seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Palestinian Territories
seen from United States
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭
Pt. 1
Pairing: Maekar Targaryen x Reader AU: Modern | Single Dad | Grumpy x Sunshine | Neighbor AU Warnings: Language, mild chaos (children), Maekar being… Maekar Word Count: 560 A/N: Based off of a blurb I saw on tiktok! I cannot get the AKOTSK men out of my head... let me know what you guys think!
✦ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ✦
You notice it before you even open your eyes.
Engines.
Doors slamming.
Voices, too many voices.
Your brow furrows as you roll over, squinting toward the window, sunlight already too bright for this early in the morning.
“…what the hell…”
You drag yourself out of bed and shuffle over, pulling the curtain just enough to peek out.
And then
Oh.
Moving trucks.
Plural.
The house across the street, the one that’s been empty for months, quiet and dark and just slightly eerie at night, is suddenly alive.
Men hauling furniture.
Boxes stacked everywhere.
And
Children.
So many children.
You blink, counting instinctively.
One—no, two—three—
Six.
Six kids, ranging from a tiny thing clutching a stuffed animal to one who looks like he’s already halfway to adulthood, standing off to the side like he’s been through this too many times already.
“Jesus Christ,” you mumble.
And then you see him.
He stands a little apart from the chaos, like he refuses to be swallowed by it.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark coat despite the warming morning.
One hand shoved into his pocket, the other dragging through his hair in a slow, frustrated motion.
He says something to one of the movers low, sharp, and even from across the street you can tell it’s not particularly polite.
“…no, that goes in the fucking no, the other room. The other, are you deaf or just determined to piss me off?”
Yeah.
Definitely not polite.
You shouldn’t stare.
You do anyway.
There’s something about him, something heavy. Controlled. Like all of this
The kids.
The move.
The noise.
is sitting on his shoulders and he’s just… enduring it.
Not enjoying it.
Not complaining.
Just carrying it.
Your eyes flick back to the children.
The youngest, maybe four or five, has wandered dangerously close to the sidewalk, wide-eyed and curious.
Before you can even fully register it, the man moves.
Quick.
Efficient.
Two long strides and he’s there, hand closing around the back of the kid’s shirt and hauling him back without even looking down.
“Stay where I can see you,” he mutters, voice rough but not unkind.
The kid just nods, like he’s used to it.
Like all of them are.
Your chest tightens, just a little.
And then
The smallest one spots you.
A tiny hand lifts.
Waving.
Bright, excited, like this is all some grand adventure.
You freeze.
Then, automatically, you wave back.
And that’s when he looks up.
Right at you.
There’s no softness in it.
No smile.
Just a sharp, assessing glance
and then a short nod.
Brief.
Acknowledging.
Like he’s clocked you, filed you away, and decided you’re not an immediate problem.
But
He doesn’t look away right away.
Just a second too long.
Enough for something strange to settle low in your stomach.
Then he turns, already barking another order.
“Gods, if that gets scratched I’m taking it out of your pay—careful with it, I mean it”
You let the curtain fall back into place.
Heart beating a little faster than it should.
“…well,” you murmur to yourself.
“This should be interesting.”
✦ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ✦
The sky rehearsed fire without burning anything.
(Photo: d.)
The Weight of Tenderness
There is something devastating
about the way he holds her
like he’s trying not to ruin
something holy.
The room is dim enough
for honesty.
Wine dark as bruised roses
rests lazily in her hand,
untouched now, forgotten,
because his mouth against her shoulder
has already intoxicated her more
than anything in the glass ever could.
She leans back into him instinctively,
the way people lean toward warmth
after surviving a cold season too long.
And he—
God, he looks at her
like she is both sanctuary
and temptation.
Like loving her requires restraint
he no longer wants to have.
The fabric slips from her skin slowly,
not out of carelessness,
but trust.
The kind of trust built
in quiet kitchens,
shared silences,
hands reaching for each other in sleep,
the soft violence of choosing someone
over and over again.
Outside, the world continues.
Cars pass.
Wind presses against the windows.
Time keeps moving.
But inside this moment,
his hand at her waist,
his breath against the curve of her neck,
the way she melts when he pulls her closer
everything slows enough
to feel eternal.
And maybe that is what intimacy really is.
Not desire alone.
But being held
like someone finally found
the place they were supposed to return to.
If you linger on this space, you'll find that I LOVE the moon. 🌹
“Quiet Intensity” - Digital Oil Painting
I love how the colors turned out, with the iridescent contrast to that sunbeam highlight. He’s so pretty!
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