#i do not have their patience nor their understanding

[kai-the-first]

y'all if i was someone in fantasy high i would have started worshipping ankarna so fucking fast

[wonder-worker]

A.J Pollard’s biography on Edward IV was so cringe lol (generic; minor but frustrating inaccuracies; intensely judgmental at times and oddly dismissive at others while never considering the broader context; entirely diminished and trivialized Elizabeth Woodville as both queen and wife of his main subject in the name of "defending" her; created a false dichotomy between Edward and Henry VII’s styles of ruling and lauded the latter at the former’s expense even though Henry literally followed Edward’s example for the very things Pollard was criticizing Edward for; had a downright nonsensical and thoroughly misleading conclusion about Edward’s legacy & Richard’s usurpation that was based entirely on hindsight, Pollard's own assumptions, and the complete downplaying Richard’s agency and actions to emphasize what Pollard wrongly and misleadingly claimed were Edward's so-called 'failings', etc, etc)

I wanted to buy his book on Henry V but after reading this shitshow and the synopsis of that book, im guessing it's going to be 10x worse, so...no thanks

[autisticlee]

sometimes being autistic really separates me from other people. there's an invisible wall that separates me from people, society, the world. all those things can reach through the wall and slap me around, but it's one way. I can't reach them. and they never pat me on the head. nothing nice comes through. and I can't get out. I try to share good things. nothing gets through the wall. they see it as I purposely don't come out of the room i'm locked in. they think I act like i'm too good for them. they are offended and reach in to slap me. i'm desperately screaming and trying to reach out to them. trying to be part of things. but I can't. I can't connect with them. I can't be part of society. this wall isn't my doing, but they are making sure it stays up and making sure they only send negative signals through. know I can't stay behind this wall or I literally can't live. but also can't get out. i'm stuck and blamed for it. told i'm not trying and it's on purpose. i've been kicking and screaming at the wall my whole life and didn't make a dent. the lonliness and disconnection that can be felt when autistic is something nonautistic people will never feel or understand.

[steakout-05]

ok as an artist i personally find traditional painting to be. really really annoying. like. i do not have the patience for it and i just find it to be really frustrating to set up and actually do and i end up not liking the results. i find that there's little room for mistakes and trying to fix them usually ends up with me making 50 other ones, paints can be so inconsistent and having to rely on availability and certain brands to continue making the paint is really inconvenient, not to mention expensive. spending a bunch of time trying to mix the right shade of paint, only for it to go down a completely different shade of colour and not being able to do anything about it is so frustrating as someone who likes consistency and having things just, y'know, not change colour as soon as it dries. plus, they all use different chemicals and can go off really easily or change textures and i am just not ok with having all my materials having an expiration date like food. lead and graphite pencils just don't do that and they can last for years, they're more reliable. every paint is drastically different and trying to find the right one is not only time consuming but, again, expensive, and i don't even see the point in experimenting when most of my materials end up not even getting used if i don't like using them. plus, i'm just.... really impatient. waiting for paint to dry sucks and is why i much prefer digital or just drawing something because i don't need to wait for anything, it just works. and then when i do want to take my time and work slowly for a better result, it dries too fast. it's kinda hellish trying to balance that time, especially considering how inconsistent paints are.

i like to use guidelines when doing art and i find painting straight onto a canvas to be really tricky because there's a lack of direction for me to actually paint. i'm at a complete loss at what to do when i pick up a brush because i can't map it out first without risking screwing up the paint. there's just so many things to keep track of and so much wet paint to avoid and i just do not have the mind for it. putting colours on a canvas and praying that it works just isn't it for me and requires a discipline that i just don't wanna involve myself with. painting is also just like... really exhausting and kinda painful. i got some pretty bad back issues and my arms tire and get sore easily and quickly when i'm standing in front of a canvas. it's a really physical activity for me and i just don't find something to be very fun to do at all when it's physically hurting me. i know drawing on a canvas has this issue too, which is why i prefer sketchbooks. sitting down and drawing something that doesn't break my entire spine every time i do it is much more preferrable than questioning if i should go to the doctor every time i make a brushstroke, lol

that's not to say that there's nothing i like about painting though! i can paint simple little things, and i like doing that. i like mixing colours with a palette knife and i find it fun and even a little relaxing. i painted some cute little chibi cardboard cutouts of the mario brothers one time and i found that to be really fun and i think i'd like to do that again! but apart from that, i just do not have the patience for it. i love the look of traditional paintings and i find many to be really beautiful, but i could never get into actually doing it myself because i hate the process. i'm content with just sketching and doing digital stuff because that's more fun to me and less stressful of a process to do. it's fun, it allows for more mistakes, it's easier to build up layers of shading and lines, not to mention using building up a figure with guidelines is super helpful with visualising what i want it to look like, and i can just erase something if i don't want it there or want to change something. it just makes sense to me.

tl;dr i dont like painting because it's inconsistent, expensive, time-consuming, directionless, frustrating and it makes my back hurt really bad. i'll just stick to drawing stuff :)

[chuluoyi]

✎ wedding anniversary

- gojo satoru x reader

seven years of dating, two years of wedded bliss, and gojo is having his greatest existential crisis yet... all because this year, you apparently have forgotten the most important day of your lives

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—heavy smut, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, slight breeding kink, crack, drunk, lovesick and possessive gojo (nanami is so very done with him), also fluff !!

note: back to chu's thirsting hour :') based on a fellow gojo fucker's very helpful brainrot (chiyo if you see this, hii!😗) pls give it some love bc this has gone through not showing up in the tags 5x already *sobs*

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

To this day, it was still beyond Nanami why you, his very sensible former classmate, would have Gojo Satoru as your husband.

“She... doesn't—hic!—care about m-me... anymore!”

But well, to each their own.

“Gojo—”

“Today is our—hic!—anniversary!”

This is exhausting. It had been 30 minutes ever since the blindfolded shithead started rambling his sorrows. “She is probably just busy, you don't have to—”

“I r-really thought—hic!—she would at least n-not forget it l-like that!”

“Please, stop this nonse—”

Satoru snapped his head so swiftly that Nanami was startled, pointing out an accusatory finger at his face. “You stop!—you don't understand, Nanami!”

The said man flinched, taken aback, before feeling the surge of irritation coursing through his veins.

Sure, Nanami would gladly admit that he didn't understand. He neither had the time nor energy to. It was beyond him that he was even entertaining this blubbering idiot at this time of the day, in a bar no less. How did he get roped into this in the first place?

Actually, he had minus interest in your marital affairs, but Gojo was latching onto him all day, rambling about how excited he was for this day for weeks now, until you gave him a call, saying you would be home late and disregarded his very open anticipation. You broke his heart to pieces, apparently.

Amidst his heartbroken musings, Gojo followed him to his frequented bar, where he proceeded to down multiple glasses without any supervision.

“Am I really t-that lousy? Can’t be it… I’m s-strong, d-dashing… rich—”

Nanami released a guttural sigh, messaging his temples. How could this idiot have no shame while spouting all of this?

“Will s-she… divorce me next…?” he abruptly blurted, eyes widening as saucers and full of clarity all of a sudden. Satoru firmly tugged at his suit and forced him to face him. “Nanamin…! S-she won’t divorce me, r-right?!”

Oh, to hell with it. Nanami couldn’t take this anymore. He was done and he had no patience to tolerate it any longer.

He shrugged him off, and pulled out his phone to dial your number. “Hello? Please, come pick your husband. He’s a public nuisance!”

In fact, you didn’t forget your anniversary.

How could you? Satoru made it his point to drop hints about it almost every day, and you actually struggled to be indifferent about it because you also had things planned out.

A present—already taken care of thanks to your mail order of Rolex’s newest collection watch, and a treat—a two-tier mochi cake he had been staring at with literal stars in his eyes on your last date.

Which has become the problem. The bakery had mishandled your delivery and you had to wait for them to remake it. It was 8pm already and you couldn't help but worry. Satoru must be feeling utterly despondent by now, thinking you had forgotten a day that meant so much for both of you.

And so when you got a call from Nanami, you dropped everything to get him and told the bakery to arrange for the delivery tomorrow, because you knew... nothing good ever came out of Satoru getting drunk.

"I missed youuuu~! Dearest, darling— my universe!"

To Satoru, the everything around him was a blur of lights and hiccups when you came to retrieve him. Nanami was so eager to wash his hands off him, leaving you with a pointed grimace as if pitying you.

. . .

"A-are you going to—hic!—leave m-me?" Satoru slurred for the nth time now, stumbling inside your house with you propping him.

"For the last time, no, but I'm tempted to," you hissed, throwing him a glare. Your husband was a very unpleasant drunk because he wasn't even a drinker in the first place. "Satoru—walk properly!"

You managed to get him into your bedroom, where Satoru flopped onto the bed, dissolving into groans. You exhaled deeply and plucked the buttons of his shirt open, trying to get him change into his sleepwear.

"Ah... haaah," suddenly he caught your hand and placed it on his bare chest, his eyes blazing into yours, rambling, "Sweetheart—please. I c-can't live without you now... I'm sorry—I'm sorry for anything, or everything, I don't even know but—please don't hate me—"

"Satoru..." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. Why was he this spooked? "I'm not leaving you, okay?"

"I promise you, I'll do better—" his voice was watery, as if his throat was clogged up. "I'll be better..." His voice then reduced into a whisper. The alcohol had stripped away his facade, leaving his raw emotions exposed.

Something inside you lurched. Throughout the nine years you have been with him, Gojo Satoru was always irritatingly self-assured, and so seeing him like this— so openly fragile, it did more than just churn your insides; it made you realize the depth of his feelings.

In that moment, you knew your reassurance meant everything.

"I'm not going anywhere, yeah?" you placed your other hand over his, offering him a genuine, soft smile. “Satoru, I’ve put up with your ass for more than nine years. So…” you shifted your eyes away, suddenly feeling embarrassed, before looking at him again. “I'm here... for you, always.”

His grip on your hand loosened slightly, but the intensity in his gaze didn't wane, and you would've laughed when he hiccupped next if you weren't feeling the overwhelming warmth in your chest.

But oh you wouldn't have expected it, because one heartbeat later, he yanked you down to the bed— crashing his lips against yours.

“Mmmph!”

He tangled his nimble fingers on your hair, and his other hand slipped inside your blouse, unclasping your bra in one flick. You let out a gasp, "Satoru—! "

Before you could even gasp, in the next second, he flipped you over— seizing your puffy lips once more. His hands now moved with more urgency, squeezing your breasts rather roughly, flicking your nipples with the pads on his thumbs.

And soon, far sooner than you thought...

"Who else gets to see you like this?" Satoru inquired darkly after you were naked under him, his voice low and deep. He was no longer that stupid husband of yours, rather the wanton man of your nightly wonders.

Without warning, he slid one of his fingers into your folds, probing your walls, and a gasp escaped you as you arched your back, throwing your head back on the sheets.

"No— one," your voice came in a breathless moan, still reeling. "H-how can y-you ask me—" Stretching you out even further, he entered another finger and you wailed, "Mmgh!"

He had always loved the sounds you made and how you were so pretty squirming under him like this. And before you knew it, his face was inches from your cunt, blowing hot air into your sensitive flesh.

"Tell me, who is the only person who gets to see you like this?"

Your eyes rolled back, words died on your tongue as his skilled tongue ran down on your drenched pussy. You instinctively tried to close your legs around his head, but he firmly held them apart.

"You." Panting, your mind racing to form coherent thoughts. You managed to mutter, "Only you... No one else—hah—just y-you...!"

He suckled on your clit hungrily then, rewarding you for your honesty. Squelching noises echoed around your marital bed as your arousal pooled around his fingers— you being so incredibly, irrevocably close to your release.

"Haaah, ngh—mmph!—Satoru, I'm a-about to—!" but then, in one cruel twist, he withdrew his digits, and your pussy throbbed at the loss.

You muffled your whines, feeling betrayed and irritable. "What—why—!?"

"Don't think that I'll let you cum anywhere else but my cock," he stated gallantly with an unusually stern expression, blue eyes narrowing as he assessed your wetness. Right in front of your eyes, his cock sprung after he let it out of his pants.

"Soon, you'll feel me..." Your eyes shamelessly followed his long length as he placed it on your lower belly. "...there."

Everything about him using that taunting tone turned you on, and true to his words, he soon slid himself inside you. He let out a low grunt at the feeling of how your walls clenching around him and you whined, the pain of being stretched making you almost sob.

"Shit, hold still," Satoru groaned, pushing down on your belly. "You're so tight— relax for me a bit, sweetheart? You're doing so, so fucking well."

His words went through you, and you could feel yourself opening more to ease his intrusion. Next thing you knew, he was buried deep inside you, and his gaze met you once again.

"Are you okay?" he asked between breaths, voice softening. When you nodded in response, he planted a kiss on your chest.

"I love you," he said in a rasp, eyes piercing your soul. "I’ll give you anything. My body, heart, soul—you can have it all. In return, you just have to promise one thing." His eyes, now clearer, deprived of the earlier haze, boring straight into you like an arrow.

"Don't ever leave me."

"I won't," you replied resolutely, catching your breath. Your own eyes shone with your love for him, making it even. "For as long as I live, it's going to always be you."

Satoru gazed at you as if you were his skies and stars, and before he started pounding into you, he vowed—

"Then I'm yours."

And soon, you were a nothing more than a frenzy, hot mess. You couldn’t help the nasty moans flying out of your lips as he kept barreling into you. His grunts reverberated throughout the room, rutting you through your hazed mind.

And the way he was whispering provocations into your ear, pushing you further into ecstasy at the mere thought of—

"What if... I get you pregnant this time?" A thrust. "Just imagine—" Another. "My wife, all round—" Another. "—just because I—am doing this to her—!"

You were barely registering his rambles at this point. Your walls clenching around his girth impossibly tight and you let him claim you as his thoroughly, your legs locking around his waist.

"Ah—ngh, mmrgh! Satoru—more!"

This wasn't you, the usual you wouldn't be this daring— but even you'll be more than forgiven tonight.

Satoru's jaw tightened at the sheer pleasure you brought him, his ego stroked, and his heavenly eyes darkened as you begged and dug your nails into him. He was so close, he could feel it. Your moans was enough to lead him to cum right here and there.

But before that, he was determined to show you, to whom you truly belong.

“My wife.” He growled. A thrust.

“Mine.” You gasped. Harder.

“All mine.” Deeper.

"Yes," you cried. "Yours— all yours, so please—!"

And three deep thrusts later, Satoru finally busted his load inside you, spurts after spurts painting your wall white— filling you up so hard it was spilling out. And your orgasm followed in immediate effect along with your hitched screams of pleasure, before the two of you collapsed on each other, a mix of groans and sweat, entwined in cum, bliss and exhaustion.

"Love you, sweetheart," you heard him murmuring in your ears, enveloping you in a warm embrace as you drifted into sleep.

Next morning, you were awoken to soft hums in your ears.

"Oh, the sleeping beauty awakens." The first sight you saw was Satoru's cheeky grin, and him pecking you on the lips. "How are you?"

"Mmm..." you winced, feeling the slight twinge between your legs. He noticed it and gently untangled himself from you, fingers tracing your waist. "Don't move around too much, you're going to bother my little swimmers, you know."

It took you a few seconds to realize what he meant and you glared at him. "You horny weirdo. I just woke up."

“Heh heh heh~ Don't take it too seriously! I was just trying to get you to smile.” He pinched your cheeks and then mused, “Well, I'd actually be surprised if we made it last night...”

"You're not funny," you retorted. You had been feeling weird and that was when you saw it.

The dazzling, massive diamond ring. On your finger. Wait, is that Graff's Tribal Collection?

"Satoru..." you mumbled, lifting your hand in shock, your eyes fixed on the piece that likely cost more than your monthly wage. "You..."

"Do you like it?" his smile was so easy and light, adoring the sight of you. You were so adorable, marveling at the little gift he got you.

"What do you mean—" you stuttered, turning to him. "Are you crazy?! I can't wear something this expensive—!"

"But that's exactly my point. It's a gift, meant to spoil my wife."

"You are mad," warmth flooded your cheeks, your heart fluttering with joy. You were unbelievably giddy because your husband really knew the way to your heart, yet you'd be damned if you let the excitement show in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression souring, and with a mocking tone, he accused you, "Actually, you're the one who's gone mad. I can't believe you forgot our anniversary!"

"I didn't, you dummy. I was out picking up your favorite mochi cake before you got yourself wasted." You turned away from him, shyly. "And I got a gift for you too."

"Oh? Oooh! Really!? What is it?!"

He was back to his silly self again, and you could only shake your head, wondering how the sex god from last night and this fool was the same person.

Yet, you felt nothing but love. Your heart couldn't help but melt for him when you saw that carefree grin.

And you couldn't be more grateful to the stars for bringing him into your life.

. . .

Oh, and little did you know that his little swimmers also made the goal last night— as three weeks later, you found yourself clutching the first of your pregnancy tests, which was showing a positive.

[hannieehaee]

i love your writing i always check your page everyday! i was wonder we can get some brat reader x scoups or dk?? like we are messing with him around the members or going out somewhere without their permission? if not i totally understand and will still continue to support your writing! :)

18+ / mdi

content: jealous!cheol, possessive!cheol, brat!reader, afab reader, established relationship, smut, dry humping, grinding, etc.

wc: 1575

a/n: idk where i was going with this im sorry if it makes no sense T-T thank u for requesting </3

masterlist

if there was one defining characteristic about your boyfriend, it was his pride.

seungcheol always thought himself to be a capable and dependable man, which were a few of the characteristics he took most pride in. as the leader of his group, he was always meant to take care of his members and provide a solid foundation for his younger brothers to rely on.

similarly to his members, he always took care of you. however, along with that also came his possessive and strict nature.

as a natural leader, seungcheol always expected instruction to be followed. he wasnt a dictator nor unfair by any means, but he expected his authority to be respected. he afforded you the same respect, but he would quickly grow frustrated whenever he felt himself be challenged by you; something that happened quite often.

it was usually just fun banter. he would ask or do something, you'd be a brat and get in the way, and he would then play along until growing too frustrated at your overly playful nature and either whine at you or punish you (it'd depend on his mood, really).

today, this dynamic was presented in the form of you popping in for a quick visit during dance practice. cheol had always told you you were welcome to stop by whenever you wanted, even letting security know that you were to be admitted in upon uttering his name when inquired for the reason of your visit. you didn't visit every day, but you made it a habit of dropping in at least once a week (specially considering your boyfriend worked seven days a week).

upon your arrival, a few of seungcheol's members dropped what they were doing to go say hi to you and engage in conversation. cheol knew them to be overly excited at times, so he always sat back for a minute or two before jumping in on the conversation. today, he did the same, waiting a bit before joining you, jeonghan and mingyu while the rest of the members continued what they'd been doing before your arrival – practicing.

usually you'd interrupt them only for a few minutes, but today was different for some reason.

cheol could read you very easily, and he was suspicions of your smile from the moment you'd walked in. it was the same smile you'd have on your face any time you challenged his patience for fun for seemingly no reason. he grew completely certain that your intent today had been to be a brat when he finally attempted to get the members to settle back down and go back to practice. you'd immediately whined in disagreement, causing the members to join in, now claiming you wanted to go get a quick snack with the members, since apparently, you had been missing them lately. now he not only had to deal with one brat, but with multiple.

"c'mon, cheollie! you guys are all sweaty, i'm sure you've been at this all day. a quick break wont hurt you," you argued, fueled by the nods in agreement coming from his friends.

"baby ... we have a schedule to follow, you know that. you can come back when it's our usual lunch time."

"okay, you don't have to come. i can just go with hannie and gyu."

he knew you were just trying to annoy him. you had at no time mentioned any wish to hang out with his friends prior to this moment.

"baby–"

"yeah, cheollie. we'll keep her company, dont worry."

jeonghan joining in on your brattiness was exactly what cheol needed in this moment. specially as he walked over to cuddle against you as you both smirked at cheol in defiance.

"you coming, gyu?", you looked over at mingyu, who also seemed to grasp seungcheol's annoyed disposition.

"uh, i ... sure, i'll go, i–"

"baby, can i talk to you for a moment?", he was annoyed at your stubbornness, but he still did not wish to blow up in front of all his members, knowing they'd tease him over how easy he was to rile up.

"you can say whatever you wanna say here, right y/nnie? we're all friends here", interrupted the parasite that was his best friend, swaying you back and forth as you giggled at the way he so outwardly defied his friend.

that was enough for cheol. he knew there was no way for you to have planned on having jeonghan copy your brattiness so easily, but he blamed you nonetheless.

with that, he grabbed you by the arm, ripping you away from his friend before storming out with you. he led you to the empty resting room that was connected to the practice room before turning to look at you.

"tired of being a brat yet?"

"hmm," you tapped your chin as if actually thinking it over, "nah."

he walked over to you, making you walk back as your entertained smile remained on your face. he was glad to know you found this all so entertaining; something he voiced to you immediately after.

"i'm sorry, cheollie, you're just so fun to rile up."

"did you want me to put you in your place, baby? got bored of waiting for me back home?", he got closer to you with every passing second, eventually basically pinning you against the wall.

"maybe ... so ... are you gonna?", you grinned at him.

"am i gonna what?"

"gonna put me in my place? here, where they all know what's going on behind this door?"

"oh? you think i wont? you think their presence is gonna deter me from fucking you into whatever piece of furniture is nearest?", his eyes were darker than ever, mouth just inches away from yours. he could feel your goosebumps rising from his close proximity.

"but what about practice, cheollie? i thought you were sooo bus–"

"fuck practice."

only five minutes later and you were already bent over the couch, skirt pushed over to uncover your ass as he ground his clothed crotch against you, stimulating no one but himself.

after having abused your lips with his for a few minutes, he had felt you up in every way you loved, tweaking at your nipples and even rubbing at your cunt through your clothes. he thoroughly made you believe he'd fuck the brattiness out of you, only to then flip you over and bend you to his liking, grinding his hardened cock against your ass while you whined at him to do something more.

"no, baby ... this is all for me. gonna teach you to not be a brat by giving you the barest minimum. want more? then be good next time ... now take what im giving you and be thankful."

"y– yes, cheollie ..."

"god, what a pretty baby ... if only you were just as obedient as you are pretty."

"i am! i'm good, i was just ... just wanted your attention so bad."

"yeah? couldve just told me you needed me, baby. wouldve come home running to you. didnt have to team up with hannie to piss me off."

he angled you a little higher for his cock to finally drag against your cunt rather than your ass, now giving you some friction as you began to push back against him.

"shit, just like that, baby. push it back for me like a good girl."

"didnt– didnt plan it, baby, i swear! i was gonna take you guys out to eat and then steal you away ... didnt know hannie was gonna join in on it ..."

"oh, yeah? you were being good, then? just got corrupted by hannie? hmm. that's too bad, angel. still gotta punish you for that."

"j– just please! dont stop ... feels so good ... cock feels so good against my cunt ..."

he continued to hold you by your hips, almost bruising them by the sheer force in which he forced you to grind back against him. he knew neither yours nor his orgasm would be as satisfying as could be, but he needed to make his point.

accelerating both the speed and strength of his grinding, he found himself almost at his end, deciding to show you some mercy by digging through the front of your skirt and rubbing rapidly at your clit through your panties.

"gonna cum with me, baby? gonna give it to me even if they're listening in on the other side? huh?"

"yes, cheollie! almost there, just– fuck!"

your pretty moans as you lost yourself to the pleasure were enough to get seungcheol to reach his peak too, pushing himself up against you once more as he released inside his pants. he caressed the bare skin of your ass under your skirt as he helped you stand at your full height again, kissing at your hair as he told you what a good girl you were for him, brattiness almost wiped from his mind.

"angel ...", now was time to scold you.

"im sorry, cheollie ... just felt lonely and wanted to come visit you ... i was just gonna steal you away for a bit. forgot hannie has a boner for mischief and would try and make you blow up. sorry, baby."

he couldnt help but chuckle at that. you were bratty, but you were still his obedient girl. all was good in the world.

"c'mon, angel. let me grab some clothes so we can change, yeah? then ill take you home."

"but practic-"

"you were right. i could use a break. let's go."

[mayaree-darling]

who's to say what's real or fake// Genshin SAGAU

from aree: impostor au but you actually are the impostor? but ofcourse theres a twist. I think i'll call this FakeGrace!Reader. This was just going to be a headcannon post but ended up a whole fic plot

warnings: themes that all come with the sagau tag (yandere, lots of religious talk, cult, etc.)

word count: 2k~

You end up on Teyvat and immediately the characters recognize you as their Creator; of course you're their Creator - you have the same face, name, and voice. You go through the ordeal of getting to know all the characters all over again and they in turn love you as the god they’ve been waiting for all this time.

You decide that well, this is the world and characters I spent blood, sweat, and tears building (even if it was behind a screen) so might as well help out and do what needs to be done. The people come to you for their problems and you find that they're not as difficult as when you were simply a player. Maybe a minor dispute here and there between the NPCs, but now the vision holders and the Archons ask for your thoughts on how to go about political matters concerning their nations. Even Snezhnaya has signed a peace treaty with the other nations as a show of good faith to the Creator (even if you know for a fact its a temporary one).

All has never been better.

Until another Creator appears in Teyvat, and this one bleeds gold the way their stories foretold. In a way you do not.

The vision holders are torn. Yes, you are an impostor, and they want to hate you for tricking them, but at the same time haven’t you only shown them love? Haven’t you been patient with them and understanding despite being thrown into a world you’re unfamiliar with?

But with careful coercion from the other god, they have to choose to follow their true Creator. You decide to take pity on them and step down from your position yourself, choosing to live with the Aranara who have gladly taken you under their wing (fake god you may be, you are still a friend of the forest, and the forest always remembers its friends).

The Archons tell their new Creator that you are no more. They pretend to not hear when the Creator says they should have brought your head with them, maybe just a bitter reaction for finding out that they have been serving an impostor all this time (the Archons are lying when they say they do not feel sickened at the idea of hurting you, and disgusted at this new God's words)

It soon becomes clear to the people of Teyvat that this new Creator is not you - none of the patience or kindness you had showed them. This new one thinks helping their people is below them, even laughs at some of their problems. They chuck their duties as a god to the vision holders and spend their days leisurely, wining and dining on the best food, expecting to be waited on hand and foot. And at first it was fine, the characters understood. Maybe their Creator was just enjoying the fruits of their labor for once (although in the back of their mind, they can't help but compare you - you who worked tirelessly to attend to everyone even when they’d almost beg you to take a break). The characters tell themselves that they just need to get used to this new god, their true Creator. It will all right itself in time. Even as the Creator acted more like a child by the day, calling for the punishment of characters for the simplest of things. It’s fine. It’s fine.

It didn't take long for their will to break.

The God of Wisdom is called as such for a reason. Nahida may be younger compared to the rest, but she is braver than most. She simply tried to impart a fraction of her wisdom, softly suggesting to the Creator to show mercy for their people who were gravely punished for things they did not do.

This Creator was not you. They did not have a drop of patience that you had, nor any love for their creations. Their god saw this as nothing but an act of treason. How dare a mere Archon tell them what to do? She dares to question who the Creator can and cannot punish?

The silence is deafening in the throne room as the Creator calls for the death of Lesser Lord Kusanali and the destruction of Sumeru. If it is mercy she asks for then it is the last thing she and her people will receive. The other Archons agree past gritted teeth, the sin of Khaenri’ah weighing heavy over their shoulders still.

Nahida had been banished to Sumeru before the order was given, so the Archons make their way to the Nation of Wisdom to tell her of her sentencing, hoping to beg her to ask the Creator for their forgiveness.

This can't be how it ends. Are they to spend their lives in fear of the god they so revered?

They enter a forest emitting divine energy in search of their friend, hearts heavy, but they found something else.

They found you. They found the Creator they loved once upon a time.

They seemed to have caught you mid-conversation with Nahida, and to their surprise (and resentment) the Tsaritsa; they can only assume that the god of Snezhnaya has informed you first of Nahida's fate. The Wanderer catches sight of them and stands in front of you in protection. You don't even bat an eye. You swallow hard and stand, Nahida's hand enveloped in yours, and the other gods would be lying if they say they did not feel jealousy strangling their lungs.

With a steady voice, you tell them that should they take one step against Nahida, you will meet them halfway. If they decide to send Sumeru to hell, they will have to go through you first. You will do everything you can to stop them, and if Sumeru falls then you fall with them.

They don't have to look at the others to make up their mind. There's a beat of silence but first it's Morax, and Beelzebul and Barbatos and then Focalor, and they are on their knees, heads bowed low.

It is only right to show respect to their god, after all. How could they be so blind?

Validation of their actions comes soon after as you let go of Nahida's hand and tell the Wanderer to stand aside. You do something that tyrant of a Creator that sits on a glass throne would never - you kneel before them and hold out your hand.

"Why are you all kneeling? Stand up. I am no longer your god. But I hope you will have me as a friend. Will that be alright?"

There are tears in their eyes as they let out stuttering laughter. Yes, this is their god. Their god with so much love and compassion and a heart that does nothing but bleed for them. A heart that does not ask for them to bleed.

You are their god. You are their true Creator. Golden blood be damned. All that gold has done nothing but blind them.

Eventually, you all end up on the forest floor. You accept the role of a friend as promised, and catch up with them. The Archons are almost in tears as you listen to their stories earnestly, squeezing their hands in sympathy as you listen to the pain they've been through under the rule of their so called Creator (they really should find a new title for you, the god that sits on your throne has sullied your rightful name). At one point they stop telling you stories of their mistreatment, unable to see your face be any sadder than it already was. They take to retelling your stories together, reminiscing better days - because is that not what they have done all this time? Think about the lovely you for every wrongdoing the other god had done in your name?

As you laugh and smile with them and their stories and their company, the idea burrows through their mind without your knowledge, taking root, and they refuse to let it go. Wouldn't it be so much better if it was always like this? Seeing your smiling face with them, a person that deserves to be called a god even more so than all of them combined. Knowing you were safe from harm, not having to defend yourself, especially from them under orders from a tyrant. Knowing you loved them the way they loved you.

It was all better with you.

When you weren't looking, the Archons gave each other knowing looks and curt nods in understanding.

You are their beloved Creator.

As a peaceful silence falls over you, they watch as you smile sadly, their hearts breaking to see such an expression on your face. In a soft voice, you apologize for not being able to do much to help them. When you lift your head, golden resolute eyes meet yours.

"You’ve done enough, Your Grace. Let us handle the rest."

You may have laughed at the old title, but the Archons are hell bent in returning it to you. Although it hurts them to say goodbye, they know it’s only for the moment. Soon, you will be with them. Back in your rightful throne, as you have always deserved.

Nahida is the youngest, and so they decide to spare her the carnage. The rest know she is no fool, they don't need to tell her what they had planned for her to know what happens next. She does not fully agree in the others' decision, yet she stays in Sumeru, promising to make sure you do not find out. Word travels fast to the other vision holders in the form of a breeze from Barbatos. Barely anyone had disagreed with the notion of removing the rejected god from the throne, and those who were hesitant at first changed their mind after hearing how you were ready to go down with Sumeru. Morax and the Tsaritsa lead the rebellion.

A god is only as powerful as the people who worship them. By the time the Archons arrived in the throne room, the Creator had no one to hide behind.

They made it a spectacle. They spin a tale for the people that the god they so worshiped was an impostor who had switched bodies with their rightful god, which explains the gold blood that should be yours. They say you were patiently waiting for them all to come back to you, to remove this impostor from your throne. You were ready to accept them all, they just needed to get rid of this filth that dared destroy your name. The Creator - no, the Impostor - is horrified when the people accept this story so easily, but they only have themselves to blame. Who cares what they have to say to defend themselves, although it’s not like they can anyway - how can they when their tongue was cut off?

Teyvat was silent as gold painted the streets of Liyue Harbor. Teyvat no longer cares for golden blood, not after all the blood and tears it had taken from its people. After all, a golden soul stands ready to take back their rightful place.

Your followers thought it had all been worth it - the pain, the hardships, the blood - to see you smile the first time you set foot outside Sumeru after what felt like years to them. And yet, despite the joyous occasion, you hesitantly turn to them and ask a question not even Irminsul would answer you.

"What happened to the Creator?"

You would be lying if you said the soft smiles each of them gave did not unnerve you as they all said the same thing, like a joke everyone knew all except you.

"We simply removed the Impostor from Your Grace's presence."

They are thankful that you are blinded by your love for them to see the gold shine on their hands. You do not ask about the shimmering streets either. Liyue was the city of gold after all, was it not?

For now, their biggest concern is your acceptance that they are your equal, but that can easily be fixed. You are their friend now, but someday you’ll be their god again. Slowly but surely. They will sit you back in your throne. They will kneel before you again. They will give you the reverence you so deserved.

It will all be yours.

You're their wonderful Creator, after all. Maybe not to you right now. But you always have been for them.

They’ll start from calling you Your Grace. You’d be too kind to tell them off over and over.

You always had been good at adapting.

You had gotten used to it then, you’ll get used to it again.

✨ Masterlist ✨ 

Taglist: 💛@anime-allover  💛@faeriessky  💛 @prksolon 💛 @dai-tsukki-desu

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[bratzforchris]

Sunflowers

Summary: Chris gets distracted easily. Like really, really easily. When he gets separated from Matt and Nick in the mall, he meets a lovely soul who understands just a little bit more than anyone else.

Pairing: ADHD!Chris x autistic!feminine reader

Warnings: Neurodivergent overstimulation, getting lost, crying, brief mentions of ableism

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: The sunflower lanyard (pictured above) signifies that someone has a hidden or invisible disability and may need extra assistance/patience/kindness. I am not saying or assuming Chris actually has ADHD. If he doesn't, cool, if he does, also cool! This is all for fun and for diversity in the fandom<3 Enjoy!!

ADHD was a difficult thing to live with. It was more than just the stereotype of “Oh look! Squirrel!”. It was a constant condition that caused a lot of impact on one’s day-to-day life and happiness. Chris knew this better than just about anyone. Having been diagnosed in middle school, he found himself on a constant pendulum between spaced out with his head all over the place and extra hyper. Though he was medicated for it, there were still days where his body and mind were consumed with extra hyperactivity and energy, meaning he could be easily distracted, rambunctious, and fidgety. 

Both Matt and Nick were aware of their younger brother’s diagnosis and were extremely supportive of it, letting Chris run wild when he needed to and gently reminding him to take his meds and do his other daily tasks now that they no longer lived with their parents. The youngest really couldn’t have asked for a better support system, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t days where his brain betrayed him for quite literally no reason. 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

“Do you want your lanyard, Chris?” Matt asked as he grabbed his car keys off the hook near the garage door. 

The key rack held all of the boy’s keys and things they would need when they left the house, but it also held Chris’ green and yellow sunflower lanyard. These lanyards were a universal symbol that someone had a hidden or invisible disability and might need some extra kindness and assistance when they left their house. Chris had fought the idea at first, claiming that he didn’t need that; he rarely struggled in public. However, the change after he had agreed to try one due to Nick’s pleading to give it a shot had been immense. Strangers no longer looked at him like he was rude when he couldn’t help to butt in or play with his fidget toys as an adult, nor did shop owners hastily bat his hands away when he just wanted to touch things in stores. Of course, there were still bigots, but the improvement was more than he could have asked for. 

Now, Chris possessed his own sunflower lanyard, complete with a small card attached that read “I have ADHD. I can act restless and tend to fidget. I may act on impulse and have trouble concentrating. Please be patient and understanding.” and had both Matt and Nick’s names and phone numbers on it in case of an emergency. His lanyard also had a few pins, buttons, and pop-its on it so that the boy would always have something to fidget with. 

“It’s probably a good idea,” Nick added, coming down the stairs and typing out something on his phone. “Christmas is next week. The mall is going to be busy.”

Being triplets, Matt and Nick were incredibly in-tune with Chris and each other, and both boys could tell that today was going to be a more hyper, easily distracted day for their younger brother. Normally, they would’ve postponed busy, crowded spaces and must-do errands for a day where Chris was feeling more mellowed out, but they flew back home to Boston in just a few short days and had yet to buy Christmas presents for, well, anyone. 

Slowly thinking over the situation at hand, Chris grabbed his lanyard off the hook and placed it over his neck, but it wasn’t long until he had moved on to something else. “Do you guys think that there are triplets just like us?” he asked as Matt corralled him out the door. “But like, in China or something?”

The drive to the mall had been much longer than anticipated with all the holiday traffic, which allowed Chris more time to let his mind wander, blurting out every random thought he had as he played with the shark pop-it on his lanyard. Luckily, Nick quickly engaged the youngest in all his conversations so that Matt could focus, his own head spinning as he tried to keep up with Chris’ mile-a-minute chatter. 

“We should go people watching,” Chris announced as Matt parked their car inside of the heavily filled parking garage. “We could probably see some crazy shit. Speaking of which, did you guys see that episode of Live PD last night?”

Matt and Nick shared a glance over Chris’ head as they walked into the mall. The more Chris talked, the more he began to fidget, earning stares from onlookers, despite his lanyard. The mall was insanely crowded, which could either help or hurt. Somedays, Chris absolutely thrived in chaos, able to hyperfocus and get tasks done in record time. On others, his brain became so stimulated by chaos and change that he would shut down, often losing his ability to executive function in the process. Today was an absolute toss up. 

“Let the games begin.” Nick mumbled, grabbing his brothers’ hands and sliding through the crowds. 

As ‘cringy’ as it was, the triplets still held hands with each other in public, especially after Chris had received his ADHD diagnosis. Matt and Nick felt an almost protective sense over their younger brother, opting to help keep him safe when his brain didn’t always remind him to do that himself. 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Things had been going fine for well over an hour now, but it was starting to become too much for Chris. They had already gotten presents for their dad and Justin, and were now on the hunt for a gift for their mother. As much as they loved and adored MaryLou, shopping for a woman as 20 year old men in a mall this crowded was a task. 

The youngest triplet was beginning to become overstimulated. His own thoughts had already been so loud and so chaotic this morning, and to add hoards of people, blaring Christmas music, screaming kids, and overwhelming smells from the food court wasn’t helping. He hadn’t meant to get separated from Nick and Chris; the boys had been poring over the jewelry counter in Macy’s when Chris dropped Nick’s hand, opting to pull his Airpods out of his pocket. Maybe if he could listen to the music he liked and that calmed him down, he could manage the rest of this trip without a meltdown. 

Chris had just slipped his earbuds in and pressed play on Life of a Dark Rose when he realized that neither Matt nor Nick was standing next to him. Not yet panicked, he looked around the floor of the department store, searching for Matt’s Red Sox hat or Nick’s blond hair above the crowd. When that didn’t work, he simply shot a quick text in their sibling group chat that read where are you guys??. Much to his discomfort, the text quickly came back with a ‘cannot be delivered’ message, making the brunette curse when he realized that the signal in the store was awful. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Did you see where my brothers went? They have tattoos. One’s blond and has a nose ring, the other was wearing a hat?” Chris asked the lady at the jewelry counter hopefully. 

Either not noticing his lanyard or not caring, the employee turned her back to Chris, leaving him desperate. He didn’t know his way around this mall at all, his phone wasn’t working, and it was beyond crowded. How was he supposed to find Matt and Nick? What if they left without him? He couldn’t drive and he had left his wallet with Nick. How would he get home? This was just a glimpse into the anxiety that circulated through Chris’ mind whenever he became overstimulated. 

The brunette felt his eyes beginning to grow wet, cursing himself under his breath. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t cry. Not here. Chris wiped a few stray tears that were running down his cheeks and began to retreat to a quiet area of the store to contemplate his next move. The last thing he needed was for a ‘fan’ to snap a photo of him crying and overstimulated and post it online. 

The children’s toy area proved to be the perfect place for him to hide. With all the stock having been bought out for the day in the holiday rush, the department was completely empty. Chris sat down on one of the leather benches, running his hands through his hair as a stim and anxiously checking his phone in hopes of regaining signal. He was so caught up in his anxious stimming and trying not to have a meltdown, that he hadn’t even noticed someone appear beside him. 

“Are you okay? I saw your lanyard,” You offered kindly. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Chris looked up at you, taking in your appearance. You were absolutely beautiful, dressed in a soft, sensory friendly outfit with a purple cow Squishmallow clutched to your side. That wasn’t what caught his attention, though. What truly caught his attention was the sunflower lanyard hanging around your own neck. Glancing briefly at the card, Chris noticed it read “I’m autistic”. 

“Can I sit?” You asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to the boy. 

Chris nodded, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat. “I can’t find my brothers.” he admitted tearfully. 

“Is that who’s with you?” You asked knowingly, having been in similar situations yourself. “Do you want to call them?”

“I can’t. My phone won’t send the fucking text and they were just with me and I can’t find them. What if they left me?” the more Chris talked, the upset he became, anxiously chewing on his nails. 

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay. They wouldn’t leave you. Would you like a fidget?” You pulled a tangle from your purse, holding it out for the boy to take.

Chris stared at you for a moment before tentatively taking the toy from you, instantly focusing on the colors and movement of the plastic. “...thank you.” he whispered. 

“Would it be okay if I touched you?” You asked gently. From your own experience, you knew that it was important in situations like these to ask for consent to touch someone who was overstimulated. “My lanyard has my emergency contact on it. Does yours? Maybe we can work together to find your brothers.”

Chris nodded softly, allowing you to softly look at his lanyard and identify both Matt and Nick’s phone numbers and names. By some miracle, your phone had much better service than Chris’ did, allowing you to let both brothers know where you were and that Chris was looking for them. 

“So, tell me about yourself if you want to.” You tried to make easy conversation to take the brunette’s mind off his current overstimulation and panic. 

“‘M a YouTuber,” Chris muttered softly, highly subdued. “And I like rap music and y’know, I have ADHD.” when he saw your soft, blushy smile and attentive listening, Chris became more animated. 

“I’ve always thought YouTube would be a cool job. I’m a pet sitter. I love animals so much. They’re one of my special interests.” You nodded to your cow stuffed animal. 

Chris remembered reading about the term when he was doing some self reflecting on being neurodivergent. Although he didn’t experience them himself, he knew that they were an enormous part of being autistic, and he felt grateful that you were willing to share something like that with him. 

“How did you, um, find me?” Chris asked shyly. 

“Well, I came to see if they had any stuffed animals because I love them, but instead I found you.” You smiled, fiddling with your own fidget toy. 

You and Chris continued to chat as you waited for his brothers. The difference in his personality when you first found him to now was like night and day. He had become more animated over the course of your conversation, talking with his hands, eyes aglow. You looked up when you noticed two men who looked eerily similar to Chris walk up next to you. In your head, you connected the dots that the boys must have been triplets. The blond who approached you had a hard look on his face as he noticed his brother talking to a stranger, but when his eyes caught your lanyard, he visibly relaxed. 

“Matt! Nick!” Chris squealed, leaping off the bench and pulling his brothers into a hug. 

You watched with a soft smile, thinking the sibling’s embrace was cute until the brother in the Red Sox hat turned to you. 

“Thank you,” he told you sincerely. “Thank you for helping him.”

“It’s really not a problem.” You were becoming shy under the attention, but Chris came up and wrapped his arm around you. 

“I love her,” Chris said, before blushing as he realized what he had said. “Not like that! I…I mean…” he stuttered. 

“I’ll give you my number,” You chuckled, standing on your tiptoes and kissing Chris on the cheek. “For being such a sweetheart.”

tags ♡:  @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy

note ♡: if you'd like to bed added to my taglist, click here <3

[azlrse]

➳ wally's biggest crush (wally darling x gn!puppet!reader omeshot)

synopsis: even though he's married, his crush on his spouse still retains as he went through a memory lane of how he first met the love of his life

cw: none, just some fluff

a/n: new hyperfixation goes woopp (also inspired from a reddit post) and also, i've added a last name on reader's name to make it more sense

He couldn't just get enough of you. As he continuously sat down on the comfortable armchair that he seems to be fond of while watching you in home's kitchen, making something that smelled absolutely delicious. Maybe it's cookies? Or perhaps a mouth watering baked pie that most of his neighbors loved? He just didn't know on what you are making. Afterall, he is the kind of guy who loved surprises from the love of his life;

(y/n) Darling, or Mx. Darling is what the neighbors called them.

Their generosity and patience towards others is exactly why Wally not only made him curious about you but also didn't expect are the main reasons why he fell hard for you and it all started when he first saw you moving into the neighborhood and greeted the other neighbors with enthusiasm and respect, even offering some of your baked goods as a token of friendship. Wally watched you with curiosity as you loved from different shops to houses until you reached his house. In response, home released a variety of sounds, indicating that it welcomes you into its walls.

The poor puppet's seemed to be a bit shy upon meeting the new neighbor, especially someone as beautiful/handsome as you. 'You can do this, Wally.' he thought to himself, fixing his hair and dusting off his attire. 'Just say hi and welcome them in this neighborhood. Yeah, that should be easy, you can do thi–' When he opens the door, Wally becomes paralyzed and stood as still as possible when his eyes met yours. He could describe you as someone who's soft, welcoming and sweet as sugar. He doesn't even lie that your aura alone makes him warm on the inside.

"Hello there, I'm-"

His mind went blank, doesn't know what to do next and instead, he slammed the door in front of your face.

The way you didn't get mad nor acted cold at him when he first slammed the door in front of your face. You just stood there in confusion, still a tray of cupcakes on your hand as you knocked once again on his door and heard Home's squeaking in retribution and disappointment towards Wally.

squeak!!

squeak!!

bang!

"Ow!!" Wally reacted from the fallen book, hitting his head. "You don't have to do this Home. I have already embarrassed myself in front of them." Onomatopoeic sounds can be heard from the building, threatening the homeowner that it will take drastic measures to get him out from its walls. "Fine fine, you don't have to be harsh, sheesh Home." Finally, Wally got out from his house.

"Um, I am so sorry for the commotion happened here..." He spoke as his eyes glued on the trees above and stared back at your (e/c) eyes. "And about the slamming that door on your face...." In response, you chuckled and gave him a warm smile. "It's fine, don't worry about that. I understand that it was unexpected of you to meet someone new who just moved in this neighborhood today." You replied and silence looms around as Wally continuously stares at you.

"Oh! I wanna give you these cupcakes. They're newly backed and I hope you liked it."

"Thank you new neighbor, that's kinda sweet of you to bake these. I'm Wally by the way, Wally Darling." A smile appeared on his face, taking the cupcakes off your hands. "I'm (y/n) von Sweets!" Grabbing his hand and shaking it, Wally couldn't resist the heat creeping up into his cheeks. Your hands are so soft and warm, just like a newly baked bread from the bakery. "I better head back from my shop that's recently opened, I'll see you around then, Wally." You spoke, waving him good bye as you went your merry way towards the yellow brick road of the neighborhood.

Still standing as still as possible, Wally didn't move from his spot. He just continuously stares at you, up until you disappeared from his point of view and still wondering when he will meet you again. Maybe tomorrow perhaps he will visit you in your bakery while bringing a bouquet of flowers as a token of his friendly gesture to you.

Wally closed the door, now staring at the colorful tray of cupcakes in his hands. "Gosh, ain't they the sweetest, Home?" It squeaked in return. "Such a lovely neighbor, maybe I'll visit them tomorrow." He sighs dreamily, taking a bite of the cupcake and couldn't get enough of the tarty and fruity taste of your baked good.

. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

"Watcha thinking there, sweetheart?" His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your voice. The smell of his favorite baked pastry begin of consume Home's 4 corners of its walls. "Just the time where I first met you, my darling. I just think to myself; how am I this lucky to be your husband. Me, an ordinary painter?" You giggled, giving him a plate of a sliced apple pie on his hands. "Even after you married me, you still have the biggest crush on me. When will that go away?" You teasingly asked. Wally placed his plate on the coffee table and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap.

You see how his pupils has changed into little hearts. "Never, my love. I am contented of being in love and having a crush on you." You continuously kissed his face, from his eyes to cheeks and finally his favorite part, his lips. The both of you let out a big 'mwah' while kissing each other. The painter felt himself being more and more deeply in love with you as you gave him more of your attention and love.

"I love you, sweetheart. Thank you for being the man of my dreams." You sighed lovingly, now placing your head on his neck. Your husband just looks at you with adoration as he places a kiss on your forehead. "I love you too, my darling. My dearest, dearest darling."

Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites.

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕

[artethyst]

~ Shadows Bathed In Moonlight ~ Pt.1

Azriel x Youngest Archeron Sister! Reader/OC

“Azriel we have been over this,” Rhysand brought a hand to his face, slim digits ghosting across his jaw in deep thought. “It is out of my hands- you are forbidden from telling her. Do you understand?”

“Even you cannot forbid me from such a thing,” he let out a dark chuckle is disbelief. “Tell me, High Lord, why is it that two of my brothers have found their mate- free to accept the bond, and it is I left alone- in the dark? As usual.” The Shadowsinger’s voice dripped with venom, an uncharacteristic snarl on his face as his primal instincts took over, having no outlet for such scathing carnal desires- having been barred from even spending time with his Mate.

“Azriel, you know it is not the same.”

“How is it not the same?”

“She is still coming to terms with what happened to her- her powers are still out of control-”

“Then let me help her!”

“That is Cassian’s job.”

The two men became silent as a soft rap on the door signified them of a presence- her presence, Azriel noted, her soothing scent of fresh lillies and the first rain of spring overwhelming him as her angelically golden head poked through the door nervously.

He felt his lips tug at the corner at the sight of her, Rhysand giving him a warning look at the almost unnoticeable gesture.

Azriel. The familiar voice was strained. Leave us.

“I…I apologise for interrupting,” came her gentle voice, twinkling blue eyes apologetic as Azriel was forced to tear his own away, the golden thread that only he could see taunting him in glittering ocean of her iris.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” came the Shadowsinger’s smooth reply, bowing in such a way Rhysand knew his infamous patience had been worn thin. “High Lord.”

~

Azriel had not ventured far, his shadows, uncharacteristically disobedient, willing him to stay close enough to her- his Mate in an onyx haze of longing he was beginning to suffocate under.

He watched Rhysand leave first, jaw ticking as the male rounded the corner, anticipating his sister-in-law to follow in tow, her gossamer gown and its iridescent scintillation billowing around her like a halo.

He heard her gasp as one of them curled itself around her pointed ear, cursing beneath his breath, only to hear her giggle- a liberating sound that might have exalted him from the depths of his own hell, an angelic noise that could have him repenting on his knees just to hear a single note of.

“Azzie…” she smiled up at him, as he remained still- as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t- he had. “Your shadows are loose again!”

Only for you- ever for you, he wanted to say, words turning to ash quicker than the breath was stolen from his lungs at the sight of her.

He wished he could ask Feyre to immortalise the moment as she stood- tendrils of him dancing across her unblemished skin, their dark illimitability neither scaring nor disgusting her as her rosy cheeks widened, their vaporous talons ardently skimming over her guiltlessness.

“S-Sorry,” was all that came out, low and stuttered, his bronzed countenance flushing at his own weakness- thanking the mother Cassian was not around to tease him for it.

“Do you think they like me?” She teased, unaware of the true weight of her words, “they never seem to latch on to anyone else…” She trailed off as he called them back, unable to stomach the sight of her- so close and yet so far from him, in such a cruel display of fate.

“It is hard for anything not to.” He mused gently, not missing the way her rosebud lips parted, the saccharine scent of her own innate longing drifting up to him in taunting waves of arousal.

“Azriel-” She had not used his name- called him that for such a long time, her fair face falling as he stormed away, wondering what she had done- had said for him to treat her so callously.

Her hand was splayed out in a fruitless attempt to stop him from abandoning her and prevent him from vanishing entirely- a frustrating habit he adopted had as of recent, baring its ugly, wilted head whenever their conversations has begun to blossom beyond anything other than formality.

In the few years she had known him he had never acted in such a way, making her slowly retreat back into the self-loathing girl he had once culled from her self inflicted cage. His own heart lurched as he felt her through the unclaimed bond- suffering, again, because of him.

He had been the one to make her feel like she was home- that he might have even been it. Yet the retreating coils of his own darkness reminded her that he could never love her.

That she would never be enough for a man such as he.

And as her soul cried for him in a manner she had yet to recognise, his own howled back in a melancholic crescendo as he cursed the Mother for always deafening his heart’s symphony.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Tommy Shelby convincing his wife to stop being angry at him after an argument

Thank you again so much!

warnings: Reader is insecure and Tom is an ass still learning to love, fluff

“I’m not angry, I’m livid Thomas! You completely embarrassed me tonight, and had the audacity to place me at a dinner table with a woman that wants to fuck my husband!” He rolled his eyes carelessly, fully understanding why you were upset but denying the simple state of your feelings before raising his voice. “Maybe you would have understood had your simple mind set aside your inner personal problems and not been consumed by a ridiculous, saddening amount of jealousy!” You jaw dropped in astonishment at what he had said, before your anger mixed into sadness. Whipping your head around, you rushed out of the room, finding yourself taking solace in the bedroom.

He followed you, brushing his hand down his face in worry as he knew he had gone too far. You were just a delicate little thing that knew close to nothing about business but he hadn’t intended for her to be there at the meeting.

When he walked through the door and saw you sitting on the disheveled sheets, weeping into you palms, he knew he had gone too far and shouldn’t have raised his voice at you.

He knew you were a delicate little thing that could be insecure just based off of the previous women he had been involved with. Not only were they beautiful, but they also knew how to bargain and handle business affairs. But he had never, ever intended to throw your worries and concerns in your face in such a manner. He loved you deeply and was still learning how to show you, how to respect your boundaries. In his eyes you were his rock, the most beautiful woman in the world whom always treated him with such kindness and patience.

Taking his seat next to you on the mattress, he slowly attempted to place his arm around you but you nudged him away, not wanting a single thing to do with him at this very moment.

Sighing, his eyes scanned the room, contemplating the best way to handle this without screwing it up.

When he spoke, it was with sincerity, his voice was as soft as a loving dove. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to say that. With business comes hardships and we will fight. We will be mad at each other, most likely because of myself.” He heard you chuckle lightly through the tears, catching his attention.

“But I truly did not know she would be attending and I should have told you of her intentions.” Your cries were beginning to simmer down when you found the courage to turn toward him, staring into his blue eyes that radiated kindness, no anger apparent.

When he saw you tear-stained face he wanted to kick himself, to rewind and wish he had never even arranged this business deal at the expense of your feelings. His eyebrows furrowed together, his thumb tracing away your tears as his lips pursed together in regret.

“She smirked at me Thomas… She blatantly said to me in the kitchen she would win you over, she told me I was just a chess piece in a game I’d never understand nor win.” Thomas hadn’t known that, if he did he would’ve thrown them out of your home, had the whore walking home in fear for her life, taking everything from her in just a matter of minutes, completely demolishing any confidence or thought that she would have a chance with him.

His hand clenched together in anger while he tried to avoid becoming more aggressive than he had already been tonight. It was one thing to disrespect him, but you were far more important, and far more vulnerable at times than he was and he drew a line when it came to anyone speaking to his beloved wife in such disgust manner.

“Believe me when I say, this deal is off and you won’t ever see her again. The dumb blonde was talking out of her ass, and I will not stand for someone disrespecting my wife. She could never compete with my strong, loving, overly attractive Y/N. No woman would ever come between us my darling. Nonetheless, you are my rock, and have put up with the darkest sides of me and still choose to stand by me as I do you and that will never change my love.” A small smile formed on your face while the anger, and hatred in the room seemed to fade out, and simmer down.

Pulling you into his arms, you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his skin and the smell of cigarettes bringing immense comfort to your body, causing your bones to relax and not be so stiff and full of tension anymore.

He held you tight, rubbing slow circles over your back as he felt your breathing become more subtle and on track. From this moment forward he knew he had to do better, he didn’t want to imagine a life without you in it, he wouldn’t.

He had never felt so lucky to have you, and was still trying to change his ways for you, even if it was the slightest amount just to keep you near and dear at his side, just where had had wanted you. Placing a soft, chaste kiss to your silky, delicate skin as he hugged you tightly, brushing one hand through the strands of your hair lovingly while he whispered endless apologies, never wanting to upset you in this manner ever again.

[inkskinned]

im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

[elliesstrapon]

Swan princess

!Asshole Ellie Williams x Princess Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

✧˚ · . Summary: Your parents had you to be wedded by the time you each turned 20, they had you meet every summer until then, but you just couldn't stand her.

✧˚ · . Warnings: Ellie is a douch bag, rough sex, enemies to lovers, slow burn, erranged marriage, drinking, swearing, oral, over stimulation, eventual genuine wedding, Soulmates, Ellie hates you up until your both adults, major flashback, readers bipolar but i feel like this was me projecting, sorry 😭, NOT proofread.

I need all you to know this is pretty fucking long, feel free to take your time or skip &lt;3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Your first summer out of the castle when you'd turned 5. Your father held onto your hand reassuringly, pointing out at all the wonderful things you had yet to experience. His words you so vividly remembered along the lines of, "one day, this will all be yours to take care of" so sadly, the frown on his face one of the worst parts from those core memories. The rays of light hit your pearl pink dress, the sparkles shifting as you rode on the horse through what now had been the forest. "Papa, where are we going?" Your head turned back up to look at him, a cheerful smile upon your lips, your teeth crooked and white. "We, my dear daughter, are going to meet the one you shall marry one day." His eyes focused on the muddy path way, as you held onto your perfect dress so tightly in fear of it getting ruined by nature's mishaps. The memory had stopped, where what begun was the hatred between you and Ellie Williams.

For you remembered the look on her face when she'd met you. Your father pushed you towards the tall man with the girl behind him, urging you to say hello. The man'd done the same, an overjoyed toothy grin flashing on his face. "Who might this lovely young lady be?" Your dad inquired, just as happy as the man infront of you, "young princess Ellie, no doubt " He urged you again. You furrowed your brows at him angrily, taking the slightest step forward to the taller little girl who stood infront of you. "I'm Y/n" You gritted through your teeth, biting your bottom lip upsettingly, curtseying at everyone disposal. "It's a pleasure to meet you." You finished, a fake smile plastered on your face, pleading eyes for your father to take you back home. Ellie eyed you disgustingly, uninterested rolling her eyes back, the taller man pushing her forward closer. "Go on" he said angrily. "Joel!" She yelped. "Ellie." He eyed her. She scoffed, her attitude already unbearable. "It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.. Princess Y/n.... Ellie" she said poorly, introducing herself, her pinky finger digging in her ear, eyeing at it like it was all she had left to do. She turned back before the man flipped her around, roughly shoving her closer, his patience limited now. She sighed, going back to grab your hand, gently, something you hadn't expected from her insignificantly terrible mannerisms, her finger tips soft, she kissed the back of your hand, your heart had fluttered, from what you remembered, only for a slight second before she pulled away, sticking her tongue out and wiping her mouth, "Ugh, gross!" She cried. You rolled your eyes, the moment of whatever romance that'd be destined to start, passing like the speed of light.

The two of you stood there, your father's smiling at the "perfect match." all you could think about was how unpleasant she was, how she wouldn't understand you, how you absolutely despised her existence. The summer growing to be what you thought was the worst of your life span, the constant bickering and her heavy insults. You ran through the halls of her castle. Joel and your father having not understood nor notice the two of you constantly at eachothers throats. Your dress getting caught in the doors, and tripping over your slippers when she'd attacked you. "You're such a goody-two shoes!" She argued, your cheeks burning red from the running. "Shut it, Ellie" you spit at her. Your dress torn at the hem and your pink slippers stained with shoe marks on them from tripping over your feet. The rest of the summer lasted the exact same, every little thing she said annoying you, and every action you took, she wanted to intervene.

Soon enough more winters and summers went by before you were 12, hiding at the top of the tower, in your room dreading this summer. "Y/n! We can't keep Princess Ellie waiting any longer!" Your father called from the carriage at the bottom of the castle. "Ugh, please, she's barley even a princess!" You shouted angrily, eyeing him from the window, your hair tied into a braid and your nightgown hadn't changed. "I haven't even washed my hair nor changed"you gestured to your hair and clothes. "Gives you all the more reason to hurry" you heard the grin in his voice, causing you to smile the slightest. You redid your braid, finishing it off with a blue ribbon at the end, and quickly slipping on one of you're too many owned dresses. You pranced through the long historic hallways, waving small goodbyes to the servants who'd helped around the castle, leaving out the door to the garden. "Are you ready to leave?" Your father asked. "Yes" you sighed sadly, having to see Ellie again making you feel as if the world were ending. "I don't get why you dislike her so much, she's really such a lovely young lady." He frowned, entering the carriage with you. "Sure, if lovelys the word you wanna use." You groaned, "half the time the only thing she's doing is jumping at me every chance she gets to make my life horrible." Your dad smiled at you, saying you were over doing it. The ride to the neighboring kingdom was joyful, the sound of your laughter echoing through the windows. Once you'd arrived, you'd seen Ellie once more, no better than the previous summers, still as horrid as you remembered. "Hello, princess" she rolled her eyes, whispering into the ear of another girl beside her, it so clearly about you. "Princess Ellie." You gritted. "And who's this?" Your father smiled, Ellie's attitude being replaced with the innocent act she'd always put up to make you seem as if the bad guy. "This, is the friend I made last winter" she grinned. "Dina" she introduced her. You nervously waved at her, not earning much in return but a dirty look from Ellie, you clutched your dress, suddenly feeling very self conscious. "Well, what're we waitin' for? Les go!" Joel said with his thick accent, following him back to the all too familiar grand castle, lifting your dress as you walked over the muddy ground. You followed Ellie around the rest of the day, the two girls continuesly looking back at you as you acted like a dog, scolded if you sat out in the permanent room you had here during the summer. The sun reflected your shadows ever so often, "does she have to follow us around?" Dina turned around suddenly, weirdly annoyed with your presence, her red dress swaying with her hips as she turned. Ellie looked back, her ill-fitted dress steady as her shoes stepped on the hems. Tearing it like colored paper. "I wish she didn't, it's a shame I have to marry her" she said angrily, grabbing Dina's hand, pulling her along to show her the tree house that was supposedly in the field behind the castle, whispering about it as if you couldn't hear them.

You followed them to the tree house, far behind, you almost didn't wanna go into the tree house, till you saw it, it hadn't been there last summer. You ran softly on the grass, attempting to catch up to the girls, finally getting to the ladder, it began to float up, realizing the girl with a dark haired messy ponytail was pulling it up. She darted her eyes at you. "Snowflakes aren't allowed up in this treehouse" she said distinctively. "Oh, fuck you!" You yelled. Giving them the finger you walked off annoyed. "What's her problem?" Dina raised her brow at Ellie, "Dunno, she's like short tempered or whatever" Ellie chuckled, watching you storm off.

When you turned 17, you had your first royal ball, "Ellie!" You called, walking to her room at the very end of the hallway on the very last floor of the castle, you turned the door knob, opening the door aggressively to see her in her loose dress as it'd always been, practicing her archery on an ill drawing of you from when you were 10. "Oh, real mature" you said angrily. "Yeah whatever." She stuck her tongue out at you, you walked towards the target of you, your blue and fancy ruffley dress following closely behind you as your heels clicked hollowly against the old floors of the castle. Your hair effortlessly soft. You ripped it off the wall. "Hey!! What the hell's your problem?!" She spat. "You're a fucking child is my problem." You rolled your eyes tearing it. "What do you even want?" She got up angrily. "The ball" you muttered. "That's tonight?" She gasped. "Yes, everyone knew that" you fixed the straps of her dress unconciously, her breath hitched, suddenly flinching your hand away "get out, I'll fix it myself, I wasn't even gonna wear this" she muttered. "Jeez fine, the one time I try being nice and all you ever do is be a total douche." You outed the room, flattening the lacey blue ruffles of your dress, adjusting your gold heart shaped locket and your finished hair. You walked down the hall once more, waiting for your fiance to open her eyes and act like the princess she really was whether she liked it or not. You found yourself at the entrance of the castle, a strongly built woman guarding the gate. "Strong arms, huh?" You smirked up at her, her face flushing, "Princess." She averted her eyes, meanwhile Ellie watching from afar with Dina. "God she's always flirting with those damned guards" she huffed, the giggling of you and the guard filling the room. "Why care so much? What, you like her?" Dina said, brushing the lose strands of hair from her face. "God no" she said annoyed, fixing her new suit. "Sure seems like it" Dina scoffed. "She can flirt with who she wants" Dina defended you. "Whatever" you turned to see the girls eyeing you warily for you had no clue as to why. You brushed your hand off the guards arm, kissing her cheek. "Guys let's go, we'll be late." You waved your arm at them, calling them over as they obeyed. "Alright Papa! We can go" you shouted to the topless carriage outside. "Perfect, darling!" He smiled, patiently waiting, you carefully lifted your dress running to the cart. Leaving Ellie behind. "You like her" Dina teased. "Oh fuck off, I've hated that ‘ Little Ms. Perfect ’ since I was 5, thats not about to change now just because she went from some annoying ugly duckling to a fucking goddess...or.. whatever." Dina chuckled, "like a swan?" She pressed. "Yeah whatever you wanna call it." She walked to the cart quickly behind you now to catch up, smiling at your father. "Took you long enough" you said. "Shut up" she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "We're already to leave!" Your dad called to the people in front, controlling the horses.

You drove up to your palace, the towns people, hundreds, of them cheerfully smiling, waving, throwing flowers from their own gardens, you couldn't help but flash a toothy smile, waving back and holding the hands of the little children being held upon shoulders of their parents, a few sending weird stares at you as Ellie stuck up her two fingers behind your head, mocking you, making some of the kids laugh. "Hey!" You turned, arms over your chest, "will you quit it?! God your frustrating" you sighed, melting back into the leather seats of the carriage.

Soon you'd pulled up at the gates of your castle, the horses in the stable causing a racket, and the ball gowns visible from the windows you'd seen from outside. The dim lights romantic, Ellie exited the carriage after your father, Joel waiting for Ellie to turn and help you down, she ran her hands through her hair annoyedly, grabbing your hand gently helping you down. Your heart fluttering the same the day you'd met when she kissed your hand, despite the hatred you had towards her, your locket glistened under the moon light, and the pins in your hair reflecting the moon itself. "Thank you, but I could've done it myself" you pushed her hand away. Walking alone to the entrance, walking in as the guards at the door opened it for you, you winked at them, the beads of sweat rolling down their heads. "Such a beautiful young women she's becoming" Joel smiled, Ellie turning her head from your direction, the poof of your dress following the move of your hips. "Indeed she is" your dad agreed.

As you entered the ball room, royal families you'd thought close to you came to greet you, compliments being thrown from every direction, the colours of the gowns bright and warming. "So... you and Ellie, huh?" A girl in green said. "Not as charming as everyone thinks" you rolled your eyes. "She's absolutely horrid." Your hands rested in your hips, suddenly warm breath tickling your neck. "Horrid my ass," she came from behind you, aggressively whispering in your ear her complaints. "Attitude problems I tell ya' " she pushed you aside gently. "You would think someone as pretty as her has a pretty personality too, but wasn't raised right... clearly " she sheepishly smiled at you. Your hands fisting the fabric of your dress in the palm of your hand as the girls gawked at her disrespect towards you, throwing shame at your name. "Fuck you" you mouthed to her, walking away annoyed.

You found yourself flirting with the princesses of every country, each one of them better than the last much like the last glass of wine you drank unsupervised. The shawl on your shoulders slipping off, the freckles and goosebumps appearing so clearly. "Look.. I'd give anything to sleep with you, but aren't you betrothed to her excellency, Ellie?" The girl respectfully asked concerned. "Who cares, everyone knows it won't work out." You grabbed her slim waist, suddenly your father tapping your shoulder. "The slow dance, dear." He grabbed your available hand, you measly let go of the girls pink dress, a look of dismay on her face. You internally yelling inside your head at the thought of marrying this woman. Your dad helped you your way to Ellie, her tall muscular build in the center of the room, standing there dreading your hands on her body. "Now don't make a scene, be professional" your dad warned, placing your hand upon Ellies shoulder, taking the empty wine glass from you, "fine... god" you looked up at Ellie, her gaze away from yours as her hands slid down to your waist, holding you firmly. Your hands only placed hesitantly on her padded shoulders.

"Sorry" she apologized, moving her hands gesturing she didn't mean to be weird. "Ellie Williams, THE Ellie Williams apologizing" you teased, her look still distant "would you look at me? No one'll believe your poor excuse of whatever the hell this is" you complained, your hand cupping her cheek, pulling her face to look at you as the band played a soft spoken song. "This is shit" she whispered. "Yeah, well they're all watching, so shut up and pretend you love me for the next annoyingly long 3 minutes of our dumb lives" you said, moving your feet slowly with hers in sync. She looked into your eyes, you realizing just how vivid her green eyes were, suddenly just noticing all the small details of her face, like the mole under her eye, or the scar on her eyebrow, even how uneven her side part was, you almost laughed in her face.

You upside down smiled, cheekily looking away, "what now" she asked, her brows furrowing. "Nothing, nothing" you waved your hand dismissively. "Yeah whatever" softly laughing along with you, not helping herself. For a short period her hands on your hips sent butterflies surging through your stomach, her breath upon your forehead giving you goose bumps as you twirled and spun around the room, your dress swinging satisfyingly as you forgot the crowd of people around you. "You know, your presence currently is... slightly more tolerable than usual." You whispered, "That so true, now?" She widened her eyes, spinning you into a dip on the slow and steady beat of the song. "Surprisingly." You giggled, admiring the equivalent of stars splattered across her scab cut face from training, your heart increasing every so slightly. You almost felt yourself falling for her like a fool. "If you weren't such a massive whore and flirt to every girl you met I might've actually been in love with you by n—"

"Excuse me?" You interrupted her. Angrily, stepping on her foot. "Ow— what the fuck?" She yelped. "'No what the fuck'd you just call me?" You let go of her immediately. The gaze of people returning to just you. "Well I'm not wrong." She admitted honestly. "Oh yeah— as if you don't do the same, Ellie!" You cried, pushing her away, almost tripping over your dress. "Why do you always do this?! What's your fucking issue? Can you not act like a decent human being for once?" You rolled your eyes, crossing your hands over your chest as she stared at you almost fearfully. "The only reason you're fucking dance with me is because if you didn't we'd both get shit for it! To think I almost fell for that shitty act of yours." Your eyes started to swell up with tears glistening in the light threatening to spill. "No fucking shit! Why'd I like you if you're always being like this?"

You scoffed, "Fuck you, Ellie." You pulled your laced shawl back up your shoulders, holding it firmly as you ran to your room.

That night you watched Ellie shamefully leave in her fathers carriage, Dina beside her worriedly holding her hand in attempt to relax her, a frown on your face as you'd waved goodbye, you entered inside, your father calmly rubbing your back. "I want to break off the engagement." You said sternly. "But—"

"No!" You bursted, the tears rolling down your cheek onto your already tear stained ball gown. "I don't care about out legacy— we'll get someone else to take over, I refuse to wed her. Do you not understand the severity of what she said to me, father?!" You cupped your mouth, muffling the sobs, your breaths quick and weak.

"At least just give it another year, my love, please consider" your father frowned, the wrinkles on his face increasing by the years. "Love has it's ups and downs, this is bound to happen through your marriage" he tried to reason. "Not when you refuse to do what it takes to fix it." You wiped your nose. Your cheeks red and your eyes puffy. "I'll give it another summer" you reckoned, "but one more slip up of hers and I'm done for." You darted your eyes, your tone serious.

"Very well, my dear" he hugged you, whispering a low "I love you"

"I love you too" you hugged him back, holding back the frustration tears.

You wanted to lose your mind atleast a hundred and fifty times before meeting Ellie again. The dreaded summer you'd not been waiting for, not by a long shot. Your father repeatedly thanked you, the carriage dropping you at the front gate of the castle with your dad. Joel standing smiling at you, Ellie up in the castle possibly spying on your every move, and if she was, you wouldn't have been surprised. "I'm really, really sorry for the way things endin' " he apologized, hugging you closely. "Don't worry Joel, it was a misunderstanding.. You know.. like Papa says.." you chuckled, the stupidity of last year's events getting to your head. You stepped foot inside the castle, barley missing anything about it but the guards. "Ellies up inner' room if you wanna go.. y'know" he pointed to the grand staircase. Your father gave you the look, where you didn't have to go, but if you didn't, the disappointment would be unbearable.

You went up the steps to the last floor, out of breath your 2 inch heels making you wobble, you found yourself hesitating at the door, unable to turn the knob before you heard the sound of suckling, heavy breaths, and deep sighs, you almost felt you were about to throw up. The anger boiling inside you, you could've just left, slept it out, or argued with her, tiring her out instead. You aggressively pushed open the door, nearly breaking your nails, the sight of a woman on top of Ellie, her nightgown barley even worn on her body anymore and the soft fingers of Ellie's you'd felt one too many times on your body for your comfort on the girls hips. "This just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn't it?!" You exclaimed angrily. "Fuck." Ellie sighed, her eyes wide as the woman got off top of her, adjusting her lingerie before rushing out clumsily. "What the fuck do you want?" She got up, sitting straight, all left of her, her loose strapped bra. "What do I want?" You mimicked her, suddenly stomping towards a pair of clothes, throwing at her almost bare chest, you grabbed her as she finished clothing, gripping her forearm tightly, you dragged her downstairs, the sound of your loose dress waving in the air and your breaths heavy, you stopped at 2 of the 3 dining rooms until you found your father. "I'm out!" You complained. "I refuse to marry her, I'm done." Your tiara crooked off the top of your head, Ellie gave you a dirty look. Pushing you off of her. "But —" you continued. "I'm not going to marry someone who doesn't love me" you hallored. Throwing her an angry and disapproved look. "I want to leave, and I never want to see her face again unless it's news of whoever she's betrothed to next cause they're in for a rude awakening." You insulted. Not a word escaping her lips, but a few gasps from Joel. His heart along with your father's crumbling to the ground like a shattered plate. "I'm sorry Papa, but I can't." You sighed. "I'd like a carriage to bring us home as early as possible, we have important decisions to make, I'd rather be in the comfort of our castle rather than a scums." You walked to your room. Packing the things you'd left during the winters for the summer, all of it coming to an end. It almost made you upset, you were overjoyed, yet angry, at how you almost fell for her, if she hadn't said what she did that day at the ball, you would've sworn you'd forgotten the rotten history of your past.

The next morning you left, concluding the last time you had seen Princess, Ellie Williams, your ex fiance.

You hadn't seen Ellie in two years, and if you were being honest, your life had become healthier. It was like it'd always been but without the stress of Ellie constantly making your life a living hell, you'd been in a few relationships, none of them lasting and neither one of them being ‘the one’, you picked up on your hobbies, helped your father around the town, rebuilding the castle and re-doing your room, and at the very best making friends of your own.

"Princess" the guards entered the dining room as you read a book, munching on freshly picked strawberries from the garden out back. "Yes?" You smiled, turning your head to look at her. "One of your friends are here, requesting to see you" the guard said. "Oh thank you, tell her I'll be there in a second" you stood up, patting your pink dress of the strawberry seeds, closing your book. "Very well, your excellency" the gaurd rushed away, leaving you adjusting you hair before walking through the halls rapidly to see your bestfriend.

"y/n!" She shouted, waving at you, her pale dress falling beneath her ankles and her cardigan slipping off her shoulders. "Elisa!" Your lips growing into a grin, "I didn't know you were coming!" You ran towards her, engulfing her in a well needed hug, "you didn't get my letter?" She giggled. "Goodness, no." Your arms fell from her waist, playing with her hair. "What a surprise!" You squealed. "No! The surprise is what I have to tell you!" She grabbed your wrists, her smile wide. "I just had to tell you in person!" She said. "Must be important, huh?" You said, pulling her inside the castle, your dresses meshing against eachother. "What is it?" You asked, taking her out to the garden. "Well.." she began, you took your seats at the small table centered with a bouquet of lilies. "The neighboring kingdom.." she began, your heart skipping the beat at the sound of it. "Y'know.. King Joel, princess Ellie.." you scoffed. "Some princess" you rolled your eyes. "No, but, listen!" Elisa waved her hands, "they're hosting a ball, every royal, andd towns people invited she exclaimed excitingly, her, herself just a wealthy towns person. "Oh, goodness," you paused, "in what honor?" You asked curiously, "Princess Ellie hasn't found someone to marry yet, Kind Joel's saying there hasn't been one perfect match since.." she trailed off. "Not surprised." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "What's it to do with me, though?"

"wanna come as my plus one? Just for fun! Of course" she asked overjoyed. "Elisa.. I don't know.. you know how things ended—" you said, resting your head on your hand. "Please! We'll stay away from her at all costs." She begged you. You pondered over the decision, looking for reasons you should and shouldn't be going before deciding it might've been fun. "Fine!" You said warmly, "but if anything goes wrong.."

"I know!" She smiled. "Alright," you agreed "it's tomorrow night, you might want to get ready" she said, getting up quickly. "Now I've got to go get prepped. I'll see you tomorrow?" She pushed in her chair. "Sure will, need me to see you out?" You asked. "Nope, all good, I've been here so many times I know the hallway like the back of my hand...... Sort of" she waved you off as a guard took her away. You stared into the distance, watching the geese and doves fly profusely over the sunset, suddenly feeling like going for a late night walk in the woods outside the town.

You found your way around the castle to your father, asking him for a dress fitting early tomorrow. Afterwards going onto put a long warm coat, white fluff fulfilments along the rim of the sleeves and hoodie, a moon stone as the button that clipped at the top. The coat itself a heavenly blue. You'd left the castle, quietly walking through the town, street lights flickering and the youngest little children running around in packs as their parents watched over them, curstying after you.

You watched the constellations ever so brightly in the sky, everyone of them dusted across the midnight blue, the sparkles of them vividly reminding you of Ellie's freckles, you subconsciously counted them the summers you met her. It made you sick. Moreso the thought of having to see her again rather than counting the freckles new every year. In some ways, you felt crushed by how you so easily could've moved on from the one you were ‘destined’ to marry, break it off, and still not have found love. It was like a curse, thinking of how in every universe, you hated her guts.

You're gaze softened at the lake you'd come to just through the forest , 2 swans tangled in eachothers embrace, their feathers white as snow, a heart lazily untangling as they swam side by side, neither one of them moving further apart than 3 inches from eachother. You sighed. Looking at the locket you'd owned since 15, it heart shaped, a swan engraved on it. "Oh how I love swans" you whispered. You made your way up to the castle a little more than an hour later, the moon fully above, it reflecting off of windows you stepped by.

Once you woke up in the morning, you'd gotten your dress fitting done, choosing a baby blue ball gown, the sleeves falling elegantly off the shoulders, lace and jewels falling across the corset of the dress, pearl necklaces to go with the locket you held so dearly, and glittery high heels. You'd gotten your hair done not far long after, your white and silky house coat sliding against your hair softly, the maid had put your hair in a half up-half down look, strands of hair still lazy left out, framing the shape of your face precisely the way you had liked it, she finished it off with a jeweled tiara matching your gown.

The day'd passed the sunset almost upon you, as you looked into the vanity in your room, your heart beating fast as you slipped on your gown, you maid behind you tightening your corset, tieing elegant bows, you adjusted your sleeves, "Miss, are you alright?" The maid asked, concern in her voice as she massaged your shoulders, watching as your gaze became saddened and saddened the more time went on. "Oh, no I'm fine.. Please, tell the guards to tell Elisa that I'll be down as soon as possible when she gets here." The maid left the room, you put on cherry red lipstick, focusing so quickly on making it perfect, you watched your lips move around blending it out to be softer. "I can't believe I'm doing this" you groaned, slipping on your heels gently, walking out to see Elisa in a bright pink dress, a boa slinking off her shoulders the radiant white fluff falling across her chest, diamonds hanging from her neck and ears. Her hair in a clean bun. "You ready to go?" She said, grabbing your arm as you walked up to her. "You look beautiful" you smiled. Dismissing the question. "Thank you" she blushed. "I was hoping I'd meet someone there tonight, it means a lot you think that" "no of course, I get it" you rubbed her arm with your thumb, circling in the same spot. You hoping you'd meet someone as well.

The carriage drove you through the dark night passing the same lake with the partnered swans, from the night before. "You looking to settle down?" you asked, hands resting on your lap. "I think so, I wanna have children so bad, and I need their future parent to treat them just as well as I would" she stared at her hands "all I really want is a family" the cold coming from her mouth. "I'm betting you'll meet someone amazing" you assured her. The trees swayed in the winds, your hair blowing along with the rhythm of it all, strolling through the ghost town that you'd remembered so full when your enemy wasn't foolishly inviting every person to exist to this horrid ball. You found yourselves at the gate. The castle lit and decorated with bright and gorgeous lanterns. You both thanked the guards.

You shivered walking to the big doors that's been open. Guards greeting every new person to have walked in. "They'll be here all night" you whispered to Elisa. "Sure will" she said, sorry for them.

You walked in the ball room, Elisa disappearing from your arm as soon as you did. "Typical" you sighed. Walking measly around the room, your gown brushing against the others. Feeling small in the crowd. You stood at the food table, eating the crab cakes like your last dinner, stuffing in two at a time before catching a glimpse of a tall build, her hair short, the same hairstyle as you, and her suit dark, a blue rose in her pocket. Talking to a few of the females, the freckles and eyebrow scar unmistakable. You're breath hitched, gulping down the remaining crab cakes, you felt faint, she looked so mature, her smile bright, yet her eyes hiding a subtle hint of pain you'd only notice if you'd known someone for years, regardless how much you hated them. Tucking the loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes suddenly widening before you realized she'd seen you. "Shit" you muttered, she waved off the women excusing herself to walk towards you.

She stopped a few inches from you, averting her eyes from yours as she bowed, a gasp escaping your coated red lips. "Princess" her voice cracked. "Yes— uh, Princess... Ellie" you curtseyed. "You look... Beautiful" she breathed. Gently grabbing your hand to kiss it softly. "Thank you— Did you happen to hit your head or something" you pulled your hand away quickly away from her lips. "You're acting... Strange" you let out a breath you had no clue you'd been holding in for so long. "How so?" She raised a brow. "You're not acting like you hate my guts." You said. "Who said I didn't?" She crossed her arms. "What? So that's changed now cause I'm, ‘beautiful’?" You spat. " 'That such a bad reason?" She scrunched her nose subconsciously, wiping it with her hand. "Get your head out of the gutter Ellie." You stomped away, "fuck" she whispered.

You still unable to wrap your head around when she'd become so.. odd? You flew around the ball room, every 30 minutes seeing her eye you from across the room. As if some kind of snack, you began to feel creeped out, her whispers to an oh so grown up Dina always beginning after she saw your face. Soon you found her asking you to dance. "Ellie, if you're only going to like me because of my looks.. I don't want you to like me at all" you sighed, taking a step back. "Especially considering our history, I mean what is this? 15 years of constant torture and insults being thrown at me for it to just suddenly change? I can't do it Ellie, I really just can't" you said, turning around for a split second, before she hooked her slender hand around your forearm, the slow dance beginning as she pulled you into her, her hand firmly on your waist and the other holding your other hand just above your shoulders. You sighed, "Ellie —" annoyed. "What else?" You said, she held you close, deja vu hitting you like a carriage door, while she span you around the room, the crowd almost not there, you gazed deeply into her eyes. "What else?" She raised a brow confused. "Is beauty all that matter to you?" You asked, pained. "What? No—" she choked on her words. "That's not—"

"Then what else?" You grip on her hand tightening significantly. "I don't know— I mean—" she bit her bottom lip. "No Ellie— save it." You stopped her. "You don't get to do that" you darted your eyes at her, the hatred building up with every step you took, you began to feel frustrated. "Do what?!" She raised her voice ever so slightly, no one heard over the band. "You don't get to like me because I'm fucking attractive now to you. That's just not fair." Before you could react, she grabbed your arm painfully, pulling you of the crowd of people, she dragged you down the hall, unable to free from her grip, you tripped over your gown. "Ellie what the hell!!" You cried, playing with her hand to get you off just before you'd got thrown into the tea room you'd remembered not to fondly, she locked the doors. "Ellie open that goddam door—"

"Would you just listen to me?!" She yelled, you quickly walked up to her, stumbling over your heels as you grabbed the collar of her suit, the blue rose falling from it. "You don't get to have me listen to you! Ellie, I hate you! And you threw this ball so you could find a wife, I am not going to play that roll again, just becau—"

She threw you onto the couch, your big dress wrinkling against it as she pinned you down, her arms caging your head from escape like an animal. You let a gasp escape your mouth. Your heels falling off of your feet in the uncomfortable position. "It's not because of your fucking looks! Y/n!" She confessed. Her one arm falling to her side. "It's the fucking history" her lips trembled. "We spent our whole lives together knowing one day all thats around us would be ours to rule, together." she said. "You know my worst fears, goddamn it, and you threw it away just like that." Your breath hitched. "And I know everything there is to know about you, whether I hate you or not." Her arms at your hips now, subconsciously caging you in again. "Those two years I didn't see you, I thought I missed messing with your fuckin' head and flaring your anger up like I was those 15 years, but I really just missed seeing the one person I spent every summer with up until I turned 18" you felt offended, her back handed compliments confusing you. You sat up warily, watching her gaze turn to guilt as you propped your elbow up against the head of the couch. "What the fuck" you breathed. Her face just inches apart from yours that you could feel her heavy breaths up against your lips. "Ellie—" you groaned. "So what are you saying? You're in love with me? After all that?" You scoffed in disbelief. "Yes!" She cried. Your heart pounded at your chest, the warmth between you suddenly growing hotter. You couldn't understand anything, grasp the situation at hand before you reached your hand up to her cheek, cupping it softly before connecting your lips that were inches apart just a few mere seconds ago. You roughly bit down on her lip, the sexual tension flying off the walls. "What're you doing?" She muffled a moan into the kiss, surprised as she gripped your hips. "Fuck you" you whispered, shoving your tongue in her mouth exploring every inch of her as she delicately whined, her embrace tightening. You lazily pushed her down, hovering above her, "all that shit just for this" you breathed, hooking your lips onto her soft freckled skin, leaving a wet trail across her neck, while you undid her button up, the sounds of her heavy breaths and sighs filling up the room, you sucked at her skin. "Fuck" she whined. Messily gripping a handful of your hair as the sticky path of saliva continued down her collar bone, stationd between her breasts. You abruptly stopped, struggling to undo the bows of your corset. Ellie looked up to you with pleading eyes, "lemme—" she heaved, flipping you over, your clothed ass up on her crotch while you held your hair to your shoulder, her fingers unintertwining the ribbons. You sat on your knees, she trailed kisses down the back of your neck, each and every one rougher than the last, your dress slipping off by the second before she threw it to the ground leaving you with only your panties left. "Shit" she whispered as you turned over, pulling her in desperatly, tugging at her lips between your front teeth. "You're so beautiful" she admittedly whispered between breaks. "Thank you" you, you smirked against her lips. You sat on her lap, sucking at her tongue, her hands roaming your body entirely, she played with your boobs, all the thoughts leaving your mind as you threw your head back. "Fuck, Ellie" you moaned. Her wet kisses filling the room with sinful noises.

Her tongue flicked at your hard bud, it only standing more as she sucked at it, toying with the other one while she still squeezed your plush hips.

"I need you" her lips meeting your stomach, butterflies in your lower abdomen began to scour, the heat between your legs only growing stronger as she praised you, worshipping your body like a goddess. "Why are you like this" your jaw dropped, her hands suddenly palming you through your panties, already soaking, moans escaping from your red stained lips, that matched the pair all over Ellie's neck and jaw.

"Lay down" she demanded, squeezing your ass cheek. You immediately layed yourself beside her, her head stationed between your legs as she looked up at you hungrily, a face you'd never seen her make at you before, she kissed the inside of your thighs, biting at them like dessert as her fingers gently rubbed at your throbbing pussy, your panties still unmoving, "mmh~" you muffled, the hickys between your legs butterfly shaped, she continued to rub at your sweet spot, playing with the tangles in your hair as she kissed you softly. Your heart collapsed in on itself, the gentleness something youd never experienced before. "You're being so... So sweet" you heaved into the kiss, staining her lips in lipstick as she rubbed faster. "You deserve it" she smirked against the kiss, leaving more around the rest of your face. The ball room music faintly heard from outside, your mouth formed an ‘O’ as she lowered her head again. Your conversations severly uncoordinated, responding to questions with only moans and whines. She slipped off your panties, only lowering them as far as your knees, "I'm gonna make you never want to leave this room" she kissed your hickey covered thigh again, before nuzzling your clit with her tongue, you flinched at the contact, an overwhelming pleasure washing over you as your legs shaked, leaving her holding your hips down. You felt your walls tighten, she swirled her tongue, every muscle causing you to tense up, her tongue only deepening. "Oh god—" you reclined back, her teeth softly nipping your pussy. "Feel good, princess?" She said. Rubbing your inner thigh reassuringly as she suckled "fuck, yes, Ellie" you whined. The pressure in your stomach building up, "I'm so... Fuck—!!" She slid against your walls, you cupped her hair, thrusting your hips into her tongue, desperately wanting to release the knot. Your wet folds quivering. "Please, Ellie—" you begged, vibrating underneath her touch. She fingered your clit, eating you out both at once. "Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie!!" You cried you repeated her name like a god. Giving into your pleasurous desires, the creamy white substance leaking down your thigh "shit!" You cried, all she did praising you through your orgasm, just for her fingers to not lift off once. Still her slender fingers pounding inside of you quickly, the slaps of skin filling the room like paddy-cake.

She sat you on her lap again, grinding your hips over her hand, having you ride her as she moved your waist herself, you too weak, for your second orgasm to wash over you, the couch damp in your liquids. "You're doing so good" she whispered, your fingers digging into her skin like daggers. Your heavy breaths drawn over the music. You came again. Your head falling into her shoulder, she tucked the strands of messy hair off your face, tears staining your Rosey cheeks, and her clothes stained in your cum.

"Oh god.."

PART 2?

I got so lazy towards the end out of fear people would get impatient!! Especially since I promised to post yesterday!! Either way, I will edit eventually if people want me too! I'll be posting part to in the next few days! <33

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Shorts: Three’s a Crowd but Four’s a Party

I decided to pick the Wake Up series back up as per Monster anon’s fun request to have a Pickle x reader x Jack. And I thought I should add Hanayama in that mix.

So enjoy!

“Jack is going to be fighting that caveman from the news.” A young man’s voice whispered in (your name)’s ear. The young woman sighed in annoyance.

“I don’t know why that has anything to do with me.” (Your name) responded to Jack’s half brother, Baki. Lately the redhead has been texting and calling her on Jack’s behalf. But to be fair, she did block Jack. She was ready to shut that chapter in her life but Jack wasn’t budging.

The blonde refused to sign the divorce papers and he demanded that she came back home. It’s been a stressful last few weeks.

She saw Kaoru here and there. Kaoru may have been a busy man, but he still made time for her. He’d take her on extravagant dates and sightseeing. Kaoru made her world bright again and she found herself slowly falling for his never ending affections… (your name) enjoyed being spoiled for a change.

But she did try to put in equal effort. She didn’t shy away from his kisses nor when he held her hand under the table during meals. He made her heart race again. (Your name) could really see herself with him, despite him being a few years younger than her.

Despite his career as a crime boss, he was surprisingly soft with her. It wasn’t uncommon for him to lay beside her on his bed with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.. Kaoru didn’t push past her boundaries and was satisfied with small kisses and soft touches. She was surprised with how gentle he was being to her despite his hot pursuit prior. Maybe it had something to do with when she shared with him that she’s never been intimate with anyone before, not even Jack… either way, she was appreciative of Kaoru’s patience.

Kaoru told her that this side of him was specifically reserved for her. It made her feel special… she had wished Jack had reserved this sort of warmth for her… maybe then she wouldn’t be in her early twenties and already getting a divorce (or trying to at least).

(Your name) stretched her arms over her head with a yawn. Should she go see Jack and talk to him? Or should she sleep some more? From the way Baki’s voice sounded, it sounded like Jack needed support. And she knew she still loved him. Some small piece of her would always love Jack.

“(Your name)? Are you still there?” Baki’s voice drew her from her musings. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. She almost lost herself down memory lane there for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here.” (Your name) softly muttered, she heart a deep breath being taken in by Baki on the other line.

“Look… I don’t know what’s going on between you two but… Jack misses you.” Baki whispered like it was a secret he shouldn’t be sharing. “I know he’s emotionally constipated but he loves you. I-“

“That’s enough, Baki.” (Your name) interrupted Baki with a shaky breath. “I’ll come.”

“Will you? Thank you. I’ll let him know-“

“But this is the only time.” (Your name) replied softly. Yes… one time. This is a one time deal and then she’d be a free woman.

“I understand. Have a good one, (your name).” Baki then hung up the line, which left (your name) to decide whether or not she wanted to tell Kaoru about this.

She decided to text her potential beau of this outing as she slipped on a light jacket over her tank top and shorts. She was sure he’d be understanding once she explained how this may be her only opportunity to get Jack to sign the papers.

(Your name) sent Kaoru a long text with a smile. Maybe once the divorce was finally over with, the two of them could be official? That was a nice thought.

Sadly it was an unrealistic one. Jack wasn’t quite willing to let her go so easily… and neither was his opponent.

.

.

.

(Your name)’s hands covered her mouth at the sight before her. There was blood all over the arena and a slumped over Jack.

A strangled cry escaped her lips from Jack’s appearance. The skin from the lower half of his face was missing as well as many of his teeth.

Without another thought, she ran towards her fallen husband, unaware of the caveman who had spotted her. An amused rumble left his lips, his golden eyes fixated on her.

(Your name)’s hands brushed against Jack’s bare abdomen, tears gathered in her eyes at the sight of him. Jack was decimated by the caveman… he was just barely breathing.

“Jack?” She softly whispered, her eyes glanced at the blood on his fingers. He must have tried puncturing the caveman’s ear drums with his fingers… of course Jack would plan to do something so savage.

A large shadow loomed over her as a growl escaped the chest of Jack’s assailant.

“Get away from her, Pickle!” Baki shouted as she whipped her head around to come face to face with Pickle.

Pickle’s eyes were wide at the tears that streamed down her face, the cave man’s breath hitched. Why did she cry? Was the blonde her mate? He was a terrible mate if he was.

Pickle reached a clawed finger out to try to brush away her tears, his own started to fall from his face. Was she lonely like him?

(Your name)’s eyes widened when Pickle began to cry. Her hands slowly rose up to touch his pretty face, Pickle leaned into her touch with a purr.

He defeated her mate so that made her his. He was stronger so he would be more suitable for her. Or at least that’s what made sense to Pickle.

Pickle put his hands around her body and brought her closer to him, the fetid smell from his mouth almost caused her to hurl. Pickle smelled like something died… and maybe something did inside of his mouth.

She could see bits of skin in his teeth and without a doubt in her mind, she knew it was Jack’s. The horrid sight made her body freeze up like ice. She wasn’t sure what to do, she might be eaten right here…

Pickle brought her head close to his nose, a bit of his drool fell from his mouth and onto the skin of her arm. This was it… she was going to die.

And then Pickle sniffed her with a happy hum of contentment. The caveman then buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. She smelled so nice… it wasn’t an overpowering scent but it was delicate. It wasn’t anything Pickle has ever smelled before and he liked it.

Pickle was about to lick her but (your name) shot her arm out to prevent him from being able to touch her more. Her fingers ran through his scalp as she tried to push him back.

A range of excited noises spilled from Pickle’s lips. Did she want to check his hair for bugs? He’d let her!

Pickle put her down and bent down to her level, he cooed at her to continue to pet him. The caveman’s foot bounced each time her small fingers ran through his scalp. This was lovely… he was so happy to have found her.

“It seems Pickle likes her…” Tokugawa muttered to Baki while paramedics took Jack away. “How do we proceed? I don’t know if he’s going to give her back…”

Baki frowned. He hadn’t invited (your name) here to meet Pickle. He wanted her and Jack to work things out… and now he had just made the situation even worse…

“We’ll figure it out.” Baki muttered with a sigh. He really hoped nothing happened to (your name)…

(Your name) noticed how everyone left her to fend for herself with Pickle, but the caveman made no move to release her. It would appear she’d have to be here for awhile…

Pickle growled when she looked away from him a goofy grin on his lips once her attention was fully on him again. He was sure she’d be a good mate. All she needed to do was accept him. He’d protect her from everything.

.

.

.

(Your name) was stuck with Pickle and she had no way of contacting Kaoru to help her out. So she was forced to lay in Pickle’s arms as he rocked her back and forth like a prized possession. Perhaps in his mind, he rightfully won her? She wasn’t sure how Pickle’s mind worked.

She had tried to slip away from him a few times now but he would wail loudly and flail his arms around like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Pickle would not let her leave.

She glanced over to see the familiar figure of Jack begin to approach them in shock. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?

She watched Pickle jump up to his feet in shock, the cave man scooped her up in one arm to keep her safe. He had to keep her safe… from the wasp.

Jack made a sound from under his bandage but (your name) couldn’t understand him. His eyes seemed to hold some sort of emotion in them but she didn’t have time to figure out what it was.

Pickle fled from Jack with (your name) held tightly in his arms while Jack gave pursuit.

(Your name) felt like she had another head from how the crowd’s eyes were on her, Pickle, and Jack. Perhaps it was a strange sight to see a prehistoric man that held her in his arm while he ran from a man wrapped in bandages.

Pickle set her down, a loud snarl left his throat as he turned to face Jack. Jack made an incoherent noise, his eyes on her for just a moment.

But his eyes told her exactly what he had tried to say… run. Jack wanted her to run.

Pickle noticed how the two of them looked at each other. The caveman puffed out his chest and growled even louder.

Pickle then sent a punch at Jack that made the blonde spin like a wheel, Jack crashed his head into the ground with a loud smack. The bandages unraveled from his face to reveal the damage.

(Your name) put her hands over her mouth, the tears poured from her eyes. Why was Jack doing this to himself? He was going to die at this rate. She turned her head to look away from the gory sight of Jack’s destroyed face.

She watched as Pickle went to scoop Jack up in his arms, her feet dragged her forward to put her hands on Pickle’s back.

“Please… please don’t.” (Your name) whispered to Pickle who smiled at her. The caveman leaned down and licked her forehead. It was naive of her to believe Pickle could understand her.

She could only watch in horror as Pickle began to scale up the building with Jack in his arm. What was Pickle doing?

(Your name) began to cry even more when Pickle began to tie Jack’s foot to the pole at the top of the building.

With a heavy sigh, she took her chance to run. She didn’t want Jack’s sacrifice to be in vain.

(Your name) ran as fast as she could despite Pickle’s loud wailing. A loud booming noise could be heard as he gave chase to her.

She ran through the crowd to lose her tail. Her heart drummed in her head like a song from a horror movie. She needed to get away from him and fast.

(Your name) dashed down the steps and into the subway. She bolted towards the train, Pickle still hot on her trail.

(Your name) could feel Pickle’s claws snag her jacket and tear it apart but she was able to enter the train at the last second. The doors shut on Pickle, keeping him out.

Pickle whined and wailed while the train sped off, the caveman attempted to chase but the train was too fast. He’s never seen a creature like that from his time but he knew it had eaten his mate… was she okay? It didn’t seem to eat her, but transport her… maybe she’d be in another location?

Pickle cried, his hands held up her jacket to his nose to give it a whiff. A dreamy sigh escaped his lips. Pickle was sure he’d be able to track her down with this.

.

.

.

(Your name) was able to make it home in one piece. The young woman finally able to get back to Kaoru. The yakuza boss answered her call right away.

“I’ll be over as soon as I can. Are you sure you’re alright?” Kaoru asked on the line, his voice filled with concern.

“Just a bit shaken up… and smelly. I feel disgusting.” (Your name) attempted to joke about her experience with Pickle, but Kaoru didn’t laugh. The yakuza was worried Pickle would show up again and hurt her.

“I’ll be there in less than an hour. If you want, you can stay at my place.” From Kaoru’s tone, she knew his brow was furrowed and he was pacing. A smile crawled on her lips at the thought.

“Don’t furrow your brow, you’ll get premature wrinkles.” (Your name) made another attempt to lighten the mood.

“Will you still like me if I’m wrinkly? I’m already scarred.”

“Of course I would, because it’s you.” (Your name) smiled as the two continued to converse.

“I’m happy you’re okay… if Pickle would have done something to you, I don’t know what I’d do…” Kaoru took in a deep breath, the man whispered softly. “I care about you.”

“Do you say all these soft things to all your girls?” (Your name) teased Kaoru for being so soft.

“You’re my only girl so it’s only you.”

(Your name) felt her heart flutter from his words. Kaoru knew what to say to get her flustered.

“I’ll see you soon.” Kaoru muttered. “Don’t answer the door unless you hear three knocks.”

“I won’t, sir.” (Your name) giggled at Kaoru’s huff. “I’ll see you soon, Kaoru.”

(Your name) hung up her phone and made her way to the bathroom for a much needed shower.

A certain caveman sat outside her window, his hands and face pressed up against the glass.

He found her.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 4: Liberty

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You give comfort.

Hello, my little creachers! Welcome back to a new chappie! I was intending for Baby #3 to make its entry this time around, but plot got in the way. Much apologies. Another time jump here that is kept vague, but Reader is on the verge of giving birth, pretty much. Make of that what you will! This one moves away from smut and focuses a little more on the background stuff, which I hope makes a welcome shift. It was time to address this thread, after all! ESSENTIAL REVISION: if you are confused who the minor character in this chap is (you'll see what I mean), go back to ilibītsos (little slut) Chapter 8, 'Deal'.

Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for betaing this chapter for me!

Triggers: only the general. Incest, age gap, purity culture.

Though your skin is clammy beneath your woollen gown and your heart is pounding, you are at least faring better than Lord Olyvar. The Dornish man, so unused to the chill of waning spring upon the isle, is audibly shivering, his golden chain rattling with the shaking of his body. The sound forms a sort of harmony with the sharp thump of wooden swords.

“Hm. Your prince lacks skill,” he says. The words ought to carry with it a degree of disdain, you assume, if it were not for his vain attempt to stifle his reaction to the weather. “Though he is determined.”

You eye the scene below. In the courtyard, Jace is occupied running through drills under Ser Harwin’s tutelage. Even from here, you can see the look of concentration on his face. He knows he is being watched, and that he must do his best to perform this morning. The boy he is up against—the son of the master at arms, and rather solid for one so young—swings his makeshift weapon down hard, and Jace ducks and spins away, out of reach.

“I am but a woman, my lord,” you say dryly, “and perhaps my understanding is as lacking as my nephew is by your estimation—but I am not aware of a man alive nor dead who had mastered the blade in only thirteen summers.”

Lord Olyvar chuckles. “I do not intend to pay insult, Your Highness. Only to observe.”

You sigh. Conversing with this man is a battle in and of itself. If only Prince Qoren had sent Lord Uller instead. Intemperate as he may be, there would be much less of this feigned civility. You have little patience for it in your present state.

Jace strikes a blow on the other lad’s shin, causing him to cry out. A rumble of approval can be heard from Ser Harwin as he circles the warring pair, keenly watching his teachings being put to use. You hum approvingly.

“He is match for any his age.” Glancing toward your companion, you cannot help but add, “And it is my observation that kings are not known for their prowess on the battlefield. They are known for their rule. That is what Dorne is negotiating this union for, is it not?”

Lord Olyvar holds his spread hands up, amusement twisting his thin lips.

“Peace, Your Highness,” he insists. “I am ill-equipped to clash with an opponent as formidable as you have become.”

“I hardly need pandering to, even if it is appreciated.”

You wince as the child in your belly delivers a firm kick upward, temporarily robbing you of breath. He or she squirms within you, pangs of discomfort radiating as their head settles low. Patting them through your skin is the only thing that quietens them down when they are like this, and so you set up a soothing rhythm along the expanse of your middle. Agreeable as the babe is, it is not long before they will greet the earth, and room is sorely lacking.

You pointedly ignore the lord’s stare, gesturing casually to the focus of this outing. “Are you satisfied with your findings thus far?”

“I should like to speak to the boy,” Olyvar says, turning away. It is not the first time he has needed to pretend he had not been looking at your belly. “My niece is most interested to hear of her betrothed’s disposition. And of her future goodmother and… goodfather.”

The latter part of his statement arouses your suspicion. When you follow his line of sight, it is easy enough to understand his meaning—he no longer peers down at Jace, but instead at Ser Harwin, another sly smirk playing upon his face.

Your response is sharp.

“The Princess of Dragonstone and her consort, Ser Laenor”—you take care to emphasise his name just as much as is necessary, for it would not do to let him think this is a point of weakness—“are indisposed. But I am sure you will have occasion to meet my nephew properly later.”

“Ah.”

Sufficiently rebuked, his expression flattens to neutrality once more. You release the stone parapet and step back, wordlessly signalling your intent to depart. There is no need to await his notice, for he moves beside you almost instantly, a half-step behind so that you may lead him. Further back come the heavy footsteps of Ser Lorent, ever vigilant but hardly obtrusive as he tails you both through the halls of your home.

You walk in silence, mostly to preserve your own strength. Your back aches with the weight of the child, but this meeting had been a necessary one—and with the state of things as they are, you had been the only one able to deliver upon it.

“Perhaps I will encounter them later, also,” Lord Olyvar says, somewhat abrupt. You search your mind, trying to recall the context of such a comment. Your confusion must show, for he clarifies. “My esteemed hosts.”

Rhaenyra and Laenor.

You tip your chin. “Perhaps.”

A lie. The likelihood of seeing the pair in the same room together is doubtful, not since the almighty row that had reached its boiling point during supper the other night. You have never seen either quite so wroth with one another.

“… and you must be sure to show off all your exemplary qualities when he arrives,” Rhaenyra says firmly.

Jace nods, trying and failing to conceal the apprehension from his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

It is mayhaps not the best occasion for your sister to prepare her son for the Dornish party’s upcoming visit. Neither is it the worst, you suppose. With Baela and Luke engaged in spirited conversation at the other end of the table, and with Rhaena and Daeron listening intently, there is enough diversion that the other children are not paying attention.

How startling, you think, then. Jace no longer is a child, is he? He is near full-grown.

Your nephew is earnest and thoughtful, ‘tis true, but his recalcitrance this evening is uncharacteristic. Previous delegations had been of minor consequence, mere messengers dispatched to discuss the finer points of the contract initiated moons ago. This time, they come for one purpose and one purpose alone: to decide once and for all if he will make a suitable husband for their beloved Princess. Now that she has flowered by all reports, preparations must begin, and they will only do so if Jace is deemed worthy. No wonder he is afraid.

“Do not let your thoughts trouble you, Jacaerys.” Your uncle’s voice is resolute, warm and reassuring. He does not smile, but there is a confidence in his regard that even you feel heartened by. “Jordayne is cunning, but he wants his niece to be your queen. You have as much right to take your measure of him as he does of you.”

“Yes, nuncle,” is Jace’s reply. He takes a deep breath, placing his cutlery down. The pallor of his cheeks and the compulsive manner in which he swallows is telling.

From beside Laenor, Harwin grunts. “You’ll do well, lad. You’re a… fine young man.”

It seems all the adults have taken it upon themselves to impart some kindness to your nephew. You have no wish to exclude yourself from proceedings.

“Just be yourself,” you say gently. “That is enough to make any one of us proud.”

Jace’s answering smile is wan, and you note the reflexive clench and release of his fist as it rests on the table. Words cannot ease the tension, no matter how much anyone present might wish it.

Rhaenyra lifts her cup to sip her wine. When she places it back down, her lips are red. “Laenor?”

The man in the seat next her does not acknowledge the utterance of his name, staring steadfastly at his empty plate, his eyes glazed over. If not for the fact his own cup has been left untouched, you might presume he is drunk.

“Do you have any words of wisdom for your son?” your sister asks, an edge to her tone.

She does not look at him. Not once. You have noticed the mutual refusal of husband and wife to take so much as a single glimpse of one another, but prudence has stayed your tongue thus far. It has been like this all evening.

Laenor scoffs, a subtle sound.

“Of course.” Then, he schools his expression, turning to Jace with a familiarly encouraging disposition. “You are the captain of your own ship. Do not let anyone else take the wheel.”

You frown, perplexed. From across the table, you can see Rhaenyra twist her rings over and over again. Her posture is stiff, shoulders back in a pantomime of courtesy. Still, she does not turn to him.

“Unless the captain’s judgement has lapsed,” she says, “in which case it is wise to stand aside and let another steer.”

Unease roils within you. Something tells you this is not a conversation that ought to take place here and now. “I don’t think—”

“And who decides if the captain’s judgement has lapsed?” Laenor asks. “One might call that mutiny.”

Civility has been near wholly cast away, it would seem. There is no mistaking his indignation. Before you can even attempt to discern the meaning of this strange double-speak, your sister fires back.

“Mutiny? Is it not mutiny for a captain to abandon his crew before the journey has ende—”

“It is not up to you to decide my doings, Rhaenyra!”

You still have no idea what is going on. Neither do the other occupants of the table, all of whom have fallen silent. Rhaena and Baela vacillate between watching the calamity taking place and glancing at each other; Luke openly ogles, an expression of great alarm on his face; Daeron has shrunk himself to nothing in his seat. Harwin and Jace appear to be pretending to find some minute detail on the wall interesting. The only person with no reaction of note is Daemon, who seems quite content in nursing the contents of his own cup, brow raised and mouth curled in wry entertainment.

Whatever is the matter, you know it is serious enough that it warrants considerable hostility from your goodbrother. Finally, he has given up all pretence, staring incredulously at his wife. But Rhaenyra is not one to yield.

“Who else will temper your folly if not me?” she demands.

“Oh! It is folly now to come to another’s aid, is it?”

“When it means deserting your family, then yes!”

“He is my family, too!”

“Do you not think I wish to be in King’s Landing right now? But I have duties here, I understand that there are sacrifices to be—”

“You may believe it acceptable to forsake your father,” he snarls, “but I will not forsake mine!”

With a rattle and a screech, Laenor all but shoves himself from his chair, rising so quickly it is almost as though he bypassed action entirely. He seems to freeze as he takes in the occupants of the room—the children, wide-eyed and silent; the servants shrinking into the walls; the remaining occupants of the table, avoiding eye contact as best they can—and then, without a word, nudges the seat out of the way and storms off, the door banging behind him.

Rhaenyra had followed swiftly, their shouts loud enough to be heard even from an entirely new floor of the Keep. It had been up to those remaining to shepherd the children to bed, for no evening well-wishes would come from the Princess of Dragonstone or her husband that night. And, ever since, there had always been one or the other absent from convivial gatherings.

Thoughts of this—the fight, your sister, how angry she had been—fuel you to seek her out once you have delivered your farewells to the visiting lord. He returns to his chambers and the company of his retinue while you take the familiar path to the nursery, where Rhaenyra has been spending her spare time as of late.

The room is filled with sunlight. Dust whorls like dragons in flight, spiralling down to blanket Corwyn and Joff’s heads as they bend together over their model of the Keep. There is something synchronous about their interactions, reminding you starkly that, despite appearances, they share a father. They move in harmony, waving about wooden figurines in facsimile of whatever battle they have conjured up.

Your sister murmurs to them, laughing at whatever it is that Corwyn replies with, though her smile is weak. It is not often that she looks so disconsolate, so beaten. A part of you wishes to scold Laenor, to defend her, but you know he too is unhappy with the present state of things. He too has cause for melancholy.

She is startled when she notices you.

“Sister!” she exclaims, standing. “You ought to be resting!”

“I have too much to do,” you say, grumbling good-naturedly as she ushers you to the lone settee beside the rug on which the boys play. You grunt as you adjust yourself, obligingly accepting Rhaenyra’s fussing over the pillows supporting your neck and shoulders. “And if I lay about for too long, this babe sits on my bladder.”

“I remember that all too well.” Her hand touches her middle, quickly and away, memories held in the cradle of her palm.

Motioning vaguely toward her, you say, “Soon it shall be recollection no longer, but reality. How are you feeling?”

“Whomever this is to be”—once more her fingers glide to her belly, and she looks down at herself—“they are far less agreeable than their brothers were. I spent much of my morning bent over a basin.” The words themselves are remonstrative, but the tenor soft, pleased. Her ease in hardship is enviable. “And then I was positively ravenous.”

You grin. “A girl this time?”

“Possibly. Visenya or…” She hesitates. “Or Viserys.”

Papa.

No.

You do not think of him. You cannot think of him.

Instead, you test the flavour of the name upon your tongue, the name of the child-to-be and not the man lost to you. “Viserys Velaryon.”

“It has a ring to it, does it not?” she asks.

“Hm.”

Truthfully, it sounds a little bizarre to you. Then again, her youngest son is named Joffrey. Perhaps she simply wishes to return to tradition with a tried-and-true Valyrian name. There is battle enough in persuading the lords of the Realm that her boys are her husband’s ilk. Bestowing another common moniker may be tantamount to a declaration in the wake of that night on Driftmark.

Speaking of Velaryons… Days have passed, and you are no closer to learning of Corlys’s affairs in the Stepstones.

For moons after Laena’s passing, there had been no word from the Lord of the Tides. Communiques to and from the Velaryon seat were either ignored or would bear the seal and signature of Rhaenys in his stead. He would brood, silent and sorrowful, whenever his lady wife deigned to force him from his desk in his chambers and away to Dragonstone to see his grandchildren. Baela and Rhaena had always seemed to pain him, for he would turn away at the merest sight of them. He bore the loss of his daughter hard, and none could blame him for his behaviour. Then, abruptly—or so you have heard, for your association with Laenor’s father has thus far been mostly limited to tourneys or feasts—those days at his chair were revealed not to have been mere musings over quill and parchment but active plans to set out to sea once more, to recapture the territory your uncle had been victorious over many years ago, the same territory that had not long stood free before the forces opposing the Seven Kingdoms had regained control of it. Rhaenys had barely been afforded the opportunity to row with him before he had taken the fleet entire and sailed off, away, gone.

And that is how it had been for close to a year, the occasional letter tracking the progress of his war efforts with nary a sign of triumph nor defeat. At least, until recently. Until word had come to High Tide—to Rhaenys, and by extension her son, your goodbrother—that the tide has turned against the Sea Snake.

You see no reason to vacillate. Turning properly to your sister and loading your words with weight, you ask, “How bad is it?”

For a second, she appears not to have heard you. She watches Joff and Corwyn, unblinking, expression carefully neutral, the pads of her fingers twisting at her rings again and again. Then, she opens her mouth, prepared to speak.

 Interruption comes in the form of her son, who stands and presses the wooden figure in his hand into her grasp as his free fist winds tightly into the skirts over her knee.

“Tyrakee,” he says with all the seriousness a child of near three years can muster. The pronunciation is unfamiliar, wrong. Whatever he means by it, you know not.

“Yes, my love,” his mother coos, moving the miniature dragon about in the air as though it is flying. He stares, transfixed, deep brown eyes gleaming. “It looks just like Tyraxes, doesn’t it?”

Of course—it is the very same shade of red as his mount. At her words, your little nephew nods enthusiastically, inciting a chuckle from Rhaenyra. She hands the toy back.

“We shall go see him later. How about that?” she asks.

“Fost!” Corwyn shouts from the floor, smacking his own carved dragon into the topmost tower of the replica fortress before him. It collides with a sharp thwack, emphasised by his imitation of a roar. There is such glee in it that you cannot help but be roused to jollity, yourself. “Fost, too!”

“Yes, sweet boy. Skyfrost, too. We will go see them both.”

“Yeah!”

With what can only be described as a mad cackle, little Joff patters away with unexpected speed, and Corwyn hoists himself up to follow. The nursemaid rises, pursuing her charges with a pleading entreaty to slow down, to stop, to return. Lost in their shared fantasy of some great quest, neither child heeds her demands, instead leading her on a merry gallivant throughout the room as they split off in separate directions. If it were not for the great encumbrance of your babe nestled in your womb, you may well be tempted to assist in herding them back to some semblance of quiet.

“The situation is… grave.”

You snap back to attention. Your sister’s gaze remains fixated upon a point past you, her lips curled into a slight scowl. She looks tired—if not in appearance, in disposition.

“The Triarchy’s forces have withstood siege for longer than Corlys anticipated,” she continues quietly, mindful of the small eavesdroppers in the room. “Munitions are low. Rations, even poorer. If he flees, the enemy’s fleet will pursue him, and he is more like to perish than not. Neither can he remain without aid.”

Your heart sinks. She is apt at downplaying things. The situation must truly be grave.

“What will you do?” you ask. “Will you let Laenor go?”

She shakes her head, sighing. “His sons need him. I need him.”

It is not a ‘no’. Indeed, it is true that she has always relied on him far more than he had ever relied on her. Their marriage had brought Rhaenyra security in her tenuous position as heir and solidified the support of one of the most powerful Houses in the Realm. Their arrangement had ensured she could produce sons that would be recognised as legitimate, their true parentage irrelevant in the face of her husband’s assertion that they were his by blood. Their friendship had provided her with a steadfast ally through the summers of rising tension between the factions at court, a source of succour when she had thought all the world against her. Even you. In contrast—what gain is brought to Laenor’s feet? Without her, he would still inherit his father’s titles. He would remain prominent and powerful by virtue of his Valyrian ancestry, his own Targaryen claim. He would arguably be freer to act according to his whims, uncaring of plots and schemes that seek to destroy his influence and destabilise his proximity to the Iron Throne.

You have long considered your goodbrother to be an exemplary sort of man, an invaluable source of humour and conviviality and affection. Of family. But his loyalty has not yet been paid for, not in a way that truly counts. Perhaps it is time he receives what he is owed.

“He wants me to give him leave to fly off to battle. How can I?” she whispers, more to herself than to you. “But how can I not?”

You wish you could reach out and take her hand, but doing so would rob you of more effort than you possess. She sounds afraid, more afraid than you recall her being in a long time. It is different than any other occasion in which she has rightfully found distress, for even the most fraught moments had seen her carry on with admirable fortitude in the face of danger. She has always been a warrior in spirit and in deed, rising to every challenge with her head held high. But this? She shrinks upon herself like a beaten youth, or a hare trapped and waiting for the wolf’s jaw to close over its neck. It is as though the walls are closing in on her and she is helpless to stop it happening.

“Laenor has lost a great deal,” you tell her gently, thinking of Lonmouth and Laena. Even his liberty.“He is not ready to lose his father. Not yet.”

Her chin bobs absently, a far-off look in her eyes. “I worry.”

Such a simple turn of phrase, though her meaning is not lost on you. She worries for herself and her status should she birth a child he is not present to once again claim as his own. She worries for her sons, absent of the man they call their father, no matter the truth. She worries for Rhaena and Baela to be without their beloved uncle, the last truly tangible link to their mother left to them. And, mayhaps greatest of all, she worries for Laenor himself, someone who has become her dearest and closest companion. A soulmate, of sorts.

“We all will,” is what you finally say, just barely audible over the squeals of the boys in the background. “But we cannot despair what has not come to pass.”

Not yet, anyway, you cannot help but think.

When you return from the privy, you find quite a sight to take in.

Aelys has pulled herself up to stand using the cabinet beside the bed and rifles greedily through the plate upon which her father’s rings lay. You note dourly that Valnissar appears poised to assist, his body extended from where he sits on Daemon’s pillow and his neck craned to inspect their shared prize. Naturally. Where one falls into mischief, the other is sure to be following. Meanwhile, Rhaenar is crawling about the room in naught but his underthings, laughing hysterically as his father trips up after him while attempting to pry Azorion off his leg.

“Fucking thing,” Daemon mutters to himself, hissing in pain as he is nipped on his prying fingers. He bops the creature on the head with a snap of, “Rȳbās!” Obey!

“What—what is going on?” you ask, torn between amusement and bewilderment. You think he might have better luck commanding his son, who sits and waits eagerly for the chase to resume. “Where’s Freda?”

In a thoroughly vexed tone, he says, “She fed the twins pudding. It’s all over them, so she’s gone to get fresh clothing. I undressed him and tried to put him in the cradle”—he makes a noise of triumph as he finally extricates the dragon from his skin, holding it aloft by the base of its tail—“but this little shit sabotaged me.”

Azorion screeches and bares his teeth when he is released back to the floor, skittering across the stone to return to his future rider’s side. You find it exceedingly difficult to fear him, however much he wishes for it.

“Ah.” Nodding, you bite your lip and glance back to Aelys. She is utterly absorbed in the sound of rattling metal that comes from each flex of her pudgy fingers. “You… do know what your daughter is doing, yes?”

“In a moment. I’ll deal with these two”—he stares down at the pair immediately before him—“first.”

Unfortunately for your boy, he has allowed himself to be distracted by your arrival, mumbling “mama mama-ma-ma” while flexing his fists towards you in a plea to be lifted into your embrace. You wish you could give him what he wants, but your belly prevents you from such things now—and you do not wish for another occurrence in which your elder two spar with your youngest through the layers of skin that separate them. You wince at the memory of it, of the bruises that had blossomed afterward.

Rhaenar does not see it coming when Daemon snatches him up, growling and pretending to bite at his cheeks. His father’s mock-menacing voice chides him through his squeals, saying, “Kōz taoba iksā.” You are a wicked boy.

That familiar ache in your chest grows stronger as you watch the display, so wholly untethered from the notions of propriety and distance you had been raised with. Here is a father and son who love one another, who know one another. You never truly could say the same of your own.

“Mama?” Aelys grabs your attention, face alight with inquisitiveness.

“Issa, dōnītsos?” Yes, sweetling? you ask her, twisting inside as you look upon her dear little features, innocent and pure.

She does not make further attempts to babble or elucidate, simply stares and continues to clutch at items that do not belong to her. You clear your throat, staring pointedly at her and her mischievous companion.

“Bonyz renigon avy sytilības?” Should you be touching those?

She does not understand you, but that is not the point. Your unsmiling expression and the deepening of your voice are enough to ensure that she glances uncertainly between you and her hand, almost as if pondering upon what the best course of action is.

“Daor,” you emphasise. No.

Her hand withdraws, demeanour decidedly put out from being scolded. Valnissar chitters, neck craning even closer until you click your tongue warningly. No doubt he had been intending to steal something for himself, the naughty beast. Having lost his chance, he slinks from the mattress to the floor in a tangle of limbs and wings, bowling full-bodied to knock against Aelys’s legs. She giggles when he growls, untwisting himself and shaking himself out like a waterlogged cat. With a soft thunk, she plops onto her bottom beside him, gumming at the scales on his head as he twines himself around her.

“And you—”

Daemon’s solid frame enters your line of vision as he strides forth to hoist her off the ground, tickling her belly to make her squirm. “Ñuhor līr renigon daor, turgītsos,” he says, a poorly concealed quirk to his lips. Don’t touch what is mine, little worm.

It is straightforward enough for him to divest her of her soiled dress. He casts the offending item upon the table carelessly on his path, placing her down beside her brother and nudging Azorion out of the way to make extra room. Not one to be left out so easily, Aelys’s dragon scales up your uncle’s leg and into the cradle in a flurry of movement, heedless of the pained grunts it elicits from the individual he had climbed. Azorion screeches as Valnissar lands on him, wings flapping in his outrage. Before the creature can scrabble over the side and away from all those expertly entrapped within their wooden enclosure, Daemon pushes him back in.

“Ah-ah. Umbās.” Stay, he commands, lowering a finger to Aelys so that she might take hold of it. With his free hand, he taps Rhaenar’s nose. “You two are fortunate that I’m your father—otherwise, I would throw your lizards off the balcony.”

You roll your eyes. Nudging one of the chairs into place with your hip, you pick up your daughter’s discarded outfit and drop it into the nearby basket for the maids to take care of later. “No, you would not. Dragons are sacred, and there are far too few of them for you to risk such a thing.”

Almost instantly, your twins have quietened down, and with them their winged beasts. You would not be surprised to venture over and find them yawning and tilting to the side, starting to ready themselves for an afternoon nap.

Meanwhile, Daemon ambles over to you, a weary smirk on his face. “Yes, yes—but the little fuckers need to think I’m a threat, do they not? How else will they learn?”

“You are incorrigible,” you say with a shake of your head, nudging him playfully when you feel a wandering touch ghost along your rear. “Our children will have the very worst manners, and it will be all your fault.”

He levels you with a hooded stare, the curve of his mouth relaxing. “You flatter me, niece.”

A warm palm settles on your middle, and he glances down to follow the path of tiny ripples along firm flesh. The babe has awoken at the sound of their father’s voice, it would seem.

Impossibly softly, he asks, “How are you both?”

You try to conceal your wince at a particularly hard kick from within your womb. “This one seems to have developed a particular fondness for playing about with my insides. I cannot go an hour without needing to make water.”

His nostrils flare, lips twitching. “Not long now,” he says.

“Hm.”

You study him, abruptly noticing streaks of filth accumulated in the lines on his forehead, ash darkening his hair and mouth. Come to think of it, there is dirt all over him—spattered on his jerkin, blackening his nail beds, smearing on your gown.

“Why… why are you so filthy?” you ask, frowning. “What in the heavens have you been doing?”

He grins widely, demeanour shifting to one of almost childish excitement. ‘Tis animation you have not seen in him in an age, if ever. He does not even have the wherewithal to look apologetic for the mess he has no doubt trekked in.

“I’ve brought you something,” he tells you. “Come.”

No question, no prompting—he takes you by the hip and by the arm and steers you to the hearth, and you find yourself reliving a scene from moons ago. But this time, you are the one to be led to the brazier in which a dragon egg is kept safe and warm, awaiting the arrival of its intended Targaryen.

Beside you, Daemon looks unbearably proud of himself. “Syrax has laid a fresh clutch. All good, by the looks of them… though this one caught my eye.”

It is not difficult to see why. Though the scaled pattern is always iridescent in some fashion, the colouration of each egg is usually distinct and uniform. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, white, black. This egg does not seem to know which hue to choose. In fact, it appears to fluctuate so much so that you could not possibly tell what underlying colour it is meant to be. Perhaps it is all the colours of the rainbow, or maybe none of them.

Even so, its mere presence is confusing—not that he has deigned to select one for your child, but that he has gone to such effort unnecessarily.

“The hatchery already has eggs to choose from, though,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach forth and trace the shimmer flickering upon the hard shell. You refrain. Your uncle likely would not appreciate any reminder of that unnatural trait of yours. “And the Keepers usually retrieve them from the nests.”

A noncommittal sound reverberates through his chest. It seems a little too casual. “There’s nothing wrong with a little adventure.”

There it is.

You had been waiting for a sign, an inkling. Something to suggest that all the talk of battle and glory about the Keep as of late might have left its mark upon his thoughts. Might have started to settle in the back of his mind like rust, tainting the fulfilment has found with the allure of bloodshed, of power—of freedom.

Growing up, you remember hearing that your uncle was a creature of violence, a monster, a rabid dog frothing at the mouth for the chance to revel in carnage and slaughter. Though knowing him as you know him now has dispelled many of the tall tales told at court, it does not fully exculpate you from the lingering notion that, for all his many qualities that you admire and cherish, he is not exactly made for peace.

He loves you, yes. He loves your children, yes. He loves the life he has built, yes. But is all this enough for him? And will it be enough for him forever? These are questions that trouble you fleetingly from time to time.

At this moment, however, Daemon does not allow you to linger upon such things.

“Do you like it?” he asks, full of restrained eagerness.

You do what you do best and imagine your worries as trinkets you can lock away in a chest, out of view, to be confined in the dark until you forget they exist—or until they fight so fiercely that they are released in an explosion of uncontrolled emotion. On the surface, you smile to hide your discomfort, praying that he does not notice the beads of sweat collecting on your temples or the frenetic pace of your pulse racing to an unknown finish.

“Of course I do,” you say, because you really do, even if any gladness is secretly marred by what he cannot see. Taking a silent breath to steady yourself, you turn away from the brazier, from the egg, from the reminder that it serves as.

“Now”—your brow arches as you look upon your husband critically—“go take a bath. I cannot believe you touched my children with those hands.”

He snorts. “I suppose I won’t convince you to let me touch you, then? Alas.”

You know exactly what he means by that, and it has little to do with tickling or innocence of any kind. Thank the gods that the room is silent, which means the babes are asleep. One day, they are sure to overhear something thoroughly untoward.

Pointing toward the door, you level him with your best attempt at a command. “Go!” you exclaim.

He heads to the door to call for a servant who will help him do your bidding, chucking all the while. The ash from his lips is bitter on your tongue.

Days later, you find yourself in the Great Hall, doing your best to stand tall and unaffected as the Dornish delegation makes their official farewells. In truth, you wish you had pleaded illness so that you would not need to stand so long. This child within you is pressing so heavily upon the mouth to your womb that you are concerned they will birth themselves onto this very floor. Sharp twinges spread throughout your lower body, and you just barely master the temptation to reach beneath your belly and lift to seek some relief from the pressure forcing down and down. It is most difficult to pay attention to proceedings, though you are by no means the only one paying little heed to the careful conversation taking place between Olyvar and Rhaenyra, and Jace by extension.

Daemon shifts on the balls of his feet, angling his head to the side so that you may see his mouth as it shapes his words. His eyes wander aimlessly, but you know his primary focus has been you.

“Yne gūrogon dēmavos jaelā?” he whispers, gaze meeting yours fleetingly. Do you want me to get you a chair?

You shake your head minutely. Even now, you cannot afford to look weak. The alliance that has been built is still tenuous at best, and Sunspear must believe that the price they pay for a tie to the Throne is worthwhile. You must be as stone. You have no choice.

“… pleased.” The Jordayne lord dips his chin, bending forward at the waist just enough to pay the barest of respects to his hosts. “Prince Jacaerys is a sensible and solicitous young man. You have… much to be proud of, Your Highness.”

To you, the praise seems forced. You wonder if it curdles his stomach to admit it aloud.

Rhaenyra is disinclined to give him quarter. Her response is positively haughty, spine as straight and proud as ever. “I agree. He will make for a fine husband, and even finer king.”

You can almost hear Olyvar grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Your sister carries on, unaffected.

“I presume I will be looking forward to my gooddaughter’s arrival in due course?” she asks.

“As agreed,” he says, and then, much louder, proclaims, “When Princess Alliandra reaches her majority, she will make the journey to Dragonstone, where she will be wedded and bedded, and our pact sealed.”

The nobles who have deigned to take temporary residence on the isle—now congregating as an audience in this echoing space—applaud, though you do see several tense faces among the crowd. Distrust runs deep in Westeros, and enmity is not soon forgotten. Still, what has occurred here is a great achievement, one that had taken many meetings and countless compromises to arrange and concur to. Negotiating the terms of the treaty had been largely out of your hands, but you were the one to have initiated it. The thought brings you great pride.

 Lord Olyvar steps closer with a funny twist to his lips. It is only your relative proximity that allows you to hear him say to your sister, “For the first time in our shared histories, the blood of the Rhoynar and Old Valyria will unite as one. Curious, how the winds change.”

A single nod of acknowledgement. “Then it is done?” she asks.

“It is done.” He glances at Ser Harwin in the far corner of the room, something you feel certain only you notice. “Barring any… complications, of course.”

“Naturally.”

Rhaenyra steps back. You admire how she takes her space without it seeming like a retreat. On the contrary—it is nonchalant, an act of consideration, almost, like she is doing the other some great favour by releasing them from the spell of her immediate nearness.

“Safe journeys, my Lord,” she says, smiling pleasantly. It does not reach her eyes.

Finally, he bows, forced by common courtesy. She outranks him, after all. “Until we meet again.”

And, with a final flourish of spears and the fading sounds of accented voices barking orders from the shore, the Dornish depart once and for all.

The collective atmosphere in the Keep automatically improves. For days, it seemed that every move you had all made was assessed and somehow found wanting. Nothing had been good enough; not the climate, not the accommodations, not the food, not the entertainment. Certainly not the people. It had taken all your courage to forge on ahead with every sneer, every whisper, every calculated remark that your visitors had levied as a weapon against you. But all you had to do was outlast the contempt. Now, you are free of them. You already feel it is easier to breathe without the shadow of old enemies darkening the doorstep.

What better time to finally begin your lying in?

It is a relief, in truth, to close yourself up in your chambers, to know that you need not mind anything except ensuring you are well-rested and strong enough for the labours ahead. You sink into the familiarity of it almost instantly: the heat of the air around you, the constant readiness of the baths you sink into, the frenetic burst of energy that compels you to arrange your haven just so before you sink once more into fatigue, curled around yourself with a possessive hand on your belly, waiting, waiting. Others surround you—Ūlla, the maester, your ladies—but they seem unimportant compared to what is happening within you. Even Daemon, always present, always watching, full of anticipation, fades from the forefront of your thoughts as your mind and your body prepare to shift to that strange realm where life and death hang in the balance.

Less than a sennight passes—at least, you think so, though time has begun to melt together in your confinement—when Laenor arrives to your rooms, shoulders stiff and arms behind his back. While not out of the realm of possibility, it is certainly unusual to see him venture in search of you without the company of at least one of his sons.

“Can I join you?” he asks at the door, hesitant.

You think it is a moot point, for he has already let himself in. Still, you smile from where you lay, gesturing at him to enter properly.

He sits himself on the mattress beside you, scrutinising the room. You allow the silence that lingers. Sometimes, there is no need to force words from the mouth of one who clearly has something to say. It is merely a matter of patience. And, with Daemon in the nursery with the twins, you have as much latitude as you wish in exercising it.

After further prevarication, he murmurs your name. He stops. His mouth opens and closes. He will not look at you.

You make it easier for him. You had known this was coming.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” you ask quietly.

“Yes.” Laenor exhales in a shudder, wilting as he hunches over. Then, he schools himself, turning his head to stare down at you from the edge of the bed. “Take care of your sister, won’t you? She is rather cross with me at present.”

An understatement.

“She loves you.” It seems inadequate, but it is the best way you can describe how she feels for him. “She does not wish to see you harmed.”

He closes his eyes. “I know.”

A hush falls upon you both once more.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

‘Are you angry that I am abandoning you all?’ is what you hear.

“I am… disappointed,” you say carefully, trying your best to convey the tumult in your head. “Not in you, or anyone. More so that you must go at all. But I understand it.”

Of course you do. If it were your family in danger, would you not muster every ounce of courage and vigour to strike down the ones who threatened them? If it were Rhaenar or Aelys or Daemon or Rhaenyra or Daeron, would you not seek to remedy any wrong done unto them? Or, if your own father faced death—even now, when you and he are so at odds and there seems to be no recourse to bridge the gaping maw that has grown between you—would you not rally to his aid?

You would. You would, and so too would Laenor. To you, there is no choice, not really, not when it comes to what one does for love.

“If I die…”

You shake your head, tensing full-formed at the mere thought of it. “Don’t.”

“I must,” he insists. “If I die, Rhaenyra will be in danger. The boys… my boys. They will be in danger, too.” He trembles as though his words will bring the gods’ wrath down upon your nephews. His jaw tightens in resolve, demeanour suddenly as steel and begging with his eyes. “You and Daemon—you need to protect them. Promise me you will.”

It reminds you of a time long ago when he was just a lord’s son and you a little girl, side by side in a hall in a Keep you have since effectively been barred from. How ironic that so many years have passed, and you still find the hurt in a simple ‘goodbye’.

“I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves,” he had said that night, full of hope and a desperate desire for the approval of his bride’s sister.

“I will,” you had told him then.

“I will,” you tell him now. Reaching across the mattress, your hand finds his. You hold onto the warmth of him, committing his face to memory. “I promise.”

Eventually, he departs as he must, a gentle farewell accompanied by an even gentler embrace. You try to temper your despair with the knowledge that Seasmoke is sure to protect him as hotly as any dragon protects his rider. This does not stop the river of tears from falling when the door closes. It feels like an ending.

 As you listen for the faint sounds of his convoy sailing further and further out to sea, you wonder if you will ever see him again.

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[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 18: Spanking

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7590

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, over the knee spanking (my favorite cmdmdmd), paddling with a hairbrush

A/N: I really hope this one isn't too messy, I haven't been feeling super great and I am posting this at *checks clock* 4:26 in the morning skdnfksnf so please be gentle with me! 🙈

⭐

The Duke of Meropide was a truly infuriating scoundrel! 

You’d been arguing with him in his office for almost an hour now and it felt like all you’d done is go around in endless circles. One moment he would in all seriousness shoot down a suggestion or a point you’ve made, and the next he would abruptly ask you about tea or cookies with equal sincerity. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and you were quickly reaching the end of your patience with him. Had the topic of reform and rehabilitation of ex inmates not been so very important to you, you’re sure you would have stormed out of his office a long time ago. 

“For the final time, my lord, I care for neither your white tea nor your black tea.” You intone as mildly as you can manage given the state of your nerves. “Please, just listen to me for a moment. That is all I ask.” 

Perfectly casual, Wriothesley reclines back into his tall chair and brings his hands together over the bend of a propped up knee. “I have been listening. Quite attentively too. However, I just don’t see how your proposal is going to work and I think you might be barking up the wrong tree, miss. My apologies for saying so.” 

“No offense taken.” You clench your jaw so tight it hurts. “But why do you think it isn’t going to work? Have I not explained the steps to successful rehabilitation enough for your liking?” 

“No, you’ve been perfectly thorough. Excessive, even.” 

Spine snapping straight at that, you pin him with a furious look you don’t even try to conceal but he just waves it off without missing a beat. 

“The problem is, I don’t think you understand how the Fortress of Meropide functions. It is you who hasn’t been listening to me, I’m afraid.” He continues on, as stony and impassive as ever. “As I already said, the inmates are free to leave once their sentences are served in full. It’s just that the vast majority of them do not wish to return to the surface world and choose to stay here of their own volition. There’s nothing I nor you can do to change that.” 

“But — but that’s because there weren’t any systems in place to help them!” You stammer, desperately rifling through your stacks of paperwork and statistics in search of the findings collected on job and housing placement welfare. Finally locating it with a triumphant puff of air, you jump to your feet and shove it at him over the desk even when he tries to once again wave it off. “The proof is right here, your grace. It should take only a moment of your time to read and understand the data presented in this report for someone as no doubt well informed as you are.” 

Stilling, Wriothesley steadily meets your look of challenge with a cool stare of his own. A beat passes and then, heaving a rather terse sigh, he reaches out to reluctantly accept the sheet from you. “I’ll look at it but I’m telling you, miss. These graphs and numbers don’t mean anything in the real world.” 

“We’ll see about that.” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, impertinently standing over him while he reads even when you know you’re really pushing your luck here. He was a duke, a by all accounts certificate wielding lord in the flesh and blood, and you, a lowly commoner, had no right to try and force his hand like this. Still, you hold your ground though, confident that you knew what you were talking about when you had the data to back it up. It was he who didn’t understand how the real world worked after spending so much time underneath the ocean in this rust bucket of bolts he called a fortress. 

His eyes steadily move over the page, taking in everything at an agreeable enough pace to placate you into silence, and Wriothesley eventually gives his head a curt nod when he reaches the bottom. “I see. It’s just as I thought.” 

You have but the blink of an eye to feel the first dawnings of hope start to crest over your heart and then, unceremonious as can be, he reaches over to neatly deposit the paper into the trash bin. 

“It’s garbage.” 

“Wh - wait just a minute - what do you mean it’s garbage?” You stammer, spit and sputter in white-hot affront so potent you start to feel your cheeks becoming warm. It takes every single ounce of self control you possess not to round on the desk and throttle the life right out of him! “If you didn’t understand the information all you had to do was ask, your grace and I would have gladly taken the time to - -“

“I understood it perfectly, miss, and I am once again telling you that it is your understanding of the situation that is inherently flawed, not mine. You simply can’t make the prisoners do something they don’t want. I trust that you do understand that much, at least?”  

“It is not a matter of making them!” You seethe, hands clenching into tight fists at your sides. “It’s giving them a viable option between spending the rest of their lives trapped under the sea or being able to rejoin their friends and family on the surface. I expected you to have at least a little bit of sympathy for the people under your care!” 

Heaving another soft sigh, Wriothesley unfolds his legs and sits forward to brace his elbows on the desk in the most impolite slouch you’ve ever seen from someone who was supposedly a part of the aristocracy. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I think I care about them a shade more than you do. We’re talking about people who have made a new place for themselves down here and it would be remiss of me to start kicking them out just so you can get your brownie points. This is their home.” 

You jerk as if he’d physically struck you. “Now you listen here - -“ 

“No. I have listened to you enough for one afternoon, miss.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip without either raising his voice nor sharpening his tone, but the low rumble in it is still enough to stop you in your tracks. 

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him stand from his chair and sedately step around the desk to come loom over you with his imposingly massive frame that leaves you pitifully craning your neck back when he stops in front of you. 

“It’s time for you to listen to me now. I’m sure you had good intentions in coming here with this little scheme you cooked up but I’m telling you it isn’t going to work. The inmates who choose to stay here like the simplicity of life in Meropide and the stability it provides them. So long as they work hard and stay out of trouble they’ll have no problems earning a living for themselves but can the same be said about the overworld? What’s going to happen when they get fired from the jobs you place them in after running late one too many times? Or what about when they fall asleep during their shift from exhaustion? Do you know what happens when either of those things occur down here? They simply don’t get their regular number of coupons for the day but they can always come back and do better the next. Will they have that same security up on the surface?” 

“T - that’s why rehabilitation is so important.” You rush to say. “We can teach them to reintegrate into society so that they won’t have to worry about things like that - -“ 

“Everyone worries about things like that, little miss. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your eyes flash at him dangerously. “Do not call me that! In fact, I believe I’ve had quite enough of you at this point! I want to speak to someone else! Preferably a person with something more substantial than rocks for brains!” 

Wriothesley scowls at that, narrowing his own eyes back at you in warning. “You can want it all you like but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. I’m the only person you need to speak to right now … and I would suggest you reconsider how you’re speaking to me.” 

“Hah! Or what?” Riding high on adrenaline and jittery nerves, you impulsively reach out to jab a finger at the center of his big, beefy chest. “You can’t throw me into a cell just because you don’t like the tone of my voice! Is that the kind of operation you're running down here? Maybe when I get back up to the surface I should contact The Steambird about the tyrannical power trip his grace is on!” 

He snorts a brief laugh as if the very notion was a ludicrous one, though you couldn’t tell if it was your assertion or the thought that you might go to the papers that he found humorous. “That’s funny, but I don’t need to throw you in prison just to put you in your place, miss. I’m giving you one final warning to knock it off and calm down.” 

You take an aggressive step closer to him, head tilted all the way back now so you could see his face past the bulky mass across his pectorals. “Enlighten me then, my lord. What are you going to do to me if I don’t bend the knee?” 

“I think I might start by taking you over my knee first.” 

Giving a startled jerk, you go stock still and just stare at him for the span of a single heartbeat. The ice suddenly gripping your veins is instantly replaced by a hot, raging inferno that seems to make your blood boil and, seeing red, you viciously bring your heel down on the top of his boot, grinding it in for good measure. “I’d like to see you try it, you ba - -“ 

His hand shoots up and, much to your squawking surprise, he grabs around the meat of your upper arm to tug you into him, making you stumble and half fall against the bend of his elbow. Before you even have a chance to draw a full breath to berate him with his other hand cracks across the meat of your ass with a deafening whap! The sharp pain is immediate and splintering, rocking you against him with the abrupt impact as your mouth warbles open in equal parts hurt and shock. He gives your arm a tight yank to keep you pressed in against his side when you try to scuttle away, nudging you insistently until you realize you have no choice but to look up at him except … except you’re not sure if you do so with impotent rage darkening your face or if it’s a tearfully remorseful expression he sees looking back at him. 

Perhaps it was a frustrating combination of the two? 

Wriothesley regards you in contemplative silence for a long moment, his own facial expression not giving much of anything away while the blinding sting across your backside gradually settles into a constant burning throb, but you don’t know what else to do other than stand there and wait for him to say something. You couldn’t believe he’d struck you like that — like a child! You’d only just met the duke today so for him to be putting his hands on you like that was beyond ridiculous, and completely inappropriate. But for as mad as you were, even for as much as your body trembles with frantic, clawing anger, you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak just yet … he would hear about it soon enough. In great detail and at even greater length, once you’d recovered enough to not need to worry your voice would crack and waver over your words. Very soon indeed. 

“I told you what was going to happen,” He says at last, perfectly calm and even toned as ever considering he’d just hit you. “Didn’t I, little miss?” 

Glaring daggers at him, you give your body a furious wrench against his hold but he keeps you in place easily enough. His hand was just so big it seemed to nearly encompass the total width of your bicep, allotting him the perfect hold on you that would only cause pain and discomfort if you were to truly struggle which left you with very little in the way of options. Grudgingly, you go still again and petulantly turn your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. You needed to focus on calming yourself before anything else. Acting rash now was only going to get you hurt. 

“I don’t know who you think you are,” You finally manage to hiss. “But you've got a lot of nerve to put your hands on me like this.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” He volleys right back, not missing a beat, and you irritably twitch when you realize he’s thrown your own words back at you. He’d be in for a rude awakening soon enough, if you had any say in the matter. 

“Enjoy your fun while you can, your grace. I was only bluffing earlier but now I think I really will go to The Steambird and tell them everything that’s transpired here today! What do you think about that, hm?” Impulsively, you whip your head back around to pin him with a biting look of challenge, but he just lifts his brows up at you as if in surprise. 

“I think you are indeed a mouthy little brat in need of a good spanking to correct that attitude of yours. What are you going to do at The Steambird then? Take your pants down to show them your red bottom and let them take pictures for the morning paper?” Clicking his tongue, Wriothesley shakes his head as if in disappointment. “You’re not thinking this through all the way, but I suspect that’s a problem you regularly struggle with. Come, let’s get you sorted out.” 

You suck in a horrified, raking breath when he shifts as if to move back towards his chair and quickly dig your heels into the ground to stop it. “W - wait! You can’t do this!” You wail, and a foolish pitter patter of hope skips across your chest when he actually pauses to look at you again. Maybe you could still talk your way out of this. It might cost you some of your pride, but that seemed a reasonable sacrifice given the situation. “Ah, what I meant to say is … I’m sorry?” 

A sudden, clipped bark of laughter bursts out of him. “No you’re not.” 

“I am, really! I’m very sorry for, um, stepping on your boot like that. I’ll have it cleaned and polished if you’d like. Just please let me go. Please?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

Wriothesley starts to pull you into motion again and you reel back against his hold even when it makes his thick, blocky fingers sink into the meat of your arm. “Wait! I promise I’m sorry, I really, really am! I didn’t mean it! I swear!”  

Breathing out a patient sigh through his nose, he gently (surprisingly so) tugs you around to stand in front of him even when you stumble and drag your feet in a blithe attempt to avoid compliance. “You’re only sorry right now because you’re in trouble. I’m going to give you something to think about and a chance to reflect on your actions, and then you’ll really be sorry. Is that clear enough for you, miss?” 

“You can’t do this …” 

“Oh, but I can. Take a look around you and tell me where you’re standing. This is my fortress which means I get to make the rules here. If I decide bratty girls who like to run their mouths even after being told to calm down — repeatedly, might I add — need a spanking to get them in order then that is exactly what’s going to happen. And do let me remind you that I gave you plenty of chances to heed my warnings but you didn’t. You can thank your own attitude for getting you into this predicament.” 

You try very hard to keep your expression in check but you’re pretty sure you fail rather miserably at it, and a flash of that vulnerable fear still manages to creep into your face. “I am not a child!” You insist, shuddering violently. “You can’t treat me like one! That’s not fair!” 

“Oh, I’d say what’s not fair is barging in here like you own the place and not listening to a word I say. You’ve certainly acted like a child so I think I’m perfectly in my right to treat you like one now.” 

Not giving you a chance to think of something else to say and further stall, Wriothesley suddenly swoops down and curls his arm around your thighs so he can yank you right up off your feet. You choke in surprise as much as at the sudden rush of movement, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he straightens up with you clutched across his front. Stinging hot tears flood your eyes all at once and you seethe, kicking and flailing, as he effortlessly carries you back around to the desk. It’s like you barely weigh anything in his arms which neither shudder or strain to hold you no matter how wildly you try to fight him. Even when he takes his seat again he still manages to much too easily manhandle you into place across his lap like you weren’t even struggling with every single ounce of strength you possessed. 

In shockingly quick order you find yourself spread across his legs, on your tummy, but still you hiss and twist until his hand abruptly strikes across your upturned ass again. You jump so hard you nearly collapse right then and there but the thick, burly arm now curled over your trembling body keeps you firmly in place when you lurch. Wheezing frantically, you try to push yourself upright but it’s no use, and his palm swats you over your pants again, rapidly draining you of the energy to keep up the effort any longer when it hurt so bad it seemed to rob you of the ability to even think straight. Mewling at the deep hurt, you jerk forward at the next strike and let out a pitiful, broken little sob. 

“I warned you to stop.” He reminds you again, falling into an easy steady rhythm. Whap, whap, whap, whap. One cheek and then the next, each hit somehow worse than the last as the burning sting grows and spreads across your defenseless backside. Even your desperate squirming was not enough to dissuade him from finding his mark as he peppers your sit spots in quick, agonizing succession. “I gave you so many chances too, but you just wouldn’t listen. Why is that, huh? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” 

“Please stop — oww! T - that hurts, you damn brute — oww!” 

“Keep it up and I’m just going to keep adding more. When you can’t sit right for the next week you’ll think back on this, I promise you that.” 

Clenching your teeth, you fiercely try to keep the tears at bay so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry but the intense, constant crack of his hand on your ass soon wins out and they start to track wet lines down your burning face. You sniffle sadly and weakly kick your legs out behind you, making an attempt to curl them up and shield your already sore behind, but he just roughly tugs you further across his lap. Abruptly finding yourself slipping forward to half dangle over the side of the chair, you gasp and mindlessly stiffen up across his lap to stop your balance from tipping. That quickly proves to be a mistake though when the tense way you’re now holding your body just seems to make it hurt even worse, and you plaintively shake your head with a wordless shriek. 

“Please stop it, your — ah! Your grace! I’m begging, I can’t — oww!” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kept acting up.”

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

“Ow, ow, owowow, ow! You’re … you’re doing it too hard! Stop it!” 

Wriothesley chuckles somewhere far above you, the low timber of his voice blanketing over your muddied senses to make you shiver. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going hard enough yet. Not for the way you were behaving. Not to worry though, all in due time. This is just the warm up, after all.” 

You go stock still across his legs, your heart skipping a long, harrowing beat. A warm up - -

“Yeow! Sto - ah - ahhhp! Please!” 

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

Hanging your head low, you openly sob and kick at the air now, clutching his thick boot with one hand while the other hangs onto the chair leg in a death grip to somewhat steady yourself. The sharp stabs of pain seem to chip away at your consciousness bit by bit, each slap of his massive hand taking with it a little piece of you each time it recedes. You’re so dazed by the constant onslaught that you almost don’t notice when he abruptly pauses and grabs under your arms. 

Then you’re suddenly being hauled up and forced to stand on legs that immediately threaten to give out under you but Wriothesley just guides you around to stand between his legs. Furiously trying to wipe the evidence of tears from your face with a sleeve, you blearily watch as he brings his hands up to unbutton the front of your pants which he unceremoniously tugs down your legs to leave them bunched around your ankles. You can’t help but gasp, your cheeks burning even hotter at having your panties suddenly exposed to him, but you don’t get the chance to so much as suck in a shuddering breath let alone actually voice your protests. 

Just like that, he’s dragging you back down over his lap and you twist against his hold with renewed fervor, clawing viciously at any part of him you can reach. His palm mercilessly swatting you across the back of your underwear freezes you in place though, and you let out a high pitched, keening sound at this new level of hell he’s introduced you to. It’s so much worse without your slacks in the way and just the thin layer of cotton to protect you from the full brunt of his punishing slaps. You’re so caught up in trying to process the extent of it when he shifts over top of you that you don’t even think to shriek at him to stop — but then his unoccupied hand fists the material of your panties and yanks them up to pull firm against your screaming backside. You outright squawk and choke at the sensation only to realize what he’s doing a split second later when he swats your ass again and the hurt suddenly feels like it’s skin to skin. 

Howling in distress, you jerk and writhe against his legs but Wriothesley’s hold on your underwear effectively stops you from crawling away. You simply can’t escape it and the space between your ears is soon once again filled with the sharp swat! of his hand lighting you up. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever experienced, even putting aside the inherent humiliation of being spanked over his knee with your pants around your ankles. 

“Waaa - aahhaaaaaa! Your grace, I - I’m sorry … owwww!” 

“Are you now?” He murmurs, punctuating the soft tone of his voice with two blistering slaps, one to each cheek to leave you withering in his hold. “And what are you sorry for, little miss? Come on, speak up.” 

That was incredibly difficult to do when he wasn’t letting up on your ass for even a moment but, hoping against hope that placating him might make this end quicker, you suck in a haggard, gasping breath to steady yourself. “I’m sorry for - eek! I’m sorry for all the rude things I said to you earlier! Oww! I - I shouldn’t have come in here and - ahh! Ahh! I shouldn’t have disrespected you in your fortress, your grace! I promise I’m sorry!” 

“And what else?” 

What else? What else even was there! 

You desperately try to think, to figure it out, but your head is swimming so fast you start to think you might pass out. Loosing a broken moan, you agonizingly kick back and try to find purchase on the floor, only succeeding in half sliding off his knee. He easily readjusts his hold and rather meanly pulls harder on your panties though, making you squeal when they dig into your cunt and it essentially forces you to straighten your legs instead of slouching away from the continuous barrage of his hand. You choke on some kind of mindless animal sound and try to shove yourself forward in your desperation but he just spanks you even harder for the trouble. 

“Well? I’m waiting.” 

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dancing on the tips of your toes as if that would somehow alleviate some of the deep, throbbing ache encompassing your rear end. “I don’t know your grace, I don’t know but I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

You just barely manage to catch the sound of him clicking his tongue over your wailing. “How can you be sorry for something if you don’t even know what it is? You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I am!” 

He stops so abruptly you lurch, gasping, as if he’d followed through on delivering the next blow. Shuddering uncontrollably, you warily twist to look over your shoulder with big, wet eyes to watch him fold your panties down over your ass to join your slacks around your ankles. Realizing what he’s doing your fight or flight instincts seem to kick in like never before, and you hysterically wrench against his hold. To your stumbling surprise you actually manage to slip free for a split second, for the span of but a single heartbeat, and then he’s reaching up before you can get your trembling legs to cooperate and he roughly tucks you down across his thigh again. This time with that heavy, corded steel arm locked around your waist. 

“Wait, wait, wait - -“ 

Smack! 

Your ass promptly erupts in splinters, every single nerve ending in your behind vibrating numbly at the impact. It punches the air right out of your lungs, leaves you gasping for even a sliver of air, but he doesn’t give you a chance to fully process the hurt. Smack, smack, smack, smack! The crack of his hand across your bare skin sounds deafening now and you shake uncontrollably as you cry out in unrestrained agony. Back and forth between each burning red, swollen cheek, he pays equal attention to both sides until it feels like the tingling flesh is quite literally on fire. You writhe against the blinding hurt and sob so hard the shudders wrack through you from head to toe even as you weakly try to push up and squeeze through his arm. It’s no use though. Wriothesley’s hold is as good as iron and all you can do is wrench at each blistering crack without any way to escape it. 

“Well?” He expectantly prompts, but you’re a little too far gone in the swimming daze to properly respond now, just noising a series of incomprehensible whines and mewls with every strike. Quickly picking up that you were slipping under now, he breathes out a stilted sigh. “If there is but one thing you take away from this,” He intones, still bringing his palm down again and again, and again. “Let it be to pick your opponents more wisely in the future. You don’t just get to walk in here and start calling the shots, do you understand me?” 

You croak out something that might be a yes, incomprehensibly slurred between all the tears and snot running down your face, and the sad little hiccups making your throat constrict. That seems to be good enough for him though, and he just presses on. 

“I was nice enough to invite you to come to Meropide,” smack, smack, smack, smack “Even though I could have turned you down right from the start. I already knew your little pet project wasn’t going to pan out,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I figured I’d at least hear you out first and this is how you decided to repay me? Despite what you probably think, I don’t like having to punish people,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I’m not about to let some upstart little brat come in here and try to tell me what my inmates need. You don’t know the first thing about this place no matter what all your worthless charts tell you.” 

Smack, smack, smack! Smack! 

You flinch, weakly rocking forward when the next slap never comes. Groaning thickly, you squirm and dance on your feet, trying to shake off some of the discomfort even though it’s useless, but still he just sits there. You’re distantly aware of him breathing a bit heavier than before, either worked up from the act itself or the physical exertion of delivering a sound spanking, and you just whine low in your throat at the resounding throb throughout your body. It seems to claw through you and set every single nerve to trembling vibration, leaving you quaking violently in his hold. 

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, Wriothesley draws a steadying inhale. “Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Y - yes …” You croak out with no shortage of effort, but his blocky fingers just dig into your hip to give you a brief jostle

“Wanna’ try that again?” 

Your already strained heartbeat somehow manages to become even more wild at the panic that rushes in to smother over you. What did he want? Would he spank you again if you didn’t figure out the answer? 

“Yes, sir?” 

“That’s better.” He relents, giving your shuddering thigh an amicable pat. Silence descends over the office for a drawn out beat and then he suddenly leans forward, half dragging you with him while he opens one of the drawers on the desk to rummage around. “I don’t think you’re really sorry, not yet. But you will be soon. I know I have that damn hairbrush Sigewinne gave me somewhere.” 

A hairbrush? 

Your blood turns to ice at the implication, and the fresh wave of fear that abruptly grips you in a chokehold seems to clear some of the fog from your head. You could think just a little bit clearer now and you did not like where your thoughts were going, not one bit. Surely he wouldn’t actually take it that far after already abusing your ass so much with his hand. 

“Your g - grace?”  

Ignoring or just not hearing the weak little mouse squeak, Wriothesley settles back into his chair again, grabbing a pinching handful of your inner thigh to drag it over his knee once more. He doesn’t quite force your body across his lap but he does make sure you’re stretched out in a rather inelegant sprawl that leaves your legs embarrassingly spread and you start to shake in earnest now. You hadn’t thought it was possible for the human body to vibrate at such a high frequency but that's exactly what seems to be happening as the crushing reality of the situation gradually settles over you like a shroud. 

And then, the press of something solid and flat touches your burning ass, and you practically jolt right up off his legs altogether. 

Your skin crawls with it making you feel truly sick and nauseous even as you frantically try to twist your neck around to see. He’s got you at such an awkward angle though that you can’t make out much of anything and your panic rapidly starts to ratchet up into damn near a full on attack until he gently taps the object against your behind to pull your attention back into the moment. 

“I’m going to give you twenty spanks with this brush, little miss. I want you to count them, and don’t forget to show me some respect while you do it.” 

“I - I - I can’t, sir, I can’t, I can’t take anymore, p - please, it’s too much - -“

“Hush. I’ve got you,” He coos, unexpectedly gentle and soft, but it doesn’t do much to ease your heaving gasps or the erratic pounding of your heart. Still, you find yourself grudgingly getting pulled into that tender croon and you make a conscious effort to calm down even as you sway unsteadily over his thigh. “You’re alright. You’ll just get yourself all worked up over nothing acting like that. Deep breaths. That’s it. Now take another for me. Good girl. See? You can listen when you want to. It’s not so bad, is it?” 

He offers the pudge around your hip a reassuring, possibly even approving squeeze when your breathing starts to slow to a normal, wheezing pant rather than the thin lungfulls you’d been sucking in just moments ago. You decidedly disliked him a great deal, perhaps more so than you’d ever disliked any one single person in all your life, but you were at least glad he was able to keep you grounded. Never mind the fact he was the cause of it to begin with, you were just thankful it didn’t feel like you were going throw up and pass out anymore. 

And still the throbbing burn across your ass keeps pulling tiny little whimpers from your dry throat. It really was too much. 

“Is it necessary?” You finally manage to rattle out. 

“The brush? In my eyes it is, yes. This will show me whether or not you’ve been paying attention this whole time, if you can be respectful towards me throughout this last leg even though you’ll probably want to curse me to high heaven and back. If you can tell me you’re really sorry when we’re done then it will be over. Does that sound agreeable to you?” 

Groaning in defeat, you hang your head low and just take a moment to think. Your options were regretfully limited but … you wanted to trust him at his word and, more importantly, you just wanted to have it done and over with already. The pain crawling across your backside was immeasurable, gradually receding to a dull, distant, but no less teeth clattering ache that reminded you it was there with every thrumming pulse, and he was right to say you wanted to curse him for it. You would have given anything to do just that but Wriothesley had made it clear what he expected of you. Obedience, compliance, respect. 

Perhaps you should have expected no less from the reclusive Duke of Meropide but you certainly would not be making this mistake again. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper into the stillness at last, a sort of numb surprise curling over you at the lack of bite in your own voice. You’d expected to hear bitter tears, anger, defensive pride, not … such a soft, almost shaky little note of submission. 

The very idea that his unjust treatment of you had somehow accomplished exactly what it was meant to chills you almost as much as it brings you a strange sense of comfort which he only further enforces by warmly caressing his unoccupied palm over the curve of your bare waist. 

“Good. Then let’s get started.” 

An expectant pause and then — whap! 

You violently lurch, dizzy and disoriented from the sudden intensity of the impact. It was so different from his hand, so hard and unforgiving that it made your stomach feel like it was about to burst right up out of your throat. Reeling and weakly gasping in the aftermath, you futilely arch against the sting, kicking your legs out, but there’s no escaping it or shaking it off. The pain seems to engulf you all at once, making you choke on a haggard, gutted little sound. Like you couldn’t even scream around it and only whimper in breathless, mind numbing agony. 

“O - one, sir.” You finally manage to rattle out to his humming satisfaction. 

Whap! On the other sore cheek. 

“Oh! Oh, oh, oooohhhh, n - nnghhnhn!! Two, sir …” 

Whap! Back to the first. Whap! The second again. 

You can’t quite formulate the words now, just laying there spread out on Wriothesley’s lap while your legs uncontrollably shake and you suck in quick, faltering thin gasps of air in an attempt to reorient yourself. It was like the sharp, oppressively heavy stroke of the wooden brush was knocking your brain around and making it hard just to remember how to breathe. Sniffling back a rush of fresh tears, however, you force your mind to stay focused in the here and now rather than drifting off to some faraway place where you currently weren’t getting your ass beat. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Why he was making you count like this, to keep you firmly planted and present to ensure your attention didn’t start to slip at the first chance and you remained attentive for this final part of your trial. The sadistic bastard. 

“Four, sir …” 

Whap! Whap! 

“O - oooh, gods … s - six, sir.” 

Whap! Whap! 

You have to take a moment to collect yourself, to breathe through the sickening pain that encompasses your backside, and he waits patiently until you eventually lift your head again. “Eight, sir.” 

Whap! 

“Eeekk! Ahh, ah … nine — ahhn, sir!” 

Dazed and more than just a little lost in the hazy delirium swimming around your head, you slowly start to find and grasp at a tiny fraction of your inner strength. Your voice comes quicker, albeit thinner, as you hold your breath tightly over the course of the next few swats of the brush, finally seeing an end in sight just over the horizon. A few more and then you would be done. You could leave this place and never see the duke again for as long as you lived. 

“Fifteen, sir!” You hear yourself blurt out, nearly sobbing in relief only to choke on it when the next swing cracks down on the opposite cheek a second later. Seething viciously, you shake for a moment before gritting out the next number. And the next. 

You’re practically hysterical when you finally get to nineteen, all but blubbering across his lap, but you take the last strike like a champ, squealing a cursory, “Twenty, sir!” And then immediately giving in to the urge to dance on your toes, trying in vain to chase away some of the skin crawling ache by moving around. He leans back into the chair, just giving you a moment to process it on your own terms, before eventually loosening his arm around your middle so he can help you up. You move gingerly and wheeze through the process of getting your jelly filled legs underneath you but, at last, you find yourself standing between the wide spread of his knees and you cautiously reach back to rub your sore bottom. 

You regret it immediately, hissing at the intense heat coming off the abused skin as much as the stabs of pain just brushing your fingertips against the tender area causes. But before you can truly process the full brunt of it, he takes your wrist in hand and tugs it away from your behind so he can hold it between the two of you instead. 

“You’re welcome to try but it isn’t going to do much to take away any of the pain. You’ll have that reminder in the back of your mind for the next few days, any time you sit or your clothes rub against it.” A pause while he studies you with that frustratingly impassive expression, taking in your wet face, the clumps of your eyelashes where they’re sticking together, the distant look in your eyes. He takes it all in and then offers you a small, brief smile. “Are you sorry now?” 

You almost choose petulant silence but, not wanting to tempt fate any further, you slowly nod your head. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry for how I acted towards you today, and for not listening when you told me to stop. I won’t do it again.” 

“Good girl.” Giving your fingers a quick squeeze, he reaches down to take hold of your hips in both of his massive hands and carefully guide you back a step so he can rise to his feet as well. “Alright, go stand in the corner. Face the wall and keep your cute bottom uncovered.”

Immediately planting your feet into the floor when he tries to nudge you in the general direction of the wall, you send him a flustered look of warning. “You said that would be the end of it.” 

“It was, and you did so well for someone whom I suspect hasn’t been spanked nearly enough in her lifetime. But,” Wriothesley quickly holds up a hand to stop you when you draw a sharp, scathing breath to snap at him with. “It’s usually customary to give you a chance to further reflect on your punishment while the sting settles the rest of the way in. Besides, I need to run down to the infirmary to get a cream for your butt and you can’t very well sit down right now, can you?”

“You are infuriating!” You practically spit at him, fists clenching with the urge to reach out and punch him square in the solar plexus. “What exactly do you think this is, your grace? A fun little afternoon we’ve shared together over tea and gossip? I don’t want your stupid cream! I want to leave this place and never be forced to look upon you ever again, do you hear me?” 

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear.” Wriothesley murmurs with an accompanying quirk of his brow to go along with it. “Gotta’ say though, I wasn’t expecting you to bounce right back to your earlier attitude so fast. Usually brats like you need a bit more time to recoup some of their charge after getting it all out of their system like that.”

You reel back in abject shock. “Brats like me? You have some nerve acting like I’m the problem when you just - -“ 

He reaches up quicker than you can react and abruptly pulls you into the front of him, one hand lifting to cradle your head against the firm, muscular wall of his body while the other curls around your back so you can’t escape. Your skin positively crawls at the contact, lips pulling back in a vicious snarl, but then … he just gently rocks you back and forth, softly petting your hair while he does it, and you go stock still in your surprise. You didn’t understand it. What he was doing or why he was doing it, and you understood even less why it almost made you feel a bit — funny inside. Tingly, almost. 

“There, there,” Wriothesley murmurs, just holding you tightly enough to prevent escape but still soft enough not to smother. “Is this what you need instead? I didn’t take you for the sort but I have no problem giving it to you as long as it gets rid of that grumpy frown for a little while. You’re way cuter when you don’t look so damn mad …” 

You stand there for a long beat unsure of how to react. Knowing you should kick up a fit, fight him tooth and nail, drag his name through the mud for how he’s treated you here today and yet — somehow the heat of his body, the heady scent of his muted cologne seems to drain the fight from your body. It leaves you feeling empty and hollow, and a sudden rush of emotions quickly floods in to replace it all. You don’t really understand it, nor are you entirely sure you want to, but you were a little too tired to keep up the pretense any longer. Not while there was a veritable storm whipping up inside your chest.

Eyes watering with a new, inexplicable sheen of tears, you slowly bring your hands up to clutch at his waistcoat. Maybe it would be okay if you entertained this for just another moment longer … maybe you could attack him when his guard was down after you’d finished fighting back the sobs suddenly threatening to wrack through your body. He’d chipped away at you, wiped the slate clean, so to speak, and now he was filling you back up with a comforting warmth you wouldn’t have expected from him given his icy demeanor. 

You still weren’t particularly fond of his methods but at least there was some amount of peace to be found in his embrace, and you may or may not have liked it just a teeny tiny bit. Not that you’d ever admit that to Wriothesley, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You could certainly keep the secret.

⭐

Crossposted: here