#I'm not here to impose my pov

[cawcawbak]

I'm just passing by to say that it's not because you criticize Rauru & co (or the plot) that means you excuse Ganondorf's behavior.

Yes, everyone knows that Ganondorf is Evil, and everything that isn't a monster or a Yiga is Good.

From what I've understood, the main problem is the storytelling, not the story itself.

All the characters are literally one-dimensional. Everyone is Good (especially Rauru and his family) but Ganondorf, who's the worst evil man ever.

That's why the Zonai/Rauru&co feel so fake and imperialist because the story looks like it was written by a propagandist who wanted to depict Hyrule as the Perfect And Greatest Kingdom ever and those who dare to stand up to them are crazy old shit like Ganondorf (or fools like the Yigas).

Before yelling at me, obviously the story doesn't say that (at least not explicitly) and maybe that wasn't the writers' intention, but it feels like this nonetheless. That's the problem when you write something purely black and white (and that your audience has a more developed brain than that of a 10 yo).

I guess I'm from the team who's pissed off about the plot of the game but still like the gameplay

[barleyo]

Daddy's Girl.

Step Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Don't like? Don't read! Either way, READ THE TAGS. I'm starting to get pretty weird on this blog, so expect more stuff like this! A girl has to feed her fetishes, so feel free to tag along with me and enjoy what my sick little mind thinks up. Thanks for reading!

Tags: stepcest, step-dad/step-daughter relationship, cream pie, daddy issues, use of "baby girl" and "daddy's girl," daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, infidelity, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, LARGE AGE GAP (legal), 2nd person POV

Word count: 2.1k

As far as your mother was concerned, your father was worth less than the sum of his parts. He was fleeting idea, a mere concept in both of your lives ever since you could remember. Sure, you remembered a few odd Christmases with a surplus of gifts, all tagged "from Daddy," and a few daddy-daughter dates here and there, but that wasn't enough to make up for his true absence. 

It wasn't a surprise when your mom eventually left him, scooping you up with her. Just you and her, and the rare postcard that your sperm-donor decided to ship off once a year or so. It was good enough then when it was just you two finding your way in the world, but it went downhill when your mom found a new boy toy. 

Leon.

He wasn't a bad guy, by any means. Wasn't pushy, didn't make you call him "dad" or try to impose his will onto you, but his presence made the absence of your real father that much more obvious. You tried to ignore him for the most part, letting your mom have her little relationship with him to tide her over. 

But then they got married. Leon became a more permanent fixture. That was no bueno. 

You toughened it out, being cordial with him until you finally hit that mark of independence: sweet, sweet 18! The big one-eight, your ticket to freedom! 

Everything was planned out for your big day. Mom and Leon made a cake, presents were given, and all birthday wishes granted, except for one. What you really wanted, was for your dad to show up for just this one day, just this once, to have him and not just his money. 

You could never get that lucky, though, and that thought was cemented in your head when you found yourself waiting for him outside of your house. The driveway was empty, not even your mom's car was out there, she still had to head off to work. The world couldn't pause for a birthday girl, it seemed.

Stepping back inside to the house, you slammed the door behind you, practically throwing yourself onto the leather couch in the living room. The tears started faster than you could contain them, and quite honestly, you didn't want to contain them. It was your party, damn it, and you would cry if you wanted to!

"You okay, kid? I heard the door-"

Fuck. Him.

Leon's heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs, leading to his place in front of you. "(Y/N), are you crying?"

You sucked back a breath of air, steadying yourself as much as you could before speaking. 

"No, 'm not, just-- go, just leave me alone." You let your face drop into your hands, staining your sleeves with tears.

Leon, being just the right amount of pushy, took a steps next to you a placed his hand on your shoulder. "Can we talk about it? I mean, I probably know what it is, but we could- you could say whatever you need to say." His face cringed a bit at his own words, feeling like he was already fucking this up. "No judgement."

You kept your face covered but obliged, knowing that talking about it, even with Leon, would make you feel a little better.

"My dad isn't here. He's been promising for weeks that he'd show, but he isn't here."

"Oh."

Your step-dad bit his lip trying to figure out how to make you feel better. He knew you weren't exactly fond of him, but he felt a twinge of responsibility.

"Fuck 'em," Leon finally decided on. "He's a liar and you don't need him. So, fuck 'em. Why would you want a deadbeat to bring you down on your special day?" 

"Because, he's my dad," you said, like it was the most obvious thing. He was right, of course, but the absence still hurt you.

"No dad would stand up a sweet girl like you on her birthday. You only turn 18 once. A real dad wouldn't miss a birthday this monumental for anything. What's he worth, if he can't keep to his word?"

"I guess nothing." You sat up straighter, trying to make yourself calm down. "D'ya think it's, like, my fault? Why doesn't he want to see me?"

He suddenly got really serious, making his grip on your shoulder firm.

"Not at all. You are a wonderful girl. Your mom thinks so, and so do I. You are brilliantly smart, kind, responsible, sweet, gorgeous-- you're perfect and if that scumbag can't see that, then he's beyond saving." 

He loosened his grip, letting his hand fall down to your lap, a bit close to the crotch of your jeans. You didn't look down, trying to convince yourself it was an accident, but he didn't move his hand either.

His other hand came up to your face, holding your cheek and to your own surprise, you leaned into his hand. His big, calloused, confronting hand.

Fuck him.

Something snapped in you when he leaned in for a kiss. God, it was wrong, so wrong, but you were so conflicted. Is this what a father's love really felt like? Hell if you knew, this was close enough in your book.

"Hmph-! Leon..." You pulled away from the kiss, wiping at your mouth roughly to get rid of the salvia strings connecting the both of you. "This is wrong, this isn't okay, my mom-"

"Is not here." 

He placed another kiss on your lips, this one chaste and sweet, so unlike the passionate one you shared before. 

"Just you and me. I know your dad isn't here, but I am. Let me make up for him, baby." His whispers pricked goosebumps over your body, lighting a fire deep in you. "Let daddy love you. Can I show you?"

His big hand looked nearly comical resting against the small button of your jeans, pawing desperately at them. So, so, so wrong. So fucked up, so not okay, so....

"Yes," you said breathily. "Okay, I-I want you to show me. Just be careful please, 'cause.." you trailed off a bit, feeling the pop of your pants opening. 

Leon yanked them down, tossing them away quickly. "Fuck, that's good," he said, pressing his tongue flatly on your mound through your panties. 

The fabric slowly grew a wet patch that clung to you, getting sticky. He placed a soft kiss on your clothed clit, then rested his head on your soft thigh.

"Anybody ever touch you here?" he asked, running a finger over your pussy. 

You softly shook your head, mumbling out a 'no.'

"Mm, more for daddy, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good," he said, slipping your panties to the slide. His mouth made quick work, tongue already gliding up and down on your clit. 

Your face was already twisting up in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together tightly.

"That's cute," he blew cool air over your cunt, keeping his eyes on your face. "You like it? My mouth all over you like this?"

"Mhm, please- don't stop. I wanna feel it again." 

You reached your hand out to hold his head, wanting to push it down before bringing your hand back nervously.

"That's right, push my head down if you want. 'M here to make you feel good, so you use me. Just a wet mouth for you today, sweet girl."

You nodded eagerly, running your hands through his blond hair and taking taking firm purchase of a section of it. Your hands greedily pushed his face into your cunt. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue dug into your tight hole made you feel fuzzy inside.

Leon was so vulgar with his noises; he almost enjoyed it more than you were. Slurp after slurp came from his mouth, accompanied by a moan or two while he tried to get himself off by palming himself through his pants. 

The sight of him was just as good as the feeling of him. You had never been taken care of so thoroughly. Leon was opening a whole new world to you, a world where you could be selfish and take, because your daddy would provide, no questions asked.

"Lemme try somethin', yeah, baby?"

He shook your hand off and spat directly on your clit, spreading the fat glob with his fingers. Tight, fast circles were traced over your bud, back and forth. It felt like hypnosis, the way he reeled your body in closer to an orgasm. 

"Daddy, please, 'm gonna cum," you said, face flushing of all color. "Your mouth, want your mouth," you shot out quickly, already obsessed with the feeling of his hot mouth tonguing you down.

He obliged, of course. How could he turn his princess down? Leon's lips again wrapped around your clit, sucking on the bud like it gave him life. 

You came soon after. You seized and convulsed and the feeling of his eyes taking you in made the waves of pleasure crash down that much harder over your body. 

"If he knew what a sweet fucking pussy you had," Leon said, licking a final stripe over it, "he'd never wanna leave."

"Wha--?"

"I said," Leon pulled away from your pussy, lifting his head to your ear, "that even your dad would wanna be tongue deep in your sweet, tight cunt. But it's all mine, isn't it?"

The sound of his belt unbuckling made you wetter, if that was possible, but it also sent a sense of realization through you.

You had your pussy in your step dad's mouth. And you liked it. And now, you would let him fuck you. And you would love it. 

"I know you're a virgin, but fuck, baby, you're so tight." His voice was grumbly and strained while he tried to push into you. "Maybe I need to eat you up a little more," he teased.

"No, I need you inside, wanna feel it now." You let yourself go completely. Here you were, whining like a brat while Leon's fat cock stretched you. The pain with sharp, but immediately worth it. He fit inside perfectly, easily hitting your sensitive spots with a few thrusts.

He hissed, feeling you clamp down on his length. "Shh, come on, gotta get used to it baby. Don't want me to cum too quick, do you?"

"Yes, I do," you whined, desperate to know for certain that you were making him feel good too. 

Leon's laugh softly rang in your ears. "No, I wanna make it worth your time. Wish I could take you all night long," he muttered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. 

He swallowed all of your moans, slipping his tongue into your mouth while he rocked into you. He tried to find a rhythm, but he was too lost in pleasure to be neat about it. 

He'd fuck you nice and orderly another day, but for now? He just wanted to feel you gush around him, and feel your cunt get sloppy while he took you.

Your breathless moans caught his attention. He found the angle that made you get oldest and stuck with it, lifting your hips up with his hands so he could piston into your g-spot.

"Oh my god, right there! That feels-- oh my god."

"I know, baby," he said, thumbs digging into your hipbones. "Feels good f'me too. You're so good for daddy."

Your heart, and cunt, pounded the more he spoke. You were close and you knew it, you just needed him to keep talking you through it. "I am?"

"Yes, baby, you're perfect. Daddy's perfect little princess, taking my cock so good." His cock twitched, so he clenched his jaw, refusing to cum before you did. "You know what good girls get to do?"

"Hmph?" Your face was red and hot, mouth hanging open while he continued to fuck into your spongey walls.

"They cum hard on daddy's cock. Can you do that for me? Cum all on me?" He traced his hand over your cheek, letting his thumb land on your bottom lip while he egged you on.

Your body had never reacted faster, immediately creaming on his length. Your hole milked him, each contraction gripping his length and sucking the cum right out of him. 

Leon let a shaky breath out before pulling out of you, scooping the mixture of your cum in his fingers. He rubbed it between two fingers for a moment and popped it into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

You came down from your own high and looked over at him, feeling guilt pull at your chest.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"What about mom? She's gonna freak if she ever finds out. Did we fuck up? What's gonna--"

"Hey," he said, shushing you with his finger over your lips. "She's not gonna find out and she doesn't need to know. I might be married to her, and I get why you're stressed, but what we have is different."

He pulled his finger off of your mouth and pressed a kiss to your forehead cheekily. "You're daddy's girl. That makes you special."

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 2

Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Reader POV

You were swimming in a deep pool of black, waves of some syrupy feeling caressing your mind, interrupted by the occasional pinch or sting. You felt the black ebbing away, replaced by the metallic smell of blood and the sting of bright lights in your eyes. You let out a sharp whine as the pinch became an agonizing, burning pain in your left knee.

A choked sob followed as you slowly regained your awareness. You were laying in a hospital bed, and a medic was carefully redressing your injured leg.

“Where’s Lieutenant Ghost?” You asked, remembering how he’d been shot down aiding you in your escape.

“Busy. Said he’d come by once you were awake to deliver the news.”

Your brow furrowed. The news? What could that possibly mean? You couldn’t be in trouble for the mission having gone bad. Your lip trembled as the medic finished their work and left.

Maybe Ghost had been right to leave you out of missions before. The pain in your leg was agonizing, and you wanted to curl into a ball and cry. You were all alone in a place you didn’t belong, and you were suffering, but all you could feel was anger at yourself. Anger that you just weren't good enough for the job.

A small part of you wanted to call home, but you couldn’t bare the thought of putting anymore stress on your parent’s shoulders.

You felt helpless, more so than usual, and you couldn’t stop the shaking in your hands. A knock sounded, drawing a shaky gasp from you lips.

You felt you shoulders tremble as the imposing figure of your Lieutenant quietly slipped into the room.

Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the black sweatshirt he wore. He simply stared at you through the holes in his mask, not saying a word.

You felt a shudder run down your spine as he took a step closer, holding out a tan folder to you.

“What’s this?” You asked, your hands trembling as you reached for it.

“Your discharge paperwork,” he answered curtly.

“From the hospital?” You asked, your voice wavering.

“From the 141.”

Your stomach dropped. “No,” you pleaded, voice wavering. “No, Ghost…please, no,” you begged, fighting back the tears threatening to run down your cheeks and expose the turmoil of your heart.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said sternly as you opened the file. “Have it signed by the end of the day-“

“It wasn’t my fault!” you interrupted, your lip quivering. “I did everything right! Please, you can’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t about the mission,” he stated gruffly. “This is about your injuries. You’ll be lucky to walk on that leg again. You’re unfit for duty.” His eyes bore into you with an intensity that made you shudder.

“You don’t understand, I don’t have anywhere to go. I can do other things, work in the office, do paperwork-“

“I’ve already spoken with Price. You don’t have high enough clearance for that,” he stated softly. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy for you. You both did. You were just a rookie. You’re pension would be little to nothing, and your injury would make it even harder for you to find a way to support yourself.

Ghost watched carefully as you took a shallow breath, a few stray tears sliding down your cheeks. “Are you happy now?” You asked with a thick swallow. “I know you didn’t want me here in the first place,” you accused.

It didn’t matter that you had saved his life, and quite possibly sacrificed any quality your own would have had otherwise. “You should have just left me there,” you whispered, and Ghost stiffened.

Silence hung in the air and your throat burned as you tried not to burst into tears.

“I’ll work somethin’ out for you,” he said gruffly, as if he was uncomfortable making you such a promise.

“You said Price made his decision-“

“I’ll work somethin’ else out,” he clarified. “Get those papers signed,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving you to shake your head and quietly sob into you hand.

~

Simon’s POV

He couldn’t watch you cry. The idea of your little sobs took him right back to that night that he thought he was going to watch you bleed out on the way to the hospital.

He’d considered yelling at you for what you had done, but then his mother’s frightened face flashed in his mind, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t want to be his father, didn’t want to be the man that made a helpless woman cry or feel fear from his presence. He wanted to make sure you never had to cry ever again, and he was about to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe and sound.

“You’re bloody mad, Simon,” Johnny said as he looked at the piece of paper he’d had prepared that afternoon. “Hope it works out.”

He hoped so too. More than he was willing to verbally admit to the Scotsman.

If you didn’t agree to it, there was nothing more he could do to help you. But he wasn’t going to let you just slip through his fingers without trying.

Reader’s POV

You cried for every medic that walked into your room, despite telling yourself over and over again that you wouldn’t. Something about watching them tend to your leg made the situation too real.

It was lonely in the hospital room, and the hum of the air conditioner was starting to give you a headache. Or maybe that was from all the crying you’d done.

A small part of you was scolding yourself for wasting time being emotional when what you really needed to be doing was making a plan. You needed to figure out your next steps before the hospital politely kicked you off base.

You couldn’t even walk, and there would be no one to care for you during your recovery. How the hell were you supposed to survive?

He didn’t even knock before entering, and you were quick to wipe your checks as Ghost approached your bed at a steady pace, another damn tan folder in his hands.

“More bad news?” You asked bitterly.

He let out a deep chuckle in response. “Depends on how you look at it.” His accent was thick, and you couldn’t help but catch the tinge of nervousness in his voice. It had to be bad for Ghost to be rattled.

“I’ve got a…friend, and he’s willing to help you out.”

He placed the folder gently in your lap and flipped it open. You felt your chest tighten and your eyes narrowed in confusion.

A marriage certificate. It was a marriage certificate with your name on it. “What is this?” you asked.

“A way out.”

“Really?” you asked incredulously. “Cause it seems like a nasty joke! Who the hell even is Simon Riley?”

“Does it matter? He’s agreed to take care of you,” Ghost muttered.

Indeed he had. His portion of the certificate was signed and dated. “In return for what?” You asked bitterly, voice thick with emotion.

Ghost clicked his tongue softly and sighed. “I wouldn’t send you somewhere potentially unsafe,” he assured you, brown eyes boring into you as he tilted his head to the side.

“I have a feeling you’d send me anywhere if it meant you never had to see me again.”

You could tell he was frowning at you under that mask, and you swallowed thickly. He’d never exactly been kind to you, but not unkind either. He’d simply excluded you, making it harder to have anyone on your side.

“You got another option I don’t know about?” He asked, holding a ballpoint pen out to you expectantly.

You stared at the object for a moment, feeling your lip begin to quiver again. No. Not in front of him. You snatched the pen from his grasp and hastily scribbled your name down, sucking in a deep breath as you did so.

“Atta’ girl,” he praised, patting you on the shoulder. You handed him the paperwork without meeting his gaze. He must have thought you to be a sell-out, that you were pathetic. Maybe you were. You just hoped you hadn’t made a terrible mistake with this Simon Riley.

AN: well, well, well. I hope you’re all on the edge of your seats! Thank you to everyone that has been interacting so far, I can’t explain how much that means to me! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list! Thank You!

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[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, POV shifts!, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink, breeding kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, toxic masculinity, typos, etc.

A/N: YAY WE ACTUALLY FINISHED A SERIES HAHHAH lol. thank you so much to everyone who read safe keeping on here <3 im so luv all of you !! i will be continuing this so HIHHH look forward to it ig 😋 [originally posted on ao3] | [continuation fic on ao3] | [continuation on tumblr]

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1 @thestrals-and-firewiskey

We are greeted by a group of men when we arrive at the Alistair dwelling.

Sandor helps me dismount my horse. I thank him, then the stable boy, who takes our rides. Sandor ushers me in and we hand our coats to the servants by the door.

My husband scrutinizes the place, a grave expression on his features as he takes in the halls that were decorated with streamers. As we get deeper into the home, I grab Sandor's arm and carefully word, "remember why we're here."

He turns to me and raises a brow, "and why are we here, darling wife?"

I cannot help the way I react to his words, his term of endearment. I know it is condescending, but my stomach tumbles at the sound of it either way. I look forward, unable to keep his gaze, "we're here to pay out respects to a man that extended generosity to us."

Sandor notices the way my face twitches. He sighs and turns away, "I will not kill the pretty boy. Do not be so upset."

"I'm not upset," I turn to him.

He scoffs under his breath, "what's with the face then?"

"What face?"

"A face fairest in the land, many would say."

Sandor and I stop in our tracks.

My brows raise and I break into a chuckle of disbelief and surprise. The man who had spoken smirks as I greet him, "Lord Baelish."

Sandor feels his blood boil when the Littlefinger bows and reaches out a hand. He tightens his grip on me.

I turn to Sandor, noticing how darkly he was eyeing Petyr, and decide to let out a laugh to ease the tension, "there be no need for such formalities, Petyr."

Petyr straightens up, lowering his hand, maintaining his smirk.

Sandor's lips twitch as he grumbles slowly himself, "Petyr."

"I am glad we're past that, my dear," Petyr says before Sandor tugs me by the arm behind him as he steps forward.

The shorter man looks up and the taller one snorts. I manage to pull my arm away, coming in between them. I nervously laugh and elbow Sandor back, not that it does anything, "if you'll excuse us, we must speak to the man on the hour."

Petyr looks back at me, unfazed and still smirking, "of course. But I do I hope, for your sake, you spare me a moment after. I have something rather important to talk to you about."

"About what?!" Sandor bark. I feel the tension of his form when he presses nearer, flush against my back, to impose upon the lord.

Lord Baelish doesn't spare the Hound a glance, "why, about the monsters plaguing your ancestral home." 

My lips part.

The blue eyed man raises a brow, "you've long wished to be safe from this peril, yes?" he bows, "I believe I have a solution for you."

Before I could even think, Petyr straightens up and smirks as he walks away.

I hear the Hound whisper behind me, "I'll fucking kill him instead."

Before I could respond, a voice calls out to me. I turn and see it is Lord Alistair, making his way over.

He jogs up to me with an excited expression and reaches out a hand. I smile back at him and take it out of instinct. When he is close enough, Cedric kisses my knuckles.

The Hound did not realize this had happened up until he tore his gaze from damned Littlefinger. When he notices Alistair, he nearly breaks his teeth from clenching his jaw so tight.

"I am happy to see you, my lady," Cedric nods with a lopsided smile.

Before the Hound can react, the pretty boy is speaking again.

"And you, my lord," he nods to Sandor.

"I don't share the sentiment," the Hound growls through a strangled breath.

Cedric laughs. He places a hand on his chest as he does, then motions, "forgive me. You must be famished from your travels," he looks to his right then back to us, "please. My servants have prepared my favorite dishes. Help yourself and make merry."

"I'll be merry if I fuc--

"THANK YOU, MY LORD!" I cut off with a massive grin. I curtsy and chuckle, mustering all the sincerity I had, praying it overshadowed my jitters, "may you always be so generous and joyous on your nameday."

Cedric chuckles and waves me off, "please. Spare me the formalities. I pray you go and eat with your husband before he kills someone."

Lord Alistair is the only one that laughs at the joke. A few delayed seconds later, I manage to laugh with him, forcing down my agitation.

Sandor doesn't budge the first time I tug on his arm. He follows after the fourth. He eyes Cedric as we walk away, but the said man is already preoccupied with another guest to notice.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whimper under my breath as I quite literally run after the buzzing Hound.

Sandor makes his way down the hall in a break neck speed, at least for me. I have to catch my breath when we enter the weapons room. I heave and look around the foreign place, eyeing the axes, the arrows, the swords, and the armor displayed all over.

"Your pretty boy has good taste," Sandor slurs as he grabs a sword mounted on the wall, knocking over a few others as he did.

I cringe at the clank of steel against ground and step back when Sandor begins to wave his blade around. I mumble, "he's not my pretty boy."

Sandor continues to swing the sword. I pull my head back in agitation.

He then picks up the fallen swords but cannot manage to put them back in their place without moving shakily, and dropping a few.

I panic and press my back against the wall, "my love, this is a horrible idea!"

Sandor stops and turns to me, "how is it horrible? Lord Alistair wanted a sword fight with me, and that's what he's gonna get. He chose this nameday gift, not I."

I watch as he finally manages to put away the swords.

"You were there, my jittery bride."

I straighten up and slowly walk towards him with my palms cautiously raised. Sandor is perfectly still when I come close. I release a sigh of relief when I manage to grab his arms, "please listen. I was also there when you downed three ewers of wine, puppy."

He leans down.

I clench my jaw.

I can feel his breath, smell the alcohol in it, as he mutters, "I'm not a lightweight."

I gasp when he comes low enough to kiss my neck.

My skin pricks when he whispers hotly, "and I'm not a puppy."

My heart is racing when he straightens up. He does so in a rather staggering manner, telling of the effects of his alcohol consumption.

"You're drunk."

"Am not," he rebuts.

I scowl at him, "you're a drunk puppy, my dear."

He smiles, "I thought I was your love?"

My stomach churns.

Sandor purses his lips when I do not respond.

I feel my face prick with heat, "would you listen to me if you knew that I loved you?"

He chuckles, turns his back on me, and heads for the door, "well, do ya?"

I feel like vomiting. I whisper under my breath, "I do."

He reaches for the knob and opens the door, "nice try, beautiful," he reaches a hand out, "come. Maybe your pretty boy will manage to ki-"

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING HIM THAT!" I snap and storm over to him. "Lord Alistair is NOT my pretty boy! He's not mine and will never be!" I feel my blood boil and my eyes begin to fog, "and stop calling me names!"

He pulls his chin back. His face hardens. He opens his mouth to speak but beat him to it before he can say a word.

"Stop mocking me! Stop calling me pretty squirrel! Stop calling me beautiful! It's driving me mad!"

"I'm not mocking you," he speaks lowly, "why would I mock-"

"Well, whatever it is, it needs to come to an end," I point at him, "now let's get this over with. I want to go home."

I storm off and head outside.

I make my way to the back of the Alistair dwelling, which had a large field where the sword fighting will be held.

I stand by the crowd of people and sigh through my nostrils. I watch as Lord Alistair does tricks with his sword, enticing the crowd to laugh and cheer for him.

I feel out of place in my spot because I didn't know anyone else, and because was not at all entertained by the spectacle. All I thought of was how badly I wished this to be over. Damn my drunken husband for agreeing to this.

"Trouble in paradise?"

I turn over and find the smile of Lord Baelish. I release another sigh, "please. Not anymore, Petyr."

Petyr chuckles and shrugs, "I've barely said a word, my dear."

His term of endearment triggers my vexation. I cannot help the way I roll my eyes at him.

He laughs harder, "what darling reaction."

I move away from him.

He steps closer, "did you know there are necromancers in Volantis?"

I glare at him just to look away again.

He gives me a smirk, "they are learned of tar monsters who enjoy eating village folk."

I turn back to him.

He nudges me with his elbow and turns front, "I've put in good word for you. All you have to do is take a ship to Essos. A witch there will get rid of your problems for you at a fair price."

"Hmm," I raise a brow, "oh, undoubtedly. It clearly is that simple."

Petyr turns to me, "it certainly is. Once the woodland monsters are gone, you'll be able to hunt and gather timber from the forest again," he nods his head, "and so will I."

Aha. I purse my lips and debate his words for a moment.

"And I trust you will allow me to fish in the Sterling River as well."

I look forward when the crowd cheers. I see before me, Lord Clegane and Lord Alistair, circling each other, the latter laughing in excitement, the former blank faced and stern. I turn back to Petyr, "very well."

He nods once more.

I look straight again.

"Perhaps a trip to Volantis is exactly what the loving couple need."

I roll my eyes at him.

Sandor and Cedric begin to tussle. The sound of steel biting steel fills the air. Cedric is an eager opponent, pressing forward every chance he gets. Sandor is relaxed and playing the defensive.

This continues for a while, metal clashing, boots skidding, voices grunting, and it was a rather showy match, at least on Cedric's end. Sandor is barely trying, I could tell. He must be conserving his energy. I've seen the way he's trained with the boys in Brown Wood. He's definitely trying to tire Cedric out.

"This is going to be a long match," Petyr whispers to me.

I turn to him and sigh, "a very long one."

Sandor catches this and feels his lips twitch. He turns back to Cedric.

I gasp when Cedric manages to disarm Sandor. The crowds gasp as well, and Cedric too seems surprised.

Sandor shakes his head, " 'm too fucking drunk for this."

Cedric straightens from his defensive stance.

Sandor nods, "well met."

Lord Alistair nods back, smiles, and turns about to bask in his victory.

As he bows to his guests, the Hound makes a beeline towards me. I watch as he comes close, my heart slowly speeds.

He grabs my arm, "we're leaving."

"Oh!" Cedric calls and gestures our way "a round of applause for the Hound."

The guests turn and cheer for him.

Sandor pulls me to his side.

"Come now," Petyr smirks, "won't you even try to best Lord Alistair in another round?"

Sandor leans down towards Lord Baelish and growls, "fuck off."

With that, I am dragged away.

"Sandor."

The Hound's horse continues treading in front of me.

"Sandor."

The Hound still does not stop, turn, or respond.

"Sandor!" I say louder.

Still nothing. 

I make the horse I was riding gallop to his side. He had not spoken to me the whole way back, not when we got on our horses, not when we stopped at an inn for the night, not when we started our journey, and not now that we near the gates of Brown Wood.

"Have you chosen never to speak to me again?" I quip, tightening my grip on my reins. When he looks the opposite direction from me, I scoff and roll my eyes, "should it not be I that never speaks to you, Hound? You've been nothing but insufferable the entire time we were at the feast!"

Sandor still does not budge.

I look forward and catch sight of Brown Wood. I give my horrible husband one last glare before growling and galloping away.

Sandor watches this. He does no effort to follow after.

When I get to the gates, I am immediately greeted by many servants. Polly, in particular, excitedly tells me he's taught the puppies tricks, and quickly leads my horse away after I dismount, keen to tell me more about it.

Lucy, though happy to see me, raised a brow at my missing chaperone, "did you lose your Hound, milady?"

I roll my eyes, "do not speak to me of that beast."

Lucy is bewildered.

I sigh and slump forward, regretting the harshness of my words. I shake my head, "have you prepared a bath for me?"

She knits her brows and nods slowly, "....did something happen at the feast?"

"Of course something happened," I muttered, "the gods are truly testing me." I brush Lucy's arm, "I will tell you more of it later. For now, I need a warm bath."

Lucy nods again and watches me walk off.

Before Polly could follow after, Lucy hooks her fingers into his collar, holding him back. The boy makes a choking sound, stops and turns, staring at Lucy.

"Our lady will not be bothered," she says.

"But the puppies!"

"Later," she pulls her hand away, "go finish your chores if you still have some, boy."

Polly makes a face and grumbles, though he does listen.

Just then, Lucy turns and sees the Hound walking towards the gates, leading his stead by the reins. She waits for him to enter, and the moment he does, she runs her mouth.

"Are ye not tired of playing this game?"

The Hound squints but spares Lucy no glance. He heads for the stables and undoes the ties on his horse.

Lucy flares as she follows after him, "can't you just do us all a favor and stop?"

"I'm not in the mood for nagging, wench."

"Then admit it!"

"Fuckin' what?!" he glares at her.

"That you're mad about your wife!" Lucy snaps.

Sandor stills.

"That you would die for her! That you're upset she wanted to go to another lord's nameday celebration!"

He removes his horse's saddle, "that was a formality."

"YOU'RE A FUCKIN' FOOL!"

Sandor whips his head to her.

"And a coward," Lucy raises a finger.

The Hound chucks the undone saddle to the side and steps forward. He looks down at Lucy, but she is unbothered and unafraid. He is shocked when she shoves him. He topples back.

"She's only ever wanted your love, you thickheaded oaf! Don't you see how hard she tries to please ya?!"

"Please me?" Sandor scoffs, taking another step forward.

"YES!" Lucy shouts, "she wants to be your perfect bride but you know nothing but cruelty. You repay 'er with bitterness."

The Hound feels his mouth sour.

"And puppies."

Sandor watches her wipe her face.

"Because you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be, milord," Lucy says with frustration.

Sandor feels like the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

"I've caught you when you think no one's looking," she speaks softly, "you love her."

Sandor feels his body burn.

"She loves you."

"She d-"

"Fix it before it gets worse. I beg," she sighs.

The Hound is stunned as the maid walks off.

When Polly spots him, the boy unknowingly grates his nerves as he leads the puppies over and shows all the tricks he's taught them. It wasn't much, in all honesty, just a 'stop' and a 'come here', but the three pups did them well.

Sandor couldn't be impressed, he was far too out of it to be anything but queasy.

He tells Polly he's tired and heads to the bedroom. Polly tells him he wants to show Lady Clegane the tricks before they sleep. He doesn't answer the boy. 

Sandor is both disappointed and relieved to find the room empty. His head is heavy as he changes. He feels like he'd sink to the bottom as he goes to bed.

The Hound had been pacing around when I got to the bedroom. He froze when I entered and awkwardly walked back as I headed for the bed.

I didn't speak a word as I went under the covers and laid down. I eyed him as he sat on the edge on the other side, back turned to me. I burn holes into his back with my glare.

It takes a few seconds of him rubbing his lap and him sighing loudly before he breaks his silence.

"I..." he trails off.

I shift in my spot to look at him.

He straightens, "I didn't like the fact that pret-" he cuts himself off and sighs, "that Lord Alistair and Lord Baelish were all over you."

I can't help but scoff, "and you've decided not to speak to me because of some two men's doing?"

"I DIDN'T want to fight," he blurts loudly then softly. 

I watch as he slouches and moves on his side to bring himself under the sheets. He sighs as he covers himself and speaks without looking at me, "I don't like fighting you."

I purse my lips at the thought. His words conflict me. I find it aggravating to hear when it felt like he liked the opposite. A side of me is also unwilling to believe it because it was too hard to believe.

The part of me that was still angry at him for being so petty wants to fight back with equal pettiness. But an even larger part of me felt too exhausted and defeated to argue.

"And yet you always do," I speak plainly as I turn my back on him and fluff my pillow. I take in a deep breath while bringing the sheets over my shoulder. I lay down, facing away from him.

I knew he wouldn't have anything to say to that truth, and yet I take a moment to listen in on him. He doesn't speak nor move at all.

I close my eyes, "go to sleep, husband. It's been a long day."

"Aren't you upset with me? I don't want you to sleep upset with me."

My eyes open. My stomach churns. Did he actually care? My lips part but I can't find myself to speak.

"I didn't speak to you because I know what I'd've done if I did."

I take in a sharp breath and give out a broken whisper, "you've done worse."

Sandor lets out an airy chuckle. It doesn't sound amused at all though.

He doesn't respond anymore. Instead, he shifts in his spot and lays down, as far on his end as he could be. He is on side, staring at the dark corner of the room. He musters all his courage, "forgive me, my lady."

My lips part.

Did he just say that?

"What?" 

I am shocked when I hear him repeat, "forgive me."

I roll on my back and look at him. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I think my body was shaking.

I inhale deeply through my nose, "what would you have done?"

He takes a moment to respond, "what?"

My courage flees me as I find the need to repeat myself. I turn my back on him again and clutch my chest. I can hear my heart pounding, "what-... you said you didn't speak to me because you knew what you would have done..." 

I feel Sandor shift behind me.

I gulp and curl up tighter into myself.

I wait for him to act but he does nothing.

I release a deep breath before speaking, "would you... have hurt me?"

My skin pricks when I hear him sigh, "aye."

I feel sick to my stomach. How could he admit that so easily? 

I think of all the worse things he could have done: smack me, shove me, slay me. I feel body begin to grow hot.

Sandor stares at the ceiling then turns to his side. His chest tightens yet he manages to mutter, "I only want to be gentle with you."

I scoff but it sounds strangled because of how tight my throat was. My eyes begin to well up. My broken voice croaks, "how could you say that?!"

The Hound says nothing.

"What?" I scoff, "you hit me then you tend my wounds?"

He doesn't say a word.

I begin to feel my insides burn.

The longest moment passes.

"How did you want to hurt me?" I snap.

He clenches his jaw then chuckles at himself, "I wanted to make you scream my name as I fucked you against a wall."

My heart leaps into my mouth.

The Hound continues, "I wanted all those fuckers to hear, to know what you were mine, that I was the only one who could do that to you, that I was the only one you'd allow to do that."

My blood runs still.

"The things I'd do to you," he mutters, "you'd be disgusted to know them."

My lips quiver as confusion ripples through me. This was the kind of hurt he wanted to inflict?

"But I want to be gentle," he adds, "I really do."

"Is that why you lied about the pups?" I find myself choking out.

Sandor is taken aback. He also hates how apparent the sound of sadness was.

"I know you were the one that found them and brought them home, not Lucy," I whisper.

"Lucy," he sighs, "she loves you so much, that Lucy. And you love her... You'd take a gift from someone you love."

I shake my head, "that's why you lied? You didn't think I would keep them if they were from you?"

"I didn't want to shroud the pups with my being."

"... I can love more people than just Lucy."

I feel him shift behind me.

My heart thunders in my chest.

"One day... maybe I'll be gentle enough for you to love me."

I feel tears rush down my eyes. I move to turn to him, but then his arm comes around me and holds me back.

"Please," his voice breaks, "I can't stand to see you cry or look at me with pity."

My hand comes atop his arm, "Sandor-"

"Can I kiss you?"

My breath catches in my throat.

His heavy breathing makes my entire body burn.

I slowly nod and manage to squeak out a yes.

Sandor immediately sinks his face into my neck and begins to kiss my skin. His lips were hungry and his beard left scratches all over. He snakes his arm tighter around me and pulls me into his chest. My entire body reacts to him, it burns and pricks and pulses. He kisses my cheek; he kisses my tears away.

My belly tumbles when he rubs it. He props himself up on his other arm, "I'll die a happy man to see you love my babe," he trails kisses up my jaw to my ear, "it's more than I'll ever deserve."

I suck in a deep breath and lean into his touch. I press my body flush against his and this elicits a groan from him. He fists my nightgown into his hand and nips my lobe. He draws in deep breaths and sighs against my ear, "I can be gentle. I can be so gentle."

I take his fist and he immediately releases my clothes. His breathing grows more strangled as he shifts behind me. 

I push his hand down and he shudders when it comes in contact with my thighs. I release his hand and bring my leg atop of his. I pull my skirt up and mumble, "gentle."

"Fucking gods," he kisses my shoulder and pulls my gown up. He rubs my thigh a few times then sinks his hand underneath my smallclothes.

He shushes me as I grow rigid against him and kisses my neck some more.

I whimper when he pulls my undergarments down and moves his fingers into my soft spot. He very much so gently touches me until I begin to melt against him. I arch my back and lean into him.

"Good girl," he mutters, "such a good girl. My beautiful girl."

"More please," I heave.

Sandor presses his body against mine, "don't have to tell me twice."

I whine his name when he sinks a finger into me. My toes curl and my hand grabs onto his bicep.

I make a sound when he pushes deeper, and an even throatier one when he adds another finger.

Sandor brushes my hair away with his other hand then sinks his face into the crook of my neck. He peppers kisses on my skin and my body burns all the more because of it. I turn my face to him and move my mouth close to his.

Flames rage inside my belly when our lips meet.

He goes still for a second when I kiss him. It takes a few moments before his lips move against mine. Though his beard was tickling my skin, the exchange was lovely. It was warm. It was right.

I bring the hand I had on his arm up to his cheek. My fingers find their way to his scalp where I begin to tug his hair gently.

We pull away when I yelp at the feel of his hand going back to work. Sandor does not relent his kisses on my cheeks, nose, and eye lids.

"Does it feel good?" he asks in between pecks.

I whimper as I nod.

Sandor sighs and grazes his teeth against my neck, "so good."

I mewl when he begins to pump his fingers faster into me.

"So sweet and soft and beautiful-- so, so beautiful against me."

"Sandor-"

"I want to feel you," he growls under his breath, "want to be inside you," he nips my lobe again, "want to fill you up, give you the babe you want."

I nod and chase after his lips. I kiss him desperately, "please."

It's not long until his fingers are replaced by his cock. We both tense against each other then slowly relax and reconnect our mouths.

I am surprised when I feel his tongue brush against my lips. I squeak when he begins to buck his hips into me at a slow but purposeful pace.

He presses his fingers into my inner thigh, pulling that leg closer towards him. I bring my hand down to his forearm and grip him for dear life. He pushes his chest into my back and breaks our kiss to allow us both a breath.

Sandor maneuvers himself into a better position. He nearly has me sprawled on top of him. He locks his grip on my hips and snaps into me with all that he's got.

He calls my name. He calls me beautiful. He calls me his wife. He tells me he loves me.

It's all too much that my eyes begin to water and my belly begins to tighten.

Though his movements were wild and sharp, and though the sound we were both making were loud and lewd, there was something sacred about it, something sincere.

I nearly sob when I come undone. I cry out his name as I feel intense pleasure crash all over my body. My mind is too misty to take into account that Sandor had been repeating the same three words as he too fell into bliss.

He doesn't immediately stop moving. He only does so when I'm laid back on my side again.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel him shift away from me.

"Don't pull away!" I snap. I grab his arm and wrap it around me, trapping it between my own. I lean back into him, "don't leave me! You keep leaving me."

Sandor, who was just catching his breath, feels like he was winded all over again. He thinks about the discomfort that this position will bring, but he figures sex just leaves people emotional and clingy sometimes.

He kisses my cheek, "we'll stay like this, if that's what you want."

I nod enthusiastically and turn to kiss him.

When I do however, he pulls his face back. It makes me go rigid.

It takes a second for Sandor to realize what he did. He is now overly conscious of the scar on his face and the damned reflex he has for it. He opens his mouth but he doesn't say anything.

I begin to feel my face burn and yet I'm too stunned to move.

The next moment, we speak at the same time then immediately go silent.

I gulp and turn away from him, bursting out as I did, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to overstep."

"You did nothing wrong." he shakes his head.

"You asked if you could kiss me," I mumble, "I didn't do the same."

"You can do whatever you want with me-"

"Sandor-"

"-I belong to you. I am your hound. That's all I am."

My eyes glass at his words. I feel him kiss my nape. My skin pricks when he rubs his hand down my belly.

He sighs heavily, "... sorry for being so broken."

I screw my eyes shut.

"... you can kiss me... if you really want to."

I nearly break my neck turning it back so quick. I press my face against his and just remain like this for a moment. I brush my nose against his textured skin and recall the time I did the same during our wedding night. He pulled away then, he pulled away now.

"I'm sorry you can't trust me," I whisper.

Sandor doesn't have the time to react to that.

I leave about a hundred kisses on his scar before my neck begins to tire. I knit my brows and whisper again, "don't let me go."

I face front and feel sleepiness catch up with me.

"Good night, Sandor."

I vaguely hear him whisper I love you behind me.

Sandor woke up with sunshine shining down his face. He was more than well-rested. He honestly doesn't remember the last time he slept this good.

He stretches in bed and groans. It takes him three seconds to realize he was alone.

It's almost enough to make him shoot upright in panic. The only reason he doesn't is because he quickly thinks it was fucking stupid of him to feel anything, any sort of panic or worry-- worse, hurt or sadness for waking up alone.

He did that many times over, left her alone-- too many times to count, surely more times than the good night's of sleep he's had.

So, he lays there with a stone-heavy pit of emptiness in the middle of his rib cage. There was nothing else to do with it crushing his chest. No amount of reasoning, of rational explanations that his wife was the lady of Brown Wood, who was always busy, who was always attending many other people, nothing could lift the stone weighing down on his chest.

He feels like he's slowly choking.

The Hound only gets up when he hears the small barks of the pups coming from outside. Somehow the idea of his wife waking up to attend to the dogs made this ordeal bearable.

He heads to the bathroom first and freshens up.

After, he heads to the living area and tenses when a pair of servant girls greet him good morrow. His lips twitch as he grunts and nods at them. The girls perk up and stare at him for a second as they pass. He vaguely hears them mumbling 'did he just greet us back?' as they each head their way.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. He should have said good morrow in return. Fuck. 

It probably doesn't matter. He's been ignoring everyone since they've moved here. Why start now?

Well... he was ignoring everyone except Lucy, who vexingly demanded his attention; Daisy, who used to do the same... and his lady.

Sandor opens the front door and steps outside.

His-

"Lady Clegane," Petyr fucking Baelish nods and reaches a hand to his wife.

Sandor is stunned. This wretched, slimy looking Littlefinger-man was up on his stupidly embellished steed, which, mind you, was too big for the fucker, kissing his wife's knuckles a goodbye.

What the fuck was he doing here so fucking early?

Littlefuckingfinger smiles and straightens up as he releases her. His wife waves goodbye.

As she does so, Littlefinger catches sight of Sandor and his smile pulls into a self-satisfied little smirk. He nods his head once to him and fucking rides off. Even fucking Polly waves him goodbye and it makes him want to chase after him and gouge his eyes out.

"Husband."

The Hound averts his gaze.

Sandor's breath is knocked out of his lungs when he sees his wife gleaming at him.

Fuck, she's walking over.

Everything in him is so overwhelmed by her that he nearly steps back.

She holds something in her hands as she gives him a lopsided smile, "you had a good sleep."

He opens his mouth to speak but a lump in his throat stops him. He gulps.

She laughs. She does so with grace, her pretty teeth all bared to him, "I wished to stay with you until you woke, but I could not leave Brown Wood unattended till late in the afternoon."

For a moment, he is in disbelief and doubts it was actually midday. He looks up and sees, indeed, the sun was at its height.

He looks back to her to apologize for sleeping in, but again, his voice is lost to him. By only taking one step towards him, she renders him powerless. She intensifies it by taking his arm and giving him that look, that look of apprehension that was masked in sweetness. It was maddening.

"Will..." she draws a deep breath, "you let me kiss you?"

What the fuck?

Her brows raise. She pulls her hand away, "y-you don't have to."

"Wait-" gods, did he say that aloud? "-no. You can! You can!" he responds with desperation, "you don't even have to ask."

His wife smiles back at him, but it's not the same. 

Gods, he's ruined it again. 

He is surprised when she still leans over and gives his cheek a quick peck.

He barely has time blush as he's turning his head to watch her as she walks past him. She says something about breaking fast and he mutters something incoherent in response.

Sandor doesn't even realizes that he's been made to sit down on the dining table, until one of the pups take his seat before he can.

Where did they even come from?

"Fuck off then," he says, shooing the small thing. It barks loudly and then he realizes it's the loud one, Lilac. He growls, "off, Lilac!"

Lilac makes a smaller sound of protest but has no other choice but to get off the chair when Sandor tips it over.

He quickly sits down and makes a victorious face to the puppies, who continue to bark at him.

He watches as the pups quiet down as his wife comes back holding a bowl of stew and a spoon. His insides tingle when she leans close to him to set it down before him. She then drags a chair and sits next to him.

He takes the spoon.

She smiles at him and rests her head on her hand, her elbow on the table, "eat up."

Sandor releases a breath and does just that, "thank you."

He realizes just how hungry he was at this moment. He begins to pig out.

"Thank you for holding me throughout the night."

The Hound almost gargles his food in his throat trying to muster up a response.

She laughs and touches his arm again, "it's alright. Just eat."

Sandor doesn't have a moment to say that he would hold her until she gets sick of him.

His wife straightens up and pushes a something towards him, a letter, it seems, "Lord Baelish gave this to me."

He nearly chokes as he swallows.

He doesn't like the way his wife smiles when she continues to speak of him, "he's given me a map and letters to aid my passage to Volantis-"

"Volantis?" he sets his spoon down with more force than necessary, "the fuck is in Volantis?"

She straightens up, "remember we met at Lord Alistair's nameday?"

"Fucking Alistair."

She sighs through her nostrils, "Lord Baelish spoke to me then of someone who knows how to get rid of the monsters in the forest."

"Am I not enough for you?" he turns his body to her, "you need to hire some sellsword on the other side of the world to kill those fucks for you?"

He watches her withdraw before his very eyes. She brings her hands together and places them on her lap. She purses her lips into a soft smile before speaking, "there is no one in the world, this side or the other, that I would trust with handling the monsters in battle. But," she sighs, "Lord Baelish didn't speak to me of a sellsword. He spoke of a witch."

"And you fucking trust him?" he quips impatiently, "you'd trust a witch vouched by Littlefinger?"

She sighs again. She no longer finds it in her to pull a smile, "I do-"

"Well, don't."

"-because he'll get something out of it."

The Hound clenches his jaw and rubs his knuckles with his thumbs.

"In return for his help, I would be allowing Petyr to access to our fish, game, and wood."

The Hound sighs heavily, "Petyr.'

She shakes her head and chuckles. She chuckles until she breaks into a genuine laugh, "but matters not. If my lord does not approve then there is nothing more to do."

Sandor's stomach sinks when she stands up.

"I'll go ahead with my errands now," she nods and offers a lopsided smile.

Just before she walks away, Sandor grabs her hand and weakly mutters, "no, please. Please stay."

She laughs softly; she laughs sweetly. She places her palm on his knuckles then takes his hand in both of hers. She kisses the back of his hand and shakes her head, "I am not leaving, my lord, merely going off to do my errands."

The Hound stops her from letting go. He clutches her hands firmly in his larger one. He parts his lips to beg her to stay.

But then, he sees her change. He sees her slip on a mask of a dutiful wife. She is about to smile, about to tell him that if he insists, she will stay, for him. He knew in his bones that she would.

And so he lets her go and looks away in shame. He can't bear to look at her, so he clears his throat and compromises, "I'd like to eat with you later... if you have the time."

It takes a long moment for her to respond. Sandor, whose eyes were stuck to the floor, find the pups were now sleeping under the table.

"I would like that too, my love."

Sandor chuckles drily at the pet name and grabs his spoon. He rather bitterly says, mostly to himself, "you don't have to call me that."

He waits for her to walk away.

She doesn't.

He turns to her when he vaguely hears her mumble something. He waits for her to repeat herself, but she doesn't.

"What was that, pretty squirrel?"

She shakes her head and curtsies, "I said enjoy your food."

He watches her walk off. He wonders what she actually said, because it sure as hell wasn't that. He swirls his stew around idly.

[hg-aneh]

Hi,ik I've been asking questions frequently but I'mma do it again bc I'm that petty;

In the AziraCrow relationship/marriage/or whatever. Who do u think is the housewife/husband? 😀

if we're talking about traditional gender roles applied to marriage ((which i believe would NOT apply to them in canon as they're both nonbinary supernatural beings)), i have to preface this by saying that i rlly don't agree with them as a concept

[if ppl choose to engage in them and not judge others for not doing so then good for them (idgaf akfbsjf)]

i hate that they're still being imposed onto people and that they haven't been left in the past for some contexts

i also want to clarify that the following """analysis""" I'm going to make is all for the sake of poking fun at gender roles and satirizing their entire existence.

Having said that, these are my headcanons:

Aziraphale-housewife, Crowley-husband

Why? Simply because husbands are fucking useless and I like to bully Crowley cuz he stinks and he sucks c0ck and b4-

I'm just goofing around 😭

In my little bubble world, they'd be neither (or both if you wanna see it from that POV)

Let's start with this:

If we take the definition of a traditional husband, which is basically "i work and do nothing else cuz I'm a man and men have their mommies i mean wives do everything for them" and take the Work part away, which is what we'd do if we were to place the ineffables in the south downs aka their retirement shack, then you get a useless fuck

And in reality, they both do jackshit (that's the whole premise of s1) so????? does that mean they're both husbands???

For further insight let's try to affirm Aziraphale is the housewife.

Aziraphale bakes, so he's probably a decent cook too; that's "housewife" material. He also happens to be very pretty and plump and a blonde, which I've been told are pretty ladylike things to be (/sarcasm)

(There are no pretty male blondes in ba sing se good omens)

He dresses in light, dainty clothing and talks with an accent only girls and women talk with, as well as getting his nails done and using make up for his magic act, and he says "please" and "thank you", which are things only women do (I'M BEING SARCASTIC. I'M BEING VERY SARCASTIC. god i hate gender rolesAAAA)

Now this is where the comparisons end cuz let's face it, Aziraphale is a lazy fuck.

You KNOW the bookshop smells like mold and he just miracles it clean every now and then.

He'd rather sit his plump (pretty) blond ass on the couch and read the day away than actually get to doing the baking and cooking or caring for the kids (plants) if it's not a hobby activity

Now let's do the opposite and try to affirm Crowley as the housewife.

He's clean (does the cleaning), he's of service when needed, he organizes when he's stressed (read the book), he- he drives a car...

OH SHIT. MAN ACTIVITY!!!!!🤯🤯🤯 (we're still being sarcastic here, it's not over EFJSJF)

In all seriousness though, trying to fit these two into gender roles, even as a joke is kinda difficult even in headcanon-land ajbfsnf

At least that's my opinion

For every traditionally "feminine" thing you have one of them do, the other outdoes that by a mile. And vice versa with the traditionally "masculine" things, like "being useless" and "car" /sarcasm is back.

So which one would be which? I think they're both dumbasses who fight over who gets to do what in the household (neither of them wants to do anything except for cuddling) and come up with an agreement to divide each chore :)

y'know, like normal people in a functional marriage (my parents lol)

[candy69gurl]

POV: You are Sukuna's Vessel 5

Warnings- smut

wc- 2.3k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

You awaken, free from pain and aches, but find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. Everything is bathed in a deep red hue, and a sense of unease washes over you. As you sit up, confusion clouds your thoughts. In the distance, you notice something immense—a Tower of Skulls—with Sukuna perched atop it.

Your heart quickens, and adrenaline surges through your veins. With determination, you rise and begin to advance towards the tower, driven by urgency.

"You fucker," you call out, your voice trembling with anger upon seeing him.

As you draw closer to the tower, you see Sukuna seated on a throne, his head propped on his hand. His gaze meets yours, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

"Don't look at me without my permission, brat. I hate it," he growls, his voice filled with  menace. "Bow down before me,"  he orders.

Disobeying him, you inquire, "Where am I?"

"In my domain," Sukuna says, his voice sending chills through your body. "Malevolent Shrine. So you better be obedient and do what I say."

"How did I end up here?" you demand, glaring at him.

"Because you attempted to end your own life, brat," he retorts, a smirk dancing on his lips. "I couldn't allow you to perish, not yet," he continues, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Not until you learn the consequences of your actions."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you gaze at him. Summoning your courage, you take a deep breath, your voice quivering with anger. "Come down here, asshole," you command firmly. "I refuse to serve you, now or ever," you declare, your eyes flashing with defiance.

Sukuna chuckles, a cruel sound resonating through the shrine."You think you are brave enough to insult me?" he says, his voice laced with amusement. "Moreover, you broke the deal that we made."

In a surge of fury, you snatch up a skull, your rage propelling your actions. With all your might, you hurl it towards Sukuna. Swiftly, he leaps from his perch, landing atop you with a mocking laugh.

"Ouch!" you cry out, the impact stealing your breath.

"You don't get to disobey me, vessel," Sukuna snarls, pinning you to the ground and pressing your face into the bloody puddle.

Within a few seconds, he lets go of your head, letting you breathe again. "Get off me!" you yell, struggling beneath him.

"You will listen to me, vessel," he says, his voice cold. "Or I will make sure you regret it," he adds, his eyes gleaming with malice.

You struggle, but he is too strong; your efforts are futile.

"As I was saying, this is my innate domain. In other words, you are not dead yet. You missed your vital spot, so I was able to take over your unconscious body and heal it," he says, looking down at you.

"You're heavy," you remark, trying to deflect.

Sukuna releases you, grasping your neck to force eye contact. "You broke our deal by not allowing me to take over your body whenever I want,"  he says, staring daggers at you.

You study him intently, noting his imposing presence: the pink spikes of his hair standing tall, tattoos and markings adorning his forehead, nose, cheeks, and torso. He's wearing a white robe, the cloth flowing around him.

"Do you like what you see?" Sukuna asks, his voice mocking, "I look like a god, don't I?" he adds, a silly smirk playing on his lips.

"You're still an asshole," you retort, your voice shaking with anger.

"And I'm still the owner of your body, and do you know what happens to those who break the rules?"

You roll your eyes, your anger growing again.

Suddenly, Sukuna's hold on your neck tightens, cutting off your air supply. You fight against him, your chest burning for oxygen. Gasping desperately, your vision blurs.

Summoning your last reserves of strength, you manage to land a kick on his jaw, momentarily loosening his grip.

His eyes blaze with rage as he growls, "You insolent wretch," his voice seething with fury.

In a whirlwind of movement, you find yourself seated upon the throne, Sukuna's hands firmly gripping your waist, his eyes narrowed with unbridled anger.

"Remember, this is my domain," he growls.

Your heart races; panic is surging through you. "Release me," you demand, your voice trembling with fear.

Sukuna's smirk widens, malice glinting in his eyes. "Not so easily," he retorts, his tone chillingly indifferent.

You are now stuck with Sukuna, as he keeps you pinned against him, his hand tightly wrapping around your waist.

With a low growl, Sukuna's hands reach down to your pants. His fingers are brushing against your skin, your breath hitches, and your body is tense with anticipation. You try to push him away, your heart racing.

Sukuna smirks, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I've been waiting for this moment, Sama." His voice is low and seductive, sending chills down your spine. He chuckles darkly, his hands tightening their grip on your waist, before he pulls you closer, devouring your lips in a passionate yet rough kiss. His tongue dances with yours, dominating you completely as he takes control of your body, moving it according to his will.

"I know all your sweet spots," he whispers against your lips, letting you catch your breath for a moment before he yanks your pants off you.

You gasp as he slides his finger over your clit. "I am also aware of your virginity and how quickly you get wet,"  he chuckles, striding his tongue against your neck. Your mind keeps on wondering how he knows all this.

He leans down, yanking off your top and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

Sukuna grins, pushing a finger inside of you gently, watching as you twitch and moan softly. "Oh, look how you are so wet for me." He coos against your ear, thrusting his finger deeper into you. You squirm in his grip, but he holds you firmly.

"Ah, I am hitting the right spot, am I not?" he asks, intentionally wanting to get a reply from you.

"N-no, not at all. Your nails.. They-," you lie.

"Quit lying, you like the sensation of my sharp nails gazing at your walls; I can read your mind; don't forget that you are in my domain,"  he thrusts another finger, making you whimper. He chuckles darkly, increasing the pace of his fingers.

"Trust me, I can see through your mind right now." He murmurs, his eyes gleaming with lust. His hands then move to your nipple, twisting and pulling, causing you to whimper into his shoulder. "Hmm. Gotta ruin your tough personality," he whispers as he thrusts his fingers faster, making you writhe in his grip.

You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him, desperate for release. "Nah, uh, you need to beg for it,"  Sukuna smirks, his finger sliding out of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You try to think of something else, but your mind keeps on reminding your body about the pleasure it was feeling from his fingers.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Say it aloud; I want to hear it, though I already know what you want by reading this filthy mind of yours." He says, sliding his fingers back into you, twisting and pulling them, making you moan loudly.

"Please let me, Cum,"  you gasp, your eyes wide with a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Hmm? Already started begging? You are not as tough as I thought you would be. Guess, I am hitting your right spots," he mocks, bruising your sweet spot again and again.

Suddenly, his fingers leave you abruptly, making you whine in protest. You were so close, but he stopped. He laughs, still holding you firmly against him. "This is a punishment; I can't give you pleasure. Can I?"

He turns you so that he can see your face clearly, and your hands unconsciously wrap around his neck. "If you really want to cum so badly, then do it on cock," he said, his voice low and seductive, causing shivers to run down your spine.

"I don't need it from you," you lie, trying to sound tough but failing miserably as you can feel his laughter resonating in your ears.

"Oh, come on, I know you want it; your body is begging for it," he laughs, his lips trailing down your neck. "Your body is so slutty, you know that?" he asks, his hands roaming your back and your hips.

You shake his hold on you, trying to break free, but he grips you tighter. "Quit lying, I told you I can read your mind," Sukuna chuckles, his lips against your ear. "You really look good with that short hair," he whispers, his fingers tangling around your hair. "I apologise; if you truly care about your hair, it will grow back."

"Shut up, I hate you so much," you try to say.

"Kiss me then; let me fix us," he smirked.

You glare at him, but he doesn't seem to care. Instead, he pulls you closer, your lips brushing against his. His lips are soft against yours, and his tongue darts out to trace the line of your lips. You groan softly, your defenses crumbling. His lips press harder against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming it as his own. This time he kisses you thoroughly, his hands roaming your body and touching your every sensitive spot.

"Don't you want to feel the king of curses's cock inside you?" he whispers against your lips, his hands cupping your breasts. You moan softly, feeling his hands on your breasts, causing you to shiver in pleasure.

"I-I don't need that," you stutter, your body betraying you as it moves against him.

"Don't lie; you know you do," Sukuna murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "You are already imagining me fucking your little pussy, mhm." He chuckles darkly, his hands roaming your back, causing you to feel embarrassed.

"Stop reading my mind." Your hands travel to close his eyes. "I don't want your dirty cock inside me," you resist.

"Then why are you grinding against it? Why do you envision me fucking you?" he gently moves your hands from his face to his cock. "Can you feel it throbbing?"

You jolt at its thickness and say, "I-impossible."

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates against you. "Is it?" His hands slide down your body, pulling your pants off. "Don't worry, you are loose enough," he murmurs, guiding your hands against his hard shaft. "Are you telling me you don't want this?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, your body betraying you as your hips rub against him. He chuckles evilly and says, "I want to hear you. Tell me you want this inside you."

You hesitate for a second, your eyes wide with confusion and desire. "I think, I do," you stutter, your hands gripping his robe tightly. Sukuna chuckles, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Is that so, little slut? Fine, let's see how you react," he says, his hands pulling your legs apart. His cock slides against your clit, causing you to gasp and moan.

"Please…" you whisper, your eyes pleading. "Please, what?" he asks, and he continues teasing your clit. "P-put it inside,"  your eyes pleading with him.

Sukuna's smirk never leaves, his eyes gleaming with victory as he positions himself at your entrance. He thrusts inside you, making you gasp and arch your back.

"Yes, that's it; take it," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. You moan loudly, your hands tugging on his robe. "Good vessel, take it all," he praises you, thrusting in and out of you.

You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him. "Hmm, nice and tight," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Tight as I thought you would be." You whimper, your eyes wide with pleasure and pain.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. "Where is the fierce girl you used to be?" he mocks, his nails digging into your hips. You moan softly, your body writhing under his touch.

He kisses your neck and, with his fingers, your hair. "I'll make sure you never forget this," he growls, his hips thrusting faster. You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him. His thrusts become faster and harder, and your body shudders under his touch. He bites your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "Do you know, get it, who's the owner of this body?" he growls, his eyes gleaming with lust.

"Yeah," your voice quivering with every demonic thrust.

"You look so good, taking my cock, so submissive," he murmurs, thrusting harder. His words send shivers down your spine, his cock sliding in and out of you, making you whimper. "I can feel your walls trembling around me," he growls, his hands wrapping around your neck.

You whimper, your body shaking terribly, your toes curling.

"Cumming already?" he asks mockingly, his hips thrusting harder.

"A-ah, I-I," you gasp, your body betraying you. You arch your back, your body quivering as you reach your climax. Sukuna groans loudly, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

"This body, these breasts, this pussycat—every inch of your body belongs to me," his low growl echoing through your ears, his cock pulsing inside you. He thrusts deeper, his orgasm coming hard, filling you up. He gives you a peck, and your body is still quivering from the experience.

"Now you know who owns this body," he mocks, his hands running down your body. "Next time, don't dare to deny me." You nod weakly, your body still under the effect of the intense climax. He smirks, slowly pulling himself out of you, his cock sliding out of your body.

You pass out, slumping against him. Sukuna chuckles ominously, his eyes bright with triumph.

TAGLIST: @moonlightazriel @unholiiness @nyxlai @cocoaxbunny @persephone-lilly @iraa567 @rabbidbunwy @sweetchildcloud @lotus-n-l0ve @smashhed @imhellakawai @loveoreos @selfloverrrrrr @matchainthemorning @freckledmuffin @palegardenrebel @hellomeow12 @rowrowrowyourboat13

Dividers from @cafekitsune

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Shaken Not Stirred

Summary: Reader attends an investigation with her boyfriend Sam and best friend Colby. Unfortuantely for her, it doesn't quite go as smoothly as she'd hoped it would.

TW/CW: Reader gets scratched by a ghost and scared a few times. Sam Golbach x Reader

Requested?: No

A/N: Writing a spoopy imagine while watching spoopy Sam & Colby videos all with the lights off aside from red lights to up the spoopiness is fantastic. Surprisingly, I'm less spooped than I would be just watching Sam & Colby vids with the lights on and not multitasking lmao.

Y/N's POV

As we stepped into the abandoned, slightly decrepit haunted prison. We had spoken briefly with a friend of our guide outside before starting this tour and she had warned me, “Girl you are braver than I am.” Upon tilting my head at her, she continued, “I won’t ever step foot in that place after hearing so many stories from other ladies. Stick close to your boys.” Apparently, the entities in this place enjoy messing with and scaring ladies the most.

Colby’s voice brings me out of my thoughts, “Dude, look at this place!” I scan my eyes around the immense entry hall. The cement walls impose a sense of dread. The stuffy sour smell of the place makes my stomach roil.

I instinctively inch closer to Sam who’s at my side. I can already tell the warning wasn’t falsely founded. Just being in here makes me feel extremely uneasy and very unwelcome. Dating a paranormal investigator means I’ve visited plenty of haunted locations but this one was much worse than any other.

As our guide began the tour, I practically glued myself to Sam’s side making him look down at me. “You alright?” He questions, concern written plainly across his face.

I think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah just already feeling unwelcome.”

The guide breaks in, “Ladies typically do feel set apart from the gentlemen. As this was a male only prison, they don’t typically take kindly to female visitors.”

Sam looks even more worried now, “You can always sit this one out.”

I shake my head, “I’m alright for now but I’ll let you know if I need to step out.” Sam nods as our guide takes that as his cue to continue on. The first bit of our tour goes pretty quietly. Just as I am starting to loosen up and shake the uneasiness, I hear someone or something whisper yell very closely to my ear. Having stepped away from Sam, I race back to him and nearly leap into his arms.

“What?!” He questions, voice full of worry, “What happened?”

I look up at him and then around at our group, fear etched across my face, “Did you guys not hear that?” Everyone shakes their heads spurring me to explain, “I just heard something whisper super loud in my ear. Like, I don’t know how you guys didn’t hear it.”

Sam wraps his arms tighter around me, “Do you need a minute?”

I bury my face into his chest to take a few deep breaths before shaking my head, “No, I’m alright. Let’s keep going.” Carrying on with the tour, I keep my head on a swivel and my hand tightly clasped around Sam’s.

By the time we begin our investigations, I’ve loosened up again. Sam sets out the two flashlights after explaining for the video what they do. Colby also sets out a REM pod and shows the camera what it does. As everyone steps away from the devices, the REM pod starts going nuts. “Alright, I guess that’s a good sign that we should get started,” Sam states to the camera. The boys begin bouncing around questions and receiving responses but the REM pod just keeps screaming at us.

Finally, having had enough of the high pitch shrill, I gave up my courage and speak up, “I’m sorry to interrupt boys but whoever is beside our little red light over there could you please step away? It’s starting to hurt my ears.” The device goes silent immediately upon finishing my sentence. Sam, Colby, and I look at each other in shock before they continue on with questioning the flashlights. After only a couple questions and answers, I jump close to Sam. Something had just whispered again. I bury my face in Sam’s chest once more as he rubs my back.

“I heard that one,” Sam says more to Colby than me, “There was a whisper.”

Colby shakes his head, “I didn’t hear it but she sure did,” he says motioning to me. I back away from my shelter and motion for the boys to continue.

After a while and a couple of investigations, Sam and Colby decide it’s time to bring out the Estes Method. As Colby goes under, Sam leans over to whisper to me, “Do you want to sit this one out?” I shake my head but take his hand in mine. Sam begins asking questions and immediately receives answers. As the questions get more intense, I hold Sam’s hand even tighter trying not to show how terrified I am. I know that if Sam knows how scared I am he’ll cut it and we’ll leave.

“Is there anything specific you’d like us to know before we leave?” Sam asks. We receive, “Yeah,” from Colby just as something grabs the back of my neck. I leap from my seat and scream so loud that Colby yanks the headset and blindfold off looking around slightly panicked. Sam jumps up to collect me in his arms, checking me over as I try to calm my shaking and my eyes dart around trying to pinpoint the source of my fear.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Colby asks, standing from his chair.

Sam, whose inspection has brought him around behind me, waves Colby over out of the corner of my eye. Colby steps behind me as I feel Sam lower the back of my shirt slightly and lift my ponytail. “Holy shit,” Colby mumbles as I see a flash and hear a camera shutter.

I hide my face in my hands as Sam gently spins me around to face them. He places his hands on either side of my face, “I’m here. I’ve got you. You are safe,” he pauses taking a deep breath, “Do you want to see it?”

I nod shakily, knowing he’s referring to the picture of whatever is on my back. Colby shows me the screen of Sam’s phone. There is four long scratches from my hairline to between my shoulder blades, thankfully not drawing blood. Saying nothing I simply bury my face in Sam’s chest once again and his arms immediately wrap around me. “She’s shaking,” Colby notes.

“Yeah, we need to leave,” Sam states already moving toward the exit. Colby collects the gear before quickly catching up to us. About halfway to the car, Sam stops and lifts me into his arms. Once we reach the car, Sam opens the passenger door and gently sits me down in the seat. I clutch onto his shirt, not wanting him to pull away but he takes my hands in his, kissing them before placing them in my lap and squatting down in front of me.

Sam brushes my hair away from my face and that’s when I finally notice the same fear from my face copy and pasted onto his. His hands shake slightly as he kisses my forehead. Looking into my eyes once again, “I love you but the next time I see you so shaken just walking into a location, you’re sitting out or we’re leaving. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.” I nod my head and finally seeming content that I’ve calmed down he stands, “Pull your legs in, Darling.” I do as instructed before Sam closes the door and makes his way over to the driver side door as Colby slides into the backseat.

Colby leans forward and pats my head as Sam cranks the car and begins exiting the property. “You’re gonna be okay, Kid,” Colby affirms before he leans back to get comfortable for the ride home. Colby’s always been like a brother to me and no matter how well he hides it, I know he’s just as scared as Sam and I. Sam takes my hand in his as we make our way back to the hotel.

Masterlist

More Sam Golbach Imagines

[evieismol]

Chapter One: Earth

Easton's POV

Content warnings for this chapter: mentions of anxiety, mentions of hurting humans (doesn't happen)

So this was Earth. 

I had known things would be smaller on the distant blue and green planet, but as I stared down at the assortment of vehicles and people in front of me, it hit me that knowing and experiencing were two very different things. It wasn't like I hadn't seen humans - or human sized things before - but I'd always seen them on Aphiria. Where they were comparatively tiny to everything around them. As I took in the trees that didn't quite reach up to my ankles, it hit me that I was now the one that was mis-sized for my surroundings. My stomach turned at the realization of just how big I was compared to my surroundings.

The familiar, sharp edge of anxiety began to slice at my brain once more. It would be so easy to accidentally break something. Or hurt someone. 

Or worse. 

I'd thought I was used to those fears after spending a not insignificant time around humans on Aphiria. Now, though, they felt like they'd doubled. Or maybe tripled. 

“Mr. Parks! Welcome to Earth,” A soft voice from below pulled me from my rapidly spiralling thoughts. I focused on the source of the voice. A neatly groomed man, probably in his thirties, in an equally neatly pressed suit, stood on top of a tank below. I briefly wondered if I should read into the apparent militarization of the group in front of me, before deciding that was best left to consider at another time. 

“Uh, thank you. It's good to be here. And Easton's fine.” I said, making a conscious effort to speak softly. I hoped it was softly enough. The humans didn't flinch, so I took that as a good sign. 

“Easton, then. I'm John O'Riley, the IMA agent assigned to work with you. And likewise, John is fine.” John seemed fully comfortable and confident as he spoke, despite having to crane his neck up to look at me. I'd been told on Aphiria about the IMA - the Interdimensional Management Agency. They apparently oversaw and handled all matters relating to non human issues on Earth, not just interdimensional ones. It had been mentioned that I'd be working with an agent. Though “working with” was maybe the wrong term, since the impression I'd gotten was more that said agent would be supervising and managing me. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” I said politely. “And an honor to be here.” 

“Well, we're happy to have you.” John replied. Based on the nervous looks from the men surrounding him, I wasn't sure if that sentiment was shared. It was, for lack of a more elegant term, really weird to be the source of unease for what looked like a group of highly trained soldiers. Last name aside, I didn’t cut a particularly imposing figure back on Aphiria. I was a bit on the short side and far less outgoing than I would have liked, and combined, that meant that for the majority of my life, I had been the one being intimidated. Not being intimidating. I was anything but short compared to humans, of course, which I’d quickly learned upon first meeting the group of them I’d found stranded on Aphiria some time ago. Even still, being intimidating to a stranded group of then strangers and being intimidating to what looked like a very well prepared military were two different things. 

I wondered, not for the first time, if agreeing to work on Earth as part of a “diplomatic endeavor” was really a good idea. It was so much responsibility. Way more than even being a park ranger back home had been, which had already felt like a lot of responsibility. 

My sister really can talk anyone into anything, I thought. 

“So, I'm guessing you've noticed the entourage,” John said, gesturing to the men surrounding him. “It's just standard IMA policy to take precautions, not that we think there'll be any issues. I was told you were briefed on the ground rules put in place as part of this agreement?” 

He paused, waiting for my response. I nodded. “Yes, of course.” 

Said ground rules included things like absolutely no picking up humans, animals, or property without explicit permission. As well as some understandable but also anxiety inducing clauses like what would happen if I were to hurt any humans, accidental or otherwise. It would void the agreement, of course, which wasn't the anxiety inducing part. No, that was just the idea of accidentally hurting a human. An idea that felt way too possible looking down at the miniature army. 

I should have taken a second dose of anxiety medication, I thought, swallowing nervously. 

“Great! Great. So, there's a temporary IMA outpost nearby. We were thinking you could follow us there, and then we could go over more of what to expect for your job, including timeline, accomodations, and so on. For safety reasons, we'd prefer if you kept a decent distance behind our little group when walking. I'll let you know when to start following us, how does that sound?” 

I nodded quickly. “That sounds good to me.”  

John smiled again. He seemed entirely unphased by the fact that I was dozens of times his size, and I found it a little ironic that I seemed to be more anxious than him. Then again, he worked for The IMA, and from my understanding, their agency dealt with all manner of non human beings. So maybe he was just used to it. 

I, on the other hand, felt entirely out of my depth as I watched the group turn around and begin to move. 

“Alright, you can start following us! Just keep about this distance!” John called. 

Well, too late to change my mind now.

Next

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

Reader POV:

Being on a military base had a way of immediately making you feel small. The imposing, armed men who scrutinized your ID at the front gate while another peered into the back seats of your car with a small flashlight before giving the all clear - the whole scenario made you inexplicably anxious. It’s not like you would be turned away or detained. You were the furthest thing from a threat that you could think of. What 5 ft 4 in. girl could take on even the smallest soldier here? You were unarmed (though your boyfriend was constantly encouraging you to at least carry something with you for self-defense). But even if you weren't, where would you hide a weapon on you? The tight fabric of your shorts would give it away immediately. And your crop top didn't leave many other hiding places either.

As always, you were waved through the gate and had made your way towards the barracks assigned to Task Force 141. Now, you sat fidgeting with your hair and staring at your phone, hoping your boyfriend would see your text soon. You didn't feel unsafe, but you still didn't particularly enjoy the idea of walking around base on your own. With him, you felt a bit more at ease socially. But alone, your shyness always got the best of you. And god damn it, everyone around here was either tall, muscular, intimidating, or all three!

"Come on," you whispered. "Just look at your phone."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement. A figure approaching the driver side of your car. You kept your eyes down, trying to look even smaller and hoping they would continue to walk past. But they didn't. They stopped, their large figure hunching down a bit to your eye level before tapping on the glass.

You raised your gaze to meet theirs. A man stared you down, his face concealed behind a black balaclava and a skull mask. All you could see were his eyes. Unreadable, all-seeing, shadowed eyes. You blanched as you rolled the window down a bit, worried that you'd somehow already landed in trouble.

"Um, am I allowed to park here? I've never been on base before, but-"

"Name?" He cut off your nervous rambling abruptly, his expression unchanged. He spoke with an air of command that gave away years of military life turned to habit. But the gruff British accent certainly caught you off guard.

"Y/n. Um, I'm supposed to meet my boyfriend here, I think? Do you know someone named König?"

Silence. He didn't answer right away. Instead, his eyes narrowed slightly as if he didn't fully believe your story. You couldn't help but squirm under his pointed gaze, feeling your face grow hot. Seconds felt like minutes as his eyes ran over you, scanning. It seemed like he was sizing you up or looking for something. Any indication that you weren’t who you were claiming to be. Whatever it was, he must not have found it. Because he gave a curt nod before stepping back from the door a bit.

"Right then, out of the car," he ordered. "You're with me."

A sarcastic “Yes sir” welled up within you. But you bit your tongue, turned off the car, and stepped out. You were mildly offended at his rough, blunt mannerisms. He wasn’t your commanding officer, and you weren’t one of his men. But you gave him a bit of grace. Clearly, this guy didn’t interact with civilians too often. Additionally, you found the skull mask a bit unnerving. The last thing you wanted to do was immediately get on this guy’s bad side. He practically radiated a heady mixture of danger and authority. And the way his eyes studied you made you inexplicably nervous.

With a tilt of his head, he motioned for you to follow him before turning on his heel and loping away. In order to keep up with his long strides, you had to take up an awkward half-running, half-walking gait. His broad shoulders swayed gently as he went. They took up most of your view due to the vast height difference between you. The top of your head only came up to his shoulders, so you fixated on the back of his tactical vest as you walked within his shadow.

Ghost POV:

So this was the girlfriend König had mentioned. When he’d mentioned a relationship in passing, no one really believed him. Knowing how shy of a person he was outside of a combat setting, a majority of 141 assumed it was a little white lie he had told after one too many drinks and one too many virgin jokes. But yet here she was.

A flood of emotions had flickered through his mind when he finally laid eyes on the girl. First shock, then doubt, then a brief pang of jealousy. Apparently, they both shared the same taste in women because she was certainly attractive

Cute little curls framed her round face. The slight upturn of her eyebrows and the panic in those doe eyes of hers when she’d met his gaze through the window. The way she subconsciously nibbled on those plump, soft lips of hers as she had tried to quell her anxiety.

“The lucky bastard,” he grumbled internally. It’d been far too long since Ghost had indulged in the touch of a woman. And his day job made doubly sure of that. Knowing the most timid member of his team had managed to find the one thing he hadn’t brought out a streak of competitiveness in him that he couldn’t bat away.

When she had climbed out of the car, Ghost was surprised at how short she was. In order to meet his eyes, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. But the rest of her was just as he had expected. It was like König had climbed into Ghost’s head, developed a reference for his fantasy girl, and then intentionally found a girl of his own that matched that description. Tanned skin, perky breasts that bounced nicely whenever she moved, wide hips and thick thighs,... Those short shorts of hers were just salt in the growing wound at this point. The fabric clung to her body like skin. When she had turned to climb out of her car, the fabric had risen tantalizingly high in the back and revealed a fair portion of her ass peeking out beneath it. A portion that jostled so beautifully when her feet met the gravel of the parking lot. And then she just stood there, hands clasped behind her as she gazed up at him waiting to be told what to do.

And, oh the things he wanted to tell her to do for him.

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

[cj-the-random-artist]

Welcome to Trader Scar's are you here to buy, sell or trade?

Scar's Life series POVs are some of my favorites every time, they do ample emotional damage and are also extremely silly and fun and I love that vibe so have a Secret Life Scar

Also notably. I'm making efforts to be on social media less so that I can detach my artistic self worth from likes and such (because that's been. Really bad for my ability to art lately) and so I can put less pressure on myself to make stuff - especially stuff that follows certain "requirements" that I've unintentionally imposed on myself - and it's working SUPER WELL so far. Art is becoming fun again and within a day of doing this my art block has been significantly lessened. That said if that's related to me not being on here as much there's why lol

This has been PSA and a random Secret Life Scar. Enjoy and have good day :D

[redginganinja]

Nozel x Reader

Hey all.... Slowly trying to get back into writing and adding some fandoms to the list. One I'm into right now is Black Clover....

Anyways, here's a somewhat self indulgent fic for Nozel Silva x female reader.

Prologue

Y/N POV

Hissing in anger, I slammed my fist into the door, the solid oak absorbing the impact with a dull thud. Its imposing presence loomed tall as the ceiling, a formidable barrier that seemed to mock my attempts to escape. Locked tightly, it denied me even a glimpse of freedom, leaving me feeling claustrophobic and trapped within its unforgiving embrace.

“Ahem…” a voice cleared their throat behind me, breaking the suffocating silence.

I groaned, the frustration evident in my tone. “What?” I snapped without turning around, my fist still pressed against the unyielding door.

“We really should get started…” a male voice began, his words carrying a sense of urgency. “Your father instructed me to prepare you for the arrival of the King, and the rest of the royals.”

"What’s to prepare?" I asked the tutor sarcastically, finally turning around to face him, my gaze sharp and unrelenting. "Smile, say pleasant things - I can manage…"

He scoffed dismissively, his demeanor brimming with conviction. “There is far more to it than that, my lady. They will be here in the morning, and you are woefully underprepared.”

I regarded him with thinly veiled disinterest, my patience wearing thin. “Locking me in here with you will not convince me to listen. In fact…” A mischievous grin danced upon my lips as I extended my hand, conjuring a surge of magic that crackled with energy, freezing him to the floor where he stood. “You can stay here, but I have plans…”

“You cannot! I - “

I cut off his protests with a smirk, reveling in the control I held over the situation. “Do I need to freeze your mouth as well?” I taunted, relishing in the power coursing through my veins.

He clamped his mouth shut, his eyes wide with apprehension, and I couldn't help but smile. “Thank you. I’m leaving - you will not scream for help, or there will be hell to pay later. I will be back tonight…”

“Your father..” he began, his voice meek.

“ - I do not care what my father says. You will keep quiet if you know what’s good for you.” I hissed, my tone leaving no room for argument as I gathered my belongings with purpose.

Ignoring his wary gaze, I swiftly collected my things, tossing a bag out the window in a calculated act of defiance. I strode behind the privacy screen, shedding the confines of my formal attire with a sense of liberation, exchanging them for the simple garments of a commoner - pants and a casual tunic that offered freedom of movement and anonymity in equal measure.

Emerging from behind the screen, I met his gaze head-on, my expression unyielding. “You will keep quiet until you see the sun rising on the horizon. If I’m not home by then, you may worry, and send someone after me. Understood?” I demanded, my words laced with an unmistakable air of command.

He gulped audibly, his compliance evident in the nod of his head, and I accepted it without hesitation, knowing that my departure would not go unnoticed for long.

With purposeful strides, I made my way to the window, summoning a gust of wind to carry me down to the awaiting bag below. The descent was swifter than I intended, and I landed with a huff, the impact driving the breath from my lungs as I dusted myself off.

Draping a cloak around my shoulders, I pulled the hood low over my features, concealing my identity from prying eyes as I ventured into the bustling streets below. The town was alive with activity, preparations for the royal visit evident in every corner as people scurried about, consumed by the chaos of anticipation.

Navigating the labyrinthine streets with practiced ease, I blended seamlessly into the throng of commoners, my stolen cloak affording me the anonymity I sought. With each step, I felt the weight of expectation slip away, replaced by a sense of freedom and possibility that beckoned me forward into the unknown.

As I made my way through the streets, my senses were inundated with the vibrant spectacle of the town adorned in honor of the impending royal visit. Streamers danced in the breeze, and colorful signs adorned every corner, announcing the forthcoming festivities to all who passed by. The air buzzed with an electric energy as people hurried about, their frenzied movements a testament to the meticulous preparations underway - food stalls being erected, clothing stalls bustling with activity, and vendors hawking their wares in anticipation of the influx of visitors. It was a scene of organized chaos, a symphony of sights and sounds that enveloped me as I navigated through the throngs of people.

Despite the lively atmosphere, I found myself indifferent to the spectacle unfolding around me. The prospect of countless eyes upon me filled me with a sense of unease, a blush creeping to my cheeks at the mere thought of so many individuals recognizing me. With a resigned sigh, I pressed forward, my destination beckoning me with the promise of familiarity and solace amidst the chaos of the town.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door, I was immediately greeted by the clamor of the bustling tavern - rowdy men engaged in spirited conversation, tankards of ale clashing against worn wooden tables in raucous celebration. A nostalgic smile tugged at my lips at the familiar sounds, a sense of belonging washing over me as I stepped into the warmth of the bustling establishment.

“Oi, girl! Where ya been?” A booming voice called out, cutting through the din of the tavern.

I chuckled in response, the affectionate banter of the patrons a welcome embrace. “I missed you too, Mort. How’ve you been?”

“Busy,” Mort grumbled, his weathered features creased in a bemused smile. “And the new girl is flailing…” He trailed off, nodding towards a young blonde woman struggling to navigate the crowded tavern with a tray of drinks in hand.

I grinned knowingly, my years of experience in this tavern lending me a sense of confidence in the chaotic environment. “Good thing I showed up when I did. Hand me a tray,” I replied, my tone laced with playful determination.

Mort chuckled heartily, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he passed me a serving tray. “I’ll pay you in beer,” he quipped, the familiar exchange eliciting a fond smile from me.

“Perfect,” I winked, accepting the tray with a grateful nod before making my way towards the beleaguered new waitress.

“Hey new girl, I’m here to help out. I’ll take some of the bigger tables - take a load off your shoulders,” I offered with a warm smile, extending a gesture of camaraderie to the overwhelmed young woman.

Her expression softened with relief, gratitude shining in her eyes as she accepted my assistance. “Thank you,” she replied earnestly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Just you wait - it gets a lot worse…” I reassured her with a laugh, offering a comforting pat on the shoulder. “But I’ve been slinging drinks for years, so I’ve got you covered.”

With a grateful nod, she turned her attention back to her duties, and I set off to tend to the needs of the tavern patrons. Moving from table to table, I greeted each patron with a warm smile, my focus solely on the task at hand as I navigated the bustling tavern with practiced ease. There was no time for pleasantries - the tavern was too slammed for such niceties - but with each drink served and each smile exchanged, I found myself slipping effortlessly into the rhythm of the familiar chaos, the promise of camaraderie and laughter guiding me through the bustling evening ahead.

A small group of imposing figures caught my eye, their attire betraying their status as magic knights - their robes, tattered and worn, spoke volumes of the battles they had faced and the challenges they had overcome. Despite my unease at their presence, I plastered on a smile, reminding myself of the reward awaiting me at the end of the night - cold, refreshing mugs of beer.

“What can I get for y’all?” I asked with forced cheerfulness, dispelling any notion of pleasantries in the face of the bustling tavern.

A large, dark-haired man in a tattered black robe grinned mischievously at me, his eyes alight with amusement. “Lots of beer, girl,” he teased, his words laced with playful banter.

I nodded in response, turning my attention to the thin man clad in a green robe beside him. “More beer than him…” he hissed, his demeanor sending a shiver down my spine. There was something unnerving about him, a sense of darkness that lingered in the air.

Next, I addressed the man in the crimson robe, his red hair framing a polite smile. “Just a beer, please,” he requested politely, his demeanor a stark contrast to the others at the table.

The man in the golden robe, his face concealed behind a mask, nodded in agreement, his silent acquiescence adding an air of mystery to his presence. Finally, I turned to the man in the blue robe, a braid of silver hair obscuring his features. “Water,” he spoke plainly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Suppressing a look at the odd request, I nodded in acknowledgment. “Very well… I’ll be back with your drinks shortly,” I informed them, turning on my heel and making my way behind the bar to fulfill their orders.

With practiced efficiency, I filled as many steins of beer as I could carry, balancing the water on top with ease. Returning to the table, I distributed the drinks with a sense of satisfaction, placing the water in front of the silver-haired man with an amused twinkle in my eye before handing out the beers to the others. “Just holler if you need something else,” I offered with a smile, my tone friendly yet professional.

Turning my attention back to the bustling tavern, I threw myself into the rhythm of the evening, serving patrons with renewed vigor as the night grew busier and busier. With each drink poured and each table served, I found myself growing progressively friendlier, my interactions with the patrons becoming more lighthearted and jovial as I indulged in chugs of beer between rounds.

Teasing and joking with those I served became second nature, my laughter mingling with the lively ambiance of the tavern as I navigated the bustling crowd with ease. However, when it came to the magic knights, I maintained a respectful distance, interacting with them only when necessary - which, given the drinking competition between the big man and the skinny man, was more frequent than I had anticipated.

I was startled from my serving flow when I heard a loud crash!, and the sounds of the tavern were abruptly silenced by the sudden disruption. All eyes turned towards the source of the commotion, which emanated from the new girl. She stood frozen, a tray of drinks scattered at her feet, her expression a mixture of shock and fear as she struggled against the grasp of a particularly loathsome patron who had seized her, pulling her forcefully into his lap as his hands traveled across her person.

My gaze narrowed at him, fury igniting within me at the sight of his brazen actions. This was not the first time I had warned this troublemaker about his behavior, yet he persisted in his despicable antics, seemingly emboldened with each transgression. Without hesitation, I seized a knife from the bar, my resolve solidifying as I stalked towards the table with determined purpose.

The girl caught sight of me and scrambled away from her assailant, who sat smugly, oblivious to the storm brewing around him as he laughed and took another swig of his beer. My anger surged, my mana pulsating with unrestrained power as I swiftly drove the knife into the table, the blade embedding itself next to his hand with a satisfying thud, drawing a sliver of his blood in its wake.

He turned to snarl at me, his bravado faltering as he registered my presence, his face draining of color with dawning recognition.

Snarling back, my voice unnervingly calm despite the tempest raging within me, I addressed him with chilling precision. “Elaric - I thought I made it abundantly clear that your presence wasn’t welcome here…” I sneered, my words carrying a weight of authority that brooked no argument.

His eyes widened with nervous apprehension. “I hadn’t seen you around lately…” he stammered, his feeble attempt at justification falling on deaf ears.

Glaring icily at him, I continued, my tone laced with thinly veiled menace. “Even so - you shouldn’t be here. You have ten seconds to vacate these premises before you lose that hand,” I declared, my voice a lethal whisper that echoed with the promise of consequences.

With a sense of urgency, he scrambled out of his chair, his bravado evaporating in the face of my unwavering resolve. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed, venom dripping from his words, but I merely laughed in response.

“My only regret is not doing this sooner,” I retorted, my gaze unwavering as I watched him slink towards the door, a defeated shadow of his former self.

Turning my attention to the shaken barmaid, I moved to check on her well-being, aware of the watchful eyes of the tavern's patrons upon me. Sensing the tension in the air, I prepared to address the onlookers, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Before I could voice my reprimand, Mort stepped forward, his authoritative voice cutting through the silence like a clarion call. “Back to your drinks, folks. Just a little pre-celebration excitement from a local troublemaker - nothing for you to concern yourselves with. Enjoy a round on the house!” he declared, his words dispelling the tension with practiced ease.

There were a few grumbles, and then the tavern resumed its lively atmosphere, the incident fading into the background as patrons returned to their revelry, the memory of the altercation quickly overshadowed by the promise of free drinks.

I smiled gratefully at Mort, a wave of gratitude washing over me as he handed me a fresh beer. “Thanks,” I murmured sincerely, feeling supported by his gesture. His pat on the back, accompanied by a knowing smile, spoke volumes, affirming that justice had been served.

Making my way over to the shaken new girl, I approached her with gentle concern, noting the tremor in her hands as she struggled to compose herself. Kneeling beside her, I reached out, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with a comforting touch. “Are you alright?” I inquired softly, my voice laced with empathy.

She looked up at me with wide eyes, her fear palpable, and I offered her reassurance in the form of a supportive arm around her trembling shoulders. “I’m sure you’re frightened - come take a minute in the back to collect yourself,” I urged gently, guiding her towards the sanctuary of the back room, my own beer in hand. Settling in beside her, I engaged her in conversation, offering words of comfort and solidarity until she seemed more at ease.

Returning to the bar, I resumed my duties with renewed determination, serving drinks and indulging in more chugs of beer as I bantered with patrons, the memory of the altercation gradually fading into the background as the night progressed.

As jests and playful banter filled the air, some patrons teased me, their words carrying a hint of caution masked in humor. I responded in kind, playfully warning them of the consequences of crossing me, my tone light-hearted despite the underlying seriousness of the sentiment.

Refilling the knights' drinks, I found them divided - two engaged in rowdy revelry while the other three conversed in hushed tones. The big man, his drunken demeanor evident, spoke up with a teasing grin. “That was quite something…” he remarked, his words tinged with amusement.

I met his gaze, amusement twinkling in my eyes as the alcohol dulled my inhibitions. “I’ve been dying to stab that creep for years,” I quipped, a playful edge to my tone. “He’s lucky I didn’t drive the knife through his hand.”

His laughter filled the air, echoing with camaraderie, while the silver-haired man interjected with a hint of disapproval. “You should leave situations like that to those who are trained to deal with such riffraff,” he remarked coolly, his tone betraying his disdain.

Unfazed by his disapproval, I chuckled, the alcohol emboldening my response. “We don’t get many knights around these parts - are you suggesting I wait on the off chance one appears?” I countered with a playful smirk, my words carrying a sense of defiance tinged with amusement.

Before he could reply, the door burst open, and two men strode into the tavern, their fine clothing and Golden Dawn robes marking them as members of high standing. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I cursed inwardly, hoping against hope that they hadn't noticed my presence. Unfortunately, their sharp gazes locked onto me with unwavering intensity.

Summoning a hesitant smile, I braced myself for the impending confrontation as they approached.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the larger of the two men demanded, his tone laced with agitation. I glanced between him and the drink in my hand, then back to him.

“Drinking…” I muttered, my response dripping with sarcasm as if the answer were obvious.

He scowled at me, his disapproval palpable. “You’re supposed to be at home. Imagine our shock when we found your tutor, iced to the floor of the study,” he retorted pointedly, his frown deepening with each word.

A mischievous grin tugged at my lips as I shrugged nonchalantly. “A little ice never hurt anyone. I just wanted a drink before everything went to shit - care to join me, brother?” I quipped, my tone tinged with hopeful defiance.

His response was immediate and unequivocal. “No,” he stated flatly. “You’re coming home - someone could know you’re here.”

“How? I’ve been careful,” I protested defiantly, the flush of alcohol lending a boldness to my words.

His gaze bore into mine with an intensity that made my stomach churn. “We saw your mana from the road…” he informed me pointedly, the weight of his accusation landing with a crushing finality.

Oops. Busted.

As the gravity of the situation settled upon me, his attention shifted to the table where I had been serving drinks. Recognition flashed across his features, his eyes widening in realization. “Oh, Captain! I was not aware you’d be here…” he trailed off, his tone respectful as he addressed one of the men at the table.

My own eyes widened in surprise. Captain? Did that mean these were all captains…? The implications of their presence sent a shiver down my spine, the realization dawning on me that my impromptu escapade had far-reaching consequences beyond my wildest imagination.

“I apologize for my sister,” my brother addressed, his voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “She can be a bit of a handful…” His gaze remained fixed on me, assessing and scrutinizing.

“Did you start a fight?” My younger brother chimed in, his teasing tone accompanied by a playful poke to my cheek. I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “No. I was merely looking out for a fellow worker,” I replied cheekily, a hint of defiance in my words.

He scoffed in response. “You’re no worker. Quit playing peasant and come home. You’re drunk - father will be furious.”

“Father will get over it. Mort, however, needs my help,” I countered, my steps stumbling as the effects of the alcohol began to take hold.

With a roll of his eyes, my younger brother moved swiftly, effortlessly scooping me up and slinging me over his shoulder. “This scene is your fault, sister,” he remarked with a playful grin, his tone light-hearted despite the situation.

I struggled against his grasp, though I knew it was futile. Weakened by drink and outnumbered by my brothers, I resigned myself to defeat with a huff of frustration. “Bye, Mort,” I called out sadly as I was carried away, my voice tinged with regret.

Mort's laughter followed me as I was ushered out of the tavern. “Go easy on her, boys - she means well…” his voice trailed off, the warmth of his words offering a small comfort in the midst of my predicament.

[ineffabildaddy]

core of a clementine

i wrote a touch-starved crowley pov ficlet, here it is!!! explicit content incoming

-

Teach me to repair watches. Maybe I’ll forget the silken brush of your knuckles on my pebbled skin, stroking the place where my back meets my neck as you move to fasten my necklace.

Send me fruit-picking in the fields of Western Australia with the restless twenty-somethings. Maybe after six months, I'll struggle to recall the heel of your palm holding open a book, poised, imposing, steady.

Leave me behind a bar to pour endless pints. If I polish a thousand champagne flutes, then the press of your thumb into the core of a clementine may slip my mind entirely.

Bid me spin straw into gold on a loom. I might murder the memory of crying as I came, fucking myself on faltering fingers as if your digits graced my weeping cunt.

Put me to work with my hands and maybe I’ll learn to ignore yours.

Let me forget, too, how it feels to watch you plant a slice of cake on your wet tongue. How your lips cradle the stick of an ice lolly, how its juice drips down your proud chin, scarlet and vulgar.

Let me tilt my head back in the comfort of your armchair without picturing your mouth descending upon my throat. Let me crane my neck without craving your canines grazing my pulse points, as if you could pierce them and drain every drop of my blood.

My love would still be there, anyway. It lives in teeth and fingernails, it hangs heaviest where the blood isn't.

Do me a favour, stop scrunching up your nose. That way, I don't have to think about the tip of it catching on my clit if you were ever to taste me. Don't pinch the bridge of it, either, or I can't help but wonder whether you would tweak my nipples between your fingers and growl if I rode your face.

Turn away from me before you splay your hands out on the lower half of your torso. Then my brain won't silently have to plead, won't beseech you to press your belly into the concave of my back and fuck me mean, fuck me like it serves me right, serves me right for everything.

Don't spread your legs in the passenger seat of my car, love. Don't flex your thighs, don't shift the weight of your cock like it's sacred. Don't bring me to the point of talking myself down from swerving to the side of the road, don't force me to contemplate leaving the engine on while I climb over the gearstick and slick my parted lips with spit, waiting for you to feed me your length.

Don't tap your foot once you've grown impatient. Don't bring to mind how it might feel to sit on your knee, to roll my hips on the solid plate of it until I'm soaked and hard and lightheaded with want.

Don't speak in a whisper, darling. Don't mumble, don't murmur. Afterwards, I might dream of you telling me softly that I'm good, and then calling me a whore immediately afterwards.

I might wake up and think this means I love you. And we can't have that, can we, angel?

-

if you liked this fic, pls go give it some love on ao3!!! thoughts and reblogs here are also much appreciated<3

this work is a gift for @voluptatiscausa <3

i know a lot of the legends have read this already so i’ll tag a few who haven’t (no pressure!!!): @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @sabotage-on-mercury @greenthena @amagnificentobsession @crowleyholmes @alwaystuesday @and-his-hands-were-24-crows @iammyownproblematicfave @portraitofalonelydyke

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 1/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Additional Tags: De-Aged Jason Todd, Magic, Babysitting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, POV Third Person, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne Tries, Jason Todd Has Issues, Childhood Trauma

Chapter One: Hickory Dickory Dock

Bruce leaped out of the Batmobile, blood pumping as he sprinted halfway across the docks and kicked in the warehouse door in a panic. He couldn't be too late. Not again. He looked around the room, his heart still beating in his ears. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to regain his cool. Jason wasn't a child anymore. He could take care of himself. Jason was probably long gone. Bruce tried to reassure himself that everything was fine. He turned to leave just as a pipe clattered and clanged against the cement floor, followed by a gasp. Bruce met eyes with a little boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles. He sat in the corner of the room shaking and crying, wearing a hoodie that was so oversized it pooled over his feet.

The boy held both hands over his face, stifling sobs as his body shook. Bruce's shoulders dropped, and he made himself appear smaller and less imposing. He stepped forward to approach, and the child screwed up his face and broke into a sobbing mess. "Oh no, I'm not here to hurt you-." The little boy shook his head frantically.

"No! No," he pleaded. Bruce sighed and sat down where he stood.

"I only want to help," Bruce reassured him. "Can you step into the light for me?" The child shook his head. "My mask is awfully spooky, huh?" The boy nodded. "Don't worry. I'm just a regular man under the mask."

The little boy shivered in the cold. "It's too cold in here to stay all night... I actually have a ravioli soup to pick up in a little bit, and I couldn't possibly eat it all by myself. Do you know anybody who might want to eat hot and spicy ravioli soup with me?" Bruce questioned. The little boy's stomach growled. Bruce reached out, and the little boy took his hand. "Oracle-."

"Got it," Barbara replied. Bruce held his hand out, and the child finally accepted. Bruce took a wet napkin and wiped his face and hands clean, checking for signs of a broken nose.

"Does that hurt?" Bruce questioned. The little boy tried to stop himself from crying. "Does your head hurt?"

The little boy shook his head. "No..." His voice was small, almost mouse-like.

"Okay... I don't think anything's broken," Bruce whispered, "Will you come with me?"

Bruce walked him to the Batmobile and set up the car seat he kept around for emergencies. He buckled the boy in and checked to ensure the seat belt was secure. The little boy grabbed Bruce's wrist, and they locked eyes. There was a strange familiarity swimming around in the boy's downturned eyes. "Am I in trouble?" asked the boy. Bruce shook his head. "Are you gonna take me home after?"

"I'm going to try to. How'd you get way out here?" Bruce asked.

Bruce hopped in the Batmobile and started driving toward the restaurant in Little Italy. "I don't remember," the boy mumbled, "I usually remember things... But I don't know this time. I never go this far away by myself."

"Do you know what neighborhood you live in?" Bruce questioned. The little boy swung his feet as he looked around at the Batmobile's interior.

"Uh-huh. I live in the apartments on Park Row," the boy answered, "Mr. Batman, you hurt my daddy before... But sometimes, he does bad things. My mommy says sometimes people have to do bad things to survive."

"Well-."

"I think he had to go away again and get punished," the little boy explained.

"I'm sorry that I hurt your father," Bruce apologized.

"It's okay... You probably didn't know. Sometimes people hit people because they don't know better," the little boy justified. Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pulled up into the alley.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Bruce asked. The little boy nodded.

Bruce went into the back entrance and paid for his order. He took an empty soup container and split his order in two before grabbing his forks and returning to the Batmobile. He climbed into the backseat and draped a napkin over the boy's lap before handing him his soup. "Thank you," the little boy whispered. Bruce could tell it'd been a while since the child's last meal, but he had excellent manners. Bruce ate with him in silence. "Do you know my name?"

Bruce shook his head. He thought it was a strange question. "Do you know Santa Claus?" the little boy questioned.

"No, I can't say I do," Bruce replied, "What is your name, by the way?"

"Jason," the little boy answered. Bruce turned to him and shook his head.

"Jason Peter Todd?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded and smiled.

"Hey! You told a fib! You do know my name," Jason giggled. Bruce's breath caught. How was that possible? Jason was a full-grown man when Bruce received the distress call earlier. Who could've done something like that to him? "Mr. Batman?"

Bruce took off his mask and looked him in the eye. He hoped it would spark something in Jason's memory. "Jason, how old are you right now?" Bruce questioned.

"You're Bruce Wayne," Jason grinned, showing Bruce the little gap in his front teeth.

"Jason, please. How old are you today?" Bruce asked.

Jason frowned. "I'm five... Are you mad at me?" Jason questioned. Bruce shook his head.

"Do you remember talking to me today? We talked to each other three times today... I've known you since you were twelve, and I-."

"Mr. Wayne... I'm five," Jason whispered.

Bruce sighed. Jason was literally five years old. He had no memory of the past nineteen years, and there was no way to explain any of it without traumatizing him. "Well, Jason, if your mommy and daddy aren't home, do you want to stay with me for a little while?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded.

"How'd you know my whole name?" Jason asked.

"I'm a good detective," Bruce answered. Jason hiccupped and apologized. "It's alright. Jason, is it alright if I take you to a doctor and let her bandage up your cuts?" Jason nodded. "If you're good, Dr. Thompkins might give you a sticker."

Jason lit up. "I know who Dr. Thompkins is! She helped my mommy once when she was sick," Jason explained. Bruce smoothed Jason's hair down in the back. He felt something warm and wet, like blood, and he drew his hand back to see a glowing inscription on his hand. Magic. Of course, it was magic.

Corpus et mens infantis ad cor infantis. It was written in liquid on Jason's head and Bruce's palm. Jason didn't notice the glowing green inscription. "Does Dr. Thompkins know you're Batman?" Jason asked. Bruce nodded. "Am I asking too many questions, Mr. Wayne?"

"You can ask all the questions you want, Jason. Okay?" Bruce reassured him. Jason nodded as he drank the tomato broth from his soup container. Bruce smiled and wiped Jason's face. "I used to have a little boy like you... Except he wasn't as little as you. He was older... But to me, he was my little boy."

"Is he gone?" Jason asked.

"Kind of," Bruce whispered.

"Do you miss him?" Jason questioned.

"All the time," Bruce whispered, "He was only little for such a short time. I wished I could turn back time and be better to him."

Jason looked at the sad expression on Bruce's face, and he tapped his shoulder. "I bet he misses you too," Jason reassured him.

[livingdreams97]

Eloise Bridgerton - "The Prince" (Part 3)

Eloise Bridgerton x Male reader/oc

Summary: Two people who have never seen each other before, with the same need and desire to be free in different ways. What could come of that when both people meet each other?

Words: 4.181

PREVIOUS /// NEXT

Masterlist

POV You

Just as I had discussed with Eloise that night in the maze. I have been showing my interest towards her in a more noticeable way and she towards me too.

Four days have passed since that night and on each of the days I have gone to the Bridgerton house, had tea and thus could spend more time with Eloise in front of her mother. Of course, I have never appeared empty-handed, because if anything it is etiquette and manners regarding situations like these.

The first day I showed up with a lemon cake, along with a bouquet of Eloise's favorite flowers which were daisies, blue roses and blue dahlias. Also along with a bouquet of violets for her mother. It goes without saying that the matriarch was impressed and Eloise gave me a subtle wink as a sign of success.

The second day I turned up with some cakes and Lady Bridgerton 's favorite sweets. Since having a detail with the mother is always well seen and adds points at all times.

On the third day I was a little more daring, bringing a carrot cake made by myself; with the help of the cook and Eloise 's favorite chocolates.

And today I had decided on a book on the natural sciences and their use in medicine, since my studies had come to light in one of my conversations with Eloise and she had shown an interest. So I thought it was a good idea to give her a basic book on the subject, because she likes to read and I'm sure she'll appreciate it more than the desserts.

While for her mother, I brought her favorite sandwiches so that she can accompany the tea with them.

I knock on the door of the Bridgerton house , making sure my black tailcoat is tied securely, my khaki slacks are wrinkle-free and my tie is tied just right.

I put my hat back on and take a deep breath. The door opens, letting me see the housekeeper of the place and she, recognizing me, allows me to pass.

Before entering the house, I receive the gifts from my coachman and I thank him by entering the site. I follow the woman into the living room, where I immediately see Lady Bridgerton sewing something, Eloise reading a book sitting on the sofa in a tomboyish manner, and the younger members of the family playing chess.

XX: My lady, Prince Y/n of Hanover is here. - she informs her of my arrival and I see how the matriarch gets up from the couch immediately.

Violet: What a pleasure to have you back here.- she walks towards me excitedly, passing by her daughter and giving her a light blow to make her sit good; causing a small amused smile from me.

Y/n: The pleasure is all mine Lady Bridgerton .- I assure her, greeting her with a kiss on her hand. -I hope I was right when i choose them.- I commented, extending the box with the sandwiches .

Violet: It wasn't necessary my lord.- she denies with a small smile receiving the box.

Y/n: Don't tell me my lord Lady Bridgerton, we are not in public and honestly I feel a bit old when it comes to it.- I say with a certain humor. -As long as you calls me by my name, we will be more than fine.- I assure her with a smile.

Violet: Okey Y/n, are you coming to have tea with us? - she asks with some emotion and illusion.

Y/n: If you are so kind as to accept me, then I would like to have tea with you. - I respond politely and without imposing myself.

Violet: I'm going to tell them to prepare it outside, since it's a wonderful day and the garden is beautiful. - she warns and leaves the room with a huge smile.

Gregory: When my sister marries you, will I be a prince too? - he asks running towards me, as soon as his mother disappears and with his sister by his side.

Hyacinth: And can I be a princess? - questions excited. - Because if Gregory can be a prince, I want to be a princess too.- she says confidently, receiving a push from her brother and she returns it.

Gregory: You're a copycat.- he reproaches her and I can't help but think about my absurd and childish fights with my brother when we were just kids.

I watch as they playfully push each other, poking each other and can only look longingly at them. I long for when life was as simple as copying your brother or playing a prank on him to annoy him.

Eloise: Stop fighting and making a fool of yourselfs.- she tells them, separating them by the heads. -Second, like "when my sister marries you"? - she asks his little brother.

Gregory: Mom says you're getting married, because Y/n comes every day for you and because he likes you.- he answers as if it were obvious and that causes me to laugh without being able to avoid it.

Eloise: Mom said that? - asks with a surprised expression.

Hyacinth: She and Lady Danbury have commented on it, they compare you with the work they did with Daphne and the Duke.- the youngest of all responds this time and I can't help but look at the oldest with a raised eyebrow.

Eloise: And what makes you think that I will marry him? - she points at me and I pretend to be offended; causing the children to laugh.

Hyacinth: Because you talk to him for more than a minute and you don't complain about him like you do with the rest of the suitors.- she answers as if it were the most obvious.

Y/n: So you don't complain about me? - I ask with amusement . -It's interesting to know.- I assure her, seeing how she kills me with her eyes.

Violet: We can go outside, they are already organizing the tea.- she warns us happily, entering the room and seeing the four of us standing together. -What are you talking about? - interested question.

Gregory: About how Y/n and Eloise are going to get married and I 'll be a prince.- he answers with total sincerity, causing the matriarch to open her eyes surprised and somewhat curious.

Eloise: Don't pay any attention to them, mother, the dwarves are just saying nonsense and commenting on some unimportant things they've heard.- She brushes the matter off with her hand.

Violet: Okay.- she nods not very convinced. -Let's go out.- she points out and placing her hands on her children's shoulders pushes them out.

I laugh at the attitude of the youngest and the conspiracies of Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton about my possible relationship with Eloise .

Eloise: Are you okay? - she asks me after a few seconds.

Y/n: Yes of course, why wouldn't I be? - I ask somewhat confused, starting to walk out with her.

Eloise: When my brothers have started to fight, you made a sad and somewhat thoughtful face.- she answers me with a small grimace. -And I wanted to know if you were alright.- she comments and I nod with a slight smile.

Y/n: I just remembered what it was like to be his age and fight with my older brother for any trifle.- I answer with a slightly sad face. -But I'm fine.- I assure her with a small smile.

Violet: Y/n and Eloise sit together on that side.- she points to the two free seats at the round table outside.

I take Eloise 's chair out for her to sit in, tucking her in nicely, then I sit to her right and across from the Bridgerton matriarch .

As soon as we sit down, tea and sandwiches along with other sweets are served on the table. And it is at that moment that I remember the book in my hand.

Y/n: Before I forget.- I speak turning to Eloise and stretching her the book. - The other day we talked about my studies and since you showed some interest regarding natural science and its uses in medicine, I have brought you this book for you to read.- I informed her seeing the smile appear on her face.

Eloise: Thank you.- she thanks me by receiving the book and opening it immediately. -There are things written.- she comments confused.

Y/n: It's my book; well it was, now it's yours. - I pointed out a bit nervous. -I asked my father to send it to me, since it is quite interesting and something basic so that you can understand it better.- I comment with a small smile. -What is written are my notes, which I wrote at the time to better understand the concepts and I have believed that this way it would be easier for you to understand everything too. It took me a while to understand everything, but to be honest; You're smarter than me and I'm sure you won't need the notes. But I wanted to make sure and that's why I'm giving you my old book and not a new one. - I explain to her, pointing to the small paragraphs written by hand on some pages.

Eloise: Thank you very much Y/n, it means a lot that you give me this book.- she assures me with a smile, looking into my eyes and I can see how her beautiful blue eyes water slightly.

Y/n: It's nothing, I know how much you appreciate books; I thought you would like and appreciate a book more than another dessert. - I explain somewhat embarrassed, scratching the back of my neck and feeling observed.

I couldn't tear my gaze from Eloise 's, feeling that if I look away from her I'll miss the happiness and excitement that sparkles in her eyes at the gift. And that's something I don't want to miss for the world.

POV Narrator

What he wasn't aware of, and neither was Eloise , was the look that Violet Bridgerton was giving into the interaction between his daughter and the prince. As she watched with a smile full of happiness, her daughter's face lit up at the detail and the prince's own detail towards her daughter.

Her daughter could deny it all she wanted, but she was falling in love with the Prince of Hannover and her eyes or the way she looked at him couldn't hide it. And for the first time, the former viscountess felt calm about the future of her rebellious daughter. Because she had someone who cared and would take proper care of her.

And Violet Bridgerton didn't just see that look on his daughter, She could also look at the look the prince was giving her daughter and the slightly reddish color of his cheeks. She just hopes that she and Lady Danbury are right and that the proposal is close.

Because her daughter had never looked at anyone like she was doing at that moment with Prince Y/n and she didn't want anything or anyone to get in the way of her happiness.

Eloise's POV

I was determined, I was going to accept the proposal and marry Prince Y/n. Sure, if the offer still stood.

After weighing it carefully for almost four days, I have realized that I win much more than I can lose. And not only will I end up winning, but my family and Y/n will also win; so it's the best I can do.

Also, that Y/n is not so bad and every day I am enjoying his presence and company more. The truth is that I never imagined that I would get married, but it was because it went against my ideals and my growth as a human being.

But I know that with Y/n my growth as a human being and as a woman will not be crushed or reduced in any way. The freedom that I would have is also something that has pushed me to accept, since that is something that has made it clear to me and I can do what I want as long as it is not something that puts my "marriage" at risk.

And lastly, Y/n was a nice company and I can have an intellectual discussion with him . Without feeling insulted by my sex and my "few" studies or level of knowledge.

He had been really great to me. My mother, like every day, has not stopped asking the prince questions and talking to him in an animated way. Like my little brothers, who have not stopped asking questions about the crown and royalty like every day.

Leaving little time for me to talk to him and tell him in a hidden way that I accept the proposal.

Just before he leaves, I stop him and look around making sure no one sees us. Once I make sure that my mother is busy with my brothers and they with my mother; I have the green light.

Eloise: I accept.- I tell him directly.

Y/n: Accept what?- he asks a bit confused.

Eloise: You are supposed to have studied and gone to the university.- I reproached him amused, giving him a light blow to the back of the head.

Y/n: That's not a reason to hit me.- he claims, rubbing the affected area.

Eloise: Exaggerated.- I say because of her reaction to the light blow. -But I accept your proposal.- I clarify and after a few seconds he opens his eyes in surprise.

Y/n: Are you serious? - he asks excited and with a certain illusion shining in his precious emerald eyes.

Eloise: I'm not kidding, you don't see how I laugh.- I say sarcastically causing him to laugh.

Y/n: I don't care about your horrible humor.- he downplays it with a smile. -I have to think about how to ask your mother for your hand, in the ring and in the house.- he enumerates and opens his eyes. -Where do you want the house? - he asks me with interest.

Eloise: Near Aubrey Hall, it's my family's country house and I don't want to be far from them, but I don't want to be in the center.- I answer. -In addition to the fact that my family is only here during the social season, then they live at Aubrey Hall for the rest of the year.- I explain and he nods in agreement.

Y/n: Perfect, well I guess I'll be back tomorrow for the I 'll ask your mother for your hand.- He nods according to his own plan.

Eloise: I'm afraid we won't be here tomorrow.- I comment with a grimace and I see how the smile disappears from his face.

Y/n: And why is that? - he asks confused.

Eloise: We're going to Aubrey Hall for the weekend, to bond with the family and spend time together; and blah blah blah.- I downplay any kind of importance.

Violet: What are you two talking about? - she asks appearing out of nowhere and scaring us completely.

Eloise: For God's sake mother, don't appear like that.- I ask with a hand on my chest and feeling the accelerated beating of my heart.

Violet: Sorry dear, I didn't know you were so engrossed in your conversation and that you hadn't seen me.- she apologized with an amused smile for my reaction.

Y/n: It's okay, the scares help keep the heart beating.- he says with an amused smile.

Violet: So? What were you talking about? - she returns to question too interested from my point of view.

Eloise: About the fact that tomorrow we're going to Aubrey Hall and that we'll spend the weekend there, so we won't be here for the prince Y/n to come for tea.- I answer my mother and see how the gears of her head begin to move.

Violet: Maybe Y/n can join us and be our guest this weekend.- she offers and it doesn't seem like a bad idea to me.

Y/n: I don't want to impose myself on your family weekend.- he denies with a small smile.

Violet: Don't say nonsense, you don't impose yourself and I'm also inviting you.- she assures him happily. -In addition, the Sharmas and Lady Danbury will also accompany us for another year. In fact, I'm surprised that Lady Danbury hasn't told you anything.- she says a little confused and thoughtful.

Y/n: It will be because of Edwina and her possible relationship with my cousin Friederich .- he comments a bit insecure. -From what I know, they spend a lot of time together and since my aunt can't be supervising all the time, it's Lady Danbury's turn to be watching.- he shrugged at the information.

Violet: Then we'll see each other tomorrow at Aubrey Hall.- she assures Y/n. -Let's go out, so I tell one of my drivers to give directions on how to get to your coachman.- she says threading her arm through the prince's and pulling him towards the entrance of the house.

I just laugh, when he looks at me over his shoulder with a face between surprise and amusement at my mother's attitude.

I shake my head and sigh calmly, knowing that many of my problems will be solved as soon as Y/n asks my mother for my hand. And the rest of my problems will be solved when the prince and I give each other the "yes, I want".

Because something is clear to me, if my mother believes that Y/n is going to ask me to marry him and that we are in love; the rest of the world will believe it too. Because if there is something that my mother is in this life: she is insightful.

None of my brothers have been able to deceive our mother, since she always knew when something did not quite fit and we hid something. So if Lady Danbury is being talked to about my possible marriage to the prince; it means that she believed it.

POV You

As soon as I get to the palace after being at the Bridgerton house , I head towards the tea room and where I'm sure my aunt is.

Now that Eloise has accepted the proposal to marry me, I have to start organizing the proposal and I need my aunt for it. I know that Eloise is not her favorite person after the last season, since at first she was sure it was Lady Whistledown and then she dismissed it; when her political position came to light.

Y/n: Aunt.- I greeted entering the room and making a reference. -I have to talk to you in private.- I ask and I see how she nods giving her servants a look.

Charlotte: Sit down dear.- she asks me pointing to the hole next to her on the sofa . -Tell me what do you want to talk about ? - she asks me interested when I sit next to her.

Y/n: You know that I have come to London with one intention, which is to fall in love and marry a woman from high society, right? - I ask a little nervous, because my aunt is the key to making everything believable and if she doesn't accept my engagement; neither will my father.

Charlotte: I am aware of this and that is why I put Lady Danbury as your supervisor, so that you could be successful in this first season. - she nods with a serious face.

Y/n: Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, aunt.- I point out the interest in her eyes. -I have found the person I want to marry and I want to have your blessing to ask for her mother's hand.- I comment with all the confidence in the world.

Charlotte: So soon? - clearly surprised question. -We've barely been in the season for three weeks.- she says, somewhat impressed.

Y/n: I know, but I can't explain what I feel when I see her or when I'm with her aunt.- I start to say to make it sound credible. -Besides that you have always told me that love does not have a predestined time.- I remind her with a small smile.

Charlotte: Are you sure dear? - she asks me and I just nod. -Do you love her? - she asks staring into my eyes and I stay for a few seconds thinking.

Y/n: Yes.- I answer without taking my eyes off his, trying to look sincere and credible.

Charlotte: Then I give you my permission.- she nods with a huge smile. -And can you tell who is the lucky one? - she questions interested.

Y/n: Eloise  Bridgerton, aunt.- I answer confidently and I see the surprise and a hint of annoyance appear on her face.

Charlotte: No.- she denies immediately.

Y/n: Aunt please, I love her and I want to marry her.- I ask, grabbing one of her hands and looking at her with pity.

Charlotte: Can't you choose someone else? Someone who doesn't hang out with political radicals? - she asks in the form of a complaint.

Y/n: She's not a radical girl, she's intelligent and has something on her mind besides the pianoforte.- I defend her without thinking. -The hours fly by when I talk to her, I feel comfortable and I feel that she really wants to be with me because of who I am; and not for being the prince aunt.- I say honestly.

Charlotte: And I'm glad you feel that way about someone dear nephew. But couldn't it be anyone else? - she asks in surrender and I smiled knowing what it means.

Y/n: I'm sorry aunt, but she's the right one for me and I'm sure that if you meet her you'll like her too.- I assure her smiling and seeing how a slight smile appears on her face.

Charlotte: I'll accept her because for me you're like a son and if she makes you happy I can't oppose it.- she finally accepts and I jump on her to hug her.

Y/n: Thanks aunt, you don't know how much this means to me.- I tell her when we parted from the hug.

Charlotte: And how do you plan to ask for her hand? - question interested and excited by the event.

Y/n: Lady Bridgerton has invited me to spend the weekend with them and Lady Danbury at Aubrey Hall; and tomorrow when I arrives I'll ask for her daughter's hand and if she accepts I'll ask her after dinner. - I reply a bit nervous, due to the possibility that she refuses and the plan is spoiled.

Charlotte: And you already have the ring? - she ask and I deny. -Well, come with me dear.- she asks me getting up and I walk next to her.

We walk towards her dressing room, where there is a table full of precious stones on a table in the center and as soon as we stop in front of her she opens a box in the center.

When she opens the box, I widen my eyes to see what's inside and look at her in astonishment.

Charlotte: This was one of the first rings that King George gave me as a gift.- she comments showing me the ring. -The king discovered that emeralds were my favorite stone and he thought it would be a good gift for me; and he was right.- she tells me looking at the ring with a certain sadness and affection.

Y/n: It's beautiful aunt.- I compliment seeing the brilliant stones of the ring.

Charlotte: It has a lot of meaning to me and that's why I want you to have it.- she tells me, offering me the box.

Y/n: No, aunt, as you think, I can't accept something so important and with so much emotional value.- I deny immediately.

Charlotte: I insist.- she says pushing the box in my hands. -I want you to ask that girl to marry me with my ring, for me you are my son and I want this ring to pass into your hands.- she explains and I nod, looking at the ring more carefully .

Y/n: It really is precious. - I whisper, looking hypnotized at the great emerald in the ring.

Charlotte: And valuable, that's why I want you to ask her to marry you with that ring and pass it on from generation to generation.- she assures me and I nod safely.

Y/n: Thank you very much aunt.- I thank her again and hug her again; immediately being wrapped in her arms in an almost maternal way.

Charlotte: I am very proud of you my little one and of how much you have matured; your mother would be proud too. - she whispered safely against my ear and I can't help but tighten the hug feeling the itch in my eyes.

I'm sure you wouldn't be so proud if you knew the truth and the reason for my marriage. She always defended love and from the first day she told me to marry for love. That I would never marry for any other reason than love and here I am, marrying by agreement with my father.

Y/n: Thank you.- I whisper feeling the guilt invade me.

Charlotte: Also, I understand that that girl also likes emeralds.- she assures me amused when we part from the embrace.

Y/n: Let's hope for the best.- I comment amused and looking again at the ring in my hands.

Now all I have to do is pack for this weekend and have Lady Bridgerton accept my marriage proposal to Eloise. I just hope everything goes well.

[chdarling]

Hey CH :)

This is me checking in on your welfare, I hope you're doing well!! You're a wonderful author and I'm so so glad that TLE is just?? Up for free?? If TLE had a price, it would be worth every penny. This is your obligatory reminder of the day that you're cool as hell and an inspiration to many aspiring authors.

All of that being said..... Wellll 😅 I totally understand if it's not possible but could you please reveal when the last chapter might be up? Or whose it might be? Or,y'know, just any sort of teeny tiny spoiler?? And how long might the break(A VERY WELL DESERVED BREAK, I'd like to emphasize) be, after TLE 2? Maybe like... 2 years? Maybe more? Please let us know if you can.

Have a great rest of the week, you're a star, and your readers love you <33333

Thank you so much ❤️

Unfortunately, I can’t really answer your question about TLE3, because I genuinely don’t know. I am not far enough along in the writing process of TLE3 to give any sort of estimate, and I really don’t want to give a timeline that I don’t adhere to (as I did many times with TLE2) because frankly, that makes me feel rotten. And, on a personal note, my life in general is just chaos right now. I don’t even know what I’m doing next month, let alone how long it’s gonna take me to write a novel length fanfic in my free time 😂😂

Right now I’m focused on getting back to just enjoying the process without any self-imposed pressure, and I feel confident the story will flow from there. When I have a better idea of a timeline, I promise I’ll share that here. ❤️

Regarding the final chapter, I’m not sharing any spoilers or POV yet, but I will say I’m going to TRY to get it out this weekend. It might not happen, but I’m really determined so 🤞🏼

Thank you so much for reading and sharing your enthusiasm ❤️❤️❤️

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Fourteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: Back from hiatus on April 26th! (Chapter 16 is just about polished and I finally made progress for chapter 17). I'm sending huge, huge thank you to my beloved beta and co-pilot, @vampire-exgirlfriend for all her love and support and kindness. There's been a lot of times that I've thought about stopping, about not continuing this story, about maybe just keeping it to myself. It's been her love and very aggressive 'that is DUMB' affection that has brought us close to the end of Arc I.

And a huge thank you to the people who have liked this story. I genuinely would love LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts. In inbox is open, reblog and tag me, however you want to let me know that you're here <3

we are now entering the 'oh my god these too are so fucking into each other they want to fuck so bad it makes them look stupid' era

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Love the World Like I Should

Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

King’s Landing was filled to bursting in the days approaching Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Never had Abby seen so many people crush themselves into the Red Keep. ‘More will be at Harrenhal for the wedding’, Helaena had said, their small group seeking solace away from the gaggle of the court for a while. Baela had come with them, overwhelmed with the crush of noise herself, even if she did not admit it. The Princesses Targaryen, Abby, Wylla, little Floris, and Baela’s two ladies had all sought the quietest part of the gardens to hide from the increasingly aggressive attentions.

Now, though, Abby could not hide from the crush of people.

The Reyne retinue arrived in the early afternoon, and while an ancient and powerful house as theirs deserved their pomp, the familial presentation was for Rodrik Reyne, uncle to the Queen Alicent Hightower, and grandfather to the future Princess Abrogail Strong.

Grandfather to the potential future queen, as the whispers and rumors flew around the Red Keep with the coming celebrations. Rumors that Abby wasn’t sure would come to pass, but could not deny that the king’s wishes still might change. That was a future she wasn’t sure what to think about.

His hair was more gray than auburn, thick and wavy as if he were a man of twenty instead of near seventy. Lord Rodrik was tall and broad, an imposing figure on his gray and white courser, its fine white mane braided into little knots along the elegant arch of its neck. To see him and the king that was only feet away from her had a curl of unease snaking through her belly. To look at the king was to see a man wasting away, a man at death’s door. To see Rodrik Reyne dismount with fluid ease was to see a man who, while past the prime of life, clearly had so much left in him.

“Your Grace.” Lord Rodrik mounted the steps, arm clapped to his shoulder in the Westerland sign of fealty as he bowed. “It is good to see you in fine spirits, my king.”

“No finer time than to celebrate such a joyous occasion, Lord Rodrik,” the king said with a smile. Rodrik clasped Uncle Otto’s arm in a firm grip, pleasantries exchanged and his smile broadened as he bowed lower before Queen Alicent.

“You are the light of the seven, aren’t you, my dearest,” he complimented her, genuine to the core. The queen’s cheeks pinkened at the praise and she readily embraced her uncle, fingers grasping his arms.

“We are so glad you are here to celebrate, uncle,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in such fine health and I’m so sorry Aunt Dalla could not come.”

“It is a long journey and she is not as quick as she used to be. She was quite happy to stay back with Daerion and enjoy the children. I am their favorite, after all. It’s only fair that I give everyone else the opportunity to receive some attention.” Alicent blinked as she registered the joke, a chuckle spilling from her as her uncle pressed a kiss to her hand.

Aegon stood between his mother and Abby, and she felt more than saw him straighten up as Lord Rodrik turned his cool blue eyes on him. Age had not shrunk the man, and Lord Rodrik stood as tall as Uncle Otto, and though there was a far less threatening air to him, it made him no less intimidating. Aegon’s chin tilted up to meet the man’s eye and he inclined his head.

“It is good to see you, Lord Rodrik,” Aegon greeted, his voice polite and steady, when not two hours before, he’d been with her in the alcove behind the tapestry of Jonquil Drake frantic with nerves at meeting her grandfather. It seemed like the kisses she’d given him, as well as the growing bruise that was barely visible above the collar of his deep green damask doublet had not eased his worries. “I hope your travels were easy and without issue.”

The last time they’d seen any of the Reynes had been near a decade ago, at her mother’s funeral. They had spent time with her and her father at Harrenhal before coming down to King’s Landing to spend time with the queen and her children, and that event was entirely different than now.

“Good tidings on your nameday, nephew,” he returned with all the formality as if he were addressing him by princely title. “Our travels were well, and it’ll be good to be off the road for some time.” An expression of mischief danced in the pale gray-blue eyes of Rodrik as he assessed the prince before him, eyes catching on the bruise on Aegon’s neck and then glancing at Abby and the arm she had laced through his own. He raised a brow. “It would appear that your betrothal has made a man of you yet, my prince. I might even say you’ve grown an inch or two since I last saw you.”

Heat flushed through Abby’s face and Aegon’s own, his sputter brief and confused as the Lord gave him an amused look, as if he might ruffle his hair had Aegon been a decade younger. Instead, he gave another incline of his head before coming before Abby.

“You are most certainly taller than I last saw you,” he said, cupping her face in his gloved hands, the scent of horse and spice clinging to him as he kissed her forehead. Her hand slipped from Aegon’s arm to clutch at her grandfather’s crimson sleeves beneath his brown leather jerkin, warmth spreading through her chest at the gentle affection.

“Not much taller than this, I’m afraid,” she said, a light, awkward laugh. Her grandfather reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, where the rest of her hair hung in a long, simple braid down to the small of her back. He cupped her cheek, and she caught a shine in his eyes, a slow exhale as the familiar look of grief she knew well crossed his features, aging him in the moment. “I’m very glad to see you, grandfather.”

Rodrik Reyne nodded, pushing past the emotion before moving on to greet the rest of his nephews and niece, and she felt Aegon’s hand slide around her waist, fingers bunching slightly against the crimson and silver damask against her hip. She hid her hands in the belled sleeves, knotting them together and taking comfort from Aegon’s touch. Her chest ached painfully but she gave him a smile when he murmured her name.

“I am well,” she assured him, leaning into him momentarily before their party went inside, her grandfather speaking of the gifts he had brought for all of them.

Over the past days, it had been a bustle and flurry of becoming reacquainted with her grandfather, of suffering through her sister’s company. The apartments that she technically shared with her brother had served as the hub for the activity of their family. Houses Strong, Reyne, and Lannister moved in and out of the modestly decorated space. It had been overwhelming, but with the arrival of her grandfather, Cory’s acerbic tongue and judgmental looks had been averted, and Abby wondered if there was jealousy hidden beneath all that venom. She had fallen into her own acquaintance with the Queen, whom she had known when she’d served as one of Rhaenyra’s ladies when they were young.

Abby also had to organize the gifts brought from the Westerlands that would be sent back with Uncle Simon. Bolts of fine cloth of gold and silver from the expansive Reyne mines, a peregrine falcon, lovely cream and gray with black specks and bright black eyes she’d named Caelus. There’d been books too. A small chest carved with mountains and flowers contained five books, mostly from Myr, and some from Braavos, including what looked to be an interesting treatise from a Volantine woman who advocated for the importance of women’s contributions, and another on teaching woman to cultivate what she had determined as useful qualities, to achieve worthy acts in their lives.

‘A woman’s success,’ it read, ‘depends on the ability to manage and mediate by speaking and writing eloquently and effectively, for men so easily dismiss the thoughts of women, especially when their power is threatened by them.’

Perhaps she should look to promoting more copies of the sumptuously illustrated work. Perhaps she might even try her hand at replicating some of the images therein. There’s been a box of paints and new charcoal among the gifts, as well as a newly bound book for her to sketch in. Abby smiled at the idea, and had tucked it away for later.

“Mind the dress,” Wylla’s voice came from behind, already dressed for the feast and bossing about the red-clad maids of the holdfast who had been helping Abby as she worked to put together her household. Theraxis lay reclined along the end of the bed, his great yellow eyes watching the flurry of maids with such focus as if he too were supporting Wylla’s orders.

“Only a single lady?” Grandfather had balked, perceiving insult before she’d hurriedly cut in, explaining Wylla was more than enough, she did not want to be demanding, and hadn’t needed anyone else.

Wylla had snorted, eyes flashing in the familiar argument. “She’s meant to be looking for more ladies over the course of the festivities,” with all the same annoyance aimed at her as she had aimed at Aegon in the courtyard so long ago. “She needs six at least, but will she listen to me? Nay, she’s a wee stubborn thing and Lord Larys doesn’t seem to push it either.”

The gifts had not stopped there, and she was currently staring, wide eyed, at the most recent one.

The ornate wooden box before her was made of varnished rosewood, with inlays of silver decoration along the edges, and an equally delicate lock that her grandfather had carefully opened with a tiny silver key. The tiara that lay inside was fit for a queen. Ten citrine sunbursts wove together like flowers, the colors of them running from red to gold to orange and in the center of each, diamonds glittered. It sat in the center of the box, resting on a cloth of silver pillow and her mouth went dry.

“Th-this is too much. Grandfather…” Abby’s voice faltered and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Never had she felt so spoiled, so doted on. She felt guilt for it, the way it warred in confusing uncertainty. So long she had never asked for more, and it wasn’t as if Larys was a doting brother who snuck her sweets and trinkets the way Harwin had.

Her grandfather’s gaze was a mixture of annoyance, affection, and more that she did not understand. “It is most certainly not too much, dear child,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Wylla slightly raised her eyebrows when he wasn’t looking and gently lifted the tiara from the box. “You are the blood of Castamere. You are my blood, my granddaughter,” he had said, cupping her cheek in a warm, rough hand and pressing a loving kiss to her brow. “The realm would do well to remember that you are a Reyne just as the queen is. It is not simply Hightower blood no matter how much my good brother likes to pretend.”

At least her grandfather was honest and she could not blame him for that. This was how the game was played. This was how power was brokered, even Abby understood the simple truth of it. Unlike most, Rodrik Reyne did not hide his motives, and the care that he expressed towards her since his arrival a few days ago had proven genuine. He did not ask her for favors, had inquired about her wellbeing and made sure she had what she was owed to her station.

Wylla’s nimble fingers had ensured the tiara was settled in her hair, twists of braids securing the citrine that matched her hair. The Riverlands style was one that she was glad not to give up and she would not have anyone thinking she was anything but the daughter of the rivers, and now a child of Castamere.

Her grandfather had escorted her down to the queen’s party. The king and her brother and uncle were already in the throne room and she could hear and feel the buzzing of growing anticipation as they approached the antechamber. Her hand rested in the crook of her grandfather’s elbow and her fingers spasmed with nerves. His hand found hers and she looked up at him, mouth parted as if to speak. He smiled at her instead.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly, his blue eyes misty and his smile warm. It took Abby aback. She had not seen the Lord Hand smile so openly and honestly. Larys barely smiled and when he did it made her wish to avoid it more often than not. The last man who smiled at her in such openness was her father. “She is here with us and she would be so proud of you.”

“Would she approve of this?” Abby asked softly. It was a silly question, the kind of question a motherless child who could barely remember her own mother asked. She could see the queen through the doorway at the end of the hall, hear Helaena’s laughter echoing along with Daeron’s.

Her grandfather paused and seemed to steel himself. The emotion was plain on his face. The grief was palpable and he did not meet her eyes as he composed himself. “Your mother was in the very fortunate position where I could let her choose who she wanted to marry. She could wait, and find a match that she got along well with. Lord Jason was a possibility, but even if your mother wanted to marry him, I couldn’t let her resign her future to a foppish imbecile like him, Lannister seat or not. She fell in love with your father and he did not demand heirs of her or money or prestige. He simply wanted someone to spend his days with and they found that in one another. That is what your mother wanted for you. A world where you were safe and loved.”

He cupped her cheek and Abby lifted her hand to hold his, feeling her own tears threaten. “The future has one certainty and there will be hard choices to make. Know that your family stands behind you, and that you may be a Riverlands girl, but there is a lion inside of you. They say in the north wolf packs survive together. You are part of a pride and are just as fierce. Dragons could not take the Westerlands and fire cannot burn the rivers.”

“He won’t burn me,” Abby said softly. “I trust him. I… care for him. I want him, not for a title, not for whatever the future may bring. I simply want him and he wants me and we just want to be happy. I think we can make each other happy, Grandfather.”

“Good,” he said and dropped his hand. “Then should the Stranger take me this night, it will be knowing you will be happy.” He gave her a watery laugh, amusement on his face. “And should he mistreat you, then I will haunt him to madness.”

When they entered the antechamber, Lord Rodrik pressed a kiss to her hand and went to join the rest of the gathering in the throne room. Helaena was in conversation with Daeron, and Aegon…

Aegon turned to look at her upon her entrance and his face went slack. She blushed, smoothing her hands over her gown, watching as the candlelight shimmered over the green and blue layers of the skirt, the fabric diaphanous, like currents of water around her legs. Her fingers found the golden dragons embroidered over her waist, intermingling with the glittering red weirwood leaves, worrying at the material. Her slippers were as gold as the dragons on her bodice, peaking out beneath her hem as she closed the distance between them. Aegon reached for her and she slid her hand into his and watched the smile spread slowly across his face.

‘I think we can make each other happy.’

Abby was not meant to be on Aegon’s arm as they entered the feast. He should have been escorting his mother as protocol dictated since King Viserys had entered the feast already. It was a heady feeling to know Aegon would not let her go, even as he was forced to drop her hand so she could tuck hers into the crook of his arm. A thrill that continued down her spine and coiled in her belly with the rest of the bursting butterflies dancing inside that gave her the strength to tilt her chin up as all her lessons instructed her to do. The perfect posture, the perfect gait all came rushing to her in a way that she finally understood why it mattered.

The pride that she felt wasn’t about being Queen Alicent’s pet project, or even that she had somehow snagged a prince for a betrothed. She was Lady Abrogail, heir to Harrenhal, the legacy of her mother’s fierceness and her father’s wisdom. As they walked behind the queen and Lord Otto, Abby squeezed her hand along Aegon’s bicep. She was the daughter of the Riverlands, and Aegon was lucky to have her, for there were many others that she could be with.

He looked at her with clear and bright eyes, the lilac full of mirth in a way she hadn’t seen from him in so long, and there were broad smile lines around his mouth, the flash of white teeth as he grinned at her. His hair was freshly washed, the silver curls gleaming gold in the sea of candleglow. His doublet was new as well - a fine, black silk brocade with a pattern woven in that evoked a shimmer of dragon scales. Golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads gleamed down the center. The seams were piped with red silk, and red silk trim embroidered with golden dragons wrapped around from the center and over his back. The same embroidered trim encircled his sleeves, which were slashed open along the back of his arms from bicep to the buttoned cuffs, the Targaryen red brocade of his shirt beneath poking through.

For the first time, he wore a crown upon his brow. It was a hammered circlet of gold that rested gently around his head, interspersed with seven circles stamped with dragons. Before the realm, he truly looked like the prince that he was.

A son who was celebrated by his parents.

She was lucky to have him. Let them see it. Let Queen Alicent see how brightly they made one another smile when they got to choose one another. Let them see she was not beholden to The High Tower, or to the Targaryens, or to anyone. Let them see that for all they may want to whisper about machinations and intrigue, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

Abby curtsied deeply before the king before they took their seats. Aegon was on his father’s left hand - the place of honor for the evening, and she was beside him. ‘How lucky we are’, came the thought again. She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until Aegon’s grin widened into a beaming smile, his eyes crinkling with his own joy.

This was how the past weeks should have been. This is what the welcoming feast to Lord Tully and his party should have showcased: the two of them united, happy now, even as they set out to figure out what their marriage would be, what it would look like. There was enough time for that.

“You know, people like us don’t marry for love often,” Wylla had said, words that had stuck to her ribs.

The queen, her brother, and her uncle did not care for her and Aegon’s happiness, that much was startlingly clear to Abby. They had not come together in this betrothal by choice, but beneath the heart tree, they had made a promise. They had made their choice.

As her elder sister, Corynna, and her husband, Erwin Lannister sat beside her, Abby wished for the comfort of Wylla and Heleana at her side. The latter was at the other end of the table, and Abby’s gaze sought the friendly face of the young woman at the table below.

Wylla sat with Uncle Simon and Aunt Mya, looking striking in her black velvet gown. It was cut in the southern style, the neckline edged in white and silver cut across the line of her shoulders, her raven hair twisted into three rope braids woven with white ribbon and strung with pearls. She looked like a dream, Abby thought. A maiden of winter with all her pale skin and dark hair; striking in a way that many other women were not and Wylla wore it well. Harrion was beside her, his head inclined toward a lovely, red haired woman beside him. Wylla had said that his betrothed, Lady Alys Bracken, had only just arrived. She was so slight next to the northman’s bulk, her smile soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed at something he said.

Wylla caught her eye and sent her a warm, reassuring smile that Abby returned with a little wave, uncaring of decorum at the moment with how shaky her nerves were starting to get now that everyone was staring up at her. Her dear friend had not shied about her own discomfort in crowds, declaring her own relief that she was not the one who would be center of attention in her teasing, sharp yet fond way.

A harsh pinch against her left arm made Abby jump and she turned sharply to look at her sister, who was smiling serenely as if nothing was amiss. “Stop it, you’re behaving like a child,” she hissed behind a gritted smile. “I’ll not have you shame me.”

“If returning a kind gesture and a greeting to someone across the room is childish, then I cannot imagine you have many friends, Corynna, that do not cling to your skirts.” She smiled at her sister, whose saccharine falseness turned quickly to annoyance. “Do mind yourself, Cory. You are not my mother, nor my guardian.”

She caught the sidelong glance Aegon gave her and she felt his warm hand on hers, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles. Abby felt the spray of heat along her throat, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from biting at her lip and being too obvious. He kept hold of her hand, thumb running lightly along her knuckles in familiar reassurance, and leaned in to speak softly against her ear.

“Lady Abrogail, if that’s the kind of behavior you plan on keeping up, as your husband, it shall be my duty to discipline you for such talk.”

Abby’s mouth went dry, her flush deepening and she glanced up at him, demure beneath her lashes. “Prince Aegon, you get ahead of yourself. I am the image of propriety.” He smirked and they both drew back. Abby reached for her goblet to calm the different sort of butterflies fluttering through her stomach now.

The echo of a staff cracking against the stone floor of the hall reverberated through the hall and all fell silent as the king rose, the queen beside him in what was meant to be a show of unity. But Abby knew that she was there to steady him so he did not have to rely on his cane. The black, red, and gold robe he wore nearly swallowed him whole, and she wondered how heavy it was for him.

Beside him, Alicent Hightower wore the colors of her house instead of a glow of green. She was as regal as Abby had ever seen, in a storm gray damask gown with white flame embroidery along her neck and shoulders. A cape of gray silk felt about her and the gray sleeves of her gown hugged her arms until they flared out at her forearms to bell around her wrists. Her auburn hair was twisted back on the sides of her head before coming to a single twisted braid down her back. Upon her head rested her crown of state. It was a gold circlet with seven points of golden flame rising from it and in the center flame was a blood red ruby that matched the gold and ruby earrings dangling beneath her hair.

“Be welcome,” the king said. His voice had rarely been a strong one, but he had found the strength behind it to let the words carry now. “It is good to see so many happy faces here, as we come together to celebrate my son, Prince Aegon’s nameday.” He turned his head to look down at Aegon with a nod and a gap toothed smile that, while fleeting, was genuine. The people clapped, thumps on tables shaking the cutlery, and Abby grinned at him. Aegon looked taken aback by the well tidings, the shouts of wishes for good health and good fortune. The hand that he had rested on her knee tightened and Aegon straightened in his seat, smiling back and giving a wave of thanks as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

The King continued, “The Queen and I also honor House Strong this night. Since my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, landed upon these shores, the Strongs have been a leal and loyal house. Ser Osmund Strong himself was the longest serving Hand, and through the decades, this family has proved themselves time and again, their fealty to the throne and their dedication to the realm. It is why upon the passing of the beloved Princess Rhaena, that my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, bestowed the great Harrenhal to House Strong. It is this dedication that before he passed, our late Lord Lyonel Strong, the Seven keep him, agreed to a proposal. We welcome you all to celebrate with House Targaryen and House Strong as I announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon, to the Lady Abrogail Strong, and their investiture as the future Lord and Lady of Harrenhal, under the wise and clement eye of Grover Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

The whispers of the betrothal had already snaked their way through the keep over the past weeks. First the servants gossip, then the unofficial talks among the lords who had, by now, sent ravens back home to their holdings in the Riverlands. It was news that had passed naturally among the realm, and while Abby did not see any surprised faces, the cheers that roared up took her by surprise. The slamming fists on the tables, the clapping, the shouts of well wishes and even some crass remarks was not at all what she had expected. She felt her cheeks burn and the flush of it snake across all the exposed skin of her gown. She yearned for the coverings of her linen gowns so none could see how red she had turned at the attention.

Yet, Abby did nothing to hide how large her smile was, so wide it nearly hurt. She met Aegon’s eyes, his own grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she never, ever wanted to see him frown again if this was how bright his smile could be. He then looked at the crowd and she followed suit, waving at the smiling faces, blowing a kiss of thanks to all. She did not startle when Aegon lifted his hand from her knee to tuck beneath the fall of her curls and rest along the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that made her belly roil with heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that his bright smile had set into something darker, more firm.

The feast began, servants coming out of the shadows. Trenchers of roast pork in red wine and plum sauce were placed before them, steaming with scents of ginger and cinnamon. Shrimp cooked in fennel and white wine steamed from large platters, boiled eggs cut and stuffed with fragrant cheese and herbs nestled among salads of other fresh herbs and greens. Abby gasped, admiring the hollowed out Stormland lemons with glistening pieces of Dornish blood oranges and lemon sticky with sugar dotted the table in pops of bright, delectable color.

Aegon was eagerly filling his plate with the roast pork he so adored, and she reached for one of the sour orange treats, popping a sticky piece of fruit into her mouth and hoping it calmed the knot of nerves that were growing insistently.

“They certainly spared no expense,” Corynna’s voice was soft at her side. Abby glanced over at her sister who was commenting on the wine being poured to her husband. Her sister was as beautiful as she was sharp, resplendent in the colors of House Lannister, a ruby red gown that set off her golden skin, and an overdress of golden silk. Her brunette curls were tamed and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, encased in a jeweled net of gold and rubies, a heavy lion pendant hanging from her throat. She decided not to engage with her sister’s low commentary, for it was exactly what she wanted, and instead busied herself on the treat in front of her.

“Here.” Abby glanced at Aegon, who held his fork up with a piece of pork. She opened her mouth to decline, and he popped the piece in with that dangerous smirk flashing across his mouth before going back to his food. It was good, the spark of ginger cutting through the sweetness of the plum. It had also served to get her mind off the fact that they were eating at the head table, and she let her gaze drift, ignoring her sister’s tut of disapproval.

Abby caught Baela looking at them curiously. She was beautiful that evening in the colors of her mother’s house. The aquamarine gown was cut in the Pentoshi style like the previous one she wore to their family dinner, with a deep v cut into the bodice and the layers of fabric pinned like a chiton at her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver tiara shaped into the heads of seahorses with matching gemstones for their eyes. Abby gave the princess a small smile. “You look lovely tonight, Princess. I am truly glad to have you here and I look forward to us getting to know one another.”

Baela’s violet eyes narrowed somewhat at being addressed, and Abby felt Aegon shift beside her as he honed in on the conversation. “May your futures be bright and happy, Lady Abrogail. Cousin.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Aegon replied with his tight smile. “Perhaps it will be your nuptials we’ll be celebrating next.” The words were friendly, at least somewhat so. Abby suppressed a sigh, but knew it was at least a small win. Baela did not seem to mind sitting next to Daeron, for the pair of them had fallen into a discussion about their dragons and how Tessarion had fared in Oldtown. “I heard Mother wondering if her and Jace will wed next.”

Jacaerys.

Abby chanced another look at the incredibly awkward end of the table. There was the queen, then Lord Otto, then Larys, and then… Aemond, Helaena, and Jace. The three of them were utterly silent, like mimes in a play, and it was hard to tell what made it worse: the fact that Aemond and Jace had ended up wearing near matching doublets that evening, or the sapphire sun that was Helaena between them.

Aemond and Jace and Baela should have been separated, but Jace could not sit next to her, for the rumors that would cause and so poor Helaena was stuck as the wall to separate them.

She looked every inch the beautiful princess from a song. Her silver hair hung loose and free down her back with four braids keeping her hair from her face. The twists wound themselves into the silver tiara she wore, the sapphires winking out like stars from the woven metal strands that took the place of her usual braid. Her gown was diaphanous silk, her shoulders bared. The sleeves were a light blue and the sheer fabric hugged her arms. The gown went from a lovely sky blue to a deeper shade of twilight along the hem, and the silver embroidery evoked silver flames dancing across the gown. She wore the colors of Dreamfyre, dragonrider that she was, the princess of House Targaryen that did not need to evoke her house colors to state her place in the world.

The look on her face was blank and somewhat wide-eyed, focused on the shrimp in front of her. Abby’s heart ached, wanting to go to her and get her out of the situation she was in, but there was nothing for it. Helaena already grew anxious with crowds and she didn’t need the extra stress of being caught between two petulant looking boys.

Jace tilted his head towards her, saying something that drew a small smile from Helaena, and the knot of worry eased slightly.

The course was cleared away, the minstrels along the side gallery merrily playing songs from each of the realms present there today. Currently it was a Westerlands tune, fewer drums than the melodies of the Crownlands, and Abby caught Lord Tyland’s head bobbing to the music from his place at his twin brother’s side.

The next course was brought out and it was the largest pie Abby had ever seen, along with pottage of wild hare and cabbage, roasted lamb smelling of caraway and fennel and thyme. There was roasted chicken in orange glaze. Her gaze returned to the pie. It was as big as a wagon wheel, the pastry crust browned and caramelized and surrounded by many smaller pies like a crown. The crusts were slivered all around and gilt in gold along the top, and she could smell the saffron and cloves. They were stuffed to the bursting with more eggs and mixed meats and smelled delicious, but Abby’s stomach was knotted with nerves combined with the heady twist of arousal that pulsed every time Aegon’s knee bumped hers, or the way he’d tap his fingers upon her wrist to make sure she was alright.

Aegon inclined his head towards her, waving the servant away and pushing his plate between them. “You’re not eating. We’ll share.” He even pressed his goblet into her hand, taking hers and sipping from it in such an intimate gesture that Abby’s nerves were utterly forgotten about in that moment. She took a sip from his goblet, unsure of what to say. Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Eat,” he ordered and she knocked her slippered foot against his boot.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared.

It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again.

“Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back.

“How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features.

Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

“Prince Aegon,” Erwin called halfway through the following course - mutton and stag and boar drenched in plum and wine sauces, brown sauces, and surrounded with dates and figs. The youngest Lannister brother was a gleaming gold lion, square faced with bright green eyes. He was not lanky as Lord Tyland nor as haughty as Lord Jason. He was a third son, bred for battle, and while he did not appear to cross swords with her sister, Abby wondered if that was a battle he had no desire to engage in. “I hear you’ll be participating in the melee on the morrow. Do you wield a morning star like Ser Criston, then? Or perhaps a battle ax?”

Corynna tutted, leaning back with exaggeration so her husband might speak. “It was only a matter of time before we talked swords.”

“The Prince is admirable with his sword skills, Erwin,” Abby piped up proudly before Aegon could speak, her turn to boast of him as he had done for her.

Aegon’s hand rested along the back of her chair as he leaned over with a grin on his face. “Some could say. It’ll either come down to skill or my lady’s favor, should she grant me. Mayhaps I’ll have the good fortune of meeting you in the ring?”

“Everyone knows the joust is where one proves themselves,” Baela cut in.

“Prince Daemon was quite impressive with his blade in the last tourney I saw him in, just as he was with a lance,” Erwin said with ease and a smile. “All the bouts require their own skills and strength.”

The conversation of the small tourney for tomorrow kept on, with Daeron joining in. Abby ignored her sister’s displeased muttering and her husband did as well. Perhaps that’s how the peace was kept in their household.

As the dessert course came out, those in attendance began to move about the room. No doubt they were eager to speak of the confirmation of what had been announced, judging by all the gazes that flitted in their direction. There were her favorite strawberry and cream cakes just out of reach, but she found that she had no appetite for the rich confection with the nervous energy building. Instead, she snagged a piece of marchpane dragon off Aegon’s piled plate of treats. He playfully snapped at her as if he was going to bite at her hand before handing her a marchpane crown without comment.

She leaned towards Aegon, brushing his ear and delighting in how he shivered at the contact. Her fingers tapped against his arm. “I’m going to speak to Wylla.”

He reached up to snatch at her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. Don’t leave me alone next to him, she knew he was asking. Abby shook her head.

“We have to mingle, Aeg, We can’t sit up here all night.” He rolled his eyes and Abby tutted. “Go rescue Helaena.”

Aegon glanced down at the miserable end of the table and they spied Gwayne having come up, a hand braced on Aemond’s shoulder as he spoke to Larys and his father. “I’m surprised Aemond hasn’t stabbed him yet,” Aegon muttered and gave a nod. “Is this to be our duty now, my lady?”

Abby scrunched her face up in amusement and took his offered hand to rise from her chair. “Aye, it shall be, my lord. Save me a dance.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and they parted, Aegon going to join his uncle and siblings at the end of the table. She tilted her head, admiring him as he walked from her before heading towards Baela.

When Abby looked at Baela, she was reminded by the statue of Visenya that Aemond favored so in the gardens, or the tapestries that hung in the upper levels of the gallery: women who rode the skies with braids twisted into their long hair, the fierce and determined looks on their faces showing their command of the world. Targaryens were the closest one came to gods in Westeros. This fact Abby had grown with all her life. Everyone in Westeros did. She saw how the smallfolk clamored for the affections and attentions of the dragonriders during parades, the furrowed brows of the septons who disliked the competition to the Seven.

“Princess,” Abby gave the other a bright, welcoming smile. “Come with me, I have someone to properly introduce you to.” There was deference in her tone that Baela was owed, but Abby also clung to the reminder that she was to be a princess too. They would be equals in a few months, and the Queen wanted her to grow accustomed to this fact.

Baela, her lovely, violet eyes narrowed in her direction, seemed to have other ideas. Abby had asked Helaena the other evening what it was that Baela had said in Valyrian, and the princess had only said that she should not worry, for she did not believe Baela would speak so carelessly in the future. The other woman held her gaze, assessing in the way Abby was sure her dragon, Moondancer, would assess and Abby swallowed past the lump of nerves beneath the gaze. She realized after a moment that it was one of uncertainty. It had initially felt hostile - which considering whatever Valyrian she’d spoken upon arrival had been clearly hostile, it made sense - but it had also become clear that the princess was uncomfortable and therefore more judgemental, Abby thought, than she might normally be. At least, Abby hoped that was the case.

“You have people to introduce me to, Lady Abrogail?” The disdain was not obvious, and Abby wondered if this was what it meant to be unaccepted by the Valyrians. The family had kept to themselves since the landing. She had studied the Targaryen family tree in her studies and knew how rarely they married out of the houses. ‘The blood of the dragon must remain pure’, was stated when they’d learned about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed the practice of incest, and outlawed the multiple wives that The Conqueror and King Maegor had taken.

Would Aegon have wanted multiple wives? Would he have wanted someone more Valyrian to make him feel closer to his heritage? The curious thought flitted through her mind, and Abby felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of such a scenario, along with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite identify, but similar to the feeling of otherness that she found herself experiencing among the company of the other Riverlanders.

“I do. I hope, very much so, that your time here in the capital will be as comfortable as possible. I understand that it must be quite the change from Dragonstone, and the company of the rest of your siblings.” Baela said nothing at first, lips pressed in a thin line before looking down the table. Abby followed her gaze.

Jace and Helaena had a series of tarts and other confections in front of them, and Helaena was laughing brightly at the marchpane tentacles rising from a plum tart. Jace plucked one of them, slathered in cream to take a bite, offering the piece to Helaena who shook her head in amusement and reached for one of the candied lemons.

Aegon had pulled his brother away with a firm grip on his shoulder and the pair of them had headed towards the floor, goblets in hand with heads bowed towards each other. They were accompanied by some of the other young men at court; the Fossoway boys, Ser Leo Costayne, brother to Lord Owen, and their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, heir to the Oldtown seat.

Ser Leo was the eldest at over twenty, his almond eyes from his mother’s Lyseni heritage striking with the silver hair of Valyria that spread across the empire. He had already earned the title of The Sea Lion, the West taking pride in their own fierce seafarer as House Velaryon did with The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys. Little Floris had found him handsome, blushing when her avid gaze had been pointed out by Helaena. Abby had found herself readily agreeing.

At four and ten, Lyonel was as tall as Aemond with the promise to be taller, with the same cut cheekbones Abby could see was a Hightower feature, while Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena shared the soft roundness of their Reyne mother. His skin was swarthy from his Dondarrion mother, a contrast with his lighter brown hair. Her eyes drifted to the group of ladies, colors of the Reach and Westerlands in their clothes, and how they clearly were eyeing Prince Aemond, who was doing his best to pretend to be above it.

Far better for their attention than that of Cassandra Baratheon, who was stoically sitting by her heavy set father, face flushed with wine and quietly hissing at his eldest daughter. An unbidden pang of sympathy pulsed through Abby’s heart at how unhappy the other woman looked, momentarily overriding her displeasure.

Abby turned her gaze back to Baela, whose own eyes were sweeping the mass of people before them. She wondered if the rumor was true of a possible betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela, the future king and queen of the realm. Dragonriders both, in the Targaryen ways of old like Aegon and his wives, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She wondered if it had happened already and was simply unannounced, Rhaenyra waiting for the most opportune moment. Or perhaps the pair were simply siblings, mayhaps promises made out of stubborn pride. Would that explain Baela’s disdain for them? Did she see them as interlopers in a place that she considered her birthright by conquest and the Valyrian blood flowing through her?

Baela finally rose, fluid and graceful and confident in all the ways that Abby still found it difficult to be. The other woman stood a few inches taller - not a difficult feat by any means, but Abby was envious of the graceful turn of her neck. She was reminded of the descriptions of Visenya: comfortable in silks as she was in armor. What a sight the other would make upon dragonback with a war cry tearing from her. How confident Baela Targaryen was;in her sense of self, her place in the world, in all that made her Valyrian.

It struck Abby then how she did not feel like a child of the Riverlands no matter what she claimed. It felt as if she were spinning falsehoods into a cloak to shroud herself in, to distract from her own sense of confusion. As they approached the closer table where her Uncle Simon sat with the Brackens, listening to the conversation blend before her in the lilt and familiar cadence of the Riverlands, Abby found herself feeling like an outsider. It had not quite been like this at the welcoming feast those weeks ago, where they spoke the language of the capital. Her mother tongue had been one lost to her over the years since her father died, relegated to the dinner table and bedtime stories, of ephemeral memories of lullabies long sung. To hear Wylla’s own northern brogue share in the words of Old Tongue falling in a similar harmony, panic settled in Abby’s chest to find that she couldn’t quite keep up with the words exchanged.

The panic was frozen when Wylla turned her head, and all at the table gave move to rise and give their courtesies to Princess Baela. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Baela shift a little, felt the whisper of silks brush against her. “This is Lady Wylla Karstark, from Karhold,” Abby introduced, her voice coming out higher than she intended as she forced past the lump in her throat. Wylla rose, nodding to her brother who was also getting up to speak with some of the other lords.

“Princess Baela, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

Baela inclined her head but said nothing.

“She is my dearest friend and also far from home. Also quite the archer.” Abby reached for things that Baela might find intriguing and welcoming, hoping her instincts weren’t wrong.

Wylla shook her head slightly. “You are too kind, Lady,” she lightly teased with the use of the title.

Baela’s head cocked, the tinkling of the silver charms in her hair soft among the din of the room. “My, all that snow and ice. It’s a wonder you do not melt beneath the dragon’s heat,” Baela said and the challenge was clear in her voice.

Wylla smiled in her sharp way, ever the winter fox. “As a daughter of fire and sea, I would assume you to be well acquainted with contradictions. One must burn hot to survive the cold.”

Baela actually smiled at that and Abby took the chance. “Wylla is a far better archer than I, Princess. I hear you yourself are well acquainted with the bow.” Wylla’s storm gray eyes flitted to her and Abby did everything she could not to shift awkwardly beneath her friend’s gaze. Not in this dress, and not with the sunburst tiara that graced her head. Instead, she grinned back at her. The princess merely glanced back at her before shifting closer to Wylla.

“Do you hunt, Lady Wylla? I hear there’s to be a hunt later this week and I do so miss hawking…”

Abby released a soft breath, pressing a grateful squeeze to Wylla’s shoulder before moving on to her aunt and uncle. Her cousin, Gareth, had stayed behind at Harrenhal, and she had fuzzy memories of her Aunt Mya. The older woman was plump and warm, brushing a soft kiss with a greeting. The din of the throne room grew louder as the meal came to an end, servants dashing between the party goers, removing plates and replacing carafes of wine and small foods for guests to continue to indulge in. The music shifted to a more lively fair and the dance floor quickly filled with eager revelers.

Lythene Ryger of Willow Wood had drawn her into the shy gaggle of maidens who were standing expectantly along the edge of the dance floor, trading glances across the room at the lords and Abby had noticed the looks they’d thrown in Aemond’s direction. Lady Lythene was five and ten, soft featured with honey brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair woven with strands of river pearls in the common half knot coil that was common in the Riverlands.

“If Lord Yorick were here, none of these men would have a chance to win tomorrow,” Melony Piper said, all dark hair and more freckles than one could count. “My sister says he was the most fearsome knight not so long ago.”

“Psh,” Lythene rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Ser Gwayne is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Lord Yorick never leaves Runestone and if he did, Lord Borros would throw a fit.” She looked smug with the knowledge imparted and whatever look on Abby’s face seemed to spur her on. She leaned in. “Lord Yorick is married to Lord Borros’ younger sister with a son of their own. Should Lady Elenda not have a son, it’s said his sister may push one of her son’s claims to Storm’s End.”

As one, their eyes swiveled in the direction of Cassandra Baratheon, perfectly coiffed, and everything the daughter of a Lord Paramount would be. Raven hair wild as storm clouds around her bare shoulders, her golden dress sparkling in the dancing torchlight with an opal the size of Abby’s fist nestled in the hollow of her throat. Abby’s hands twitched, smoothing over the cloud of blue and green silk organza, the golden dragons and weirwood leaves embroidered over her bodice.

A warm hand touched her wrist and Abby met the gentle, honey eyes of Lythene, who smiled up at her. “Tá cuma álainn ort, a bhean,” she said softly while the others tittered. It took Abby a moment to register the words, “you look beautiful, my lady”, and Abby smiled shyly.

“Go raibh maith agat,” she thanked her and Lythene bit her lip as if holding back a chuckle.

“Agat,” she pronounced softly, the inflection different. “A little closer to got, and less like goat.”

Her cheeks burned and she repeated it softly and Lythene took her hand, squeezing it. “I can’t imagine you get to practice with many people here in the South,” she laughed, a tinkling like bells that drew the attention of other men.

“I haven’t. I’m looking forward to getting to speak it more, but I can’t get that sort of practice teaching Aeg- Prince Aegon.”

“You mean he’s actually going to try learning our tongue?” came the aggressive disbelief of Lady Melony. “Targaryens aren’t ones to debase themselves so.”

Lythene opened her mouth but Abby cut in, a frown slashed across her face. “Aegon is a Targaryen and a Hightower, a family that traces their lineage and impact to before the First Men, some say.” She tilted her head, exhaling softly and shook her head. “The Targaryens may be above us due to the gifts of the dragon, but you can be assured that Prince Aegon will take his duties seriously.”

She was reminded of the words Edmund had sneered at her, of how none would trust a dragon coming into the Riverlands and it was foolish to think so. Lythene said nothing, watching her curiously while Melony Piper’s bright green eyes narrowed somewhat, thin mouth pursed. Abby’s grandmother had been a Piper, which made the two of them kin.

Seven and the Old Gods help her if Aegon did not live up to her promise, but Abby trusted that he would. That he would, at the very least, try.

Melony opened her mouth to speak again but murmurs danced through the crowd, attention towards the dance floor. Abby looked over her shoulder in surprise.

Jace led Helaena by the hand to the crowd of dancers as the next song started, fingers touching as they circled around one another. She was a glittering, blue dragon amidst the crowd, hair like mercury as it flowed around her. Helaena loved to dance and the joy was obvious on her soft features, Jace’s own smile a shy one, his broad frame more obvious as he circled around her. Not as tall as Aemond, but Jace would grow taller yet.

“Well,” Melony’s attention had changed. “That’s an interesting development.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively cut to the queen where she sat at the King’s right, a slight furrow to her brow, and the Lord Hand beside her, his attention also on the pair dancing. A fond smile cut across Otto Hightower’s face as Helaena laughed when Jace spun her, and Abby wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.

Helaena looked happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

Abby startled at the feeling of a warm hand stroking against her elbow and Aegon’s laughter was soft as he stroked his fingers down her arm in a way that had goosebumps flaring across her skin. His fingers twined with hers and the ladies around her bobbed curtsies, murmuring My Prince and Your Grace.

“You all look like you’re having so much fun here, but I must steal my betrothed away,” Aegon said, his voice light and amused, in his element as the center of attention and even more dangerous without drink to cloud his senses. Abby felt the heated flush creep along her throat when Aegon tugged her into him. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I, Lady Abrogail?”

Lythene looked amused, Melony uncertain and Abby turned under Aegon’s arm so that she was facing him. “You did, my Prince. Thank you for the conversation, Lady Lythene, Lady Melony,” she thanked as Aegon began tugging her away. “It was good to meet you.”

Everything else drifted away when Aegon pulled her into his arms. The contrast to the last time they’d danced together was palpable. There was no anger between them, no confusion, no fear. He twirled her as he drew her into the space as if he were showing her off, her skirt flaring around her, rippling greens and blues like the rivers of her home, the candlelight glimmering along the golden threaded dragons on her gown, and the citrine bursts along her tiara. When Aegon pulled her into him, she could feel the heat of his body barely pressed against her, the flush of it coursing through her with every hammering beat of her heart.

“I wish we were somewhere more quiet,” Abby murmured to him as they turned around one another, clapping their hands before reaching for each other again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aemond tugging Wylla on the floor, her friend caught between surprise and a pleased flush along her cheeks. Abby would have to tease her later, in return for how merciless Wylla had teased her.

“Do you?” Aegon asked, grinning at her, eyes full of heat. “We could, you know. It is my nameday.”

“We’ll be caught, and I’d rather your mother not find us,” she chuckled, spinning away from him to turn around Lord Tyland, who smiled down at her indulgently while Aegon politely moved around Lady Johanna Westerling, Tyland’s goodsister and dance partner. Her gaze kept pulling back to Aegon whenever they were separated in the dances, and when they came back together, there was an ache in her chest that she could not identify. Relief? Want? Longing?

Everything?

“Remind me to get you a map of the tunnels,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple and she couldn’t help the bubbling of giggles that escaped her. Aegon looked incredibly pleased with himself, and as the next song started, he pulled her closer to him, hands possessive on her hips as he lifted her in the air and spun her around.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Then it clicked. “What, so I can sneak to your room?”

Aegon winked at her. “Clever girl.”

“I try.”

As Abby turned, her eyes caught on the furious, dark gaze of Edmund Vance across the hall, accompanied by Lord Piper and some of the other River Lords. Abby blanched, the joy she had felt abating like water on a fire at the ugly look in his eyes. So distracted, she was, that she stumbled her steps of the complicated dance, nearly falling had Aegon not pulled her to him in time. She saw his gaze follow hers, his own smile morphing into a hard look.

“I’ve taken care of it.” Abby didn’t understand, trying to find the steps again without ruining the entire dance, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Aegon’s hand brushed soothing along her arm, his other hand warm on her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Focus on me, eyes on me, hunītsos.” His voice was gentle and firm all at once, quiet and earnest and Abby focused on the sound of it, her gaze finding his, softened now. “Aemond saved me from making a scene, but I’ve handled it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t need to take his hands.”

Abby struggled to find words, a strange and unfamiliar thrill coursing through her that she could not examine too closely in the moment. “And what have you decided to take instead?”

As the dance came to a close, Aegon reached up to cup the softness of her cheek, tilting her head back with his thumb on her lower lip. He leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, and the vow he made was full of promise.

“His pride,” he murmured, and kissed her in front of the realm to seal it.

What was your favorite moment of the chapter? What's something you're looking forward to? Any fun theories!? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you're enjoying about Maiden and any curiosities you might have! And if you're not sure what to say, just a kind reblog with a heart or something would be lovely <3

[Chapter Fifteen]