#that and the getting sent away to do an arranged marriage like a political headache kind of girl coded. who said that

[visenyaism]

You mentioned something about Daemon's gender issues in your last post. I know he has a lot of issues but would you mind elaborating?

TLDR if daemon was born a girl he would have married viserys just like their parents did and their grandparents did and been the number one most important thing in his life instead of being constantly banished dismissed or sent away and he is acutely aware of this

[thiswasinevitableid]

02, Vincent/Apollo, NSFW! Thanks and happy holidays!

Here you go!

02. (Fantasy? Medieval) Our marriage was arranged and you’ve been away since the wedding but now it’s winter and you’re home and we have to figure out how to actually get along

The mountain railcar slows to a stop, the driver calling “Crocus Valley, next stop.”

Vincent stands, murmuring excuse mes to his fellow passengers as he moves to the door. He steps onto the street and immediately draws his coat around himself; it seems winter reached the valley early this year. 

He confirms with the porter that his bags will be sent to the house and resigns himself to walking home now that the snowy streets have limited most forms of transportation. 

“Mr. Capra?” The young satyr loading luggage onto the cart pauses, embroidered overnight case in hand, “if you don’t mind a slower trip, “you can ride up here with me.”

“That would be extremely appreciated, thank you.” He climbs into the passenger's seat, pulls his hood over his head as the cart behind him bucks and rattles. The driver pushes a button on the side of the cart and a canopy springs up to cover the luggage from the elements. 

“You might not remember me, but I’m Damien’s little brother, Elias.” The driver steers the horseless cart onto the road. 

“Oh yes! How are you? And is your brother doing well?”

“Better than, he took that endowment you gave him and turned it into six separate patrons for his paintings. Made enough to move the whole family into a fancier house.” The boy shrugs, “Mother insists I keep this job so I don’t get too big headed and lazy.”

Vincent chuckles, “Yes, mothers do tend to insist on that sort of thing.”

They chat as they curve through the neighborhoods. When the gates of the Capra estate glimmer into view, Elias’s ears flick, “Oh, I meant to say, congratulations on the marriage.”

“Thank you.” He smiles.

Right. His marriage. The marriage to a human who does not seem to like him who has been in his house the last two months.

He’d thought his days offering political service to his home ended when he stopped being governor. But when his successor came to him asking what to do about the human lord who was passing through Sylvain and was offering her a strange form of insurance against later attacks. Lord Cold seemed insulted that the Satyrs would demand such a thing, insisting the werewolves to the west had let him pass without assuming he would use the knowledge of the usually closed-off land of Sylvain to try and conquer it later. 

But, Lord Cold had said, he would offer his son into marriage with a Satyr of good standing (his words, not governor Cosma’s). She’d looked at Vincent with exasperation and said, “he’s even suggesting married Satyrs send their spouses away and take his son instead!”

The upshot of this headache inducing evening was that Vincent agreed to marry the young man. He had no spouse, indeed he’d comfortably accepted he’d die a bachelor. He was both high status enough to please Lord Cold without having any direct access to information that his son could steal if he turned out to be a spy. 

He married Apollo Cold the next morning, wearing the suit he usually sported at other people’s weddings as an angular, handsome, furious face said its vows while barely touching Vincent’s hands. 

The messenger came for him at the reception, apologetic even after Vincet assured him it was alright and to help himself to the wedding brunch. A conflict was arising between the dragonborns and bugbears at the exact same time a visiting delegation of Bigfoots was coming to negotiate usage of the large river to the southeast. Cosma needed him to go to the Summit Summit (bugbears take any chance for word play) higher up the mountain for a week to figure out what the hell was going on while she made sure the valley had sufficient water for next year's crops. 

The war was indeed averted. After two and a half months of argument and negotiation. 

All this is to say Vincent wishes he could collapse once he arrives in his house instead of dealing with a man he doesn’t know and made it clear he was disgusted by him. 

Then again, he ought to give the poor boy the benefit of the doubt. He clearly had no say in the arrangement. For all he knows, Apollo is anxiously awaiting his arrival, fearful of what might come through the doors. 

Elias helps him carry his bags across the threshold, eyes widening when he sees the tip Vincent slips into his palm. Hooves descend the stairs and Moira, his trusted housekeeper, hurries over to hug him. 

“Stars above am I glad you’re back.”

“It’s good to be home. Did all go well while I was away.”

She shakes her, “The house is all well and fine but your husband-”

There’s a crash  from upstairs and they both freeze. The faint sound of someone speaking low and threatening reaches him. A moment later Edgar, the cooks assistant, clatters down the stairs with tears in his eyes. 

“Oh dear, what did he say this time?” Moira pats the boys head as he sniffles. 

“I, I knocked over a stack of books picking up the dinner tray. He, he said I’d ruined hours of work and, and that he’d make sure Mr. Capra sacked me when he got home.”

“Did he now?”

The boy jumps, then bows to him, “I’m, I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to knock the books over, or spill tea on his robe-”

“Come now, of course you didn’t” Vincent rests his hand on Edgar’s shoulder, “you’ve been at my house what, two years now? I know you’re as careful as can be.” He smiles, “now, can you go tell Cook not to fuss over a big dinner tonight? Whatever's in the kitchen will suit me fine.”

“Yes, sir.” Edgar gallops off.

Vincent looks at Moira with concern, “Does he speak to all of you that way?”

“Yes. If it’s not elaborate threats of harm or insults to our intelligence, it’s promises that his husband will see to it we never work again.” She bleats disapprovingly, “it doesn’t get to most of us, we know how you really are. But to younger folks like Edgar or the kids from town who helped prepare the house for winter, his threats are terrifying.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was like this. I’ll speak to him now.”

“Good luck.

Vincent climbs the stairs, turning towards the north wing and his dearly missed bedroom. Opening the door reveals Apollo sitting in a golden robe by the fire, reading in his favorite chair. 

“What now, you incompetent little whelp?”

“For starters, I’d ask you not to refer to any of my staff that way.”

Apollo’s head snaps up so suddenly he then fumbles to push blonde hair from his face, “Vincent! What are you doing here so soon?”

“Telling you that you can no longer use my absence to convince people I’ll have them fired.”

“I did no such thing.”

Vincent sighs, “Is that so? So Edgar was in tears over nothing?”

“Whose Edgar?” It’s a genuine question. 

“The cook's assistant that you just terrified!”

“Ah. Well, he should thank me that it wasn’t worse.”

“Stars help me.” Vincent rubs his temples. 

“Besides, you cannot be upset with me running the house how I see fit. It’s my house as well.” Long fingers drum on the book cover, “and I was also assuming you were dead.”

He despairs at the fact the younger man can’t imagine negotiations not leading to violence, “Assuming? Or hoping?”

Something flickers across Apollo’s face and he grins, voice going cold, “Ah, so there is a working brain in there. Yes, I was hoping you’d died so I could fulfill my duty to my father without being stuck living with some ugly old goat.” The smile widens, “but really, even if you dislike how I treat my servants, do you think you’ll ever get a better chance at someone to share this place with? They offered you up because they knew no one would be sad to be deprived of the chance to marry you.”

The last words sting. Worse, Apollo knows they do, and as he stands he adds, “I am not interested in obeying some soft, old man. If anything you should be glad I am here; this house badly needs a firm hand.”

Vincent takes a deep breath, then moves swiftly across the floor, blocking Apollo exiting into the bedroom proper.

“Get out of my way.”

“No. Apollo, I understand marriage to me isn’t what you wanted. But that’s no excuse to be cruel to my staff or to me. You and I are going to be together for quite some time; I want us to have, if not a happy marriage, then at least a pleasant one.”

“Then I repeat: get out of my way.”

Yet another deep breath, “Perhaps I should have said pleasant and respectful. I have no intention of being mean or controlling, but that doesn’t mean I will let you disrespect me and the rest of the household. And” he levels Apollo with a sterner gaze, “if you cannot be polite, I will tell the staff to ignore any instructions or requests that come from you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would, and I will. Now, do I have your word that you will not insult or threaten my staff?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you. That’s a start at least.”

Apollo moves past him, then turns, annoyed, when Vincent hangs his coat on its usual hook, “Why are you following me?”

“....These are my rooms. That’s my bed.” He gestures around at all the items that suggest his life and preferences, “where did you think you were?”

“A guest room decorated with excellent taste. I assumed your room would be more…rustic.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of it, “Did you see nothing of the rest of the valley while you were here? We Satyrs love our creature comforts and artistic flourishes.”

Apollo is quiet for so long that Vincent worries he’s broken him. 

“You have very nice taste. Also your wardrobe is impeccable.”

“Thank you.”

“I have been wearing some items. I am keeping your grey and gold pajamas. It’s freezing in this miserable territory and I had none of my own.”

“Really?” Vincent sinks down by the smaller fire place, rubbing polish on his hooves with a groan, “surely you packed clothing for the journey with your father.”

“He left me with nothing but a few items to wear.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“He did not wish to give your people an item more than you deserved.” Apollo glances over at him, “his words. Not mine. And because I am his favorite, I am the lucky one. We tossed my brother off to satiate some forest spirit on the way here. He offered himself to anyone in our party he could in hopes being sullied would mean the creature did not want him. Of course, no one was interested; he’s offputting to the last.”

“...I thought your father mentioned you were a twin.”

“That is beside the point.”

Vincent quickly runs through the forest spirits on their route and determines the other Cold son is in safe hands, “Well, tomorrow we can go into town and make sure you have everything you need. Commerce tends to slow down as winter comes.”

A pleasant expression crosses Apollo’s face for the first time, “Good. I am glad you understand I deserve to be treated as the nobility I am.”

It’s a step. A tiny, tiny, tiny step.

He excuses himself to the kitchen. Cook (the only name he has ever told Vincent; even his apprentice years ago never learned his true name) sets a plate of fig and cheese toasts in front of him, and they chat about the state of the wine cellar as Vincent stuffs his face. 

When he returns to the bedroom, Apollo is once again reading by the fire. Vincent murmurs that he’s turning in for the night, and that Apollo is welcome to join him if he wishes. 

He’s doing a book of number puzzles in bed when the human slips into the bedroom and locks the door behind him. Then he practically oozes under the covers, turning a staggeringly charming smile on Vincent. 

“Is there something you want?”

“I want to have sex with you.”

Vincent’s ears twitch, “Really? I, I’m not opposed by any means but you didn’t exactly seem interested earlier.”

Apollo frowns, “What do you mean ‘not opposed?’ You’re a satyr.”

His heart sinks, “Excuse me?”

“Everyone knows you’re libidinous creatures who particularly enjoy deflowering humans.” Apollo pokes him in the arm, “why aren’t you deflowering me? Look at me!”

“Because I’m an actual person, not some caricature in a human novel!”  He pulls away from his husband, “And making rude assumptions about me is the last thing I find arousing.”

“Look” Apollo snarls, “I have spent the last two hours reaching the point where I was ready to do this. So stop pretending you do not want me and fuck me, old man.”

Vincent tosses the blankets away, grabbing Apollo by the arm and pulling him to the bedroom door, “Goodnight, Apollo. Find somewhere else to sleep. Because I am not sharing my bed with someone who cannot go more than five sentences without insulting me!”

He shuts and locks the door to shouted protests, and ignores them long enough finally, mercifully, fall asleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The audacity of that old goat, throwing him out like that. 

Apollo glares at the couch cushions. Is it his fault he believed what his father had told him? That he comports himself as a lord should instead of being friendly with the servants? That he was left with no choice but to sleep on this soft, purple couch like some housecat?

Alright, so he could have found one of the guest rooms. But he likes this one, likes the colorful mementos in belljars, the view of the trees, the way the bushes on the balcony coax the birds to sit and preen. Not that he’ll admit any of that to Vincent. 

Hooves on polished wood announce his husband leaving bed, and Apollo feigns sleep until he’s out the door. He’s no fool; the offered shopping trip is no more. Vincent will no doubt demand the rest of his borrowed clothes back, make Apollo go about in the same four items for days on end until he grovels appropriately. 

When no such punishment arises by mid-day, he becomes suspicious. Is his husband planning something more severe?

He sneaks through the house in search of him, finds him in a heated, indoor wading pool near the gardens. Being nearly naked in an unfamiliar house held no appeal, so he has spent no time here. Which is probably why he didn’t notice the tiled murals depicting a staggering amount of nudity. The only one that does not is off a woman with flowing, chestnut hair and a sultry smile, a glass in one hand a book in the other. 

The fountain at the center of the pool means he didn’t hear Vincent move closer. So he starts when a voice says, “My mother. My father commissioned that.” A soft laugh, “half the art in the place is of her. Comforting, in a way, to feel as if she’s still watching over me.”

“You’re half human?”

He nods, “Satyr blood is apparently very strong, which is why I look this way. She was an actress in a traveling company. My father was smitten, asked her permission to follow the troupe for a year so he could be near her. When they returned to the valley, he proposed.”

There isn’t an obvious, correct reply, so Apollo keeps quiet. 

“Would you like to dip your toes in? The water is lovely.”

It can’t hurt to take the offer, so he slides off his shoes and rolls up his pants, sitting on the edge and sighing in spite of himself as the warm water envelopes his feet. The tension in his body increases with every moment of silence, every time Vincent glances his way but says nothing. 

“If I say I am sorry will you let me sleep in the bed?”

“No. Not because I don’t appreciate the apology but because, until you decide you can really, truly, live peacefully and respectfully with me, I think it would be best for us to act as roommates rather than spouses.”

He waits, but no other conditions appear. 

“Alright. I will try.”

Vincent starts to say something else, but Apollo stands and strides out of the room before the tiny, fragile thing nesting in his chest can make him drop his guard. 

For the next three days, he tries. He really does. He is cordial to the staff, only snapping a few times, and spends his time with Vincent in respectful silence. He tells himself this is the strategic choice, to keep in the good graces of power and that it has nothing to do with how some weak part of him felt ashamed when Vincent looked at him with disappointment. 

On day four, he’s pacing by the fire when Vincent looks up from his desk and asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. No, actually, I am not, I am bored out of my skull. I have read every book in the house, walked the grounds, and I cannot use the exercise yard because there is a foot of snow!”

Vincent removes his reading glasses, “You read every book here?”

Apollo’s reply is delayed by his mind unhelpfully comparing Vincent’s eyes to sunflowers, “What else was I supposed to do while you were away and I was stuck here?”

“You really never went into town? You didn’t think you were a prisoner, did you?”

“No. I just had no interest.”

The satyr sighs, “If you insist.”

He crosses his arms, “I…I do not like looking incompetent and foolish. I know the norms and rules of home. I do not know them here.”

Vincent stands, clearly intending to mock him. So when he says, “why don’t we go into town today? I have some errands as it is, and you do need some clothing that’s your own” Apollo is so stunned he simply nods and goes to fetch a coat. 

He waits for the stinger to come the rest of the afternoon; all through the walk through town, Vincent commenting on landmarks. All through the clothing racks of a quartet of stores, Vincent chatting with the owners as Apollo tests how much he’s allowed to get (he never finds the limit). All through their time at the grocers, where Apollo pretends to not see the customers gossiping about him even though he wants to make them cower. 

By the time he understands the truth, they’re winding their way home. Frustration boils in his chest. He could have enjoyed himself if only he hadn’t been so sure…

A glittering marquee catches his eye, “What’s that?”

“The art museum. Or, I suppose art and textiles is more accurate? They have an entire wing devoted to fashion.”

“Could we see it?” He says the words before the same wariness that dogged his entire day ruins this too. 

“Not tonight, they close soon and it’s much more fun to take your time. But if you’d like, we could go tomorrow.”

“Yes. Please.” It’s like pulling a tooth, that word.

Vincent smiles, horns glinting in the streetlights, “Then it’s a date.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Breakfast in bed hasn’t happened since he was a boy, so the tray settling across his legs is a surprise. 

Apollo stands at the side of the bed, hands behind his back bouncing slightly on his toes.

“Good morning Vincent, Cook sent this up just now.”

He glances at the clock on the mantel, “At your request so we could go to the museum sooner?”

“No. Yes. Is it that obvious?” He looks genuinely ashamed.

“A bit. But I hardly blame you for being excited. Here” he pats the bed, “keep me company while I eat?”

The human sits, talking with practiced pleasantness about the weather. His behavior moves from deferrential to downright friendly once they reach the museum. Vincent loses himself in a tangent explaining how neo-classical works have distinct color palettes based on the restrictions on materials due to a war, looks up to find Apollo hanging on his every word. 

When they reach the jewelry room, he’s treated to a new sight: Apollo dropping his cool facade and hurrying across the marble floor to a display case.

“Do you know what this is?” He indicates a small sword with a hilt of carved ruby, “it’s a ceremonial item, used to denote generals. There’d been a pattern of common soldiers making fake versions of uniforms of insignias and then riding off to try and give orders when they thought their superiors were wrong. Who knows if they were, but it meant a constant stream of miscommunication. The thinking was that such an expensive, eye-catching couldn’t be bought or replicated on a footsoldiers pay.”

Vincent glances at the plaque bearing only the date and location the piece was found, “Where did you learn that?”

“Father insisted on a thorough study of the military history of all nearby lands. I…I must admit that I re-read the portions on clothing and other frivolous, decorative items more than I should have.”

“It seems to me you just demonstrated that they’re not frivolous, but convey important information. Then again” he gestures at his outfit, embroidered with images of mountain flowers, “I like a little frivolity.”

Apollo’s amber eyes rove across him, as if seeing him for the first time. An inch of tension drops from his shoulders and he smiles an unfamiliar, small, but very real smile. 

“Do they have any armor? Ah, there, come on, you’ll never believe what some makers can do with metal work..”

It’s another two hours before they even reach the gift shop, Apollo buying a book on obscure and novel satyr fashion through the ages. They have an early dinner in the museum cafe, snow drifting across the windows of the coffee scented atrium. 

On the walk home, Apollo begins reading from the book to distract them from the growing cold, Vincent keeping their arms linked so his husband doesn’t stumble and fall as he describes some truly ludicrous attempts at putting shoes on hooves. They’re so engrossed in the conversation that they continue it through the bedroom door as they both undress, Apollo striding in the instant he can to show Vincent an illustration of horns wrapped in a dozen layers of rope. 

It’s only when their legs bump together that Vincent realizes he got into bed on autopilot and Apollo joined him in order to keep showing him the pages. 

The human looks down and pulls away, “I apologize. You see, this is why I try to avoid such things, I get all caught up and excited and then I become careless.”

Vincent sets a gentle hand on his knee, “It’s alright with me if you stay the night. Or you could stay here until we’re done talking and then retire to the couch.”

Apollo studies him carefully, the slowly shifts sideways so they’re touching once more. 

“I will spend the night here. I like this bed. And I,” pink rushes up his cheekbones, “I like the company.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything had been going so well.

Apollo was learning to navigate town on his own, would go out for an afternoon and return with a piece of art or on the delivery cart with a new item of furniture for the house that was always the perfect fit for the room he put it in. He was, if not friendly, polite to the staff, and even apologized to all of them for his prior behavior. 

They shared the bed every night. After the first evening of trying to stay on his back, Apollo seemed to relax and would flop about in his sleep, always ending up curled around Vincent, tucked up like a blossom awaiting the sun. 

Better still, in the darkness one night he confessed to Vincent that he wanted to put bird feeders up on their balcony.

“They are clever, resourceful, more so than many people give them credit for. But even so I want there to be millet for them when the snow gets thick and the frost kills and covers everything.”

It makes Apollo’s mood today all the more vexing. It’s not like he hasn’t been irritable now and then, but today it’s as if someone turned back the clock and returned him to the state he was in when he arrived. 

When he’s downright mean at lunch, Vincent confronts him in their rooms. 

“Why are you chastising me? They were the ones being slow and clumsy today!”

“They weren’t. I think your mood is making you see things that way. If you’d just tell me-”

“I do not need to tell you anything, you grey, mangy, fat, son of a wh-”

He doesn’t get the last word all the way out before Vincent has him shoved up against the wall by his lapels. 

“Enough. I shudder to think what manners your boorish father taught you but in this house you will never, ever, refer to my family in such a way.”

Apollo says nothing, eyes huge in the firelight. Vincent tests his weight, finds with horror that most of it is being used to press Apollo into the wall hard enough to hurt. He steps back immediately, smoothing Apollos’ shirt down before tucking his hands behind him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my temper get to me. I am going to get some air.”

“Alright.”

“And please, please think about telling me what’s really going on?”

“Alright.” Apollo is staying close to the wall, not moving a muscle. Vincent sighs, grabs his coat, and heads out into the snow.

—--------------------------------------------------

What was that? Has Vincent always been capable of that? 

Apollo peels himself from the wall and creeps over to the bedroom window. Vincent’s shape moves out towards the garden, and Apollo forces himself to sit on the window seat so he doesn’t follow. 

The message that’s gnawed at him all day be damned, all he wants now is for Vincent to do that again. To manhandle him, remind him of how strong he is, then fuss over him until Apollo forgets there was ever anything in his life that troubled him. 

He could ask. But how? And for what? What if Vincent is disgusted by his desire? Surely it’s safer to goad him into it once more. 

Lounging by the window, he plots his approach, though whenever he gets ahead of himself and imagines Vincent holding him down against the bed he gets too aroused and has to think about birds to calm himself down. He nearly falls out of his spot with excitement when Vincent steps into the bedroom. 

“No falls?” He asks, voice brimming with concern.

“No. Though there’s an icy patch near the roses, so be careful if you go out.” Vincent lays his coat over a chair by the fire.

“It’s hardly surprising you didn’t. I think you’re more goat than most satyrs.”

Vincent ignores him, drying his hooves by the grate one at a time. 

“I have another theory. Perhaps you don’t look half human because your mother actually fucked a goat and that cancelled it out.”

Vincent tips his head back, faint, frustrated groan audible under the crackle of the fire. Then he turns, hands on his hips, “Apollo, for goodness sake what is going on? It’s like you want me to put you over my knee!”

“You should! You, you should absolutely do that because I, I have not been behaving and I will not until you do that and then I will behave so well that when you are through you will want nothing but to pet my hair and tell me how good I am.”

Vincent bleats, something he only does when truly taken aback. 

“It, it would be your right as my husband too. To discipline me. But also because you’re my husband you have to be certain I am alright afterwards. In fact as your husband I, I order you to do that! Right here in this bed!”

The satyr moves towards him, voice light as spring rain, “Apollo, have you been awful all day because you want me to play at punishing you in a sexual way?”

“I….No. Or, at least, not until you came in just now. I got word from father today, about what he’s scene and his plans for unclaimed land once he finds it and I, we, he was supposed to take me with him the whole way. I was going to work by his side, aid him in his great deeds, be the heir to whatever he created and he just left me here. Like I was nothing more than a sack of flour to be bartered.” Anger coils through his veins and he squeezes his eyes shut, “I am tired of thinking about it. I am tired of hurting and then feeling weak for doing so. All I want is to feel something else.”

Lavender and fresh linen reaches his nose, and when he opens his eyes Vincent is right in front of him. The satyr cups his face, keeps it upturned so he can meet his eyes. 

“I have an idea. But first: promise me the next time this happens, you’ll start here, not with the insults?”

“I will try my very hardest.”

“Good boy.” Vincent bends and kisses him so sweetly Apollo gives up on composure and melts against him. 

“Now” Vincent runs his fingers through Apollo’s hair, “this is what we’ll do. You will undress and lay across my lap and I will, ah, discipline you. When I feel you have learned your lesson, I will use this exquisite body to relieve the frustration that build in me each day I wake up with you in my arms and have been unable to take you then and there.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Apollo sheds his layers, gold and white fabric pooling on the floor. When he’s done, he’s like a snake in a brand new skin; vulnerable and sensitive but no longer aching to tear his skin away. 

Vincent lays against the cherry wood headboard, wrapped in his lilac bathrobe and patting his lap expectantly. Apollo climbs onto the bed, but before he lay down Vincent rests a hand on his chest.

“You really are gorgeous, darling. Thank the stars for politics, I could never have won a prize as perfect otherwise.”

A blush spreads as Vincent traces hearts on his chest. Less confidently than he’d like, he murmurs, “That is not true. You captivate me. Even at the wedding I found myself admiring you; they grey in your hair, the shine of your horns, the way you carry yourself so that everyone listens without you having to say a word.”

Vincent smiles, cheeks adorably pink, “You flatter me, sweetheart. Now, be a good boy and lay down.”

Apollo rests across his lap, goosebumps running up his skin in spite of the fire. Vincent moves his hand in slow, deliberate circles on his ass, then smacks once, lightly, and gives a pleased hum. 

“You, you can go harder.” His hips wiggle, which only turns him on more as he notices the contrast between his bare skin and the fine robe.

“I know, but I don’t want to. This isn’t really about punishment, after all.” Another light slap, “although, you were very rude for bringing up my ravishing you on that first night.”

“I know better now.”

“Indeed you do.” The next slap is much louder, but doesn’t sting. In the aftermath, he feels faux fur rubbing along his ass. Me moans and pushes back in hopes of more. Vincent chuckles, delivers three more slaps, “do you like that? It’s a paddle I haven’t used in some time.”

“Then use it more nowOH, ohhhhhh” He squeaks as Vincent offers up two, harder blows before returning to soothing the stinging skin. 

“As I was saying, it was rude to bring up that topic because I do very much enjoy the fantasy of taking some handsome humans’ virginity in the roughest way possible.”

“Ohhhhhhyes, yes, you can take mine however you please.”

A rough groan, “Tempting my darling. We could manage it too. We’d have to wait until the spring, let you wander the orchards only for me to carry you off and ravish you by the waterfall so no one can hear your pleas.”

Apollo grinds his hips against a warm thigh, cock aching from the thought of Vincent using him where anyone could see. 

“But I do not want to wait that long.”

“Neither do I. Besides, in my heart that isn’t what I want for that first time. I want to spoil you, make you feel every inch the treasure you are, my wonderful, rare bird.”

He whines, turning his face to stare pleadingly up at his husband, “If you keep talking like that I’m not lasting much longer.”

“That’s alright. You can cum whenever you like, just know that will not change my plans to use you for my pleasure afterwards.” A sharp, possessive smack, “you are my good boy, after all.”

His orgasm knocks the air from him, so abrupt that all he can manage is an absurd, pathetic whine as hum cums on Vincent’s legs. Useless, he can’t even sound right-

“You make such charming sounds, little bird.” Vincent guides him up so they’re sitting face to face. Apollo gawks when he notices the bulge he was rubbing against looks twice as big as it felt. 

“Do you like it?”

He clambers into Vincent’s lap, “Fuck me. Now.”

A kiss to his cheek, “Not all the way tonight. Fitting that inside you is going to take some time and I want to be able to savor it. And right now I feel far too much like a horny old goat, as you would call me, to be patient.”

Apollo kisses him as hard as he dares, hoping it makes up for all the times he failed to tell him how handsome he is. Then he grins, “so what are you going to do, old man?”

He laughs as his back hits the bed and Vincent holds his legs up in the air. 

“I could add some more lube to your thighs, but you came on them some and I am out of patience.” He shoves his cock between them, then closes Apollo’s legs and throws them both over one shoulder, locking an arm around his knees to hold them in place. He moans, “finally, time to get some use out of you, my pretty thing.”

Apollo moans happily, his own cock bouncing weakly as Vincent fucks his thighs. It’s a stunning view, not only for the cock on display but also for how delighted Vincent looks. Apollo should have been making him feel that way the whole time. 

Ah well, he’ll just have to make up for it now. Like letting his husband put his cock wherever he pleases. 

Vincent grunts and cums hard across Apollo’s stomach and chest. Even as cum continues to spill onto his skin, Vincent turns his head to playfully kiss Apollo’s knee.

“Such a good boy.”

“I tried. I, I did I-”

Vincent carefully lowers his legs and crawls to his side, “You were wonderful, little bird. And now I think a bath is in order. Perhaps I can brush your hair? I know you like it when I do.”

Apollo rolls on his side, snickering as the fur on Vincent’s legs tickles him, “That would be wonderful. But I…I would also like to polish your horns once you’re done with my hair. They look so nice to touch and I want to make you feel as safe and as happy as I do right now.”

Vincent takes his hand and kisses it, “I would like that very much, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go take care of each other. 

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

The Love Yet Known Part 2

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs to make sacrifices to ensure the safety of his family. So he concocts a plan to marry off his sister to the one and only Alfie Solomons.

Thanks for the love for the first part! Heres for you, @97freaknik. Sorry the tagging system isn’t working. 

And thank you to my permanent tag who have yet to block me despite my spamming of works. 

          The drive to London was almost absolutely silent. Neither Alfie nor Eliza really knew what to say to one another. It was as if they were just acting out something for the sake of Tommy. Neither of them exactly knew how they’d ended up in such a predicament.

            Alfie’s mind was racing, wondering how stupid he was to agree to something like marrying a Shelby. He thought about the ramifications, was there even a rabbi who would consider converting her and allowing them to marry? What sort of effect would this have on his life in the long run?

            He glanced to his left where Eliza had been sitting quietly since they’d left Warwickshire. Her eyes were locked on the window, never turning her head. He wondered if she was wishing she was on the outside, not in the car with him. Maybe she figured if she didn’t look at him, she wouldn’t have to think of the arrangement.  

            Alfie cleared his throat, the silence too uncomfortable for his liking. “Erm, you like dogs?” He asked.

            She looked away from the window to show she had heard him. “Pardon?”

            “Dogs? Do you like dogs? I have a dog.” He clarified. “He ain’t mean or anything. I bought him to be a guard dog but he had other plans. Too nice for his own good.”

            A hint of a smile formed on her lips. The sense of humor didn’t exactly fit his image. But it did help her relax a little. “Yes, I like dogs.”

            “Good. That’s good. I sorta have a nasty habit of picking up strays.” He admitted. “I don’t keep all of ‘em. There’s a charity that a dear friend of mine runs. They train dogs to help blind people. So, they take in most of the strays.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It was strange. It was almost as if he was trying to list off his good traits so Eliza wouldn’t look at him like he was a monster. Maybe he could put her mind at ease. “But, Cyril I kept. Cyril’s me dog. I kept him, couldn’t give him away.” The silence on Eliza’s end was killing him. He wanted her to say exactly what she thought about him. Most people who worked for him kept their opinions to themselves. Most of his business partners/enemies were vocal about what they thought. But neither of those opinions mattered. Because none of those people were intending to marry him. If they were to marry, Alfie wanted to know Eliza’s opinion of him. Even if she said she hated him and wished him dead, at least he would know.

            “He sounds lovely.” She said politely.

            “Yeah…he is.” Alfie fiddled with one of his rings. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make this work. It gave him a headache thinking about it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Much to Alfie’s relief, Eliza took immediately to Cyril. The bullmastiff seemed to enjoy a female presence in the flat. At least she didn’t feel completely alone in Camden Town. Alfie just felt a little guilty that her only companion was a slobbery, goofy dog.

            Still, he capitalized on her affection for the mutt. He allowed her to take Cyril out for walks whenever she pleased and didn’t say anything when Cyril started to sleep in her bedroom.

            Meanwhile, Alfie was trying to figure out the complicated matters of converting Eliza so they could get married. Tommy continued to call to push the matter. It was clear over the phone that he was desperate to make the union complete. The Italians would be closing in at any time and Tommy didn’t need another threat from Camden Town to weigh on him.

            “Y’know, I know you’re godless, Tommy. I understand that, but us godly men have rules and those rules simply cannot be tampered with. Centuries of laws, mate, can’t be overturned ‘cause you find it inconvenient.” Alfie said over the phone.

            “I gave you money to ensure it.”

            “Right, well some rabbis take bribes as an insult, mate.”

            “Alfie, if you’re holding out on me…” Tommy warned.

            “She’s been living with me for nearly a month, Thomas, if I really wanted to back out, I would’ve sent her home to you.” He cut the man off.

            Tommy muttered something over the line but Alfie couldn’t hear what it was.

            “There’s a rabbi that Ollie found that might go through with the conversion and marriage,” Alfie said. “When I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”

            The Blinder seemed to have his worries put to rest at least for the time being. “And how is she doing there?”

            “Well, her best friend is me dog,” Alfie replied honestly. “She hardly speaks to me, not that I blame her much.”

            “She’s always been quiet,” Tommy assured him.

            “Well, circumstances ‘n such.” Alfie sighed and cracked his knuckles. “Anyways, I’ll let you know, Tom. I’ll let you know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~           

            One night a couple of days later, Alfie and Eliza were sat down together for dinner. “I just wanted you to know that I’ve found rabbis who are willing to convert you.” He brought up the topic.

            “Oh. Okay.” She nodded.

            Alfie had learned over the few weeks together that she was a difficult person to read. She was a lot like Tommy, and less like her other brothers who were prone to showing their emotions on the outside. She always spoke to him in a calm, steady, and polite manner. Almost as if she were afraid of setting him off, or it was simply just her demeanor. Alfie would’ve preferred if she were a bit more like Arthur, as terrible as that would be. At least he would know what she was thinking instead of having to guess.

            “Didya…well…have ya put any thought into it? I mean, ain’t a small decision.”

            Eliza shrugged as she pushed her food around the plate with her fork. “I haven’t put much thought into religion.” She admitted. “Polly was the only one who took Christianity seriously in our family.”

            “Right.” He nodded. “Still, being Jewish is more a way of life, innit?”

            “That’s what I’ve been told.” Alfie had arranged for Ollie’s wife to give some insight to Eliza into what it meant to be a Jewish wife. He assumed they’d bonded, but Eliza didn’t say much about it. Though, she did frequently visit Ruth and her and Ollie’s pack of kids. She never said what they spoke about.

            “Right. Well, just wanted to know what your thoughts about it were.” He posed the question again, hoping to get a little further into her mindset.

            “Ruth said if we were going to have children, they needed to be brought up fully Jewish. Or at least, that’s what she thought your intentions were.”

            Alfie cleared his throat. How could they discuss children? Of course, it was a factor but a child wouldn’t just magically appear once they were married. And they hadn’t even touched each other aside from the mistaken brush of an arm. “Well, right.” He tilted his head to the side, hoping suddenly for an interruption so he could leave the conversation.

            “Alfie?”

            The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was the first time she had addressed him by name. The way she spoke his name was so soft. Like nothing, he’d heard before. “Hm?” He couldn’t exactly speak properly.

            “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Afraid? Well, I’d hope not. I told your brothers that I ain’t here to hurt you.”

            “Then why do you walk on eggshells around me?”

            Alfie opened his mouth but only let out a small, confused grumble. It must’ve been that Shelby wit that had gotten them there. She was so good at concealing her feelings that Alfie looked like a fool. Dancing around the topic, trying to please her, giving her everything she wanted. God, he must’ve looked like a sap.

            She smiled slightly. “I didn’t expect you to try to impress me so much. The way my brothers spoke of you, I was expecting something else entirely.”

            He drummed his fingers on the table. “There’s a difference, yeah, ‘tween business and me personal life. What your brothers see ain’t what you’ll see.” He tried to explain.

            It was different from her family’s mentality, or Tommy’s to be more specific. In the Shelby family, everyone dealt with family business. There were no exceptions unless you absconded. Even then, it was tricky to escape business. But it appeared Alfie was keener to keep his two lives separate. Eliza considered how this difference might benefit her.

            “All the day’s shit, yeah, it gets left at the fucking door.” He pointed down the hall toward the front door. “This is sorta a sanctuary, innit?”

            Eliza nodded. “That sounds nice.”

            “Nice, yeah it is nice.” He agreed.

            They were quiet for a moment, neither of them really wanted to return to the conversation topic of children. It seemed too fresh.

            “Ruth is trying to teach me how to cook kosher.” She spoke up after a bit. It was the first time she offered any information without Alfie prompting her. Maybe because now she felt the flat was a safe place for her. “Just, I dunno if you were wondering why I’m there for so long.”

            Alfie shrugged. “I’m glad you two have gotten along. Didn’t want you to feel lonely here.” He admitted and went back to eating before his dinner went cold.  

            Eliza watched him for a split second. So, he cared about how she felt? Imagine that.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            It took quite a bit of convincing to get the rabbis to convert Eliza. Wrestling with tradition, Alfie knew he was asking for a lot. But the conversion went through and under Jewish law, he was allowed to marry her. Not that he was looking for some massive wedding. It would be best to call the least amount of attention to himself as possible. The Camden community might not take kindly to his bride-to-be if they found out she was a convert. And if they found out she was a Shelby? Well, granted, Alfie was scary enough to thwart off criticism. But he didn’t want the rumors to get around to Eliza. He didn’t want her to feel unwelcome.

            In reality, Alfie felt as though he was going mad. Since when had he given two shits about someone’s comfort? His job was basically to make people feel uncomfortable so they’d be more willing to listen. But apparently, Eliza had made quite an impact on him.

            She fit in very nicely in his flat. Never made a fuss or anything. That wasn’t to say she was like a little dormouse. She wasn’t very tidy. Alfie chalked this up to her growing up with five siblings. He didn’t particularly mind, though. It was nice to see the flat actually lived in. For so long it had been just a place to sleep. But Alfie realized he had grown fond of coming home late from work and finding traces of Eliza throughout the house.

            A dirty pan in the sink, her book on the sofa, a couple of hairpins on the coffee table, and the stray teacup with cold tea that had been forgotten about.

            For a brief moment, as he cleaned up, he wondered if their children would be just as messy. Alfie could imagine coming home to the floor littered with toys. It brought a smile to his face.

            Of course, children was still a conversation they had to have. Alfie loathed the fact that they had to get over that little mountain of a decision. He wouldn’t dare force anything onto her. Purely by his own standards and morals. Plus, the added benefit of getting a bullet in his head courtesy of the Shelby boys.

            So, he waited and hoped that was something they could get to. Because, despite their relationship still being merely two people who lived together, he did like her. More so, even.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The wedding, although very traditional in the ritual sense, was very small. Only a few people very close to Alfie attended if only to witness the union. There wasn’t a reception or party to follow. No grand affair.

            They simply walked out of the building as man and wife.

            “Alfie, can I ask you something?”

            “’Course.” It was a bit strange. Eliza was standing in the foyer as he went to go feed Cyril. Standing in her wedding dress, she looked a bit out of place.

            “I know what is…expected of us tonight.” She wrung her hands together. “But I don’t think I’m quite ready. I’m sorry I just…”

            Alfie felt oddly relieved. He was hoping she would say something, otherwise, he’d feel like a monster if she went through with consummating the marriage and she wasn’t ready. “No reason to apologize, love.” He walked back out of the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket. “Ain’t any rush.”

            “I appreciate that.” She said softly. “Thank you.”

            “So…I’ll see you tomorrow then? I’ve got to work early.”

            “I’ll make breakfast.” She offered.

            “Nah, that’s alright. You don’t need to get up so early.”

            “I don’t mind…”

            “S’alright, love.” He gave her a warm smile and held out an arm, allowing her to go upstairs first.

            Eliza smiled back, feeling her cheeks warm a bit. She went upstairs, allowing Cyril to trot by her.

            “I had a few things shipped in from Paris. Sorta wedding gift, if you will. I hope you don’t mind, I asked Ruth if she could help me.” Alfie said as he climbed the stairs behind her. “I left it on your bed.”

            “Oh, Alfie, you didn’t need to-”

            “S’alright.” He assured her, meeting her at the top of the stairs. “You Shelbys like nice things, aye?”

            She shrugged. “I’m a Solomons now.” She pointed out.

            He let out a brief chuckle. “Yeah, that’s true. F’ya want, we can get a nice box for your dress. Maybe to store it? I dunno, me mum did the same thing. I still have her dress, fuck if I know what I’m gonna do with it. But she-well it were the only thing she brought from Russia.”

            “I understand, it’s important to you.” Eliza agreed.

            Alfie rubbed a hand over his beard. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. Well, I won’t keep you up.”

            “Goodnight, Alfie.” She smiled at him before going down the hall to her room. Like he said, there was a large box on her bed. After shutting the door, Eliza opened the top and found an array of beautiful pieces of clothing that must’ve cost a fortune. Beaded gowns, satin gloves, a fur-lined coat, and much more. Eliza carefully unpacked everything, folding the items or hanging them up in the closet. Then she landed on a pair of silk pajamas that looked like what picture stars wore. A gorgeous burgundy color with embroidered designs on the cuffs of the shirt and pants.

            She smiled and felt her heart skip a beat. It had been a little unnerving knowing that she would become a Jewish wife. There were a lot of changes she had to make, moving to Camden, marrying Alfie, and trying to keep her end of the bargain by converting. But in the end, she was still married to a gangster. One who, although he looked simply, did like luxury items. And maybe it was how he was trying to show his affection for her.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Married life wasn’t all that different for Alfie. He continued to work the same tireless hours and continued to keep up his agenda of legal and illegal operations. Mostly illegal.

            What changed was coming home to a gentle person who had a good skill of keeping the flat calm. Alfie assumed that like the other Shelbys, Eliza would manage to only raise his blood pressure. But she had the opposite effect.

            She had become more of an open book with him, which led Alfie to believe they were moving in the right direction. She told him more about what she did during the day. Mainly, she spent her time with Ruth and some of the other women in the neighborhood.

            It was nice to hear things that weren’t related to business. Alfie’s entire life was business. Now he had someone else to occupy his thoughts.

            As the weeks wore on, both Eliza and Alfie began talking on a more intimate level. Soon she found she was telling him things not even her siblings knew. Things that were very personal to her.       

            She also began to notice Alfie stealing a few looks her way. Meanwhile, she found herself looking forward to seeing him every day and often was disappointed if he worked late and she fell asleep before he came home. Her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her or called her pet names. She figured it was just instinct, something he did to everyone. But it felt special to her.

            Eliza realized, when winter came, that there was no reason for her sheepishness. They were married, after all. If she wanted to further their relationship, all she had to do was ask.

            So, she did. One night, Alfie came home late from work. He picked at some leftovers waiting for him, before heading upstairs. His hip was bothering him as the days got colder, so he wasn’t in a grand mood. When he reached the second floor, the door to Eliza’s room opened.           

            “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to wake you.”

            “You didn’t, I was waiting for you to get home.” She lingered in the doorway for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, I would’ve kept you company while you ate.”

            “S’alright, didn’t eat much.” He shrugged. “There something you needed?”

            “Well, yes.” She walked into the hallway. It felt a little silly asking her husband what she was going to ask. So, Eliza gained some of that Shelby confidence and looked him in the eye. “Will you kiss me?”

            It certainly wasn’t what Alfie expected. He thought maybe she wanted to use the car or needed some spending cash. So, he felt a little bad that he was silent for so long, but he didn’t know what to say. “Erm, I didn’t-well-”

            Eliza began to clam up, fearing she had overstepped a line. Maybe it was all in her head and Alfie didn’t really like her all that much. “Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve asked…”

            Alfie caught her hand before she could scurry back to her room. He drew her closer and his other hand cupped her cheek. His eyes searched her face before he kissed her, trying to get a mental image of her locked in his head. The tiny bit of freckles on her face, the wintery blue eyes looking up, yearning, and the way her lips parted slightly. He would catalog the little bits of information away because he couldn’t imagine how this would last long. Nothing good in life ever lasted long and Eliza was one of the best damn things that ever happened to him.

            That night, Eliza slept in Alfie’s room for the first time. It was how she came to the realization that her husband was just a big bear. Grumpy, stubborn, yet he cared for his own. Eliza liked that. She had grown up around bristly love. Polly marched them to mass every Sunday no matter how much they complained because she wanted to ‘save their souls’. Arthur would gladly murder any boy who gave her even the slightest of looks. Tommy was stern but she found out later it was because they had no father figure so he had to take on the role. And John? Well, John pretended to hate his twin sister. He wanted to appear tough in front of his friends and teased her at school. But every night, when there was no available light to read, he conjured up a story for her.

            Other people may not have understood, but Eliza knew that real relationships couldn’t be found in the pages of her books. She liked Alfie because he was real. The most real thing she’d ever known.

            After that night, their relationship bloomed much faster. They found married life soothing when others found it stressful. They enjoyed each other’s company so much that Alfie started to cut back on late nights at the bakery. It meant more to Eliza than he might have realized.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            As the situation with the Italians got more intense, Alfie started to realize how much their relationship had grown. He found himself contacting Tommy more often, demanding information about what Luca Changretta was doing. He wanted to ensure there would be no threat to his London empire and there would be no threat to his wife.

            His anxiety about everything reached a boiling point when Eliza disappeared one morning. Had he looked in his study, he would’ve seen the note she left for him saying that she was taking the car to visit her family in Small Heath.

            But he didn’t. So, he naturally assumed something bad happened and rallied a search team. He was at his wit's end, practically tearing his hair out.

            When Eliza arrived home, unharmed and acting normally, he lost his cool.

            “Where the fuck have you been?” He demanded when she walked through the door as if nothing had happened.

            Eliza looked taken aback. He’d never taken such a harsh tone with her. “Pardon?”

            “I’ve half me men out looking for you, you think it’s alright to just disappear like that?”

            “Alfie, I left you a fucking note on your desk.” She snapped, not happy he was talking to her in such a way. He usually was very respectful.

            He looked a bit hesitant, maybe he had neglected to see the note. But he was still too upset to admit he was in the wrong. “You could’ve told me, aye? Where were you?”

            “What does it matter?” She asked defensively, trying to pass by him in the hallway.

            “Because there’s a man out there who wants to wipe out your entire family, Liz!” He snapped, standing in her way so she couldn’t shrug off his concern.

            “You don’t think I know that?”

            “You have no idea where he could be or what he could’ve done to you!”

            “I was in Small Heath, I was perfectly okay.” She retorted. “I have the right to go where I please.”

            “Small Heath?” Alfie looked at her in disbelief. To think she could go that far and think she would be fine on her own. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

            “Do not take that tone with me!” She held strong against him. “If I want to see my family, I can. You can’t keep me locked up in Camden.”

            “That ain’t…” He let out a frustrated noise. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel trapped. “I don’t understand why you just up and left. What did you need to do there?”

            “That’s my business.”

            “Liz-”

            “You don’t control me, Alfie.”

            “I know!” He shouted. “You don’t think I know that? But I care too much about you to let you be killed because of what your fucking brother has gotten your family into!”

            Eliza’s lower lip wobbled and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I went because I was late. My aunt confirmed it, I’m pregnant.”

            Alfie was knocked right in the gut by the news. What he thought would never happen was now a reality. “Liz…”

            “Just fuck off.” She spat and turned to head upstairs. But she paused halfway. “I was so excited to tell you and this is how I’m treated? You can sleep on the couch.” She stomped upstairs and slammed the door shut before locking it.

            Alfie felt like an absolute imbecile. He was notorious for letting his temper get the better of him. But he was proud of himself for never letting Eliza see that side of him. Now he had mucked up what they’d been building for months.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~          

            Eliza didn’t come down for dinner or breakfast the next day. Alfie decided to try and speak with her before he went to the bakery for the day.

            His first knock was met with silence.

            “Eliza, please, just let me apologize.” He said as he knocked again.

            “Go to hell, Alfie.” She finally replied.

            He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Love, I’m tryna apologize, here!” He exclaimed. “What else do you want me to do?”

            There was another bout of silence before the door swung open. “You think an apology is some grandiose gesture?” She demanded. “Alfie, I’ve walked across hot coals for you and you don’t even realize.”

            “M’tryna…I don’t know what you want me to say.” He grimaced, realizing how shit he was at relationships sometimes.

            “I went to Small Heath and you know what Ada said to me? She asked me about my headscarf. She said it was oppressive and I never should’ve converted for you. She said you would never be able to do anything that comes close to what I’ve done for you. Do you want to know what I said?”

            Alfie nodded.

            “I said she was wrong. I told her that you treated me right. You respected me. You were there for me and appreciated the person I was. I converted for you, I married you, and now I’m going to give you a child. So, don’t act like you have this authority over me when I’ve done so much for you.”

            He sighed. “You’re right, love. It were wrong for me to treat you like that.” He acknowledged in a rare event of humility. “But me worst fear is losing you. ‘Cause you’re the only thing on this Earth that means a damn to me. If I lost you if that fucker killed you? I’d never forgive myself. I would spend the rest of me days mourning.”

            Eliza’s tense stance relaxed a bit when she heard the genuine concern in his voice. His anger was out of fear. She knew men like Alfie had a hard time addressing their fears because they weren’t meant to be scared of anything. Her voice softened. “I’m not going anywhere.” She promised. “You have me until the end of time.”

            “And you have me.”

            She smiled and stepped into his arms so he could hold her close. “That’s good to know.”

              Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe

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[personasintro]

[6] Your Wedding Planning

⏤𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: The wedding planning isn't going smoothly as you thought it'd be and the issue is no one else than Yoongi's mother herself.

⏤𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: fluff, angst

⏤𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: strong language

A/N: This is a part of series called ‘Away From You’. This drabbles will contain scenes that didn’t make it to actual series. You don’t have to read the series to actually understand this, but some of the drabbles will be involved around the plot.

Series link

drabbles index

“...so I was thinking more of like, balloons with your both initials. It'd be arched so guests could take nice pictures. I can send you some pictures of what I've in mind. It's hard to picture it when--”

“I'm sorry to interrupt you, Ms. Kim,”

As much as you don't feel comfortable to interrupt her, her mouth kept going for good twenty minutes trying to explain you all the plans she made and had in mind. Ms. Kim, or Nari, as she told you to call her but you don't because she's just your wedding planner who eyes your fiance anytime she sees him, you'd like to keep things professional with her.

For some reason, Yoongi thought it'd be great to find one of the best and prestigious wedding planners, that has planned a wedding for his cousin. You trust him in everything, but you're not so sure about this anymore. There's no doubts she's doing just her job despite of you telling her your exact vision for your upcoming wedding, but it's slowly becoming more irritating that you can bear.

Yoongi gave you the right hand to decide about anything that involves your wedding. It's a shame he isn't as much as involved as you'd like him to be, since it's not just your wedding, but you're aware how busy he is and honestly, Yoongi doesn't know shit about weddings.

However, you always make sure to keep him updated about every decision you make.

“But I really wish this wedding would be minimalist.” you remind her, like in every session the two of you have.

She opens her mouth, most likely telling you that she understands just for her to bring another new ideas in the next session, but she's cut off when the door opens.

Your fiance's head pops out of the door frame, his eyes searching the room until they meet yours and gentle smile tugs on his lips.

“Hey, I'm just stopping by to tell you I need to sort some things with my dad,” he calls out, stepping into the room. “How is it going?”

“Hello, Mr. Min.” Nari greets him, ignoring the way your mouth opens to answer your fiance. The irk of irritation sparks inside of you, but no one in the room notices your sour expression as Yoongi greets her back with a nod and smile.

“It's going alright.” you murmur, catching his attention as he brings you closer to him for a kiss.

Your cheeks burn, feeling Nari's eyes on you, but Yoongi doesn't seem to mind about another presence in the room, when he pecks you couple of times before he pulls away with satisfied grin. It's not like he made love to you the whole morning, making sure you feel every inch of him along with his kisses and touches.

“Nari has sent me some of her ideas and they sound interesting. Has she told them to you?” he asks, his eyes solely on you while all you can see is Nari's proud smirk from the corner of your eyes.

The fact that he calls her by her first name isn't as annoying as the fact, she actually reached out to him about the wedding he specifically wanted you to plan. It's becoming too much, especially with each phone Yoongi's mother makes to talk to you about her own ideas. She basically shows her disinterest in every idea you talk to her about. It's funny that she even calls you, since she isn't very fond of you marrying her son but well, there's nothing she can do about it. You're going to marry him whether she wants it or not, but she could let you plan your wedding without criticizing your every single idea.

At this point, you don't know which woman is being more irritating about this whole thing. Whenever you bring that up in front of Yoongi, as polite as you can of course, he always takes his mother side.

'She's just excited, kitten.' he'd tell you again and again, until you'd just drop the whole subject and pretend like nothing's wrong.

“She mentioned something.” you mutter, leaning against the wooden desk while crossing your arms over your chest.  

He gently grabs your forearms, caressing them with his thumb before he gives you a small peck. “Well, she's amazing in what she's doing. I've to go right now, see you later?” he asks, which you only nod to before he says goodbye to you and Nari one more time as he walks out of your shared apartment to meet his dad.

Two hours later of constant planning and talking about the wedding and you can't wait for it to be over. It's not like you don't feel excited to be planning it, it's just too much. You've discussed every single detail from guest list to the type of glasses and your head is ready to burst. Luckily, Nari stopped bugging you with her own ideas and only tried to suggest something when you asked her. For a few moments, you thought you're just being bitch for acting that way towards her because she clearly listened to you this time. Your moods is changing every ten minutes, probably the reason behind that is your period. However, it wasn't like you were rude when you reminded her for the hundredth time that you want the wedding to look simple and minimalist. You don't need a huge wedding full of guests you don't even know, which brings you to a current problem.

“I don't know any of these names. Has Yoongi added them there?” you ask her, reading all the unfamiliar names that are placed on paper.

The total amount of guests is two-hundred – way more than you were planning and you really doubt Yoongi wanted to invite so many people. He said it himself he wants the wedding to be small and casual, practically agreeing with you. You doubt he suddenly changed his mind. None of these names seems to be his or your family's, which makes you wonder if he has decided to invite people from the company, but he'd surely mention it to you if that was the case.

“Oh, no. Mrs. Min did, ma'am.”

Your brows automatically furrow, clutching the piece of paper more tightly with irritation crawling up your spine.

“She did?” you ask softly, but it comes through your gritted teeth.

You just discussed arrangements about flowers just a few minutes ago, just for you to found out that your previous decision to have white and peach colored roses where changed to hydrangea because it looks more elegant, according to one and only Mrs. Min.

As much as you respect her, since she's the mother of your fiance and future mother-in-law, she's really getting on your nerves. You're totally aware of her hatred towards you, but she's not going to ruin your wedding. If that's what Yoongi wants, the flowers and a huge guest list, you're willing to discuss it with him. But you're not going to have your wedding planned completely differently than what you've always dreamed of.

It just brings another set of thoughts of how it's going to look once you'll be married. Is she going to talk into your marriage? What about once you'll have kids? It's far away but it's something you need to consider. When you said 'yes' you never thought about how Mrs. Min could manipulate and influence everything.

“You know what? Let's wrap it up for today.” you sigh, ignoring the cautious look she gives you while she starts packing her things.

You close your eyes for a moment, headache approaching as you think about all the stuff that's still waiting for you, plus an upcoming conversation with your soon to be husband. When Nari is about to leave, you call her name causing her to stop and look at you with curious eyes.

“I'd love to be informed as soon as some changes are happening. Okay?” you ask her, raising a brow at her.

She's practically innocent in this, you know how Mrs. Min can be manipulative and the poor young woman is just doing her job. She's probably the same age as you, but Yoongi's mother can be intimidating.

“Of course, ma'am. I'm sorry for not informing you sooner.” she tells you but relaxes once she sees a soft smile playing on your lips.

“It's okay. Drive safely.” you tell her as you walk her up to the door, bidding goodbye for the last time.

You know Yoongi is home, you've heard him coming home and taking a shower like an hour ago and once you were done with meeting, you properly greeted him with a kiss saying you need to take a shower.

You spend good twenty minutes just standing there, contemplating whether to talk to him about the current issue or leave it. You know he really respects his mother and they've their own special relationship going on. It's important for him that the two of you have a good relationship and surely you, confronting him about his own mother won't help that. But you can't live like she wants you to. You're your own person and she won't be deciding about your future, just because her son is in it. So with that thought, you dress yourself into one of the most comfortable cotton pajamas you own, which Yoongi bought you and step into the bedroom.

He lays on the bed, his back resting against the headboard while he scrolls down through his phone with slightly furrowed brows. It's one of his focused looks he always wears and it's really cute.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” you ask precariously, putting the hand cream down onto your nightstand.

Yoongi locks his phone, tossing it on the mattress with softened gaze. “You? Anytime.” he grins causing you to chuckle at his playfulness.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, his eyes glancing at you with sudden worry as you shake your head, but it still comes out as an act of precariousness.

“Did you know your mother put some names on the guest lists?” you ask him, his furrowed brows hidden by his dark locks as he shakes his head.

“No, they must be her friends or something.” he shrugs and you stay dumbfounded, sitting at the edge of bed while looking at your fiance like he has just grew two heads.

“Her friends? On our wedding?” you slowly ask, making sure he understands your reaction and by the judge of his knowing look you know that he gets it.

“It's probably just couple of friends.”

“Yoongi, she added almost hundred new names on the list. It's not just couple of friends.”

As much as Yoongi's mother can be popular, you really doubt all of the people on the list are her true friends. You've never seen that woman to be friendly to anyone. How can she have so many friends? True friends, of course.

“I thought we wanted this wedding to be small. Why her friends have to be there? I don't know them and I really doubt you know all of them.” you tell him, your mouth moving itself as you let your thoughts and irritation finally out.

He sighs, rubbing his tired eyes before he looks at you.

“She has been planning my wedding since I can remember. It's probably special for her as much as it is for us.”

At that, you actually let a laugh of disbelief, not caring the way his eyes twist in hurt at your sudden reaction. You've always knew he wants you to get along with his mother, but he seems to fail to understand that you're not the problem.

“Good, but it's not her wedding. It's ours.” you remind him and again, he sighs.

He stays quiet, not giving you any proper excuse or explanation and you're somehow annoyed and hurt that he seems to be taking his mother's side again.

“She changed my decision about flowers as well.” you speak up after a minute of silence, watching how his eyes widen in surprise.

“She did?”

You only nod, just for you to be met with silence once again. It seems like he's debating about what to say but in the end, he just puts his lips into straight line.

But this is way more serious than he truly understands and it always seems like you're the one who's exaggerating, but you're not.

“You told me that I can plan it on my own, that you won't mind whatever decision I'll make. Yet, I'm still here, asking about your opinion everyday because your opinion matters to me. It's not just my wedding, it's ours. But I can't have your mother ruining and changing my every decision, just because it's not what she was planning. And I'm so tired of it, because it seems like my every decision is just being ignored by your mother and I've no authority in this.” you tell him while he watches you with cautious eyes, letting your words sink in.

“What are you saying?” he asks slowly, his freshly washed hair falling onto his eyes but he doesn't move to move them away.

You can smell his favorite aftershave mixed with the fabric softener you use and if it weren't for the current situation, you'd kiss him and enjoy his delightful scent. But that's not the case right now and you're just tired of being treated that way from his mother. It always brings you back thinking about your future.

“I don't think I can do this.” you tell him softly, biting into your lower lip to prevent yourself from showing any more hurt.

But now it's real. You've said it out loud – in front of him.

Yoongi is a smart man, he has caught what you're trying to say but he seems to be collected as he watches your every move with his sharp eyes.

“I don't think I can plan or have a wedding at this point. Not under this circumstances. I'm sorry.” you tell him, feeling your heart crack as you watch him slowly lick his lips.

He knows what you're trying to say, but he's frozen. You're not sure if he truly gets what you've just said since he seems to be in some kind of trance, so with the last fiber in your body you open your mouth, ready to say those dreadful words.

“The wedding's off.”

It's not the way your voice breaks, but just the words itself what causes Yoongi's eyes widen and he reacts immediately. He sits up so fast, making you think you've never seen him move so fast like right now. He clutches your hand in his as he crawls closer to you.

“Baby, no. Are you sure? Is that what you want?” he asks you, desperation filled in his voice while you see fear in his eyes. He checks your face, primarily your eyes that seems to be sad and slowly filling with tears.

“No,” you pout, your lower lips shivering as he gently cups your cheek. “But I can't do this.”

Maybe you're overacting because you really want to marry him. You've never been so happy like when Yoongi asked you to marry him. The memory itself causes you to feel excited and happy, butterflies flying inside of you, but the thoughts about his mother are stronger. She seems to be controlling everything in Yoongi's life and you were always that one thing out of her control. But now with her controlling your decisions and wedding which is supposed to be yours makes you think, that she's starting to control your life with Yoongi.

You're on your period, emotional for couple of days and annoyed with every single thing just like yesterday. You got angry at Yoongi for not putting down a toilet seat, which usually you don't mind. He even joked about your mood swings, making sure he kissed every inch of your skin to make you feel happy again. Or he tickled you until you started to laugh which didn't take that long.

Obviously, when you say wedding's off you don't mean an actual break-up. You love him and you always will. But maybe you just need to back-off from all the wedding planning and maybe get married later.

“I'm sorry. I know that she's your mother and you love her, but I just...” you trail off, looking down for a moment before Yoongi tilts your head so you can face him.

“And I love you as well.” he reminds you, kissing the tip of your nose before he keeps caressing both, your hand and cheek at the same time.

You sniffle causing his heart to drop, so he lightly kisses you onto your dry lips which you quickly lick once he pulls away.

“I'll talk to her, okay?” he promises, surprising you. This is the first time you hear him saying that. He chuckles at your doe eyes and grabs your both hands this time. He brings your hand where your engagement ring is decorating it to his lips, kissing the expensive diamond. “I won't let you get away from me. I want you to be my wife, I want you to be Mrs. Min.” he says, kissing the band that's wrapped around your finger for the last time before you smile, kissing him on his lips.

A huge rock falls down from your heart, swapped with happiness once again because you know that Min Yoongi is not ready to back away – especially when the two of you want to get married and nothing won't stand in your way. Not even his own mother.

“Hey dad, is mom here?”

If it weren't for the reason behind Yoongi's sudden visit, he'd probably laugh at the man in older age being lazily sprawled on the couch with a bag of chips sitting on his stomach. It's been awhile since he has seen him being so relaxed and not wearing a suit.

“Yeah, she's in the kitchen.” he answers, not surprised by Yoongi's presence when he saw him just yesterday.

He often makes sure to visit them more often, especially since he moved out and started to share an apartment with you.

“Thanks.” he says, snorting when his father just waves him off and stuffs his mouth full of snacks.

If his employees would see him right now, they wouldn't believe it's the same person who's in charge of one of the biggest companies in Seoul.

He makes his way towards the kitchen, knowing his way around more than enough despite of the size of their house. He grew up in this house, he could be blindfolded and still know his way around.

The walls are decorated with a bunch of photos of his parents and him, capturing every stage in their lives. From his parents being young, to wedding photos and Yoongi being born until now. It's nice to see those pictures every time he passes by. Despite of the house being modern and renovated more times that he can count, it still feels like a home thanks to those pictures. It's making him wonder if your home will be filled with wedding photos and your kids, the thought is making him feel some kind of different excitement. He wonders how many kids you're going to have and if they're going to share your beauty and habits. He can't wait for that stage in your lives, even though it's far in the future.

Surely your current apartment is decorated with some pictures of the two of you, along with Hoseok. But he wants to capture all moments in your lives and he can't wait until your walls are going to be filled with it.

“Hey, Yoongi. I didn't know you were coming.” his mother says, noticing her son first as she cuts an onion.

He makes his way to the kitchen, smiling at his mother as she slowly hums while preparing the lunch. “You can stay over lunch. I'm sure there will be enough food.”

The sight of his mother being in her casual pants and apron wrapped around her slim body makes him smile. He wishes you could see his mother this way. Surely, he's aware that she can be a little bit ruff on the edges, but not many people sees her this way. She's just being a mom right now.

“Actually, Y/N is cooking right now. I just needed to talk to you.” he carefully says, watching her eyebrows lift in surprise as she puts away the knife. Her lips sets into a frown but she doesn't remark anything, leaving that to herself.

“About what?” she asks curiously instead, wiping her hands in the kitchen cloth.

“It's about the wedding.”

He hates doing this, he hates that discomfort that he feels right now and he despises it even more when she opens her mouth.

“Ah! I'm glad you brought it up. I was browsing through different kinds of wedding flowers and I came across hydrangea. It's so beautiful. I made some calls and I arranged them for you.” she says enthusiastically, eyes filled with excitement along with her voice as she reaches for her phone that's placed on the kitchen island, to show him the pictures.

“Mom,” Yoongi sighs, shifting on his spot when she notices his weird behavior. She doesn't pick up her phone, her arm slowly falling down her side. “Y/N told me she wanted roses.”

Fuck, why is this so hard? He almost cringes because he has no fucking idea how to start and properly explain to her the main issue.

“I know, but roses are cliche and predictable. Trust me, I had roses on my wedding and I wish I would've done it differently.” she chuckles, remembering her wedding day.

“But that's what Y/N and I decided to have.” he slowly says watching the way his mother frown at that.

“She has no idea how to plan weddings. I won't let her ruin your wedding.” she almost snarls at her son, annoyance laced with her tone at the thought of you. Of course you're behind this.

“Our wedding, mom. It's not just my wedding.” he corrects her while she rolls her eyes at that.

“Honey, trust me on this. I want this wedding to be perfect for you.” she tells him, completely changing her attitude as she pleadingly looks at her one and only son.

“I know and I really appreciate this. But me and Y/N talk about wedding almost every day and every decision that's made is approved by the two of us.” he assures her, knowing she probably thinks it's all yours doing. He wants her to know that he's involved in it as much as he can. And you're more than sweet for making sure that he approves and is happy with everything.

“You added some guests on the list as well. What's that about?” he cocks his head at side, hating how she looks at him right now. She's surprised by his sudden questions. She never thought she's going to be questioned all of a sudden about this.

“Yeah, some of my friends.”

“Mom, you can't just add so many people to our wedding. We don't know all these people. We want it to be intimate and small. I don't need a huge wedding like you and dad had. We just want the most important people in our lives to be there.” he tells her kindly but is met with another frown.

“Do you really mind that or just Y/N?”

He hates how your name falls from her lips with so much distaste, but he only sighs in exhaustion. “Mom, I don't want any strangers to be there. I get it that they're your friends but they're not mine. If you want, invite one friend and plus one but that's all.”

She's frozen, standing behind the kitchen island with opened mouth as she processes his words. This is not what she planned and she knows this is not Yoongi's doing. It's all you behind all of this.

“Fine.” she mutters causing her son to let out a relaxed sigh.

He's aware that none of those people are really her friends. She just wants to show off her son, he knew it from the second you mentioned something about the guest list.

“Mom,” he says softly, looking at the woman that's seems to be in not such a great mood anymore. “I need you to let us plan this wedding. Alone. I appreciate everything you're doing but you're doing no good.”

“I was trying to help her, Yoongi. I've experiences and vision. Your wedding is going to be awful with her planning it.” she barks, not necessarily mad at him but at you. But still, she tries to compose her voice.

“It's not going to be awful because I'm going to marry the woman I love,” he tells her, no longer being able to hide a scowl. “So I appreciate everything you're doing but we got it.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “She's going to ruin everything,” she comments under her breath but not silently enough for Yoongi not to hear. “What's that supposed to mean?” she asks, ignoring her previous remark as she looks up at her son.

“It means that I need you to back off.” he tells her and she gasps in shock.

He hates seeing her that way, but there's no other option. He's not going to let her ruin his non-existent marriage.

“I'm sorry, mom. I'll see you soon, okay?” he tells her and slowly backs away, heart shuttering when she doesn't say anything and just stands in the kitchen with saddened gaze.

When he walks back into the living room, ready to bid goodbye to his father before making his way home to you, he's stopped by his father's voice.

“She can be a little too much sometimes, son. Don't be upset with yourself,” he tells him, sitting up and dusting down the crabs on his shirt.

It's obvious he heard their conversation but there's nothing just understatement on his face. “She only means good.”

“I know.” Yoongi sighs, exhaustively rubbing his eyes.

“Tell Y/N I say hi, okay? I hope she'll come visit us soon.” he tells his son, a soft smile playing on his lips which Yoongi can only nod to.

“I will, bye dad.” he says, walking out of the house with mixed feelings.

He feels awful for talking to his mother that way but on the other hand, he couldn't be happier to go home and make love to his soon to be wife.  

[shypotato-translations]

QTVW Chapter 1

Future* President Fiancee (I)

----

A young girl with a bit of youthfulness on her face, leaned in and kissed her on the lips, with a smile on her lips, she said: "I... love you"

Mulan blinked, lips trembling, she wanted to say something, but was interrupted by the voice inside her head. That voice was cold and mechanical, without the slightest emotion, it said:

【Mission accomplished, cutting the corresponding memory of system host Mu Lan ; System host Mu Lan, This body withdrew from the role of cannon fodder "Yao Mu Lan".】

【Earn Points: 100 Points ;

Accumulated Points: 100 Points ;

Skill Collection: Beginner Cookery ; 】

【Forcing entry to the next mission world ;

Random selection of new missions in progress….

New mission download completed, official host time transfer. 】

After a moment of heavenly distortion, Mu Lan opened her eyes.

She sat up and took a quick look at her surroundings.

This is a bedroom of about 50 or 60 square meters, a luxurious bed beneath her, which occupies a not insignificant space on one side of the room, a white wooden closet on the right side of her body, and on the left-hand side, a half-covered light blue curtain.

A few sunlight shines through the curtains into the house, reflecting the whole room eerily.

This room is arranged very monotonously, cold tone is the theme color, although gloomy cold silence, but from its details, it is not difficult to see that this is a woman's room.

After Mu Lan finished viewing it, a huge wave of plots and memories came to her mind.

Mu Lan collapsed helplessly on the ** and endured the headache-inducing pain. When the pain faded away, Mu Lan breathed a sigh of relief from exhaustion.

From the plot, it is known that she is now crossing this novel world, the background is set in the future world more than a thousand years later, that is, the thirty-second century.

From within the plot, it is possible to know, the novel world she is crossing now, The setting is set more than a thousand years in the future, that is, in the thirty-second century.

In this world, the setting mentions: because of the uncontrolled exploitation and destruction of the environment, finally in 2372, an extremely severe existential crisis broke out, after this three-hundred-year-long crisis, all women have lost their fertility, after a long research, human beings invented genetic fertility technology.

And after five hundred years of development, mankind abandoned the male-female marriage system and changed it to a society where women and women, and men and men could legally marry.

Although this society is set up very new, the content is completely old-fashioned.

The plot is similar to the modern society of the president's maid novel, the novel tells the story of a tangled love between the young and wealthy president of a rich family and the poor and beautiful maid thousand years later.

After reading the plot, An Mu Lan, her throat spurted out a mouthful of old blood.

Such a stupid and brain-damaged novel, coupled with countless depictions of bad scenes, It is obviously an NP□□.

An Mu Lan felt that this plot was not too helpful to her, so she began to absorb the memories of the original owner.

The name of this body that Mu Lan crossed this time, after the system forcibly changed, is called An Mu Lan, the real sister of the president of the An family.

In the original novel, it is written that this An Mu Lan is a very dark character, always trying to destroy the love between the brothers and the lovely maid, and finally thrown into the mental hospital by the impatient brothers.

And in the original owner's memory, it is rather a detailed filler of the plot that was skipped in the novel.

In the An family, although An Mulan has the status of a young lady, An Mulan is not liked by everyone in the An family.

Because An Mulan's mother, who was picking her up from home, died in an unexpected car accident. This led directly to, An's father's dislike for this daughter.

The father's behavior directly affected the attitude of her four brothers, who either beat or scolded An Mulan, while the servants also did not look at her as a young lady.

When An Mu Lan reached the age of eighteen and was officially able to live alone, she was unknowingly betrothed by her father to a woman who had come up through the ranks of the commoners, the president of a small company that cooperated with the An family, the villainous BOSS of this novel.

The villainous BOSS herself is very good, but the original owner, An Mulan, does not like women, and although An Mulan grew up in a bad environment, she was also raised by a wealthy family, and she has a physical aversion to those commoners.

Thus, An Mu Lan was completely desperate after learning this news.

She took it upon herself to plead with her brothers, but they ignored her completely and made mocking and sarcastic remarks.

Then she went to beg the fiancée, and the woman was quick to agree, immediately.

But An Mulan ruined Father An's plans and brought his displeasure with her to the forefront, and he locked An Mulan in his home, forbidding her to go anywhere or see anyone.

After four months of perseverance, An Mu Lan begged and cried to her father, saying that she was willing to marry a woman. But it was too late, her fiancée had already married someone else.

Father An had to look for a new marriage partner and ended up marrying An Mu Lan to an old man in his fifties.

An Mu Lan muddled through her marriage, she was worn down by life and had resigned herself to her fate.

But on one of her visits back to the An family for the holidays, she meets the heroine, the maid, who begs to her for help in a low profile.

Seeing that she was in the same situation as herself, An Mu Lan took pity on her and offered her a helping hand.

The maid escaped and was captured by forces outside the An family, and it took a great deal of effort on the part of several male protagonists to get her back.

After the maid was rescued and confessed to those in her harem, she washed herself out and discredited An Mu Lan, crying as she told the so-called 'truth', An Mu Lan was hated by her four brothers. They teamed up to bring down An Mu Lan's husband's company and put the isolated An Mu Lan in a mental hospital.

And even in the mental hospital, An Mu Lan still had a very hard time, because the maid's harem was not only the brothers of the An family, but also the young masters and sons of other powers. They had arranged for many people to torment her and make her life worse than death.

When An Mu Lan was dying, she was only thirty years old, but had aged as a woman of fifty, and she died with her soul as the price of revenge on those who had harmed her, to repay it all to everyone who had wronged her.

This is the system's choice out of the cannon fodder female counterpart, as the price of using each other's body, she must fulfill the female counterpart's wish to do so.

For Mu Lan, this task that the female counterpart, An Mu Lan, wants to take revenge on, is not too difficult. She had crossed over to this world just a short time after her eighteenth birthday, still early in the plot, and she would have a long time to plan.

And according to the original owner's memory, in a few days' time, Father An was going to tell her that she had been arranged to be the fiancée of a president.

After learning this news, the original owner became very ill, and so she was deeply affected by this event.

But for Mu Lan now, it's a good time because this fiancée, who is also the main object of her mission, is the villainous BOSS she needs to raid.

In the novel, there is no direct description of this villainous BOSS, only a few side-stories.

In the novel, the villain is a fatherless orphan who has worked her way up through the common ranks and has been involved in the mob and the military, both of which are very powerful.

At the age of twenty-one, she created a new clean identity, with which she started a company and then, a few years later, she built a huge business empire.

By the time she was twenty-seven, she had used that money for, again, to enter politics and make her way in this future world.

Overall, she is an amazing winner in life. Even by the end of the novel, the character's role is only downplayed and even the heroine's powerful harem doesn't dare to take it head on

In contrast to her glorious life history, her personality is depicted differently. When she is mentioned in the novel, she is always associated with the words sinister, cunning, murderous and bloodthirsty.

There is no doubt that this woman is a very qualified villain boss, but as the target of the raid, it is a total headache, leaving Mu Lan with a burning feeling of having nowhere to go.

Mu Lan sighed helplessly, then got up and got dressed and washed up. When she looked up and saw the young figure in the mirror, she silently told herself: from now on, she was An Mu Lan, and she would make those who had harmed her, all pay the price.

After this, she walked to the living room, where, fortunately, she did not see the leading characters, and she sat alone at the table to finish her cold meal before returning inside her room.

She turned on her computer and wrote down everything she remembered about what was going to happen.

The trade secrets and evidence of the crimes, all of which she outlined, were sent to a newly registered private email address. Then a list of several major powers in this future world, all detailed down.

After this, she looked through her □ and found an extremely large sum of money in it, some of which she used to buy things like surveillance cameras and the rest was transferred to a new account to prepare for the transfer of her assets.

That afternoon, she dressed up and went out and spent a small amount of pocket money to ask some children aged seven or eight to help her send the confidential emails anonymously to a designated mailbox.

For example: she sent confidential documents related to the An family to the opponents of the An family; she sent evidence of crimes committed by the mob forces to the opposing forces ...... She sent all the company secrets that had harmed the original owner to the arch rival company, and after this, she just had to watch the progress.

Later that afternoon, An Mu Lan returned home, placed the sophisticated surveillance cameras she had purchased in various corners of the house, filmed the heroine's love affairs with her brothers, and spent several days stitching together the videos and sending them anonymously on the heroine's campus network.

I believe the heroine will be in trouble for a long time after this.

Whereas in novels, when the heroine is written, she is portrayed as a virgin and pure, etc., the exposure of this video will make the brain-dead male protagonists, realize the truth of the matter.

After An Mu Lan had done all this, she was temporarily relieved, no matter what, this task of revenge for the original owner had made initial progress. Next, it was time to raid the villainous boss.

At dinner that day, Father An told An Mulan about her ''fiancée'' at the dinner table and warned her that she would be a guest at the house the next morning, so she had to behave herself.

An Mu Lan's face was expressionless by habit, and she nodded in response.

After dinner, An Mu Lan returned to her room, where she lay down on her ** and began to think.

From the plot of the novel, as well as from the memories of the original owner, it can be concluded that the villainous boss herself, is a very outstanding character, she is tough and has built a career with her lowly origins; she is bloodthirsty and cold, and will do anything to achieve her goal; at the same time, she is also a woman with a very strong desire to control, and is used to having everything in her hands.

Such a woman, to rip her off and go against her will only lead to a worse death, so one has to choose to act in the opposite direction, that is, everything to her liking.

The villainous boss, who grew up in a poor environment due to her living in a slum, hates men and prefers a small, soft girl who must be clean and well-behaved, but must have been brought up in an excellent education, with refined taste and decent behaviour.

This being the case, a decision was made in An Mu Lan's mind.

At around 10am on the third day, An Mu Lan sat quietly on the sofa, her long, black, cascading hair adorned only with a diamond crown, the rest of her hair falling smoothly over her shoulders. She wore a beige bubble dress and looked as delicate and small as a doll in a window display.

The doorbell rang and behind Father An came a tall, voluptuous young woman with a cool, pretty face.

An Mu Lan stood up with graceful posture under the beckoning motion of Father An and walked up to this woman.

Her round, dark eyes fell gently on the other woman, and without waiting for a response, she immediately lowered her head slightly, her long, arched eyelashes trembling gently, her fair, baby-fat cheeks tinged with a blush that aptly showed her shyness.

Father An smiled with satisfaction as he introduced her, "This is the president of Qitian Company, Ling Xihan, President Ling, and this is my daughter An Mulan"

Ling Xihan pursed her lips in response and said, "Hello, Miss An."

An Mulan raised her head obediently, with a smile at the corners of her mouth, revealing two small dimples on either side, slightly opening her lips and greeting politely, "Hello!"

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC (Alexis Randall) | Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter:   Tony’s attempt at matchmaking goes awry. Alexis meets the man that goes bump in the vents and makes some poor decisions.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Alexis tugged at her dress. Even though she was still early in the pregnancy, her clothes were already fitting differently. She could see the beginnings of a bump in the mirror. Loki’s clothes fit him like a glove. Like a perfectly tailored, bespoke “look at me I am so fucking handsome” glove, Alexis groused to herself, tugging again at the neckline.

“Do you always fidget so much?” Loki questioned as they walked towards the entrance of the restaurant Tony made reservations at for them.

“No. None of my clothes aren’t fitting right. My bump is starting to show.”

“Have JARVIS order you some new ones.” Loki commented back. He held the door open for her. He didn’t think the dress was fitting Alexis poorly. Quite the contrary, as the low neckline highlighted her breasts in a manner Loki found rather stimulating. He particularly enjoyed the tiny stomach bump developing on her.

“Two, under the name Stark.” Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis’s waist as the bartender smiled at them from across the entrance. His grip tightened as a spark of jealousy hit him.

The maitre’d nodded and led them to a cozy table off to the side, and thankfully for Loki, out of the eyeline of the bar.

The server came by and asked for drink orders.

“Scotch neat.”

Alexis’s face dropped. “Just water, please.” A glass of wine sounded tempting right now.

The server nodded and moved away, but Loki grabbed his arm. “On second thought, water and Diet Coke for me.”

The server changed the order and stepped away. Alexis squirmed in her seat. “You didn’t need to do that on my account. I’m an adult and so are you. You can drink if you want.”

The server returned with the drinks and left to give them more time with the menus. Loki pushed the Diet Coke in front of Alexis. “A peace offering. If you can try, so can I.”

Alexis took a long draw of the soda and hummed. “Thank you, Loki.”

“My pleasure.” The server returned, ready to take their order.

“What would you recommend?” she asked.

“The tuna tartare is popular.” The server gestured to the menu. Loki coughed and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t like anything raw.” Alexis lied. Sushi was one of her favorites. “Anything else?”

She settled on a seasonal risotto while Loki ordered a steak, medium rare. Once the server left, the two of them carried on a polite conversation until their bread service and entrees arrived. Alexis noticed as she ate, a blonde woman sneaking glances at their table.

“Loki, do you know her?”

He turned around to glance and shrugged his shoulders. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall. I’ve met many people in my last year here.”

“LOKI!” The woman was now at their table. Alexis wasn’t entirely sure what was preventing the woman’s boobs from slipping out of her dress.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Hello, um…”

“Ashlyn! You silly.” She slapped Loki’s shoulder. “You would think a god would have a better memory?”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Alexis leaned forward on her hands, mocking Ashlyn.

Ashlyn turned to Loki, oblivious to Alexis, although Loki glared at her across the table. “I am so sorry, Ashlyn. I shall endeavor to do better.” He flashed her a smile.

“I can’t believe you never called me after our last date, and now I find you here out with another woman!”

“Oh, we aren’t dating!” Loki and Alexis responded simultaneously.

“She’s a friend.” Loki added.

“From work.” Alexis chimed in.

“Well then,” Ashlyn reached across and grabbed a spare cocktail napkin, she scribbled on it, leaning over the table to ensure Loki receive an eyeful of her ample cleavage. “Call me sometime.” Ashlyn tucked the napkin into Loki’s shirt pocket before walking off.

Alexis’s gaze followed Ashlyn until the blonde sat back down at her table.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drag her into the bathroom right in front of me.” Alexis sniped.

Loki scowled at her. “I am not that crass. And if I recall, you pulled me into that bathroom.”

Alexis sneered as she pushed her half eaten risotto away, no longer hungry. Loki frowned. “You need to eat.”

“My stomach doesn’t feel so good. I’m not feeling well.” Sure as shit, she wasn’t feeling well. She realized they weren’t beholden’d to each other and hell she even gave him permission to date. But Alexis never imagined it would sting this much.

“Then we should return home at once.” Loki signaled for the check, oblivious to the true reasons for Alexis’s upset stomach.

Tony was waiting for them in the common room, clearly wanting all the juicy gossip. Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis as they walked through.

“Look at the two of you!” Tony called out, scaring the shit out of Alexis.

“Does everyone around here just lurk in corners?” She clasped her hand on her chest.

“Not now, Stark. Alexis isn’t feeling well.” Loki snapped, not stopping.

Tony shuffled to follow them, cutting them off at the hallway entrance. “Just answer one question, was there a love connection?”

“Oh, there definitely was.” Alexis grumbled. Tony did a little fist pump. “Loki snagged a date with Ashlyn, the real life blow-up doll.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki’s head at her and he removed his arm.

“Come on! She practically shoved her tits in your face, Loki. With me sitting there.”

“I’m going to bed.” Tony muttered and hightailed it out of the line of fire.

“You said you didn’t care.” Loki countered.

“And I don’t!” Alexis moaned, lying to herself and to Loki. She was getting a headache. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t need it happening right in front of me, okay?”

Loki shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Apologies. I hadn’t considered…”

“Spare the apologies, Loki.” She moved away from him. “I’m going to bed.” She walked away at a brisk pace.

When Loki got there, he peeked into her room, but she was already under the covers, eyes closed.

-

Loki avoided Alexis for the next week. They exchanged little more than pleasantries in the morning and evening. Alexis spent more of her evenings in her office on the 5th floor rather in the apartment with Loki. She didn’t go anywhere. Loki insisted it wasn’t safe, now that she was showing. The walls were closing in and Alexis was going stir crazy.

One evening, Alexis was lying on the couch watching TV when Loki came out of his room dressed in a black suit.

“Going on your date?” Her tone sharp and words pointed. “Give Blow Up Barbie my best.”

“You said you didn’t want to know. But yes, I am meeting Ashlynn tonight.” He tightened his tie. He didn’t really want to go, but Ashlynn didn’t stop calling until he gave a firm date.

“I don’t. Just curious whether to make an entire pot of coffee in the morning or not? Should I expect you home tonight?”

“I wouldn’t bother.” Loki adjusted his cufflinks. “Enjoy your show.”

“Use protection!” She yelled after him.

Loki smiled as he shut the door behind him. Alexis tried to focus on her show, but couldn’t. She couldn’t pinpoint why this date bothered her so much. Alexis harbored no romantic feelings for Loki. She barely got through a conversation without insulting him.

“Fuck it.” She grabbed her phone. “And fuck him.”

“Hannah? Yeah. Can you come pick me up at Avengers Tower?”

“Warden letting you out on good behavior?” Hannah giggled. She enjoyed joking about Alexis being held captive.

“More like a prison break.”

“Did you want to grab dinner or something?”

“How about dancing? Somewhere loud and slightly crazy.” Alexis stood and went to her closet, selecting a skintight electric blue dress. It would highlight her newfound curves.

“Are you sure? What about Loki?” Hannah questioned.

“When the cat’s away… He is out. On a date. Get me back here before morning and he will never know.”

“Devious. I’m in.”

“Twenty minutes, Hannah. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She dressed and fixed her hair before slipping on a pair of high heels. A quick glance down the hallway and Alexis slinked towards the elevator.

“Loki takes the service elevator when he skulks out at night.” Clint stepped out of the shadows. “I see he didn’t share his trade secrets with you.”

Alexis jumped a bit but regained her composure. “Jesus Christ. Between you and Tony… I’m not skulking. Just meeting a friend.”

“Fancy dress for a friend.”

“Nosy question for a man who crawls through the vents.” Alexis narrowed her eyes at Clint.

“Just an observation. Have a good evening.” Clint nodded and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Hannah was waiting outside when she made her way outside.

“I worried you got caught.”

“Just a bird in the vents distracting me. Have faith in me. Now… let’s party.”

Hannah hooked her arm with Alexis and they took off down the sidewalk.

-

Loki’s mind wandered as Ashlynn droned on about her number of Instagram followers. Social media did not interest Loki. Not even a bit. He remembered why he “forgot” to call Ashlyn back the first time. While she may be nice to look at, it was all style and no substance. Blow Up Barbie was an apt name, Loki mused. He chuckled at Alexis’s joke as he replayed it in his mind.

“What so funny, Loki?” Ashlyn questioned as they walked out of the restaurant.

“What?” He turned to her in shock. “Oh, just something someone told me earlier.” He brushed it off.

“A joke?” Ashlyn perked up. She hopped and her boobs bounced in a way boobs shouldn’t. Loki had said little that night. “Tell me.”

“You won’t enjoy it.” Loki deflected. “It is rather offensive.” He smiled again, thinking about many of Alexis’s off-color jokes. He often found it hard to not laugh.

“Fine.” Ashlyn pouted. “Let’s go back to my place.” She tugged him in the opposite direction of the Tower.

Loki sighed. “I think I should head home.” He feigned a yawn. “I am tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

Ashlyn frowned at him. “On a Sunday?”

Loki coughed. “An Avenger never has a day off.” He was failing at ending this date. Loki wondered if Alexis would still be up.

“Really, because you always said—” Ashlyn’s comment interrupted by Loki’s cell phone.

He frowned when he saw Alexis’s number on the screen. He answered the call.

“I told you not to wait—” He snapped into the phone, even though moments ago he was ready to call it a night.

“It’s Alexis’s friend, Hannah. You don’t know me, but—”

“What happened? Where are you? Where’s Alexis?” Loki snapped. Ashlyn leaned in to listen to the conversation. Loki turned his back to her.

“We’re at the police station. Can you come bail her out?”

Loki paled. “Give me the address.”

[spield]

picking up v (suitor...s enter!)

Hey, hey hey!! So, here’s the latest installment of the picking up! verse! You can read the other “chapters” here.  In which Kakashi meets the other suitors.  part i - part ii - part iii - part iv

“I’m sorry about that.” Sakura apologized, settling the wine glass down. They’ve barely made it to their reservation, with the stare off that happened between Kakashi and Tobirama back at the lobby.

The two silver-haired (foxes) men kept their composure with small (non-existent) small talk, gauging each other. Sakura believed that the only thing that stopped them from going all caveman was the fact that they knew she hated it.

She was not a prize, damn it.

Good thing they knocked it off and Kakashi and Sakura went on their way. The restaurant they chose limited their capacity to provide a sense of privacy and exclusivity to their diners. Their table sat by the window, inside a small function room.

They just finished their main courses when Kakashi waved her off, “Don’t apologize. I didn’t know you were so popular, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sakura’s smile strained, thinking of all the male guests in the wedding entourage. From what she heard, Pein will be there. That’s an entire headache right there and oh if only he knew.

“Ah, well. Tobirama’s an old patient. He got shot by one of  his client’s enemies after court.”

“Hmm,” Kakashi hummed, “I think I read about that in the newspaper. The Shimura case?”

“Yes —“

“Excuse me, here are your desserts.”

The waiter laid out a souffle for Sakura and a plain vanilla ice cream for Kakashi - which Sakura just found completely adorable.

Kakashi watched as Sakura’s eyes lit up at the first taste of the chocolate souffle, her cheeks flushing with delight. He could watch her eat forever. He’ll give her all the souffle she wants, if she asks for it.

Their conversation picked up, rounding with the details of the infamous Shimura case, and how it shook their nation. With the not-so white elephant in the room, Kakashi decided it’s time to bat it away.

Half-jokingly he asked; “So… are there any other suitors I should know about?”

The Uchiha family for all its riches is a subtle one when it comes to throwing parties. Which is the opposite of the Hyuuga clan. Glancing at the grand displays of 7 foot flower arrangements and number of tables for the pre-wedding party, Sakura guessed it was Hanabi’s family that won out when it came to decorations.

The wedding was tomorrow, this party, according to the invitation, was to allow the two families to get to know each other. Or, looking at the amount of passive-aggressive bragging, to one-up each other one way or another.

With the Hyuugas in politics and the Uchiha in the police force, Hanabi and Sasuke’s marriage seems like a political alliance to the untrained eye. But as Sakura sat waiting for Kakashi to return from the restroom, she could see the couple’s eyes soften at the sight of each other at their own table of honor.

It’s about love - and politics. Not the other way around.

“Please don’t tell me you’re not pining for your ex-husband at his own wedding party.”

Sighing, Sakura rolled her eyes at the droll voice from behind her. From her periphery, a red-head moved and sat across her - Akasuna no Sasori.

“Why are you here?” Sakura’s eyes narrowed at Sasori, “You hate Sasuke.”

Sasori shrugged, his indolence marking his movements. “It doesn’t change the fact that his father invested in our hospital.”

Ah, of course it doesn’t.

It’s love, politics and money - what a trifecta.

For a moment, it was silent between the rivals. They’d met at medical school, both studying under the heavy hands of Senju Tsunade and Akasuna no Chiyo. Sasori had been her senior for a year, before their tense rivarly started when Sakura dismantled his thesis paragraph by paragraph, making them graduate at the same time.

Their rivalry’s legendary. Rumor has it Tsunade and Chiyo still had a bet going on about when Sasori will confess his begrudging respect and hate-love for their favorite student - not that Sakura knew that.

“So should I keep my eyes peeled for a dramatic entrance of a scorned ex-wife tomorrow? Let me know, I’ve got to get my camera ready.”

Sakura’s eyebrow twitched, “I’ll peel your eyes for you if you don’t leave me alone.”

Sasori’s lips twitched upwards, satisfied with poking fun. “And here I was keeping you com—“

“Ah, Sasori-san, I didn’t know you were here!”

The Uchiha Matriarch, mother, or was it back to Mikoto-san now? was a lifesaver. Looking every bit of a matriarch with her pearls and beautiful dark blue dress, Mikoto still held an effortless elegance about her.

Sakura’s lips twitched at Sasori’s deflated expression, quickly masked with impassive politeness. He rose and kissed the matriarch’s hand. “I wouldn’t miss your son’s second wedding for the wedding, Mikoto-san.”

Mikoto took the insult in stride. Sasuke’s first marriage didn’t have a wedding - not of this magnitude of course. Given all the… circumstances surrounding it. The matriarch glanced at her former daughter-in-law, now shooting her a relieved smile.

What a pity she had to leave the family. Mikoto mused. Sakura-chan’s a great woman, smart as a whip with a backbone of steel - perfect for the Uchiha. With a glance around the ballroom, Mikoto could already tell the line of men wanting to steal her away, starting with this doctor. She also saw Congressman Uzumaki (yakuza, if she remembered correctly) lurking about and that lawyer Tobirama.

Mikoto smiled a practiced smile at Sasori, before placing her hand on the crook of his elbow, talking about the new technology Suna hospital has because of their investment -

They want her daughter-in-law?

They could try.

Hand-washing was one of the habits (or coping mechanisms) his former occupation left on Kakashi. Counting backwards from 100, he meticulously scrubbed his hands on the sink. From the cubicle behind him, a familiar figure emerged.

“I see that you lost the face piercings - good look. Must be a hit with the voters.”

Pein knew Kakashi, perhaps even knew what he was before he was a high school teacher (and even during that), and it really shouldn’t surprise Kakashi that he was here. A political gathering disguising as a pre-wedding banquet.

“And you lost the mask - you’re almost unrecognizable.” Pein said, standing next to Kakashi and turning on the sink - drowning out their conversation.

Kakashi picked off a few tissues and dried his hands, his customized face mask sitting snugly on his face. “Heh, it was going out of fashion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to attend to.”

“Does she know?”

Kakashi paused, his back facing the legislator. Slowly, he turned and faced the impassive face of the shadow leader of one of the oldest Yakuza families in Ame. “That’s none of your business.”

“I knew you prefer older men.”

Sighing, Sakura turned to Shisui and shrugged off his arm from her bare shoulders. “Hello to you too, Shisui. I’m assuming you’re the one who sent her?” Emerald eyes pointedly looked at the lady Kakashi’s politely twirling.

He’d gotten back right as the meals were served and was promptly whisked away by an overenthusiastic lady with a penchant for pointing out their age differences.

Shisui shot her a grin before bowing in front of her with flourish, offering his hand for a dance, knowing that propriety dictates that she can not refuse.

Soon, her soft hand slid into his and he whisked her away for a dance. As they sway back and forth to the orchestra, Shisui lowered his lips to her ear. “You’d be surprised who’s more devious between Itachi and I, Sakura-chan.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed, roaming the room over Shisui’s shoulder. She found Itachi near the grand staircase, already looking at her with molten eyes.

“You two are persistent.”

Shisui laughed, leaning back an inch. “We prefer, determined. If you don’t mind.”

Sakura sighed, swaying in his arms, “You do know it’s odd if I get married to someone in your family again, right? Let alone my ex-husband’s brother or cousin.”

Shisui’s chuckle reverberated against Sakura’s chest, his lips grazing her ear. “Darling, once part of the family - always part of the family.”

“What are you doing?” Sasuke asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

Finally, Sakura had thrown in the towel and bowed out of the reception with a goodbye and a hug with the newly-weds. She had whispered in Sasuke’s ears a request to keep his relatives away from her.

“You still love her?” Shisui asked, daringly, eyes sharp. They were in Sasuke’s room, lounging, some sort of last bachelor’s party with wine and business plans.

“Of course.” Sasuke answered with not a beat missed.

Theirs was a history too long and too sweet to be brushed away. They may have ended but the bitterness of that ending was nothing compared to what they’ve been through. They grew together, loved together, had a beautiful girl together. How could he not love her?

Shisui watched as his cousin’s eyes glazed over, looking inwards, his body language softening before hardening as his coal eyes narrowed.

Itachi stared at his brother as if seeing him for the first time. It seemed they’d underestimated Sasuke’s loyalty. “We’ll take care of her, otouto, you know that.”

“I’ll always love her.” Sasuke reiterated, pointedly ignoring his older brother. He poured himself a glass of wine, remembering how Sakura looked up to Kakashi when they left the banquet. “Which means if any of you fucks up Sakura’s happiness, there will be hell to pay.”

When they arrived in Kakashi’s room, Sakura spilled out all the “suitors” who suddenly emerged after her divorce. Kakashi was pretty sure they’ve always been around, but he kept that to himself. 

A doctor, nay, an owner of one of the biggest hospitals in the country - Akasuna no Sasori. Championed by many in their field, saying that he and Sakura are the next power couple of the field. 

A lawyer, nay, one of the best criminal lawyers and co-owner of the Senju Co law firm - Tobirama Senju. The contender of the whole Senju family, including Tsunade (who had no apologies to give to Kakashi, she wanted Sakura as her official relative - sorry) 

A legislator and a yakuza head - Uzumaki Nagato. Or Pein. Who was frankly just a pain in the ass to deal with. Kakashi still had some scars to prove that. 

And of course, the Uchiha cousins. Championed by their whole clan, judging by the way the matriarch and patriarch approvingly gazed at them while they whisk Sakura for a dance. 

And then there’s Kakashi. 

“I’m just a humble soon-to-be college teacher,” Kakashi started and Sakura almost rolled her eyes thinking that there’s nothing humble about a retired military man who may or may not still be covertly working for the government and instead let Kakashi continue.

“Are you sure you’re fine with me?” he asked. And though he said it with humor laced in his voice, there’s a hint of truth. 

Sakura’s heart clenched painfully, and she took Kakashi’s hands. “Are you okay with me? I’m dragging you from your peaceful life and well, into this.”

“Can’t say it’s not gonna be interesting.”

Sakura laughed, leaning against Kakashi. In turn, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and smothered his laughter against her hair.  (He’ll have to make some calls. Get the Hatake estates and businesses up and running. He’s not just. And maybe he didn’t have a yakuza family or a corporation, but he had Sakura- and the only approval he’ll ever need - Sarada’s.) 

[a-libra-writes]

Could I have a hc for 👑 💎 🏥 for stannis?

bless you for choosing my one true king 🥺🥺 my bias is showing

👑 Fancy Dinner HC

You noticed early on that Stannis doesn’t have the healthiest relationship with food. He’d skip meals, and when you had them sent to his office, they were barely touched. You have to make him sit down with you in the feast hall, or you bring two plates up to his office and sit with him there, gently urging him to eat  more. Even when he did eat, it was so quick, you’re sure he didn’t taste it.

Once you learned about how much the siege affected him, you knew this was a holdover from that. So, you made a point to notice what he did eat, and ensured the cooks prepared it just right. You made sure the meals were nutritious and prepared in a way he could eat them quickly; no need for extra, frivolous dishes or silly arrangements of fruit. What was with Southerners and their fruit arrangements?

Stannis noticed your efforts and was extremely touched by them.

 You both disliked going to the Red Keep’s massive feast hall, filled with gossipy courtiers and simpering nobles. Dragonstone’s feast hall was smaller, but still so vast and empty - you two so rarely entertained guests. So, you and Stannis preferred to take meals in a private parlor.

On special occasions, you’d arrange for something you knew he liked, but was more difficult to get. Stannis didn’t liked being fussed over like that, but you only did it for things like his name day or the harvest feast, so he allowed it. By contrast, he often had things brought in for you. A Dornish wine you especially liked, a fruit from Essos, even chocolates ... He’d insist it was no trouble, just something he came across or thought of. He’d be blushing as he said this, though.

On those special days, you’d have some nice scented candles, the little table would be set up nice and intimate, and you’d make sure neither of you were interrupted. There’d be a comforting hearth in the corner and plenty of cold drink. And often, instead of sitting across from Stannis, you liked sitting beside him.

He’d become truly relaxed and comfortable during these moments. He liked the gentle pressure and warmth of your body as you leaned against him, the easy conversation you two made (usually debating something), and he’d even crack a smile when you asked him to feed you whatever he was eating. Whenever you’d make a small mess on your chin, he’d get a handkerchief and promptly wipe it away. You used this opportunity to surprise him with a kiss.

Even during public feasts and dinners, he likes having you sit close and gently lean on him, like you do in private. It’s a very comforting gesture that keeps him from being too irritated with Robert or whichever lord is annoying him.

💎Marriage HC 

Your marriage was arranged, no surprise there. It was to ensure loyalty with the region you were from, as your house was influential there, and had plenty of swords. Now those swords were sworn to the Iron Throne, and your parents would never refuse the chance to match you with the brother of the king. 

Right away, you two appreciated the other’s good sense. You liked how respectful and honest Stannis was, so different from the other sleazy lords that tried to court you, and Stannis found you far more perceptive and clever than any lady he’d met.

Davos absolutely shipped it

It wasn’t a marriage of love at first, not by any means, but there was respect and understanding. Stannis began to consult you on the work he was doing for the council, and he appreciated your wisdom.

You two definitely butted heads because he was so stubborn and you weren’t about to roll over and concede just because he was your husband. Your “arguments” were more like full on debates, with presented evidence and logical discussions. Anyone listening in would think you two were arguing a damn court case.

He was filled with anxious energy as things started to change. Your touches lingered, you gave him more chaste kisses, you looked at him that way, you urged him to bed for reasons he was sure wasn’t just for making an heir (he hoped). For your part, you were trying to express your affection for Stannis, but he was convinced he was mistaken, as if the idea of him being loved by a woman like you was impossible.

Well, after a series of misunderstandings, you two finally confessed your feelings (you could only dance around your feelings for so long).

You two run a tight ship. Nothing happens on Dragonstone without either of you knowing. You have your duties that you look after, he has his, and you often touch base. You have far more authority than most ladies; Stannis made it clear that your orders are to be respected the same as his. Any lords speaking against you are speaking against him. 

(So many times he’s said, “Why are you speaking to me? It was my wife that asked the question. Answer her.”)

Anyone whose met you two knows you’re formidable pair. There’s no trying to manipulate one against the other, or trying to go behind one’s back. You two are just too honest with each other, and you share a mutual dislike for court politics.

More than once, the nobles have whispered about how both seem more like a proper king and queen.

🏥 Taking Care of Injuries HC

He trusts you know how to take care of yourself, so he won’t nag until he notices you’re trying to hide something. You really don’t want one of his lectures about taking care of yourself, which is pretty rich coming from mr “I’ll keep working until I collapse”

For certain little things, Stannis kind of likes to do it himself. A small cut on your finger or maybe a headache, he’ll tell you to be still while he fetches this or that. When you feel like you’re catching ill, he’ll tuck you further in bed, touch your warm forehead with his cool hand and bring you back some tea. Once you’re settled in, he’ll go get the maester.

When you’re sick with a cold, he likes to bring you the medicine himself. The maester will check in once a day, but it’s Stannis who wants to prepare the herbs and bring you food. He’s stubborn about it, as he is with most things. You have a feeling it’s because he wants to ensure you’re getting the best care, so he does it himself.

If you’re very ill or wounded, he’ll bring in several maesters and make sure they know the importance of your recovery. His tall height, stern face and cold blue eyes would go a long way. He’d actually be impatient and you’d have to ask him to wait outside your room, otherwise he’d pace a hole in the floor.

You love teasing Stannis about how doting and worried he is when you’re even a little sick or hurt, and he just grumbles that it’s only natural. 

[dudeandduchess]

We Can’t Be [Rengoku Kyōjurō x F!Reader]

Rating: SFW Characters: Rengoku Kyōjurō x F!Reader (who is Kagaya’s Little Sister) Summary: Kyō and (Y/n) are childhood friends, they eventually fall in love with each other— only for (Y/n) to get engaged to someone else; someone who was truly meant to be with her. Sadly, that person wasn’t Kyōjurō. Word Count: 3,448 Warnings: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, SO. MUCH. ANGST.

Note: Hello, bbys! Sorry this took so long. I had some issues to settle. Oof. But this was inspired by most of the asks that I got earlier. Most notably the Angsty Fucker Anon ahaha. I hope you guys like it!

Also, this was written while listening to ‘Til My Heartaches End, 12:51, and We Can’t Be.

***

Between her and her older brother, (Y/n) knew that she was the brattier one. It had been a long-standing fact within their family, that their own father had given up trying to discipline her into behaving. The Ubuyashiki patriarch had figured that it was easier to wait for his youngest child to acquiesce to his will, instead of forcing her beneath it.

Hence, why she had been set free to roam around the house without supervision; unlike her older brother— Kagaya— whom had to have an attendant with him at all times.

“Nii-chan,” A young (Y/n) whispered through the slightly opened shoji, as she peeked at her brother who was engrossed in his own lessons for the day. “Pssst.Nii-chan.”

She should have been in the same predicament, but she had tricked her tutor into leaving the room, so she managed to escape without much trouble.

Abruptly, the older Ubuyashiki child’s head snapped up to the source of the voice. Then slowly, a warm smile crept onto his face at the sight of his younger sister. “You know father’s going to come here soon.”

“I know, so we have to leave now,” The young lady whispered in an urgent tone, as she slid the door open a bit more. She slipped a hand through the gap, then beckoned her brother over— much like amaneki-neko. “Let’s see if Katsuis still in the garden.”

(Y/n) snickered at the nickname she’d bestowed upon the piglet she had seen wandering about in their garden, then slapped her tiny hands over her mouth to silence herself. She thought she had been so hilarious in naming a pig Tonkatsu, while her brother could only look on and shake his head.

Whether in amusement, or in disappointment, (Y/n) didn’t know; nor did she care.

“Yes, Oyakata-sama, I’ll be sure to check on the situation there.” A jovial voice reverberated off the walls in the corridor, which had the Ubuyashiki heiress tensing up where she stood.

She didn’t turn, nor did she dare to look away from her brother— whom was looking at her with worried eyes. Because she knew, even without checking, that her father had already seen her; as evidenced by the sudden silence, and the irked gaze she could feel boring holes into the back of her head.

However, instead of getting mad— like he’d wanted to— her father merely sighed and rubbed his temples to ease his oncoming headache. “(Y/n), what are you doing out of your lessons?”

And, as if he just realized what a stupid question that was, the Ubuyashiki patriarch sighed once more. “Shinjurō, you brought Kyōjurō with you, yes?’

“Yes, Oyakata-sama. He’s in the garden right now,” Shinjurō answered, clearly unsure as to where his master was headed with his query. “Do you want me to call him?”

“No, no,” (Y/n)’s father answered softly, before setting a gentle hand on top of his daughter’s head. “Go, (Y/n). You can play outside with Kyōjurō, but make sure to attend your lessons tomorrow.”

At that, (Y/n) beamed before turning to hug her father around the waist. “Thank you, otou-san! I promise I’ll go to my lessons tomorrow!”

And without further ado, she skipped down the hall— before her father could change his mind about letting her play instead of study.

That was the day that inevitably changed her life— for better, or for worse, she wasn’t exactly sure.

The moment she saw a boy her age— with the same flaming hair as Shinjurō-san’s— crouched down on the ground and trying to reach for something beneath the cluster of hydrangea shrubs, she immediately got down next to him to check on what had him so interested.

When she saw that he was trying to get Katsuout from beneath the shrub, she grinned and poked his cheek. Her action, of course, made Kyōjurō jump and hit his head on a low hanging stem. “If you want him to come out, you have to give him some food. Katsu likes to eat— otou-sansaid so.”

“Really? Do you have any snacks we could give him?” Kyōjurō asked enthusiastically, as his eyes brightened at the concept of actually seeing the boar in broad daylight. He had never had a pet of his own, as his father never let him keep one, so to see an actual boar up close was quite a treat for him. “Is he your pet?”

(Y/n) wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question, as she had never asked her parents if she could actually keep Katsu, but she still found herself nodding. “Yes. I guess he is. Come on, let’s ask Akio-sanfor some snacks.”

She didn’t think much of it back then, but she moved to grab her newfound friend’s hand and proceeded to drag him out from under the shrub. Then, she led both of them around the house; making sure to take the routes that would least likely make her bump into her frantic tutor; since she was sure that her senseiwould drag her back to her room and force her to study— even if her father gave her a free pass for the day.

“Akio-san?” (Y/n) called out in the seemingly-empty kitchen, as she readjusted her grip on Kyōjurō’s hand. “Akio-san? Can I please have some food for Katsu?”

When no one answered her, she went up to one of the shelves— still hand-in-hand with Kyōjurō— and reached up to get one of the boxes which she knew had Castella cake in it. She then tucked the box beneath her arm, then cried out, “I’ll be taking the Castella. Thank you!”

And with their scavenging mission a success, both children went back to the hydrangea shrub where Katsuwas laying under, and sat down next to each other.

The moment that (Y/n) let go of his hand, Kyōjurō felt a sense of loss envelop his young heart. He wanted to reach out again and entwine their fingers— much like earlier— but he resisted the urge to do so; as it would be very ungentlemanly of him.

“You never told me your name,” He began with a quirk of his eyebrows, as he watched the girl in front of him unwrap the Castella they had pilfered from the kitchen. “My name’s Rengoku Kyōjurō. I’m going to be the next Flame Hashira!”

“Oh, really?” (Y/n) exclaimed, while she took a piece of the cake and popped it in her mouth. The sweet treat practically melted on her tongue, and she resisted the urge to gush over how delicious it was. When she swallowed what was in her mouth, she answered, “I’m Ubuyashiki (Y/n). Nice to meet you, Kyō-chan.”

“U… Ubuyashiki?” The young Rengoku’s eyes widened, and he immediately righted his posture into one that denoted his deep respect for (Y/n). “The pleasure is all mine, ojou-sama.”

“What are you doing?” (Y/n) questioned with a slight tilt of her head, as her new friend’s polite vocabulary reached her ears. “We’re friends now, so you can just call me (Y/n).”

She didn’t even wait for him to answer, as she took a piece of the Castella between her thumb and index finger, then popped it into his agape mouth.

“It’s good, right? I don’t think I want to share with Katsu anymore.” The Ubuyashiki heiress giggled heartily, and that was the moment that Kyōjurō knew… he’d found the girl he wanted to marry.

***

Time seemed to fly by after that, and from snot-nosed five year-olds, both (Y/n) and Kyōjurō grew up to be drastically opposite ten year-olds.

While (Y/n) was so engrossed in reading her books and playing her kotoout in the garden, Kyōjurō was busy training to be a Hashira. He would often accompany his father to the Ubuyashiki mansion, if only to catch a glimpse of (Y/n)— but he never told her that.

As far as his young mind was concerned, girls were disgusting. They were to be respected and admired, but they were gross with their need to hug and kiss their significant others all the time.

Still, there was a part of him that never wavered; and that part wanted to marry (Y/n) when they were older.

What he didn’t know was that— when he was too busy training in the expansive garden, while he waited for his father— she would also sneak covert, admiring glances at his form.

(Y/n) couldn’t deny the fact that Kyōjurō was handsome, so she mostly told herself that wanting to look at him was inevitable. Because humans loved to look at pretty things; and he was a mighty fine specimen.

However, after the year when they turned eleven, she never saw him visit her home again. Her father said that it was because Shinjurō had already retired, which meant that Kyōjurō wouldn’t be visiting anymore.

She had never told anyone back then— not even her brother— but she had cried herself to sleep so many times after the first month that he didn’t show himself to her. He never even replied to her letters, which hurt her more than anything.

Because not only had she lost a potential love interest, but she had also lost a friend— her only friend, at that.

There were so many times when she had wanted to confide in her brother, but with the death of their father— as well as his impending marriage to Amane— she couldn’t find it in herself to add to his burden.

So, to ease her loneliness, she would often visit their parents’ graves and pour her heart out to them— if only to ease the pain and loneliness that she felt.

However, the year of her thirteenth birthday, Kagaya had sent her to serve as the host for the Final Selection, she was in for a huge— and very positive— surprise. She couldn’t even stay focused on her spiel, as her gaze always kept gravitating over to the enigmatic Kyōjurō.

And, as if her stuttered spiel wasn’t enough to embarrass her, she had to turn her back towards the Slayers because— as Kyōjurō passed by her— he whispered a quiet, ‘I’ll see you later, (Y/n).’

Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest at that. She was torn between screaming her head off at him, and gathering him in her arms while confessing her feelings; yet she did neither, as she had to keep up her unbiased façade.

During the entire week he was up on Mt. Natagumo, she barely slept a wink. She felt like she was going half-crazy with worry and, it might have been unfair of her to do so, but she sent a crow to follow his movements and report his status to her.

She knew that she couldn’t exactly pull him out of there, as it would be against Demon Corps rules, but she had to know; she couldn’t risk losing him.

Yet it appeared that there was no need for her to worry; because not only was Kyōjurō eliminating demons like they meant nothing, but he was doing so without sustaining any injuries whatsoever.

The seventh day couldn’t arrive sooner for (Y/n) and, while she busied herself with her mundane hobbies, Kyōjurō was always on the back of her mind. It was apparent to everyone who saw her that her heart really wasn’t in whatever she was doing; and her absentmindedness was even more evident to her brother.

As much as Kagaya didn’t want to crush his sister’s heart, however, he knew that he had to tell her early on about her own fate. They weren’t meant to be with people who weren’t given to them by their family’s priests, as it would spell their untimely end.

“(Y/n),” The older Ubuyashiki began softly, as he sat down beside his sister on her picnic blanket.

She slowly closed the book she had been reading, and turned to look up at Kagaya. His curse mark was slowly starting to appear along his left temple, which greatly worried (Y/n); yet she knew that she could do nothing, as it was their family’s fate.

Unless they killed Muzan, all the people within their line were fated to die at a young age.

“What has you so troubled?” Kagaya asked with a comforting smile.

However, it did nothing but make (Y/n)’s heart feel like it had seized in her chest. She knew full well that her brother knew what was on her mind, but he was merely being polite about it— to give her some semblance of privacy. “You know what’s troubling me. Don’t even pretend that you don’t, nii-chan.”

“I know, but it would make me feel better if it actually came from you, instead of from a premonition.” Just like him, she had the gift of foresight, which made for pretty interesting conversations between them, and this… it was the most awkward of them all.

Because she didn’t want to tell her older brother about her emotional woes.

And when her silence persisted, Kagaya sighed— much like their father used to when he didn’t know what to do with (Y/n). “You know as well as I do that it won’t end well if you pursue a relationship with Kyōjurō.”

“I know that, but… it’s him. I’ve loved him for so long; would it be wrong to follow my own heart?”

“It won’t… but only to a certain extent. (Y/n), there’s a thin line between real love and self-sacrifice. You’re old enough to know which lines don’t need to be crossed.”

After that, the young woman remained quiet— as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. Her brother’s words rang nothing but the truth, yet her heart wanted something entirely different.

(Y/n) wanted to go against all traditions and safety precautions, if it meant that she would experience something real and spontaneous. She wanted something that she had been longing for ever since she was young; not something that was handed to her to save her family’s lineage.

Besides, the Demon Slaying Corps didn’t need her offspring; not when she was a mere replacement for her brother— whom already had a wife, and a child on the way.

If she were to die the very next day, she wanted to— at the very least— experience what life with Kyōjurō would be like.

So she did; despite her brother’s gentle reminders to not let things get out of hand.

Because he knew, as much as she did, that staying with the young Rengoku would mean certain death for her; especially if she were to have his child, as his soul was not the one meant for hers.

Yet, she paid no heed to Kagaya’s words. She, selfishly, followed her own heart.

Much to her brother’s dismay.

***

“I always want to stay this way with you,” (Y/n) whispered softly, as she laid her head on her lover’s bare chest. They had just finished with a round of lovemaking, which rendered both of them pleasantly sore, and a tad sleepy.

“Then we will.” Kyōjurō smiled, while he pulled her body flush against his side. “Always. I promise you.”

It had been seven years since they had started being a couple, and those five years spent together were filled with nothing but bliss.

Of course, Kagaya didn’t fully approve of their relationship, but he didn’t meddle in their affairs. He wanted his sister to be happy, no matter the consequences, so he left them alone.

A giggle bubbled from (Y/n)’s lips at that, and she leaned down to press a kiss to the newly appointed Flame Hashira’s chest. “I love you, Kyō. So, so much.”

“And I love you more, my Sweet Flame,” Rengoku answered softly, before brushing his lips against the crown of her head. He was truly, and utterly smitten with the woman in his arms.

So smitten, in fact, that he was already considering asking for her hand in marriage.

The words always wanted to escape from his lips, that he had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from just blurting it out. He wanted so badly to marry the love of his life, yet he wanted to wait until it was the perfect moment to ask her.

“I promise you, we’ll stay like this forever. I’ll always be yours… as you are mine.”

***

However, he had waited too long, as the priests assigned to the Ubuyashiki family had managed to step in— despite Kagaya’s wishes to leave them alone.

Their motivations weren’t selfless; as they were insisting to marry (Y/n) off to her real betrothed in fear of the Ubuyashiki clan’s curse consuming them as well; at least, the ones who weren’t already consumed by the curse.

No one had ever dared to go against the priests’ spousal recommendations, so no one knew the real consequences of defying such a long-standing ritual. Not until (Y/n) came along.

And so, with heavy hearts, (Y/n) and Kyōjurō let go of their relationship; for the sake of other peoples’ lives.

Their separation was quiet; tear-filled, but filled with so many parting kisses and words of love. Every press of their lips against the other’s skin was committed to memory; and each fleeting caress to their lover’s naked body was tucked away in an untouchable corner of their own hearts. Because they might have been forced to stay apart, but their love for each other still burned brightly.

And life in the Ubuyashiki Manor had become quieter— morose— after that.

(Y/n) no longer played her kotoout in the garden, nor did she go out to enjoy the feel of the sun against her skin. She never laughed or smiled, nor did her eyes hold the same brightness that they used to.

Slowly, she withered away inside her room— just waiting for her family’s curse to fully consume her; as a life without Kyōjurō was a life that wasn’t worth living.

Then, as if the world further wanted to make her suffer, the priests finally named her betrothed to be none other than the Wind Hashira: Shinazugawa Sanemi.

When Kagaya had made the announcement to the all the Hashira, as he had invited them to the celebratory feast, he couldn’t help but feel guilty at the brief flash of pain that crossed the Flame Hashira’s expression.

However, he could do nothing but adhere to his family’s traditions; for (Y/n)’s own good, as well as the good of all the priests assigned to be their clairvoyants.

***

Two months after (Y/n) had wed Sanemi, they all received the news that she was pregnant.

There was a small part of Kyōjurō that wanted to believe that it was his child, yet he knew that it was impossible— as it had been months since the last time he and (Y/n) had made love. To find out only then meant that it was Sanemi’s child; and that fact felt like a dagger to his heart.

However, with a shaky smile, he still went up to his fellow Hashira and congratulated the other man.

And after that, he had taken to finding a secluded space for himself to cry his heart out. His tears seemed like they would never cease falling, while his heart felt like it was slowly crumbling inside his chest. His fingers had already gone numb, while his knees gave out from beneath him— so he was rendered to unceremoniously plop down on the hard ground.

In his pain though, loud, breathless sobs escaped from his lips— ones which he didn’t bother silencing as he gripped his head in his hands. His pain was so all-consuming, that he didn’t even realize that (Y/n) was watching him from her bedroom window.

She wanted to run out there and wrap him up in her arms, yet she knew that doing so would only hurt him more; as it would remind of what he could never fully have again.

(Y/n) was still in love with him, and she always would be, but she could never— for the life of her— muster up the courage to tell him that the child she was carrying was his; not Sanemi’s, as they had never consummated their marriage.

They slept in the same room, on the same futon, yet they always felt like they were miles away from each other. It was not a match made in heaven, as it was torture for (Y/n) to pretend each and every day that she wasn’t slowly dying on the inside.

There was nothing more that she wanted than to tell Kyōjurō, but she couldn’t give him that kind of hope. Not when she would only have to take it away from him once more.

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

Sorry for the delay! Life hit the fan after posting chapter 1, so to make up for the GIGANTO delay, I’m posting 2 chapters today! The plot thickens :D 

M/M Romance, Arranged Marriage  - Also available on AO3 

Chapter 2: The Marriage Contract

"...And he has grown up so much, of course! A lovely young man. And with wonderful prospects, too, you would of course have seen in the papers about his engagement to Henry Shawdun?" My mother tittered over a glass of brandy, waving her fan freely at the assembled ladies in the room. She was a tiny woman, and the generous cream-colored sofa she sat in almost swallowed her.

In my single-minded desperation to get home, I had forgotten that she would be entertaining today. I had hired the first hackney that would take me and ran into the house, winded and rumpled. Her friends turned to look at me, genteel smiles freezing at my harried appearance.

"Philip?" The couch released my mother as she stood to look at me. "I thought you were spending the day with Henry?" Her tone told me that all her assembled friends knew I was to spend the day with Henry and I had better come up with a convincing story fast.

"He started feeling quite ill, I'm afraid. Heat exhaustion, Henry thinks. He sent me home post-haste to refresh myself so I would not feel the same." I laughed with a dry throat. "A day like this, we were so lost in each other we didn't stop for even a sip of water. He sends his apologies." My own words were giving me heat exhaustion. I put my hand to my forehead. "But I'm afraid he was too right in his fears, because I do feel a bit of a headache. Do excuse me ladies, I should lie down." With a small, polite bow and a pointed look at Mother, I headed to the stairs with as much grace as a dusty coat and flyaway hair would allow.

I did have a headache. I hadn't drunk enough that day, and had spent the better part of the afternoon dodging through odd nooks of the city in my mad dash for freedom.

Or the illusion of freedom. I knew at the end of the day, no matter how far I ran, he would eventually appear, waving the marriage contract in my face with my hopeful parents and a solemn priest in tow.

Truly there was nothing much wrong with Henry. He was rich and generous with his funds. And handsome; my description at the dress shop was accurate in every way except the slight build and the freckles. As for build, he had a naturally strong build, tall and muscular. And as for the freckles, those were mine. And if I could give them to him, I would.

No, it wasn't Henry's appearance or lack of eligibility that made me resent him so. It was his personality--smug, self-assured, cocky--and the painful fact that I was inescapably tied to him for the rest of my life. His every smirk reminded me that we would be shackled together, and there was nothing I could do about it. When he entered a room it became a jail, and my every dash from his company was my own small way of fighting to breathe.

There had to be a way to break this engagement. Surely the contract came with its own set of loopholes, how's and heretofore’s, something .

If only I could get a glimpse of it. There were only two copies, one held by my father in his private deposit box and another held in the Shawdun mansion, presumably under lock and key. I refused to go to Shawdun mansion except under duress; I hadn't been there since the engagement dinner two years ago except when dragged by my parents for social to do's.

Desperation required I make an exception. If I so much as made an innocent inquiry as to our copy of the contract my father would become suspicious. Nothing would get in the way of him being able to continue his wanton lifestyle. I went to rest with this idea firmly in my mind.

And woke up the next morning with a plan.

Putting on my finest cravat and hose, I reached for one of my nicer suits of clothing, gritting my teeth as I peeled off the tailor's card with Henry's name on it. If I were to show up unannounced, I would have to do all else I could to make a good impression. And pray that Henry was in a good mood and ready to oblige my unusual request.

I grabbed a gentleman's taxi this time, riding in clean comfort to the Shawdun family's massive mansion. They lived right next to the Countess in town and,title or not, were one of the most influential names in the city. The townhouse had a massive garden, with a long path leading to the front of the house.

...

"Is Mr. Henry Shawdun at home this morning?"

"I'm afraid Master Henry is out visiting. Is he expecting you?"

I thought quickly. "Ah, yes. Indeed he is. We arranged to meet in his study not five minutes from now. If you would be so kind as to escort me there, I'm more than happy to wait for him to conclude his other business and meet me then; he told me himself I was free to make myself comfortable."

The butler nodded thoughtfully and led me through the house. "The young master Henry doesn't have a study, but I imagine he meant the business study. I will seat you there and send someone to inform you when he arrives."

"Thank you." I murmured, excitement warming the pit of my stomach. This could not have gone better! The butler led me into the study and shut the door behind him.

As soon as I heard the latch click, I stood. No telling how much time I would have before Henry arrived back home. I looked at the papers littering the top of the desk, but none were the one I needed. Then I gently opened the drawers one a time, rifling gently and making sure to replace everything exactly where I'd left it. Nothing.

In desperation, I glanced around the room, felt under the desk for a secret door, cabinet, a nook where a roll of paper could be hiding. My eye caught on a painting of Henry next to his father. They both looked solemnly at me, as though judging my every move. Henry, unlike myself, had inherited his father's traits, large built and dark hair with piercing blue eyes. I had inherited my mother's: small, though not as slight as she, with hazel eyes and freckles. I looked away from the photo, scowling.

Next to the painting on the wall was an ornate parchment, framed in a dark burnished wood. It looked like a certificate of sorts, signed at the bottom and stamped with two seals in blue wax. One was a simple merchant's seal, a hammer over a crate, that I recognized as the Shawdun family seal. The other one was... Ours.

I walked over to the frame, squinting to read the tangled script. Surely this had to be it!  

" In exchange for debts accrued over a lifetime, and the provision of a comfortable life, Sir Roland Edward Mallory does promise his son, Philip Alexander in marriage to Henry Matthias Shawdun. In the union, Henry Matthias will take on the Mallory name and all titles owed to the family. The family endowment and all honors at court will be shared by the two as wedded partners.

This is a declaration of engagement. The engagement cannot be annulled lest all forgiven debts be recounted and accrued to the Mallory name in payment of debt, in addition to ten thousand pounds in payment for embarrassment to the Shawdun family name."

I sighed in defeat. Never in a thousand years could we pay such a sum. Blearily I read on.

However, if Henry Shawdun conceives a child with another partner, thus performing a breaking of trust and shaming Philip Alexander, the marriage will be annulled and all debts assumed by the Shawdun family shall remain their responsibility, and the ten thousands pounds penalty will not apply. However, no further assets will be sent to the Mallory household and all ties broken thereforth.

I felt a glimmer of hope at that. Such a debt I at least had a prayer of paying.

In addition, if Mr. George Shawdun or Mr. Henry Shawdun were to annul the engagement himself, the above would apply, and they would owe two hundred and fifty pounds to the Marjory Family for embarrassment accrued.

The bottom of the contract was signed by my father Aloysius Marjory and Henry's father, George Shawdun. I paid little attention to their signatures. Henry would never agree to annul our engagement, but if I could somehow put him in the path of a beautiful woman... Afterwards I would be near penniless, a working man with two aging parents in need of support, but I could do it. I would do it if it meant not spending my life tied permanently to that cursed man, at the disposal of his family and their every whim. The title-hungry new money would not be sucking me dry.

Gleefully, I turned to leave. I could feign a headache and get out of the house before Henry even arrived. I reached for the doorknob when it rattled under my hand and the large form of George Shawdun himself filled the doorway.

He was not as tall as Henry, and far rounder in the middle. His hair was silvering, but had not receded in the slightest, still spilling over his forehead in the fashion many of the rich merchant's class had taken to wearing about town. His eyes regarded me solemnly over a set of wire glasses. I felt like a crate of merchandise opened for his inspection.

"Young Sir Mallory. I wasn't expecting you here."

I summoned my most innocent and charming grin. "Mr. Shawdun. I came here by request of your son, but he never arrived for the appointment, and now I must return home to attend to my mother."

He sniffed at me curiously. "Of course. You will of course be attending our small to-do this weekend with Henry. I trust you saw the invitation? Our footman told me it was delivered straight into your hand." He smiled down at me, expectantly

Disgusting social climbers!

I fought up a grin. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world." Unless Henry is unfit to be wed to me any longer.

Henry would conceive with a woman before the weekend, I was determined. It was only a matter of which one.

I pondered this problem as the same butler escorted me to the front door and into a waiting carriage. Certainly there was no shortage of women who would be eager to be wed into one of the richest families. I had already spent many a social gathering suffering their ire, glowering at me as though my attachment to one of the most eligible bachelors in the county was somehow my doing or something I was remotely pleased about.

Two particularly charming and aggressive specimens came to mind; Lady Evelyne Egret, and Lady Burnett de Witt. Of all the young women I knew who were eligible and jealous, they were as shameless as they were well attached. I quickly added Miss Lyla Havisham to the list, as she was a cunning, sharp woman who would be motivated to social climb. Any one of them being caught in an indiscretion would mean a quick marriage and my freedom.

When the taxi arrived home, I already had the beginnings of a plan in my head. A drawing room gathering. Intimate, low lighting. Wine and spirits flowing freely. Poetry, to feed the romantic air of the room. And then I would be called urgently away late in the evening, leaving a very drunk, hopefully aroused Henry alone in the company of three equally ambitious,  determined young ladies. The rest would surely take care of itself.

Chuckling, I hustled to my writing desk and went about writing the invitations.

[everlarkficexchange]

In The End

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 76: historical au where katniss and peeta are betrothed since birth and peeta’s mom is actually nice. they grow up to be best friends neither of them knowing about the betrothal until something breaks their friendship and they become enemies. when they finally turn the right age, they find out about the betrothal and are forced to marry and consummate their marriage even if they despise each other. [submitted by anonymous]

  Tags/warnings: Rated Mature for Adult Situations and some description of injuries.

  Historical AU; Arranged Marriage; Friends to Enemies to Lovers; Canon Typical Violence; Anger and Hurt; Misunderstandings; As usual, a simple conversation would’ve fixed everything, but Nooo!; Angst; Smut; Nobody dies, so I guess that’s cool; this story away from me, word count sits at less than 20k… sorry; un-betaed, all mistakes are mine, and there will be a million of them because it was hastily edited. I apologize.

  Thank you @xerxia31 and @javistg for another great year of awesome prompts and fics. Thank you Anon for an awesome prompt! 

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  Mr and Mrs Everdeen huddle together in their horse drawn carriage, traveling home after a taxing day with family, at a Will reading. She holds their brand new baby girl to her chest, he wraps his arms protectively around both his wife and infant daughter.

  “Do you think we are doing the right thing?” Mrs Everdeen asks her husband tearfully. “It just feels so drastic.”

  “Oh my darling, think of it as ensuring a future for little Katniss. Both our families together, can cultivate a happy childhood for the children; provide a safe place for them to grow up loving each other; invest time and create good memories for them. They will be alright. Things will work out. We have to trust we’ll do everything in our power to make sure the will turn out to be well adjusted adults and live in harmony when time comes.”

  “You think we can do it?” She asks with hope in her voice, tightening her hold on her baby.

  “I really do, darling. Little Peeta and baby Katniss will have a wonderful childhood full of love, they will grow up together and their futures will be secure. We will make it happen!”

————-

  The first raindrop splashes Peeta’s cheek like a cool kiss from the clouds. Another one lands on Katniss’ arm startling her. Both children look quizzically up at the open blue sky; there isn’t a single sign of bad weather except for a very dark, single cloud drifting slowly towards them.

  A new handful of droplets fall on the kids’ shoulders, foreheads and chests. They look at each other in wonder, eyes wide open and smiles curling their lips. Before they can utter a word to one another, the one gray cloud breaks into a downpour directly above them, soaking them both to the bones in a matter of seconds.

  The children scream like seven year olds do when pelted by icy cold rain, and take off running hand in hand back to the house ahead of the meadow where the little friends have been playing in the tall grasses.

  Back in the house the little friends rush through the kitchen doors talking loudly and gasping for air after a all the running.

  “Children! I thought I sent you both to play outside. Don’t be making a ruckus now, baby Primrose is trying to nap.” Chastises Nanny Coin, a severe woman with icy gray eyes and matching hair in a bun.

  The woman never smiles, and despises when children laugh, so they never mind taking their play time outside, or better yet, to the Mellark home, where warm cookies always wait.

  “But it’s raining!” Katniss protests, “and I can hear Prim screaming from the nursery!”

  It’s true, little Primrose cries disconsolate upstairs in the bedrooms, and Katniss mama can’t keep her tired eyes open. The nanny isn’t nearly as soft as mama, so Prim cries on, louder and louder. Katniss worries her baby sister will hurt her throat or get a headache; Katniss’ head always hurt after crying too long.

  “What should we do?” she whispers to her best friend, Peeta.

  He always has solutions to her problems, and his ideas usually come quickly. But Peeta is the baby in his own family, so he doesn’t know how to help this time around.

  “You could sing.” He suggests shyly.

  He hasn’t shared his secret with anybody, but his little heart swells every time his best friends sings. He’s sworn to himself time and again once he’s big, he’ll marry her, so she sing him lullabies to sleep every night.

  Katniss purses her tiny, pink lips. “I can’t do that without Papa! Distract the nanny for me, will you? I have an idea!”

  “How?” Peeta groans trying to keep with her anyway.

  Her girly legs are longer and faster than his stubby ones, he doesn’t understand how’s it possible she’s taller and more athletic than him, he’s a whole six months older than her! He’s doughy around the belly, where she’s lithe and nimble. They look so much like opposites physically, she’s olive skinned with hair as dark as ink, and his fair with rosy cheeks, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes like a summer sky.

  Peeta takes after his mother, and Katniss takes after her father, yet, they share a single great great Grandfather on their mothers side. It’s confusing to them at times, because they should be cousins like their mothers, but their families insist they’re not.

  “I don’t know!” Katniss says annoyedly over her shoulder, smacking her friend’s arm with one of her twin long braids. “Draw something funny on the wall or something. That’ll drive Nanny Coin crazy!”

  Peeta balks at the preposterous idea, but follows suit without a hesitation once in front of the nursery door. Katniss slips inside the room where the wailing baby lays in her crib, while the nanny rebukes little Peeta for being naughty with that charcoal knob of his. He places his hand on the woman’s apron, leaving behind a perfectly imprint of his hand in sooty dark. Nanny Coin screeches, and a crazy chase ensues while the woman demands Peeta stays still for a good spanking.

  Katniss peeks out the door biting her lip guiltily, she didn’t want her friend to get in trouble, but the stain on the apron was completely intentional by the way his blue eyes sparked in her direction right before he did it. Katniss hurries to her sister, a small bundle of fully functional lungs that keeps turning purple in the face the longer she screams.

  “Hush, Little Duck, big sister’s here! Do you want to hear a story? This one is from papa, he’s the best storyteller ever, but he now works in an office now, it’s safer than working in the mines where the sun don’t shine, but it’s hard work and someone who cares for the miners had to do it, or at least that’s what he tells everyone… anywho… have you heard about the Mockingjays?”

  Prim doesn’t stop crying, so Katniss picks her up from the firm crib and loosens the blankets the infant is swaddled in. Prim’s eyes open a fraction to look up, then she calms fractionally, listening close.

  “Mockingjays are little songbirds, their plumage is black as night, with specks of white in the under wing. They’ve a crest they get from their father, the Jabberjay. He’s just a chattering one, always repeating what he hears others talk about, he’s a big gossip if you ask me. Mama always says that gossiping is not polite, so you and I shan’t do it, but it’s alright for jabberjays. The singing voice of the mockingjays comes from their mommy, the always delightful Mockingbird…”

  Katniss keeps taking in a soothing voice, bouncing the babe in her arms as she walks in a wide loop around the room, while unbeknownst to her, her papa who arrived home just in time to save little Peeta from a spanking, looks on from the door, with a warm, hand on Peeta’s chubby shoulder. The little boy thinks it again, watching his friend cooing to the baby, he’s going to grow up to marry Katniss Everdeen, then she’ll tell him bedtime stories lovingly!

  ——————

  “But why can’t I go sit with Peeta during his lessons?” Katniss asks grumpily at her mother. “It’s the same tutor anyway!”

  “Because you’re starting your own classes, darling.” Says Mama bouncing little Primrose on her lap while Katniss gets fitted for her brand new dress, a gift from Papa, for the first day with her tutor at home. “You’re curriculum is different than Peeta’s; Professor Abernathy has created a schedule fitting for a lady, just for you.”

  Katniss doesn’t understand why suddenly she needs private schooling. She was doing great at the public schoolhouse. Sure, it was a single class for all the children of town regardless of age, but Katniss loved it there and her teacher, Miss Lavinia. No matter how hectic school was, the young teacher managed to carve one o one time with each of her students at least for a few minutes daily.

  Katniss doesn’t think it’s fair she has be schooled at home on her own while all her friends from the schoolhouse had fun in class— except for Peeta of course. Peeta had never gone to the schoolhouse. His family l, the Mellarks, are bakers and the wealthiest people in town. They could afford private tutors for all three of their sons.

  Peeta always complains of how lonely and boring it is at home without classmates. His siblings are there, but they never chat during lulls in class. It wasn’t that he didn’t socialize with peers from town, Peeta’s the friendliest, most talkative boy Katniss ever known, but he envies Katniss for spending time independently from everyone, he thinks the little girl is very brave in that regard, and that makes Katniss very proud of herself.

  A few times a week Mrs. Mellark, Peeta’s mother, kindly invites Katniss to sit in Peeta’s piano lessons or in his art class— art is Peeta’s favorite subject by far— But lately, they’ve started teaching him more applied subjects like algebra, social sciences, statistics, and economics, and his tutor has insinuated more than once, that having the two children together in the class is a distraction to both.

  Katniss is ten now, Mama and Papa decided it’s time to start getting a more dedicated education for her future standing. They hired Ms. Trinket as governess, and Ms. Trinket convinced Profesor Abernathy to tutor both children two days a week.

  Professor Abernathy’s an eccentric drunk, with the highest credentials in the country. Mrs. Mellark was very impressed with the man, and profusely thanked the Everdeens for putting so much effort into Katniss’ education when she learned they hired his services as well.

  Katniss is puzzled about the exchange between her parents and Peeta’s mother, but the boy only shrugs noncommittal when his little friend muses about it.

  “Why would your folks care about my education?” Ponders Katniss staring at her friend who’s absorbed into his drawings. “It doesn’t add up!” Exclaims Katniss pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you reckon, Peeta?”

  The boy says nothing.

  “Peeta,” Katniss insists, but when she gets the same answer, she stands from her plush chair and stomps unladylike to shake her friend’s shoulder. “Pee-ta!” Katniss pulls too harshly on her friend’s arm, causing him to scratch up his sketch.

  “Hey! What gives?” He cries in aggravation. “Why did you do that for?” He asks turning pink in the face.

  But Katniss barely hears him. She’s enthralled, staring at Peeta’s leather bound book, where the most vivid images are plastered page over page. She picks up the book and starts leafing through it.

  “You made all this?” She asks in awe, staring with wide eyes at the different portraits in the pages. There’s little Prim with her pet goat, Lady; there’s also Professor Abernathy, with a better groomed head of hair than she remembers while the rest of him looks as dull as ever. Then there’s the town’s church and the graveyard next to it. And then, there’s her… all over the book. In different stages of completion.

  Drawings of her braid, or her eyes; drawings of her scowling with her arms crossed on her chest petulantly; drawings of her smiling at Prim; there’s one where she’s wagging her finger menacingly at a raccoon that had tried to pull Peeta’s wavy hair one day from a low branch. The raccoon looks terrified of the little miss.

  Peeta tears the book out of Katniss hands and shoves it behind his back quickly. His cheeks are blotchy red with embarrassment.

  “That’s private!” He tells his friend mortified and upset.

  Katniss scowls, but after a moment, hangs her head contritely. “I’m sorry for looking without asking, Peeta.” She looks up at him then. “But the pictures where too pretty not to. I should have asked you first. I won’t do it again.”

  Peeta stares at her deflated form for a second, then his extended pinkie finger materializes under her nose.

  “I’ll show you my book, if you ask the next time you want to see my drawings, Pinkie promise?”

  Katniss smiles at her best friend and links her pinkie with his. “Pinkie promise!”

  “You wanna spit on it to make it unbreakable?”

  “Eww! No. We are not eight anymore. Spitting is for children, Peeta.”

  —————-

  Prim falls in the meadow behind the Everdeen home and scraps her knees while trying to catch up with Katniss and Peeta, as they run around flying Peeta’s new kite.

  Prim is sniffling pitifully, “Tell me the story of the mo-ingjay and the Winnow…”

  “The Mockingjay and the Willow, again?” Asks Katniss making a face.

  “Katniss, remember you said you wanted to help. Telling your sister a story while I clean her knees is the best way you can help me right now.” Says mama kindly, but not giving much room for protests.

  “Very well,” Katniss sighs, “So there once was a sad willow tree in the middle of a field—“

  “An island!” Prim protests crossing her arms brattily. “Last time you said it was an island. Start it over!”

  “Ugh!” Katniss groans, “How am I supposed to remember every single detail of this tale?”

  Peeta taps his friend’s shoulder, lifting a small hardcover book he carries around to doodle on. “I can write it down while you are both here to keep all the details faithful to Prim’s memory.”

  Katniss grins at her best friend. He sets to write down the story, word by word, and once he’s alone in his room before bed at home, he pulls the book out one more time and starts drawing drafts of a small crested bird hopping along the limbs of a willow tree. He works on the sketches until sleep pulls him under.

  —————

  “Animi est plus fortis quam musculus.”

  “Ugh… that was pitiful, Sweetheart. Concentrate and read it again, without wiggling your tongue in your mouth so much.”

  Katniss glares at her tutor from behind the lectern he insists she uses when reciting her Latin, reading poetry or simply asking questions.

  “Animi est plus fortis quam musculus.” She repeats twisting her tongue extra sharply, just to be contrary.

  “Better!” Calls Professor Abernathy checking his golden pocket watch. “Alright, now, what does that phrase mean, Miss Everdeen? And do hurry up with that answer, we only have five more minutes before that wench comes to fetch me.”

  Abernathy and Ms. Trinket hated each other the moment they met for Katniss’ first class. Watch them interact was the most entertaining thing Katniss had ever seen two adults do.

  The girl muses for a moment, scratching the back of her leg with the toe of her shoe, just because she knows Ms. Trinket would be horrified by the act.

  “The mind is stronger than the muscle?”

  “Mightier, but yes. You got it right, Sweetheart! The mind is mightier than the muscle.” Says Abernathy giving his pupil a rare smile that makes the muscles in his face ache from disuse. “Never forget it, Sweetheart, and you’ll be better off than many.”

  The professor was about to give his student a list of things to do to prepare for the their next lesson in two days time, but as clockwork, Ms. Trinket knocks on the door, and lets herself in without invitation just to announce it’s time for Katniss to join her mother in the drawing room for sewing.

  Katniss suppresses a groan. At least during tutoring hours she gets to speak her mind to some extent. Abernathy wants her to think for herself, and told her father he was going to teach her Latin, poetry, Greek and Roman mythology, and math, like he taught her male peers. But she was still a girl, and society dictates she needs training in a preconceived set of skills such as sewing, knitting, and hosting.

  Katniss follows Ms.Trinket almost dragging her feet on the carpet. They pass the drawing room without entering, which puzzles Katniss greatly.

  “Ms. Trinket, please, was I not supposed to go into the drawing room to sit with my mother?”

  “You will, after you change into a fresh outfit. You have visitors today, I’m afraid.” Ms. Trinket informs her charge.

  “Who’s visiting?” Katniss asks eagerly.

  “Miss Everdeen, mind your manners. It is not very polite to badger someone with questions while they’re in the middle of relaying information to you, child.” Chides Ms. Trinket.

  Not until Katniss gives a very winded apology, does Ms.Trinket finish telling her that she’s to have tea in the parlor with Mrs. Mellark and her youngest son, Master Peeta.

  Katniss smile could split her face in half. She tries to hide the spring in her step the same way she hid her slouch earlier. Ms. Trinket is not very into demonstrations of emotions, and everything has to be so measured it’s a chore on itself. Professor Abernathy often says that Ms. Trinket sucks the joy out of life. He may be onto something.

  Nevertheless, Katniss doesn’t argue when she’s put in the puffiest dress in her wardrobe, with three petticoats and the scratchiest stockings she’s ever worn. Ms. Trinket laments there’s no time to do anything new with Katniss’ hair, which makes Katniss scowl. She likes her braids. Peeta told her once he loves drawing them for whatever reason; she assumes that means he likes her braids too, so there’s no reason to change them.

  During tea, Peeta and Katniss are made to sit still, in opposite chairs from one another, with a tea table laden with finger foods between them. Is the boriest play date yet, but they can speak with their eyes, and Peeta’s facial expressions keeps threatening to make Katniss snort tea through her nose.

  “Peeta, Katniss, you both will be thirteen this year, and it will be highly inappropriate for you two to be alone, together, in a room.” Says mama Everdeen after some inane conversation.

  “Why would it be inappropriate? Are we not allowed to play in the meadow either?” Asks Katniss with wide eyes.

  Peeta looks equally troubled.

  “You are just not children anymore, and things need to change just a little. You will still see each other often, only in other settings.” Explains Mrs. Mellark kindly.

  “Peeta will come for tea with Katniss twice a week, and either Ms. Trinket or Professor Abernathy will sit with you both while you have an amiable conversation.” Says Mama glancing periodically at Mrs Mellark for support.

  “Also, I’m afraid that for now on, there won’t be any touching, or sharing a sofa. You two may walk around the gardens with your chaperones, and as for games you can play checkers, cards or chess.”

  Katniss groans before she can stop herself. Ignoring her mother’s glare she complains, “But Peeta always wins chess and checkers!”

  “And the gardens aren’t fun if you can’t explore it without worrying about staying clean, so, do we have to dress so stuffy all the time now as well?” Peeta asks frowning.

  “There will be no silly, childish games. why you two are old enough to converse on literature you’ve read or even read aloud to each other. It’s time you started doing more mature things, you know.” Says Mrs. Mellark drinking from her teacup.

  Peeta raises his hand half way. “Why grow up when we can be out in the meadow flying kites, or sunbathing, or even better, doing things we actually enjoy, like sitting on the grass barefooted or chasing frogs in the creek?”

  “Peeta, dear, your mother just explained you are not a children anymore. It’s time you both learn how to act like proper teens in society.” Says Mama Everdeen stoically. “You both have grown beautifully, and it’s time to leave childhood behind for the grown up version of yourself we’ve strived to reach.”

  Neither Katniss nor Peeta quite understand this concept, but they still enjoy spending time with each other and figure is best to not to argue and let the mother get their way for now.

  As predictable as it is, the youngsters favorite chaperone is Professor Abernathy. They get to sit on the Persian rug on the floor next to each other and leaf through books together; usually Peeta shows his sketches and doodles, and Katniss thinks up different scenarios for him to draw.

  One day, Professor Abernathy yawns, glaring at the children holding up their stomachs and covering their mouths with charcoal stained fingers, while a peel of laughter wakes him up from a nap.

  “If you two want me to keep pretending I’m supervising this silly little dates, you have to do something constructive with your time to show for. I can say I’m teaching you urchins something valuable, and you too would be able to spend time without the governess from hades poking her head in the door every five minutes.”

  “We do not know how to pretend we are working on a project, Professor.” States Peeta slowly, fishing for ideas almost.

  Professor Abernathy grunts, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Alright. What is it that you two do when you crowd over that book of yours?” Asks the man tiredly. His eyes urging them to think, use their brains if they had one.

  “We make stories that Katniss writes down,” Says Peeta.

  “Then Peeta illustrate them for me.” Katniss adds, her mind already working on an idea.

  “Well, can you find something educational you can substitute for the stories?” Offers the professor.

  Peeta nods his head in understanding, a slow smile forming in his lips. “Like a scientific journal?”

  “I think I have the perfect thing to work on!” Says Katniss delighted, “Why it will require us to spend a great deal of time outside!” She claps.

  Both teenagers brainstorm ideas on their new project, settling for Katniss idea of a book about plants. Her Papa knows all about edible plants, and her mother knows about medicinal ones, but nobody has ever thought of putting the knowledge into paper for later generations. There’s a variety of plants in the Everdeen’s garden— both edible and medicinal— so all Katniss and Peeta need to do is take a stroll outside and look at greenery. Even Primrose is welcome to join.

  The friends set out to work on their book; Peeta draws the plants with painstaking details, splurging in colorful pastels, more expensive than his usual charcoals; then Katniss writes in careful cursive the name, physical descriptions and a small explanation about the specific plant, next to Peeta’s drawing. They seal the finished pages with salt water.

  Mister Everdeen walks into the parlor one day while the two friends are working on their book. He sees the vivid picture of a dandelion both in seed and in bloom. The drawing is so detailed he can see each individual petal of the sun ray yellow crown, and each feathered-like seed pod. The leafy part is so lifelike, Mister Everdeen makes a double take to confirm it is indeed colored into the page and not pasted there. The roots in the drawing even have a few clumps of dirt falling from the base where the plant was supposed to be buried in the ground.

  “Say, Children, may I take a look at your book?” Papa Everdeen asks over Katniss and Peeta’s shoulders.

  The two friends stare at each other stunned for a quick moment, but Peeta finally hands over the book open to the page he’s currently sketching.

  “This is remarkable work, children. What’s the title?” Katniss’ Papa asks leafing through the book with a smile of wonder on his face.

  “Title, Papa?” Asks Katniss cocking her head, so her single long braid hangs like a rope over her shoulder. Now that she’s thirteen, double braids seem too kiddie.

  “Well, every best seller book has a catchy name.” Says mister Everdeen giving his daughter a wink.

  Peeta’s lips purse sideways, “Maybe ‘a guide to herbs’?” He proposes.

  “Too stiff.” Counters the girl squinting. “Our tome is more like a… dictionary for plants.”

  “A herb dictionary? How clever.” Says Papa kindly.

  “A Herbonary?” Peeta jests, chuckling.

  “Very clever indeed, Peeta, m’boy!”

  “I like it too! The Herbonary it is!” Katniss beams at her best friend who promptly turns scarlet on the cheeks.

  Mister Everdeen notices the boy’s blush, and smiles fondly, turning away from him to not cause his embarrassment to deepen.

  “Have you consider selling copies for money? We could go with this to the printing press and make a nice nest egg for your future? I bet there’s a market for it, and you can come up with a pen name you can publish it under… how about P.K. Everlark?”

  The two teens exchange stunned stares.

  “We… have no intentions on selling our book, Mister Everdeen. This is merely a past time we concocted to be able to play outside when Miss Trinket chaperones us.” Peeta explains truthfully, but Katniss throws him a warning glare an a well aimed elbow to the ribs.

  Mister Everdeen laughs joyfully at the boy’s candidness and his daughter’s reaction. “Thank you for your honesty, son. And I promise I won’t let slip this information to the mothers or miss Trinket. Your secret is safe with me,” he winks at Katniss for good measure. “Now, I’ll let you both be,” he says glancing in Professor Abernathy’s direction with a smirk. “Don’t wake your professor, he looks like he needs the rest.” The man saunters out of the parlor still smirking.

  Peeta and Katniss giggle to one another.

  ———

“Pssst… Peeta! Over here!” Katniss hisses lowly as soon as her best friend walks past her hiding spot.

  “Katniss?” He calls quietly, looking left and right before taking a huge step sideways, as inconspicuous as a sixteen year old boy with his broad physique can move while hiding behind a heavy curtain. “What are you doing here? Your mother is about to hit the roof looking for you!” Peeta whispers, squinting in an effort to actually focus on his friend’s face, but it’s no use in the dim wrong side of the curtain.

  “Well, if she wanted me to be part of this party, she should’ve asked me what I wanted to do and who I wanted to do it with, before throwing this monstrosity of a celebration. Why she didn’t even listened to my choice in outfit!”

  Peeta smiles wryly. He can practically hear Katniss’ scowl. “Really?” He asks convinced she’s exaggerating. “Did she ban your riding trousers? Did she wrangled you out of a cotton green dress?”

  He tried not to snicker, because the cotton dress incident was still a point of contention between Katniss and her mother. Mrs. Everdeen was dismayed to learn her daughter wore an A line, button down, forest green cotton dress to a church cookout the previous summer. Katniss said the dress was comfortable for the stuffy heat, and her mother said it was plain and beneath her station, she went as far as telling her she was not to wear the cotton outfit outside the house, which Katniss tried to go around it a handful of times before grudgingly giving up the garment.

  Katniss groans. “It’s worse than anything I’ve ever worn! I’m swimming in a sea of salmon color taffeta. It’s so itchy and big, I feel like a walking, pink marshmallow.”

  “Come now, Katniss. It cannot be that bad. Did you really expected your folks not to throw you the biggest ball of the century for your Sweet Sixteen?” He cajols lowly.

  His head is so close to Katniss’ she can feel his breath— warm and dense— against her cheek. She’s momentarily speechless at the strange swoop in her stomach at his proximity, but she’s almost used to this occurrence by now. It keeps happening every time he’s close. It’s been like this for the last year or so. The only thing she can do is shake her head stubbornly.

  “Mother knows I’m no good at making friends or saying something in public. Why does she insist on this waste of time?” She whines.

  Peeta chuckles as quietly as he can. “It’s alright, Kitty.” He said, using a nickname he very seldom let escape him. “I’ll speak for the both of us, and I’ll make friends with everyone and then introduce you to them so you can win them over as well.”

  “Win them over? Are you as daft as my mother? I’m terrible at socializing, Peet!” She waves her arms, perturbing the curtain.

  “Hey! You’re going to betray our hiding place!” Peeta hisses.

  “Katniss? Are you in here?” Comes Prim’s muffled voice at the other side of the thick material.

  “Ugh! Come on, we’ve been found!” Katniss grouses, and grips Peeta’s wrist to pull him out of hiding, except it’s not his wrist her fingers wrap around with force.

  Peeta gasps painfully— in more than the obvious way— while Katniss wrenches her hand away from her friends mishandled crotch.

  “I’m so sorry!” She chokes out from behind her hand. “I’m so very sorry, Peeta, please forgive me!”

  “It’s alright, Kitty,” he coughs raggedly, right before Prim steps behind the curtain with them. “Having offspring is overrated anyway.” He gasps.

  “Oh!” She smacks his chest when he chuckles, “Stop! Here I am all worried about you…”

  “Why? What happened?” Prim inquires curiously, “Also, Mama is going to ground until you’re forty five if you don’t emerge from hiding right away.” The girl says brightly. “Peet, are you sweating?”

  But Katniss is already throwing the curtain aside and making sure she’s not manhandling anyone’s family jewels this time.

  As soon as Peeta emerges, Katniss gives him another apologetic glance.

  “What happened to you?” Prim asks again noticing just how awkward Peeta’s standing.

  “Fine. I’m fine.” He huffs.

  “You don’t sound very fine. I couldn’t look you up, in case you need medical assistance.”

  “It won’t be necessary, I just need a drink of fresh water and I’ll be right as day.”

  “If you’re sure…” Primrose shrugs, “Oh well, I’m going to taste the adorable french foods mama commissioned for the party! There’s so much chocolate! Ta-ta!” The young girl is gone as soon as she came, leaving Katniss glowering at her uncomfortable shoes.

  She hates the how they pinch her toes.

  Peeta on the other hand, is finally able to take a good look at his friend, and is left momentarily speechless at the sight.

  He gulps his saliva loudly enough it ensnares Katniss’ attention. She narrows her gray eyes at him.

  “Are you sure you’re right? You seem unwell.”

  “You’re… beautiful!” He finally breathes out. He can’t remember his best friend ever wearing makeup before today, and although is a very subtle layer of lipgloss and barely noticeable rouge, he can tell is there, and he can’t stop gawking.

  Katniss blushes. “Peeta, you’re staring.” She mumbles averting her eyes.

  The words snap him back to his senses, and he finally forces his eyes from her pretty face. “I’m sorry.” He mutters.

  Katniss sighs. “It’s alright. I know I look ridiculous. I mean—“

  “No! You’re not ridiculous at all! You’re… pretty. I mean, it’s different but… um… very nice.” He stutters rubbing the back of his neck nervously, his eyes twitching between her and the rest of the room.

  “Nice? Please! I’m a pink nightmare!”

  “Well… I can concur that salmon is not a hue I would chose personally, but if I squint really hard, the material looks more like orange, and you know how partial I am to orange.” Peeta tries to make his friend smile.

  “This is horrible, Peeta.” Katniss laments dramatically. “Can you hide me?”

  Peeta chuckles and throws one arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him for a hug. “I can try. How’s this?” He asks, his voice deep and low makes a shiver go down her back, and her tummy warms up.

  Katniss breathes Peeta’s manly scent deeply. “This is loads better.” She mumbles burying her face into his dinner jacket.

  Peeta wraps both arms protectively around his friend. They sway to the music coming from the parlor, where a string quartet plays soft, ambient tunes.

  “I made you cheese buns.” Peeta whispers quietly into her hair.

  Katniss squeezes him into her arms. “You’re the best! Thank you!”

  She lifts her head to kiss him gratefully on the cheek, but he lowers his face at the same time to tell her a funny anecdote about his brother’s attempt at stealing one of the buns. Her lips land halfway over his, and they freeze in place.

  Peeta’s blue eyes almost bulge out of the sockets. Katniss’ face burns in mortification, but after a fraction of a second staring at each other in complete and utter horror, they both move at the same time, to meet their lips in the middle.

  A voice in the distance breaks the spell. “Miss Everdeen, where are you now?”

  The two teens jump apart as soon as Miss Trinket’s voice reaches them.

  “Come on, Kitty, I slaved over half of those hors d'oeuvres. The least you can do is stuff your face full of them, and ruin your taffeta dress in the process.” Peeta says dragging Katniss away from the upcoming governess as fast as they can slip away.

  Katniss is breathless when they arrive to the canapés table— from the kisses and the haste in which they moved— her eyes are wide and her mouth is dry. She doesn’t move an inch away from Peeta. She can’t, even if she wanted to; she’s stuck to him by an invisible force, much like magnets.

  Everything would be alright if they hadn’t run straight into Peeta’s mother at the table, overseeing the waiters placing fresh plates of puff pastries, crackers with generous dollops of caviar and little foie gras mounds sprinkled with parsley on a bed of cherry tomatoes. Katniss’ stomach protests. What ever happened to sandwiches?

  There’s a table with soups on the other side of the room, she wishes they could head there now.

  “Oh, good. Peeta, you found Katniss!” Mrs. Mellark says glancing at the teens. “My, my! You look lovely tonight dear! Happiest of birthdays, and a very sweet sixteen, Katniss, darling!” The woman hugs Katniss effusively, and the girl can barely breathe of mortification.

  “Oh, but look at you! I knew Ms. Portia was the right choice for your dress. Peeta, my darling, would you be a dear and escort the birthday girl to the dance floor so the ball can officially begin? Nobody can dance until the debutant has had her first dance of the night, you know.” Mrs. Mellark’s bright blue eyes rest on Katniss’ burning face with fondness. “Go on, dance the night away you two. You’re only sixteen once!” Peeta’s mother cooes nudging them away to the dance floor.

  “Katniss shoes are pinching her toes.” Says Peeta over his shoulder trying to get out of dancing. He knows his best friend hates to be the center of attention, plus he is as graceful on the dance floor as an enraged bull in a china shop.

  “Then just do the one song and go sit afterwards, but truly, you two need to get in there… now!” The woman says with finality, and to make matters worse, Mrs. Everdeen spots them right then, and starts coming towards them.

  “Peeta…” Katniss whispers.

  “It’s alright. I’ve got you. If the shoes are really terrible, toss them away and dance in your stockings.”

  Katniss looks up at Peeta in time for him to give her a wide spin in the middle of the dance floor, and suddenly the music starts anew.

  Mrs. Everdeen and Miss Trinket— who’s just joined the hunt for the reluctant dancers— are forced to stay at the edge of the ring of partygoers, watching the birthday girl and her escort dance.

  Unexpectedly, Katniss and Peeta dance the night away, laughing and eating everything in the room, having a good ol’ time. Her uncomfortable shoes lay forgotten under a chair by the punch table, and the owner doesn’t miss them one bit all night.

  Peeta intertwines his fingers with his dance partner and only lets go after he kisses her cheek good night.

  ———

“Father is sending me and my brothers abroad.” Says Peeta agitated a week after Katniss’ sweet sixteen party..

  “How long?” Katniss asks under her breath. Miss Trinket clears her throat obnoxiously behind them. Katniss glares in turn, but faces ahead, pretending she’s interested in any of the flowers in the garden.

  “A year.” Peeta answers mechanically. “He wants us to attend some college courses, get some worldly experience; see how life is in foreign country and whatnot.” Peeta looks up at her beseechingly. “I don’t want to go. We have never been separated that long before.”

  Miss Trinket harumps again. “Dears, it’s impolite to murmur while there’s a third party with you.”

  “Then by all means, Miss Trinket, will you be so kind to give me and my dearest of friends, a so much craved privacy, so he can tell me what’s troubling him without having to speak in hushed tones?” Katniss practically growls.

  “Well, I’ve never!” The governess is in the process of snatching Katniss, arm to drag her back into the house, when Mister Everdeen happens into the yard to save the situation.

  “Ah! Miss Trinket excuse my interruption,” He bestows a blinding smile on the woman who simply nods and half curtsies.

  “No at all, sir. Please, join us.” Says Miss Trinket affably.

  After nodding gratefully, the man completely ignores the governess. “Peeta, m’boy, I heard from your father about the exciting opportunity you and your brothers have been presented with. I understand you four leave for port the day after tomorrow?”

  Katniss’ breath catches. Her head swivels smacking Peeta’s shoulder with her thick braid. “So soon? You didn’t say you were leaving so soon!” She accuses.

  “I… was about to when…” his blue eyes travel to Miss Trinket showing every ounce of annoyance he’s feeling, “never mind that. I’m sorry. I’m afraid today I came to say goodbye for a while.”

  Katniss is to the brink of tears.

  “Mmm… the day is so warm and nice though,” comments Mister Everdeen, taking a deep breath and looking at the sky above then in awe, “Why don’t you two take the horses out for a ride? Then master Peeta can join us for supper.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose—“

  “Nonsense. Miss Trinket will see to it that your mothers are informed of the dinner plans while you’re out riding. Have fun, and don’t break any bones.” Mr. Everdeen winks at his daughter, “Miss Trinket?” He nods at the lady and let’s his long legs carry him inside the house.

  “Well, I guess propriety is out the window then.” Huffs miss Trinket. “By all means, go on your jolly horseback ride. Just be sure to be back here in thirty minutes to wash up for supper.”

  The two friends grin at each other, while Miss Trinket mutters under her breath heading to the kitchen door from the garden.  

  “Come on then!” Katniss urges taking Peeta’s hand in hers.

  They ride for five minutes before finding a clearing in the woods they like and stopping to sit together on the grass.

  They talk and abuse Effie Trinket for her aggravating meddling. “As if we’d do something inappropriate!”

  “Hogwash!”

  They prove her right a second later, when Peeta suddenly can’t hold back any longer and lunges forward, catching Katniss’ face in his hands and kissing her fervently on the lips for a solid minute without breathing at all.

  His hands are still cradling her face. The fingers of one of her hands twine with his; the fingers of her free hand start carding through his hair, pushing it from his eyes.

  “Am I being too bold?” He asks quietly leaving delicate kisses on the side of her face, down her jaw.

  “No. You’re being the right amount of bold. Stop talking and kiss me some more.”

  Peeta chuckles, and obeys.

  “I’ll write to you everyday,” he says against the delicate skin under her ear.

  “Mmm… I’ll write once a month if I can muster any words to put pen to paper.” She sighs.

  Peeta smiles to that. “Fibber! I bet you’ll be keeping a journal, so you don’t miss a story on any given day.”

  Her arms go around his neck. “Maybe you’re right. We will see.”

  Peeta lays her on her back, on top of his discarded riding coat, and words cease to matter until time comes to get back to the Everdeens for supper. And what a chore it is to temp down their need to stay wrapped up in each other, after so many kisses on the grass.

  “You’ll wait for me to return, won’t you? You won’t be kissing other boys while I pine away abroad?”

  Katniss smiles against his lips, “I won’t, but you have to promise the same,” she lifts her between them, her pinky finger extended and her eyebrows arched. “You won’t go breaking some foreign girl’s heart and coming home engaged to a stranger.”

  Peeta chuckles, but hooks his own pinky finger with hers to seal the promise. “I can assure you, my heart will remain in Panem, until I can come back to claim again.”

  “Good! We have an accord then.” Her fingers caress his cheek sweetly.

  “Seems we do!” He kisses her one last time.

  ———

  The year is up, and true to their word, Katniss and Peeta never stop their correspondence until the very last day of his journey abroad.

  She’s eagerly waiting for his arrival, counting down  the days, the hours and minutes. There’s so much to tell him! So many new people to introduce him to, like her new next door neighbors, the Hawthornes.

  Katniss really hopes Peeta gets along with her new neighbor boy, Gale Hawthorne, she befriended him and likes him a good deal despite he’s broody disposition; the young man proved to be a great hunting partner. Peeta isn’t much for hunting, he rather spend time fishing in the lake, so Katniss hopes the two boys can find something in common to bond over, so they can all spend time together.

  Her mind wanders away from her to thoughts of spending time with just Peeta… her heart beats wildly and her cheeks warm up.

  Now that she’s seventeen, maybe Papa will agree she’s old enough to be courted, and Peeta has hinted repeatedly he would like nothing more than officially ask permission to call on her as more than her childhood friend. She figures, in a way, they’ve been practicing for courtship all those years having tea with a chaperone breathing down their necks; she wonders if Peeta gets permission to court her properly, they could skip the six month to a year recommend engagement period, and go straight to the marriage and living under one roof, sharing one bed?

  Now her whole body is burning with sinful sensations. Her and Peeta have only shared a few tight lip kisses and chaste caresses, but lately, she can’t stop wondering about what would it be to free with her kisses and embraces? Sharing a bed with her ‘Boy with the Cheese Buns’ would certainly be the sweetest thing of all.

  The giddiness of her prospect future is threatening to choke her with happiness; not even Prim’s relentless— yet harmless— teasing puts a damper on Katniss’ spirits. Her future is so near, she can almost taste it!

  ———-

  Peeta and his brothers arrive early on a Sunday. He doesn’t reach out to her right away though. As disappointing as it is, Katniss understands. The Mellarks have been traveling for almost two weeks before arriving home; Peeta’s probably exhausted. She couldn’t possible begrudge him a bit of rest. In fact, resting will do wonders for a romantic encounter!

  Two days go by and a note from Peeta arrives to the Everdeens.

My dearest, Kitty:

  I apologize for not being to see you yet. I wished I had a better excuse to give, but I think I slept thirty hours through since arriving home, and now that I’m awake mother and father have been particularly overbearing. Neither my brothers or I have had time to get away on our own, which is to put it mildly, quite annoying!

  I think my eldest brother might start a mutiny soon if he doesn’t get to call on his Sweetheart, Delia Cartwright. I think I may I have mentioned he’s proposing to her as soon as he sees her?

  It’s probably the reason mother has decided to drag the whole family on a holiday to the countryside for the rest of the week. We leave within the hour, and she just only sprung this news on us! She says “we’re celebrating all three of her boys are back home under one roof, and it may very well be the very last time to have a vacation with her babies.”

  (There’s a drawing of a bunch of crying stick figures in diapers)

  The trip is unavoidable, but I’ll be missing seeing you the whole time. I pinky promise I’ll be home soon.

  (Stick man with a less crudely drawn hand, pinky finger up.)

  Then… (doodle of a smiling stick boy giving flowers to a stick figure doll)

  Wait for me, will you?

  Yours, Always.

  P~

  Katniss presses the letter to her chest sighing. She’s waited a year to see her boy, she can spare a few days more for him to get mothered and smothered.

  What she has no ways of knowing, is that she’s wrong on assuming their reunion will happen any time soon.

  ————

The war springs up swiftly and treacherously without warning. Cannons are being fired all over Panem by a neighboring, rival country.

  Men between the ages of eighteen and thirty five are being drafted left and right indiscriminately. All three Mellark brothers get called upon to defend their country; all three brothers respond valiantly by taking arms and kissing their loved ones goodbye. But Peeta hasn’t seen Katniss yet. He can’t leave before seeing her one more time, so he runs to the Everdeen home with his heart in his throat.

  The sight that greets him simply kills him.

  A man, tall, dark, and handsome stands at the bottom of the porch steps with Katniss facing him in the first step, bringing their faces almost leveled.

  Peeta is too far away to hear what they say, but he sees just how pale Katniss looks.

  She’s scowling at the man, and for a moment, Peeta quickens his step to force the stranger away, sensing he’s somehow upsetting his best friend; but right as she makes an aggravated gesture with her hands and goes to walk away, the man reaches for her wrist, pulls her back to face him, and right as she opens her mouth to say something, he kisses her right on the lips.

  The man wraps his long, strong fingers around her waist and drags her body flushed with his.

  If Peeta had stayed two more seconds, he would’ve seen Katniss push the man away and yell at him indignantly with tears in her eyes; he would’ve seen her rushing inside her house.

  If Peeta had stayed one minute longer, and gone after her— even if to demand an explanation— she would had been over the moon to see his face again and she would’ve told him she loved him right then and there.

  If he had waited enough, Katniss would’ve wrapped her arms around his neck and kiss him instead.

  But Peeta didn’t stay; he flew from the scene broken-hearted and thinking the worst of Katniss.

  The two friends never got a chance to clear the misunderstanding before the ravages of war scarred them both for life.

————

The war wages on for almost three years before Panem gets the upper hand and crushes down its attackers. But the damage runs deep and wide. Everywhere there’s devastation and loss.

  A group of injured soldiers is brought into the Everdeen home— turn hospital— in stretches.

  “Miss Everdeen, please, we need help!” A man calls from the door while pulling in one soldier with a badly mangled leg into the makeshift triage area.

  Katniss isn’t one to help with bloody patients, she’s more of a fetcher for the women actually treating the hurt and sick, but everyone else is busy helping others— hurt soldiers come by the hoard every day— and so it falls on her to see to the new arrivals. Hopefully the blood shed will stop now that the last push to expel the enemy army from Panem soil has come and gone, but the devastation seems to linger, even though the war has ended.

  “Bring him here,” Katniss tells the man pointing to a spot where she’s pushing a bookshelf out of the way to make room.

  The man has trouble pulling the heavy soldier forth— a Sergeant judging by the insignias of his burnt uniform— but when he finally reaches Katniss’ side, she almost faints.

  “Prim!” Katniss yells at the top of her lungs. “Mama! Someone! Please…” she’s sobbing uncontrollably, while fussing over the wounded man.

  Prim, now sixteen, but with the wisdom of one that has seen many horrors, comes to help. She has been directing the influx of patients around by the severity of their injuries and yelling orders to helpers all around, but she comes to her sister as fast as she can, alerted she must’ve found someone they know.

  The man is caked in mud head to toe and unconscious, but Prim’s eyes widen as soon as she sees him, she grew up seeing his mop of blonde hair, she’s seen it covered in mud before.

  “It’s his leg!” Katniss cries out desperately. “He won’t wake up. I put a torniquete on his leg to stop the bleeding, but he’s cut up pretty badly.”

  Prim goes to work right away.

  “I need someone here right away!” Prim calls loudly above the hubbub, then turns to her patient, with a soothing voice. “Peeta? Can you hear me? Peeta, is Primrose, you’re home now and I’m going to look at your leg.” She brushes his stiff hair back, breaking pieces of dirt from his bangs.

  Peeta’s breathing harshly, and needs immediate medical attention. He moans softly, but otherwise stays unconscious.

  Katniss rushes away to grab bandages, suturing materials, an a fresh water basin. Her hands tremble something awful, but she’s on her knees next to Peeta in no time, trying to clean away the muck with careful swipes.  

  The more Prim prods, the deeper she frowns. Katniss whimpers every time a new bruise or a cut gets cleared of guck, and opts for keeping her eyes from Prim’s telltale face.

  “I need help here!” Prim calls again.

  “I’m here!” Says Madge Undersee, only daughter of former Mayor Undersee, and Katniss’ personal friend for the last three years. “Tell me what to do?” Says the young woman kindly.

  “Tear off his pants, I’m afraid we will have to amputate.”

  “No!” Katniss gasps, but as the fabric of his pant leg gets shredded away, it’s plainly clear something’s really wrong with his lower limb.

  Chunks of meat and muscle have been sliced and charred on the edges, the bones of his ankle are twisted the wrong way as well. There’s no way Prim can sew him back together.

  “Was it my torniquete?” Katniss sobs quietly.

  “Of course not, Katniss. This looks like a bayonet or some kind of shrapnel explosion. I’m afraid of cutting off the boot, but doubt the foot fared any better than the calf.”

  Katniss is going to vomit, but she can’t move away; she’s holding Peeta’s hand for dear life. Maybe he can feel her there, clinging to him, and he’d survive what’s to come alright.

——-

  Peeta comes to thirsty, hungry and in severe pain.

  His eyes bother him, but he’s warm and somewhere dry for the first time in weeks.

  He tries to sit up, but every end nerve of his body screams in protest, so he stays put.

  Someone gasps next to him. “You’re awake!”

  Soft hands caress his leathery cheeks and then the person starts calling out loudly, “He’s awake!”

  There’s a lot of sobbing, and out of nowhere people start crowding him. Everything is still blurry in his eyes, so at first he’s scared he’s somehow got imprisoned by the enemy. Then he hears something curious.

  “My son! My baby! He’s awake!” Sounds like his mother.

  Arms wrap around him, a body leans on his chest.

  “Thank heavens you’re alright!”

  More people talk encouraging nonsense. He can’t filter the words properly. Nothing makes sense, then he hears her choke back a sob.

  “Peeta! You’re awake!” He swears Katniss cool fingers entwined with this.

  It must be a trick of his mind. He can’t tell. His head is spinning. Suddenly, he’s out again.

——-

  The next time he wakes up it takes him a minute to get his bearings. He’s more alert this time around and promptly recognizes his own bedroom, which is strange, because he could’ve sworn he was some 50 miles away from his town, fighting off a raid.

  Again, he tries to sit up, but realizes he can’t move very fast.

  His left foot itches something awful though. He has an all consuming urge to scratch it, he’s almost in tears. He tries to fold his leg at the knee and bring the itchy foot closer to his hand.

  “Peeta! Stop!” There’s a gasp.

  He knows the voice and wonders why is she in his room?

  But his foot itches… so, bad!

  “Peeta, please! Stop!” She’s agitated, on top of him, trying to restrain him.

  He doesn’t want to look at her, but he can’t exactly stop his eyes from find her when she’s practically laying across his body, pushing him back into the mattress. Another time, this would’ve been a dream come true for him. But not now. She’s preventing him from instant gratification, and that’s one more reason to hate her.

  Katniss looks too pale, too thin, too gaunt. Her hair is shorter, or so he assumes since it’s gathered at her nape in a tight bun. Her eyes are sunken in and rimmed with red and dark circles around them. Her dress is a muted, faded gray, as far as he can tell she’s wearing a white apron over her chest.

  She could be a maid or a nurse rather. He doesn’t care, he wants her off of him so he can scratch his foot.

  “I just need to scratch my foot, goddamnit!”

  Katniss gasps at his rude language, but she’s too busy trying to keep him from reaching his god damned itch.

  “You can’t, you have to calm down first, and then we will talk… I’ll call your father in, just… give me a second!” She grunts blocking his arm with her shoulder.

  Finally, he pushes her away— because she’s tiny, barely a hundred and five pounds soaking wet, and he’s two hundred pounds of solid muscle— Peeta practically tosses her aside and brings his hand down his limbs.

  That’s when he discovers the awful truth… there’s no left foot; there’s no knee to bend; there’s no leg at all. Just a painful stump that ends right above where his knee used to be.

  He starts screaming.

  Katniss sobs trying to fold him into her arms, but he doesn’t want her. He wants his leg… his foot itches so damned much he can’t stand it.

———-

  “Go away.” He tells her the next time he opens his eyes.

  “I can’t, I’m your very own, personal nurse.” She tells him and tries to smile, but it falls flat and sad.

  “Go. The fuck. Away, Katniss! I’m not your charity case.” He yells at her.

  He can see the tears gathering in her eyes, but she plasters a fake smile on her face and fluffs his pillow, as if she didn’t hear him. “My mother will be by this afternoon to change your bandages. She says the scars are healing nicely.”

  “GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY!” He’s kicking and screaming and for all intents, foaming at the mouth.

  She tries to hold back her sobs, but she can’t; she tries to sooth him. She tries to sing to him, touch him.

  But he’s just so strong and angry, when she leans closer to plead with to calm down, he wraps his hand around her neck and pushes her back so hard, she lands on his old desk, breaking it with the force of the collision.

  Peeta’s parents burst into the room and try to diffuse the situation as best as they can, but Peeta is acts like a mad man, swearing and cursing awful, awful names at them, at Katniss, everyone really.

  She can’t breathe, she can’t see; her neck burns where his fingers squeezed her throat, there sure will be bruises soon. She’s unsteady on her feet, but stumbles back to him, because she knows he’s hurting, and she’s hurting too. He doesn’t know about her Papa, he wouldn’t be acting this way if he did.

  “Peeta, darling… it’ll be alright—“

  “GO AWAY, KATNISS! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU. YOU’RE A FAKE AND HATE YOU FOR IT!” He hurls spit at her, and luckily misses her by a foot.

  Katniss can’t take it anymore; so she runs out of the room, out of the Mellark’s house, and doesn’t stop running until she reaches her own home. She’ll apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Mellark for not listening to their pleads to stop, but she had to get out there. Peeta hates her, and she’s not equipped to that kind of rejection from the boy she hope to grow old with.

  ———

  Doctor Aurelius comes to town at the request of Healer Everdeen. He’s the best doctor in two counties and has helped many people, including her own ailing husband after the incident that almost killed him.

  The good doctor is a middle aged man with half moon spectacles, and a quiet demeanor. He seems smart and capable, but he has the annoying habit of humming while he works, and for some reason that aggravates Peeta.

  The doctor examines Peeta’s leg carefully for a few quiet moments. “I hear you were having some phantom aches and itches on your left foot.” Says the doctor lifting his eyes to Peeta’s. “Is this still true for you?”

  Peeta shrugs and looks away. “Not as bad as the first few weeks.” His voice sounds strange to his own ears. “But yesterday I couldn’t take myself out of bed, because my left slipper was missing. Objectively, I know I don’t need it, but I can’t bring myself to function until I see the pair, sitting at the foot of my bed. Somehow that seems like a more pressing concern, to me right now.”

  Doctor Aurelius takes notes without speaking for a moment, and then, stands up wiping his glasses with a kerchief. “It’s not unusual for an amputee to experience phantom cramps, itches and pain on their missing extremities. Our working hypothesis is, that the brain is not used to missing a piece of the body so suddenly, so it continues sending out pulses and orders that ultimately go nowhere. Then the brain tricks itself into feeling these sensations of pain, itch, etcetera. Hopefully, they’ll become less frequent with time.

  “Same wise, I would guess your mind is applying a similar preservation principle, in a visual level. Your mind demands to see the whole set of footwear ready to go, even if consciously you know it’s a waste. This correlations take time to sink in and adapt to the new reality.”

  “So that’s it? My brain is going to keep playing tricks on me until it catches up with the fact I’m a cripple now?” Peeta snaps. His father that has been sitting quietly on a corner of the room clears his throat as a reminder to his son to remember himself.

  “Mister Mellark, you’ve healed beautifully. Your caregivers did an amazing job containing the wounds and repairing as much as the damage to your muscles and cartilage as they could. And yes, you lost a limb, and of course the will be scarring for life, but given the severity of your injury, I can assure you, the Everdeen healers did you an even greater service than they could provide to their own kin, and you should be grateful for it.”

“What do you mean by that, sir?” Peeta asks a little apprehensive.

  Mr. Mellark shifts uncomfortably in his chair, but he’s the one to speak next. “Peeta, there was an accident about two weeks after the enemy’s surrendered. The office building Mr. Everdeen worked at, had been used as a military weapon and ammunition storage. Since the war was officially over, announced the would be rounding up their assets and moving them to a more secure location.”

  “Mr. Everdeen was overseeing the process when some black powder was accidentally ignited, and all hell broke loose. He managed to keep the exploding from reaching the barrels of powder and the cannonballs.”

  Peeta swallows. “Is Mister Everdeen… d-d—“

  Mr. Mellark shakes his head, “He’s alive, but he’s been paralyzed from the the waist down. He’ll be confined to bed or a wheelchair for the life.”

  Peeta shifts uncomfortable in his bed. His pajamas too stiff on his body. He frowns at his lap. “I’m sorry to hear that. Mr. Everdeen certainly doesn’t deserve such a fate.”

  “No, he does not. That’s why in my personal opinion you should count yourself fortunate, Mister Mellark. You’re a great candidate for a prosthesis. It will take some work to get use to it; you’ll have to train your body to relearn to walk, but I’m confident at the end of a few weeks, you’ll recovering your mobility. If it’s alright with you, I’ll have my colleague, Dr. Beetee Latier, pay you a visit in the next few days. He’ll have to take measurements and there would be a handful of fittings, but I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be walking with minimum aid in two months time.”

  Peeta looks at doctor, and gives a curt nod of assent. Walking with minimal aids is definitely more desirable than not walking at all.

  When the doctor is gone, Mr. Mellark approaches his son with barely disguised aggravation.

  “Son, I know losing your leg is a a rotten hand to be given in life. But we should all be grateful the odds were in your favor during the raid.”

  “How so?” He spits venomously. “None of this seems very lucky to me.” Peeta growls angrily.

  Mr. Mellark gives his son a stern glance, “Peeta, you may not see how fortunate you truly are, and you’re entitled to your ire, but you’re one of only three man in your unit to survive the war, and make it home to your family. Other young fellows weren’t quite so lucky. You shouldn’t take your life for granted, and really shouldn’t take your anger out on people who loves you.”

  Great! Now Peeta feels guilty for not dying that day, and he’s got a sneaky suspicion his father was talking about Katniss right before leaving him alone in his bedroom.

  ———

  Panem heals slowly but surely. Everyone is eager to leave the war behind and rebuild what was lost; weddings spring everywhere, and pregnancies start being announced soon after. No family goes without celebrating one.

  The eldest Mellark brother weds his pre-war Sweetheart, Delly Cartwright, immediately upon his return home. The second brother takes a few months but then he too, marries a girl, Leevy, that although not wealthy, has his whole heart in her hands. The whole town is in assistance, including the Everdeens. Peeta sulks in a corner the whole time trying to avoid everyone as much as he can.

  He’s been fitted for his fake leg, and moves alright with a walking stick, but he swears people look at him with pity and he hates it.

  Then he sees Katniss in the crowd, her demeanor removed and stoic. She looks nothing like she did when they were children. She’s so beautiful though… it hurts his chest to look at her, being so far away, but that only last until the same man he saw kissing her the day he was deployed approaches her with a drink in hand and she takes it, gifting the man a small, grateful smile.

  The man says something, and she laughs, shaking her head ruefully, then he offers her his arm, and she takes it without hesitation, walking towards a group of people Peeta has no interest on figuring out their identities. His stomach churns too unpleasantly, his blood boils in his veins.

  He can’t believe they have the audacity to show up together to his home, where he can see them and flaunt their relationship on his face. He hates that man, whoever he is. The jealousy sours the day for him, so he tries to avoid the whole party altogether.

  Tries, being the keyword.

  “Hello, Peeta.” Says Primrose Everdeen smiling sweetly at him. She looks lovely, long blond hair braided down her back just like her sister did before the war. Her blue eyes are kind, but older than a seventeen year old should. “It’s so nice to see you!”

  Peeta nods. “Hello, Prim.” They stand there staring at each other. “It was nice seeing you too. Enjoy the party.” He starts turning to go, but Prim pounces forward cutting off his escape.

  “Have you said hello to Katniss yet? I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  “Uh. I don’t think so. Now, if you excuse me.”

  He tries to go around the girl, but the blonde is persistent.

  “You should come with me and sit for a spell. I heard you made the cake yourself. It looks delicious, I would love a piece served directly by the baker himself…” her smile is too wide, but her eyes aren’t crinkled at the corners. “I bet my sister will die of envy when sees I’m having dessert already!”

  Peeta gives the girl an awkward smile. “I’ll take a rain check. You go enjoy the party, you hear?”

  Primrose lets all pretenses fall and goes for the kill.

  “You’re being stubborn, Peeta Mellark! We miss you! We want to see you and be around you.”

  “And you are a nosy little pest, Primrose Everdeen!”

  Peeta’s outburst is so loud the whole party screeches to a halt and everyone turns to stare at him and the healer girl.

  Prim’s face harden. “I saved your life you know.” Says Prim lowly. It may be petty and childish, but he doesn’t get to insult her just because he’s being stupid.

  When the incident doesn’t intensify, people lose interest and look away.

  “Well, thanks for nothing! You should’ve let me die. Now move out of my way—“

  “Hey! Don’t you dare talk to my sister that way!”

  Peeta stiffens for a second, but storms past the Everdeen sisters like a hurricane all the same. Katniss follows hot on his heel, angry, hurt and ready for a fight.

  “What makes you think it’s alright to be so rude and nasty to people who are only trying to help you, care for you?”

  “Care for me?!” Peeta wheels around. “You are piece of work, saying that to me right now!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Katniss demanded in outrage.

  “Katniss, I know, alright? I saw you. Stop lying, it’s unbecoming. I would’ve thought all that expensive education would’ve taught you cheating is a foul, amoral thing, and that’s even before I was a disfigured, cripple! Maybe Miss Trinket lost her time with you, two timing Jezebel!”

  Slap!

  The sound of an open palm colliding with flesh freezes time and sound in the hallway Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen stand staring at each other perplexed by his scathing words and her retaliation.

  Katniss’ chest heaves harshly with every ragged breath she takes. “I don’t have the faintest idea of where you come off saying such awful things, Peeta Mellark. I have never been more insulted in my life, but I see now you’re not the best friend I’ve been missing all this time. You may have lost a leg, but that’s not what makes you a cripple, Peeta. You’re—you’re, a monster. A mutt. The boy I grew up with never came home, all that is left is a bitter, twisted version of him.”

  Katniss stomps past her former best friend, slamming into his side with her shoulder for good measure.

  Peeta just swivels with the friction, laughing mirthlessly. “Look who’s talking! But I guess you’re right, that naive, lovesick boy you duped is gone, honey! Welcome to the new Panem, where childhood memories come to die!” He opens his arms in a grand gesture, but she flies down the corridor back to her folks to beg them to go home.

  “Peeta! Why is Katniss rushing out of your    B brothers’ reception in tears? What did you do this time?” Demands Mrs. Everdeen closely followed by her husband.

  “All I did was tell her the truth. I cannot be held responsible by her guilty conscience reaction.”

  Mrs Mellark looks at her son with suspicion. “Guilty conscience? Of what exactly?”

  “I saw her kissing another man, mother! That fellow wearing the 2nd Battalion of Panem uniform. Did he hear the war ended already?”

  “Gale Hawthorne?” His Mother makes a dismayed sigh.

  “When did you see this kiss happening, son? And please do not speak so loudly. People will hear. Command Major Hawthorne has an impeccable reputation, and this is a severe accusation to a married man.”

  “Married?” Now Peeta feels the world has gone topsy turvy. “I— no, he kissed Katniss the day I got my orders to join the front. I went to say goodbye to the Everdeens, that man was there, he kissed her right in front of her house.”

  “Oh, Peeta…” His Mother laments, “You’ve gone all this time thinking the worst of your very best friend, and you never talked to her about it? He may have stolen a kiss before going to war. I’m sure you would’ve done the same given the chance, but she never showed interest in him that way.”

  “Hawthorne is that neighbor boy she used to hunt with. How do you know she wasn’t in some… affair with the fellow?” Peeta grumbles not ready to concede.

  “Command Major Hawthorne was stationed just outside town the last seven months of the war. He met former miss Undersee. She’s Katniss only friend besides Primrose. Mister Hawthorne and miss Undersee fell madly in love and eloped a few days after you were found and brought to the Everdeens. Katniss is their first child’s godmother, which was born not two weeks ago. We didn’t raise you to make assumptions based on half perceptions.” Says Mrs Mellark sadly.

  “Son,” Says Mr. Mellark cautiously, “I think you owe Katniss an apology. Maybe an explanation as well? You too need to patch things up between yourselves. Katniss’ folks and us have done everything in our power to brought you two up close; everything we’ve ever done is so you too would have the best possible relationship as grown ups. It is important you both get over this terrible enmity and put it behind you.”

  Peeta’s lips thin into a line. “What’s the use? She thinks I’m a angry monster. A mutt. And I think she may be right after all.” He turns away from his parents and makes a beeline to his rooms, tired of pretending he was something he was not.

  “She’s a survivor, that one,” Says mrs Mellark, stopping her son in his tracks. “She single handedly fed our entire town when food had to be rationed to send supplies to the troops. Thanks to her instincts you’re here, you know. It is my understanding she stopped your hemorrhage when you were first brought wounded to her mother’s care. She’s been doing odd works around town to help support her family since her father can’t work anymore,

  “She’s never done anything other than help anyway she can. She worries about you. You would do well to figure out how to get along with her. She’s an honorable young lady, you should feel lucky she’s your… your…“

  “Best friend,” supplies Mr. Mellark dubiously.

  Peeta just shakes his head, and goes to his room, clomping his walking stick with each step.

  The next year and a half, both the Mellarks and the Everdeens try to bring the former friends back together, but egos where hurt, guilt was mishandled, self loathing clouded some thoughts and trauma kept the spirits low. Neither Peeta or Katniss were willing to take the first step towards reconciliation, so nothing was solved, and resentment just festered untreated.

————

  The day after Peeta’s twenty third birthday, the Mellarks dress in their best fineries, have a frugal lunch and practically hogtie Peeta into his Sunday suit and on to the family carriage. His parents won’t tell him where they’re going or why are they dressed so fancy.

  They travel some thirty miles outside town, through some well kept dirt roads and rolling hills of green grass. Summer isn’t quite gone yet, but air is starting to get nippy, specially riding on the driver bench of the cart.

  The family arrives to a grand Victorian type house, sitting smack in the middle of a beautiful valley with rose bushes in every possible color lining the property in every direction. Behind the main house sits the biggest greenhouse Peeta has ever seen, an structure made of glass and wrought iron. The place has to be splendid during the spring months, when the air is warm.

  “What is this place?” Peeta asks curiously.

  “It’s the home of my great grandfather Snow.” Says mrs Mellark with an uncomfortable sniff.

  Peeta’s heard of the man before, nothing terribly good. The man is an eccentric, patronizing old man with a god complex and a disturbing sense of humor. A total bastard, that as far as Peeta knows, takes pleasure on holding his family’s inheritances over their heads by bullying them into doing his bidding. Peeta’s surprised the old coot is still alive.

  More surprising for Peeta, is to find his brothers and their wives there as well, looking as confused and nervous as he is.

  “What are we here for, you reckon?” Asks the middle brother his blue eyes fixed on the terracotta tiled veranda with its floating fern baskets hanging from the ceiling every few feet.

  “No idea,” mutters the other brother. The two then look at Peeta. “You rode here with mother and father,” he posits arching an eyebrow.

  “I’m as clueless as you are.” He answers aggravated.

  “We’re here because Peeta is finally twenty three. We are finally ready for the announcement that will secure our entire family’s fortune for the future.” Says Peeta’s mother uneasily.

  “What? What do you mean?” Peeta asks anxiously. “This sounds like a scheme, a mockery I was too insignificant to clue in.”

  “I’m sorry, son. We are not allowed to say anything until we’re all here for the announcement.”

  “Father?” He appeals to his old man, but even his father declines with a sad shake of his head.

  “We stand to lose everything, Peeta. Then where will we be? No roof, no bakery, no income to support us all. Your Grandfather will clear things up soon enough. I just hope we prepared you enough for this day.”

  “Well, that sounds ominous enough. Anything else?”

  “Uh… Peet, I guess maybe that will make things more fun?” Says his middle brother pointing at the horse drawn carriage gaining speed in the distance.

  Everyone recognize the Everdeen crest and the black stallions pulling the cart.

  “What are they doing here?” Peeta grumbles moodily.

  “Remember I said all of our family is being affected by tonight’s events?” Mrs. Mellark reminds him. “Mrs. Everdeen is my second cousin, Grandfather Snow, is her great Grandfather as well.”

  “Well, I do not want to be responsible for their fortune or misfortune. I want no part in this—“

  “You keep your mouth nice and civil, you hear me?” Peeta’s taken aback, his father has never spoken to anyone in such a tone before, cutting and firm with no room for protesting. “While we are in front of great Grandfather Snow, you will treat Katniss like she’s the most important person in the world to you, and you will be decent to her for once. I’m sick and tired of your disrespectful jabs and uncalled for hostility. Tonight it’s imperative Grandfather Snow sees a united front, otherwise, both our families are doomed. Do you understand?”

  “Of course. I’ll… try my best—“

  “Don’t try! Be better.”

  By the time Mr. Mellark stops talking, the Everdeens have entered the property, and their horses are coming to a halt next to the Mellark’s fuel propelled carriage.

  The mothers embrace in the middle of the veranda, exchange a few hushed words, eyes flitting between Katniss and Peeta as they speak rapidly. Katniss scowl is as deep as Peeta’s frustration. They’re about to protest the whole thing, when the door of the house opens wide, and out comes a man with a peculiarly groomed beard.

  “Ah! Right on time! Excellent!” Says the man clapping his hands once before opening his arms in welcome. “Cousins, It’s been a long time since we’ve been all together. Both of you look as lovely as always.”

  “Seneca,” Says first mrs. Everdeen and the man comes to kiss her twice, once on each cheek.

  He does the same with Mrs. Mellark, but then turns to Prim and Katniss, and gives them a salacious wink. Peeta hasn’t spoken to either Katniss or Prim since he blew up at his brothers’ wedding less than two years earlier, but he still feels protective of the girls, so he steps between the man and the girls, deliberately making himself look bigger than he is to shield his former friends.

  “You may be my mother’s cousin, but we have not been officially introduced to you, sir,” Says Peeta  smoothly, presenting his hand jovially. “I’m Peeta, youngest Mellark son.”

  The man grins as if pleased with the young man. “Seneca Crane. I am Grandfather Snow’s direct grandchild, and also his legal counsel. It is a joy to finally meet my cousins beloved children.” Seneca shakes everyone’s hands, and stays perfectly gentlemanly when greeting the ladies. A moment later, he invites everyone inside. “Come, please, Grandfather is waiting!”

  Inside, the house is enormous and richly decorated. The furnishings solid oaks and mahogany, the carpets and rugs thick and fluffy under their feet, the crystal chandeliers in every room so ornate the whole place is one step shy of gaudy.

  They follow Seneca who prattles on and on about inconsequential little things such as the price of herbicides, or the fact that he’s been putting back looking for a curator for Grandfather’s art collection, because he’s so lazy.

  A few minutes later, they come to a set of double doors. Seneca looks over his shoulder with snide smirk, then he pushes the doors open.

  The first thing Katniss registers, is the pungent smell of roses that seems to be coming from the very walls of the room, but then she notices the dozens upon dozens of pink, red and white flowers standing in tall vases proudly all over the place.

  It’s not a sitting room or a parlor like most hosts would bring guests to entertain them. The room is in fact a very big office, with floor to ceiling bookshelves packed with books, small decorative tokens, and even pictures of various familiar faces including Everdeens and Mellarks.

  There’s a desk as big as dining table in the middle of the room, and a frail looking, old man, with hair as white and thin as floss, sitting in a big wing chair behind the desk.

  “So the day has come at last, and my house welcomes all of you and your families once more.” Says the old man without looking up from a document he’s reading on his desk. “Let’s have supper first, then, we will discuss what have brought us all here today.”

  The whole party shuffles to an even grander dining room, with scrumptious food on the table and beautiful desserts to end the meal. Everyone tries to enjoy the diner, but tension is think in the air.

  “Very well family,” Says Grandfather Snow once he’s done eating his pudding. “Seneca has drawn contracts for everyone to sign. The deeds to your houses, the bakery, Miss Primrose’s education and Emmett Everdeen’s medical expenses will be put into trusts until after the consummation of the vows and then, you will all have hefty bank accounts all on your names.”

  Everyone is confused by his words… everyone except for the parents that is.

  “Excuse me, I don’t understand.” Says Peeta just as Seneca Crane presents him with a piece of paper, he can only assume is the contract the old man is talking about. “My mother said that today I would find out how I was responsible for everyone’s well being, but you mentioned consumption of vows? What’s does that mean, Grandfather?” He asks as respectfully as he can. He senses this old man is not to be trifled with.

  “Oh! Of course. What am I thinking?” The old man laughs a wheezy sound, and then turns his black  beady eyes to the young man. “Why I forgot congratulations are in order, my boy!”

  “Congratulations?” Asks one brother under his breath.

  “Um, thank you?” Answers Peeta uneasily. “Just… uh—“

  “Katniss, dear! You are now twenty two years old, am I right?” Asks the old man cutting Peeta off.

  “Yes, Grandfather. I will be twenty three in May.”

  “Good! And you have done well, even with your father’s unfortunate accident.” He observes. “Where is the fellow by the way? And excuse me for not asking after him sooner.”

  “My husband is at home, with a friend.” Says Mrs. Everdeen solicitously.

  Grandfather Snow nods. “Will he be able to sign his portion of the contract?” He asks rather callously.

  “Yes, Grandfather. He just can’t travel in his condition.”

  “I see.” Says the man, and Katniss is reminded of a snake ready to pounce looking into the old man’s face. “Will he attend the wedding?”

  “Wedding?” Peeta asks in alarm. “What wedding?”

  Snow turns to Peeta once more. His smile gives everyone chills. “Why, Katniss’ of course.”

  Katniss gasps in shock. Her eyes wide as saucers look to her mother pleadingly. She tries to ask so many questions, but her voice has left her, and she feels like a fish struggling for oxygen.

  “There’s been a mistake,” Says Prim from her place meekly, “my sister isn’t engaged. She not even being courted by anyone.”

  “Oh but she has been.” Says Seneca Crane ruffling through his papers, as soon as he sits down after presenting everyone with their own copies of their contracts. “She’s been engaged pretty much since birth, and her courtship has been the longest one in history… at least in my opinion.” The man gives an effeminate laugh, making everyone sink into their chairs. Their minds connecting dots and coming to conclusions as the minutes tick by.

  Peeta is besides himself angry. He stands up from the table abruptly and storms out of the dining room.

  Katniss excuses herself and him, and runs after to catch up. “Peeta! Wait!” She calls desperately. “We need to talk about this.”

  “No! We don’t! Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t! This about the two of us, not just you.”

  “If you’re alright with this… travesty, then be my guest. You’re on your own and you truly aren’t the person I once knew. The Katniss I knew growing up would’ve taken offense at this disrespectful show, she would rebel against it, not roll on her back and take it like a good little bumpkin with no brains in her head.

  “I for one can’t accept this, even less if you’re just complying so easily. You have no spine, no self worth, you make me sick!” He finally turns around to throw her a killing glare but the sight of her, dowthrothen and beaten makes his heart ache.

  She looks at him stoically. Tears swelling her eyes, that she refuses to let fall. “I don’t care what you think of me. You can say whatever you want, but both you and I know we can’t afford pissing off grandfather Snow. Your family would lose the bakery in case you didn’t read your contract. My father will most likely die, because I won’t be able to pay for his treatments and medicines. Prim will lose any chance of getting a dowry. Your brothers and their families won’t have a place to live in, Peeta.

  “I know marrying me is got to be about the most repulsive thing in the world to you right now, and believe me, after hearing just how lowly you think of me, I’m not exactly thrilled either. But my family’s future depends on this sham of marriage. I don’t know why this awful man picked us for this mockery of a life, but I won’t be responsible for letting any of them down. If you are alright with sinking your family and yourself in a hole so deep there’s no coming out, that’s on you, and you are the spineless, brainless one. Not me.”

  She turns around and walks stiffly back into the house, leaving Peeta to stand alone in the veranda.

  Peeta sits there for a few more minutes, thinking about everything Katniss has said, wondering what his family’s fate would be, getting angry at his parents deception, and then going back to feel hopeless. But Katniss is right, it would be selfish of him to refuse the contract when innocent people, like his nephews who are but babes, could be left without a roof over their heads. He shivers to think the fate that would befall Mr. Everdeen, a man he’s always admired until today, when he learned his part in the unfair deal.

  He goes back inside with a heavy heart, to see everyone putting on coats and cloaks, getting ready for the long road ahead before the last rays of sunshine are gone.

  Nobody looks at him, nobody talks to him, except Primrose, who gives him a cold glare, while rubbing a soothing hand over her Mother’s back as she sobs uncontrollably.

  Peeta marches on, and stands next to Katniss.

  She scans his face for a moment; when he sticks his elbow out to her, she takes it wordlessly.

  They will go into this as one. A front united.

  They take a few stoic steps towards Seneca Crane. “Excuse us, Cousin Seneca, if Grandfather’s generous deal is still on the table, we will like to accept the terms of the contract.”

  “Excellent, young lad!” Exclaims Seneca boisterously, “follow me everyone, and… do not worry about returning home tonight. You are all guests of Grandfather Snow until visibility allows safe travels.”

  —————

  Katniss and Peeta are only given two weeks to plan their wedding and marry, and just because the bride and groom to be decided to go through with the arrangement, didn’t mean they had forgiven each other from the awfulness of the past few years.

  They are stiff and chilly towards each other during visits to the florists, the musicians, the clothiers, and even the stationer they commissioned invitations from. But there are flashes of kindness between the two at times.

  For example, Peeta asks Katniss is they should go chocolate cake, since it’s her favorite, or if they should let Prim choose, so she feels included in the wedding preparations. He’s already paid the butcher for his best lamb, and ordered plums from the grocer, for Katniss’ favorite dish of lamb and plum stew.

  And there’s the moment at the florists, when Katniss adamantly argues that orange flowers are not just acceptable for wedding decor, but cheery and full of hope. Same goes for the their visit with the clothier, Miss Portia and her brother Mr. Cinna show them a variety of white laces and ribbons for sashes, yet she spots the soft orange velvet hidden in a corner, and decides Peeta’s vest should be made out of it, and she and Primrose will wear matching sashes with their dresses. She doesn’t mention she chose the hue, because it’s Peeta’s favorite color.

  Then the gossip and whispers pick up. Their town is small and sleepy for the most part, but everyone knows about the rift between the two former friends, and none of the stories floating around are very kind to the couple, particularly Katniss, who gets severely and unfairly judged by every woman in town. So Peeta comes to escort the Everdeen women to the small chapel in the square, and asks to speak at the end of the service.

  He delivers a beautifully worded— if deceivingly scalding— speech about the virtuous of his future wife, and how they had been given a second chance at a future they thought gone, that restores both their good names in one fifteen minute long statement.

  But not everyone was fooled into seeing a pair of starcrossed lovers reclaiming their fairytale romance.

  Professor Abernathy watches Peeta walk into the local pub with his brothers the day before the wedding. He’s not in a celebratory mood, but his brothers seem elated that their families futures are secure, and they have a misguided assumption that Peeta and Katniss’ relationship will heal sooner rather than later; after all, they used to love each other as children.

  Commander Hawthorne is there too, and he feels the need to congratulate the groom of his son’s godmother.

  “Sergeant Mellark!” Calls Gale Hawthorne reaching the trio of broad shouldered Mellarks. All three blonde heads turn to him at the same time.

  “That would be me,” Says Peeta frowning. “But I retired, Command Sergeant, sir.” Says Peeta saluting his military superior.

  “At ease. I’m here to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials. You may not know me, but I used to be your bride’s neighbor.” Says Gale impassively.

  “I know who you are alright.” Says Peeta glaring. He takes a long swig of his ale, hoping the man would go away.

  “Same wise, Sergeant. Catnip talks about you constantly. It was quite annoying at times honestly. She always held a candle out for you, sir.”

  Peeta slams his beer mug on the table top, causing his two brothers who had been conversing between themselves to turn back to the newcomer.

  “Then pray tell, Sir, why did you kiss my sweetheart if you knew she was waiting for me?”

  A shadow passes over Gale’s face, bringing a mighty scowl that could rival Katniss’.

  Sensing trouble, Professor Abernathy drinks a tumbler full of white liquor in one gulp without flinching, and steps between the man deliberately.

  “Command Sergeant, nice of you to come buy us all a glass of whiskey, but I’ll tell you what, son, it’s time for Mister Mellark here to go back home for a regenerative beauty sleep. After all it won’t do to have the groom look all rumpled and tired.” Abernathy makes a dismissive gesture to the man who only glowers for moment but walks away at the end.

  “Come up, Boy, I wasn’t kidding, I’m gonna walk you home. Your brothers can stay, though.” He says throwing them a glare that says they should obey. “Come on, I have my own harpy to go home too, you know?”

  Peeta walks out of the pub more reluctantly than he was to go in.

  Abernathy pounces on him right away. “Boy, you and Sweetheart have got to warm up before the show tomorrow. Nobody wants to see two people go hate each other kiss. It’s just wrong and cringeworthy, much like your performances of late.”

  “Well, in case you don’t know, Katniss and I aren’t exactly the same awestruck children we used to be.”

  “No, you are most definitely not. Those kids were cute and lovely. You gave me tooth decay you were so sweet. Now, you just make me wince in pain.” Abernathy takes a look at Peeta with those sharp gray eyes of his. “So, you broke the girl’s heart, but I didn’t know why until just now. You think Hawthorne overstepped some claim line you had on the girl, and then you decided to treat her and the rest of the world like shit.”

  Peeta glances back at his old mentor. “She hasn’t been very nice either.”

  “Boy, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say she has no clue what is it she did wrong to earn your scorn. I’d be defensive too.” He stays quiet while Peeta ponders. “Look, Hawthorne was out of line, but so were you, and still you haven’t done crap to fix it. Hawthorne at least did something to redeem himself enough, now Sweetheart is his spawn’s godmother. What have you done to gain at least her friendship back?”

  “I hate that Hawthorne!” Peeta grunts. “And He has the gall to call her a nickname in front of me? Where does he get off?”

  “Ah!” Says Abernathy, “Jealousy is still Well and alive I see. You should go with that. That my old lady would disapprove of this advice, but I say, you need to get in your wives good graces, before you get in your wife, if you catch my meaning.”

  Peeta balks at the man, but Abernathy is not a salacious man, he actually looks a bit green in the face.

  “I doubt Katniss and I will go that far at all, at least not now. As you said, we’re not even friends.”

  “Boy, a men has needs, and when sharing a bed with the warm body of his wife… well, it’s hard to stay away. I say this with much regret.” The man looks up. “Well, here we are. I’ve done my part. Now you go do yours. Fix it!”

  “What?” Peeta has been so absorbed in the conversation he didn’t realized they were already home, except it’s not his home. It’s Katniss’ home. “Wait!”

  But Abernathy is knocking loudly, and quick steps approach the door.

  “No! Why did you— no!”

  The door opens, Katniss herself stands at the other side scowling suspiciously at the two men.

  “Sweetheart, your man’s home! You’re welcome!” He says to her pointing at her nose with his index fingers. He points a lot Peeta next, “Fix it!”

  He then turns around and walks home with his hands into his trousers pockets, whistling a catchy jaunty.

  “Can you believe that walking mess convinced miss Trinket to marry him?” Says Peeta staring at the man’s back.

  “Mmm… war will do that to people, but really, I can’t speak too much about women’s dubious choice in spouse.” She says coldly.

  Peeta sighs deeply. “I guess not.” He agrees. “Can I possibly come in?”

  “It’s almost nine. I should be in bed as it is, not to mention how inappropriate talking to you without a chaperone is.”

  Peeta chuckles. “Now you want a chaperone? You used to hate having one.”

  Katniss rolls her eyes, making his heart stutter. “Come in. I can’t have the gossip mill start up again the night before the wedding.”

  “Look, Katniss, we need to at least go into this marriage as friends. So I’ve been thinking, that if I stop being so… wounded, we may have a chance after all.”

  “You know I’m rubbish at making friends.”

  “Yes, but you see, we have an advantage here, we already know everything about each other. We have a childhood in common, and we know the big stuff.”

  “Then what else can we talk about if we know the big stuff? Favorite colors? We know that too.”

  Peeta shakes his head at her rueful smirk. He smiles too, a real one for the first time in months. “I have a confession to make.” He says. “I saw Hawthorn kissing you five years ago.”

  Katniss cocks her head sideways. A plethora of emotions wash over her face before settling on a angry scowl.

  “You’ve put me through hell, because you saw a desperate, confused boy, force a kiss on me, on a highly emotional day, and you never deign to come talk to me about until now?”

  Peeta can see the fire and steam coming out of her ears and nostrils. The only thing he can do is brace for it.

  “You mean to tell me, Peeta Mellark, all this hateful talk, all this nasty behavior, the awful insults, the finger prints around my neck… I had those for almost a month! All that, you mean to tell me, was just because of a stolen kiss I didn’t even enjoy?”

  The first punch doesn’t hurt physically, as it does emotionally. Then comes another dozen punches and kicks to his chest and right leg, because she’s still aware of his prosthesis, but she’s angry at him.

  “You ass, Peeta Mellark! You broke my heart and I had no idea what I did wrong! You’re an idiot!” She punches and scratches, and he doesn’t move one inch, taking all of her rage and letting her release all the pent up anger, sadness, and fear she’s been carrying around for the past half decade.

  Primrose and Mrs Everdeen are in the room, neither Peeta nor Katniss knows when they arrived, but they just stand there there watching Katniss pummel her tiny fists against Peeta’s hard chest, and when she starts crying so much, snot drips from her nose, Peeta finally takes her into his arms, and squeezes her tightly to him.

  “I’m so sorry, Kitty. You’re right, I have been a complete idiot. You didn’t deserve any of the things I’ve said and done. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll try to be a better friend to you now. Please.”

  Katniss lands another hit to his ribs, it still doesn’t hurt though, so he decides to teach her how to throw a decent punch for the future.

  Mrs Everdeen brings Prim upstairs, giving the couple privacy. Katniss gets a headache from crying so much, and promptly falls asleep in his warm arms.

  The night is so bizarre, but Peeta feels hope stir in his chest for the first time in ages.

———-

  The wedding is short, simple and lovely. The reception is a true celebration, with food, music, and laughter. The cake is Peeta’s best work yet, delicious and fluffy, but the outside makes it hard to cut into it, so beautiful and intricate. A hundred Katniss blooms made of sugar, covering three tiers of pure, decadent chocolate… and buttercream vanilla filling, because that’s what Prim wanted.

  The bride and groom share a couple shy glances, but there’s still a layer of frost on their interactions.

  Mr Everdeen, rolls in his wheelchair to Peeta’s side. “May I have a word?” He asks in a somewhat delayed speech.

  “Of course,” Says Peeta solicitously, moving them both to a more secluded corner.

  “Son,” the man starts, “I’m sorry we didn’t protect either of you two from your Grandfather’s suck games. I heard you tried to stand up to him.”

  Peeta shakes his head. “Not really. I just stood and left everyone in that room to fall in despair. It was Katniss who made it plain for me to see I was being selfish. I just wished I could show Snow that I’m still me, even now. Not a piece in his games. That me and Katniss would e ended up here anyway without his meddling. I just don’t know how to do that.”

  “But that’s the easy part, Peeta! Just love each other, bring each up. Be nice, and attentive to one another. Don’t allow fear and guilt take more out of you two than it’s already done. Trust each and forgive yourselves. Things will get better. I know they will. We tried to rise you seeing good, loving families; happy, strong marriages. We hoped that you would see and model… I wish we could’ve had let you know what was ahead. But the war threw a wrench in the mix. But you’re now married, it’s up to you how you live that marriage. I have faith you two will find your happy medium and grew back together, I to the loving teens you used to be.”

  Peeta is grateful for his father-in-laws words, so he hugs him and goes on to look for his wife, he owes her a wedding dance.

  ————-

  Katniss and Peeta bow out of the party quietly.

  Peeta breathes deeply, “Um, I have a gift for you.” He tells his new bride shyly.

  “You didn’t have to,” She says gratefully, unwrapping the pack he sits on her lap. He says nothing, only watching her nervously. “What is this?” She asks holding a beautifully bound book in soft burgundy silk over hard cover.

  Still, he won’t say anything, so she turns the book over, right side up, and gasps, holding a hand to her chest. “Peeta… how is this possible?” Her eyes are filled with tears when she finally looks up from the gold engraved title of the book:

  The Mockingjay and the Willow Tree, and Other Bedtime Stories.

By K.P. Everlark

  Her breath hitches.

  He speaks anxiously, “I actually had it rebound years ago, hoping it would be an engagement present. I had this stupid little dream, that one day we would read it to our own babies together, but for a while there, that dream was dead and buried… it doesn’t matter now. The dream, or whatever… I want you to know I don’t expect you to bore me children if you don’t trust me or want to. I—“

  She throws her arms around his neck, surprising him. “It’s perfect!” She whispers I to his shoulder. “Our children will love it!”

  “So you like it?” He asks hopeful.

  “I do! Very much!”

  The newlyweds get ambushed by Seneca Crane. The man presents the two with a set of keys to a grand hotel in the town.

  “Wedding night gift!” He says wiggling his eyebrows unnervingly. “From Grandfather. He asked me to deliver this as well.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Mellark and Mr. and Mrs. Everdeen rush to their children, to see what other twisted requirement Snow is throwing at them.

  Katniss eyes grow wide as she reads the document. “What is this?” She passes the paper to Peeta, who struggles to keep his eyes on the words, instead of glaring daggers at Seneca.

  “What?!” He screeches. “Absolutely not! Find another way, but I’m not having sex to my wife for the first ever with some creep audience in the room. I’m sorry, but I’m putting my foot down on this. Enough is enough!” He says indignantly.

  Katniss looks at Peeta with barely hidden admiration.

  The parents are disgusted on all levels, but they don’t intervene either.

  “Very well, we are prepared to negotiate in the case you refused to go with the stipulation in section B of paragraph five.”

  Katniss leafs through the contract, Seneca hands her, and scowls. “That only covers the manner in which it’s confirmed or verified that the marriage has been consummated. It does not say anything about when or if, it should happen at all. What if we are not ready to do that!”

  “Oh, the consummation of the vows is non negotiable. It has to happen before dawn on your wedding night. Tonight. Otherwise, the rest of the contract is void and you all forfeit your Inheritance. I will give you both five minutes to discuss, and then I’m only authorized to speak to the husband about the manner in which we are proceeding from here on out.”

  Peeta and Katniss share an uncomfortable glance. “We will be fine.” Peeta says smiling. “If you leave it in my hands, I’ll take of it. You go ahead and go to the hotel. No sense letting it go to waste.”

  Katniss nods. “I trust you, Peeta.”

  “Promise? After everything you still trust me?”

  Katniss presents her pinky finger. “We have to start somewhere. Why not now?”

  He links his pinky with hers.

  Peeta comes into the room quietly, dejected. Not even enjoying the beauty of the place.

  Katniss is already in bed in a thin sleep gown that leaves little to the imagination and no undergarments to tangle with. She pulls the sheets all the way up to her chin, feeling her heart stutter in her chest. Somehow she wants to feign sleep, but one look at his face, and she knows there’s no use.

  Peeta disrobes quietly, he blows out a candle and lower the flame of the oil lamp on her side of the bed. He’s down to his under trousers when he moves to the bed. He lingers at the foot for a second, but moves back to Katniss’ side instead of his. He sits at the very edge of the mattress with his lap covered by the corner of the heavy quilt, he sheds the last piece of clothing he wears, letting it fall carelessly to the floor

  Katniss tenses, but peels back the covers enough for him to climb in bed. She puts up no resistance when he maneuvers to hover on top of her body. Carefully, he inches his right knee between both of hers to support his weight; the bottom of her gown rides up her thighs making her all too aware of their situation. A moment later Peeta brings the other knee between her thighs as well and hisses in pain, wincing.

  “Peeta, take off the prosthesis. You’ll be more comfortable without it. I can help with it.”

  “No,” whispers stubbornly. “I don’t want you to have to fuck a cripple man.” He gasps in pain. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

  Her fingers caress his face gently. “Oh, Peeta, I don’t think of you as a cripple, but I’ve already seen you without your leg.” She blushes, “I’ve seen all of you, to be honest.”

  Peeta frowns, but let’s his left leg fall to the mattress. “You’ve seen me naked?” He asks rising one eyebrow.

  Her blush deepens. She nods. “I had to. I was your nurse for about week and half. I gave you daily sponge baths, you know.”

  “Well, if that doesn’t kill the mood, then I don’t know what would.”

  “Don’t think of it that way. I’m not trying to emasculate you. I thought you knew. Besides… your equipment seemed to be in top notch working condition every time I had to handle it. You even mumbled my name a couple of times… it made me feel… wanted.” She says hiding her face into his chest.

  “You touched me in my sleep? And you… enjoyed it? I feel so violated!” He chuckles at her embarrassment. He gently pushes apart her thighs with his right knee, she widens the space willingly, and he sits sideways to undo the fastenings of his fake leg.

  With her help, they have it off in a moment, after which he just stares at her scantily short nightgown. He’s momentarily dumbstruck.

  “You looked beautiful in your wedding clothes.” He stutters.

  “But you like this outfit better?” She smirks with a burning blush.

  His eyes caress her form and then his hands slide up her thighs slowly, uncovering her skin inch by inch. She moves her arms straight above her head, to aid him in removing the gown completely.

  He swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I think I like no outfit way better, no offense to Miss Portia and Mr. Cinna.”

  Katniss does something she hasn’t done in ages. She giggles. “Now we’re even… do please bring the covers back, it’s a bit chilly.” She says rubbing her arms.

  Peeta can’t stop looking at the rosy, puckered, nubs of her breasts until she shivers. He falls back on his hands, positioned at each side of her head. Once he’s brought the sheets back up to cover them both, he lowers himself to his elbows, his body warm and so much bigger than hers, cradled between her thighs.

  “Hey, I really don’t care if you see… ‘me’.” He says quietly twirling a loose strand of her dark hair around his finger, “I like seeing you too.” A moment passes, then he adds. “I never thanked you for taking care of me while I was hurt. I’m sorry I was such a nightmare when I finally woke up. I wish I had been in a better place mentally and emotionally. You were a perfect angel and I was horrible to you.”

  “It’s in the past.” She says looking up at him.

  Peeta sighs and shakes his head. “We’ve made a mess out of things haven’t we?”

  “We can’t dwell on that anymore.”

  “I know. We have bigger issues to attend to right now.” His blue eyes look nervously into her gray ones. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I tried to reason with Seneca. But his options went from bad to worse with my every rejection. We finally settled on one that although invasive, won’t be performed with Seneca in the audience.”

  Katniss shivers in disgust. “What’s the new caveat?”

  “You’ll have to get a gynecological exam, performed by a doctor of Seneca’s choosing, and they will confirm you have had intercourse recently. They’ll check for babies too, though I doubt it’ll be possible to determine so soon.”

  Katniss digs her face into his chest again. Peeta  holds his weight off her frame. Still, their skins touch everywhere, warm and soft, tingling in anticipation, flushing and waking up secret nerve ends they never had reason to know existed. Her nipples press to his chest, and suddenly both their bodies are covered in goose flesh.

  “So, they’re not coming in to watch you enter me then?” Katniss tries to confirm. Her fingers wrap around his strong arm muscles tentatively… Oh! It feels good, so impossibly good, to be under his weight this way.

  He shakes his head, kissing her temple. “No one will be peeping. I told them we’re not in the Middle Ages. They couldn’t just ask to watch us make love… nobody’s first time should be that way.”

  “Thank you,” She says gratefully.

  He takes a deep breath. “We do have to save tonight’s sheets. They want to see the mess we leave behind.”

  “Such perversion! Aren’t we already married? Why isn’t that enough for them?” Katniss asks indignant, she’s so worked up she shifts under his weight, making their bodies slide and press together in different places.

  Peeta’s member rubs the place where her inner thigh meets her cleft and they feel the friction wake a type of hunger they’ve never had a chance to explore before.

  Peeta groans, just as she gasps. His hips roll into her middle again of their own volition.

  “Katniss.” Peeta’s voice is almost a whisper against her warm cheek. “I have something to tell you. I’ve never done this before, so I’m probably not going to last very long. Please don’t judge my performance too harshly. I’ve been dreaming about doing this with you since I was old enough to learn about carnal urges.”

  “We’ll work together!” Says Katniss smiling sweetly. Her fingertips drawing circles over his biceps. “Is not like I have anything to compare your performance with. I don’t have much experience either, only what my friend Madge told me about laying with a man, and a very awkward talk with my mother when we were sixteen.” Katniss laughs burying her forehead into his shoulder. “Mother saw us kissing in the garden the day father let us ride our horses on our own. We thought we were so subtle… how naive!”

  He drags his lips to her ear. “We are not naive children anymore. We are about to do more naughty things than merely kissing in the meadow. I’m supposed to be readying you for me. I don’t want to hurt you, so… um… can I… touch you? Kiss you, perhaps?” His hips roll into her again, making them both sigh.

  “I don’t know… kissing hasn’t been too safe for me. People tend to get angry when boys kiss me, and either lecture me about the birds and the bees or accuse me of being some kind of harlot.” She says pointedly.

  “Goddamnit, Katniss! Kiss me!” He doesn’t let her respond, his mouth is on hers, devouring her whole.

  She responds enthusiastically, her hands cradle his face while he brings a hesitant hand down her arm. In an effort to help him, she rotates her torso, but he misses the hint, so she grabs his hand and puts it on her eagerly awaiting breast.

  He’s never squeeze a tit before, he never allowed himself such liberties with her when they were young; and later he was too convinced no woman would want him, he never pursued anyone else. But now that his hand is kneading her soft, perfectly round mound in his hand, he wants to taste it. He suckles on her breasts like they are coated with ambrosia and he will die if doesn’t lick all of it off her skin.

  The sounds they make are obscene! Wanton and needy. He’s ready to burst, but every word he’s ever heard from his brothers stick in his mind: “Be gentle but passionate. Make sure she’s sufficiently aroused, lubrication between the legs will make this loads easier and more pleasurable for everyone. A woman’s juices is the best dessert a man will ever taste.” and the such. He wants to do so much, but he can barely hold on to sanity as it is!

  “Katniss, I am going make sure you’re ready for me.”

  Katniss nods, perspiration clinging to her forehead. “Touch me, Peeta!” She keens.

  Peeta’s hand reaches between Katniss’ legs. He could die a happy man just dragging his fingers through the warm, wet, folds of his bride. “I have to penetrate you right now, Kitty.” He grunts against her lips.

  She wills her thighs further apart, and holds her breath in anticipation. Peeta takes himself in hand and growls, her arousal still on his fingers feels heavenly against his heated skin. It’s even better when the tip of his cock glides between her folds, and blindly seeks her entrance.

  Katniss moans at the sensation of his manhood there, teasing her. Her pelvis angles instinctively to guide his member home.

  It takes a couple of fumbling tries, but then he finds the place he fits in, and pushes right in, all the way to the hilt.

  Katniss gasps. All the breath pushed out of her lungs the deeper his length full her.

  “Peeta!” She whines, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Oh… Peeta, my love!”

  Peeta can’t hold back. He thrusts into her desperately, erratically. He’s placing sloppy kisses on her mouth, his hands planted by her head for fear of falling face first. Then without much warning, he’s moaning loudly while his seed spills in spurts deep inside Katniss.

  “Katniss!” He chokes back her name, “I’m going to take care of you now.” He rasps when he’s able to speak again.

  Katniss wants to ask what he means, but he pulls out of her body quickly, and throws off the blankets from their bodies. Those are only hindering his movements anyway. He balances on his leg stump and knee, until he sits with her legs splayed wide on the mattress. His eyes roam over her nude form, greedily, lustful, and ravenously.

  His fingers pull her folds apart. “Oh, darling… you look glorious, dripping wet, with load fulls of my seed escaping your depths.”

  Katniss doesn’t think Peeta is actually talking to her, since his eyes are fixated on her womanhood.

  “There are traces of blood. That’s good, Kitty,” He says looking up at her. He sees the same lecherous shine in her eyes he’s sporting.

  “Then let it stain the sheets, husband. We don’t want to disappoint Seneca or Grandfather.”

  “I don’t care about them right now. I’m going to make you scream in pleasure now. You tell me if this feels good, because I only know this on a theoretical level.”

  She nods.

  The fingers of his other hand caress her along the slit, her hips adjust at the touch. His sinks one finger inside the place his penis just vacated, and the action brings forth a reaction. She gasps and bucks into his touch, he starts pumping his finger in and out of her, his thumb accidentally bumps the very top of her cleft, and then she really gives him something to work with.

  They spend the next twenty minutes exploring her womanhood. Using his release as lubrication, but she’s producing her own juices copiously. Out of curiosity, he takes a lick of the sticky film, and she sings his name like he’s never heard before. He’s hard again, so he asks if he can have one more time. She practically cries when he enters her, and this time they fall apart together.

  ————-

  The next morning, they present Seneca with truly filth sheets, and the man finds the notion so hilarious, he waves the doctor examination. It’s obvious, Peeta claimed his wife more than once by they awkward way she moves anyway.

  “Our contracts, sir.” Demands Peeta not amused by Seneca’s uncalled commentary.

  “Very well. Here you go. The Mellarks and Everdeens owe Grandfather Snow nothing more. This generation is free and financially secure.”

  “Thank you, sir. Now if you excuse us. We have a life to build from the ashes. One that’s real and free of manipulative relatives.” Says Katniss glaring at the man. “We hope to never see you again, sir, we expect to be the last people Grandfather Snow gets to tries to use for his amusement.”

  Peeta nods in agreement.

  They just look at each other, and walk out of the hotel hand in hand.

  “So what do we know?” She asks meekly.

  Peeta takes her face in his hand. “I just want to spend every minute o the rest of my life with you. Making up for all the heartache I caused.”

  She sees hope in those blue eyes she’s known since she can remember. Eyes full of promises and humility. Eyes she trusted when she was a child, she reckons she can trust him again now, he’s not going anywhere anymore.

  They kiss sweetly, breathing each other in, and swap shy smiles.

  “Come on then!” She links her arm through his elbow, and they walk under the shining sun towards a promising future.

[dinoswrites]

Clothed in Light || Chapter 1: Sun-Sighted

Arranged Marriage AU. Asra/Apprentice. Ongoing.

| Masterpost | Next |

The first time Asra meets her, he does not learn her name.

He’s down at the docks, a modest little shelter over his head as he shuffles a worn tarot deck in his hands. It’s not the best place to make coin, but that’s not what he comes to the docks for. Instead, he comes to see the ships as they arrive, to catch the scent of spices and salts or the colours of textiles, to attune his ear to accents and the names and faces of who comes and goes in the city he calls home.

There’s a lull in the crowd when he spots her—and he spots her first. Her gaze is looking over the crowd, towards the town. There’s a light breeze catching in her long black hair, and she’s got one hand up to her head to keep the flowers pinned there from blowing away. Her dress is bright red, long and flowing, made of a delicate and expensive-looking fabric.

He does not recognise the flowers in her hair. They look tropical, and nearly as beautiful as she is.

“My fortune?”

Asra clears his throat, and reluctantly turns his attention back to the customer he already has. Disguised by magic though he is, he still finds himself tucking his face into his scarf to hide the flush he feels on his cheeks.

“Past, present, and future,” he says, his magic layering an old and crackling voice overtop his own as he lays three cards down on his blanket.

He can still see the strange, lovely girl out of the corner of his eye—and the moment he speaks, her brow furrows, and she turns her head to look at him.

He wonders for a moment if he’s botched the spell. But his customer doesn’t seem to notice, so he continues with the reading. He tries to ignore the intensity of the strange girl’s gaze, or the way her eyes narrow as she stands there and stares at him, and does not move or seem to blink even as carts and people pass between them.

“… and I suggest you write to your mother, young man,” Asra finishes, swiping the cards back up into his hand. “She must be worried sick.”

The man in question—older by far than Asra—stands and leaves with a stiff thanks, though his eyes have the gleam of tears in them as he goes. As for the girl, Asra can see her, some fifteen paces away.  She’s standing stock still, watching Asra with an expression that is either very angry, or very confused. He honestly can’t tell which.

“A reading for the young lady?” Asra calls, shuffling his cards together.

She blinks rapidly, as if shocked she’s being addressed. She actually glances over her shoulder, before turning back to look at him once again.

“No need to be shy. Just an old man and the tarot, at your service.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she approaches, one hand on the flowers in her hair, the other holding the skirt of her dress to keep it from dragging in the dirt.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she says, her voice low with a surprising formality. “I suspect my question may be rude, and I apologise in advance if it is, however… are you using an illusion spell? You look and sound much the same age as myself.”

Asra glances at the small mirror to his right—and sure enough, his spell is still firmly in place. A wizened old man, sea and sun weathered, looks back at him through his reflection.

“You’ve got me,” he says with a lopsided grin.

“Oh!” She kneels down on his rug and leans forward, trying to peer past his scarf and hat to see him more closely. “My illusions instructor was always scolding me, I could never see what I was supposed to be copying.”

The closer she leans, the warmer Asra’s cheeks grow. “Sun-sighted,” he says, a little breathless. One who sees through all illusions.

“I don’t know about that.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He clears his throat. “A reading, then,” he says, perhaps a little too loudly, before she can ask why he is trying to look like an old man. “Three cards it is. Your past, present and future.”

“Oh!” she looks a little crestfallen. “I’m afraid I don’t have any money.”

“On the house,” he says, breezily, though her dress looks finer than any other he has seen on the docks today. He lays the cards down on the carpet between them, face down.

She hesitates a moment. “I…”

“Girl!”

She stiffens, and her eyes go wide, as a man storms out of the crowd from behind her.

“I told you to stay put!” the man snaps.

Asra only gets a quick glance of the man’s fine clothing, and his furious expression, before he grabs her arm and yanks her to her feet.

She does not fight him. She only stands as bidden, and looks down at her feet.

The man leads her towards a carriage some number of paces away—a palace carriage, one of the ones sent down to bring visiting dignitaries up the winding streets of Vesuvia to its seat of government.

Asra looks down at the cards he’s drawn—and, after a moment’s consideration, flips them one by one. The Tower, the Emperor Reversed, the Lovers.

He considers the Emperor card, and its familiar dog-eared corner. His gaze flicks back up to the carriage, slowly rattling up the cobblestones towards the palace.

Asra tucks his cards into his bag, and starts packing up.

--

Her name is Kalani. She comes from northern islands Asra has never been to, and so do the flowers woven into her hair.

The man who grabbed her arm at the docks is her father. He leads her through court and does not allow her to leave his side even for a moment, playing a worried and doting father. He is all easy smiles and friendly words; but he is also a too-straight back, and a too-tight hand on Kalani’s arm.

For her part, she is silent, and so completely removed from the curiosity and wonder he caught that small glimpse of, down at the docks. She walks stiff and stilted, and speaks little even when spoken to. Her face is frozen into a perpetually stern expression, at total odds with the sway of the wind in her clothing and hair.

“Why’s she so grumpy?” Asra, invisible, overhears one of the servants wonder.

His companion sighs. “She’s terrified,” the old woman corrects.

Her father has brought her to Vesuvia to be married.

“Her mother, lost to us many years ago, was the greatest magician to sit at my Queen’s side in generations,” he says to the count. “My daughter carries that great magic in her blood—I can provide genealogies back to the explorers who first settled our fair isles, on both sides of our great family.”

The man keeps sending significant glances to the empty seat next to Asra’s mother.

Aisha, for her part, looks entirely unimpressed. She is fixing Kalani with an intense stare, which Kalani doesn’t seem to notice. She’s standing stock still, staring off into space without looking at anything at all.

Asra’s uncle regards Kalani with an expression that is strangely… blank for the count of Vesuvia. Asra is used to his uncle’s booming laugh and broad smiles, even in the most serious of political discussions. He is known for greeting total strangers as if they have always been close friends and staunch allies.

But Asra cannot read his uncle as he regards Kalani. He cannot even guess what his uncle is thinking.

“My child?” Salim says, in the privacy of their rooms. “Marrying someone he hardly knows? I don’t care if your brother’s the count, he can’t be considering it, Aisha. He can’t.”

Aisha stands while her husband paces, rubbing her knuckles to her lips in thought. “I can’t begin to imagine what my brother is thinking,” she admits, her brow furrowing. She closes her eyes, lets out an annoyed sigh, and says, “Asra, darling, you know that invisibility spell gives me a headache, would you mind?”

Asra, already sitting on the couch, sheepishly drops it. “Thought I fixed it this time,” he says, more than a little disappointed. “Sorry.”

“It’s a little better, but your light resonance is still off by a few motes.”

“Your brother’s finally gone mad is what,” Salim snaps, rushing over to Asra. He grips his child’s shoulders firmly, while his familiar slithers off his shoulders and onto Asra’s. “Don’t worry, Asra, it’s going to be alright. We’re not going to let him marry you off for a trade deal. It’s preposterous!”

“The trade deal is hardly worth marrying anyone for.” Aisha strokes her own familiar’s head as she considers the events of the day. “And her father is certainly in a hurry to marry the poor girl off somewhere far away from home.”

Salim releases Asra’s shoulders and turns to his wife. “You think she’s pregnant?”

She shakes her head. “Too long of a journey. Whatever she did, it caused enough of a scandal to drag her halfway across the world and throw her at the highest bidder. The man’s clearly trying to recoup his losses, as quickly as possible.”

“You think so?”

“Poor thing was shaking in her sandals. Even if that awful man had let her answer any of my questions, I doubt she’d heard any of them.”

Asra feels Faust slither out from under her favourite pillow and into his lap. She coils herself happily around his hands, though he feels notes of confusion from her as she tries to understand the tension in the room.

“She did seem rather timid. What do you think will happen to her when we say no?”

She bumps her nose against his bag. She does it again, and again, until Asra takes out the tarot cards. Then she happily winds around one of his arms as he slowly shuffles the deck.

“He’ll try somewhere else. Somewhere even farther away from her home.”

“I can’t imagine he’ll care too much how they’ll treat her.”

His mother sighs again. “That poor girl.”

He loses track of the rest of his parent’s conversation while he shuffles. He loses himself in the feel of the cards sliding through his fingers, through the faded ambient magic of the deck reaching out for his own, listening for the distant voices of the figures portrayed on the cards themselves. Sometimes, he thinks he can almost hear them…

He pulls a card out of the deck at random, and holds it between two figures. The Emperor, again reversed.

Sun-sighted, he thinks, regarding the card. Remembering her reading—a great upheaval in the past, a dominating figure in the present, and a choice to be made in the future.

“We need to help her,” Asra says, tucking the card back into his deck.

 --

The first time Asra kisses her is their wedding day.

Her lips tremble—her palms are clammy where their hands are joined, and she’s so wound up that even the smallest sound spooks her.

Everything does, throughout the night. Asra stays at her side for the feast both out of obligation, and pity. She seems frozen in place, wide-eyed, an animal in a hunter’s sights—she jumps a little every time one of her (untouched) plates are cleared, or some new act starts, or the music changes a little too quickly.

Her father watches her every move with a scowl. She keeps glancing at him every time she does something—and every single time, she seems to second guess herself.

Asra feels so bad for her after the first course is cleared that he leans in to whisper, “You had it right at the beginning. Outside in.”

She lets out a small, frustrated noise through her teeth, before promptly biting her lip.

They dance only once. She steps on his feet so many times that they ache, but Asra doesn’t blame her.

The Count embraces her, and she flinches. “Welcome to the family, Kalani,” he says, with a warm smile and a soft voice. “We are honoured to have you.”

She has to take several short breaths before she can manage a reply. “The honour is mine, my lord.”

“Uncle Sahir,” he corrects her, with a lopsided grin. He throws an arm loosely over her shoulders, either ignoring her tension or oblivious to it, and Asra falls into step at her side as the count leads her towards the back of the hall. “Kalani, you are a vision in that dress, and your presence here is a blessing—but I think my nephew should show you to your rooms.”

Her jaw visibly clenches.

“Uncle,” Asra says.

But the count is undeterred, and steers them away from the party. He chats amiably with (or at) Kalani the whole way, telling her about this portrait or that staircase or which statue toppled in the last earthquake…

Outside their room—Asra’s new set of rooms, now separate from his parents’—the count pulls Asra aside, letting Kalani enter first.

“You may not understand this now,” he starts to say.

“I understand it about as well as she does,” Asra snaps, unable to stop himself.

His uncle sighs. “Asra. You are not a child any longer—and you are my heir.”

Asra rolls his eyes. “Yeah—”

“Yes. You have to think of your responsibilities to this city, instead of—daydreaming all day, or whatever it is you do. When I accepted this marriage contract—”

“That neither of us want.”

“—I did so with both of you in mind.”

“Then maybe you could have just offered her a job like Mom suggested instead of making her marry someone she doesn’t know.”

Asra can only scowl at his uncle.

Uncle Sahir sighs again—heavier, this time. “Just… trust my judgement on this,” he says, giving Asra’s shoulder a squeeze. “That’s all I ask.”

Asra rubs his palm over his face. “It’s a lot to ask.”

Sahir squeezes his shoulder, harder this time. And he leans in closer, whispering in Asra’s ear, “If you bed that girl tonight, I will never speak to you again.”

“No shit,” Asra deadpans into his palm. At his uncle’s intense stare, Asra rolls his shoulders and says, “I’m not a monster, Uncle.”

His uncle laughs—all at once booming loud, where moments before there were only hushed whispers. He claps Asra hard on the back once, and he steps back to regard Asra with a warm, fond smile. “That’s my boy,” he says as he walks away, finally leaving Asra alone at the door.

The first room is a small sitting room for greeting guests—Asra can see some of his things arranged on shelves, and he itches to take them all down and turn them over, to make sure they weren’t damaged during the move. Someone has taken pains to light candles—and Asra finds himself extinguishing them, one by one, scowling at the waste.

After a moment, one of the blankets laid across the couch shifts—and Faust slithers eagerly out from under it, vibrating with excitement.

Asra! She slithers up the arm he bends down to offer her. Pretty!

“Well I’m glad you approve,” he whispers, scratching her chin.

Party? she asks, tilting her head curiously.

He sighs. “Wish I could have just stayed in here with you.”

Faust flicks her tongue out at him—and then turns her head, and does the same in the direction of the bedroom.

The door is open, a soft light spilling out across the floor.

Friend?

Asra sighs again—heavier this time. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Maybe soon.”

When Asra enters the room, closing the door behind him, Kalani is on the bed—sitting as small as possible, her knees tucked into her chest, and her eyes impossibly wide as she stares up at him.

She’s clutching at her dress; the vibrant red fabric bunches up between her fingers. One of the flowers has fallen out of her hair, and there are soft white petals scattered over the blankets before her.

Her eyes keep flicking between him and Faust.

He clears his throat. “Faust,” he says, gesturing to the snake. “Meet Kalani. My uh. Wife. Kalani, this is Faust. My familiar.”

Wife! Faust stretches out, her tongue rapidly tasting the air. Wife pretty!

Asra clears his throat, and can feel his cheeks growing warm.

Kalani looks between Asra and the snake with an expression that can only be described as dubious. “Nice snake,” she says, her tone flat—and then immediately bites her lip, a flash of mortification passing over her features before it is replaced with the same, glowering terror from before.

Very nice! Faust insists, bobbing her head. Asra! Kalani pretty! Say!

“She says you’re pretty,” Asra blurts. “Nice! You’re—your dress is nice. Pretty. The dress.”

Kalani’s eyes grow wide, and her lips thin.

Oblivious to the growing awkwardness, Faust slips off Asra’s arm, to the floor, and then slithers over to the bed. She approaches Kalani eagerly—leaving a mortified Asra far behind her—and tastes the air over and over with her tongue.

Kalani’s feet are bare, and Faust’s tongue flicks the tip of her biggest toe. Kalani actually almost smiles, a little, and pulls her toes back under her skirts.

Tickle!

Asra finally finds his voice. “Faust!” he scolds—but he still does not approach the bed, rooted in place by just how small Kalani has made herself upon it. “I’m sorry—she’s just being friendly.”

But as Faust bobs back and forth in the air, and twists until her head is upside down, Kalani seems to relax. Just enough to reach out one hand, palm up, delicate fingers slightly curled, and tentatively offer it to Faust to taste.

Delighted, Faust tastes the air around Kalani’s hand.

“Hello Faust,” Kalani says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Faust takes the opportunity to slither up her arm. She goes much slower than she would with Asra, taking her time to pause and flick her tongue against Kalani’s skin, and clothes, before draping herself across Kalani’s shoulders, slithering in and out of her long dark hair.

At the end of it, she tickles Kalani’s cheek with her tongue.

Kalani almost smiles again. “Thank you, Faust. I’m afraid I don’t know the etiquette for... being so close with another magician’s familiar.”

Faust wiggles as she tries to contain her excitement. Chin scritches!

“She likes her chin to be scratched,” Asra informs, finally crossing the room to the spacious closet on the other side. Everything in it is meticulously arranged—Asra itches at the thought of the servants touching all of his things—one side for Kalani, and one for him. His clothes are all hung, and the trunk he’d locked with magic tucked neatly at the bottom.

Kalani’s side of the closet is nearly empty—a few fine dresses hang there, and some delicate sandals rest on the floor, but it doesn’t even look like she has anything to sleep in, let alone wear during the day.

He thinks back to the room when he first walked in. He… only saw things that belonged to him. Only his books, his trinkets and baubles.

Back in the bedroom, Faust is radiating wordless happiness as Kalani continues to dutifully scratch her chin. He thinks he hears Kalani laugh—or, almost laugh, rather. Soft and breathy.

Asra shakes his head, his cheeks warm again, and whispers the unlocking spell on the trunk.

The things he had thrown in there for safekeeping are still in place, untouched. His parents’ spell books, an aged tarot card deck, some of his childhood toys, among other things—and, buried under it all, what he was really looking for: some plain, unassuming clothing, loose fitting and comfortable.

When he’s finished changing, he leaves his gown in the closet. Kalani looks up as he closes the door behind him, startled to stillness, before she notices his clothes and her brow furrows in confusion.

“Good!” Asra says a little too loudly as he starts sidestepping towards the closest window. “You’re getting along. Great. Fantastic. I uh—I’ll be back later, Faust will keep you company. I noticed you don’t—there’s not—your things aren’t here yet so. You can use mine. Read my books. Or whatever.”

Asra opens the window and peers out. From the looks of things, a simple featherfall charm will help him reach that roof down below, and it’ll be easy enough to just climb down and sneak across the grounds from there…

“Where are you going?”

“Out?” Asra spares a glance over his shoulder, but Kalani still hasn’t moved from the bed. “I haven’t been able to see Muri—my friend—in weeks, let alone explain to him what’s going on. He’ll be worried sick.”

“Your friend?”

“Best friend. Only friend, really, except Faust, so it’s important I go see him as soon as possible.” Asra starts to climb on the window ledge, testing his weight against the frame. No good if it gives out on him while he casts the charm. “You uh—you go ahead and get some rest, don’t wait up for me. I’ll be back in the morning, promise. Won’t make you go through tomorrow morning without me, that’s for sure.”

He is met with a dubious silence. So he glances back again, half out the window to see Kalani staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Finally, she ventures, “So we’re not…”

Asra clears his throat. “Uh. Not what?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Right. That.” He slowly climbs back into the room. “Look. You uh. You seem nice. But since this is the longest conversation we’ve had, ever, I thought we could just… table the sex thing.”

“For how long?”

He sighs. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally approaches the bed. He sits on the edge of it opposite Kalani.

She flinches away.

“Hey. I know you didn’t have a say in this—I sure as hell didn’t. So, why don’t we just… take some time to get to know one another, and figure out what we want to do going forward. Yeah?”

He still can’t read her expression, but her eyes are locked onto his.

“We’re not having sex tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Or tomorrow?”

“Possibly never,” Asra assures her.

Her shoulders slump, and the steel of her expression melts into obvious relief.

“Well I wish you’d said that!” she exclaims—and then immediately bites her lip, a subtle flush rising on her dark cheeks.

Asra, startled, can only blink at her.

“I mean—I was just so worried—not that you aren’t perfectly lovely—in a good way—you look pretty too did I say that—shit.”

She covers her face with her hands.

Asra can’t help but laugh.

“Alright,” he promises. “Next time we get married, we’ll clear up the sex thing before the wedding.”

She peeks at him from between her fingers. Flustered, he thinks, is a much better look on her than open terror.

“I apologize,” she says, clearly mortified. “That was—improper of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Been a stressful week.”

“It has.”

“Well, you just stay here and rest up.” He gets off the bed and crosses once again to the window. “I’ll be back before breakfast, and no one will even notice I’m gone. Faust will let me know if there’s a problem and I’ll get back as soon as I can—might take me a while, though, it’s a bit of a hike through the woods—”

He’s got one leg out the window when he hears Kalani blurt, “You’re going to the forest?”

He looks back at her. She’s leaning forward on the bed, and her eyes have lit up—all traces of awkwardness gone. As he stares at her, trying to figure out why she’ so excited, she clambers off the bed in a hurry, and actually takes a few steps towards him before apparently deciding against it. “That—that big forest outside the city? The one I saw from the ship?”

Asra glances at Faust, but she only gives him the mental equivalent of a shrug. “Yes?”

She stands in one spot and practically vibrates, wringing her hands together. “What kind of trees are there? Are we far enough south for them to lose their leaves in the fall? Is it an old or medium growth forest? What varietals of moss are most common? Oh, what sort of fungus grows here? And what—”

All of a sudden, she bites her lip and stops talking. She does not cover her face, however, and as she glances at the window behind him he can see the longing in her expression, clear as day.

He looks at Faust again. The little snake seems to have caught Kalani’s excitement, and is bobbing her head repeatedly.

Asra reaches up and runs his hand through his hair—messing up the delicate styling that it’s been in all day.

She has no books. Hardly any clothes. Nothing of her own to entertain her…

“Would you like to come with me?”

He may as well have told her she could take her pick from the treasury.

“Oh, can I? I won’t be a bother, I promise, I won’t say a thing or make a sound—I’ll just look, I won’t touch anything, I swear.”

“Uh. It’s a long walk, it might get a little awkward if we don’t talk at all…”

She crosses hurriedly to the window. “I haven’t seen a forest since I was a little girl! I barely even remember what it looked like—are there bears here? Sometimes forest have bears, I’ve been told. Maybe a jaguar! I’d love to see a jaguar.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Asra tells her. “You need to change. You’ll ruin your dress.”

“I don’t care if it gets dirty. Apparently I’m only supposed to wear it once anyway.”

“We need to buy some food in town.” When she stares up at him, blankly, he continues, “You’ll… stick out. A lot.”

“We need to fit in! Of course.” She immediately deflates. “But… my father didn’t let me keep my school uniform. I don’t… I don’t think I have anything else.”

Asra mentally tucks that bit of knowledge away for later consideration. “I have lots,” he says. “More than I need, really. Let’s see what we can find.”

“Do I—do I need to disguise myself? I don’t have my spell books, my father made me leave them behind, and I don’t have any raw materials besides…” She tugs at her hair. “What if someone recognises me? What if they tell my father that we’re not up here having sex?”

“I know a never-mind-me spell,” Asra assures her, trying to steer her towards the closet. “No one will notice us. Really.”

“I need a fake name!” she blurts.

Asra sighs. “Let’s start with clothes,” he says. “A fake name won’t do you any good in your wedding dress.”

She laughs, bashful, before immediately biting her lip.

Asra’s cheeks grow a little warm. She… sounds very lovely, when she laughs.

Looks lovely, too.

“Right,” she says, awkwardly tugging a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I can uh. Probably get out of this myself, I think. If you…”

“Right!” Asra blurts. He hurries himself out of the closet, and then shuts the door behind him. “Just um. Come out when you’re done!”

Faust is still on the bed. As he looks down at her, she tilts her head up at him.

Blush?

Asra lets out a long, long breath.

--

“What,” Muriel says after he opens the door, “is that.”

“It’s pumpkin bread, Muri,” Asra says, dropping a loaf into Muriel’s outstretched hand. “I haven’t been gone long enough for you to forget about pumpkin bread, have I?”

Muriel stands blocking his doorway, however, and simply stares over Asra’s head, his lip curling and his eyes wide with open alarm.

Asra sighs, turning to look back at Kalani. She’s at the far end of the clearing, currently kneeling on the ground and… very possibly trying to talk to one of Muriel’s chickens.

“My name is Ka—Kai, my name is Kai,” she’s saying. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve never met a chicken before.”

Yes. Yes she is.

“Alright. You might want to… sit down, or something, a lot’s happened since I saw you last.”

“You’re married.”

Asra glances up at Muriel, startled. Muriel, for his part, isn’t meeting Asra’s gaze.

“You didn’t come. I looked for you.”

“I’m sorry, Muri.” Muriel finally turns, allowing Asra to step into his home. “I just—I couldn’t get away. And Faust isn’t big enough yet to send out on her own, she’d get lost trying to find you.”

Wouldn’t, Faust sleepily protests from under Asra’s scarf, where she’d been napping for the last leg of the trip.

Asra drops onto Muriel’s bed and runs his hands over his face. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Why is she here?”

Asra opens his mouth to reply—but then closes it again. He thinks about how excited she’d been to see a forest up close, how delighted she’d been when Asra told her no really it’s all right to climb this tree don’t worry about it, how she had told him how old that particular tree was and how the tree was always happy to have Asra climbing it’s branches…

It says every time you climb it’s branches, it almost remembers what excitement is like, yours is so infectious.

“Send her back.”

Asra sits bolt upright on the bed. “What?”

Muriel crosses his arms over his chest. He glowers, but doesn’t meet Asra’s gaze, instead sending his scowl down at the floor in between them. “You heard me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Muriel doesn’t answer him. He continues to glare down at the floor, his cheeks burning a little the longer Asra stares at him.

“Muri. She’s—she doesn’t have anyone else. If I didn’t take her with me, she’d be sitting around with nothing to do, no one to talk to…”

“Sounds fine to me,” Muriel replies, tight-lipped.

Asra sighs. He stands, ducking his head a little so he can look up into Muriel’s eyes.

“Muri,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was happening.”

Muriel pointedly looks at a different spot on the floor.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come find you, or talk to you about it—it just happened so fast. Her father was so insistent on the wedding happening right away, I couldn’t get away even for a second.”

Muriel’s jaw works back and forth. His eyes flick back to Asra’s, for a moment, before he lets out a rough breath of air. “You look ridiculous,” he says, and Asra knows he’s forgiven.

Asra grins. “You’re the one pouting at the floor.”

“Not pouting—”

Kalani’s voice suddenly drifts from outside. “Oh! Hello! I apologise for my start, I didn’t see you. Is there a polite way to greet you? I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting a wolf before.”

Asra and Muriel dart for the door at the same time.

But the wolf in question, they find once they are outside, isn’t even growling. She is approaching Kalani, her ears forward, her body language neutral.

Kalani is still crouched on the ground, though the chicken seems to have vanished. She’s holding her hand out to Inanna—looking for all the world as if she expects the wolf to shake it.

Inanna regards Kalani, and her hand. Asra holds his breath—Inanna is fast, and is only steps away from Kalani. But she only sniffs the offered hand, before once again regarding Kalani with a neutral, non-threatening expression.

“My name is—oh. Well it’s actually Kalani, but it seems awfully rude to lie to you. Promise you’ll tell anyone who asks my name is Kai?”

Inanna’s ear flicks once.

“May I ask you a question? Is… is Kai a good name? Is it too short? Should I pick something that doesn’t start with a K? I remember it from one of the old stories I was told when I was a little girl, from before I went to school. I don’t know many other names from my home, and I don’t like the other ones half as much. It just sounds so… dashing.”

The wolf tilts her head, before sneezing and shaking herself.

Kalani laughs, sheepish. “I suppose I’ll have to learn to speak wolf before I ask you any more profound questions. Might I pet your fur? It’s so beautiful. I promise to be very gentle.”

With that, Inanna crosses the final steps that separate her from Kalani, and lets Kalani stroke the fur on the side of her neck.

Muriel and Asra watch in total silence—and Asra tries not to notice the slight look of betrayal that passes over Muriel’s face.

“This is because you spoil her,” Muriel accuses, with a sideways glance at Asra.

Asra tries, and fails, to hide his smile behind his hand.

[astridthevalkyrie]

My Companion: Chapter 2

"Maybe, somewhere along the way, Astrid had fallen in love with her husband, and now she had to pay the price." Or, they have an arranged marriage and Astrid isn't sure how dedicated Hiccup is to her. Oneshot. {Now a series of oneshots!}

Read it on FF.net or A03

This is highkey the longest thing I’ve ever posted in one go, and I hope you guys like it!

Astrid crumpled up the letter in her hand and tossed it in the fire with such vigor that Hiccup looked up with a raised brow and a slightly amused grin.

“Did the paper do you wrong or did you just not like the words on it?”

“The latter.” Astrid stood up and walked to her side of the bed, frowning. “My cousin Rosie is coming to Berk to visit.”

Hiccup stood up as well, furrowing his brows. “And you’re mad because...you hate waving hello?”

She sent him a Look - her husband could be both the most clever man she had ever met and at the same time make her question where half of his brain went.

“No. I’m upset because she, as per usual, didn’t see fit to ask me. She just declared she was coming, and that we should make preparations for her.” She shook her head as she sat down and started undoing her braid. “Well, I’m not preparing anything. That - that wench can come and fend for herself.”

Hiccup laughed, plopping down on the bed next to her with his head in her lap. “This is a new petty side I’m seeing of you, my lady.”

She ran her fingers through his hair absentmindedly. “It’s not petty. I don’t like her, and simply inviting yourself to someone’s home is extremely rude.” She looked down at him and squinted. “Is that a scar on your temple I see?”

“Training accident. A dragon got agitated.” He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

He had absolutely no care for himself in these matters, and it bothered her. There were never not scars lining his - extremely defined - torso. Burn and claw marks littered his back. But he seemed to bounce back from every injury.

She pursed her lips, tracing the scar with his finger. “You should have Gothi look at it.”

“I’ll go to her tomorrow,” he promised, smiling sweetly. “Tell me more about your cousin.”

She blew on her hair as she rolled her eyes. “Oh, there’s so much to tell. She’s pretty, she’s amazing, she’s clever, she’s brilliant -”

“You're jealous.”

“I have good reason to be. Everyone loves her.”

“Who's everyone?”

“Oh, you know -” She waved her hand in a frustrated manner. “- My parents. Her parents. The adults. The children. She's the fun, smart one, and I'm...I'm me.”

Hiccup sat up a little and pressed a short kiss to her lips before pulling back. “Are you saying you’re not fun and smart? I would beg to disagree.”

She couldn’t help it - she smiled. Hiccup’s compliments were so sincere, and he gave them out so easily. With anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes, or shot back a comment - in general, she didn’t accept them. But with Hiccup...it was hard not to.

“Maybe I am.” She brushed his hair from his forehead and pecked his lips. “But she’s more fun, and more smart. You’ll see. Everyone will be fawning over her.”

“Will I be able to see that, when I’m too busy looking at my beautiful wife?”

Alright, that one was a little much.

Astrid laughed and hit him in the face with a pillow, causing him to hit her back, and the two adults to get into an all out pillow war until Finn came into the room, cross, asking them to please keep it down so he could sleep.

So, with muffled giggles at her son’s recently developed serious attitude, she waited for Hiccup to blow out the candle in their room, buried her face into his chest, and let herself drift off to sleep.

***

“Astrid.”

The greeting was curt, polite, and as much of a slap in the face as Rosie being there was. The two hugged briefly before pulling back. Astrid gazed at her cousin with a small, fake smile.

“Rosie, I never got to ask, since your letter was so...spontaneous, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” she asked, amusedly. “Oh, is that the chief?”

Astrid immediately felt irritated at the appreciative look that Rosie sent her husband (who was currently directing people to help the other men on board take things off the ship), her fist clenching slightly. “Yes, that’s Hiccup.”

“Have you done that?”

“My gods, you’re as vulgar as ever.” She shook her head, stepping back. “And of - of course we have, we have two sons.” She crossed her arms. “We have a room set up for you.”

(No matter how much she had protested, Hiccup had reasoned it would be rather rude not to give Rosie a room in their hut.)

She didn’t spend too much time in her room after unpacking, instead choosing to go out and meet everyone. When they walked into the Great Hall together, Thorne walked up to them, and Astrid felt a headache coming on before the woman even opened her mouth.

“Chieftess! Is this your sister? She looks nothing like you!”

Was that an insult? She opened her mouth to respond but Rosie interrupted her by laughing.

“No, I’m Astrid’s cousin. Believe me, if I was her sister, I would have died of boredom by now.”

Astrid bit down on her tongue, hard, gasping in pain as the two women stared at her. Trying not to wince, she excused herself and left to go find Hiccup.

Instead, she found Toothless, who kept nudging into her looking for chin scratches, to which she complied. Wherever the Night Fury was, Hiccup would be close by.

Sure enough, he was on a nearby roof, clapping as he tried to get a chicken’s attention so that he could get it down. How the chicken ended up there, she couldn’t fathom, but this was Berk - occurrences like this were constant.

“Hiccup! Be careful!”

“Always!” he called out cheerfully, without looking down.

“Your rider is a nutjob,” she muttered to Toothless, who let out an agreeing rumble.

“I can hear both of you, and this is treason!”

Astrid snorted, unclasping her cloak before climbing up to where he was, and grabbing the chicken with one hand, while the other grabbed held Hiccup’s for support. She dropped the chicken off, where it scuttled away, not wanting to be too close to Toothless. Hiccup grinned.

“What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “How are you enjoying your cousin’s visit?”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Astrid said firmly, before leaning in to kiss him. He responded back in kind, cupping her cheek and returning to her enthusiasm, until she made to unclasp one of the belts on his armor.

“Whoa, whoa.” He pulled back, nearly falling off until she grabbed his hand and hefted him back up. “We are in a very public place, you insatiable woman!”

Astrid huffed. “You’re as insatiable as I am, and forgive me if I was just loosening your tunic a bit. I wasn’t going to sleep with you on someone’s roof.”

Hiccup gave her a dubious look, before the two of them started laughing.

“Can we just stay here?” She sighed, resting her head on Hiccup’s shoulder. He took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Do you really dislike your cousin that much?”

Her eyes found Rosie down below, where she was talking to Finn. Her son was smiling wider than she had seen him smile in the past few weeks. He was even laughing.

“It’s not about her,” she lied, placing her hand on Hiccup’s cheek and kissing him a few times. “I just...really...like it up here...with you.”

He smiled against her lips, his thumb rubbing circles on her waist. “Well, maybe - maybe…” He gently pulled her back with an eager twinkle in his eye. “We could sneak out tonight? You, me, and our little hideout nearby?”

(Hideout wasn’t really the appropriate word. Titling it The Place To Run Off To And Have Sex So That Their Children Wouldn’t Hear would be more appropriate.)

“I would love that,” she said, and felt herself smiling.

***

She learned not to mind. She really did.

Even when some viking brushed past her to ask for Rosie’s help, or if one of the Berkian children wanted a ride on Rosie’s back, it was okay.

It was fine. It was what she was used to.

And she could handle it.

Until the day came that she saw Rosie in the forge, leaning forward with a sweet smile, talking to Hiccup, who wasn’t exactly shying away.

That was one thing Astrid couldn’t handle. So she stormed up to the forge, catching their conversation as she got closer.

“That’s brilliant! I’ve been fiddling with this suit for weeks!”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I happened to do a little leather work back on my island.”

Oh, of course she did! Why wouldn’t she share a common interest with Hiccup? Why wouldn’t she be good at something that he would enjoy? Why wouldn’t she be knowledgeable about something Astrid wasn’t?

It would be ridiculous for her cousin to not be her superior in every way imaginable.

“Rosie,” she cut in as she walked inside the forge, “I think Sven wanted your help in the docks.”

While that was a lie, she was sure Sven would be happy to see the woman anyway, and of course he’d prefer her to his chieftess.

Rosie smiled brightly, showing off her nice set of teeth. “Can you help him? I’m busy admiring this flight suit Hiccup has made.”

Hiccup gave Astrid a crooked grin. “She had this brilliant idea to control the speed, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“Explain it to me,” Astrid said, as emotionless as she could.

The both of them started talking, and with each word, she felt worse. They were finishing each other’s sentences, for Thor’s sake. Nothing made sense, all she knew was that before Hiccup was having trouble controlling the speed and now he could fix it.

Thanks to Rosie.

Biting back any...feelings, she simply nodded curtly, turning on her heel - because she could tell when she wasn’t wanted. Her bangs got in her eyes before she pushed them back furiously and whistled for her dragon.

“Stormfly!”

“Oh, could you leave her here?” Rosie called out. “Hiccup was gonna take me for a flight, teach me to...spread my wings,” she said with a giggle.

Astrid desperately wanted to punch something, so she didn’t even bother to answer before running. No one she passed looked concerned. Maybe before she could blame that on her not being a Berkian, but she was sure if it was her cousin who was running, distressed, then people would help.

She ran into the forests, made sure no one was nearby, and then threw her axe as hard as she could in a tree that she pictured as her insecurities.

Thor damn it all! Stormfly was her dragon, Finn and Stoick were her kids, and Hiccup was her husband. It had taken them years to get close to each other, and Rosie had managed it in a few days.

She took her axe out, turned around and watched as it landed with a satisfying thunk into another tree.

And maybe it was selfish, but she wanted someone who preferred her, who preferred her company always, and who didn’t prefer Rosie.

Astrid wasn’t stupid, or ridiculously irrational. She didn’t think that Hiccup didn’t love her, or that he would fall inexplicably in love with someone else, but - but -

Another tree was hit.

But the fact that Rosie could connect with him in a way that Astrid couldn’t - it made her furious. It made her angry. At Rosie, at Hiccup, and most of all at herself.

Why had she been the one to be born with hair that got dirty and tangled easily? Why did she have to have buck teeth? And why did she have such trouble controlling her anger? Why was she so bad at understanding all of Hiccup’s technical talk?

Why did she get so upset about all of this?

Oh gods, she was insecure about her insecurity.

Her blade let out a dull thunking sound as it met its target.

Ultimately, it wasn’t Rosie that was the problem, it was her.

She couldn’t fault people for liking the woman. Not when Rosie was so much more preferable.

But she had hoped that Hiccup wouldn’t be one of those people.

And to know that he was - it hurt her more than any axe blade ever could.

***

She and Hiccup hadn’t talked much that night. Just like how they had spent most of their nights the first years of their marriage.

He must have realized something was bothering her, but he didn’t push. He knew by now when to push and when not to.

Astrid couldn’t sleep. Her arms ached.

“M’gonna try out the flight suit with improvements tomorrow,” Hiccup murmured, facing her.

Astrid felt bile rising in her throat, but she kept her tongue in check as she responded. “Oh? Will Rosie be joining you?”

“Maybe. I’m really excited, Ast. This could change things dramatically for Berk.”

A feat she had never contributed.

Gods, she needed to keep her thoughts from running off like that.

“Y’know,” Tuffnut began in that voice of his where she knew he was about to say something perceptive, “I would ask where those bruises on your arms came from, but then I feel like you might give me one.”

“And I feel like that was your indirect way of asking.”

Tuff grinned at her.

He was the only one not completely enthralled by Rosie, but really, that didn’t mean much, Tuff’s greatest objects of desire were inanimate objects, like his mace, or animals, like his chicken. Still, he made for some good company when she needed it. Ruffnut did too, but Astrid was half sure the woman was attracted to her cousin and she did not to hear more about how pretty Rosie was.

“I was practicing with my axe, if you must know.”

“Are we going to a war I don’t know about?”

Astrid pushed her dirty bangs out of her eyes after she set down the last log in front of the Wood Stack. It was a hot, hot day. “No. I was just...pent up.”

“Sexually?”

“Why would I throw axes if I was pent up sexually, Tuffnut?”

“Heat rushes to the lower regions -”

“Right.” She sighed, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm.

Conversations like these were not ones she’d get with anyone else in the tribe. That was both a good, and bad thing. She did prefer Tuffnut’s antics to facing her insecurity.

“If you are pent up sexually, I can totally talk to our dear chief for you -”

“Gods, no, Tuffnut.” She sat down, panting and leaning her head back. “I am completely happy sexually, and I don’t really wanna talk about my - my sex like with you.”

Never mind that she and Hiccup hadn’t...done it, in at least two weeks, although that was her doing. She told him she wasn’t in the mood, and truth be told, she wasn’t. If she had to look at him, intimately, and have even the slightest doubt that he preferred someone else, then she might break down right there, and she hated showing weakness, even now, even to her husband.

A cry of “Mama!” broke her out of her thoughts as she looked up, seeing both her sons running towards her. Stoick looked upset and Finn looked cross. The former ran into her, dried tears on his face.

“Mama, Finn yelled at me!”

“He was bothering me!” the other boy shouted. “I was trying to catch a fish, and he kept bugging me to play!”

Astrid sighed, pulling Stoick on her lap properly. “Finn, you can’t be mad if your brother wants to play with you. He loves you, and he wants to spend time with you.”

“But he’s annoying!”

Stoick’s lip trembled.

“Finn!” She stood up, setting Stoick down and narrowing her eyes at her son. “Apologize to your brother, right now, and don’t call him annoying.”

Finn glared back at her, her own icy blue eyes reflected in his. “I won’t! He’s just a little kid!”

“So are you!”

“Aunt Rosie would agree with me, Mama!”

Astrid bit back a gasp that threatened to escape her. Her hand shook. So, Rosie had done it. She had won over her eldest, who knew how long it would be until she won over Stoick as well?

“Well, then, why don’t you -” She caught herself in time, about to suggest to him that he go to his Aunt Rosie if he valued her input so much, but she couldn’t - wouldn’t - say that. Finn was a child, and she was an adult, and she had to show self control. She wouldn’t lose her temper.

“Finn, no matter whose side your Aunt Rosie would take, Stoick is your brother. And I expect you to treat him nicely.” She kneeled down until they were eye to eye. “Is that understood, or do I need to tell Dad about this?”

“Understood,” he muttered, before running off, probably knowing she would still try and get him to apologize to his brother.

“And as for you,” she started, turning to her youngest, “if Finn does not want to play with you, he doesn't have to. Alright? Why don’t you come play with Mama?”

“Can we play Maces and Talons?” His eyes lit up. “I gotta get really good so I can beat Ragnar at it!”

She smiled lightly - even if her children did end up preferring her cousin, she found that she could never hold any dislike for them, not Stoick nor Finn.

“Of course, my sweet.” She picked him up again, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go.”

***

Astrid couldn’t hold contempt for Hiccup either, but she could definitely hold contempt for herself. And that was what she felt, as he brushed her hair from her shoulder, standing behind her as he kissed her neck gently.

She moved away, not missing Hiccup’s confused look, but choosing to pretend she hadn’t seen it.

“How are the designs for the flight suit?” She started to comb her hair, cringing when she ran into tangles.

“Oh, brilliant.” She heard the joy in his voice. “I think Rosie and I are really getting close to a breakthrough. Actually -” He turned her around unexpectedly, grinning. “Come with me to the forge. I have something to show you.”

Astrid closed her eyes for a second, the silent pleading from his eyes was too much to handle. “No, I think I’m going to go to bed, I’m really tired. But I’m sure you can go to Rosie’s room and show her.”

He shook his head, tilting her chin up. “It’s not for Rosie, it’s for you.”

“I’m sure she will appreciate it all the same.”

He frowned, stepping back and looking her over before saying, “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No.” She clenched her comb tightly in her right hand. “What makes you think that?”

“Because for weeks, you’ve been distant. You push me away, you never want to talk, or - or do anything with me, for that matter.” He shook his head. “You can’t tell me that I’m just imagining things.”

“I can tell you whatever I please,” she snapped, gritting her teeth, “but if you want -”

“Let me guess,” Hiccup held up a hand. “Rosie will do all those things with me?”

Astrid scowled, running a hand through her hair. “Well, you seem to have it figured out.”

Hiccup’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing at her. “I understand that you don’t like your cousin, but to think that I see her the same way I see you -”

“I don’t think that.”

“And yet you’re implying that the activities we do together would be just as enjoyable for me if I did them with her.”

“Well, wouldn’t they?” She laughed humorlessly. “Wouldn’t you prefer to have a smarter, more capable, more beautiful, more temperate woman to do your - your activities with?” She stepped back. “That’s not an opinion, Hiccup. Anyone would prefer her, I don’t fault you for that.”

“Well, I fault you.” His voice had dropped to a low but firm tone. Before Astrid could say anything, he continued. “I fault you for thinking the worst of me, and assuming I would betray you.”

Astrid scoffed. “I never said you cheated on me.”

“But you thought so, when Thorne - Thorne of all people! - suggested to you that it was a possibility.”

Her eyes widened in indignation. “I didn’t know of your commitment to me at that time!”

“And nor did I yours!” His voice raised as her’s did. “But I trusted you, I thought the best of you! Is it too much to ask for the same? Is it so hard to see that I don’t want another woman, besides you?”

“Yes!” She glared at him. “When that woman is my cousin, it is hard to see otherwise, because in case you hadn’t noticed, the entire damn village, including our eldest son, loves her! It took me years to earn their tolerance, and she gets their love within days!”

“I’m sorry that you care so much what people think, then, Astrid!”

“I’m the Thor-damned chieftess, of course I care!”

“If you think that you have any reason to mistrust me, perhaps you don’t know me so well!”

“And if you think that this is about you, then you have misunderstood me completely!”

“Mama? Dad?”

They both stopped, turning their heads to where Stoick was standing, a dragon plush in his hands. His eyes were brimming with tears.

“Why are you guys fighting?”

“Stoick,” Hiccup murmured, his shoulders sagging as he walked over to him and picked him up, “it’s alright. Mama and I were just having a little disagreement.”

“But you both were shouting!”

“I’m sorry if we woke you, my sweet.” Astrid sighed, walking up to them and placing her hand on Stoick’s cheek. “But we’re fine, don’t worry.”

She kissed his forehead, her heart pounding. She had done it, she had lost control. And scared her son in the process. She should have been better about keeping herself in check.

“See?” Hiccup said quietly, kissing her cheek with a smile, “Mama and I aren’t fighting. Now go back to bed, or your little dragon will get cold.” He nodded at the plush, and Stoick gasped.

“You’re right! He could get sick!”

Hiccup nodded urgently, playing along before setting the boy down. Both of them watched him scurry down the hall into his room, letting out simultaneous breaths of relief.

She tucked her bangs behind her ear, looking at Hiccup, who suddenly looked as tired as she felt. She didn’t want to scream, and she doubted he did either.

“I don’t want to wake him up again.”

“Me neither,” he sighed in agreement, “would you prefer if...I spent the night somewhere else?”

Astrid shook her head - she was not going to act so dishonorably as to kick the Chief of Berk out of his own room. Instead, she turned and grabbed her axe.

“I just need some air.”

Hiccup didn’t try to stop her as she left, and he didn’t see the tears starting to splash down her cheeks. Oh, great, so now she was emotional in a different way. Just perfect.

The worst part of the night was seeing Rosie, awake downstairs, staring at her guiltily as she left the hut. So she had heard everything too. A small part of Astrid was satisfied, happy that her cousin knew the consequences of being so perfect, and the other part was utterly humiliated.

She said nothing to her as she left. Anything she had to say couldn’t be said when her cheeks were wet and her vision was blurry.

***

The next day, Hiccup and Astrid avoided talking to each other. The sun was setting as Astrid stepped out of the Great Hall, brushing people who were going in for dinner.

She was on the last step when she heard her name being called, and turned to see Rosie hurrying out after her.

“Astrid! Slow down! Astrid!”

Not wanting to talk to her, she walked faster, pretending not to hear her over everyone's conversations.

She didn't count on Rosie being so determined, however, and in a few seconds, her cousin was grabbing her arm.

“What?” Astrid scowled, yanking it back.

“I think you and I need to talk.”

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” She crossed her arms. “When are you leaving? Doesn't your family miss you?”

Rosie matched her scowl, stepping closer. “Don't try and change the subject.”

“Oh, like you do every time I ask that question?”

“I like it here on Berk! It's not your island, you know!”

She was about to yell back, but she stopped just in time, taking a shaky breath. Rosie had always said she let her emotions get the better of her. She would not prove her right for the thousandth time.

“I don't want to argue with you. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, thanks for giving me free time to go screw your husband.”

Astrid, who had been walking away, whipped around, glaring. “Shut the hell up, someone could hear you.”

“Isn't that what you think I'm doing?”

“If I didn't know Hiccup better, I definitely wouldn't put it past you.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself, Astrid. I'm not here to ruin your life.”

“Oh yeah?” She glared. “Could have fooled me.”

“I’m leaving in a week.”

“You’re - what?” Astrid frowned, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.

Rosie sighed, motioning for her to follow as she started walking. Astrid hesitated for a second, but she followed behind her, her mind spinning.

She had expected Rosie to announce her permanent move any day now. She had been prepared for the worst - a slow, gradual decline of her and Hiccup’s marriage until the two were even worse than before - not even sleeping in the same bed, and barely talking to each other, all because Rosie was living with them.

It had been a bleak future.

The two women walked until they reached the docks. Rosie sat on the edge, her legs dangling off as she looked up at Astrid expectantly. Astrid shook her head - she didn’t fully trust Rosie not to push her into the water like Astrid herself had done once when they were kids.

Rosie shrugged, turning her gaze to look at the horizon. “Berk was my first stop, but I’m going to go exploring.”

“Exploring?”

Rosie smirked. “See, it’s when you leave home and go out and -”

“I know what exploring is,” Astrid snapped, irritated. She finally sat down, looking at her cousin properly. “Were you parents trying to marry you off?”

She shook her head, scoffing. “That’s not the only reason a woman would want to run off, although...you’re not wrong, they probably were about to. And I wouldn’t want to settle down.” She gave Astrid a dubious look. “But I’m sure you don’t believe that.”

Astrid covered her arm with her hand - an old habit she did when she was unsure. “Oh, shut it. So why did you leave, if not to avoid marriage?”

“Because the world is huge and life isn’t that long.”

Astrid furrowed her brows. “That’s it?”

“Nice and simple. But I needed a faster way than by ship.”

And then it dawned on Astrid, as she leaned back.

“Dragons.”

“Do you want a prize?” Rosie grinned, tapping her nose. “So, no, Ast, I’m not here to steal your husband.”

She groaned, running a hand through her hair. “That’s not what I thought. I just...you...people always like you more. I didn’t want him to.”

It seemed her reasons were rather simple as well.

“He wants to explore too, you know,” Astrid went on, frowning at the water, “you two have a lot in common.”

“Gods, Astrid.” Rosie sat back, crossing her legs under her. “Come on. He clearly loves this island, and he clearly loves you. Stop being such an insecure little girl. Be a little more confident. Maybe you’re not as amazing as me -” She grinned, nudging Astrid’s shoulder gently. “But you’re not completely horrible, and you should have more confidence in the poor guy.”

Astrid looked at Rosie, with her long, flowing hair, and her mischievous face, and thought that she might be right.

She was going to destroy her own marriage if she didn’t start to think better of both herself and Hiccup.

“The night before you met him,” Rosie said, interrupting her thoughts, “you were planning on running away too.” She grinned. “Remember that?”

Astrid grinned lightly as well. “You had a stowaway ship ready for me. My clothes were packed.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

Astrid thought. Her answer wasn’t something complicated, once again. She hadn’t magically known what Hiccup would be like, or simply assured herself with some flowery words. It seemed she and Rosie did have some things in common.

“I guess I wasn’t brave enough.”

And some things they didn’t.

“Or maybe,” Rosie said, looking up, “you were braver than I am.”

Astrid smiled, and was about to lean forward to embrace her cousin, when Rosie’s arm thrust out and shoved her shoulder, pushing her into the water. Astrid gasped as she fell, her clothes soaking and her braid loosening.

Rosie cackled, standing up and calling out as she ran away. “Revenge! You lose, Astrid!”

***

Hiccup stood up as Astrid entered the room, making to walk out when she placed a hand on his chest.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. Gods, she loved his eyes, they were so kind, and beautiful…

“Can we talk?”

Hiccup placed his hand over her’s, making her heart skip a beat. He smiled, biting his lip. “Well, I’d like to.”

Astrid took both his hands and pulled him to the bed, sitting down with him on the edge. She noticed him look at her wet bangs and clothes with a raised a brow, but she simply shook her head - it was easier not to ask.

She took a deep breath, leaning forward. “Hiccup. I...I’m not...I don’t like myself all that much.” She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. “I was compared to Rosie a lot as a kid, and - and that’s not important. The point is, I let those insecurities control me for a while, and…” She looked at him guiltily. “I took them out on you. I’m sorry for that.”

Hiccup didn’t say anything, but he nodded slightly. Her heart pounded - what was he thinking? Had he already guessed these things?

“I’m trying to get better. And I won’t take it out on you, or on Stoick and Finn. I promise. That’s not fair.”

It was an awkward place to end, but she didn’t have anything else to say. She bowed her head, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn’t, she sighed and stood up to walk out. She could hardly fault him for not wanting to speak with her -

Hiccup grabbed her arm, turning her around and kissing her - not a quick, easy kiss, or an emotional, hormonal one, but a kiss that she could only imagine sharing with him, with his arms around her waist, letting her know he forgave her without having to say anything, and her hands tangled in his hair, just trying to get closer to him, because she loved him. He was her everything. She wanted to be with him, forever.

After a minute, they pulled back, gasping for breath as Astrid rested her forehead on his shoulder. She pressed another kiss to his collarbone. His arms stayed tight around her. His armor had wet patches transferred from her skirt and top.

“I should be the one apologizing, Ast.” He kissed the top of her head, nuzzling into her hair a little. “I should’ve seen that it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me, and - and I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I should have helped.” He pulled away, looking into her eyes seriously. “And if you want to work on this, I’m going to help. We’re gonna do this, together. Like we’ve done for years.”

He was so much better than her with his words.

No.

Her words had prompted his, so they must have touched him somehow. She was a better speaker than she thought.

Astrid nodded lightly, smiling. That was a step in the right direction.

Hiccup looked over his shoulder, and then turned back to her with a grin. “You know...the kids are out, and our bed is right here -”

Astrid snorted, smacking his shoulder. If Hiccup was making bad innuendos, and they were going to have casual sex, then they were definitely alright again.

***

The whole village came to see Rosie off, of course. Astrid stood with Hiccup as Rosie stood by her new friend, a rather fiery Monstrous Nightmare - Gods only knew she had managed to tame it. Astrid’s hands were on Finn’s shoulders as he leaned back into her touch, while Stoick was in Hiccup’s arms. Astrid stepped forward, outstretching her hand.

She couldn’t believe she was actually sorry to see Rosie go, but apparently miracles did happen.

Rosie raised a brow. “No goodbye hug for your favorite cousin?”

“Not after you pushed me into the water, no.”

“What could I possibly do to you now?”

“You’d figure something out, I’m sure.” Astrid grinned, shaking her arm a little. “I’m not getting any younger.”

“No, you’re not, old lady.” Rosie laughed as she shook her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’ll be back to visit.”

“Make good memories,” Hiccup said, stepping up next to them with a smile, “we’ll be waiting to hear about it.”

Rosie nodded, saluting to Berk before getting on to Firewing (apparently, naming was one thing Astrid was better at) and whooping as she took off. Hiccup, Astrid, along with Finn and Stoick, waved and kept waving until she was just a dot in the distance. Hiccup looked at her and kissed her cheek.

“Lunch?”

“Hmm,” she murmured in agreement, taking Stoick from him as the four of them started walking to the Great Hall. “Hiccup.”

“Yeah?”

Astrid set Stoick down, letting the two boys run off ahead of them as she leaned in, kissing her husband on the lips gently before pulling back. She loved the slightly dazed look on his face.

“Race you to the Great Hall!” she shouted all of a sudden, running as he stood there, surprised. It didn’t take him too long to catch on, though, and soon he was running after her, laughing.

“Astrid Hofferson, you sneak!”

Astrid smirked. Maybe it ran in the family.

Aaaand a happy ending. I was very much inspired by Victoria, which I’ve been watching lately, as well as my own insecurities that I have an obligation to project, whoops. I hope you guys liked it!

Psst, I really don’t know if I’ll do another thing with this, so do send in ideas! I am not promising or even agreeing that I’ll write any of them, but they may inspire me (so long as you’re not just reviewing to demand I write something, of course).

Thanks for reading!

[ijustwant2write]

The New Rule-Arthur Pendragon x Male!Reader

(GIF credit to @bradleyjamesjr)

Masterlist

Anonymous requested: ‘Could you do an Arthur pendragon/Male!reader where the reader is kind of anxious about anyone finding out and Arthur tries to calm him down? I wouldn’t have asked, it’s just that I can’t find any already written and your stuff is pretty good. Feel free to add to or tweak the story, of course.’

Characters: Arthur Pendragon x Male!Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name, (Y/L/N)= Your last name

Warnings: Homophobia, arguing, slight fluff, angst

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I knew it wasn’t normal in this society, I knew that it would never be accepted. But how was one supposed to ignore such strong feelings? Pretending to be someone else became exhausting, but I had to keep the act up, otherwise my life could be in danger. What was a man supposed to do when he loved the prince, and when the prince loved him back? Nothing apparently.

“Come on, (Y/L/N)! Your attacks are weak today, you need to try harder!” Leon shouted over the noise of our swords clashing.

Frustrated, I pulled back, stopping to catch my breath. This was the only way I could let out any anger that had built up in me, but right now my mind wasn’t in the right place for sparring. 

“That’s enough for today, don’t you think?” I huffed, sticking the sword into the ground.

“What is wrong with you today (Y/L/N)? You seem to get more miserable by the day.”

“Well aren’t you just sweet? I’m fine, just not been feeling well as of late.”

“Have you seen Gaius, perhaps he can help you?”

“I will not bother him with a mere headache, Leon. He has more important things to attend to.”

“A knight of Camelot should never face illness, we all have duties to uphold.”

“I know. Speaking of, we really must get ready for our meeting with Arthur, I feel as if something is wrong.”

Relieved to be finished with Leon, I made my squire tidy up after me, hoping to catch the prince before our meeting. We needed to talk...well I needed to speak with him at least. This secrecy had been going on for too long, and for some reason I was beginning to grow tired of it. Where were we going to go from here? He was the prince, he had duties to uphold and laws to keep in place; couldn’t really go round and break his own rules now could he?

I had been born and raised in Camelot, along with many generations of my family. It was good here, we were well off, with good ties to the royal family, especially when I became a knight. We were invited to every event, every royal ceremony; Arthur and I became good friends over the years, until he had to start learning about how to be a king. But growing up. I always felt slightly different form the other boys we played with. 

We were always told stories of princes rescuing damsels in distress, trailing foreign, barren lands full of monsters, and that their reward was always a kiss. The boys always seemed to love this, liking the fact that the girls gave them all their attention, especially when we were learning to fight. What with Arthur being future king of Camelot, it made him extremely popular in that area, girls lusting over him as I tried to spend time with him; they always seemed to annoy me, though I had no clue as to why. Perhaps it was because my mother had droned on and on about me someday marrying a woman of high society, meaning that I was constantly reminded of that when girls came near me....no I knew that wasn’t the answer. Deep down my true thoughts were desperate to tell the truth, reveal my biggest, and darkest secret that could turn my whole life upside down. But I never have, not to anyone but Arthur that is.

Arthur was my friend, we knew everything about each other, practically spending every moment together. He was so kind, so brave, so confident in himself (nothing like his father, thank god), he was everything I had ever looked for in a person. Somehow we just clicked. And it was not just I that wanted to be around him all the time, I soon found out he felt the same. We both knew it was wrong, both had moments we doubted that we could ever be together, but we always pulled each other through in the end, somehow able to hide it away from the world. However, Arthur’s days of being the prince were coming to a fast end, he was soon to be king and would be in the limelight a lot more as soon as that crown was placed upon his head. 

As I entered the throne room, I started rambling, knowing that it would be just Arthur there,“Arthur, I was hoping that I would catch you first, I must...oh I’m sorry for interrupting sire.” 

I quickly composed myself as I realised that Arthur was in the company of a young woman. Her hair reached down past her waist in tiny ringlets, almost hiding the similar tiny waist of hers, but accentuating the colour of her dress that seemed to pool around her feet; as she turned to face me, I marveled at her angelic face, the soft, delicate features being illuminated by the rays of light coming through the windows. She was beautiful, and I already had an idea as to why she was here.

The other knights swiftly joined us, also being stunned by her beauty. She didn’t seem phased as we looked over her, holding her posture and regal attitude once Arthur started speaking.

“Gentlemen, thank you for joining me. I understand that you have a busy schedule but this too is important.” He held a hand out to the woman, gesturing for her to step forward.“This is Evelyn, the princess of Ardenia. Evelyn, I give you the knights of Camelot.”

Respectively we knelt down on one knee, bowing our heads before we were instructed to rise. My heart started to beat fast, just like it had when Arthur and I shared our first kiss; but that was a thrilling sensation, this just wanted to make me sick.

“It is an honour to meet the noble knights I have heard such wondrous stories about.” It was as if she was singing, everything about this woman was perfect.

“Ardenia and Camelot have been dealing with trades alone, but after seeing the fall of our trades recently, we have decided to combine our forces.”

No, this wasn’t happening. It was all a bad dream, karma for having too many pints with Gwaine in the tavern.

“After much consideration form both of our fathers, they have come to the conclusion that we are to be wed.”

There it was.

My whole world, my dreams, my hopes, crushed by that one sentence. They were going to be married and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I stood tall, breathing in and out deeply quietly, hoping no one noticed as I tried to keep composed. Arthur wouldn’t even look at me, we couldn’t risk falling apart.

“Besides the council, my father and obviously Evelyn’s own father and council, you are the only ones to know of this. That is because we must journey to Ardenia to escort Evelyn’s father back to Camelot.”

Evelyn spoke up, a smile on her face as she did so.“I’m afraid my father is very paranoid. He sent some of our best knights to accompany me on the journey, thus leaving him without his men by his side. It’s just a precaution.”

“Merlin, please would you escort Evelyn to her chambers, we must start debriefing.”

Merlin did as he was told, guiding Evelyn out of the room. As she floated past the knights, I could see that they were all in a trance, gazing after her as they closely watched her every move. My eyes remained on Arthur, who finally looked at me. His expression was blank, he was hiding what he truly felt, a skill he was all too good at.

“Sire, are you sure you need all of us to go with you?” Gwaine started, slightly smirking.“I just think the princess could do with some better protection.”

“I think Evelyn will be just fine.” Arthur quipped back.“All of you gather round the table, we have much to discuss.”

I was glad when the meeting was over, it had gone by way too slowly for my liking. Arthur ignored me the whole time, acting very stern and blunt when explaining his plans. Once Arthur dismissed everyone, I heard their mumbles, blaming Arthur’s mood on the fact that he was now stuck in an arranged marriage; if only it were so simple.

“Arthur,” I called his name as the doors shut,“why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“What was I supposed to say? It all happened so fast, I had to agree!”

“Did you? Did you really have to agree to it?”

“Yes! Our father’s arranged it, it’s for the good of the people.”

“I can’t stand by and watch you be with another, even if you aren’t in love with her. All this time we have had to hide, how will we do that when you have a wife?”

Arthur sighed, taking fast steps towards me. I let him hold my hands, squeezing them ever so slightly as he tried to think of his next words.

“We’ve talked about these things before. We both knew that it would happen.”

“You’re going to deny what we have? Our love for each other will just be thrown away as if it is some rubbish?”

“No! No, I would never think nor do that. (Y/N), for now I don’t know what we’ll do but we’ll figure out something, I promise.”

“Kiss me? We have’t been this close and alone for a long time.”

For the first time that day, we both smiled as we leaned in to kiss, having to make it brief in case we were walked in on; though it was enough for now, the future for us was uncertain. 

When dawn broke, the journey to Ardenia was commencing. We were all checking over our supplies, ensuring we had everything we would need for any scenario. I endured the knights talk of Evelyn, everyone so amazed by her as a whole person. The kingdom seemed to love her already, excited for their new addition the royal family; if things were different, that would be me.

“Arthur.” Evelyn called out as she stood on the steps, capturing the attention of those around her.

He climbed up the steps to her, making it seem as if she were taller. I watched with envy as she placed a hand upon his cheek, obviously thankful that he was helping her family. I really shouldn’t have held anything against her, all that she had done was be a part of a political movement, she too had no choice in the matter. 

“Does the princess happen to have a sister? Or perhaps an equally lovely lady in waiting?” Gwaine pestered Arthur as we entered the forest on horseback. 

“No Gwaine, there is no one that would be slightly interested in you.” Arthur nonchalantly replied.

“You’ll really have it all once you marry her. A beautiful wife, a throne, a whole kingdom.” Percival sighed.

“(Y/N), you’ve been awfully quiet. Finally realised that the princess wasn’t for you?” Leon teased.

I was in no mood for that.“Surprisingly, I seem to be the only one who’s head isn’t in the clouds.”

“Alright, no need to snap.” Gwaine intervened.“A man can dream right? Especially about Evelyn.”

I rolled my eyes, making my horse move faster so I passed them, ending up just behind Arthur as I slowed down. He quickly looked over his shoulder, having heard everything but choosing to ignore it. The journey was boring, no one spoke of anything other than Evelyn, and although I did not want to hate the poor, young woman, it was extremely hard not to. Once nightfall arrived, we made sure to set up camp, having only one more day to get to Ardenia. Sitting around the fire with our bowls of broth, my eyes drifting over to Arthur, who sat away from us, going over the map as if he didn’t already know where he was going. Picking up another bowl, I headed over to him, thankful the others didn’t watch or join us.

“You already know where you’re going. Stop worrying.” I smiled as I covered the map with the bowl.

Arthur let out a short, breathy laugh, swapping the map for the bowl as I sat beside him.“Thank you. (Y/N)...I just want ti apologise for the way I’ve acted recently. I haven’t been seeing you as much as I should have, I’ve been cold and horrible. Also I should have told you about Evelyn, perhaps we could have worked out a way to avoid it.”

“I accept your apology. As for Evelyn...well like you said before, it’s not like we could get out of you marrying a woman.”

“But what if there was? Maybe not now, but some time in the future where we could get married?”

“You would marry me?”

“Of course. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, why wouldn’t I?”

I was speechless. He was too pure at times, when he showed his true self it was the best version of him. Subtly, he slipped his hand into mine, making me flinch as my head darted back to the others, worried that they had seen it.

“Arthur, we shouldn’t risk it-”

“They can’t see us, don’t worry. Let me do this.”

Our moment was short lived as the others finished their meals, leaving the mess for Merlin to clean up. To not look suspicious, we joined the rest of the knights, finally able to drop our attitudes and have some fun before being serious the next day. There was still a slight nagging from my conscience, telling me that something needed to be done about Arthur and I, but i ignored it, not wanting to ruin such a moment.

We made it to Ardenia before noon the next day, and were greeted by a gracious king and his court. Being treated with such respect was always a good feeling, the others reveled in it, happy that we were given a proper meal and rest before we set off again.

As we dived into the luscious food, I noticed Arthur and the king leave, no doubt discussing the wedding. Now was my time.

All throughout the night, I had laid awake and thought of my future. It was time to stop daydreaming, try to plan the rest of my life, stop waiting around for Arthur. I would always love him, and because I did, I would never want to ruin his reputation; Arthur was going to be an amazing king, and I wouldn’t get in his way.

Getting ready to leave again, I approached Ardenia’s captain guard, bowing respectively.

“Can I help you Sir (Y/L/N)?” He asked.

“Yes actually. I was wondering if you were looking to have anymore knights in Ardenia?”

[hollandroos]

Blow a kiss, Fire a gun | Part 4

Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 | TOM HOLLAND MOB AU

Summary: You’re arranged to marry Tom Holland, Londons most feared mobster, but it’s never easy. He doesn’t seem to want you and you don’t want anything to do with him.

PLAYLIST

Words: 3K

The days leading up the event were bland, they consisted of more exploring, playing with Tessa and picking out dresses. Tom had been busy with work, it was meeting after meeting and sometimes you wondered if he ever got overwhelmed. Sometimes people walked in and never walked out, but you never questioned that.

You had to admit, Tom had a good taste in clothing. He’d had a range of dresses sent to your room a day before the event, some shorter than others and some blatantly explicit. They were all either red, black or both and you had Harrison to help you pick out your outfit since he knew where the event was and you didn’t. You tried time and time again to pry the venue out of him but he was under Tom’s orders. Of course. But your company here was limited and Harrison was one of the only people that came to visit repeatedly, you saw him more then you saw Tom.

The two of you decided on a red dress, one that ended just above the knee and highlighted all of your best features. So slipping on the dress only hours before the event, simply made you feel amazing. And Tom must’ve thought so too by the way his eyes widened and filled with what could only be lust.

He was hooked, when he approved the dresses he knew they’d look good but this was beyond anything else, he almost didn’t want to bring you with him. He felt something else, something he hadn’t felt yet when it came to you and no, it wasn't love. He felt protective, maybe even need.

“We ready to go, dear husband?” You raised a brow. “My face is up here”

He trained his eyes on yours, not even trying to hide the fact that he’d been checking you out seconds before.

You’d admit that he looked good in his outfit too, the simple white t-shirt and black pants made him look good, amazing even but he didn’t need to know that.

“I think we are”

“A brothel, you brought me to a fucking brothel!” You practically yelled, luckily for Tom the music was blasting through the speakers, your protests were quickly drowned by what only sounded like The Weeknd. “Tom, I’m not going in there, are you serious?”

You simply didn’t like it. The loud music, flashing lights, and sexual music, not to mention the girls wearing next to nothing. It was derogatory and you felt exposed, like a snack in the other men's eyes so maybe that’s why you stayed close to Tom, using him as your protection. In any other situation you would’ve wanted to stay far away from the man but now you wanted his presence.

Tom noticed it too, all of their eyes scanning you up and down as you walked into the room. They seemed to ignore the mobster at your side, practically keeping you under his arm.

For someone that’d been reasonably shielded from anything bad since childhood from the mobs to drugs and prostitution, this was next level. You didn’t have to be a genius to know that this was wrong.

“It’s my job to be serious. If you don’t want to come in then I’m sure the driver wouldn’t mind you sitting in the care for a few hours” Tom wouldn’t make you sit in the car for hours, he could easily have the driver take you home but he wanted you here and what Tom wanted, he got.

“Here of all places?” You screwed up your face as the stench of alcohol and cigarettes became over powering.

“I have to make an appearance, Poppet” People started really noticing the two of you, pointing to Tom and whispering between each other. Harrison stood on the other side of the club already and you could only imagine how many weapons were in the building, despite the rule.

“If you keep calling me that i’m going to fucking-”

The threat was cut short by two boys walking up to the two of you, looking oddly familiar to Tom. They walked staunch and held the same cockiness that Tom did and it didn't take a fool to see that they were brothers.

“Tom! You made it” The one with the longer hair spoke, smiling brightly.

You didn’t even try to move away when Tom grabbed your hand, moving closer to you and whispering a quick, “Time to put on a show, princess”

You glanced down at your intertwined hands.

“Sam! Harry!” Tom greeted, giving them a quick, one armed ‘bro hug’. “This is Y/N, I’m sure you’ve heard of her”

The other flashed you a dark smile, choosing to taunt his brother. “How’s the whole ‘arranged marriage’ going, Tommy? As shit as you were expecting?”

He grimaced. “It’s going good, why’d you ask?” Tom squeezed your hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a kiss on your knuckles. When the boy didn’t answer, Tom continued. “Y/N, this is Harry” He pointed to the boy that previously spoke, then to the next. “- and this is Sam.”

It was obvious that this was purely a show, one to show the boys that the two of you were supposedly happy and that this whole thing was working out. The three of them didn’t get along and Tom was dead set on being the ‘superior brother’.

Harry continued smiling and Sam stuck a hand out which you shook politely. He seemed to be the nicer one of the two.

“Where’s the ring? Your fingers looking a little bare?” Harry was pestering you now. “Surely this one could afford to get you a decent diamond.”

“I’m not here for the gold” You snap.

“Looks like years of stressing wasn’t worth it was it, mate? You’ve got yourself a good one, she fights back.” Sam said, trying to break the ice, but you simply found the two of you irritating.

Tom squeezed your hand, letting out a small chuckle and nodding forcefully. You could see that these two had a problem with him, even if Sams’ didn’t reach the same extent as Harrys’ did.

“I guess it wasn’t, now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to get some drinks” Tom pulled you away from the two, tugging you behind him gently but you could still feel their eyes on the both of you.

“What’s their problem?” You yelled over the music once you were a significant distance away.

The two of you sat down at the bar. “Mad that I’m running the mob and they aren’t, those boys crave power and I got it.”

You nodded and noticed that Tom was still gripping your hand so you carefully tugged it out of his grasp. Tom didn’t think twice about the action and if he did, he didn’t think twice about it, using his free hand to call the bartender over, ordering a set of drinks for the two of you.

You spent your time trying not to look around the club, focusing your gaze on your drinks while Tom spoke to people around him. He was in full business mode, shaking hands with men you’d never seen before and and standing staunch. You’d be lying if you said it wasn't even slightly attractive.

One of the girls came up to your small group, offering around drinks but what angered you was the fact that she stayed a little too long, flashing him a wink and letting her fingers linger on his.

You weren’t jealous, not in the slightest. Just annoyed. He didn’t even try to push her off.

A few drinks later, a small headache and a lot of chatter, you were feeling buzzed. Tapping Tom’s shoulder, he turned to you, popping his phone in his pocket. “I’m going to use the bathroom, I’ll be back in a moment”

You stood up, finding that you were still able to walk and see straight so you weren’t at all drunk, just slightly tipsy. “Need me to come with you?”

You shook your head, feeling your skin prickle from the heat and began fanning your face lightly.

“I’ll be fine, just wait here”

Tom nodded.  “I’m not going anywhere, angel.”

He didn’t feel overly confident with you wondering the brothel by yourself, with a slight amount of alcohol in your system surrounded by men, some more dangerous than others but Tom wanted to give you space, he didn’t want to seem clingy.

Tom was too busy, caught up in his own fairy tale. He leaned back, taking a sip of his drink as the girl ran a hand up his arm, using her nails only to add to the effect. He really paid no mind to it, Tom was used to girls practically throwing themselves at him but tonight his mind was on something else, more so someone else.

You went to the bathroom five minutes ago and Tom’s foot was tapping against the ground, his hands itching to grab something that wasn’t the cool glass holding alcohol. No, he wanted his hands on you again for a reason he couldn’t quite decipher. But it was you he wanted, not the prostitute practically grinding down on his lap.

But he couldn’t get his mind off of the dress, that little red dress you wore and the spaghetti straps that held it up above your chest but made sure it was low enough to show even just a little cleavage or the way it hugged your curves just perfectly. He didn’t think that red could get any better before he saw it on you.

“If it isn’t Tom Holland! The one and only” Tom snarled, recognizing that voice anywhere. The girl that’d previously been trying to get a few bills out of Tom had now moved on, trying to pry it out of one of the other rich suckers in the building.

“What do you want, Stark” The name fell from his lips as nothing more than two syllables, a range of letters.

Stark, one of Tom's long-term rivals took a seat next to Tom. The two men weren’t at war, it was simply a mutual dislike for one another. Stark was annoyed at the fact that he’d never be as strong as Tom and Tom simply didn’t have time for the other man, it had always been this way, even when Dom was in charge but don’t get Tom wrong, if that man stepped out of line he wouldn’t hesitate to take him out.

“Your girl looks like she’s having fun” Tony called the bartender over, asking for another round of the same. “I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife. Word spreads quickly.”

Tom’s head perked up at the mention of his new found marriage, He knew someone would bring it up tonight but Stark of all people. “I guess I’m just full of surprises”

“I noticed, never pegged you as the one to let your lady get it on with someone else”

Tom’s hand gripped the glass so tight he swore it was seconds away from shattering in his hand, he probably wouldn’t even react when the shards piercing his skin. Stark had a tendency to get on Tom’s nerves, so he was sure at first that this was simply a joke, a way to watch Tom crumble. “Shut it, Stark. I’m not here to deal with your shit”

“Just saying, looked like she was having fun when that guy had his hands all over her” Stark knew that he was getting under Tom's skin, something he had proved to be good at by now.

Tom got up, sculling the last of his drink. “Watch what you say, my father may have been too busy to deal with you but I won’t fucking hesitate”

Slamming the drink down, he got up, ignoring the small snickers coming from Stark, deciding to deal with him later and heading off to look for you which seemed harder than he originally thought. Tom was starting to get second thoughts, maybe he should’ve left you at home and ignored his father request, Tom was the leader of the mob, after all, his dad was simply a relic.

The club was loud, too loud for his liking but usually Tom wouldn’t have cared, sculling drink after drink and allowing himself to have some fun, maybe even going out the back with someone because him getting time out to relax and let go was rare, but now he was stressing over you getting it on with a stranger on the other side of the club.

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life, not a single care in the world as you danced with the guy. He had his hands on your hips, the two of you giggling as you danced to the music. For someone that had no interest in coming here in the first place, you were suddenly having a good time.

So you didn’t even notice when Tom gripped the other man's wrist, only noticing when the man removed his hands from your waist.

“I suggest you get your hands off of my wife before I snap each and every one of my fingers” His voice was dark and threatening and you had no problem hearing him over the music.

“Tom, just leave him-” You stopped when the guy glared at Tom but didn’t make any move to back off. Instead, he took a step towards Tom.

“I don’t see a ring” The guy was threateningly close to him now and you just knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“I’ll give you one last chance” Tom didn’t even have to call his guys because in seconds Harrison and someone else was behind him. “Step away, because I could get my guys to sort you out here and now and no one would even try to stop me”

He backed away, not before sending Tom one last glare. That wasn’t the end of it though, Tom flicked his head and Harrison followed the guy out. To do what? You weren't sure you wanted to know.

Sighing, you knew that you’d lost this round but you’d also won, gaining Tom’s attention, not that you wanted it and even pissed him off.

“That wasn’t very nice” You murmur, ignoring the heat in your cheeks.

“What did you think you were doing?” Tom grumbled, standing in front of you. The other man had cleared off now and Tom simply looked pissed. But he didn’t have a reason to be, he hadn’t seemed to care about what you’d done up to this point.

“Having fun. Is there a problem?” You smiled innocently, noticing Toms' eyes rake up and down your body as they had earlier that night.

“Someone just told me that my wife was dancing with some other guy and I had to find out for myself if it was true” He moved closer. “Do you think that’s okay?”

“Are you jealous?” He tensed slightly at your question, gritting his teeth. “I thought you didn't care?”

Tom placed his hands around your waist from behind and you found yourself leaning back into his grasp. His breath was so close to your neck and you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper when he tightened his arms around you slightly. The two of you began to move to the beat of the song.

You were both tipsy, your mutual dislike for one another had disappeared and all that was left was lust and need, on his side at least. You just had one goal in mind, tease him to the point of absolute frustration.

“Not jealous, I just don’t want people to think that my wife is up for grabs, I’ve got a reputation to keep up, princess and I can’t have you ruining that.”

This was easily the most intimate the two of you had been and it made you feel almost flustered. But you weren’t going to just give him what he wanted.

“You were too busy almost letting your pants drop for the other girl here, what was I meant to do? Sit back and watch you have all of the fun?”

“If you wanted attention you could’ve just asked” You shrugged his remark off, deciding to tease him a little bit.

The song picked up slightly and you found yourself grinding your hips against his crotch intimately, Tom couldn’t help but place his lips on your neck gently, barely, it felt featherly. Spinning around, you came face to face with a very red-faced Tom, his hair was tousled but it still managed to look perfect.

You continued moving, Toms hands, gripping your hips before sliding up higher, stopping below your breasts but you, you slid a hand down his clothed chest, stopping at his belt and running your nails over the area just above his crotch gently. He groaned, thumbs rubbing the area underneath your breasts.

Just as his face started inching closer to yours, his breath fanning your lips, you removed your hands, tugging his off of your body and stepped away.

“Go find someone else to get you off, I’ll be in the car, Holland.”

“You’re such a fucking tease” You winked, heading to the door leaving Tom standing in the middle of the floor surrounded by other couples.

Maybe this was the start of Tom getting in over his head, he didn't use to people saying no to him or walking away in that matter but now here you were, defying him in every way you possibly could.

Let me know what YOU want to read, I thrive on feedback/ideas

Part 5!

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[deathandrenegades]

Royal Burns - Part 3

Summary: Royalty AU, you’re predestined to marry Dean Winchester, but is he even the right guy for you? Will he take his place as husband and king, or will his brother rise to the occasion?

Word Count: 2405

A/N: dean gets sloppy drunk, mostly just fluff and some angstt. inbox me for requests & feedback

Part 1 Part 2

“Did you always know you would be in an arranged marriage?” He asked after a long silence. I nodded, sipping my wine.

“I did. But I trusted my family to pick a man that was right for me.” My thoughts landed on Dean, wondering if he truly could be.

“Do you still believe that?” His eyes smoldered mine. I leaned back, realizing our faces had been much too close across the table. He pushed his hair out of his face and scooped a ravioli into his mouth.

“Of course I do.” I chewed my lip, not believing myself fully.

The owner came to clear our plates, leaving us to sit in more silence.

“Where to after this?”

“Back to the castle.” I yawned and stretched, ready for a nap. He nodded, taking a last sip of water before we left. He opened the car door for me and we left off to the castle. The coast looked amazing, then sun still high in the sky.

“We can always stop you know.” He offered, watching me gaze longingly at the sand. I shook my head.

“The paparazzi will murder us.” My voice barely audible. He pursed his lips and continued to drive.

“Princess!” A voice shrieked as I stepped into the castle.

“Dean, calm down!” A baritone voice hushed.

I turned the corner as Dean made a B-Line for me, Sam following closely behind.

“What is all the commotion?” I asked, irritated.

Dean flicked on the tv mounted on the wall, my face popping up in front of me accompanied by Sam’s, and then a picture of his arm around my waist. I hung my head, not ready for the headache I was about to receive.

“Do you have any idea how bad this looks?!”

“Dean I really think you should lower your voice.” His mother soothed, her calming powers seemingly having no effect on Dean. Suddenly his gaze froze to Sams uneasy figure behind me.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? Trying to sabotage me before I get a shot as King?” He stepped forward and I moved to close the distance between us before he could threaten Sam, placing my hands on his chest. I didn't put any pressure, but I knew it would be enough to stop him completely at my sudden touch. He looked down at me, our faces so close I could feel his breath feathering over my cheeks. His green eyes searched my face, his anger dissipating into regret, and for a second I even thought I saw a hint of longing. I felt responsible for Dean, knowing sooner or later I'd have to get on his side. His breathing slowed, my thoughts flicked to the last time we were close like this in the garden, his scent filling my mouth again. He broke away, stepping towards the window. I sighed, not realizing I had been holding my breath.

“No one is trying to sabotage you, Dean. You know that.” I spoke softly.

“The only one sabotaging you is yourself.” I heard Sam mutter, and I froze again as Dean very slowly turned on heel.

“Is that what you think, brother?” He snarled at Sam.

“Now boys-” Mary started, trying to remain calm. Sam stepped past me, straightening his back.

“You fail to see what is right in front of you, and I think you know that. Simply because of your own arrogance.” He spat, and skulked out of the room before Dean even had a chance to retort. I sucked in a breath, analyzing Sams words. Was he referring to me, or the title? Maybe both? My eyes locked with Deans again, giving me the answer: both. Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and left, John giving me a hopeful nod before he followed his wife, leaving Dean and I to stand alone.

“I'm sorry for upsetting you.” I whispered. He closed his eyes, sighing.

“You haven't done anything wrong. You never have.” His voice broke and I stepped towards him, wanting to comfort him. But he raised his hands, halting me. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, shaking his head and turning to leave.

I stood there, my eyes following him all the way through the hallway until he turned. I felt so abandoned, having no one to turn to, when all I wanted was my parents. I kicked off my heels and grabbed them, fighting tears as I sulked my way up the staircase and into my bedroom. I wasn't even facedown flopped onto my bed for two seconds before I heard a knock.

“Go away.” My voice muffled by my comforter, thinking it'd be Helga, knowing she'd heard everything. My door opened anyway, and footsteps approached behind me.

“Helga, really-” I began, rolling over to look at her and was surprised to find the queen in my bedroom. I immediately stood up, curtseying. “Your majesty.” She held her hand up effectively halting my formalities, giving an apologetic smile and motioned for me to sit back down as she sat beside me.

“I'm sorry for all of that. I know Sam is just trying to be nice.” She smiled sorrowfully. “Dean is protective and anxious about becoming king.” I swallowed and nodded, unconvinced that’s the whole story for his behavior.

“I'm pretty sure he just hates me.” My voice fell flat. She laughed, sounding like a song.

“He most certainly doesn't. Dean only hates one person; himself.” I looked up at her then, completely taken aback. She smiled painfully with wise eyes.

“But why?” She sighed.

“Perhaps one day you will know, but it's far too much to say now. I don't ever want you going to sleep feeling like it's your fault, because it isn't.” She kissed the top of my head and left, I sat feeling more confused than ever.

The next few days sped by, I found myself confiding in Sam more and more, he'd always be around when I least expected it, reading in the garden or wandering in the library. Dean remained like a myth, I hadn't seen him since the conflict between him and his brother. He didn't even appear at dinner.

“Today you have history at 9, then Dutch tutoring and then you're meeting with the King and several committee members at noon.” Helga spoke monotone, reading off the agenda for today. I groaned, having completely forgotten about upcoming meetings with foreign diplomats. I wasn't prepared to speak in front of anyone.

The guards opened the door for the King and I, he directed me to a chair at the table and I sat, exchanging polite hellos and smiles to the men and women around me.

The King started with talks of upcoming events and I scribbled them down in my notebook, determined to remain involved but silent.

“Usually this year we run a charity event. Princess, any ideas?” He chimed, my head snapping up to meet his eyes. He started down at me, giving me a reassuring smile.

“How about a ball?” I smiled. They were my favorite event. He chuckled, stroking his beard.

“We haven't had one of those in quite long, sir.” A lady piped, I grinned at her as she sent me a wink. He laughed, “fine fine, a ball sounds pleasant. Mary will love that.” He beamed at me and I couldn't help but to feel pride bubble up in me.

“A ball?!” Helga squealed when I told her. “Oh that will be wonderful!” I gave a cheeky smile, nodding in response. “We haven't had one of those in ages and it brings the people so much closer together!” She clapped her hands together, fluffing my comforter and grinning from ear to ear.

“So the Princess has decided a ball will be our event this year.” King John announced as he forked green beans into his mouth. I chewed the inside of my cheek, feeling a blush rise.

“Oh my, that'll be so much fun! We haven't hosted a ball in ages John.” Mary beamed, placing her hand over his and he squeezed her fingers in response. My eyes fell to Deans chair, empty, nearly collecting dust. How was I supposed to attend a ball when I haven't even spoken to my future husband in days?

“Am I to go with Dean?” I whispered. I dreaded his cold eyes, the civilians hushed whispers about our obvious detachment from each other. This wasn't how I wanted one of my favorite events to be. Everyone around me froze.

“Do you not wish to go with him?” The king spoke softly. I pursed my lips, unable to answer that question.

“He probably will refuse to go anyways dear.” Mary added.

“Nonsense, the ball is over a month away!” King John’s frustration with his son was evident. “Both of my boys will be there!”

Sam cleared his throat, grabbing my and everyone else’s attention.

“I can always take her.” I grinned, thankful for his generosity. His eyes caught mine and the corners of his mouth perked up briefly.

“Out of the question!” The King raged. I shot my eyes down to my lap, my cheeks heating up. “She is to go with who she is to marry of course!”

“Maybe it's best if she go with Sam.” Mary spoke softly, cutting John off. His brow furrowed. “Just given recent events, maybe it would be better for her.” King John shook his head, still not swayed. I threw my napkin on my plate, excusing myself and curtsying before I left. I had to know what Deans problem was.

I rapped on his door, his bedroom down the hall from mine. The door opened slowly, a tired looking Dean appeared, clad in sweatpants and a white tshirt.

“Princess.” He slurred. “What're you doing here?” He propped himself on the door, his breath reeked of Wild Turkey.

“Jesus, the heir to the throne, soon to be our king, this is what I am to expect?” I threw my hands up at his foolishness, unable to believe this is what I am to marry. I started to turn but he grabbed my arm, a little rougher than he meant.

“Please, don't leave.” He pleaded. I sighed, meeting his eyes and knowing I couldn't just leave him like this. Not when for once his wall was down.

I stepped inside, taking in his bedroom. It was comparable to mine, same layout and everything. All he had was a bed and a desk. His sheets were a mess, clothes were everywhere. He must've instructed his maid not to clean in here, to be left utterly alone. He stumbled in his room, pushing past me to turn into the bathroom and retched. I sighed, fetching a clean glass off of his desk and filled it with water from the tap, setting it on the counter of the bathroom. I grabbed a washcloth and wet it, Dean slouching to the floor. I knelt down, as he rolled over on his back and looked up at me.

I pressed the cold cloth to his forehead and cheeks, he closed his eyes in response.

“Why do you drink like this?” I whispered, wondering if he'd even respond.

“What else is there to do?” He slurred, tossing his hands around dramatically. “I am no good.” He muttered disgusted. I gently brought him to sit up next to me, reaching for the water and handing it to him. He stared at the glass full of clear liquid.

“I don't drink anything that's clear unless it's vodka.”

“Oh then good, cause it's vodka.” I smiled. He shrugged and gulped down the water, slamming the glass onto the floor.

“That was definitely not vodka.” I laughed again, and he smiled sloppily at me, his eyes bloodshot and his hair a mess. “You're too good for me, you know that?” He said suddenly. My smile fell from my face. “You deserve so much more.” His face fell as he hung his head. I gently laid my hands on his cheeks, lifting his head.

“You are my burden. Regardless of what you think, say or do, that will never change.” I sighed. He looked at me hopefully, my inebriated future king. “If you think I deserve so much better, why don't you just give that to me then?” I stared into his eyes, wanting an answer.

“I can't.” He pushed away from me. “I am not capable of that. Of anything. Love, King. I'm not my brother.” He looked at me sideways. “He's the one you want. He's the one you should be with. Not me.” He hiccuped.

“No, I am meant to marry you. No matter how stubborn you are or what you think.” I snapped, sick of his foolishness. “I just wish you would drop this act, this way of thinking you have.” His chin slumped down, his eye lids fluttering. I huffed, getting up and helping him stand before he passed out in the bathroom. He flopped onto his bed, I pulled the covers around him.

“Stay.” He spoke suddenly, grabbing my arm. “Please, stay with me.”

“I don't think that's the best decision.” I whispered. He pulled away, his lips quivering into a frown and he nodded into his pillow. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why should I stay, Dean?” I started, feeling anger push through me, fed up with my nights at the castle. “All you've ever done is push me away, give me cold glances.”

He gulped. “You're right. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with me.” He gripped the covers. “Just leave. You deserve so much more and I promise I won't bother you.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to him. “That isn't even close to what I want.” I muttered, exasperated. His hand gently fell on my back, rubbing it lightly. I smiled at his touch, relaxing into it.

“I hope I don't regret this.” I began to stand, his hand clinging to my fingers. His eyes locked mine, begging me to not leave him alone in this broken, drunken state that he was in. I clambered into bed with him, pulling the comforter over us. His head rested on my chest and his arms tightened around me, my fingers delicately laid into his hair, stroking it gently.

It wasn't how I had pictured our first night together, but it was a start.