and makes her hot. Her eyebrows arching down to a furious grimace. It seems she would always forget how angry he made her, how downright loathsome he would become. How his impatience and temper ignites her own and turns her into something she despises. The incensed and shameful, the downright disgusting. Johnny’s back collides with the wall, a thundering sound in its wake. The frames and decor hung so neatly shake and tremor. The collision sending a photograph crashing down to the steps, the noise of shattered glass ringing in the entryway.

“Would you shut the damn hell up!” Rebecca screams, a feverish appearance overtakes her once solemn features. Her limbs still shake, only now with the adrenalized presence of her fury rather than mourning. “Don’t ever speak to me like that, I told you and I told you.” Her hands clench to fists, waning at her sides for the words to leave his stupid mouth.

They were eyes he hadn’t been on the receiving end of in some time, ones enraged with rabid madness and incurable choler. Scrunched up the way they did when she was riding the fine line between composure and a blown temper. It arouses him, gets him so excited he smirks some deviant way. Only this time the looming presence of their little fiasco far outweighed his willingness to play along with her charade.

“Stupid bitch.” He grabs her arm, sending her scrambling to fetch up one of the broken glass shards as he drags her up the stairs despite her protests. The wood edges bang up her knees and shins, grunts of pain and groans leaving those bitten lips. As they reach the top of the bannister she sends the glass blade sinking into the skin of his arm, prompting his grunt and release. She wastes no time in stumbling away from him, leaving him to pull the thing out and clench his arm whilst the blood drips down it.

There she stands, legs widened and hunched over at the end of the hallway where her figure is outlined by the white light that shines in through the window. She breathes erratically, huffing out through an open mouth and seething in her indifference.

“I don’t like too much repeatin’ myself either. For a man who prides himself on respect he don’t do too much to earn it from me. I told you and I told you, quit speakin’ to me like I’m yer’ dog or I’ll cut yer’ tongue out yer throat and you’s ain’t gonna talk at all!”

“God damnit, you done pissed me off now, we got bigger things to worry ‘bout you know that?” He saunters over, not before she’s grabbing the lamp off the stand in the hall and using it to throw at him. “You real keen on me teachin’ you a thing or two, so here’s summin’ to take note of.”

Just as she turns to flee he grabs her wrist, yanking her backwards and into his arms when she trips over her own feet. There he holds her body to his, a hand pulling back that hair with a firm grip. She cries out in pain, her fingers clinging to his wrist as she winces. Thrashing her body about to loosen his hold does little to relieve her position. Especially as he wanes into the crook of her neck and laughs.

“Don’t start summin’ you can’t finish, darlin’.” His whisper is sickening, that and the hot air he breaths to her neck. The scratchy fondle of his chapped lips scraping at her, with his teeth that nip and his torrid tongue. Her vain efforts dwindle, fists pushing and clawing at anything she can reach. In a desperate attempt to create a gap between them and sever him from her. Regaining her footing she kicks her leg forward, followed with a swift knee to his crotch.

He lets go, leaving her to crash against the wood floors flat on her back. Both she and him wince and groan, writhing around in pain like fools. She has not one spare moment to recover herself, before he’s on top of her and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. It isn’t then, no, it’s when he uses his strength to pin both her wrists down beneath him that it floods in. All the times he’d so senselessly fucked them, had he thought her no better?

They flash about her vision like a picture show, and as her exasperation nears its peak she’s hopeless for any sort of salvation. Still kicking and screaming, thwarting around her body like some squeamish little thing.

Rancor consumes her when he presses a messy kiss to her lips and he frees his arm just to grope at her. It’s a long enough opening for her to reach for the shard of glass, fumbling with it for a moment before grasping it tightly. The ragged edges dig into the skin of her palm, procuring blood from it, the sharp sting the edge she needs to do such a thing. Her fist comes crashing downward with a purpose of vengeance, the sharp tip stabbing into his back again, and again, and again. Until he buckles over her and gives her leeway to wiggle out of his hold. She’s freed herself, shuffling to her feet just to kick into him. His scornful grunts and expressions leave him in a state of shock, weakness, for Becca kicks him to his back in time to straddle him. Her jeaned thighs on either side of his torso, she holds the makeshift blade to his mouth shakily.

Her body rattles with emotion, her eyes the keeper of her heart — and the bitter feeling of betrayal that leaves her heartbroken. Tears prick at them, forming a river that graciously falls down her stained cheeks.

“Gimme one good reason,” she huffs. “One damn good reason not to sever that damn tongue so you ain’t ever speak to me ‘gain. Or better yet, let’s slice off them damn fingers or cut you up and bash yer skull in god damnit Johnny boy.” She holds her stature over him, watching him puff out hot air and catch his breath. When he only laughs she screams something incoherent, pressing the knife into the corner of his lip to draw blood. “I’ll do it god damnit I swear!”

“You wanna reason?” His question is met with a look of disdain, horrified by his blatant ignorance. “Cause both you and I know a damn good reason girl.”

A nasty sob that leaves agonizing cries to elicit from her pink lips, as she drops the blade and hangs her head in defeat. Love, love was a pertinacious affair.

Rebecca gets to her feet, not so much as sparing him a glance when she turns her back to him and begins walking towards her room. Johnny soon gets up, examining carefully the newly acquired scars and wiping the fresh blood from himself.

“Clean up this damn blood, ‘fore your daddy gets in here. I got the glass.” The back of his hand smears the blood over his mouth and cheek, and he has to spit to the ground to keep from swallowing it.

Johnny only sighs, looking to her with a cynical sort of expression, as though he were trying to figure her out. His brows raise, and for a second he looks mean. That is until he remembers being in the same place she was. Afraid, shaken up and alone. Before he just couldn’t understand why she didn’t get it, and it still fired him up for it was just as much as nuisance as it was annoying. But then something made sense, for he’d again seen the pieces of himself imbued in her and was reminded of why she was so unique.

There came a time where Johnny had been the outcast, poked fun of by his family and made to feel foolish and pestilent by his own mother. He’d never forget that day, for the scar that gouged the left side of his face would never let him. He resented mother for that, for robbing him of that freedom, a chance at normalcy that wasn’t so confining.

“And for heaven’s sake get yer’ self presentable! I’m takin’ you out!”

Devoid of emotion, numb, as she sits petrified in the passengers seat trying to make out something of what had happened. It lets itself play over and over again, and she finds herself reliving the experience. Her body still shaking, hands still balled up into fists. Her eyes are wide, the residual tears still staining the reddened skin around her lashes. Hastily done makeup does little to mask it, only makes her seem like an old porcelain doll.

They’re both silent, the only sound filling the cabin that of the wheels against asphalt coming in from outside. She thinks he’s heartless, not checking in on her after such a ruckus and leaving her to grasp into scraps. Her palms hurt, gashed open by the glass; the dried blood of both of them still coaxed into her nail beds. She picks at them, finally some movement in an otherwise motionless car ride.

“You really hurt me, ya’ know? Makes me think twice ‘bout everything you’ve said.” Her doddering voice breaks the silence, her eyes unmoving from her own hands. “I was scared of what might happen, us bein’ caught. I ain’t ever done this kinda thing, you gotta understand.” She is met with uncomfortable quiet, his stare unyielding from the road.

“You pissed me off, should know better to watch yer mouth and listen as I say. I told you we’d be fine. Now what we gotta handle is the fact that yer’ daddy is awful suspicious of what we been up to, and my folks ain’t to keen either. We’re in a real shit show there, I told ya’ we aughtta lay low for a while ‘n stay in and yer’ pops had us out runnin’ his errands. Top of that, family wants you’s over for supper tomorrow night. You need to learn to get those thoughts under control and listen, cause while you’re havin’ yer way I’m tellin’ you how it is. I ain’t hurt you, was yer own damn fault.”

Searing tears prick at her eyes, her face souring. She sniffles, gasping for air and throwing her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry! I ain’t mean to make such a mess of things.”

He remembers being so distraught running off to the back fields while dusk set in, clutching at the wound on his face and wallowing in his own shame and pity. There was no one there to save or comfort him then, no one to explain or help him understand. Instead, pure and unbridled rage and despair at the hands of his insufferable mother. He remembers collapsing to his knees as the blood spilled from his face and into his hands, staining his jeans and the white t shirt that clung to his skin. The scene that played before him was just that, a mirrored image of himself. Whilst he too sobbed helplessly into his hands.

That had been the last time he cried, displayed such a weakness that could be exploited by those around him. He never wanted to give her that power, so he buried it and acted as though it didn’t bother him. The birth of his disdainful love and hate.

It’s funny then, as just thinking about it made him feel those same feelings, made him feel the tightness in his skin, the burn of his wound, the searing brand her hand left upon his face. He could feel it then, the indentation of his past and the ugly it left over his once unscathed facade.

Within those passing moments his gaze softens as it watches over her, and maybe then he feels a pang of empathy and guilt, one which he pushes so far down he’s nearly choking on it. Fixing his eyes back on the road as they narrow in thought, the sound of her cries fading in the static of his brain. Whilst he preferred to leave her to her own devices, he found it uncomfortable to sit idyl whilst she battled those feelings of illegitimacy and fear, loneliness.

Begrudgingly he sighs, a hand carefully reaching for one of those hands in place of her face.

“It’s alright,” he doesn’t stagger from watching the road, and after removing the hands from her face does his find it’s place back on the wheel. “I’ll fix it.”

For a moment there’s silence, whilst she dries the tears from her cheeks and tries her best to remedy sullied makeup. Trembling with a strange cultivation of feeling, but if the calm in his voice is any indication of solace, those worries are quelled. She’s partly shocked, that he’d calmed so quickly, as though he saw her agony. Only the right turn he makes off the highway pulls her away from her thoughts. There he pulls off to the side of a shabby old gas station boarded up and rotten, a typical mom and pop convenient store advertising Texas barbecue and Coca Cola on its edifice. There’s a large plot of land out back, fenced in by barbed wire and rotten wood planks. Rebecca only looks to Johnny, a questioning look behind her glossy eyes.

“Relax, thought we could make a date out of this ‘n get some pop. ‘Sides, this is the old man’s place.” He stares ahead, putting the truck in park and moving to hop out. Then he saunters off in his usual manner, coming up the passenger side to pop the door open and caress her chin with a calloused hand. “C’mon darlin’, let’s say I treat you.”

Johnny would never admit it, that he felt some type of way about what had happened. That he too could relate to that same scared, secluded feeling. Instead he’d rather fancy her up with miscellaneous little things, make her feel like he wasn’t so uncouth.

For a moment she watches him, his suave smile and calming voice. And she can all most forget the fact he’d so blatantly overpowered her and ignored her pleas. Perhaps that was a part of the reason he loved her so much, because she didn’t just sit and take it. That idea simmers, the same type of estranged feeling she elicits when she’s yearning for the men to beg and plead and cry, and even fight back. And all the things Johnny’s said, about liking the chase. Only she was still around, a part of her could reconcile with that fact. So, she smiles, clasping his rugged hand as he helps her out of the truck like he always did, strolling in casually with her on his arm like some trophy. All which is met with Johnny’s ecstatic grin and sense of relief, and an pleased “that’s my girl.”

She wasn’t half as surprised to find Drayton waltzing up to the front door to greet them there, Johnny with a fiery look Rebecca could only describe as heinous. Something wasn’t quite right there, for when he looked to her it was as though his entire demeanor changed back to the lovable old cook.

“Nice to see ya’s, how’s you and that old man of ya’s doin’? Fixin’ to see this storm I reckon.”

“Mighty fine seein’ you too sir, we been doin’ just fine. Daddy’s out fixin’ them fences right now. How you been?” There’s that certified one of a kind smile, faker than the front Drayton and anybody else put up.

“Ah, works work. You two come on in and get you’s sum’ lunch.” Drayton’s smile fades when he looks to Johnny, instead a grave look overtaking his features and a hasty tone in his voice. “Your cousin’s in there, back home ‘till thanksgivin’, oh and uh, I ‘ready filled ‘em in on yer’ lil’ problem.”

A nasty scowl on his face Johnny groans and pushes past Drayton, swinging the front door open and stomping in there without another word. There the scent of smoke and meats radiate about, a deliciously sweet scent that has her stomach growling. Still attached to Johnny’s arm, she follows him about whilst looking the small room up and down. Not much but the smoker and some old shelving and benches, and the red headed mullet sitting up against the smoke room door. He doesn’t say much, just grunts and makes a pointed gesture towards Johnny who seems delighted. The biggest grin over his face and an eager nod.

He’s a large man, easily towering over both she and Johnny. His clothes are something out of a rolling stones magazine and his hair kinked and greasy. There’s a mean look to him, angry, and even the sounds he makes seem displeased. Rebecca can only smile, watching Johnny as she waits for his call.

“Well I’ll be, lookit you! How ya’ been?” He’s like a child excitedly trying to make friends with the cool kid on the playground. She’d never seen him so elated, desperately trying to show off. “Got someone I’d like ya’ to meet.” That sentence snaps her away from her thoughts and calls her attention to them as opposed to his words. He pulls her forward, to which she obliges and smiles graciously.

“This is my girl, Rebecca. She’s uh, been a real jewel ‘round here.” Her introduction is met with a crude look from the man, who leans forward as if to examine her and nods his head in acknowledgement. All before leaning back up against the creaky boarded wall. His arms plant on his knees and he looks to Johnny, not a word, just a slight hum.

“Rebecca, this here’s my cousin Hands, he’s one of ‘em truck drivers, been out on the road for weeks. Real funny once you get to know ‘em.” He pulls her forward, showing her off like a toy and snaking an arm around her waist. It would be a shame if she didn’t relish in it, just like she had been, an overwhelming sense of accomplishment blossoming in her.

“Pleased to meet you sir, any friend of Johnny’s a friend of mine.” Sweet southern tongue pretties her words like icing on a cake, and despite Hands’ lack of words and acknowledgment she offers her hand as a sign of respect.

Hands looks at her hand, long slender fingers with painted white tips. It takes some time, but he finally moves. Reaching into his pocket to fish out some old trinket and placing it into her palm. The silence is loud, but she kindly looks to her palm to find an old coin that had been pressed through one of those old penny presses. The design untidy and choppy, on it is a scrounged up image of a man who faintly resembles Johnny, one which she was half sure he’d done himself.

“Well I’ll be,” Johnny cuts in, taking a look at the smashed penny in her hand. “Ain’t that somethin’,” Johnny nudges her with his elbow. “Means he likes ya’ darlin’!”

“Ain’t it?” Becca grins. “Real nice of ya’, mister Hands. Johnnys a fine young man, I bet you’s aughtta be real proud of ‘em.” Johnny steps away, removing himself from her to head towards the ice box and grab a few bottles of pop. To which her gaze lingers, not before snapping back to Hands with a smile. “Ya’ know I bet you and my Johnny got lots of memories together, can’t imagine what he was like when he was just a boy. Guess you could say I’m real fond of ‘em ya’ know?” Her attempts at small talk are left on deaf ears, for Hands only grunts and groans or hums in responses leaving her to awkwardly smile and nod. That is until Drayton steps back in and looks to her with a knowing expression.

“Say uh, Johnny tells me you’ll be joinin’ us for supper tomorrow, grandpa’ll be real excited to meet you ain’t that right boy?”

They each exchange a look of disdain, Drayton towards Johnny and the other way around. Glaring holes into each others head whilst Johnny takes three of the cold Coke bottles and tossed them onto the counter.

“Oh yeah, he’ll be real fond of ya’ darlin’.”

“Boy ain’t ever brought a lady home for supper before, must be gettin’ real close eh’?”

Left out but not oblivious, she’d be a fool to think something wasn’t afoot between the two. That with their less than enthusiastic attitudes toward one another and the sly words which injected Drayton’s words. Instead of feigning innocence she politely plays along to their game, making it clear she was no stranger to this coy act of his and more than anything proving herself.

“Oh yes, matter of fact I was just tellin’ Hands I’m real fond of ‘em, and don’t you worry daddy thinks he’s real nice too.” Rebecca turns round with a grin and moves to Johnny, grasping his bicep knowingly. “Ain’t that right dear? Now, shall I bring a pie? I’d love to help anyway I can. Real kind of you folks havin’ me over and all.” She looks up to Johnny, already staring back at her with a wild grin. Her attention diverts quickly to Drayton with a snap of her head, Johnny watching her with a proud look.

Drayton is unusually disoriented, fixing his own head on pulling the barbecue from the smoke room. The ebullient chuckle that falls from Johnnys lips only rubs salt in the wound, and while Drayton responds to Becca’s offer with a slight nod and a hum, distracting himself with the cutting of meat bits whilst he glares through Johnny.

The sound of the blade against the wood of the cutting board and the soft cracks of open bottles of pop sound the air, as Johnny passes a bottle to first Rebecca, then Hands and finally one for himself. If his distaste for Drayton wasn’t clear then, it was abundantly apparent in those moments. Much of their lunch was spent that way, with Drayton’s passive aggressive comments towards Johnny and their mischievous banter. Rebecca found herself at the center of the old man’s soured mood, and her innocent enough but coy smart ass comments only made matters worse. It sure did keep the shit eating grin on Johnny’s face nice and wide, though.

“Well, I’d be lyin’ if I said you ain’t have a fine talent for cookin’ sir, I’d love to get the recipe sometime.” Rebecca stands, taking the plates from the three men and moving to wash them in the dingy sink off to the side. “Thank you very much for the treat, I’ll have to pay back the favor.”

“Oh no need, nice surprise havin’ you stop on in, slow business today. You tell that father of yours hello and tell ‘em not to be no stranger. We’ll see ya’s tomorrow, stay safe in that there storm.”

“Oh yes,” she smiles, putting the dishes up to dry and wiping the wet hands against her jeaned thighs. “Of course, have a good afternoon would y’all?” She’s met with Johnny at the door, who escorts her out before getting a smack to the back of the head. Half enraged he turns around, clutching the back of his skull as he stares to the old cook.

“Your mother’s gon’ have a cow ‘bout this one you nitwit.”

“Watch your mouth old man, I’ll make you eat those words.” Without another word does he shove the door shut, marching out to where Rebecca leans up against the truck with a pleased expression.

“Rebecca Payne, you’d like a honeysuckle full of poison, you know that?” His jubilant smile brings one to her own face and she laughs, shaking her head as he greets her with his hands at either side of her waist. He leans into her, a freed hand coming to swipe at her ear. “Sweet and deadly, just how I like it.”

“Well I’m happy to please,” she teases, a hand glued to his chest and the other pressing at his chin when she forced him to look at her.

“I bet you are.” Johnny’s tall frame hangs over her, closing her into the cage he’d formed around her. It’s hard to say no to him, to object, when his hand is at her hip and lips against her mouth. One of the many things she felt naive in, and helpless, when his mouth would traverse over the tender skin of her neck and his touchy hands would snake under the warm skin of her blouse. It’s nearly there, at her breast when she grasps at his wrist. Her head tilted up as he prods at the pristine and untouched skin over her collar bone. Soft and warm, velvety, not like the cold and dead ones he was so used to.

She wishes, partly, that he’d have her right there. Yet, guilt festers in her like maggots to decaying flesh, stopping such lustful desires in their tracks and picking at her gut. It’s just hard to say no, when his body is pressed up against hers and he leaves bittersweet bites over the plains of her body. Rebecca’s values were always strong though, as was her desire to remain pure, so when her grip on his lingering wrist tightens she instructs him to stop. Her free hand pushing at his jaw, holding it there, forcing him and his handsome mug to look at her.

“No, no,” Rebecca coos out, a whisper, plagued by the pleasures he so lavishly laid onto her. “You know me, guess you could call me old fashioned. I prefer those older values, traditionally, it’s more special that way.”

He’s annoyed, as seen in the way his hands ball into fists and he huffs. He watches her, grasping her wrist and pulling her hand away from his face. Instead he presses it to his sickly sweet lips, watching her through it all.

“Fine,” he hums. She’s right, there’s something special about having the forbidden fruit, taking something that wasn’t allowed. Maybe that’s how she was different too, she wouldn’t give it up so easily, and she was, she felt, different. Special. Impulsivity was written in her nature, as is clear when he grasps at her throat, not enough to harm her, just enough to pull her forward. Close enough for his lips to graze her ear, for his fingers to dig into her flesh. “Let’s say this; if you were mine, my wife, what would happen then?”

Rebecca can only laugh, finding his silly little hypotheticals unserious and teasing. She shakes her head, despite his fingertips pressing into the smooth matter of her neck. She flashes a toothy smile, and she feels his hold loosen when she hangs her head.

“Did I stutter?” His staunch tone causes that smile to fade, and he’s now holding her head up much like she had done to him. She can’t tell, if he’s angry or simply serious. Either way, he had captured her attention. “I need to repeat myself? I told you I ain’t like that.”

“Johnny, please.” She breaths out. “I don’t take these things lightly.” It’s a warning, anger pitching in her voice out of fright, fearful he might’ve been acting a fool.

“What makes you think I do, darlin’?” He pulls back, his hands each falling to hold her waist. “What’s stoppin’ me from marryin’ you one day, you?”

“I ain’t say yes.”

“But you would, wouldn’t ya’?” Johnny smirks, thinking he has her feated.

“Not unless you gave me your word, that you truly cared for me,” she looks to him with all seriousness, steadfast, all most a glare. She leans into him, her hands resting over his chest the way she liked so much. She’d eye him up and down, battering her lashes and resting her head atop one of the hands she’d laid over him. “And that I’d be the only one you ever, ever kept alive.”

He holds her in silence, in thought, while he pieces together her conditions and considers what that meant, how it effected him, and everything else.

“Rebecca Payne my word ain’t taken lightly.” He groans, flustered. It’s an oddity, how he cannot begin to think of another, someone who’d beckon to his will and call or do anything to please him, any other worth keeping around, worth bringing into the hell that was this family, any one who’d make being there just a little more tolerable. He found every part of it deplorable, the way she’d so easily infected every inch of his mind, his life. How little she had to work for it, how much he felt tied to her. He hated the way it made him feel, the fact that he felt at all. Despised the bludgeoned feeling of not having the control over someone, the ability to play with them like they were his food. He couldn’t fathom the idea of killing her, no matter how much he would’ve liked to. If he wanted to rip her apart limb by limb he couldn’t, couldn’t strangle her and watch the life leave her pretty blue eyes, couldn’t even tear into her with his favorite knife. The worst part of it all is he hadn’t the slightest clue why, and no matter how deep he buried the emotions they’d choke him out each time he saw her. It was why he felt so angry, so pent up, so different all at the same time. And he couldn’t figure out why it was he felt so futile, whenever she came about with her homicidal desires and her prim and proper intentions. She was just too much, too much like him. He was staring back at his own reflection, and he was too much in love with himself to salvage it.

“If I gave you my word?”

“Then I’d say yes.” Rebecca smiles, planting a kiss to his lips which he can only return with great satisfaction. His own chapped ones moving against hers soft, with intensity and roughness her own tender touch lacked. He kisses her, and there’s a time where the insatiable appetite for human flesh subsides, and he can forget about his family and the endless killing and blood and guts, he can forget about what his mother did to him, he could even forget how much it tormented him for all these years and the neverending pit of loneliness this life had condemned him to. It all fades away and there, just the passionate feeling of her skin against his can not just numb but take, take it all away. What was left was something lively and whole, a warm light that never goes out.

The second she pulls away he’s reminded of those things though, and his bloodlust floods in ten fold. Where he craves the hunt and the slaughter, and he can see it in her too. The desperate look in her eyes for something sickening and disturbing. He can only smile at her for it for he is the same, and then they go on their way.

As they made their way back to the farmhouse on the highway, they each found themselves in an overcrowded heap of their own baggaged thoughts. Johnny silent, trying to sort out those uncomfortable and isolated feelings and Rebecca, considering his uncharacteristic display of emotion and what it meant to become family.

“You’s got alotta family, huh?” Rebecca wonders aloud, her eyes peeled to the clouds forming in the distant sky.

“Summin’ like that,” responds Johnny. “Just got alotta cousins, that’s the way it’s always been.”

“It must be real nice,” she muses. “Havin’ a big happy family like that, I always wanted to have one of my own. Momma just . . . it just ain’t work out that way.”

“It ain’t always easy.” His calloused hand finds a home on the top of her thigh, warranting her attention. “Most of the damned time we ain’t see eye to eye, fact I ain’t too much like bein’ home for too long. We just got eachother’s backs, is all.”

“You mean you don’t like havin’ all that family?” She shifts her body to face his. “What’s it like Johnny boy?”

“Nah,” he sort of chortles. Then he pauses, thinking. “My family, to them, that’s the most important thing in this life. Family. We was raised with a certain respect for that, no matter our differences. It’s grandpa who ties us together, keeps the family goin’, you’ll see, we gotta whole lotta respect for that man.”

“He loves y’all, then?”

“Yeah sure, summin’ like that.” Johnny shrugs. “It’s just the way things are, it always been that way. I ain’t too much like the way my mother and the old man like to run things but I go ‘long with it any matter. We got a pretty good thing goin’, they say.”

“You ever want a family of yer’ own, Johnny?” She ponders, watching him with doll-like eyes, a certain innocence to them. “I wanna be a momma one day, better one than mine ever was that’s for sure. Settle down with a real man in a big pretty house, with children runnin’ a muck, a big happy family. Like yours, I reckon.”

Johnny chuckles, watching her and the genuine smile that forms on her lips.

“I got family ties I ain’t get rid of, that’s where those loyalties lie. Always has, always will. Guess you could call me a family man.” Johnny shakes his head. “I gotta protect ‘em, provide for ‘em. If I ain’t do it no one else will.”

In awe she smiles, looking over him with some newfound respect and admirable affection. His sense of dignity and loyalty to such morals would closely tie into her own, making the feelings in her stir. Perhaps she’d felt like the world had brought them together for that very reason, like the lord above had made him just for her, that this was fate, they were meant to be. It was that that excited her, made her eager to pursue and cater to his every need, do all that he asked of her and then some.

“I think that’s mighty fine of you, Johnny boy. You’s a real man.”

Thunderheads still cloud the sky when Rebecca shows up on the doorstep to Black Nancy’s home, a quaint blue house with a beautiful front garden abundant with flowers. It was there that Johnny would greet her with a neutral look in his eye and a half-assed kiss, ushering her into the loud foyer where the echoes of his family could be heard bickering with one another.

“Listen uh, there’s summin’ i aughtta tell you ‘fore you come in here meetin’ grandpa and the rest. You seen the brothers before, ‘lot of ‘em ain’t all there in the head. Can’t give too much into what they say, and as for grandpa well, you just be that charmin’ southern ‘gal I know you to be and it’ll be just fine.”

“You reckon I better introduce myself ‘gain? Ain’t wanna impede as rude.”

“You leave that to me.”

It’s with a boisterous smile she follows him, to the right of the foyer where the kitchen and dining table sit. Drayton and Nancy are muttering obscenities to one another under their breath as they prep the meal on the stove, the burners making the interior of the home warm and stuffy. Then at the table the rest of his peculiar family sits together, giggling and whispering to one another as they eagerly anticipate Johnny’s words. Nubbins sits on the far side next to what she can only assume is Bubba, now dressed in a navy blue pants suit adorned in a feminine mask that dons some messily accomplished makeup. And beside him a woman who she has never seen before, a frail girl with blue eyes and light hair tied back neatly. Her sharp features are striking and her little polka dotted dress rides up a little to high for Rebecca’s liking. Though she seems faintly familiar, her gestures something reminiscent of something Rebecca had seen before.

Then at the near side sat Hands, who looked just the same as the day prior, fidgeting with some gadget on the set dinner table. His grunts were easily drowned out in the noise of the kitchen, that and the scratchy groans of the elderly man in the rocking chair at the tables head. She presumed the crotchety looking old man had to be Johnny’s grandfather, or what was left of him, for he seemed partly diseased. His skin pale and puckery, void of any color or movement. Even his shrouded eyes looked partially lifeless, the only sign of life had been the faint rise and fall of his chest and the lewd sounds that fell from his open lips. Still she smiled, her housewife act overtaking her judgemental gaze with a pretty smile and persona.

“Grandpa I got someone here I’ve been waitin’ for you to meet.” Johnny’s voice calls the attention of everyone in the room, commanding their eyes with delighted silence. Even Drayton and Nancy take the cue to turn back round and watch the ordeal, as Johnny saunters over to his grandfather with his trophy as his side. “This is Rebecca Payne, her and I’ve gotten real close.”

“Now Johnny Sawyer I-” Nancy’s vicious tone is cut off by the gentle words of Rebecca, who frees her right hand from the pie she’d brought to extend it out to the wrinkly.

“Delighted to meet you sir, you done a real fine job with this young man.” Her charismatic charade is interrupted by the outburst of laughter that it earns from Drayton and the three at the far side of the table, one which goes on for some time and causes the smile to falter from her face and her hand to retract slightly. She can only look around clueless, then to Johnny whose look is soured rotten. He takes the pie from her, walking over to slam it against the kitchen counter.

As the laughter dies down Nancy speaks up once more, a fake grin of her own directed towards Rebecca’s presence.

“Real nice of you to join us girl, why ain’t you take a seat. Supper’s all most ready.”

“Thank you for havin’ me, miss,” Rebecca nods. “Anythin’ I can help y’all with? I don’t mind one bit.”

“No, no,” Nancy hums, now turned the opposite way. “You’re our guest now, sit.”

“If you insist. Thank you, miss.” Reluctantly Rebecca takes her seat, leaving the space between her and Hands for Johnny presumably, whose still cooling off from his families’ insult. One which she’d still found herself cautious of, and somewhat perturbed. She can only brush it off for the time being, playing the game until there was chance to open conversation.

Her cautious stare carefully removed itself from her Johnny and Nancy to across the table, where she is met with the wolf stare of the woman seated across from her. Once more she smiles, gesturing her head that way.

“Pleased to meet you, names Rebecca.” The girl beams with excitement, and despite her off putting stare smiles and nods her head.

“Well hello! Aren’t you just a doll. Wonder how Johnny managed to lure you in, he ain’t ever had any girl stick around long enough to eat dinner with us. You can call me Sissy.”

“Well,” Rebecca only laughs, the wheels turning in that brain of hers in an attempt to piece together the strange family dynamic between the ragtag group. Their words, their mannerisms, their behaviors, all of it seemed so surreal and artificial. “I’d ask myself the same, but he just real at takin’ care of me is all. Been real kind to me, believe it or not.”

“Hmm,” Sissy hums in response. “So where he been keepin’ you?”

The manners of which Sissy speaks in, as though Rebecca were a prisoner chained to Johnny’s beckon and call, one of his little whores, a victim, it’s a striking concept, one Becca can only brush off as misunderstanding. He must’ve not said much to them, for he hadn’t said much of his family to her either. Presumably for good reason, as they’d all seemed like backwoods hicks.

Still she’d respected them, or at least tolerated them. She cared not particularly what they were like, just that they take a liking to her. That she was impressive and obsolete, the finest young woman they’d ever like for their Johnny to be with. If they were to be family, she’d like to like them, too. So despite her charming smile and charisma, her intentions were not entirely shallow. She did care, about as much as Johnny cared about keeping up appearances with her own father.

“Dang nab it girl quit talkin’ nonsense.” Drayton chimes in.

“Your real pretty you know,” Sissy looks away from Drayton and back to Rebecca, her change in topic sudden. “With that long blonde hair.”

“Y-yeah, looks like one of them girls in the pictures!” Now Nubbins pipes up, rising from his seat whilst Bubba hums and rocks too and fro.

“Why like a movie star even, say, you sure you ain’t in any of those lewd films girl?” Nancy’s comment is laced in bitterness and spite, even the insinuation sparking Becca’s anger to pique in the pit of her stomach. Her face falls and her brows crook downward.

“Pardon me?” She’s nearly in disbelief, why would such a coy little bitch insinuate such a ludacris idea. “I’m no harlot, if that’s what you’s askin’.” She spits back with just as much spite and venom. Disguised by the innocent canter in her voice. “My daddy raised me right, I’d rather be caught dead then loose my morals miss, with all due respect.”

Two women, sat on either side of the room with maleficent gazes fueled by predation, leeching off one another’s acrimonious and defamatory clauses. Acting catty was below Rebecca, and she’d been sure to make a point of that. It’s in those moments though that it becomes clear something isn’t quite right, about this family of his, and his caustic mother. She makes a pointed stare to the woman, her eyes narrowing as she watched that bitch with purpose and strategy, trying to figure out just what it was was going on beneath these people’s facade.

“Right.” Nancy muses. “Johnny baby, why ain’t you come have a seat at the table.”

There’s some lull to the conversation then, even as Johnny sits beside she and Hands at the table. A piercing silence overcomes the home, seldom for the thunder that punctures through the evening sky, and the lightning that follows in quick sporadic flashes out the window. The approaching storm had been the only thing to fill that void, that is until Rebecca’s benevolent smile returns in a quick attempt to lighten the mood. She decidedly takes the high road, presenting niceties and focusing on her perfect persona in order to get in good with the others. The precious little housewife act was her saving grace, the sole thing she could fall back on in tests of true poise. And here was just that, handling the deplorable hosebeast of a woman Johnny dare called his mother.

“Say Nubbins, been leavin’ them traps alone for ya’, catch anythin’ good lately?”

“Oh yeah, real good. I-I got some pictures too uh, you wanna see?”

“Boy you ain’t showin’ pictures of no road kill at the table, put them damned things away.” Drayton huffs, not before he’s serving bowls of chili to each member of the table.

“Oh I don’t mind, really.” Becca replied.

“You ain’t no fun, cook, tch. I uh, I got my camera here instead I, I take real good pictures. Johnny’ll tell ya’, yeah, real good. You want one?” Nubbins’ response is met with some grave countenance from his elder sibling, followed by a slew of mumbles. Something about beating him upside the head after supper was had.

“That’s real kind of ya’.” She smiles. “I’d love to see yer pictures sometime, I’ll have to come by more often. I’m sure they’s lovely. Johnny ain’t tell me you was a photographer.”

“Oh yeah,” Nubbins grins, his crooked teeth muddied with brown bits of grime and decay. He brings the camera that had been hung around his neck up to his face. “H-here, smile!”

A soft chuckle falls from her pretty lips, and she smiles gently in time for the flash of his camera to go off. The photo prints, and he excitedly wraps the it up in some crinkled piece of tin foil.

“Sissy, is it? That dress of yours is real pretty, you make it ya’ self?”

“Oh, why thank you sug’! I did. Got a machine and everythin’. Say, you got a sewin’ machine at home?” Sissy asks, resting her sharp chin against her palm. “I love makin’ clothes, be nice to have another girl ‘round here who likes makin’ frilly things.”

“My momma taught me how to sew some time ago, still got her machine cooped up somewhere. Ain’t made nothin’ in a long while. I’m helpin’ daddy out in the fields when I’m not homemakin’, ‘spose I forgot what it was like to have a hobby.”

“That’s a shame.” Sissy sighs, “You can use mine, I think you’d find it real fun!”

“Oh a real shame,” Nancy hums. “The fields ain’t no place for a young lady, ain’t no wonder you got all them muscles. Why, someone might lookit you and think you’s a dyke.”

“I’m sorry?” It’s caught her off guard, and her flagrant stare moves to pierce the smug eyes of the woman across the room. Her sly, cuntish smile.

“Oh it’s just, a woman’s place is in the home. My Johnny needs a nice girl like me to take care of ‘em, be a homemaker, you understand.”

“Now ma’.” Johnny hushes.

The way her ugly voice and patronizing attitude digs into the skin irks Rebecca, and it takes every bit of self restraint to keep from lashing out at her like she had Johnny all that time ago. It’s clear then where his brutish behaviors came from, and it was no easy beast to feat. Collecting herself, keeping her composure, she inhales a sharp breath. Her vexation building and face becoming hot with upset. Johnny must’ve seen it too, for he placed a hand against her thigh in an attempt to keep her grounded. Something her fiery temper proved to be increasingly difficult.

“Well a home needs to be built, and it sure as hell ain’t built on sewin’ n’ cookin’ alone. Now if you’ll excuse me, may I use your washroom?” Rebecca, as poised as ever, calmly responds and rises from her seat.

Her gaze meets that despicable woman’s satanic smile, and then she feels rage.

“Go on ahead love, down the hall last door to your right.”

Hurdled over the white porcelain sink both hands grip either side of it, heaving shaky breaths from her parted lips whilst she glared at the reflection of a mangled, fragile mess in the mirror.

“Fucking bitch.” The growl leaves her mouth lowly, a sullen scowl formed over her once coming features. She has to bite her tongue to keep from letting it all go, battering that cunt’s head into the oak table over and over again until she was unrecognizable.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been in there, nor how long she’d left the water on the faucet running. Time then seemed irrelevant, for everything was sped up and slowed down all at once. As if the world around her was moving in slow motion and she one hundred miles per minute.

It’s when there’s a knock at the door she’s pulled back into reality. Feeling the flesh gripping cold glass and the sweat dripping down her hot face. Fuck. It’s happened again, and it was all that abomination of a women’s fault.

Quickly snapping her head towards the sound and turning the faucet off, the echoed sound of water down the drain fades and she calls out. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

The lock clicks and the handle turns, opening the door laggardly to Johnny. He’s taken a lax position lent up against the door frame, eyes flicking up to meet hers as she watches from below through painted lashes.

Your mother’s a ungodly old crone and a reprehensible host.

He’d must’ve seen the putrid amount of revulsion in her, for he smiled and laughed. Fixing the strands of hair that had gone astray and stuck to her face, he pulls her chin beneath his fingertips.

“Why ain’t you come on back and join us, keep that beautiful head of ya’s screwed on straight a lil’ longer, aight darlin’?”

She’d realized then just what had happened, where she was and what was going on. His touch quells her vexation, and as a result she’s beaming with pride and delight. A vibrant pearlescent smile domineering her face as she eagerly nods.

“Oh yes, anythin’ for you dear.”

It’s the same veil she brings to the dinner table, reseating herself and making a point to lock eyes with each and everyone of them, saving the old hag for very last. Meeting her prideful smirk with a delightedly unsettling and toothy grin.

“You’ll all have to forgive me.” She pauses. “You’ll find I’m not myself when my dear momma is mentioned. Oh I miss her so dearly, now, where were we?”

Aside from the rocky beginnings of her introduction, the entirely of dinner remains lax and civil. Small talk is made between she, Sissy and Nubbins, with Bubba occasionally replying with an excited nod or some abhorrent sounds she couldn’t make out. Johnny tuned in from time to time, but hadn’t much to say, his focus was with Hands. When it wasn’t, it was on observing Rebecca’s every move and word. Drayton and Nancy would ask questions, and Rebecca would respond with a souringly sweet response. Meeting Nancy’s blatant attempts at ruffling her feathers further with the most idyllic and perfectly crafted answers she could muster. At some point, the brothers had fed the grandfather from an old bronzed bottle of what looked to be emulsified meat.

“Dinner was real nice, mister Drayton, that chili was the best I ever had.” Becca rises from her seat, collecting the tables polished dishes and silverware and taking them to the sink. “You’ll have to give me the recipe sometime.”

“Oh well,” Drayton laughs sheepishly, “there’s no secret, it’s all in the meat. We- I got uh, a real fine eye for prime meat.”

“I’ll have to repay the favor one day, oh, maybe we’ll have you folks over for Thanksgivin’, wouldn’t that be real nice?” She smiles, and takes the initiative to wash the dishes with her back turned to the group. When no one can see her, when her mien is hidden and shadowed with the dark of the night coming through the window does her visage fade, forming a demented and twisted face full of hate and lividity.

“Y-yeah! Real fun, huh Bubba?” Nubbins laughs, matching Bubba’s deep and disoriented giggles.

“It does sound just lovely, Johnny wouldn’t mind that one bit.” Sissy clasps her hands together.

“Well now, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.” Nancy hums. “Becca, sweetie, don’t you worry ‘bout those dishes will ya’? I’ll take care of ‘em.”

“No, no,” Rebecca hums. “I’ve finished.” The faucet shuts off and she turns back round, her expression some odditied cross between the devil and and angel. Her chin tucked in and her brows screwed downward. Her eyes are half lidded as she looks to Nancy, an eery smile painted over the lower half of her grimace. “Please, my name is Rebecca, miss.” Without dropping her line of sight she retrieves the fresh cherry pie she’d made just before heading over, holding it with both palms.

“Say Rebecca,” Nancy muses, having her seat adjacent to grandpa. She dusts her hands off against the apron tied around her waist. “What ever did happen to that mother of your’s? I don’t recall your daddy mentionin’ nothin’.” A volitional look of scrutiny hides behind those glazed, cloudy eyes of hers. A narrowing state with a coy little smile. It’s ironic, in some ways she’s just like her son once was.

The mention stirred her, for the whirlwind of thoughts that swirl about shakes her up, hearkening back to the day she’d watched porcelain shatter over heads and bedside lamps cause blunt force trauma. The day she watched her mother and that dastardly boyfriend of hers scream at one another like wild animals, ripping eachother apart while they scrambled to protect themselves against their demise. The blood and the bits of flesh, the smell of iron and the tears.

“Oh, momma?” Rebecca looks ahead, stoic, pale, as though she’d just seen a ghost. “Well, she died just a little over a year ago now. We was livin’ back in Oklahoma when I found her.” Events of the past still bounce about in her head; walking through a bloodied and mutilated massacre. Her bare feet against soggy shag carpets, trudging through gallons of blood and brain matter. The house had been torn limb from limb, coaxed into a sanguine picture of the horror and macabre.

“She uh-,” she feels faint, blood rushing up to head and painting her face bright. And her ears, burning with anger and resentment, as she feels her body sway and begin to shake. Her eyes grow wider, just before they narrow and she looks down to her hands, seeing the blood pull in them and drip over her lap where the body lies. She clenches them, laughing madly in the mess of it all. Knelt onto the ground in the middle of a uxoricidal entanglement.

“She deserved it.” Rebecca smiles, in a frantic and awkward sort of way. Clenching her bloodied palms into fists and clasping them together. Then she laughs, shaking her head. She can no longer feel it, her limbs trembling and body swaying. Her head no longer spins, but her consciousness is quick to catch onto the hell she’s stuck herself in.

“I’ve brought a cherry pie, still warm from the oven. I’ll go ‘head and get you all a heapin’ slice, why don’t I?” She snaps around, hot tears pricking at the cusp of her eyelids. She had tried to be the bigger person, she truly had, but it was when wenches like her stooped so low she’d need to put a bitch like this in her place.

“Oh please, yer’ Johnny’s honored guest, let me take care of this.” Nancy rises from her seat.

“No, no. Sit.” Rebecca removed the dirtied knife from the counter, bits of raw meat and drippings still tainting it when she cuts into the pie. Once more she’s turned round, face cold and void of the sugary sweet she’d once presented. Into it, she cuts seven slivers, saving the eight chunk for the lead woman of the estranged family.

“Sit. Back. Down.” Rebecca warns once more, her voice now threatening, a warning of sorts. Nancy does not oblige, only pushes further.

“At the very least-”

“Sit down and do as your told, sweetie.” Rebecca’s body stirs in its place, the cut pie placed neatly in the palm she holds up near her head and the other at her side, tightly gripping the handle of that rusted knife.

It is met with astounding silence, and awed looks from all but Drayton and Nancy. Even grandpa, whose stare settled onto her with a faint groan. It does little to stop her, though. Rather, it fuels her incessant need to have her way, to prove herself to her Johnny, to not let bygones be bygones.

Her frightfully deviant expression says it all, too. Beady eyes wide and pupils shrunk, they stare a void into all. The twitchy, faded smile of a crazy greets her audience with a discomposing ambience.

“Excuse me, young lady?” Nancy’s fury struck the room like lightning to the great state of Texas. “I’d advise you to watch yer tone with me.”

She says nothing, instead, carefully carves out each sliver of pie with the muddied knife and cautiously places each helping onto the bare table in front of each character. She takes her serving on the knife, leaning over the table and tossing the large hunk of pie left in the tin to Nancy’s place at the table. It lands with a piercing sound, bouncing bits of cherry filling up to splatter over the flowery fabric of the woman’s dress.

Nancy is astounded, as is their table mates, watching between the two eagerly with worried thoughts. Her image is somewhere between animosity and shock, with Rebecca’s words and unsettling display digging the grave six feet under.

“Eat. It. Up.” Blazing blue orbs deadlocked on the crone’s on the opposing end of the table, it was only a matter of se ones before Nancy herself blew her top. But Becca can only laugh, finding amusement in the pissing contest she’s so gloriously won. I’m a celebratory fashion she pulls the knife up to her lips, licking up her share of sweet and red cherry pie off the knife.

“That’s it! I’ve had ‘bout enough of this, get the hell outta my house!”

Akin to a deer in headlights she froze, as though a bullet had shot right through her, rattled her to her core. In that moment she’d felt shame, failure, a slip that was not meant to happen. And for it, she loathed Nancy more than she ever had Johnny, more than she detested her own mother, more than any stupid boy that ticked her off.

“Get out! Out!” Nancy hollers, and if it hadn’t been for Rebecca’s father she’d of tried to kill her right then. “Johnny get this rotten lil’ brat out of the house!”

“No, no,” She vehemently shakes her head, as he approaches her with caution. “No!” She holds her hand out, those hot tears searing her cheeks as she squints.

“Darlin’, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“What?” Then there’s hurt, pure brokenness and helplessness. The break in her now softened voice gut wrenching to some, the rest of the family out of their seats as they watch in delight. The laughter of the boys drowns in the heap of her anguish, felt betrayed by the only one she’d known to be on her side.

The fight in her fades, when Johnny takes her arm to escort her out with not so much as a word. No, the moment he’d taken the side of his mother so hellbent on making her look bad. So she is a ghost, a shell of a woman who does as he pleases, following him when the world is moving around her in a still motion.

She turns her head to watch the loud scene of the family, rowdy and out of their seats and yelling over eachother in disarray. Some watch Johnny and how he has her by the arm, some seem timid, some bicker with one another, and she can only watch like an outsider looking in.

It isn’t until they’ve made it out to the drive way’s gate, down the windy gravel path through the garden, that she’s realized all that’s happen. When the pouring hot rain sizzles against her warm reddened skin and the lightning flashes across violently about the sky. The same burning tears still stung her eyes, and Johnny had begun to look over her with some mug, and she still felt the shame, regret, a forfeited sense of control. As the storm breaks out in unbridled chaos, with it, the fragments of calm that had been keeping her glued together all that time.

“Johnny?”

He only smiles, he can’t help but find the amusement in it all. Watching his mother get riled up about his choice in women and Rebecca’s intoxicatingly sweet bite back.

“Listen, darlin’, this ain’t personal. It’d be best if you’s went home.”

There it is, the sting she’d been looking for. Her body quakes with emotion, weakness, a hurt pride. Like she’d been fooled, just a pawn in his little game.

“How dare you.” Her voice low and broken, she looks to him from below through shrouded vision, blinded by tears and smudged makeup. “You told me I was special, not some stupid girl!” She screams, slamming her hands into his chest. “Do you have any idea how much of a fool I looked? A hoodlum? Huh?” She backs away from him, spinning around and throwing her head into her hands as she cries. Shaking fingers peel themselves away from her eyes, watching him through her tunnel vision. “I hate you!” She lashes out to him before collapsing to her knees in the dirt. “I hate you so fuckin’ much!” Between strangled sobs she screams into her shaking hands, watching him with his back turned to her whilst he makes his way back up the drive and into the house.

“So fuckin’ much.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101 @kaymarnun @casually-in-love-with-madari

If you’d like to be added to this taglist for future chapters, please feel free to let me know!

#melodrama #tales of a homicidal housewife #johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer #johnny tcm #texas chainsaw game #johnny sawyer x reader #tcm johnny

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melodrama-ticcc · 4 months ago

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game rage ✧ emmett cullen

warnings / language, minor injury.

word count / 3.2k

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) masterlist in bio ↴

⠀⠀⠀⠀“OKAY, I think we’re good if we just wait here, Em. You watch for dudes coming from the left and I’ll shoot whoever comes from the right,” Y/N suggested, hoping that if she added some sort of battle strategy to their Friday afternoon game session, it would push them towards victory. She could see Emmett nod understandingly out of the corner of her eye and she pressed down on the joystick of her controller, putting her avatar in a crouching position. She pushed down one of the back buttons, opening up her scope, and she used the other thumb control to check their surroundings, surveying the fields of tall, animated grass through her gun lense.

There was a soft chink as someone, Emmett she figured, opened up a grenade. “Which way are they coming from?” She asked, her voice quiet as she spun with her scope, but the realization of what her best friend planned on doing dawned on her when she heard his digital grenade clatter against the ground. “Really, Emmett? Again?” She exclaimed, trying to move her character away from the explosive, only to realize that her scope was slowing her down. She frantically pressed the circle button, hoping that it would close but nothing was happening except for the quickening beeping coming from Emmett’s side of the television screen. “This isn't— damn you,” she hissed as the grenade detonated, knocking her character down into a crawling position as it had taken down her health bar immediately.

Keep reading

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melodrama-ticcc · 5 months ago

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Hello friends!

Is the TCM game/TCM fandom in general still alive? I’ve taken a hiatus recently from writing but have come back to find it, somewhat died down. But, if there is indeed a demand for it I would love to continue writing 🖤

#johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer #tcm johnny #tcm x reader #tcm game #texas chainsaw game

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melodrama-ticcc · 5 months ago

Photo

I See That Town - Submitted by stormy-talks

#503833 #87735F #382E24 #2E130f #2F3027

Color picked from this image. Slight blood warning.

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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˗ˏˋ your lips, my lips ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x fem!wife!reader words: 5.6k synopsis: you remind Jacaerys that there is no shame in accepting help, especially from his wife. notes: this idea came to me in a fever dream the other day idek. this can be read as an au, it is implied that the dance happened but that luke is alive so idk. as i always say: do what you love. i think jace can be happy for a bit, as a treat. this is honestly like 3k fluff and 2k smut lol. pls lmk what you think <3 warnings: canon-typical injury. jace is so horny and in love that he becomes a poet! light dirty talk(mostly in valyrian bc jace is shy), very very brief breeding kink, slightly sub!jace, praise kink (mutual), slight size kink, hair pulling, pussy whipped jace, PiV creampie, reader rides him. valyrian is translated at the end (author uses a translator so if its wrong im sorry). feedback is appreciated<3 requests open. masterlist.

SHADOWS DANCE.

Toes cold upon empty stone, you pad across a corridor; short, illuminated in torchlight. A path you’ve taken many times.

Worry twists your fingers together, toying as you watch the silhouette of your night shift swish upon the contours of the wall. Chamber doors which connect the small hall to your own are open; an afterthought, perhaps, though your husband quite often prefers to slumber with his door to yours drawn open.

He is hurting.

Not in any dire way, not by far. Burns, the whispers had reached your ears - from maester to house worker to ladies in wait - burns, across the Prince’s palms; some troubles while handling dragonfire. You have been alive for long enough to have seen dragons dance, see the flesh melt from bones of even those coursing with Valyrian blood in their veins. You cannot imagine the pain of it, lying marred in his palms.

The maester has seen worse, you are told. He is not in too much pain, to your relief - he is neither sick nor hurting but rather unable to perform any tasks, no matter how menial; something you know your husband will not take lightly. Only a few paces and you reach his chambers, taking in the sandalwood and cedar smoking in small dipped sticks; a favor of his mothers, he told you once. He’s taken to them recently, to the comforting scent; as have you.

Feet move slowly into the archway; his chambers are always so much warmer than your own. Furs, thicker - bed, more comfortable, hearth, drawn larger. Though it is more likely to do with the company.

Your husband stands before the mirror of his chambers, his back upon you.

You watch for a moment - his brows, furrowed in the reflection, a razor is held rather uncertainly in a bandaged grasp. A pang through your stomach at the sight of the gauze, restricting his fingers; a kind glow of candlelight dances across concentrated eyes, once-steady hands trembling as he holds the blade against his cheek, head tilted back.

Slow breaths - your chest moves with his, as it seems to do more and more these days; a drag of a blade, the wobbling of which sets your teeth upon edge. Such a mundane chore, shaving: yet you know just as most how painful the burns of dragons may be upon flesh.

Your sweet husband is a proud soul; you can almost picture him, resolutely dismissing any offers of assistance before he readied himself for the night. Struggling to wet the razor, to lift it upon his face, yet doing so with a bristling determination. You linger, a specter in the doorway, fingers tracing the stone arch beside you as he works. Slow, determined.

His chest rises and falls beneath the simple tunic; unlaced, revealing the glimpse of skin awaiting beneath as he clenches his jaw, metal dragging against porcelain.

Though as soon as you draw a breath, a hiss from him - the razor has slipped, blood thinning in a bloom upon his cheek. Stark against such pale skin. He curses softly, thick brows knitting in some helplessness as his wounded fingers, shaking in pain or perhaps frustration, brush and come away crimson.

You step forward immediately, concern overriding all hesitations and shyness you’d felt previously.

"Jacaerys," your voice, soft and scarcely a whisper, carries through the room. Through the mirror your husband looks up, his eyes meeting yours.

A whisper of surprise in his visage that melts into some shade of embarrassment as he turns to you. Your name, falling from his plush lips, bitten in previous exasperation. His voice is warm, guilty. "I did not wish to wake you."

You shake your head softly - he’d not made a single sound since you returned from your evening duties to retire. You learned of his injuries through scarce whispers in the corners of your chamber, not from any loud disruptions from within his own.

Ignoring his words, you move closer - feet light, heart aching for his felt helplessness; A crimson tear beads out of the thin cut upon the cut on his cheek. You tilt your head to look into the warmth of his eyes. "You should not be doing this with your injuries," you chide, nodding to the strips of bandage around his palms.

A sigh from him, gentle nod as he looks down upon your expression. "I did not wish to trouble anyone," you find a touch of frustration still coloring his voice, but are not foolish enough to believe an ounce of it could ever be directed towards you. "I am not so helpless." he prepends with a clenched jaw.

Nodding, you gently take the razor from his loose grip. "No, you are not.” You agree gently, “Sit.”

You guide him to the table aside the mirror with light hands. He murmurs your name; it slips through his lips like honey. "I do not wish to burden you. It is late, I would not want to keep you awake."

You cannot help the surge of affection; your husband, so doting, thoughtful. A gentle touch to his cheek, your fingers grazing just under the fresh cut as you swipe away the red. "Sleep can wait.” Your voice is just as gentle as his own. “And you are not a burden; You are my husband. Your troubles are mine."

He sighs, a small appreciative smile growing upon his lips. "I resent being unable to tend to myself." he admits sheepishly.

You run your hands gently over his palm, tracing gently over where gauze conceals marred flesh. “You must heal fully so you might be of aid again soon.” You pull away, crossing the room to retrieve the cloth, oils, and small bowl of water; “In the meantime, there is no shame in accepting help. Especially not from your wife."

His eyes follow you upon your return, your sleep gown swishing against the quiet of the apartments; aware of the semi-sheerness of the fabric, you feel yourself flush. His smile is appreciative.

The bowl makes a small noise as you place it upon the table - you watch the soft illumination of your reflection ripple in the water. “I am a lucky man.” He says, as if to himself; you resist the shy smile that grows upon your lips, looking away from the contents of the bowl and shaking your head gently. He does not seem prepared to leave it be, though: “I scarcely know how I came to deserve someone as wonderful as you.”

He prefers it like this, you’ve learned; kindness, candor, sweet admissions - flushed cheeks, soft smiles. A true marriage, one being built with respect, with love. And still, moons after your union - every compliment you pay your husband he seems to return tenfold.

It is content, quiet against the spitting of embers in the hearth as you bend before him, seeking an angle safe enough to press the blade to his skin. A soft conversation, scarcely more than whispers in the eve - though you become weary at the prospect of a safe approach.

His legs spread wide as he watches you pace - expression somewhere between an amusement and puzzle; You let out a breath in a small huff as you draw a decision.

Your hand falls first onto his shoulder - a steadying grip as you slowly slide onto his lap, positioning yourself to see his face clearly; Jacaerys, with eyes widened in surprise and arms instinctively rising to hold you steady. Despite his injuries, his touch is firm, wrists pressing to you where hands cannot.

A thick swallow within his throat that you steadfastly ignore.

The touch of his arms around you, of your thighs straddling his lap - you burn, clearing your throat. Your voice comes, barely more than a breath. "Is this- alright?"

His lips, parted with the proximity, flutter before he finds words. “Y-yes. More than alright.”

With a small grin, you school yourself; pouring the oils upon your palms, you begin to smooth the ointment upon his skin. Cheeks, down the short shadow of stubble he has so resigned to eliminate this evening. A sharp jaw, a strong chin, plush lips. His breath is scarcely more than puffs against your cheeks as you press gently into his jaw muscle; his eyelashes flutter closed.

When you bring the blade to his skin, it is with no hesitation he tilts his head for you; eyeing you through lids, the apple of his cheeks warm in the light. You release a short breath and begin to shave him with slow, careful strokes. Jacaerys remains still, his eyes fixed - you drag the blade with light pressure, a relief building in you as you begin to effectively remove shadows from his cheek.

As you continue, the room grows quiet; a soft song of the gentle scrape of the blade and the crackling of the fire. Your heart may have fluttered ceaselessly had you been any less focused on ensuring you do not hurt him; Though there is no doubt - a very handsome man he is, and a very lucky wife he makes you.

“How did you learn such a skill?” His voice, curious as you tilt his jaw slightly. You do not pull your eyes from your task as you hum gently, aware of his warm stare.

“I’ve never done it before,” you admit, tilting your head along with him, focused on the glide of the blade against the bristled shadow of his jaw. “Though I watched my lord father do it many times. He’d often have me sing to my younger brothers before they were put to chamber - he tended to perform tasks as such when I did so. They used to love watching him.”

Jace nods contentedly, humming at your recount. "Lucerys used to watch me when he was younger, as well.” It seems at the memory he laughs gently - the motion stunted as you hold his face in your grip. “One day he decided he was old enough to give it a try. He sneaked into my chambers and took up my razor."

You can't help but smile at the image, lifting a brow. "And what came of it?"

You sit back, preoccupied with the story - your hand wipes the blade upon the rag beside you, meeting his warm gaze as his grin widens. "I found him standing before the mirror, razor in hand.” A flicker of his gaze to the mirror behind you before he finds you once more. “I tried to warn him, but he was too stubborn to heed me. So, I stood back and simply watched."

Your eyes widen, lips parting in mild amusement. "You let him to do it alone?"

He chuckles lightly, tongue prodding his lower lip. "I thought it best he learn a lesson.” His arms unconsciously pull you closer, readjusting your position upon his lap. You swallow down the warmth at such casual intimacy between he and you. “He managed a few strokes, was quite proud of himself, until... he nicked his lip." A small gesture with his jaw towards your own, his eyes focused on the bottom lip that has found itself caught between your teeth.

You lift your brows, your hand pausing as it rinses the blade in water. "Was he quite hurt?"

"No, just a small cut," Jacaerys soothes, laughter bubbling up again, eyes tearing from your lips up to your own warm gaze; your stomach flutters at the sound and you can no longer suppress a small giggle of your own. "But the look on his face! He was so indignant, I reckon more in his failure than the pain. He turned to me, lip trembling, and demanded to know why I hadn't helped him."

You swat his shoulder gently with the rag, trying to suppress your own laughter. "You are incorrigible, Jace. You laugh at your brother's misfortune?" You chide, teasing; He shrugs, still grinning as his eyes trace over your face warmly.

"It was a valuable lesson, one I had to learn myself once. Besides, he forgave me soon enough. I helped him finish shaving properly and patched him up. We've laughed about it many times since." His voice is soft against the crackle of flame, adjusting his posture slightly under your weight.

You laugh gently, the image of a young Jace and Luke pulling a grin to your lips. "You two are quite the pair."

Jacaerys’ eyes soften as he hums in agreement. "I have to let him make a fool of himself now and then."

He’s taken to moving a stray thumb - one not restricted with salves nor gauze - upon the line of your spine. A gentle ghost of affection as you shake your head fondly at him.

You hum, resuming your efforts, now moving towards his chin with a gentle grasp. "Well, just be glad I am here to ensure you do not cut yourself again. I should not trust you alone with a razor any longer." You tease, wrinkling your nose as you fix him with a faux stern stare.

Jace’s laugh is rich, warm. "You wound me, wife.”

The gentle laughter between you trails off amiably as you move your focus upon his upper lip; you, dutifully focused, worried of your own skills, knowing you could very easily slip and cut him - he, enduring your hand around his chin, eyes ceaseless upon your face as you move him how you please.

You finish the last stroke, setting the blade aside; his eyes are pools; sunlit amber. The cloth is wettened - you string it out and gently press it to his skin, wiping away the remnants of shaving oil and the small trail of blood from his previous nick.

Jace’s breaths rise and fall languidly with your own in the quiet of the chamber. Your movements are slow, tender; your focus entirely on him, ignoring the heat growing in your abdomen, his muscles flexing beneath you. A shift in the calm of the room; a once placated, gentle silence has grown into a thick, tense quiet - enunciated through short puffs of breath and the slow shifting of your bodies as you clean him.

A lean closer, his finger idly trailing your hip as much as the bandage might permit - you inspect his soft skin, the scent of the oils clouding your mind; lavender, cedar, sandalwood. Incense sticks have lost ember in the corner, the ocean rolling in tides upon the distant shores. You find no missed stubble, only undeniable affection in his eyes; you’ve begun to trace the cloth rather idly along his cheek, eyes rising to find his own gaze stuck upon your lips. Echoes of a house attendant walking out in the halls.

“Done,” You whisper, making no effort to rise from his lap; the warmth that has only grown has begun to make you sweat, that desire, still so new, growing between you. He shifts beneath you, staring blatantly, speaking no words. Worry flickers - a foolish thing, to worry when you’re with him - yet you still murmur your words. "Have I overstepped?” you ask softly, gaze flickering down to his plush, parted lips, watching as he shakes his head vehemently.

"Never," he breathes, "I’m merely admiring your beauty."

Heat. Jacaerys has never, not even in the earliest days of your betrothal, hesitated to praise you for your beauty, intelligence, wit, or heart; yet it still sets your mind dizzy each time. You send him a coy smile, hiding the flush of your cheeks under his compliment, “You only say such things because of the blade in my hand,” You tease.

Expecting a retort from your sharp husband, your eyes flicker to his; he grins at your jest, whispering, “I would speak such words even if you held nothing but air.”

His gaze roves over the heat of your cheeks, the flutter of your lashes. Want grows hot within you; to be seen, to be so cherished, it is more than you could wish. Jacaerys stirs your heart like no other could. You do not miss when he leans forward slightly, into your own space; the longing in his gaze is rather unmistakable, and it sends a rush of thrill through you.

Heart, singing in your chest. “Jace.” you whisper.

He breathes your name in response; a prayer.

“What are you thinking?” You hum, your breath hitting his own; your hands fall to grasp his shoulders, fingers trailing over the crook of his neck, the ties of his tunic.

"I'm thinking," His hands, despite their bandages, pull your hips upon his own quite subtly - your stuttered breath, shaky at the feeling of him beneath you, arousal growing just as your own. His voice is husky, "-that I’d like to kiss you."

A thrill in your stomach; you purse your lips against a smile of affection before closing the distance, your lips meeting his.

Warm, soft; gentle as he always is with you - but soon in the undercurrent of the late hour, of the thin material upon your frame, you feel fever infect you.

It comes in a tilt, sliding your nose against his own, lust coiling between your thighs; any tension of before melts, soon replaced by an urgent need to be closer. Your tongue finds the plush of his lower lip, sliding hungrily.

He groans softly against your mouth, his injured hands pulling you tight; The faint smell of incense, an intensity of desire matching your own - your hands tangle in his hair.

A wince as you shift, his hand flexing and drawing a grunt of pain from his lips.

You pull back instantly.

"Jace," you murmur in concern, even as his lips chase your own, a small bridge of saliva between you two in the firelight. Your voice is breathless, filled with longing. "We shouldn't. Your hands."

He shakes his head, his lips seeking yours. "I care not," he whispers fiercely. "If you cease for my sake, I will perish."

Your eyes roll at his dramatics, though your heart flutters at such fervent words. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and you are finding it harder to resist such pretty requests. "I do not wish to hurt you," you protest softly, though your resolve weakens with each passing moment.

He gazes at you with a mixture of tenderness and longing. “You could never hurt me. Please, let me feel you. The only pain I feel is the distance between us.”

Unbelievable, his cunning knack for dramatics.

Despite the lifted brow you send him, there is an undeniable tremor within you, your hunger growing at the lilt of his tone. Perhaps, you should feel some kind of shyness; Indeed, you’re still learning of each other. You’ve lain with Jacaerys only a few times since being wed last moon—and yet perched so firmly atop his growing arousal, you can’t help the rush of need.

“Well,” You sigh, hand gracing his soft cheek with a small look of pride, “You mustn’t beg.”

He breathes as a smirk of his own grows, “I am a prince, dōna riña. Begging is beneath me.” He murmurs, eyes aflame with that teasing craving, “but I'd gladly beg if it means I get to have you.”

His ravenous words, mere kindle to the flame. “It is fortunate for you that I am so generous, then,” you murmur, seeking the warmth of his lips once more. He hums in agreement; a reverberation in his chest below your palms stirring a shiver through you. “Fortunate indeed,” he breathes. “Now please do not torture me any longer.”

You pull away from his searching lips just so, watching as he chases the warmth of your breath. "If you insist," you whisper, your lips brushing against his. His breath is sharp - he dislikes being so teased when he cannot deliver it in return. "I do insist.” he murmurs, words swallowed by the surge of him, teeth and noses clashing as you exhale, stomach flipping.

His tongue, sliding into your mouth; eager, you part lips for him. The chamber fades into shadows, a dim glow as the witness to your ardor, the only thing to hear such soft sighs and groans from you and Jacaerys. His lips leave you rather soon, peppering kisses upon the flushed skin of your neck.

A glance behind his shoulder as you cast your neck to the side - flickering shadows, intertwined with each other in a rather sensual embrace upon the wall; Jace’s nose pressed to the heartbeat of your throat as he bites gently against your skin.

His lips are fervent - the warmth of his breath, his chest heaving below your palms, the scent of his shaving oils - a fierce wildfire within you, consuming every thought but the touch of his body against your own.

An urge, the light pressure of his wrists, desperate to move you upon him - and then his voice, a growl. "Feel me," he breathes against your throat, pulling back so slightly to catch your gaze as his hands, light but insistent, press upon your waist.

You respond to his urging without a thought; your hips instinctively shifting, meeting the rise of his form with an eager press. The sensation is both thrilling and intoxicating - his moan of pleasure only spurs you on, a shiver of ecstasy as you press just so upon the sensitive of your heat.

The space between you is gone, the touch of his hands guiding your movements lightly, encouraging your slow rolling hips. The air is thick with the mingled scents of desire and embers low - you, lost in a sea of sensation. His breaths grow ragged, the intensity of his gaze never wavering as he watches you with a look of utter devotion. "Yes," he murmurs, his voice nearly breaking, "-like that, gods - let me feel every bit of you."

At such words, your cheeks heat vividly - you surrender to the heat of the moment, your movements growing more urgent, more desperate. His breaths are hot against your cheek as you let out a small moan, toes curling as you rove your hips, chasing the heat of pleasure.

Your movements become more frantic with each passing moment, the need to be close to him overwhelming your senses. His heart, beating as wild as a beast against your own chest; Your head grows dizzy with need, a small noise from the back of your throat as his wrists coax your hips against him.

“Jace,” Your breath comes in puffs, cheeks hot with the incessant need to feel him within you. “I need you.”

He hums against your mouth, tantalizing as he tilts his head, “I had not noticed.”

So cocky; you sigh, hips ceasing slightly, hands trailing over the fabric of his night shirt, feeling the warmth of his lean muscles beneath your palms. “You tease me.” You pout; he kisses the expression away with a small grin. You insist in the absence of a response, “You are cruel, to make it so hard for me to remain composed.” His arms pull you by the small of your back in an embrace - shivers over you as you feel his hard arousal drag along the heat of your aching cunt between too many layers of clothing.

“I would have you mad with desire, if it means knowing you are as consumed by me as I am by you.” He mutters into the shell of your ear. Your cheeks, constantly heating under his words, so effortlessly setting you afire.

You pull back enough to trail your lips over his jaw, dropping to press a soft bite upon the skin of his neck; savoring the soft noise, near whimper, from his lips. “You speak as though you haven’t already driven me mad,” You murmur into his skin, “Though I pay it willingly; I would have it no other way.”

To wait any longer would be torture; your hands, hungry and insistent, begin to gather the skirt of your sleep gown - Jace, watching with desire burning heavy in his eyes, hands lying uselessly - the glint of frustration in his gaze is not missed; though you know he wishes to touch you, you revel in the scarce opportunity to take care of him as he does you.

A soft smile plays upon your lips as you look into his fervent eyes, feeling the heat of his desire merge with your own; Slipping beneath his trousers, you let your fingers graze his skin just enough to drive him wild; deliberate, as slow as his own fingers often are when he finds himself between your thighs.

His cock is heavy upon your palm; your thighs, trembling with need as you place a few languid pumps upon him. His head, falling back, hands unable to truly grasp your hips - a groan, uninhibited as his brows knit together. “You’re a vision, my love.”

The endearment sends your hips in a short buck - grinding upon his cock, your arousal finds his own; a choked moan from yourself, falling forward to his chest. Laborious sliding of your hips over his own, spreading your need and coating his cock with your desire. Fingers, twitching against your spine - your own threading through his hair. Breaths together, short huffs and unsteady inhales as you finally guide yourself to the tip of his cock.

“Are you-” His swallow is thick, “Are you sure, love?” He has the gall to question you after such excruciating a wait - though as you stare into his eyes, a flicker, a fleeting observation; He has always taken more than enough time to prepare you to take him; it is no lie that he is rather blessed by the Father - Such memories heat your cheeks. And though you know it may sting, it does not matter to you; You would certainly welcome the sensation. You stir your hips, biting back a noise at the jolt of your sensitive clit against his cock. “Yes, Jace. And you?” You question. An insistent nod, a short groan - "Gods, yes- stop teasing me," he near whines. You conceal a small chuckle of amusement, pressing your lips soundly against him.

And you sink onto him slowly, eyes screwing shut at the sensation - he, with a low groan, head lolling back to expose the long stretch of his neck. A sharp exhale as you lower yourself, heart slamming as you’re filled; a sating desire within you, growing as you find yourself adjusting to him.

When you find yourself fully speared upon your husband, you let out a shuttering whimper; his fingers twitch where they lie, pupils blown wide as he gazes upon you. Your lips find his once more in hunger, whispers of moans swallowed, tongue warm as it slides into his mouth. He tastes of the anise candies he favors; a hint of wine, cherry and dark.

He remains, hips static as you breathe through the sensation of being full of him. His lips are fervent, though any wild need to feel you around him tamped momentarily by his concern for your own comfort and pleasure.

A distant rove of waves upon a shoreline; the memory of Jacaerys, flushed and wide-eyed the first time you shared his bed. You slowly grow accustomed to his size, the hunger boiling within you as you slowly shift, growing restless.

And slowly, experimentally - Jacaerys’ hips push slightly up against yours. You stir at the sensation, his cock pressing a spot deep within you - a keening gasp against him, swallowing his short moan with your lips. A slow lift of your hips, feeling him press against you - your eyes flutter shut once more as a flooding of pleasure courses through you, liquid fire within your veins.

“Gods, my love-” He nearly chokes, “J-just like that-”

Your small gasp as you begin to rock against his pelvis, cock stirring and pressing deliciously against the deepest part of you; upon shaky legs you rise, gently allowing his cock to drag out of your hungered cunt. “Jace,” Your voice is whiny, breathless - unsure what you plan on saying otherwise, your hands slide into the curly locks, tugging gently. He is rendered unable to speak, mouth open before moving to lick the slight salt from your skin.

A flush has grown upon your chest; your husband’s lips have found your breasts, peppering bites and lingering upon a spot just under your neckline, his groans reverberating within your skin. Steadying yourself upon him, you find a rhythm - his cock reaching the deepest parts of you, your head tilting back in true satisfaction, a heat coiling within your gut.

And his lips, ceasing only when your fingers tug at his curls; a curve in his own spine, head falling back against the back of the chair with a groan of pleasure. Heat curls and coils, lit afire by Jacaerys and the feeling of him reaching deep within you.

“Jace, you’re so deep-” You whisper, toes curling with the sounds of your shared desire echoing in the chamber softly. He lets out a small noise at your words, a smattering of pink across his cheeks; cock twitching with desire within you.

The hunger calls you. Without further consideration, you snake a hand between you, down to the heat of your cunt taking him, fingers shaking as you seek your yearning bundle of nerves; His eyes, lidded as he watches you. Jacaerys, in his endless pursuit to ensure your pleasures, has always provided his fingers or tongue to bring you closer to finish - though with him injured below you, you do not mind picking up such slack yourself.

Especially when it brings such deeply melodic sounds of need to his lips. Despite his arousal at your actions, your hand shies away - knowing whatever extension of pleasure you wish to give yourself will be no match for how he so often touches you. Your grip rises instead to steady yourself upon his shoulders, spearing yourself onto him in languid thrusts, ecstasy climbing within you like the wild of fire.

“Look at you, ābrazȳrys.” He mutters, pupils blown in pleasure, hips canting to meet yours. Though you speak not the language, you are familiar with such a word: wife. A shudder of pleasure at his ancient tongue - of which he has whispered many words to you, most unknown.

He, the picture of the gods below you, letting out a sharp exhale in his own pleasure. His lips, slick and bright, mutter your name - at the summon your gaze finds his own, molten and hungry as your hips move together, the feeling of his cock twitching within you, reaching a spot that has your back keening.

“I’m c-close.” He whispers, a heat upon his cheeks - embarrassment, perhaps, at his eagerness. His eyes find you; you’re met with that dark gaze, regally commanding as he speaks. “Gaomagon ziry. Touch yourself, love, I want to feel you.”

Gods save you.

Just as your husband wishes, you drop your fingers once more with no hesitation, jolting. You do not slow your pace; thighs burning, you keen forward, whispering his name against the pulse of his throat, groaning as your fingers press further, tight circles that bring shudders of pleasure.

“Jaesa, so pretty. Renigon aōla.” Jacaerys’ brows, knitted upwards in gratification; voice, leaking of desperation, of some kind of adulation. He quite often slips into that frantic tongue - the rush of pleasure, of ecstasy, his sharp mind rendered unable to decipher the common from the ancient tongue. You do not know the delicious words that fall from his lips, yet it does not matter - they spur you closer still towards completion.

“Jace, I’m close,” You hiss, teeth clenched in desire; your hips, dropping upon him slower, deeper; his arms pull you closer with a groan, lips falling to nip small marks into the smooth of your neck. A moan, unbidden from his sweet lips, “Do not stop, please-” he wishes, and who are you to deny such pretty begging?

When you hit your high of ecstasy, it is with a muffled moan of his name; into the thin linen of his tunic, legs slowing as you roll through pleasure, spasming gently around your husband. His own, quiet moan into your hair, wrists pulling you into him as he whispers, “Yes, ñuha sȳz byka ābrazȳrys, fuck-”

A thrill within you as you ride your high, such vulgar of a word from your husband; and all, your doing. A frantic whimper from your lips into his throat as he bucks his hips up into you, chasing his own high with a soft whimper. “You feel so good, Jacaerys.” You keen, raising to his face as you feel his abdominal muscles tense beneath you; pressing your forehead to his own, you ride through your completion, heavy breaths upon each other.

Noses sliding against his, you drink his small groans, holding him close; a ghost of his lips against yours, a nip of your lip by his teeth. Long lashes fluttering, Jace finds his own high. He releases his seed into you; you feel him, his hips thrusting up into you weakly as the warmth of him spreads within you. His breath, hot against your cheek, lips chasing yours as you pull away slightly, the slight shift in position sending you both in a harmony of whimpers at the sensitivity.

The chamber’s hearth spits and crackles; an ember lands near the floor beside the chair. It smolders out, fading slowly into darkness against the stone as you rest your cheek against Jacaerys’ chest, pleased by his gentle kisses upon your hairline.

After moments of silence, basking in your shared pleasure, you press a kiss to his chest. “Are you alright?” He asks gently, soothing over your spine with the soft of his forearms.

You let out a shaky sigh of satisfaction as you pull back, feeling his cock within you - a fleeting thought; you hope his seed takes. He watches you, eyes warm and gentle as a shaky finger, curled in pain, wipes a stray strand of hair from your forehead - you nod, lifting your hand thumb away the bead of blood that has appeared once more on his cheek; “Yes. And you?” You wonder, pressing a kiss to the freckle upon his lip.

His smile is the kind that makes your heart skip beats. “Always.”

translations; dōna riña - sweet girl

ābrazȳrys - wife

Gaomagon ziry - do it

Jaesa - goddess, holy/divine woman

Renigon aōla - touch yourself

ñuha sȳz byka ābrazȳrys - my good little wife

taglist: @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @elaena-aerrin @smurfelle @greenvita @alyssa-dayne

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #tbr

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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Harry Collett as “Jacaerys Velaryon” in House of the Dragon

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #harry collett #ulf #ulf the white

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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The Great War

Beta read by @moonstruksandco 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏾

Chapter 1 (1/?)

Synopsis: On Dragonstone, tensions rise as war looms on the horizon and the Targaryen family braces for conflict. Jacaerys discovers y/n, his enigmatic stepsister, secretly training with their formidable father, Daemon Targaryen. Initially at odds and harboring deep seated resentment, Jacaerys and y/n’s relationship evolves from adversaries to reluctant allies. As they confront their shared secrets and familial expectations, they find themselves drawn to each other.

Warnings: slow burn infidelity(sorry baela)period accurate misogyny eventual smut

Jace Velaryon x Reader

Drāñe aōha nykeōragon! (Widen your stance!)

Adere! (Faster)

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow across the gardens of the Red Keep. The air was rich with the fragrance of blooming roses, their petals kissed by the evening dew. Within the shadows of the castle walls, a solitary figure moved with grace and precision, the sound of clashing steel echoing through the corridors.

Y/n targaryen, the last daughter of Daemon and Laena, had grown accustomed to the isolation her father's overprotectiveness had imposed. As the youngest and final remnant of her mother's legacy, she bore the weight of her father's undying devotion and his refusal to let her be betrothed. Unlike her sisters, who had dragons and betrothals to occupy their thoughts, y/n had been denied these privileges no her rights, her father's fierce love turning to a cage of golden bars.

In the stillness of the training yard, she faced her father, their swords a blur of motion. Daemon, the Rogue Prince, had been her mentor for years, y/n held a sword in her hand before she even learned to walk, his rigorous training instilling in her a mastery of the blade that rivaled the finest knights of Westeros. Their practice sessions were a secret kept from prying eyes, a testament to Daemon's belief in her strength and his desire to keep her hidden from the suitors who sought her hand.

"You must be quicker, daughter" Daemon admonished, parrying her strike with ease. "Your opponent will not grant you the luxury of hesitation."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her lips forming a determined line as she pressed her attack, their swords ringing out in the twilight. She was a vision of fierce beauty, her movements a dance of deadly elegance. It was in these moments, away from the court's scrutiny, that she felt truly alive.

She stepped back, adjusting her grip on the hilt, her muscles taut with effort and determination. Each clash of their blades sent vibrations through her arms, but she did not falter.

"Ao vāedis!" (You hesitate!) Daemon's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. His eyes, a mirror of her own, bore into her with intensity.

"Ao rūs!" (You retreat!)

Y/n growled, a sound of frustration and resolve mingled, as she advanced once more. This time, she let her instincts take over, her body moving with the fluid grace of a dragon in flight. Her sword sliced through the air, a deadly arc aimed at Daemon's side. He barely had time to deflect it, his lips twitching in approval.

"Better" he murmured, their swords locked together in a struggle of strength.

With a swift movement, he disarmed her, sending her blade skittering across the stone floor. Y/n stumbled back, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Again," he commanded, not giving her a moment's respite.

Y/n retrieved her sword, her mind racing. She needed to find a way to break through his defenses. The moon had risen high, casting a silvery light over the training yard, illuminating their fierce battle.

As they resumed their sparring, Y/n could feel the burn of fatigue creeping into her limbs, but she pushed it aside. This was her chance to prove herself, to show her father that she was not just a daughter to be protected, but a warrior to be reckoned with.

Their movements became a blur of speed and precision, the clang of steel filling the night air. With a final burst of energy, Y/n feinted to the left and then swung her blade in a wide arc, catching Daemon off guard. The tip of her sword rested against his chest, a triumphant smile curling her lips.

Daemon looked down at the blade, then up at his daughter, a rare smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "Well done." He said “but-”

and Daemon’s smile was fleeting, quickly replaced by a serious expression. voice carrying both pride and challenge, "-not quite enough."

Before Y/n could react, Daemon moved with a sudden burst of speed. He sidestepped her blade, bringing his own sword up in a sweeping arc that left her no room to maneuver. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her once more, sending her sword spinning away.

Y/n fell to her knees, panting heavily, her body drenched in sweat. She looked up at Daemon, her face a mix of frustration and respect. "You *pant* beat me… again" she said, her voice trembling with fatigue. No matter how skilled a warrior she thought she was, six men or sixty, he is still Daemon Targaryen. Or so the saying goes.

Daemon extended a hand to her, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "I know what you’re capable of. You have the blood of the dragon, but you need to hone it into something more than mere fire. Strength alone won’t win battles."

Y/n took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Despite her exhaustion, a flicker of determination sparked in her eyes. "I understand" she said, her voice firm. "And I will continue to fight, to become better, until I surpass even you."

Daemon’s gaze held hers, a mixture of challenge and pride evident. "Then keep fighting" he said.

—————————————

Jacaerys sat in the grand common room of Dragonstone, his attention flickering between Baela’s animated chatter and the expansive view of the island’s rugged landscape through the window. The day had turned gray, with clouds rolling in over the sea, casting a dim light over the stone walls. Baela’s voice, though pleasant, faded into a gentle murmur, its rhythm lost against the backdrop of his restless thoughts.

“...and then Ser Greyjoy said—” Baela’s words trailed off as she noticed Jacaerys’s distracted gaze. She studied him for a moment, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Jace, you seem miles away. Are you feeling unwell?”

Jacaerys shook himself from his reverie, offering a polite, if lackluster, smile. “Uh yes, Baela. Just….a bit weary. I think I’ll take a stroll before dinner.”

Baela’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later.”

With a polite nod and a murmured farewell, Jacaerys rose from his seat and exited into the cool, dim-lit corridors of the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and stone as he meandered through the labyrinthine passages. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to his wandering thoughts.

Jacaerys continued his aimless wander through Dragonstone, seeking solace from his mounting boredom. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone, the castle’s grandeur lost on him as he drifted through its labyrinthine corridors. The chill in the air hinted at the coming of a storm, and the gray light seeping through the narrow windows did little to lift his spirits.

As he rounded a particularly dim and winding corridor, he stumbled upon a concealed door, partially obscured by a heavy tapestry. Curiosity sparked, he pushed it open, revealing a hidden staircase descending into shadows. He stared at the weathered stone, its been abandoned for gods knows who how long, should he leave? Alert a guard maybe? Driven by a sudden intrigue, Jacaerys made his way down, his steps echoing softly underfoot.

At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a secluded training area, its walls lined with worn, wooden dummies and scattered practice weapons. The room was illuminated by a few flickering torches, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The sound of clashing swords filled the air, sharp and rhythmic, each strike echoing with the intensity of a serious duel.

Jacaerys edged closer, his heart quickening with anticipation. Through a narrow opening, he glimpsed the source of the commotion. Y/n and Daemon were engaged in a fierce training session, their swords moving with a fluidity and precision that left Jacaerys utterly breathless.

Y/n’s form was a revelation—her movements were both powerful and graceful, each strike and parry executed with a mastery that belied her royal status. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her violet eyes were alight with fierce determination. She wielded her sword with a natural ease, her skill evident in every fluid motion.

Daemon, for his part, matched her with his usual blend of skill and intensity, his focus unwavering as he guided her through the relentless practice. The dynamic between them was electric, a testament to both their expertise and the depth of their training.

Jacaerys watched from the shadows, utterly mesmerized. The sight of Y/n, a princess so adept in the art of combat, was both astonishing and captivating. She moved with a raw, unrestrained energy, each clash of swords sending a thrill through him. Her dedication and strength were palpable, breaking the mold of what he had expected from someone of her rank.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Jacaerys remained hidden, his fascination growing with every moment. The intensity of the training session unfolded before him, leaving him awestruck by Y/n’s sheer skill and determination.

the clashing of swords continued, Jacaerys remained concealed in the shadows, his eyes never leaving Y/n. The way she moved was almost hypnotic, she seemed to embody the very essence of a warrior of a dragon, each movement fluid and deliberate. The torchlight cast flickering patterns on her face, highlighting the fierce concentration in her eyes as she parried Daemon’s relentless attacks.

Daemon, despite his usual stoic demeanor, displayed a rare warmth in his gaze as he watched Y/n. It was clear that their training was more than just a lesson, it was a mutual respect, a shared passion for the art of combat. Jacaerys could see the bond between them, an unspoken understanding that transcended mere instruction.

Y/n’s breaths came in measured bursts, her face flushed with exertion but her spirit unbroken. Each time Daemon disarmed her, she would swiftly retrieve her sword, her resolve unshaken. It was as if she was fueled by an inner fire, a drive to prove herself beyond the constraints of her royal title.

Jacaerys could scarcely believe what he was witnessing. The sight of a princess so engaged in combat, with such raw and unfiltered skill, was both shocking and awe-inspiring. His admiration grew with each passing moment, the image of her unwavering focus and strength imprinted on his mind.

As the training session drew to a close, Y/n’s movements slowed, her fatigue evident. She took a moment to catch her breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. Daemon approached, his expression one of quiet pride, and extended a hand to her. Y/n grasped it, allowing him to help her to her feet with a tired but triumphant smile.

Jacaerys, still hidden, felt a pang of regret that he had not revealed himself. The moment was too intimate, too profound, to intrude upon. Yet he was overwhelmed by the urge to learn more about this remarkable new side to the princess who defied every expectation.

As Y/n and Daemon walked away, Jacaerys emerged from his hiding place, the hidden training ground now feeling like a precious secret he had stumbled upon. He retraced his steps, his mind racing with the revelation of Y/n’s skill and the realization that she was not just a mere princess but a formidable warrior.

________________________

As Jacaerys took his place beside Baela, the grand dining hall was alive with the clinking of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, and the rich aroma of the feast. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding respect, while Daemon loomed at the far end, his imposing figure a constant reminder of his authority.

But Jacaerys was anything but focused on the feast. His mind was a whirlwind, consumed by the revelation of Y/n’s true nature. Seated a few places away, she engaged animatedly with Daemon, her relaxed demeanor concealing a fierce intensity that left Jacaerys utterly stunned. He struggled to maintain his composure, his heart racing as he tried to anchor himself in the present, focusing on Baela beside him.

Baela, clearly noticing his distraction, leaned in with a hint of irritation. “You’re unusually distant today, Jace. What’s on your mind?”

Jacaerys forced a strained smile, his mind still reeling from the discovery. “Just a bit distracted, Baela. Nothing to worry about.”

Baela’s gaze followed his distracted line of sight to Y/n. “You seem particularly absorbed in Y/n. You’ve hardly interacted with her before.”

Jacaerys’s mind was in turmoil, grappling for a coherent explanation. “She… she seems different tonight. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Baela’s expression grew sharper. “Y/n has always been somewhat aloof, and her attitude towards you has been especially cold. So what’s changed with her my prince?”

Jacaerys’s cheeks burned as he struggled to compose himself. “I didn’t realize… I suppose I’ve never had much reason to engage with her.”

As if on cue, Y/n glanced up from her conversation with Daemon and caught Jacaerys’s gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and a sneer formed on her lips. “If you’re going to stare, might I suggest you find a less conspicuous way of doing it?”

Jacaerys’s heart raced, and he quickly looked away, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and panic. He cleared his throat, his voice shaky. “My apologies, Y/n. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Baela’s tone was clipped as she observed his reaction. “It’s clear she’s not fond of your attention. Maybe you should focus on our conversation.”

Jacaerys shifted in his seat, his mind still reeling. “Yes, of course.”

As the evening progressed, Jacaerys struggled to stay present. His thoughts kept spiraling back to the shocking realization, Y/n was not just the aloof youngest sister of his betrothed but a fierce warrior who could likely best the finest knights. The weight of this revelation was almost too much to bear. His heart pounded, his mind raced with questions, and he felt an overwhelming sense of urgency and confusion. Balancing his engagement to Baela with this newfound, intense fascination for Y/n was a struggle that left him grappling with a storm of emotions, trying desperately to appear calm while his internal world was anything but.

_______________

Jacaerys lay in his bed, the luxurious sheets offering little comfort as he stared up at the canopy, his mind a tumultuous storm. The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light of a solitary candle, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Despite the late hour, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of Y/n swam before him, a relentless tide of thoughts he couldn’t control.

He had seen Y/n countless times over the years, always regarding her as inconsequential, just another member of the extended family. But tonight had shattered that illusion. The memory of her fierce intensity, her casual yet commanding presence, played over and over in his mind. His heart still raced with the revelation that she was so much more than he had ever imagined.

“Seven hells,” Jacaerys muttered, turning over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time. The shock of seeing her sparring, her skill and strength evident, had turned his world upside down. How had he missed this? How had he been so blind?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the thoughts, but they only grew stronger. Her fierce eyes, the way she had sneered at him, the effortless grace in her movements—these images were seared into his mind. He realized that her aloofness, her distance, had all been an act. The real Y/n was formidable, a force to be reckoned with.

The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. His mind raced with questions. Had anyone else known? Had baela and rhaena? How long had she been hiding this side of herself? And why?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder, someone who had stumbled upon a closely guarded secret. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his perception of her had been completely wrong. She wasn’t just the youngest sister of his betrothed, she was a warrior, and he had to know more.

He had an insatiable desire to understand her, to learn more about the real Y/n. The very thought made his heart pound even harder.

———————-

Rolling out of bed, jace knew he couldn’t wait until morning. He had to confront her, to get answers. Pulling on his clothes with a sense of urgency, he left his chambers, navigating the dimly lit corridors with purpose.

He made his way to the same tapestry from earlier and pulled it back to reveal the hidden stairwell. It was eerily quiet, the moon casting a silvery glow through the cracks of the ceiling illuminating over the grounds. His heart raced as he approached, hoping to find her there.

Sure enough, there she was. Y/n stood alone, her sword in hand, practicing her forms with a precision that took his breath away. She moved with the fluidity of a dancer and the deadly intent of a warrior.

Jace ventured forth, his footsteps hesitant yet purposeful. His heart pounded in his chest, driven by an insatiable curiosity that would not be quelled. He watched her, mesmerized, as she wielded her sword with a grace that belied its lethal intent.

He stepped forward, the gravel beneath his feet betraying his presence. Her head snapped up, eyes widening in shock before narrowing into a glare of cold fury. "Jacaerys!? What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice a mix of surprise and irritation.

"I-I couldn't sleep" he stammered, advancing tentatively. "I saw you slip away and... I followed you."

She blinked, the incredulity plain on her face. "Why? What possesses you to intrude upon my solitude?"

"I just... I had to know," he mumbled, his gaze faltering under her scrutiny. "Why you're training like this. Why in secret."

"It is none of your concern" she retorted, lowering her sword yet maintaining a stance of wary readiness. "Leave, jacaerys."

But he remained steadfast, words tumbling from his lips in a desperate attempt to explain. "No, I mean... I want to understand. This side of you... it’s different."

Her eyes flashed with a tempest of anger. "You ought not to be here. How did you even find me?"

He shrugged, still fumbling for coherence. "I just... I was talking with baela and then took a walk and the tapestry was there and you-, and... I don't know, I followed it down. And, um... I saw you training with Daemon the other day, you were incredible really" he added, an awkward laugh escaping him. "I didn't mean to spy, but—"

She cut him off, her voice seething with fury. "You spied on me with father? You have no right—"

"I know, I know" Jace interjected, hands raised in a gesture of placation. "But I was curious, I had no idea I would find you here. You are….exceptionally skilled, and I wanted to comprehend why you kept this hidden."

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, knuckles white with anger. "You had no right to follow me or to spy on me. This is my business, not yours. Leave at once."

"…No," Jace said, though his voice quivered with uncertainty. He reached for a sword from the rack, clutching it tightly. "I… I want you to train with me."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "You think you can match me? Very well. But if I win, you leave me alone. Forever."

Jace nodded, determination flickering in his eyes despite the apprehension. He took his stance, readying himself. As they squared off, he was acutely aware of the disparity in their skills. He had been trained by Ser Harwin and his father, Ser Laenor, both formidable fighters. Yet, the difference in their skill became glaringly apparent as soon as the duel commenced.

She moved with a fluidity and precision that seemed almost effortless. Jace, while not unskilled, found himself struggling to keep up. Her blade was a blur of motion, each strike landing with an ease that belied her skill. Jace’s attempts to block and parry were clumsy in comparison, his sword heavy in his hand, his movements less coordinated.

With a deft sidestep, she evaded his clumsy counterattack, her blade flicking out to land a sharp, stinging blow against his side. Jace grunted, stumbling back as he tried to regain his footing. He tried to press the attack, his strikes intended to be forceful and precise, but she anticipated and dodged each one with practiced grace.

Her training under Daemon was evident in every movement. Her speed and control were extraordinary, a product of years of rigorous instruction. Jace, despite his own solid training, was outmatched by the sheer finesse of her techniques. His blade wavered as he fought to keep pace, his breath coming in short, labored gasps.

She continued her relentless assault, her strikes not only precise but delivered with a speed that left him barely able to react. He attempted to anticipate her moves, but she was always a step ahead, her sword flashing through the air with a deadly grace that rendered his defenses ineffective.

Finally, with a decisive strike, she disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the ground. He fell to one knee, panting heavily, his face flushed with exhaustion. Her blade hovered above him, a clear indication of her superior skill.

"Stay away from me" she commanded coldly, her voice laced with a fierce finality.

Jace, still on the ground, looked up at her with a mix of admiration and frustration. He nodded, breathless and defeated. "I’ll let you be…. For now."

With a final, disdainful glance, she turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. Jace remained where he was, his resolve both tested and strengthened by the encounter. The duel had not only shown him the breadth of her training but also deepened his determination to understand the enigmatic warrior.

#house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #jace velaryon #jace targaryen #house targaryen #tbr

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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The most important person in the world can't fly to the most dangerous place in the world.

GAME OF THRONES | 7.06 - "Beyond the Wall HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | 2.04 - "The Red Dragon and the Gold"

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #jacerys velaryon #tyrion lannister

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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who needs model viewer when you have museum mode😭

i want to be under that table while he eats dinner so bad, riding his boot and-

oh and i want to lick that bicep

#johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny tcm #tcm #johnny x reader #johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer x reader #texas chainsaw game #the texas chainsaw massacre

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — 𝐈𝐕.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and jacaerys go to claw isle, the ancestral seat of house celtigar, to treat with your brother. needless to say, tensions are high.

part of a series, read part three here.

{ FORMAT: one-shot, part of a series.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.7K (another long one).

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), creative liberties taken with claw isle & house celtigar, reader has a poor relationship with her brother, canon-typical misogyny, little bit of plot, lots of smut, overprotective jacaerys, p in v sex, unprotected sex, missionary position, mild breeding kink, first time oral sex (m!receiving), handjobs, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), body worship (f&m receiving), hair pulling kink, multiple orgasms, making out, lots of love declarations, jace only makes love, everything is extremely gentle, very soft aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Finally, it’s here! I’m really trying to get this series squared away before the season ends, but that’s definitely not going to happen. 😭 Nonetheless, I’m going to keep pushing for weekly to bi-weekly uploads with this and work on requests! As always, thank you all so much for your continued love and support! It means the world to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐀 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚, 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Something about it seemed ominous and dark, as if there was an unseen presence lingering in the fog. The thick scent of saltwater stung your nostrils as you flew above the dark waters. It was not ideal weather for travel, especially upon the back of a dragon.

Vermax maintained a steady pace as you and Jacaerys flew to Claw Isle. The journey was lengthy, but the both of you were filled with an inner fire and determination to subdue your brother and bring the Celtigar fleet into the fold. It had been a handful of hours since your departure, growing closer and closer to your home.

If it weren’t for the constant feeling of peril and dread, you would’ve fallen asleep on the saddle, slumped against Jacaerys as he steered the dragon over a vast plane of coastal cliffs. He seemed quiet, contemplative — you assumed he thought of his mother.

Her disappearance to King’s Landing for reasons unknown had put a stressor on the War Council, all in complete disarray. Rhaenys was at the helm in an attempt to steer what was now a rudderless group, and Jacaerys could think of no better person suited to bring a gaggle of old men to heel.

It was important for you to maintain your resolve, support Jacaerys in whatever he needed. He was going to help fight your battles, but you wanted to help him, too. You couldn’t imagine the inner turmoil he was experiencing, calm on the outside. He was so selfless, rarely placing his own needs before your own, and if he did, it wasn’t done willingly.

The view of the ocean from the back of a dragon was enchanting — dark waters stretching as far as the eye could see, a thick haze hovering above, salty droplets of mist peppering across your cheeks as you flew. You neglected to inform Clement of your presence, preferring the element of surprise.

A serpentine cry escaped Vermax as he swooped over a line of trees atop a peninsula, prompting you to gasp and hold on tightly to the saddle. This was only your second time on dragonback, and thankfully, it wasn’t as frightening as the first — even then, they were unpredictable creatures.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys asked, chest snug against your back, face nearly brushing your shoulder as he guided Vermax away from any cliffsides — for your sake, mostly. Despite the dire situation of the Council, he was more determined than ever to placate your brother. They needed the Celtigar fleet if they were to win the war.

You nodded, grip beginning to slack upon the saddle as the fog of misty clouds began to break, revealing an island in the distance. “We’re nearly there.” You replied, brows furrowing together as you came upon the island. It was strange to be home under such circumstances — you wish it were different.

Claw Isle was somewhat larger than Dragonstone, and Celtigar Keep rose high above the clouds, appearing in all of its glory. It was carved of white stone, turned gray and dark in coloration from many decades of weathering at seaside. It was pointed and arching with high, spindling towers, much of the castle was built in and around the rocky mass it sat atop.

The coastlines were clear, grayish shores that seemed to match the pallor of the Celtigar stronghold. Crackclaw Point, the peninsula, was more inhabited with towns and fishing villages, able to be spotted from where you flew. A lone fisherman on the beach stared overhead at the sight of a dragon making its descent somewhere far from the citadel walls.

A massive bridge connected Claw Isle to Crackclaw Point, an impressive contraption of thick stone that ferried denizens above the violet swell of the ocean’s tides. The banners of crimson crabs against a field of white fluttered in the distance, and you had to steel yourself from becoming trapped within the past.

The memories you held of home were not all bright and mirthful — some were horrible, others good, others muddled somewhere in between. You wondered how Clement would feel about your intrusion, answering his stubbornness and pride with that of a dragon, and then you realized that he would have no choice in the matter.

“Land far along the beach,” You instructed, feeling the steady beat of Vermax’s wings crawl to a halt as he descended. Jacaerys guided him to the shore, and the landing was hard, causing you to lurch forward within the saddle. “We will walk the rest of the way.”

Jacaerys dismounted first, sliding along the olive-and-sienna wing of his dragon, extending his arms out to you. As you moved down, albeit sluggishly, his hands circled your hips, grabbing you and placing you down onto solid ground.

A crack of thunder resonated overhead, accompanied with the swirling, ominous skies of an encroaching storm. Jacaerys held you still, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “If anything happens, you stay by my side.” He murmured, somewhat afraid that it would come to a fight. As long as he could reach Vermax, the odds were exponentially in his favor.

“Of course,” You reassured him, giving his forearms a gentle squeeze on either side of you. “If Clement is willing, we should have our fleet and be off by tomorrow. Though, I fear it might not be such an easy feat.” With a soft sigh, you stretched up upon your toes, kissing Jace with a brief flutter of passion.

It was soothing, being in the presence of one another. Jacaerys found it easier to simply exist with you without worrying about wandering eyes and being caught. You were somewhere unfamiliar, but he did not let his guard down. He reciprocated your kiss, keeping it chaste before the both of you began to walk down the strand.

Vermax paced along the coastline, flying from the wet sand toward the driftwood-strewn inclines and hills, blending in against the backdrop of tall pine trees. The dragon stayed close to Jacaerys’s side, but away from the wandering eyes of any potential hostilities.

Jacaerys felt your hand slip into his as the two of you made your trek to Celtigar Keep. You regailed him with tales of your home, from the massive stone stronghold to the vast amount of treasures that resided within. The dour curtain of veiled clouds hung low upon the strand, covering some of the Keep’s spires in a hazy fog.

It was not unlike Dragonstone in terms of intimidation — any fortress of such a grim caliber was sure to strike fear into those who saw it. Jacaerys found it to be beautiful, but not when an idiotic ruler sat inside of it. He didn’t want to cast judgment upon your brother so quickly, but he was doing very little to garner any sympathy.

“What is your brother like?” Jacaerys questioned, idly tracing his thumb over your knuckles. He wanted to prepare himself for whatever happened — and he had a hunch that he and Clement would butt heads like two rearing elk. “You rarely speak of him.”

There was a good reason for it, given your strained relationship. You hesitated, casting your forlorn gaze towards the beach instead, deciding on how to proceed. “Clement and I have not always had a good relationship,” You confessed, brows furrowing together. “He is stubborn and arrogant, but my father’s enablement of him simply worsened any negative qualities.”

Jacaerys listened closely, recognizing the frustration etched into your features. Whenever you spoke about Clement, it was never anything good. Your voice was often laced with irritation or a subtle pain. “Do you think he will listen to you?” His voice softened at his inquiry.

“I am unsure,” Admitting the bitter truth of the challenge that this mission presented was a hard pill to swallow. “I don’t think he will, but I must persuade him to listen and do what is right. It will be comforting to have you here with me.” You replied, offering Jace a threadbare smile.

“I wouldn’t have let you go alone,” Jace murmured, a tender smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He feared becoming tempestuous in your brother’s presence — if hostilities or insults were hurled, there was no telling what he would do. “Is this the Keep where you grew up in?” He asked, motioning to the castle ahead.

The ocean lived within your blood just as much as that of Old Valyria — saltwater and the tides, intermingled with that of ancient ancestry. “Yes,” You replied, gaze drifting toward the scaling fortress of naval power, its walls and towers decorated with some oceanic motif. “It looked much brighter when I was younger.”

Jacaerys could envision you, a wide-eyed child, with a love of the sea, playing somewhere along the coast with the overbearing ire of your father. It was much like Driftmark, only Celtigar Keep was thrice the size and more like some dour mausoleum than a true castle.

“Should I worry about any hostilities from your brother?” Jace questioned, keeping one palm atop the pommel of his blade. The sword had been a gift from Daemon — despite the rift, it was an item of sentimental significance.

“My brother is half the fighter that you are, so I suspect not. His tongue is sharper than his blade — he wields insults instead of a sword.” You explained, and as you walked along the strand, the Keep became close and closer, coming into your focus. “Do not give him any satisfaction, or he will use it against you.”

It was good information to have, and Jace nodded, resolute and stalwart as his gaze turned from Celtigar Keep to you. There was a softness that found his features whenever he glanced at you, and he wanted nothing more than to steal you away and shower you with his affections.

Perhaps, if you were to stay at Celtigar Keep, he would be presented with ample opportunities.

It was foolish to think that way given the dire nature of your mission, providing his mother with an army and a fleet. The excitable, amorous nature of youth prevailed, but Jacaerys had other motives that offered some context to his desire. He’d been mulling it over for some time now, and the way forward had never been clearer.

As the both of you made it to the bridge, you crossed until you were faced with the bolted Gate of the Crab, a massive stone-wrought wall armed with crossbows and footsoldiers bearing the Celtigar tabard. They blocked your path, looking between you and Jacaerys with an air of concern and bewilderment.

“Who goes there?” A guard questioned, extending a polearm to bar your path.

“Lady Celtigar, daughter of Lord Bartimos, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne.” You announced, happening to earn a brief smile from Jace’s end. He thoroughly enjoyed the way you introduced him, regal and with a lengthy list of titles and accolades to reinforce his position, and yours.

Both of the guards appeared shocked, glancing between one another before looking at you and Jace. He stood with his hands interlocked atop the pommel of his sword, crimson cape billowing in the wind. It bore the black-and-red Targaryen sigil, doublet stitched with silver dragons and intricate patterns.

“What business does the Prince have with Lord Celtigar?” A guard piped up, demanding a suitable answer before allowing either of you inside. He addressed Jacaerys with a certain level of sternness, as if it would intimidate him — it didn’t in the slightest.

“It does not matter whether or not I have business with your lord. What matters is that Lady Celtigar is here to treat with her brother — why deny her that satisfaction?” Jacaerys quipped, brows furrowing together. His abilities in diplomacy and action had improved greatly since his time with Lord Cregan Stark in the North.

A wariness grew between the guards, who looked to the crossbowmen supplanted along the walls, and the back to the both of you. Still, they hesitated on letting either of you inside — until Vermax appeared. The dragon let out a screech, flying right over the bridge you stood upon before circling around into the thicket of pines.

Jacaerys smiled triumphantly, head canting to one side. “Surely, you will not deny us now.” He quipped, hovering protectively at your flank, curls billowing with the saltwater breeze. The guards swallowed whatever fear had risen into their throats, and promptly stepped aside, opening up the gates.

You fought to withhold the look of amusement upon your face, passing through the Crabgate with Jacaerys. Having Vermax at your side was an excellent idea, and you had to credit Jace for his ingenious use of dragons. Diplomacy wasn’t something either of you were used to, but it was a role worth growing into.

The grounds of Celtigar Keep were vast, an oceanic aesthetic interwoven into the architecture. The sigil of the red crab was everywhere you looked, repeated again and again. Jacaerys appeared perplexed, brows furrowing together as he observed his surroundings. It reminded him much of Driftmark.

The castle now seemed aware of your presence, the Lady Celtigar and the Heir to the Iron Throne, walking in-tandem toward the Great Hall. The guards allowed you passage through the courtyard and the grounds of the Keep, the hall looming in the distance, wreathed in a shroud of gray mist.

Jacaerys steeled himself for what was to come, meeting your brother head-on in his own home. From what little of him you’d described, he was his own age, nine-and-ten, bullheaded with little knowledge of how to truly rule. A challenge that he welcomed, truthfully — if he was to one day ascend the throne, he would need to know how to deal with unruly subjects.

A set of stairs ascended towards the Great Hall, marked by braziers, crabs holding large bowls with still-smoldering embers inside. The hour was beginning to grow late, sometime in the evening, and you and Jacaerys were both weathered from the journey.

As the guards opened the doors to the Great Hall, it was nothing more than a large room, dome-shaped with windows above, allowing for natural light to trickle through. Each column that held the hall aloft were wreathed in stone motifs of crabs and seaweed, winding down toward the floor.

In the primary seat of House Celtigar, a throne fashioned from the very rock that the Keep stood upon, sat your brother, Clement. He seemed less than enthused with your presence, but perplexed nonetheless, gaze drifting between both yourself and Jacaerys.

“You could’ve sent a raven, sister. I had no idea of your coming to Claw Isle,” Clement sat slumped within his supposed throne, one hand tucked into a fist beneath his chin, the other tapping against the stone arm. “It seems you’ve brought a guest.”

“In your colorful missive to me, you implored me to not send any more ravens,” You retorted, folding your hands together. “I did what anyone would do — came to see you in-person.” It had been two years, and Clement seemed older in the face, but his demeanor hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Clement scoffed, brows furrowing together at your snide comment. You were determined and ambitious, he would give you that, but he was prepared to turn you down immediately. “You’ve come here to do what, exactly? Demand half of my fleet? Admonish me for sending our father away? What outcome did you expect from this?”

Jacaerys answered instead, his tone steely and measured, the kingly voice of a man striving to fight for his mother’s claim and his own. “We expect half of your forces, as promised. Your house swore an oath to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen — do not make your family look foolish.” He retorted, visage one of stalwart composure, a glare thrown in Clement’s direction.

“Remind me — who are you?” Clement questioned, his tone tinged with an edge of mockery as he looked upon Jacaerys with disdain. Two young men of different morals and caliber preparing to butt heads — you couldn’t imagine that this would go well.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne,” He declared, hands interlocked atop the pommel of his sword. “Ensuring that you hold your oath fulfilled.” Jacaerys did not like your brother — there was an arrogance there that irritated him.

Clement scoffed, turning his attention to you again, hands folding together within his lap. “Brought your Prince with you, did you, sister?” He sneered, his expression sour before he shook his head. “Where is that dragon of yours? Shall you burn me where I stand if I do not do as the Queen demands?”

“My Lord, your house is pledged to Queen Rhaenyra, surely you will not —” One of Clement’s advisers, Lord Mydas Smythe, an older man with a rather bushy set of brows, implored your brother to listen to reason.

“The fleet is needed here, in the defense of Claw Isle and Crackclaw Point. Ser Criston Cole is parading through the Riverlands, unchecked and unchallenged. Soon, he will turn his sights to us. Though, I will show you kindness and give you two ships — for your troubles.” Clement snapped, waving a hand dismissively at Lord Smythe.

“You seem very worried for a man cowering behind his castle walls,” Jacaerys relented, shoulders squaring up against Clement, dark brows furrowed together in a look of complete and utter spite. “Since you have your armies and acclaimed fleet, why not ride out and meet Cole yourself?”

Clement’s mouth twitched, throat growing thick with rage as he was put in his place before his Court, by a boy with little experience of anything. “I cannot say I’ve heard much of your valor either, Prince of Dragonstone. Instead, you’ve come to play politics with my airheaded sister.”

“Mind your tongue before Lady Celtigar.” Jacaerys’s voice was sharp and smoldering with rage when Clement so blatantly insulted you, and he nearly retorted again if it weren’t for you. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tense as he prepared to fight for your honor.

Your hand slyly tugged upon the sleeve of his doublet, urging him not to act just yet. He remained quiet, adhering to your advice as he silently fumed, glaring at Clement with all of the tempestuous ferocity of a young dragon. If a look could burn one where they stood, your brother would’ve been ash and bone.

“I would ask you to reconsider,” Your voice subtly quivered, anxiousness beginning to get the better of you. “Please, Clement. This is the cause our father pledged to — and it is a worthy one. We cannot have our house branded as oath breakers. Do not throw everything away for the sake of your pride.”

Your brother’s nostrils flared, fingers clenching together into a tight fist as he fought to maintain his composure before his small court. “My pride?” He quipped, tone harsh and unyielding before he exhaled, turning away for a brief moment. “I will have my answer for you on the morrow. For now, you are guests in my Keep — do not take advantage of my hospitality.”

Perhaps, you had gotten to Clement, even if it was for the briefest of moments. Your father had always favored your brother, but pushed him too far — excelling in everything, shoved to the very edge of greatness at the cost of his own sanity.

Lord Smythe seemed rather disappointed in Clement’s lack of action and propriety. The older man looked to you with a withering expression, visibly apologetic before he bowed and took his leave. You offered him a thin smile, one of subtle reassurance.

The halls remained eerily quiet, thick with a strained tension that threatened to erupt between Clement and Jacaerys, in particular. You wanted to avoid a physical confrontation — and you knew that Jace wouldn’t shy away, being twice the fighter that your brother was.

Despite Jace’s desire to continue pressing him, he yielded, hands gripping the pommel so tightly that it threatened to snap into two. He hated the way Clement treated you, as if you were insignificant and unimportant, more of a nuisance than true family.

One of the guards stepped in as Clement stood from the Celtigar seat, giving you a disparaging stare before he disappeared, slipping through one of the crab-adorned doors. Knights in his service followed dutifully, leaving you and Jacaerys in the Great Hall, save for the presence of guardsmen and a handful of advisors.

The halls of Celtigar Keep were incredibly familiar to you, and the guard inevitably escorted you and Jacaerys to your chambers, your quarters down the corridor from his own. Yours happened to be the very same you stayed in for most of your life, until you were made to become Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting.

Your chambers were far more lavish than your humble accommodations on Dragonstone, but you much preferred it to Celtigar Keep. Here, everything seemed hollow, and memories stirred with you — most of them evoked a sense of melancholy. You hoped that your time here was short and fleeting, if it all went in your favor.

𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

You had barely touched your food, pacing your newfound surroundings, studying the old decorations you had scattered about your chambers.

Many fixings had belonged to you since childhood — relics of your youth scattered atop the mantle above the hearth, gowns tucked away that you hadn’t worn since your teenage years. It evoked a strong sense of nostalgia, perhaps a yearning for the past.

Jacaerys did not want to stay put in his assigned chambers for long. With haste, he stealthily moved through the door and made for your room, unseen and filled with a sense of excitement.

Before you could leave to sneak away to Jacaerys’s room, he was already at your door, quietly slipping inside with his belongings, silvery platter of seafood included. “Are you going somewhere?” You questioned, watching as he hastily stepped across the room to set his meal beside yours.

“No,” Jacaerys replied, facing you with a soft expression. “Just here,” He hesitated, searching your face for any sign of discomfort or protest at his subtle request. He cared very little for the repercussions or consequences — you were no longer on Dragonstone, and the scrutiny of your relationship wasn’t something that worried him. “If you are agreeable to it.”

A smile spread across your features, vibrant and uplifting despite the charged, dour situation earlier that evening. “There is nowhere else that I’d want you to be,” You replied, heart stirring within your chest as your stomach filled with the excitable churning of butterflies. “If you didn’t come, I would’ve found my way to you eventually.”

Content and warmed by your words, Jacaerys found it difficult to suppress a grin of his own, mirth twinkling within his eyes. “There aren’t as many wandering eyes here,” He mused, placing his knapsack on top of your footlocker. “I thought perhaps, I could stay this time — until the dawn.”

A semblance of delight rippled through you, accompanied with your still-flourishing love for him. Jacaerys being here meant a great deal to you, more than he would ever realize. To have him insist that he share your bed until morning made you most elated. “Please stay.” You insisted.

He made himself comfortable, careful gaze absorbing each and every detail of your chambers. The relics and trinkets organized on shelves intrigued him, some of them being handmade dragons and knights. Jace picked up one of them, crafted from stone, turning it over within the light.

“I am sorry for my brother,” You sighed, shrugging your overcoat aside, draping it over the foot of your bed. The gowns you wore beneath were tattered and muddied at the ends, used for traveling and practical purposes. “I did not want you to be the subject of his ire.”

Jacaerys’s jaw tensed slightly at mention of your brother, whose tongue would be cut away if he made another insult against you. “He sullies your good name,” He murmured, brows furrowing together as he studied the intricacies of your chambers. “I apologize if I lost my temper. I loathed the way he spoke to you.”

Admittedly, you felt quite the opposite — his protectiveness over you was incredibly attractive and gallant, qualities that you adored about him. “I do believe that he needs to be humbled, and you do it so brilliantly.” You replied, fidgeting with the ends of your sleeves. It was an old dress made for travel. “Thank you for defending me.”

His brown hues softened once more, dancing with an immeasurable amount of affection for you, a bright ardor that refused to be snuffed out. “You needn’t thank me,” Jacaerys stepped closer, lips briefly pressing against your forehead. “I will always protect you, until my last breath.” His words were a solemn vow, not easily broken.

With a soft exhale, you squeezed his hand, careening into his warm embrace. “Are you hungry? We could eat, if you’d like. I suspect that nothing will come of this evening until we treat with my brother tomorrow.” You sighed, knowing that waiting would make everything worse.

“Plenty of time on our hands,” Jacaerys chimed, yet his honeyed words seemed thick with implications of how to fill your unoccupied time. It was on your mind just as heavily, yet you pretended to be clueless, canting your head to one side. “Let’s eat.”

It would give the both of you ample time to figure out some play or strategy when it came to Clement. You knew that with enough pressure and whittling, he would finally obey your demands. Nevertheless, you didn’t want to plague your mind with doubt — not now, anyway.

Lukewarm seafood sat piled upon porcelain plates, accompanied by generous helpings of roasted vegetables and hunks of half-stale bread. It was better than scraps or rations, and you led Jacaerys toward the small, ornate table situated within your quarters.

It felt so blissful like this — alone with him, basking in the moment, enjoying a meal together without fear of interruptions or speculation. You sat diagonally from one another, candlelight dancing atop the driftwood table as you cut into your filet of fish.

“If we cannot convince your brother to deliver on his oath, what then?” Jacaerys asked, jaw tensing. He didn’t want to fight your brother, but if that’s what was needed of him, he would do it without question. “We cannot return home empty-handed.”

Your shoulders sank in a brief sigh. “Clement is foolish, arrogant, and stubborn — but he knows when to give it up. This is all some display and spectacle meant to goad me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.” Glancing at Jace, you seemed more determined than ever. “And neither should you.”

That would be a difficult feat, biting his tongue while your brother assailed you with bitter, venomous words. Jacaerys would sooner cut his tongue for it than sit idly by while you suffered. “I won’t let him tarnish your honor, and I will not sit by while he insults you. I cannot do it.” He replied, shaking his head.

“Sometimes, that is what you have to do, Jacaerys. I promise that I can handle it. I just — I don’t want you to fall prey to his viciousness, that’s all.” You loved all of Jacaerys — everything about him was good, even his sharp tongue and quick temper.

Jace stared at you, love burning within his eyes, coupled with that of an unwavering devotion. “I wouldn’t stoop to that level,” He reached for your hand, digits tracing across the ridges of your knuckles. “Not with you.” Solemn and stalwart, he squeezed your fingers, and you returned the gesture.

“You’re a good man, Jacaerys.” You crooned, steadfast in your belief in him, in your own devotion. Part of you always feared that the fantasy would fade and duty would pledge him to another, but so far, it hadn’t happened yet. You hoped that it stayed that way. “I am fortunate to keep your company.”

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss atop your knuckles before he released you, returning to his food with disinterest. “My heart is yours,” It was the same, saccharine assurance he’d stated time and time again. “Until the end of my days.”

Jacaerys wanted this for the rest of his life — and he could have it. He was going to ask you. Perhaps not now, but the moment felt right, and it could be upon him instantaneously if he wasn’t prepared. The idea of you being his wife, enjoying meals like this in the sanctuary of your chambers together, unperturbed by prying eyes — he wanted this, and he wanted you.

Through deliberate bites of sautéed seafood, Jacaerys gazed at you with a doe-like expression, studying your beautiful features, the way you treated him to a smile when you caught him staring. He was the fortunate one, the luckiest man alive in the realm to have fallen in love with you, and with every breath he drew, he only loved you more.

When you caught his smoldering gaze, you felt a familiar warmth dance along the length of your spine. Smitten, you absentmindedly dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your cloth. “Do I have something on my face?” You questioned, feeling gluttonous for consuming your food so quickly.

Seafood was a commonality on Claw Isle, but it tasted wonderful each time — perhaps it was the familiarity of it and the warmth of home that made you feel this way. Nonetheless, you sat back within your seat, feeling undeniably hot beneath Jacaerys’s tender stare.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, that's all.” He hummed, heart swelling tenfold when you began to giggle. Jace wondered if it seemed too silly, doting on you during dinner, but you didn’t protest whatsoever. “You have nothing on your face, if it makes you feel better.”

His sweetly-spoken compliments made your insides melt, turning to a pool of heat as you played with your fork. You smiled at Jacaerys as if he were the sun itself, warm and vibrant, keeping you in his orbit. “I love you.” You hummed, and as you finished your meal, you gently stood up, pressing a kiss against the top of his head in-passing.

Jacaerys felt his features turn warm with a rosy coloration, though he wondered what you were doing, watching as you paced across your chambers. You knelt beside the hearth, adding more kindling and wood onto the fire before you dusted your hands off on your skirts.

“These chambers were my home for the longest time,” You sighed, peering over the gray walls, decorated in plenty of your own furnishings and personal touches. “It is strange to be back here, but having you with me makes it all much more bearable.”

Removing himself from the table, he joined you in touring your quarters, following you past the small set of doors into the sanctity of your bedroom. It hadn’t been used in years, everything perfectly in-place, the same as you left it. You opened up your wardrobe with a huff of laughter.

“What is it?” Jacaerys asked, head canting to one side as you removed one gown in particular. It was resplendent and beautifully-made, handcrafted with silver embroidery against fields of cream and crimson — the colors of House Celtigar.

“My father had this made for me when he attempted to find me suitable marriage prospects,” You explained, chewing at the inside of your cheek. Thankfully, you were sent away before you could be married to some middle-aged man from the Stormlands. “I never did get to wear it.” You mused.

He envisioned you in it so very clearly — perfection incarnate, in his eyes. Jacaerys’s gaze softened at the sight of you, exuberant and smiling at him with affection interwoven into your features. “You would look beautiful in it,” He murmured, lips twitching into a soft smile. “Though, you look enchanting in anything and everything.”

You loved him so deeply, letting it seep into your bones, filling you with an insurmountable feeling of ardor. Being alone with him without fear of intrusion was a wonderful feeling, something that you wished you could have more of — on Dragonstone and everywhere else.

With a soft exhale, you stowed the dress aside, gently shutting the massive, gilded doors to your wardrobe before peering to the window. It was nearly sundown, the sunset hidden behind darker sheets of gray, thick clouds, but nighttime was close on its heels.

“Did your father ever succeed in finding you a suitable betrothal?” Jacaerys inquired, picturing you in that gown, standing by his side when he asked your father for your hand. The question was innately harmless, perhaps his own curiosity getting the best of him, but he needed to know.

The question blindsided you, filling you with a sense of mild bewilderment as you cleared your throat. “No,” It was better that way — if you had been betrothed, you might’ve never formed the bond with Jacaerys that you had. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. “He did not, and I am thankful for it — I met you.”

Jacaerys gazed at you with true love, brown hues swirling with tenderness and an adoration that drowned out everything else. He could no longer imagine his existence without you in it, and he loathed to think what could’ve happened had you already been promised to another.

Now, that possibility to become a union seemed very real, a reality that was just within his grasp, so visceral and raw that even he could see it in his mind’s eye. Jacaerys smiled at that, briefly pressing a kiss against your temples before he settled down. “I am thankful for it, too.” He confessed, voice soft and assured.

“I’m going to change out of this dreadful thing,” You mumbled, pinching the muddied fabric between your fingertips as you cleared your throat. “Are you tired?” Admittedly, exhaustion hadn’t gripped you yet — you were somewhat awkward, having Jacaerys here in your chambers.

There was no need to hurry, no suspicions, nothing to rush — it was just the both of you until tomorrow. Of course, there were always certain proclivities on your mind, but you held your tongue, for now.

“Not entirely,” Jacaerys replied, removing his leather belt and scabbard, placing both beside the foot of your bed. It was beautiful, with four towering posts draped in a curtain of cerulean silk. Even he felt the unusual tension, attempting to alleviate it with a smile. “I suppose I’ll join you.”

Something gnawed at him — the very same question he’d been mulling over within his mind for a week now, perhaps even before then. Jacaerys observed in rapturous silence as you removed an embroidered evening slip from your wardrobe, the silk nearly translucent, the color of sage.

He swallowed the growing lump within his throat, attempting to quell his nerves, but to no avail. Jacaerys had never known fear quite like this before — there were different shades of terror. The fear of death and loss, a fear of war, perhaps — but none so great as a fear of rejection.

You sluggishly peeled away your coarse dress, tugging at the leather ties as it loosened, slack upon your body. It was tattered and trimmed with mud at the edges, prompting you to toss it somewhere onto the floor. The smallclothes you wore were much of the same, common garments crafted for travel.

A semblance of sweet warmth and ardor seemed to make a permanent residence upon Jace’s features as he watched you disrobe. Those brown hues of his traced over your delicate curves, every facet of your physique committed to memory.

Your beauty was one only described in fairytales and the ballads written by wayward poets — a beauty that Jacaerys often found himself in awe of. As you carefully pried away your smallclothes to put on the silken slip in its place, his breath caught within his throat.

This could be his life — he could not picture it without you anymore. It all seemed so gray and lonely without you by his side, without your steadfast support and belief in him, without your love. If the future was as bright as he imagined it to be, he could see you as his Queen, his wife, his equal in all things.

Perhaps it was his duty to make his intentions known — to have his mother’s blessing before swearing an oath, to have the favor of your father, but it all seemed inconsequential. He no longer feared consequences, no longer feared the brashness of such a decision.

War would continue to ravage the Seven Kingdoms, consuming all with it, perhaps his own life, should it go in such a route. If he perished, what then? The love he had for you would endure, the mark he left upon your life would endure, but what of your bond? What of marriage, of your union?

Jacaerys could not continue on without asking you the most important question he would ever ask.

“Be my wife.”

Time stood still, and you swore that your heart exploded within your chest. You couldn’t believe it, unsure if you had heard Jacaerys right or if it was all a very wonderful fantasy. Turning upon your heel, you faced Jacaerys with a bewildered, shocked expression.

“What?” With your voice barely above a whisper, you felt your stomach swirling with butterflies, an incendiary heat licking across your spine with a fervor. Your hands wrung together, folded across your midsection.

Jacaerys’s lips parted as he stood taller, shoulders squaring as he approached you, hands seizing yours as he reaffirmed his love for you. “I am so desperately in love with you,” He whispered, attempting to catch his breath, thumbs tracing across your knuckles. “I cannot imagine a life without you, and I cannot imagine continuing to go on knowing that I am not your husband.”

“Jacaerys.” You gasped, unable to withhold the swell of emotions that stirred within you. Tears pricked at your eyes, a byproduct of the onslaught of sentiment you felt, all hitting you at once. It was an amalgamation of adoration, devotion, love, passion — it all seemed to wash over you immediately.

“I would ask you to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — together, with me. I would ask that you marry me upon the shores of Dragonstone, amongst fire and brimstone, salt and sea,” Jace murmured, gently pressing his forehead against yours for a brief moment. “I would ask that you allow me to hold your heart forever.”

Disbelief rippled through you, the initial shock dissipating into the unbelievable love you had for him — an ardor that transcended any bonds of propriety. You loved him fiercely yet gently, loved him for everything he was and everything he would be. You lifted your joined hands to your chest.

“There is no one else for me in this world, Jacaerys Velaryon,” You crooned, pressing your lips against his palm. “I am yours, until my last day — and I will love you forever.” You felt his breath hitch slightly as you drew closer, snug against his chest as you gave him a rather exuberant smile, eyes sparkling with tears. “Nothing would please me more than marrying you.”

Relief flooded through him, and the weight of fear lifted from his shoulders. It was enough to make him audibly sigh with joy as he reached to cup your face, swiping away at the singular tear falling across your cheek. He was smiling so much that it almost made his chest burst with happiness.

“We are betrothed,” The overwhelming excitement that crept into your tone was difficult to miss, and you wanted to kiss him a thousand times over. “I cannot wait to refer to you as my husband.” An ebullient giggle escaped you when Jacaerys picked you up, spinning you in a circle as he caged you in against his chest.

His mouth sought yours, the kiss charged with an excitable passion as he held you close, hands kneading at your curves through the thin silk. “My wife, the most perfect woman in all of the realm,” He mused, thumbs drawing slow circles into your hips. “You are mine, and I am yours.” Jace whispered.

Again, you clamored for a kiss, turning the joy of your shared moment into passion, manifesting into the first inklings of desire. He was quick to reciprocate, continuing to gently feel along your body, your perfect curves hidden beneath such sheer fabrics.

You kissed him hard, hands dragging towards his tunic, tugging at the collar of it as your kiss melted from sweet and innocuous to passionate. The feeling of not having to limit yourself or fear intrusion was exhilarating — and you hoped that it meant there would be plenty of time for exploration.

It was only when he pulled away just slightly to gaze at you did you realize how much this meant to you, how much you loved him. You wanted all of him — his heart and his intellect, protective nature, his body and soul. Your hands continued to trace across his clothed chest, lips parted slightly.

“I want to take my time with you,” Jacaerys murmured, fingers gently sweeping across the now-faded cut upon your brow, tucking hair behind your ear. “If you’ll allow me the pleasure.” He never proceeded without your consent, gazing at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The familiar sting of arousal pooled between your legs, accompanied by a wave of heat. He spoke so tenderly, digits continuing to caress along your brow, swiping down towards your cheek. “Of course.” You whispered, hands skimming beneath his tunic. “As long as you’ll allow me to return the favor.”

A pang of exhilaration rippled through him as he nodded, lips twitching into a smile. He didn’t know what you meant by returning the favor, but it intrigued him. There was nothing that could stop either of you — and he intended on savoring every moment with you.

You gently coaxed him toward the plush armchair near your vanity, easing him down against the cushions. Jacaerys sat upright, hands moving toward your hips again, kneading into your pliant flesh. It allowed you to stoop down, lips molding against his as your fingers found the hem of his tunic again.

Clothing shuffled against eager hands as you removed Jacaerys’s tunic, graced with lean, pale muscle and a canvas of freckles beneath your palms. You planted your hands against his chest, fingertips dancing over every freckle, every line of taut muscle.

Jace shuddered at your exploratory embrace, savoring the feeling of your fingers tracing every inch of him, committing his musculature to memory. “I wanted to try something, if you’ll let me.” You murmured, lowering yourself to your knees before him.

There was an instantaneous notion of shock, Jacaerys’s eyes widened in surprise as he swallowed the growing lump within his throat. “What — What are you doing?” He asked, throat hoarse with desire. “You do not have to, never feel obligated to do such things, I —”

“Jacaerys,” You interjected, ensuring that your voice was barely above a whisper. Your palms soothingly caressed along his thighs, and his cock immediately roused, stirring within his breeches. “I want to please you. I would like to try, that’s all.” He still seemed apprehensive, but obliged nonetheless.

He preferred to serve you, face between your legs, tongue savoring your sweetness. He imagined that it was something he could do after this, but for now, he simply tried to relax and let you try something new. Goosebumps coalesced along his spine as your digits reached for the ties of his trousers, loosening them up.

A sliver of him couldn’t deny the thrill and exhilaration that coursed through him, the excitement. You were breathtakingly beautiful, ethereal and everything he had ever wanted, there in the flesh. “You are beautiful.” He whispered, staring at you with doe-like eyes.

Warming beneath his softly-spoken compliment, you preened, lips twitching into a comely smile. “As are you.” You assured, feeling his lips find yours for a brief moment as you freed his cock, taking his hardened length into your silky palm.

Jacaerys sat back as best as he could, lips parted, visibly flustered as you began to stroke from base to tip, thumb tracing over the flushed head. He groaned, hands gripping the back of the settee with all of his strength. It felt incredible — you only enhanced everything.

Your palm spread out against his thigh, giving you a perch, something to brace yourself against as you wrapped your mouth around the head of his cock. A sharp exhale escaped Jacaerys, whose body trembled from the foreign sensation, hand suddenly reaching down to find yours.

It was intimate, a sweet gesture despite the lewd act, digits twining together atop his thigh. Your mouth was soft and incredibly gentle, exploratory at your core as you bobbed your head in sluggish, rhythmic motions. Jace felt hot, unable to focus, but he did not force you to do anything more.

“Gods, you are incredible.” He breathed, stomach churning with a fiery heat, a sensation that mirrored your own. Molten liquid pooled within the pit of your belly, coalescing between your thighs at the sound of Jace’s pleasure. Instead of tugging on your hair, he simply caressed your cheek, watching for any sign of discomfort on your end.

With Jace’s fingertips carefully tracing across your face, you continued to tease his cock, hand stroking in sure movements as your mouth did the rest. It was brief, fleeting laps of your tongue across the head of his cock or suckling upon it altogether.

It felt strange and slightly sloppy, as if you weren’t doing something correctly, but instinct guided you. Jacaerys seemed to enjoy it regardless, hips occasionally jolting forward, followed by a soft, mumbled apology. He held himself in-check, squeezing your hand when you kissed along his length.

There was a vast amount of tenderness between the both of you, allowing for everything to be handled with gentleness and care. He didn’t push you or coax you further, simply relaxed and allowed you to do however much or little you wanted.

Between the shy laps of your tongue intermingled with the ministrations of your hand, Jacaerys worried about how long he would last in this state. Your mouth was divine, bringing him closer to a blissful beyond, abdomen tightening with a flurry of arousal.

The bitter slick of precum oozed along his length, but you paid little attention to it, continuing to pump your hand along his cock. Instead, you peppered sweet kisses against his thigh and hips, causing him to seize up and groan.

His countenance was one of beauty, contorted into a look of sheer bliss, eyes closed, mouth agape as his head rolled back against the lounge. Your fingers remained interlocked, his thumb occasionally grazing your knuckles as you kissed towards his abdomen.

Your hand remained steadfast, caressing his cock, allowing your fingers to stroke from base to tip. Jace let out a husky moan, hand involuntarily reaching for your hair. His grip was delicate, digits gingerly kneading at your scalp. The sensation was incredible, and even you felt some satisfaction from it.

The suddenness of his release seemed to catch him off-guard, muscles tense and seizing, pleasure unfurling within his stomach like a wildfire. Jacaerys moaned your name, a sound so divine coming from his mouth. He trembled in the aftermath, visage flushed with embarrassment.

He felt pitiful for this, but he couldn’t help himself, shaking from the intensity of it all. “I did not mean to …” Before Jacaerys could speak another word, you pressed your hand against his mouth.

“It was perfect.” You corrected, palm slick with his seed as you stood to clean yourself, finding a towel sitting along the edge of your vanity. You returned to do the same for him, dutifully cleaning the sticky spend from his stomach.

Visibly flustered, Jace cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter as he attempted to compose himself again. He wanted to give you more — everything, if he could. “I do not want to stop.” He whispered, gazing at you with a look of desire, hand reaching to cup your face.

That alone was enough to make your insides melt, lips parting as you nodded several times over. “Neither do I.” You breathed, and with that, your mouths collided in a fury, ardor and want bleeding through, consuming the both of you in a tidal wave.

His cock twitched again, lust renewed, yet his love for you seemed to outweigh everything else. He made sure to loosely tie his breeches up again — not that they would be on for much longer, at this pace. Jacaerys kissed you again and stood, offering you his hand.

You took it, as a lady would a prince, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, sweeping you right up off of the ground. He carried you gallantly, cradling you to his chest as you smiled, coaxing him in for a sweet kiss. Jace carried you to your bed, placing you down against the silken sheets and feathered duvet.

“I love you,” He murmured, finding his footing between your legs, the silken slip coming to gather around your hips. Despite the sensuality of it all, the lust and carnal appetites you held for one another, love conquered it all, and tenderness prevailed. “Ñuha hūra embar.”

My moonlit sea — the love of his life.

A gentle fluttering stirred within your chest, the sound of your heart calling his name — you would never love another. It was Jacaerys’s name upon your mind, emblazoned into your very bones. You kissed him, the fire stoked, even if it wasn’t a raging one.

As he neared you, your fingers found their purchase within his mane of thick curls, tugging on them incessantly, mouth tangling with his. A breath apart, you held him close, feeling the chill of saltwater air brush along your legs.

“I love you, Jacaerys.” You whispered, allowing it to slip from your lips a few times more, and he was lost in you. Jacaerys’s hands moved to the hem of your nightgown, aiming to rid you of the thin fabric, exposing yourself to him completely.

Each time he saw you bare, it was like the first time all over again — in-awe of your beauty, completely and utterly unparalleled. His mouth found the delicate curve of your jaw, kissing you in a slow, steady trail down your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat.

Every kiss was warm and lingering — he took his time with you, finding no reason to rush. His lips felt like hot brands, emblazoning themselves upon your flesh. Jace kissed across your collarbone, and you began to shift with anticipation. You wanted his face between your thighs, his hands interlaced with yours.

Jacaerys found the plush swell of your breasts, mouth kissing along each one, over your nipples, and through your sternum. He was careful, intentionally savoring each and every kiss, drinking in your presence as if it were his lifeblood.

He delved lower, shuddering when he felt your fingers find his crown of tousled curls, mouth embracing your stomach until he found your hips. The moment was incredibly intimate, with Jace kissing wherever his mouth could reach, ensuring that you received every last drop of his affections.

You were a goddess — perfection incarnate, breathtakingly beautiful beneath him. Jacaerys’s mouth graced your thighs, shoulders spreading them apart as he kissed his way down to your slick core. Heat washed over him in the wake of discovering how aroused you already were.

This was something he’d sorely missed, the taste of your cunt — his patience certainly paid off. You watched with wide, doe-like eyes as Jacaerys’s head buried itself between your thighs, the rest of him flattened against the feather-bed. His hands carefully traced along your thighs before they held your hips in-place.

“Jace,” You moaned, craving the sensation of his mouth against your core. His tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, deliciously slow, ensuring that he took his time with tasting you. Your hand flew to his curls, eliciting a soft groan from him, too. “Gods, don’t stop — please!”

He was insatiable, hunger swelling within him as he took to lapping at your cunt, tongue splitting past your folds. Your thighs twitched and trembled even now, digits coaxing him in for more, to which he gleefully obliged.

His eagerness was palpable through each flick of his tongue, lost within the oasis between your legs. A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he showered your cunt in an alternation of steady licks to lingering ones.

Bathed in pools of silvery moonlight that trickled in from the windows, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back. If it were up to him, he would’ve been content to stay here forever, pleasure you over and over again until you shook.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You are perfect.” He assured, his resonance little more than a needy whisper, a groan stifled within his throat.

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

At last, his tongue found your neglected pearl, tracing around your clit with a gentleness. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head fervently bobbed up and down, wanting him to stay rooted there. “Yes,” You whimpered, nearly shaking when his lips gingerly pursed around your clit, suckling upon the clutch of nerves until your body became tense. “R—Right there, Jacaerys, please!”

Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you laid, bones trembling with desire. His hands kneaded into the swell of your hips, digits drawing soft patterns into your flesh, drawing you closer into his smoldering embrace.

Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt again, alternating between that and greedy, excitable laps of his tongue. Even he allowed himself to be lost within bliss and pleasure, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

He shivered at the noises you made, sounds that took residence within the recesses of his mind, made for sweet torment. You weren’t shy about your own delight, moaning again, interwoven with breathy sighs and chants of his name until it was the only word you knew.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he hungered for.

Your back arched off of the blankets, hand pushing through Jacaerys’s disheveled curls, finding their anchor against his scalp. He groaned whenever you tugged upon his tresses, only serving to coax him further into your cunt.

Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I’m close,” You whined, beginning to lose yourself to the throes of pleasure. “Jacaerys, please!” A throaty moan tore past your mouth, hips jolting forward.

Gods, he ruined you — made a mess of you in the best way possible, tearing down all bonds of propriety. Knowing that he was to be your husband, that you and him were twined together as one — it only sweetened your mounting release.

Writhing beneath him, you squeezed his hand, stomach sloshing with liquid heat, a heat that continued to devour you, making you feel unbelievably hot. You melted within Jace’s hands, reduced to nothing more than a moaning, whimpering mess.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable, body trembling with your encroaching release. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that refused to simmer, unable to be quelled. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

It was a white-hot release, one that set your body ablaze, made the tight coil within your stomach unfurl. Your breathing was labored, still wrought with excitement as you steadily climbed down from your pinnacle, grip beginning to loosen upon Jacaerys’s tresses.

“I will never tire of that,” Jace confessed, his voice sweet against the inside of your thigh. Your slick glistened upon his chin, yet any remnants that remained, he quickly lapped up. He needed a moment to recuperate, crawling forward to rest his head against your chest. “The Gods have made you incomparable.”

Preening beneath his delicate praise and soft spoken compliments, you brought your fingers to his hair, gently raking through, correcting the dishevel you’d caused. You kissed his forehead, palm stroking along his broad, freckled shoulder.

Your lips twitched into an amiable smile, and he happened to crane his neck, peering at you with those warm, earthen-colored hues. “My heart calls your name,” You whispered, noticing the way his lips parted, a subtle exhale escaping him. His hands held you close, bodies flush against one another. “I am yours.”

Jacaerys could not wait for each day to be like this — no longer separated by duty or strife. You would be his wife, and he would be your husband, no room to be left to your own devices. The gods fashioned you both for love — and it would be as beautiful as it would be perilous.

“Calling you my wife certainly has an appeal,” Jace mused, crawling forward again until he was fully on top of you, propped up by his elbows, both of which had sunk into the pillow beside your head. “My heart belongs to you, now and forever.” He murmured.

It was difficult not to smile, bright and pearlescent, thighs still shaking in the aftermath of your release. He had made everything so perfect — steadfast by your side, supporting you in all endeavors, just as you would with him. He was your Prince, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. You would follow him anywhere.

Part of him had always struggled with identity — who he was, who he was supposed to be. It was still a point of contention and deeply-rooted insecurities, but they all seemed to diminish in your presence.

You loved Jacaerys for his heart — blood never mattered.

He moved to kiss you, soft and lingering, allowing you to taste yourself upon his tongue. Jacaerys found his sanctuary between your legs, one hand moving to tug at the leather ties of his breeches. He had no desire to move quickly, delighted to be as slow as he could.

There would be time for haste, but this wasn’t one of those times. Instead, he cupped your face, kissing you again and again, seeking to feel your mouth and commit it to memory, memorizing every delicate feature you possessed.

“I want to be your wife,” Now, if you could. Part of you wanted to drag yourself from your bed and dress, Jacaerys in-tow, and find a septon — be wed and declare yourselves for all to see. “I would wish it into existence this very second, if I could.”

Jacaerys pressed a kiss against your brow, his countenance one of tenderness as he shook his head. “You already are,” He insisted, gazing down at you with such mesmerizing ardor, stars within his eyes. “A septon does not have to say the words for it to be true.”

You couldn’t have loved him more if you tried.

A soft giggle escaped you as you sought his lips for another kiss, even if it happened to be brief, shorter than the last. “Gods, I love you.” You beamed, and Jacaerys smiled too, pressing his forehead against yours. You had taken enough time to recuperate, and he was far from finished.

Desire took hold, and before you could manage to speak, your lips were on his. Jacaerys groaned — a low, pretty sound that made your stomach swirl with heat. You watched in silent rapture as he removed the last of his garments, breeches and smallclothes gone until he was all that remained.

Through the moonlit haze of your chambers, you fell in love with him again — each glance felt like the very first, heart stirring with a raging ardor. There was no one else like him, and there was no one else for you.

Your hands reached for him, loosely looping around the back of his neck, fingertips dancing across the valley between his shoulders. Jacaerys pressed closer, gaze half-lidded and heavy with desire and love, above all. His lips graced your forehead, breathing becoming a touch heavier.

The swell of his cock nestled against your stomach, hardened again, growing with mounting arousal as he kissed you again. You were swift to reciprocate, mouth desperately seeking him as he repositioned himself, hips adjusting to align himself with your entrance.

“Are you comfortable?” Jacaerys inquired, voice a gentle hum through the onslaught of kisses. He watched as you nodded, signaling for him to continue — he did without hesitation, cock pushing past your folds as gently inched forward.

It was a mutual blossoming of elation, with your breath hitching within your throat, a moan escaping from your lips as it tangled with Jace’s breathy groan. Your digits grasped at the nape of his neck, back arching slightly as he pushed into you, inch by agonizing inch.

It was perfection, the way the both of you melded together, two pieces of a puzzle, connected and joined. His cock filled you with such gentleness — Jacaerys never dared touch you with a rough hand. Instead, he found himself slipping into a familiar rhythm, that of lovemaking, hand finding the swell of your haunch.

He gripped you there, other palm splayed out beside your head, lips parted and visage flushed with ecstasy as he sluggishly rocked in and out of you. His countenance flourished with delight, curls framing his cheekbones, brown eyes finding yours.

The tension of his gaze bored right into you, and you happened to lock eyes, a gasp stirring within your throat when he bottomed out inside of you. “Jace,” A needy whimper escaped you as he began to find his pace, adopting a passionate constancy. “Don’t stop.” You sighed, and it only served to spur him on.

The sensation of your cunt clenching around his cock made him groan, belly filled with a fire that demanded to be extinguished. It was divine, something that he savored — and time moved slowly in your presence. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the tame nature of his pace, it was wrought with passion, ensuring that he hit that spot inside of you, over and over again. His wanton groans seemed to caress along the shell of your ear, filling you with a desire that swallowed you whole.

He was lost within you, drowning himself in your beauty, in your radiance — everything he had, he would give to you. Jacaerys surrendered it all — his heart, body, soul, anything you wanted, he belonged to you.

His mouth moved to pepper kisses all along your face, moving towards your neck. It was growing hot, unbearably so, reaching a fever pitch as he deepened each thrust of his hips, cock throbbing inside of you. Jace was becoming desperate, movements somewhat erratic as he fisted the sheets.

Some sliver of him desired to see you with his heir — a child of Old Valyria, a babe to sit the Throne after he passed, and you with him. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, feeling this way, yet it fueled him with such desire, like the swell of a tidal wave coming to crash against him.

Jacaerys groaned into the hollow of your throat, savoring the sensation of your fingers digging into the curls at the nape of his neck. Your back arched slightly, legs shifting further apart to give way to his thrusts, lulled into submission by the steady repetition of his cock sliding in and out of you.

You rolled forward, creating a delicious friction that brought the both of you to heel, causing Jace to grit his teeth together. He showered your body with kisses, wherever he could reach, continuing to rock into you with a smoldering passion.

The volume of your lovemaking only intensified, between the breathy groans and blissful whines, the squelching of your cunt, the gentle glide of flesh against flesh. It was a cacophony of desire that only made you shiver, hand reaching for his shoulder, fingers brushing across the smattering of freckles there.

It was breathtaking to see you this way, countenance contorted into a look of sheer ecstasy, eyes closed, mouth slack — you were exemplary. Jacaerys could find no flaws with you, awestruck by your beauty in the moment, and he pushed forward once more.

He was disarmingly gentle with each and every thrust of his cock, burying himself within your cunt with such tenderness. Even if he wanted to be rough, the mere idea of it was too off-putting and strange, as if it disgusted him to no end. He enjoyed this, the revelation within each snap of hips, the enthralling charm of your physique.

“Jacaerys,” You panted, leg lifting into his hand as you moaned, face nearly nestled against his own. “Jace, I — Gods, I’m close!” Reduced to a whimpering mess within the hands of your capable husband, you felt him groan with you, cock throbbing violently inside of you.

A sharp exhale left him as he continued his steady pace, never allowing himself to grow erratic or sluggish. He stayed the course, pressing a kiss along the delicate curve of your jaw, hand kneading into your thigh. It was perfect — you were perfect.

That tight coil within his stomach began to wither, unfurling with ecstasy as he joined you in your peak, shuddering when he felt himself release. It was sudden again, seed filling your womb as he neglected to remove himself, chest heaving with breathy pants.

You followed suit, tugging at his curls, hand clamping into his shoulder as you reached your peak. It was all white-hot and blistering, like the lick of an open flame dragging all along your body.

It was akin to soaring high above the clouds, even if the moment was fleeting and brief. You composed yourself through the heaving of your chest, cunt slick and oozing with your arousal as Jacaerys remained still. He pressed his forehead to yours, mouth slowly curling into a warm smile.

Pressing a kiss against your temples, Jacaerys shifted, hips recoiling as he pulled himself from you. A sticky mess of his seed and your slick coated your cunt, causing you to press your thighs together. “Are you alright?” He murmured, swift to ensure your wellbeing.

“Wonderful,” You hummed, dimples forming at either corner of your mouth as you smiled. “I am perfect.” There was a feeling of complete and utter bliss in the aftermath, knowing that you would be wed, that he was by your side for all eternity.

“Good,” Jacaerys hummed, kissing your brow as he moved to lay beside you, pulling you into his arms. “I could draw us a bath.” He proposed, catching your attention as you nodded.

“That would be suitable, I think. I am something of a mess.” You confessed, warmth crawling along your spine as Jace held your hip, digits dancing all along your plush physique. He enjoyed everything about you, every detail, every curve and blemish — it all belonged to him.

“That would make two of us,” Jace mused, sluggishly moving from your warmth to make for the washroom. Handmaidens had filled the basin with water before you arrived, the water lukewarm, having lost its steam and heat. “Seems there isn’t a need for it.” He remarked.

You joined him, fingers reaching for your robe as you draped it over the plush chair sitting beside your vanity. Dipping two fingers into the water, you seemed unimpressed with the temperature, but it was better to be clean instead. “I suppose we do not have a choice.”

As you stepped inside, you shivered, disgruntled by the water, now somewhat cold and devoid of warmth. You sank down into the basin, with Jacaerys following suit as he sat behind you, chest pressed snugly against your back, arms looping around you.

“I’ll keep you warm, my Lady.” He hummed, eliciting a giggle from you as you happened to recline against him, head craning to press a kiss against his jaw. Jacaerys could not imagine a moment sweeter than this, basking in your presence in a blissful aftermath, holding you close against him.

With an amiable smile, you moved into his embrace, hands stroking along his taut forearm, cheek buried against his shoulder as he held you. You felt his lips grace the hollow between your neck and shoulder, mouth blazing as hot as dragon’s fire, a token of his ardor for you — his love was unwavering.

And you were warm.

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