#Square Box Base

[front-facing-pokemon]

[unopenablebox]

i was looking back at my old knitting posts to check on a thing and like yeah i really did just rocket right up the knitting skill tree over the course of a few months. no wonder i'm convinced i can knit literally anything i've spent ten minutes reading and watching videos about.

my personal knitting trajectory is that i learned to knit at age 8, stopped knitting at age 16 or so, and did not knit anything more complex than circular knit legwarmers with mild shaping at that time (so i could make rectangles and tubes and slightly widen the tubes). (ok i also did one lace scarf for about four inches but it was very bad.) then i got back into it at the end of college, and my projects were lace cowl > multiple stranded colorwork hats > socks on dpns > elaborately cabled sweater (which i finished only the back and half a sleeve of, admittedly, and am now picking up again) > most of a beaded lace crescent shawl in the span of, like, five months. and then a bunch of other shit after that! i literally can just learn to knit whatever the fuck i want, that's just uncontroversially true. what a fantastic hobby

[rainibao]

Help

(Apparently I was on it for 10 hours on Sunday...)

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: john has a bad habit of running his mouth, especially during a sparring lesson — after taking it too far, he makes it up to you in more ways than one.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), john is a bit of an asshole, sparring lesson turned sexual, lots of banter, shower sex, teasing, cocky john, begging, making out, hair pulling kink, john walker’s praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), john is a certified munch, handjob, light face riding, suggestive ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: y’all do not understand how OBSESSED I am with him! like I love writing for him! this was based on a request I received! I hope you all enjoy & thank you all for your continued support! 🫶

John’s got a smug mouth — he wields it with a deft expertise, as well-honed with making offhanded quips as he is throwing around his shield. Arrogance bleeds from him like an open wound, cocksure with a constant desire to be right.

It’s a constant clash of retorts and smarmy banter that occasionally grates on the nerves of the team, including yours, even if you’re in a relationship.

Sometimes, he still speaks to you as if you’re still indifferent, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. It agitates you, but you’ve learned to pass it off as something innately harmless.

Despite the mutual agreement to conceal your newfound romance from the team, a sliver of you longed to scream it out into the open.

Instead, you resorted to stolen glances during breakfast, quick kisses in the corridor, and sneaking off at night like two teenagers.

Today, he’s wearing that peacocking attitude on his sleeve, remarks like teeth wrapping around a wound, taunting. It’s biting; beneath it are good intentions, but they’re lost to his condescension.

“You’re still leaning right.”

In the center of the training room, you’re squared up with a boxing bag, knuckles split and raw, beads of sweat glittering against your temple. Beneath your breast, your heart skittered at an accelerated pace, muscles burning with exertion.

Postured behind the heavy bag, John’s visage is one of obvious disgruntlement, jaw pulled tight, his arms folded over his chest. Blonde tresses are a touch disheveled, brows creased together.

The spandex shirt he wears occasionally distracts you, corded muscle glaringly present. He’s painfully handsome, and you want to hate him for it, especially in the moment. It’s difficult to concentrate.

It might’ve been a mistake to ask your boyfriend for hand-to-hand combat instruction; he got mean when he taught. It wasn’t malicious, but it wasn’t how you needed to learn.

Survival was a second skin to him, self-preservation interwoven into years of rigorous military experience. His instruction seemed more akin to a drill sergeant than a man trying to teach his girlfriend something new.

For John, it was ‘be stronger or die, fight or succumb’; he cared about you too much. Despite your abilities, close quarters was where you seemed to falter, and he was determined to whip you into shape.

“I don’t think so.” Composed, your gaze floats to him, standing behind the bag, blonde brows furrowing together. Flexing out an arm, you notice the tick of annoyance in his jaw.

“You don’t think so?” John echoes, countenance a half-grimace of determination. Stepping out from the bag, he mimics your boxing stance, though you’re convinced he’s exaggerating your hypothetical right lean. “This is what you look like.”

Indignant, your mouth falls open with a brief huff, as if the idea is simply preposterous to you. It doesn’t make any sense, but you concede to him, brows knitting together. “Fine. I’ll fix it.” You sigh, knowing he’s too stubborn to disagree with.

He’s taking this training aspect a little too seriously for your liking, even if the intent behind it is meaningful. “Go again.” He grits, reassuming his position behind the bag, gaze appraising your form.

A dull burn paints your sternum, breathing a touch hoarse from running drills, and his were less than forgiving. Regardless of his agitation, you prepare to go again, hands hovering around your face, body posturing against the bag.

With a soft huff, you begin again, hands pounding against the sandbag with noisy thwacks, knuckles raw, bruised from the leather’s rough exterior.

Muscles scream with a dull ache, unaccustomed to being used in such a violent manner. Fighting is something you aren’t exactly fond of; it never brings you any peace or comfort. Though, you understand the importance of learning, John is too zealous.

Stone-faced, John’s stern glower inspects your stance, following every swing of your hands, every clash of the bag. You’re still off-kilter, body teetering to the right side again, swinging with minimal momentum.

“Still leaning right,” John quips, listening to the irritated huff that tears past your lips. “Fix your stance, stop relying on your front leg.” He can taste the annoyance as it rolls from your being, but it’s necessary; he wants you to get it right.

“I’m not leaning right.” You protest, growing discouraged with your lesson. The footwork was something you could practice, but you felt as if the rest of your stance was formidable enough; maybe John was testing you.

A derisive laugh split his throat, sardonic enough to make you bristle, hands lowering to your sides. “You’re leaning to the right. Do it again, and you’ll fall over — do that in a real fight, you’re dead.”

Disdainful, your frustration only seemed to grow from there, marked by an unpleasant curl of your mouth, body running hot. The tepid haze of the training room was beginning to go to your head, air stale and arid.

“This isn’t a real fight,” Arguing over the semantics of a boxing lesson seems pathetic, but his attitude is grating on you; more so than usual. “This is practice, and you’re taking it too seriously.” You mumble, stooping to pick up your water bottle.

John scoffs, bewildered by your attitude. He doesn’t see it as practice; he sees it as a training scenario, and if you can’t properly defend yourself, he’s terrified that he won’t be able to save you in time.

He couldn’t save Lemar, couldn’t save his teammates in the desert; the thought of losing you too became a constant nightmare.

In his dreams, he was in Latvia, his shield stained with crimson, blood on his hands — sometimes it’s your blood.

His jaw twitches, the nightmare hanging fresh within the recesses of his mind, clawing its way to the forefront, as if to make the sting worse. John isn’t used to having someone care deeply about him, and vice versa.

Stepping away, you’re eager for a reprieve. “What, just like that and you’re giving up?” He’s pushing you, prodding; it isn’t right, toying with your vulnerability, but he wants you to be strong, to be capable.

“John, you’re being mean.” Within your softer cadence lies a stern warning for him to stop, as if attempting to quell his attitude before it gets worse. Cold water trickles down your throat, flesh matted by perspiration.

“I’m being realistic.” With a gritty counterpoint, John steps out from behind the bag, muscled arms folded tightly over his chest. “You need to know this stuff — if the mission gets too dangerous …”

“I can’t know it if you’re being like this.” Beneath the rugged, rough exterior, is a man who wants to ensure that you know how to protect yourself. You understand to some extent, but his demeanor is beginning to get to you.

Deciding that you’ve had enough of his lessons for the day, you walk toward the bench, retrieving your towel as you wipe sweat from your neck.

“I’m not going to coddle you,” John’s still going, attempting to make you understand where he’s coming from. “You asked for my help, and I’m helping you.” He’s already regretting the way the words sound; he’s being harsh.

Through an exasperated sigh, your brows furrow together, hands wrenched tightly into the towel as you try and relieve some of your anxiousness. Turning on your heel, you face him, chin jutting out with mild defiance.

“I don’t want you to coddle me. I just want you to drop the attitude and train me.” Despite the cordiality within your tone, you’re trying to avoid an unnecessary argument. It all feels so trivial, bickering over this.

“I don’t have an attitude,” Akin to a petulant child, his cadence is remarkably reminiscent of someone who has an attitude. Realizing how he sounds, he concedes, trailing after you as you make for the door. “Are you finished?”

“For today, yes,” Still, you’re calm, feeling him nipping at your heels all the way to your room. He doesn’t leave, much to your surprise, even as you open the door and clamor inside. “Do you have another retort to add?”

Once the both of you have privacy, the asshole demeanor begins to dissipate, as if he’s dissolving all on his own. Behind closed doors, he gets soft — and you’re the reason why.

Through a clenched jaw, John doesn’t say anything at first, watching as you dab the cloth over your brow. He cares about you so much that his chest begins to burn, despite himself.

A hush falls between, and he knows it’s a fight he lost; glaringly obvious, too. He resorts to standing by the door as you kick off your tennis shoes, a damp splotch of sweat around your collar, tresses matted against your temples.

A flicker of realization begins to dawn on him; he was being too much. You had a point with him taking it too seriously, but it was all done with the best intentions. He wanted you to learn the right way, and be safe.

John’s eyes momentarily screw shut, tension unfurling from his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” Apologizing used to feel like a weakness, but he knows it isn’t — he’s learned to accept that.

Expecting you to be smug or bite back with vitriol, you lift your head, countenance softening as you meet his gaze. “I know your intentions, and they’re good — but I’m your girlfriend, too. I want your help, but I don’t want the callousness.”

Conceding, John nods, a simple jostle of his head, blonde tresses disheveled. Even when slick with sweat and frustrated, he’s still handsome, painfully so, careworn palms rough from years of hard work. “I’ll be gentler.” He utters, sincere.

The bravado and grit wears off, as if it’s some skin he’s shed, revealing the rawness of the man underneath it all. In truth, he wants to make sure that you know how to protect yourself — eases the worrying, eases the fear.

There’s an inner turmoil he’s wrestling with; he wears it openly with you, less so with others. Vulnerability is still a concept he’s untangling, deciphering as he works through his own labyrinth of sins.

With every mission, he fears losing you — not fast enough, not strong enough, not man enough to protect you. The toxic values instilled to him by years of government propaganda are being unraveled; it’s a slow process.

“John.”

Through the shroud of his insecurities, you shatter it like sunlight through shadow, chasing away the swarm of darker thoughts that plagued him. A brief exhale escapes him as he focuses on you, his smile threadbare.

“I can’t think of a better teacher,” Truthfully, he’s incredibly skilled in all ways imaginable; he’s intelligent, too. There’s plenty to learn from him, despite his rougher methods of tutelage. “Just work on your teaching voice.”

With a bemused huff, his smile morphs into a characteristic smirk, charming — it ensnares you without a shred of effort. “I’ll work on it,” You know he will, too. “Are you okay?” He inquires, hoping that he didn’t kill your mood.

You slip off of your bed, tugging at the collar of your shirt, as it uncomfortably sticks to your skin. “I’m great, really,” Reassuringly, you smile at John, placating his brief tangle of nerves. “How are you not sweaty?”

John withholds the urge to make a flirtatious insinuation, uncrossing his arms as he watches you rifle through for clean clothes. “Watching you in those leggings did make me sweat a little.” He teases, subject to your grousing stare.

“Stop it.” You mumble, smiling despite yourself as he raises one hand in faux defense. A soft chuckle shakes his shoulders, a rarer sound that fills your bones with warmth.

Bridging the gap between you, his hands find your hips without pause, lightly tracing over the small of your back. “You’re pretty when you’re frustrated with me.” John murmurs, savoring your flustered expression as you press a hand against his chest.

“It’s a constant thing, you should be used to it.” He gets under your flesh and buries himself there, too sure of himself, mouth slacked into a gregarious smirk. Though, you like it more than you care to admit.

John attempts to kiss you, but you playfully turn at the last second, bearded mouth falling against your jaw, instead. You’re tormenting him because of the boxing thing, and he knows it.

Wriggling from his grasp, you shuffle backwards, padding toward your bathroom instead. You stop in the doorway, framed by a tranquil glow. “Are you coming?” You muse, catching him off-guard, much to your own amusement.

“What?” John’s mildly bewildered, but it seems to die down when he realizes what you’re propositioning. Hunger reveals itself with a snarl and yearning, arms flexing as his posture straightens up.

“Shower,” Despite the innocuous nature of your tone and the pretty smile, there is a hint of an ulterior motive. You squirm within your sweat-laden shirt. “I feel disgusting.” Peeling your top aside, you toss it onto the floor.

John bites back a grin, scratching at his beard before trailing after you, masking his enthusiasm. “Yes, ma’am,” He muses, kicking off his shoes beside the door, following you into the bathroom. “Want some help?”

You don’t need it, but you want it anyway, warmth spreading over the back of your neck as you turn, back facing him. Switching on the shower, you stay that way, feeling his calloused fingertips brush over your spine.

He’s unfastening your bra with a disarming tenderness, focused, warm breath pluming over the back of your neck. His musculature is firm against you, spandex t-shirt pulled taut over his chest, biceps tempting you.

Rough hands mold themselves to your body, mapping every muscle-deep bruise like a constellation, planting a kiss against your shoulder. It’s apologetic, sweet — John doesn’t have to say anything that you don’t already know.

Slowly, you turn, wedged up against the marble countertop, his body cornering yours. Wordlessly, your fingers drag to the hem of his shirt, curling into the fabric before easing it upward.

John removes it all in one smooth motion, fluid, physique raw and sinewy, corded with thick muscle, chest layered in a light dusting of blond hair. Heat wafts from his skin, peppered in days-old bruises, faded scars.

Whatever you wanted to say turns to ash in your mouth, gaze doe-eyed, adoring. It’s a look he’s still growing accustomed to, sitting with the notion that you genuinely wanted him.

“I really care about you,” Little more than a whisper, your admittance is saccharine, doing little to mask your affections for him. “Smug mouth and all.” You muse, feeling his hand dip to cup your hip, thumb tracing circles over your leggings.

“Smug mouth, huh?” John taunts with a smirk, cerulean hues burning with a desirous intensity, lips shifting to plant a kiss over your jaw. The scratch of his beard has quickly become one of your favorite sensations.

“The worst.” Your mumble is disarmingly sweet, your smile suppressed beneath an expression that attempts to veil your true feelings. Even then, he breaks through your barriers with ease.

Through a bemused huff, John’s mouth explores your throat, hands snaking down to tease the waistband of your leggings. “You don’t have anything to say about it when we’re in bed.”

The fiery quip sends a shockwave through your stomach, a stab of heat, tangling around your nerves like ivy. “John …” There is little warning in your tone, save for desperation. He’s being unfair.

Urging against your leggings, you’re subservient, letting his fingers hook into the spandex, easing you out of the garment altogether. He’s suave, cocky — that familiar arrogance is present again, but you find it attractive this time.

Steam begins to float through the bathroom, water sputtering overhead as you careen into his embrace. Stepping out of the thin fabric, you’re standing in your underwear, eager to slip beneath the hot water.

Nails idly trace over his abdomen, drawing little circles as he plants a string of kisses to your jugular. A soft exhale warbles through your nose, lips parted as you glance toward the shower.

“You’re getting distracted.” You murmur, visibly smitten as he lifts his head, hand greedily groping at the back of your thigh. John’s lips twitch into that visage of sardonicism, head cocking to one side.

“Can you blame me?” Smooth, his reply sets your nerves ablaze, something hot stirring within your belly as you sidestep toward the shower. You’re sliding out of your panties, and he’s right on your tail, kicking out of his clothes.

Stepping into the shower, a column of steaming water drizzled over your skin, washing away the sweat that clung to you. Reaching for your soap, you immediately begin to work on cleaning off.

Soothing the dull throbbing of days-old bruises and aching muscles, you sigh, stealing a glance at John.

He’s maddeningly well-endowed; annoyingly impressive like the rest of him, something you’ve told him before, and it all seemed to go to his head. He smooths a hand through his blonde tresses, slicked by water.

A delicate shade of pink clung to his cheeks; splotched, dappled over his skin, sunkissed and blanketed in a layer of freckles. Muscles flex and contort, cast in the dull glow of the bathroom, beaded droplets rolling over his abdomen.

“Are you done staring?” Ripping you from your thoughts, his snide inquiry makes you jump, caught in the act, but you’re unperturbed by it.

“No,” It’s easy to bait him by batting your eyelashes, gaze round and doe-eyed, catching the terse tick of his jaw. Your tongue scrapes over your bottom lip, soap suds gliding down your back. “You’re so handsome — just really attractive.”

The teasing lilt in your tone has dropped, replaced with a sweeter sincerity that makes his heart nearly come out of his chest. John’s gaze shifts to something heady, eclipsed by desire, festering with the shadow of want.

“Yeah?” Closer, he’s seizing your hips, lips crushing against yours in a bruising kiss. It stings, ripping every wisp of air from your lungs, leaving you burning for more. His beard scratches ragged, fingers pressed into pliant flesh.

A ragged sigh snares within your throat, manifesting as a mere hum, body vibrating with exhilaration. His pearlescent teeth briefly scrape over your bottom lip.

Eager digits clamor to sink into his chest, nails digging light crescents into his skin, a sting he thoroughly enjoys. “John,” A moan floats from your mouth, body humming with a muted buzz. “Want your mouth.”

He’s grinning, a cat who just caught the canary. That sharp tongue is already winding up with something devious to say, something agonizingly audacious.

“Thought you said it was the worst,” John grunts, remark branded against your mouth, hot and vainglorious. Impatient with his incessant teasing, his mask slips when your hand reaches to fist at the nape of his neck. “Shit.”

A flicker of surprise flutters over his features, secretly reveling in the way you’d roughly grasped at his hair. His growing arousal pulses heavily against your thigh, oozing heat, proof there for you to feel.

Mouths clash again, an amalgamation of teeth and tongue, ripples of pent-up repression oozing into each kiss. John wants you terribly, more than he ever thought possible, cock beginning to throb when you whine into his lips.

“Please,” Desperate, you’re craving him, hungry, letting it crawl over your flesh like some white-hot wave of heat. “I want you.” You say it again, pleading this time, digits threading into his hair, pulling with another wanton tug.

John is unable to deny you, gaze half-lidded, throat bobbing as he swallows the groan threatening to split through his chest. There’s some foggy, lust-ridden haze he wades through, succumbing to baser instincts.

Before another pathetic whine can burst from your mouth, he’s pushing you up against the shower wall, strong palms keeping you steady. “Jesus,” He groans into the warmth of your mouth, kissing you until your chest feels tight. “You’re killin’ me.”

His Georgian drawl tapers off with certain syllables, gooseflesh icing your spine as you let one hand caress his abdomen. He shudders, brows pinched, countenance wrought with concentration.

Water cascades over his back, an incandescent light that highlights his musculature, legs wobbling as he gets down onto his knees. His mouth paints kisses over your thighs, lifting one leg up over his shoulder.

The hand that continues to fist at the base of his skull makes him shiver, savoring the sensation as he bullies his way between your legs. Cerulean hues stay fixated on your face as his mouth makes contact with your slick cunt.

He shuts up quickly when he’s eating you out, you’ve noticed; the satisfaction flows through you in one smug wave. A scruffy beard scratches ragged against your thighs, prickling your silky flesh as his tongue drags over your slit.

The flat of his tongue rakes embers across your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from your mouth. Everything feels hot, unbearably so, bodies tangled beneath the shower’s heated pressure.

Bracing against his body, his own musculature supports you without breaking a sweat, one hand molded to your thigh, the other firm atop your hip. “You’re so good at this.” You whine, knowing how much he savors your praise.

John growls into your cunt as if he’s some beast on all fours, tongue greedily splitting past your folds, caressing over your sensitive flesh.

He grips you like a vice, caging you firmly against the wall, nose grazing your mound. Keeping you anchored to his mouth, he’s consuming you like a man starved, deprived of sustenance.

Fingers flex through blonde tresses, tugging and pulling, coaxing him closer as your hips jolt unexpectedly. The friction isn’t unwelcome, and he treats you to a barrage of enthused laps, tongue possessing a mind of its own.

The cocksure demeanor diminishes when his mouth is preoccupied; he doesn’t complain, thoroughly getting off on letting you ride his face.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, John made sure to savor you, letting the flat of his tongue fall heavy across your clit. His name plumes from your mouth like a prayer.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit.

“J—John,” Raw, the noise splits through your diaphragm, heaving with labored sighs, cunt pulsing with spasms of pleasure. “Fuck, plea—please don’t stop!” A whine coagulates within the back of your throat, ceaselessly needy.

You urged him closer, hips rolling into the fervent heat of his mouth, thighs quivering as he treated you to a lap of his tongue. Circled strokes dance over your cunt; once, twice, three times.

This barrage of bliss assaulted your body with such intensity, molten heat churning within the pit of your stomach, oozing between your thighs.

Bittersweet arousal swarmed his lips, the taste of you, something he craved. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

His ministrations are gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms caressing into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. Lapping openly at your core, you shiver, feeling his nose graze your clit.

The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant. You’re writhing, a tangle of nerves and mounting ecstasy, leg rattling beneath his hold.

His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm. Lips climb from your heated core to your clit, pressing a string of kisses there, tongue brushing over the clutch of nerves.

John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Circling around your clit, he begins to lap over your pearl, feeling your legs tremor around him, muscles spasmodic, twitching.

“So handsome like this.” A ragged sigh is pulled from your diaphragm, ecstasy sown by John’s own need and determination. The remark is enough to make him ache, your body vibrating around him.

Daring to look down, your heart nearly bursts from your chest when you realize he’s watching you, smirk palpable, cerulean hues burning.

Through a shadowed stare, eyes blown with lust, he’s got you pinned, sucking the air from your lungs as if he owns you. He wants to say something, but he’s too absorbed with eating you out.

Rendered speechless beneath his incendiary gaze, your stomach churns with molten heat, body on fire, a ceaseless throbbing pulsing between your legs.

Your cunt pathetically clenches around nothing at all, hips absently grinding into his mouth. “John — fuck — please, m’close!” Slurred, you’re trying your best not to smother him.

As if to tempt you further, his lips purse around your clit, taunting, catching the blissed-out look in your eyes. It’s that damned doe-eyed stare he’s hooked on, sucking on that bundle of nerves with a twinge of passion.

Teetering on the precipice of an explosion, you’re rattling, shaking like a leaf, thighs tensing on either side of his head.

He presses you further, a low hum tumbling from his mouth, still fervently revolving around your clit.

White-hot spots blind your vision, jaw unhinged, a myriad of moans leaving you, unrestrained. The noise evokes a throaty groan from him, chest reverberating, sending tingles through your spine like spikes of heat.

John’s still buried between your thighs, interchanging between suckling your clit and broad, flat strokes of his tongue. Each caress, every lap of his mouth sends you into some frenzy, hips urging forward.

A white-hot rush of ecstasy swarmed you, voice tapering off into incoherent praises and wanton moans, filling the shower with your delighted cries. Half-babbles, whimpers, strangled whines emerge from your throat.

Feeling your body pulse around him, a low grunt splits his diaphragm, your legs trembling, muscles twitching in the aftermath. Even still, your mind is foggy, shrouded by a haze of desire.

Conceding, he plants another kiss to your core, followed by a rough lap of his tongue, beard soaked by both water and your arousal.

Unlatching his mouth from your cunt, he exhales, visage splotched with scarlet, pupils expanded with lust as he moves upright. Your lips press a lingering kiss to his collar, a flicker of mischief in your eyes.

His cock throbbed incessantly, the pressure coiled within his abdomen, unexpectedly seizing when your hand wrapped around his length. “Chr — Damn, easy.” John groans, sudden and wanting, hands seizing your hips.

It gets under his skin, how easily he succumbs to you, and with a mere flick of your wrist, he’s prepared to come undone in your hand. Flushed and frustrated, his mouth clamors for yours, biting at your bottom lip.

He’s painfully hard in your palm, bleeding heat, slick within your grasp as you give his cock several sluggish, gentler strokes. There’s a tension prevalent in his shoulders, one that unfurls when you make him cum.

John shudders, mouth dropping to the hollow between your throat and shoulder, maiming it with snags of teeth and bruising hickeys. A low whine escapes you, hand vigorous as you pull him into his release.

Your name spills from his tongue, hoarse and husky, warmth spreading over your body like an encroaching wildfire. It’s quick, but he was riled up already from eating you out.

Blissed-out and satiated, John’s brows pinch together, countenance a thing of unbridled satisfaction as you finish him off. After a few languid strokes of your hand, he’s looking relaxed.

“Jesus,” John forces a laugh, trailing a hand through his soaked tresses, reaching behind you to shut the water off. “Feeling better?” He remarks, unable to bite back the grin that curls the corner of his mouth.

Nodding, you’re smiling, smitten as he drapes a towel around you, planting a slow kiss against your jaw. “Mm-hm.” Humming, your hands are fumbling with the towel, drying yourself off before stepping out of the shower.

With a cheshire smirk, his hands grazed over your waist, lips molding themselves to the back of your neck. “That’s it? Just mm-hm?” He gruffs, his pride mildly wounded, hoping you’d have plenty to say.

Pillars of steam wisp from the bathroom, clouding through your quarters as you search for something comfortable to wear. “If I say what’s on my mind, you’ll brag. I’m keeping you humble.” You tease, lashes fluttering.

“Right,” John huffs, though you know it’s a mutual banter you’ve maintained, playful teasing that’s become incredibly soft. He doesn’t mind; he likes it, really. “When you’re begging me again, I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

Despite the theatrical, pointed glare you give him, you’re smiling; flustered, truthfully. He’s a cocky bastard, obnoxious, but he makes you feel protected, warm. He makes you feel wanted, when you always thought otherwise.

Some of his clothes have made it to your room after one too many nights together; he’s gotten used to it. A pair of black shorts sit on his waist, musculature bared for you, mostly.

John gawks, a brief huff escaping him when he realizes what shirt of his you’re wearing; it’s a callback, for sure. Custer’s Grove High School football, with the emblems of a bear on the front.

“Where did you find that artifact?” He scoffs, blonde brows furrowing with intrigue as you swivel around, clad in your underwear-and-his-shirt combination. You must’ve been digging deep in his wardrobe to find it.

“Underneath your dress shirts,” You remark, lips pulling apart. “I can take it off if it …” Trailing off, John silences you with a chaste kiss, playfully patting your leg, briefly squeezing at the pliant flesh of your thigh.

“No, keep it,” John’s cadence softens, cerulean hues clinging to a distant memory which seems to dissipate as quickly as it appeared. “You look beautiful.”

As he settles along the edge of your mattress, you’re climbing into his lap, eliciting a sarcastic chuckle from him, visibly perplexed. Lips softly tangle together, tender, and he feels himself steadily getting worked up again.

Evening the score, his hands wander toward your haunches, molding themselves to your flesh, palms squeezing and groping. Your digits are in his damp tresses again, tugging, visage riddled with a stern warning.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” John grunts, feeling your lips curl into a smile against his mouth. He withdraws, only to get a good look at you, prettier than anything he’s ever seen before. “I’m serious.”

“I’m serious.” As if invoking a challenge, your countenance pinches into a look of stoicism, though you’re poking fun at him simultaneously.

“Fine.” His voice is low and raspy, a delicious husk that fills your bones with fire. He fires off, strong enough to manhandle you onto your back, bullying his way between your legs, kissing you ragged.

You’re rendered immobile by morning.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

The Blackline.

Summary: The Blackline is a sultry and supernatural tale set in 1929 in the hidden quarters of Little Rock’s Black district, where flappers, vice, and hoodoo tangle in velvet-lit shadows. Violet, a timid Gullah Geechee girl with nowhere else to turn, finds herself working in a brothel run by the enigmatic Stack Moore—a pimp with charm, secrets, and a past steeped in sin. But it’s Stack’s older twin, Smoke, who consumes Violet’s thoughts. A war-worn man of few words, Smoke commands the room with silence alone.

Warnings: SMUT (building tension, soft dominance, Virgin!OC)

Part Two

Part One

The air was thick with the smell of mud, gasoline, and tension.

Smoke crouched near the edge of the swamp, one hand resting on the rusted hood of the Ford truck stacked with crates of illegal whiskey. The wood was still damp from its time hidden beneath floorboards in a dry preacher’s shed two counties over. Now, it was headed to a juke in Helena run by a man with gold teeth and too many enemies.

Moonlight shimmered off the bayou. Mosquitoes buzzed. Fireflies gleamed. Cypress trees stood like sentinels in the dark. Stack wasn’t with him this time. He’d taken a different route—diversion. If anyone was watching, they’d trail Stack’s decoy load and leave Smoke to move the real cargo quiet and clean.

He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, then puffed it out through his nose.

Bootlegging in the Delta wasn’t for loudmouths. It was for men who could ride the edge of blood and silence, and Smoke was the best at it. He wasn’t just muscle. He was methodical, deadly when necessary, and trusted by the wrong kinds of powerful men.

As he drove down the narrow dirt road through the trees, wheels kicking up mud and stones, he kept his pistol close. A sawed-off sat under the seat. A blade tucked behind the brake lever.

By the time he reached the turnoff toward the dock, two headlights appeared behind him.

Too close.

Too fast.

He cursed under his breath, flipped the lights off, and turned into the trees.

An ambush.

They thought they had him cornered. Had him outsmarted. Two trucks boxed him in.

But Smoke didn’t panic.

He reached for the sawed-off, climbed out the side of the cab, and disappeared into the trees like a ghost. By the time the two men stepped out with rifles and cocky grins, Smoke was behind them. He took the first one down clean—barrel to the back of the skull. No sound but the crunch of bone. The second tried to run. Smoke caught him by the collar and shoved the shotgun into his gut.

“You workin’ for Silas ‘Shine’ DuBose?” he asked low.

The man stammered, “We—we just got told to—”

BOOM!

He didn’t let him finish.

Smoke never left loose ends.

He loaded the whiskey back up, blood on his knuckles, sweat dripping from his brow.

When he pulled up to the drop site an hour later, the man with gold teeth handed him a fat envelope.

“You always deliver, young blood. Can always count on you to come through.”

Smoke lit another cigarette.

Didn’t smile.

He spoke to himself, “Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop my route but death. And even then, you better check twice.”

This job would pay for more supplies at The Blackline. It would keep him and Stack in power. And when he walked through the red door the next night, dusty, armed, and silent, he still hadn’t noticed the girl behind the curtain.

But she noticed him.

He’d just come off the job.

Boots still dirty from the swamp road. Hands scabbed from a scuffle. Chest humming with the kind of quiet that followed violence. A calm earned by taking care of unfinished business. The Blackline was warm that night. Velvet air. Laughter soft. Jazz slow. He walked in like always with a cigar in his mouth, hat low, shoulders square, dragging a heat behind him that made men straighten and women stare.

He was headed for his usual booth.

Didn’t glance around. Didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge a pretty eye or a pretty smile.

But then…he felt it.

A pull. A tether.

Not sharp, but deep. Low. Like a string tugging at the base of his spine.

He turned his head slow.

And saw her.

She wasn’t working.

Not like the others.

She sat behind a thin curtain, legs tucked under her, body half-shadowed by lamplight. A ribbon tied around her neck. A short slip hugging hips that didn’t move. Hair pinned up loose with curly tendrils falling around her cheeks.

She wasn’t trying to be seen, which made her impossible to look away from. Her skin glowed like candle-warmed honey, and her lips looked soft, untouched and parted slightly when their eyes locked.

Smoke’s removed his cigar from between his full lips slowly.

His whole chest tightened.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight.

Didn’t believe in fairytales or fate.

But something about the girl behind the curtain hit him like a ghost recognizing home.

Violet saw the shift in him.

The pause.

The narrowing of his gaze.

And her breath caught because she could feel it too.

Heat.

Recognition.

Danger.

Need.

Smoke took a step forward.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t smile.

Just stared like she was something he couldn’t name but already missed. And in that moment, under velvet light and saxophone moans, a man like Smoke noticed a girl like Violet, and everything started to unravel.

The Blackline hummed around them with low laughter, glasses clinking, piano weeping under the weight of a blues tune. Smoke had barely stepped inside when Stack appeared at his shoulder, tugging him toward the back, behind the curtain where the light dimmed and the shadows got honest. They stood near the back hallway, a worn fan rattling overhead, paint peeling on the wall.

“Big Brotha. Job go smooth?” Stack asked, lighting a cigarette with one hand, leaning against the doorframe.

Smoke rolled his shoulders, jaw clenched, “Ran into trouble near the canal. Two sent by Shine.”

“That so?”

“Handled.”

Stack nodded, “Figures.”

A pause passed. Long enough for Smoke to glance back through the curtain and towards the floor.

Toward her.

Stack noticed the look but didn’t press it.

Instead, he exhaled smoke slow and said, “Things been movin’ here while you were gone. We took in two new girls. One’s already makin’ her money.”

“…And the other?”

Stack smirked.

“That one,” He jerked his chin toward the soft drape near the corner booth, “Name’s Violet. Gullah blood, I think. Quiet. Real sweet lookin’, but icy. Ain’t opened up to no one. Still got her flower too, far as I can tell.”

Smoke didn’t respond. Just kept staring.

Stack watched his brother’s profile. The way his jaw ticked and his mouth set.

“Ain’t initiated her yet,” Stack added casually, “But I planned to ease her in. Once she soften.”

Smoke’s voice cut in low.

“Don’t.”

Stack arched an eyebrow, “…Don’t?”

Smoke turned to him now, finally, eyes hard.

“Hold off. Not sayin’ I’m stoppin’ you. Just…don’t rush her.”

Stack leaned back slightly, measuring with a mischievous smirk, “You interested?”

Smoke looked away, back toward the drape.

“I just want a feel…she different…and I wanna know why.”

Stack grinned faintly, dragging his cigarette.

“Well, well. Ain’t often you speak first on a girl.”

Smoke didn’t flinch, “I ain’t speakin’. I’m studyin’.”

And with that, he pushed off the wall and walked back into the room, steps slow, eyes never leaving Violet.

It was late now.

That kind of late where everything turns honest. Voices lower, movements looser, touches less disguised. The scent of sweat, bourbon, tobacco, and sex wove through the air like a sensual fog caught in lace. A girl moaned in the back room. Laughter burst at the poker table. A piano crooned something low and tired in the corner.

Smoke hadn’t moved from his booth.

Hadn’t touched his drink in nearly twenty minutes.

Because she was stepping out.

Violet.

For the first time all night, she peeled back the sheer drape and moved out into view.

Not for a man.

Not for money.

Just to breathe.

But even from across the room, Smoke saw it. The way her eyes scanned carefully, the way her shoulders rounded slightly inward, like her body had learned how to make itself smaller when it needed to.

She walked slow.

Barefoot.

In a short silk slip the color of wet bone, the thin straps slipping down the curve of one shoulder, the hem hitting just above the soft part of her thighs.

Her ribbon was still tied.

Smoke’s eyes dragged down her figure—the roundness of her hips, the narrow slope of her waist, the high curve of her small, perky breasts beneath the silk.

But it wasn’t just her body.

It was how she carried it.

Careful. Quiet. Measured.

She wasn’t used to being seen.

Not like that.

And now she was. By him.

He watched the way her fingers brushed her own wrist absentmindedly, a soft nervous tic. The way her chin stayed tilted downward, even though she tried to glance up. The way she paused at the edge of the light, just short of where the men gathered, hovering between the safety of shadows and the threat of being chosen.

And still…

She felt his stare.

He saw it in the way she shifted her weight.

The way her hand lifted to her ribbon like it gave her armor.

Smoke’s jaw clenched.

His cigar burned down to the nub in the ashtray. He sat forward, just slightly, and let his eyes take her in like a man thirsting in the desert.

This girl was untouched.

This girl was hiding.

And this girl had no idea that the man in the shadows had already started claiming pieces of her just by watching.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

And in that stretch of air between them, the room changed.

Everything else faded.

All he could hear was her breath.

All he could see was her legs.

And all he could think about was how she was already in his mouth, in his hands, in his thoughts, and she didn’t even know his name yet.

Violet felt it.

Not like the way men usually looked at her all hungry, obvious, leaning too far forward. This was different.

His gaze didn’t lurch toward her.

It crawled.

Wrapped.

Rooted itself.

And it didn’t let go.

She turned slightly, pretending to adjust her ribbon, pretending not to notice how heavy her breath had become. But her hands trembled against the silk.

Smoke Moore was watching her.

The quiet one. The twin with shadow in his shoulders and heat behind his eyes. The one who hadn’t said a single word to her since she arrived. Not even a hello.

And yet…

He was staring like he knew every secret she was trying to keep.

Her cheeks burned.

Her thighs clenched.

And her skin buzzed like it’d been read.

She couldn’t take it.

Not yet.

She turned slowly and slipped back behind the drape, her posture softer, her steps smaller, her breath caught just behind her lips.

She didn’t look back.

But Smoke…

He never stopped looking.

He waited just waited.

Gave her a minute.

Let her sit in the heat of what just passed between them—no words, no touch, no promises. Just pressure.

Then he stood.

Slowly. Like smoke rising off a fire that didn’t go out when the logs burned down. He adjusted his cuffs, reached for the bottle on the table, and poured two fingers of bourbon. But he didn’t sit again, instead he started walking. Not toward her.

Just…near.

To the bar.

Which just happened to be along the wall beside her curtained corner. His boots echoed soft on the floorboards. His coat moved around his hips like liquid shadow. And every pair of eyes in the room followed him out of instinct.

But Violet?

She felt him coming.

Like a raging storm rolling in.

Her body tensed even behind the curtain. She could feel the way the air changed. How the room shifted around his presence. Smoke stood at the bar, one hand resting on the wood, eyes on the row of bottles like he was deciding what to drink.

But in reality? He was listening to her breath.

Sensing the tremble behind the curtain. Reading the way her silence now said more than any voice in that house. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t look at her. But she could feel the back of his coat inches from the silk veil.

And Smoke?

He was close enough now to smell her skin.

And he didn’t even need to touch.

The music in The Blackline rolled slow and dirty like honeyed drag through a throat full of smoke. Laughter bounced off the walls. Someone moaned behind a closed door. A card game roared to life across the floor.

But Violet couldn’t hear any of it.

All she could hear was his boots near the edge of her world. Smoke was just outside the curtain now, standing at the bar, pouring bourbon like he hadn’t just shaken her to her core. His presence radiated like heat through floorboards, like thunder behind silence.

She sat on the edge of the velvet cushion, hands clasped, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Then…

She leaned forward.

Just slightly.

And slipped two fingers into the edge of the drape, parting it a whisper.

She peeked.

He was there.

So close.

Back turned, coat draped over broad shoulders, shirt tight across a back and chest shaped by violence and long days on the road. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, veins thick across the backs of his hands. His knuckles were scarred. His boots scuffed. His holster dark with wear.

He didn’t fidget.

Didn’t glance around.

He just stood there like the world wasn’t allowed to move without him giving it permission. And yet, there was no tension in him. No vanity.

Only gravity.

A presence that said…

I’ve done worse than you think.

And better than I deserved.

And I’m still standing.

Violet’s lips parted.

Her thighs pressed together.

She didn’t understand it, this pulse that bloomed between her legs just from looking. But she couldn’t stop. She studied the line of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the glint of sweat on the back of his neck. And for a moment, he moved.

Not toward her.

Not away.

Just shifted.

And somehow, she swore he knew. He knew she was watching. And he was letting her.

Violet let the curtain fall.

Her heart was still racing. Her breath shaky.

She tried to sit still again, tucking her legs beneath her and staring at the candle flickering on the table like it might hold the answer to why she suddenly felt like her skin didn’t fit right anymore.

She could still feel him out there.

That man.

That stare.

That heat like a hand around her throat.

The drape shifted again behind her.

And then a voice slid in, low, slow, honey-slick and sharp.

“Mm. So that’s who you watchin’.”

Violet flinched.

Cordelia stepped into the little curtained corner like smoke curling under a door. She smelled like jasmine and rum. Her silk robe was open at the thigh, and her eyes gleamed like a cat that already caught the mouse. She sat without asking, legs crossed, one arm draped over the back of the chair.

Violet tried to say nothing.

But Cordelia smirked.

“Girl, you act like I ain’t seen the way your breath left your body the second he walked by.”

“I wasn’t—” Violet started.

“Don’t lie to me now,” Cordelia said, laughing soft, “You look like somebody plucked your ribbon loose just by lookin’ at you.”

Violet dropped her gaze, cheeks burning.

Cordelia leaned in close.

“Let me tell you somethin’, baby…you ain’t the first girl to sit behind this curtain and melt for a man like Smoke Moore.”

Violet blinked, “what’s his real name?”

Cordelia smiled wider, “mm. Now she wanna know names,” She tapped her nail against the glass on the table, “His name’s Elijah, but we all call him Smoke. The quiet twin. The one who don’t look at much. But when he do look,” she snapped her fingers, “you best believe he seein’ every inch of you.”

Violet shifted in her seat, flustered.

Cordelia leaned closer, voice softer now, “He done killed men with those hands, baby. And still…he touches a woman like she was made of glass. You think a man like that ain’t dangerous?”

Violet swallowed then licked her lips, “I ain’t never had nobody look at me like that.”

Cordelia nodded slowly, “No, you haven’t. And you ain’t ready for what it means when he don’t just look…But comes back.”

She stood then, smoothed her robe, and before slipping out, gave Violet one last glance.

“You better start askin’ yourself one thing, baby girl…Do you wanna be safe? Or do you wanna be seen?”

And with that, Cordelia disappeared into the curtain fold, heels clicking softly.

The curtain was still swaying when Violet sat forward.

Cordelia’s words throbbed in her chest.

Do you wanna be safe?

Or do you wanna be seen?

She didn’t know the answer. But her body moved like it did.She uncrossed her legs slowly and adjusted the tie of her ribbon with quiet grace. Instead of retreating, she shifted closer to the edge of the booth, to the space where the curtain parted just enough to let the world in. And for the first time…She let herself be looked at.

Smoke was back at the bar.

Same place. Same stance.

Only now he turned.

Not fully.

Just enough to lean against the bar with his elbow propped, bourbon in one hand, and his gaze fixed on the sliver of light where Violet now sat, half-shadowed, half-glowing, waiting. He could see her now. Not all of her just the outline. A bare thigh, one strap slipped from her shoulder, the delicate slope of her neck. Her curls had loosened slightly. Her lips were parted, soft and unsure.

But her eyes?

They were different.

Still shy. Still wide.

But no longer retreating.

Now she was inviting.

Smoke’s throat tightened. His grip on the glass flexed. She was sitting still but everything about her screamed movement. The curve of her hip pressed into velvet. The dip of her collarbone catching firelight. Her chest rising in a soft, unsure rhythm.

She hadn’t spoken.

Hadn’t smiled.

Hadn’t even glanced directly at him.

But she was waiting.

For him.

And he felt it like a thread wrapped around his ribs. She wanted to be seen now. Not by everyone.

Just him.

He raised his glass slowly and took a sip, didn’t look away.

And Violet?

She stayed right where she was, trembling, blooming, letting herself be devoured.

No more hiding.

Just heat.

The curtain fell closed again.

She hadn’t moved but everything inside her was shifting. Violet sat still in the quiet hush of the velvet nook, hands resting in her lap, heart drumming like a hummingbird’s wings against her ribs.

She could still feel it.

Him and that gaze and that weight. The pull of it like silk wrapped around her waist, tightening with every glance. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something older, something deeper. Something unnamed. Her thighs were slick and tense and her lips dry. Her mouth unable to remember how to form a word. She reached for the edge of the table for something to ground her and exhaled slowly, as if trying to breathe the heat out of her blood.

Why’d he look at her like that?

Like she was the last quiet in a room full of noise. Like he could taste her without touching. Like he’d already chosen her and she ain’t even spoke his name.

She closed her eyes.

Violet tried to remember how it felt to be invisible. Tried to remind herself that she wasn’t made for a man like him.

Men like that didn’t look at girls like her.

But he did.

And that look made her body buzz like the string of a plucked violin—tight, thin, and trembling.

She touched the ribbon at her throat, fingers grazing the knot.

Her voice caught.

Her skin burned.

And somewhere behind the curtain, she could still hear the faint clink of a glass. The sound of a man drinking slow, like he had time. Like he had already decided.

What if he speaks to me?

The question rang in her chest like a bell.

And still…she didn’t run.

She smoothed her thighs. Straightened her spine.

Let herself bloom in the dark.

She wasn’t ready.

But she wasn’t hiding anymore.

Violet waited until the noise swelled just enough to carry her movement. A crescendo in the music. A burst of laughter near the bar. The groan of wood shifting beneath dancers’ feet. That’s when Violet rose slow and smooth. A breath exhaled into motion.

She didn’t rush.

Didn’t push back the curtain with drama.

She let it part like the petals of a flower at dusk—quiet and deliberate. And when she stepped out, the silk of her slip whispered against her skin, catching the light in places that made every inch of her look soft and secret.

The room was darker now.

Oil lamps turned low. Smoke coiled above heads like lazy ghosts. The scent of musk, pipe tobacco, sweat, and sweet perfume hung thick.

And there she was.

Barefoot. Ribbon still knotted at her throat. Shoulders bare. Back straight. Face calm but burning.

Smoke saw her immediately.

He was still at the bar, leaning with his drink in hand, but his whole body shifted like gravity itself had tilted in her direction. He didn’t move but his gaze locked on her with the kind of stillness that carried weight like he was memorizing her. Violet walked slowly along the edge of the floor, trailing one hand along the wall, not toward anyone in particular, just out into the open. Her hips swayed gently with the rhythm of the piano. Her thighs brushed, and the hem of her dress floated just above the softest part of them.

She passed two men.

One looked.

One said something.

She didn’t hear it.

Because she could feel him behind her.

That gaze. Heavy as a hand.

She turned ever so slightly and glanced over her shoulder.

Her eyes met Smoke’s.

And there it was again. That low-burning tension between them, thick as sticky glide. A pull. A knowing. And this time, she didn’t look away. Her body stayed open, her lips stayed parted. Violet let him look. Let him feel the weight of the woman she was becoming—the woman who was no longer hiding.

Violet walked past the bar.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t sway too much. She held her chin up just enough to look composed, her fingertips grazing the edge of the wall, the slip of her dress brushing the inside of her thighs. She was trying—trying to own her steps, to hold the quiet fire Cordelia lit in her chest. Her breath still fluttered, but she kept moving.

Behind her…she heard nothing.

But she could feel it.

That weight.

That energy like coiled thunder.

She didn’t have to look back to know he was moving.

Smoke Moore.

He was following.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

Just present. Like the slow drag of stormclouds across a summer sky—you don’t hear it right away, but you know the air’s about to change. She turned the corner near the back hallway, just beyond the glow of the main room. A curtained doorway behind her, a stack of crates ahead. Dim. Quiet. Close. She paused, pretending to smooth the ribbon at her throat.

And that’s when she felt him.

Close.

So close the heat from his chest kissed her back.

And then…

His voice.

Low. Velvet-wrapped gravel.

Southern Smoke.

“…You walk like you tryna convince yourself you ain’t afraid.”

Her breath caught. He didn’t touch her. Not yet. But she could feel him��just inches away, his energy wrapping around her like silk ropes.

“…You that scared of me, baby girl?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her hands tightened at her sides, the edge of her dress clenched between her fingers.

“No,” she whispered timidly.

He leaned in closer. His heat consuming her from behind. Still not touching. Just air, heat, and hunger.

“…Say that again,” He spoke with a hushed tone.

Her breath hitched. She tried to sound steady.

“…No.”

Smoke exhaled slowly near her ear, his mouth barely a whisper from her skin.

“You tremblin’. I ain’t even laid a hand on you yet.”

She felt a shiver ripple down her spine. Her knees wanted to give. Her voice betrayed her body.

And still…she stayed.

Quiet.

Soft.

Open.

He could smell her now. Skin warm, breath sweet, the faintest scent of fear laced with something deeper.

Want.

“You run now, I’ll let you go,” he murmured, pausing for effect, “But you stay?” He tilted his head dangerously close, “You mine to learn.”

And she stayed.

Trembling.

Timid.

But not moving.

She didn’t dare move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe right.

Smoke was right there with his breath still warming her shoulder, his voice still curling around her spine like smoke through cracks in a door. Her body was betraying her—softening, aching, silently begging.

She didn’t need his hands to feel claimed.

She already did.

But then…

He stepped back.

Just a half-inch or less. And somehow, the loss of him, of his warmth, his weight, his watchfulness, hit her harder than the press of his body ever could have.

She blinked.

Her fingers curled against her thighs.

And then she felt it…

The tension between them stretch like silk soaked in heat.

He hadn’t touched her once. But she felt more bare in that moment than she ever had undressed. He watched her for a breath longer—just watched. Then his voice came, quiet. Steady.

“…You don’t even know what you doin’, do you?”

She shook her head. Slowly.

Smoke hummed, “Didn’t think so.”

Another pause. The air thick between them.

“…But I do.”

And then?

He turned.

Walked away slow. Boots low and heavy on the floor.

Didn’t touch her.

Didn’t speak again.

Just left her standing there in the soft light, alone with the ache he placed between her thighs without ever laying a finger on her.

The room was still.

Only the faint hum of music bleeding through the walls, the occasional moan from the back hallway, the creak of footsteps overhead.

Violet sat alone on her narrow bed behind the curtain, legs curled beneath her, slip still clinging to her thighs like a second skin.

Her breath was slow. But her chest rose too fast.

She could still feel him.

The heat of his body. The gravel of his voice. The way he whispered like he could taste her fear and loved the flavor.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t even touched her.

He didn’t have to.

She slid her hand to her chest.

Just above the ribbon.

Her fingers trembled slightly, tracing the bow. Then lower—over the curve of her breast, down the dip between her ribs.

She thought of his voice in her ear.

You tremblin’. I ain’t even laid a hand on you yet…

A whimper caught in her throat.

She lay back, the pillow cool beneath her, eyes half-lidded.

Her knees parted.

The silk slipped higher.

And with a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her hand slid lower.

Between the heat.

Through the ache.

Right where he left her wanting.

She touched her pussy like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to—soft, tentative, gasping.

But the more she remembered his voice…

But you stay? You mine to learn.

…the deeper her fingers sank.

Violet stroked her clit gently, like she was afraid of what her body would do if she pressed down harder. Her hips twitched faintly. She shut her eyes, drifting back to the way his body felt behind her, a heat so intense. She could hear how soaked her folds are. The sound deafening. Violet opened wider, whimpering. Moaning soft and faint. Barely above a whisper.

She came quickly, shaking, the sound muffled against her wrist as her body clenched and opened around nothing—but the memory of him. When it passed, she lay there breathless, thighs damp, skin burning. He hadn’t touched her.

But Smoke Moore already owned her breath.

The ache between her legs and the exhaustion of her strong climax had Violet slipping into sleep like a drop falling into warm syrup. She was still wet between her thighs. Still flushed from the touch she gave herself.

But what lingered most wasn’t her own fingers.

It was him.

Smoke.

His breath.

His voice.

His presence like thunder waiting to break.

And now…he was in her dream.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The walls didn’t matter. The light was soft and gold. She was bare, thighs parted, laid out like a sacrament on fresh sheets.

And he was standing there.

Smoke Moore.

No coat. No holster. Just skin and shadow and slow breath.

He didn’t say a word. He just stepped forward and stared at her like she was already split open for him.

She felt no fear.

Only ache.

Only longing.

If he had touched me…

He knelt between her legs, eyes locked to hers as his hand grazed her inner thigh.

Not rushed.

Not rough.

Just…inevitable.

“Did you cum thinkin’ about me?” he asked in her dream, voice low as river water.

She couldn’t speak.

He smirked.

“You wet in your sleep. That ain’t just a dream. That’s your body rememberin’ what it never had.”

She gasped when he touched her there—just once—and it was enough to make her cry out.

He didn’t stop. He dragged his tongue along her thigh, slow, teeth grazing her skin. Her hips lifted on instinct.

His voice came again—dark and thick.

“You want me to eat it, baby?”

She nodded.

Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He smiled against her inner thigh.

“Then keep your legs open, and let me feast.”

And when he did?

She broke.

Soft cries. Trembling thighs. A climax that rolled through her like waves licking the shore of some secret island.

She woke gasping.

Sweating.

Empty.

And aching all over again.

Don’t hide from me, girl. I see you. And what’s mine don’t got to shrink…

Come here. Bring all that fear, all that want. Bring it to me. I got you…

Next time you touch yourself thinkin’ ’bout me, you better come find me instead. I wanna see it. Hear it. Taste it…

Violet hadn’t slept much.

The morning light pressed in low through the gauzy curtain, soft gold and dust-flecked. She’d stirred on and off—waking breathless, thighs damp, her dream replaying in vivid, pulsing fragments. Now she sat at the small vanity tucked in the corner of her sleeping space, brushing her hair in slow, gentle strokes.

Her eyes were unfocused.

Her thighs still pressed together.

Her body hummed with memory.

His mouth.

His hands.

That voice—low and knowing—telling her to stay open and let him feast.

She swallowed.

Her ribbon was untied. Hung loose down her chest like a thread of silk she no longer needed to hide behind.

She glanced at herself in the mirror.

Her cheeks were warm. Her lips slightly swollen from biting them in sleep. She looked kissed. Touched. Marked. But it had only been a dream.

And still…

Her body didn’t care.

She picked up a small notebook from the drawer—just pages she sometimes jotted thoughts in when the silence got too loud. She didn’t write much. Just a line.

Her hand trembled as she spelled it:

He hasn’t touched me.

But I feel like I belong to him.

She closed the book softly.

Set it down.

And then went to draw her bath, knees still aching from how hard they had clenched the night before.

The Blackline was quieter in the morning.

But not silent.

The house never slept fully. It shifted. Stretched like a cat in the sun, its sounds softer but still alive. Footsteps on creaking floorboards, water boiling on the stove, a distant radio playing slow Delta blues on the back porch. The sun leaked in through the stained-glass windows—coloring the wooden floors in fragments of amber, rose, and wine.

Curtains hung loose.

Smoke from someone’s cigarette curled lazily through a shaft of light in the parlor. The girls were up and moving—some in robes, hair pinned, faces bare. Others already dressed, painting their mouths red in shared mirrors, laughing soft between swigs of morning bourbon. There was perfume in the air, powder and orange blossom, musky oils, sweat sweetened by heat.

Stockings were hung over chairs to dry.

Heels lined the baseboards like soldiers.

Some girls cleaned their rooms. Others climbed into each other’s beds for warmth or gossip or comfort. Someone was ironing lingerie in the kitchen. Someone else was bent over a basin, washing blood from silk with careful fingers and a hymn on her tongue.

Stack was around, but easy.

He was seated at the long table near the front room, counting money from the weekend, cigar between his teeth. His suspenders hung loose over a rumpled shirt. Every so often, he’d pause, lean back, and scratch the side of his face while listening to the radio.

“We need more rye,” he muttered to no one, “And more ice.”

No one answered.

He didn’t care.

He just kept flipping bills.

Violet moved differently.

Not slower. Not faster.

Just…more aware.

She’d bathed early. Combed her curly hair back into a bun. She wore a soft green slip today, thin at the shoulders, hugging her hips.

Violet didn’t talk much. Just lingered in doorways. Sat near open windows. Swept when asked. Watched.

Always watched.

Her eyes traced the curls of smoke rising from Cordelia’s cigarette…the shape of a dancer’s back as she stretched in the hall…the gold necklace one girl wore backwards so it draped down the small of her back like a secret.

But her thoughts weren’t on the house.

They were on him.

Smoke.

His voice still echoed in her.

His breath still lived in the bend of her neck. Every step she took, every time her thighs brushed together under silk, she remembered.

You mine to learn.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

But she knew what her body remembered as she walked the halls of The Blackline with his gaze still burned into her skin.

Not to long after, Violet was folding linen napkins in the side parlor, the morning light slanting across her bare feet. She didn’t speak much that day. Just moved with her usual softness, her hair pinned loose, her green slip fluttering just above her knees.

Her body still felt tender.

Sensitive in places she didn’t dare touch again just yet.

She’d just finished setting the last napkin down when Cordelia passed by with her robe open, heels clicking, cigarette trailing a ribbon of smoke.

She paused at the archway and looked back at Violet with that same cat-glint smile.

“Smoke’s back from town.”

Violet looked up.

“Oh?”

Cordelia nodded, walking over to the tea tray on the buffet.

“He asked for coffee. But he don’t really drink it. Likes it warm, though. Something bitter in the mouth, sweet in the aftertaste…”

She poured a black cup, added a drizzle of cane syrup, then held it out to Violet.

“You bring it to him.”

Violet’s hands froze.

Cordelia’s smile widened just slightly.

“He’s out back, takin’ off his boots.”

“Why me?” Violet asked softly, eyes lowered.

Cordelia leaned in, voice low and lazy.

“Because he didn’t ask for it from nobody else.”

She pressed the handle of the cup into Violet’s palm.

“Go on. He won’t bite…Not yet.”

Cordelia sauntered off, leaving Violet with a task. A task that left her heart thumping beneath her ribs. She stared down at the cup, then exhaled a rattled breath. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before facing the man that she thought of while playing with her pussy. Dreaming of almost every night since she’d laid eyes on him.

Violet walked down the hall slow, cup trembling slightly in her hand.

Each step felt louder than it should.

The back door was open, light pouring in golden against the floorboards.

She could smell him before she saw him—leather, pine, dust, tobacco. The scent curled around her like haze and made her thighs press together. He was seated on the edge of the porch, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up, one boot off, the other halfway unlaced.

He didn’t look up when she approached.

“Heard you comin’,” he said, voice rough from the road.

Violet paused just behind him, heart pounding.

“…Cordelia said you wanted coffee.”

“Mmm.”

She stepped beside him, carefully placing the cup on the small table near his hand.

He finally looked up.

Right at her.

His eyes dragged over her face. Her lips. Her collarbone.

“You bring it ‘cause she asked you to?”

Her breath hitched.

“Yes.” She replied with a small voice.

He reached for the cup, sipped once, then leaned back.

“And you stayin’ now ‘cause she told you to?”

Violet said nothing.

Smoke’s lips curled faintly at the edges, “Didn’t think so.”

He looked out over the trees again.

“You smell like rosewater. That yours?”

She nodded.

“Don’t wear too much of it,” he murmured, “Makes a man wanna follow you ‘til he finds where it’s comin’ from.”

Violet swallowed hard.

“I’ll…I’ll remember that.”

He didn’t look at her again. But his voice was low enough she felt it in her stomach.

“Good girl.”

The words followed her like heat.

Good girl.

Two little syllables—barely more than breath—but they landed like a hand pressed between her thighs.

Violet didn’t reply.

Didn’t dare look at him again.

She turned.

Careful. Quiet. Controlled.

And walked back inside with the empty tray still trembling in her fingers.

Her knees felt soft.

Her core hummed.

The ribbon at her throat suddenly felt like too much and not enough all at once. She moved through the hallway like a girl floating—dazed, raw, skin warm from within. In the mirror of the front parlor, she caught her reflection.

Cheeks flushed.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

And she whispered it once—not for anyone else to hear.

“Good girl.”

Her thighs clenched hard.

Her breath hitched.

And she didn’t sit for a long time after that.

Because the ache between her legs was too tender.

Too fresh.

And that voice—his voice—was still buried in her bones.

It was Cordelia again.

Mid-afternoon, warm light spilling through the windows, the house quieter now—girls resting, Stack gone off with a bottle and a deck of cards. Cordelia found Violet in the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

“Smoke’s washin’ up out back,” she said, casual, like she wasn’t smirking behind her cigarette, “He asked for a fresh shirt. You know where the clean ones are. Go on and take it to him.”

Violet didn’t ask why.

She just nodded.

And tried not to let her hands shake when she folded the crisp white fabric over her arm.

Smoke was on the porch again.

Hair freshly slicked, combed back with a deep side part by Stack’s hand, glinting beneath the low sun. He wore only his trousers now—bare from the waist up, his back to her as he dried his hands with a cloth. His skin was the color of wet earth and iron, all tanned deeply from the heat of the South. Broad back, ridged muscle. Scars. One long one across his shoulder blade like he’d been cut once and never talked about it.

He turned when he heard her.

Didn’t speak at first.

Just looked.

“You bring that for me?” he asked, voice thick as velvet syrup

She nodded, holding out the shirt for him to take.

“You wanna help?” he said low.

Not teasing.

Just offering.

She hesitated.

Then stepped closer.

Violet unfolded the shirt in shaking hands. His body radiated heat. He smelled like soap, cedar, and something underneath—raw and masculine and animal. He bent his arms slightly and she slid the fabric over one first, then the other, brushing her fingers along his forearm to pull the sleeve through.

Her hands trembled against his skin.

When she reached up to guide the shirt over his back and onto his shoulders, her palm skimmed the top of his chest.

He was watching her the whole time.

Quiet.

Steady.

Hungry.

“You always this careful,” he murmured, “or is it just me?”

She couldn’t speak.

Her fingers hovered at the buttons.

Smoke leaned forward slightly.

“Start at the top, baby. I like it slow.”

She obeyed.

One button.

Then the next.

Each one closer to his heart.

Violet’s fingers brushed the top button.

The white cotton was still warm from his skin, soft from wear but clinging in places where his chest curved and swelled—solid and unyielding. She pressed the first button through the hole slowly, careful not to tremble too much.

Smoke didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

He just watched her.

His head tilted slightly, eyes locked on her mouth as she worked her way down.

Each button brought her closer to the center of him.

Her knuckles brushed his sternum.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like if he breathed too deep he might lose the self-restraint he wore better than his clothes. By the third button, she could feel the beat of his heart beneath the cotton.

Not fast.

But heavy.

Her hands moved lower, guiding the fabric closed over his ribs, over the slight dip above his navel.

She could feel his heat through it.

Could smell the mix of soap and sweat and skin.

And even though he hadn’t touched her…

She felt him everywhere.

His voice came, low and gritty, just as she reached the last button.

“You always this gentle?”

She didn’t look up.

Didn’t trust herself to.

Her fingers slowed at the last button. Held it there.

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered.

Smoke leaned forward just slightly.

“That mean I’m your first?”

She blinked hard.

Her lips parted.

But her answer—whatever it might’ve been—caught in her throat.

She finished the button.

Pulled her hands away.

Tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

He stared at her.

A full breath.

Two.

Then stepped back.

Not far. Just enough for the air to grow colder between them.

His shirt was buttoned now.

His body clothed.

But the tension?

Still naked.

“You done real careful,” he said finally, “Almost too careful.”

He turned before she could reply. Smoke reached for his hat, smoothed it on top of that slicked-back part, and stepped off the porch.

No touch.

No praise.

No smile.

Just the soft clink of his belt, the low creak of the stairs…

And the sound of Violet’s breath shaking in the absence of everything she wanted.

As Smoke stepped off the porch, the screen door whispered closed behind him. He didn’t light a cigarette right away.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t curse.

He just kept walking—down the back path, past the chicken wire fence, past the empty rain barrel, boots scuffing dirt as if the earth itself needed to feel how tense he was.

His hands flexed at his sides.

Jaw tight.

Chest tight.

He could still feel her fingers—soft, unsure, adoring—moving down his shirt one slow button at a time like she was afraid touching him might make her burn.

Hell, it just about burned him.

Good girl.

He’d said it without thinking.

But the sound of it on his tongue felt too damn natural.

Too right.

He made it to the old toolshed behind the fig tree and leaned against the frame, the wood creaking under the weight of him.

He rolled his neck once.

Twice.

Then finally lit a match.

The tobacco sparked. Smoke curled.

But the fire in his blood?

It didn’t cool.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him.

She couldn’t.

That little ribbon at her throat, the way her lashes fluttered when he spoke, the way her thighs brushed with every step like they ached even when she didn’t move.

She didn’t even smell like the other girls.

She smelled…quiet. Like rosewater and something softer underneath. Something only he’d find if he buried his face deep enough to taste it.

And that tremble in her hands?

God.

He wanted to hold her wrists and make them tremble harder. He wanted to hear what her breath sounded like when it broke. He wanted her on his lap, in his bed, under his weight, whisperin’ his name like a sin she’d learned to love.

But he didn’t touch her.

Because if he did?

I wouldn’t stop. And I ain’t ready to let her see that part of me…Not yet.

He took another drag from the cigarette.

Felt the ache in his dick throb hard beneath his belt. He wouldn’t jerk off. Wouldn’t give himself that release.

Not for her.

Not yet.

He’d wait.

And when she came to him—when she begged?

He’d give her everything he’d been holding back.

And she’d finally understand why he kept walking away.

The next few days passed like molasses poured over flame. The air in The Blackline stayed thick—sweet in the morning, sultry at dusk, dangerous by night.

Smoke and Violet never said much.

But everything between them spoke loud as thunder.

Every morning, she brought him his coffee.

Same way: hot, bitter, with a thread of cane syrup stirred slow.

She never asked if he wanted it.

She just brought it.

And he always took it from her hand, brushing her fingers like an accident he meant.

She watched him when he cleaned his pistols. He’d sit out back with a rag over his lap, gunmetal gleaming, sunlight sliding down the ridges of his forearms. She’d pretend to be folding laundry near the open window—but her eyes always found him.

And Smoke?

He let her watch.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t speak.

Just dragged a slow cloth over the barrel like he was teaching her how he handled things that got out of line. When Stack came by, they sat close at the porch table, talking in low tones over the hiss of liquor being poured into tin cups.

Business.

Bootlegging routes. Threats. Names.

Violet couldn’t hear it all. But she saw how they leaned in close—twin shadows, born from something brutal, bound tighter than blood.

And even then…

Smoke would glance at her.

Every time she passed, every time she walked near.

He noticed.

By nightfall When the house came alive, Violet floated. Soft slip. Ribbon back around her throat. Mouth painted the color of crushed berries.

Men watched her like moths.

Some tried to talk sweet.

Some talked slick.

She smiled. Laughed. Gave lap dances but never let them touch too much.

And always, Smoke watched.

Sometimes from the booth near the back. Sometimes from the bar. Sometimes while he cleaned a blade behind the curtain.

Until one night.

A man—drunk, swollen with coin and frustration—grabbed her arm too tight.

“I done spent two whole nights feedin’ you drinks, girl,” he slurred, spit thick in his throat, “You ain’t gon’ keep teasin’ me like that.”

She pulled back, “let go of me—”

He grabbed harder.

Her ribbon pulled loose.

“Lemme see what I paid for,” he snapped.

Smoke moved like a shadow with teeth.

No warning.

No shout.

Just there—sudden, solid, deadly.

Hand at the man’s collar. Gun drawn. Cold steel pressed against his cheekbone. Violet flinched, stepping back as she watched with wide eyes.

“You touch her again,” Smoke growled, voice like thunder in a cellar, “and I’ma put a hole in your face so clean they’ll bury you in silk.”

The whole room stilled.

Girls froze.

Men backed up.

Even Stack sat up straighter.

The man stammered. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Empty your pockets.”

“What—?”

“Every dollar. Every coin. Give it to her.”

The man looked at Violet.

Then at Smoke.

Then started dumping crumpled bills and coins into Violet’s palm.

Smoke’s voice dropped lower, but heavier. He raised the end of his pistol and cracked the man on the side of the face. Sharp. Bloody.

“You step foot back in this house…I’m killin’ you where you stand.”

Then he shoved him back hard—sent him stumbling towards the front by Stack’s bodyguards, half-drunk and humiliated, clutching the side of his face as blood seeped through his fingers. They shoved him out the front door. Left him stumbling into the night with his pride bleeding and Smoke’s threat still ringing in his ears.

The man was officially gone.

And just like that, everyone knew.

Violet wasn’t just pretty.

Wasn’t just new.

She belonged to someone.

Even if he hadn’t said it yet.

The room had started breathing again—slow, nervous, pulsing like something had just been broken and patched back together.

But Violet…she hadn’t moved.

She stood near the back wall, breath shallow, one hand curled around the ribbon at her throat, the other hanging limp at her side.

Smoke stepped toward her.

“You alright?”

His voice was low, but she felt it in her chest like it pushed past her bones.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, then they dropped, dragging slowly down the front of him.

The crisp lines of his buttoned shirt.

The shadow of muscle straining beneath cotton.

The dark holster vest at his chest and the way his gun disappeared into it like it had always belonged there. He shifted his arm and the fabric clung tight across his biceps.

Violet nodded faintly.

But her eyes… they were wide. Glossy. Shaken.

Smoke moved closer.

Suddenly.

His hand came up, rough fingers catching her wrist before she could tuck it behind her back.

She flinched.

“Lemme see,” he murmured.

His thumb pressed into the skin just above her pulse.

There was a faint red mark where the man had grabbed her.

Smoke’s jaw ticked.

That was when Stack stepped in.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice hit the room like a hammer.

He looked between them.

Saw the look on Smoke’s face.

Saw the way Violet’s body shook.

“He hurt her?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stack turned to Violet, eyes gentler, “You alright, baby girl?”

She nodded. Still quiet.

Stack looked at Smoke again, voice lower. Sharper.

“If we catch that son of a bitch,” He stepped closer, “We kill him. Don’t nobody hurt my girls. You hear me?”

Smoke gave a slow nod.

Stack squeezed Violet’s shoulder and walked off, muttering something to one of the other men.

When they were alone again, Violet looked up.

“…Thank you.”

Her voice cracked.

Her eyes still glossy.

Smoke met her gaze, calm and steady.

“You ain’t got no worry,” he said, “Me and my brother? We’ll kill any man that tries to put hurt on a woman in this house.”

His thumb brushed over the mark on her wrist once more.

Gentle. Intentional.

“That’s a promise.”

Then he let her go.

Turned.

And walked back into the dark—the weight of his words curling in the air like gun smoke.

@theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @theegoldenchild @blackpantherismyish @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ beneath her tongue, there is a poem, and i find it every time.

knight!paige x princess!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: in the gilded halls of the house of fudd, knight paige bueckers is assigned to guard princess azzi—a woman whose intellect cuts deeper than any blade and whose beauty feels like both salvation and damnation. what begins as duty transforms into something far more intimate than either anticipated.

cw: explicit sexual content (fingering, semi-public), power dynamics, knight/princess dynamic, class differences, dom!paige, sub!azzi, possessiveness, hunting/chase kink, mild degradation, praise kink, emotional vulnerability as intimacy, duty vs. desire, implied forbidden relationship bc this is not even close to what the king and queen hired paige for, devotion as obsession, attempted assassination, violence, the inherent eroticism of a woman with a sword, choosing love over duty/marriage, we are playing fast and loose with historical accuracy.

notes: this was supposed to be only 6k. I'm not completely happy with this, but i hope you still enjoy. please let me know what you think. i love you.

when paige first met her, she was swaddled up to the cheek and down to the bone. she stood rigid in her thick furs, the pelts a brown so dark it almost looked as if the night itself had come to settle around her. they were spotted, possibly an exotic leopard or lynx, and a matching pill-box hat sat upon the thick swell of her curls. still, there was something sweet about her as she looked out across the drawbridge to where paige gleamed in her armor.

perhaps it was her parted mouth, open like two rose petals teetering precariously against one another, neither strong enough to stand alone. or maybe it was her teeth, the two peeking out just slightly like a rabbit's, white and square and sitting neatly behind the vermilion of her lips.

when the captain of the guard had briefed her, he'd called her princess azzi of the house of fudd with the sort of reverence reserved for delicate things. looking at her now, paige thought the man might have been blind.

it wouldn’t surprise her. most men were incapable of seeing beyond what they were given at face value.

she stood still, the winter breeze blowing brashly against her skin until the light brown was tinged a fervent pink that bordered on red. her arms were crossed, her body unyielding. she did not want to be guarded, but paige had yet to meet a charge of hers that did.

besides, why would a princess want to forfeit any form of her sovereignty?

paige was unsure of how they would begin.

on her first day, she woke right as dawn began to brush against the night-bruised sky. it was always heavy, her sleep, and she sat on the edge of her bed for several moments, blinking herself into the real world. her head swung down, blonde hair lush and falling around her like wheat sewn into a doll's head.

with a sigh, paige rose to her feet and reached behind herself. she gathered the thick body of her hair into a great, golden bulk and then secured it in a loose bun that sat sweetly at the base of her neck. her body ached, her bones still unnerved from her trek to the fudd lands.

after a brief sink into the wooden bath just to the side of her bedroom, she dressed in her leather and mail, and made her way through the castle's winding corridors, her boots echoing softly against the stone. the fudd castle was grander than any paige had served in before. tapestries lined the walls, depicting hunting scenes and court life, animals slain in feverish color, and human faces rendered so realistically that it made paige almost feel ashamed to be looking upon them. 

even the servants' quarters boasted carved woodwork that would be considered luxury elsewhere. ducks with vivid beaks, elk and deer with antlers so painfully sculpted that they seemed to strain out of the wall with a silent wish for life, and the ripe buds of flowers on the cusp of blooming into their true state.

it took a moment before paige realized she was standing still, her head craned upward to trace the religious murals on the ceiling as if she were a child. embarrassment whispered across her cheeks in a red haze, and she roused herself back into her journey to her charge’s chambers.

the hall seemed an endless anabasis, but eventually she arrived at azzi’s door. the doorknob, she noticed, was inlaid with gold and crystal. she paused outside, raising her hand to knock, when she heard movement within. the heavy oak door, adorned with the princess’s personalized fudd family crest—two swans on the outskirts of an elegant ‘a’ and ‘f’, the calligraphy limbs of the letters braided together in pale blue and silver—stood slightly ajar.

“your highness?” paige called softly, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside.

azzi's chambers were a study in excess and beauty.

the walls were paneled in cream and gold, adorned with delicate painted medallions depicting cherubs and archangels engaged in various pastoral scenes. ornate furniture filled the space: chairs upholstered in sage-colored silk, a writing desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and dominating it all, a bed that looked fit for an empress. 

the headboard rose nearly to the ceiling, carved with elaborate scrollwork and draped with a rich fabric canopy dyed deep emerald, teal, and gold. beyond it was a mural of a forest, the trees grey and skeletal and rising in spindly lines toward the ceiling as if seeking light. paige thought it revealed more of azzi than anything else in the chamber.

atop it all, sunlight streamed through floor-length windows, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow. it stopped just short of making the room feel sickly or stuck in a memory.

despite the sheer opulence, it wasn’t the room that gave paige pause. it was azzi herself.

the princess sat at her vanity, and her hair—god, her hair—fell in dark, copious ringlets down her back, nearly reaching her waist. it moved like water, without reason or restraint, as she tilted her head and ran a thick, silver brush through the length of it with practiced strokes. 

she wore only a thin chemise, the morning light making the white fabric seem translucent against her skin. parts of her almost seemed completely bare, a trick of the light that paige made a conscious choice to ignore to the best of her ability.

paige had guarded noblewomen before, had seen them in various states of undress and vulnerability. but something about this moment, the intimacy of it. the way azzi's hair caught the light, the soft concentration on her face, made her feel like an intruder.

“princess,” she said, her voice rougher than intended.

azzi turned, and when she did, that cascade of hair shifted and settled around her shoulders like a dark cloak. her eyes met paige's in the mirror's reflection, cavernous and the color of flame-kissed wood, and there was something almost knowing in her gaze.

“azzi,” she corrected, and paige blinked. 

the other woman turned then, her chin tucked coyly on the ridge of her shoulder, and gave paige a pale smile.

“we’re to be together for quite some time. i’d like it if you’d call me by name.”

“i—yes, your—” azzi cast her a look. again, paige’s mouth twitched. “as you wish, azzi.”

azzi turned back to her vanity, drawing her hairbrush through the remaining ringlets until they were more waves than anything else. paige wished she wouldn’t. her hands itched, as if urging her to take hold of the brush and finish the job, but she only clutched them around the hilt of her sword instead.

“so,” azzi said, breaking the silence. she rose, sidestepping the vanity chair and approaching the short chaise at the foot of her bed. “what is to be your jurisdiction?”

“what?” paige asked, and almost at once she felt stupid for saying it. 

she watched as azzi wrapped herself in a thick, dove-grey, woolen robe. her eyes caught upon the way azzi lifted the mass of her hair from its collar, the descent of it almost hypnotic. azzi sat, tucking a foot underneath herself as she reached to the side where a plate swollen with pastries rested on a small wooden table. she ignored paige for a moment, seemingly looking for something, before letting out an endearing “ahah!” and conjuring two plates and a small knife out of thin air. 

paige truly needed to begin paying attention. this was not the first time she had taken watch over a beautiful woman, but azzi appeared more beautiful than most in a multitude of ways. her beauty was so—so visceral that it stung paige like bees, and her only thought was to unhinge her jaw so that she might swallow and become its hive.   

the breakfast spread was elaborate as expected: manchet bread, made fresh from sifted wheat flour and still warm from the ovens, with a golden crust that crackled when broken. sweet rolls studded with candied fruits and spices, their scent heady with cinnamon and nutmeg. a slew of delicate wafers and thin biscuits meant to dissolve right on the tongue were tucked alongside cold-roasted capons carved into neat slices, their skin still glistening with fat and herbs.

there was thick cream for pouring and honey languishing in a carved wooden pot, amber and fragrant. next to them, preserves made from fresh fruit: strawberry, apricot, and quince. so jewel-bright in their small silver dishes.

paige prayed her stomach wouldn’t rumble, her blue eyes alighting on the small glasses of ale and spiced wine warmed with honey and cinnamon. she watched, curious, as azzi bypassed it all for the fresh milk just behind them. 

“what i meant before was, what is the exact detail of your assignment to me? are we to only be together when i take a walk and attend to my social responsibilities? will you be there when i bathe?" azzi asked.

paige's mouth quirked upward before she could stop it.

“no, my lady,” she answered, noting the way azzi shivered at the rasp of her voice. her next words fell unbidden from her mouth. “unless you are at great risk of drowning.”

the princess paused, and paige resisted the urge to flee in horror at her lack of respect. then azzi’s face collapsed into a bright smile, before she tipped her head back and laughed. 

“i can assure you that i swim rather well,” she shot back, and paige fully smiled then. 

“come,” azzi gestured. “eat with me. take what you’d like, and then i’ll ring the servants to take the rest of it to my family.”

paige shuffled closer, sitting gingerly in a chair on the opposing side of the table. “do you always take your first meal alone?”

azzi looked up from where she was lavishing the surface of a biscuit with blackberry preserves. her eyes were luminous this close, a solar system of their own. she tucked her lower lip underneath her top teeth before letting it go.

she shrugged and replied, “i used to. now, i’ll only take them with you.”

it was two weeks of this before azzi made her next move.

paige arrived at her door, knocking gently before pushing her way in. azzi looked up from where she was perched on the floor, her skirts pooled around her. upon seeing paige dressed more casually, still with her sword to her hip, she smiled. she rose, brushing her palms along the waist of her daydress. 

azzi was dressed in deep indigo silk that made her skin look radiant. the gown was fitted through the bodice with a square neckline that framed her collarbones, the sleeves long and elegant. her dark hair was swept up and back, revealing the graceful line of her neck and the delicate shell of her ears. a few tendrils had been left to curl against her temples, softening the severity of the style.

“good morning, you. we'll have a walk this morning,” she announced, as if it had always been their custom. “after we eat.”

paige, who had been reaching for a delicate cut of white bread, paused. “walk where, my lady?”

“azzi,” came the gentle correction, followed by a smile that made paige's chest tighten. “and wherever we please. the gardens, the grounds. i find that breakfast sits better after movement.”

there was something in her tone that brooked no argument, though paige sensed this was less about digestion and more about establishing their own routine, separate from the rigid structure of court life.

an hour later, they made their way through the castle's corridors and out into the crisp morning air. azzi had tucked a leather-bound volume beneath her arm, and paige found herself curious about what the princess chose to read.

“you carry a book everywhere?” paige asked as they descended the stone steps leading to the gardens.

“nearly everywhere,” azzi replied, her fingers unconsciously protective over the volume. “i find most company rather predictable. books, at least, surprise me.”

they walked past carefully maintained flower beds bursting with a kaleidoscope of greenery, and topiary shaped into elegant spirals and arches. if paige squinted, she was almost positive one was meant to look like a bird. the morning light caught the dewdrops still clinging to the rose bushes, reminding paige of the thin sugar-dusted petals atop their vanilla cakes this morning. somewhere nearby, a fountain trickled steadily. 

but paige found herself more interested in the way azzi moved, the way her dress swayed with her steps, and how she occasionally glanced at paige as if measuring her reactions. she seemed to be waiting for paige to give in to something, and so paige did.

“what are you reading?” she asked, finally breaking their brief silence.

azzi's step slowed, and she pulled the book from beneath her arm. the leather binding was worn smooth from handling, and paige could make out gilt lettering on the spine.

“niccolò machiavelli,” azzi said, watching paige's face carefully. “you know of him? read the prince?”

paige's blonde brows rose despite herself. “i—yes. during my training.” 

she didn't mention that most knights weren't expected to read such works, that she'd sought it out herself during long winter evenings or even longer campaigns.

“and?” azzi's voice carried genuine curiosity, a gentle prodding differing from the usual testing tone paige expected from nobility.

“i found it…illuminating,” paige said carefully. “though i'm not certain i agreed with all of his conclusions.”

they had reached a fork in the path, and azzi chose the route that led away from the formal gardens toward a more natural landscape of ancient oaks and meadows almost suffocated with pastel wildflowers. paige found herself endeared just slightly toward her charge, her throat tickling with the suppression of a laugh at the way azzi simply decided, and she, herself, simply followed.

“which conclusions?” azzi pressed, and paige realized this was no idle conversation.

“his assertion that it's better to be feared than loved, for one.” paige adjusted her stride to match azzi's unhurried pace. “i think he wrote for princes who rule through force alone. but true loyalty is earned through respect, not fear.”

azzi paused. her smile was slow, pleased. “mmm, i’m inclined to agree. fear is the easier option. respect is far more difficult to inspire on a large scale.”

paige hummed in agreement, and azzi resumed walking. 

“most would say a princess has no business reading about the nature of power.”

“most would be wrong,” paige replied without thinking, then immediately wondered if she'd overstepped.

but again, azzi only laughed at her honest opinion, a sound like bells in the morning air. “you continue to surprise me, paige. i hope you always do.”

paige was silent for a moment, scrambling for an appropriate response before giving up altogether. “i cannot promise that i will, but i can promise to give you my best attempts.”

azzi looked up at her, forcing paige to acknowledge the few inches difference in their heights. “i wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

paige's ears grew red.

they walked in comfortable silence for a while, the path winding between stands of birch and elm. eventually, they emerged into a clearing where a small lake stretched before them, its surface mirror-smooth and reflecting the pale sky. time felt slower, as if they had slipped into a crack of the world meant only for them.

“this is where i come to think,” azzi said, settling herself on a fallen log near the water's edge. she arranged her skirts carefully, the indigo fabric pooling around her like spilled ink. “i told you i was a good swimmer.”

paige remained standing for a moment, uncertain, until azzi patted the space beside her. “sit. please. we're quite alone here.”

paige settled beside her, acutely aware of how close they were. the log wasn't particularly wide, and azzi's shoulder brushed against hers as she opened the book.

“machiavelli speaks of power as if it exists in a vacuum,” azzi said, her fingers tracing the text. “as if the ruler's relationship to their subjects is the only dynamic that matters. but what of those who possess influence without authority? those who must navigate power structures that they cannot openly challenge?”

the question hung in the air between them, and paige understood they were no longer discussing political theory in the abstract.

“someone in such a position would need to be strategic,” paige said slowly. “to understand the motivations of those around them. to build alliances carefully.”

“yes.” azzi's voice was soft, almost wondering. “and they would need advisors they could trust completely. people who see them as more than just their title or their usefulness.”

their shoulders were pressed together now, and paige could smell azzi, the whole of her. some of it she recognized: gardenia, lilac, vanilla, plum. some eluded her, and she just attributed it to azzi’s natural, inescapable magnetism. when azzi turned to look at her, their faces were close enough that paige could count the gold flecks along her irises. she tried not to betray herself, but the way that azzi’s pupils gently dilated made her stomach fall, and in between her legs grew warm like it had been kissed with flame.

“i think,” paige said, her voice more strained than she intended, “that such a person would be fortunate to have found someone who sees their true worth.”

something shifted in azzi's expression, a softening around her eyes. she tilted her head. paige could’ve sworn she moved closer.

“and i think,” azzi replied, “that tomorrow morning, we should walk to the eastern gardens. i hear the lavender is particularly beautiful this time of year.”

it was a promise, paige realized. of more mornings, more conversations, more moments like this one where the careful distance between princess and guard dissolved into something far more intimate.

“as you wish,” paige said, and meant it in ways that had nothing to do with duty.

azzi settled backward, her mouth twisting into something triumphant. 

“just a minute more,” she said, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the watery shine of the sun, “and then we can return to the castle.”

“of course, my lady.”

“azzi.” the correction came swiftly, and paige smiled to herself.

“do you dislike the title?” paige asked, her tone deceptively light. “if you truly hate it, i will cease using it immediately.”

azzi opened her eyes and turned, studying the planes of paige’s face. again, her pupils dilated. “i…”

“yes?” paige said, her voice husking around the question.

“i do not—i do not dislike it,” azzi said, and paige nodded.

“i’m glad to hear of it, my lady.”

silence came between them, and neither one of them dispelled it again. paige closed her own eyes and thought how sweet it was to unbalance azzi, even if only for a moment.

for a while, paige thought this was all it would be. 

breakfast and walks along the grounds, sometimes broken by attending court or dinners meant to honor political guests the kingdom hoped to rope into an alliance. maybe it was all she wished it would be.

but the world had a way of resetting things, reminding one of one's true purpose. paige’s reminder came in the form of an ear-shattering scream in the dead of night. 

one that she knew only belonged to azzi. 

at once, paige became a blur of movement, stumbling from slumber into the hall with her sword hanging loosely from her hand. her bare feet slapped against the cold stone as she ran, her nightgown billowing behind her like a ghost given form. the corridors that had seemed so grand in daylight now felt vast and menacing, shadows stretching long and strange in the flickering torchlight.

azzi’s scream echoed like a wolf’s call, her throat straining as she keened. paige could not tell if it was in pain or rage, but she prayed to god that azzi would keep screaming. for as long as she screamed, she was alive, and she was calling out to paige, who latched onto this proof of life like a dog to an animal’s scent.

panic began to claw at paige’s throat, tightening her breath and acting as a final sign that she had grown too attached to this blue-blooded woman. it felt as though paige could not see anything in front of her, her anxiety rising and rendering her nearly blind. azzi’s scream keened out again, a ragged bird’s song, and paige turned wretchedly, tumbling around a corner and almost falling to her knees.

it was as if something was keeping her out, keeping her back. still, she fought. 

another sound reached her. a crash, the splintering of wood, then silence so complete it made her lungs seize. paige's grip tightened around her sword's hilt as she rounded the final corner, her shoulder slamming against the doorframe of azzi's chambers.

the door hung askew on its hinges, the beautiful carved swans now cracked and listing. inside, furniture was overturned: the delicate writing desk on its side, papers scattered like fallen leaves, and the sage-colored chair knocked backward. the sweet scent of spilled wine mixed with something metallic made paige's stomach lurch. 

she turned wildly, hair whipping like a snare of light. she stepped on something, stumbling as the pain lanced through her, and when she glanced down, she saw and mixture of brambles and earth wet with something she hoped to be rain. she looked up, fear clenching her lungs in a vise grip, and then there. 

there, in the center of it all, was azzi.

she stood over a still form dressed in rough clothing, a pearl-handled dagger glinting in between those beautiful, trembling fingers. paige took a moment to register the blade and realized azzi must’ve been sleeping with it underneath her pillow. 

she had been prepared. how long had she known she wasn’t safe? why hadn’t she said anything?

her white nightgown was torn at the shoulder, dark stains trailing across the fabric like ink dropped in water. there was a perfect bloom of the deepest red across where her heart was hidden under miles of bone and muscle, and paige’s chest seized, a sound escaping her before she could suppress it. 

azzi took no notice of her. her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, and her eyes were wide and unseeing, focused on something far beyond the present moment. she swayed on her feet, her free hand pressed against the bedpost for support. blood sprayed across her cheek from where she had slashed at her assailant and caught his throat, and more smeared along her palm where she'd gripped the blade too tightly in her desperation.

paige slowed her own breathing, recognizing the signs of shock setting upon the princess. when her voice felt steady enough, she released it from the tower of her throat, moving inch by inch until she could better see her lady’s face.

“azzi,” paige breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. the princess turned toward the sound, her movements jerky and unsteady, like a marionette with tangled strings.

when azzi saw her, truly saw her, something crumpled in her expression. her hand flew to her mouth, barely obscuring the sob that escaped it, and fresh blood from her palm streaked across her lips and chin from the grip. the dagger clattered to the floor as her knees buckled.

paige surged forward, dropping her sword to better move, guilt clawing at her chest like a living thing. she should have been here, should have heard the struggle sooner, should have prevented this entirely. but those thoughts scattered as azzi stumbled forward with her arms out like a child, her legs giving way.

“i've got you,” paige said, catching azzi before she could fall. she pressed her cheek to the top of azzi’s head, blue eyes surveying every crevice of the bedchamber. “i've got you. i’m right here. you're safe now.”

azzi's body shook against hers, violent tremors that had nothing to do with the cold. her breathing came in short, sharp gasps that bordered on hyperventilation. paige's eyes swept the room once more. the intruder's body lay motionless, no immediate threat, the windows secure. 

they were alone. she looked back down to where azzi had stilled, her head lolling with the sudden vanishing of her adrenaline. paige adjusted her so that they were pressed closer together, rubbing a large hand down the ridges of her spine.

“good girl,” she murmured, tucking azzi into the pale of her neck. the princess kept silent, and paige didn’t push her. “you did well, azzi. so well.” 

the tip of azzi’s nose was cold with her cooling sweat, and paige could smell the tepid bitterness of urine, most likely released in fear, but she was uncaring of the state of azzi’s body. she gathered her closer, shifting them so that they were further from the body and pressed against the legs of the chaise that stood tall against the end of the bed. 

there was a minute of silence, an unnerving stretch of nothingness, and then paige heard a soft ‘scritch’ just to the right of her. slowly, she turned her head only to meet the gaze of a crudely masked man—his face partially obscured by a thick band of black. his eyes peeked out, gleaming green and mean. 

they stared at each other: paige with azzi practically crawling inside of her, and him with his bloodlust practically licking at his teeth. only another minute passed before they both leaped into action.

it was like a brutal ballet, only there was no stage and a very real threat to both women’s lives. paige lurched upward, dragging azzi with her. the latter lifted her head blearily from where it had been slick against the blonde’s neck, and paige felt the moment she realized there was another assailant. azzi’s entire body went to stone, her limbs leaden as fear consumed her.

paige knew azzi would not be able to kill again.

with a great deal more strength than she intended, paige pushed azzi behind her onto the full body of her bed and rushed the assassin with the full brace of her body. they collided with brutal force, spinning off-kilter in a tangle of limbs and emotion.

paige slammed into azzi’s vanity, her nightgown too thin to defend her against the shards of glass that flowered from the looking glass’s destruction. she and azzi let out a high cry at the same time—paige of pain, azzi of paige’s name.

the assassin grinned, his teeth crooked and black, and paige grunted as he slid a tough hand around her neck. he began to squeeze, and her vision sparked, but she got a hand up high enough to gouge her nails into his eye. he let out a near-girlish yelp of agony and released her. she twisted away with dizzied breath, feet carrying her unsteadily to where her sword lay.

just as she got her hand around it, azzi called out a warning to her, her eyes blown out with fear. paige felt the body heat of the man just behind her, and she ducked into a low crouch, her hips swiveling so that she could somewhat face him.

he towered over her, his top lip dark with the blood that dripped from his mangled eye, and paige knew that he wanted more than ever to kill her.

she refused to die.

there was no more time to waste, so she pushed up on the balls of her feet and carried her sword arm with her. the blade flashed in the moonlight, the steel clean and beautiful as it arced up in a graceful half circle.

the edge met his neck, and she watched as it cut through. there was a horrible, wet gurgle, and then his throat yawned open as his head toppled clean from his shoulders. as the head fell, paige didn’t feel triumph. only the echo of azzi’s scream still caught in her chest, and the warm splash of blood across her feet. 

she had killed before. she had never needed it like this.

for a moment, it spun, like a stocky, flesh-made coin before rolling off into a corner already bruised with drying blood. she heaved out a breath of relief, her body faltering as her wounds caught up with her. her throat burned, and she clutched it, eyes smarting as every bit of pain found a place to flood her.

behind her, azzi scrambled off the bed and to her side. her hand was firm as it encircled paige’s wrist, and she dragged her bodily to her wardrobe. hurriedly, the princess tucked both of them inside and lifted paige’s sword with a low grunt. she managed to slide the blade into the loops of the door's inner-facing handles, preventing those outside from easily getting it to open.

the wardrobe was stifling, the wood groaning under their weight. paige’s knees pressed into something sharp, a forgotten brooch, maybe, but she didn’t dare move. the iron tang of her recent kill clung to the roof of her mouth. paige sat on the floor, reaching a hand out to bring azzi between her thighs. 

azzi was trembling against her, both of them pressed so close paige could feel her breath stutter over her collarbone. she pushed at her hips until azzi turned so that her back was to paige’s chest. it was slick with fear against her skin, but paige clutched azzi to her like a lifeline. 

they stayed like that, blinking silently with their hands laced tightly together, until dawn broke and the main guard found them.

paige slept in the same room as her after that. the only reason she hadn't done so before was that azzi was determined not to have an invasion into every bit of her life.

azzi's bedchambers had been repaired in less than three days, but the same could not be said for the princess. paige had to coax her into a short walk, but azzi refused to go further than the garden. not even to her clearing from before.

she barely spoke anymore, her voice reduced to clipped responses and hollow pleasantries. at breakfast, she picked at her food with the mechanical precision of someone going through motions, her eyes distant and glassy. her fingers, once fastidiously kept, were chewed raw at the cuticles, one nail cracked to the quick. she didn’t seem to notice the blood welling there, only smeared it across her napkin with the same dazed indifference.

the woman who had debated machiavelli with passionate intelligence seemed to have retreated so far inside herself that paige wondered if she'd ever find her way back out.

it had been two weeks of this careful, muted existence when paige finally reached her breaking point.

“we're going for a walk,” she announced that morning, her tone leaving no room for argument.

azzi looked up from where she was methodically tearing a piece of bread into smaller and smaller fragments. even their breakfasts had grown bland.

she sighed, the sound long and tired. “you’re free to go, paige. i’m sorry, but i don't wish to—”

“i wasn't asking.” paige's voice was sharper than she intended, but she was tired of watching the woman she'd come to care for disappear piece by piece. “get up. get dressed. preferably, something you can move in.”

for a moment, azzi's eyes flashed with something like her old spirit. annoyance, perhaps even anger. but it died as quickly as it had risen, replaced by that terrible, empty compliance. paige watched as she slipped into an emerald dress, the fabric limp without the structure of her pannier beneath it. she cinched the corset tightly, her chest rising until paige had to force herself to look away lest the heat in her belly consume her.

they walked in silence through corridors paige now knew by heart, past the lavish tapestries that no longer seemed quite so magnificent. when they reached the gardens, azzi moved to take their usual path, but paige caught her wrist.

“no.”

she led them deeper into the grounds, past the manicured flora and topiary, toward a part of the grounds azzi had yet to show her. the more they walked, the more the hedge maze rose before them, its walls thick and a blackish-green and nearly twice paige's height. ancient yew trees had been shaped and trained into an intricate labyrinth that stretched out in geometric perfection.

“paige, i don't understand—”

“you're going to run,” paige said, turning to face her. azzi's eyes widened, the first real expression paige had seen from her in days. “and i'm going to hunt you.”

“i'm sorry?” the words came out breathless, shocked.

“you heard me. i won’t repeat myself.” paige stepped closer, and azzi instinctively stepped back. “i'm going to give you a head start, and then i'm coming after you. you're going to have to think, azzi. you're going to have to be clever and quick and remember who you are."

“i refuse. i don't want to.”

“i don't care what you want right now, my lady,” paige said, and the harshness in her own voice surprised her. “what you want is to disappear, and i won't let you. it’s pathetic. the woman i know wouldn't run from a challenge. she'd find a way to win.”

something flickered across azzi's face. it looked closest to hurt, but could’ve just as easily been the ghost of indignation. either way, it was the most alive she'd looked in weeks.

“this is absurd,” azzi whispered.

“quite.”

“you have lost your mind.”

“yes,” paige agreed. “now run.”

for a heartbeat, they stared at each other. paige casually took a step forward, letting her face harden with her determination. azzi’s face twitched.

“i said run, azzi.”

finally, azzi turned and fled into the maze, her skirts lifted in her hands as she disappeared around the first corner.

paige counted to thirty, then followed.

the maze was much older than she'd expected, the paths worn smooth by generations of feet. she could hear azzi ahead of her: the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of footsteps on earth, the sharp little gasp she gave as she almost fell. still, the hedges muffled everything, making it impossible to tell how far away she was or which direction she'd gone.

“i can hear you,” paige called softly, her voice carrying through the green walls. “you'll have to do better than that.”

she thought she heard azzi's breathing quicken, footsteps moving faster. good. fear would sharpen her mind, force her to think strategically instead of simply existing.

paige took the left path, moving with practiced quiet. she'd hunted men through forests darker and more treacherous than this. but this wasn't about catching prey; this was about making azzi remember she was more than what had happened to her. paige wouldn’t dare ask her to forget it, but she did have to find a way through it before it ate at her potential.

minutes passed. the maze was larger than it had appeared from the outside, with false paths and dead ends that would frustrate anyone trying to navigate it quickly. paige began to wonder if perhaps she'd underestimated the challenge when she heard it. 

a small sound, almost like laughter.

she froze, listening intently. there it was again. not laughter exactly, but something breathless and almost delighted.

paige’s lips curved into a smile. there you are, she thought.

“come on, my lady,” she called out. “make it fun for me, will you?”

she turned down another path, following her instincts more than any particular sound. the hedges here were particularly thick, ancient growth that created deep shadows even in the afternoon light. she was scanning the path ahead when something solid and surprisingly fierce slammed into her from behind.

the impact sent them both tumbling to the ground, azzi's arms wrapped around paige's waist in a tackle that was equal parts desperate and determined. they rolled once before paige's training kicked in, and she used their momentum to flip them, pinning azzi beneath her.

for a moment, they were both breathing hard, staring at each other in shock. azzi's hair had come loose from its pins, spreading dark and wild across the earth. her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with something paige hadn't seen in weeks: triumph, mischief, life.

“there you are,” paige breathed, and her voice came out a triumphant rasp. her hair fell all around her, shrouding them as it broke free of her bun.

something cracked in azzi's expression as they were shielded with the haze of paige’s tresses. her eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling for the first time since that horrid night.

“i went through the hedge,” she whispered, a wet laugh slipping through her teeth. “like a child. it wasn’t fair, but i thought—i thought you'd never expect—”

“i didn’t ask you to play fair. you thought right," paige said softly. “you were brilliant.”

they were close, so close that paige could count the lashes fanning azzi's doe eyes, could feel the warm puff of her breath. azzi's hands came to rest against paige's shoulders, and there was something electric in the space between them, something that had nothing to do with the hunt and everything to do with the way they were looking at each other.

“paige,” azzi said, and it sounded like a question.

the expulsion of her name came from somewhere deep in azzi’s chest, and the effort pushed azzi’s breasts high, almost to her throat. paige made a sound so low and animalistic—one that azzi answered with a near soundless parting of her mouth—as she lowered her head, her lips crushing against azzi’s as if to draw juice from them. azzi's hands fisted in the fabric of paige's tunic, pulling her closer, and paige fell further into her. she tasted salty, of sweat and strain.

time seemed to slow and quicken at once. paige kissed her harder, all thought fleeing from her mind. her hand found the hem of azzi's dress, fingers trailing along the soft skin of her outer thigh. higher she went, climbing until she could graze her nails against the tenderness of azzi’s inner thigh. azzi gasped against her mouth and arched beneath her. the sound broke something loose in paige's chest, a want so fierce it bordered on pain.

she felt azzi’s body twist, felt it pulse as they became hooked on the same rhythm. azzi broke their kiss, her lips inflamed with the force of paige’s affection. paige let her breathe, dipping down to press kiss after kiss against azzi’s neck. her mouth found its way to azzi’s chest, sucking a soft ripe mark atop the fullness of one. 

she was just setting her teeth upon the other when she heard voices. 

paige raised her head, senses returning to their sharpest state. the conversation was distant but growing closer. gardeners, perhaps, or other members of the court, taking their own afternoon walks.

the women pushed apart as if burned, both breathing heavily. paige rolled away, putting distance between them even as every instinct screamed at her to stay close, to shield azzi from the world and all its expectations.

“we should—” paige started, then stopped, because what should they do? pretend this hadn't happened? go back to careful distance and formal propriety?

azzi sat up slowly, her fingers moving to her lips as if she could still feel the kiss there. when she looked at paige, her eyes were clearer than they'd been in weeks. something dark pricked at the edge of her gaze, and she looked away before she spoke.

“we should go back,” azzi said finally, but she made no move to stand.

“yes,” paige agreed, but she didn't move either.

azzi clutched two fistfuls of her skirts tightly, and paige resigned herself to pretending they could go back to the way things were before. but then, azzi spoke again.

“my room,” she murmured. 

“what?” paige said, turning her full attention from the group approaching the maze to the princess beside her.

“we should go back to my room,” azzi clarified. her tone was firm, her eyes even firmer.

paige’s mouth fell open, and she sat there, hair askew and mind blanking. azzi sighed and climbed to her feet.

“paige,” she admonished, extending a hand to help the blonde to her feet. “do keep up.”

they didn’t speak on the way back. azzi led, skirts muddied and breath ragged, and she urged paige to follow behind her from a distance like a soldier in retreat. she felt as much; glorious in azzi’s defeat of her, winded by victory.

they weaved through the castle until they were sequestered inside azzi’s chambers, the door shutting with a deep finality. it was as if everyone knew it would always end up here. 

the moment it latched, azzi turned. her eyes were fever-bright, chin lifted with a hard edge as if she was readying herself to batter paige into submission. paige didn’t even have time to catch her breath before azzi was on her again, backing her further and further into the room until paige tripped against their beloved breakfast table and fell onto the chaise’s open body. 

azzi left no room for anything other than what she desired, climbing onto paige’s lap with the momentum of someone who’d made her decision hours ago and was only now cashing in the ache.

they both rose in the same moment, tongue and teeth clicking awkwardly with their desperation. it did nothing to break through the spell. paige gripped azzi’s hips tightly, squeezing so hard that she wasn’t sure if the sound she next heard was azzi whimpering or the creak of her bones. her hands kept roving, kept finding new palmfuls of flesh to grip and tease. azzi’s fingers curled in the rough collar of paige’s tunic as she did so, dragging it open with impatience. her palms grazed the plane of paige’s chest like she was verifying solidity, like she needed to touch muscle to remind herself this was real.

she moaned into paige’s mouth as the knight’s hands pushed up the skirt of her dress, her calloused palms finding the shapely curve of her ass and using it to drag her against the rough fabric of her breeches. paige broke their kiss gently, trailing her mouth down until she was back to azzi’s tits, her teeth nipping more dark patches into the soft, golden skin before soothing them with the flat of her tongue. azzi hummed with pleasure, her head falling back to reveal the delicate column of her throat.

she began to roll her hips, using paige’s thigh as a means of friction against her clit. paige let her. how could she not? she had dreamt of being held like this, of holding azzi like this, of fucking someone like they were a fortress she wanted to lay siege to.

azzi dragged her head up by the chin, pulling her back into a dizzying kiss as her hips bucked faster. she broke the kiss only to press her forehead against paige’s. 

“you don’t understand,” she whispered. “i’ve tried to stop wanting you. it’s practically made me ill.”

and paige, paige could’ve slid off the bench and dropped to her knees right then, her whole world trembling around that confession. 

“tell me what you want,” she managed instead, voice hoarse.

azzi didn’t tell her.

she took paige’s hand instead, tough from years of battle, the pads of her fingers still scented faintly with crushed hedge, and guided it beneath her skirts. no ceremony. no flourish. just raw need and the wet heat between her thighs.

paige swore lowly, fingers easily slipping past azzi’s folds and into the hot clutch of her cunt. azzi's head fell back slightly as she pressed herself into paige’s palm, working her hips until she sat at the knuckles of the two fingers inside of her. 

“mmm. yes, like that,” she breathed, and paige felt it echo down her spine. “don’t stop. don’t—”

paige wouldn’t. couldn’t. her other arm wrapped tight around azzi’s waist to keep her upright as she began to move her fingers, slow at first, then deeper as azzi rocked against her hand. it was obscene how easily she parted. how greedily she accepted.

“princess,” paige choked. “god, you—fuck.”

azzi shuddered at the term of address, fucking herself down harder. 

“i need more,” she gasped, her nails digging crescents into paige’s shoulder. “deeper. more. just give it to me.”

something about the way she said it made paige slow. azzi blinked, dazed, and looked at her.

“azzi, did we lock the door? is it—someone could come in.”

azzi’s hair fell around her as she leaned forward, bracing her hands fully on paige’s broad shoulders. she laughed lightly as she began to ride paige’s fingers, stopping only to urge paige to tuck a third one into the sticky, tight press of her cunt.

“i don’t care. i want them to know that it's you inside of me. i want them to know i’m yours.”

paige didn’t think of anything else after that. she gave everything. fingers stroking into her princess with measured force, knuckles catching on slick velvet. her mouth found azzi’s throat, sucked and kissed and grazed her teeth just below the hinge of her jaw. azzi sobbed out her name, legs shaking.

“i’d give you anything,” paige murmured into her skin, voice wrecked. “my name, my sword, my soul, if you’d only fucking ask. i don’t know why you don’t. i know how smart you are, i know you’ve known how badly i’ve wanted to have you. how much i’ve wanted to make you cry.”

azzi’s mouth popped open, and paige wanted to laugh a bit at how easy she was when you got past everything. she felt azzi tighten around her and pressed a hand to her stomach.

“no,” she murmured. “not like this.”

she removed her hand from azzi, fingers sliding out with an obscene ‘schleck’, and it took every bit of strength she had left to ignore how azzi groaned as if she wounded her with the removal. instead, paige lifted azzi so that she was on her knees on that massive bed, dragging the heavy fabric of her dress up to the middle of her back so that her ass was bared.

with one hand, paige spread her legs apart, climbing up behind her so that she could drape the weight of her body over azzi’s back. her breasts hung free where azzi had ripped her shirt—paige had never been one for undergarments—and her nipples were so sensitive that their graze against the laces of azzi’s gown made her moan high from behind her teeth.

paige regained her focus, pressing down so that azzi arched before sliding three fingers back into her. azzi had run out of sound now, her hips twitching as paige brought her free hand under her stomach to rub at her swollen clit. 

“work for it,” she muttered, voice smoky with her thin self-restraint. when azzi didn’t abide by the command, she pinched her clit and relished in the way azzi fell forward with the pain. “i gave you a command. heed it. fuck yourself, azzi. it’s the only way you’ll finish.”

azzi gave a strangled, little cry and began to fuck back against paige’s hand. she gave it her all, hips swiveling as she ground down to the root of the other woman’s fingers. 

“good girl,” paige cooed. “there you go. take what’s yours.”

she could feel the way azzi was dripping down her wrist, her cunt as hungry as paige felt. there was a tight contraction as azzi’s orgasm approached, and paige let her forehead drop to azzi’s sweat-glazed shoulder.

“come on. please. please, my lady, please. give it to me. please. this is all i’m asking. this is—this is all i want.” azzi’s body gave a great heave, but paige held her up. 

she nudged azzi’s legs open further, fucked deeper into her until she was sure she’d discovered some deeper part of her body that had never been touched before.  the change in position made it so that azzi was practically squatting, her bottom lip now dragged between her teeth as she chased her high. 

“azzi, please. i can feel you. i swear i can feel it. just let go. cum for me, azzi. finish for me, princess.”

azzi’s climax came like a storm breaking over both of them: hot, shaking, with a cry strangled against her bedsheets as she slumped into them. paige held her through it, fingers still deep, her heart a cathedral to the holy ruin she’d just witnessed.

when she finally collapsed atop azzi, panting and spent, they just lay there, anchoring one another. the knight and her charge. the sinner and her altar. 

paige with her princess, her lady, her future queen. 

she laughed, the sound half-cracked with disbelief. then, slow as ritual, she raised her fingers to her mouth and lapped up every syrupy drip of cum from them. her tongue buzzed with the sticky lash of azzi’s orgasm against it. it was still warm, still fresh and sweet from her body.

azzi was quiet for a long time. she watched paige eat of her. it wasn’t simply watching. it was a measuring of something she clearly had been considering, but might not have dared name before this moment.

“i think,” she declared, voice hoarse, “that i will never marry.”

“have you always been this decided?” paige asked, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself.

her head listed to the side so that she could see the satisfied cut of azzi’s face. 

“no,” azzi said. “i only knew when you walked into my room that first morning.”

paige’s breath caught. something old and fatal curled inside her.

“princess—” she started.

“azzi.” again, the familiar correction. 

“azzi—” she began again.

“no one,” azzi cut her off, “could ever inspire in me the affection i feel for you. there is nothing more perfect than when my hips are a bowl for your head to rest.”

paige could think of nothing to say. then, “i’d rather drink from your hips if they are to be a bowl for me. i can lie in your lap.”

azzi giggled this time, pleased by paige’s crude joke, and it was then that paige knew she could never give her up. she would be cruel in that way, always keeping azzi to herself through any means she could think of. 

and still laughing, azzi reached down, carded her fingers through paige’s hair, and gently cupped the back of her head. she held her there, against the softness of her stomach, against the flush-warm skin between her thighs. as if paige were not just wanted but necessary.

azzi shifted so that she could lie on her back, her hands coming to clasp over her stomach. their bodies were beginning to cool. azzi’s curls clung to her neck. paige’s shirt hung in tatters. but the air between them was still molten, almost war-touched.

“you’ll stay with me,” she said, low, fierce. not a question.

paige realized azzi wasn’t looking at her because she was scared of her answer. she reached up, turned azzi by the chin so that their gazes met.

her reply was immediate.

“until death.”

© hcneymooners.

[endofthelinegang]

corner pieces

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob reynolds x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  based on the prompt “I swear it was an accident.”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob acts like a real person, Crippling pining, sensory indulgence, suggestive warmth, puzzle trauma

The room smells like bergamot and old books. It’s a warm scent, not overbearing—just enough to blend into the low hum of static between the two of you. The kind of scent that clings to sweaters and pillows. Lived-in. Safe. A comfort that doesn’t pester those who seek it. The single lamp in the corner casts a buttery glow across the floorboards, catching dust motes midair like stars hung in syrup. Outside the window, the city breathes in long neon signs, white and red streaks sliding across the wall through the half-open blinds. It feels like a scene out of a dream you forgot to wake up from.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the middle of Bob’s room. The floor beneath you is warm from hours spent shifting in place. The puzzle box sits open between you both, its contents already claiming the entire space like spilled thoughts—disorganized, half-assembled, begging for attention. The picture on the box is a lakeside cabin in autumn. Orange trees. A little dock. Water is like glass. A peace neither of you have ever really known, but like to pretend exists in some corner of the world. 

You’re wearing his shirt.

It hadn’t been planned that way. It was just… there. Folded at the bottom of your drawer from the last time you borrowed it and forgot to return it. Or maybe you’d chosen not to return it. Maybe you like the way it feels—how soft the cotton is from wear, how it still holds the memory of him. It’s too big on you, dipping off one shoulder, swallowing your arms whole. But that’s half the point. It feels like being wrapped in something safe. 

And maybe he notices.

Maybe that’s why he’s been stealing glances at you all night—some subtle, some not. You catch the way his eyes linger, heavy and hesitant, every time your shoulder shifts and more of your skin is revealed. Or the way your squint at the puzzle pieces trying to figure out where any of them might fit because trying to build water was not a good time. 

He’s cross-legged, too—one knee bent up, the other stretched out lazily in front of him. His hoodie shrugged off his shoulders, sleeves pooled around his elbows. The t-shirt beneath is worn and soft-looking, hanging loose over the thick lines of his frame. His hair is slightly mussed, the result of both puzzle frustration and your fingers ghosting through it earlier when he realized this was going to be an entire night and made drinks for both of you. 

And now, he’s frowning at a puzzle piece. Specifically, a crooked little piece in his hand that looks like a misshapen bean. He had kept turning it in a circle between his fingers trying to understand how something shaped so strangely would go anywhere on this perfectly square shaped board.

“I’m telling you,” he says, eyebrows furrowed like he still was not entirely sure but had made up his mind just a little bit more than before,  “this is the corner piece.” 

You look at what he is showing you, the two of you had gone back and forth on issues similar to this all evening long. At one point you had been sitting side by side almost in each other's lap but then it got serious and you decided to tackle the issue as a two against one. The edges curve slightly, unmistakably. There’s even a puff of cloud on one end. You raise an unimpressed brow. “That piece is a cloud.”

He blinks at you, then looks down at it again like it betrayed him, he did not even think to look at the colors or he supposed the lack thereof.  “It has… a kind of corner energy.”

You snort looking back down at the piles of pieces you had sorted out. “You mean it doesn’t fit anywhere and you’ve given up.”

A beat. A stare at you. Then, grudgingly: “I’m a man of conviction.”

You reach out, the sleeve of his shirt falling farther down your arm as you gently pluck the offending piece from his hand. The tips of your fingers brush his in the process—warm, roughened by training, slow to pull back—and the contact sends a flicker up your arm like static electricity, subtle and impossible to ignore.

You study the piece like it’s under a microscope. “This does not have corner energy. This has lost-in-the-middle-of-the-sky energy.”

You drop it back in the box with a quiet plastic tap, and when you look back up, he’s already watching you. Head tilted. Eyes soft but unreadable. The kind of gaze that feels like it knows things. The kind that strips you bare without asking permission. His stare lingers too long on your mouth. He swallows once, slow.

“You always wear my stuff when you come in here?” he asks, voice dipped lower now—hoarse from a day of not talking much, maybe even rougher from whatever this moment is turning into. One of the reasons this had been taking so long was because this is what he had been really doing. Staring you down piece by piece. Your limbs, your face, your hair, your neckline, your accessories, and now your clothes. 

You glance down at yourself like you forgot what you were wearing only to see your favorite shirt in your drawer attached around your body.. “Only when I forget how cold it is in this place.”

You try to make it sound casual. But your voice wavers at the end. And he hears it. His eyes track the way your hand tugs the sleeve over your fingers again, a small, nervous movement. The silence stretches a little too long, and neither of you looks back at the puzzle. You try to pivot—reaching for another piece, something neutral, something to focus on—but your fingers find him again as you go for the same blue and white pile.

This time, neither of you moves right away. The contact is fleeting. Barely a second. But it lands with a weight that feels like gravity leaning closer. He shifts then, almost imperceptibly. His leg stretches out and nudges into yours—just barely—but it stays there. Pressed. Solid. The fabric of his joggers brushing the soft cotton of your pajama shorts. The warmth of his skin bleeding through.

You glance down, try to hide the way your breath catches. He then decides that this is not all that comfy and rather takes back to the position you had been in earlier, but this time he was the one initiating it. He was now sitting right beside you, his entire side touching yours. If you were to turn to your left your face would touch his. 

“You’re crowding me,” you say quietly, not looking at him but you nudge him jokingly with your arm as you continue to pretend to work on the puzzle.

His voice is a rumble against your ear. “I’m spatially efficient.”

You risk a glance. His lips are curved in a faint smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes because his eyes are too busy staring at you like he’s memorizing the way you sit, the way you breathe. You reach again—for something to break the tension—but your foot clips the edge of the puzzle board. And then everything topples.

The half-assembled top section buckles like a failed rooftop, scattering sky across the floor in a quiet chaos. Pieces slide under the bed, some bounce against the dresser, and one singular blue-and-white fragment drops directly into Bob’s untouched mug of cocoa.

You gasp, hands frozen midair. “Shit—”

Bob stares in stunned silence.

Then—he laughs.

It bursts out of him all at once, unfiltered and honest, chest shaking with it. The kind of laugh that makes his eyes crinkle, that shakes the hair from his forehead. The kind you never get to hear. Not really. Not like this. He puts his head on your shoulder as he does so.

You press your hand to your mouth, laughing helplessly along with him. “I murdered the sky.”

He wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “You drowned it with the marshmallows.”

Your laughter fades into soft giggles as you both begin scooping pieces back toward the board, his hand brushing yours again and again—this time not pulling away. But as you reach too far, your knee slips, throwing off your balance. Your hand skids across the floor and you tip forward. And Bob catches you letting several pieces in his hand fall back to the floor.

One strong hand loops instinctively around your waist, the other steadying your wrist. You land half against his chest, your laugh dying out instantly as you realize the closeness of it all. His breath is warm against your temple. His heart is pounding. You can feel it, real and loud, against your side. And then… nothing. Stillness. His hand doesn’t move, just holds. Gentle. Like you’re something precious.

You wrestle in his grip a bit to face him, to look up at him, and the world slows. His pupils are wide. His jaw tense. His gaze drops to your lips and lingers, breath hitching like he’s waiting for permission. Waiting for a signal.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper, the words slipping out like a secret. You had swore you were going to bed after puzzle time was done but you did not specify whose bed. Usually when the two of you did an activity you would leave and go to your room and stay up all night thinking about how much fun you had. You would get out your phone and type texts into your notes that you would never send him. But tonight you didn’t want that. 

His brow softens—just a little. His thumb drags slowly, deliberately, across the back of your hand.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs.

His voice isn’t desperate. It’s steady. Soft. Certain. It’s not a line. It’s a promise. He brings your hand to his lips, brushing your knuckles with a kiss so light it barely registers—except it does, and it sinks deep, curling behind your ribs like warmth in winter.

Your breath catches. “I don’t think the puzzle will ever forgive me,” you say, too quietly. You do not break eye contact but you are thinking about the piece that is probably disgusting and falling apart in his drink. 

Bob’s smile grows, crooked and slow, like sunlight easing through blinds. “You still owe me a new sky,” he says.

And you stay there in the quiet—one heartbeat away from spending the night.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Little City Gods

Bobby wasn’t sure why the special dumpster diver targeted his restaurant. Maybe it was because they were finally packed on weekends. Maybe because he forgot to close the lid properly one night. Maybe because life is a bitch and then you die.

After a week of this, the owner, Barb, had them clamp spikes around the lip of the metal like a medieval torture device. Those were snapped off. The next day the manager put a padlock on the lid. That was gnawed through and left on the ground covered in spit that glowed softly golden. The day staff poured cooking oil around the base of the dumpster like a looney tunes cartoon where they hoped it would slip and fall. Bobby had to assume that was lapped up, because the next day only shimmering three-toed paw prints were left and the lake of oil was gone.

And was it too much to ask for a break? Two months sober and Bobby wasn’t paid enough to defend an oil spill with his life, much less a dumpster. The only thing stopping him from walking the other direction was his mom’s voice. You get a prize for just a day? She laughed when she saw his first AA chip, her breath smelling of her favorite Patrón. Is it supposed to be some kind of good luck charm? Bobby, you’re a pickle now, you’re never going to be a cucumber again, baby.

“It’s not rats,” the exterminator said and Bobby would have gladly thrown his hands in the air and be done with it. The older man frowned. “You’re gonna need a shrine.”

“You sure?” Barb, the owner, put her hands on her hips, meaning she meant business.

“Look at the prints,” the exterminator’s eyes were already on the door, “glowing like a disco party.”

Bobby ran a hand through his hair. “This is the city.” And it was THE city too, concrete and bricks and bad air. “Middle of the city.”

The big man shrugged. “Call a priest about it.”

Both the owner and the manager of Barb’s Restaurant were the good sort, probably gave them all too many breaks and sent everyone home loaded with food. You'd want old Lou in your corner if nothing else. So, Bobby did look up building shrines in his free time. Afterall, having an alleyway destroyed every morning–eggshells, plastics, noodles, spread out like a bomb exploded, it wouldn’t do.

Plus, as the main busboy slash kitchen help slash charity case, Bobby knew the dumpster was kind of his responsibility. He was lousy with a kitchen knife and even worse with waiter small talk.

The shrine looked like a doghouse when he was done. A cardboard square with a fake candle inside and fake roses pinned to the top.

“There.” He dusted off his hands and called to the darkening sky. “I worship you or whatever.” That day he went home early, turned the TV up high, and texted everyone back in his messages.

Bobby got a call in the morning, and he wasn’t even due in for another few hours. He picked up the phone and a part of him missed being hungover. Hungover-Bobby would never have answered a morning phone call and would have felt fine about that.

“Lou?” Bobby answered his manager sleepily.

Lou grunted. “You do this?”

“Oh.” Bobby’s heart sank. “Is the dumpster still standing?”

The manager snorted. “Not sure we’re targeting the right god.”

Bobby let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “Think there’s a god of trash cans? But like, a vengeful one.”

“Inventing new damn gods to give me a migraine.”

“Our lady of rancid lettuce. Hater of cardboard and eater of fucking take out boxes.”

Lou chuckled and Bobby could imagine him doing his slow head-shake. “You piss off any deities lately?”

Maybe the fake roses weren’t a good idea. “Not that I know of.”

“Well. You might’ve just started.”

The shrine hadn’t lasted the night. Apparently, plastic roses were the opposite of a good offering. Bobby dressed like he was headed to a funeral and found his latest project was a puddle on the ground. The thing had licked up the oil like it was a buffet but apparently plastic roses were a step too far. They twisted in a bubbling black puddle, shifting and oozing in place. Bobby’s heart squeezed painfully and he leaned over the tiny tar pit.

The puddle bubbled and when he put his head over it, it hissed at him. He screamed loud enough his mother probably heard that too. Probably said he was a baby, and never gonna be a man again.

They really did need a priest after that. The damned plastic roses were melted into a gross tar thing that hissed at you. They needed back-up.

“Isn’t the point of the city to get out of dealing with stuff like this?” Bobby asked, hands crossed over his chest. The priest was young, fair, and had dark circles under his eyes. They probably sent their rookiest guy, barely holy, to handle restaurants with dumpster-divers of an unusual sort.

The young man leaned over the sparkling paw prints and oozy little tar part on the ground. He grimaced.

“Who said they don’t come to cities?” His accent was surprisingly thick. Bobby backed off when he smelled the strong liquor on his breath. Typical. Priests.

“Just what I heard,” he said, not meeting the priest's dark gaze.

“The whole world’s sacred. Up to the corners,” he said, surprisingly reverent, and cracked his back like an old man when he stood. “I’ll get the traps.”

The priest set-up No Kill Snares. Real candles burning on long milky wicks and smelling of lavender. String soaked in holy water crisscrossed overhead. A ring of pearls with an inscription in the middle, written on real parchment and good ink. He placed a talisman on the lip of the dumpster, warding. Barb must have paid a real penny to buy a ward.

Bobby was the most skeptical of the little tricks. If spikes weren’t going to deter it, then the talisman of a back-alley priest was just going to get in the way. 

Late Saturday rush, sweating through his t-shirt, running around like a chicken with his head cut off, and Bobby went to dump a nice big bag of trash. He sees it then. He sees with his own two eyes.

Glowing like a small sun, eyes burning gold, and body bursting with waves of dusty light. Unmistakable. A small god. It was in a bad way too, light shifting like a kaleidoscope, and falling off of it in heaps. It seemed to lose more rays of sun than shine them, and its mouth dripped with glittery black oil.

The little god jerked its head back from the trash and snarled at him. Bobby put his hands together in prayer.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” The little god bared its dripping teeth and let out a sound like rusty bells. Bobby dropped the trash and got down on his knees. “Easy now.” His eyes softened, clumps of light falling off the miscreant. It was shivering. He put a hand out like you did at a church offering.

The creature sneezed, whole body seizing up, and whatever god it was, it was a dying one.

“Do you know where you are?”

The little god chimed and backed away. Bobby shook his head. Was there a tree that used to grow here? A well of clear water? Did gods remember what they lost? 

Their trash was saved for the night and Bobby tried not to let on that he was a goddamn hero. Lou gave him the next day off though. Bobby, however, came in. He liked work. Needed it. Less time for drinking or thinking about drinking. The old Bobby would have never needed work. The old Bobby wasn’t full of craving on craving, not just the hot burn of drink or the oblivion. The despair. The panic. The knife’s edge. How good it felt to ruin yourself.

This Bobby came into work. He sat on the ledge by the dumpster, and tossed breadcrumbs to the ground. What did a little god need from a back-alley restaurant? He watched the clouds pass overhead and the little god did not show up. 

The next night he played a game with the customers when they walked in. “Write down the best thing you ever gave up.” He passed out strips of paper and checked them at the end of the night. A good number of people wrote someone’s name: George, Juan, Sylvie. A wistful heart was drawn on a few of them, and Bobby included those. More than a few were jokes: “Gave up your mom.” “Gave up being bad at sex.” “Gave up handwritten notes up until today. Thanks for nothing.”

The wait staff helped pick out twenty perfectly good wishes at the end of the night. Plenty of strangers were game for an odd group activity, it seemed. They were lucky like that.

Bobby decided it was a tree, he felt a little bad, making assumptions like that. But no other alleyway in the neighborhood had to deal with exploded refuse every morning. He crafted the shape of the tree out of chicken wire and bits of twine. Fastening every single person’s half-decent answers to the ends of the branches like leaves.

He sat, long into midnight, writing his own answer on the wish paper. Gave up the drink. No. He had scratched that out. Gave up having fun. That one was also tossed out. Bobby thought, in the end, he wrote something serviceable. Gave up on giving up on myself.

A couple weeks later, Bobby ran into the young priest at an AA meeting. He found it kind of sweet, seeing the other young guy there, figuring it all out. He still had the deep shadows under his eyes and the look of a hunted man. That was probably why Bobby stopped him after the meeting.

“Did you ever figure out your pest situation?” The young priest asked, tired.

Bobby grinned. “Eventually, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Someone had to.”

“Did one of the traps work? Those usually do.” He snorted. “Even city gods get conceited and will run into a trap.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Let’s get coffee, huh?”

He told the young priest a story: the little city god was never going to be worshipped as a tree or a sun or wellspring again. Had become a Problem Eater. But if you fed it right, little bits of what it used to be, new kinds of offerings in the old style, you might get a perfectly serviceable back alley.

------------

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[onecheerfulmoron]

🔥🥵 Sex Appeal 🔥🥵

Powerful/Hypnotic/Magnetic

(These are based on my personal experience/observation)

* I differentiate sex appeal and god/goddess appeal (which I will make another post of :)*

*The following aspects are what I have & seen from other's charts and was able to witness their little superpower lol*

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury conjunct Lilith

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury conjunct Pluto

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus conjunct Mars

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury conjunct Uranus

Sun/Rising/Moon/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury/Saturn/Uranus/Pluto/Lilith/in the 1st, 8th, & 10th house

Any of those planets in Scorpio/Capricorn/or Leo

Trines/Opposition/Square/Sextile also apply. Conjunctions are the most powerful and/or tighter the orbs of the aspect. Orbs (0-3), the more prominent it plays out in your life. Orbs (4-7) is somewhat in the middle.

The way the sex appeal of the planets is emphasized by (Lilith, Pluto, & Mars) can be better understood by applying the planet's role to it.

Sun: Who you are. So your personality without a filter. *you can naturally get someone interested by being yourself. No masks are needed for you!

Ascendant/Rising: literally how you look anywhere anytime. Through your appearance, mannerism, & fashion sense. *You don’t have to do shit or try and people be like👼🏾 😳 🥵

Moon: the way you think is what you act upon. Whatever sign your moon falls under, you would execute the energy of that sign when people get to know you. I feel that whatever planet your moon is aspects by is how your mindset would operate. The house placement of the moon would show where your emotions run. *personally i think the placement/sign of the moon contributes more to sex appeal than the aspect itself.

Mercury: your voice and communication style. *It’s those people that can make anyone fall for them just by talking. They have this aura where people want to listen to them and find their sense of communication interesting & funny. Also, they are the treasure box of others dark secrets. People love telling them shit. Gossip holders plus sharp tongue ☕️.

Mars: your expression, enthusiasm, or when you display dominance/leadership. *At this point act manly or motivated whenever lol. Whether it's through a form of hobby to being authoritative, you will catch someone’s eye.

Venus: beauty, fashion style, the way you care for others, how you are in love, etc. Most people with these sex appeal aspects above involving Venus are highly desired to be in a relationship with by others. They can get someone wrapped around their fingers if they are naughty lol 😈.

MC: similar to Asc, but it’s like reputation matters so they make sure to play their part. So it's like dressing up or behaving a certain way in public to get the reaction they want which will be attained. Lowkey a chameleon. *I have noticed that MC is a more refined/mature type, probably bc the MC has to do with career as well.

Uranus: Being unique like an alien. Shocking, Magnetic, & Unique are how I would describe individuals with Uranus aspects. People will remember you 100% in someway, which depends on what it’s aspected by.

Pluto/Lilith: they both are powerful when it comes to intimidating others as well as getting others obsessed. Drawing jealousy also is relevant, unfortunately.

Examples:

I have a male friend who is a Scorpio with Lilith conjunct to his Sun & Mars. Man, he gets ladies of all ages flirting with him. They tell him their darkest secrets they don’t tell anybody else. I and my friend worked in the same office together. Ladies are walking past his cubicle like “Heyyyyy…*Name*. Why don’t you stop by my cubicle no more…..don’t you miss me lol”. Random ladies, he doesn’t even talk to on the other side of the office know his name, like what!

A girlfriend of mine has Venus conjunct Pluto. The girl be getting men left and right. She was on a bus one day and told me that a stranger kept looking at her and told her when they got off the bus if he got a chance. Mind you he was in his 40's. Even in high school, people were looking at her from afar and would try to hit on her eventually. She attracted men and females.

I have Mars conjunct Pluto and when I'm active or energetic, men are interested in me. So when I'm in a good mood and I have excessive energy whether at the gym or being a crazy girl in school they find me interesting and funny. Celebrities with these aspects are always known for their roles and the character they display versus too much of their real personality. Ex: Bella Thorne, James Corden, Jared Padalecki (supernatural show), etc.

Scorpio Sun with Moon in the 8th house. There was this guy I was interested in with this aspect. Man, I was digging through his entire past trying to know "the real him". Searched his name online to asking him multiple questions about himself to put the pieces together. I knew more about him than he knew about me. Yes, he was adopted and his dad was some sort of instructor lol, and No, I don't do that anymore. Don't have the next victim yet lol.

Uranus conjunct Sun individuals can get someone hooked unto them for their personality and energy. People are just fascinated by them and actually enjoy being with them. My friend’s cousin has this aspect and man she found herself in a relationship so quick. The guy didn’t give two shit about how she dressed or looked, but fell for her quirkiness. She has a unique sense of fashion too. My friend told me how she was jealous of her cousin because she can get random men’s attention so fast like love at first sight. Yes, she married quick too. That relationship was like 3 month long and are expecting a child!

I have Uranus trine my Mercury and yes people remember whatever I say. I went to the gym with my friend before and the front desk guys asked me a question and I guess I said some funny. Everytime I went to that gym, they remembered that one conversation. Even after I switched over to another gym, I saw one of the front desk guy from my last gym and he would tell me what I said from before. Like I gotta make sure I don’t say none stupid especially to someone important lol.

Scorpio moon individuals would be extra secretive than the sun. Our mind is where we hold our opinions/thoughts/secrets…and if it’s under the sign Scorpio then all shit is preplanned of what can and can’t be spoken to others. No matter what the sun sign may be, Scorpio moon individuals will limit what they tell others, therefore making them magnetic. People want to figure out what they’re hiding.

Do you have any stories with these aspects?

P.S.: Don't be judgy about my color coordination for MC. I don't have any other colorful buckets to choose from lol.

[cloudskyana]

astrology observations iii

note: take what resonates, these are only based on my own observations.

do you want to know the vibe that you give off? look at your 10th house. 10th house is the house of our public image and reputation. if there is no planet, look at its ruler. my 10th house is sagittarius and i have my sun and pluto there. even though i have a pisces rising, people would always perceive me as ambitious, inquisitive, and intense.

on the other hand, look at your 1st house for the physical appearance. again, if there is no planet, look at the ruler. as a pisces rising, its ruler in modern astrology is neptune. my neptune is in capricorn. i have a round, watery, and dreamy eyes just how they describe pisces risings. also, i have a wide forehead, sharp jawline, slim body, and above average in height just like how they describe capricorn risings.

saturn and pluto dominants may look like they are doing fine but beneath lies a lot of growth and transformations from their experiences that they never talk about.

a stellium in 10th house may make a person too self-conscious.

pisces mars can have a passive-aggressive way of communicating their desires and needs. these may be the type of people that says they are fine but will be posting on their social medias the opposite.

leo risings can be great directors, or if not, they can be good at theater and performing arts. they can be great actors and actresses.

sagittarius moon may come off as an air moon because they are the most detached fire moon.

mercury in aquarius loves sciences. they are also updated the trends. i have noticed that these people are the real nerds and has the potential to change the world with their innovative ideas and out-of-the-box way of thinking.

in terms of finding a partner, venus in virgo cares a lot about physical appearance and hygiene. i have friends that have this placement and the physical appearance of a potential mate is one of their top priorities.

a mix of air and water placements in the big 6 of a native makes them have teasing as their top love language. these are the people that uses humor, jokes, and witty remarks to cover up their real feelings and intentions to the person that they are eyeing.

when venus is in bad aspect to saturn (square, opposition, quincunx) in a natal chart, it means that it may take time for the person to find love or a partner. there may be lessons that he or she needs to learn to find it since venus is love and values, saturn is karma and responsibilities.

too much trines and sextiles in a synastry chart is also not favorable. since the presence of trines indicates lazyness or it-is-what-it-is attitude on the negative side, the two people involved may feel too comfortable and passive in pursuing or levelling up the relationship.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

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City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[jacaerysgf]

The lady of Volantis | 1k celebration

Summary: Based on a request; You have been betrothed to Jacaerys for years now and you two have never exactly been close. He does not expect to see you anytime soon after your first couple meetings, but when Lucerys trial is happening you are suddenly in the keep. What are you doing there? Are you to be trusted?

w.c: 22.3k (i know... crazy right)

c.w: i will not include any bc they would include major spoilers for this fic,, all ill say is this includes things about Volantis culture, an alternative timeline, inaccurate westerios history, COLD READER and smut (a fair share of it). nothing too dark bc that's just not my style but be warned.

Jacaerys has been betrothed for years now. He has only seen the mysterious lady of volantis a couple times now. When her father answered lord corlys call for help with the stepstones with the terms that corlys offer them something in return. They knew they had nothing that could be even close in value to the mighty powers of volantis but in a desperate effort they offer him, Prince Jacaerys velaryon, heir to the heir. They expect volantis to say no, what good would having good relations with Westeros do, they have control of the largest trades and market in the world.

After no response for a good while they expect them to just have disregarded the letter and have given up. But when one day over 20 sea ships show up the flags of volantis on them and a young girl trails behind her father who introduces himself as the man they were writing to they were over the moon. They had only really got to meet the girl one time before she went off to join the effort in stepstones though she did pop by a few times they were few and far between. Her father had warned them his daughter was a bit cold. He gave no reason as to why she was the way she was other than that was just how she was raised to be.

Jacaerys attempted to play nice with his betrothed but due to her cold, off putting personality nothing truly came from it. Instead all she would do was stand and watch him, barely saying more than a few words to him. Every time was the same routine, she would come and leave, leaving jacaerys to worry for the future. He is well aware most marriages don’t contain any love, but he had atleast hoped the two of them could be friends but it seemed like the lady of Volantis wanted nothing to do with him. He had not expected to see her for many years in the future, For their marriage arrangement is not meant to take place until after rhaenyra ascends the throne.

“it is an honor to see you.” The girl nods, still an ever blank look on her face as she grips a square wooden box in her hand. The queen glances at rhaenyra and daemon who manage to hide their shock at seeing the girl in the keep. “It is a nice surprise to see you again y/n.” Another acknowledging nod is the only thing the younger women does before thrusting her hands that were holding the wooden box towards the queen. Alicent looks at it in shock and hesitantly reaches her hands out and grabs in from her. “A gift.”

Shaky hands slide open the box and a light gasp follows suit. A completely custom cyvasse set sets inside the box, alicents hand reach inside and pick up one of the pieces, the dragon, and brings it closer to her face to admire it. “Hand carved and painted.” She looks back towards the younger girl. Her heart warmed at the gesture. Nobody had gotten her a gift so nice, ever. “This is so lovely.” “I had heard you enjoyed to play.” A small real smile graces alicents face as she lightly nods, “Do you enjoy to play?” “You are asking if a citizen of Volantis enjoys playing cyvasse.”

It was not a question, as volantis was the origin place of cyvasse it should be no question she a member of one of the royal families of volantis would play. Embarrassment fills alicent and she places the piece back in the box swiftly, closing it up and turning away placing it on a table. “Of course my apologizes i have no clue what i was thinking.” She maybe expects some sly comment from the girl or maybe no response at all, maybe her scoffing or tsking but instead when she looks back over she sees the girl bring her head towards the ground and twist her foot as if she was squishing a bug. “I was jesting…”

A simple ahh is all that can escape alicents mouth as she looks away bashfully. She hadn't expected her to be so, kind? maybe that was not the right word and it certainly did not fit the look of the warrior that stood in front of her. Laced in black leather covering even up to her neck down to the soles of her feet. The only color added from the silver chains wrapped around her legs attached to the belt loops on her waist, a sword at her hip so close to her hands she could whip it out in mere seconds, her boots look so heavy like she could squish someone’s skull should she want to.

"ziry iksos unexpected naejot ūndegon ao.” (it is unexpected to see you) A voice cuts through the rooms now awkward air and Alicent just watched as the girls head rises and she's back to standing sharply and coldly as she was mere moments ago. "Skoros issi ao doing kesīr hāedar?” (what are you doing here girl?)

“Iksos ziry pirta hen issa naejot māzigon.” (is it wrong of me to come.) Alicent, though she had no clue what they we’re saying, had never seen someone speak and look at the rouge prince so bravely. If any man we’re in her place they certainly would not even be looking him in the eyes but you do not look at him with fear, if anything you just look at him with annoyance straightening your shoulders and you fold your hands behind you back.

“Skorkydoso gōntan ao gīmigon naejot māzigon?” (how did you know to come?) rhaenyra by his side pinches his torso and tries to shoot him a look but his gaze is locked onto you. All the girl does is shrug and turns her attention back to alicent. Daemon is not dumb. He knows this is all timed too well, arriving to the keep the exact day they arrived here. She must have begun her trip way before they had even received word of the trial. He stares daggers into her but she does not look back towards him, rolling her her neck as alicent attempted to come up with something to say.

“I believe i should attend to some things.” With a bow of her head and a goodbye she grabs the box from the table and before she opens the door she turns back to the younger girl, “We should play.” She does not expect a response from the girl, so when you nods a delighted look graces her face before she turns and leaves. Right as the door closes her face falls as she's greeted by a squire who was sent by her father to grab her, most likely interested in speaking about the volantene girl.

The three stand in silence for a bit. Daemons gaze has no let up and rhaenyra readjusts awkwardly. Despite the fact that she does not wish for him to question her so she has her own curiosities. “I hope you faired well on your trip, you must have been traveling for a long time.” The implications of her words are clear, if the volantene girl is annoyed she does not show it on her face instead she merely blinks a nods. “It was well.” “We have not heard from you since last year, we are merely surprised to see you now of all times.” “i was on my way to visit dragonstone, heard talks of you all traveling here. i came here instead.” You say nothing that is not necessary, no sweet talk no sugar coating just exactly what you are asking no more. Its a believable story if it is to be true, but daemon is still clearly restless. “And what would bring you to dragonstone?”

“I was planned to return back to the fight but i heard what happened to lord corlys, wanted to make a stop at dragonstone before driftmark.” Despite your young age you were more than useful to the effort. You and corlys had even formed a bond, you grew to care for the man and when you left the field for personal affairs you were horrified to hear of his condition. “Have you spoken to rhaenys?” “i am yet to see her.”

Suddenly a guard comes into the room and looks at daemon and rhaenyra. “the king is ready to see you.” The two stand and say their goodbyes to you before they leave. Out in the hallway they discuss to themselves. “Gaomagon ao pendagon issa…?” (Do you think she is..?) Daemon does not look to rhaenyra instead keeping his gaze forward, eyes glazed in though as he clenches his jaw. “daor.” (no) She would not come for no reason. The girl he knew would immediately return back to the battlefield after hearing of corlys absence. It is rather strange for her to instead make the trip here instead.

In another room sits alicent, otto and Vaemond discussing tomorrows trial. “It does not matter if the next heir to driftmark is indebted to us. Not when Rhaenyra's first born son is about to marry into the most powerful family in all of Essos.” Ottos voice cuts Vaemond off quickly. “There is something that can be done.” The two of them look at alicent, “She holds a distain for them i can see it, there is no question. Maybe she can be convinced to,” she trails off looking away, “depart from the betrothal?” “If there was a greater thing she could be offer, im more than sure she would agree.”

“It is a bad idea.” Otto cuts, “If your theory is wrong then you could put all of us at risk.” He shakes his head, “I do not approve.” “I believe it is worth a shot.” Vaemond adds looking to alicent, “She is a tigress, she is easily swayed. They are all the same they wish for war, it is the reason why she is out on the field with my brother. She has no conquest anymore in Volantis.” Vaemond leans forward on the table and looks alicent directly in the eyes, “If there is to be a war. You will not win it with her on their side.”

The sun had finally begun to set but there was no rest for the dark haired prince who stood in the keep library, a maester on the other side of the table watching the young prince struggle to recite the valyrian. “Rūsīr māzigon kustikāne se…” (with hardships come strength and…) He bites his thumb and taps his foot as he thinks. He is sure he remembers the phrase, jacaerys mentally berates himself for being so stupid. He is to be the future king, the heir of the heir, how can he let himself be so careless with his studies. “kivio.” (promise)

The voice behind him causes him to turn around in shock.“syt konīr iksis daor drēje mijegon.” (for there is no true struggle without triumph) Soon enough you are standing in front of him and he gulps. He cannot believe you are here, not expecting to see you for many years from now. He puts a smile on his face all be it a weak one as you just stare at him. “gaomagon ao lo mazeman toliot?” (do you mind if i take over) You address the maester behind him who looks between the two of you nervously before nodding and leaving the room.

The two of you just stare at one another in silence for a bit. He takes this time to admire you, you have not changed much since the last time he saw you. It had been at least a year now since you've visited dragonstone and when he got to see you. Even when you did meet you certainly never met this close anyways he takes this time to admire you fully.

The blemishes on your face, if he looks towards your covered neck he can even see a scar the fades under the fabric, he's curious about it, how did you get it? Did it hurt? When did you get it? He wishes he could ask, too fearful of your reply. He cannot mess this arrangement up. It matters too much to not only his family, but to the safety of the realm and the safety of his mothers claim to the throne. No one would dare mess with the power of volantis and the free cities, he would never be able to forgive himself if he messed up what his family worked so hard to get. Especially since it seemed like you did not care for him much.

“You are still a toddler.” You are the one to break the silent are between them. He flushes with embarrassment and takes a step back, hitting the table lightly. “You’ve merely caught me at a bad moment.” You raise your eyebrows at him, a challenging look. He knows you do not believe him, “You lie to me.” He scratches the back of his neck, You're right. “I would never, my betrothed.” He is embarrassed and he hopes by playing the engagement card you will leave, as you seemingly have no interest in it, so he can wallow in his own humiliation alone. She just stares at him while he cracks a smile at her. He wants them to be civil, for her to atleast like him, he fears that won’t be the case. He sees how happy his mother and daemon are and he feels a pit of dread in his stomach, he wants a life like that. He knows it is rare for marriages in his life to be happy ones but he wants it.

Instead of leaving you simply stare at him for a moment longer, he notices a change in your eyes if it was for a split second before you round the table and eye the book on the table. “it is because you are trying to learn from that stupid book.” “It is a book of the Targaryen history.” She picks up the book and sharply closes it before he can stop stop her, his hand lift hanging in the air as she tosses the book away. “Exactly. Stupid book.” He opens and closes his mouth in an attempt to come up with a retort but he can’t say anything before you speak once more. “lets roleplay.”

If anyone saw you right now they would feel as though they were seeing a stranger. If he were to ask anyone else they would say they’ve never heard you speak as much as you were or even the look on your face, though it does not look too different from your normal one, was an unfamiliar one. He raises his eyebrows at you, “what?” “the best way to learn anything is to practice.” “which is why i was reading from the book.” “The book is nonsense. you will learn nothing from it.” “It is how my mother was taught and my ancestors before me.” “Then they are stupid.” He groans in frustration and looks at her with a blank face. “You do not learn swordsmanship from reading you do not learn how to stitch from reading you learn from real experience.” He cannot say you are wrong.

As he says nothing you continue, “Lets say i am a jewelry shop keeper, and you are a traveler visiting my shop interested in buying something.” she presses her hands against the table and tilts her head at him. “sȳz?” (good?) a chill runs down his spine as she stares at him and a warm feeling fills his stomach. He is so screwed, but he just nods.

“rytsas skorkydoso glaesā tubī?” (hello welcome how are you today?)

“Iksan sȳrī kirimvose” (I am well thank you)

“iksis konīr mirros iksā jurnegēre syt?” (is there something you are looking for?)

You watch him struggle for a moment, unsure if he is trying to decipher your words or if he is trying to figure out what to say. He is shocked you are so patient, simply staring and watching him, not pushing him to answer.

“iā rudhy syt ñuha aderī naejot sagon ābrazȳrys.” (a present for my soon to be wife)

He watches your face change for a split second to one of shock then back down to neutral. With his confidence he takes a moment to admire your gloved hands, covered with rings over the leather. He imagines them running down his chest, running through his hair, maybe gripping on it as he pleasures you in ways hes only ever read about, maybe even wrapped around his-

You snap in his face and his head lifts back to look at you alarmed but your just looking at him blankly. “umbagon lēda nyke.” (stay with me) He would. He will. For as long as you asked him too. You sigh and roll your neck he watches the scar as it shows more of itself before disappearing once more. He shakes his head, he needs to snap out of it, he was being foolish getting lost in his thoughts, and especially since his thoughts were so,,, deplorable. He is thankful you cannot read minds as you would surely slap him across the face and never speak to him again if you knew he was thinking so terribly.

“gaomagon emā mirros qantre jaelā?” (do you have something specific you want?)

you.

“Nyke jaelagon nyke gōntan yn eman daor skoros ziry would hae.” (i wish i did but i have no clue what she would like)

She pauses for a moment and stares at him with narrow eyes. When he says nothing other than shrug she rolls her eyes, turning her head away.

“ābrar hae mirros” (women like anything)

“jaelan naejot jiōragon mirros ziry jorrāelagon” (i want to get something she would love)

“ivestragon nyke nūmāzma zirȳla pār.” (tell me about her then)

“gaoman daor gīmigon olvie yn nyke gīmigon issa kostōba se pazavor, se rovaja run naejot nyke iksis bona issa biare.” (i do not know much but i know she is strong and loyal, the biggest thing to me is that she is happy)

The air between them gets hot and he cant decipher the look in her eyes as she stares at him. He fears he’s upset her. The way her eyes and face remain unmoving or maybe he said the words wrong and she’s misinterpreting what he meant. His eyes stay locked on hers as she trails around the table to be standing right next to him once more. he opens his mouth to apologize but she begins to speak before he can say a word. “gaomagon daor tepagon qrīdrughagon aōha dōna udra sīr easily syt naejot qūvy ilagon se qēlossās se se jēdar syt ao”

His eyes crinkle and she has a content look on her face, seemingly happy he has no clue what she is saying to him. “what did you say?” Its eating at him. unlike when he hears his parents speak he does not mind much when he doesn’t know what they're talking about. even when lucerys is doing better in practice than him he does not mind it much though he grows annoyed at himself. But with you, he needs to know what you’re saying. He is latched onto your every word your every move. It makes himself sick to think about the fact he’s missed something you’ve said with the limited words you ever say. He’s shocked you’ve even talked to him this much today.

She just shakes her head and takes a few steps back. Her stoic nature has returned and she's back to not even looking at him. “It is getting late. You should have dinner.” He looks out the window and is shocked to see the had set and it had begun to rain outside. When did the sun even set? We’re they truly here for so long? He turned back to question her but she was already gone and the book placed back in front of him. The only reason he knows she was ever even here is the faint smell of her perfume in the air. Like a ghost she had up and left. Maybe she was a ghost, or merely a figment of his imagination to toy with him. He takes a couple deep breaths until the lingering smell of her is gone before he picks back up the book and leaves.

He clutches the book tightly to his chest to suppress the pounding of his heart and the ache that begins to bleed through his skin. He tries to mumble what she said to himself to try and figure out what you meant. Hes able to catch a few words, stars and the sky but he cant make sense of it all. he clenches his jaw in frustration as he returns to his chambers, placing the book down on his table and gripping the sides of it with his hands. This must be a challenge from her. She’s clearly toying with him. Maybe she did truly dislike him. But then why would she help him today? or can you even call it help? she didn’t exactly teach him anything. he grows irritated at the thought that his afternoon was wasted but then he realizes something. He had no clue he himself could even say or understand any of those words until she proved to him that he could.

Before he can even dwell on it he’s being called for dinner. On his way there he wonders if you’ll join them. His hopes are crushed when he walks in the room and you aren’t there. Greeting his parents quickly before greeting baela for the first time, the two share a friendly hug before sitting. “Did you know lady y/n is here jacaerys?” He almost gets whiplash from the way his head whips up to look at daemon. “yes i got the chance to see her earlier.” He hopes he does not seem too quick with his response. He takes a sip of his wine as daemon taps his fingers on the table in thought. He can never tell what daemon is thinking, though he doubts even his mother can tell what he’s thinking. “i am yet to meet her i am looking forward to it.” Baela turns to jacaerys, “Do you like her?”

Now this question really makes him pause. He has no clue. He is sure he does, in some way, but he barely knows her. Maybe that does not matter, especially in their political situation. It is purely a political marriage he does not need to like her. But he does, maybe it stems from him not wanting to disappoint his mother but he likes her, he wants things to work with her. but a man who is simply doing this just to keep his mother happy would not write her letters while she was out fighting even when he would not receive a response, he would not be overthinking what gifts to give her because sure he could go out and get her the most expensive gem in the world or the most finest silk but she is not the type of lady to like that type of stuff and this man would be imagining her underneath him withering with pleasure. Well, maybe they are but not a man like him.

“She is pleasant.”

The raging storm outside leads most of the hallways empty as people try to remain dry. but solely in one hallway sits a girl sitting with her thighs clenched tightly to keep the torch she has lit ablaze steady as her hands cup in a prayer. Its dead quiet expect for the storm outside and the quiet mutters leaving her lips, until footsteps walk down the hall and the spot next to her grows warm with a body sitting there.

“Lord of Light, shine your face upon us.” the person next to you says nothing as you continue in your prayer. “Light your flame among us, R'hllor. Show us the truth or falseness of this man. Strike him down if he is guilty, and give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom.” “For the night is dark and full of terrors” the person next to you finishes. A long looming silence hangs in the air as you do not dare move your position. “Are you going to say anything?”

“I thought you were praying.” You finally look up at the women besides you who gives you a curious look. “Is it impolite that i i finished it for you?” “No it is preferred, lady rhaenys.” “have you always been a follower of the lord of light?” “I have been visiting the temple of the lord of light before i could even walk, it would be strange if i were not.” She hums and simply stares at the storm. “it is rather cold, do you not fear of getting sick?”

“i have been through worse weather at stepstones.” There are a few more beats of silence, it is so quiet you are even convinced for a moment she will not say anything else but she begins to speak after awhile. “What would my husband think of all this?” You turn to rhaenys and tilt your head. Rhaenys laughs and shakes her head, “You are the first person i am speaking to that has had a close direct contact with my husband for the last couple years, i wish to know what you think he would say.” You do not say anything for a long moment, your gaze being stuck on the flames still sat in your lap. “I think he would say you are all absurd for thinking he is going to die from this.” Rhaenys snorts but says nothing as she waits for your next words. “But he would not want his brother to succeed him.” It is not as though she is shocked to hear the answer. Especially when it was something she already knew herself.

“why do you think so?” She wants to know why, no she needs to. Just to clear her head maybe, give her some justice in her choice, rhaenyra's offer about marrying rhaena to lucerys still looming over her head. “because his brother is a fool.” She has no clue whether they are his words or hers but it does matter much as in a funny way she seems content with the answer. or maybe she was already content with her choice and needed the extra push.

She watches as the girl stares into the flames aimlessly. “can you see things in them?” “that is the priestess job not mine. Though i can see flashes. i am no were near skilled enough to make anything of it.” “it is a shocker to hear you admit you are not skilled enough at something.” “I am honest.” she nods though you don’t look in her direction. “What do you see?” “Myself mostly. sometimes he is with me.” “who?” There is no answer from the girl which causses rhaenys to sit up straight. “Jacaerys?” A light hum is the only answer she is given but it is all she needs before she lets out a surprised scoff. “i thought you hated the man.” You rip your gaze away form the flames and look at her with a confused look. “i hate him?” “that’s what everyone says dear.” rhaenys looks at her.

“Do you not hate him?” she looks away and stares back into the flames, her face now solemn and she watches the flame slowly wither away to nothing. No more words are said between the two of them but they don’t need to be as rhaenys gets up. “i bid you goodnight.” Even if you wanted to reply you are not given the opportunity to as she quickly turns away from you and leaves. You are once again left alone but this time you cannot distract yourself with prayers. You lean your head back against the cold wall behind you, hoping to let your mind be flooded with mindless water like the grounds are outside.

You cannot fail this. For there is far too much at risk. The words of the priestesses ring in your ears. This is too important. the gnawing feeling in your chest grows as you think of him. Failure is not an option. As much as you wish you could sit and wallow here for the night in your thoughts there are still things you must get done. Still people you must talk to. Maybe you should go to sleep earlier for tomorrow will make or break everything. But you know thats not an option. You get up for the first time in two hours and head towards the opposite direction of your room, for there is something you must do first.

Dinner has finally ended and jacaerys is more then eager to go to his room and take a nice hot bath before he goes to bed but he is instead walking lucerys to his room who looks like he’s gonna throw up. “I am nervous.” Jacaerys sighs and grabs his shoulders making lucerys look straight at him. “It shall be fine brother. Mother will take care of it.” Lucerys looks at the floor, “So i am making it difficult for her.” “No. family is about taking care of one another. It may be tough but it is worth it. because we are family.” Lucerys take a deep breath and opens his mouth as though he wishes to say something but he simply shakes his head before whispering a goodnight and closing his door.

Jacaerys lets out a shudder and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels bad he cannot do more for lucerys. He cannot truly reassure him everything will be alright because in his mind and how his parents talk of the hightowers he is convinced tomorrow will not work on in their favor. He stands in his spot for far too long, His mind far away from his body, He does not know what will happen and that scares him. What does happen if driftmark is taken from lucerys? What happens to his mothers claim? He feels as though this is his fault though the more rational side of him tells him this was something completely out of his hands.

He knows what he is. it is no secret. He knew. But there is nothing he can do about it. He must live with it. It does not matter what anyone else thinks. He runs his now sweaty hands down the front of his tunic before turning and walking away from lucerys room. He cannot stress about this now or else he will not be able to sleep. He is not paying attention in front of him so when hands press on his chest to prevent him from moving he gasps and takes a step back. “My lady.” He feels like he’s imagining you. Maybe he thought about you a bit too much he’s starting to see things. You just blankly stare at with your eyebrow raised. His stress must be showing on his face. he sighs and runs his hands down his face. “I apologize i was lost in thought.”

He had thought you were waiting around for him to apologize to you. “you should not be upset. what is it now.” He grows irradiated. His face turns anger and his blood begins to boil. You were mocking him. it is the way you say it, the monotone voice you hold makes his skin itch. The cherry on top is the fact that you roll your eyes. His jaw clenches and begins to speak through his teeth. “i am sorry i am not allowed to be upset my lady. I know you hold your own anguishes against me but please save it for another day. Goodnight.”

He swiftly moves around you and does not look back as he storms off to his room. He cannot believe himself. Deluding himself into thinking the two of you could even be civil. You don’t like him. That much is clear to him now. He does not notice the fact that you have not moved a single step. There is no noise in the hallway it is as if you are not even breathing. For the first time all day you truly let you face fall. Fingers twitching at you side as if you wished to reach your hand out and grab him but he is already to far away. You have messed it up. of course.

You don’t know how long you’re standing there until a hand touches your shoulder and you turn your head. “Are you alright?” You immediately straighten back up and no one would have even known you we’re frowning before now that your face has been set back to neutral. “I am alright my queen.” “Are you lost?” No. “Yes. I seemingly have lost my way.” She offers to walk you and you finally fully get a good look at her. She is in her nightdress and you eye the box you had given her earlier in her hands. She notices your gaze and perks up. “ah in truth i had actually head to your room to look for you. It is late but, are you up for a game?”

Jacaerys attempts to contain his anger as he asks for the coldest bath he can have that night. They do not question him as they see him furiously unbutton and tear at his clothes. He does not even hiss as he enters the tub. His blood still boiling hot and the cold bath does nothing to soothe him. “You are dismissed.” “But my prince-” “I am capable of cleaning myself.” The servant bows before stating he will leave his night clothes on his bed before he swiftly leaves. For the first time today he is alone with his thoughts for the first time today. he leans down and submerges himself low enough in the water until his nose is just barely above the water.

He is sure the water is warming up quickly because of how hot his skin is right now. He does not even know why he is so annoyed. He does not know you. You do not know him. Maybe he is annoyed at himself for attempting to put in an effort that is not going anyway, maybe it is due to the fact that he is going to be stuck with you for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know. Maybe he is annoyed that he is so enthralled by you. Were you always so inconsiderate? He should have known, gods you never even answered his letters or even so much as tried to speak to him before today.

The stress of lucerys trial and his annoyance with you all builds and all he can feel is a pure ache. Throbbing and aching and throbbing. Fuck when did he get hard? He stares down at his errection with furrowed brows. His hot blood boiled until it all spilled down to his cock he guessed. He throws his head back in anger. Maybe he should just ignore it. He should call a servant in and ask him to throw as much ice as he can possibly take into the tub.

Or maybe he just needs a good stress relief. He is a man and tomorrow will certain be a tough day and he will be overthinking. Maybe he just need to get it out now? He sits all the way up and eyes his throbbing dick angerly. He rarely does this. His sex drive is not high enough where he gets hard everyday but every once and awhile a guy has to relieve himself. He leans his head back to lay against the edge of the tub and closes his eyes. hands sliding down his chest before they settle on his balls. He lets out a sigh of relief as he fondles them lightly in his hands, his thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive skin.

Suddenly the smell of a familiar perfume fills the air. His movements do not halt but his pleasure is increased when it begins to feel like a second set of hands lay over his, adding harder pleasure to his thumbs. He lets out a couple puffs of air and its almost as if he can feel the another hot breath drifting onto his face. His eyes flutter open slowly and he sees you. Staring at him how you were in the library and he whines, “please… y/n.” As if he is high on your smell he feels as though his hands are being guided by yours, they slide from the base of his dick to the tip causing him to curse and clench his jaw as his thumbs are instead pressed against his tip, rubbing in small circles.

He presses his lips together tightly to stop himself from letting out a loud moan. He wants to bring one of his hands up to his mouth to silence himself but it feels like their stuck where they are. Your hands holding his down tightly. “Jacaerys.” He can hear you, smell you, feel you. Its as if your hands have switched and he can feel the harsh leather your hands are covered with. “Please y/n i cant take it please.” Finally sliding down from his tip and down back to the base, it slides back up slowly, her pointer finger is tracing along one of the veins, this continues like a slow painful torture until each and every single vein has been drawn and pressed against the skin, Jacaerys does not know how loud he is, with every groan, hiccup, mumble and moan he can’t even be worried he’s getting louder and is instead completely and utterly consumed by you.

“y/n do not tease me please, please.” The hands suddenly begin to move faster and he throws his head so far back its basically outside the tub. His cock so painfully sensitive from the teasing he feels like he might burst any moment. But he needs something else, something more. Suddenly it's like he can feel your ghost lips kissing along his jaw, slowly working towards his ear, giving it a long lick and he shudders, “Jace.” He cannot take it, his balls begin to ache and he can feel an overwhelming pressure build in his stomach. “I need you y/n” Suddenly a long lick on his collarbone is what has him shaking and moaning out your name while white webs flood into the now very very very dirty bath water.

The only sounds that can be heard now are the light swaying of water and his deep heaving breaths. After many moments he finally lifts his head and slowly opens his eyes, blinking slowly he sees no one in front of him. Of course it was not real. he lifts up his hands and feels how his arms and hands ache from how long he was working himself and there is no smell of you in the room. For a moment he is disappointed until clarity hits him and he's suddenly very quickly standing up, well as best as he can his legs begin to rapidly shake and he hisses as his dick is met with the cold air of the room severely overstimulated.

What had he done? It was a one time thing. It was merely his mind running amok. Yes that's it. He dries himself quickly and attempts to suppress down any thoughts he has. All of them. all he wants to do is slip into bed and fall asleep, acting like today never happened. If he was lucky she wouldn’t be at the trial. Maybe she would head to stepstones tomorrow and they would go back to being strangers until they must marry. Maybe she would die in the war, he ignores how much his chest aches at that, and they would never see each other ever again. He just wants to rid of himself of all his thoughts. He tosses and turns in bed, sleep alludes him, or maybe its his own fears that once he falls asleep he’ll dream of you.

The library you reside in is cold, devoid of all light other than the two candles lighting up the board in front of you and the occasional light from lightning striking outside. “It is rare i meet someone who is good competition.” Alicent is enjoying herself. a small smile on her face as she places down another piece. Aemond is always far too busy to play, Aegon obviously won’t play with her and helaena has no clue how to play. She watches you closely but you face is unmoving, leaning far back into your seat with you arms crossed in your lap all you do is dart your eyes around to look at the board.

When you say nothing in return she is not surprised and says nothing more until you move a piece on the board. “I’d like to ask you about something.” she twists one of the pieces in her hands, eyes flying back between the board and to you. You make no noise or even so much as look up at her like she takes this as her queue to continue. “What are your thoughts on your betrothal?” Though it only happens for a split second she catches it, You tense.

She believes she is right. You are unhappy with your betrothal. She watches as you stare at your dragon on the board, lifting on of your hands to twist it to face you. “It is a fine match.” She hums and nods, “agreed.” Though for the first time you look at her and raise your eyebrows at her. you know there's something more to this. She feels a chill run down her spine as you don’t take your eyes off her while she's moving another one of her pieces on the board. “I hope this does not offend you, however i am truly just curious, is there anything keeping you in this engagement?”

Your gaze does not waver nor do you move to move one of your pieces and she begins to pick at her nails, a pit forming in her stomach. “I do not understand.” “It is simply curiosity. and if you would stay, if there was no longer any political benefit?” Your gaze does not stray as you pick up a piece and place it on the board. “No more political benefit?” You trail off for a moment, she expects you to say there would be no point then or maybe something along those lines. “What political benefit is there for me now?” Alicent freezes and looks at you confused, “What?” You shrug and fiddle around with some of your pieces on the board. “Am i supposed to be getting something out of it?”

All alicent can do this blink. What did you mean? Were you trying to mock her? What did you mean what benefit were you getting? “Your future husband is to be king one day….” She watches as you scratch your jaw and move one of your pieces. “Ahh,,,,, I guess you’re right.” She looks down at the board, she sees the clear path in front of her and tries to suppress her smile, maybe you were not as good at this as she had though, purposefully taking longer to continue to speak to you.

“It would be better if a marriage had benefits i suppose, so no?” Alicent picks up one of her pieces and places it down. Maybe this is her opportunity, there is a small voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea, it was her fathers voice, but she must try no matter what he says. She could be in danger or even worse children could be in danger.

She knows how dangerous and cruel the people of Volantis are. If there truly is to be a war if she does not gain her as an ally they are doomed. and worse they would be fighting against her family, so the punishment and pain she would inflict would be far worse. It would be treason.

“So, would you consider another option, should you be presented one?” She sees the look on your face and panics a bit but manages to remain calm, “Purely hypothetical of course.” “Like what?” “Say if i told you my son aemond remains unmarried.” “A second son compared to a future king? A ridiculous proposition.” For someone who just seemed to have no interest in the political side of things your attitude sure has changed.

“but what if he was not just a second son, but the prince regent to the king” You just blink. you would be blind to not get what she was referring. she fears you will confront her, ask her what she means by her implications, but she is good to remember you are not that type of person. “a prince regent is still not a king.”

“but what if your first daughter would be promised to the next king, your line on the throne after you.” more blinking. She doesn't know what you’re thinking, your face as blank as it always it. “simply just something to think about of course. If tomorrows trial goes well, maybe there could be something.” She begins to sweat under your blank stare. Maybe her father was right, this was a bad idea. You are going to declare war on her and her family for treason. But you say nothing at all for a good while. She decided against opening her mouth again in fear of ruining it more than she already has.

But you make do not open your mouth to speak, instead you just push yourself to stand up and her heart drops but you just place one of your pieces before snatching her dragon and placing it on her side of the board. “I shall think about it. Goodnight.” She simply watches as you leave the room before looking at the board in shock.

you had won.

He’s kissing you. All over your hot skin. Occasionally leaving a trail of his own saliva when he stays in one sport too long. He makes sure to keep his ear right next to your mouth to hear every little whimper and moan you let out. His hands running up and down your sides, you were wearing a red silk dress, a night gown if he had to guess. but he has no room in his mind to think about it as he slides his hands under your dress kneading your ass with his hands and uses his knees to push open your legs to slot himself between you, lifting up your dress to expose you, you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. His lips are surely going to be sore with the force he’s kissing you.

The two of your hips thrusting each others with fever even through his clothed pants he can feel your wetness soak his trousers and onto his hard cock. His lips leave yours and they begin to suck down your jaw to your neck. His hands sliding up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, feeling as they harden against his skin.

“my prince.” He ignores this at first. continuing his assault on your skin and the rhythm of your hips getting faster. “my prince.” but the voice gets louder and louder and louder until-

“my prince!”

Jacaerys eyes open and he shoots up. He is breathing heavy as if he just ran all the way from the north to dorne. He runs his hands down his face and he looks at his hands with disgust as he feels the amount of sweat.

fuck.

“my prince.”

“What is it?” He is basically snarling. He is furious he was woken up. He can feel his cock throbbing under the blanket as if he was on the brink of climax. The servant shakes at the dragon princes hard glare. “It is morning my prince, we must get you ready for morning fast.” His head whips to look at the window. The sky bright blue contrasting the stormy weather it had been last night. as if the storm had to happen last night for the sky to be blue. He runs his hands down his face and apologizes, “I'm so sorry, i had a bad dream.” the servant merrily nods with a grateful smile on his face before he begins to help jacaerys get ready for the day.

Jacaerys cock throbs under the cold water. “my prince if you need a few moments alone-” “I do not.” he spits out. He certainly cannot do what he did last night. As much as his hands itch to touch himself he knows he would only be greeted with images of you. He cannot allow that. The servant says nothing more for the rest of the morning, his hardness dies down a little through out his routine but he knows once he is alone his mind will begin to race once more.

So he is more than thankful you are not there when he joins his family. Though his mother mentions she had tried to invite you but apparently you were no where to be seen. Seemingly not having gone back to your room last night. He wishes he was relieved, that he were happy you were gone from him and he could not have to see you for a while. but he is not. He must be so annoyed about it even Joffrey asked him why he had such a sour face.

They all assume you have gone to stepstones, not believing you would be interested in staying for the trial. He says nothing in return. A thought pops up into his head. Maybe he had upset you, he had lost his temper with you last night, maybe that is why you had left. He tries not to dwell on it but a pit grows in his stomach, he does not wish to think about you any longer.

He does not expect you to be there. He had thought you left just like the rest of his family. But as his family was being led into the room he sees you already leaning against the wall near where his family was standing. He could see the way the people were looking and whispering about you. This must be the first time for many people in this room seeing her before, even seeing someone from Essos before. You do not seem to care as he expected. He can’t take his eyes off you. Instead of your black leather outfit you were wearing a completely grey leather outfit still paired with your large boots and silver chains. You have a dagger in your hands fiddling around with it not taking your eyes off of it.

He does not like you he is certain of it but then why can he not remove his gaze from you? why does he wish to go over to you and compliment you though he knows your response will be something like a nod? Has he ever even complimented you? He can’t remember. Maybe he wrote something in one of his letters. But why does it matter why should he complement you if you do not even care. Maybe he should do the right thing and go greet you despite his grievances.

Your gaze suddenly lifts and you're looking in his direction so he swiftly turns away to glance at lucerys who look's more nervous than ever. He wishes he could offer lucerys any sort of comfort but he has no clue what to say. It is certainly not because he is using all his willpower to not look at you. He can feel your stare, your burning gaze staring into the side of his face. He does not allow himself to look. he only does when he sees otto sit down on the throne and it is almost as if you were not just looking at him. backing to fiddling with you dagger, was it really your gaze he felt on him? He has no time to truly dwell on it, not when Vaemond begins to speak.

The trial begins without a hitch. Jacaerys find himself growing more and more irritated as the trial goes on. Vaemond’s voice and the backhanded insults Vaemond is insinuating about his mother anger him beyond belief. Daemon places his hand on jacaerys back to attempt to keep the young boy at bay. Daemon looks over at you and sees you spaced out, as if you were not even listening to the trial at hand., neither really was he if he was being truthful, he knew this trial would work on in his favor, whether he would have to pull out drastic measures or not.

“Why don’t we get the lady Maegyr’s opinion?” Daemon chuckles as he watches your head raise and look to Vaemond with your blank stare. “You are sure to know better than anyone else about my brothers wishes.” Every head in the room is turned to look at you now.

Alicent feels herself praying in her mind. You must take their side, they can’t risk you having aligned yourself with the blacks. She glances at otto who looks to her for a beat, she does not miss the awaiting look on his face. She knows he will be furious with her should you not side with them, she looks at you hopeful, praying to the seven, praying to the father the mother anyone who would listen to her.

Jacaerys watches as you push yourself off the wall and walk towards where Vaemond is standing, stopping for a moment to glance at jacaerys. He does not turn away this time, allowing himself to look at you. He is desperate, he worries as he knows your distain for him he fears that will transfer over to your feelings on this whole affair. He has a look of desperation as your gaze does not leave him, please he finds himself begging in his mind. You must defend them, his mother, his brother. Him. His fists clench at his sides and your gaze drops to look at them before you look back up one more time and walk away.

Standing in front of the throne the room is dead quiet, every person in the room eager to here what you have to say, anticipating it.

“I think this whole ordeal is ridiculous.” You stop to glance at alicent who looks at you with wide eyes, you can see her picking at the skin on her nails. You look back at Vaemond and sigh. “worst of all i think you are nothing than a power hunger pig who cares not of his brother nor his family but only of himself.” There's a couple gasps around the room and Vaemond opens his mouth to speak but you are quicker. Daemon feels rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief and places a hand over her chest.

“Dare i ask why you do not campaign for Baela to take driftmark? by westerios succession rules she would be next in line after him if you do truly disregard corlys’ true blooded named heir Lucerys Velaryon. For you are nothing but an old rotting man no kids, no wife yet you believe you are best choice for driftmark? yet not baela who has spent the last couple years of her life on driftmark under her grandmothers wing who, as of right now, is the proper ruler of driftmark and is more suited than you, a lone man who is closer to his own death day than he is to ever sitting on the driftmark seat.”

Vaemond's face turns to anger, his eye twitches at your words and he takes a step closer to you, his voice louder than before, “You dare speak to me like this?” “You say that as if you are someone to be reconned with. I am supposed to fear a second son you dare insult me, maybe that is the reason you remain unwed, for no one wishes to lay with a second son.” Alicent feels her heart drop to her stomach. It does not help that she feels Aegon chuckling at her words next to him. She does not dare look at her father, for she fears his reaction more than anything.

“How dare you?” “How dare i? how dare you? you dare put into question the legitimacy of the princess and even worse the legitimacy of her children. Ser laenor claimed those children as his who are we to question such an act. You? A weak old man who is so bitter and resentful he must campaign in a room full of more ignorant fools who believe this should even be a question in the first place. You should be hung for treason.”

Vaemond finds his body shaking with anger at the girls in front of him with her ever so calm demeaner, her words cold and calculated like she knew exactly what she was going to say before he had even called on her. He cannot control himself. “You are a lying deceitful monster who believes she is so righteous and strong. Yet i find it hard to believe there is a fate worse than marrying someone of his blood-” “You will hold your tongue!” The room which had begun to be filled with whispers and small chatter ceases completely at the girls outburst. Her face having a look that no one has ever seen from her. Anger. Vaemond takes a step back as if her voice had thrown him back. Everyone else in the room finds themself frozen in fear.

“You dare forget yourself i am first lady Y/n Maegyr of House Maegyr, one of the three triarchs of Volantis i am not someone who is below you, i am not some family member of yours, you will not dare speak another nasty word about him or i shall watch your blood pool on the ground by my blade.” Without another words you swiftly turn your back to him and make your way back to the pillar you were once leaning against, not sparing anyone else a glance and sliding down it to be sitting on the floor with a bored look. You do not pull out your dagger nor do you look to speak with anyone else, simply all you do is stare out into space.

Before anyone else can say a single word the king is announced and he is shockingly walking in. Jacaerys can't find himself to care much however. You are the only thing on his mind. You defended not only his mother but him. You did not get angry when Vaemond insulted your own honor but his. He attempts to will away his blood that begins to pump down south. Maybe you had just done it to keep up appearances, it would be wrong if you did not defend your betrothed.

Suddenly he is rushed with guilt. He had been so cruel to you last night, maybe it had been deserved but he should not have spoken to you like that. He will have to make it up to you somehow. An idea pops up in his head. He is so distracted he does not even flinch when daemon slices off Vaemond’s head, instead turning his head in your direction to see how you react. You don’t, as expected and you do not move even as the trial is called to an end. He finds himself moving without thinking.

You look up once you notice a shadow close around your vision and see him staring down at you, offering you his hand. You eye it for a moment before grabbing onto it and he helps you up. He watches as you use your free hand to dust off your pants briefly before looking back at him. “Thank you.” He wasn’t expecting you to say anything and merely nods, he feels as though the roles are reversed, he should be the one speaking not the one silent. You make no move to let go of his hand and he does not let go either. He does not want to let go. “Are you free this afternoon?”

He watches as you look at him wide eyed, he gives you a small smile, maybe he could use this as a way to apologize. But he watches as you look down at the floor and let go of his hand. “I find myself,,,,,” You trail off with an unsure look on your face, “preoccupied with other things this afternoon until the dinner tonight.” He takes this as a clear rejection and takes a step back. Maybe you truly did what you had done for your own benefit and he finds himself annoyed at himself. You probably were not even busy, you were probably just not interested in seeing him. “of course you are. Good day then.”

You are once again forced to watch him simply just walk away from you as you have once again messed things up and merrily sigh as you watch him walk off. As much as you would like to spend the afternoon with him you have other things you must do. Things you cannot afford to miss. He will understand. But as you walk around out you begin to think about the words he had said to you last night. ‘I know you hold your own anguishes against me’ or even when rhaenys had asked you if you hated him, has you crinkling your eyes. What had they meant by that? You let out a sigh and continue walking through the streets with your hood up, You have things to do, people to meet, you will dwell on this later.

Dinner time has finally arrived and everyone had gotten into their seats, even viserys had been escorted into the room but one chair remained empty. Your chair. “The lady is no where to be found my queen.” Alicent sighs in defeat, had you left? It did not make sense. Maybe you are heading home to plan an attack on her and her family. No. She should not think so irrationally now. “If she shows up escort her here.” The guard nods before moving to leave the room. “Should we pray?”

“She cannot stand your presence so much she is missing dinner.” Aegon whispers in jacaerys direction before being shushed by his mother who begins to pray. Jacaerys has never been religious so he has no reason to pray. Are you truly missing dinner because of him? He begins to feel sick. Jacaerys had definitely not spend his whole afternoon thinking of you even when he was walking in the garden with baela or when he had found out lucerys was to be married to rhaena. It got him thinking of his own engagement. He has been trying his best to figure out what he was going to say the next time you spoke, maybe he should stop trying completely. Today was a slip up in his judgement, he should have listened to his head and not thought with his cock like Aegon.

He will not speak to you unless necessary.

That entire plan lasted all of five seconds because as soon as alicent was done with her prayer the doors to the room opened and his jaw fell to the floor. You stood in a floor length sleeved in the color of house velaryon. It had a long slit down your front down to your waist where it connected to another slit down your leg. the dress covered in detailed designs of flowers. Your hair was done, full of pins and topped with a golden clip which made it look like the sun was shining behind you. he could see the scar that was was usually hidden behind your very covered up look clearly now. it ran completely down your chest and stopped around your stomach where there was a bigger scar.

You were gorgeous. No gorgeous is not enough. you looked radiant, glorious, his vocabulary is not large enough to describe the goddess standing in front of him. He may not be religious but he believes you to be the closest thing to the maiden. A goddess that has flown down from the heavens to grace this earth.

You awkwardly readjust your dress as everyone in the room gawks at you. “I apologize for being late. This dinner clashed with my prayers.” There is a couple beats of silence before anyone says anything. “It is my fault, i should have taken your faith into account when i set this dinner up.” Otto is the first and only one to break the silence and is given a nod before you make your way towards the table.

Jacaerys quick to stand, you look at him in shock as you sit he pushes in your chair for you before sitting back down himself.

Shortly after all the food is being brought out and the chatter at the table begins. “you look beautiful. That dress is stunning, where ever did you get it?” rhaenyra is the first to speak to you, he watches as you reach your hands and readjust the slit on your dress. You are not wearing your gloves. “I had it made in a tailor shop in the city last night, i had gone to go pick it up this afternoon.” He cannot take his eyes off your hands, still covered in rings. He can see black marks peaking through your wrists but mostly hidden under your sleeves. He wants to see them. He wants to see you.

“A dress like that made so quickly? That is quite impressive.” “It is easy to have stuff done quickly when you are presented with enough coin.” more mindless chatter flows around you all. There is an awkward energy in the air but no one dares acknowledge it. Jacaerys feels terrible. You had been busy this afternoon. And he had been so rude about it. His terrible temper and sensitive feelings continue to sway him in the wrong direction.

He wants to speak to you. But he feels as though he will just screw it up once more.

“Lady Maegyr, you had mentioned you are a triarchs of Volantis, is it normal for two members of the same family to rule at the same time?” You pick at the food on your plate, “My father was not re-elected lord hand.” “That must have not gone over well with him.”

You glance up for a moment at daemon before you look down at your plate. “He was furious. So furious in fact he demanded a recount, then another recount. When that didn't work he attempted to bribe them. When that didn't work he tried to kill me. Both the other triarchs were re-elected, He had thought it was ridiculous i was elected. i had not spent a single second or coin to campaign” “but you traveled out there recently no? was that not to campaign?” “it had been to help my father campaign. Seems like it did not matter. The people wanted me to sit on the throne.”

“Do you know why?” It takes you a moment to answer but it is clear to daemon who chuckles to himself. “You are to be a Targaryen.” You hum, taking a large gulp out of your wine glass. “Every single old blood dreams of being even close to the great legacy of house Targaryen. They simply are trying to flatter me.”

There is no room to acknowledge the tension in the room. The adults more interested in learning about you, throwing questions at you left and right. Its a good thing, there's no room for in fighting between the family and you serve as the perfect distraction. “What happened to your father then?” “He had fallen off a cliff. Such a tragedy.” You do not mean that, you seem far too pleased for it to be merely an accident. “That is horrible.” You simply nod, and watch as a maid fills up your wine glass for the fourth time.

“Is your mother around?” “My mother died soon after giving birth to my brother.” Alicent places her hand on her chest, “I am so sorry.” You shrug, continuing to sip on your drink. “I was born with my twin brother, they had not expected her to live anyways.” “Twins are tough.” It is helaenas first time speaking that night, a depressed look on her face. “Birthing is not easy even with one, i cannot even imagine two. Isn't it not common to survive?”

“Yes well, my mother had not died while giving birth. She had actually looked like she was going to live which shocked the midwives in the room.” The room sits in silence and some in pure confusion, “Imagine the look on their face after my father picked up a blade and slit it across her throat.”

Rhaenyra chokes on her drink while alicent gasps and covers her mouth. “No…” “ ‘an heir and a spare’ they say. when i was pushed out first he had expected he would keep her around until she gave him another son but soon after me my brother came out and he had no more use for her i suppose.” “That's horrible.”

You simply shrug and finish off your cup requesting some more. “it is in the past. My father shall pay for what he’s done, the lord of light shall do what he sees fit to punish him. Even so he has already paid for his crimes in a sense.” It is a shock to hear you talk so much. Maybe it is the wine that is loosing you up. But there must be a deeper reason as to why you seem to be acting differently tonight.

“It is nice to see someone can keep up with me in the drinks. Maybe we should see if you can keep up with me in other places.” Aegon whispers the last part in your ear. You keep your gaze forward continuing to drink, had you even taken a bite out of your meal.

“Hold your tongue when speaking to my betrothed.” It is now jacaerys who whispers from your right. He has a venom in his voice as he glares in his direction. You look at neither man, simply blind to the stare down they are having behind you.

“My lady i truly feel bad for you. I'm sure his cock is so flaccid he has no clue what to do with it. If you ever need some real experience feel free to come visit me.”

What really gets jacaerys anger is Aegon placing his hand on your bare back that had been exposed. He swears his eye is twitching as he fights the urge to pick up his steak knife and stab it into his hand to get it off your skin. He had never even touched your skin before.

You suddenly reach behind your back and rip his hand off, twisting it lightly causing him to hiss. “Touch me or even so much as speak to me again and i shall do worse to you.” You do not even spare him a glance as you finish down yet another cup and wave down the servant to refill your cup.

Jacaerys however is too anger to say anything else just angrily shoving some of his chicken in his mouth. His other hand rests on the table clenched in the fist. He should not be so angry. He is embarrassed. Embarrassed that Aegon is most likely right. He was obviously not good at much, he could barely speak Valyrian, could barely control his temper-

A hand gets placed on his clenched fist and any thought in his mind ceases to exist. He looks over at you and he notices that they have just brought you a jug of win seemingly tired of having to walk over and refill your cup. You keep your gaze forward but he notices your clenched jaw and rapid blinking.

He has no clue if he’s right but due to your excessive talking and drinking as well as even your posture he could tell, you were stressed. Your mind was clearly not here, Which is why you were answering any questions throw at you. Why you seemed to not even mind the way the men were eyeing you down at the table. He had no clue why you were, he wishes he did. Wishes he could make it go away, he does not wish to see you so stressed.

He unclenches his fist, twists it around and hesitates before lacing his fingers with yours. He expects you to turn him away, or even glare at him but you don’t. Instead you allow yourself to grip his hand tight and your shoulders drop as you relax and let out a deep sigh.

His skin burns, like the two of your hands together rub together to create electricity which sends shockwaves through his soul. He is surprised your hands are so soft, he had expected them to be a lot rougher due to your excessive sword training but you must wear gloves almost all the time as they look like there are barely any scratches and marks on them, as if you have never even lifted your hands to do anything before. His thumb starts to rub against the back of your hand. He knows its not good to question you. Not that you will give him any answers anyways. but he hopes that you do not have to stress for long.

The tension in the room is much more palpable now. They had stopped grilling you about yourself. You almost want to leave but it would be in bad taste, you know they would fight and rhaenyra would want to leave the keep, you must prevent that from happening. “Do you mind if i ask her to dance?” You snap out of your thoughts and lightly turn in his direction. Haleana had just given a speak and looked rather down. Of course he would want to atleast try to cheer her up. but you know that is not a good idea. So you stand, letting go of his hand and his looks up at you in confusion as you walk over to the small group of people playing music.

You stand awkwardly as a cheerful jig started playing and everyone looks over at you. “Lets,,, dance?” Its a group jig. Everyone looks back and forth at one another. You reach your hand out in helaenas direction and she smiles as she stands up to grab it and jacaerys stands to join you soon after, rhaena baela and lucerys follow. Aegon shakes his head as his mother urges him to get him, she has to give a pointed look at the king before he rolls his eyes and stands, walking over to aemond who shakes his head at him causing Aegon to smile and grip his shirt to drag him with him.

Alicent and rhaenyra watch you all with a smile, even otto and daemon have a pleased look as they watch you all. Jacaerys is shocked you even know this tune, he had thought it was a westerosi tune but he guessed you have been in westeros longer than you have been in essos. The song ends and you all laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. You simply stand and watch all of them with a pleased look. Jacaerys looks at you with a smile and grips your hand tightly. He looked so happy. You wish you felt the same but you felt too much stress to share the same sentiment.

“This makes me so happy. To see you all get along. This is all I've ever wanted.” They all stand around and stare at one another as viserys speaks. Alicent stands and looks to viserys. “Isn’t this a great way to end the night.” Viserys eagerly agrees seemingly exhausted and everyone gives each other hushed goodnights as they walk out the room. You nod at rhaenyra and daemon who grabs your hand and thanks you before leaving. You can feel a gaze on you and turn to see otto staring at you. All you do is give him a dramatic bow your gaze never leaving his face as you walk off to join jacaerys who was waiting for you by the door.

“Allow me to walk you-” “No. I will walk you to your room. I don’t plan on sleeping just yet.” You grab his hand and drag him towards the direction of his room. He says nothing as he watches the back of your head, attempting to keep up with your long fast steps. Soon enough they are standing in front of his room and you do not turn back to look at him, instead breathing deeply and gripping his hand tightly. He turns you around to face him, “Please you must tell me what is wrong? Are you alright?” You shake your head and let go over him reaching down into the potted plant near his room and his eyes widen as he sees the long metal chains in your hands. “My lady..?”

“You will listen to me very closely. You are to tie these around your door, your windows and there is a shelf in the back of your room that you must secure this around as well,” He blinks at you as you shove them in his hands, “I do not understand-” “You must do this i beg of you,” “My lady-” “You will not leave your room. You will not open the door should you hear knocking you will not even answer if you hear one of your own families voice. unless it is my own. No matter what you do or see you will not you must promise me.”

You cannot falter to his puppy eyes. The clock is ticking until things start to explode and you are too worried too stressed, you cannot allow anything happen to him. You cup his cheeks and pull him closer to you, his breath hits your face and his eyes dart around your face. “Y/n…..” “Please jacaerys.”

He gulps. His past dreams and thoughts float their way up to his mind. He wants to kiss you, he is staring at your lips so intensely he is not even answering you. You notice this and sigh, shaking your head. “It is not a good time.” “If the situation is as dire as you make it seem maybe it is the best time.”

“I will kiss you later should you agree.”. Though his heart begins to race at the idea and he almost opens his mouth to eagerly agree he cannot stop the anxiety brewing in his stomach. “But what if you are in danger-” “No. You must stay. Agree to do it.” Your face turns to one of irritation at his continuous refusal. “What if i do not?” You press your face closer to him and he instinctively closes his eyes. “I guess i will just have to drag you to your bed and chain you there. Keep you there all night.” He lets out a shaky breath as you step back. That's all he wants. All he’s been thinking about.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Would you join me?” You shake your head and look at him desperately. “please jacaerys. you must.” “Will you even tell me what this is for.” With you blank look he knows he wont get an answer so he sighs. “I will. as long as you promise to stay safe.”

You freeze. as he looks at you expectantly. He watches you look off to the side and think. He may not know what is going but he can tell you plan on doing something crazy. “I promise.” “do you mean it or are you just saying that.” You give him a flat look and roll your eyes. “I mean it. Kostan daor jikagon, mirri mēre kostagon gūrogon ao hen nyke.” He blinks and tilts his head. “Will you teach me what the things you say mean?”

You look at him once more before you begin to walk backwards, “Goodnight. jacaerys.” “Will you try to get some rest?” You say nothing and just turn your back to him walking off. He watches you until you are far out of his view and attempts to calm his pounding heart as he enters his room. His tub already ready for a bath, he does what you say after waving off a couple maids saying he has no need for them tonight and he wants to go to bed early. He is bad at tying it, he is sure you would be anger if you saw the terrible job he did.

He is unsure as to why you need him to lock up the cabinet in his room but he does it anyways with the most confusion. He strips himself and settles into his bath, its hot. Very hot actually. But it is a nice change from the cold bath he had taken yesterday. You are the only thing he can think about. He wonders what you are doing what is going on. But in a weird way he finds himself trusting you. He has no reason to. You have not shown yourself to be trust worthy. maybe it is the childish part of him or his own selfish desires but he believes you and will do anything you say.

His mind slowly drifts to your dress tonight. The way it flowed as you walked away, the exposed skin where he could see scares all over your legs and back but you still never showed your arms. Was there a reason for that? He wants to know everything about you. He dunks his head under the water as he begins to wonder what you are doing right now.

You stand in your room, back into your black leather outfit as you heart pounds. Looking at the variety of weapons on your table in front of you you hesitate before strapping them onto different spots on your outfit before you stand Infront of your door and freeze. wiping you hands in front of your armor you gulp. This is it. You cannot mess this up, what this has all been leading to. You stand and wait. and wait, and wait and wait and wait for your queue. When you hear the rushing of footsteps outside your door you open it. looking around the hallway before stepping out and swiftly making your way through the corridors with your hood now tossed up.

You were called to the temple about a month ago. it was the highest request from the high priestess herself. Only a few days after you had been elected.

‘There is something you must know. the flames have told me something of great danger.’

You sit in your chair held up above the ground with a bored look on your face. “What could be more important than ruling Essos?” You watch the priestess pace back and forth and sigh.

“The king is going to die soon.”

“That is a shock to no one.”

“no no you must understand they plan to kill the heir.”

This has you sitting up completely with wide eyes. “Whatever are you speaking of?”

“They plan to kill her, her and her children.”

You freeze, blinking slowly. “… her children.”

Jacaerys.

“They plan to gather in the keep. Should they leave war will begin, should they stay they will all die. You must go.”

You play with your dagger that you had tucked into your pocket and look at the priestess with a confident face. “What must i do?”

“They will not do it by their own hands. You must kill them.”

Viserys will be dead in minutes alicent knows this. She watches viserys mutter to himself. She feels sick, sicker than she’s ever felt when he would take her at night, sicker than he had announced to the council he will marry her. She does not want this to happen. She fears what will happen afterwards. The door of the room opens and she stands in shock looking at women who had just entered. “Rhaenyra?” Rhaenyra walks swiftly over to her father ignoring alicent completely and kneels down next to him. “Father?”

Otto walks in the room swiftly after and looks between them all alarmed and walks closer to alicent. “You will be a beautiful queen. I just, wish i could have seen it.” Otto eyes alicent who looks at him. Otto cannot allow this to happen. He already has the means to get rid of them set up, he had not accounted for rhaenyra showing up in this room right now. He can see a danger on the table and grabs it. Alicents eyes widen and she begins to steps towards her father. She does not want rhaenyra to die. That is the last thing she has ever wanted. So she is more than relieved when the door opens to the room once again and otto drops the dagger quickly.

Daemon, unlike rhaenyra who had seemingly ran in here straight from bed still in her night gown, daemon was completely dressed in his leather armor suit with his sword attached to his side quickly making his way over towards rhaenyra to comfort her as she had begun to cry as viserys retold the story of Aegon the conquer once more. Otto internally curses as he knows he cannot act with daemon around. The only real question he has is how did they know to come here? They were meant to be dead asleep in their rooms so the people he hired could come in and deal with them, but what were they doing outside of their room how had they even known to come in here?

Otto gives alicent a look before leaving the room. Alicent begins to worry what otto is going to do. She has no clue but based on what he was about to do she has her worries. But she cannot dwell on that right now she approaches closer to the other two and simply can only watch as viserys passes.

Jacaerys was unable to sleep. His thoughts filled with you, and with worry. What did you seem to be so concerned with? His eyes closed he continues to toss and turn in bed until he hears a thump against the cabinet you had him lock up. He sits up alarmed his eyes widening and heart racing. It continues to thrash until he can hear the sound of gurgling and he can hear what sounds like a body hitting the floor. He wants to get up and check it out but your words ring in his head. He can’t. He is choosing to trust you. he hopes he does not grow to regret this

Alicent is left in a room for the first time since viserys had passed. Daemon and rhaenyra had walked back to their room to mourn maybe an hour ago? She had no clue how much time had truly passed. She finally allows herself to cry. To cry about everything. She swears this is the first time she's cried in years, everything suddenly crashing into her in a sudden wave of anguish. Maybe she had a distain for the man and his blind ignorance of everything but she never truly wanted him to pass.

“Pick up your tears girl there are things we must do.” She looks up towards her father who walks in the room with a satisfied look on his face. “What did you do?” Otto simply shrugged, “What i had to do. There is nothing you can do now it is already done.” Alicent looks angry now, the tear streaks still left on her face as she glares at her father. “The king never would have wanted this!” “The king is dead. Now it is time we move. Come, let us discuss this more privately.”

Otto is horrified to walk into his room to a pile of bodies stacked in the middle of his room the one of the topic having the his back exposed with a familiar skull carved into it. The volantis currency coin honors skull. “That cunt.”

“‘That cunt’ is right.” The two of them jump and like you appeared out of thin air you approach from a far corner of the room. “You.” Otto glares at you and he notices all the blood splotches on your face and he sees the dagger you are holding in your hands, covered in blood.

“Yes, me.” “You have no reason to get involved in this. These are family affairs.” You tilt your head and alicent sees a crazy in your blank eyes she only sees in daemon. It is not clear to her. You do not have a distain for him. You are on the same grounds as him, you probably respect him more than anyone else. She has severely misunderstood you. and now she will pay the consequences for it.

“I have no reason to get involved? They are to be my family. I am to be married to him.” You walk past him and stand directly in front of alicent who looks down. “Here is what is going to happen. You two are going to stop this mindless nonsense. Rhaenyra is going to ascend the throne, daemon will take the position as hand, otto will return to oldtown, Me and jacaerys will take our place in dragonstone, baela and rhaenys will return to driftmark, and you, your children, rhaena and lucerys and the rest of her spawn will stay here.”

“The realm will never accept a women on the throne.” You do not turn back to otto as you address him. your gaze staying strong onto alicent. “They did not seem to have any complaints. Not until you and your Hightower cunts started to spread around that ridiculous rumor about her.”

“You must know it is true,” Alicent hands begin to shake as she speaks, “You cannot truly look at him and think he is of pure blood-” “You will not open your mouth to speak about him again. I let your foolish game go on for too long, it ends today.” Otto stares at the back of your head and scoffs. “You do not truly love the boy do you? You are incapable of love you are nothing but a monster-” “QUIET!” He flinches as you are louder than you've ever been, even during today's trial you had not been so loud.

“You will never speak or even so much as think about him again or else.” His eye twitches as you do not even turn in his direction and keep your gaze on alicent. “You don’t want things to get ugly do you? It would be a shame if something happened to your dear son in oldtown, hmmm what is his name?” You put your hand on your chin in a fake ponder as alicents eyes widen in horror, “Daeron..” “Daeron yes! thats it! it would be terrible should anything happen to him no?” “What have you done?” You open your mouth in a mock horror as your face remains blank, “Why i would never? what a horrible accusation? I just happen to know a few people in oldtown who happen to be willing to do whatever i say.” You get closer to alicents face and stare her down, “It would also be oh so horrible should anyone find out what happened to dear poor Dyane.” “How do you know that?” She whispers to you, she feels like her world is closing in, she feels dizzy and the only thing in her vision is you.

“You may have tried to pay her off but it is best to remember this, i have more. More of everything. More men, more money, more power. You will never win in a fight against me. I am the threat, your worst outcome. You do not wish to toy with me. For i will not kill you, that would be too good of a fate for you. I shall lock you in a room and each day present you with a piece of your children all chopped up day by day night by night until there is nothing left of them and of you because you will be nothing more than an empty shell of yourself.”

She falls to her knees in front of you and when she looks up she sees the closest thing to the stranger. Maybe this is the gods way of punishing her, for trying to change history, for deluding herself in her own self righteousness, It was not all undeserving but she is certainly no saint. She watches as you tilt your head at her and raise your eyebrows. “You will do what i say.” “You did all this for him?” It is the only thing she can find herself to say as you crouch down to be eye level with her. She sees a dark look in your eyes as you lean forward.

“I would do anything for him.”

Knocking at his door came. He does not speak, simply holding his tongue and waiting. “It is me.” He lets out a sigh of relief and quickly rushes towards the door to unlock it and hurriedly lets you in. “My lady, Are you hurt? What has happened?” “You should head to the main hall, The king has passed.” “Grandsire?” He looks over you wide eyed and he grips your arms tightly as he notices the blood. “You are hurt.” You shake your head and for the first time ever he sees you smile. “It is not my blood.” You are so beautiful. He hopes you are forever this happy as you appear to be in this moment.

He is shocked when you grab his face and give him a peck on the cheek. “I told you i would reward you.” “I was thinking of a different kiss my lady.” You raise your brows at him, “I had no clue you were so scandalous my prince. Your grandsire just died.” He smiles and leans himself in to kiss you-

“Jace!” He groans as you step away from him and turn towards the door right as soon as Lucerys stepped into view, out of breathe. “Oh Lady Maegyr.” He bows and you nod your head at him before he looks up at you with wide eyes as he sees the blood on you and looks to jacaerys who is glaring at his brother behind your back. “mother is calling to gather all of us.” “I will meet you in a moment.” He says with intention on finishing what you started. “No he will accompany you there. I must go back to my room but i will meet you all there, if the queen asks for me tell her to start without me.” He glares as you give him a nod swiftly avoid his hand reaching out to grab you.

Lucerys looks at jacaerys who groans and walks out the room with a grumble. He does not even bother to check if his brother is following him. He is more than ready to get whatever needs to be done over with so he can see you again. His mother rushes over and pulls him into a deep hug upon seeing him. “I am so glad you are alright.” he smiles at his mother reassuringly, “i am alright mother, i swear.” After greeting lucerys he walks to stand by daemon who gives him a sly smile. He does not say anything to jacaerys but by the look on his face jacaerys knows he wishes to say something to him.

“Where is Lady Maegyr?” “She had said something about returning to her room. She said to tell you to start without her.” Lucerys answers her quickly. Rhaenyra glances over at jacaerys before simply nodding. She begins to speak about how today will play out, She will be crowned within the next couple hours but before then a personal family only funeral will be held for viserys which is currently being set up. He wishes he could say he is sad to see viserys go but in truth he barely knew the man besides the few times he would speak to him as a young boy.

“My queen.” You walk into the room having changed into a simply black dress, it had been a hand-me-down dress rhaenyra left in your room for you only hours prior and she smiles as she sees you, rushing over to you. “is,,, everything alright?” You know the implications of her question, her worries about the Hightower's and her half siblings and you nod. “It has been taken care of completely do not worry yourself.” She looks at you bewildered at the tone behind your words, “You are not implying what i believe you are…” Her words trail off as alicent walks in somberly dressed in complete black while Aegon trails in behind her looking like the happiest man in the world, a big smile on his face as he stands and bows to rhaenyra, “My queen.” Rhaenyra raises her bows and blinks in shock at his overjoyed appearance and simply nods to him.

Everyone in the room is looking at alicent who does not lift her head or say anything for a few moments before bowing. “My queen.” “There is not need for you to call me that, alicent.” Alicent looks at her hesitantly, the look on her equivalent to that of a kicked puppy before she nods and looks back down. Rhaenyra turns back to everyone else in the room and sighs, “You are all dismissed. You will get ready for the funeral and will be retrieved later.” Everyone floods out back to their rooms to get ready the only one who does not have a somber face is Aegon who practically skips back to his room.

You linger behind for a moment with jacaerys as you look at rhaenyra, “Do you need me?” She simply shakes her head and places her hands on your shoulders. “You have done more for my family than i can even say, please, is there anything i can do for you?” You blink for a moment, unsure of what to do with the sudden praise and simply shake your head. “No my queen. for i already have what i want.” You glance over at jacaerys who blushes at your look and turns away with a cough attempting to push down his smile. He turns around as to not have to face his mother and is instead met by daemon knowing grin and he shakes his head at the young boy.

“Then i can only as you to accept my thanks. and you stand by my family today during the ceremonies.” You nod and bow at her. “It would be an honor my queen.” “You are to be family my dear of course you shall stand with us,” she wraps you in a hug. You stand frozen for a moment, unsure you can recall the last time someone had even hugged you. You hesitantly bring your arms up and wrap them around her. “Maybe later we can discuss you and jacaerys staying at driftmark.” She pulls away after whispering in your ear and nods to dismiss you.

You bow once more before turning to leave, not turning back to look at anyone else and as soon as you step out the door you feel waves of relief crash over you. You had succeeded, they were all alive and well, rhaenyra would be crowned and there would not be any issues from the Hightower’s. You must write to the high priestesses and inform them of your successes but you are suddenly stopped by a frantic rhaenys sprinting towards you with a letter in hand. “Corlys is awake!”

Rhaenyra walks over to jacaerys and places her hands on his cheeks, “My boy. Today is a big day for not just me you know.” He nods and stands up straight. The past couple years of work he’s done to prepare and the years he knows he will have to prepare even more. “Of course my queen.” She presses her lips against his forehead, “Go get dressed.” He nods and exits swiftly leaving alicent, rhaenyra and daemon to discuss god knows what and makes his way to his room attempting to ignore his growing anxiety.

The funeral is a somber service. You stand by jacaerys and grip onto his hand tightly as viserys corpse burns he hears you muttering prayers to yourself with your eyes closed as the fire grows bigger. He does not know much about the lord of light and its religion, he’ll have to do some research once he has the free time but he knows the importance of fire to you and he pulls you closer to him. You open your eyes and stare at the flames in front of you and lean your head against jacaerys’ shoulder and let the flames take over your light of vision, the lords comfort warming you as you feel like this is a sign from R'hllor himself as the flames get bigger and bigger he is content with your work.

Unlike the funeral the crowning is a much more joyful affair, everyone changing out of their mourning outfits and putting on more regal attire as everyone stands around and watches rhaenyra be crowned. Jacaerys send a weak smile his mothers way as he watches her. Him being named her heir is inevitable at this point. He has begun to shake out of nerves. He is not good enough to do this. He cannot do this. He feels you grab his hand this time expect it is absent of your glove and he sighs at the feeling of your warm skin against his. The feeling of your cold metal rings and your comforting touch manages to calm him down until the end of the ceremony where he lets out a sigh of relief as people begin to flood away.

“You must accept my apologies my queen for i must leave.” It was the grand feast afterward rhaenyra looks over to you in shock, you had just given her your congratulations and she places down cup she had been sipping from. “Is something the matter?” “Lord corlys has awoke your grace, the situation at stepstones is too dire for me to ignore any longer.” Jacaerys walks over to from leaving his place by lucerys to stand by you, “You are leaving?” You stare at him with a sadden look before you look down at the floor. “I must.” He attempts to ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach at the thought of you having to return to war. The two of you have not even gotten to discuss the rapid change in your relationship, if he can even call it one.

“I do not wish for you to go.” He grabs your hands in his and whispers to you. You look at him with a conflicted look and shake your head. “I will return to you. Wait for me?” He nods. He will, he will wait until the end of time for you to come back. So only a few minutes later he watches with a bitter heart as you get on a horse and give him one last final look before you ride off, it takes everything in him not to chase after you. Daemon places his hand on his shoulder and turns him so they can walk back inside together. “Will she be alright?” Daemon is quiet for a moment, “That is a ridiculous question. She is a warrior, she will live.”

It has been over a month since he’s last seen you. Since he’s been struggling with his thoughts and feelings about you. His mother had sent him to dragonstone to take up his place in the ancestorial seat. It was tough to be so far away from his brothers and parents but he did his duty day by day. He wrote to you once but as always did not receive a response. You confused him, You seemed to content with him but you continue to ignore him. He does not understand you.

So his confusion only grows as some of your footmen arrive in dragonstone one day with boxes full of items. “It is the triarchs things Lord Velaryon.” “You bring them here?” “The triach has requested it.” He simply nods and allows them to bring the things in, He is shocked to see how many boxes their truly was. He had never assumed you were the type to care about material goods. “A lot of them are dresses my prince.” A servant tells him as he sees Jacaerys eyeing the boxes, “It is much colder here than it is in Essos so the lady had to have many new clothes made for her to wear here.” Jacaerys lets out an ah as he roams around the boxes, of course, he head heard how hot it is in Essos, apparently Volantis is the hottest out of them all. He shakes his head as it begins to be filled with him trying to imagine what you typically wear back at home. You must not be as covered up as you are here. You probably wear anything at all.

“Do you two plan to share a chamber or do you have a separate room for the lady?” This snaps jacaerys out of his thoughts and he begins to think it over. It would be inappropriate for you two to share a chamber before you are married, but the selfish part of him wishes for when you return back to him for you to stay with him, it makes him sick a the idea of you staying in a separate room from him. But he knows he must do the appropriate thing, tell him he will have a separate room prepared for him. “We will share the main chamber.” Yet he cannot. The servants nod and begin to move the boxes towards the main chamber.

The hour turns late and the sun has since set until your people finally leave with a bow and all your stuff has been placed all over what was once just his chambers. He is at first overwhelms by the smell of you but he soon smiles to himself as he walks around the room. He did not have much stuff, he was never one for material goods but you however had many little trinkets and decorations placed all over the room. He notices a large vase in the room filled with beautiful red roses, he sees a tapestry of the symbol of the lord of light hanging near the bed, he notices the closet the once looked bare now completely filled with a variety of custom made dresses. He walks around the room with a smile on his face as he admire all the little signs of you all ober the room.

What does catch his attention however is a box places on the bedside table. It is a plain wooden box with no clear sighs of what would be in it. He should not open it. He should walk away and leave your personal stuff alone but he cannot stop himself from opening it. He is greeted by a sight he did not expect. Anything he had ever given you, from the letters, the flowers his mother forced him to pick and give to you, even his handkerchief he had lent you one time, everything laid neatly and organized inside the box. he picks up the letters and swipes through them. He is shocked that you had even opened them so much as kept them, he has sworn to himself you had thrown them away. But if you kept them why did you never respond? You continue to confuse his mind and his heart.

“And i thought it was improper to look through someone else's things.” He freezes as he hears the voice he’s been waiting to hear for over a month now. Whipping his head around he sees you, standing clad in your armor shaking your head at him with a soft smile on your face. “And imagine my surprise when the maids told me my stuff was placed in your chambers at the princes request. I never knew you were so scandalous my prince.” He quickly stands and to get a good look at you. You looked like not even a day had passed, just as beautiful as the last time he saw you. He hesitantly smiles. as you walk over to him and take the letters out of his hands and gently place them back in the box like they were your most prized possession.

“You kept them?” You nod as you close up the box and pick it up. “of course i did.” “But you never responded.” This has you looking down and turning away from him. “I did not think you wanted me too.” This has him laughing awkwardly as he watches you closely. “Whatever do you mean?” You place the box on the windowsill and turn back towards him, fiddling around with your armor. “I, am not very good at,” You put your hands back and forth between the two of you, “This. all i would do is mess it up.” He walks closer to you and he can feel his heart pounding, he wants you to mean what he thinks you mean. “Why do you think so?” “My father was a very strict man, he taught me that being friendly will get me nowhere, men don’t like talkative women. So when all you seemed to do was want to talk to me. I was scared.”

He feels his heartbreak. He thinks back onto your brief interactions that month ago and he begins to feel guilty. You just had no clue how to talk to him no matter how much you wished to. and whenever you would try he would say something rude to you. He feels like shit. “I am so sorry. What can i do to make it up to you?” You tilt your head at him in confusion, “Whatever did you do?” “I had been so rude to you-” “It is of no ones fault other than my own.” “That is certainly not true, you have been so so kind to me. to my family. and i have been nothing but a piece of shit.” You giggle at his foul language and shake your head. “Then we are both at fault.”

The two of you laugh. He is so happy. He had been feeling lonely this last month it is so nice to finally be with someone else, especially since it is you. “How is stepstones?” “The war is done. for now atleast, who knows when they could come crawling back up.” “So do you plan on returning to Essos?” “I will be staying here.” “Aren't you one of the rulers of Essos?” “They will be just fine without me, should anything dire come up you should come with me.” “truly?” “You ever been?” “no. but i have always wanted to see it.” You squeeze his hands as you stare at him, “Then i will take you. I will take you anywhere you wish to go.”

His eyes drop to your lips. He is dying to kiss you. He must. He will not live a second longer if he does not. “May i kiss you my lady?” You grip his cheeks and pull him to you. The second your lips tough he feels like he has been lit on fire. Everything else in the world fades as the only thing he can see and think about is you. Your lips move together like the perfect song, working in perfect sync in harmony to create something glorious. He does not want to pull away not even when his lungs begin to hurt from the lack of air he continues to kiss you. He never wants this moment to end. But it does when the two of you separate, breathing heavily. You look at him and he can see the wanting glaze over your eyes, it is unbelievable he is able to control himself.

He tried to pull you back into him once more but you put your hand between your lips. “If this is truly going where i believe it is going can you allow me to bath first? I do not wish to smell like fish and blood and shit.” He shakes his head as he tried to pull you back in, too greedy to even let you slip from his grasp for a second. “I do not mind.” “But i do. Please.” He groans and lets you go as much as he does not wish to. “Fine.” “Do you wish to wash me?” His eyes widen at the idea and his mouth might have even begun to water. “I do not know my lady. Is that a good idea?” “If the prince was not so scandalous it might not be but maybe i was wrong to suggest it.” “I will do as you ask.” “You are a fool.” “Your fool.” He watches as you flush at his words and he calls for the maids to draw you a bath.

He can not help but stare at you as you take off your amour. The leather pieces pilling up on the table as you relieve more and more of yourself to him. It could be poetic, but jacaerys can’t think about anything else like that right now. Not when you stand in front of him, he turns away when you begin to slide off your under clothes. “You do not wish to look at me?” “I am nervous to what i will do when i do my lady.” You say nothing in return but he hears a couple more items drop to the floor and your footsteps on the ground walking towards the bathroom. “Are you going to bath me or not?”

He quickly stands and his hands shake as he makes his way towards the bathroom. He is surprised his knees do not buckle under him as he sees you. Sitting in the tub, steam hitting you oh so perfectly and your bare arms rests against the sides of the tub and he finally sees you fully. “Pick your jaw off the floor my prince.” He can not. He wishes to get on his knees and worship you, he swears he has never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of you. he had thought the most gorgeous you could look is when he saw you in that dress but you look so much better here.

He hesitantly walks over to the bath and kneels right next to you. He grabs the soap and grabs your arm as you carefully watch him. He lightly turns your arm so he can get a full few of the tattoos on your arm. It is a beautifully intricate dragon, it almost completely covers your whole forearm and he can see you have a matching one on your other arm. “What are they for?” “In Volantis when you are of old blood it is customary for you to get dragon tattoos on your arm to symbol your relation to Valyria.” He traces the design with his fingers, admiring the art and the act of you showing this part of you to him. He places a kiss on the dragons head before he begins to lather your arm in soap.

No more words are spoken between the two of you as he washes your back, then your other arm before he moves onto grabbing your hair products and running his fingers through your hair and scratches his nails into your scalp. He hears you hum, your eyes closed in delight and he gulps as he begins to throb against his pants. He watches as you dunk your head under the water to get the product out and you sit back up, looking at him as you run your hands down your face to push away the water. “Why don’t you join me? It would be easier for you to clean me if you were also in here.” He hesitates, nerves build up in his stomach as he opens his mouth but no words come out. “Are you sure my lady?” You smile and nod at him, leaning your head back against the tub to watch him.

He stands and begins to unbutton his tunic, tossing it into some corner of the room. Unlike him you do not take your eyes off him as his bare chest comes into view or even when he begins to unbutton his pants. “My lady is very shameless.” “Is it so wrong i look at you?” He shakes his head before he hesitantly pulls down his pants and he is suddenly standing bare in front of you. He hisses as he cock jumps up to slap him in the stomach leaving you to laugh before he hurriedly moves to sit across from you. The tub is big enough for the two of you to sit side by side but he does not even dare to come that close to you. “You still have a job to do.”

He picks back up the soap and drags it over your collarbone. He watches as the soap bubbles slide down to lay on your breasts and groans to himself as he continues to scrub your down. Ignoring your breasts he instead focuses on your stomach and sides. It feels so intimate, to rub his hands all over your body especially when you continue to let out your own hums of pleasure.

He runs his finger along the long scar down your chest and stomach. “It was a gift from my father. When i turned of age and he found out i was able to be elected. People had begun to suggest i should be nominated in his place. He made sure i would be bedridden for months. They could not nominate me that year.” He leans his head down and presses a kiss against the top of the scar at your neck. “I am glad he is already gone for i would have to deal with him myself.” You reach your hand on his arm and smile at him, nothing more is said but the look in your eyes says enough.

He tries his best to not look between your legs as he washes your legs one by one, he does not allow himself to linger at your thighs before he swiftly pulls his hands away from you. His hands burning as if he had just touched the sun. The bath was now cold. The two of you simply laid their for awhile before you sat up and grabbed his face. “Thank you my prince.” “Jacaerys, jace, not my prince.” You press your lips against his and he groans. The kiss is full of much more fever and desperation this time. He barely believes this is real. He must be imaging this as he had over a moon ago.

You take your hands away from his face and slide them down his chest as he feels your tongue prodding against his mouth he pulls back suddenly causing you to freeze. “Did i do something wrong?” He shakes his head, out of breath as he speaks, “No no nothing wrong. I have imagined this far too often for it to be anything wrong. it is just, i am very sensitive and if you touch me just once i will not be able to perform again.” He hopes you understand what he means. He hopes you know you are not rejecting him, but he wishes for this to go right, and if he is being selfish he does not wish to watch his seed float around in the water but instead flow out of you.

He watches as you stand up and he cranes his head up to look at you. You are the pure image of beauty. He could die now and be content with how he lived for simply getting to breath and stand in your presence is enough for him. He watches as you step out of the tub and he cant help but stare at your ass as you turn your back and walk out of the room, you turn your neck and look at him. “Are you coming?” He quickly stands and follows after you, neither of you bothering to care about the dripping water all over the bathroom and the bedroom. You have sat down on the bed and hold out your hand to pull him on top of you.

He pulls you into another kiss as the two of your skins press against each other. He feels so hot. He hands press against your face as he opens his mouth and allows the two of your tongues to intertwine with one another. His lips leave yours as they instead they begin to trail down your jaw and down your neck as his hands move to grip your waist and pull you closer to him. The two of you stay like that for awhile, and expected to stay like that the whole time but are more than shocked when he grips your hips tightly and flips you around so you are on top and he is on the bottom, you sitting directly over his abs. When you look down at him in confusion he simply smiles at you.

“It is only right you are above me, for you are a goddess who deserves to be worshipped.” His hands slide up your stomach and begin to fondle your breasts as you throw your head back and moan. “gaomagon daor tepagon qrīdrughagon aōha dōna udra sīr easily syt iksan naejot qūvy ilagon se qēlossās se se jēdar syt ao” he easily recognizes the words. The same ones you had told him in the library that faithful day in the keep. “What does it mean?” You moan as he thumbs begin to flick against your nipples and look down at him. “do not give away your sweet words so easily for i am willing to tear down the stars and the sky for you.”

He can not respond, not when he watches as your hips begin to move along his abs, fuck, he can see you essence leaving a trail on him as you use him for your own pleasure. He would let you, use him all day, any day, if it meant he would get to hear the sounds you are currently making, the way your face twists in pleasure with your eyes closed. “Have you ever touched yourself my lady?” You let out a meek hum as you throw your head back, he's hands move from your breasts to your hips to help guild you. “I have Jace, everyday, i can not help it for i am thinking of you.” He lets out his own string of curses at your admission. He watches as you reach one of your hands to your folds and your moans only get louder.

He wants to do that. He wants to know every inch of you to be able to pleasure you in all ways he can. He wants to be the reason you get louder, he wishes for you to desire him, to have to need him like air like he needs you. “Teach me how to do that.” He is more than happy when you remove your own hand and grab his, moving it to slide under you and he curses as he feels your wetness dripping on him. “Are you supposed to be that wet?” “It is because of you Jace.” He feels you move his fingers to push past your folds and he can feel a hard bulb under this fingertips. “That. touch that Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” You moan as you feel his rougher fingers begin to press against it. “In circles, ugh yes like that, you can press harder.”

The roughness of his fingertips feel much better than your own fingers and you can’t help but move your hips faster against him. His fingers move faster against your clit and you can feel the burning in your stomach grow larger. “Issa jorrāelagon, im gonna make a mess.” He groans at your words and uses one hand to move your faster and the other hand to continue to play with your clit. “Please do, fuck, I want to see it, fuck.” Can a man cum untouched? He has no clue but the way his cock is throbbing he swears he is about to burst at simply watching your pleasure. He feels the rush of liquid begin to pool and cover his hand. He moves his fingers and moves them towards your opening as he can not get over the way it feels, the hot liquid pooling over his fingers.

You jump when he pushes two of his fingers inside of you, hissing as he shoves your own cum back inside of you as he touches your gummy walls. “Jace,,,” You moan out as your head drops forward to stare at his wrist. He says nothing but moans as he begins to thrust his fingers in out, barely pulling them out before he shoves them right in. He is fueled by your moans, the way your hands claw at his chest as he is simply amazed by you. You do not know if your walls are covered with your own essence or your own cum as he adds another finger and presses them against your walls.

He wishes to memorize you, to keep this locked tight in his memory for him to look back on. He can barely believe what he is doing and hopes he is doing it right. But when you begin to move against his fingers he knows he must be doing something right. The only words you speak are his name, over and over again as he fingers begin to move faster and faster inside you. The pit in your stomach grows once again and your begin to drag your nails down his chest in pleasure. “I am about to cum jace.” He says nothing this time only moving his free hand to play with your clit which sends you over the edge. He does not remove his fingers are stop his movements simply enjoying the withering pleasure you are feeling

“Please Jace i wish to feel your cock.” This has him removing his hands and you hiss at the sudden emptiness. You watch as he places each of his fingers in his mouth, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, like your own taste is his own personal pleasure. His eyes are cloudy in a haze as he watches you sit up with shaky knees and adjust grab his dick in your hands. He moans as you rub your thumb over his tip, spreading around his precum and pressing down against it. “Do not tease me y/n please.”

He watches as you sit right above him, you sink down low enough that just his tip is rubbing against your folds. You use his tip to push your folds aside and slowly you begin to sink down onto his cock. If he was told this is how it felt after he died he would have believed it. He has never felt a greater pleasure than he has right now. He understands why people consider this act sinful, for everyone would be doing it everyday if it were not. He watches his cock slowly disappear and he lets out a whimper as you sit all the way down.

He can see the dent in your stomach and reaches his hand to touch it. This was unbelievable. He stares at you, the way you look down at his hand and cover it with your own, pressing down causing him to groan and you to moan. Unconsciously you readjust yourself, lifting yourself on him just so slightly just to slide back down and he curses.

That felt so good, he wants you to do that again. “Can i move?” You are clearly as desperate as he is and he hears it in your voice. “fuck please my lady please.” Your hips lift and you come crashing back down onto him. The bed underneath you rocking with the action as you do it over and over and over again. Slowly at first but you begin to create a rhythm as his hands grab your tits to squeeze them.

The room is filled with the sounds of your slamming against him, the wet sounds of him pushing into you and your combined moans. If this made him a sinner so what? He was not religious and he would refuse any god that said this was not the most holy and pleasurable thing to do on earth. He begins to move his hips up to meet yours and he watches your face contort. “We must do this, ugh, everyday.” You nods feverishly as both of his hands moving to your hips to help you bounce faster as his hips begin to harsh slam up into you. “Yes, everyday, every night, ughh, everywhere,” You let out an especially high pitched whimper as he begins to toy with your clit. “All over the castle.”

Yes he would like that, so much. He can see it now, the way he would allow you to sit on the throne as he pounded into you. The way you would sit under the table during meetings and suck him dry while he attempts to maintain his composure, fuck he’ll do this everyday of his life for as long as he lives. He can feel that familiar feeling brewing ever so close in his stomach, “are you close my lady?”

You let out a rush of hushed yes’s as you begin to move faster. “Cum with me my lady, cum please.” You let out more yes’s as he feels you throbbing around his cock causing him to burst. You cry out at the feeling of his hot seed spilling webs inside you as he suddenly flips you around and continues to pound into you as your back hits the bed. “Cum my lady, fuck.” The change of angles hits you so well along with the sounds of wetness splashing below you as he cock pushes his cum deeper inside you and all around your walls.

You suddenly splash over him with a cry and your back arches off the bed. He can feel you hit his upper stomach, all over his thighs and even his chest. You looked so beautiful, the way your eyes shut closed so tight there were crinkles around your eyes and the way your teeth and jaw clenched as he feels you continue to pulse against him, liquid trickling around his cock and out to drip on the bed.

He leans his forehead against yours and the two of you just lay there for awhile. attempting to catch your breathes. He brings one of his hands to caress your cheek and you open your eyes to look at him. “Jace.” “I love you.” You smile, a wide grin fills you face as you chuckle. “I have loved you for a long time Jacaerys.” He kisses you lightly and the two of you simply lay like that until you fall asleep. sharing pecks and tiny whispers of admiration. He can barely believe he got so lucky end up with a woman like you. Someone who loved him so much they would do to the ends of the known world for him even if he had said some cruel things to you. He loved you he loved you he loved you and he was so happy you loved him too.

a.n: This is genuinely the most crazy project of my whole writing career LMAO if you've made it this far i really want to say thank you. It's because of the endless support I've gotten on my recent stuff that really gave me the confidence to write something like this. I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS i love you all so much <3

perm jacaerys taglist: <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife

[ohisms]

↪     𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , HISTORICAL 〳 FANTASY edition !   (  a  collection  of  25  settings  based upon the period 〳 fantasy genres ; meant  to  inspire  drabbles  or  be  used  as  prompts . WILL be updated .   )

001. the interior of an elegant carriage .

002. seated at a large dining table set with an elaborate meal .

003. the shadowy corner of a lively tavern .

004. the top of a light house during a raging storm .

005. along the dimly lit corridor of a large manor .

006. the damp , dark brig of a pirate ship .

007. the ruins of an ancient structure lost to time .

008. a theater hall brimming with attendees .

009. the bustling streets of a market town .

010. a sun - drenched vineyard .

011. along a boardwalk overlooking the sea .

012. a moonlit cemetery full of weathered graves .

013. on horseback , deep in the woods .

014. a luxurious drawing room smelling of tea .

015. a sprawling dragon roost , hidden atop craggy mountain peaks .

016. a war - torn battlefield .

017. a beautiful cathedral bustling with churchgoers .

018. within a crammed opera box during a performance .

019. an elegant tearoom serving afternoon refreshments .

020. a lakeside pavilion on an especially hot day .

021. a sprawling network of underground catacombs .

022. a hidden glade in the middle of the woods .

023. the deep , dark dungeon of a castle .

024. a market square full of fruit and fineries .

025. a baker's shop smelling of wonderful pastries .

026. the quiet stables of a large estate .

027. on the outskirts of a magnificent water fountain .

028. in a dimly lit library , hidden amongst the books .

029. among the high walls of a hedge maze .

030. at the front desk of a warm , homey inn .

031. under the protection of a gazebo as it rains .

032. on the landing of a busy train station .

033. a gambling hall alight with raucous laughter and drink .

034. a pristine infirmary , mostly empty .

035. on board a huge ship making a long voyage .

+   20  more  setting  prompts :    6 / 01 / 2024

036. in a sunlit garden adorned with blooming flowers .

037. at the edge of a serene forest lake under a starry sky.

038. within a quiet corridor of a castle during a lavish ball .

039. in a bustling blacksmith's forge , sparks flying .

040. on a rocky cliffside overlooking a vast ocean .

041. in a quaint village square during a festival .

042. within a secret chamber hidden behind a bookshelf .

043. in the grand atrium of a luxurious hotel .

044. along a narrow brick alleyway in a crowded town .

045. within a busy marketplace in a desert town .

046. on a tranquil beach at sunrise .

047. in a cozy cottage with a crackling fireplace .

048. at the helm of a majestic airship soaring through the clouds .

049. in a grand library filled with ancient tomes .

050. on a bustling harbor dock as ships come and go .

051. within a magical forest where the trees glow softly .

052. in an apothecary's shop filled with herbs and potion .

053. at a secluded cabin by a dangerously quick river .

054. within the opulent throne room of a powerful ruler .

055. in an enchanted glade where fairies dance in the moonlight .

[itsgrimeytime]

feelin' flirty || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Summary: Being a long-lost friend of Maggie's, you wind up at the prison, a line of dead walkers behind you. You are promptly confronted with one Rick Grimes, and it's suddenly your life's goal to flirt with him as much as you can. Rick doesn't usually respond, but what if one day he does?

TWs: innuendos, talk of sex, shameless (and I mean shameless) flirting, mention of both Beth and Hershel's deaths, gunshot wound, blood, guns, knives, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: Tumblr has deleted this THREE times. I am furious, hello??? Also, someone should've been hardcore flirting with Rick, I'll say it. That's what this is based on. Do I have social anxiety? Yes, but am I still writing this? I am. Don't ask questions. ALSO, I do not know the TWD timeline at all, so I am making it up, thank you. Enjoy :))) ]]

With one last stab, you finished off the last... zombie? You didn't really call them anything, since you were alone. Maybe you should think about that a little more.

Wordlessly, you turned and stabbed another square in the head. Undead? No. Zombie? No, too cliché-

Another one.

It went on like that for a few more minutes, before you took a breath -with no answer to your question. Frowning at your knife being covered in... guts, for lack of a better word, you crouched down and wiped it on the grass.

What was that, 15? You didn't really count, but you should have. You were trying to get a new personal best actually-

"Hey!"

You froze, pocketing your knife, before spinning on your heel. The voice was fairly distant, so you weren't worried. Instead, close enough for it to matter, was a big building with high walls and barbed wire at the top of them. A prison. Huh.

"Up here!" The voice called again, and you startled.

Shading your eyes from the sun, you looked up into the watchtower, and sure enough, there was a silhouette. A guy, you think, with dark hair. That was about all you could say.

"Yeah?" You called back, curiously.

"That was cool as shit!"

You laughed out, probably for the first time in months, "Thank you, mysterious stranger!"

"Glenn!" He clarified.

Huh, you pursed your lips, before responding, "Y/N!"

"Nice to meet you!"

You laughed again, before feeling a pain in your stomach. When was the last time you'd eaten? You paused, trying to think. Three days ago (there was a box of Twinkies that hadn't expired yet in a stranded supermarket). Not great.

"Hey, Glenn?" You yelled, a little hopeful.

"Yeah?"

You pursed your lips, before deciding -taking a chance, really, "You got any food in there?"

Now, you were walking through the gate, which was a little dramatic. But, you kinda liked it. It felt like you were kind of a big deal, well, until there was a swarm of eyes on you. All different kinds.

You froze, licking across your teeth.

And then, a man ran up to your side -gasping a little. Was that Glenn? How did he-

He offered his hand to shake, and you accepted it -looking at the crowd, a little defensively.

"Are they going to kill me? Or...?"

"Shit," he turned to them, "-They just want some food, guys, c'mon!"

None of them even flinched.

"I don't bite," you joked, before frowning, "-shit. That was in bad taste-"

And then, a voice called out into the tense air.

"Y/N?"

You peeked over heads, looking, because-

Your eyes locked onto hers, and you nearly jumped in place -big smile blooming along your lips, "Holy shit, Mags?!"

You'd been friends, back in high school. You'd left junior year and tried to keep in touch. It just didn't work out. (You can't even remember now if it was her or you who stopped, at this point.)

Before she could so much as reply, you ran to her -arms wide open. She eagerly reciprocated, spinning a little with the force -you'd gotten pretty good at running at this point.

"What the fuck?" You breathed into her shoulder, and she laughed big and loud, "-What are the chances?"

With a thought, you pulled back -still holding her shoulders, "Are your Dad and Beth here?"

"Yeah," she cheered, and something in you felt relieved. Thank god, they were okay.

"And, you?" She offered, a little hesitantly -notable lack at your side.

You pressed your lips together, swallowing, and shook your head, "Been alone since the beginning."

Maggie frowned, hand coming up to rest on your arm and squeezing once.

"Only lived with my boyfriend," you explained, eager to lighten the mood, "-and he actually cheated on me, so. Wasn't the worst lost."

She laughed a little, before asking -carefully, "And your family?"

Something in your chest stung, you wordlessly shook your head. (Visions of unhinged jaws and blood filling it.)

She frowned, whispering her apologies before hugging you again. You leaned into it that time.

And then, you jumped back, excited, "You have to bring me to your family, Mags, it's been so long-"

"Ya 'ave to talk to Rick first," a voice grumbled out behind you.

You spun on your heel, facing a man. Tall, brunette, dark eyes, arms crossed in front of him (strong, you noted), but you could tell in his stance. He was a layer of stone walls, and you did not want to mine.

And then, your eyes smoothed across his back. Is that a fucking crossbow? Sick.

"Whose Rick?" You asked instead, Maggie still holding your arm.

"Whose askin'?"

That, was a good voice. Was your first thought as you turned back around, and your eyes landed on a figure.

Your voice got stuck in your throat.

He was tall, stood like he owned the place (and based on the recommendation, maybe he did), all broad shoulders and strong gaze. Speaking of gaze, he had probably the bluest eyes you'd ever seen. And his hair was brown and curly, a few hung forward on his face. His jaw was unspeakable, and his button-up shirt had a few extra buttons undone to account for the heat. Holy shit.

Maggie elbowed you, and you blinked.

"Uh, me," you answered, clearing your throat -motioning to Glenn, "-he said you had some food and I'm... hungry."

Maggie promptly stomped on your toe. You pressed your lips together trying not to laugh, carefully looking over his face to see if he'd picked up on it at all. Nothing. A shame, really.

Oh well, maybe next time.

"Look, Rick," she interrupted your thoughts, "-I know 'em, really well. Y/N is a good person."

Rick's eyes dipped to you, looking you over. Oh, the words were right there on the tip of your tongue. It would be so easy-

You're trying to survive, Y/N, your mind pressed, focus.

You bit at your lip, but before you could speak for yourself, Glenn did.

"I saw 'em take on a swarm outside," he added, eyes darting to Maggie (Huh.), "-without breaking a sweat."

There are other things I can do without breaking a sweat, your brain immediately remarked, this really was too easy.

Rick seemed to think about it a second, before turning to you, "Ya got a gun?"

I'd like to be loaded with-

"No," you cleared your throat, pulling out your knife (it was one of those multicolored ones, it's why you liked it clean), "-just this."

He hummed, tilting his head with a mouth shrug, "'At's impressive."

I bet your-

You pinched your arm, swallowing, "So, what? Am I in or not?"

Rick's eyes flicked up and down you again (so easy), before he decided, "Ya can stay."

That brings you to now, sitting with Maggie outside with a can of baked beans and a spoon in your hands.

You currently had quite the view of Rick working on the farm, sweat dripping down his brow, strained arms. You'd never thought about farming in that way, but now you were.

"Is his full name Richard?" You asked, curiously.

Maggie turned to you, watching the trail of your eyes to see what you were looking at. She rolled her eyes, "I don't know."

You put a spoonful into your mouth, humming around it, "There's a reason they call them 'Dick', you know."

"Oh my god," she shoved into you -making you laugh a little. You stared down into your can.

"I'm just saying," you stressed, "-he's hot enough for it."

Maggie paused a second, before deciding to say, "His wife died."

"Shit," your smile fell.

"Died in childbirth," she continued, something distant in her eyes -you wondered what exactly it was.

"How long ago?" You asked gently, looking at him in a new light -sympathizing.

"Few months," she answered, a little shortly. You pursed your lips, debating whether to say anything. Or if you even should.

Maggie clarified, herself, "I delivered the baby. Judith, her name is Judith."

"Fuck, Mags," you fully turned to her, putting the can by your feet, "-I'm so sorry."

She took a deep breath in and out, and you wrapped an arm around her shoulders pushing her into your side, "Thanks."

"No problem," you hummed, picking your can back up and letting your eyes drift to Rick again, adding, "-I'm great with babies, you know."

"You're ridiculous," she laughed, taking the bite you offered her.

"What?" You asked, "-Staring isn't bad. He's practically a piece of art, I'm just..."

He turned to the two of you then, blue eyes flickering along your faces -you did not move your gaze at all.

Instead, you gently waved, finishing, "-admiring him."

Rick furrowed his eyebrows for a second, waving back, and then, shaking his head smiling. Count that as a win.

You gnawed at your lip a second, "Do you think he picked up on my 'hungry' thing? I was looking at him and I-"

Maggie laughed, "He definitely did. Everyone did, Y/N, you're shameless."

"It's the apocalypse," you urged, "-who gives a fuck about shame anymore? Rick is hot, and as long as he lets me, I will flirt with him. The more you resist, the more I commit. You remember James in first period?"

She hummed, "I do."

"I chased him for half a year," you continued, swirling the spoon around the can, "-and it worked, didn't it? Guys hardly get properly flattered," your eyes dipped back to him, tone going low, "-I don't mind taking on that duty for the population."

Maggie laughed again, as you just kept your eyes on him. He had dirt on his hands now, wiping at his brow, and just a few curls hung forward on his forehead. God, how did you find him in the apocalypse?

"How valiant," she deadpanned, "-You're a real hero."

"Look, just because you have a type, Glenn, and you bagged him-"

"How did you-"

"Please," you teased, "-he practically ate you earlier with his eyes. Back to my point, I, at least, get to look."

She turned to you, "Ya don't want to date him?"

"Who said that, Mags?" You smirked, turning to her with a smile with eyes that spoke for themselves.

"You know he has kids, right?" She questioned, looking at you.

"So?" you waved the spoon around in your hand, "-Single dads? Hot. Kids? Cute. Where's the loss?"

Maggie looked at you a moment, before shaking her head, "You are clinically insane."

"Maybe," you offered, still watching him, "-but the world's fucked up too. So, at least, I'm not alone."

She laughed really hard at that one, and you felt eyes all over switch to you. Blue ones too. People didn't really seem to laugh around here, so you decided that was your mission too, get people to laugh more. Maybe they could go hand-in-hand.

Time to get to work.

Daryl was sitting across from you, you'd been bugging him for the past few weeks and he'd finally relented. It wasn't easy, but you were nothing if not persistent (hence the Rick situation). Or maybe stubborn. Both? Whatever.

"Daryl, listen," you pointed out, "-you have to take time to load up the bow."

"'At don't mean nothin'," he countered.

"It does," you stressed, explaining, "-in the amount of time it takes you to put in a new arrow, I would have killed at least two."

Daryl rolled his eyes, "It doesn't take 'at long."

"Who said it takes me long to kill two walkers?"

Rick walked by then, and Daryl stopped him.

"Rick, please, take 'em away from me," he spoke out, gruff, but something in you could tell that he wasn't being serious. The guy wasn't half the mystery you expected him to be.

Rick laughed a little at the plea, eyes on you, "What are ya doin' to him?"

"It's not that bad," you laughed, explaining, "-I was just talking about if we were pit against each other to kill the most walkers in a minute. And who would win."

"An' ya want me to help decide?"

"Daryl does," you clarified, "-I am fully confident in my abilities."

Rick laughed a little (another win), "Well, I kno' Daryl's skills, so tell me yours, so it's even."

You bit at your lip, debating. God, it would be so easy. All you had to do was-

"Well," you smiled, playfully, "-I'm told I'm very good with my hands."

He blinked, and it was silent a moment before you heard a snort beside you. You immediately flung to look at him, you had just made Daryl laugh-

"No way," you stressed out, throwing yourself to your feet -pointing at him, "-you just laughed at me."

Daryl pressed his lips together into a thin line, sniffing once, "No, I didn't."

You spun to Rick, and he was already looking at you, you didn't think about it too much.

"Rick," you begged, "-c'mon. I know you and him are like... buddies, but I-"

"Buddies?" He quirked a brow, smiling. Something stirred in your stomach.

"Look, I don't fucking know," you rolled your eyes, "-just agree with me."

He bit down a smile at you, before turning to Daryl, "Ya did laugh at 'em."

"Ha," you cheered, "-I made Daryl Dixon laugh. And, I would win against you."

"He didn't say 'at," Daryl instantly defended.

"Didn't have to, Dixon," you mocked, playfully, "-it's about time management."

"Time management?" Rick questioned curiously.

"Okay, think of this, Rick," you explained, leveling him with your full focus (god he was handsome), "-when you fight with a bow, or a gun for that matter, you have to reload."

He grinned a little at you.

"Follow me, follow me," you hummed, pulling out your knife, "-when you have a physical sort of attack method, like a knife, you don't have that same time issue."

"Ya kinda do though," he interjected.

You paused, looking at him -thoughtfully, "How so?"

"Body's gotta build up energy again," he reasoned (with too much thought for this dumb conversation, smart too? god has favorites), "-Stamina is key to attackin'."

You rolled your lip in between your teeth, he had to be doing this on purpose at this point. Seriously.

"Trust me, sheriff," you spoke -a teeny bit teasing but otherwise very genuine, "-there is no problem with my stamina."

Rick bit back a laugh, turning his head to the side and smiling. You thought you saw a little red on the tips of his ears. Cute. You were unraveling the layers of one Rick Grimes, that was progress.

Daryl didn't even try to hide it that time, letting a gruff chuckle leave his lips, "'M glad I'm not your focus for 'at."

You patted his shoulder, standing up, "It'll be devastating one day, Robin Hood. Don't come crying to me when it is."

"Did ya just call me Robin Hood?"

Rick laughed at that one, head tilting up to the sky. You smiled wide.

"Look at that," you hummed, proud, "-a two for one. Which-"

They both looked at you, but you stuck to your guns. And you smirked a little.

"-honestly, I would not mind," you added -thoughtfully, "-Think about it, and get back to me."

You walked backward a few steps, watching as Rick smiled at you before turning back to fix his gaze on Daryl. Smiling at the ground, you spun on your heel, and went off to find someone else to pester.

You felt a pair of eyes follow you though, and you maybe grinned a little brighter.

Now, you were wandering off on your own. On your own run, you liked to do that sometimes. Maggie nearly had a heart attack because of it, but what damage you did get was usually minor. Except for once, but that wasn't your fault. Well it was, you smashed a window with your fist to see if you could do it. And you could, which was impressive.

Now, you were strolling through an old novelty store -little knick-knacks. Finding some figurines, you grabbed a superhero one and stashed it away. Your eyes caught on a DVD player, the kind for both music and movies, and you picked it up -turning it over in your hands. Battery powered.

On a mission to find both DVDs and some batteries, you roamed through some aisles -particularly a mug one.

Peeking through at some of them, you paused. Taking your pack off and slipping the DVD player into it (along with the few good DVDs you found, no batteries though) on top of some canned food you'd found, you zipped it up. And with a breath, grabbed a mug.

Smiling big, you made your way out of the store.

When you got back to the prison, Maggie was waiting for you -tapping her feet, anxiously. She was a little like a mother, you weren't sure how you felt about it. But you loved her so, you dealt with it.

"Hey Mags," you cheered, mug handle twisted between your fingers.

She instantly relaxed, eyes scanning you over before dropping to the mug. She frowned.

"Please, tell me-"

"I got some food," you sighed, "-I'm not entirely useless."

She pursed her lips, "And the mug?"

You grinned, holding it up for her to see -tapping your fingers along both sides. Her eyes skimmed over it before she frowned (biting back a smile, you could tell).

"Seriously?" She asked.

"What?" You responded, groaning, "-I can't get gifts?"

She shoved into your side, and before you could take too many steps, you were met with your target -leaning against the fence, few steps from Maggie. Was he waiting for you too?

"Rick," you dropping your hands, particularly to avoid him from reading the text, "-what are you doing here?"

"Ya do 'at a lot?" He asked, a little pointedly. You thought you recognized something a little like worry in it, "-Go off on your own?"

Huh.

"Yeah," you laughed a little, "-you haven't noticed? I've been getting like... half the food we have."

Rick hummed (a little in appreciation) before his eyes dropped to your hands, "And what's 'at?"

"A gift," you extended it to him, unflinchingly.

He pulled himself from his spot on the wall, walking forward and accepting it. His fingers (great fingers, really. Was that weird to say?) wrapping around it, you noticed for a second that your fingers brushed -your breath halted a little in place.

"A mug?" He asked looking at you for a second, eyebrows furrowed.

You took your hand, and spun it around in his hands -brushing his skin against yours, "The other side."

He smiled a little, laughing.

Right there on a rather plain mug, were the words '#1 HOT DAD'.

He bit back a smile, eyes peeking up at you again, "Ya really ain't gonna let 'is go, are ya?"

"Nope," you popped the 'p', before clarifying, "-unless you want me to."

Rick licked a line against his teeth, grinning a little with something in his eye, "Who said 'at?"

"Noted," you smiled back, something fluttering in your chest, "-now, where's Carl? I got him something good."

"Ya got him somethin' too?"

He was looking at you a little curiously, like he was seeing new layers of you. You kind of wanted to squirm a little at his gaze. You were not used to people figuring you out.

You sighed, quickly turning your pack to the front and unzipping it. With a breath, you dug around and pulled out the figurine -Rick's eyes caught on it immediately. A small smile creeping along his mouth.

"He told me once he liked comics," you clarified, clearing your throat, "-figured he would like this. You... You think he will?"

"He'll love it," he answered, something new in his eyes, "-C'mon, I'll take ya to him."

On the way there, he seemed to pause a moment, something on his mind. You patiently waited for him to say it.

"'Saw somethin' else in 'ere," he mindlessly remarked, as the mug swung between his fingers "-What is it?"

"Oh," you pulled your pack foward again, excited, extending the figurine to him for safekeeping (he took it with a smile), "-a DVD player."

You held it in your hands, showing to him.

"Found some DVDs, good ones," you continued, before putting it back in your bag, and accepting the figurine back (your fingers brushed again), "-no batteries though."

Rick hummed, pursing his lips like he was thinking about something. He didn't say a word though.

You didn't have much time to think about it, because a few days after that, the prison fell. You'd escaped with Rick and Carl, but you weren't exactly yourself. Not after everything.

There was Judith, and Maggie, and... and Beth and Hershel. Every day felt like there was bile turning in your stomach; every time you closed your eyes, you saw someone... someone dead.

You were lying against the grass, looking up at the stars -it was still so pretty. Despite it all, the sky was still the same. Bright and twinkly. It was when everyone was on the road, wandering for a place to go. You just couldn't sleep, so you took it upon yourself to just look at the sky. You thought the clouds might be pretty, but the night was a little breathtaking.

"Ya awake?"

You didn't say a word.

"C'mon, Y/N, I know ya are."

"Yeah, I am," you sighed, saying shortly, "-Can't sleep."

There was an echo of footsteps, and then you felt body heat beside you. There was a beat.

"Ya ain't gonna say anythin'?" Rick hummed, turning his head to face you.

You matched his eyes (he's probably more handsome now, honestly), "About what?"

"Me, ya know," he motioned, to your side, "-layin' with ya."

You laughed at him a little, before teasing, "Awe, you miss it, don't you, sheriff?"

"Not a sheriff anymore," he hummed, something a little heavy in his voice.

"Eh," you shrugged, looking back to the stars, "-you still are in my mind."

Rick smiled at you, wordlessly.

Before you added, plainly, "Mostly because I love a man in uniform."

He laughed then, big and bright, and you felt something warm in your chest that you knew but hadn't felt in a while.

You wanted to be genuine, really genuine.

"You are a good man, Rick," you turned to look at him, and he looked straight back, "-We've all done shit we never should've, and maybe it's fucked us up a little bit, moved our path in the wrong direction once or twice, but-"

You looked back up to the sky, still feeling his eyes on you. It was kind of like a dream, like the apocalypse wasn't real for a second, just you and Rick. And maybe you wanted that a lot more than you knew.

"-you've got a big heart, Rick," you finished, soundly, "-And even if sometimes you lose sight of what you're doing, or maybe who you are, that... that doesn't change."

Rick didn't say anything for a moment, words echoing out into the night air. You couldn't find it in yourself to regret them, though. You never really regret what you said these days, there was no reason too.

You really only regret what you didn't say. Maybe to people who aren't around anymore. Your heart sunk a little in your chest, but it felt a little lighter -just a smidgen. (Maybe because of who you were with.)

"I got somethin' for ya," Rick suddenly spoke, sitting up (you followed suit).

You furrowed your eyebrows, "You got me something? When?"

Mindlessly, he replied, "On the last run."

You pursed your lips but waited patiently. He moved over to his pack, unzipping one of his pockets and pulling something out -you couldn't quite see. Trying to peek you moved over a little, but nothing.

With a breath, he stood back up and waltzed over to you (somehow he made walking hot, they needed to research that), extending it forward right into your face.

You blinked, gently taking it into your hands and looking at it closely. It was dark so you couldn't really-

Batteries. He handed you a pack of AA batteries.

"No way," you laughed out, "-you remembered that?"

"I remember a lot of what ya say," he offered casually, and you felt something shoot down your spine. And with a breath, he sat right beside you, so close your knees bumped a little.

Pulling your bag over to you, you dug around in it. You'd kept the DVD player and DVDs, not really with the hope of finding batteries. But, to feel a little human, remember life before.

You'd taken to putting stickers on it when you saw any, so the top of it was covered in an assortment. You ran your fingers over it a second, taking it in, before flipping it over. Popping open the little tab, you let out a breath of relief when it was AAs.

Rick laughed.

"I was going to be so pissed if it wasn't," you spoke, "-you have no idea."

He just looked at you then, in a way you'd seen before but never really thought about. You turned back to your bag, shuffling around to find your stash.

"You want music or a movie?"

"Movie's fine," he hummed, and you still felt his eyes trained solely on you. You tried to shake it off.

"Let's see," you pulled out a few of the movies you had, showing them to Rick, "-I've got... a kid's animated movie, or... a... cheesy romcom!"

Rick stared at you, instead of the movies, before flickering to them.

Rambling, you continued, "I also picked up some horror stuff, but I... I really think that was a bad move on my part."

He laughed again, just looking at you in a way you didn't really know how to label. Or react to. You were kind of a little overwhelmed at the fact that he'd even gotten you the batteries, and then the way he was looking at you-

"Think romcom sounds good," he interrupted your thoughts, scanning over you.

"Alright," you acknowledged, putting the other ones up, and scooting back next to him -not enough to touch. It was a little awkward and you weren't sure how you were going to-

"I don't bite ya know," he quipped, laughing a little.

You turned to him, grinning, "Well maybe I do."

Rick laughed again for a moment, just looking at you. And then he extended out an arm, welcoming you into his side.

You paused a moment, before carefully guiding yourself to slot into him; the back of your head against his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around the back of your shoulders. You brought your knees up, to carefully balance the DVD player (shaped like a little laptop really). A tiny little screen for the two of you to see on. Logistically, that's why you were so close but a part of you thought a little otherwise.

"I don't," you hummed.

"What?"

"I don't bite."

He laughed a little, "Good."

"Unless you want me to-"

And the laughter that filled the night was just between you and him. And maybe in the morning, you were fast asleep on his shoulder and maybe he looked at you a little like you were the greatest thing he'd ever seen and maybe he shushed all the others just to have the moment last even a second longer.

You'd never really know.

Now, you were in Alexandria. You'd gotten Maggie back, you'd gotten Judith back. You were on a new high, and that meant two things. More pestering, and two, flirting with Rick.

You were walking through Alexandria with Maggie, just keeping her on her feet really. She wasn't super pregnant yet, and it was good to be healthy.

"I cannot believe you're pregnant," you mindlessly remarked, holding Judith close to your side.

"I have been," she retorted, "-for a while. Think ya have had time to digest it."

"But, it's like physical proof that you fucked," you commented, "-unprotected, by the way. I know you missed that sex-ed day, but seriously-"

"Carl's proof that Rick fucked," Maggie defended, eyes smoothing over him with a few of his friends.

"Well," you pursed your lips, "-I know that Rick fucked. Just on principle, he's-"

She motioned for you to zip it, "Don't start. I know you are doin' good, which is great. But it also means ya become a lil' unbearable."

"Me? Unbearable?" You turned to Judith, cooing a little, "-Can you believe the nerve of her, Jude?"

Judith smiled at you with her big brown eyes and toothless little mouth. You pinched her cheek, instinctively, "So cute."

"I still can't believe that you're in love with Ri-"

"I told you that in confidence," you interrupted, pointed.

Maggie stuck out her tongue at you and Judith laughed a little at it. Funny faces, right. You could physically see the pregnancy hormones on her face as she cooed at Judith.

You would've said something, but you had just done it yourself.

"Where's your keeper anyway?" You hummed like you'd been stuck with her (you actively searched her out).

"'E's not my keeper," she responded, sternly (mom voice, already?), "-and he's out on run, gettin' supplies."

"If he's not your keeper, how'd you know who I was talking about?"

"You are so-"

Before she could finish such a kind sentence, the two of you were interrupted. A presence waltzing up to your side.

You turned to look who, and-

Your heart lept into your throat. It was Rick, now clean-shaven, and although, you had loved the beard (don't even get you started), his jaw was on full display. Blue, blue eyes. And dipping to his clothes, he was in a damn uniform.

"Look at you, Rick," you complimented, smiling.

"'Heard ya liked a man in uniform," he smiled (a new type of way), and winked. And before you could say a word, he walked forward -past you.

You stuttered to a stop, Maggie right beside you. Blinking you turned to her, and she looked right back at you. And then you both turned to look at Rick, still walking the same way he was.

Turning back forward, you opened your mouth, "Sorry, did that just happen?"

Maggie hummed, pulling you with her, "It did."

"How did I never think of that?"

"Think of what?" She offered, as you smoothed back into a step with her.

You answered, eyebrows furrowing, "That he might flirt back."

She shrugged, "If it helps, I never thought he would."

"I am not against shoving a pregnant woman," you hissed back, with no bite. You never really had any. And you both broke into laughter, as you roamed through Alexandria.

Now, Daryl was leaning against a house as you stood beside him -pestering as always.

"No, listen," you turned to him, attentively, "-it's called fuck, marry, kill-"

"I ain't playing it with ya."

"C'mon, Daryl, it's fun, look-" you flagged down Glenn (who was carrying a box, of what, who knows?), "-Glenn, fuck, marry, kill. Michonne, Carol, and Daryl."

"Easy," he laughed, "-fuck Michonne, marry Carol, and sorry, dude, but kill Daryl."

"See?" You motioned to Glenn, as he walked forward.

"Don't ya 'ave a wife?" Daryl remarked, as Glenn moved along.

"Oh please," you shook your hand dismissively, "-it's all just fun. Just hypothetical scenarios."

"Okay, now," you started over, "-fuck, marry, kill. Deanna-"

"Kill," he answered -unflinchingly.

"See!" you cheered, "-you're getting the hang of it-"

"What are the two of ya doin'?"

You turned to see the one and only Rick Grimes, a little more worn today, which you kind of preferred, still had those bandaids on (how did he make that look hot?), and more casually dressed. In the white t-shirt, we trust.

"I'm teaching Daryl how to play fuck, marry, kill," you answered, eyes solid on him, "-obviously."

Before he could respond, Daryl chimed up, something mischievous in his eyes. You squinted at him, trying to figure it out. And then he opened his mouth.

"I got one," he spoke, a smile teasing on his lips (looking at Rick, directly), "-Y/N, Glenn, and Rosita."

You stared at the eye contact for a moment (everything was so suspicious), before asking, "What am I supposed to do with myself?"

Daryl shrugged, you bit your lip a second.

"I guess I could kill myself, big waste, but-" you paused, "-ooh, wait, I could, like, clone situation fuck myself-"

"Now, 'at would be a sight to see," a low southern drawl interrupted your words, and your voice faltered to a stop.

You turned to him, squinting at him for a second -trying to understand. All he did was wink at you again, and you hated that it made your knees a little wobbly. Especially when he was holding onto the column of the porch, and slightly leaning toward you-

"Before I was so rudely interrupted," you cleared your throat, "-I would marry Glenn, fuck Rosita, and, tragically, kill myself."

Daryl nodded his head, before motioning to Rick, "What 'bout ya?"

"Am I playin'?" He questioned, finger pointing to himself and eyes dashing to you.

"Might as well," you shrugged, "-you're already over here."

He pursed his lips a second like he was thinking, eyes particularly avoiding you, "An' I can't choose one person for two of 'em?"

You swallowed, oh, he was playing dirty.

"Nope," Daryl answered.

And then, he turned into something much softer, something more familiar, "Then, marry Y/N, fuck Rosita, and kill Glenn."

Marry?

Your heart lept into your throat, and your fingers started fidgeting with your shirt -instinctively. How the hell was he winning? I started this game-

"Thought so," Daryl responded.

And out of the corner of your eye, you saw Carol. Her eyes matched yours a second, and you tried to convey how desperate you were to get away from this very scene. Her eyebrows furrowed for a second, but then she spoke.

"Hey, Y/N! Can you come help me with the food?"

"Of course, Carol," you called back, smiling at the two of them, "-sorry, duty calls."

Rick just grinned at you then, like he knew exactly what you were doing. And you were 100% sure he did. Stupid handsome men with stupidly beautiful blue eyes. Ignoring the fact that you physically brushed against him to get off the porch, you frantically caught up to Carol.

You were in the pantry now, gathering ingredients, Carol directing you -naming them as she found them.

"So," she looked at you, "-are you gonna tell me what that was about?"

You pursed your lips, before answering, "Rick's flirting back with me."

Carol raised her eyebrows at you, "Huh."

"And I was teaching Daryl how to play fuck, marry, kill, and he-" you rapted your fingernails along one of the cans, "-and he said he'd marry me. But all... genuine and shit."

"And that's bad?"

"No, no," you shook your head, putting the can into a basket, "-It's not bad. Just... I don't know if he means it."

"You just said that he said it genuinely," Carol pointed out, grabbing another can.

"Well yeah, but-" you scrambled a moment, "-all that time ago, I was flirting genuinely. I mean even though it was playful, it was still genuine."

"And," she connected the dots, "-you're not sure if he's genuine?"

"Yeah," you skimmed along the shelves, gathering the last can she needed.

"Well," she took it from your hand, blue eyes on you softly, "-if it's worth anything, I think he's genuine. And maybe this is his way of showing how he feels about you."

You hummed, wordlessly.

"He's let you flirt with him this long," she continued, bringing a hand up to your shoulder, "-that has to mean something, doesn’t it?"

She had a point.

"Now," she adjusted the basket, "-are you actually going to help me with the food? Or was it just an excuse to run away from Rick?"

You laughed, "I'll help, I'll help. I'm not a total dick. Speaking of-"

She turned to you.

"Do you know if Rick's full name is Richard?"

It was a few weeks later, and they were filled with frustratingly blue winks. And that was one thing, but now you were being stupid. You were stupid.

You'd thought Oh, it'll be just like old times, I'll go out on a run. It'll be so nice-

And now you were walking with a gunshot would, quickly bandaged by a rip of your t-shirt and whatever you had around you. Which in whatever the hell store it was, was not a lot. All you'd managed to find was alcohol so you at least soaked the shirt.

You'd blearily walked all the way home, eyes foggy, and praying that a walker wouldn't come near you. And now you saw it, Alexandria.

"Gabriel," you called, breathlessly, "-Gabriel, please let me in."

You heard him say something but you were delirious. Maybe something with your name? Head fuzzy and eyes bleary, you were coming down from the high of getting somewhere safe. As you waltzed into Alexandria (pain in the abdomen so hot it almost felt numbing), there was a swarm of people around you immediately. Felt like you were back in the prison, when Maggie would be waiting and you think she was now.

"Hey, hey," she chanted, grabbing your face (and you could see her now), "-look at me, Y/N, tell me what the hell happened."

"Some guy, the bitch," you muttered out, a little slurred you think, "-just shot me, because he wanted the last of the damn Campbell soup, who shoots someone for Campbell soup?"

Her eyes dropped to your body, you mindlessly noted that it was sticky. Your eyes dropped too, and saw all the red -so much red.

"I think I lost a lot of blood, Mags."

"Somebody go get Rick, and the doctor, now," she shouted (loud, loud), before turning back to you, "-How the hell did you get here?"

"I walked," you answered simply.

"You walked?" She responded, hands on your shoulders, "-How did you-"

You were safe now, and everything in your body just gave out.

"Adrenaline is a hell of a drug," you hummed, laughing a little, before falling to the ground.

Your head stung from the ground, as Maggie tried to get down by your side -all pregnant belly.

"'S okay, Mags, don't-" you mumbled "-don't hurt yourself."

She frowned, and you thought she might have tears in her eyes, "I have to stay with you, Y/N, whose going to keep you awake-"

"Glenn," you called, and you saw him saunter up to your side, a little slurred, "-take care of 'er, help her sit. Don't worry, Mags, don't worry-"

You heard a slap of footsteps then, quick and brisk, and before you could wonder who, blue eyes and rough hands were guiding your face. He was starting to grow his stubble back, you mindlessly noted.

"Rick," you smiled a little fuzzily, reaching up and patting his face, "-See Mags, Rick'll take care of me."

"Hey, hey," he brought your focus to him, "-keep lookin' at me, okay?"

"Well," you slurred a little, "-'at's not very hard, sheriff."

He turned to the crowd then, voice low and gruff, "What the hell happened?"

You heard Maggie respond then, through sobs, "'Ey said that some guy shot 'em, over a... over some food."

"Didn't even ask if he could have 'em, first. Who does that-"

"Daryl," he motioned -tone low, and he immediately nodded. You watched him leave your eyesight.

Rick instead, brought your face back to him, as you recognized the doctor to be by your side, scrambling with some white stuff.

"Hey, hey, baby," he spoke, low in a whisper, "-I'm 'ere, focus on me. Look at me."

You smiled again, delirious, "You called me baby, that feels nice. Everythin' else burns-"

"I kno', I kno'," he soothed, you felt pressure on your abdomen (hissing in pain, as your eyes got more blurry), "-ya did a good job gettin' back 'ere. To where you're safe. Ya did a good job."

"Just kept walking," you slurred, "-couldn't stop. Wasn't gonna die to some asshole."

Rick laughed then a little, and you felt something a little different than pain. Your hands naturally came to his face, mindlessly rubbing your thumbs against his cheekbones. He's always been so handsome, only gets better with time.

You noticed he leaned into it a little, careful not to hurt you. Yeah, you realized, he was genuine.

God, what if you had missed out on this, with Rick? All because of some stupid can of soup-

"Rick," you started, and he looked at you a little like you held the world, you were the world maybe, "-I think I'm gonna die."

"You're not, no-" he held his hand over yours (it was so warm. Why had you never held his hand?), "-You're not gonna die, baby. You're gonna be fine."

"I'm bleeding," you breathed out, scanning over him, "-Been bleeding the whole time. You're not supposed to bleed that much, Rick."

"Ya ain't gonna die," he repeated, hands gathering your face, "-Look at me, ya ain't dyin'."

Concern clear on his face, you felt the urge to soothe, soothe, soothe-

You looked at him, eyes scanning over his face. He was handsome, yeah, but he was caring, smart, and so, so kind. You wanted to tell him that, see what he'd say. What he'd do.

"'Said that you were a good man, 'at you have a big heart," you hummed, eyes languidly blinking, "-still mean it. Don't you forget it."

He looked at you for a second, eyes flicking all over your face, before looking to the doctor. She must've said something (your ears felt stuffy) because then Rick was picking you up. He was everywhere, smell, sight. All you could feel was Rick, body heat thrumming and blooming into your side.

"Always knew you were strong," you mindlessly remarked.

You felt Rick laugh in his chest, and your eyelids were so heavy then. You slowly began blinking, your brain slowing down. Maybe you could close your eyes just for a little bit.

"Got so much to say to ya."

And then, it all faded to black.

This blanket is scratchy as hell, you mindlessly remarked. It was almost like a thin sheet, barely coating you, and you think if you moved your arms, it would make that noise that shitty bedsheets did. Why were hospital beds so bad? Shouldn't they be comfortable?

And then your nose was hit with the heavy sterilized air. You scrunched your nose up on instinct, it made your throat burn-

"Y/N? Darlin'?"

You slowly blinked your eyes open, heavy and languid; they always had those florescent lights too. How was that helpful?

"'S too fucking bright in here."

You heard him laugh a little, maybe in relief mostly, and you blearily blinked to get a look at him.

"'D turn it down for ya if I could."

You laughed a little and squinted your eyes open, laying gently on him. He looked a little worse for wear, his hair messy and shirt a little crooked. You wanted to fix his curls back in place, and your hand moved before you could stop it.

Gently, you threaded his hair back. He was a breath away from where you laid, so it wasn't too far of a reach.

Rick looked at you so softly, that the words cut off your from your lips. And with a breath, he pulled your hand down from his hair, sliding it against his cheek. Before you could say a word about it, he turned his head and gently kissed your palm.

You bit at your lip, eyes flickering over him, "How long have you been here?"

"Since the doc' allowed me to be," he answered, fidgeting with your hand -not really wanting to let go, you guessed.

"And Mags?" You asked, concern flickering through your eyes, "-Are she and the baby okay?"

"Yeah," he looked at you, a little in disbelief, "-they're alright. She was stressed, yeah, but Glenn kept 'er calm."

"And," your eyes darted to your abdomen, where your wound now hid, "-the wound?"

"Good," he replied, eyes swimming over you like he couldn't quite believe you were okay, "-Doc' says ya just need to rest, not irritate the stitches. Which I kno' will be hard for ya."

You sighed, leaning your head back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling, "I am going to be so bored."

Rick chuckled a little, before falling suspiciously quiet. You turned to him, just to see him looking down and fidgeting with your hand -a little like he was working on saying something. You simply waited.

"'Ve been looking for those batteries since ya said ya wanted 'em," he spoke, a little quietly.

You froze, "Since the prison?"

"Yeah," he offered, "-apparently 'ey're a hot commodity."

"Why?" You questioned, looking at him curiously, "-Why all that work for some batteries?"

"Because," he hummed simply, eyes matching yours now, "-ya wanted 'em."

You pushed your lips into a thin line, the glimmer of hope sparking in your chest. Not saying a word, you just stared at him for a second; not unlike in the early days, you were just admiring him for a lot more than his (still unbelievably handsome) face.

"Y/N, I-" he started, eyes dipping back down to your hands. He seemed to pause a moment, debating.

And then he looked up at you, eyes set in his path -unflinchingly. In a sort of understanding, like everything made sense to him now. The silence was heavy until he leaned forward and brushed his hand along your cheek -carefully. It made you feel precious, and your eyes maybe got a little cloudy because of it.

"I'm in love with ya," he let out a breath, tone heavy and genuine, "-an... and the way ya blatantly hit on me but in the damn most genuine type of way."

You laughed a little and leaned gently into his palm. He looked at you in a way you couldn't label then, or maybe you could (love), and rubbed his thumb along your cheekbone.

"I didn't know how to react to it, at first," he hummed, something settled in his eyes, "-the attention ya gave me. 'S somethin' I've never dealt with before."

"Really?" You let slip past your lips, and his grin grew wide as he let his head fall and shook it, smiling at the ground.

"Even now," he laughed a little, turning his gaze up again, "-ya always said thin's like it was so easy to do. Like ya were tellin' me 'at the sun was hot."

"You did give me some pretty good set ups," you clarified, smiling at him.

"'Never meant to," he added, grinning a little in wonder, "-I couldn't think straight when ya said 'em, so I'm surprised I even did."

You hummed, eyes twinkling at him and he looked at you just a little more like he was in love. It made a spark shoot down to your toes, warmth flooding your chest.

"If it's worth anything," you spoke, a little embarrassed, "-my brain stops working when you do the fond thing."

"The fond thing?"

"It's just," you sighed, trying to articulate, "-It's a way that you look at me, or... or smile at me. When you do the soft stuff."

"What exactly is-" he hummed, gently, holding your attention like your words really mattered, "-'the soft stuff'?"

"Uh," you blew a raspberry with your lips, "-like giving me the batteries, and... and that whole conversation actually."

"Oh," he laughed a little, blue eyes twinkling, "-like I was in love with ya."

"What? No, you weren't... not that early-"

And then you looked at him.

"Shit," you marveled, "-really?"

"Like I said," he smiled at you, a little like you were cute, "-I looked for those batteries for months. For ya. An'-"

His face got a little more serious.

"-I really missed ya. 'At was probably when I first realized it."

You rolled your lip inbetween your teeth, "Yeah?"

"Ya used to make everybody laugh, and were always smilin'-" he explained, "-it wasn't even just the flirtin', it was just... I knew ya were hurtin', an' I couldn't help. Or I... I didn't know what to do to help."

You just stared.

"An' I missed ya so desperately, I just-" he let out a breath, "-It all clicked into place, and I went on 'at run, hopin' to god there were batteries-"

You laughed a little weepily, leaning into his hand.

"-because I just wanted to make ya feel better. Bring ya back to me."

"How the hell did you even find them?" You questioned, wiping at your eyes, "-It couldn't have been that lucky."

"'Wasn't," he replied simply, "-I was only supposed to do a few stores, I did the whole strip."

"God, really?" You smiled, "-For batteries?"

"No," he hummed, simply, "-for ya."

You fell quiet.

"I would do anythin' for ya," he added, voice a little breathless, "-anythin'."

"Anything?"

Rick laughed a little, grin bright, "Ya need to rest, baby."

"That's not a no," you chimed, grinning.

He looked at you a certain type of way then, "'S definitely not a no."

You felt your heart pound in your chest for a moment. That was something to look forward to. Something stirred in your stomach.

"What?" He asked, teasing, "-Ya all bark and no bite, hmm?"

"If I wasn't bedridden," you spoke flatly, "-I would kick your ass."

"Ya would," he agreed.

And you laughed, eyes smoothing over his face. Before noticing something you hadn't quite said yet.

Words fell out of your lips, "Even though you probably already know, because I've chasing you all this time-"

He smiled at you.

"-I love you too," you finished, "-if it wasn't obvious."

"'Was kinda obvious," he leveled -teasing, but something was sparkling so bright in his eyes that you didn't really mind.

"Yeah, yeah," you moved your hand dismissively, "-don't start, sheriff."

You paused for a moment, eyes dancing along the room, "Do I get to go home today?"

"No," he spoke, with a certainty that shook through your bones (this man had literally everything), "-'Need to be taken care of, so ya are stayin' wit' me until you're healed."

You blinked at him, he was doing the fond thing again. Your mind relaxed to a low hum.

"Maybe after too," he added, tone softer but not any less certain, "-if ya want."

You stared at him, wordless.

Rick blinked, looking at you, before grinning, "'At the fond thing?"

"Yeah," you cleared your throat, embarrassed, "-I don't... It's been a long time since I've been cared for. At all. And you're a very handsome man offering to-"

"Not offerin'," he clarified, eyes set on yours, "-just doin'. 'Specially now, 'cause I kno' ya love me too."

All headstrong, decisive, and certain. How was this happening to you?

"'Thought you said it was obvious?"

"It was," he hummed, grinning at you, "-I could just barely wrap my head around ya flirtin' with me. Couldn't really see it."

You thought for a second, before speaking, "Was it Daryl?"

He grinned at you, tilting his head a little, "Maybe."

"Always knew he was a big softie," you hummed, "-read him like a book when we first met. Stone layers to an ooey-gooey center."

Rick scrunched up his nose, "Ooey-gooey center?"

"Sometimes," you sighed, "-Sometimes I say stupid shit around really attractive people. It's a habit."

"'Guess 'at means you're still gonna be flirting with me?"

"As long as you want me to, sheriff," you clarified.

"So maybe forever then," he grinned and you felt your heart leap into your chest (fuck his fond things). You were totally never getting over that.

"Yeah," you hummed in agreement, "-Maybe forever then."

Mission accomplished.

[mylittleponyoh]

"Seventies Sanctuary" CC Pack by MylittleponyOh

Enter my "Seventies Sanctuary" with this 33 LOW POLY items CC Pack I designed with all my love for mid-century modern furniture ! I hope the little story and artistic direction I’ve created for this pack will transport you into nostalgia as much as it did for me ! A French Version of the Zine is available here !

All items are Base Game Compatible except the Functional Insence that will require Spa Day to work. In this Pack you will find :

Animated Record Player - 10 swatches

Around Sofa "Bookcase" Left - 12 swatches

Around Sofa "Bookcase" Right - 12 swatches

Books (as a bookcase) - 3 swatches

Clock - 5 swatches

Decorative Tic Tac Toe - 7 swatches

Donut Lamp - 4 swatches

Fireplace Hood Tall - 6 swatches

Fireplace Hood Medium - 6 swatches

Fireplace Hood Short - 6 swatches

Fireplace - 12 swatches

Flowers in a Vase - 25 swatches

Frame with Glass - 5 swatches

Framed City Posters - 16 swatches

Functional Insence - 4 swatches - REQUIRE SPA DAY

Granny Square Blanket - 6 swatches

Macramé Curtain Knotted 3 Tiles - 4 swatches

Macramé Curtain Knotted Left - 4 swatches

Macramé Curtain Knotted Right - 4 swatches

Macramé Curtain - 4 swatches

MCM Armchair - 14 swatches

Neon 1 - 7 swatches

Neon 2 - 7 swatches

Plexi Coffee Table - 9 swatches

Reading Lamp - 10 swatches

Record Player Stand - 5 swatches

Rug - 4 swatches

Sofa Lounge - 12 swatches

Sofa - 12 swatches

That 70's Shiplap - 6 swatches

That 70's Wallpaper - 6 swatches

Tissue Box - 5 swatches

Trailing Plant - 3 swatches

A little note aside :  98% of my textures are hand drawn. For the Star War swatche in the book, I used AI to generate images. I've edited all the rest with Canva and/or GIMP. Note that I can't pay artists to get images as all my content is free and is not my full time job, so yes I am using free help if I know I will not be able to achieve the look I want :) Other swatches are inspired from real life books, or invented. City Framed Posters are inspired from Othman Zougam posters, I love their artworks !

Special thanks to all my Discord friends who have been so nice, helping me during the creation of this pack, for your ideas, hype and love. Thanks to : @milliestore for your participation with the creation of one of the cover of the Books item. Thanks to @hyawehb for letting me use one of your pictures as well for a one of the book cover too. Check out her french booksta account here and also her blog La Biblionaute Also thanks to @meerigoldsims for your idea of a Star Wars swatche for the books !

Download here (Patreon - Free) Download here (Simfileshare - Free)

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[imnotditzy]

Billy and Marvel have very different fighting styles.

For one, Billy treats every fight like a street fight: nothing is off limits. The boy will bite, scratch, kick, and claw. He fights dirty, and he will throw anything he can at you. His moves are unpolished, based on pure instinct or what matters in the moment, which makes his moves unpredictable — atleast until someone finds a pattern.

But Marvel, they fight in the ancient technique of Pankration. (Pankration is an Ancient Greek fighting technique, which is a combination of wrestling and boxing. It used to be in the Olympics and apart of Ancient Greece battle technique. It has limited rules and sometimes fights resulted in death. Olympic wins were usually counted by submission or knockouts. It is also said Heracles and Theseus used this fighting method in myths) The fighting style’s devastating and outright brutal. But it gets the job done, and is very intimidating—meaning it’s the perfect fit for the Champion of Magic. But for a friendly superhero? Not really.

It’s not like Captain Marvel can win here either, it’s between fighting like a street rat with no rules or fighting like you’re still in Ancient Greece, when everyone lacked entertainment and morals. Which are both pretty bad, because the choices are:

Captain Marvel, the superhero whose never uttered a curse word in public, gotten rude or actually expressed any strong negative emotion, clawing at a supervillain like their on the verge of death and the one thing they’ll do before slipping away from the world is taking the villain with them. They’re kicking, thrashing and…biting? Biting. They are kicking, thrashing and biting using pure fight or flight instinct with sparse strikings of lightning pounding down from the sky. or

Captain Marvel, the guy whose nickname is “The Big Red Cheese” and poorly hides a grimace every time someone uses the nickname, kicking a supervillain square in the stomach, then picking them up and throwing them on their head. Once the villain’s down they’re over extending their shoulder, then the other, before putting them in a stranglehold...

Both ways are just…

wtf?

Neither are really expected and I can’t imagine which ones funnier.