#bed of spiderwebs

[magicalshopping]

♡ Gothic Cat Tree ♡

[baggy-holmes]

tough day to be gab

[magic-is-something-we-create]

i must say, writing a book like whispers for once (aka one where i know 90% of the main storyline going in and enough of the other to improvise it well) has meant editing is... way easier than it has been before.

[drumlincountry]

I hate how embarrassing ADHD is. Yes. Sat down to work on a job application and scrolled thru someone’s supernatural blog for an hour instead. I don’t even wach that show. Debilitating! infuriating! humiliating!

[i-am-not-a-who-i-am-a-what]

behold, the first corner of the panopticon~!

got about a fourth of the way done mining out the massive pit underneath the ocean monument i'm turning into the institute so i decided to start construction to make sure all the proportions were right and it looks like they are! i'm super happy with it so far ^u^

ignore all the ugly scaffolding and temporary spawn-proofing slabs and torches lol

[sam-spills-alot]

[vanderilnde]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[majispec]

i chose my current tablet largely on the basis of it advertising to be tough & 1.5 years later somehow i still managed to fuck it up. if this is skill i wish i could change it to something marketable instead of actively draining my already nonexistent finances

[inkskinned]

it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

[hedgehog-moss]

The lower rung of the ladder in my kitchen broke last month and I stuck a little Post-it note on the wall to remind myself to step over the missing rung so I wouldn't break my leg every time I go up or downstairs—but then my mum came to visit and she saw me hopping over the gap in the ladder with practised ease and her face was the definition of "you live like this?" And she went to get a screwdriver to unscrew the ladder from the wall so we could carry it outside and repair it.

Some people see a broken ladder and immediately open a toolbox to fix the problem; some people see a broken ladder and stick a Post-it note to the wall to train themselves to step over the problem forever. (I admit my response is inferior.)

I think I felt daunted at the thought of tinkering with this ladder because it's been here in the same place for over a century and I pictured the whole thing crumbling into dust if we tried to move it—but no, it's still solid, except the lower rung. Which wasn't damaged by time, but by Pandolf. (And some insects. But mostly Pandolf.)

When he was a baby, for a week or so after I took him home, he was extremely upset about having to spend the night in his dog bed in the kitchen while I went upstairs to my bedroom, he would cry and cry and one night in a fit of despair and rage he attacked the ladder. The next morning I found the lower rung (the only one he could reach) looking like it had been attacked by a termite colony, but it was Pandolf's pointy little puppy teeth. By the look of it he'd spent half the night furiously gnawing on it until he dropped from exhaustion—his reasoning was clearly that if he destroyed the ladder, I wouldn't be able to go upstairs anymore and would be forced to spend the night on the floor of the kitchen with him.

It's really hard to be mad at baby Pandolf, though. Go on, try.

Eventually he got used to sleeping in his dog bed and he abandoned his ladder destruction project, but the lower rung has been fragile ever since, and it finally broke last month.

My mum is extremely efficient; she sent me to the barn to find some kind of thick board (you can find anything in the barn if you have a torch and aren't afraid of bats or century-old spiderwebs) and when I came back she had prepared all the tools and taken all the measurements.

The worst part was tapering the sides so the rung would fit in the notches, because if one side was a little bit thinner than the other then it was wobbly—

—plus I used a file at first and it took forever (Pandolf was so bored), but then I remembered I own a sanding machine and it went a lot faster. So much so that my mum said I should make a second rung while I was at it—she was motivated to replace all of them, but then it started raining and we decided the rest of the ladder is solid enough and we'll replace the rungs two at a time.

I always forget that it feels satisfying to fix things! There's this little spark of pride from then on when you look at the repaired thing because you helped make it. I tend to procrastinate because I assume it'll take ages or I'm worried I'll do it wrong, until someone who's more confident with their hands than me goes like "no come on, we just need a saw, a file, a hammer, it'll take an hour tops" and we do it and it's never as difficult as I feared. (My mum: "We gave you a toy toolbox when you were little, to smash sexist stereotypes, and you're afraid of fixing things :( ...") (I cheered her up by reminding her that my brother smashes sexist stereotypes by being also afraid of fixing things.)

But yeah I spent half an hour sanding down the sides of these two lower rungs and now I look at my ladder and remember the delightful feeling of getting the tapering just right and inserting them into their slots effortlessly like a VHS tape into a VCR. I have a whole new affection for my kitchen ladder now.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

[thebestofoneshots]

This isn’t really a request but this came to may head at three in the morning ok Imagine like your getting fucked by one of the Marauders or all of them and yk those moving pictures they have in the wizard world image they have a whole box filled of the reader getting back shots and EVERYTHING 😵‍💫🥴

THE STASH | marauders x reader

Pairing: J.P. x S.B. x R.L x Female Reader

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings: Smut, finger fucкing, a little bit of PTSD on Sirius, pictures taken w/o reader’s knowledge, reader being insecure and gaining back confidence thanks to the boys.

Prompt: You find the boy's stash, filled with lusty pictures and they make you feel insecure, thoughts about not being good enough for them arise, the catch is, that’s THE OLD stash. (Happy ending)

Notes: I had a similar idea already in my head so when I saw this ask I just knew I had to make it happen.

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

You knocked on their door a couple of times when no one said anything, you decided to let yourself  in, “Rem? Jamie? Sirius?” 

No answer. 

You looked around and went to sit by Remus’ bed. He said he’d see you in their room later that night for study and maybe something more, but with study club and prefect duties, you assumed he was as busy as the two other boys were with the quidditch training. You didn’t mind it much though, their room was a lot more quiet to study in than yours, and it was always fun to see their surprised faces when they walked in and you were there. 

You were taking your book and some parchment out when a pot of ink fell from your bag and onto the floor. There was a thud and then another one and then it spilled all over. You gasped and left the bag on the side before leaning down to pick it up. You whispered a quick “reparo,” and the crystal pot wasn’t leaking anymore, but the ink was still on the floor and some of it was spilling down the wooden floorboard. 

“Fuck,” you whispered as you summoned a napkin from your bag and started to clean as best as you could, but it didn’t seem to be working, it was still spilling down into what looked like a nook on the floor. You frowned and looked at the wooden board in detail only to realize there was a section that was a little more worn than the rest. 

You frowned and tried to lift the board by digging your nails on the side but it wasn’t working, you huffed and walked over to Sirius’ night table to see if he still had his pocket knife there. Luckily he did, and you took it, pulling out one of the blades and using it as a crane to lift the wooden board.

Once you did you realized the ink had slipped inside most of the things they kept in there. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered continuously as you tried to pull off the things in fear that they would be ruined with the ink. There were some old letters, some hand-rolled cigars, a few potions and then a small box, that one had gotten most of the ink. You winced and pulled it out, biting your lip as you tried to concentrate. You had been so busy with the cleaning, that you never saw the spiderwebs that covered most of the items. 

“Evanesco,” you whispered, focused solely on the ink, which successfully disappeared, but so did the small lock they had on the box and it opened by itself. You blinked a couple of times when you saw what was inside. You carefully grabbed one of the images, a stunning red-headed witch, winking at you as she bounced around, with her very large, and very beautiful breasts in full display. 

You gulped as you stared at her, she wiggled her shoulders a bit and gave you another wink. You sucked in a breath, she was freaking stunning. And probably there because of James’ fixation with redheads. 

The rest of the pictures were turned over, but curiosity got the best of you, and you took another piece of paper from the box. That one was bent in four, as if it had been ripped from a magazine. You slowly unbend it, first one fold and then the other and there was another stunning witch in the image. 

This one had smaller breasts, but she was leaning down on a bed, perfectly manicured hands brushing over her own folds, two perfectly long and well-shaped legs on the side. She had dark skin and the light reflected on her legs as she accommodated on the bed, her head leaning back with what looked like a sigh as she rolled her hand over her clit. She too was beautiful, and perfect. 

You sat the image on the side, next to the redhead and pulled another one. One of the smaller ones, only to be met with yet another stunning witch, perfectly flat stomach, and beautiful perky breasts, she was riding a pillow, one hand on the bed and looking straight at you as she bit her lips, inviting, enticing. You placed her next to the others as you pulled another image. And then another, and then another. 

Image after image, perfectly attractive witches in all sorts of positions, some by themselves, some with companions (either other hot witches or the cock of a wizard or two). You pressed your legs together, there was a mix of feelings inside you. First of all, you were a little turned on after seeing such kind of imagery. But second, and most important. You were a little upset. 

Which was ridiculous, you knew. Expecting the boys to pleasure themselves with the thought of you in mind when you weren’t around was stupid, especially when there were clearly much better and hotter witches in the market. What with their perfectly round breasts and their beautiful lips and flat stomachs and long legs and rosy cunts. You looked at them with a bit of a frown, they all had something in common, they were perfect, and you? You were far, far from that. 

Now you weren’t upset that the boys were doing themselves, you knew men needed a lot more release than women did and you tried to keep that in mind as you placed all the beautiful witches back in their box, but you couldn’t help but think: Did they also think of them when they were with you? Did they imagine the beautiful redhead’s breasts when they were kissing yours, or maybe that they were in between the legs of that girl with the gorgeous reflective skin instead of your own? 

While the pictures were meant to be stimulating, and they had been a little at the beginning, the more you thought about them, the more you thought they were so much unlike you and the more your thoughts continued to spiral. 

“Such beautiful witches…” you murmured as you closed the box, “and they are equally gorgeous men… why are they–“ You didn’t finish your words out loud, too painful to say them outside of your head. 

Why are they with me? 

You carefully placed the box back into its spot, cleaned the rest of the things that had gotten stained and placed everything back in their stash. You carefully placed the wooden plank back where it belonged and put Sirius’ knife back in his drawers. You took a deep breath, not feeling up for much and instead ripped a page from your notebook. 

“I’m feeling a little sick, see you boys tomorrow.”

It was simple enough not to make them question further, you left it on top of Remus’ bed and left the room. 

The following day, the boys being as marvelous and attentive as they were, had gotten you to forget about the stash almost completely. And things had been absolutely perfect since then.

At least until a few days later, you had been playing wizards chess with Sirius on his bed, and after he beat you for the third time making you feel both hopeless and a little dumb for not anticipating his moves –which was also ridiculous because Sirius had been a wizard chess champion– he offered to make it up to you. 

It was in the spark in his eyes that you knew exactly what he meant. You bit your lip, Remus was reading a book on his bed while James was snoring lightly next to him, one hand draped across the other boy’s torso. You knew they’d want to join in when they realized what you and Sirius were up to, and it sent a shiver down your stomach. 

“What do you say, doll?” Sirius asked as he levitated the chess board and the broken pieces to the side, inviting you to come closer.

You huffed “You think you can make it up with your little puppy eyes?” 

Sirius pretended to think about it for a second before nodding. “While they should be enough, I’m still planning to use more than just my looks to make you feel better.” 

You returned the smile and leaned closer to him, moving to straddle his sitting form, his back was pressed to the headboard and you could feel he was at least a little excited as you leaned into him. 

“Did you win so many times just so you could say that to me?” You asked in disbelief, you were drumming your fingers near the nape of his neck.

“I might have been a little extra attentive,” he replied as he grabbed onto your hips and placed a kiss on your neck. “I know how riled up you get when you can’t best me,” he said before placing another kiss, this time further up, “I kind of enjoy seeing your little frown, and angry looks,” he admitted, he was now kissing your jaw. You rolled your hips into his and he tightened his grip on your hips in response. 

You smiled, loving the fact that you knew exactly what Sirius liked and how to get him worked up, at least as much as he knew of you. You rolled your hips again and he reached his hand under your skirt, feeling the outside of your leg before flicking his hand to the inside of it. To the softer skin that he grabbed with firm tenderness. Itching his hand closer and closer, making sure to massage your skin, tauntingly. 

You leaned your head onto his shoulder, letting his beautiful hair fall on your face as you rolled your hips again, a lot softer this time, matching his pace and wanting his hand to come closer. 

“Eager, are we?” he teased.

“Shhh, you’ll wake up Jamie,” you said as you leaned over to kiss his neck. He bit his lip to hold back a moan and finally placed his hand over your panties, tracing a soft line over your slit. You bucked your hips against his hand and he chuckled lightly. 

Remus, who had been focused on his book so far, frowned and looked up at the two of you, smirking a little when he noticed what you were up to. Of course, he knew that chuckle, it was Sirius’ sexy teasing laugh. 

“Easy love or you’ll be the one to wake up Prongs,” he said, leaning his head to your ear and softly nibbling on it. He traced his hand over your slit a couple more times, and you bucked your hips again. He smiled, you didn’t see it, but you felt it against your skin, “All right, all right…” he said as he flicked his finger over the hem of your panties and moved them aside. You leaned even closer to him as he dug his fingers in, “All of this for me?” he teased as he felt how wet you were. 

Remus, who was now only half looking at his book, had somewhat of a fun time as he listened in to your conversation with Sirius. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find it stimulating. But he also knew Sirius had had a bit of a bad week, so he thought of letting him have you just for himself, at least for a little bit longer, or until James woke up, just as eager to join in. 

“Sirius please,” you whined with a frown and he smiled, letting his fingers trace up until they found your clit, making circles over it, which had you bucking your hips against him again. You bit the side of your cheek as you allowed him to move his hand, leaning in to kiss his neck again, to muffle any possible moans with his skin. 

“May I?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his index. 

“Mhm,” you said and bucked your hips again, eager for him to do his thing. And he complied, digging his finger inside and allowing it to move inside you as expertly as ever. 

“So tight,” he whispered, Remus’ cock twitching at Sirius’ words and reconsidering whether he actually wanted to wait more before joining in. 

He did not, so he carefully lifted James’ arm from his torso and walked towards Sirius’ bed. He sat right beside the two of you, a cocky smile on his face as he tilted his head to the side, “You two having fun there?” he asked, “without me?” 

“You’re always welcome to join in Moony,” Sirius said with a teasing grin as he pulled you back just a little. You had both of your hands on Sirius’ shoulders, and you were now using them as leverage to ride his hand. 

Moony smiled, “I might just watch for a while,” he said, leaning back and placing one of his hands on the back of Sirius’ neck. He knew how much small actions and touches like that made Sirius react, and he smiled as the boy’s breath hitched in his throat. He then turned to look at you, a mischievous grin on his face, he took his wand out and whispered “Evanesco.”  

Suddenly both your shirt and bra disappeared, giving both boys the perfect sight of your breasts perking up at the sudden cold. Sirius grunted as he stared, and Remus hummed satisfied. You clenched around Sirius’ fingers –which were now two– whimpered and let out a soft moan. 

But then, as you felt their gazes on you, and you felt your own boobs bouncing as you continued to ride Sirius’ expert fingers, you started to feel self-conscious, of how you looked, of how they were staring at you, on whether they were actually thinking of you or imagining something else, someone else. Maybe the beautiful redhead? The busty blonde? The reflextive-skinned goddess with the beautiful legs? The brunette with the beautiful ass?

Suddenly the lights flickered, and they were gone. You relaxed, Sirius felt the grip on his shoulder untensing, but he thought it was because you were close. But Sirius liked to see your fucked out face when he had his fingers inside you, and in seconds the lights were turned back on, and you tensed instantly. 

The muscle movements were normal, but the way you suddenly dug your nails into his shoulders was not, at least not in the moment it was happening and not in the way it was either. Something was up.

He stopped moving his hand in an instant, “you all right, angel?” he asked, a small wrinkle forming on his forehead as his brows furrowed together. 

You seemed to be lost in thought for a second, Remus noticed that too, “Yeah… just. Let’s leave the lights off today.” 

Now it was Remus’ turn to frown, he took his hand from Sirius’ neck and sat straighter, pulling back and leaning in closer to look at your face, his hand instinctively traveling to your thigh.  Sirius, with one hand still inside you –now unmoving– was brushing his thumb in circles on your waist, they were both giving you their unwavering attention, and your breath hitched in your throat. You looked at them nervously, your eyes traveling from boy to boy at unprecedented speeds and you bit your lip, and then the lights were off again. 

Once they were off, you sighed and leaned your head on Sirius’ shoulder. He felt how you relaxed in an instant, and his frown deepened. “Angel, what is it?” 

“Nothing, light’s giving me a headache,” you lied. 

Sirius turned to Remus, while he couldn’t see much, he knew Remus would probably be able to see his questioning stance easily, with his enhanced senses, at least. “You believe her?” he mouthed. 

Remus shook his head in response, and when he realized Sirius couldn’t actually see he turned to you and placed his hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure that’s it, luv?” 

You swallowed, which was enough indication you weren’t, and you lied again, “Yes, let’s just, continue as is.” 

Sirius knew you were lying, and he hated it when you lied to him, he also hated not being able to see shit while Remus could see your every reaction so he turned the lights on, didn’t even use his wand for it, and you tensed again. 

You were taken aback by that and swallowed thickly. Your breath was slightly ragged and it was not because you were turned on, in fact, if anything, you felt rather apprehensive now. You cleared your throat. “You know, maybe I’m just not feeling it,” you lied again and pulled yourself off of his hand. 

Sirius felt way too many things at the same time, he was worried about your reaction since he thought he’d done something wrong. He was angry because he knew you were hiding the exact reason; he wanted, no, he needed to know what was up so he would never do it again, and thirdly, he was upset, he’d felt…rejected. And by you, no other. 

By the time Sirius reacted again, you were buttoning your shirt up and walking towards their door. James, who had been asleep till then, was finally awoken by the lights coming on and off and the small commotion going on. He was confused, at first he thought you were just playing, but perhaps that was not it. 

But Sirius was faster, and he jumped over Remus to get to the door just as you were opening it and shut it closed. You jumped back just a little, shocked at how fast he’d moved, you were now the one with a frown, anger bubbling to your chest, Sirius’ temper had always been something you’d learn to deal with, and even if you knew it was justified now, that didn’t stop yours from flaring up. 

“That’s not it,” he said confidently, “that’s not it and you’re not getting out until you tell me what’s upset you.” 

“Sirius,” Remus said now, ever the conciliator. He’d also stood from the bed and walked the few strides left to get next to the two of you. 

Maybe it wasn’t the best reaction you could have had, but you were already pretty shaken up by the situation at hand, by your rather torturous thoughts and by Srius’ slamming of the door. “Oh, so you know my body better than I do?” you said defensively, “you would know if I have or not a headache.” 

“YES!” he responded stubbornly. “I know how it reacts when it has a headache and it’s not the way you were reacting now!” 

You shook your head as you scoffed, James was now sitting on the bed looking at the situation both confused and worried. 

“Moony! Back me up on this?” he said as he turned his face to him. 

Remus bit his lip, as he shook his head, thinking before speaking. “He’s right luv, that was not your headache reaction.” 

You scoffed, “ff course, you’d take his side.” 

“I’m not taking any sides.” 

“Well you are, just don’t realize it!” you said angrily. “If I say I have a headache, I have one and that’s it. Now, I want to leave.” 

“Darling,” Remus said as he let out a breath, he seemed worried and upset as well now, you were trying really hard not to feel bad about it, trying to remind yourself why you needed to leave. 

It was Sirius who spoke again, his lips quivering as he found the right words, “Just tell me what I did wrong, I’ll never do it again, I promise,” his voice broke near the end. He was panicking, he was terrified he’d hurt you and that you’d leave thinking the worst of him. You knew what was hapening had brought back some past trauma and you didn’t want to be the catalyst of another panick attack.

You took a deep breath when you heard him, your frown deepening as you considered your words, “I found your stash.” 

The three men went quiet in an instant. Sirius looked like a deer trapped in headlights, Remus’ jaw had tightened and you’d heard James’ gasp in the back. 

“Darling, I–“ Sirius tried to speak but you cut him off. 

“No, no,” you tried to reason, more with yourself than with him. “I get, it’s fine, you need your release time and all that, I don’t mind.” 

“Well, you clearly do,” Remus said. You felt a hand on your shoulder, it was James’. He had walked towards you the moment he heard about the stash but you hadn’t noticed until then. You flinched but missed the hurt look that etched his features as he looked at you. 

“Well yes. But it’s a stupid feeling nonetheless. I’ll get over it. Just need time.” 

“It was me,” James said from behind, “it was my idea, not Sirius’. Don’t be upset at him.” 

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to be angry at James for something so natural in men, let alone because you knew this whole mess was created due to your own thoughts and insecurities, not theirs. And now you were upsetting them, what a great bIoody girlfriend you were. 

“I don’t bIoody care whose idea it was!” you spat. “Please let me off,” you said then, leg bouncing, you wanted to get out before you said something that would upset them more. 

“We’ll never do it again if that makes you feel better,” Sirius tried. 

“No it– It fucking doesn’t, okay? It’s fine, it’s… Found it a couple of nights ago when my ink pot fell on the floor.” The three boys exchanged a look with each other, had either of them changed its spot? “It’s pretty fresh in my mind and– I just– I can’t stop thinking you’re imagining them while being with me.” 

“Them?” Sirius asked, confused. 

“The pretty witches!” you responded, almost angrily. Remus, who was in front of you looked confused, and you huffed before adding in more detail. “Beautiful redhead,” you looked at James. “Gorgeous blonde,” you added as you turned to Sirius. Then looked back at the taller boy, “need I elaborate?” 

You heard James gasp from behind. “She found the old stash!” 

“Ah, so you have a new and improved one,” you said now, and shook your head as you turned at the door. Sirius was leaning in and he had a cheeky smile on his face now, which pissed you off even further. 

“You could call it that,” he said with a shrug. 

“Sirius,” Remus said calmly again. “Don’t.” 

But Sirius just smiled instead, “Oh but, I’m impressed. Our lovely angel was jealous.” 

“I was not.” You said flatly. “Get off the door, please,” the last part was much more of a beg than a demand. 

Sirius shook his head, “not until you see the new stash.” 

Remus and James exchanged looks after that, not even sure if they should or shouldn’t stop Sirius. 

“I don’t want to see the witches you use to wank off now, it’s enough with the images already in my head. Can’t stop thinking of them, of you thinking about them when you’re looking at me.” 

Sirius’ face fell instantly, his teasing stance almost faltering but not his determined blockage of the door. 

“That’s not–“ 

“Have you considered perhaps it was the other way around?” Remus asked as he placed a slightly hesitant hand on your shoulder. 

“What?” 

“That we imagined you when looking at them.” 

You were taken aback by that. No, you hadn’t considered that. “What about the redhead, can’t tell me she wasn’t there because of James’ old obsession with Evans?” 

James sighed, it was. That’s why they had to get a new stash. 

“She needs to see the new stash,” Sirius said while looking at the two other boys. 

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” James intervened, it had been his idea after all, and he had admitted it to you now. He didn’t want to have you get mad over something else, and this time your anger would be indisputably justifiable. 

“I think it is,” Sirius insisted. 

You sighed, “you can continue deciding if you’re going to show me your new fuckable witches or not a different day. Sirius, get off the door.” 

He shook his head and turned to James, “Please?” 

“I don’t want to see them! Enough is enough!” 

You turned to the side to try and find another exit when you bumped into Remus, he had a box in his hand. He raised it a bit, you knew what it was instantly. 

“Remus!” James complained and went to get it but was hastily stopped by Sirius who got in the way and trapped him in his arms. 

“Prongs behave!” He said sternly. 

The path to the door was free now, but Remus’ serious stance made you curious, even more when he moved his finger to his lips and bit hard enough to draw bIood. 

“What the fu–“ 

“It’s so no one can open but us,” he explained. “We bIood charmed it.” 

You looked at him with a shocked face, you didn’t think they’d go to such lengths to hide their spicy stuff, what the hell did they even have there?

Some of the metal hinges at the top moved around a little bit, looking almost like a miniature Gringotts vault, and then it snapped open. Remus pushed it your way. You looked at the three boys before picking the first image up. It was Remus, shirtless Remus on the day you’d gone swimming at the Potter’s last summer. He was pulling his hair back and water glistened all over his torso, he looked at you and winked, before turning to look at something else. 

You gasped and pulled another picture, it was James and Sirius, both also shirtless, and they were making out under a tree. Sirius had his leg in between James’ and was leaning onto him rather intensely. 

The next one was you, you had the swimsuit you’d bought that summer, the one you thought looked really good on you, and you were on your knees, looking for something on the sand, your ass was slightly prompted up and the picture was obviously focused on that. You swallowed thickly and went to grab another one. 

You again, this time while making out with Remus, his hand was on your ass and you had realized they were taking a picture, looking at the camera with a diverted gasp before covering the lens with your hand. 

You took another one, and this time around you were genuinely shocked, it was Remus, being blown by James. His pinky pretty lips wrapped around Rem’s cock. “Oh, wow.” 

James frowned, he knew what else there was in there and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to see it, he had never felt worse about his own ideas than now. Responsible, he knew he had bertrayed you, in a way. You took the next picture and stared at it for a minute. 

It was you again, well, you’re back at least. You were riding Sirius, moving back and forth over his cock as he helped you, hands on your waist as he bit his lip. You didn’t see your face, but you knew it hadn’t been that long ago. If Sirius’ new tattoo was any telling. 

You looked at the boys shocked, you hadn’t even realized they’d taken the picture, but you looked as pretty as any witch in the other photos, how had they gotten you to look so good? 

They hadn’t done anything, it was just you. 

“You don’t have to–“ James started, but you had already picked up another picture.

“Shut up,” you said simply.

 You again, this time you were sprawled on the bed with a blindfold on your head. That had been on your birthday. James had one of his hands on your leg, dangerously close to your slit while Sirius was kissing your breast and sucking at your nipples. 

And there was more, a lot of pictures from that day, all in compromising positions. Some involving you and the boys, some involving only the boys on different occasions, some you remembered, some in which you hadn’t even been present. There was even one of Sirius wanking off to the picture of you in the swimsuit you had seen earlier. 

“I’m sorry–“ James said, now sounding distressed and shaking Sirius off him. “I’m sorry angel, we should have never done it.” 

You grabbed another one of the photos, it had clearly been rushed, the camera being hidden as you turned your head to look at the boys, this time around you were kneeling on the bed, and James was jerking himself off to you, teasing your entrance before pulling out completely and allowing his cum to fall over your ass and back. 

“You’re right.,” you said as you placed the pictures back in the box, expression neutral. “You should have never done it without asking me–” James swallowed. 

“Love I–“ 

“James, shut up!” you said again, giving the pictures another look. “You should have never done it without asking me first,” you said as you flipped through some more pics and tsking. “I would have helped.” 

James’ jaw dropped, and you looked at him with a cheeky smile. Sirius was looking at you proudly and satisfied with his choice while Remus stared at the picture you had in your hand. The one where you were getting a back shot but was shaky and blurry because the camera had been hidden before you saw it. 

You moved the picture up, holding it between your fingers as you displayed it to the boys, “What do you say we recreate this one, but with better quality?” 

Sirius scoffed a laugh and smiled. 

“I’ll get the camera,” Remus said simply.

James was still stunned, and you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Sirius leaned from behind and kissed you on the cheek “I told them you should know about it from the beginning but they said you’re too pure for it.” 

You laughed at that, “you boys keep calling me angel,” you said as you turned to Sirius and wrapped your hands around his neck, “but I wouldn’t have done all the things I have with you all if I wasn’t the exact opposite,” you added with a smirk.

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post. Comments are my life fuel, so send them out if you have any.

This one might get a part two, if you guys wanna see that <3

Raead more Marauders Fiction

[ceaseless-rambler]

S1 Jon Sims is so funny actually. "I don't want my assistant to get chopped into pieces but it has to be someone" "there's a perfectly natural explanation for a guy who claimed he was being haunted by a spider to be found dead and encased in spiderweb. Nothing supernatural at all." He spends several episodes really drilling in how terrible Martin is and then Martin puts worms on his desk and he's like "sleep in my bed." He doesn't believe in most supernatural stuff besides the evil books. Except that when confronted about this in a high stress situation he's like "it's all real actually. By the way are you a ghost?" He's fantastic he's a dick he's the best

[konigenblobbity]

Heartthrob to Heartbreaker

Hobie Brown x Civilian!F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, established relationship, hidden identity, slight stalking, pinning to bed, neck kisses

Summary: Hobie and you have been dating for 10 months but you haven’t met his second identity, and so when he begins to follow you around, and gift you flowers as Spider-Punk, you can’t help but be creeped out. At one point he gets a bit too close, forgetting that, to you, he was a stranger, causing you to panic when a media article paints you two as a couple… you worry what Hobie thinks

A/n: Inspired this work by @tenaciousduckpoetry. Specifically their idea of:

“Flirtatious! Hobie who shamelessly flirts with you as Spider-Punk to the point where news articles are written about spider-punks mystery s/o”.

Enjoy meine Lieben!

You and Hobie had been dating for roughly 10 months, although he didn’t like labels he found his ways of making it clear that he still saw you as his girlfriend, and loved being your boyfriend. You’d spend most nights at his place, cuddled up in his arms while watching a movie, or lying on his lap reading a book while he played his guitar.

You loved spending all the time you could with your boyfriend, preferring to be in his home over anywhere else. Especially since recently you’ve been catching the attention of your city’s spider-punk. He’d often ‘bump into you’ during his missions, accidentally pay for your daily coffee before you even get to the cafe, you’d even catch him watching you through your windows when you were at work.

You tense when you hear a soft tap on your window, seeing as you were on the 10th story you knew exactly who it was. You turn your head and see a familiar face, hanging in a spiderweb hammock, with his head in his hands and looking at you.

You stand up and sigh, walking to the window and looking at him unimpressed. He just gives you an exaggerated wink and watches you, the soft roundness of the eyes of his mask, and the way they look into your own coming across as affectionate. As if he was looking at you in adoration.

You reach for the chain of the blind, closing it on his face. You can hear a soft huff from behind the glass, watching his shadow disappear from behind the blind. You smile and go to sit back down at your desk, hoping to get back to work.

Throughout the rest of the day you spot the spikes of his mask poking over windowsills, or can see remnants of his webs on the pillars outside the building. You try to ignore all of it and just focus on your work, seeing as it was an important project due in a few days.

When you finally leave the office the receptionist stops you, calling you over. “Mrs! Before you head out, someone dropped these off” you give her a look of confusion but she then holds up a bouquet of flowers, a variety of wildflowers, not one of them looking identical to another.

You couldn’t help but immediately think of Hobie, knowing he’d give you something so inconsistent. You give her a smile and grab the bouquet, admiring it. She then adds “The rather tall gentlemen looked quite similar to our spider-punk” she winks at you and you blush, your smile dropping at the reveal that it wasn’t from Hobie.

“O-oh?” You say and she just nods. You press your lips into a fine line, but then smile at her before leaving. “Thank you Julie” she smiles and then has you chuckling softly as she adds “Of course, more than happy to deliver your secret admirer’s gifts”

You walk out of the building, looking around. So sure you would see him on the walls of the building, or hanging off a street lamp. But he wasn’t there, you let out a sigh of relief and begin to walk to Hobie’s place.

You relaxed the more time that passed without seeing Spider-Punk. On the way home you pass by a restaurant with empty vases on the outdoor tables. You pop your head in and get permission from the owner to put the flowers in the vases.

You spend a few minutes separating the flowers into groups and placing them in the vases. You then let out a sigh, dusting your hands and walking off. You didn’t want to come home with flowers from a stranger, especially when you were going to your boyfriend’s apartment.

When you’re roughly 10 minutes away from Hobie’s place, you hear footsteps behind you, they’re quiet but get closer to you. Just when you turn your head to see who it was, Spider-Punk moves to stand in front of you. The shock of him being so close causes you to step back, pressing your body against the brick wall of a building.

His face is an inch from yours, causing you to blush a deep red as your eyes go wide. “Hey love” he says and you swear his tone was eerily familiar… but you brush it off and decide to focus on getting back to Hobie. “H-hi… sorry but I need to go.” You go to walk off but he places a hand on the wall, leaning over you, simultaneously blocking your path.

“Oh yeah?” He says and tilts his head, you watch as he eyes you up and down and your unease turns to anger and irritation. The way this stranger was looking at you had you uncomfortable. “Yeah. To my boyfriend” your tone was stern, and your expression dropped to indifference.

He lets out a chuckle which vibrates through your body, it felt teasing, almost mocking. He leans in closer, tilting his head slightly to whisper in your ear. “Boyfriend? Hm isn’t he a lucky man?” The way his breathe tickles the sensitive part of your neck through his mask had you blushing again. You place your hands against the wall behind you, trying to ground yourself.

Before you could respond there’s a flash sound next to you, turning your head you notice a few people having spotted the scene and taking photos. The flash coming from a paparazzi. Once you spot them you can hear a soft scoff leave Spider-Punk as he pulls back from your neck, turning to look at the paparazzi as well.

It’s then that a few people run up to the two of you, asking… no, shouting their questions at you and Spider Punk. Ranging from “Care to comment on your relationship?!” to “Spider-Punk, who’s this little bird?” You stand there, frozen in place, all the attention having you like a deer in headlights.

It’s when Spider-Punk leans towards the paparazzi and says “Well… this here is my little bird” that the people start shouting more questions, getting louder, but you ignore it as you look at the Spider with a incredulous expression. You scoff and then lean forward, so you’re talking directly into his ear “I’m not your bird. I’m taken asshole”

He turns his head towards you, and you swear you can sense a smirk under his mask, you just scowl at him and then shove him off you. It earns a few ‘ooo’s and you then stomp off, brows still furrowed as you continue to make your way to Hobie’s apartment.

Just as you’re around the corner from his place, your phone begins to buzz. You assume it’s a message from Hobie, asking where you are, but instead it’s from a friend. A, seemingly, hastily typed message in all caps, with an attached link.

You open the message and you stop in your tracks as you read it. ‘OMG I LOVE HOBIE BUT I DIDNT KNOW HE WAS AN OPTION?!?’ You open the link quickly, it led you to an article. You read the headline with shaking hands, causing the phone to shake as well… it caused your breath to catch in your throat.

‘Heartthrob turns to Heartbreaker; Spider-Punk spotted with Secret Sweetheart!’ You then see the photo of you and Spider-Punk from a few minutes ago. You notice how it was front page news, as you look at more news websites, and just see that photo and over again. Then reading how they quoted him calling you ‘His little bird’.

Your mind immediately thinks of Hobie… what was he thinking seeing this? You then start sprinting, your heart beat quickening as you get closer to Hobie’s apartment. You finally reach it, running up the stairs and going to open the door, fumbling with your keys from your nerves before finally getting it in the lock.

You swing the door open and throw off your shoes, running into his bedroom and spotting him lying on the bed. When you run in, breathing heavily, his eyes focus on you, placing his phone on the bed and standing up. “Oi, love what’s wrong? You alright?” He walks up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

You look at his phone on the bed and see he had the article open, you then can’t help as your eyes well up. You grab his hands in yours, holding them in front of you as you begin to ramble, trying to explain what happened, your breathing turning shaky.

“Hobie listen it’s not what it looks like! I-I don’t know him, I don’t know why he’s so obsessed with me! I swear I didn’t know he was going to do that… he was just following me after work! I swear Hobie!” Your words begin to break, soft sobs leaving you as you feel a few tears slide down your cheeks, blazing a trail for more to follow.

Your hands were shaking, you were looking into Hobie’s eyes, desperately trying to find whether he was angry, or felt betrayed, or wanted to break up with you. The thought of losing him because of some stranger had your mind reeling “please… you have to believe me” your voice getting weaker, more quiet.

Hobie’s face drops, turning serious, and appearing guilty. “Aw love… come’ere” he lets go of your hands, wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you tightly against his chest. “I believe you…” he rubs your back comfortingly, kissing your head as you begin to cry harder.

You close your eyes, crying into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s chest. “Take deep breaths for me yeah?” His voice was soft, trying to calm you with his words. You nod softly and then start to take deep breathes, feeling your heartbeat finally slow.

“There… that’s a good girl.” He had a soft smile on his face, looking down at you as if you were the most delicate but precious thing in the whole world. Once you’ve calmed down a bit, you pull your face out of his chest and look up at him. “Y-you’re not mad? You don’t want to break up with me?” Your questions left him speechless for a moment, his brows furrowing.

“God no love, I would never do something so daft” he brings a hand to your face, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear with a smile. “B-but the article?” You go to say but he silences you with a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. He then pulls away and guides you to sit on the bed.

“Stay here. Lemme show you something.” You nod as you watch him step out of the room, when he comes back… well, he doesn’t come back. Instead Spider-Punk enters the room. Your eyes widen and you scoot back on the bed a little. “Hobie?!” You call out, trying to look behind the masked man.

He then raises his hands in the air “s’alright love…” you look back at him as he takes off his mask. Revealing the devilishly handsome man that is your boyfriend. Face piercings, naturally half-lidded eyes, signature smirk… the whole nine yards.

You sit up and then stand up off the bed. You raise a hand, placing it on his cheek, your eyes looking him up and down. “Y-you’re… Spider-Punk?” He nods his head, softly grasping your hand in his, turning his head to kiss your palm gently. “What’d I say eh? You’re my little bird” you feel relief rush through your body at his words.

After a bit, you began to feel slight agitation, pulling your hand away from his face and hitting his chest lightly. “You scared the hell out of me! I really thought some stranger was obsessed with me!” He chuckles when you hit him again, catching your wrists with his hands and pulling you against him again.

“Luckily… now you know it was just your boyfriend who’s obsessed with you” you froze slightly at his words, having never explicitly said he was your boyfriend. It made you blush slightly and he smiled, leaning down and kissing you softly. You melt against his plush lips, feeling how they seemed to mold with yours.

After a bit he pulls away and then furrows his eyebrows, “Where’d ya put my flowers?” You widen your eyes and give an awkward chuckle. “Well… in my defense. I didn’t know they were from you” at that he pulls away slightly, feigning a shocked expression. Clutching his chest with a hand, while putting on an exaggerated frown.

“You got rid of em? You cheeky girl!” He then lifts you up by your waist, throwing you onto his bed. You let out a soft yelp but chuckle as he climbs over you. Grabbing your wrists and pinning them above you on the bed. “I can’t believe you” he pouts and you can’t help but smile.

You scoff and then teasingly retort back “I can’t believe you thought it’d be a good idea to flirt and stalk me as Spider-Punk” He shrugs, smiling down at you. “To be fair… I thought you’da recognized me. The guitar, the voice, the way I knew you’re sensitive right… here” he leans into your neck, softly blowing on the same spot Spider-Punk - well… Hobie - did earlier. You softly shiver and he begins to kiss at your neck, you can feel the smirk on his lips.

“Now that my secrets out… I’d love to show ya all that Spider-Punk has t’offer”

[toxicanonymity]

Forever for her. Left in Lincoln, pt. 7 .

10k, softdark!Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Series Master List | official playlist | floorplan

WARNINGS: I8+, virginity loss, big girthy age gap, angst, dark fluff, reader menstruates, p in v, fingering, grinding, creampie, subtle intimidation, manipulation, horror background elements. Joel is creepy, dark, delulu, and cringe (reader is sheltered, isolated, hormonal). Enthusiastic but dubious consent (brainwashing?), playing fast and loose with climate and fruit. Reader wears a flannel from Joel's closet. Haphazardly edited. This is not the last part.

"We're givin' each other everything, right?" You nodded, then he continued, "So listen." He paused and wet his lips. "I would do anything for ya, peaches." He looked down. "Anything." He met your eyes again and swallowed. "Anything to keep ya safe. . . " He lowered his voice. "an' anything to keep ya mine." 

You woke up in Joel's bed, and he was nowhere in sight. You were warm, almost too warm. The dress was hanging on the back of his bedroom door.  Your undergarments and a pad were on the nightstand.

You took a bath, then put your robe back on and laid on the bed staring at the dress on the back of the door. You could hear the rhythmic scrape of a rake outside and inwardly smiled, picturing Joel doing yard work. You put on your robe, crossed the room to look out the window and felt a refreshing draft as you held the curtains back.  In the bottom right corner of the window's top pane, there was a spiderweb on the outside of the glass. The rake continued to scrape against the ground in the distance.  The web was well-defined and irregular, some of the fibers thicker than others. You admired its intricacy and followed the design, looking for the spider, wondering if it was a male or female.

The rhythmic scraping of the rake lulled you into a trance as you followed the web from the outer edge in, until a black, out-of-focus mass fell right in front of your nose, then you felt a tickle on your chest. You gasped and stifled a squeal. Your body jerked into panic mode. You rapidfire slapped yourself on the chest and felt it smush against your robe. You wiped it on the window pane, then looked at the crumbled spider with its legs drawn in on itself, still moving but barely. It looked like a slow death, but you hoped it wasn't painful. Surely it never thought about its prey this way.  

You took a deep breath and tried to slow your heart rate.  You recalled that time back at your house, outside the spider shed, so long ago – Frank's words through laughter, "we're gonna get through this, honey." You took slow, calming breaths, then swallowed and whispered "sorry," before abruptly turning and walking to the bathroom. You washed your hands and chest with soap again, then came back and sat on the bed. The rake had stopped moving. 

You finally stood up and retrieved the dress, bringing it to the bathroom with you and locking yourself in. You didn't want Joel to see you if it didn't look good on you. Plus, you had to do something really private.

First you went to the toilet. It was its own room within the bathroom. You locked it, too. You sat there for about fifteen minutes trying to let as much of your period out as you could after being horizontal all night. You didn't want all the built up blood pooling in your pad right away. 

Once you did all you could, you washed up and looked in the mirror. You stood there and looked at yourself in your underwear for a minute, mostly looking at your face. You looked different, serious, but vibrating with a new energy. You imagined Joel standing behind you, as if you were in a portrait. Something you'd never have.  But at least you had each other. 

-

You finally put the dress on, over your head. You could just barely reach the back zipper to finish it. It felt much less cumbersome than you imagined it would. It was light and unrestrictive. The lace sleeves had enough room. It felt as comfortable as any other dress. You didn't look in the mirror right away. You looked down at yourself, then  looked over your back, and down your arms. You looked in the reflection of the shower glass and the silhouette looked good enough. 

You turned around to look in the real mirror, and you looked nice. The lace made you feel like a doll, but somehow you looked older than yourself at the same time. You turned around and admired it from the side and over your shoulder from the back, then smoothed it down over your butt and you didn't see the bulkiness you feared from your pad. You looked at yourself head on again, and the only thing out of place was the redness on your chest from scrubbing away the spider. With the dress on, there was a new smile behind your eyes, thinking about how Joel got it for you. 

You went to the kitchen to look out the back window.  You didn't see Joel and were somewhat relieved to have another moment to yourself.  Your tummy felt nervous. You knew it was excitement, but the physical sensation was in discernable from anxiety.  There was a little jar of apple juice on the table with a pill and a note that said "cramps?" You were feeling okay but thought about taking half of it anyway. 

You sniffed the juice and it smelled good. You sat at the kitchen table and stared at the apple juice in the jar, then took a long sip and watched the tiniest bit of apple sediment settle back to the bottom. It was delicious.  You  took half the pill and downed the rest of the juice, then your stomach rumbled. You got an apple from the kitchen counter and sat back down. You inspected it and pressed it. You cut it with your thumbnail to make sure it wasn't rotten. It was crisp, and juice beaded along the crescent moon from your nail. You took a bite and it was fine. You relaxed into the chair and ate the apple. 

Joel had let you sleep late. It was almost mid day.  Just as you were finishing up your apple, you noticed him outside through the kitchen door window. He was standing there and looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He was wearing a white button-up shirt that looked like one Frank might wear to one of his black tie dinners. Joel came inside and as he turned around to close the door, you admired his lower body in a pair of form fitting khakis. 

"You look nice," you told him. 

He exhaled a small laugh and looked at the floor as he crossed the room to you. He sat down at the table and took your hand. "You look like an angel." He kissed your hand and scooted closer.  He smelled like aftershave (although he wasn’t shaved, thank goodness) and a hint of sweat from his yard work. As comfortable as he made you feel, you still got butterflies around him. 

He asked, "Hungry?" 

You nodded. "A little."

"How bout a lil picnic, somethin' light?" 

You nodded "is it nice out?"

"Prettiest day we could want, peaches."

—------

He made some grits and you sat at the table watching.  He pulled the wagon with a basket, quilt, and blanket, and held your hand as you slowly walked. He squinted and looked at the trees, then at you.

He asked, "How ya feelin'?" 

"Good, I'm fine." 

"Good."

You assumed you were going to "your tree," but instead you arrived at a peach tree. He had cleared the area around it so no debris was in the way.  He looked around and asked, "Whatcha think?" 

You looked around.  It was a good spot, away from the back, but not too close to the street. Insulated enough to feel private. You nodded, "yeah, this is nice."

Joel spread out the quilt, then the blanket, then, before sitting down, he took both your hands in his. "I feel so lucky, peaches. You're the most special girl in the world."  His eyes bored into yours. "Really mean that. There's no one like you, darlin'."

You looked down then met his eyes again, biting your lip. "I think you're special, too."

A breeze came and swept your dress out, making the scene feel like a postcard. 

He dropped your hands, then fetched something out of his pocket and looked at it.  Your heart skipped a beat. His thick fingers were blocking your view.

"Now darlin', I'm gonna give ya somethin', but first. . ."

He held it up. It was gold and shiny. Your birth father's wedding band. Your heart skipped a beat and a knot formed in your stomach.  

"My. . ." You couldn't finish the sentence. This meant he knew about the gun, too. . . and your mother's knife.  

Joel must have seen it on your face. "Left everything else how ya had it. You're a smart girl, peaches."  

You tried to read his face. It was soft, sympathetic. You nodded hesitantly. 

"It's okay, darlin'. I don't blame ya. I woulda done the same." He held the ring between his forefinger and thumb and you opened your palm. "Smart to be prepared." 

You breathed a sigh of relief as the knot in your stomach relaxed. But even as it faded, you still had that nervous–no, excited–tummy. 

Joel put the ring in your hand and closed it. He held his hand there around yours and seemed like he might say something else, but he didn't. 

You didn't have anywhere to put the ring.  You had a passing thought to put it on your thumb but it felt stupid.  You felt an urge to say you were going to give it to Joel, but you didn't say anything since he let you off the hook. 

Joel reached back in his pocket and fished out another ring, smaller. It was silver with inset stones. He held it up and said, "I want you to have this one." He stepped closer, so his feet were outside yours. "We're givin' each other everything, aren't we?" 

You nodded, and his eyes watered. 

He nodded with you and his brow furrowed. "I love you. . . And I love bein' a family, the two of us."

Your own eyes felt misty. "I love you, too."

He took your hand, and slid the ring onto it. It was old fashioned, simple. "Ain't never gonna let ya go."

"Good," you whispered. 

—

He kissed your hand, and when he tried to hold your other hand, too, you realized you were still holding your father's ring. 

"Um," you cleared your throat. "Would this fit you?" You asked and opened your hand. His face relaxed. 

"I dunno, peaches," he whispered. His eyes sparkled at you. He held his hand palm-down. The top of his ring finger's knuckle was a little red as if he'd already tried to put it on. You slid the ring part way on, but his finger was too big. 

"Sorry," you muttered and felt a lump in your throat. You didn't have anything to give him. It rested above his knuckle. 

"S'okay darlin', it's the fact that ya tried." He unbuttoned his shirt pocket, dropped the ring into it, then buttoned it again. "I'll keep it safe for ya."

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth and nodded, looking up at him shyly, somehow feeling like you ruined this. 

He cupped your face and read your eyes, then closed the gap between your faces and his lips pressed into yours. 

He hugged you into him, kissed you harder, then murmured, "wanna sit down?"

You nodded.

You smoothed your dress under you and sat down with your knees to the side, leaning toward him.  He unpacked a thermos of grits and two bowls. He unbuttoned his wrists and rolled up his sleeves and his forearm flexed with every lift of the spoon.  You ate mostly in silence, but he looked at you adoringly the whole time and your nerves faded.  His wrist nudged his inner thigh and when your eyes drifted there, the shape of his cock sent a pang between your legs. He followed your gaze and your face heated up as he raised his eyebrows. 

—

When you were finished eating, you washed it down with the apple juice, then Joel packed up the basket and put it back in the wagon. When he settled back onto the blanket again, he had a serious look about him. 

He sat down with his legs folded to the side so his knees were toward you, and he braced his hand on the blanket, leaning toward you. He kissed you again.  He tasted like apples and you imagined he did, too.  As he pulled away, he read your face and cupped your cheek. "You're the most beautiful angel, darlin'," he smiled.  His gaze lingered, then he swallowed and looked down.  He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. He asked again, "We're givin' each other everything, right?" 

You nodded, then he continued, "So listen," then wet his lips and paused. "I would do anything for ya, peaches." He looked down. "Anything." He swallowed. "Anything to keep ya safe," he met your eyes and lowered his voice. "And anything to keep you mine." 

Your heart raced and you slowly nodded as he let it sink in.

"Get what I'm sayin', peaches?"

"Bad things," you nodded. 

His brows remained furrowed as he studied your face.  His voice was low and gruff.  "Yeah, you could say that."

You looked down to his shirt and the outline of your father's ring in his pocket. He continued, "and darlin', I've felt this way for some time."

Your chest fluttered.

He looked up at the leaves of the peach tree, and it hit you that this was where he found you that day. 

Your whole body felt warm, especially in the lace sleeves. He looked at you with anticipation and you admitted, "I had a feeling."

He lifted his eyebrows as he searched your eyes. "Okay," he whispered with a small nod. He looked down again. 

"Yeah," you replied.  ". . .and maybe you already did bad things."  Your chest pounded. He looked at you blankly, and once he blinked, you rephrased, "Necessary things. To be together." 

His jaw shifted back and forth. He looked at your mouth, then back up at your eyes. "Would ya wanna know?" 

Tension gathered between your eyebrows.  You took a deep breath, looked at his lips and watched his jaw clench. His eyes watered.  After a moment, you slowly shook your head no. He inhaled and his eyes narrowed. Your voice was a near whisper as you told him, "No. . . Doesn't matter now." 

Joel exhaled and nodded. He looked at you intensely and whispered, "Okay, baby."    

You didn't need to know. You told him, "We're together, that's all I care about."

"Me too, darlin'." He chuckled, then relaxed and said, “so glad we got each other.” He folded his knees toward you again, leaned in, and cupped your cheek, his eyes locked with yours. “Me and you, baby.” 

“You and me,” you whispered, lashes fluttering as his face drifted toward yours. 

—-

Your lips locked, and yours tingled with excitement. 

His hand moved to the back of your head.  His tongue parted your lips, and he pulled you into him as he became more passionate. 

As his kiss intensified, he gently lowered you into lying down on the blanket, with one of his knees  between yours. His hand ran up your side and came to a rest on your breast as his mouth devoured yours.  He palmed your breast, gently bit your lip, and his length hardened against your thigh. When he pulled back, he cupped your face and raised his eyebrows, and his voice was husky. "I'm never," he kissed your lips, then lowered his volume and looked into your eyes, "gonna let you go." His thumb stroked your temple.  His lips brushed yours, then kissed you deeper.  He pulled back, shook his head with a small smile, and his voice became a whisper as he repeated, "Never." 

Your skin prickled with goosebumps, Joel's beautiful face hovering over yours under the peach tree, his body pressed against yours.

"Good," you whispered, and took his head in both your hands. You pulled him down on you. He braced himself with one forearm on the blanket near your head and his other hand traveled back down your side, down your dress, and reached under the skirt of it to your thigh. His hand slid up your thigh and he squeezed it, then lifted your thigh against him. 

He lowered his hips to rest against yours, and his cock grew stiffer against you.  The warm shape of his stiff length made your whole body go weak. He lifted himself off you just long enough to get the skirt of your dress out of the way.  You felt warm and wet between your legs and didn't know how much of it was blood. You knew he didn't care, but it didn't entirely leave your mind. 

He had the front of it bunched up at your hips, with his hand between your legs.  You flinched as his palm glided over your panties, feeling the shape of your pad. But it didn't phase him at all. He gently reached into your panties. 

Your face tensed. “Remember, I–"

"I know, baby," he reassured you with kind eyes.

"What about the dress?”

“Dress don’t matter, darlin’." He kissed you again. "Long as you're feelin' good." He planted another kiss and pressed his hard-on against you again. "Are ya?" 

You nodded an unequivocal yes. It was certainly what your body wanted.  

"Hell, let's paint it red,” he mused. 

You relaxed and laughed softly. 

"No?" He asked with a smile, then leaned his forehead against yours. He kissed you gently.  

The time of the month wasn't ideal, but you wanted it. If you waited, he might think you weren't ready after all. Plus, you were more comfortable than you ever thought you could be. A month ago, you would have died at the thought of a man seeing any evidence of your period at all. But Joel was so reassuring, so comforting, and he really wanted all of you. He was turning it into something beautiful, and you had no doubt he felt that way.  He looked at you again, then asked, “Sure you’re feelin’ good enough?" He kissed you again.  “‘Cause that's all that matters.”

“I am,” you nodded earnestly.”

“You sure?”

"Joel," you sighed on the edge of irritation.

"Ok, darlin'."

He slid his hand down and exhaled vocally when his fingers met your warm, moist folds. He ran his fingers up and down your folds, moistening your clit, then he slowly, teasingly circled it. His cock swelled harder against you. "You wanna go to bed?"

You shook your head. "It's magical out here."

"That's right, peaches," he murmured lowly into your neck, lightly circling your clit with his moist fingers. His breath was warm and humid against your neck.  "Special, ain't it?"

You nodded, and pulled his head back down to yours. Your lips met again.  His thick fingers tensed, slid down, and prodded at your entrance. You tilted your hips and he gave a short, low "mm" as he brought his fingers back to your clit. 

His tongue slid against yours in rhythm with his fingers. His mouth grew hungrier for yours every moment as he massaged your most sensitive place.  He got you almost to the edge. You whimpered as his hands worked within the confines of your panties.  Then he asked,  "Let's take these off, hmm?"  You nodded. He started to do it, then looked at your face to confirm, "You want me to?" 

"I can do it," you lifted your hips and slid them down, and once they were mid-thigh, he finished taking them off. 

–

He lowered his torso against yours and his massive hand nudged your shoulder up toward him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he lifted you into sitting. He traced the back neckline of the dress and murmured, "want this on or off?"

You shrugged. 

"up to you, darlin'. But I sure would like to see ya." He kissed your neck and you could feel him smile against your skin. "If you're warm enough"

You were warm all over. You were so warm at your very core that it was hard to imagine ever being cold again. You asked, "you'll keep me warm, won't you?"

"Course I will."

You cracked a shy smile and planted your hands on the ground to lift your weight off the dress. Joel brought the dress up to your stomach, his fingers smearing it red, then you lifted your arms and he took it off. He planted delicate kisses on your chest at the base of your neck, and your shoulder as he gently nudged your bra straps off. Then he unclasped the back, and you let it fall in front of you. He put the bra aside and you were naked.  He folded the dress into a pillow and put it under your head. 

You looked at Joel's clothes and didn't say anything, but he replied to your silent question with a teasing smile. "no, I don't have to be so dressed..." you silently unbuttoned his pants, eye on his cock straining against the khakis, as he unbuttoned his shirt.  Before pulling down the zipper, you traced the hard shape of his cock, and his chest let out a nearly imperceptible growl at your first rub. 

He made quick work of the remaining shirt buttons, smearing a few of them red.  His chest flexed as he peeled the sleeves down his bulging arms. He took his undershirt off over his head, tousling his hair, which he didn’t fix.  It was the hottest you’d ever seen him. You were sitting back on  your hands, naked body laid out for him.  He looked at you lustily every few seconds as he took his pants off, then his boxers, leaving his commanding cock bobbing heavily before you.  You pulled your eyes back up to his face and he looked at you adoringly. 

–

He knelt on the blanket. Was this really going to happen? You reached out, and he nodded. You wrapped your hand around his shaft and whined, "I'm ready, you know I'm ready."

"Ready for what, darlin'?"

"To put our bodies together." 

He nodded. "yeah, baby. You're ready. Gonna be real special."

He got between your legs where a fluttering ache was pounding, begging for relief.  He held his cock in his hand. You felt your body making space for him. There was a place inside you that needed to be filled. He slowly lunged toward you and braced his hand on the blanket above your hip.  He ran his tip through your dripping folds and his manhood further hardened. He spread the moisture over his cock. He laid his hard cock on your mound and brought his face to yours again. He rested about half his weight on top of you, his bare body flush with yours, his forearms braced on the blanket. 

He kissed you deeply, grinding his erection against you, slick with your arousal and blood. Your lips embraced his and your mouth practically sucked in his tongue. He licked into you in rhythm with his slow thrusts against you. Your clit twitched against his cock and you lifted your hips, making him moan into your mouth.  You needed him in you yesterday. You lifted your hips again and his mouth curved into a smile against your lips. 

He reached between your legs and the breadth of his hand took up all the space. You whimpered at the first contact of the padding of his fingers with your naked heat. He slowly, lightly rubbed you as he kissed you, then slid his fingers down through your folds, gathering your moisture. He entered you with his middle finger, then his ring finger. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid all the way into your warm core. His cock swelled harder against your thigh as he pumped his thick digits in and out of you. He moaned softly, then added a third. Your hips rocked into his hand. 

You were tense, afraid of coming too soon. 

"Joel," you whimpered. 

"Yeah baby," he murmured.

"What if I–ohh–what if I come too soon."

He chuckled, "you can come, baby," he kept working his fingers inside you, pressing his upper palm into your clit. You sighed and the tension swelled in your gut. "'s'a good thing, darlin'. gets ya ready for this." He rolled his stiff manhood against you as he said it. "Nice 'n ready." 

"But Joel," you whined, unsure. "I want you inside"

"You wanna come on my cock?"

"Yeah, on your cock."

"Oh, baby," he moaned, his cock leaking against your thigh. "You will, baby. You will. You'll come again." 

"Really? 

He nodded. "Yeah. C'mon darlin, You'll come on my cock, too."

His eyes were sincere. He returned his attention to your clit and you let go. As you began to contract, he slid his fingers back inside you. "Oh, good girl," he sighed as you squeezed his fingers. "Like that, don't ya? Like squeezin' me?"

You nodded and whimpered, unable to speak as you rode out the orgasm. 

"Oh, baby."  He continued grinding against your hip and kissed you again as you recovered. 

He pumped three fingers again, and under his breath, he muttered, "good. . .good." He moaned and pushed his hips against you. "Now I've got ya stretched, nice and relaxed." 

"Joel," you begged. "Are you gonna–" 

“Oh darlin’, I’m comin’.” he whispered. “Ready to be full of me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. "Fill me with you," you begged. "Put it in." 

“Givin’ each other everything now,” he reminded you. “Can’t get it back.”

You nodded, “you can have it all.”

“And I’m gonna give it to ya, too.”

You nodded and your walls twitched in anticipation.

"Gonna give it all to ya."

He read your eyes and as you got lost in the black holes of his pupils, the clear fibers of his affection wrapped around you, tethering you to him and the moment. He pulled his hips back and his knees spread slightly.  You spread your legs to make room. He looked between your legs and the affection on his face faded into desire.  “My lands, peaches.” 

He hovered over you.  Your hands skimmed up his sides, and came to rest around his neck.  

He used his hand to notch himself at your entrance and pushed his tip inside, stretching you open. You gasped softly, breasts heaving in anticipation of the rest of it.  You dragged your feet toward your butt on the blanket, lifting your knees to frame his hips. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispered, and put his forehead against yours. 

“I love you too,” you whined, brows furrowed. 

His forehead lifted off yours, his lips returned to your mouth, and his hips pressed forward, inching his cock into you with a stretch.  His lips broke away from yours and his mouth stayed open.  He watched your face as his girth spread you open, dividing your walls.  You gasped and nodded for more.  He pushed further, taking you apart from yourself inch by inch. You imagined even a smidgen more girth wouldn’t feel good. He bowed his head and backed out an inch of his length, watching your body suck him back in as he pushed in a little more than he had before. 

“God damn,” he whispered, then wet his lips as he looked back up at you with half his length sheathed in your warmth. 

“You feel so good, joel”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed. “You got no idea.” 

“I want it all,” you begged.

He nodded, “Okay, baby.” then slowly pushed his hips forward, gradually burying his length with some effort, stuffing you full of him.  “Oh, darlin’.” The look of pain on his face told you how hard he was trying not to slam into you. He was slow and gentle, and his tip pushed through your core with even more heft than you imagined.  Each inch of him spread you more and filled you fuller than you thought you could be. Your body made more space and he took it up right away. 

“Joel,” you breathed. 

He whispered your name and said, “you’re doin’ so good.” His flesh didn’t just complete you, it made you more than you were. He took you apart and made you something new, something wrapped around him so tight. “almost there, baby.” And then he groaned “Ohhhh, god,” as you swallowed up the rest of him. It was a perfect fit. 

You whimpered as he came to a rest. His cock filled up the whole space and made more for itself.  The fuzz of his balls brushed your skin. Your mouth hung open and you breathed, savoring the fullness of feeling him there inside you for the first time. 

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighed, staying all the way inside you. He pressed his lips into yours, then pulled back and asked, “You okay?”

You nodded, happy tears prickling your eyes. His brows knitted. 

“Are you okay?” you asked. 

He nodded. “First time in years,” he whispered, and looked up at the tree. His cock twitched inside you and his tip nudged your cervix. “You tell me when you’re ready, baby.”

“I’m ready,” you nodded. 

He looked you in the eyes again. “Our life starts now.” He withdrew most of his length, then let it back into you, his belly flush with yours while his cock dragged heavily inside you. He closed his eyes as your bodies became flush again. He retreated again at a snail’s pace, then pushed in a little faster. 

“Saved this just for me, didn’t ya?”

He met your eyes again, then added, “Never be anyone else.” 

He lowered his face for another kiss.  Each time his flesh filled you up you could hardly believe how your body hugged him.  It was like your body had been waiting for him all along.  It really had been. This was what your bodies were made to do. Complete each other.  

He looked at you and his brow furrowed again. 

You asked, "What? What, Joel?"

“Now that I’ve been inside ya,” he breathed, "I’m not sure I know how not to be.”

You knew exactly how he felt. You couldn't bear the thought of being pulled apart. 

He reached a slow but steady rhythm, gently filling you with his cock. You traced his shoulder, then his bicep.  His bare stomach was resting against your skin, his happy trail touching you with each thrust m. He had about half his weight on you, and he let gravity help as he thrust into you. You imagined it as a magnetism. Each time he retreated, your bodies pulled back together. He bowed his head and watched himself disappear between your legs, and watched your body clinging to his shaft, hugging him tight, trying to pull him back in, not letting him go. “God damn, baby,” he breathed as he watched. “most beautiful thing I ever seen.”

When your caress reached the crook of his elbow, he braced on one forearm so he could take your hand and interlace.his fingers with yours. He held your hand to his chest and whispered, “All yours, darlin’,” his hips still moving, his cock sliding snugly against every ridge of you . 

You nodded tearfully, pressing your palm into his chest, feeling the soft hair and the hard muscle. 

“Every beat of it, peaches.” 

Your other hand cupped his cheek, then slid up to tangle in his hair as his face returned to yours, kissing you as he buried his length in you. When your faces separated, you watched the surreal beauty of his form – his messy hair, his tan skin glimmering, his brown eyes flickering with affection as he filled you to the brim with his flesh. 

“Oh, baby, you feel so good”

“I–I’m so–it’s so–”

“Packed full of it, aren’t ya baby?”

You nodded. “It’s so much,” you whispered. “But not too much,” you quickly added. “‘s’perfect.”

“So perfect, darlin’--Ohhh god, baby-–always knew ya were.” 

All you saw was him, and the rhythm of his chest over yours. Beneath his heavy breaths and moans, leaves danced in the breeze, birds chirped, and the occasional piece of fruit thumped in the distance as it hit the ground.  “Oh baby, I've been starvin’ for this.” His hips moved steadily, filling you with his cock every second or so, whispering your name here and there, marveling at your beauty.  

“It feels so good, Joel.” 

“how’s it feel?”

“Meant to be there,” you whispered, then sighed as his cock dragged through your core, completing you again. “Like it’s filling my body” More than that–it was creating space for itself, space you didn’t have before, that's the part you didn't expect. It was moving the most intimate parts of you out of the way and replacing them with him. 

You tried to describe it.  “It’s like –”  He lowered his mouth to your neck and sucked “--oh, joel–it’s–it’s–.” 

“Oh, baby,” he sighed against your neck, his hips moving steadily. “I know it, darlin’,” he murmured, grinding his pelvis into yours with each smooth thrust. He slowed his hips, still grinding against you, stiff cock dragging inside you. “Meant to be right here.” Your leg wrapped around him and his thrusts became more measured, his pelvis closer against you, grinding into your clit. “Meant to be fillin’ you.”

The pleasure was swirling, nearly coming to a boil in your gut, humming for release against his front, around his cock. “I love you,” you breathed, lifting your hips into his. 

“Ohhh, baby I love you too,” he whispered with a smile and near laugh. “‘n’ I love how ya take it.” His eyes darted around your face affectionately, then he bowed his head to look at where your bodies met. “Look so pretty wrapped around this cock,” he looked back up at you with bright, glistening eyes. “Look so pretty, peaches.” Your clit twitched. His movements had your hips lifting into him all on their own. “Yeah, that’s right, darlin’.” You let yourself grind up into him. “Jus’ like that,” he whispered, his body  grinding against your mound as his cock moved within you. The tension hummed louder and tightened your core on the edge of bliss. You both moaned. 

“Now I want ya to come, peaches,” he said in a serious tone. “Ohh, oh baby—want ya to come and squeeze me real good, can ya do that?”

You nodded, biting your lip, vision getting blurry with the moisture in your eyes.  You couldn't take any more tension but unsure if or when the peak would overtake you. 

“C’mon, I got ya,” he breathed as you teetered on the edge. “Breathe, baby. c’mon.” You remembered to breathe, his pelvis grinded into yours again, and then you whimpered as the tension burst. “Jo–ohhhh,” your voice was shaky as it overtook you. Your clit spasmed and each wave pulsed outward through your body. Your tears overtook your eyelashes as you moaned and gasped. Your walls clamped down around his cock, and he groaned. 

“You–Ohgoddamn,” he muttered as though losing control. Then he groaned, bottomed out hard, and erupted with a shudder. A burst of warmth flooded your core, then your whole body. He dipped his head to kiss you as he came. His cock pulsed into your walls again and again and your walls squeezed in return. His lips pressed into yours, then his tongue. He kissed you and moaned into your mouth. He sucked and gently bit your bottom lip as he filled you.  He was filling you all the way up, every single part of you full of him, his essence rushing through you. 

There was before this and after this, you finally got it, after all this time he tried to make you see. You  understood everything. Like how there was so much beauty left in the world, and it was right there between you. It wasn’t an abstract wish, it was the physical presence of you and him, your bodies together, pulsing against each other’s most intimate parts, his seed spilling into you, his lips on yours, your bodies inseparable, on the ground in the orchard. You saved it for him. Your whole life led to him. 

His kiss became more tender as he finished coming. He pulled back and his eyes glistened as he read your face. 

You locked eyes for what felt like forever, with Joel still breathing heavily, most of his weight on top of you.

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you, too.” 

His eyes fell to your mouth and he kissed you again.  “gonna pull out now, okay?”

Your lip trembled and your temples felt weak at the idea of your bodies not being joined. He could tell.

“It’s okay, darlin’. We’ll lay here, long as ya want.” He nodded at you and raised his eyebrows for permission to pull out.

You bit your lip and nodded. 

He lay half on top of you, with a hand on your breast. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “How did it–how was it?”

“Like nothin’ i’ve ever known, baby.” He sucked in a shaky breath that made you look down at his face and his cheeks were wet. 

–

You took a short nap like that, naked under the peach tree, until a dead leaf fell and tickled your arm and you jolted awake. A bird cawed at your sudden movement, and Joel asked, "you okay?" 

When you got up, you only put your underwear back on. Joel wrapped you in one of the blankets, put his arm around you as he brought you back inside. 

As you were walking back to the house, you heard the car noise again, toward the front of the orchard, and you froze, your eyes wide, looking toward the street. But this time it came with a breeze and the rustling of leaves. 

“Just the wind, darlin’. What’s got ya so jumpy?”

“I dunno,” you mumbled. “Sorry.” 

You didn’t realize you were jumpy.  Maybe since you found out Bill and Frank could come home soon, you kept expecting them. 

—-

When you got back inside, he laid the dress across the back of a chair in the living room and traced one of several red smudges with his fingers. There was bright red and dark red. "See? It's beautiful." He patted your hair. "gonna remember this forever." 

He ran a bath. You sat on the edge of the garden tub as the bath filled up, and he kneeled in front of you in his boxers. He curled his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you stood up as he helped you take them off. There was diluted  blood drying on your inner thighs. He dipped a sponge into the hot water to clean you. When you noticed a bit of his cum leaking out of you, it made you sad. You hoped he’d give you more. 

Joel got in the tub first, then you got between his legs and laid back. You laid in silence for a while, then said, “I loved that." Hearing yourself in the bathtub sounded crisper than usual. 

“What’d ya love, darlin'.”

“I love having you inside me.”

“Oh, baby, it’s my favorite place to be.”

"Good”

His cock twitched against your lower back. “‘Course it is, baby.” He kissed the crown of your head.  

"I feel empty now"

"'S'okay, darlin'. You're s'posed to. 'S'posed to want somethin' there." His hand came between your legs and gently fingered your floating curls.

He shifted his hips under you. "Gotta pace yourself, but it'll feel better and better, I promise."

"Okay."

"We’ll rest up and do it again later." 

"Yeah."

—---------

That night, you did it again.  He was deep inside you, pressing sweet kisses into your neck as you whimpered beneath him.

“How’s it feel,” he murmured into your neck. “Still feel good?”

“Feels good,” you whined

“S’only gonna get better, baby. Better every day.” He slowly retreated, then sighed "ohh, baby" as he filled you with his cock again. He was still fucking you slowly, carefully, grunting and moaning with your whimpers and sighs. His hair was messed up again, moving to the beat of his thrusts, and his neck veins were bulging. 

There was a loud rap at the door, startling you both.  Joel’s hand reflexively covered your mouth as he froze, then composed himself and completed one last slow thrust, one that felt even better with you frozen in fear.  

“Gonna be okay, baby,” he whispered, then pulled out. He slowly released his hand from your mouth, pressing a kiss into your lips. Your eyes were wide. You hadn't heard the car over your mutual pleasure.  "Gonna be okay," he repeated.  

He pulled on a pair of jeans and white t-shirt. He took a gun out of his nightstand.  There was another loud rap at the door, longer this time. A deep voice with the same drawl as your husband. “JOEL, IT’S ME. OPEN UP.” 

Joel looked at you and whispered, "Tommy."  

Joel put the gun in the back of his jeans and shut the bedroom door behind him.  

—--

The front door creaked as Joel opened it. “Tommy.” You heard the slapping of a hand on a back as they greeted each other, then the door closed.  “Didn’t know ya were comin’, woulda gotten a room ready or–”

"Just dropped off Bill ‘n Frank.”

“Shhhh.”

“Hey, what the hell's goin' on? Where's the kid?”

“Tell’em she’s safe.  Asleep upstairs."

"You don't think she'd wanna see'em?"

"No sense in wakin' her up." 

There was a long pause, then Joel asked, “Why’d ya drive’em?" 

“Their truck gave out.” After a long pause, Tommy added “Frank said somethin’s off with you.” 

“What're you talkin’ about? Why would Frank said that?” 

"Said ya smiled. Made'em uneasy." 

Joel scoffed. "I was bein' nice."

Tommy laughed. "I told'em you're weird about hospitals, prolly overcompensatin'. Told'em everything's fine. . ."

Joel said, "good, ‘cause everything is."

"You gonna invite me in?"

"Come on in." A few footsteps, then the front door shut. 

Tommy asked, “She’s upstairs?” 

Tommy’s boots thudded away from Joel's bedroom, toward the stairs. 

“Tommy, wait.”  

Tommy didn’t wait.  Two sets of footsteps climbed the stairs, with Joel’s quieter steps following Tommy's boots. You couldn't hear their conversation. A door opened and closed upstairs. Then another. And another.  You turned the ring on your finger.

Footsteps, then indistinct heated words.

The lighter set of footsteps descended the stairs with the boots following behind.  Tommy's voice got closer on the way down the stairs. “somethin’ ain't right here.”

The front door locked before Tommy made it down.  

Joel was calm. “Slow down, take a breath.”

Tommy replied, “I don’t like that look you’re givin’ me, brother.”

Joel told him, “You need to sit down and listen to me.”

“Joel, if I don’t come back, Bill’s comin’ over here.” 

"She's safe," Joel insisted. "C'mere, let's have a drink."

The footsteps faded into the living room, then stopped abruptly. "What the hell's that?" The footsteps slowly resumed, then stopped again. Then, the rustling of fabric.  Tommy's voice was shaky. "What the hell is this, Joel?"

"Shhhhh. Ain't what ya think." 

"Don't look like it," Tommy laughed in bad humor, then composed his nerves into calm anger. "What'd you do, Joel?"

"Nothin', Tommy. It’s her period, damn. Now sit down."

"I may be the only one who knows how dangerous you are, but don't act like I don't fuckin’ know.” 

Your heart skipped a beat.  

Joel responded, “You don’t."

You held your neck, looking around the room. Your pulse was pounding against the heel of your palm.

“I don't? What the hell’s that s'posed to mean?”

“I’m in love with her, Tommy." Your heart swelled. 

"Jesus. . ." 

Tommy mumbled something else, and Joel responded, “She's not a kid." 

"She's Bill's kid," Tommy countered. 

"Not anymore. And I’ll do anything to keep her." After a pause, Joel added, “I mean anything.”

"I fuckin' know you do," Tommy snapped. 

"Then we’re clear," Joel said. "Tell'em ya didn't wanna wake her up."

"Not ‘til I see her," Tommy insisted. 

There was a beat of silence, then Joel offered, "Cool off first, have a drink. Don't wanna scare her."

Your heart raced. Their voices became indistinct as they moved towards the kitchen.

—---------

You sat on the bed stunned. Your parents were home, and you weren't as happy as you imagined you'd be to hear it.  You were wholly preoccupied by Tommy's words. Joel was dangerous. You had already come to know it in your heart, but hearing someone else say it out loud had your mind racing. You never thought about what that meant for you. The worst part was the fear in Tommy’s voice. Would Joel do something to Tommy? His own brother? They were family. You and Joel were family. 

You got up and went into Joel's closet.  You pulled out a flannel and put it on over your nightgown.  You built up your courage, then slowly opened Joel’s bedroom door. 

—---------------

You emerged from the bedroom, unsure how either of them would react. You pulled the flannel over your hands, hiding the ring. As you tiptoed into the living room, Joel was on the sofa facing away from you. Tommy was facing you and saw you first. He was holding a mostly empty glass of whiskey. Joel's glass was already empty on the coffee table.  Tommy sat upright and swallowed. He put his glass down on the side table. 

“Hey,” Tommy's voice was soft, like he didn't want to startle you.  “You okay?” 

Joel looked over his shoulder, then turned his body. 

“Yeah,” you nodded and walked over to them, looking at Joel.  Joel's face softened as he looked at you.  You sat on one of Joel’s thighs, your bare feet on the floor holding some of your weight.

“They're home, darlin’,” Joel said and looked at you with pleading eyes.  “wanna go now, or let’em get some rest, see’em in the mornin’?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Let’em get some rest.” 

Tommy sat back and raised his eyebrows in surprise. When you looked right at him, the dress caught your eye on the other chair and your chest felt hot. 

Joel cradled your head with one hand and kissed you on the cheek. “Ok, peaches. Give Uncle Tommy a kiss goodnight, then go back to bed."

You looked at Joel hesitantly. He nodded toward Tommy and flexed his jaw.

Tommy watched you curiously as you approached. You gave him a loose hug around the neck and the lightest peck on the cheek. 

“Night, sweetie,” Tommy mumbled. 

You went back to Joel's lap and put your arms around his neck. He looked at you and you searched his eyes. He gave you a chaste kiss on the lips and whispered, "Go on. I'll be there soon," with a wink. His hand was big and warm on your back as you stood up to walk away.

—

Before you closed the bedroom door behind you, Tommy said, "Okay, she's not a kid. . . Don't mean it's right."

Their conversation became indistinct until Tommy was leaving a few minutes later. 

Joel said, “I’ll leave it unlocked.  You can stay upstairs.” 

The front door opened and closed. 

—------

You weren't planning on it but as soon as the front door began to close, your legs carried you into Joel's bathroom, and your shaking hand closed the door. You sat on the tiled floor against the door. Your heart pounded. Joel would never do anything to hurt you. Why was your body reacting this way? Your eyes felt weak. You didn't want him to see you scared or upset, but this couldn't be much better. You closed your eyes and tried to get back to that place you were in the orchard where everything in the universe made sense. 

Joel came into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. "Aw, baby" he said to himself as he realized where you were.  He took off his pants and put the gun back in the drawer, then approached the bathroom door. "You in there, peaches?” 

“Yeah,” you managed weakly. 

“Can I come in?” Joel tried to open the door and found it was locked.

“Not now.” You wanted to stop crying first. 

After a moment of silence, he slid down the other side of the door and sat down.  “Can ya talk to me, baby?”

You sniffled, then whined, “I dunno what to say.” 

Joel sighed and you heard the soft thud of his head resting against the other side of the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whimpered.

“We’re a family now, baby. Gotta work through whatever you’re feelin’.” 

You scooted back and slowly opened the door. 

Joel came in and sat on the tile next to you, your backs against the door.  He stroked your thigh. His voice was soft. “Wanna come back to bed or wanna talk in here?”

“Here.”

“Okay,” he whispered. He was studying your eyes, desperate to read them. 

You winced with a cramp and put your hand where it hurt.  He went to get you a pill and came back.  He handed you the pill and a glass of water. “Want me to run you a bath?”

You shook your head no.  You didn't need a third bath.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“What’s wrong?” you repeated. 

You looked at him, hating the fact that he was going to make you ask him. Earlier, you said you didn't want to know. You wanted it to stay an abstract, romantic concept that he would kill for you. But the way Tommy was talking, you felt like you needed something. You felt like you needed to know Joel better.

Joel took a deep breath in through his nose.  His voice was soft and careful.  “Tommy’s my brother, and I love’m, but .. .sometimes, brothers. . . .” He was searching for words, and at the same time, searching your face for an out.  He gave up and his voice dropped an octave. “What’d ya hear, darlin’?”

You heard the words come out of your mouth before you could stop them. "How'd you kill him?" 

Joel squinted and searched your face. “Who?”

“What happened to Jesse?” you asked. Joel looked up at the ceiling and his nostrils flared. His chest expanded with a calming breath. You continued, “I don’t care about him at all. I don’t even care if you killed him but I wanna know."

"Thought ya didn't wanna know."

"Now I do." 

“I dunno if that’s a good idea, peaches.” 

“You said you’d do anything for me. This is what I need, I need you to tell me.” 

Joel sighed and swallowed, then nodded.  “There was an accident.”

"What kind of accident?"

"He fell." 

“What? Like from a tree?”

“No, when he was diggin’.”  

You felt lightheaded imagining the garden beds, and the way Joel tucked the pumpkin flower behind your ear. Something told you he was still out there. You tried not to show anything on your face. 

You asked, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“‘Cause it was my fault. I scared him. Didn't want ya to be afraid."   

“What happened?“

“Won’t do ya any good knowin’ that, darlin’.” Joel sighed.  “Might make ya feel bad.” 

“I don’t care, just tell me.” What bothered you was that it wasn't even serious with the boy. It was nothing like it was with Joel. So Joel didn't have to do whatever he did. All Joel had to do was love you and you would've dropped everything else in an instant. All Joel had to do was hug you.  You really believed that. 

“He was gonna hurt ya, darlin'."  You found that hard to believe, but heard him out.  You reflexively squinted but tried not to look too skeptical.

"Hurt me how."

“He was talkin’ like. . . he was talkin’ disrespectful.”

Your face burned, thoughts flying around in your head about what he possibly could have said.  

Joel did a double take at your face and noticed how embarrassed you were. “Darlin’, you really don’t need to be hearin’ this.” 

“Just tell me.” 

"So when he tried to touch ya. . .” 

“You were watching us?”

“I was worried, darlin’. Just lookin’ out for ya.” 

“So you saw me stop it, then.” 

“Sure did, and I was proud of ya.” There was nothing to be proud of.  It wasn't on any moral grounds, you were just nervous in Joel's orchard. And apparently, you had every reason to be. 

“So what happened?”

“So, next time we were workin', it came up again. . ." 

Your mouth felt dry. 

Joel continued, "I told him that’s not how to treat a woman, that you deserved better.” 

Your heart pounded. “And you were really mad, that's why he fell.”

Joel nodded, and you nodded.  You could picture the rest of it, but you didn't want to. You imagined that when he fell, that wasn't the end of it. 

You took his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Joel kissed your hand and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“And thanks for doing that," you added.

Joel squinted at you, taken aback. “Doin’ what, darlin’?”

“Whatever you had to do. . . for me.”

Joel studied your face as though it might have been a trick.  It wasn’t. He slowly nodded.  He kissed your hand again.  “You don’t hate me.”

“Of course I don’t hate you, I love you.”

Joel’s eyes watered.  “This is true love, baby. Unconditional.” 

You asked, “Can I ask you something else?” 

“Anything, peaches.” 

"Who else?”

"Uh," Joel squinted. 

"I asked you how you killed him, and you asked who." 

"Oh, darlin'," he chuckled. 

"Did Abe really leave?"

Joel inhaled then puffed out his cheeks as he let out the breath and hesitantly shook his head no.  

“He was in bad shape when I found him.  Gettin’ sick, talkin’ crazy..” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were already scared. . . didn’t wanna make it worse.” 

You barely nodded, trying to process all this, wondering if there was more to it, but consciously pushing the thought away.  You wondered whether you would've been more or less scared if you knew something happened to Abe. 

"You're a smart girl, peaches." 

“What’d Tommy mean when he said you’re dangerous?”

Joel wiggled his jaw and looked away, then back at you.  “I’ve made some mistakes.  Used to let my temper get the best of me.”  He looked down. “Don’t drink like I used to.”  

He scooted around on the tile to face you. He picked up both your hands and looked at you with big, pleading eyes.  “But no matter what, you gotta believe I would never, ever hurt you, baby." His eyes were glistening. "There’s no part'a me that would. I’d sooner hurt myself.” 

You looked at his mouth and just as you saw the smallest quiver, he wet his lips and swallowed.

You whispered, “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”  

“Good.” He sighed in relief. 

You took your hands away and tightened the flannel around you, then said, “and you wouldn’t hurt anyone I love, because that would hurt me."

Joel swallowed and inhaled through his nose, waiting uncomfortably for you to continue.  

You looked at each other for a few seconds, then you asked, “Are Bill and Frank gonna be okay here?”

He looked away, then back at you before muttering, “I hope so, darlin'.” 

“Even if we can't be together right away?”

Joel squinted at you incredulously.  “What're you talkin’ ‘bout, can’t be together?" He scoffed coldly, making your temples hurt. "I’m sure as hell not lettin’ Tommy tell me what to do. You gonna let them tell you what to do?”  

“No. . .” You didn’t know what else to say. 

“We talked about this, darlin’. You change your mind?”

You shook your head.  “Guess I’m still nervous. Thought maybe it'd take time." 

Joel clenched his jaw, opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it again. When he did speak, he was calm and measured.  “There’s no scenario where we’re not together, peaches." He raised his eyebrows at you and added flatly, "We promised each other forever.”

“I know,” you whispered. 

“And I meant it,” he added with a hint of accusation. 

You protested, “I did, too.” You did. 

"Well I still mean it."

"I do, too." You weren't lying. Somehow, you didn't want it any less. If anything, your heart wanted it more. You wondered if you went too far in your questions. 

He pried your hands off the flannel to hold them. You tried to relax but your hands were still tense. 

He dipped his head to make eye contact with you and didn't blink. “You and me together. No matter what.” He closed his eyes for a breath and sighed. When his eyes met yours again, he added, “No matter where.”

Your heart fluttered.“No matter where?”

He nodded with a deep inhale through his nose. His eyes wandered, then found yours again. “yeah, no matter where."

This tugged at your heart. Was he really willing to take you out? 

"There's another town . . . Ain't easy gettin’ there, but I reckon if we're real careful. . .”

You pondered it silently.  You wanted to see the world outside, but you never thought about moving. You wanted to live with Joel on this land forever, but you wanted your parents to be okay, too.  Leaving altogether seemed so sudden, so huge. 

You asked, “Really? You would take me out?”

“Scares me to death,” he admitted. "But I just wanna be with you, peaches."

You stayed quiet for a minute. 

"Ain't right they kept ya here all your life," he muttered. 

The thought of leaving forever was scary, but if that's what it took to keep your parents safe, you would. Joel was your home anyway. You could feel at home anywhere with him. 

You asked, “Would I get to say goodbye?”

His mouth tensed and he looked at the floor.

"Not out loud," you conceded. "But could I see them again first?"

He was quiet, reading your face. "If that's what ya need," he nodded somberly. 

“Spend a little time with them?” You asked. 

“How much time?” Joel countered. 

“I don’t know, a few days?”

“You wanna be apart that long?”

“No, but. . . no”

Joel sighed. “Let’s figure this out tomorrow, k?” 

He cradled your head and whispered, “We’ll figure it out.” He pressed his lips into yours, giving you the slowest, most tender kiss.  He pulled back and your eyes clouded up.  

“I love you,” you whispered. “More than anything.”

He nodded, tears in his eyes. 

You added, “And there’s no ‘but’. I’ll go anywhere to be with you.” 

He pulled you into straddling him. Your arms wrapped around him all on their own and you were soothed. It was true, you had given him everything. You were hollow without it, without him. But up against his body, wrapped in his big arms, you felt complete again. You felt safe. 

You could feel his manhood beneath you, warm and soft. He hugged you tight and drew in a ragged breath. He held you and stroked your head for a minute. His cock hardened a little with your crotch against it.  You were beginning to feel the painkiller. “Sorry, baby,” he whispered.  You yawned.  “Thought we’d have more time.”  The front door opened, and you flinched. 

“Just Tommy," Joel whispered. "He’s gonna stay upstairs tonight, okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Let’s go to bed, baby.” 

You braced yourself with your hands on his shoulders and stood up. He hooked his thumbs under the flannel collar to help you take it off, but you pulled it tighter around yourself.

Joel pulled his hands away, then rubbed your back. "Okay, darlin'." 

You got in bed, curled up on your side. Joel draped his arm over you and asked, “this okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and loosely laced your fingers with his in front of you. 

“‘S’gonna be fine, baby. We’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t wanna be apart,” you sniffled. 

“We’re not gonna be,” he reassured you.  “Ever.” 

-----

THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. AND YOU WILL HAVE MORE SEX.

However, this is on soft hiatus until after Halloween unless i really feel like putting out the next chapter. Too many seasonal things to cook.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging <3

I'll reblog or comment with Lincoln tag list.

@toxicfics for notifications. The tag list is not long for this world.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {6}

Summary: After a confusing first night together it is time for the first public appearance with Charles. Warnings: angst, little bit of fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

An awkward silence filled the large space when you cut the engine inside the old factory and let the roller door close behind you. Charles rather elegantly dismounted and let you lock the motorbike up without a word. You had tried not to look at him too much after leaving the club but it was impossible to avoid now that there was nowhere to escape. 

“I’m going to shower,” you muttered. Charles sat at the edge of the bed and watched you walk to the only internal door. The old plumbing creaked as you turned the hot water onto full blast because it never reached any decent temperature above warm. You couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain when the water hit your body, each droplet like shrapnel on your skin.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked through the door.

“Never been better, Charles.”

You stared at a spiderweb that had appeared since your last visit until the water all too soon ran cold. A fluffy towel swamped your body and you relished the softness on your bruises, grateful you had stolen it from your bathroom. When you stepped out of the bathroom you found Charles still sat on the bed but now there were two beers condensating on the wobbly side table.

“Help yourself then,” you murmured as you grabbed a fresh pair of clothes from your backpack. “Look and I will throttle you.”

Charles turned his back as you dropped the towel and pulled your panties up your legs. Bending over sent white hot pain flashing through your ribs and tears burned your eyes when you tried to reach behind your back for the bra strap. Without the adrenaline of the fight everything felt ten times worse.

You jumped when cold fingertips brushed your spine and swiped your hands aside. “Let me.”

“Rumour has it you only know how to take these off,” you said as he clipped your bra into place. 

Charles turned you to face him and his eyes drifted down your body, lingering on the bruise blossoming on your ribs. “Since when have you cared about rumours?”

“I don’t, but your reputation precedes you. And, just so you know, I don’t have any friends for you to move on with after this ruse is up.”

“I don’t believe that,” he chuckled. “I think Alicia is your friend.”

“Alicia is too nice for her own good but she’s still on the payroll. I don’t think it’s friendship when it’s paid for.” You frowned as your stomach dropped as you realised what he had said and took a step back. “Plus, she is happily married so you’re out of luck there.”

Charles took a step to follow and caught your hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoffed. “No?”

“No. You’re not as alone as you think you are. You have people who look out for you, and that’s friendship whether you believe it or not.” You tried not to let the words penetrate the internal walls you had built but they crumbled a little when he carefully embraced you. “You also don’t need to keep fighting, you have control of your future now.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you admitted as you looked up under your lashes to meet his eyes.

“Then let me show you.” His palm cradled your cheek and his thumb caressed your jaw as you waited to see what he would do. “You can say no whenever you want. The choice is yours.” His eyes traced the shape of your lips before returning higher and his lips parted as he started to dip his head. “You are in control.”

It could have been the sleep deprivation, the crash of hormones after the fight, or the fact that he was as good looking as any of the models you had seen. But, whatever the reason for your weak resolve, you didn’t say no.

You didn’t say no when his lips brushed softly over yours, tentatively. You didn’t say no when he grew bolder and deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the curve of your lips. 

“Stop,” you gasped when his hands began to glide down your body. They immediately froze and he pulled back with a deep breath. “I can’t tell if you are fucking with my head, Charles. You make me question everything I know about you.”

“I can only say ‘I’m sorry’ so many ways.”

“So you thought you would try fuck your apology onto me?”

“No,” he laughed. “That was purely self indulgent. Even when I couldn’t stand it I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“I told you, you’re in control,” he said with a nod. 

You returned the nod and jutted your chin to the bed. “I’m a cuddler, don’t read too much into it when you wake up with me invading your personal space. Or, you can take the couch.”

He looked at the ratty couch and shook his head before a grin grew. “I like spooning.”

You pointedly looked at sweatpants and lifted a brow. “Little spoon, I bet.”

Charles smirked and dropped down on the bed, making himself comfortable on your pillow. “Nothing little about it, babe.”

You scrunched up your nose and reached under the pillow for the Prema shirt you slept in but before you could pull it on it was ripped out of your hands. “Hey!”

“You are not going to sleep next to me in my brother’s shirt.”

“There’s not exactly a wardrobe full of options here,” you said as you tried to grab it back.

Charles caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth movement before tossing it on your shoulder. “There you go.”

“I like that one.”

Charles gripped the fabric and tore the shirt in half as your eyes narrowed. “If we are going to fake this, we are doing it right. My girlfriend won’t be sleeping in another man’s shirt.”

“Fuck you, Leclerc,” you swore. It was better to be swathed in his clothing than half naked in your own, that was the only reason you pulled it on and breathed through your mouth so you didn’t have to inhale the rich cologne that clung to the soft fabric. You couldn’t be blamed for your actions if your hormones liked the smell too much because one thing was certain: when he lay there shirtless you had no control over your filthy thoughts.

You turned out the light and threw yourself down onto the bed with a pained groan that had nothing to do with your ribs. It was difficult but you managed to turn away from the man whose eyes drank in the sight of his shirt on you. 

“Arthur said I wouldn’t recognise you in the ring,” he confessed in the darkness, “but I think that’s the first time I’ve really seen you.”

You didn’t know how to respond when your heart started to beat like a jack rabbit so you settled for a sedate, “Goodnight, Charles.”

The pallets groaned with his shifting as he rolled over and his arm curved low on your waist, missing your ribs. A soft kiss found a place on your heated cheek and he whispered his own, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“You’re distracting me,” you muttered as you saw the shadow moving again. “Stop fiddling.”

Charles walked into the reflective field of the mirror after showering and he struggled to get the cufflinks into his Valentino suit. He walked around the table you were fixing your makeup at and held his arm out. “Can you please help?”

You fixed the shiny white gold pins into place before completing the finishing touches that completely concealed the bruises on your cheeks. The arnica had done its best to bring down the swelling but if anyone questions your puffy eyes you would just claim a rough night's sleep. 

“Can you zip me up?” you asked as you stepped out of the robe and into the gown chosen for the event. Charles knuckles traced your spine as he dragged the zip carefully up while you held your hair out of the way and the delicate touch sent goosebumps chasing in its wake. 

The Cannes Film Festival would be the first official outing with Charles and would publicise the relationship just in time for his home race. After the photos were snapped on the red carpet there would be no more privacy and every interaction would be watched by his eager fans. You knew what to expect - hate and hypercritical analysis were nothing new - but now they would come from run of the mill 20 year old females instead of millionaire middle-aged men.

A knock at the door interrupted the staring contest you found yourself in with Charles in the mirror and you stepped away to slip your heels on.

“The car is waiting downstairs,” Veronica said as she waltzed into your room. 

“Then it can keep waiting,” you replied while you chose an understanded clutch that wouldn’t distract from the dress. “I need two front row tickets to the opera next Saturday.” 

“But you have a-”

You held a hand up to interrupt her. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, just get me the tickets.”

Charles watched silently from the door, his phone and wallet in hand, and stepped aside to dodge the surly assistant that breezed from the room as quickly as she entered.

“We are attending the Palace dinner with Prince Albert next Saturday,” he said after Veronica had disappeared down the stairs. 

It wouldn’t be a Monaco Grand Prix without a Palace dinner and you had agreed to be Charles’ plus one. “I know.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t have to explain my every move to you, okay?”

His lips pressed closed in a tight line and he nodded sullenly.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, feeling like crap for snapping at him. “I’m not used to having someone to explain my actions to.”

“I get it,” he said, but you got the feeling he really didn’t. He could talk to his family about what was happening in his life and they would listen, you didn’t have that luxury.

“We should go.”

The plush carpet absorbed your heel with each step and you held Charles’ arm a little tighter. Your father had been kind enough to remind you not to make an embarrassment of yourself and you really wished you had been able to take a separate vehicle. After escaping the last event with Charles they had made sure to keep you closer and stop that from happening again.

“Family photo,” your father said with a tight smile. “You too, Charles.”

“Yes, sir.” Charles stepped back into the frame and curled his arm around your waist, his palm warming your hip through your dress.

“Who are you wearing this evening?” the journalist beside the photographer asked, recording device at the ready.

“These divine pieces are from Bouchra Jarrar’s private collection,” your mother answered with a soft pat to your father’s suit jacket.

“And what is this knockout piece?”

You had far less enthusiasm when the attention turned to you. “Alexandre Vauthier, haute couture.”

“If only he knew what a knockout you really were,” Charles whispered in your ear, earning a real smile from you that the camera quickly snapped at.

“And you, Charles?”

“I’m not sure, she dressed me,” Charles said with a wink to you, charming everyone in the crowd including the reporter.

“He’s wearing new season Valentino but he was distracted by the Hypercar race when we picked it out.”

Charles’ laugh teased your skin and he shrugged innocently. “Forza Ferrari, baby.”

You eventually made it to the end of the red carpet and into the cinema for the special screening of some new drama film up for an award. The lights dimmed and the crowd fell silent with the opening credits but your entire focus was on the hand that slipped into yours.

“It’s dark in here,” you whispered. “You don’t need to pretend.”

“Who said I am pretending?”

The armrest was suddenly much closer as you found yourself gravitating to him and your cheek came to rest on his shoulder before the title even appeared.

“Pretending would probably be easier.”

“Probably, but it’s too late for me.”

You didn’t tell him but you had the exact same thought.

Click here for the next part.