"baby, you can't get mad at me for that," ellie groans, her soft, calloused hands pulling at your shoulder to face her. "that's not fair." she huffs out, her patience wearing thin with you.
but she's never and would never lose her temper with you.
the night started like no other, cuddled up beneath the sheets, ellie's hands sprawled all over your body.
but you decided to have some fun, ask her stupid questions, but before you knew it, your mood quickly turned sour and you don't want anything to do with ellie anymore.
"do you think, i'm like..mean? or do you think people's impressions of me are good?" you say, hands threading in between ellie's hair as she lays in between your legs, the side of her face pressed against your stomach.
you could feel her breathe, and the way she let a small chuckle against your skin . "well, you're nice to people you meet," she says. "but..maybe.." her voice grows quiet, hesitant since she knows you caught her right where you wanted to.
she knows she's fucked.
"what." you blurt out, your eyebrows furrowing together as you keep your eyes on the ceiling, your body growing tense and your arms crossing over your chest.
"you just..you know, get comfortable over time." she whispers, hands massaging your thighs in an attempt to ease you.
"what does that mean?"
"you get comfortable. more like yourself." ellie says.
"so you're saying i'm mean?" you scoff.
your back is turned, and frankly you don't want any kind of conversation anymore.
"you think that's like..a good thing to hear?" you mutter, clicking your phone on, the soft glow from the screen lighting up the dim room. your voice was soft, small in a way that you didn't bother to pipe up for ellie to hear.
ellie scooted closer, so close that you could feel her breath on you.
"you asked me a question. i answered..what's wrong?" she murmurs, you could hear the pout in her voice, and the way her voice gets shaky when she knows you're mad at her.
you don’t answer.
your thumb scrolls across your phone even though you’re not reading anything. the soft glow lights the room while ellie just watches you.
"...hey."
nothing.
ellie immediately wilts. she presses her lips together, visibly stressing now. her fingers hover near your arm before finally settling there, rubbing lightly like she’s testing the waters.
you shift farther toward the edge of the bed.
ellie’s face immediately drops.
"oh— c’mon," she blurts quietly, panic creeping into her voice. "no, no, don’t do that."
you stay planted, not moving, and you don’t look at her.
she follows you instantly, wrapping both arms around your waist from behind like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.
"i'm sorry," she says quickly. "okay? i'm sorry."
ellie runs both hands through her hair, already panicking a little. "okay. okay, wait." she exhales, scooting after you like a kicked puppy. "i messed that up. i did. i'm sorry."
you still don’t respond.
ellie crawls closer until she’s practically draped over your side again, trying to peek at your face.
"hey… hey, look at me for a sec?"
nothing.
"please?"
your jaw tightens. ellie groans quietly under her breath, dropping her forehead onto your shoulder in defeat.
her hands slide around your waist, hugging you from behind like she’s scared you might disappear if she lets go.
"i didn't mean it like that," she mumbles into the back of your shirt, your scent filling her nose and she swears she might cry from how good you smell, but, now's not the time. "i swear. that came out so wrong."
still silence.
ellie squeezes you tighter.
"baby, i'm sorry," she says again, softer this time. "i'm really sorry."
her fingers tighten slightly in your shirt.
"baby, please don't be upset with me."
still silence. she sighs, then gently plucks the phone from your hand and drops it onto the mattress beside you.
"ellie—"
"nope," she says quickly, already climbing over you.
before you can protest again, she carefully rolls you onto your back.
ellie immediately settles over you, hovering close, her hair falling, her hands sliding around your torso as she studies you with the saddest eyes imaginable.
you glance away.
ellie reaches up and cups your cheek with both hands, thumbs brushing your skin carefully like you're something fragile. "hey," she whispers. "don't do that."
her eyes widen immediately.
"what? no i didn't."
"basically."
ellie shakes her head quickly, leaning down so your foreheads almost touch. "no, baby, that's not what i meant."
her thumbs keep rubbing slow little circles on your cheeks. "not even a little."
you stay quiet, your face still slightly turned away.
ellie watches you for a second before her expression melts completely.
"...aw," she murmurs softly.
she shifts down, resting more of her weight against you, one arm sliding under your head so she can pull you closer.
"c’mere."
you don’t resist when she tugs you into her chest. ellie immediately wraps around you like a blanket, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
"im sorry," she murmurs instinctively, rocking you a little. "okay? i'm really sorry i hurt your feelings."
her fingers slide into your hair, gently scratching your scalp the way she knows you like.
"you know i think you're a good person, right?"
she presses a soft kiss to your temple, her soft lips lingering for a second.
"like… really good." another kiss, slower this time, right on your lips. her lips parted against yours, a silent way of inviting you in. she lets soft sounds out against you and her tongue's tangled with yours.
ellie pulls away slightly, your saliva connecting you two together, "i would've told you if you were mean."
her hand rubs slow circles into your back now, steady and comforting.
"i just meant you relax around people," she continues quietly. "you stop pretending."
she tilts her head down, nose brushing your hair. "that's not mean." her voice softens even more.
"that's you trusting people." ellie presses another kiss on your lips, tongue swiping your tongue.
"especially me."
you shift slightly in her arms. she immediately tightens her hold, almost protective. her thumb gently traces along your cheek. "don't overthink it, alright?"
a/n: coming from a texan this is genuinely my dream life. also this is like semi headcannons? the format is a tad funny bc i didnt have enough plot for a full fic but its mot just headcannons either?? idk man😪
summary; abbys grown up on a farm, its all shes ever known. and she CANNOT see her life not in the fields. and you, while still being from the south wanted nothing more than to escape it all. so when you told her you wanted to move to the city with her, she made it her mission to prove to you farm life could be happy. <3
‧₊˚ ☆ when you first moved into the farm house with abby, it was perfect. (you only thought this because there was no work to be done yet) but soon planting season started, then the animals started to accumulate, and all the sudden your back on a farm. exactly where you wanted to escape from. but this time its different. your with you’re person. you’re abby. and as much as you wanted to hate it, you couldn’t. not to admit abby was right but, she was right.. every morning you wake up, braid Abby’s hair, eat breakfast with her, and you go separate ways for chores. you tend to the animals as abby works on the farm in the fields. its peaceful.
‧₊˚ ☆“can you put one of y’r pretty bows in my hair t’day baby?” abby whispers to you in the early morning light as you lay cuddled in her arms. you hum in agreement, a smile laid on your face. Abby’s long golden locks have been one of your favorite things for the longest. and ever since the first day you french braided it down the back, shes had you do it everyday since. its become morning routine for her to sit between your legs on a pillow, with her cup of black coffee in hand, watching the morning news as you plait up her hair. now one of the ribbons that holds your hair up everyday, ties at the end of abby’s. a dainty blue bow holding her braid together.
“watcha think?”
“s’ pretty babe, thank ya s’much.” her tall frame scoops you up from in front of the hallway mirror and plops you back on the coach, tickling the crap outa you.
“abigail!!” you squeal
‧₊˚ ☆ oh and you definitely screamed when a farm cat showed up & abby had to scold you for trying to take it into the house.
“but abby! look at him.” you force a pout, pointing at the orange feline who genuinely had a dead mouse in its mouth. abby looks at you, then back at the cat, then back to you.
“baby. look, i love you. but no way in hell is that coming in the house.”
she then proceeded to drive out 40 minutes to the nearest pets smart & bought the little guy food to set out weekly ‘just incase’.
‧₊˚ ☆ i also like to think she brought one of jerry’s old projectors from her childhood home & sets it up on the side of the barn every once and a while. like when theres a new movie you wont stop nagging her about, at the end if the day as you go to get her for supper you see the bed of the work truck all set up with cozy bedding. abby appears from behind the truck. “Abigail Anderson. what is all’ this?” you cheese.
“oh nothinggg, i js’ rented that movie you wanted t’ watch” she says jokingly. she pulls you in by the waist and places a kiss on the top of your head.
“did you get anyy of your chores done today?” you say, pretending to be mad she hasn’t been tending to the farm.
“uh, thats a problem for tomorrow me.” she giggles.
‧₊˚ ☆ and you best bet that if you both finish your chores early there will be nap time. sometimes intentional, sometimes not. but either way its one of your favorite moments with her. one day you had fallen asleep on the porch swing after brushing the horses. abby had came to the house for a glass of water to find you softly snoring in the summer breeze. a smile tugs at her lips watching your stomach rise and fall with your breath. she lightly picks you up and carries u inside the house, abandons whatever chore she was doing before and lays with you. now its your turn to wake up to her baby snores (loud ass snores) & blond hair tickling your nose. your cutie baby.
Summary: An early morning trip to the small on-base library, leads to you meeting one of Issac’s right hand men.
Content: Meet-cute, fluff, reader is a teacher on the wlf base, Abby and reader can’t stop flirting, Abby calls reader ‘Ms. Honey’, reader is described as blushing/feeling awkward a couple times as well as being shorter than Abby, reader is a woman, set before Jackson, sfw
Word Count: ~1800
Editor: My beautiful, amazing best friend in the whole wide world, @backt2u
Author’s Note: I already have plans for a second and third part, so please let me know if you’re interested <3
Teaching on the W.L.F. base isn’t an easy task. You’ve been living among them for the past few months and have since learned that ‘book-smarts’ are not seen as a priority; it was brute strength and the ability to fight that were viewed as important. As long as each of the W.L.F. children knew the basics of reading, writing, and math, Issac was content.
You, on the other hand, were not.
It is this dissatisfaction that has landed you in the annoyingly small library on base, way too early in the morning. Searching the space for any books that the children you teach will be able to read, understand, and most importantly, enjoy.
Your newfound endeavour has allowed you to feel truly useful for the first time since you joined the Wolves. Seeing the children you teach get a chance to experience the world before the outbreak through literature is all you could ask for.
It’s taken weeks, but you have skimmed through every book in the library—well, almost—going shelf by shelf, sorting as you go. The work is tedious but rewarding, and you hope that if people are able to locate what they want more easily, then maybe it’ll help more than just your students feel inspired to read.
This morning, specifically, has found you on a mission to locate a simple picture book. Something age-appropriate for your young students. You make your way over to the shelves you’ve devoted to children’s books, stopping in place when you hear the sound of soft breaths.
You can instantly tell it’s not infected; there's something too gentle and calm about the sound to ever be mistaken for a clicker, but you have no clue why someone would be sleeping in the library of all places, especially since everyone on base had been given an assigned room.
You quietly approach the unknown source of this sound, mouth falling open slightly at the sight of one of Issac’s right-hand men sleeping soundly at a table in the library, head resting on her perfect, crossed arms in front of her, turned to the side so you can see her pouty expression.
Abby, you think her name is, you've seen her around base from time to time, but never this close. Without realizing it, you find yourself staring, taking in the subtle details of her face like the curve of her nose and the subtle dusting of freckles across her cheeks.
Quickly, you realize what you're doing and shake yourself out of the stupor. She’s probably exhausted from patrolling; that’s what she seems to always be doing, at least as far as you know, so you decide it’s best to just leave her alone and let her sleep. So long as you can reach past her for the book you want…
Now that the title has caught your eye, you have to have it. With school starting soon, you unfortunately can't just come back later; you need this book now if you’re going to read it in class today.
And so, you lean over her perfect pouty face and beautifully chiseled arms, and attempt to grab the book.
Okay, maybe you should’ve been looking at the book you were reaching for, instead of at her arms, because just as your hand clasps around the book’s spine, you fumble and the book slips right from your hand and onto the desk in front of her with a loud bang. You cringe at the mistake, feeling the blonde stirring under you. Goddamnit.
“Wha…” She mumbles, pulling her hand away from her face, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
You instantly straighten and flush bright red, stunned by your own stupidity.
“I’m so sorry, I just needed a book for my class, and I really thought I’d be able to grab it without waking you.” You cringe as the words tumble out, too fast, too self-conscious.
“You’re fine,” She laughs breathlessly, “it’s not every day you get to wake up with a pretty girl on top of you.”
You flush brighter. Was that flirting? Did she just flirt with you, or have you finally lost it? If Abby’s smirk says anything, then the answer might actually be yes.
“I’ll uh… I’ll just grab my book and get out of your hair. My class is about to start, so I should be going anyway,” You say awkwardly, reaching past her to grab the short story, your eyes catching on her muscle definition, before you silently scold yourself and return your focus to her face.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Ms. Honey,” Abby smiles, softer now.
“Ms. Honey?” You question, head quirked to the side.
“Matilda’s teacher,” She supplies, her voice slowly becoming addictive to you, “‘Cause you know…” She gestures to the books in your hands.
You laugh awkwardly, “Oh.”
“It just seems fitting,” She adds, smirking again.
“I gotta go, it was, uh, very nice to meet you,” You wave shyly before quickly exiting the library, trying desperately to regain your focus on today’s lesson and away from the beautiful woman you just met.
A few hours later, you find yourself halfway through a math lesson, desperately trying to help their little minds grasp the concept of multiplication. You’re just sitting down to help a group of kids figure out the sum of 15x3 when you hear a soft knock on the classroom door.
You quietly excuse yourself from the group, telling the kids you’ll be right back, a confused look crossing your features, which quickly fades when you see a tall, muscular blonde standing in the doorway.
“Uh, I was out patrolling, and I found some more kids’ books left behind in an old library… I brought as many as I could; they’re still in pretty good condition,” She smiles down at you like a puppy searching for a positive reaction. Her eyes locked onto yours.
“Thank you,” You blush, “We could, uh, go through them together sometime. You know, sort them properly?”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” She smirks, making your stomach flip. Once again, you find your mind–or, more accurately eyes–beginning to wander down to Abby’s annoyingly perfect lips, but your mind is quickly pulled out of the moment by a small hand grabbing your leg.
“I can’t do it!” Cries the little girl currently grabbing at your jeans.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart, I’m just gonna talk to my friend for another minute.” You pat her shoulder, gently ushering her back towards their friends.
Turning back to apologize to Abby, you’re surprised to see how her features have softened after looking at the kid. Maybe it’s because it would be nice to have some help with this lesson, or maybe it's just because you want to keep Abby around a bit longer, but the look in her eyes gives you an idea.
“Abby?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m having a hard time getting all the kids to grasp this lesson, teaching them all by myself… Do you know anything about multiplication and division?” You ask, trying to feign confidence.
“Yeah, of course I do. Why, what do you need?” She doesn’t hesitate before agreeing to whatever you’re about to task her with, searching for any opportunity to spend more time together.
“Would you mind helping me? The kids are separated into little groups; they just need someone to make sure they’re actually on track… It’s hard to do alone since there’s only one of me and, like, thirteen of them.” Even with the fake air of confidence, you can’t stop yourself from blushing in her captivating presence.
“Anything you need, I’m good for.” She smirks, leaning against the doorframe, her face inches from yours; so close that you can see every small scar left on her skin from years of combat. She’s gonna kill you if she keeps this up. It wouldn’t be the worst way to die.
Her eyes draw you in…
But the moment is swiftly ruined by a shriek behind you, followed by shrill fighting about the difference between multiplying and dividing.
“Maybe we should go help them?” She asks, her smirk now replaced with a look of concern for the kids.
“Uh, yeah, come with me,” you say, feigning casual confidence while internally fist-pumping the air.
You lead Abby into the small classroom and quickly explain the lesson plan and how to help them without giving away the answer. Before you know it, she’s settled into a groove, explaining the basic principles with patience, until almost every child in the room can grasp the concept.
By the time the few parents living on the W.L.F. base arrive at your classroom to pick up their children, you feel like collapsing with relief, the pair of you triumphant, yet exhausted.
Abby definitely deserves some credit for how well school went today. You don’t hesitate to tell any parent who asks about the woman who saved the math lesson, read to the class during story time with individualized voices for each character, and had every kid already begging for her return.
When the classroom door finally closes behind the last child, you feel a large, but gentle, hand on the small of your back.
“You still wanna sort through those books together sometime, Honey?” Abby asks, thinly veiling her nervous anticipation as she waits for your answer.
“Uh…” You find yourself struggling to speak due to the combination of her strong hand on you and the pet name she just used, “Yeah- Yeah, I’d love to.”
After a moment, you allow yourself to relax into the near-stranger’s touch, finding comfort in something other than your work for the first time in months.
“Abby?” You look to meet her eyes once again, a question popping into your mind.
“Hm?”
“Why were you sleeping in the library?”
“Oh, uh…” She cringes, “My roommate, Manny, had a girl over last night. I would say it’s because I didn’t want to intrude, but the real answer is that he’s really loud, if you get what I mean?”
You can feel your face getting hot just at the thought of Abby and sex in the same context. You have to shake the idea from your head to get yourself back onto a more appropriate train of thought.
“Well, next time he does that, let me know? There’s a spare bed in my room, and you can totally use it any time you need…” You pull your lower lip between your teeth, chewing on it anxiously as you await her response.
“Knowing Manny, it won’t be long before I’m knocking on your door.” She responds so casually as if she can’t see what her mere existence does to you. You hate how much you don't hate it.
I actually hate when I'm looking for a fic involved in a game or show and it's all modern day au's or smut with kinks that make no sense for the character (abby Anderson..) WHO SAID THAT.
It's actually so annoying. Like no I don't want a modern day version of her, I WANT HER. I WANT HER DURING THE APOCALYPSE AND WANT A STORY WITH HER, IS THAT SO HARD TO ASK FOR?? And it's not even just on Tumblr, it's AO3 too. It actually makes no sense to me how there's more modern au's than game timeline ones but I'm also picky asf and I am NOT judging people who write smut or modern day au's, I'm just saying I PERSONALLY wish there was less of it, but I am acknowledging that it my opinion and not a general one. Because I do enjoy the occasional smut or modern day au, it just depends on the scenario
content warnings: fluff, journal style, ellies pov, s!her pronouns for reader, all the seasons, foxic!cat, loverboy!ellie, my babies, i love them all sososos much, not proofread, bad grammar on purpose. 2k wc!
a/n: im starting a new thingy where ill write little journal enteries for ellie (and maybe reader)!! i just discovered i love this style and i often obsess over her journal when i play the game, soo… hehe
January 1st.
I don't think I love Cat, I'm so confused, I feel bad.
Also, Yn and I hung out for new years, it was fun. She brought her friends Abby and more, i liked them more then i thought i would!!! Im calm.
January 16th.
WOW. I love sex. Just not with cat.
wait it sounds like i cheated, can you cheat if youre just “talking” ?????? I didnt fuck someone else, i fucked cat. Just so you know.
January 23rd.
Dina is so fucking, cool i love being her friend. She took me and Yn to the spot to smoke and it was fucking awesome. There was graffiti all over the place and it got dark faster, i loved it.
Yn got lipgloss on the joint and i didnt even care?? I hate it when cat does it so im confused.
February 3rd.
I think im getting sadder, Yn noticed i think because she took me out to the movies out of nowhere. I appreciate her a lot, shes sweet.
February 19th.
I hate everything I wanna die. Like seriously.
Yn came by my house as i was writing that, i feel better.
February 19th.
Cat showed up, im pissed again. I hate to act quirky or whatever but she just doesnt get me, i dont even think shes really gay.. im like.. her accessory??? Idk its all so confusing.. she just seems like she only likes me when she can posts us on instagram.. i hate it here.
March 1st.
Hi journal. I miss you.
March 1st.
Most of the snow is gone, which is good. Maybe i wont wake up wanting to blow my head off every single morning now. That would be cool.
March 4th.
Hello world i am back in action..
what does this entail????????
i dont know. Find out later.. bye
March 9th.
I had no motivation to draw all week until after I hung out with yn, i think i drew her ten times before i thought, “Ellie this is super creepy, maybe, like, stop???”
Her features are addictive, its not weird.. im an artist.
MARCH 23RD.
what the FUCK IS MY LIFE???!!!!
I HATE CAT.
April 1st.
Dina said i should pretend to have a crush on yn for April fools, i almost did it but cat got mad. Shes such a buzzkill. Jesse thinks we should breakup, or “stop acting like 15 year olds with a snap streak” jeez.
April 12th.
I have 7 dollars to my name so yn picked me up and brought me subway.. WITH a Dr Pepper.. shes the best, I almost cried.
April 23rd.
Happy birthday to me !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My friends threw me a surprise party and cat wont answer me, i dont even care though.
April 24th.
Is it cheating if we weren’t REALLY together???? She still fucked someone else..
i dont think winter me could’ve handled this, i just feel.. meh?
April 30th.
I feel like unintentionally using yn sometimes.. shes just always there for me, like whenever i need it?? And when i dont???? Shes sweet, like candy and sugar and rainbows and puppies and glitter and i love her
NOT LIKE THAT. Damn.
May 9th.
WOW I KISSED A GIRL AT A PARTY WOW
her name riley
May 18th.
DINA BIRTHDAY DINA BIRTHDAY!!! I love her, im making her a card and writing her a song. Shes my bestfriend. Im not a sap.
May 22nd.
LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! I love my friends, they are the best. Jesse thinks im being sappy and weird. Maybe im high as fuck or something idk????? I love them all. Even Abby and Nora, even tho theyre yns friends.
June 3rd.
Do i have a crush on yn?
How do you know when you have a crush???
Im so fucked.
June 10th.
She is not funny at fucking all but its so cute. She tried to read from my pun book and i only laughed because shes so cute.
Her eyes crinkle underneath when she laughs i cant.
June 11th.
we hung out.. alone.. at my house.. and we smoked.. nothing happened tho, but i lowkey wanted to touch her lips against mine… never mind bye.
June 18th.
Im so hungry ………. And I am in love with my bestfriend
June 20th.
SCHOOLS OVERRRRRRR. Summer is here im back in my prime.
i miss the winter through i cant lie. Yn prefers Christmas, shes crazy.
July 11th.
I think i wanna switch my major?? Idk what’s happening to me but i feel so different lately. Like, good different.
i think it’s yn, her presence is like.. the light at the end of the tunnel. Idk maybe im cheesy..
July 13th.
I switched my major.. ASTROPHYSICS HERE I COME!
July 17th.
I’ve gone to three parties already, none by choice. Yn and Dina are never INSIDE. I love it though, theyre slowly turning me into an extrovert.
I love drinking.. its so fun.
July 31st.
I got another tattoo.. yn came with me and got one too!! We arent matching duh thats crazy but theyre kinda similar ish not really actually..?? Idk, its a lotus flower and hers is a carnation its cute i love her
NOT LIKE THAT.
August 13th.
Never in my 21 years of age have i ever wanted someone this badly my fucking god im in trouble.
I could actually die here.
she kissed me on the cheek and called me funny yesterday and i think my brin malfunctioned for a sec. We made dinner and ate it while watching this weird show she wanted to start, she likes it a lot.
i think i like it too.. its like our show now.. i love that.
She has really nice teeth, i noticed that today.. they’re unique
HOW MUCH IS A DIAMOND RING????
heres a sketch i made of her
LOOK AT HER NOSE.
August 17th.
I heard Dina and yn whispering from the kitchen last night and I swear they were talking about crushes. I think she might like me back. I hope. God, I REALLY hope.
August 24th.
Summer was pretty good i cant lie.. i didnt get to kiss yn so thats fucking stupid I hope i die actually. Nvm, i was just informer we are drinking tn. God is good.
September 3rd.
Back at school, idk i fi should be hyped or sad. I dont have any classes with my friends like i was supposed to. Should i switch back? yn says I shouldn’t, she said shed hangout with me everyday after class if thats what it took for me to “do what I love” i dont deserve her.
September 10th.
Cat texted me, saying she missed me. I hate her so much i didnt even feel bad it just made me angry. Get this, i responded with a picture of me and yn cuddling. Maybe I shouldn’t have.. maybe thats creepy. But im manifesting her so its not? That was corny. Fuck.
September 11th.
they hit the second tower?
September 29th.
HOW DO I MAKE PAPER FLOWERS??? Im gonna ask her out i think.
actually i just had a really good idea.
October 4th.
I planned it all out. Dina knows, Jesse knows, ABBY KNOWS.
Im gonna ask her out on Christmas, with those weird red and white bouquets she loves. Pricey but worth it. And. Im also gonna write her a letter. I feel like im missing something ?? I dunno, we’ll figure it out.
Also i got a job at the trampoline park, its so fucking fun. the kids are so tuff ᵕ̈
October 11th.
OCTOBER 11TH IS ON A FRIDAYYYY LIFE IS STRANGE REFRENCEEEEEE!!!! Me and yn played the second game, so much better than all the others.
October 19th.
im so excited for Halloween.. we are all going as ghostbusters, im Stanton, obviously. AND YN IS GOING AS ?????? Idk who yet bye
November 1st.
Holy fuck.
WE KISSED !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD THIS IS NOT A DRILLLLLLL I MIGHT DIE.
ME AND YN KISSED ON THE LIPS IM SO EXCITED ♡♡
bruh shes got me writing hearts all over my journal like a 6th grader. Jeez
but basically we were both super drunk and it was too loud so we went to my car and sat in the front seat and talked (no driving obviously) and then we started talking about that spot that Dina takes us to and she just told me how i looked kissable and i was like?!
AND THEN.. I LEANED IN..
we made out im so hype !!!!
November 14th.
We all went ice skating today it was so awesome. Everyone's at mind and im literally snuck off to the bathroom to write this.. Dina calls me a loser but i think im proactive.
Also me and Joel are fighting, but I’ll talk about it later Jesse is banging on the door.
November 28th.
I still don't know what the big part of my proposal should be?? Maybe ill paint her a portrait. I don't know.
November 28th.
Me and Joel aren't talking. I think its my fault?? I think hes been lying about my birth mom, apparently shes alive. I cant think about this right now.
November 30th.
Cat keeps texting me so I blocked her. 25 days till Christmas. 25 days until i get the girl, i hope.
December 3rd.
Me and yn have been having a movie marathon every single day. Tonight we’re watching love, actually.. not a Christmas movie but if shes wants it im down. I love her shes my bestfriend.
December 15th.
Okay, heres the game plan.
Christmas Eve at Abbys Fabian. Her dads loaded so its like a palace. A pool, a fireplace AND A HOTTUB A HOTTUB. Lara jean and Peter Kavinsky.. shes gonna love it.
Then i ask her out as it snows(if it snows) one of her presents is gonna have the letter in it so shell open it last.. like after dinner..when were alone. What if she rejects me?????????????????? Joel said she wouldn't. We are on good terms now, i think.
December 23rd.
We live in time was NOT a Christmas movie. Shes evil.
December 24th.
im so nervous. Everyone is so excited for me but i feel like it’ll be awkward if she says no. I hope she says yes, i really love her. I’ll respect her if shes no obviously like im not evil i just mean that i really want to be with her??? Ykwim?? We kissed so it has to mean something????
A/N: HELLO!! It's been so long since i've written on this account. I wasn't sure I was ever going to come back and write. I hope y'all like it.
Just for a little bit of context, this story will be told strictly through journal entries. I've never written anything like this, so suggestions and comments are greatly appreciated!.
2036
September 7
I made it to Jackson today.
I don't think my brain has caught up with my body yet. Everything feels too…normal. There is structure and safety. People walking like they know where they are going. Smoke comes out of chimneys in straight lines, like the air itself follows rules here.
There are actual houses. Not houses that have been ransacked for supplies or houses filled with the infected. It's a real house with families and laughter.
For a long time, I thought survival was quiet, but safety and peace are what really is quiet. Survival is loud and obnoxious.
They opened the gates, and for a second, I just stood there like an idiot. Almost afraid that if i moved it would disappear.
Someone behind me said, “You planning to move or just admire the architecture?” They didnt mean it in a mean way. Just practical.
They checked my bag and asked questions. Everyone watches you in a ‘is she going to break? Is she okay?' kind of way.
The entire day, I felt like I was holding my breath waiting for something to go wrong, but nothing did. I was assigned a room. A real room with a bed, a window, a dresser, and a shelf filled with books.
I'm glad to be here.
September 8
I met Maria and Tommy today. Maria runs things here. Not loudly or aggressively, shes just firm.
She explained patrol rotations, food schedules, work assignments, and expectations. It was the strangest thing listening to someone talk about next week like next week is guaranteed.
I dont know what to do with myself here. I still can't believe it.
September 9
I made my first friend today. Everyone cheer for me (yayyyy)
Anyway, her name is Dina.
She is like the human personification of a ray of sunshine.
I didn’t plan for that to happen today. I was standing near the water pump, trying to figure out how long I could pretend to understand what I was doing before someone noticed I was a phony.
She walked right up and said, “You look like you’re about to fight that pump. It wins most of the time.”
Then she showed me how to angle the handle so it doesn’t jerk back and slam your wrist. Which is exactly what it had been doing. Repeatedly. Violently.
She talks like she’s known you for years, even if she met you thirty seconds ago. Not in an overwhelming way… more like she skips the awkward beginning parts of meeting someone and goes straight to the middle.
We ended up walking through town together. She pointed out everything.
Who bakes the best bread.
Which dog steals gloves off porches.
Where people gather when it snows.
She knows the small details. The kind that means you belong somewhere long enough to notice what changes and what stays the same.
At one point, she asked if I was settling in okay.
I almost said “I think so,” but what came out was “I don’t know how to be safe yet.”
She didn’t try to fix that. She just nodded and said, “Yeah. That part takes a minute.”
Then she bumped her shoulder into mine like it was no big deal.
It felt like something steadying.
I like her, I can tell we’re going to be great friends.
September 11
Dina found me again today. I think she does that on purpose.
She dragged me to the mess hall for lunch because, apparently, wandering around alone makes me look “like a confused, sad, lonely ghost.” Her words. Definitely not mine.
She introduced me to people. So many people. I forgot half their names immediately but no one seemed offended. They just kept talking. Asking where I came from. What I like. What I can do.
No one asked what I lost.
That might be the kindest thing anyone’s done without realizing it.
Dina sat across from me while we ate and told me stories about winter storms, patrol mishaps, and the time someone tried to raise chickens inside their house “for emotional support.”
I laughed. Like… really laughed.
I don’t remember the last time that happened.
When we finished eating, she said, “Congrats. You survived your first official Jackson lunch.”
It was my first milestone.
September 14
I walked through town alone this morning. Not because I had to. Just because I wanted to see what everything looks like when you’re not being shown where to look.
There are wind chimes on one porch that sound different depending on how strong the breeze is. Someone carved little shapes into a fence post. Stars, I think. Or flowers. Hard to tell.
People wave when they pass you. Not big gestures. Just small acknowledgments. Like confirming you’re part of the landscape now.
Dina says that’s how you know you’re settling in. When people stop studying you and start recognizing you.
I think that’s starting to happen.
She says tomorrow she’s introducing me to more of her friends.
I said okay and meant it without hesitation.
That feels new.
September 15
Dina introduced me to Ellie today. Ellie Williams.
She makes me get butterflies. I know, I know… very ridiculous of me. She’s pretty. Like distractingly pretty. Her green eyes and her freckles.
She’s awkward, in a cool, mysterious way. She looks like she has a story to tell.
She shook my hand when Dina introduced us. Her grip was warm and firm, but quick, like she didn't want to hold on for too long. Her eyes kept drifting back to Dina while we talked, not ina rude ‘this conversation is boring, get me out of here’ but in a force of habit way.
do they have a thing?
It’s fine, everything is FINE.
I also met Jesse today. He looks so serious at first glance. He looks like the kind of person who knows exactly what needs to be done and how to do it.
He made this completely ridiculous comment about how Dina gives “aggressive directions” when she walks people through town, and suddenly, he was grinning like a kid who got away with something.
I like him. He feels steady. Safe in that dependable way where you know he’d show up if something went wrong.
But he and Dina… yeah. There’s definitely something there, too. The way they stand close without realizing it. The way they talk over each other and don’t get annoyed.
Their little trio just meshes so well.
Until next time!
Okay yeah, i thought I was done writing, but I cannot stop thinking about her.
Is it a little absurd for me to have a crush already?
I mean… I’ve been here barely over a week.
I feel ridiculous. Completely, deeply ridiculous.
And yet… here we are.
September 20
Okay, just listen, I don’t want to sound crazy or delusional, but Ellie complimented my outfit.
It was nothing special. Just a plain shirt and worn jeans because I was helping with the horses this morning, and I didn't want to ruin anything nicer. Absurd to think that I have nice clothes now. A month ago, I didn't have anything.
Okay, back to my story, I looked a mess, sleeves rolled up unevenly, and my boots were full of mud.
Ellie walked past me, stopped, looked me over for a second, and said “That color looks good on you.”
EXCUSE THE HELL OUT OF ME!!! WHAT!!
Can you believe that??? I look good in forest green, full of horse shit and dirt.
It was just that stupid, simple sentence that has me all flustered. That’s it. That was the whole interaction.
But she noticed. Out of everything happening around us, she noticed what I was wearing. She noticed me.
I have replayed the exact tone of her voice in my head at least twelve times since then. Casual. Offhand. Like she didn’t think it was a big deal.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Is this love at first sight?
Does she like me?
Was it just a friendly compliment?
Was she just being polite?
Do people here just say things like that normally??
God. I need to stop. I sound completely unhinged. This is so bad.
Anyway.
I’ve been spending more time with the trio. Eating with them, helping with small tasks, just… existing around them. And it feels easy. Like slipping into a rhythm that was already there waiting for me. They’ve unofficially adopted me into their friend group.
I think I’ve actually made friends.
Real ones.
That still feels a little unreal to write down.
October 8
After lots of persuasion from Jesse and Dina…and Ellie, Maria finally approved my first patrol!!! Yay me.
Really, it was a lot of nagging, begging, and crying from Dina and Ellie. Mostly Dina. Jesse was forced to swear that he would keep me alive and safe.
Still, yay me.
Ellie volunteered to be my patrol partner. Technically, we were assigned to a group with Jesse and Dina, and Tommy as our supervisor, but Ellie spoke first.
I noticed that. I won't go into the details of my delusional mind, but that mattered to me.
She stayed close most of the patrol. She really took charge of teaching me. Showing me what tracks to notice, when to pause and listen instead of moving forward. She explains things simply. No impatience. No talking down to me.
I knew most things from being on my own for so long, but she has a keen eye for detail. She reminds me to slow down.
Ellie is quiet. Shes the quiet one out of Jesse and Dina. Those who can talk their heads off, but Ellie likes the quiet. Shes never in a rush to fill the silence.
Except with jokes.
Shes relentless about her dad jokes. I mean, absolutely relentless. I have never met anyone so passionate about dad jokes.
Today’s Highlight:
“I used to be addicted to soap, but I’m clean now.”
She delivered it with a completely straight face and then looked at me like she was waiting for an official evaluation of the joke’s quality.
I laughed anyway. I couldn’t help it. Something about the way she waits… hopeful but pretending not to be.
Jesse said that was my official test to be part of the trio. I passed.
(were now the core four -Jesse)
She’s just as kind as she seems. Maybe kinder when no one is looking.
I don’t know when exactly it happened, but somewhere between the stupid joke and the quiet walk back to town, I realized I didn’t feel nervous anymore.
⌞ COLLEGE ⌝ a future diagnostic medical sonographer leaving her canadian town for a fresh new life, and what would that new life bring her - new boyfriends ofc
. ݁₊ james potter + regulus black x madison hoffman -> strangers to lovers ⊹
⌞ FAME ⌝ one of the most highest grossing actresses of the 21st century dating a man thrice her age and who happens to be her co-star in two projects, what a scandal?!
. ݁₊ pedro pascal x madison hoffman -> secret relationship ⊹
⌞ HOUSE OF THE DRAGON ⌝ a butterfly resting atop the nose of a dragon, hoping their anomaly doesn’t make them loose the war
⌞ MARAUDERS ⌝ hufflepuff seeker by day, marauder by night. with her wide variety of friends she always has her hands full, but always makes time for what she loves
. ݁₊ james potter + regulus black x magnolia hoffman -> rivals to lovers ⊹
⌞ PERCY JACKSON ⌝ camp halfblood but without the war is just like any other summer camp, but not for madison, it’s where she can see her friends for a summer with no shame
. ݁₊ clarisse la rue x madison hoffman -> enemies to lovers ⊹
⌞ STRANGER THINGS ⌝ “I’m just in it for the fun of it” is the motto she has every time something goes to shit, because it’s true, in the same way steve is just there for fun too
. ݁₊ steve harrington + eddie munson x madeline hoffman -> everyone knows but us ⊹
┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: as handmaiden to rhaenyra targaryen, you have stood ever-faithfully by her side, through the brewing storm. loneliness seems to tether the two of you together.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (not sorry)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), power imbalance (not in a bad way), age gap (legal), infidelity, mentions of rhaenicent and daemyra, rhaenyra is bisexual, internalized homophobia, lots of making out, groping, biting, dry humping, risk of getting caught, fingering (fem!rec), breast play, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), rhaenyra is a soft pleasure dom, aftercare + sweet ending.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first wlw fic & first time writing for rhaenyra, please be gentle! ngl I loved writing this so unbelievably much, I would love some requests for her! I hope you all enjoy, I’m really proud of this one and it’s def more meaningful to me as a queer woman! ❤️
TEMPESTUOUS TIDES RAGED WITHIN A CERULEAN OCEAN, WAVES KISSING THE CLIFF SIDES OF DRAGONSTONE, AN ANCIENT CITADEL HELD ALOFT BY ARCHAIC STONE. SALTWATER MIST HUNG HEAVY UPON THE BREEZE, A MIDDAY SUN GLISTENING OVERHEAD, BLANKETING THE SEASON IN GLITTERING RAYS OF VIBRANCY.
In the wake of usurpation, the realm was torn asunder, thrust into the wake of a war that had already consumed lives — lives that needn’t be lost. Upon the knife’s edge of chaos, Rhaenyra had felt more alone than ever before.
Loyalties were fickle; some bought, others severed. As days progressed, she had felt more frayed than ever, stretched too thin. Bloodthirst had already consumed the life of her beloved Lucerys and Prince Jaehaerys II, a needless slaughter.
The day had progressed at a sluggish pace, between council meetings and correspondence with Jacaerys. Poised within an ornate chair, she remained sequestered within her chambers, lingering beside the window, left ajar.
Betwixt her fingers, she cradled the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, once the emblem of a peaceful Targaryen regime — formerly placed upon the brow of her late father.
Recent occurrences had forced her to face an ugly preponderance; did the crown fit upon her own brow as it had for so many others before her?
Had her father never been so brazen as to break hundreds of years of tradition, Lucerys might still live, and the realm at-peace. Rhaenyra lived with the knowledge that a greater war lingered beyond, hidden within the shadows — the Conqueror’s dream.
With Daemon gone to play King-Consort in the Riverlands and Jacaerys determined to gain the allegiance of the Freys, it was as if she were standing alone upon an island. Rhaenys could only console her so much before such wise words lost their luster.
Even Elinda herself was away; and that left you, bound to the Queen’s side.
Raised within a lesser house who had sworn their allegiance to Viserys’s true heir, your servitude to Queen Rhaenyra had been one of the greatest honors of your lifetime.
With her half-brother now sitting the Iron Throne, conflict chafed at the realm, cruel tendrils seeking to spread across the land; an embittered war of kin against kin. Such strife was felt by all within Dragonstone, including yourself.
Tension seemed to linger within the Queen, a terse countenance interlaced with an underlying melancholy. Grief still clung to her; the passing of Lucerys, the passing of her stillborn daughter. With Daemon away and their relationship fragmented, you often felt concerned for her wellbeing.
It was expected of her, to remain headstrong — to shoulder the weight of responsibility, the curse of a crown so heavy that it nearly obliterated her. However, you were privy to her strength, a resilient determination to seize her birthright, come what may.
Summoned to her chambers, your knuckles tapped against ancient wood, iron-wrought doors groaning in protest. The creaking reverberated throughout the hall of stone, slivers of sunlight dancing across the floors.
“My Queen,” A soft cough bubbled from your throat, effectively fracturing her ruminations. Lilac hues drifted from the tarnished crown to you, sharp features bathed in the midday glow. “You summoned me.”
Rhaenyra had become something of a friend to you, if that term were appropriate for a monarch. In her own perspective, you were a shrewd maiden; comely and polite, loyal without fault. Conversation had felt effortless with her, and oftentimes, she confided in you without question.
The strife she faced was immense, and to you, she seemed exceptionally lonely, a notion that you were empathetic to. Despite the differences in histories and the lives you led, you were not bereft of your morality.
Rising from her seat, the Queen regarded you with an indiscernible expression, some amalgamation of warmth intermingled with something forlornly. A cordial smile crossed her features, fading as soon as it had appeared.
“Yes,” Placing the crown upon the window’s ledge, she smoothed her palms over her gown, a rich hue of burgundy, trimmed in draconic patterns of silver. “I wish for you to accompany me to the archives. I’ve much reading to do.”
Targaryen histories were not unfamiliar to her, and yet, it proved a worthy distraction in the face of such uncertainty. Rhaenyra hoped that it would better serve her reign, to know of the Conqueror’s Dream, of the coming war in the North.
“Of course, your Grace.” Devotion was a mere understatement when it came to that of your Queen; you admired her all the same. She carried herself with a dignified strength that you yearned for, a poise becoming of a ruler.
Stepping aside, you made a berth for Rhaenyra, allowing her to pass before you flocked to her flank. The Queensguard prepared to accompany you, causing the Queen to halt in her tracks.
“We needn’t be accompanied.” Rhaenyra’s sharp announcement was enough to rattle both men, Ser Darklyn and Ser Marbrand taking careful steps back, posted outside of her chambers. With a soft hum, the Queen continued, her gait measured as it came to slow.
Oftentimes, you were behind her, commonplace for a lady of your station. Much to your bewilderment, she had let her pace come to a leisurely crawl, keeping in-stride with you. “Your Grace, do not trouble yourself with …”
“Nonsense,” A brief sigh unraveled from her lips, hands poised before her, occasionally gathering her skirts to descend a flight of stairs. “I cannot speak with you if I am far ahead.” It was a welcome change-of-pace for you, admittedly.
Neglecting to protest her request, you nodded, allowing yourself to dutifully walk by her side. For a moment, you remained silent, afraid to speak your mind. “As you wish, your Grace. If I may inquire, what is the reason for our visit to the library?”
“You have already inquired,” A teasing lilt clung to her tone, a cadence that oozed with grace. She was ethereal, whimsical to behold, in truth. You had never glimpsed upon a woman as beautiful as she, lilac hues possessing a faint shimmer. “It is a distraction, reading; I can only stomach so much of my chamber walls.”
A peculiar heat crawled along the nape of your neck, hands folding themselves together as you made for the library. “I am sure that the constant scenery can become mundane for you, my Queen. I should hope that this venture offers you solace.”
Solace — Rhaenyra had not felt such a sensation in many years, merely a facade. For much of her life, it had been hallmarked by tragedy and betrayal, and yet, she knew what privilege she had, even still.
Lucerys’s passing had left a void within her, chipped away by Viserys, by Visenya, who never drew her first breath. Grief followed her like a haunting spectre, nipping at her heels, allowing its gnarled tendrils to wrap around her heart.
Attempting to brave the tumultuous storm of melancholy tested her at every turn, and each day, the pain only seemed to ebb and flow. This war had already taken much from her — Rhaenyra wondered how much more it would cost her.
A sheen of sadness shimmered within her gaze, drawn toward the distance, as if she were remembering. You feared that you had spoken out-of-turn, lips parting as you cleared your throat. “Forgive me, your Grace — I did not mean to offend.”
Rhaenyra seemed dismissive of your apology, as the two of you entered through arching doors, marked by flickering braziers. Dragonstone’s library was rather impressive, scaling walls filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, pieces of the past all kept within one sanctuary.
“You did not offend, sweet girl.” The warmth of her affectionate moniker made your stomach tremble with butterflies, a sensation you seldom felt.
It was not your responsibility to bear the brunt of her pain, and Rhaenyra knew this. Your words were of good intent, tidings of peace, if that were even attainable. She recalled what it was like when she was your age — times were simpler, then.
Following her into the labyrinth of parchment, it seemed that she had already made a temporary residence here. A large, ornate desk had already been organized with historical volumes and various papers, one that she had made consistent use of.
As she lowered herself into one of the numerous chairs, you curiously ogled the many shelves, wishing that you had enough time to read it all. Possessing a passion for literature, you wondered what hidden gems rest beneath the mountainous weight of parchment.
The hall remained quiet, save for the distant song of the tides, the air carrying the distinct scent of dust-laden paper. Braziers crackled with smoldering embers, daylight pooling in through stained-glass window panes.
Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered to you, silently wandering the numerous shelves that scaled to the ceilings. “You are welcome to read whatever you wish,” Bewilderment etched itself into your features. “Most of these texts have seen better days.”
It felt like a sin, laying your hand upon anything in this library — it was all above you, a mausoleum of Targaryen histories and beyond. “That is a thoughtful offer, my Queen, but I do not believe that it is appropriate for someone of my station …”
A soft huff tore past her parted lips, a glint of amusement heavy within lilac hues. With a dismissive sound, she shook her head. “I believe that it is appropriate. They shall find no use, otherwise.” A lighthearted lilt permeated her tone, and you promptly curtsied.
Gratitude seeped from every pore, lips curling into a gentle smile. “You have my thanks, your Grace.” Curiosity got the better of you, gaze lingering over many texts, until one in particular seized your attention.
It was a lightweight volume, riddled with dust, careworn from the passage of time. Its tattered pages contained plenty of material regarding the history of dragons, something that perplexed you to no end.
Prying it from the shelf, you moved to sit, dusting your fingertips across the book’s dilapidated cover. The color had faded, showing signs of age, but you persisted. Much of the script was written in High Valyrian, a language that you knew pieces of, a puzzle indiscernible to you.
Rooted behind the sturdy expanse of an ornate table, Rhaenyra observed you, even still. Violet hues brazenly rake across your hands; delicate yet hardened, like that of some precious jewel.
Beauty clung to your youthful features like the first breath of spring, vibrant and warm. It was your heart that oozed with a brightness, the same was your countenance. She had grown fond of you, perhaps too fond, suppressing lingering feelings.
The mass of parchment beneath her palm suddenly loses all of its meaning. It is the stare of a dragon, one that unknowingly covets something that does not belong to her. Trapped within the cage of her own thoughts, the Queen does not register the inquiry that floated from your lips.
A tendril of shame festers within her, then and there. Rhaenyra exhaled, jaw terse as she regarded you with a kindly disposition, albeit a touch strained. It was the same shame she had felt when she first held Alicent’s hand, when she had bed Harwin Strong; something forbidden.
Whatever she began to feel, she knew that it was somewhat an extension of her loneliness; her sons away, Daemon drowning in the fire of his ambition, Rhaenys to Driftmark.
“Your Grace?”
“My apologies,” With a distant smile, lilac hues briefly avert themselves, as if attempting to remain innocuous. “I have felt strained, as of-late. It is something that I should not subject you to.”
Words sizzled upon your tongue, begging for freedom as you sat straighter, your gaze tearing itself away from the book. “I do not intend to speak out of-turn, my Queen, but I would consider you something of a friend — you have not subjected me to anything.”
True, pious friendships seemed difficult to obtain for her, most having passed, others now turncoats in the wake of the Greens’ reign. A flicker of appreciation settled within her eyes, fingertips brushing across a bound scroll.
Rhaenyra had confided plenty in you, professed doubts and insecurities, spilled her heart and let it bleed onto her sleeve; there was nothing truer than that. “You have my gratitude — truly.” Her voice was gentle yet regal, a lull that often enticed you.
“You needn’t thank me, your Grace. I know that you have been pressed beneath an oppressive weight, a burden that I do not fully understand. Your strength does not go unnoticed.” Sympathy clung to each syllable, a sentiment that she clung to, heart stirring within her breast.
A brief hum escaped her, one that bordered upon sardonic as she toyed with a piece of parchment. “I do not often feel as strong as I should,” Her confession was wrought with dismay. “I know that many would view my inaction as a weakness.”
Daemon had urged her to act — to kill, to burn, to obliterate — Rhaenyra had not found it within herself to conform to such intentions. She had little desire to rule over a kingdom of ash, let alone bloodletting when so much had been spilled already.
Some sliver of her desired that — bloodlust, revenge, the heads of usurpers upon spikes.
It would always be part of her, something she had learned to acknowledge. Meeting your gaze, her jaw tensed somewhat, considering her next words before you cut through the tenuous silence.
“Strength is not always found in our actions — sometimes it is the things we do not follow through on, our temperance,” A brief pause; your hands folded together atop your book. “A sound leader considers the counsel of those around her, and herself — and you have done just that.”
Rhaenyra considered you in silent observation, mauve hues flickering over you with a thinly-veiled admiration. “If only so many thought as you did,” Her smile was forlorn, heavy with doubt. “I often wonder if the throne truly is my birthright.”
“I did not know your father, your Grace, but from what I’ve been told, he never faltered from naming you heir — it is your birthright,” Nails began to dig into the book’s fragile spine. “Despite what opposition lingers, you are the Queen this realm deserves.”
It was a satisfying feeling, to be believed in, to be beloved — Rhaenyra seldom felt such sensations in recent weeks, often undermined at each turn. She seemed to subtly preen beneath the genuine weight of your words, warmth fluttering throughout her sternum.
“You have my thanks.” With a solemn lament, the Queen’s incendiary gaze remained transfixed upon you, features blanketed by a warm smile. She found you to be comely, a young maiden who desired purpose in the world.
“Of course, my Queen,” Words stilled upon your tongue, a bout of hesitancy gripping you before you continued. “To have a woman sit the Throne would mean more than you could ever imagine to so many, including myself.”
Men had always sat upon the Iron Throne, but Rhaenyra’s opportunity to strike down a longstanding tradition was at-hand. She had often detested the roles laid before her in her youth — betrothals, marriages, stripped of independence.
She could seldom imagine what women endured, especially those less fortunate than herself. Your circumstances were something similar — serving at her side had spared you from a potential betrothal, something that you had little desire for.
Rhaenyra considered your words — what importance they held, the implications. Should the war be won and her crown reclaimed, she wondered how much it would mean to the smallfolk, to denizens like yourself.
“I should hope that I am worthy enough for it,” It was the wisp of insecurities breathing life into her words, and she shook her head. “I apologize — I do not wish for this conversation to be so dour.” She uttered, stress residing within her visage.
Perplexed, your head cocked to one side, as if she had said something blasphemous. “There is no one worthier, my Queen,” Lips fleetingly curled into an amiable, reassuring smile. “You needn’t apologize for it, either. I know that these last few weeks have not been kind to you.”
A sharp pang of aching melancholy festered within her heart, a raw reminder of loss, of love’s rage. Rhaenyra seemed to grow distant for a moment, as if attempting to compose herself for the sake of your conversation.
Growing quiet, you wondered if you had sorely overstepped her boundaries with such words, able to feel the forlornly frustration wafting from her. In truth, you also felt more alone than ever — your father was away, family scattered to the winds.
The Queen was the only source of companionship you had, and despite being bound by duty, you thoroughly enjoyed her presence. Time had withered the tenuous air between you both, weathering away your initial intimidation until the both of you spoke freely.
Rising from her seat, Rhaenyra’s measured steps rounded the table, coming to lean against the edge as she peered at her hands. “I feel as if I haven’t had a moment’s peace to properly grieve, as if duty demands I must press on.”
She mourned who her daughter could’ve been — something fierce, someone kind, and she mourned who Lucerys was, gentle and just. Their weight within her heart felt heavy, a raw reminder of their passing.
“When my sister died, kind words seemed fleeting — everyone seemed too preoccupied with replacing her, with what came next, instead of acknowledging the void that she left,” As you spoke with such sympathy, Rhaenyra’s eyes softened. “I felt much the same, left without a moment to mourn what I lost.”
As you moved from your seat, your gaze seemed drawn to the midday sun pooling in from the windows, catching flecks of dust through the glittering rays. The book felt incredibly weighty within your hands, no longer holding the significance that it had moments prior.
“I am sorry for your sister,” She uttered, pale brows furrowing together. Dismissive of it, the Queen cleared her throat. “I am no stranger to loss,” Rhaenyra lamented, her smile a saddened one, lilac hues following you with an unusual intensity. “It does not make things any easier, I’m afraid.”
With a brief shake of your head, your head canted toward the ground, averting her stare. “It does not — I hope that peace finds you, my Queen. You’ve endured much, and yet, you remain resilient.”
Rhaenyra felt soothed by your words, a kindness that seemed lacking within her counsel as of-late. There was a semblance of ease, at your side. “I must thank you, for speaking to me — it does some good to converse in this way.”
A bubble of laughter slipped past your lips, a fleeting sound that seemed heavy with a sense of contentment. “You needn’t continue to thank me, your Grace. I value this just as much as you do — you are the only voice I’ve heard in these last few days.”
A rare smile graced the Queen’s features, hauntingly beautiful, ethereal like the rest of her. It waned as soon as it had appeared, but you clung to it nonetheless. “I’ve grown rather used to yours.” She remarked, tone bordering upon precociousness.
Tendrils of fire began to seep into your belly, skin crawling with an unnatural warmth. It was sinful to allow yourself to be smitten by the Queen, a woman married, a mother, but it became difficult to ignore the stirring within your chest.
“I should hope it hasn’t become grating for you, your Grace.” With a feeble attempt at deflecting her subtle compliment, your fingers twisted together, interwoven atop the book’s spine. Whatever sentiments surged within you, any attempt to suppress them were futile.
Rhaenyra hummed, head cocking slightly to one side. “Quite the opposite — it eases my heart.” A haze of tension permeated the space between you both, one that seemed to linger.
Swallowing the growing lump that formed within your throat, you appeared flattered, lashes fluttering and your countenance demure. “Thank you, your Grace,” A pause gripped you, and with carelessness, you continued. “I look forward to your company each day, in truth.”
Despite the innocuous nature of your statement, there was something deeper laced within — a yearning, a gnawing ache. Whatever you felt for your Queen, it was steadily transcending all bonds of propriety, a scourge upon her honor, and yours.
In the spirit of transparency, Rhaenyra felt something lurch within her, a desperation; vanquishing loneliness. Growing close to you was not a mere accident, and she felt lecherous in her own desires, not wanting to soil this nurtured companionship.
It was your candor and tenderness that beguiled her so, a gentler hand — kinder than Daemon, softer than Harwin, and lacking Alicent’s callous betrayal.
A brief hitch formed within her throat, subtle in the face of her usual poise, pale brow furrowing in contemplation. Whatever she felt for you, it began to simmer to the surface, like the violent swell of a tempestuous tide, dragging her beneath the squall.
With a steady exhale, Rhaenyra had stepped closer, well within arm’s reach of you. “As I long for yours,” She uttered. “You’ve been a spot of light in such times of darkness.” Exuding restraint, she looked to you, countenance swirling with an amalgamation of emotions, some indiscernible to you.
Longing seemed too powerful a word, something that evoked a twinge of bewilderment from you. The lull of her cadence subdued you, a rush of heat licking from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine.
The weight of repressed sin hung heavy within your heart, akin to that of an anvil. Such sentiments had plagued you for as long as you could recall, thoughts stretched thin with fantasies that the Faith of the Seven often outlawed.
Yet, when you caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra, none of it felt sinful — it was as if you were burning, basked within a pleasant heat. Her beauty was divine, a goddess swathed in dragon’s scales, violet hues seemingly boring into you, attempting to pick you apart at the seams.
“It is difficult not to feel such isolation,” The confession that spilled from your lips mirrored her own inner turmoil. “Aside from yourself, Elinda, and the Kingsguard, I’ve often felt like a stranger, a ghost shambling about within these halls.”
If you were brazen and emboldened, you might’ve continued, lavishing your Queen with sweet words. You nearly imparted upon her that she had made you feel such invigoration, no longer a spectre — and it all felt so untoward.
“You aren’t alone,” Rhaenyra exhaled, allowing a sliver of tension to unfurl from her shoulders. The silence that had passed between you was nearly exhilarating. “I’ve felt it too, after Daemon departed — more than ever before, in truth.”
Daemon was an enigma — an arrogant enigma, one that had brought both love and suffering into Rhaenyra’s life. His abandonment and ambition were sore subjects as of-late, and she thought of him as a concerned wife would; nothing more.
“You have my sympathies, your Grace,” It seemed to be some pull you had towards one another, strings of fate tethering you to her. Rhaenyra had sluggishly circled about, coming to halt by your side. “Trust that you shall always have my shoulder to lean upon, no matter the storm.”
Whatever action proceeded your words seemed wholly involuntary, as if you were acting upon the stirring within your heart. Brazenly, you had reached for her, unable to stop yourself as your hand slipped against her forearm.
Your comfort and reassurance had ensnared her long before your digits graced her arm, a fire rousing within her. Her heart stuttered, gooseflesh permeating the back of her neck at the briefest sensation, and she did not recoil.
A noticeable shift began to stir, tension simmering to life like that of an open flame, permeating the air around you. Rhaenyra gazed at you longingly, wordlessly reaching for your waist, slender digits curling into the fabric there.
Bewilderment entangled with exhilaration scrawled across your countenance, breath hitching within your throat as she stepped closer. The silence was deafening, wrought with the onslaught of something foreign, something thrilling.
Slowly, your hand began to crawl from her forearm to her shoulder, the neckline of her gown encrusted with jewels and draconic patterns. Rhaenyra did not stop you from continuing, shivering as the silky pads of your fingertips ghosted along the column of her throat.
“My Queen, I …” A sudden fear gripped you then, as if this had carried on to the point of no return. This was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and you were merely a handmaiden. All bonds of impropriety shattered, besmirching her honor; you would be executed.
Before your weak declaration of protest could be vocalized, she drew you closer still, any sliver of space fading between bodies. Words turned to ash, floating away into the dust-laden library as her lips pressed against yours.
The kiss was brief, dancing upon the thin line of restraint as Rhaenyra drew back, lilac hues half-lidded. She dared not press you further, caressing against the small of your back as you attempted to regain your composure.
It was you she waited for, gauging to see if you wished to continue. Instead of executing caution, you broke upon the blade of temptation, mouth returning to hers after a moment of hesitation. Your kiss lacked experience, sheepishly mimicking her movements.
A sharp exhale ripped through her lungs, pale brows creasing in concentration as she reciprocated your kiss, blinding you with a flurry of passion. She held you close, caging you in against her, able to smell the faint perfume that dabbled your collarbone.
A soft, trembling gasp escaped you as her palm moved to cup the nape of your neck, thumb stroking beneath your ear. Each kiss was akin to a blaze of wildfire, tearing through you with all of its heat and ardent intensity, enough to scorch your flesh.
Clamoring fingers moved to drape themselves over her shoulders, interlocking against the top of her spine, able to graze across her bare skin. Rhaenyra did not relent, grasping you fiercely, as if asserting her claim as she tilted her head, deepening your fervent entanglement.
Some dizzying haze washed over you then, bitten by desire, by devotion. Lips untethered themselves from hers as you pressed a string of kisses against the sharp line of her jaw, and then to her throat. A hum of approval left the Queen, the bridge of her nose buried into your crown.
Reverence seeped into each and every ministration, as if you were worshiping her — and she deserved nothing less. Strings of passionate kisses feathered themselves across her neck, evoking a myriad of pleasurable sounds from Rhaenyra.
Arousal began to mount between your thighs, warm and heady as friction crackled, your back digging into the ornate desk. Despite your glaring inexperience, it became easier to chase after baser instincts, belly sloshing with molten heat.
As you littered her flesh in constant kisses, you felt her palm cup the base of your skull, digits sinking into your tresses. It was her other hand that had tantalizingly danced along your spine before groping your hip, nails catching upon fabric.
Wordlessly, she guided your lips back to hers, thumb caressing your jaw as mouths collided once more. A simpering moan ripped through your diaphragm, lost within the divine labyrinth of her lips.
Deep-seated repression had festered to the surface, unorthodox desires that had brought you ruin and scorn, now laid bare before your charge. It felt wrong to indulge yourself in this way, but in-turn, you had felt so liberated.
Passion blossomed like an untamable thicket, consuming the both of you; hunger followed suit, a tempting shadow. You had not experienced a kiss like this — Rhaenyra was practiced yet unbound, showing little restraint in the face of your own hesitation.
It was then that you felt the feather-light pressure of her thigh split between your legs, briefly grazing your nethers. A sudden shiver gripped you, and you nearly stumbled in your actions, lips clamoring for hers, longing to be near her.
The thunderous groan of wooden doors intercepted the both of you, as you immediately tore away from your Queen as if you’d been scorched. Writhing from between her body and the table, you relocated towards the numerous shelves, heart beating like that of bird’s wings.
“Your Grace, there has been word from The Twins — your son has delivered a missive.” Ser Darklyn announced, standing at the top of the steps, gazing down upon Rhaenyra. Her composure hung by a mere thread as she nodded, hands clenched within her skirts.
“Thank you, Ser Steffon. I shall join you momentarily.” Rhaenyra echoed, features warmed by a shade of scarlet. Mauve hues searched for you, cowering beside a shelf before you swiftly curtsied before her.
Desiring to make a swift exit as to deal with the aftermath of your own dishonorable actions, you swallowed the lump within your throat. “Your Grace, I shall be taking my leave.” Scuttling about, Rhaenyra did not have an opportunity to get in a single word before you’d disappeared from the archives altogether.
Surely, you had misinterpreted things.
As a star-laden penumbra lingered over Dragonstone, you had excused yourself for the evening, allowing another handmaiden to assume your duties. Guilt and shame had ripped through you for the rest of midday, a torrent of sin that threatened to obliterate you.
Strewn across your bed within the underbelly of the servant’s quarters, you were faced with the raw realization of desire.
Throwing yourself at the feet of a woman whose birthright transcended you was unbecoming, untoward; a manifestation of years of seeking purpose, seeking yourself. It was wrong of you to drag the Queen into your own repressed fantasies, ones that you thought you’d buried.
Through the coolness of dusk, you hoped to find some peace in the blanket of slumber, but even that seemed to evade you. It was not yet the hour of the bat, and you felt your body cringe at the sound of the door opening.
“The Queen has asked for you.” Sera crooned, politely shutting the door behind her. Dread seeped into your stomach, and you feared that you had overstepped all boundaries, tarnished honor beyond all recognition.
With limbs like anchors, you slowly clamored from your cot, dressing yourself in your burgundy trappings. Between midday and now, you had freshened up, binding the gown around you as you prepared to make the arduous journey to your Queen’s chambers.
The trek was perilous, as if all time had stood still, and you were left to slog through the growing storm. It was trepidation that gripped you, a gnawing worry that this was all some grave misunderstanding — you prayed that you wouldn’t lose your head.
As you stood before iron-wrought doors, bedecked in the roaring heads of dragons, you noticed the lack of lingering Kingsguard. They were posted elsewhere, further down the corridor, much to your bewilderment.
With a shrewd knock, you heard the command of your Queen from within, beckoning you to enter. Slipping past the set of massive doors, you turned to close them, posture unnaturally rigid as you awkwardly shuffled further into her chambers.
Rhaenyra sat before the hearth, pale tresses unbound from their intricate braids, spilling over slender shoulders. An evening gown of silver clung to her, rich silks from Pentos, shrouded by a robe of a dark cerulean, embroidered with a draconian motif; you had never seen anyone more beautiful.
She ripped the air from your lungs as if she had stolen it herself, poised within a high-backed seat, violet hues drifting away from the flames. The Queen turned enough to catch a glimpse of you, doe-eyed and clearly feeling the weight of nervousness.
“Your Grace, I … I have come to beg for your forgiveness,” You felt as if you were going to wretch, fingers twisting together as you watched her stand, arms loosely folded across her chest. “What occurred today was unbecoming of my station and a stain upon your honor.”
Rhaenyra regarded you with a gentle intensity, eyes swirling with a thinly-veiled adoration. You hadn’t done anything wrong — nothing that she didn’t want, hadn’t dreamt of. Neither she nor you had done anything like this, outside of mere fantasy and years of repression.
She stepped closer, hoping to dissolve your bout of anxiousness. “It is I who should be begging for forgiveness, sweet girl,” She uttered, cadence whimsically smooth, a brilliant lull. “I should have inquired if you wanted to indulge before acting upon my own desires.”
Shock rippled through you, heart hammering like the tides breaking upon rock, and you swallowed once more. “Indulge? My Queen, I — I shouldn’t, I am your servant,” Gods help you — you desired her in a way that shook the foundations of the earth. “Your husband, he …”
“Daemon is not here,” Rhaenyra moved closer, pale brows furrowing as she reached for you, palm cupping your jaw. “You are an equal to me — I would wish for you to stay with me, though I would honor your wishes, whatever you choose.”
The swell of fondness that glistened within her eyes was purely genuine, not born out of desperation or loneliness. She wanted you; craved your beating heart, longing for you like sun-warmed earth.
“It feels sinful to want to stay,” With a wisp of a murmur, you shuddered as silken fingertips brushed over your flesh. It was gentle, loving — something that you felt wholly undeserving of. “And yet I do not wish to leave your side.”
Faith had kept you shackled to misery for so long, and now, Rhaenyra saw you as you were and accepted you for it, loved you for it. She could see the war that waged within you, written so clearly upon your countenance.
It was the same anguish she once saw in Laenor, and she did not wish to see it blossom within you, either. Rhaenyra once felt as you did, with Alicent — such sentiments for her old friend had waned, but the core desire had remained intact.
Disarmingly tender, the Valyrian Queen began to guide you deeper into the comforting recesses of her quarters, a room that you were intimately familiar with. Beside the hearth, you steadily began to relax — just a sliver.
“You are not a sin, sweet girl — none of this is sinful.” Rhaenyra murmured, thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, soothing your inner turmoil. That affectionate moniker of hers had tugged at your heartstrings, uprooted you and everything you thought you knew.
Relief washed over you then, and you turned, lips pressing against her palm. Silence hung heavy, taut with a burning tension as she drew you closer as she had in the archives, lips sealing themselves against yours.
Whatever restraint you had exuded prior had begun to dissipate, splintering at the seams as you clung to her like that of a drowning woman. Your hands clumsily found their purchase atop her shoulders, able to feel her digits sink against your hips, one palm splayed across your lower back.
A moonlit gloom pooled in from stained-glass windows, procuring a glittering array of light across stone floors. Firelight danced from within the hearth, its tendrils illuminating you, blanketing her in a peculiar glow, like that of a dragon.
Two hearts grasped at one another, clawing for a shred of reprieve, of affection — you were endlessly greedy, starved of adoration.
Rhaenyra savored your taste, saccharine and one of sheer piety, a rarity in the realm’s current state. A twinge of nervousness permeated your every move, as if you were afraid to allow desire to unfurl, something that she sympathized with.
Vigor seeped into her kiss, growing in intensity as she caged you in against her, head canting enough to deepen your entanglement. A breathy exhale emerged from betwixt your lips, pitched with a desirous thrill that swallowed you whole.
Withdrawing yourself, the flush of ecstasy clung to your flesh, the first whisper of an ardent heat. Violet hues regarded you with a fondness, oozing sensuality and protection. Her palm idly circled over your spine, allowing you to take your time with it all.
“You are more beautiful than the heavens themselves — the envy of a thousand stars,” As the soft-spoken compliment slipped from your lips, Rhaenyra hummed, mouth twitching into an amicable smile. “My Queen.”
“You discredit yourself, surely,” The Targaryen pressed her lips to your brow, and then to your jaw, reveling in the quiver of your sigh. “I find you captivating, sweetling.” Warmth tore at your bones, elation rippling through you as you preened beneath her alluring words.
Gods, to be cherished, to be wanted; it transcended duty, that of infatuation. Ardor scorched your flesh, a searing fire of your Queen’s adoration, a flame that you happily burned within.
Beneath your breast, the thrumming of your heart rattled against your sternum, causing you to shiver with a thinly-veiled euphoria. Practiced digits began to map your delicate features, still alight with the vibrancy of youth, thumb stroking across your lower lip.
An amalgamation of desire and zeal glistened within lilac hues, mirroring your own countenance, doe-eyed and brimming with devotion. Gathering what threadbare confidence you had, your lips found hers once more, a bruising kiss that overflowed with passion.
Rhaenyra was no stranger to pleasure, well-adept at knowing the body of another, including her own. She handled you with utmost care, allowing you to act on your own accord, without her influence. It made her burn for you all the more.
It was then that your courage spurred onward, palm drifting from the nape of her neck toward her bosom, sheepishly cupping her clothed breast. A low hum of satisfaction slipped from her lips, approval scrawled upon ethereal features.
Guiding you toward the velvet-cushioned seat, it was Rhaenyra who lowered herself to sit, noticing the sheepish expression you bore. “Do I frighten you, sweet girl?” The Queen’s tone held a playful lilt to it, head canting to one side.
Intimidated, not afraid, you thought, stomach churning with a volatile heat. “Not at all, your Grace. I — I suppose it seems cruel of me to not focus upon your own pleasure.” With your meek confession now spilled, Rhaenyra’s lips began to curl into an assuring smile.
“Rhaenyra,” She corrected; perhaps abandoning formalities would ease the tenuous barrier still lingering between you. “Pleasure is a shared sentiment, I assure you.” Beckoning you forward, she extended her hand to you, inviting you to sit within her lap.
A heavy exhale lingered within your ribs, and you stepped forward, sinking into her lap without question. You felt smitten beneath her smoldering stare, one that brazenly admired you, absorbing every facet of your beauty.
Foreheads grazed against the other, warmth drifting between bodies as you stole another kiss from her, one that nearly dazed her. Rhaenyra kneaded into your curves, feeling your silken fingertips gently push against the front of her robe.
With renewed confidence, you palmed at her breast, able to feel the swell of soft flesh through her nightgown. A stifled sigh escaped the Queen, whose desire had grown tenfold, raging like a tempest within her.
Prying your lips away, you kissed beneath her jaw, allowing yourself to follow after instinct, planting a string of heated kisses along her neck. With your other hand, your digits twisted into the fabric beside her knee, pulling it up along her legs.
Rhaenyra shivered with a pang of ecstasy, adjusting you enough upon her lap, allowing the silken material to bunch around her thighs. With incessant tugs of your own stiff garments, she wished to see you with less obstructions.
“Relieve yourself of this,” The sultry lilt of her tone made you gasp, insides filling with a searing liquid, beginning to ooze between your thighs. “I wish to see you.” Little more than a soft purr, you were swift to obey her command.
Untethering the thick, crimson robe, you allowed the garment to flutter to the stone, leaving you in a threadbare shift, one that left little to the imagination. You nearly buckled beneath her hawkish gaze, one that openly bled with ardor and a twinge of possessiveness.
Admiration glittered upon her visage, the very image of beauty, a goddess incarnate. A shiver gripped you as she traced your spine with her fingertips, palm coming to knead against your haunch. Reverence oozed from her embrace, making you feel at-ease.
As your palm cupped her breast, threatening to delve beneath the gossamer of her nightgown, the other remained poised atop her knee. With a fistful of fabric, you allowed your fingertips to dance against the bare flesh of her thigh.
Rhaenyra looked to you, silently beseeching you to continue, allowing you to explore as you pleased. Her lips sought the delicate plane of your throat, pressing a series of kisses beneath your jaw to start, fingers sinking into your derrière.
A sharp exhale punctured your lungs, wrought with exhilaration as your hand continued its path, caressing along her thigh, seeking the warmth between her legs. Sheepish still, your touch was disarmingly gentle, as kind as springtime, yet succeeded in making your Queen shiver.
This sweetness you possessed was something Rhaenyra reveled in, your tenderness a welcome respite. A low moan quaked from her lips as your digits nimbly danced over her nethers, features warming with a twinge of excitement.
As the defined bridge of her nose grazed over your jugular, you began to touch her with more urgency this time. Delicate fingers began to slip against her cunt, ministrations somewhat unsteady as you attempted to find your rhythm.
Kneading against your derrière, Rhaenyra huffed, the sound a pleasurable one as she continued to kiss your neck. Softness had grown into the flame of desire, ardor simmering in the space between your bodies, enough to make you shiver.
“Rhaenyra,” A sigh of ecstasy tore past your kiss-swollen lips, and she preened at the sound of her name. It was heavenly, uttered with such reverence, such adoration. “Gods, you are enchanting.” You murmured.
A soft moan left you as she kissed the dip between your throat and shoulder, lips pursing enough to leave behind a token of her affection. It was etched into your flesh like a brand — and you wanted more.
It was then that her hand tangled against the collar of your shift, peeling the fabric aside, unveiling your breasts to her. The sight was a feast, a kindly beauty that the Targaryen had become rather infatuated with. Her lips were soon to follow, kissing a hot trail across your collar.
Hips urged against your hand as you stroked eager circles against her core, thumb finding its way to the sensitive bundle of nerves. A sharp, dizzying gasp inhabited her throat, a punctuated sound that nearly made you pause, if it weren’t for her soft moan.
Admittedly, she was starved for contact, having wished for a kinder embrace for some time. It was often your heavenly hand she’d dreamt of, the vibrancy of your smile, the reverence that often oozed from your tongue.
Mapping each curve of her body, each tick of pleasure, you only desired her more than you thought possible. Want only seemed to grow in her wake, her embrace leaving behind a trail of fire, smiting you to little more than wanton ash.
Kissing towards your bosom, Rhaenyra gingerly cupped your breast, able to feel your body keen into her caress. A practiced thumb flicked across your nipple, mouth continuing to blaze over your flesh, kiss after kiss until she neared your chest.
“You drive me to madness.” Rhaenyra’s utterance emerged as a breathy sigh, whispered into your flesh like some prayer. Butterflies erupted within your stomach, accompanied by a churning of molten heat. A hitch formed within your throat, features warming.
Slotting yourself atop one of her thighs, it allowed you some advantage, digits continuing to glide along her cunt. A myriad of low, sonorous moans left her, smothered against your sternum as she turned, taking one of your breasts into her mouth.
A startled whine rippled through you, torn asunder by bliss on all sides, pleasure becoming a mutual experience. Adroit lips began to pepper your breast with soft kisses, pursing around the pliant mound as she drew forth a cry of delight from your mouth.
Despite the satisfying distraction, your ministrations refused to cease, digits gaining both fervor and confidence. You continued to let your fingers rock against her nethers, thumb toying with the pearl of her cunt, enough to make her writhe.
Wanton sighs and breathy moans inhabit the space between your bodies, charged with a zealous desire. As if possessed by invisible strings, your hips lurched forward, gently rocking yourself atop her thigh. Friction simmered in the wake of your movements, arousal seeping between your legs.
Yearning lips trailed from your breast to the valley between, kissing along your flesh until she found your throat once more. Rhaenyra exhaled desire, unable to withhold the blissful noises that tore past her mouth.
“Do not stop,” With a poignant command, spoken through a soft exhale, you heeded the words of your Queen. Allowing your digits to dip lower, two fingers gently prodded against her core, the pad of your thumb caressing her pearl. “There.”
Her voice had often beguiled you so, whimsical and ethereal, as if it were from a distant dream. Now, it was strung-out with desire, a touch husky, as smooth as that of a crystalline dusk. She pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, her own wrought with tension as her hips urged forward.
Foreheads brushed against one another as you rocked yourself atop her thigh, the friction sending shockwaves through your belly. It grazed against your nethers, forcing a soft sigh from your lips, fingers teasing her cunt.
It was then that you dipped forward, evoking a groan from Rhaenyra, whose mouth shifted to claim yours in a dizzying kiss. A fervent flame crackled between, like that of a wildfire, seeking to consume everything in its path.
She tasted of fire, a sting of citrus and a hint of some honeyed swill, her tongue gently seeking entry into your maw. Without protest, you allowed her in, kiss after kiss being lost between you both, her palm shifting to seize the nape of your neck.
“Your Grace,” A pleading moan thrummed from your throat, tapering off into some hapless whine as she groped at your backside once more. The title had made her head spin, filled with some arduous haze as she careened into your touch. “Please.”
It was a ceaseless clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, a ballad of a blossoming adoration. Beneath your breast, your heart galloped with excitement, fingers easing in and out of her cunt, desperate to please her.
A subtle ‘fuck’ escaped Rhaenyra, muttered from beneath her cacophony of moans, and you barely caught it. Gooseflesh born of exhilaration raked down your spine like that of a tidal wave, and you shuddered within her firm grasp.
“Gods.” Rhaenyra groaned, feeling herself clench around your slender digits, grip hard enough to leave bruises against your haunch. Your thumb continued to toy with her pearl in languid circles, again and again.
For one seemingly so inept, you possessed a peculiar keenness, as if you were attuned to her physique already. She craved you as one craved for a gust of air, her ache marrow-deep, a heart’s call that echoed your name.
As she approached her climax, her teeth briefly grazed your lower lip, sealing yours in another blistering kiss. It ripped through you like talons, a bliss that nearly overwhelmed you. Ensuring that you reciprocated, you returned her kiss, lungs searing with a pleasant burning.
Bathed beneath the intermingled glow of both the moon and hearth, she appeared to you as some deity, a goddess of beauty. Never before had you seen someone as resplendent as she, the Queen, veins imbued with dragon’s fire.
A soft gasp took up residence within your lungs, emerging as a gentle tremble, one that seemed wrought with awe at the sight of her. Even through your state of wonder, your digits did not stop, obeying her command.
Violet hues were half-lidded in a state of bliss, momentarily shifting to seek your gaze, as warm as that of midsummer. Her lips parted then, body writhing beneath you as her pinnacle wracked her with such force.
As she came undone upon your hand, you nearly melted at the sight, features warming in the wake of her release. Honeyed arousal wept from her core, coating your digits in her nectar as you pleasured her even still, allowing yourself to slow down.
Tendrils of perspiration glistened upon her brow, likely due in-part to the close proximity of the waning firelight. Rhaenyra exhaled, face nudging against your own as she captured your lips in a bruising kiss, disarmingly tender.
Passion lingered still, momentarily subdued as she composed herself, feeling her thighs twitch, body caught within the afterglow. “You are rather mesmerizing,” Her regal cadence filled your belly with a familiar fire. “Sweet girl.”
“I didn’t cause you harm, did I?” For your own sanity, you hoped that she was well-satisfied and comfortable. The hint of a smile crossed her features, mauve hues raking over you, not quite finished with you yet.
“Quite the opposite,” Soothing your brow, the Queen placed a lingering kiss to your jaw, palm smoothing along your spine. “Though, I am not yet satisfied.” With a desirous lilt, her sultry purr made you clench your thighs together.
Fearing you weren’t good enough, you nearly blubbered some pitiful apology until she eased you off of her lap, gently guiding you toward her bed. A twinge of bewilderment rippled through you; you did not expect to share her bed with her this evening.
Neglecting to inquire further, Rhaenyra coaxed you to sit along the edge of her feathered bed, watching as you lowered yourself without question. She stood over you, soft palm cupping your chin as her thumb sweetly traced over your lower lip.
As if acting upon instinct, you kissed the pad of her thumb, careening into her tender embrace. She bent down, pressing her mouth to yours once more, allowing you to linger within your passionate entanglement.
“You are exquisite.” Your reverence was thinly-veiled, seeped in adoration as you sighed into her mouth. Rhaenyra cherished every word that escaped you, forehead momentarily pressing to yours before she withdrew.
“As are you,” It was then that the Queen knelt before you, an act that took you by complete surprise. Before you could attempt to refute this position, she began to inch your skirts along your thighs, fabric pooling around your hips. “May I?”
The Queen asking for this — it did not feel proper, but you were not one to interfere with her indulgences. “Y—Yes,” With a bumbling stammer, you swallowed the lump of excitement within your throat. “Rhaenyra …”
Wordlessly, her answer was emblazoned as a kiss, sealed against your inner thigh. Fire blossomed from mere contact, and you couldn’t help but gaze down at her with complete and utter ardor. This love you had for her transcended that of duty, one considered forbidden.
Rhaenyra had fantasized about this more often than she cared to admit, knowing fully well that you hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing it. There was a power she felt even when kneeling between your thighs, pressing a trail of kisses towards your aching nethers.
Her tongue raked embers over your cunt, sluggish and exploratory as she gathered her bearings. She had not done something like this before, other than what had been done to her. Rhaenyra watched you squirm, hands desperately fisting at the sheets on either side of you.
The sharp bridge of her nose buried itself against your mound, brushing along your slick petals. It was as if you were an unfurling flower, and she, the bee; your taste was ambrosial, something that filled her mouth with such sweetness.
Keeping yourself from crying out, you moaned, mouth agape as your hips involuntarily urged forward. Her tongue greeted you with a slow lap, tracing along your core as she delved further, visage slotted between your thighs.
Dexterous hands danced across your flesh, over your legs as she anchored her grip there, violet hues occasionally flickering towards your countenance. Your expression had contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss.
It felt horribly wrong of you, sitting here while your Queen knelt, but you dared not interrupt her now. Each stroke of her tongue brought you to heel, legs rattling like wind-stirred leaves as wave after wave of pleasure flooded throughout your body.
Rhaenyra shared in your bliss, reveling in the way you’d reacted so viscerally to her lips, which only served to make her confidence swell. A low hum resonated from her throat, ministrations imbued with an endless passion.
Throaty whines erupted in a cacophony from your mouth, followed by constant sighs of ecstasy. Her hands continued to smooth over your thighs, keeping your legs parted as her tongue tantalizingly raked over your entrance.
As your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing at all, you felt as if you were drowning within an ocean of bliss, eyes nearly closed. It was a sensation unlike any other, her lips peppering a string of greedy kisses to your slit.
She let your legs find rest atop her shoulders, nightgown having loosened upon her frame. Her pale flesh was akin to a canvas — unblemished, pearlescent, nothing short of perfection.
Lilac hues beseech you to steal a glance, gazes locking together for only a moment. The mere sight of her feasting upon the wellspring between your thighs made you whimper, teeth snagging across your bottom lip. The incendiary nature of her ogling fills you with a feverish heat.
Adept with her tongue, Rhaenyra hums again; a low, contented sound that causes your fingers to claw at the sheets. Lapping at your core once more, her nose briefly grazes over your pearl, causing you to shiver around her, wrought with desperation.
“Rh—Rhaenyra,” A noisy moan tears past your lips when you feel her tongue circle over the pearl of your cunt, hips lurching forward. You feel strange, begging for her mouth, but she seems to derive plenty of satisfaction from it. “Gods, do not stop!”
Melting within her grasp, you had not known pleasure like this before, never thought it possible to collapse beneath her touch. Sin had washed away, swept out into the tides, leaving only your sentiments for her — devotion, love.
Each stroke of her tongue is akin to the searing of a wildfire, volatile and burning, with enough force to send you to your knees. Hunger revealed itself like some long-hidden shadow, unfurling in the wake of your own desire and that of your Queen’s.
It felt exhilarating, to be wanted in this way, to be cherished, worshiped. Impulse drove you as one hand skittered from the silken sheets, reaching for her hand, slender digits interlocking atop the meat of your thigh.
Holding you close, Rhaenyra continued to greedily seek your cunt without pause, ceaselessly lapping over your core. It was then that her mouth sluggishly relocated, mauve hues momentarily fixating upon your countenance as her lips gingerly pursed around your pearl.
A gasp ripped through your diaphragm, body suddenly wracked with an overwhelming wave of ecstasy. As she toyed with your clit, suckling upon the sensitive clutch of nerves, you were left reeling, other arm keeping yourself afloat.
Whatever had pushed you over the brink, you were uncertain, feeling your hips jolt forward once more. Rhaenyra continued to shower your nethers in lap after greedy lap of her tongue, intermingling with brief circles over your pearl.
Buckling beneath the weight of your mounting arousal, your body succumbed, as if a barrier had been obliterated within you. A surge of heat flooded your insides, pooling between your thighs as you quivered in the aftermath.
A white-hot rush of ecstasy swarmed you, voice tapering off into incoherent praises and wanton moans, filling her chambers with your delight. As nectar oozed from your weeping slit, she teased you further, tongue slowing to a crawl.
Your chest burned with exasperated sighs as you fought to regain your composure, beginning to settle from the onslaught of your release. Perspiration lingered along the column of your spine, body bitten by the sting of desire.
Rhaenyra withdrew, pressing a string of feather-light kisses along the inside of your thigh, her grasp upon your hand beginning to loosen. Her tongue absentmindedly wet her bottom lip, rising from between your legs in order to capture your mouth with hers.
The kiss made you deliriously warm, dizzy as you clung to her as if you were drowning, able to taste yourself upon her tongue. “You are exemplary.” Her regal lull was akin to music, stroking every part of your mind as she slipped away.
High praise made you preen, happy that she seemed satisfied with you. It was a first — and it felt liberating to finally shed the shackles of your longstanding repression. You watched as she moved to drag a warm cloth over her face, ridding herself of sweat.
Exhaustion hit you then and there, and you stood enough to adjust your skirts, preparing to go and find your crimson robe.
“Stay awhile longer,” Rhaenyra’s cadence was disarmingly tender, inviting you to share her bed. The dusk was still young enough, the hour of the bat not yet upon you. “Unless you have business elsewhere.” She did not dare to interfere with your duties, no matter how much she wanted to.
Smitten, you sank back down onto her bed, growing flustered in the wake of such carnal acts. Admittedly, you half expected her to dismiss you once you were finished, but you were delighted to be proven wrong.
Warmth continued to coalesce between your thighs, a burning reminder that would likely linger for weeks to come. She noticed your sheepish behavior, crossing the threshold once more to join you on her bed, coaxing you into her embrace.
As she laid down, your cheek pressed flush to her collarbone, allowing an arm to drape around her, cradling her close. Rhaenyra welcomed your embrace, her hand finding yours, slender digits idly toying with your own.
“Your Grace, I … I hope that I satisfied you well enough,” Your nervous murmur ensnared her attention, lilac hues flickering over your worried visage. She cupped your cheek, pale brows furrowing together. “This is so very new.”
“I care little for satisfaction, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra corrected, turning just enough to prop her head up with one palm, sheets drawn around the both of you. The older woman looked upon you with a thinly-veiled affection, fondness only growing in the afterglow. “It is you I care for.”
A hitch formed within your throat, lashes fluttering as you held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “As I care for you, your Gr — Rhaenyra,” Catching yourself, your lips twitched into a warm smile. “You’ve made me feel as if I am worthy of love.”
Untangling your hands, she reached to cup your face, thumb dragging over your cheekbone and beneath your eye. “You are beyond worthy of such sentiments,” With a soft exhale, Rhaenyra moved closer, until space had all but dissipated. “You shall have mine.”
“As you have mine own.” You whispered, garnering the courage to kiss her first, mouths seamlessly melding together, as if made to mold to one another. She savored your lips, caressing the nape of your neck as she brought you into the heat of her chest.
Rhaenyra had loved, and loved again throughout her lifetime — Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong, Daemon, and now, you. She loved Daemon still, and yet she allowed her heart to simply grow, let it bend and expand until she had made enough room for you.
probably a beautifully documented psychological explicit relationship about a crazy and insane lunatic and their equally insane partner but their so in love that it’s cute
summary : in the sacred quiet of steve's house, evil russians and supernatural forces don't exist. instead there's soft whispers in the late night and soft murmurs accompanied by the loud laughter of the kids you've taken under your wing. and in the safe space of his room, there's a love so strong it makes your heart hurt.
wordcount : 2.6k
warnings : established relationship, set in 1987 but no mention of season 5, hard of hearing!steve, small appearance of the party + mention of byler, lumax and henderhop, steve is head over heels but so is the reader, mention of absent parents, reader has an axe and she knows how to use it, one suggestive joke
"This reminds me, I think we might have left a scratch on the Beamer today."
You grab another handful of popcorn, eyes glued to the small TV where Cameron just wrecked his father's Ferrari by kicking it out the window.
Steve's room is dark, only illuminated by the screen and the lamp pushed into the corner. It's a lamp the two of you picked out together when he'd asked you to move in with him. The lampshade bears a striking resemblance to a mushroom.
You'd done majority of the picking. Anything you want, I'll get it for us, he'd said.
It hadn't been a difficult readjustment, considering his drawers had already been filled to the brim with his and your clothes for some quite some time. For months, you'd been sleeping over at his house. It was better than going back to your own empty house every night, to your cold bed and electricity that keeps getting cut off. Better than waking up alone after nightmares of Russians and slimy demo-dogs that ate cats.
And come now, you'd never complain about getting to spend as much time as possible with your boyfriend. If it were up to you, you'd attach yourself to him to be together forever. To mold yourself into him, like a missing puzzle piece, just like he was yours.
Long ago, he'd admitted that his parents were never home. His house was as cold as yours, loneliness seeping through the walls.
The two of you had been laying on the hood of your car, gazing up at the glowing stars scattered across the sky. Between kisses, hugs and soft whispers, you had both laid your hearts bare — what you two had was deeper than just trust.
It was a profound faith in each other, a guaranteed assurance. You trust Steve the most. You'd never thought you could love someone this much, love and passion consuming your entire being. That same night, you'd proposed moving in together. He'd answered by kissing you senseless under the moon.
The hairbrush being pulled gently through your hair to untangle the few unruly knots stops abruptly, and so does Steve's heart.
His breath hitches and you rush to explain, almost stumbling over your words.
"Well, I'm not really sure if it was my doing or one of the kids, you know? All I know is after I picked them up and pulled in the driveway there was a silver line by the rear bumper. I'm so sorry Honey."
You pause, hesitating but ultimately turning your head to meet his concerned gaze, and laying your hand on his cheek. It's warm and soft, except for the small stubble he's left unshaved.
He softly pulls your hand off and interlocks his fingers with yours, stroking along the back of your hand; your eyes staring up at him worriedly.
"I think I would have noticed if I drove into something. Now I would never blame the kids, but…" You trail off, whispering conspiratorially as if the kids might suddenly appear out of thin air in the room.
He lets out a resigned but soft sigh, the lump in his throat easing. He leans forward to press soft kisses on your temple.
Steve loves you dearly, so much that it chokes him up sometimes. He supposes that is why he doesn't mention that merely a few days ago, you'd almost swerved off the road because you'd gotten distracted by your smudged eyeliner in the rear view mirror.
In the past few months you two have been driving together. Only because you insist on it, going so far as to race him to his Beamer or make up excuses to drive it yourself.
Although he doesn't want to admit it, his hearing has gotten poorer. Right now it's only his left ear, but he dreads to think of his right ear meeting it's demise as well.
You'd noticed, because how couldn't you? Sometimes, he raises the volume on the radio way too high. He mainly does it when the kids are in the backseat and being loud, using their noisy yells as an excuse. His eyes flicker to your lips more often than not, the effort to concentrate clear in his face.
The fear of him missing a siren, a honk or something important while driving worries you more than your not-so-perfect driving skills so you'd taken to being his passenger no matter where he went.
It goes unspoken between the two of you. There hasn't been an outright conversation about it, yet both of you know the reason you do it. You think it's easier this way, for now at least. You dread the day where his hearing gets worse and you'll have to drag him to see a doctor. When the day comes, you might have to ply him with enough Boppers to last a year.
It very well might have been one of the rascals vandalizing his car, but then again he knows how you drive, almost hitting curbs or nearly backing up into the garage door.
…Perhaps the two of you shouldn't be driving at all, he thinks. But he'll take his chances with you over the kids. The last thing he needs is a repeat of Max driving.
"Don't worry about. You could turn the car silver from all the scratches, so long as you're alright." He smiles, and your concerned expression falls away.
He stands, stretching his arms out and letting out a groan. You feel your face flush as his shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of skin of his stomach. His arms strain against tightness of his shirt and- you shake your head lightly, as if that will shake the thoughts out of your brain.
His eyes land back on your face and you stumble onto your feet before he can comment on the redness that is undoubtedly covering your cheeks.
It's unfair really, how everything he does is attractive.
"Let's go check on them. Do you think they're asleep yet?"
Steve shrugs, "They've worn themselves out today, Henderson most of all. I'm telling you, they're all knocked out for sure."
Your steps are quiet on the carpeted stairs, the plush rug wrapped around them as soft as velvet beneath your bare feet.
You come to an abrupt halt at the entrance to the living room.
The room is… a mess. There's no other word to describe it, nor one that would do it justice. The collection of DVDs that you and Steve have grown in a short time — thanks to his previous employee discount at Family Video — is in a horrific disarray, all of them thrown into a pile on the floor.
The kids are scattered around the room, sleeping deeply with obnoxious snores coming from the boys. You spot Max and Lucas in a tight embrace on the sofa. The blanket covers her the most, wound tightly around her shoulders. His arms are wrapped around her.
Your lips tug into a smile, reminded of yourself and Steve.
He walks closely behind you, his hand a heavy weight on your lower back, grounding you. You can feel the heat of his hand through your thin shirt. He rubs your back softly, shaking his head at the sight of the chaos.
It's a big contrast from earlier, when your own movie had been drowned out from the boisterous shouts coming from downstairs. Whether it was Max taunting Mike, Dustin and Lucas arguing or just their combined laughter, it had filled your heart with warmth.
Steve had kept threatening to go down there and kick them all out, but you knew he wouldn't act on it.
Now, everything is silent. The DVD Menu of the second Karate Kid film is frozen on the TV and glows brightly as only source of light, the curtains are drawn, the soft buzzing of the refrigerator a soothing white noise in the background.
Keeping your steps light, you tread forwards to adjust the blanket around Will. His arm is hanging off the recliner, hand stretched out towards Mike. Near him, but never near enough to touch.
A loud click distracts you, head snapping towards the sound.
"Look at this mess," Steve hisses, laying the DVD back in its case. He steps around the pile on the floor, going to throw a quilt over Dustin. Similar to Will, Dustin's hand is holding Jane's. The lovely girl is sleeping soundly, peacefully.
"I'm never inviting them back here. I'll make sure of it. I'll lock them into their houses if necessary."
"You already said that last time. Besides, I make a mess of your house too. You haven't kicked me out yet," you tease, reaching to turn off the TV and tiptoeing back towards the stairs.
He shakes his head, looking at you with a sweet glint in his eyes.
"That's different."
"Yeah? How come?"
Steve hurries over to you, not minding if the loud thumps of his steps might wake up the group who's far away in dreamland.
"This is your house too," he kisses your cheek, grabbing your face in his hands. "It's our home now. You could trash our kitchen and I would simply buy new cabinets. But please, don't trash our kitchen."
His words knock the breath out of you.
Our home. Our kitchen.
You repeat his words, pressing your forehead to his.
"Our home."
He closes his eyes, lips still pulled into a grin.
"Yes. Ours."
The DVD is now laying at the bottom of Steve's backpack. You'd brushed the popcorn crumbs off the sheets, pulled the record player out of the socket and thrown on a pair of socks.
They're too large. Steve won't mind. You've stolen his clothes countless of times.
"I don't think I liked this movie that much," you mumble, so quiet that you know he hasn't heard you.
Not even a minute later, he pulls close the door of the en-suite bathroom behind him. "Huh? Did you say something?"
You nod, closing the distance between the two of you. He pulls the door shut behind him, reaching out to wrap his arms around you.
You make sure his eyes are on your face before you repeat yourself softly.
"I said that I didn't like this movie that much. I'm sorry you had to pay to rent it. Next time it's on me."
"S'not a problem, it wasn't that much anyways. I do miss the discount from Family Video though."
"We should watch Dirty Dancing next time. I overheard a group of girls at Melvald's raving about it today."
The truth is, the only friends you have are the kids. You don't know if that's sweet or pathetic, probably the former, but you wouldn't trade the troublemakers for the world.
Even if they are the reason you'd discovered a grey strand of hair a few days ago. Steve had assured you it was just the lighting in the bathroom deceiving you and was ultimately forced to drag you away from the mirror.
You're not very close with Nancy, but you are close with Robin. You love her. You do. Which is why you know that she'd plug her fingers in her ears or grimace in disgust the moment you mention Dirty Dancing. She hates Patrick Swayze.
You distinctly recall she once called him "a human replica of a Ken doll", before stocking his films on the lowest shelves out of spite.
You also know Steve would watch everything, even reluctantly, as long as it's with you. You feel overcome with love when you think about that.
He raises an eyebrow, smirking softly and you can tell before he opens his mouth that he's about to say something inappropriate.
"The only person I want to see dancing dirty is you."
You snort, half-heartedly pushing him away by nudging his shoulders with little to no force.
"Was that truly your best attempt at flirting?"
He hums, pulling you towards him by your shoulders.
"No. This is," he whispers and slowly presses his lips to yours. He cups the back of your head with one hand, the other one coming to rest on the nape of your neck.
Even after dating him for years now, each kiss leaves you as breathless as the first one you'd ever shared. He leans into you, all exhaustion dissipating from your close proximity alone.
You pull back, letting out a small gasp for air, and reach to run a finger underneath his eye, leaning in again to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.
"Oh please. I doubt Patrick Swayze spends half on hour fixing his hair each morning. He probably rolls out of bed and his hair looks like he just got a fresh blowout."
Steve scoffs, but his hands are as gentle as ever as he tucks your hair behind your ears. He tilts his head down, looking into your eyes. His are brown, soft, and looking at you with so much love that your heart twinges.
"Rude. Maybe that's true, but Swayze could never romance you the way I do. He simply doesn't have my handsome charm. And my Hair is still better looking. You know what they say, effort is the key to allure and beauty."
"Honey, no one says that."
"I do."
You let out a long sigh, a smile playing on your lips to let him know you're teasing him.
"You're right. Your charm outshines his. And I bet Swayze wouldn't know how to use a nail-bat. Or how to kill a Demogorgon."
You throw a pointed glance towards the axe by the closet. His nail-bat is leaned against it, both of the weapons still dirty with dried blood and Demogorgon insides staining them. You wonder if you could blackmail Mike into cleaning your axe for you.
Steve doesn't speak, instead leading you to bed. He crawls in first, laying down on his left side and making himself comfortable before reaching for you.
Both of you have an assigned side of the bed. This way, he can hear you better without you having to repeat yourself.
Not that you mind. You'd repeat yourself for an eternity, just for him.
You click off the lamp, padding towards the bed in the darkness filling the room. You jump towards it, your arms spread wide.
Steve lets out a whine as you land on him, throwing the heavy comforter over you. He presses his nose into your hair. Like every night, your arms are wound tightly around each other, your legs tangled.
You grin, knowing he can't see it in the pitch black. Your socks are thin, his legs are hot. Steve is like your own personal furnace, letting you use his body heat greedily.
He flinches back at the feeling of your icy feet touching his. He hugs you impossibly tighter as you giggle.
"My own little snowman. Sleep Honey."
"Goodnight Steve. I love you."
You let your shoulders relax, your eyes falling closed.
You can hear his smile as he speaks.
"Goodnight. I love you more."
The big and empty house isn't as empty anymore. There's no longer dust in the living room due to a lingering absence. It's not cold anymore.
Love is in every corner now. There's shared dinners with banter and petty arguments, film nights with everyone packed into the living room, and most importantly, there's shared warmth.
Love is etched into his car, eternalised by a scratch. Love is downstairs, kids who have become family and who love each other.
Love is in his bed, sleeping soundly with messy hair, safe in his arms. She has a bright smile and complains about films, laughs at his horrendous jokes. She's there for him, with open arms and a warm embrace.
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