At first it was okay; it was cute. 

He loved seeing how quickly maternal you had gotten over your new family addition. He won't ever forget the look on your face when he stepped into the living room holding him, wrapped up in a blanket, and how you immediately dropped your book on the couch to move to his side when you heard the little meow. The way tears welled in your eyes as you whispered in shock, “Oh my god, Peter…” 

The rest of the night was filled with cuddles, soft nose kisses, and getting Butterscotch used to his new home, along with quiet squeals as the two of you got cuteness aggression at the sight of him hopping around the home and tripping over his own paws. The moment Butterscotch meowed and nipped at your finger, Peter knew you were completely head over heels in love with the little kitten. Their ‘son’ you were quick to call him. 

But now Peter was starting to feel an unfamiliar feeling stir in his stomach the more you gave Butterscotch your undivided attention. 

In the early mornings where he had to wake up early for work, he was greeted by butterscotch who was comfortably laying on your pillow, blinking slowly at him with a look on his cute face that Peter was starting to believe was ‘cocky’, rubbing it in his face that he gets to stay in bed all warm and cozy with you, with a sassy flick of his tail. 

In those late nights that happened more than he wished, where he would come home late to you already in bed asleep, he’d quietly get in bed to snuggle up close to you, missing your touch and warmth after a long, hard day. And then, of course, Butterscotch would go out of his way to get out of his comfy position next to you, slithering his way between the two of you, even having the guts to cutely nip at Peter’s jaw before he purred and fell asleep.  

Movie nights where he would lay his head in your lap, lazily focusing on the movie as your fingers gently played with the strands of his hair, weren’t the same. Now Butterscotch lies curled up in your lap, your fingers in his fur. So many head pats, scratches, and kisses he wasn’t receiving; he definitely wasn’t used to sharing your love and attention. 

Don’t get him started on how you refused to make out with him when Butterscotch was present, which was extremely unfair because the little kitten never seemed to leave your side. Only making his frustration worse, and it's not like he could blame the kitten; Peter didn't want to leave your side either. 

It all started when the two of you were making out on the couch, you straddling his lap and the action movie playing on the TV was long forgotten as your lips moved together in tandem. Butterscotch wasn't happy with the lack of attention he was receiving, so he kept on trying to nip at Peter’s hands that were on your thighs before trying to push between the two of you. 

Peter had groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes when he felt you pull away from the kiss, watching as you sat back on his thighs and picked up the misbehaving kitty. You had just smiled as Peter dramatically complained about Butterscotch’s lack of space, bringing the kitten up to your face and placing soft kisses on his nose, cooing about how he just wanted some love too. 

So he sat there, leaning back on the couch, watching in disbelief as Butterscotch purred happily at the kisses and attention he was receiving.  And worst of all, you were calling him baby—that’s his nickname! 

You could tell that something had been bothering your boyfriend; you just weren’t sure what it was. You’ve caught Peter a few times talking gently to Butterscotch with a cute pout on his face as he held him up to look into the kitten's eyes as if he was scolding him. You’ve also noticed the extra clinginess your boyfriend seemed to have; you weren’t complaining…you just didn't like that something was bothering him. 

It was only when your sister Leah came to visit for your weekly sisters' night that you had the epiphany about why he had been acting like that. Well, it was thanks to Leah—you just needed a little push. You were telling her about how Peter has been acting strange lately when she joked about him being jealous about not being the only man in your life. 

You immediately perked up and called her a genius, which made both of you grin, before the two of you came up with a plan…that was two nights ago.

“I’m home!” You heard Peter call out from the entrance of the front door, along with the shuffling sounds of him hanging up his jacket and taking off his boots. You smiled and continued to roll the cookie dough into perfect balls and place them on the tray, knowing that it would take a minute for him to come find you while he put away his gun and badge. It was one of those rare nights as of late when he got home before 8. 

Peter’s soft footsteps behind you come to a halt as he hugs you from behind, something he’s been needing and thinking about all day. He let out a happy sigh as he melted around you, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and then neck as he whispered with a smile, “It smells good in here.” 

“I made your favorite—and I got this new candle today when I was out with Kayla and Leah; it's snickerdoodle!” Peter grinned at your happily rambling as you continued to talk about the few other things you bought. He loved this moment, coming home and hearing you talk about your day—helping him forget all about the things that happened at work. 

He felt your body twist after you wiped your hands off, taking a step back and moving his hands to rest on your hips. You smiled up at him and rested your hands on his chest as you tilted your head up for a kiss. The kiss was soft but emotional, both of you showing each other how much you missed the other. You pulled away slightly to smile and lock eyes with him, whispering, “Hi.” 

He smiled and pecked your lips softly before whispering it back. He leaned in closer, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and then the column of your neck as he breathed in your addictive scent. He placed another soft kiss on your warm skin before he pulled away with a confused pout when he realized the lack of meows and nips at his ankles. “Where’s Butterscotch?” 

“Leah’s watching him.” You hummed softly with a smile as you moved your hands up to his shoulders, massaging his tense muscles from a long day. You had dropped off your little kitten at your mom’s and Leah’s with his bag and a bunch of snacks that Leah bargained for in exchange for watching the mischievous but cuddly kitten. 

“Am I missing something?" Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down at you, his confused pout still on his pretty lips. You nearly laughed softly as you recognized that familiar look in his eyes as he racked his brain, trying to remember if he had forgotten something. 

“Butterscotch is fine; everything is fine.” You smiled as you spoke slowly, with a reassuring nod as your hands slowly moved back down his chest and abdomen, feeling his body through the black sweater he wore. You quickly pecked his lips, so fast that it had Peter leaning in for more with a needy whine. You smirked and softly pushed him back as you continued, “Now go shower before dinner is done.” 

Peter winced dramatically, but a grin followed quickly after, at the sight of you playfully rolling your eyes at his dramatics before turning back around to finish the cookies. He quickly reached forward to pinch the plump of your ass before rushing off before you reached back to smack him with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes again and whispered fondly at the sound of him running up the stairs, “Dork.” 

The two of you ate dinner at the dinner table, sharing a couple of glasses of wine as you laughed and talked about all sorts of things. As the dinner went on, you could see your boyfriend’s posture change from the tense one he always came home from work with to his relaxed, happy one. You tried to get Peter to go pick a movie while you cleaned up, but he refused, wanting to clean up with you. The two of you would have finished up faster if it weren't for all the back hugs and soft kisses. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to find a movie and get comfortable on the couch. The plate of cookies on the coffee table was forgotten after a few, along with the wine glass. Peter had picked a romcom that the two of you had seen countless times, not really wanting to focus on the movie, but on you instead. He needed this, needed you. 

You were lying comfortably on your back, a throw pillow under your head that was tilted towards the TV as you watched the cheesy scene. Peter was lying on his side between your body and the couch, most of his body on top of yours, legs tangled together while his head rested on your chest. Your fingers were playing with the soft strands of his hair, his eyes nearly closed at the feeling. 

The scene turned from cheesy to sickly sweet. No matter how many times you watched it, the love confession always had your heart fluttering as you awed at the pure love and devotion they had for each other. You always wondered if you would feel a love like that, and then Peter came into your life; your question was answered. You would feel a stronger love. 

You look away from the TV and down at Peter, who went still on top of you, his eyes closed and small breaths leaving his parted lips. The only reason you knew he wasn’t sleeping was the feeling of his cold fingertips caressing your side underneath your shirt. A pleased hum left his lips at the feeling of one of your hands leaving his hair to cup the side of his face. 

Your thumb softly caressed his cheek, making his breath hitch as he leaned into your warm touch. If he could relax even more into your touch, he would have, but it was impossible; he was practically mush in your arms. You softly caressed his nose as you spoke softly, “You know you could have told me.”

“Hmm?” Peter fought back a yawn as he tilted his head to look up at you. 

“About you being jealous of butterscotch.” Your voice—so soft, so knowing—landed like a punch to his chest, bashfulness and embarrassment lingering strongly at the fact that you caught on so quickly. He never intended for you to figure it out, but now you were looking at him with eyes full of warmth and quiet understanding. 

He swallowed hard, nearly choking on his spit as he quickly shook his head no, his voice cracking as he did his best to lie, “W-what?—I don't get jealous.” 

You bit your bottom lip to stop yourself from laughing at his poor excuse of a lie. His cheeks were already flushed from embarrassment, and he’d licked his lips 3 times since he locked eyes with you, one of his tells. You hummed dramatically with your own small nod as you played along, “Oh, you don't?" 

“I’ve never been jealous in my life.” He spoke quickly with a slightly sassy tone as he quickly shook his head dramatically, as if you had insulted him for even thinking he would be jealous over something so ridiculous. God, I really am ridiculous, he thought to himself with a scrunch of the nose. 

“You’re such a bad liar.” You teased him with a big grin. You tilted your head to the side as you admired him, the pad of your thumb softly brushing against his bottom lip. Peter’s breath hitched again, sharper this time at your soft touch, the sass melting instantly into something soft and vulnerable. 

He wanted to keep up the act; he really did. Play it cool, be all mature about it, but you were smiling at him like that. The warm, patient smile reserved just for him, and suddenly he didn't care about being mature anymore. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned up and forward on instinct, chasing your touch. And then finally, you pulled him closer and closed the gap. 

He made a tiny noise against your mouth, a quiet hum of pure relief, and immediately leaned into it. The kiss was sweet and slow, tender in a way only two people who truly loved each other could manage. No rush, just quiet affection; lips moving gently together like they had all the time in the world now that butterscotch wasn't trying to wedge himself between them, or interrupting them with an offended meow from across the room because they weren’t paying attention to him. 

The kiss deepened slightly, still slow and loving, and Peter melted completely on top of you. His arms wrapped around your waist tighter, pulling what little space remained between the two of you away until there was nothing left but warmth, closeness, and you. No distractions, no competition for your affection with a mischievous feline. 

When he pulled back an inch—just enough to breathe but not enough to break contact entirely—he kept your foreheads pressed together. His cheeks were still pink, those long lashes fanned out over his pretty face as he looked at you like you were the only reason he kept breathing. Like a man who didn't care about hiding his petty jealousy anymore. 

“Go on then, tease me all you want.” He whispered with a dramatic sigh as he caved under your soft, knowing stare, the one that always melted his resolve. Peter’s lower lip jutted out into a pout, his big, guilty eyes blinking up at you like he was too embarrassed to talk about it. 

“Why would I?” You whispered, brushing your nose against his temple before kissing it softly. 

“Because it’s stupid.” He mumbled, voice suddenly small. He turned his face into your palm like hiding would save him from any humiliation. Your chest tightens. Peter, your strong, loyal Peter, embarrassed over something as sweetly ridiculous as feeling left out because of a kitten. 

You shifted slightly beneath him, careful not to break the closeness both of your bodies have been craving, as you cupped both sides of his face gently so he had no choice but to look at you. His cheeks were warm and still flushed under your soft hands. 

Then slowly, you leaned back in and kissed him again. Not dramatic or deep this time; just small pecks on the corner of his mouth, then one on each eyelid, then another soft press to the center of his forehead. Each kiss said I love you, I see you, you're my person and I’m yours. Peter exhaled shakily after every single one. 

“It’s not stupid; if anything, it’s cute.” You smiled—soft, fond, so full of love—and pressed another kiss to his forehead. You brushed a strand of hair from his temple and traced the curve of his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. 

“You’re allowed to miss me…because I miss you, all the time.” You smiled fondly; your voice was so tender it made him feel all warm inside. You found yourself having to talk yourself out of visiting him at work nearly every other day. Your thumb continued to softly caress his cheekbone as you added gently, “And it makes sense, you know, you're used to having me all to yourself—now you have to share me with a needy kitty.” 

One of his hands moved up; his thumb crept up under your chin, tilting it gently so he could kiss the corner of your lips. A small sweet peck, an apology for feeling jealous over something so silly. Then came another soft peck to each of your cheekbones, then one lingering kiss right between your eyebrows; tender and reverent all at once. You softly tugged on his hair impatiently to pull him back to your lips. 

“Look at me, stuck with two needy boys.” You purred teasingly against his lips as you softly brushed your nose against his. Your boyfriend grinned and teasingly nipped at your bottom lip before he dipped his head and pressed a long kiss to your jaw. Your soft laughter filled the room as he dramatically rolled his eyes, muttering in faux annoyance at your teasing, “Yeah, yeah.” 

You crashed your lips into his again; this time it was less sweet and more needy. The kind of kiss that came from the desperate need of missing each other, even when you were right next to each other. He kissed you back like he was making up for lost time. His mouth moved hungrily with yours, just enough passion and pressure that could make your toes curl. One of his hands slid back into your hair while the other stayed anchored on your waist, holding you close like he was afraid you’d vanish into thin air. 

You could feel his smile between kisses—playful at first—but then it deepened into something hotter as the kiss turned out longer than planned; there was no rush. No tiny kitty jumping onto the couch demanding attention. Just Peter: breathless little sighs against your lips when he pulled back for air before locking his lips back with yours. The movie played forgotten in the background; neither of you cared—too caught up in the messy kisses full of pent-up affection. 

His fingers tightened in your hair as he tilted your head slightly to deepen it further—soft means slipping out between kisses. His other hand lazily slipped under your sweater and traced slow circles over warm skin while placing a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth before finding his way back to the center of your lips. Placing a soft kiss on your lips, almost reverently.

A surprised whine left your parted lips when Peter pulled away from the kiss, your eyes quickly fluttering open to watch him lick his lips. Your pants synced together as you tried to catch your breath from the impromptu make-out session. Peter copied your earlier gesture and softly brushed his nose against yours; his hand under your sweater moved down to rub up and down your side as the two of you shifted to get more comfortable. 

The silence went on for a few moments before Peter broke it with a shy whisper, a bashful smile on his face as he looked into your eyes, “I miss buttscotch.” 

You couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving your lips, tilting your head to hide it in his neck, breathing in his scent as your nose brushed against his skin. You pulled away once you placed a soft kiss on his pulse point, scrunching your nose dramatically as you looked up at him. “Would it be crazy to go pick him up?”

”Maybe…but I love it.” Peter grinned before laughing softly, lifting a little as his mind raked with thoughts. It was nice to have you all to himself, your attention fully on him, but Butterscotch was family. He was their son—he could hear your voice in his head, all lovesick and cooing if you heard him call Butterscotch that—and it felt off not having him here. 

Peter missed the little nips at his ankles and at the tips of his fingers when he pet him, or how Butterscotch loved to curl up on his chest after Peter’s shower, loving how warm he was. That little mischievous kitty carved a spot out in both of their hearts and was comfortably curled up in it. The house didn't feel the same without him. 

Your heart warmed at your boyfriend's words and the sweet, soft look in his pretty eyes. You wanted to spend the rest of the night in his arms with Butterscotch cuddled up with you, your little family. You move your hands to grip the front of Peter’s sweater, pulling him flush against you as you whisper with a flirty smile, not ready to let him go.

“Mmkay, one more kiss though.” 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙖𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Იᰍ sighhh I love them so bad guys :( I just love writing for peter prior so much , he really is one of my all time favorite characters and I love seeing true detective get its flowers lately as it’s gotten more popular !! please tell me your thoughts , this is a interactive au so your guy’s thoughts, ideas, and opinions are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! 🐇

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The bedchamber was quiet, lit by the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows—bleeding green and gold across the stone floor. Your husband sat motionless in his high-backed chair, tunic discarded on the table, revealing his broad expanse of chest usually hidden beneath layers of formal attire. Only his trousers remained, loose at the hips. His arms rested loosely on the chair’s carved sides; he was like a man carved of stone.

Unusually compliant for a man who commands obedience like breathing. 

He watched you closely with those deep-set eyes, calm on the surface but simmering beneath like embers under ash. The silence between you wasn't empty; it hummed with something unspoken, something thick as summer air before a storm. Your body was warm and still on top of him, knees pressing into the cushioned seat and nightgown bunched up around your thighs. 

Ormund did not speak as you carefully worked. No commands issued from him now, no reproachful words about duty and your disgraceful blood. His breathing was deep and even…almost meditative. There was a strange intimacy to this—him bare-chested before you as if he were a sacrifice laid upon an altar only the two of you knew existed. 

You could hear his sharp tone in your head and feel his strong grip on your face as he chastised you for thinking such blasphemous things. You didn't have to imagine the feeling of your knees aching from being on them in the sept for hours on end, repenting and praying to a faith you didn’t believe in—it’s a feeling you’ve come to know well in the few years of being married to the lord of Oldtown. 

Your husband's chest rose slowly beneath your palms. You weren’t praying now. This wasn't penance or a ritual; there was no septon to witness it, no sept bells tolling for sins committed in secret. You were simply tending to him. 

He didn’t move away from your touch—no, he relished it. Having you so close to him, so pliant in his lap despite everything he’s done, despite everything his family has and continues to do to yours. And here you were, a sharp blade in your hand that you could easily kill him with—you were a smart girl; he was sure you would find a way to sneak off to your beast of a dragon and find your way back to your mother. 

But no, you continued to delicately glide the blade across his chest with reverence usually reserved for saints or dead men. He had molded you so perfectly into the perfect wife, into the perfect Lady of Oldtown. He made sure your life as a Targaryen princess was long forgotten; it was a title that only brought ruin. 

The blade glides—kissed by his warm skin. Ormund exhales through his nose, a sound that sounds too much like satisfaction. His pecs flex subtly beneath the precise drag of your movements—a man who allowed this, who let you believe you were doing this out of the kindness of your sweet soul. 

His hands remain where they are: one on the armrest, the other resting lightly against your thigh where it brushes your skin. Not gripping, not claiming yet—just there, as if it were a silent reminder that this closeness exists only because he permits it. 

The silence continued to stretch on until Ormund finally spoke—low, softer than usual, stripped of its commanding edge. “You’ve always had such gentle hands, wife.” 

Not praise, not quite, he rarely praised you, not unless he could use it to his advantage. No, it was more like an observation, something he noted with quiet intensity. He noticed everything about you; you were his after all. So beautiful, so fragile. 

His hand near your thigh moved closer, unbeknownst to you. His thumb moved then—not suddenly or rough like you were used to from him—but slowly tracing the side of your thigh through the thin fabric of your nightgown. His touch was so soft it must have been a mistake, but it lingered, too deliberate to be accidental. 

The contrast between his usual iron grip and this featherlight touch sent a shiver through you—something so tender was hard to believe came from a man like Ormund. Words didn't come to your tongue. 

He didn't speak again. Just watched you with those dark eyes while his fingers continued their quiet path upward along your thigh, not rushing or demanding anything yet. The blade in your hand stilled mid-motion as you tensed slightly under his unexpected caress. Was he…comforting you? Or was this another form of control—lulling you into false security with power disguised as affection? A test perhaps? To see if you’d pull away? If you’d flinch at such unexpected gentleness? 

You did not wish to know. 

His breathing stayed even but slower now, more controlled as though he were savoring every second of this rare closeness, savoring how he could feel your thighs tremble around him. His other hand lifted slowly to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear with shocking delicacy before settling at the nape of your neck. 

The moment his fingers curled gently at the nape of your neck, you froze completely—like a lamb caught in the mouth of a wolf. His thumb pressed softly into that sensitive spot just beneath your hairline. His other hand remained on your thigh, warm and heavy but unmoving now. Ormund’s fingers at your nape were warm and heavy, not pressing down, but holding. 

There was no hunger in his eyes, no predatory gleam that usually appeared when he looked at you with desire or anger—he was hiding it so well. This was something else entirely, quiet contemplation edged with something almost affectionate? It unsettled you more than any reprimand ever could have. 

You didn't pull away; you didn’t want to. Then slowly, he leaned forward, and his lips met yours. 

The kiss was not like the others. Not possessive, not claiming, not harsh or demanding as they usually were. This one was soft, tentative almost. He didn’t deepen it immediately—just held there for a heartbeat or two as if testing whether you would reject him (you wouldn’t), whether you’d tense up (you did). He pressed again gently, coaxing your lips to part beneath his with slow pressure rather than force. 

One hand stayed cradling your nape while the other slid up higher on your thigh, still careful not to rush it; a gentle hand with you could make things easier. A part of you wondered if this was some kind of trick…if he’d suddenly grow tired of such gentleness and turn it into something rougher. His kindness never lasted, and it was never for nothing. 

You knew that, but you couldn’t help but melt into the patiently sweet and slow kiss. 

The sharp sting of the blade nicking his skin—barely a scratch, really—was instantaneous. His entire body went rigid; in an instant, his tenderness shattered like glass as his expression darkened. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he yanked your hair back by the grip at your nape, forcing you to break the kiss with a pained gasp as tears immediately filled your eyes as you realized what happened. 

Without warning, he wrenched the razor from your trembling grip and tossed it aside where it clattered against the stone, your body flinching harshly at the echoing noise. You didn't dare to look him in the eyes, but you couldn’t fathom seeing the small bead of blood forming on his chest. Guilt and fear clawing at your throat. 

“You dare to draw my blood?” He snarled through clenched teeth; the venomous anger in his voice cracked like thunder across the quiet chamber. You whimpered involuntarily at how quickly tenderness had turned to rage. You didn't move, despite your body urging you to, as he gripped both sides of your face harshly. 

Your voice cracked as you blurted out your apology, frantic and desperate, before he could even demand one. “I’m sorry—Please, I didn't mean to! I swear, My Lord!” Tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, hot with shame. You knew better than this—knew how fast his wrath could ignite over something so small. 

His grip tightened painfully on your face—his fingers digging into the delicate skin and bones of your cheeks. That simmering rage was barely restrained behind a mask of cold control in his eyes. Your hands flew up instinctively to clutch at his wrists, where he gripped your face like a vice; you weren’t trying to pry him off, but just holding on as if that could soften the storm raging in his eyes. 

The blood welling from the tiny cut stood stark against his pale skin—a single drop of crimson that looked more monstrous than any wound could. It glistened under the stained-glass light, so tiny but made Ormond seethe with outrage. He hated imperfections. You hated yourself for it instantly. This was your fault. 

Ormund’s fingers tighten for a fraction of a second longer, his knuckles white against your skin, before he let out a heavy, ragged exhale that signaled he was trying to calm himself. He did not pull away entirely, but the predatory fury in his gaze softened into something more complex—a dark, simmering disappointment that hurt more than his grip. 

“Control Yourself.” He commanded you. The words cut deeper than any slap. Not shouted, not screamed—but spoken in that lethally quiet tone he used when truly furious. The kind of voice that made even his most loyal men fearful. 

Control yourself. 

A direct order—one laced with disgust at your clumsiness, your carelessness, the sheer indignity of it all; drawing blood from him by accident while performing smoothing you’ve done countless times before. Tears still streamed silently down your face despite your biting down on your bottom lip to stop them. You didn't dare speak again—not after this latest failure in obedience. 

Your husband studied your tear-streaked face, the way your lips trembled beneath his displeasure. You have always been such a pretty crier. The silence stretched, long and suffocating, before he finally released you with another sharp exhale through his nose. 

The shift in the air was instantaneous, thick with tension. Ormund’s gaze dropped to your tear-stained lips, then dragged lower—down the curve of your body still seated on his lap. The anger in his expression didn't vanish entirely, but it morphed into something else. Something far more dangerous. 

He reached out and gripped the fabric of your nightgown near the hem with one large hand, giving it a single sharp tug upward, just enough to make you understand what he wanted without needing words. A whimper nearly escapes your lips at the feeling of heat pooling in your belly at the implication. 

“Lift your dress,” Ormund ordered lowly, voice lethal and gravelly from barely restrained hunger rather than rage now. There was a pause where you could hear nothing but both of your breathing before he added sternly, “You will make it up to me.” 

“Or would you rather bleed for me instead?” 

His threat was wrapped in velvet cruelty—a true Hightower ultimatum where refusing always ended badly for those beneath them. You knew what he wanted, what he wanted from you, and maybe there was a time you would have hated yourself for this—but you wanted it too. 

You lifted yourself on your knees. Your hands trembled slightly as you obeyed, gripping the hem of your nightgown and slowly pulling it up over your hips. The fabric bunched around your waist, exposing your smooth bare skin to the cool air, as Ormund watched your every movement with those heavy-lidded eyes filled with burning desire. 

Ormund didn't waste any time. His large hand was moving between them—those fingers that had just moments ago gripped you in fury were now working with an efficient tug at the laces of his trousers, pushing both his trousers and underclothes down just below his hips with a quick lift of his hips. 

His arousal was already evident—a thick length straining against restraint from earlier, tension between anger and desire warring inside of him until lust won. He exhaled sharply with gritted teeth at finally being free. His cock stood proudly, flushed at the tip and twitching in anticipation. The veins along his length pulsed in time with his heartbeat—strong and angry. Your breath hitched, and your mouth watered at the sight. Ormund gripped himself firmly at the base before looking. Back at you expectantly without saying anything else, he didn't need to. 

His hand remained wrapped firmly around himself, not stroking yet, just holding possessively while he waited for you. The message was clear: you would take what he allowed.

This wasn’t about affection or tenderness anymore; this was punishment disguised as pleasure—your obedience could be rewarded, or withheld entirely based on how well you took him. And Ormund expected nothing less than perfection from his wife right now. 

You swallowed hard; your pulse was hammering in your ears as you shifted on top of his lap. Ormund wouldn't dare to help you, no guiding hands or soft words to ease the way. You had to do this yourself, just like everything else with him: prove yourself worthy of forgiveness through sheer effort. Prove that you weren’t just a spoiled princess like he thought you were. 

You didn't hesitate to lower yourself onto him—he hated when you hesitated—his heat and hardness pressing against your inner thighs first before slowly pushing inside. A choked-out gasp escaped your lips at the stretch; he was always large and a demanding stretch. Your body tensed instinctively around the intrusion but gradually relaxed as more of him filled you up, your legs trembling after days without intimacy. The tension between anger and arousal made it feel even more intense than usual. 

Ormund’s jaw locked tight at the sensation, a low groan rumbling through his chest as your heat enveloped him completely. Both of his hands settle firmly on your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough that it would bruise later. One of the many reminders of this moment you would feel for days. A whimper escaped your lips despite biting down hard on them to stay quiet. This wasn't the time for noises of weakness; you did not wish to displease him further. 

When you finally bottomed out against his hips, you had to stop your head from resting on his shoulder, tears filling your eyes from how full he made you feel. 

The moment you settled fully against him, Ormund’s nostrils flared, his breath slipping past his lips heavier now. He didn't kiss you, didn't caress your face or stroke your hair like a husband might do to comfort his wife during such an intimate act. No, he just stared into your teary eyes with that unreadable intensity, part fury still simmering from earlier, part primal satisfaction at having you exactly where he wanted—filled and claimed by him. 

“H-Husband!” You cried out in pleasure, slowly lifting yourself just until the tip remained inside, before sinking again. Not too fast because you knew he preferred controlled movements, but not too slow—laziness was unacceptable. The lewd sound of your wetness filled the room; you were too blinded by pleasure to feel humiliated. 

His fingers flexed against your hips at the sounds you were making before one large hand softly gripped the back of your neck, forcing you forward until your forehead rested against his, his core clenching from your movements that only seemed to get faster. His breath fanned hot over your face as he stared at you for another tense moment—loving how fucked out you looked on his cock already—before finally crushing his mouth into yours in a searing kiss. 

It was claiming, punishing. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip hard enough to sting and have you whine against his lips before his tongue slid past, demanding entry without asking for permission. You were his; he didn't need to ask. One of his hands moved from your hip as he wrapped his arm around your waist, while the other kept a firm hand on your nape. Keeping you close. 

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, dominant, hungry, and tasted like fury and lust tangled together. Ormund kissed you with the same intensity he used to command his men, his mouth moving against yours with ruthless dominance while his arms around your waist squeezed tighter to keep you pressed flush against him as you rode him. 

Every rock of your hips sent sparks of pleasure through both of your bodies; the heat between you was almost unbearable now, and when he finally broke the kiss to breathe, it wasn't far; just enough space for air before pulling you back into one. He pressed on the base of your spine firmly, pressing you down harder against him. You couldn’t stop the moans and whines from leaving your lips and pouring into his. 

The satisfaction in his chest was burning hot. 

You could feel every rigid muscle in his torso and chest, tensing beneath you where skin met his—his chest rising and falling fast under yours—as pleasure coiled tight inside of him. The sound of their skin slapping echoed through the bedchamber. Ormund was too caught up in the pleasure to care about anyone overhearing. 

The sound that escaped your husband's throat wasn't just a moan; it was deep and guttural, almost pained in its pleasure. Rare of a man who prided himself on complete control—especially with you—but was teetering on the edge now because of you. His fingers tangled roughly into your hair, which drove him mad, a reminder of your cursed blood. He tilted his head back slightly to watch you, the way your body moved above him with desperate devotion, the look of pure pleasure. 

“Show me, wife.” His voice came out rough with lust but still carried that commanding edge through his clenched teeth. His words weren’t gentle or romantic as he continued, “Show me how remorseful you are.” 

A test. A demand wrapped in sinful temptation. He wanted proof of your penance, not just through apologies and tears anymore, but through this. Flesh and fire. Through every desperate roll of your hips against his lap, begging for his forgiveness without words. Through the way sweat beaded at your temples, chasing both punishment and reward simultaneously inside this heated embrace between husband and wife. Owner and the owned…

Oh, gods, how you want to obey him perfectly. 

And so, without hesitation, driven by that desperate need to please him after drawing his blood. You wanted to be his good wife, so you obeyed with fervor. Your movements grew faster now, not just riding him but rolling your hips like a prayer. Each rise and fall of your hips had his hands gripping harder into your plush skin at the feeling of you squeezing around him as he pushed up into your wet heat from below. 

Breathless gasps and moans tumbled from both of your lips between stolen biting kisses. Your hands braced on his shoulders for leverage—the only part of him he would allow you to touch—nails digging lightly into his muscle. His hands slid down to grip the plump skin of your ass, guiding your rhythm exactly how he liked it. 

His jaw clenched as he felt your nails dig into his shoulders, pain mixed with pleasure. He tried to stay silent, not wanting to reward you with the sounds of his pleasure, but even he couldn’t stay silent forever—not when every drag of your tight heat around him threatened to unravel his restraint. The pretty noises you were trying to hold in didn’t help ease it. 

The bedchamber was filled with the sounds of your shared passion at the feverish pace your bodies were moving at together, skin slapping, ragged breathing, and the occasional moan or whimper that slipped through. Ormund was losing himself in you; each exhale was hot against your lips as he watched you with hooded eyes. The sight of you unraveling about him—the way your face was twisted in pleasure, the moans leaving your parted lips—sent a possessive thrill through him. 

Ormund’s fingers kneaded your ass possessively as he helped guide your movements to match exactly what he craved—the perfect punishing rhythm that made his hips jerk up instinctively to meet yours. Every time you came down hard on him, a low groan of pleasure rumbled deep from his chest. His upward thrusts were taking your breath away and had your thighs shaking; he was always precise when he fucked his wife into repentance. 

His voice was a growl, dark and thick with need. “Faster.” He commanded, his hands squeezing the plush flesh of your ass harder as he lifted you slightly, only to slam you back down on him faster. Ormund’s hips snapped up sharply beneath you, the sudden change in pace and him filling you deeper than before, moans and slurred words of pleasure leaving your lips. 

Ormund’s lips crashed against yours again, this time rougher and hungrier. His tongue claims your mouth with the same dominance he used to claim every other part of you. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip again before dragging down along your jawline and neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and bites. Marking you all over your collarbone, each one stung sweetly, reminding you who you truly belonged to. 

His breathing had turned uneven now, sweat glistening along his forehead and the defined lines of his chest that were pressing against yours. He could feel himself building fast, the coil in his stomach winding tighter with every slick slide inside you. You took him so perfectly; he molded every part of you to submit to him. He could feel that you were close, feel how your thighs trembled as you tried to keep up with his thrusts, your body nearly going limp in his arms from exhaustion. 

“Look at me,” Ormund orders sharply as one of his hands abandoned its grip on your flesh to cup your neck roughly, forcing eye contact as he continued to fuck up into you. When your tear-filled eyes met his stormy gaze, a smirk spread across his face as he squeezed just enough to have your pace faltering. His voice was thick with desire and the twisted satisfaction of having you fall apart on top of him, “I want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart.” 

Ormund’s grip on your neck tightened just enough to make you gasp, his thumb pressing into the frantic pulse beneath your hot skin, a silent threat that if you looked away, there would be consequences. He gave you a command, and you didn't dare disobey. His dark eyes burned into yours, unrelenting, as he watched the tears spill over your lashes and soak his skin. Your expression was a perfect mix of overwhelmed pleasure and submission. 

Each snap of his hips hitting that perfect spot inside you sent white-hot pleasure searing through your every nerve. Your lips parted around silent moans, but they soon turned into broken whimpers when the pleasure was too much to handle. He could feel the way you were clamping around him, how your grip on his shoulders got harder—more desperate, how your sweet moans got more pitchy. He could see how you controlled yourself until he gave you permission. Just like how he taught you. Good wife. 

He nodded once, and almost instantaneously, you succumbed to the pleasure. 

“Ormund!” A broken moan of pleasure tore from your lips as your peak crashed over you like a wave of pleasure so intense that your tears spilled freely down your cheeks once again as your body clenched around him, feeling dizzy from the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through your body. All you could think about was him, chanting his name in your head like a prayer. 

Ormund’s hips nearly stilled at the feeling of you squeezing him tighter than before; a guttural groan ripped from his chest at the sight of how perfectly ruined he had made his wife look. Your burning skin covered in sweat and marks from his mouth, trembling limbs clinging to him, tear-stained face twisted into pure bliss because of him. 

He watched intently as your peak overwhelmed every inch of you, your body begging you to stop and let the pleasure lull you into contentment. Your lashes fluttered, but you forced them to stay open at his command. Your body was trembling even worse now; overstimulated but still chasing that sweet feeling of gratification that only he could give you by blessing you with his seed. And gods did it please him—to have such control over you. 

He didn’t close his eyes; no, he kept them open just like he demanded of you, drinking in every twitch of your face as ecstasy wrecked through both of you. 

The moment Ormund came, his entire body tensed, every muscle locked in pure ecstasy. A low, desperate moan escaped him that had rarely been heard before—a man so composed and controlled unraveling completely because of you. His Sweet wife. His fingers flexed against your neck as his peak slammed into him, his seed spilling deep inside you with hot pulses that made your oversensitive walls flutter around him. 

For several heartbeats, neither of you moved. The world outside your bedchamber ceased to exist; there was no talk of wars brewing beyond Oldtown’s walls or political intrigue at court—just sweat-slicked skin pressed together and shared breaths slowing gradually. Ormund didn't close his eyes; he kept his intense gaze locked on you as he drank in every detail—your sweat-glistening skin, the way your lips parted as you caught your breath, how utterly spent you looked from riding him so devoutly. 

Then slowly, Ormund exhaled through his flared nostrils before pressing an unexpected kiss to your forehead—a rare gesture so soft it didn't feel like him. Not dominance or punishment this time, but something quieter: Satisfaction? Affection? It lingered only for a second before he shifted beneath you, enticing a small whimper from you. 

He had to stop himself from smiling at the babbling thank-yous leaving your lips.

His hand on your bottom moved up to smooth down your spine while the one on your neck lifted to brush your damp strands of hair away from your face. His calloused fingertips gently brushed your wet cheeks with tears and sweat before he gripped your soft cheeks with his thumb and index finger, your lips pressing together in a cute pout. 

If you weren’t so utterly fucked out, you might have seen the small glint of pride in your husband's eyes from how well you took him, how you submitted to him so beautifully once again. He would tell the cooks to make your favorite tonight. He didn't allow himself to linger in such feelings before he was commanding you once again, ”Go clean yourself, wife.” 

His tamed dragon. 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…sweetling mlist & main masterlist ❜❜

Იᰍ holy yap session this was, I had 2 redbull’s and a dream. i hope you enjoy this one bunnies, it was fun but very different to write and i enjoyed it, ormund has really enchanted me wowza 😻 please tell me your thoughts , ideas, and opinions, they are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! 🐇

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Sweetling reader ! who was sent to live with her uncle and her cousins at the Red Keep, when she was just 12 years old. She flourished quickly under the care and guidance of her uncle. She missed her father and her siblings dearly, and despite the chaos of court, she truly was happy there. Her cousin Valarr, who was also her closest confidant, made it easier for her to settle in. He wanted her to feel at home. 

Sweetling reader ! who was relieved and filled with happiness when Baelor brought her into his office in the tower for the hand, to break the news of her betrothal to Valarr. Something Baelor and her father have been talking about for a while, but they wouldn’t proceed with it unless she was willing, which she thankfully was. They were wed once she turned 17 and Valarr 18; the celebrations lasted a week. The newlywed couple made sure that the smallfolk of King's Landing received food, coin, and supplies. They didn't want to start their marriage by being the reason the people starved and suffered just so their celebrations would be remembered.  

Sweetling reader ! and Valarr Targaryen who have been attached to each other's hips ever since she came to be his father's ward, them becoming betrothed and then married only made them even closer. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Valarr was a quiet but consistent lover; he would stay up and help her with her dragon dreams, would join her on her walks in the garden or her horse riding in the godswood, would bring her the finest jewelry, and listen to her play her harp for hours. Tales and songs of their genuine, gentle love would be remembered till the end of time.  

The morning light filtered through the stone-carved, high-arched windows, gilding your shared chambers in a soft glow. The air was warm—the fires had burned low overnight—and faintly smelled of a rich Smokey scent from the hearth and rose oil from the perfumed candles that still glowed around the chamber. 

Your husband was sitting propped against silken pillows, bare-chested beneath you. His hands rested lightly on your hips, reverent but not possessive. You wore nothing but a loose linen chemise nightgown; below it, the sheet pooled low around your thighs like liquid ruby. His face was flushed—partly from last night’s passion, partly because you sat so comfortably on his lap. 

“You’re so warm,” you cooed with a small smile, moving your hands slowly up his bare chest and leaving chills in your wake. Your husband was strong—not brute strength, but that lean elegance of a prince who trained daily. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist beneath sculptured muscle. The kind meant for ballrooms and jousts rather than war. 

Valarr Targaryen—soft as moonlight, his one eye of blue and the other of brown were looking up at you with reverence—breathed in sharply at your touch and the way you were looking at him, cooing in that voice sweet enough to make anyone melt. His skin was kissed by sunlight, hours you had spent the night before, littering him with soft kisses. 

“Warm?” He echoed softly—his own voice hushed. Lifting his hands higher up your sides beneath the thin chemise fabric slowly. His lips parted slightly—as if wanting to kiss you, but waiting for you. The space between you closed like a breath held too long. 

Your lips met his—soft at first, teasing—a gentle press of shared warmth that deepened almost instantly. Valarr responded without hesitation; his hands fully around your waist now, pulling you closer against him beneath the silk sheets as he kissed back with quiet fervor. No words, just heat and hunger in the morning stillness. His mouth moved skillfully against yours—trained by yours.  

He tasted faintly of wine from last night’s feast…sweet arbor red, but also something so uniquely Valarr. One of your hands trailed up higher to tangle in his hair. 

Your fingers tightened in his hair—gripping, possessive—not harsh, but with the quiet dominance of a dragon claiming what’s hers. The kiss deepened under your control: slow at first, then firmer as you tilted your head to take it further. He let you lead—the arch of your lips against his mouth dictating the pace—and only dared to breathe through his nose between kisses, returning for more like an addict given rare access. 

His hands stayed where they were: on your waist, now sliding up slightly beneath the fabric, warmly cradling you closer as if he were afraid the moment would vanish. 

“You touch me so gently. Did I tire you out last night?” You teased him so fondly, warm breaths panting against his lips before you nipped at his bottom one. He was always so gentle with you, but now it was as if he was holding back. 

You knew the reason why. 

Valarr’s breath hitched—hard—at the nip on his lip, a sharp little bite that sent fire racing through his body. A low sound escaped as a hum, a near-growl muffled against your lips as one of his hands finally slipped from your waist to curl around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. The other slid beneath your nightgown—warm palm caressing bare skin. 

The kiss turned fierce—Valarr’s restraint snapping like a bowstring drawn too tight. No longer passive and restrained, but claiming, hungry and insistent. The Princely cool composure melted away completely. He kissed you with the fervor of a man who’d been holding back all night while watching you dance with lords in gowns that clung to every curve…who’d sat tensely next to his father, pretending not to stare longingly at his wife. 

Now his lips were everywhere—your mouth first, then trailing down your jaw with soft bitters before catching the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands moved faster now: one still tangled in your hair; the other slipped further up your thighs under the fabric—fingertips tracing warm skin. 

Valarr’s breath stilled, the kiss breaking. 

His hand—still warm—softly brushed the curve beneath your nightgown. The baby bump, a miracle the court only just celebrated last night. The two of you had kept it a secret for as long as you could, sharing stolen knowing smiles whenever someone mentioned them having an heir. And now here you were: glowing with pregnancy, sitting on his lap—kissing him, teasing him—and yet so tenderly carrying their child. 

His touch turned reverent—not lustful, not possessive like before—but tender as a prayer. With infinite gentleness, Valarr rested both hands on either side of the soft swell, cradling it in awe. You lowered your forehead to his, your noses brushing against each other as he exhaled a shaky breath—a tender smile on his lips. No words still. Just love poured silently between two young hearts tangled together in destiny’s web. 

Valarr Targaryen who wanted to have a daughter. Who called the babe throughout the pregnancy, his little girl. Who was at your side, holding your hand through the whole birth, not caring about any of the ‘formalities’. Who could barely hold back his tears as he watched you hopelessly, praying to the gods for something he could do to make this easier. Who finally let the tears fall as he held his son, his boy. 

Sweetling reader ! who refused to have a wet nurse. She would feed and care for her son herself, with the help of her husband, of course. Who leaves it up to Valarr to name their son, he chose the name Maelor. A mixture of both of their fathers' names, something that had both of the strong men hold back tears. She was glowing; she took to motherhood beautifully. 

Sweetling reader ! and Valarr Targaryen who refuses to have Maelor out of either of their sights, only trusting him with their fathers or their trusted handmaidens, but that’s rare. They are both so utterly in love with their son and the little family they have. They spend more time in their chamber, cuddling up and just watching their son coo and move around; they are awed at everything. They love to go on walks together in the garden, and Valarr loves to hold him as they both listen to her play the harp. 

The chamber was quiet—warm firelight flickering across tapestries of dragons and deserts. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the herbs your maid had scattered in a small brazier to freshen up the room, the scent soothed the family of three. You stepped inside, your sworn shield pulling the door closed as he stayed in the hallway. Maelor remained asleep in your arms, his chest rising and falling softly beneath layers of soft wool linens. 

Your eyes drifted to where your husband was behind you, a small smile of fondness on your lips as you watched him start to undress from his formal attire. They wouldn’t be leaving their chambers for the rest of the night. They were only just now returning to their chambers because it seemed their son had become spoiled and could only fall asleep when he was in his grandsire Baelor’s arms as of late. 

You looked away before your mind started imagining having another babe with him, slowly moving towards the cradle, to lay your sleeping son in it. 

The cradle—carved dark wood, adorned with tiny silver dragons coupled around its edges—rocked gently as you laid Maelor down. His breath was soft and even, his lips parted in innocent sleep. You adjusted the linens around him once more, tucking them snugly under his chin to guard against the castle's chill drafts. 

For a long moment, you simply stood there watching your son. The firelight danced across his round cheeks and fluttered over those unfairly perfect lashes he’d inherited from his father. A pang hit your chest—not sharp like anger—but something quieter…sadder. He was growing so fast; soon your excuses to have him sleep in a cradle in your chambers instead of his nursery wouldn’t work any longer. 

Behind you—the sound of soft footsteps stopped. 

You felt his gentle hands on your waist, palms sliding across your front to carefully untie the knot of your robe while breathing in the scent of your hair with a happy sigh. The ruffle of fabric was quiet. Your eyes fluttered closed for a small moment at the feeling of him placing a gentle kiss on the warm skin of your shoulder once he slowly pulled the robe off you.  

“He sleeps just fine, my beloved; now it’s your turn,” Valarr promised sweetly with another gentle kiss to your shoulder, squeezing your arms softly before he took the robe into his hands and took a step back. You nearly frowned when you felt the warmth of his body behind you fade as he stepped back and laid your robe over the chaise. Of course, he knew what you had been thinking; he also noticed the lack of sleep you’ve been having over the past moons. 

You let out a dramatic sigh as you walked over to the large canopy bed, slipping off your slippers before sitting on the edge, leaning back on your hands. Valarr smiled warmly at the sight of you looking so prettily on their bed, waking over to you to stand between your thighs. You lift your chin to look up at your husband, smiling coyly as you try to explain why you weren’t tired. “My breasts still ache.” 

“Oh, do they?” Valarr pouted in faux sympathy as he slowly moved his hands up your thighs to your hips, not believing you for one moment but still playing along like the sweet husband he is. 

”Mhm…terribly so.” You copied his faux pout, wincing dramatically as you sat up straighter so you could be closer to him. Valarr stopped himself from laughing, reminding himself to be quiet and not wake their sleeping son. 

“How convenient.” He mused tauntingly as he dipped his head down, his nose softly brushing against your cheek before placing a feather-light kiss on it, then your temple, and lastly your lips. The kiss deepened just a little—slow, tender, full of unspoken love. His lips moved softly against yours with perfect rhythm—the kind that comes from years of kissing and knowing exactly how your mouth fits his. 

One hand moved from your waist to cradle your face gently while the other held your hip. The warmth between them was passionate yet peaceful—a feeling they felt deep in their bones. When you finally parted for air, you kept your forehead pressed against his, eyes still closed and breathing each other in. You whispered with a dramatic gasp, the corner of your lips fighting to twitch up into a smile, “Are you calling me wanton husband?”  

Without saying anything, he kissed you again—sweeter this time—and let his nose nuzzle yours once he pulled away. He could see the tiredness in your eyes, how you were trying to fight it. His thumb gently caresses your cheek as he places a long, soft kiss on your forehead, letting out an exhale before whispering with a smile, “Lay down with me before Maelor wakes up half the castle with his cries, hmm?”

Sweetling reader ! who had been a victim of Aerion’s relentless taunting and cruelty since she could remember. Aerion’s cruelty, lingering touches, and his obsession with her were the main reasons why Maekar sent her to stay with Baelor. Aerion didn’t just want to own her; he wanted to hurt her. His obsession wasn’t discreet either. 

Sweetling reader ! and Valarr Targaryen who didn't want to come to the tourney. They wanted to go to Dragonstone with Maelor and Matarys, but Baelor made it clear that they must come along to show good faith. The whole journey to Ashford, she was in the wheelhouse with 1-year-old Maelor and her 2 ladies-in-waiting. They didn't want to bring Maelor along because they worried too much, but they also couldn’t bear to leave him at the Red Keep in the hands of others, no matter how much they trusted them. 

Valarr Targaryen who’s hated Aerion with a fiery passion since they were children, and it only got worse as the years went on, seeing the way he treats his sister and how it affects her and continues to affect her. He kept Sweetling and Maelor close to his side the whole time they were at Ashford; he wouldn’t let Aerion near them; he wouldn’t let him hurt his family. 

“And he just stood there—looking at her with that vile love-sickened look.” Aegon shuddered dramatically as he retold the moment between his new friend Duncan and the pretty puppeteer Tanselle. Your younger brother was quiet and teary-eyed when you pulled him into your arms and brought him to your chambers, but now his shoulders seemed to be lighter as he told you of his small journey with this Ser Duncan the Tall. Aegon smiled and blew raspberries loudly at his nephew, who was waving the wood-carved dragon in the air with a coo. 

“Vile, love-sickened look?” You looked up from the silk scarf you were delicately embroidering to look at your little brother—who was sitting on the bear pelt rug in front of the hearth, playing with Maelor—with an amused smile. Your brother had such a way with words. Maelor looked towards you with his big eyes, just like his father's, at the sound of your voice. 

You smiled as he waved the toy at you, clumsily bringing his hand up to blow you a kiss—something he learned from his father. Your eyes softened as you watched him get distracted by his hand as if he saw it for the first time, dropping the toy to shove his fist in his mouth. Aegon groaned in disgust and gently pulled his fist out of his mouth before looking up at you. 

“Close to how Valarr looks at you.” He raised his eyebrows with a shake of the head, looking at you like you should already know the answer as he spoke in that bratty, knowing tone you knew too well. You scoffed at his brattiness, but you couldn’t stop the big smile from spreading across your face at the thought. The others could see the love your husband had for you. 

“Now you have it.”  Aegon gagged dramatically at the look on your face, how your eyes dazzled in love. Maelor tried to copy his uncle but ended up coughing, pouting at Aegon afterward. Dramatics sure did run in the family. You looked up from the silk scarf at the sound of the wood doors of the chambers opening. Aegon flinched and immediately looked towards the door, hoping to get news of Duncan, but only saw his cousin, your husband. 

“Aegon, your father is asking for you.” Your husband's calm voice filled the silence of the chambers once his eyes found his young cousin playing with his son. His gaze immediately then went to you; he could see the worry in your eyes as you noticed his tense demeanor, the way he clenched his jaw. Aegon’s shoulders sagged, and that familiar look of sadness decorated his face once again. 

His nimble fingers worked to take off his sword belt, laying it across the bottom of the bed he’d share with you. For tournaments, he usually liked to stay in his pavilion on the fields near the other men, but he couldn't risk leaving you and Maelor, not with Aerion walking around. Your own nimble fingers stopped embroidering as you watched your little brother gently squeeze your son's cheek as he muttered, “Goodnight, Maelor.” 

Aegon stood up; he looked so small in clothes that fit him perfectly, a reminder of how young he truly was. His eyes were downcast as he spoke, “Goodnight, sister.” 

He was turning around and moving towards the door before you could even open your mouth to say it back. Valarr stepped in front of him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder as he looked down at the young prince, his voice soft and reassuring ”You know where we are.” 

“How angry is my father?” You asked your husband with a worried frown once the chamber door closed. Your eyes filled with worry as you watched him take off his boots and doublet, his jaw clenched and tension in his shoulders. Valarr gave you a soft but pointed look as he walked over to the two of you. “His anger is towards Aerion and Aerion alone.” 

Valarr smiled warmly and crouched down in front of Maelor, who was quick to babble and hold his arms out for him. Your husband was quick to grant his son's wish, picking him up and holding him close. He placed a kiss on his chubby cheek and then his temple as he breathed in his scent, something that always soothed the two of you. He whispered, “Hello, my sweet boy.”

“And Daeron—Is he well?” So many thoughts were clouding your mind, and it was starting to make it ache. You knew this Tournament was no good; you had felt it in your bones for many moons. Your hands trembled around the embroidery needle and the silk scarf as the dream and Daeron’s frantic whispers started to make sense. 

Valarr looked away from his son's big eyes filled with happiness to look into yours, filled with fear and worry. He held Maelor close with one arm as he walked over to you. He softly caressed your face before moving his hand to the back of your head. He leaned down and pressed a soft and long kiss to your forehead, whispering reverently against your skin, “My sweet wife.” 

“I just worry for Aegon; he’s already attached to this, Ser Duncan. Will the hedge knight be kill—“ 

”No more of this, my sweet; our fathers are seeing to this. You shouldn’t worry.” Your husband cut off your frantic, worried rambling. You sighed, and the tension that had found its way to your body started to melt as his thumb gently caressed your cheek, pulling you out of your thoughts. He wouldn’t let you get drowned in your mind again. 

”Tis’ late; both of you need rest—in my arms I would have it.” Valarr hummed with a sweet smile as he tried to sound stern, looking away from you to smile and place a soft kiss on Maelor’s nose. Maelor giggles and reaches up to clumsily grab at his father's nose. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight and the sound of your son’s innocent laughter as Valarr grabbed his small hand and pressed kisses to it. 

You carefully set the silk scarf on the small table next to your chair before you stand up. Smiling, you place a soft kiss on your son's temple before leaning up to place a kiss on Valarr’s jaw. Your husband's hand moves down to the arch of your back, pressing you close. You felt your worries and fears burn away under the feeling of your husband's touch and the sight of your son. 

You tilt your head with a teasing grin as you place your hand on Valarr’s chest, fidgeting with the soft cloth of his tunic. Your tone was playful as you dramatically bowed your head, “As my husband commands.”

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my….sweetling mlist & main masterlist ❜❜

Იᰍ MY FIRST FIC FOR SWEETLING (ᗒᗣᗕ ;) guys I love her so much , I really hope you guys love this too !! and just a reminder that she can be requested with anyone in asoiaf with any plot etc. this is a interactive au so your guy’s thoughts, ideas, and opinions are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! please tell me your thoughts 🤍

taglist : @littledaenyra @cuntibrina @tartybleedinghearts @jimhalpertldn @aerangi @animegamerfox @sk1nnylikefel1x @userhotd @qardasngan @maekarpilled @ogchunkpiboli @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @godblesslarsvontrier @joyfulyouthlover @ameliadonovan @savedenji @emsziewrites @kthcbkhj @margaux002 @ghibli-pufferfish @canupourme14theroad @moonbeamstorm @yoxiaogi @kodzuvk @raashluvsff @darktrashsoulbear @fondlydigitalresonance @inejghafawifesblog @amndstuckinwonderland @thebl00dwyrm @tepedewish @readersassemble5 @celestialmonkii @megan-mars @witch-of-letters @spinkythecat @alaeratrrn @starkleila @ravenlpz @lechat-rouge @umadirectioner @nestaaelin @pinkdoeweirdo @juninnyxriddle

۶ৎ taglist is open

Sweetling reader ! who is beloved by everyone, she truly is the people’s princess. She is renowned for her beauty and her kindness to the court and Smallfolk. Tales are told and song’s are sung about her all across the regions. The Red Keep etc., is constantly receiving ravens and scrolls asking for the princess’s hand in marriage. She truly has everyone wrapped around her finger; her light touches all over the regions.

Sweetling reader ! who struggles with dragon dreams. She tries to figure them out, but the harder she thinks about them, the more it takes a toll on her. When she does get a dragon dream, it’s extremely hard for her to fall back asleep. Sometimes they get so bad the maesters have to give her a sleeping tonic. She hates talking about them; it makes her feel drained and not herself, as if she wasn’t in her body.

Sweetling reader ! who’s first love was her lady in waiting, Lady Arsa Dustin, a brown-haired and brown-eyed beauty who was 2 years older than the princess. She introduced sweetling into a lot of things; she helped her learn how to command court with her softness and shyness, and how to use it to manipulate others. Arsa truly was Sweetling’s safe place; she would stay up and help her calm down from her dragon dreams. But she sadly had to be sent back to her household in the north to be wed, breaking both of their hearts.

Sweetling reader ! who is spoiled with the prettiest dresses, the finest jewelry, and the most lavish silks and accessories. She is always brought gifts by people. She’s always so grateful and kind about it, not bratty or entitled. She always looks her best and moves with grace and composure. The perfect princess. She loves helping the smallfolk when she can, advocating for them and trying to find ways for their livelihood to improve. When she goes to the markets, she always pays extra for the things she buys and spends extra time at the orphanages.

Sweetling reader ! who tries to hide it, but she’s a very emotional and sensitive person, which can lead her to be dramatic at times. As she got older, the better she handled it, but sometimes it still gets her. When she is too stressed or upset, she likes to train with her sword and bow to let off some steam. She is skilled at both but prefers her bow. If she is too emotional, she will play her harp.

𓏲𝄢 𝒾f she was in house of the dragon...

Sweetling reader ! who is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Born a year after her older twin brothers Jacaerys and Aerion. (Or just a year after Jace if we are following the actual hotd plot) She is such a mama’s girl, was always at her side and following her around, hiding behind her skirts and holding her hand. She would have her Maids do her hair like her mom’s. She was also very close with laenor, she loved to listen to his tales, he loved to read stories to her before bed.

Sweetling reader ! who is the rider of silverwing, she didn’t seek out to claim her, silverwing was the one to come to her when the princess was age 10. she was with daemon when silverwing came to her, and ever since then the two of them have had an inseparable bond. They spend so much time together, they try to go on flights every day. She loves to sit next to Silverwing and read a book, the dragon curling around her protectively. Silverwing feels her emotions strongly, it’s written that their connection is the strongest a Targaryen and dragon has ever been. They are one.

Sweetling reader ! who was the closest to helaena growing up. She had a fear of bugs and crawlers but she would go along with helaena, helping her collect them, helaena smiling at her dramatics when she touched them. They also had many sleepovers, finding comfort in each other when they had their dragon dreams. They also just understood each other better than anyone else can. They loved to match dresses and hair styles, having tea parties and walking the palace with their arms looped or spending hours under the trees reading. They would send each other letters as much as they could when she left to dragonstone. sweetling loves to send her pressed flowers.

Sweetling reader ! who has been the object of Aemond’s obsession since they were little. she was always so kind to him, and they bonded over not having a dragon of their own. Aemond’s obsession with her only grew stronger when he overheard a betrothal offer between the two of them, but the obsession turned unhealthy after the incident with him losing his eye. He wants her all to himself.

𓏲𝄢 𝒾f she was in a knight of the seven kingdoms...

Sweetling reader ! who is the eldest daughter of Maekar Targaryen. Born a year after her older brother Aerion. As the eldest daughter, she’s really taken the responsibility of taking care of her siblings, sometimes to a point where she’s not getting enough care herself. She’s a big daddy’s girl; as a child, she would follow him around and hide behind his legs, holding onto his pinkie. She is very close with her father; they are each other’s safe place.

Sweetling reader ! who was sent to stay with her uncle Baelor for several years, and she grew up very close with him and her cousins Valarr and Matarys. Maekar was worried for his daughter, so he sent her to his brother, he knew Baelor would keep her safe and help her grow without being under the influence of her elder brothers.

Sweetling reader ! who has been having the same recurring dream since she can remember. It always starts with her walking through a dark cave, her dress dirty and ripped, and her hands trembling as she searched through the cave passages, falling to her knees with a gasp when a loud, deafening roar shakes the cave. But she didn’t stop searching; she kept going, getting more panicked. The dream always ended with a large silver blue dragon appearing in front of her, stopping her from leaving through the cave entrance. The dragon pressed its snout to her chest with a hot breath that would have her waking up with a loud gasp.

𓏲𝄢 𝒾f she was in game of thrones...

Sweetling reader ! who is the younger sister of Daenarys Targaryen. She was separated from her siblings when she was little. A trusted guard had taken her to the north; all she had was her blanket and a silver dragon egg. She grew up under the protection of the Starks and the North, becoming one of them. The north loves her, calling her their own princess and delicate winter flower. The beauty of the north. Ned thinks of her as his own daughter, raising her as his own but being truthful about who she is and where she came from. The Starks and people of the North are all very protective of her.

Sweetling reader ! who ‘ran away’ from Winterfell at the age of 14 after an argument with Theon and Robb at breakfast. Robb noticed something was wrong with her, and she mentioned her dragon dream and how she felt something was wrong, and Theon made fun of her, calling her crazy. She then yelled at them that she’s not crazy and stormed off. She went to her chambers and packed a satchel, her brush, some jewelry, and her dragon egg. She then snuck off on a horse and headed to the woods. She rode for a while, crying and singing to herself. She came across an injured deer and got off the horse to help it, but the horse ran off when it got spooked. Leaving her in the cold woods with an injured deer and only her satchel she had on. The deer ended up dying, making her cry and try to find her way back, but ending up getting even more lost. She found a hot spring and ended up falling asleep next to it. She woke up to the feeling of her satchel moving and opened it to see her dragon egg cracking open. It was only late into the night when Ned and Jory found her, the smallest little campfire lit next to her curled-up body, holding a silver hatchling close to her chest.

Sweetling reader ! who only got to meet her sister several years later when Daenerys came to the north to find her and strengthen her alliance with the north before she rightfully and successfully claimed the Iron Throne. The two of them became instantly close, making up for the years they unfairly lost. She stayed safely in the north until Daenerys sent for her, letting her know that it’s finally safe to be with her. When she did arrive at the Red Keep, her sister named her as her heir… She can also be requested with the original Game of Thrones plot.

𐔌 ⠀ 𓂃 ࣪ ִ⠀ SWEETLING WORKS !

✷ commonly paired with twins Jace & Aerion for my au here !

✷ can be paired with anyone from asoiaf

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…main masterlist ❜❜

roro's note. she is genuinely my favorite reader of mine , like I am so in love with her and I hope you guys are as well 🥹 pls pls fill my inbox with thoughts for her , this is a interactive reader so your guy’s thoughts, ideas, and opinions are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! 🤍

۶ৎ taglist is open

taglist : @minikiiikiii @cuntibrina @tartybleedinghearts @jimhalpertldn @aerangi @animegamerfox @sk1nnylikefel1x @userhotd @maekarpilled @ogchunkpiboli @briefwinnerpersona @you-were-in-my-dream @joyfulyouthlover @ameliadonovan @savedenji @emsziewrites @kthcbkhj @margaux002 @ghibli-pufferfish @canupourme14theroad @moonbeamstorm @yoxiaogi @kodzuvk @raashluvsff @darktrashsoulbear @fondlydigitalresonance @inejghafawifesblog @amndstuckinwonderland @thebl00dwyrm @tepedewish @readersassemble5 @celestialmonkii @megan-mars @witch-of-letters @spinkythecat @alaeratrrn @starkleila @ravenlpz @lechat-rouge @umadirectioner @nestaaelin @pinkdoeweirdo

◌ ◞ QUEEN OF PEACE !

❛❛ the introduction to sweetling reader !

◌ ◞ NOT NAMED FIRST CHAPTER…

❛❛ send in suggestions !

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 guys like how could I not make an au for them??? this has been plaguing my mind for oh so long 🤭 I don’t really have much planned for this , I wanted to leave some of it in your hands , SO GO CRAZY 🤓 this is a interactive au so your guy’s thoughts, ideas, and opinions are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! please tell me your thoughts 🤍

taglist : @minikiiikiii @cuntibrina @tartybleedinghearts @jimhalpertldn @aerangi @animegamerfox @sk1nnylikefel1x @userhotd @maekarpilled @ogchunkpiboli @briefwinnerpersona @you-were-in-my-dream @joyfulyouthlover @ameliadonovan @savedenji @emsziewrites @kthcbkhj @margaux002 @ghibli-pufferfish @canupourme14theroad @moonbeamstorm @yoxiaogi @kodzuvk @raashluvsff @darktrashsoulbear @fondlydigitalresonance @inejghafawifesblog @amndstuckinwonderland @thebl00dwyrm @tepedewish @readersassemble5 @celestialmonkii @megan-mars @witch-of-letters @spinkythecat @alaeratrrn @starkleila @ravenlpz @lechat-rouge @umadirectioner @nestaaelin @pinkdoeweirdo @loveofbambi @gorepain @starxs-s

۶ৎ taglist is open

GARRETT GRAHAM : 

“Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?” You quietly sang along to the song playing through your earbuds as you scrolled through your Pinterest feed, saving all the cute pictures in their proper sections. You were lying on your stomach in your boyfriend’s bed, your freshly pedicured feet were absentmindedly swinging to the tempo of the song.

Your boyfriend was sitting at his desk, his hair messy from him constantly running his fingers through it in frustration as he tried to understand what he was studying. His laptop and notebooks had his full attention, or at least you thought it did. When Garrett invited you over after practice, he made it clear that he had to study before he could give you all the attention you deserved. But his attention was stolen by you the moment he heard you singing those provocative lyrics. 

He quietly slipped off his headphones and set them on his desk before he got up from his chair. His lips twitched up into a small smirk at how cute you looked in his shirt, wearing nothing else but your fluffy socks and your baby blue panties that were barely peaking out from under the shirt. As soon as the two of you got up to his room, you were undressing and changing into your favorite shirt of his. 

“Gare?” You hummed in confusion at the sudden warm touch of his hands on your ankles, softly pushing your elevated legs down on the bed so he could straddle your thighs. You giggled at the feeling of him pressing his chest against your back, holding himself up with one hand while the other pulled out your earbuds for you. 

Garrett smiled at the sound of your laughter, leaning down to place soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, all the way up to your ear, where he teasingly nibbled at before whispering huskily, “The answer is yes.”

You felt chills go down your spine at your boyfriend's tone and the feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck. You tilted your head to the side, your breath hitching from how close his face was to yours. You swallowed slowly and sassily responded, “To what question?” 

His smile quickly changed into a cocky smirk when he noticed your body's reaction to him. His eyes dropped to your lips before slowly looking back into your eyes, his tone teasing, “I’d love to try out your fuzzy pink handcuffs.” 

+

“Fuck, Baby,” He groaned, a wonton moan quickly following after through his parted lips. The fuzzy pink handcuffs he had pulled out of the drawer of his bedside table with a smirk held him taut against the headboard. The soft plush of the handcuffs mocked the raw tension in his restrained muscles. He took pleasure in the feeling of the cuffs digging into his skin. 

His gaze that burned into you was filled with desire and amusement as he watched you move up and down on him, your boobs bouncing with your every movement, creating a mouthwatering, hypnotic sight. His jaw clenched as he watched you move so perfectly, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. 

The headboard creaked rhythmically with your movements as Garrett strained against the restraints. A satisfied smirk on his face despite being restricted. 

“Fuck—you feel so good,” your voice was strained as you breathed out, your hips rolling in a deliberately slow grind as you felt your thighs trembling from how deep he felt, your fingers digging into his chest. Your voice is a breathless, shaky exhale that caught in your throat with each movement as you went faster, your words barely holding together between the pleasure, “So deep inside me…holy shit, baby—“ 

“Jesus.” A low, rough moan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the headboard at the feeling of you clenching around him. His gaze never once leaves you as you roll your hips faster, dragging another ragged moan from his throat. Your words, the sight of your boobs bouncing in his face, and the look on your face, crumbling in pure pleasure, had him absolutely wrecked. 

“Fuck, baby—I’m gonna cum.” He growled through clenched teeth as he planted his feet on the bed, his hips bucking up to meet your frantic pace. His abs contracted as he tried not to break the restraints. His face was twisted up in an intense pleasure, his eyes locked on where the two of you were connected, watching himself disappear inside you. Your tight heat and lewd pace made it impossible for him to hold back. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed lewdly through his room, mixing with their moans and grunts. Your thighs burned and trembled uncontrollably as you rode him with frantic desperation while his core ached from his frantically bucking up into you, both of you chasing your highs. His biceps bulged and ached, the cuffs biting into his skin as he fought the overwhelming urge to break free and grab your hips to fuck you properly. 

A choked-out cry of pleasure tore from your throat as your orgasm slammed into you and rippled through your body. Your walls clench viciously around him like a vice, triggering his own undying. Garrett threw his head back against the headboard, a loud moan ripping from his chest as his hips jerked sloppily off the mattress, as he buried himself to the hilt, as he emptied himself deep inside you. 

Your tired body immediately leaned forward in exhaustion as you came down from your shared highs. Your boobs were heavy and soft against his broad, hard chest, sweaty bodies melting against each other. Your breath was hot against the sweaty skin of his neck, pants leaving your parted lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, your eyelashes creating shadows across your cheeks. 

Garrett grinned cockily at the sight of you so completely fucked out on top of him, how you nuzzled your face into his neck, scrunching your nose at the ticklish feeling of his slightly damp curls from sweat, brushing against your forehead. His chest vibrated against yours as he chuckled breathlessly, the handcuffs rattled against the headboard as he shook his hands, whispering teasingly, “You gonna let me out of these?” 

JOHN LOGAN : 

Logan caught on fast. He knew what you were doing before you even played that damn song; the ‘subtle’ hints you were dropping weren’t so subtle. For days, you had been sending him cute videos of babies throughout the day, during class, during his practices…all the parents looked to be close to your guy’s age. He noticed the change in you ever since the two of you babysat your baby nephew; you wanted a baby…with him. 

“One of me is cute, but two though?” You sang along to the song of your choosing, that way playing through the speakers of your boyfriend's truck. Your fingers fiddled with the bracelet you wore—a gift from Logan—as you looked out the window so Logan wouldn’t see the mischievous smile on your lips. 

The corners of Logan’s lips twitched up into a knowing smirk as he listened to you sing, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. He shook his head as he let out a small chuckle, his right hand moving to rest on your thigh, softly gripping into your plush skin. He spoke smoothly over the music, “You know, all you had to do was ask.” 

“Hmm?” You did your best to hum in faux confusion, as you turned to look at him, your breath hitching at the sight of your boyfriend’s toothy grin. Your eyes traveled slowly across his features, his brown eyes that you fell in love with, the perfect slope of his nose, his dark scruff, his brown curls brushing against his nape, and down to his Adam's apple, you loved to nip at. 

Your eyes dropped even lower, down his neck, you wanted to kiss, to the gold chain you loved to tug on, to a little of his chest hair that was peaking out from his loose flannel, the first few buttons being unbuttoned. Something he had done on purpose because he knew it drove you crazy, especially when you were sitting across the table at Malone’s, just counting the minutes until the two of you left your friends and you could finally pounce on him. 

His hand on your thigh moved up, squeezing harder. Your eyes went back to his lips, watching as he slowly licked them before they twitched up into a cocky smile as he repeated his words so smoothly, “All you had to do was use your words and ask me to put a baby in you.” 

Logan chuckled as he felt you squeeze your thighs together, his words clearly affecting you. He slipped his fingers under your skirt, so close to where you wanted him the most. His cocky smile turned into a smirk as he continued in a seductive whisper, “But you have to be a good girl and say please.” 

+

The cold night air that slipped through the slightly opened window did nothing to cool their heated passion in the steamy truck. The truck rocked back and forth as Logan thrust deeply into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the truck along with their mixed moans and heavy breaths. The sound of a Bon Jovi song playing faintly on the radio. 

“Look at you, angel—so pretty for me.” Logan cooed with a breathy moan, his breath hot on your chest as he mouthed at your tits and collarbone. Your dress collar was pulled down, giving him the perfect sight of your sweaty, bouncing tits. 

“Logan, please—don't stop!” You cried out, that hand tangled in his hair softly tugged on his strands while the other held onto his waist, pulling him in deeper if that was even possible. A loud groan left his lips at the pleasurable sting of your tug on his hair. He used the momentum of his hand resting on your head on the seat—his other hand was cradling the top of your head, protecting it from hitting against the door from his heavy thrusts—to quicken his pace. 

“Yeah?—want me to make you a mommy?” Logan grunted in your neck with a low moan, his eyes nearly closing in pleasure at the thought of you, round with his baby. You nodded fast, mind too clouded with pleasure to find the words. He moved his hand from the bench of the truck to grip your chin, turning your face back towards him. His face is so close to yours that when he speaks, his lips brush against yours.”Tell me.” 

“Please—please, I want your babies…fill me, John.” You sobbed desperately, your voice broken and whiny. The heat, the feeling of his sweaty body pressed against you, the pleasure—it was all too much and just what you wanted. Your hand on his waist moved lower, your nails digging crescents into the plush skin of his ass. 

”That’s all you want, baby?—to be filled?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust and want. His breaths were getting faster against your neck as he felt your walls clamp around him, milking them both closer to their release. Logan's eyes nearly rolled back at the sound of your babbling begs, leaning in to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. One of his hands travels downwards, grasping the curve of your ass and pulling your hips up to meet his frantic thrusts.  

“Take it.” He manages through clenched teeth, his voice strained as he breaks from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out guttural moans, his balls slapping hard against your ass as he spilled deep inside of you. You felt everything, every pulse, every twitch, and hot jets of cum filling you up. 

Your vision went white as intense waves of ecstasy went through your body, your hands pawing at him and your eyes rolling back. You cried out his name, a shaking, sobbing mess of pleasure as you reached your peak, incoherent babbles leaving your lips as your mind went blank. Logan didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm and into a blissful high with lazy thrusts until the two of you were whimpering and trembling messes. 

DEAN DI LAURENTIS :

Dean bit his bottom lip as he quietly stopped in his tracks in the doorway of the kitchen, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as fast as he could as his eyes zeroed in on you, his jaw nearly going slack. He had woken up alone in his bed from a nap—he was exhausted after practice and convinced you to get back in bed with him—to the sound of you singing and dishes clinking. 

You stood at the counter, whisking something in one of those fancy bowls Tucker had bought them as a housewarming gift. From where he was standing, you seemed to only be wearing one of his shirts, his eyes lingering on the way your hips swayed to the beat of the song that was playing from the Bluetooth radio on the counter. 

Dean was quiet as he walked up behind you, smiling at the cute gasp of surprise you let out when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. You paused on whisking the cookie dough when you felt your boyfriend's strong arms wrap around you. Dean groaned dramatically as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “You are driving me fucking crazy.” 

“What did I do now?” You couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend's dramatic grumpiness in his tone. Dean moved his arms from around your waist to rest his big, warm hands on your hips, pulling you back flush against his chest, letting out a small groan at the feeling of you pressed against his hot skin. 

He pouted and rubbed his nose against your neck needily before muttering with an accusatory tone, “You singing those lyrics! God, I can’t concentrate on anything.” 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smirking triumphantly. Instead, you put on a faux innocent smile before licking the cookie dough off your finger, shrugging, “Oh!…oops.” 

“Oh, that’s all you have to say, princess, hmm?” Dean teased you with a playful, dramatic huff as he slipped one of his hands under your shirt to softly caress your stomach. He admired your side profile, how pretty you looked as you smiled, clearly enjoying his dramatics. 

His eyes dropped to your hands, watching how you put perfectly sized circles of cookie dough on the cookie pan. There was just something so domestic about seeing you wear his shirt, hair messy from their shared nap, baking in their kitchen, and singing those naughty lyrics about wanting a baby. He wanted nothing more than to have a family with you. He rested his palm on your stomach, just imagining. 

Dean let out a loud groan as his imagination started to run completely wild with more thoughts about you. His hold on your hips tightened as he closed his eyes and whined needily, “Fuck now, all I can think about is putting a baby in you.” 

You smirked at how whiny your boyfriend sounded. You tilted your head to the side so he could hear you better as you slowly whispered flirtatiously, “If you let me finish these, maybe you can.”

+

You pulled away from the messy kiss with a small gasp, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of silverware hitting the floor, echoing through the kitchen along with the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin. Dean didn't seem to care about the interruption; his thrusts didn’t falter as he now started kissing and sucking down your neck. Your words barely forming with all the moans slipping through your parted lips, “Dean—fuck! Be careful.” 

“You feel like fucking heaven.” Dean purred in your ear with a cocky grin, teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck, making you whine and purposely clench around him. The rhythm of his thrusts faltered as he let out a choked-out whimper that he would never admit to making. The cocky look on your face was gone as soon as it appeared. One of his hands that gripped your hips slid up to grip the back of your neck, tilting your head back. 

“You’re taking me so well, such a good little slut for me.” Dean moaned breathlessly against your lips, moving his hand from your neck to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of him thrusting into you deeper. He leans in closer, not breaking eye contact as he spits in your mouth, a slow grin spreading across his face at the sight of you eagerly swallowing it with a loud moan. 

“That’s it.” He praises you, his thumb pressing down on your tongue to keep your mouth open, the sounds of your gag going straight to his cock. He thrusted into you faster, using his grip on your jaw to hold you in place, not breaking eye contact, watching as you galled apart on his cock. The wet, lewd sounds of their passion filled the kitchen. 

He gave your jaw a gentle squeeze before he moved his hand back down to your hip, sliding his hands down to dig his fingers into the plush of your ass, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts as he changed his angle to fuck into you deeper. He could feel your thighs trembling around him, the way your walls were clamping around him, how your moans got louder. 

“Cum on my cock, baby, feel me filling you up.” His voice was husky with want, holding himself from cumming deep inside of you; he wanted to feel you fall apart on his cock first. His demands and frantic pace push you hard over the edge. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you, everything about it was loud and intense. 

“Dean, don't stop!” You cried out, a small hiss of pleasure leaving your boyfriend's lips at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. Your pussy clamps around him, speaking his cock as you completely fall apart around him. Your head lolled back against the cabinet, tits bouncing with his hard thrusts, the sound of deans grunts and loud moans mixed with your whines and high pitched moans. 

“God, you’re milking me, princess—fuck!” Dean lets out a loud guttural moan at the feeling of your walls holding onto him for dear life. It pushes him deep into your sweet spot, flooding your walls with his hot cum as he continues to fuck you through both of your orgasms’ aftershocks. Not stopping until it was too much for your sensitive bodies. 

Dean placed wet, lazy kisses across your shoulder and neck, his hands softly rubbing your trembling hips and sides, your body still clinging to him. He slowly pulled away from your sweaty skin to grin teasingly at you, softly bumping his nose against yours “Think those cookies are ready? We’ve worked up quite the appetite.” 

JOHN TUCKER : 

Tucker watched you with a small smirk as he leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom, watching as you leaned over the bathroom sink to look closer into the mirror as you did your eyelashes. He pushed himself off the doorway and moved to stand behind you. You were so used to his touch that you didn’t flinch when he rested his hands on your hips. He softly caressed your sides with a smile as he asked: “Who’s Juno?”

You pulled the mascara wand away from your eyes and set it down on the counter as you pulled back from the mirror, gaping at your boyfriend in disbelief. "You're kidding—you've never seen Juno?”

You watched as he shrugged carelessly, shaking his head no with that cute smile you loved. You roll your eyes playfully with a dramatic sigh of false disappointment as you stand up straight. You keep your eyes locked with his eyes through the mirror as a teasing smile decorates your face. “Remind me why I'm dating you?” 

Tucker chuckled and moved one of his arms up from your waist, flexing his muscles at you in the mirror with a wink. He wore that slutty muscle tank that he knew drove you crazy, showing off his stretch marks you loved to kiss. He smirked as he answered you with a flirty tone, “Oh, my muscles definitely.”

You giggled at his flirting as you turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter as you tilted your chin to look up at him. Tucker rested his hands on the counter as he leaned in closer to you, successfully trapping you. He licked his lips, clearly enjoying how you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned even closer, his accent thicker as he whispered: “So are we?” 

You rest one of your hands on his hip, fidgeting with the waistband of his sweatpants, before you lean forward to place soft kisses on the little sliver of skin not covered on his shoulder. You raised your eyebrow and let out a small hum of confusion, “Hmm?”

Tucker let out a small groan with a mixture of a moan at the feeling of your lips on his now warm skin, along with the feeling of your fingers teasingly slipping under the band of his sweatpants. All thoughts of joining your friends at Malone's were long gone in their minds. He moved one of his hands from the counter to cup your jaw, whispering with a faux innocent smile, “Gonna try out some freaky positions?” 

+

Your body felt beautifully spent with an ache that settled into your limbs from the intense, flexible position he coaxed you out of. Your body practically melted into the sheets as he carefully rolled you onto your stomach. The sudden shift made your body protest, but the weight of his sweaty body pressing against your back as he placed a wet kiss on your shoulder made the soreness completely worth it. 

Your chest was smushed against the sheets of your dorm bed, makeup no doubt dirtying your soft sheets. Your boyfriend let out a desperate moan at the sight of your wet pussy. Your ass was perfectly hiked up in the air. Tucker's rough hands gripped your hips with a bruising force as he fucked into you with one heavy thrust. 

“Tuck!” Your loud cry of pleasure was muffled by the sheets, the sound vibrating through the sheets. The thrust stole the air right out of your lungs as you let out a choked-out whine, your fingers scrambling desperately to grip onto the messy sheets. The feeling of him thrusting deep into you was too much; everything felt so sensitive, you were so close to your high before Tucker changed the position. 

”That’s it, baby, you can take it.” Tucker whispered in your ear; his voice was low, and you could hear his smirk. How could he not feel cocky at the sight of you, a mess on his cock. Your face smushed against the mattress, your mouth parted as filthy moans left your lips. A thin string of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, and your eyes glazed over in lust. 

”Tuck…oh god, John!—so good!” You moaned loudly, mixing with the sound of his pelvis slapping against the plush of your ass, echoing through your room. Neither of you cared about being quiet. You reached back, your trembling fingers gripping onto his wrist and pulling him forward with a desperate whine. 

You didn't need to say anything else; he knew what you wanted. 

He slipped his arm under your neck, guiding you into a hot and sweaty headlock that had your head spinning and your body melting into his. He wasted no time as he began to thrust into you with an intense hunger, that coil in his stomach getting tighter. 

“Fill me up—please, John!” You begged him, your words slurred and broken as you continued to babble on about how bad you needed it. You were nothing but a trembling, drooling mess beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure from his cock and praise. Your nails dug into his arm, nearly sobbing as you tried to grind back against him, you couldn’t even finish your thought, so cock drunk, “Please! John, can I—ahh!” 

“Since you asked so nicely—my greedy girl,” he rasped in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he let out a guttural moan. He felt your walls clenching around him, desperately milking him and pulling him over the edge. Tucker moaned into your ear, his hips going still with a choked-out whine as you felt thick ropes of his cum fill you up in heavy spurts. 

The feeling of him filling you up, along with his sloppy thrusts, brings you to your peak. You were completely gone, your body trembling and brain completely going blank as your orgasm ripped through your body. Leaving you a moaning and whining mess. 

Tucker chuckled breathlessly at the small whimpers and pants leaving your lips as the two of you tried to catch your breath, minds still foggy in pleasured haze. He placed a wet and long kiss on your shoulder, smiling as he mumbled: “Wanna watch that movie now?”

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 actually obsessed with the layout for this one , I wanted to post this sooner but I was just oh so busy to finish it !! I really hope you guys like it , writing smut is always so hard for me 💔 please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇

also I am a proud lover of them em dash <3

᧔᧓ if this seems familiar it’s because I’ve taken it from my old blog and rewrote and added to it !

taglist : @pixiebratz @lovings4turn @minikiiikiii @toasttt11 @avreated @fantillisgirl @cixrosie @abbottjunior01 @corvusmorte @rougeleclerc @take-it-on-the-run @portalofpandas @itsskavya @justkeepingitpeachy @whydontyouputyourseatbelton @yournaughtyandcutelittlegirl @gojodaddy1029 @sentryvvorld

۶ৎ taglist is open

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ꪆ୧ BASICS .ᐟ

name: Grace Delilah Marlowe 

nicknames:

Gracie (everyone) 

Lilah (family & will) 

Gray (brothers) 

Ace (Will) 

Tiny Marlowe

Snow Queen/whisperer  

Treasure/Jewel of USA 

Little dreamer  

Travis Pastrana's protege 

birthday and zodiac: September 2nd 2005, Virgo 

age: 20 

location: 

Denver, Colorado (born and family residence) 

North Vancouver, Canada (former) 

Ann Arbor, Michigan (currently and family residence) 

ꪆ୧ APPEARANCE  .ᐟ

eye color: brown 

glasses?  grace doesn’t need to wear glasses but she loves to wear them as an accessory to her outfits, she has many different pairs. 

hair color: is a natural brunette, in the summer her hair lightens up 

hair styles: grace likes to keep her hair down at mid-back length, either at her natural wave or straightened. When she wants her hair up and out of her face she likes pulling her hair up in a ponytail or bun, using hair clips or claw clips, most often putting her hair in one or two braids—even in low ponytails. She loves using cute clips. 

skin tone: pale, rosy cheeks when flustered or cold 

height: 5’5

scars: a few inches long scar along the backside of her left thigh from a snowboarding accident when she was younger, she had fallen and a hidden rock had cut her. 

piercing(s): both of her front lobes, bellybutton 

tattoo(s): none yet. 

face claim: multiple face claims, mainly mia fernandez

ꪆ୧ ABOUT  .ᐟ

personality: grace has a very bubbly and sweet personality. She’s always been very energetic and outgoing, and just a joy to be around. She has that personality that attracts people and draws them in, very magnetic and charismatic. She can be very playful and flirty with the people she’s comfortable with; she enjoys making people flustered. She’s very protective of the people she cares about, especially her family. 

good traits: hard working, warm-hearted, creative, family-oriented, compassionate, organized, adaptable 

bad traits: perfectionist, people pleaser, can be naive at times, gets annoyed when she’s too hot, overworks herself 

quirks: gets stressed when her things aren’t organized, rants when excited, doodles on everything, always fixing her hair or her lip gloss, can nap anywhere

likes: miffy, collecting trinkets, decorating her things with stickers and lace, jogging, getting her nails done, romcoms, zara larsson, aquariums, word searches, her priv twitter account, sonny angels, f1, candles, phone cases, her iPad, her Nintendo switch, Leon Kennedy

dislikes: sea food, traffic, weight training, wet socks, onions, being too hot, when people make fun of her interests, slugs, iced coffee, hiccups, cheating 

hobbies: art, tennis, singing and playing guitar, reading, journaling, embroidery/sewing, dancing, puzzles, video games 

fears: snakes, being stuck in tight places, helicopters, frogs, failing 

strengths: creativity, kindness, her ambition, determined

weaknesses: self-critical, too much attention to details, insecurity of disappointing people, her love for shopping, 

languages spoken: english, french, and korean 

occupation/profession: team usa olympic snowboarder, full-time athlete, student at University of Michigan ; majoring in fine arts. 

ambition/dream: to live up to her full potential and have no regrets.

current concern: fixing her schedule so she won't be spread thin. 

currently listening to: lush life by zara larsson

celebrity crush: Sidney Crosby and Elle Fanning 

ꪆ୧ RELATIONSHIPS  .ᐟ

parents:

Gabriel ‘Gabe’ Marlowe

Lorraine ‘Lori’ Marlowe

sibling(s):

Caleb Marlowe (1998)

Shane Marlowe (1999)

Adam Marlowe (2002)

Oliver Marlowe (2003)

best friends: connor bedard, lara raj, frank nazar, forest lawson, evan park, jenny hill, macklin celebrini, adela jergova

friends: william eklund, fraser minten, caroline harvey, laila edwards, alysa liu, juraj slafkovský, enhypen, katseye, chloe kim, sickos YouTube channel, rutger mcgroarty, jakub ‘kuba’ hroneš

love interest: Will Smith 

pet(s): none yet, but she really wants a dog. 

ꪆ୧ MORE .ᐟ

scent: she likes vanilla and floral scents. In the words of others, her scent is very ‘sweet and comforting.’ Her scent is very welcoming and lingering, but it's not overwhelming at all. It’s a very addictive scent that grabs attention. She’s always getting compliments about how good she smells. 

outfits: grace has a large wardrobe. She loves clothes. She’s confident in herself. She loves sweaters, it's one of the staple items in her closet, along with jeans, skirts, and lace tights. Her clothes are very feminine. Pinks, lace tops, babydoll tops, mini skirts, wool sweaters, cardigans, camisoles, leg and arm warmers, anything that makes her feel good. She likes to look good, whether it's staying inside all day, going out to practice, or going out; she feels her best when she looks good. Her aesthetic is very shabby chic. Even her snowboarding outfits were cute and feminine. 

accessories: grace loves accessorizing. She has a lot of different bags, sunglasses, no prescription glasses, scarves, earmuffs, headbands, and hats. She loves utilizing them to make her outfit look better and more put-together. She loves having cute little add-on charms, keychains, and lace bows on her bags. 

jewelry: she enjoys both silver and gold but mostly leans into silver. Again, it really depends on the outfit she is wearing. She doesn’t like overusing jewelry and having a lot on at a time, especially with her everyday life. She likes having a few bracelets and a thin watch on, a few rings, and of course a necklace and her earrings. She loves dainty and very feminine jewelry. Her favorites and most worn are Vivienne Westwood and Pandora. 

makeup: grace likes to keep her makeup light on most days. She likes doing her eyelashes and having light eyeshadow on with some highlighter in the corners, doing her lips with lip gloss, lipstick, and lipliner. She loves wearing blush and highlighter that makes her cheek freckles stand out more. Most days, it's a clean girl with English rose makeup style. She likes to accentuate her features. 

sexuality: bisexual 

ꪆ୧ FAVORITES .ᐟ

food(s): mini m&m’s, muffins, strawberries, waffles

drink(s): lemon water, redbull, cherry coke, clove tea 

color(s): pink, baby blue, white

animal(s): bunnies, deer and whale sharks. 

bands and artist: zara larsson, clairo, gracie abrams, one direction, wallows, olivia dean, sabrina carpenter, the weeknd, rihanna, foo fighters, lady gaga

show(s): survivor, glee, any competitive reality show, gossip girl, jujutsu kaisen, the pitt, criminal minds 

movie(s): mighty ducks, confessions of a shopaholic, Monte Carlo, maid in manhattan, my neighbor totoro 

thing(s): her light pink multicolored quilt, her beige guitar that has a bunch of stickers on it, her pink passport cover, her journal. 

person: her boyfriend will 

ꪆ୧ BACKGROUND .ᐟ

Gabriel ‘Gabe’ Marlowe and Lorraine Marlowe met for the first time when they were in their early teens. They started dating when they were 19 / 18 and then got married at 23 / 22. They knew they were each other's soulmates and didn’t want to waste any time; they wanted to start the rest of their lives together. They are known as being an iconic sports couple. 

Gabe Marlowe is a 3-time Stanley Cup winner, twice during his time as a Pittsburgh Penguin in 1991 and 1992, and once during his time with the Colorado Avalanche in 1996. He is known as one of the best centers in the sport; he was drafted first overall. 

Gabe is now retired and coaches back and forth from Colorado and Michigan for youth and college. 

Lorraine Marlowe is a well-known and loved NFL Reporter, coming from a family of well-known and talented football players. She played flag football and tennis since she was a kid and through college. 

Lori and Gabe had their first child, Caleb, in 1998. He is one of the cornerbacks for the Cincinnati Bengals. They then had their second son, Shane, in 1999. He plays right winger for the Pittsburgh Penguins. He was drafted first overall. 

They had their third son, Adam, in 2002. He plays left winger for the Colorado Avalanche. He was drafted second overall. They then had their last son, Oliver, in 2003. He plays as a defenseman for the San Jose Sharks. He was drafted first overall. 

And then Lori and Gabe had their last child and only daughter, Grace, in 2005. Grace was not planned and was a very happy surprise to her family. The sonographer had made a mistake and told Gabe and Lorraine that they were having another boy. It wasn't until several months later that they found out the truth. A very happy surprise indeed. 

Grace was a very energetic baby and was quick to learn how to crawl and walk; her first word was ‘mama’. 

Grace was four years old when she started snowboarding. The Marlowe family had gone to a ski resort during vacation, and Gabe and Lori had put the kids in lessons. Her parents and the instructors were surprised and very impressed at how well she was doing. When the family got back home, Lori and Gabe put grace in snowboarding lessons/classes. Grace loved it. She truly was exceptional at it. 

She had done figure skating from age 6 to 13, and even though she was very talented at it, all she wanted to do was focus on snowboarding, so she stopped competing. She still likes to practice her figure skating from time to time. 

From age 3, she was in dance classes, ballet, contemporary, and jazz all the way up until age 17. 

Grace was 7 when she competed in her first event, where she won and beat multiple records. That’s the moment when her parents really realized what she could do, so they got her a personal trainer/coach. 

At age 16, Grace competed in her first Olympics in 2022 in Beijing, where she competed in halfpipe and slopestyle. She won gold in both. 

Since then, she has been focusing on her academics and competing, making sure that she keeps on getting better for the next Olympics. Racking up trophies, medals, and many interviews. 

In the fall of 2023, Grace started her freshman year at UMICH university, majoring in fine arts. She had been scouted for several different colleges, almost going to Boston College, but she wanted to stay in Michigan. 

In the 2026 Winter Olympics, the Milano Cortina 2026 games, Grace competed in her second Olympics. Where she competed in halfpipe and slopestyle, she won gold in both. Continuing her winning streak and defending her title.

The Marlowe family have a reality show called ‘Growing up Marlowe’ where they are all filmed during on and off season. It’s a very popular and loved show, it's not scripted at all, just their genuine family dynamics. It has been running for 5 years and is still going.

ꪆ୧ FUN FACTS  .ᐟ

Grace is a Redbull athlete. 

Grace has a great and close relationship with many athletes. She’s very close with her fellow snowboarders, Chloe Kim and Shaun White, who have taken her under their wing. Along with other athletes, such as the Legend Travis Pastrana, who has supported her from the beginning of her career. She’s very close with the Pastrana family, considered to be an honorary member, Travis and her Father being good friends. 

Despite being a snowboarding athlete, she loves to explore other sports, such as skateboarding, tennis, motocross, figure skating, and volleyball. She dabbles in lots of different sports with the help and guidance of her athlete friends and connections. 

She has been described as a lot like Elle Fanning, which she loves because Elle is one of Grace’s favorite people ever. 

Her aesthetic is very shabby chic. 

Grace found her love for art when she was three and got caught painting on her brother's hockey pucks and footballs; she wanted to decorate them. 

Grace loves any form of art; she loves how she can express herself in different forms. She expresses herself through drawing and painting the most, with her artwork all over her room and the house. She loves gifting her artwork to the people she cares about. She loves sewing and embroidering her things; it's a way to express herself. She loves decorating and designing things. 

Even though she’s part of a predominantly hockey / football family, she never had the desire to play on a team for either sport. 

Growing up, Grace had a poster of Sidney Crosby on her wall, decorated with a bunch of pink and white stickers so it would match her room aesthetic. 

Grace’s personal trainer, Mark, who has been with her since the beginning, lives in Pittsburgh when he’s not training her. So she spends time training in Pittsburgh as well, which is perfect because her brother Adam plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins. 

When Grace was 4 years old, she was given a stuffed bunny from her aunt, and she would bring it with her everywhere. For years, she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t have it. Thankfully, she’s gotten over it, but it's still one of her prized possessions. It’s called Mr Bun Bun. 

Grace is not just known because of her amazing talent and her famous family, but because of her star quality. The camera and media love her; she has been given many nicknames by the public. The most common ones are Snow Queen/whisperer, Treasure/Jewel of USA, and Little Dreamer. 

Snow Queen/Whisperer: was given to her because of her extreme talent and her IQ for the sport. The way she can read the slopes is truly unmatched. 

Treasure/Jewel of USA: was given to her because of her loving personality. She truly is one of a kind and has brought many people to the sport. Her interviews always go viral. And the way she interacts with others and her sportsmanship have truly captured the hearts of the people. Many famous celebrities praised her. 

Little Dreamer: was given to her because she truly is a dreamer. She has spoken a lot about how important it is to have a dream, and how she wants to help make people's dreams come true. Saying no dream is ‘little.’ 

Grace is a big lover of nature; it's one of her biggest inspirations. She loves going for walks and runs, visiting different hiking trails with her friends and family. She loves the mountains. She has a soft spot for her brother's lake house and cabin in the mountains; it's two of her favorite places ever. 

Grace has her own dorm room, a room at her brother's lake house, family cabin, and at her parents' house. All of them have the same aesthetic. 

Grace has always been a bit of a people pleaser; she just wants to make people happy and help them, and sadly, that kindness in her gets taken advantage of. 

Grace was in a relationship for one year during the summer of her high school sophomore year and her junior year. His name was Carson Burke, and she caught him cheating on her with her close friend at the time, Jane Hills. It had been going on for months. She took it very hard; the few weeks after were really hard for her. 

In the middle of her senior year, she had a 6-month relationship with a girl named Lacy Meeks, but they broke up on good terms before graduation because Lacy was going to college out of the country. They still keep in touch. 

Grace’s main love language is physical touch; she is clingy and touchy with the people she’s comfortable with. 

Grace met her closest best friend, Conner Bedard, when she was around 5, while her family was living in North Vancouver for her father's work. The Marlowe and Bedard families became very close; they all consider each other as family. 

Grace met her best friend, Lara Raj, when she was 12 at an airport, their families were traveling, and they were on the same flight that got delayed. Grace saw Lara sitting there bored, so the social butterfly she is, introduced herself and the two of them immediately connected, talking for the 3 hours while they waited for the flight. They exchanged numbers and stayed close. 

Grace met one of her best friends, Adéla, when she was younger at a dance class. Grace had gotten hurt, and Adéla helped her. They constantly kept in touch. Adéla is very much like an older sister to her. 

Grace met another one of her best friends, Jenny Hill, from being on the same figure skating team when they were younger, and they immediately got close. They then met Evan Park, who was a shy kid who played hockey at the same ice rink where the girls practiced figure skating. The three of them are a very close trio, all going to UMICH. Jenny is still doing figure skating while Evan does musical theater. 

Grace met Frank Nazar, another one of her best friends, at UMICH. They had met in the college’s library. Frank was having trouble finding a book, so Grace helped him. They then shared a table to study and got close from there. 

Grace met a very close friend of hers, Forest Lawson, at a ski resort where she was snowboarding. He was also snowboarding, and they shared a chairlift, and he told her that he’s part of a YouTube group called Sickos and that he’s a big fan of hers. The two of them got close as they snowboarded together, following each other before they said goodbye. 

Grace has a very large following across her TikTok and other social media platforms. She has a YouTube channel, but she doesn’t upload often, but when she does, it’s usually vlogs that go viral. 

Survivor is Grace’s favorite show, she was introduced to it when she was younger by her parents, it became some sort of family tradition watching it together when they can! As the years go by they try to keep up with it together, always talking about it in the family group chat. She loves watching it with Will and having fun little gatherings with her friends as they watch it.

Grace has two sides to herself. A side where she likes to keep to herself, staying home and leaning into her home bodied self, or a side where she’s more extroverted, going to parties and friend gatherings. 

When Grace gets uncomfortable or upset, she gets quiet and kind of shrinks into herself, kind of just fidgets as she tries to calm herself down. Her anxiety can get very bad, but thankfully, she has people who care about her and know her very well. What helps her is a soft touch, either to her shoulder or hand, anything to just ground her and get her out of her head. 

Even though Grace doesn’t compete in dance and figure skating anymore, she still has a strong passion for both. Showing her love and appreciation for both sports. She still practices them both, still very talented at them. 

Grace’s official Instagram account is GraceMarlowe

Grace’s private Instagram is littledreamer

Grace’s Twitter is GraceMarlowe

Grace’s private Twitter is bunbunmarlowe

ꪆ୧ VISUALS  .ᐟ

ꪆ୧ POSTS N MORE  .ᐟ

GraceMarlowe

📍Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

liked by  _slafkovsky_ , gabeperreault44 , barzal97 and others

🏷️ MarkHayes , penguins

GraceMarlowe training in da pitt + seeing the pens 🐧

view all comments

📌 mackcelebrini I would be ready fyi, pic is fake news

⤷ GraceMarlowe ofc it’s fake…he’d never ask you tf

⤷ mackcelebrini okay wtf (◞‸◟；)

user the minecraft picture 😭

⤷ user iconic

user SID 😛

ShaneMarlowe_ i’m seeing a lot of Sidney and none of me?

⤷ GraceMarlowe HE LOOKED AT ME 😁😁😁

⤷ ShaneMarlowe_ yeah in annoyance….(he literally knows you??)

⤷ GraceMarlowe I have one of him smiling at me but I’m gatekeeping it :p

user GRACE RELEASE THE SID PICS PLEASE 🙏

⤷ GraceMarlowe no :p

user mark must be tired

⤷ MarkHayes i am…

⤷ GraceMarlowe he loves mee 😁

CalebM_63 I like this, no shane 🙂‍↕️

⤷ ShaneMarlowe_ okay bro wtf 😒

⤷ OliverMarlowe_51 it’s okay Shane, I don’t think you’re ugly

⤷ Adam_Marlowe he’s lying to you

⤷ OliverMarlowe_51 I’d never 😇

⤷ ShaneMarlowe_ I feel like I’m being gaslit

⤷ GraceMarlowe I do think you’re ugly btw 😇

OfficialLorraine come home safely lilah 💖

GabeMarlowe come home safely and fast (save me) 🙏

⤷ OfficialLorraine the couch outside looks comfortable 😒

⤷ GabeMarlowe outside? 😦 🙅🏻‍♂️

⤷ GraceMarlowe who taught you guys how to use emojis….

⤷ OliverMarlowe_51 I did 🙋‍♂️

jenjenhill babe those are both of my hats 🤨

⤷ GraceMarlowe but I took them from evan’s room

⤷ jenjenhill oh you did huh….

⤷ E_park okay so I can explain 🫪

_connorbedard chicago next? (please 🙏)

⤷ GraceMarlowe what happened to your nonchalant era?

⤷ _connorbedard I am nonchalant…(bro I put it in parentheses)

kkharvey where’s the scuba vid?

⤷ GraceMarlowe babes it’s non existent 😺

⤷ laila_edwards scuba? 😕

lararajj we are about to be so deep in the pitt

⤷ GraceMarlowe so deep 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

⤷ user hello??

alysaxliu waist…SNATCHED

⤷ GraceMarlowe 😛😛

rutgermcgroarty my head is still ringing 😵‍💫

⤷ GraceMarlowe rut I told you I’m not good at sewerball 😭

penguins it was good to see our favorite Marlowe 🐧 💛

⤷ ShaneMarlowe_ admin i literally know where you work 🤨

⤷ penguins 🫪🫪

⤷ GabeMarlowe so do I 🤨

⤷ GraceMarlowe admin don’t let them intimidate you! you’re my favorite too 💛

⤷ coloradoavalanche i must be blind because there’s no way…

⤷ sanjosesharks grace blink twice if you need help.

⤷ bengals it’s okay guys, we are clearly her favorite 🧡

⤷ GraceMarlowe guys guys please! there’s enough of me to go around 😁

user not all the teams fighting for her 😭

user grace truly is the nhl’s princess 👸🏻

user family goals, really 🥹

user come back to San Jose!!!!

⤷ _willsmith2 yes!!!!agreed!!!!!! please!!!!🙏

_willsmith2 i miss you 😩

_willsmith2 you’re so pretty 🤩

_willsmith2 I’m having withdrawals

_willsmith2 i miss you 😩

⤷ GraceMarlowe I’m literally seeing you next week!!!! (I miss you more) 💖

⤷ _willsmith2 so far away 💔💔💔

_willsmith2 i love you ace 🩵

⤷ GraceMarlowe i love you more 💖

main insta priv insta

priv twt

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my….au masterlist & main masterlist ❜❜

roro's note. I love Grace so much, shes so special to me !! I hope you guys love her too , btw for the sake of the au will’s sisters name is gabby !! I already had most of this done when i realized my mistake 😭 please tell me your thoughts , this is a interactive au so your guy’s thoughts, ideas, and opinions are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !!

˖ ་ taglist : @pixiebratz @lovings4turn @minikiiikiii @toasttt11 @avreated @fantillisgirl @cixrosie

۶ৎ taglist is open

“Aye, I know, doc,” he says with a small groan at the pleasure-pain mix from your warm, skilled hands. The towel covering his cock shifts as he moves his hips, and you gently fix it with a small laugh at the lame nickname he had for you as you kept your professional composure.

“Stop squirming, you big baby,” you tease, your voice bright even as heat creeps up your neck. Your fingers glide along the tight muscles of his inner thigh, working the strained adductor with careful, firm strokes. “I swear, you hockey boys are all the same..think you’re invincible while your body says otherwise.”

Dean’s sweet, lust-filled eyes flick up to yours, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips despite the wincing. His golden-blond hair is damp from practice, and his chiseled torso was still glistening with a light sheen of sweat. “Mmm, but I’ve got the best hands on staff taking care of me. How’s a guy supposed to behave when those hands are sliding up his thigh?”

You arch a brow, fighting a grin as you press your thumbs into a particularly tight knot. He hisses, then lets out a low groan that goes straight between your legs. “Flirting with your medical staff? Bold move, Di Laurentis. Especially when I could ask the coach to bench you for two weeks.”

He chuckles, “Worth it...besides, we both know you like taking care of me.” His gaze drops pointedly to where your hands are working very close to the edge of the towel, taking his lip between his teeth. “And I like when you do, especially when you do it in that cute little nurse outfit...” He says still thinking of your costume from the most recent Maxwell–Di Laurentis Birthday Bash, where you were a sexy nurse and your best friend, Grace, went as a sexy patient.

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “You’re impossible..aand stop moving that towel around or I’m going to—”

The towel slips again as Dean deliberately shifts his hips. This time, it falls open completely, revealing his hardening cock. It was already curving up toward his abs, jumping at the cold of the room. You pause, fingers stilling on his thigh. A soft, amused laugh escapes you. “Really? Right now?”

Dean gives you that signature shameless grin, dimples popping. “Can you blame me? You’ve been rubbing me down for ten minutes in those tight little shorts. My dick has a mind of its own when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, trying and failing to keep your professional mask in place. The dirty side of you wins out. “Well, as your medical professional, I guess I should probably check for swelling…ya know to make sure everything’s functioning properly.”

Dean’s eyes squinting and filling with lust, “Oh fu—yes examine me, doc.”

You don’t waste anytime. Your hand slides higher, wrapping around his thick length with a slow, (gently) nail raking stroke. Dean groans, head falling back against the padded table, hips twitching up into your grip.

“Shit, your hand feels good,” he rasps. “Been thinking about this since I left your dorm last week. That so-called ‘one time thing’ is turning into a problem.”

You lean over him, your free hand still massaging his inner thigh while the other pumps him with firm, deliberate strokes. “Maybe you’re just addicted to my bedside manner,” you quip, voice flirty, a big contrast to your professional side. “Or maybe you just like being told what to do by someone smarter than you.”

He laughs breathlessly, then reaches up and tugs you down into a passionate kiss. His tongue slides against yours, while one of his big hands palms your ass with a small squeeze. “Smart mouth,” he growls against your lips. “Get up here...I want to taste you while you’re playing doctor.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You climb onto the table, carefully straddling his sweaty eager face while facing his cock. Dean yanks your uniform shorts and panties down in one quick motion, and the second his mouth latches onto your pussy, you moan way too loud. “Fuck, De—”

His tongue rolls relentlessly, licking broad stripes through your folds before flicking rapidly over your clit. He groans into you, the vibration making your now sweaty thighs tremble. “So fucking sweet...missed this pretty pussy.”

You lean forward, taking him into your mouth in return. The angle was absolutely perfect, you bob your head, sucking and stroking while he eats you up. Smacking and wet noises filling the room. Dean’s hips buck gently, careful of his injured side, but his mouth never stops working you over.

When your legs start shaking and your moans grow higher, but he doubles down, sucking your clit hard until you come with a loud gasping cry, grinding against his face. Praying that all the others are still in the workout room across the facility.

Dean doesn’t let you recover. He flips you gently onto your back, mindful of his hip, and settles between your thighs. His eyes wild with lust as he rubs his cock through your slick folds, getting a slight feel.

“Need to be inside you,” he says roughly. “Tell me you want it too, baby.”

You cup his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. “I want you, Dean. Now! Fuck me like you mean it, but don’t you dare hurt that hip, or I’ll kill you.” Even in a moment of passion you can't help but make sure he heals properly.

He laughs at your warning, but continues to push in slowly, stretching you open with a deep groan. “So tight, huh… always so fucking perfect for me.” He starts a steady, rolling with a nonverbal rhythm, mindful of his injury but still incredibly intense. His mouth finds your neck, sucking marks as he thrusts.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick of lust. “Taking my cock so well in the training room like a naughty little medic...what would everyone say if they knew? Hm? What would Tucker and John Logan say about their favorite medic getting fucked by their best friend, huh?”

You wrap your legs around him, locking him in as your nails dig into his muscular back. “They’d say I’m the luckiest girl on campus. Now shut up and make me come again, hotshot.”

Dean grins wickedly and picks up the pace, one hand slipping between you to circle your clit. Your moans mix with his filthy praise until you shatter around him, again, clenching so hard he follows right after, burying himself even deeper and groaning your name into your neck as he fills you up.

Afterward, Dean collapses carefully beside you on the wide table, pulling you against his chest. His big hand strokes soothingly up and down your back, the cocky energy some how melting into gentle affection.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Didn’t hurt my hip too bad… but I might need regular treatment from you for the next few weeks.”

You laugh softly, nuzzling up against his warm skin. “Regular treatment, huh? I think that can be arranged. But only if you actually rest when I tell you to, you stubborn hockey boy.”

Dean chuckles, dimples flashing as he tilts your chin up for a lazy, sweet kiss. “Deal. As long as my favorite doc keeps wearing these little shorts while she ‘treats’ me.”

You swat his chest playfully, but your smile is bright and full of promise. “Hm..that could be arranged."

Shaking your head, fingers threading through his hair. "Tickles a little," you pant out as he switches up his movements, causing the sheets to crinkle.

Garrett chuckles against your pussy, the low vibration sending a fresh shiver up your spine. “Then I’ll just have to be more careful with my tongue, won’t I?” His green eyes sparkle with mischief as he pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny. “Can’t have my girl laughing when I’m trying to make her come.”

Before you can fire back a witty reply, he flattens his tongue and curling it up to meet your clit with a soft flick. After a few minutes, he changes his method, as he seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, two thick fingers sliding into you without warning, curling just right against that spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

“G—,” you moan, your laugh melting into a needy whimper. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him grunt.

“Uh huh, that’s better,” he murmurs, the words half-muffled as he keeps working you. “Love when you say my name like that. All sweet..” He pumps his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue flicking over your swollen clit. Every time you squirm or let out a breathy giggle from an accidental tickle, he doubles down, turning it into deeper pleasure.

As you pant, Garrett looks up at you the whole time, eyes locked on your face not missing a single reaction. His free hand slides up your body, palming one of your breasts, thumb teasing your nipple; enjoying the sensation of the bud hardening for him. And he knows that only he can give you that pleasure.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” he rasps, with a scratchy throat from yelling at the game before. “Spread out for me, dripping down my fingers. Hmm..my own personal cherry pie.”

You manage a breathless laugh despite the building pressure. Looking down at him, back against his pillow. “You’re such a big sap even when you’re between my legs.”

He grins, “sap who’s about to make you come all over my face.” He adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously, and curls them harder while his tongue works your clit over again.

You feel a tight coil, instantly causing your hips buck against his mouth, chasing the pleasure as you muffle the sounds with your hands. “Garrett—shit—I’m close—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growls, the command vibrating against your sensitive flesh. You come with a loud cry, thighs clamping around his head as multiple waves of pleasure crash through you. Garrett doesn’t stop, licking you through every ebb n' flow, drawing it out until you’re whimpering about being oversensitive.

When you finally sag back against the pillows, chest heaving, he crawls up your body, kissing a trail along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally claiming your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you pull him closer.

“Think I earned a little reward for that performance?” he teases, grinding his hard cock against your thigh. He’s still wearing his boxers, but the thick outline is unmistakable. You reach down and palm him through the fabric, squeezing just enough to make him hiss from the contact. “Hm, well only if you sing the next chorus while you’re inside me.”