#Salv’s in the bath and answering asks

[salvador-daley]

My money is on the reporter misheard the dog's name (the names do sound similar, especially given his accent and what was probably a busy environment).

Maybe the reason Rob chose today of all days to introduce us to the pooch? Didn't want to embarrass the interviewer but set the record straight regardless?

I think I agree. That does look like *their* dog, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t teach someone else’s dog to read. What would be the point? 🐶

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats Pt. 4

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, child birth, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra cannot imagine what might cause such commotion in the middle of the night.

“The dragon keepers have just calmed Sunfyre, who’s been having a fit for the better part of three hours.” Daemon informs her.

“Why is this news?” Rhaenyra wonders, “you needed only to wake Prince Aegon so that he might calm his own dragon.”

“That was my intention, your grace.” Daemon assures her, “until it was brought to my attention that Stormborn had been taken from the pit.”

“Where is she now?”

“Her grace’s dragon has since been returned to the pit.”

“Where is my daughter now?” Rhaenyra asks.

The room falls silent, everyone glancing toward one another.

“We believe the princess to be abed.”

“Not one of you thought to make certain?” The Queen all but shouts, panic coursing through her.

“We thought it best not to disturb the princess while she is abed, your grace.” Not without permission from the queen herself…certainly not after the last time.

Prince Aegon was in quite a state, threatening to castrate any member of the royal guard who happened upon his beloved wife in the throes of passion.

“Never you mind, I will see to her myself.” The Queen stalks down to her daughter’s room, pounding at the door.

It is Aegon who answers, “Rhaenyra?”

“I need to see her.”

Aegon hesitates, looking to his wife, who nods her approval. “She’s just there.” He takes a step back, allowing his half sister entry.

Y/N sits upon her bed in a pristine blush sleeping gown, hair still damp from the bath. “Mother.”

“Tell me the truth of it.” Rhaenyra approaches, hovering over her bedside. “Where were you this night?”

“With Aegon.”

Rhaenyra steals herself, “where were you whilst Sunfyre was howling in the pit? I know you took Stormborn, I have it on good authority. Tell me now, Y/N, where did you go?”

“To Harrenhal.”

Rhaenyra blanches, clutching her chest. “Why?” She sobs, “why would you do such a thing, knowing the risk?”

“Mother, I-”

“I have lost two of my children, I will not survive the loss of a third.”

“I have not done this to harm you, mother. But I am tired of being in pain. You’ve no idea how it feels to be tugged at by opposing sides, until you are torn down the middle.”

“Sweet girl,” Rhaenyra sighs.

“I understand why you needed Aegon and I to marry. I do not fault you for it, but times are different now. I love him, mother. Not for the crown, or the realm, or even peace. He is one half of me.”

“I wish you’d come to me, instead of facing all these troubles alone. I will always be your mother, no matter if you are a woman grown, you will not outgrow my love for you so long as I live.”

Y/N nods. “I love you dearly, mother. I want only to make you proud.”

“I am proud.” Rhaenyra assures her, “you needn’t prove yourself to me.”

“Then might I ask you to set a place for my husband at your table? Say it is not too late.”

“And what of Aemond?” Rhaenyra asks, mulling it over.

“He is gone.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes.” Y/N whispers.

“Show me.”

Y/N lifts her nightgown to reveal the charred skin of her wound.

“Alright,” Rhaenyra lowers the material once she’s gotten a good look. She kisses the top of her daughter’s head, “we will have the maester come with salve to dress it.”

Y/N nods.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?”

“Milk of the poppy.”

Rhaenyra’s hand is trembling as it passes over her daughter’s hair a second time. “Aegon, might you bring the maester?”

“Of course,” he nods. Stealing himself before wandering down the hall and away from his beloved wife. Returning with the maester, who begins tending the wound immediately.

“Is there anything else I might get you?” Rhaenyra asks, keeping hold of her daughter’s hand.

Y/N is mostly joking when she murmurs to her mother, “cake?”

Rhaenyra smiles, “I will see to it.”

Y/N relaxes as best she can to the poking and prodding.

“Aegon,” Rhaenyra nods toward the hall, “a word?”

“Of course,” Aegon follows her out.

“I owe you a debt, for taking care of my daughter. Y/N is the world to me, as she is to you.” Rhaenyra says. “Know that as I walk this path to reclaim the throne, we do so hand in hand. We are one house, as our father so willed it.”

Aegon nods, “thank you.”

————————————————————————

Years ago, after the council meeting where Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent agreed to the terms of their children’s betrothal; King Viserys himself called for Prince Aegon and Princess Y/N in his quarters.

It is put plainly before them, what is expected. What this union is meant to do; ease the strain between their two families.

“Stand together.” The king insists.

Y/N and Aegon inch toward each other.

“This will be expected of you from now on. You are betrothed, you will act as such.”

“Yes, father.”

“Yes, grandsire.”

At dinners they sit together, during shared lessons, anytime they are in the same room.

Stand together.

The princess continues her training alongside Helaena while her brothers and her betrothed argue regularly. The boys only find common ground when teasing Aemond for not having a dragon.

Queen Alicent appreciates these childish games least of all and raises her concerns with the King.

It is Y/N, having the least to do with any of it, who is summoned by her grandsire and his wife.

“Come sit, darling girl.” Viserys smiles, guiding Y/N over to his model of Old Valyria.

She nods, “thank you, your grace.”

“How are you enjoying your studies?”

“Very well,” Y/N tells him.

“I am glad to hear it. Even the septa has nothing but good things to say. You will make a fine queen, my girl.”

Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. “It pleases me to hear you say this, Grandsire. I wish only to make you proud.”

Viserys takes her hand, “surely you understand that you are a reflection of your mother and myself, in your actions and your words.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N squeezes his fingers.

“The time has come for you to consider those whose actions reflect on you.”

“I do not understand.”

“He is referring to your brothers, who wreak havoc on the whole of us.” Alicent chimes in.

“Oh, Alicent.” Viserys waves her away, “they are boys yet. I meant our Aegon.”

“Aegon?” Alicent scoffs, “those are the actions that trouble you?”

“He will soon be a man grown and future king consort. If he is to marry my granddaughter, he must act with dignity and grace.”

“Do you not see the true issue, your grace?” Alicent demands.

“You asked me to speak with Rhaenyra’s children,” Viserys reminds her, “is this not Rhaenyra’s child?”

Alicent locks eyes with Y/N, she is so young, so eager to please her family. “This child is not the issue.”

“You are correct, dear wife.” The king grins, “she is the solution. Y/N, you will go to Aegon, say what you must to light a fire beneath him. So that he too might behave in a manor befitting his station. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Good,” Viserys releases her, “go now.”

Y/N stands, making her way to the door.

“See how easy that was?” Viserys turns to his wife, now standing with her back to him.

Y/N has some trouble locating the Prince, eventually she happens upon him on the stairs. “Prince Aegon,” she calls his attention.

The boy rolls his eyes at her. “Yes, my betrothed.”

“Might you walk with me to the gardens?”

“Do I have any choice?”

Y/N smirks, with a shake of her head. “No.”

“By all means, lead the way.” Aegon waves a hand, following her like an animal on a chain.

“The king and I had a rather illuminating conversation earlier.”

“And what did you discuss? How elated he is to seat you, a bastard, on the iron throne over me, his first born son?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

“No, though I am sure he will be ‘elated’ to hear that his first born son called me a bastard, in the middle of the garden, for everyone to hear.”

Aegon clears his throat, “I would not say it in front of anyone.”

"This place is crawling with vermin, their eyes and ears are upon us at all times."

"You mean to tell me we have rats?"

"Not everything can be taken so literally, my prince."

Aegon stares through her, every word going over his pretty blonde head.

"Look, there's your father now." Y/N points, "watching us from his balcony."

Aegon whips around, spotting the king.

"Smile and wave, let him believe we are having a grand time."

Aegon does as he's told, earning a nod from Viserys. "Are we not?"

True to his word, Aegon does not call her a bastard again, to her face or behind her back. When Aemond’s eye is lost, the truth of it comes out.

Y/N and Aegon begin moving closer, behind Aemond’s chair. Stand together. Perpetually closing the space between their two houses.

When Alicent scolds Aegon for not protecting his brother, Y/N is near enough to receive a second hand lashing by her tongue. And when his mother’s palm meets his cheek, in a stinging slap, his hair brushes Y/N’s skin.

“What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool.”

“The legitimacy of my children’s births were called loudly to question.” Rhaenyra informs the king. “Vile insults were levied against them.”

“What insults?” Viserys sneers.

“He called us bastards.” Jacaerys says.

“Where did you hear such things, boy?” The king demands of the injured prince.

Aemond is quiet then, not willing to tell the truth. He first heard it from his mother, long before his brother. But Aegon has said it, many a time, before he abruptly stopped. “It was Aegon.”

Viserys rounds the chair, to confront his eldest son, with his eyes cast downward.

By the gods, let this humiliation end swiftly.

“Aegon!”

Stand together.

Y/N must not abandon her post.

“Yes, father.”

“Is this true?”

“It is.” Aegon admits, “and I am sorry for it. I am the elder, I should not have poisoned Aemond’s mind with such hatred. Especially as…these allegations are untrue. It was my mistake, forgive me.”

King Viserys takes a step back, “the next tongue to question the parentage of Princess Rhaenyra’s children will be removed.”

Y/N lets out a shuttering breath, catching her grandsire’s attention.

He offers her a reassuring smile, after threatening to cut out his children’s tongues. It feels wrong to be treated so differently, standing inches apart.

When the preceding is at an end, and Rhaenyra’s blood has been split, Y/N goes to find Aegon. He is tucked in against the grand archway, drowning in cups. "I brought you more wine."

Aegon eyes her warily, accepting the glass, “and what do you want?"

"May I sit with you?"

"If you wish."

Y/N takes a seat on the cool, stone floor beside him. "Thank you, for saying what you did.”

"My mother did not appreciate it."

Y/N hesitates, "I know it is not my place, but I do not like when she strikes you. Perhaps I could discuss it with your father?”

"My father? Who loves me least of all his children?" Aegon shakes his head. "A lot of good that would do.”

"They should not treat you that way."

“You care for me," he realizes. The thought alone makes his stomach turn.

"Should I not?”

"I would not know how to care for you in return."

"You defended me, in front of both our families.” Y/N challenges. “If that is not caring for me, I don't know what is."

Aegon feels the weight of her head resting against his shoulder, and he does not pull away.

"I am sorry for what happened to Aemond. I hope he finds peace and swift healing."

"If it were either of your brothers who’d been maimed, my father would pluck out Aemond’s eye himself and present it to Rhaenyra on a platter. There is no peace in that.”

Aegon becomes fiercely protective of his brother after that.

Y/N does not fault him for it.

The debacle of Driftmark sets their nuptials back several years. The blacks and greens remain in negotiation until Aegon is twenty and one and Y/N is ten and eight. At which point, Viserys proclaims they must either marry before the moon turns, or end the engagement to free both their hands for marriage.

Reluctantly, they are bound before the eyes of thousands.

Stand together.

They recite traditional Valyrian vows, sealing their covenant in blood. Sharing a dance or two before being whisked away to consummate said marriage, as other members of the wedding party drink merrily in the grand hall.

————————————————————————-

“Are they gone?” Y/N asks, toying anxiously with her wedding ring.

“They have strict orders,” Aegon sighs, “the appointed members of council cannot leave until they’ve heard a proper consummation.” He climbs into bed with her, both fully dressed in their marriage attire.

“We best get to it then.” Y/N begins plucking pins from her hair. The tapestry of braids falling free.

“Unless you’d rather have a bit of fun.”

“How do you mean?”

Aegon grins, “we could pretend.”

“Really?”

“This marriage is ours, no one else’s. When I bed you that will be ours and no one else’s.”

Stand together.

“How would we-”

Aegon rises up on his knees, gripping the headboard. “I will do the heavy lifting. Just lie back and think of the crown.”

Y/N covers her face with both hands as he begins thrusting at the air. The springs beneath them groan and crackle.

Aegon peeks down at her to find a smile painted across her lips, despite her shielded eyes. “Let them hear you, sweetheart. Make it believable.”

Y/N nods, releasing a sound she imagines a person might make while exchanging intimacies.

“Not like that.” Aegon chuckles, “they’ll think I’m murdering you.”

“I do not know how.”

“Have you never touched yourself?” He breathes.

“Never.”

Gods, he’s going to enjoy her. “That’s alright,” he continues his movements to jostle the mattress. “Just do as I do.” Aegon lets his mouth fall open, releasing a low moan.

The sound that escapes Y/N in return is not entirely forced. It makes her belly burn with desire.

They continue on like this for a while before Aegon murmurs, “big finish.”

“So quickly?” Y/N’s brow furrows.

Aegon’s eyes flicker about her, “I can’t imagine it will take long.”

As the grand finale comes to a close, Aegon makes for his dagger. Slicing his finger at the tip and allowing blood to pool before dragging the crimson stain across the bed sheet. He strips it from the bed, walking it to the door. “Deliver this to her majesty the Queen. I know she is impatiently waiting.”

Y/N begins pacing, beside the bed.

“They are gone. We are alone.”

She nods, “thank you, Aegon. For all of it.”

————————————————————————-

When Aegon does eventually bed her, it is well worth the wait.

“By the gods, that is not going to fit inside me.”

Aegon huffs a laugh, “I promise it will, darling girl. We must prepare you first.”

“How,” Y/N squeals.

He hushes her, lying open mouthed kisses across her collarbones.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not if I can help it.” He plans to burying his face between her thighs and bring her to the heavens. But the sweet little thing wants only to be held, kissed. Aegon lies beside her, one hand stroking her dark hair, the other moving down to her breasts, kneading them gently.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes.

“As are you.” She pants, moving her lips against his.

Aegon chuckles, “flattery will get you places.” He rolls her nipple between his fingers, flicking over it with the pad of his thumb.

Her hips rise of their own accord, grinding herself against his entwined leg.

“Slowly, my darling.”

Y/N nods, kissing him again to distract herself from the building ache between her legs.

Feather light caresses trail down to her sex, collecting a bit of wetness and slipping a finger into her heat. Pumping slowly, getting her used to the sensation.

“That feels nice.” She breathes, tugging at his hair.

Aegon smiles, “can you take another?”

“Yes.”

Aegon adds a second digit, working her open, pushing a bit deeper to her sweet spot. His fingers curl against it, relishing her little gasps. The princess is close now.

“Ahh,” she grasps his forearm.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“I-”

“Don’t cry.” By the seven, she is gripping his fingers like a vise.

“I cannot help it.” Her thighs tremble in earnest now.

“That is your peak, darling girl. You’re alright, I promise.” He continues stroking, pressing the base of his hand flush with her swollen pearl, applying gentle pressure until she finds bliss. He pets at her hair as she cries out. “Good girl,” he coos, working her through the crest and bringing her back down.

“That was heavenly,” she sighs, steadying her breathing.

You are heavenly.

“Might we do it again?”

Aegon chuckles, “as many times as you’d like.”

————————————————————————

In the early days of their marriage, Aegon realizes that his wife has a nasty habit of bedding him and waiting until he finds sleep to sneak off. Holding after hours council with her mother.

The practice itself does not upset him, but this night, her absence is especially troubling, as they have been drinking since dinner. His sweet wife is not well versed in wine drinking. She laughed so hard she cried and then rode him to kingdom come.

Aegon tosses back the covers, pulling on his clothes and moving quickly through the halls of the keep. He rounds the nearest corridor, colliding with his wife, running at full speed. “Sweetheart?”

“I was looking for you,” Y/N smiles.

“Where have you been?”

“Well, I could not find sleep so I went to the maester to ask for a draft.”

“Then you’ve been to the maester?” Aegon holds her at arms length, searching for any sign of harm.

“I was on my way to the maester when I happened across one of the groundskeeper’s wives and we got to talking.” Y/N admits, with a hiccuping laugh.

“What could you possibly be talking about for over an hour?”

“Just about everything, she is a lovely woman.” Y/N tells him.

Aegon nods, with a patient smile.

“I might have stayed longer, but it came up in conversation…all the ways a woman might please her husband. And I could not wait to tell you.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon groans.

“The smallfolk share things in the marriage bed I’ve never even heard of.” Y/N muses. “She told me that, on occasion, she puts his cock between her breasts and he-”

“Who is this woman, my darling? Did you get a name?”

“I do not remember her name. I’ve been drinking.”

“I’m well aware,” Aegon’s face softens. “Next time you cannot find sleep, wake me instead.”

Y/N nods.

“In return, I will teach you all the things a husband and wife might do together. I will even demonstrate, should you find it necessary.”

“Oh, could you?” Y/N grabs for his hands, in excitement.

Aegon sighs, “you will be the death of me.”

She leaves him little notes each time after, when she must go to attend her family.

‘My dearest Aegon, I will return soon. I could not stand to wake you from such a peaceful slumber. Worry not, I will always return to you.’

And she does, after council meetings and late nights with her mother. She always returns.

————————————————————————

After a particularly long week, Aegon avoids Y/N purposely. Attempting to clear the room when he finds her there.

“Have I done something?” Y/N stops him.

Aegon shakes his head, “it has been a long day. I do not wish to burden you.”

“When you are upset you may come to me.”

Aegon fights the urge to pull away, to ignore her until she leaves.

“I will hold you.” It isn’t much, but it is all she knows. The way her mother comforts her.

Aegon says nothing, sitting down to bury his head in his hands.

Y/N sighs, winding her arms around his shoulders, feeling them begin to shake.

He reaches for her slowly, as if such comfort might burn him, or she would simply bat his hand away. She doesn’t of course, she allows him to bring her closer, now seated in his lap.

The princess says not a word as her husband works himself free of his breeches. Taking her small clothes and skirt aside.

“It helps,” he tells her. “You help.”

He goes to her then, when the day is long. When there is news to share, on occasion, just to say hello. He goes to her because he can.

————————————————————————-

During dinners at the Red Keep they whisper secrets and share hushed laughter. When he grows tired of that, Aegon’s fingers toy with her pretty little cunt beneath the table, to watch her squirm.

“I love you.” He confesses, meeting her gaze as she turns to him at the height of her pleasure.

Y/N bites down on the inside of her cheek, holding perfectly still as Aegon works her through her peak. Withdrawing his fingers and wiping them clean on the fabric of her skirts. “I love you.”

No one is the wiser. Save for Otto, who knows all; or rather likes to believe he does.

Gone is any hope that the blacks or greens might use their influence to sway the tides from one side to another. Y/N and Aegon belong to each other now, a danger in its own right.

News of the princess’s pregnancy sparks a joyous celebration throughout the realm, only to be outshone by news of the birth. Two perfect little girls. Twins, named Dahlia and Visera, respectively.

“They are perfect, my dearest love.” Aegon marvels when they are placed in his arms.

Y/N nods.

“Are you well?” He asks, swaying from side to side.

Whether from weariness or the question itself, Y/N bursts in to tears.

Aegon carefully gives his daughters over to the maids. Climbing onto the freshly dressed bed with Y/N to hold her, stroking dark locks. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“It was awful,” Y/N sobs, clutching at him.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Everyone was barking commands at me, trying to rush the babe out, even worse with the second and my mother was the one person speaking against it.”

“Oh, my darling girl.” He sighs.

“I was tired and frightened…and the pain is unimaginable. I do not wish to do it again.”

Aegon sways her gently, “I am so terribly sorry.”

“You are the only person I wanted and I could not h-have you.”

“We will deliver the next just the two of us, if it pleases you.” Aegon promises.

“Your mother will never allow that.”

“She will not know.” Aegon kisses her cheek.

Y/N pulls back just enough to see him. “If you’re certain.”

“I am. Calm yourself now, my only love. This is a day of happiness.” Aegon dries her tears, “I should like to soak up every moment here, with the three of you.”

Y/N nods, “I would like that very much.”

At the prince’s request, Visera and Dahlia are returned to them.

Aegon takes his second born, tracing the soft lines of her little face, committing them to memory. “Papa loves you.”

Y/N grins at the sight, her own finger clutched in her eldest daughter’s fist.

It comes as a shock to only Alicent when Dahlia Targaryen is named their heir; with her claim upheld by Viserys himself. Aegon does not need a son, his daughters are his legacy.

They attend small council meetings as they grow, with Dahlia seated on her grandsire’s lap.

“Mama,” Visera pounds at the table, drawing attention from the other seats.

“What is it, my darling girl?” Y/N hushes her, hoping to hear their current positions on livestock.

The little girl reaches for the ball again. “Please?”

“What is it she wants?” Aegon asks, from beside his wife, pecking kisses to his daughter’s outstretched hand.

“The ball.” Y/N whispers.

“Ahh,” Aegon smiles, taking his ball in hand and turning it over to Visera. “There we are.”

“You’ll spoil her rotten.”

“Just like her mother, hmm?” Aegon jests, “that is the goal.”

Y/N bites back a grin, passing a hand over her daughter’s light hair.

Their daughters celebrate their third name day before the princess is expecting again.

“There seems to be only one of you in there, I fear.” Aegon whispers to the child in Y/N’s belly, pressing kisses to her skin.

“You fear?” His wife smiles.

“You see, three is an odd number, this child will need a companion.” The prince reasons.

Y/N doesn’t argue, listening to Aegon speak with their unborn babe until she falls asleep.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s term is nearly complete when Aegon finds his wife, holding their wailing daughters in her arms. One on each side of her belly.

“What’s happened?” Aegon asks.

Y/N looks to him, “the girls were playing and Visera closed the door on Dahlia’s finger by mistake. Now they are both inconsolable.”

Aegon reaches for his eldest daughter, “let Papa see, which finger is hurt.”

“My little finger,” Dahlia cries, presenting the red, angry digit.

“That does look terrible painful, my dearest love.” Aegon says, after carefully examination.

“I must have the maester.”

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Aegon presses feather light kisses to her hand. “We need a cold compress is all.”

The maids rush out to fulfill his request.

Dahlia rests her head against her father’s shoulder as she waits, sniffling while he rubs circles into her back.

“See there, darling girl? Your sister is alright.” Y/N gentles Visera, who is feeling incredibly guilty.

“I did not mean to.”

“Of course not, my love.” Aegon says, “twas only an accident.”

The rest of their day is spent playing dolls and Aegon giving pony rides. Which, while ridiculous, does serve as a form of entertainment for Y/N who sits aside to watch.

She may give birth any day now and she feels every bit uncomfortable, still she welcomes Dahlia into her lap as she waits for her turn on Aegon, the noble steed.

“Trot,” Visera orders, with a smile across her face.

“Trot?” Aegon laughs, “shall I do tricks for you as well, your grace?”

Y/N shakes her head, locking eyes with her husband; she mouths a single word, “spoiled.” She kneads the ache in her lower back with her free hand. Ignoring it through supper and long after Dahlia and Visera are asleep.

Aegon notices the way she keeps clutching at it. “Perhaps a warm bath might help.”

“That would be nice,” she croaks out.

“Might it be your labors, darling girl?”

“It is all in my back,” she does not recall hardly any pain in her back, whilst laboring with the twins. “I must have pulled it.”

“The girls are getting bigger, perhaps it’s best if you do not lift them, in this condition.” Aegon kisses her cheek, dashing off to find a maid.

Y/N inhales, closing her eyes to the dull throbbing ache. Even the tub does not help, she climbs back into bed, hoping to sleep it off, but the pain only intensifies.

“This must be more than a muscle.” Aegon whispers, lying behind her. Continuing to knead her hips at her request.

“It is my labors.” My chokes out.

“You’re certain?”

Y/N nods, “my waters just broke.”

Aegon presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Is there anything I might do for you?”

She shakes her head. “Walking will help the babe come down, I must stand.”

Aegon springs from the bed, helping her upright.

“Fuck.” She hisses, beginning to pace their rooms.

Aegon follows, unsure what else to do.

She reaches out for him after a while, when the pain is so great all she wants is an ounce of comfort.

“I’m here.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms as she sways gently from side to side.

Y/N clings to her husband, breathing him in. Focusing her attention on the sweetness of his words, to distract herself from her labors. “I’ll need to push soon.”

“Of course,” Aegon’s done his best to prepare himself. Studying whatever books he could manage, without drawing attention from prying eyes. Highborn ladies do not have children delivered by their husbands.

Queen Alicent will be livid when she finds out, but it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Y/N climbs atop the bed, remaining modestly covered.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, my darling. I’ve seen your cunt a hundred times.” Aegon flips her nightgown up, positioning her legs apart, bent at the knee. “There we are.”

“This is different, surely.” Y/N bares down as her belly contracts.

“Yes and no,” he pats her thigh.

She keeps a firm grip on his hand, crying out despite her best efforts.

“Alright, that’s alright.” Aegon scrambles for something to muffle it. “Might this work?” His belt.

“Yes.” Y/N takes it from him, stuffing the leather strap into her mouth. She is not entirely silent, little whimpers escape, though not enough to alert the guards.

Aegon is patient, kind, whispering words of encouragement. He never rushes her, brushing his hands across her skin. “There you go, my dearest love.” He can see the child’s head now.

Her eyes water, gritting her teeth so tightly they ache.

“Breathe.”

Y/N draws in a breath through her nose, releasing it in a strangled manner, akin to a dying animal.

“Good girl,” Aegon is prepared to catch the infant.

The princess��s head falls back as the child emerges, connected to her by only the afterbirth.

“Slippery little fellow, aren’t you?” Aegon coos, holding his son in his arms.

The infant begins to wail.

“A boy?” Y/N pants, tossing the belt away to catch her breath.

“Yes, my darling girl.” Aegon grins, “how are you?”

There is still pain, there will always be pain, but it is largely outweighed by the image of Aegon holding their son. She bursts into tears, “I am well.”

“Oh dear,” he frowns, carefully maneuvering his newborn son. He lies the infant against her chest, leaning down to comfort her as best he can. “Was it not what you wanted?”

“It was better, my love.” Y/N assures him, counting their babe’s tiny fingers. “I am overjoyed.”

“Overjoyed,” Aegon huffs, clunking his forehead against hers. “Of course that is why you’re crying.”

The maesters come after a while, to be sure that Y/N and the babe are well. After receiving the all clear, they are finally able to rest. Waking early in the morn to present the newest member of their family.

Y/N is tired and sore, even now, lying abed doesn’t suit her. She sits upon a cushion, in a loose fitting gown, tracing the slope of her new babe’s nose. “Are you nearly ready, my love?”

“Nearly,” Aegon remarks. While fastening his breeches he discovers the shapes notched into his belt. He lets out a laugh.

“What is it?” Y/N smiles.

“Look,” he rounds the stool, jutting out his hips.

“Your cock?” The princess arches a brow. “I have seen it.”

“Here, darling girl.” He grins, tracing the outline of her indentations. “From your teeth.”

Her cheeks heat up, “you must take it off.”

“Take it off?” Aegon frowns, “this is a badge of honor. I will wear it day in and day out.”

“You are insufferable,” Y/N sighs.

Aegon pecks a kiss to her parted lips, silencing any protest and setting off to gather the rest of their children.

Y/N dearly misses her mother and brothers in Dragonstone.

————————————————————————

In the months after Laenor’s birth Y/N begins searching for a teacher willing to help her learn a skill most princesses never acquire. Leading her to seekout a man she never has before.

“I want to train by the sword.”

Aemond pauses his sparring practice. “Surely I misunderstand you, dear niece.”

“You are the best, I require a tutor.” Y/N puts it plainly.

“I must be, if you are asking me, of all people.”

“I will admit, you were not my first choice. But Aegon refuses to so much as raise a sword against me and my brothers never cared for knocking me down; where as you will have no qualms about it.”

Aemond smirks, “this is true.”

“I also thought it might be a way for you and I to come together…as family.”

Aemond squares his shoulders, “very well then. Take up your sword.”

The two of them have something in common at long last, until Princess Y/N falls pregnant again, some months later.

Viserys’ condition continues to deteriorate, it is unclear if he will survive to see Y/N and Aegon’s fourth child. As luck would have it, he is lucid when the Prince and Princess present their second son, Prince Aegon, fourth of his name.

“Well done, my girl.” The king manages.

Y/N smiles, “Aegon helped.”

“I should expect so,” Viserys laughs.

“I meant only that he too deserves a job well done.”

Viserys looks to her, as if seeing her for the first time. Then turning to his son he whispers, “well done, my boy.”

Aegon is taken aback, “thank you, father.”

————————————————————————

News of Lord Corlys Velaryon’s injury in the Step Stones brings forth Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to be named his brother’s successor over Lucerys.

This business, however unpleasant, brings Rhaenyra and her children back to King’s Landing.

“We were planning to visit in a few months time, after the babe was born.” Rhaenyra tells her daughter. “But it is always a joy to see you, darling girl.”

Y/N hugs her mother, tightly, “I’ve missed you.”

Rhaenyra strokes a hand over her daughter’s hair. “I have missed you terribly.”

King Viserys musters his last bit of strength to affirm his position for Lucerys and make known that his daughter, Rhaenyra, will always be the true heir to the throne.

They break bread, the blacks and greens together, once the petition is settled. Getting along for a time, until the king is taken back to his chambers to rest. A fight breaks out between Jace, Luce and Aemond, causing Rhaenyra’s untimely departure. She intends to return alone, on dragon back, after the children are settled at home.

Y/N finds sleep that night with a renewed sense of peace, waking to anything but.

Aegon is in an odd state of dress, as if he’s thrown clothes on in the dark. Pacing at the foot of their bed; muttering to himself.

“Aegon?” The princess rubs at her eyes, hoping to make sense of it.

“My father is dead.”

Y/N sucks in a breath.

“My mother and grandsire are gathering the smallfolk for my coronation, in the dragon pit.”

“Why? Alicent herself said that my mother would make a fine Queen only hours ago.”

“In the end it was my name Viserys spoke,” Aegon whispers. “To my mother, on his deathbed.”

Oh no, gods no. Viserys wouldn’t. “What exactly did he say?”

“It matters not, my dearest love. I intend to uphold your mother’s claim.”

“How?” By taking her throne?

“I know you do not trust my family, as well you shouldn’t. You know my heart, you know what I want. They are rushing into this because they know it is wrong. I have pleaded with them, to no avail.” Aegon says. “If it is a performance they demand, so that we might seize the crown to later unfuck this line of succession, it is a performance they will have.”

Y/N nods, pressing a hand to her chest, in a desperate attempt to settle her breathing.

“We’re going to wash you up and dress you in the finest gown the realm has ever seen. Then you are going to stand at my side as they bend the knee, to try it on for size. Think of it as preparation for the day you are crowned our true queen, after your mother has ruled for a great many years.”

Again she nods.

“Are you calm enough now or do you still need me?” Aegon asks, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

“I need you.”

Stand together.

————————————————————————

In nearly two days time the realm is divided, half of them devoted to Rhaenyra’s claim, the other half to Aegon’s. After Aegon is crowned, Otto Hightower continues to play his hand.

“What are we to do?” Y/N wonders.

“My mother sent Aemond to Storm’s End. Lord Baratheon was easily swayed by the promise of Daeron’s hand for one of his daughters.”

“That is good, is it not? An ally of ours is an ally of my mother’s, in time.”

“There is more,” Aegon admits, wringing his hands.

Y/N laces their fingers together instead, “speak it.”

“I wish so badly that I did not have to tell you.”

“Please, Aegon.” She insists.

“There was an incident.”

Y/N nods, urging him to continue.

“Between Aemond…and your brother Lucerys.”

“What?” Her eyes brim with tears, as though her heart already knows.

“Lucerys was there, delivering a message from your mother. Aemond followed him, on dragon back. I do not think Aemond meant to truly harm him.” Aegon watches the lone drop of moisture cascade over her cheek. “Lucerys is dead.”

The princess’s knees buckle and she falls, with pain in her chest is so great, her lungs cannot expand.

Aegon gentles her to the floor, into his lap as she sobs so violently it shakes the pair of them. There is nothing he can say, and so he holds her, until she has no tears left.

The next weeks drag on quite the same, they pretend for their children, but Y/N struggles.

She sits the small council meeting, listening to news of Rhaenyra’s blockade and its effect on the kingdom.

The doors push open, revealing Aemond.

Y/N nearly churns. Balling her hands so tightly into fists the nails break skin.

“The key to victory is through the Riverlands.” Aemond narrates, “we need to establish a toehold there, at Harrenhal.”

Y/N pushes away from the table, trembling with the force of her rage.

Aegon reaches for her, feeling his heart sink as she backs away, with both arms wrapped around herself. Trapped beneath the watchful eyes of the council. “My darling, I did not invite him here.”

“Tis true,” Aemond confirms, “I am here of my own volition.”

There is that, at least.

“Do you have something to say, my queen?”

Y/N’s back remains to Aemond, and the strategy board, “Prince Aemond is a traitor and a murderer, who deserves to swing in the streets for what he has done. Instead he attends meetings of the small council. It is clear I hold little value to any member of this court. I will not sit here and listen to this depravity.”

“Y/N.” Aegon rises from his seat, shifting between feet, anxiously.

“I am through, my king.”

Aegon recoils as if she’s slapped him.

“Unless you are commanding me to stay,” she replies, with venom in her voice.

“Of course not, my dearest love.”

Y/N exits the double doors, moving down the hall at record speed.

Aegon twirls the council ball between his fingers to settle his racing heart. This was once his father’s seat, where his children would sit, back when all was as it should be. Now his children are not welcome and his wife would sooner abandon ship than remain at his side. “Get out.” He says to his brother.

Aemond sighs.

“Get out!” Aegon slams his fist against the table, “from now on, you will make yourself scarce amongst these halls. If you happen across my wife, you will make haste in the opposite direction, she will not be forced to look upon your face again. Do you understand?”

Aemond bows his head, “as you wish, your grace.”

Y/N retreats to her children’s rooms, finding them empty. They must be in with Helaena’s twins again. She finds the six of them in Jaehaera’s room, playing together while Helaena sews her tapestry.

“How is it coming along?” Y/N asks, taking a seat beside her.

“Quite well.”

“Glad to hear it.” Y/N taps at her wedding ring, “do you find it relaxing? Mayhaps I should take up sewing.”

“I’m afraid.” Helaena says, setting her work aside.

“Of what?” Y/N cocks her head to the side.

“The rats.”

Y/N nods, hoping to understand. “What is it about them that frightens you?”

Helaena falls silent, a far off look in her eyes.

“I could look into them.” Y/N offers, instead. “The rats.”

Helaena blinks at her. “Would you?”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps with proper knowledge of their ways you need not fear them.”

Helaena smiles, “that would be nice.”

“I will head down to the library then, once the children are abed.”

After their baths, princess Y/N brushes through each of her children’s hair in turn. Her two year old son sits in her lap first. Laenor’s hair has wave to it, like Aegon’s. She twists a bit of it around her finger.

“Mama,” the little boy begins bouncing, impatiently.

“Yes, sweet boy?”

“All done,” he tells her.

Y/N huffs a laugh, squeezing him in a hug before releasing him, “off you go then.”

Laenor giggles, bounding away happily.

“Alright, my darling girls, who is next?”

Dahlia looks to Visera, who stares back at her, exclaiming in unison, “I am!” The pair comes charging at her, landing in the small space, side by side.

“My goodness, you have gotten so big.” Y/N groans as she repositions them. Taking turns swiping the bristles through their long, silver, hair before weaving in simple braids, one down each of their backs.

“Where is father?” Dahlia wonders.

Y/N swallows, “performing his duties.”

“What about us?” Visera asks.

“Your father loves you dearly,” Y/N kisses each of their heads. “He wants nothing more than to be with you. Sometimes there are things we must do, for the sake of the crown that require us to be parted from those we love, for a short while.”

The girls nod.

“One day, when you are grown, you will understand. In the meantime, please know that his heart is with you, always. He will never be far.”

Visera and Dahlia turn, holding their mother tight.

“I will see you on the morrow.” Y/N pats their backs, watching them take to their beds.

Her youngest child is brought to her last, wrapped in a silk blanket and wailing at the top of his lungs.

Y/N stands to collect him. “Now, now, my prince, what business do you have causing all that fuss?” Y/N coos at the babe in her arms.

Aegon the fourth quiets instantly, staring up at his mother while kicking his little legs.

“That’s what I thought.” Y/N remarks, sitting down in the arm chair to rock him to sleep. “You are so loved, my darling.” She strokes his dark hair and his tired eyes begin to close, “sweet dreams.”

With the prince safely abed, Y/N leaves the children in the care of their guards and maids, to see what books they might have about rats in the library. The selection is limited, of course, so she decides on a bound copy recounting the great plague. Its pages contain great detail about the little critters and their lives.

She finds herself more engrossed in it than she could have anticipated. The princess hardly hears her husband enter their rooms.

“What story is that now, my dearest love?” He asks, shucking off his boots.

“It’s a book about the plague.”

Part 5

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago @kaysav608 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @wolflover384 @jaydemon99 @minttea07 @lightdragonrayne @baybaybear1

[skzhocomments]

The Rising Empress (Bang Chan) - Chapter 6 - When You're on Your Own

General Masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Taglist: @vxllxnsworld

---

Chapter 6 - When You're on Your Own

Chapter word count: 5.5k words

“Mari,” Chris enters Aristia’s room after talking to the King for about an hour. “Where is the Empress?”

“She’s currently taking a bath, Your Majesty.” The maid bows. She still seems on edge, and she’s fidgeting.

“I see. Go in and let her know that I’m waiting for her.” Chris commands. He felt like he spent way too much time chatting with the King about nothing of importance while his mind was stuck on Aristia’s weird mannerisms when she left the room.

“I beg your pardon, but she asked that no one comes in-”

“It’s a command, Mari.” Chris counters, and the maid can’t do anything but nod and follow his orders.

Chris goes to the sofa to sit down. He immediately notices the golden crown of the Empress on the floor, and with a frown, he stands up to pick it up. However, not even a few seconds later, a blood-curdling scream alerts him that something is wrong, so he runs to the source immediately.

He enters the bathroom with haste and the first thing he sees is the maid frantically pulling Aristia out of the bathtub. The water is blood-red, and he is as alerted as the maid as he comes closer and sees the source of the blood: the Empress’ back.

The moment he sees all the cuts and bruises on her back, his insides begin boiling with anger. He helps the maid take her out of the water and cover her with a large white towel.

Aristia seems lethargic, and she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t focus her eyes on him or on the maid, and her body is so incredibly cold, he shivers to the touch.

Chris takes her in his arms while he commands the maid to get the doctor quickly, and he brings her to the bed, laying her down gently with her back up.

He is hesitant to pull the towel and uncover her, but he needs to do it to assess the damage the King has done. All the lacerations he sees are deep, and he wonders how many times he’s hit her.

Moments later, Hyunjin enters the room hastily, followed by Changbin, Lee Know, Jisung and Seungmin, and as they see the state the Empress is in, they become speechless.

“All of you, get out!” Chris commands harshly, and they don’t waste any time to offer them privacy.

Hyunjin carefully approaches the bed.

“This looks so painful… are you in a lot of pain, Your Highness?” He asks, almost in a whisper, but she fails to reply. “I will clean your wounds first, which will hurt, but afterwards I will apply a calming salve and bandage everything, and it will feel so much better, I promise.”

Chris watches from a distance how Hyunjin carefully cleans each and every cut with a clean cloth and water, and how every time the cloth touches her skin, Aristia winces in pain and whimpers, turning her head away so that no one sees her cry.

When he cleans the deeper wounds, she buries her head in the pillow and cries harder, clenching the sheets with her fists and shivering.

Hyunjin keeps a frown on his face the whole time, and in-between cleaning the wounds, he pauses briefly before breathing deeply and reassuring Aristia that everything will be alright. He sometimes tries asking her questions, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she focuses on holding her breaths, and on Hyunjin’s soothing voice, hoping it will take the pain away.

It takes a while until Hyunjin thoroughly cleans and disinfects every wound. When he’s done, he grabs his bag and pulls out a reverse cutting needle and some silk thread.

“There are some wounds that are in need of suture, Your Highness.” He informs Aristia.

“… Alright.” She whispers softly.

“I am truly sorry. I wish we could’ve numbed the area in some way so that you wouldn’t feel any pain.”

“Don’t worry. Thank you.” She replies in a voice just as soft as previously and grips the sheets again, even tighter than before.

Her knuckles turn white as she is waiting for Hyunjin to finish his work. He’s moving fast at least, and when he’s done, he applies the calming salve which cools down her back, the pain now a bit more bearable.

“I need you to sit up so I can bandage you…” He says and turns his back with a flush of his cheeks. Chris comes next to the bed and offers Aristia help, but she disregards him completely and sits up on her own, covering her chest with her right hand.

Hyunjin then turns around and bandages her whole upper body, walking Aristia through everything he’s doing.

“We will have to change these bandages every day, and when we do, we will reapply the salve for pain management.” He says. “It would be best to rest for the time being, to avoid reopening the wounds.”

“I see.” Aristia replies weakly, lying back down on the bed on her right side, facing away from Chris and Hyunjin.

She is growing more and more depressed and hopeless with each passing moment, and she doesn’t understand why she should fight to be alive when everyone wants her gone.

“Then, we’ll let you rest.” Chris says and shows Hyunjin outside. Before he steps out the door, he hears her start speaking weakly.

“How were you planning to get rid of me? Kill me somehow? Maybe poison?”

“What?” Chris turns around, shocked.

“If so, just hand it over now. Slip it in my tea in front of my eyes and I’ll drink it gladly.”

He shakes his head even if she is not able to see him, and leaves without another word.

~

“How bad is it, Jinnie?” Chris asks, his eyes darkened. “Will it scar?”

“I’m afraid so. Especially the bigger ones. She has so many faded marks on her back, I wonder how many times she’s been through this.”

“I can’t believe her own father would do something like that… That bastard.”

“Yeah… it must be so painful. I feel sorry for her.”

“Mhm. Thanks for treating her, Jinnie. I’ll count on you to make her better.”

Hyunjin leaves with a short bow and Chan turns around to see Lee Know and Changbin staring at him.

“What’s up?”

“Your Majesty…” Changbin starts with a long breath. “… What happened to her?”

“As you might have heard from my conversation with Hyunjin, it appears her father is not only a monster to us, but to his own daughter as well.”

Lee Know lets his head fall down, while Changbin clenches his fists.

“What are you going to do about this?” Lee Know asks.

“Nothing.” Chan shrugs. “War might break out if we-”

“Your Majesty!” Changbin exclaims loudly, getting into Chan’s face, and Lee Know begins pulling him back.

From the corner of his right eye, Chris spots someone, so he signals him to come.

“Your Highness, I apologise for my lowly behaviour.” Aristia’s guard gets down on his knees and bows low.

“I bet you are, you fucking coward-” Changbin starts, wanting nothing more than to punch the guard square in the face. However, Lee Know pulls him back once more, and Chris begins talking.

“Enough. Lee Know, Changbin, go send the King’s guards away and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. He’s caused enough problems for today. And you,” he turns to the guard, “get up and guard Aristia. Let no one enter the room besides her maid, Hyunjin or I. Is that clear?”

Changbin bites his tongue back. He wants to ask Chris how he can trust that man to take care of her, when he’s abandoned her so conveniently earlier, but he can’t cross him in front of a subordinate, so he holds back.

~

The next morning, Chris visits Aristia and has breakfast with her. He tries to initiate small talk, to talk to her about anything, but her eyes are unfocused, and she’s not even touching the fork. Her shoulders are slouched, she looks tired, and she’s extremely pallid.

“Is the food not to your liking?” He asks with a worried face, but she doesn’t even look at him. In their brief interactions, she’s always challenged him, but now… it’s like that light sparkling in her eyes has faded away, and any fight she had in her is gone.

Although he comes back for lunch and dinner, the scene repeats itself, and he’s getting worried. Maybe he should let Felix see her, after all, and that might make her feel better.

He sits down at her desk and waits for her to fall asleep, the storm within his chest ravishing everything inside of him, and he feels utterly powerless faced with this situation.

What should he do?

What is the best course of action?

He didn’t want to make any decisions the previous night, when his anger was fresh, but now, he knows he has to do something. All the muscles in his body are screaming at him to go knock some sense into the King, but he can’t be rash.

Chris is deep in thought when he hears Aristia’s even breathing, and he knows she’s finally fallen asleep. He stands up, and then he sees the drawers of her desks and remembers something.

Carefully, he pulls out a small golden key from his pocket. He found it in the King’s room, the chain tied to it broken, and he picked it up and was meaning to return it to the Empress. He puts it on the desk, on top of a library pass he’s issued with her name on it, and then glances once more at the drawers.

“She keeps them locked in her drawers and carries the key at all times around her neck.” He remembers her maid saying, and he gets curious.

What type of stories are you writing? He wonders, glancing up to the sleeping girl, and decides to invade her privacy one more time. He unlocks the drawer as quietly as he can, taking out the first few papers he sees, and begins reading.

He reads of marvellous adventures in fantasy lands, of strong and bright individuals who bring change wherever they go. Every character in her stories is blessed with a strong light inside of them that shines brightly, with remarkable skills that help them overcome every difficult predicament.

Chris looks one more time at Aristia as he puts everything back in the drawer and leaves the key on the table. He realises that she always seemed to have that fighting spirit of her characters in her before, but now, she looks completely defeated.

It all becomes clear now. Even if he disregarded her as his bride, his behaviour towards her has been completely unwarranted. The moment she stepped foot in the Empire and married him, she was no longer part of the Kingdom. She became one of his people, and he’s failed to protect her.

He’s failed as the Emperor, and he’s not one bit better than her father, the King of the South.

However, there is still time to amend, time to do something to help her heal the pain in her heart, and he lets the boiling anger consume him for the first time in his life.

~

Huh… did I fall asleep? Aristia opens her eyes slowly and glances around the room. No one is sitting at her desk anymore, and she wonders when the Emperor decided to leave.

It’s a struggle to get up, for her empty stomach hurts and she’s nauseous, but she does it either way and tries her hardest to not wince in pain with every step she takes. Her back hurts again, the calming effect of the salve long gone hours ago.

There are no stars in the sky tonight; the sky is grey, covered in rain clouds she is only able to see due to the thunders that light everything up every now and then.

As she steps away from the balcony and approaches her desk, she notices the glimmer of her key, and she instinctively pats around her neck, only to find it’s missing.

She hasn’t even noticed it’s been missing, that’s how out of it she’s been ever since she got beaten black and blue by her father.

Next to the key, a small card that reads Library pass – Empress in golden letters glistens in the dim light of her room.

She almost wants to laugh.

She’s been begging for this for months, and only now is the Emperor generous enough to offer her the one thing she’s asked for.

Right, the Emperor.

Aristia realises that she needs to come to terms with the fact that she’s on her own, that the Emperor doesn’t and won’t give a shit about her, nor will anyone else. That’s why she’s been treated so badly her whole life. That’s what apparently happens when you’re on your own: people step on you, and you can’t do anything about it.

No one loves her.

Not even her father - her own family. The same father who hit her mercilessly for years.

She can’t believe that not even the highest title in the Empire a woman could attain was able to protect her from her father. Nothing is able to protect her. The only person who could… doesn’t care about her to do so.

She remembers how she felt when her father was hitting her, how the realisation that no one would come cut her deeper than any blade, and she figures it out, finally. She must accept once and for all that she is on her own, and that no one will ever protect her. No one.

Yes, that’s right. She knows that now.

She only has herself. She can only count on herself, and no one else will ever love her.

The only one who can save her is herself, and she has a cruel realisation: she is faced with only two choices:

One, she has to accept this merciless destiny. She will never be more than a puppet everyone easily discards as soon as they are tired playing with her, and she will suffer greatly. First, by her father’s hands, and soon enough, by her husband’s, who’s been probably planning her demise ever since he sent that marriage proposal to the Kingdom.

Or two… she takes up arms and she gets revenge on everyone who’s ever wronged her. But how? In order to do so, she needs power.

Power? She starts laughing out loud like a mad woman. Why would she even need that to stand up to her father? It would be so easy to get rid of him, if only it wouldn’t start a war.

War? She laughs again, as a sudden realisation rushes over her, as if all her feelings disappeared, but the seething anger deep in her soul.

Screw everyone else. Screw the Kingdom, screw the Empire, screw her husband, and more than anything, screw her father.

He doesn’t deserve to see the light of tomorrow’s day.

It’s like a light bulb turns on in Aristia’s head, and she no longer cares about anything.

Peace? The people of this Empire? The people of the Kingdom?

Who cares about any of that?

No one was fucking there when she needed them to protect her, so why would she protect them?

She gets out of her room and startles her guard, who immediately gets on his knees and apologises.

“Stand up.” She commands, and as soon as he does, she extends her hand towards him.

Confused, the guard looks at her with a slight tilt of his head.

“Your sword.” She looks directly at his scabbard, and he instantly puts his hand on it, as if protectively.

“Your Majesty… you wouldn’t…” The guard starts, his eyes getting watery, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m not going to slain you, although you deserve nothing less.” She smiles insincerely.

“Then… what do you wish to do with this sword?”

“How dare you question me?” She lets out a horrifying chuckle, and once their eyes meet, the guard freezes in his spot. “After how cowardly you’ve acted, the least you can do is follow my commands without barking back.”

As soon as the words leave her lips, the guard bows and pulls out his sword, giving it to her.

“Good boy. Now, stay here and don’t make any sound. Wait for your master to come back, like a good dog would.”

She starts walking towards the guest rooms, dragging the sword after her on the marble floors.

It’s way heavier than she imagined, and her body is extremely weak. Still, she will definitely be able to wield it against her drunk father’s throat in his sleep. That much she can do.

Once she reaches his door, she’s surprised to see Lee Know and Changbin in front of it. Her gaze drops, but still, she is their Empress, and they must obey her.

“Good evening.” She smiles sombrely.

“Your Highness, what are you doing here at this hour?” Changbin asks, his eyes wide as he sees Aristia in a white, almost see-through nightgown, dragging the sword with her left hand.

“I could ask you the same.” She answers. “Is my father inside?”

“Yes, he is.”

Lee Know eyes her sharply but doesn’t say a word.

“Changbin, open the door, will you? I want to have a little chat with my father.”

“Your Highness, you are carrying a sword-” he starts, but Lee Know puts his hand on Changbin’s chest and stops him from talking.

With a slight bow, Lee Know opens the doors, and as soon as Aristia is able to see inside, her eyes grow wide.

“DAUGHTER! MY DAUGHTER! YOU’VE COME TO SPARE ME!” The King screams and begins crawling towards her, leaving a blood trail under him.

His right hand is cut off, and he’s desperately clenching a dagger with his left hand, but he looks ridiculous and small. The absurdity of the situation almost makes her laugh again, as she can’t believe she’s been scared of this little, pathetic man.

On the big armchair right next to the King, Chris is cleaning off his sword with an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, you came too?” He asks Aristia, who’s staring in shock at the sight. “Ah, look at this worm crawling and dirtying my floors. Tsk.” He says with disgust and stands up from the chair, stepping on the King’s back to stop him from moving any further.

“You little…” The King starts, but Chris just shakes his head.

“I hope you were not trying to touch my precious wife again, were you?”

“I really… didn’t know… you have a good… relationship. You didn’t even… sleep with her…”

“How is that any of your concern? How dare you hurt your own daughter, hm?” He steps on his back with more force, and the King starts coughing. Then, he steps on his hand and forces him to let go of the dagger.

“I… I’m so sorry, Aristia. My daughter. I was wrong. Forgive me.”

“Tsk. Not even a please? It’s your life at stake, King. Still hanging onto that useless pride?” Chris mocks, then looks at Aristia and chuckles. “Besides, look at your precious daughter, she was ready to come and end your pathetic life herself.”

As he says this, Aristia’s sword falls out of her hand and slams on the marble floors. The sound it makes rings in her head repeatedly, even seconds after.

“Want to give him the final blow? Here, take this, it’s way lighter than that sword.” He hands her the small dagger on the floor, and as she picks it up, she notices it’s stained with blood.

“Why are you doing this?” She asks Chris, looking into his dark eyes.

“Why?” He tilts his head. “He dared hurt my wife, the Empress of this Empire, in her own home, at that! Do you think he deserves any mercy?”

“Your wife…?” Aristia hugs herself and looks away. She doesn’t want her heart to flutter, or to feel anything but disgust. These are mere words, and Chris is just putting on a show in front of her father.

“Mhm. My wife.” He replies quietly and brushes his fingers against her cheek. They stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments before the King’s groans distract them.

“Please…” he begs. “I beg of you, spare me this one time…”

“Give me one reason not to kill you. One convincing enough for both me and the Empress.”

“War… war will break out if I die.”

“I assume both of us were already aware of that possibility when we decided to come to your room tonight.” Chris grins. “Not good enough.”

He grabs Aristia’s hand and puts his fingers on the dagger, silently conveying that if she doesn’t want to do it herself, she doesn’t have to. She slowly lets go of the dagger and lets it fall in Chan’s hands, but as he turns around, she grabs his wrist to stop him.

He looks back at her and he’s expecting to see weakness or hesitation, but instead, he’s met with the most burning pair of eyes he’s ever seen before. She bends down and grabs the sword that’s fallen from her hands moments prior and channels up all her force to deliver one final blow right through her father’s chest.

He’s dead.

He’s finally dead.

~

Chris escorts Aristia back to her room in silence. Her anxiety is slowly rising in her chest.

What if this is exactly what he wanted – for her to kill her father, so that he has a reason to drive her away, to murder her with no repercussions?

That way, he’d get rid of the King as well, putting all the blame on her. He’d send her back to the Kingdom where she’d be executed for treason, which would give him enough time to put his hands on the emerald mine.

All his enemies, gone at once.

Did I fall right in his trap? Aristia bites her nails, a bad habit showing her nervousness. They taste like blood.

But… how would’ve Chris known I decided to kill my father?

He couldn’t have.

“Well, then, you should get changed and rest well.” Chris says once they reach Aristia’s room and turns around to leave. “And you-” he looks at her guard that’s kneeling down in front of the door, “-stand up. This is unsightly.”

She grabs his wrist to stop him.

“Can you… come in?”

“What for?”

“I need to talk to you…”

Confused, he nods and follows her inside. They both stand awkwardly in front of the sofa, unsure if they should sit down, and the sight is quite gruesome, as they are both covered in the King’s blood.

“What is it you want to tell me?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Are you… planning to kill me?” She replies with a blunt question. There’s no point in beating around the bush.

“No.” He denies immediately. “Not anymore.”

“Then, to send me back?”

“After you’ve just killed your father?” Chris chuckles coldly.

“You’d get rid of me easily.” She says quietly, forcing the words out of her mouth. Frankly, she is scared she’s given him the idea if he hadn’t thought of it already.

“I won’t send you back.” He answers just as quietly.

“I see.”

Silence befalls them once more for a few short moments, while Aristia tries to make sense of Chan’s conflicting actions. He hasn’t paid her any mind until now, but ever since he found out that her father beat her, his behaviour towards her changed drastically.

“Well, if there’s nothing else-”

“This will start a war.” She cuts him off, and they stare at each other again.

“I know.”

“So then, why? You married me to avoid the war, and now…”

“Weren’t you ready to start one yourself, Aristia?” He asks, and it’s the first time she’s ever heard him say her name. Her heart flutters again, despite her inner protests.

“The Empire… has never once protected me, so… I decided I don’t care to protect it either.” She looks away after the confession, aware of the implications behind her words.

“Fair enough.”

“… What?” She asks with confusion, looking back at him. She didn’t expect him to agree with her motives.

“You heard me. Although I doubt you don’t care about the people.” He averts his gaze briefly. “I also had a selfish reason for visiting the King tonight.”

“… Care to elaborate?”

“When I saw the state you were in… I just couldn’t let this pass. It’s the least I owe you as your husband.”

“My husband.” She chuckles bitterly. “You’ve never once been a husband to me, Chris.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t.”

She involuntarily holds her hands together, keeping her fingers as tight as possible in her hold, so as not to fidget. She breathes in and holds her breath, which is somewhat relaxing.

It helps her stop any unwanted thoughts, and she wishes she were underwater.

“Although it might not be my place to tell you this… Aristia, don’t let anyone harm that spark in you. Not the Empire, not your father, not me… It’s all you’ve got, and it’s far too beautiful to let it fade away. Stay strong, be true to your title as the Empress.”

With these words, Chris starts walking towards the door, before turning around for the last time.

“Felix will eat with us starting tomorrow morning. I can’t keep him away from you any longer.”

“What about-”

“Don’t worry about the war. We will be prepared.” He cuts her off and nods assuringly, before opening the door.

Aristia doesn’t know how to feel about this short talk with Chris. She puts her right hand on her chest and feels her heart beating abnormally fast, realising that tonight, Chris has acknowledged her as his wife and the Empress for the first time.

“Wait!” She exclaims and follows him in a rush, bumping her palm against the door and closing it again.

Chris turns around and looks at her, and in the slight glimmer coming from outside, what he notices the most is the burning in her eyes. It’s back, stronger than ever before, and he’s relieved to see something familiar on her face, instead of the dreadful emptiness in her expression.

His heart skips a beat.

“Yes?”

“There are a few things… I still want to tell you.”

Chris nods and waits for her to speak. Her back is on fire again, she feels like crying, but she chokes back the sobs and doesn’t allow them to pass between her lips.

“I want Changbin to be my personal guard.”

“Changbin?” Chris widens his eyes in surprise. “Why?”

“I trust him.”

“… I will think about it.”

“My father’s army… I know a lot about it... Just enough to lead you to victory with the fewest losses.”

Chris widens his eyes again. This information would be crucial for a good outcome of the upcoming war, and he wants to hear more.

“What do you know about it?” He wants to thread carefully, but he doesn’t realise the Empress is just as cautious.

She chuckles briefly.

“Should I simply tell you? What’s in it for me? You confessed to planning to kill me mere minutes ago.”

“And I also added that I’m not planning it anymore, if I recall correctly.”

“Maybe not with your own hands, but everyone in this Empire hates me, including your two advisors who are probably plotting my demise right as we speak.”

“I guarantee you nothing will happen to you. I give you my word.”

“How much does your word weigh, though?” Aristia scoffs. “You vowed during our wedding to love, cherish, and protect me no matter what. So far, none of your vows were respected. You said it yourself. You were never a husband to me.”

“Neither were yours. In sickness and in health, I will stand by your side. With all that I am and all that I have, I pledge my loyalty and my love to you.” Chris scoffs as well.

“You didn’t give me any chance to get close to you. You’ve put up your barriers and thought of me as your enemy since day one.” She comes closer to him.

“I had no idea we shared an enemy instead, Aristia. Truly. I thought you were a spy.”

“You didn’t even ask me anything. You dead bolted me.”

“How could I have trusted you? You are the daughter of my enemy.” Chris frowns.

“I don’t know. How can I trust you now, then? You are a man who hates me for simply being born as a princess of the enemy kingdom.”

“… I assume you can’t.”

“Why did you marry me, anyway?” Aristia scoffs again, but quickly shakes her head and begins talking again. “My father tried to prevent me all my life from living outside of my room’s walls. What he couldn’t do, though, was make me stay away from interesting things and become knowledgeable in lots of different areas.”

“You did mention you read a lot about the sugar canes…”

“A mere 15-year-old girl should have no business knowing everything about a Kingdom’s military strategy. But I did. After my father beat me till I bled and left me on the floor barely conscious, I heard the commander of his troops and him talking. For years, this has been at least a monthly occurrence, Chris. They thought I couldn’t hear them, and that even if I did hear them, that I wasn’t smart enough to know what they meant anyway.”

Chris looks away briefly before letting his eyes fall back on Aristia’s.

“But if I was blessed with something, it was intelligence. I know everything about my father’s military, all about their strategies, the approximate number of soldiers they have, how they plan to strike back in case you attack them for the emerald mine. It’s valuable information to you and to the Empire, and I’m willing to share it with you.”

“…What do you want in return, then? If my word that you’ll be safe from now on is not enough…” He shifts, which causes them to be even closer.

His eyes get stuck on hers as he sees that bright burning once more, and he involuntarily moves his right hand, resting it on her neck. To his surprise, she leans into his touch.

“I want to be a proper Empress. I want power. I want you to let me do my job, because I’m rotting away here, and I honestly can’t do it anymore.”

“I gave you a library pass, though. You can get right back to your passion for books.”

“That library pass might’ve made the foolish woman that only cared to lead a quiet life away from the world’s gaze somewhat happy. But you see, Chris?”

She raises her right hand, touching the blood-stained gold emblems of the Empire embroidered on his shirt. She rubs it with her thumb, watching it get back its shine, reflecting her image.

For the first time in her life, she feels confident, even though she’s in front of the most powerful man on the continent. She is surprised to find his eyes no longer holding contempt at the sight of her. Instead, they seem fascinated.

Their proximity is close enough to feel each other’s breaths. Their eyes are silently fighting, their lips are so close, they’re almost touching, and Aristia’s hand lays comfortably on Chan’s broad chest.

“Months ago, it would’ve been enough. But for the woman I am today, it falls short. I am sick and tired of being a fake, a replaceable thing in the Empire’s eyes. Either make me a true Empress and use my help, or go fight this war completely blinded and lose all the men you have. For all I care, you and the Empire can go straight to hell. I have no reason to protect any of you anymore.”

With these harsh words, Aristia separates herself from Chris and turns around, signalling that she said everything she wanted, but he is not willing to let it go like this. He grabs her wrist and turns her around, pulling her body into his, and keeps her close.

His right hand finds her neck again, and lifting her head, she notices they are even closer than before, which she didn’t think was possible.

“What use do I have of you as my Empress, hm?” Chris whispers, cupping her left cheek with his hand. “My advisors are good enough in handling the bookkeeping and the budget, as well as managing the staff and making sure they look out for any suspicious patterns in the noble’s activities. With such competent people, what would I do with you?”

“And here I thought the military tactics of your most powerful enemy is enough.”

“What you’re saying is, you want the Empress’ duties as your reward for trading information with me?” Chris chuckles. “You really are clever, I’m gonna give you that.”

“I’d say you should decide quickly. You won’t be able to hide my father’s death for long.” Aristia continues challenging Chris, but if she was able to keep strong so far, her body is now giving up on her.

The pain in her back is once again unbearable, and the fact that she hasn’t eaten in days is making itself known in the weakness she feels. Her knees are almost giving out.

She has to keep strong for only a few more moments.

It’s getting hard to breathe. It’s suffocating, even. And who thought keeping your eyes open would be so difficult?

She instinctively raises her hands to grab onto Chris as her body is finally succumbing to darkness, and she falls unconscious.

Chris is quick to take her in his arms, picking her up.

“You’re all talk.” He chuckles softly.

He couldn’t deny the newfound admiration for her. She demanded something from him, confronted him, and even proved she could be useful to him.

He was willing to give in to her demands from the moment she mentioned she wanted to be a real Empress, but it was fun to keep her engaged, to challenge her some more.

If only he realised how weak she still is, he would’ve not pushed her as hard tonight.

Still, perhaps it was better that she collapsed. It would force her to finally get the rest she so desperately needs.

~

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Okay I know a lot about your cod fics but please please please tell me more about the Witcher one

From the WIP Ask Game

Ah, The Witcher! The fandom I was in before Call of Duty. If you've never read any of @inexplicifics writings, I highly recommend... all of it! But especially the Accidental Warlord and His Pack. This is a fanfiction of that fanfiction, a love letter to the best version of Eskel (in my opinion).

This scene takes place in the fanon hot springs beneath Kear Morhen. Sidah is a succubus who has come as an envoy to open negotiations between non-human, sentient monsters (Incubi, Vampires, Weres, etc) and the Warlord of the North. She and Eskel... knew... each other once.

CW: Public bathing, public sex (not described), my inability to skip to the smut without chapters of context

“Long day, Right Hand?”

The man gives a low chuckle. “You’ve thrown a bit of a loop into everything. Didn’t think we’d have to deal with non-human leadership outside of the elves and the dwarves.”

“We would hardly be doing ourselves any favors by drawing the attention of a warlord, let alone one leading every school of witchers,” Sidah laughs back. “After this, we will keep ourselves quiet again.”

“Oh, no, the Wolf is definitely interested in keeping ties,” Eskel says. “Our spymaster is actually insisting on it.”

Sidah hums to herself and kicks her legs a bit. “I suppose that’s reasonable. The mages are would like to engage in exchange of materials and skills.”

“Materials?”

“Blood, and other things,” Sidah says easily. “For help with potential healing salves and potions. Maybe even something to help manage a frenzied vampire or shifter.”

Eskel grunts, but says nothing. Sidah leaves him be, tips her own head back against the lip of the pool. For a time, they float there, in the relative silence of the springs. Somewhere, someone splashes quietly in on of the human safe pools. There is a couple in another pool having sex - Sidah feels their coupling caress against her awareness and shoos it away.

Eventually, Eskel says, “It is good to see you again.”

Sidah tips her head down to find the witcher’s amber eyes on her. She lets the thrill of it flow down her spine. Eskel’s eyes do not hold the same intense scrutiny, the weight of kings and gods, the way the Warlord’s do. But they know her, and look at her, into her eyes, like she has his whole attention.

“I confess,” Sidah answers quietly, “The climb up the mountain was made easier by knowing that you would be at the end.”

Eskel laughs a bit at that, and crosses the pool to sit closer. “Did I leave such an impression?”

Sidah smiles and closes her eyes. “Not many have sated me and been eager to continue.”

“How many?” Eskel taunts.

“Only you,” Sidah says easily, tipping her head to look into his eyes. “Only you, Eskel.”

“I did miss how you say my name,” he whispers as he leans in.

Sidah sighs into his mouth when their lips meet. The memory of the last time they kissed, over fifty years ago, had been something she held close to herself. It pales in comparison to the actual experience. His kiss hasn’t changed much. His lips are soft, bigger than those of many nords. His scars add just the little bit of texture that keeps his mouth from being too soft. He kisses her so maddeningly slow. His tongue flicks over the seam of her lips and she opens to him easily. He hums his satisfaction.

He also pulls away, too soon.

Sidah blinks her eyes open, lets herself drift backwards. Eskel’s eyes are considering, now, hot but guarded. His lust is warmer than the pool around them.

“Last we saw each other, I was on the path, alone.”

“And I was on the verge of death,” Sidah chuckles. “We’ve changed a lot, you and I and the world.”

“Yes.” He hesitates. “I’m not alone now.”

“You have the Warlord, and the consort,” Sidah agrees. “Jaskier wrote Sunlit Lover for you.”

“It was always Geralt,” Eskel says. “Last we spoke, you asked me who has my heart. It was him, it still is. And now there’s Jaskier.”

They’re both quiet for long moments. Sidah traces her eyes over his face and waits.

He breaks the silence again with a soft laugh. “I’m really not sure what to do now. I’ve spoken to both of them. They’re both pleased that I’ve… that we’ve…”

It’s easy to cup his cheek in her hand and sit up in the water to press her forehead to his. “You don’t turn your heart easily, nor your mind. I’m in no rush.”

[firstelevens]

from the prompt list: 21 and Sam/Bucky ✨

21. you come and pick me up, no headlights

For a second, when Sam wakes up, he can’t remember where he is. He’s the kind of disoriented that only comes from sleeping deeply and for way longer than you’re supposed to, a little over-warm under the covers and still fuzzy on the details of the room around him.

It comes to him in pieces: the bed is perfectly firm and the sheets are comfortable the way hotel bedcovers never are. The room is cool and dark, and the pillow beside his carries the familiar scent of too-fancy haircare products. Sam presses his face into it for a moment, not quite ready to be awake but not tired enough to go back to sleep.

He’s back in Delacroix, he realizes belatedly. He’s back in his own house, in his own bed, after a mission that felt like it had gone on forever and didn’t feel finished even after he’d signed the last piece of paperwork. Being home is always a relief, but never more so than when a mission reminds him of all the things that he still can’t do, even as Captain America.

Memories of last night slowly filter in the more he wakes up: flying in on the quinjet with aching shoulders and a worrying tightness in his knee, and dreading the hour long drive to a house that would be empty, thanks to Thunderbolts business taking Bucky from Louisiana before Sam had left for his own mission.

When they’d touched down, Sam had barely managed to avoid stumbling off the jet, shield and wingpack in one hand and duffel in the other. As he picked out the shape of his truck in the distance, he spared a second to be grateful for Carlos, who’d offered to drop it off earlier so Sam wouldn’t have to wait on a ride after he landed.

He’d almost made it to the driver’s side door before getting the shock of his life, nearly dropping his bags as the supposedly-empty truck started up with a growl. Sam had been tired enough to think of that one Stephen King book and wonder if this wasn’t revenge for the new cars he had test driven last week, but the headlights weren’t on, and he seemed to remember something about those being kind of important for an evil car.

It was in the middle of that slightly delirious train of thought that the door had opened to reveal Bucky, who was out of the cab and already loading Sam’s bags into the bed of the truck before Sam had fully processed what was happening. He’d gone without protest when Bucky had chivvied him into the passenger seat, fully intent on asking when Bucky had gotten home and instead immediately knocking out once the engine started up.

Sam can’t quite remember getting home or making it into bed—there was a bath in there, maybe, and a cup of tea when he’d refused food—but he knows enough to be sure that he’d fallen asleep with Bucky’s arms around him, his face tucked against Sam’s shoulder blade. 

The other side of the bed is cold now, but Sam can hear Bucky making a ruckus down in the kitchen, utensils clinking as he talks animatedly to…someone. If they’re answering him, Sam can’t make out the voice. It’s a phone call, probably.

He drags himself out of bed, rolling his shoulders as he stands and noting with surprise that yesterday’s aches haven’t lingered as much as he expected them to. He puts a little pressure on his knee just to test it, braced for the twinges of pain that he’d felt for the entire quinjet ride, but at worst, it’s just a little stiff, and even that dissipates with some stretching.

Absently, Sam rubs at the spot on his lower back that always hurts after a long day with the wings on and finds that that feels better, too. He’s confused until he spots the little jar of muscle salve that Bucky always grabs when they’re in Wakanda, some kind of superpowered Tiger Balm that he usually rations between visits in case his shoulder flares up. Sam makes a note to tell Shuri that they’re running low so that Bucky doesn’t have to go without.

He just needs coffee, he decides, and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some. When Sam gets to the landing, he stops for a second. He just means to listen to the sounds of home for a second: birds chirping outside and Alpine playing with whatever her latest bell-and-sparkly-tinsel toy is and Bucky clattering around the kitchen, fussing with the newest recipe that he’s been taught by the circle of parish grandmas, all of whom are technically younger than him. (Sam would be hard pressed to admit it, but watching Bucky and Miss Irene and Miss Letty commiserate over how terrible powdered eggs were back in the forties ranks among the top ten cutest things he’s ever seen.)

It’s Bucky’s voice that stops Sam in his tracks, carrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Over the years, Sam has heard the Brooklyn accent peek through from time to time, rearing its head when Bucky’s tired or he’s spent a couple days around someone who hits their vowels the same way. In all that time, he can’t think of a moment when he’s heard it this thick, sweet and almost crooning.

He’s so distracted by the accent that Sam doesn’t even think about who Bucky might be addressing, transfixed by how much younger he sounds, how much lighter his words are.

“Did you do that all by yourself?” he’s asking. “You’re so smart, bubs. I didn’t realize we had a prodigy on our hands.”

Sam frowns, trying to figure out who Bucky could possibly be talking to. The most obvious choice would be Alpine, except she’s curled up in the sun at the foot of the stairs, and while both Sam and Bucky tend to baby her, he’s not sure either of them would shower her with praise for doing the exact thing that she spends roughly fifty percent of her time doing.

(Okay, maybe they both would do that, but Alpine is out here with Sam and not in the kitchen with Bucky, so this can’t be about her.)

As if in direct answer to Sam’s unspoken question, a baby’s laugh sounds from the kitchen, giggles rising in pitch until Bucky is shushing them, and now Sam is only more confused.

Where on earth did Bucky get a baby? Does it have to do with the Thunderbolts? Is that why he came home earlier than expected from his mission? That makes sense, honestly. Sam’s met Val; if there were a choice between leaving a baby with her or a literal tiger, he might seriously consider the tiger. 

“Take it easy, huh?” Bucky says, as the baby coos at him. “We can’t have you tiring yourself out, can we? How’re you gonna charm everyone at the park today if you’re napping?”

There’s a pause for the babble that the baby offers in response, and Bucky hums thoughtfully at the end of it.

“That’s a good point; you probably could charm them all even if you were sleeping,” he says. “Like I told your Ma, you’re too cute for your own good. You gotta learn to use that power responsibly.”

The baby babbles again, punctuated by another shriek of laughter. Sam stops spinning out baby acquisition scenarios to appreciate how adorable it is that Bucky is talking to this literal infant like they’re having a full blown conversation.

“Come on, kiddo,” says Bucky. “I thought we had a deal. You don’t wake up Sam while he sleeps off this mission and I play peekaboo with you until my arms fall asleep.”

“Bah!” is the baby’s emphatic response, and Sam’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but Bucky is.

“Oh, yes we did. We shook on it.”

A gurgle, and then another laugh.

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, I shook on it and you just tried to eat my left hand. Still. That’s a gentleman’s agreement.”

Sam muffles a laugh behind his hand, and the sound is apparently enough to disrupt Alpine’s time in the sun. She casts an imperious look back at him before curling up in her spot again, having sufficiently expressed her distaste. Sam wonders if her mood has anything to do with the fact that Bucky’s attention has been claimed by a different adorable someone, and confirms his theory by sitting down on the stairs and waiting her out as he listens to the conversation in the kitchen.

The step squeaks under him, but he’s pretty sure he gets some cover from the baby yelling, “Buh!” and clapping excitedly.

Alpine startles at the noise and gives Sam a look like, Are you seeing this right now? He shrugs at her in a way that he hopes is commiserating, and she responds with a flat stare that she unquestionably picked up from Bucky.

From the kitchen, Sam hears Bucky say, warm and encouraging, “Yeah, that is a bird. You want to go look at the birdfeeder?”

The baby makes another noise that must be a yes. Alpine, now probably offended by the baby and the talk of birds, has begun a stately prowl up the stairs. Sam avoids looking at her as she makes her way up, but immediately offers chin scratches when she settles in his lap.

There’s a running commentary on the birds at the feeder now, finally giving Bucky a use for all the bird facts he picked up while helping Cass with that project on local ecosystems last month. 

“That’s a goldfinch,” he’s explaining, and the baby lets out a soft ooh at whatever the bird is doing. “Uh-huh, he’s real pretty, right?”

Alpine curls up more comfortably in Sam’s lap, and he rests his head against the railing and lets Bucky’s voice wash over him, comforting the way it always is, even when they’re arguing over something stupid.

“You see that one over there on the railing? All showy with the blue and white? That’s a blue jay. Sam likes those, but there’s this red finch that’s his favorite.” He pauses for what Sam assumes is more baby babble. “You, too, huh? Yeah, I guess they’re nice. Not my favorite, though.”

The baby must make an inquisitive noise, because then Bucky’s humming thoughtfully.

“I’m trusting you not to tell anyone, okay? This is top secret stuff.” The baby gurgles and that seems like reassurance enough, because Bucky goes on to say, “All these years and my favorite bird is still Sam.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. At some point, that joke is going to get old, he’s sure, but as far as Bucky’s concerned, it hasn’t happened yet.

“I know, I know,” Bucky’s saying. “But the first time I saw him fly, he literally knocked me off my feet. That sort of thing tends to leave an impression.”

More cooing from the baby.

“Yeah, okay, so I’m a little biased,” says Bucky, and punctuates it by blowing a raspberry that sends delighted giggles carrying through the house. “But you’ve never seen him fly. He’s nice to look at all the time, but when he’s up in the air? It’s like he was born to be up there. There’s nothing better.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Sam’s heart too full to even think of a quippy response.

“He really is beautiful,” Bucky says, completely sincere, and the part of Sam that hasn’t completely turned to mush feels a little bit guilty for eavesdropping on Bucky like this. The feeling immediately dissipates when Bucky adds, a little bit louder, “It almost makes up for how bad he is at sneaking around his own house.”

Sam looks down at Alpine. “This is your fault,” he tells her as she looks up at him. “I was just trying to figure out if your dad had stolen a baby. I would’ve been like a ghost if I hadn’t sat down to pet you.”

There’s a snort from Bucky, who appears in the doorway to the kitchen with a curly-haired baby on his hip. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“I will,” says Sam. In his lap, Alpine perks up as soon as she hears Bucky’s voice, then rears back at the sight of the baby. They watch her hop off of Sam and flounce her way into the family room, probably in search of Fig. “So are you gonna explain where this baby came from or…?”

“I’m not sure I have time for an entire birds and the bees talk right now,” Bucky says, blinking at Sam as innocently as possible. “I’d offer to give you the highlights but I think Jordan’s a little young to hear all that.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” says Sam, as he takes the last couple of steps moves towards the kitchen. He smiles at the baby, holding a finger out for him to grip. “Hi, Jordan. You have fun birdwatching with Bucky?”

Jordan looks at Sam, wide-eyed at the sound of his own name, and grabs onto Sam’s hand before turning to Bucky with a beatific if gummy smile.

“Did you say hi to Sam?” Bucky asks, tickling Jordan’s stomach and making him giggle. “Did you tell him you like blue jays, too?”

There’s something about the way that Bucky moves with a baby in his arms, swaying and bouncing just the right amount, alert but not tense. He’s confident anytime they’re out in the field, and time in Delacroix has helped him shake off the shyness and hesitation that colored his earliest visits here, but there’s an element of this that goes beyond that. It seems instinctive, somehow.

Sam has the mildly embarrassing thought that he could watch it for a while and not get bored, and decides not to test how obvious this inclination is by coming up with a distraction. “I’m starving,” he says. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Got a little distracted when Miss Letty showed up with this one,” he says. “And he keeps touching my left hand, so I didn’t want the metal heating up near the stove.”

“If I make breakfast, you think you and your co-pilot over there can handle putting on some coffee for us? Is there a stroller or something that we can put him in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Bucky, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Juggling a kid and making breakfast?” asks Sam, as he pulls eggs and milk out of the fridge. “Who are you, June Cleaver?”

“You know I don’t know who that is.”

Sam just shrugs, letting Bucky have the out if he wants it, and gets a mixing bowl from the cabinet so he can start making pancake batter. After a few moments of working in relative silence—Jordan is still as chatty as ever, and Bucky keeps up his end of the conversation—the coffee maker starts burbling, and Sam feels Bucky come up to stand beside him, his chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as he peers into the mixing bowl.

It’s like waiting Alpine out on the stairs earlier. Sam keeps working, measuring out his flour and whisking in baking powder and salt. Bucky nudges the carton of eggs over before Sam has to reach for them, and he just hums in acknowledgment when Sam thanks him.

“Evie went through a phase,” is what he finally says, when the batter is nearly done. “Right after Rose was born, when she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore. Any time she saw Ma holding the new baby, she’d want to be held, too. I got real good at juggling a two year old in one arm and whatever I needed to get done in the other. Then Ma went back to work, and I would sit up with Rosie when her colic got bad, walk her around the apartment until she calmed down enough to sleep.”

Sam can picture it perfectly: teenaged Bucky, still growing into the dashing good looks that were memorialized in all the textbooks, but with the same sense of duty that would keep him at Steve’s side years later, soothing tears and finishing fights in the same afternoon. There are so many skills that Bucky carries that Sam has watched him struggle with, not knowing whether HYDRA put them there or why he might have needed them. He can’t help but feel relieved that Bucky also gets to keep this, too, this muscle memory that belongs wholly to the person he was before tragedy could touch him.

It’s rare for Bucky to talk about his childhood at all, between the gaps in his memory and the grief over what he’s lost. As a rule, Sam tries not to make a big deal out of it when it happens, so in spite of how full his heart feels, he just leans into Bucky’s warmth, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away.

“Sounds like they were lucky to have you,” Sam murmurs.

“Yeah, maybe,” says Bucky, sniffing a little. “I guess so.”

“They were,” says Sam, more firmly this time. “Trust me. I know the feeling.”

He has the sense that Bucky’s about to argue, but then Jordan cuts him off with another well-timed, “Bah!”

“See?” Sam says, pointing at Jordan. “You have to listen to us. You’re outnumbered.”

Bucky lets out a gusty sigh, looking down at Jordan, who just coos at him. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

“He saw a better deal and he took it,” says Sam. “Sorry, baby.”

“Fine,” grouses Bucky. “I’m conceding, but I’m gonna be persnickety about it.”

“You can be as persnickety as you want, as long as you know I’m right,” says Sam, carrying the bowl of batter to the stove.

“In that case, if I tell you that you’re right again, will you add those pralines we bought to the pancakes?”

“I’m above flattery, Barnes,” he says, but now he’s thinking about brown sugar and pecan caramelizing against the pan and it sounds delicious. “But yeah, maybe.”

Bucky sets a coffee mug on the counter in front of him and steals a kiss. “Chocolate chips, too?”

“Don’t push it,” says Sam, but he’s already turning to grab the Toll House bag from the pantry, and he can’t even be that annoyed about it when Bucky crows about his victory.

It’s good to be home, he thinks, and throws a chocolate chip at Bucky’s head for good measure.

[weministertomonsters]

Minotaur-Demon Hybrid (Andolin)

Charlotte hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and the crowd roared curses and encouragement and everything in between. She was too winded to get up immediately.

I'm fine, nothing is broken, she decided as she took stock of herself. But gods be damned, she was exhausted.

"Charlotte," a warm, laughing voice boomed above her.

She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter despite the sand in her eye, but if she thought that would deter her opponent, she was wrong. 

"Do you submit?" He shouted.

The crowd settled into a hush, awaiting her answer. Charlotte gritted her teeth and yelled to be heard by the people.

"I submit!"

A good half of the crowd groaned because they would be going home with lighter pockets. Charlotte had been the reigning champion for a surprisingly long time, and now this buffoon had wandered in not more than a week ago and taken her title in just one match. Humiliating.

"Need a hand?" He asked and her eyes flew open.

The minotaur hybrid was leaning over her, ears pricked with interest. If he stood any closer, she'd be able to see all the way up his thighs and right under his loincloth. Charlotte sprang up, smacking his hand away.

"I'm fine!" She snapped and took a deep breath, steadying herself against the wall as the world spun. "I'm fine," she repeated, before limping out of the arena.

At least she hadn't gone easy on him either, and that was what she consoled herself with as she bathed and smoothed a minty salve over tender spots on her body. She brushed her hair out and put it up in a bun, before going to face the music. As soon as she stepped into the main room where the fighters spent their free time, she was overwhelmed by the others as they crowded around her.

"Own up, Charlotte," Midara the siren said in her melodic voice, her red mouth grinning.

"Yeah, no one forgot about the bet you made!" Eldin, the veteran lycan added, eyes gleaming.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I didn't think I'd lose when I made the bet," she said defensively. "Andolin is freakishly strong."

"So are you going back on your word?" Midara asked, adding slyly, "That's rather unlike you."

"No," Charlotte snapped, "I'll never hear the end of it if I do."

She turned and strode back into the hallway.

"Have fun!" Midara cheekily called after her, and Charlotte tossed a rude gesture back at her.

She found Andolin in his chamber lounging on his bed, leafing through a book. She leaned in the doorway and waited for him to notice her. He didn't, not until a slight breeze brought her scent over to him. He lowered the book and looked at her.

"You can read?" She asked. 

He tossed his head. "Minotaur's can't read, is that it?"

"Relax," she said. "I'm not poking at you. I never learned to read myself."

"What are you doing here?" He said, putting the book on a small table by the bed.

"I made a bet," she said, inviting herself in. "If I lost the match today, I'd fuck you."

Andolin blinked and his nose twitched. Not the reaction she'd been expecting.

"So I heard. Ballsy move by the way. What if I say no?" He asked flippantly.

"Are you going to?" Charlotte crossed her arms. "Because I'd like to fuck."

His eyes widened with shock at her blunt words. 

"You know, I was under the impression that you hated me."

"I just don't like how easy it is for you to best me, in the training ring and during the matches," she replied, stepping closer and reaching out to touch his face. "I don't like losing."

"Yes, that's obvious," he said in reply, turning his head to nuzzle his soft nose against her palm.

He shifted on the bed to make room for her. She stepped out of her shoes and lowered herself beside him. For a moment they sat there and breathed the same air and Charlotte could feel his hesitance. Did he doubt her ability to hold up the bet, or was he second-guessing himself?

"You know it's up to you-" She began to say, and he put a hand against her chest and pushed.

She tipped backward on the soft mattress, a small puff of air escaping her lips in surprise. Her cheeks grew hot as she looked up at him through her eyelashes.

I'm doing this because of the bet, she reminded herself. That's all.

This demon-minotaur hybrid was handsome, with red-spotted skin and impressive, curling horns. He possessed no wings, but he did have a spiked tail and claws that a minotaur certainly wouldn't have. And those red eyes of his! When he was in the middle of a match, they certainly did look demonic.

Charlotte had to admit she was curious. What was his story, and who had he been before he joined the arena? She had heard rumors that he had grown up an orphan.

She waited with her legs pressed lightly together. He had a look on his face; the expression of one who had never expected to get so lucky. That was often the case with creatures like him. Only a courageous soul would approach a minotaur's bed because most people couldn't handle having their insides nearly rearranged. But she liked a challenge and a little pain. Still, he was staring like it was a miracle. Maybe he'd forgotten this was a bet; she probably wouldn't have otherwise.

She covered her scoff with a small laugh. 

"I can undress if it will help," she said, slipping her shoulder strap down.

"No. It's fine," he said thickly, even as his eyes lingered on the bare curve of her shoulder. 

"It's fine," he repeated with a soft, heady sigh. "I don't want to trouble you any further."

Oh, you hesitant thing, she wanted to tell him. You're more than worthy of that.

She did rather like her lovers to let her take the lead. And with strong ones who could easily best her as Andolin had done, it satisfied her to ruin them in the bedroom. In all things, she always wanted to come out on top. She got on her knees, took his scruffy face in her hands, and kissed him tenderly.

It took him a moment to process the fact that she wasn't rushing to get this over with. It made him gasp quietly. He had an old knick of a scar on his cheekbone and another across his eyebrow, jagged and thick. His breath hitched when she kissed them.

"I must admit I like men like you," she whispered. "You're strong until you aren't..."

Her hands skimmed up his arms, fingertips caressing the muscles there that were rock hard to the touch. Always tense, always ready to defend. She could assume he had lived a life of fighting and fleeing and probably be right.

"So powerful, and yet so scared," she hummed and touched the bandage on his arm where she had gotten a good cut in earlier.

"Does it hurt?" She asked.

"Nah, all my blood is flowing elsewhere," he said cheekily, and she smirked and reached up to his horn.

She knew it was sensitive and tugged brutally anyway. His head was forced to tip back, baring his neck, which she nuzzled at.

"Fuck," he said throatily.

They knelt on his bed, facing one another. Still, he had barely touched her, as if he was afraid that she was too delicate, that he would crush her. Had he already forgotten her resilience when she faced him in the arena? She explored him with soft lips and the teasing press of her teeth. He trembled under her touch, his hands flexing against his thighs. She was certain that like this, she could devour him whole. 

She had to remind herself not to get carried away.

"Can I touch you?" He asked, eyes like pools of crimson lava, framed by soft, fluttery eyelashes.

The fact that he had asked first thrilled her in a way she hadn't felt before.

"No," she said. "Not until I say you may."

She took his bulky shoulders in her hands and pushed him back. He wouldn't have gone if he didn't feel like it, they both knew that. As it was, he played along and let himself be pliable for her, lying flat on the mattress. She tugged on the ties of his loincloth, which wasn't doing much to cover him any more. 

"Let's get this off." She said.

He lifted his hips for her, and she removed the article of clothing, so he was completely bare for her.

"You get excited easily," she commented, scraping her nails lightly over his thighs, watching his body shudder.

His cock was an interesting sight to behold. Heavy and ash-black, with dusky pink spots. His balls looked full and round. Because of his mixed race, he was huge down here too. Charlotte doubted herself for a moment, but she wasn't one to give up without trying.

She took him in her hand and he grunted, his hips flexing in response. Admirably, he didn't touch her,  opting to clutch at the sheets instead, huffing when she sat up and peeled off her clothes anyway, despite his earlier wish not to bother her. Charlotte wasted no time and straddled his hips, looking down at him.

"Are you sure?" Andolin blinked up at her sweetly.

She leaned over to the floor to get the small bottle of oil she had brought with her, grinning. She scooted lower on his thighs so that she could let the oil drip onto his cock, using her hand to spread it from head to base, then back up again, savoring the hardness of him. His precum leaked against her fingers and he moaned.

"Listen to that," Charlotte said. "The Champion sounds like a little bitch in bed."

His ears pricked and he quivered.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He said and yelped when she tightened her grip on him. "Fuck, I take that back."

"Don't gloat, I'm nowhere near done with you yet," she said.

When she deemed his cock to be as slippery as she could get it, she raised herself and teased the flared head against her wet pussy. 

That part alone will be a challenge to fit in, she mused, rolling her hips as she worked him against her clit.

"Charlotte," Andolin whined impatiently, desperate and maybe a little sulky.

She finally pressed him to her center and lowered.  There was a minute resistance, and his cock popped into her. She paused and sucked in a breath.

"Gods, I already feel full," she muttered, planting her hands on Andolin's chest to balance herself.

Andolin shivered, straining not to thrust into her. The white of his eyes showed as he pressed his head back against the pillow, his horns scraping against the headboard. Charlotte smirked and took him into her gradually, her glee giving way to awe at the way he filled her. 

"Okay," she panted when there were only a few inches left that couldn't fit into her. "You can touch me now."

Andolin pulled her close and kissed her deeply, rumbling in his throat as one of his hands clasped her hip and pulled her up gently, before pressing her back down. The other toyed with her nipple, cupping her breast. Charlotte moaned and squirmed when his cock reached her limit. She almost asked him to wait and give her more time to adjust, but she liked this a little too much to care. He drew back, only to push in again.

"Ah, you bastard," Charlotte sputtered, dizzy from the pleasure that was delivered with a hint of pain, a balance that was just enough to keep her from going completely dumb.

He pulled her in close, so they were face to face as he drove into her. He stared up at her, his pupils blown with lust. The bed squeaked ominously but neither of them could be bothered. Charlotte grabbed ahold of one of his horns to anchor herself and he snarled, quickening his pace.

"Gods," she whimpered, her head falling against his chest, nearly limp from the pleasure.

So this was what she had been missing out on these past few months. How had she forgotten just how good it could feel?

"Charlotte," Andolin hissed, his hands kneading her hips. "Fuck, Charlotte. I'm going to come. Do you want me to- should I..."

"Inside me," she instructed. "I want to have all of you inside me."

"Are you protected?" He asked, burying his nose in her hair and pulling her close as he thrust up into her.

"Yes," she responded breathlessly. "Can't risk it in a place like this."

He grunted in agreement. She braced her hands against the mattress and tilted her hips so that each thrust stimulated her clit. She shuddered and came with a loud cry half the arena could probably hear, and she would pay for that later. But right now, she could do nothing but focus on her pleasure, lacing her fingers with Andolin's as her body squeezed tight around him. 

With a great snort and a jerky thrust, he spilled inside her. There was so much of it that it seeped out of her and dripped against his furry thighs. More of it dripped when she began to laugh.

"If I wasn't drinking prevention potions each month, this would surely make me pregnant," she said, finally flopping on her back bonelessly beside him, her heart racing.

For a moment, they lay quietly together, and then Charlotte remembered that he was reigning Champion now, and staying too long might make it seem like she was bribing him to go easy on her, or something like that. Rumors got around easily. She began to sit, but he nudged her back down.

"Let me get you something to clean up with first," he said softly. "I'm not your enemy, Charlotte."

She smiled and plucked at a loose thread on the bedsheets. 

"I know," she replied.

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

The closer the moon, the stronger the magic. That simple phrase was something his fellows had often whispered in his ears as far back as the first Becoming. And there was truth to it, Mistoffelees supposed. He never felt as at peace with himself in this body as he did while bathed in the full bellied moonlight on the slated roofs of the city. There was a brief sense of satisfactory quiet that would come alongside its light that he looked forward to, as though - for a brief moment - he weren't failing in every aspect of the word. The quiet was a salve, of sorts; a chance to regroup and perhaps even attempt his rest.

"I had a feeling I'd find you up here."

Or at least it had been a chance.

"You really must stop sneaking up on me, Rum Tum Tugger," Mistoffelees deadpans, feeling a twisted sort of satisfaction at the annoyance he feels radiating from the other at the use of his full title. "Lest you wish to be sautéed."

"Ha ha, that's so funny," the other tom mutters in return, slinking forward to sit just within Mistoffelees' personal bubble of space, seemingly ignoring the way he was being watched. Mistoffelees observes that, despite his boldness and constant envelope pushing, even Tugger knew to draw a line somewhere. "I only serve well stuffed and basted, you know."

Seems, however, he was still learning where that appropriate somewhere was. 

The Maine Coon sighs as his "joke" (that's what he calls them: jokes, even when they are not amusing or proper) falls flat on its face - not even a cracked smile. He resigns to pulling at the chains that decorate his collar, but he keeps staring at the other tom, as though trying to puzzle out the misaligned tilt of his melting features. "And, please, stop calling me Rum Tum Tugger."

"Why?" Mistoffelees asks, feigning innocence, of all things. It feels strange, fizzing under the roof of his mouth, as if it knew it didn't belong anywhere near his tongue. "It is your name, is it not?"

"No," Tugger counters, too quickly it seems, as he immediately scrambles to correct himself. Mistoffelees takes careful note of this. "I mean yes it is, but it's for, like, when I'm in trouble, or being superficially adored, not…"

Mistoffelees also notes how he trails off, but more specifically where he trails off. Much to his nature, however, he cares very little to pursue the issue. For now, at least. 

"Anyway, Mr. Mistoffelees," he continues, nonplussed, flopping to his belly. "Why are you here?"

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes, the whites slightly too prominent in the glow of the moon. "In the end, why are any of us here?"

Tugger's nose wrinkles. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I know it?" This liberal misplaced innocence in his damned mouth is beginning to numb the skin of his teeth, but he must admit it was amusing to counter his annoyance. He deserves it - a treat, if he may be so bold, for being stuck in this place.

Tugger does not continue his childish retort, as expected. Instead, he continues his critical deconstruction of the side of Mistoffelees' paper thin skull. "You remind me of my dad."

Mistoffelees feels himself frowning before he can stop it. Not so much offended as he is…confused at the change in direction. "How so?"

"You both speak in riddles so you can avoid actually talking about things." He says this plainly, as though the observation was obvious. Mistoffelees suddenly feels…uneasy.

"I see."

Tugger grins, full and even, free of any previous irritation. That was one thing about The Rum Tum Tugger: he did not dwell on anything too long. A flaw or an admirable trait, Mistoffelees was still figuring. "Trying to get me to learn my own lessons, are you?"

"The beast who is burned does not approach the flame twice," Mistoffelees recites, feeling the empty words rattle in their cliché. "Would you not prefer to come to your own conclusions independently rather than rely on another's distorted perspective?"

"It's just nice to get a straight answer every once in a while, isn't it?"

And that was another thing about The Rum Tum Tugger - he composed symphonies from singular notes; gave infinite information with one sentence. Managed to nail the simplest of points down with such precision, he might have made a decent archer in a past life.

Mistoffelees ponders this. Teach the beast and he will flee. Feed the beast and he will come back. 

It slices a touch too close to the bone for his tastes.

"So," Tugger tries again, cutting through his thoughts. "What's going on with you?"

Mistoffelees turns fully to the other tom, peering at him from the depths below. "What are you doing, Tugger?"

"I'm trying," Tugger says, deliberately dragging his words, looking at him directly in the eye…unafraid. "To get you to open up."

"For what purpose?"

Tugger falters slightly at the question, but he plunders on. He is unused to being questioned; little prince. "Because I want to get to know you better."

"I think," Mistoffelees counters coolly, feeling a spark beginning at the base of his neck. "You are trying to satiate a curiosity."

"Maybe." Tugger shrugs. "But I think you want to be known, don't you?"

Mistoffelees' spine stiffens suddenly, the spark becoming a full, indignant crackle. "That is a very bold assumption to make."

"Is it?" He counters, drawing to his full height, full of the devil, staring down at him. Tugger smiles impishly at the ear twitch Mistoffelees cannot quite suppress. "I can play this game too, sparkles."

The two toms stay in their lock of wills, laced tight by a single, unflinching thread, and there is a sudden…weight in the air that hadn't been present before.  Tugger looks…determined and expectant. Predatory, almost, in his size and the glint in his eye. Every instinct in his borrowed body tells him to look away, break the bond, reshift the balance, but his mind betrays him. Something else betrays him. 

The quiet comes back, but it is no longer restful as it was before.

"What if," Mistoffelees manages at last, voice oddly strained, as though he were pulling it up from a well. "When you manage to…'open me up', you do not like what you see?"

The other tom's adamant face freezes just a moment, too quick to be noticed by any regular cat, but Mistoffelees sees it, lingers on it as the genuineness of emotion bleeds into the easier, softer expression that replaces it. Surprise, wariness even. But still, no fear - not a single trace of it. If only you knew. "Then I'd say you have the right to sauté me, then."

There is a foreign pressure deep within the cavern of his body at the answer. He does not recognize it; he has not felt this in centuries - millennia, possibly.  "I do not believe you understand what you are asking for."

"Listen." Tugger licks his lip, rocking back on his haunches so he shrinks again, non-threatening, and the thread snaps. Mistoffelees lowers his tail cautiously. 

"I know you think I'm…I don't know, irresponsible with myself - everyone else thinks so," Tugger says evenly, carefully avoiding what he thinks of the admission. "And you'd be right, but I promise you, I'm a big tom, I can handle myself. If I asked it's because I want to know - how bad could it be?"

Bad, bad, very bad. You will never look at me the same.

And there it was - that relentless sincerity, glittering in his dark eyes again. 

Why do I care? What am I doing? a tiny voice wails in his ear. What am I doing?

"Very well," his traitor's tongue betrays its own master. "What would you know of me?"

For the first time in their conversation, Tugger casts his gaze downward, looking, a moment, almost shy; overwhelmed by the offer. It would be charming, he thinks, if it did not feel so…horrid in his chest cavity. He would file that away for future consideration. "I don't know…honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far."

Mistoffelees hmphs, the unrelenting heat and heaviness of the moment cooling enough that he was able to regain a semblance of his bearings about him. Typical Tugger. 

"Maybe…” Tugger scrunches up his muzzle in thought. “Where were you born?"

Mistoffelees looks away at last, and it seems like an eternity passes until he speaks again, sitting under the steadily fading moon. He prays, as close as he could get, that the other would not live to regret this. That he would not live to regret this.

"Perhaps," he begins softly, nearly - Tugger's betraying mind whispers - with affection. "You may want to start with something simpler."

"Like?"

"Where were you when the world began?"

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

AemondxAegonxFemOC

All Chapters Here!

Chapter 11

The sound of shuffling footsteps had been the first thing Viserra heard the next morning. Opening her eyes she found her two chambermaids scurrying about, one carrying a bucket to fill the bath and the other just a few feet away with a cup of tea in her hands.

“Good morning M’lady, I hope that you found sleep easy.” Cassella greeted her with a smile while gesturing towards the steaming drink, “I have brought the tea you requested from the maester this morning.”

Slowly scooting herself up in bed, Viserra hugged the furs around her body. She then took a look at the tea, before looking back at Cassella. “What is it?” She questioned already having a hunch on what was in the brew. It was uncommon for her to be presented with tea in the morning and she assumed that it had been sent with a specific purpose.

“I am not sure, but I was told that it was important to get it to you first thing upon waking. Was it not your request?” She asked again, cocking her head to the side and waiting for her answer.

Viserra took the cup of tea into her hands and brought it up to her nose. The light floral scent was pleasant but it was almost overpowered by one that smelled of mint. She suspected that this was a tansy tea of sorts, one that would prevent any unwanted consequences from the night before. Putting it to her lips, she took a small sip to confirm it was what she thought it to be.

“Thank you Cassella,” she smiled. Her eyes then wandered to Elia, who was on her way out of the room to fetch another bucket of hot water, “I do not remember requesting a bath this morning either. Is it safe to assume that someone has requested my presence?”

Cassella nodded, watching Viserra continue to sip on the tea as if she was taking note of its consumption. “Yes M’lady. The King has requested everyone to break fast together in the dining hall. I thought that we would have the bath ready for you upon waking so as to hasten your arrival.”

Viserra nodded at the chambermaid and set the cup aside. The taste of the tea wasn’t terribly unpleasant, but she felt like she had to choke down the brew on her empty stomach. “Of course,” she stated while pulling herself to stand, still hugging the furs around her body.

Following her to the bathing room, Cassella gathered soap and oils from a small box and a larger bath blanket for after. Viserra dropped the fur from around her body and went to step into the bath, finding that the heat of the water instantly soothed her sore parts.

Letting herself sink down into the steaming water she watched as Elia came in with the last bucket to fill the tub. The chambermaid knelt at her back, reaching for the soap and quickly getting started on helping her bathe. As soon as she lifted the hair off of Viserra’s neck, she spotted the bruises laid neatly where her neck and shoulder met.

“Oh Gods, what has happened?” Elia exclaimed as the other chambermaid came over to see what the commotion was about. Cassella took one look at Viserra’s neck and let out a snicker.

“Shall I go to the maester and find a salve for the marks, M’lady?” She asked quietly, “Elia, let the lady be and finish with her hair.” She watched as Elia looked wide eyed at her and back to the fresh bruises.

“I am quite alright, Elia,” she smiled at the girl’s unknowingness and looked back at Cassella, “A salve would be lovely. Thank you.”

Elia continued on as instructed and did so in silence.

In the quiet moments of the bath, Viserra couldn’t help but let her mind replay the interaction she had with Aemond the night before. It was almost surreal. In fact, the last few weeks seemed almost like a fever dream.

The morning chill made the water cool quickly and it seemed to irritate Viserra more than usual. However, it felt as if her chambermaid was trying to rush her on readying and she begrudgingly accepted that her bath would be cut short. Pulling herself out of her thoughts and the tub, she stood and reached for the bath blanket.

Cassella returned with a small jar just as Viserra was drying herself off. She helped her in applying balm on the tender spots on her neck and chest without another word. While she did not feel ashamed or embarrassed of the marks, she did not want to flaunt them either. 

“I shall wear my training leathers today,” she announced, holding the blanket around herself and walking towards the wardrobe. It was a safe option as most of her dresses were lower cut in the front. The girls fetched the requested clothing without question and scurried back to her side. She had been dressed and equipped with her blades in no time, making sure that the marks on her body hid under her clothes.

While walking to the dining hall, Viserra noted that the hallways were busier than usual. There were more servants bustling about and there was a certain lightness around the castle. It did not take her long to reach the dining hall and it appeared that she was the last to arrive.

After his coronation, Aegon had moved his seat next to his mother in the middle of the table. When Helaena attended meals, she would sit to his left. While observing today’s seating arrangement, she saw Aemond had sat at the far end just as she had seen him on the first night of her arrival. He had cleaned up nicely since the night before, his hair straight and neatly pinned under his eye patch, and his face hiding any evidence of emotion. He watched her come through the doors and instinctively she gravitated to the seat next to him, not saying a word while sitting down.

“Nice of you to join us this morning, cousin,” Aegon greeted, his mood suspiciously chipper for it being so early in the morning.

Viserra nodded and smiled, carefully looking around at the other faces at the table. She noticed that Alicent looked her usual tired self but it also seemed like her mind was not present at the moment. Next, her eyes trailed to Otto, who appeared tense but was still smiling at anyone who made eye contact with him. Bringing her eyes back to Aegon, she realized he was studying her own behavior, keeping his eyes on her as the servants began bringing the food out to the table.

“We will be holding a small council meeting this morning and I have requested your presence, Viserra.” Aegon mused while bringing his newly filled wine cup to his lips, “We will eventually need you for your sword and dragon, but the most pressing matter is planning a grand feast in honor of my brother.” He seemed to be boasting at this point, holding his cup in the air towards Aemond who remained neutral in his expression. “To Prince Aemond’s victory in winning the support of Storm’s End, securing a betrothal to the Baratheon girl, and ridding us all of my sister’s bastard son!”

Viserra turned to look at Aemond who did not make any effort to meet her eyes. She was surprised to hear of the betrothal, somehow that piece of information did not make it out of him the night before. Turning back to Aegon and waiting for her own cup to be filled, she lifted it up in response to the toast. 

It was interesting that Aegon did not seem to share the same feelings that his mother and grandsire did over the death of their nephew. Was he blind to see that Aemond’s actions had most likely eliminated any chance of peace between the rivaling sides of the family?

The meal did not take long and after Aegon had expressed satisfaction with his fill, he requested the small council meeting to quickly commence. While Viserra had hoped to gain some insight in the plans that were happening, she was instead stuck listening to Aegon insist on the organization of this grand feast. She watched as Otto sat tight lipped throughout the meeting, appearing to also be uncomfortable with the party planning. Knowing that the looming threat was only an afternoon’s ride away on dragonback made many of them nervous.

Aemond also did not have much input in the celebration plans and seemed just as impatient as they did. He sat with his arms resting on the armchair and one finger lightly tapping in anticipation of the meeting’s end.

After Aegon’s plans had been finalized, he dismissed most of the council, leaving only those who shared his blood. She had thought that he might engage them a little more about the relevant and important issues they had on hand, but was mistaken when he revealed he only meant to criticize his brother for his lack of enthusiasm.

“For being the hero in which these celebrations are being thrown for, your mood is quite dull, brother,” Aegon teased, “Let us have some fun and then we will put together our plans to eliminate both the whore and the traitors who bend the knee to her.”

Aemond would not lighten up and give Aegon the response he was looking for, “It is not Rhaenyra I am worried about, it is Daemon.”

Letting out a laugh, Aegon slapped his brother on the shoulder, “We shall feast in two days and then worry about our uncle. He will not be able to plan and implement anything in such a short timespan. Besides, we have you two and your dragons here to protect us in case anyone tries anything so soon.” He motioned to both Aemond and Viserra when he spoke of their dragons.

There did not seem to be the same jealousy in his voice this morning when he spoke of Aemond and her working together. It had seemed the wine had not yet gone to his head at this early hour or perhaps the strike she had previously inflicted to his cheek had knocked some sense into him.

“Just having myself and my dragon might not be sufficient for protection, Your Grace. I feel as if I have been kept in the dark with any plans that have been made. It is my worry that I am ill prepared for an attack if it were to happen any time soon.” Viserra insisted on the matter, trying to relay her concern over her lack of involvement when he was flaunting the resources she brought to the table.

Aegon dismissed her concerns yet again and finished up with a few more irrelevant affairs within the family. She decided against pushing any further as it seemed like it would be a complete waste at this point.

Once they were dismissed, everyone went in their own direction. Viserra brushed away the irritation and concern over the council meeting and thought about the fact that she had not seen Helaena that morning. While she had been planning to visit the Queen, she was especially anxious to get to her chambers since she had not shown up for breakfast.

Viserra took her time wandering to her rooms. Helaena’s doors were open when she arrived with the guard standing outside in his usual position. He did not acknowledge her presence or intention to enter the room and she walked past him while inviting herself in.

The room was quiet and Helaena was standing at her window, looking out over the gardens. Viserra walked up next to her and leaned against the side of the frame, taking a moment to observe how peaceful she seemed while in her own element.

“You were not at breakfast, but I wanted to let you know that from now on, I will hold your words with very high regard. How do you go about knowing such things?” She questioned, hoping that Helaena would be in the mood to elaborate further on how and what she had seen that night.

She responded by turning and placing her hands on Viserra’s cheeks, the look in her eyes was something that she could not decipher.

“You listened,” she muttered, “Some days my dreams are full of things that have yet to happen. I see so much darkness for us but I cannot see what the darkness truly is.” The look on her face turned into one that relayed fear and suffering, but she quickly gathered herself and brought her expression back to neutral.

Viserra realized that Helaena had been given the gift of dragon dreams. How had no one else noticed this? “Who else knows?” She asked, putting her own hands on top of Helaena’s and pulling them off of her face. She held them tight, a symbol of her support and willingness to listen.

Helaena shook her head, “No one.”

Had no one been paying close enough attention to the girl? It was absurd to her that it had been missed by the rest of her family, yet she had only been here a few weeks and had picked up on the deeper meaning to her words.

Pulling away and leaning herself out the window, Viserra looked over the garden in silence. There were so many things she wanted to ask her but didn’t know how to form the questions.

“You know these to be dragon dreams, do you not? A rare gift from our Valyrian blood. Something that has been written in the history books throughout the decades.” Viserra prodded, wanting to know how aware Helaena was of this gift.

To her disappointment, she did not respond to her question, only turning herself to look out the window as well.

“I will listen to you, I swear it.” Viserra promised, hoping that they would be able to use Helaena’s dreams to increase their chances of survival once the war had officially started.

Without any more conversation, she felt that she had worn out her welcome. Perhaps she would discuss it more in her own time but she would not push further today. Giving Helaena her gratitude, she left her standing at the window in almost the same way as when she entered.

Already dressed in her leathers and anxious about the looming war, Viserra thought she would take herself to the training yard. The keep continued to bustle with the busyness of Aegon’s feast and celebration planning while she walked down near the entrance of the castle.

The yard looked as it always did. There were plenty of men training in the cool temperatures of late morning and many of them stopped in their tracks as she walked on the grounds. She said nothing, yet her presence was like dripping oil into a cup of water, people scattered so as to not cross her path.

Viserra did not mind being left alone, in fact it helped her focus on her sword skills and footwork. There was a lot to be discussed in terms of her role in this whole ordeal and she was rather uncomfortable that today they only accomplished planning a party. The least she could do was better herself by practicing her skills.

The hours passed on and the weather warmed up to a pleasant temperature. It was the heat of the afternoon sun that persuaded her to finish up her training before it got too hot. As soon as she walked to the side of the yard to sit and rest in the shade, she caught a glimpse of silver hair that was headed in her direction. Turning to see who was approaching her, Viserra was surprised to see it was Aegon. With a certain level of caution and intensity, she studied his body language, attempting to decipher the meaning of his visit.

“You are really something out there,” he observed, nodding his head towards the training yard.

She gave it some thought before responding, “How long have you been watching me?”

Letting a chuckle leave his throat, he smiled down to her, “Long enough to reinforce my belief that I’m lucky you bent the knee to me.”

Viserra let her eyes roll and she looked away from him, “You know, I have not actually bent the knee to anyone.” The words may have not been wise but she sensed a certain playfulness in him and she was still irritated from the council meeting. She had made the correct assumption that she would get away with her words and Aegon let out another laugh.

“I came here thinking I might find you. I had thought it a fine day to ride Sunfyre and my mother informed me that you have not been allowed out to see your dragon,” he revealed. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice when he addressed her, “If you’d like to accompany me to the Dragonpit, I’d like to take them to the skies together.”

A sudden excitement shot through her body and she looked up to him, “It would please me greatly to fly,” she admitted, pushing herself up to stand next to him, “You are proposing this in all seriousness?”

Aegon nodded and smiled at her, watching in satisfaction as her initial stubborn reaction had turned into eagerness and excitement. “Of course I am. I feel terrible that you have not been able to see your dragon. The chaos of late surely has made you want to take to the skies and escape reality for a little bit, hasn’t it?”

The statement was something that Viserra would not deny, she had felt distance between her and Rhyn and the desire to fly had been pulling at her as of late. Especially with the events of the last twenty four hours, being able to fly with the creature that understood her so deeply felt almost like a necessity.

Aegon tilted his head as a hint for her to follow him and she did without hesitation. There was a wheelhouse waiting for them at the entrance of the keep that was larger than the ones she had ridden in on his coronation day. The intricate details on the interior did not surprise her after observing the outside: it was truly a wheelhouse fit for a king.

Once inside, Viserra purposely sat a good few feet from him. She was sure that he had already consumed a few cups of wine that morning based on his lighthearted behavior. Their last drunken interaction had ended poorly and she didn’t want something like that to happen again when it was just the two of them. It would not be a good idea to make enemies with both sides of the Targaryen family right at the beginning of a war.

Aegon broke the silence, feeling uncomfortable under Viserra’s watchful eyes.

“All of this was not my desire,” he admitted, raising his hands up and gesturing at everything around him. “My half sister would have killed my family and myself if she had been crowned queen.”

The confession was not something that Viserra had expected to come out of his mouth. “From what information did you pull that conclusion from?” She questioned, honestly trying to decipher his intent with the comments. It had been known that Rhaenyra had grown up with her half siblings and although absent from King’s Landing for the past few years, there never had been any rumors that she intended to slaughter half of her family.

“My mother and grandsire were sure of it. I had some doubts…but the morning of my coronation, Cole and mother sat me down and talked some sense into my head. That it was my duty to claim the throne or it would be my family’s blood on my hands.” He finished with wavering confidence, almost as if he were trying to convince himself instead of her.

Viserra thought over her words carefully but ultimately decided not to respond. The damage had been done with multiple offenses, there was no turning away from the war that was about to happen.

The wheelhouse came to a stop and both passengers looked out the window to see that they had arrived at the Dragonpit. Viserra jumped up to be the first to exit. She would tolerate the help down the stairs in a gown, but in her training leathers she was more than capable of doing it herself. Once the door was opened from the outside, she took her exit.

The last time they had been there was the disaster of Aegon’s coronation. There had been some work done to try and repair the broken structure, but it was still obvious that there had been significant damage from the large dragon bursting through the floor. The silence that hung in the air left an uneasy feeling in Viserra’s stomach. Her body remembered the fear and chaos that flooded through them all .

When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she almost jumped at the sudden touch. Turning to look at Aegon, she saw that he also wore a look of seriousness and understanding at the sight before them.

“No need to be nervous, the area is secure now and there is no threat to us.” Aegon stated, giving her a little squeeze with his hand.

“I am not nervous,” Viserra retorted, pulling her shoulder away from his hand, “I am only observing the damage now that hundreds of people are not screaming and running for their lives. The silence is eerie.”

He let out a small laugh at her quick offense, “Of course you aren’t scared, my apologies for the assumption.”

Displaying an unamused expression, she only pursed her lips in response.

Aegon let the interaction slide and smiled, beckoning her to follow, “Come. There is someone who I would like you to meet.”

[brokenangelwings22]

Stars That Fall Chapter 3 pt 2

As promised, a preview of the hopefully latter part of the chapter! I hope you enjoy it!

Smiling fondly at the healer, Rukia pressed a gentle kiss to the woman's cheek.

“It is so very good to see you. I have missed you terribly,” she told Orihime.

“And I you,” the healer replied honestly, cupping the princess’s cheek. “I have a reply from your correspondence.”

“The leader of the scallywags finally bestowed the honor of answering my letter? What an honor,” Rukia rolled her eyes. There was a tale-telling blush that lightly graced her face, belying her true feelings.

“Be nice,” Orihime tutted. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved her off. She looked at Orihime with a glint in her eyes. “You can freshen up. Bring the correspondence to my room after.”

After receiving a nod from the healer, Rukia turned to Ichigo who was standing close to the entryway. 

“I will allow you to stay in her company,” she spoke with authority and lifted her head regally. “No one will bat an eye so long as you are guarding her. I will send you to the gaol if I hear of any funny business. Understood?”

Keeping any trace of annoyance from appearing on his face, Ichigo nodded solidly.

Rukia returned the gesture before departing.

A soft giggle drew Ichigo’s attention to the healer. Her smile was slightly crooked, and she appeared amused.

“That’s funny, eh?” He grinned.

“Very much so,” Orihime laughed. “I’ve never seen Rukia butt heads with anyone so quickly.”

Trying and failing to look annoyed with that, Ichigo chuckled.

“She’s looking out for you. As are the Midnight Mockingbirds. I’ve never been threatened by anyone’s family before. It’s good to know they care for you that much.” 

“Well,” the healer sighed resignedly. “I think they forget that I’m a grown woman and am far from unable to defend myself or others.”

“Speaking of that,” the mercenary began, stepping closer to Orihime. “What vein of magic do you prefer, besides restoration?”

“I work with herbs and plants to make salves and balms. I brew medicinal teas for different ailments. It’s one of the first things I learned. My instructor told me that I was a natural. I’m also trained in combat magics, where I can shield myself and others with wards ranging in different strengths. I can cast spells to harden the armor of my comrades and imbue their weapons with spells.” The healer listed off each as she unpacked her satchel, setting the dirty clothes on a dressing table to be laundered.

Ichigo pulled off his thick metal armor piece by piece, setting it down on a rack. He slid his sheathed nodachi and leaned it against an overstuffed chair.

“So,” Ichigo said pensively, slowly absorbing what she told him. “You’re able to defend, heal, protect, and have a healthy knowledge of potions and medicines.”

“Yes,” Orihime confirmed with a nod. “I have a keen sense of smell and taste, so I’m able to detect poisons and miasma the enemy might use. I can brew potions to reverse the effects of each distinct toxin.”

“What,” Ichigo said, knowing he was entering a delicate subject by asking. “What magic have you sworn never to use?”

Orihime looked at him, her full lips twisting as if she had tasted something sour before moving behind the divider between the room and the door leading to the bathing room. She pulled off her traveling clothes, taking her time answering.

“Conjuring evils and turning the dead,” she spoke with a solemn tone. “I have a gift with magic. Each I am skilled in. I refuse to have anything to do with necromancy or summoning wicked creatures. My instructor made it very clear that I had a natural aptitude for healing and shielding others from harm. But there is a fine line between protecting yourself and others and refusing to allow the natural way of things to end.”

“You sound as if you have struggled with it before,” her companion said before thinking. He could see her silhouette stiffen at his words through the curtain. 

“Sorry,” Ichigo winced. “I’m prying into something still raw. It wasn’t my intention.”

[scribbledquillz]

Uuuuuh, I'm really bad at this kind of stuff due to not usually thinking about my ocs outside of the specific contexts of their stories and what I want to draw...

But something idk if I have shared about Vanessa is that she always has a soft minty smell due to the oils she uses in her hair. She makes a blend of witch hazel, tea tree, rosemary, and spearmint to keep her scalp and hair ends healthy. When it is freshly washed or when she is actively brushing it out, it is more noticable. Otherwise, it is subtle enough you'd be very much in the Too Close range to smell it. She constantly is gathering or buying the herbs to make more of the oil due to constantly having to wash darkspawn out of her hair. 😅

I haven't decided on this, but my brain has kinda bounced around the idea that Zevran first notices his scent when they are trying to stab each other, thus quite close with lots of fast movments. The result of this is when he misses her much later in Antiva, he just dabs a lil mint or rosemary somewhere go take comfort in. She does something similar with clove or cinnamon, since I imagine he has a warm scent of clove, cinnamon, and/or sandlewood. Especially since scent is one of our stronger memory forming senses.

ok, you're turn to ramble about your lil gremlins!

Tell me a fact about your oc(s) and I'll share a similar one about mine. 🙌 - @siriskulk thank you for indulging me <33 Vanessa is no doubt the best smelling Grey Warden this side of the Frostbacks :D

If asked, Revka would say she doesn't have a signature scent - "Sweat and dirt, maybe. Bit of whatever else we've gotten tangled up in on the road." Which to be fair isn't entirely wrong. She's cleanly of course, but practical, and sometimes come the end of the day she'll catch a whiff while she's peeling off her armor and clothing to bathe and is far from impressed with herself.

That being said, if you asked someone else - say a certain Antivan assassin who ends up sharing sleeping space with Revka - you'd get a different answer. She uses a bar of soap made from honey and wildflowers when she washes, and while she's become nose blind to it those who aren't around the scent at all times catch wafts of it from time to time, especially when her hair is loose. There's also notes of woodsmoke, armor oil, and the rich, damp smell of earth after rain thanks to so much time spent outside in Ferelden's weather.

Ceral (post Chantry boom) similarly has a smell of earth about him thanks to the time he spends working with and harvesting herbs for his potions and salves. Elfroot, in particular, if he's been indulging a little ;). Beneath that it's warm, old pages of books and lavender thanks to his personal choice in oils for his hair and his washing.

[vuulpecula]

About to protest, for if she was anything when it came to the wellbeing of others, it was stubborn. Fox felt the pressure come over her the moment the Grand Inquisitor opened his palm. She could not move, could not look away, could not speak or flare her nostrils in irritation. Yet, even without the Force, she felt her body would have been completely still. Stone solid at the command and subsequent shout. Forced to follow the drops of red blood as they fell from his lips, onto his chest, which she had thus far been avoiding looking at. Not wanting to see with her own eyes how obvious his injuries might be. Nor the freckles that dusted over his still too pale skin. A constellation of browns and oranges and now speckles of red.

The moment she was free, Fox was swallowing, resisting the urge to step backward, to put as much distance between his encroaching form and her as possible. Her feet would not move for fear that it would cause her knees to buckle. He gave an order, stated his reasonings, sure, but that didn't mean she was necessarily going to listen. She'd been raised in the unforgiving cold, bathed in pools of ice, played in blizzards with snow thicker than this one. It had been a while since she had been home or to what was left of it, but she was certain she could prove them wrong. She could do it. She could be enough.

Beside her, the young mother--Aalea--recognized her mistake, but could do nothing to stop it. Not wanting to risk the wrath of the (surprisingly young appearing) Grand Inquisitor. She watched as Fox did not move, did not balk, as he raised his hand. Was it courage? No. It was fear.

Fox had tried to remain still, her gaze locked with the greens of his eyes. Strange, she never imagined they would be green... Involuntarily, she flinched at his touch, fists balling at her sides. Fighting back the soft whimper of fear, the terrified exhale of air through her nose, anything that would indicate that she was more afraid of him now than she had been ever before. Clenching her jaw, expecting a harsher impact of his hand pressing against her bones, she tried to focus on what he said. The whisper that felt far more dangerous than his shouting. A tone he had yet to use on her, but one she had seen him use on countless others. Wide-eyed, she searched his gaze, unsure how he even had the energy to be so angry. Was it hatred that kept him upright? Looking back at her with more malice than she ever imagined green could hold.

The answer to his potentially rhetorical question stuck in her throat. Even when released, she could do little more than nod. Gaze dropping to the floor, color returning to where her skin had paled in dread. Burning hot from embarrassment or humiliation or some other pointless emotion for what the others had witnessed.

"You need to sit down now," the physician interjected. Cutting the tension in the room as if unaware of it. "I will apply a salve and we will hope you survive the night." Not much else could be done. Either the bacta and salve would work or they wouldn't and a fever would consume him.

"--Why don't you come with me," Aalea asked softly, remorseful for the Grand Inquisitor's agressive reaction. "Get you out of those wet clothes, washed, and fed?" Though she asked Fox the question, both women were stuck looking at the Grand Inquisitor for a reaction. It was only one room over, but Aalea wasn't certain that he would allow her even that far out of his sight.

There was a child present, and he knew that completely as the others in the room did. The pain was excruciating and perhaps it even compared to what he experienced in conditioning. The process in which the Empire sought to break him over and over again, until there was nothing but a clean slate; the perfect soldier with complete compliance of orders solely out of fear of being punished again.

The Grand Inquisitor squeezed his eyes shut. He ignored Fox's request. His whole body felt like it was on fire and the stabbing and throbbing pain in his head refused to relent. In conditioning, they—the Empire—used his pain against him. The more wounds he had been given, the angrier he got... And the stronger he got. The more lethal he became. His abilities surpassed that of his fellow Inquisitors as he drowned in his emotions. The force psychometry ability, once claimed to be a blessing but now he swears it's a curse, was used to his advantage to track down Jedi fugitives and insurgents alike, making him as the former Eleventh Brother a formidable hunter at the impressive speed it took to neutralize his targets. Hence his nickname: the Empire's Mutt, the Imperial Hell Hound.

The accompanying noises irked him. He didn't want to hear a thing. He wanted all the talking and the shuffling of the physician's movements to cease. He clenched his fists—even the one that sustained cuts from the wall he struck, ignoring the added stinking sensation—tightly. Control control control. Maintain control. Don't lost it. Do not—

He suddenly turns his torso towards Fox, palm raised, fingers spread, using the Force on his subordinate. Force Stasis to stop her movements and stop her mouth from moving and uttering yet another word.

"You are not to leave the premises," he hissed through gritted teeth. Blood dripped down from his lips and onto the surface of his toned chest. "I don't want to file a report on how you died because you thought you could find your way back to the ship—" and then he raised his voice, his sudden crescendo boomed and bounced over the walls of the building "—IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING BLIZZARD!" He released his hold on her, his palm falling back to his side. He didn't hurt her. But he was capable of doing so. The redhead then raised his hand back up, making slow deliberate steps towards her as he pointed his index finger right where the light haired woman stood. "And if that wasn't already clear, let me repeat myself." Now he stood directly in front of her. He suddenly gripped her jaw. Didn't apply pressure. If he did, he would have broken it.

The former Jedi leaned in close. His breath against her face. He heard that there were storm troopers, purge troopers, shock troopers that felt more concerned for him whispering instead of barking at their faces. "Am. I. Clear?" He asked, his voice below a whisper.

And then he released her jaw as he felt the bacta syringe stab into his deltoid. He, again, squeezed his eyes shut as slowly, but surely, the pain subsided.

[greycaelum]

Kaleidoscope Series Masterlist

Random drabbles of Satoru X You.

[Gojo Satoru X Reader]

[ Mainly fluff, and domestic drabbles ]

• || Clouds & Mochi Chapters (Papa Satoru & Kouki w/ Mama-Reader) ||

Faithfully

—Engagement, elopment, and wedding with your lovable menace.

Paris

—What to do in the City of Love?

Kikufuku

—Bliss of having a family with Satoru.

Stroll

—Satoru taking your son for a stroll with Nanami.

Worlds

—Satoru's world consist of only two precious existence.

Euphoria

—Pregnancy journey with Satoru, can be considered a sequel to Worlds.

Milestones || Keeping Up

—Milestones with Kouki & Satoru

—Keeping up with the little ball of sunshine and married life.

Gemstones

—Gemstones with Saika, Kouki & Satory

Come Home || Until || Daybreak

—Satoru's sealing and what's waiting for him.

Pretty & Plums

—Papa Satoru babysits Kikufuku while Mama's out

Present

—It's Satoru's birthday and he's bound to receive a present he cannot turn down || NSFW ||

Clouds and Mochi

—Baby shower and labor-birth with your Kikufuku and Satoru

Kool Fever

—When you caught fever your boys will take care of you

Butter Potatoes and Bath Salts

—You come over to Satoru's office to take care of him

Work Hard

—Why Mama's hair is different?

Vanilla and Cream

—Satoru goes to a date with his kids and sneaking ice creams behind Mama's back

Wandering Caress

—Back in your the warmth of your arms where my heart belongs || NSFW ||

Gifts

—Spending your birthday (drabble)

Moonrise

—Little Treasure's birth

Standing

—Where you stand as Satoru's significant other

Mochi & Fortune

—How did Kouki and Saika get inside Mama's tummy?

Pets

—When Kouki and Saika asks for a pet

Brothers & Sisters

—The siblings gets to know their elder brother and sisters

Daddy...

—When you call Satoru a devious endearment

Love Language

—Love language shared between you and Satoru

L'amour de ma vie

—Arguments are bridges to understanding

Glimpse

—What's the price in exchange for glimpses of past and future?

Eye Drops

—When someone flirts with Papa, what Kouki ought to do?

Divorce

—Prank gone wrong

'm Sorry

—Sibling squabbles gone wrong

Sort Out

—When the kids makes mistake

Mission

—In his birthday, Kikufuku is a man with a mission

School

—School achievements of the munchkins

Mama

—Mother's Day

Papa

—Father's Day

Hop

—bouncing around, Saika turns three

Care

—if you think one nurse is enough think again coz you have three kitty cats ready to snuggle you til you get better

Protect

—with Uncle Suguru

Normal

—Satoru meets your parents

Kitchen

—A simple anniversary with the kids, in the comforts of your home

SSS

—Kouki's Formation SSS to keep unworthy guys from touching his Mama

Wife

—What it takes to be his wife

Son

—He looks up to him the most

Blue

—Going on a date, and meeting the 3rd mochi

Feisty

—No one gets away from stressing their Princess

Lose

—Arguments and Assurance

Sweet Things • Transcend •

—A leap through time

Couple

—A question & answer time with our couple

Salve

—A balm to soothe your heart

Supposed

—Supposed years

A Future of Possibilities

—It was one of the millions of possible future

Territorial

—Y/n with a rare wifezilla moment

Blankets

—Pregnancy with your three cats around all the time against your belly

First Princess

—What a Papa ought to do when his princess is growing up faster than he expected?

• || Love Me Now, Love Me Never Chapters (Random Reader Ideas) ||

Snuggles

—Comfort from Satoru.

Senritsu

—Satoru & anonymous singer reader.

Cavities

—Satoru with aching teeth

Fuss

—What it takes to soothe a fussy Satoru

Body Switch

—Switching bodies with Satoru, the embarrassing situation the menace is putting you in.

Soothe

—Satoru soothing student reader who's burdened by school and studies

Chocolate Galore

—Winter fluff and snuggles with Satoru and the case of missing chocolates

Fingertips

—10 centimetres of Infinity

E minor

—Satoru X Popstar Reader

Sweet

—Megumi hates sweets, but for some reason he doesn't mind asking for it some more

Pacify Her

—To which you're arranged to marry someone else other than Satoru

Tipsy

—Alcohol in your veins leads to getting frisky...(?)

• || What If Chapters (Spur of what if Ideas) ||

Stayed

—What if Suguru didn't stray but instead stay?

Hairtie

—Reminiscing days when Suguru still needed hairties

Behind the Scenes

—What if Actor Satoru was caught kissing his mystery lady in public

Nail Art

—What if you make a podcast with Actor Satoru while doing manicure

Tickets

—Actor Satoru X Idol Reader, what if he books all your concert tickets

Leash (X Clouds and Mochi Chapter)

—Babysitting the munchkins, Fushiguro, Itadori and Nobara has a handful ahead

Trigger (X Clouds and Mochi Chapter)

—Suguru babysits the munchkins

Uncle Suguru

—snippets w/ Su-chan

• || Covet Me Chapters (Mafia Satoru X Reader) ||

Dressed or Undressed

—Playing dress up with Mafia-Satoru || NSFW ||

|| Covet Me: Ace ||

—Headcannons for Mafia-Satoru X Ex-Assassin Reader

|| Covet Me: Caprice ||

—Betrayals and names

|| Covet Me: Verdict ||

—decision and choices

For the snippets, drabbles, and scenarios of the Series Chapter please visit the

Ask I & Ask II & Kaleidoscope Series Gallery

Thank you for the likes and re-blogs. Hoping to see you again in the next pages!

|| Main Page ||

[percyverance]

Hunt’s End — A Mariadeline Fic

🗝 1769 words, TWs for mild blood and nudity. I hc Adeline as blind, and Flowerpatch is her service dog. AO3 link 🗝

Saint Adeline lights a lamp in the window as Lady Maria arrives back from the hunt. The Lady is intact - but her mind is worn as ever. Her Saint knows there's no better salve for that soreness than a warm bath - and, if she is bold enough - a warm embrace to go with it.

Or, Maria gets hosed down after a hunt. Lovingly, of course.

“It is time, my Lady,” calls Saint Adeline; her quiet words breaking the frozen silence.

Soft palms sweetened with perfume caress her hunter’s cold cheeks. Maria exhales and leans into the touch. By that alone, the blood saint knows how much she needs this.

“Come.”

Adeline has never understood how cries of victory could fill the streets before the blood on the hunter’s hands had even dried. Oh, the town flew their banners and blew their horns, toasting another successful campaign against the beasts. Perhaps she couldn’t fault them, for these people so rarely had something to celebrate. But here, within the four walls of her Lady’s quarters, the woman’s gray and weary countenance marked the true burden the battle extolled.

Lady Maria had sustained no grievous injuries on the expedition she led, nor had any others under her command — Adeline is thankful for that. But here, away from the prying eyes of the public, Maria’s squared shoulders sag, her sharp eyes dull, her very soul seems to shudder as her powerful form slumps heavy in the armchair. The blood was a crimson trophy no more - just sticky and stale as it dries on her skin.

Sterling eyes gaze up from beneath the shadows of her hat; there is no steel to them now. A nod answers Adeline, and her Lady rises to follow her saint to the washroom.

“Will you undress, my Lady?” Adeline murmurs, watching the steamy room all but melt the resistance from the other’s expression.

“You don’t have to do this,” comes a quiet, graveled reply. They are the first words Adeline has heard her speak since arriving back to her quarters, but they aren’t unfamiliar. Even as Maria removes her hat, even as Adeline helps shrug off her heavy coats, her Lady protests - however weakly - as if burned by the prospect of being looked after.

Adeline’s gentle hands find Maria’s face once more, brushing pale blonde locks from her brow, holding the taller woman’s gaze steadfast. “I know,” the saint says plainly, the words hovering in the air a moment despite their weight, “and yet, here we are.”

The smile on Adeline’s lips tinges Maria’s own, an unspoken understanding bridging the space between them. She watches the way her eyes fall to the corners of her mouth, and leans closer in familiar invitation.

It leaves Adeline blushing, eyes lowered shy and demure to the floor, on instinct. A newly ungloved hand turns her face back up in familiar gesture, until those bashful ocean eyes meet Maria’s. Maria’s, which crease softly at their corners, before warm lips this time press her forehead, and Adeline smiles in earnest.

“Your hands are freezing, love,” the saint laughs softly, entwining their fingers before the touch disappears, lest the other see it admonition, “Come, Maria. If you shall disrobe, I shall finish drawing your bath. That will warm you up in no time.”

“You smile that way… I should think it enough to warm me,” the hunter replies as they part, halting, soft and to herself; as if unsure her chapped lips can utter such sweet nothings, as if unsure Adeline would want to hear them at all. The saint’s face only dusts with pink, and she allows the words to ring sweetly in her ear while she goes.

~~~

It does not take long for the last of the hunter’s bloodied clothes to fall away, and soon enough, Adeline helps the woman into the warm, soapy water. Only as she strokes a washcloth over her head, however, does the saint notice the faint crease to the other’s brow as her fingers stroke across it.

“...What’s wrong?” she asks softly, suddenly nervous, “Do you dislike it…?” “No - No, not at all, I only...” Maria replies, trailing off as her eyes follow a stray petal floating on the ripples. The bath is… rather more extravagant than the Lady is used to. The water tinges lilac with what must be all manner of soaps and salts; lavender blossoms resting calmly amidst the bubbles; but Maria sounds more surprised than anything as she trails off, “You truly didn’t have to - all of this, luxury, it’s not required, I’m…”

“Maybe not,” Adeline acquiesces gently as she rolls up her sleeves, “I merely thought that if everybody in the square is out lauding your efforts, you’ve more than earned a proper reward of your own, no…? Let me look after you, love. It is my desire and my duty.”

Plush fabric coaxes the blood and sweat from her brow, and at her saint’s gentle request, Maria closes her eyes and at last eases her aching body fully into the water.

Once her Lady is cleansed of all evidence of her troubles, Adeline begins on the rest of her. It is a slow, tender affair Maria seems to bear with an eager sort of trepidation. Oh, dear Maria may have returned unscathed, but Adeline knew better than that. The scars that patterned her pale skin wounded her long after healing. It was not her body which now ached, but her psyche. The saint returns the kiss to her lover’s brow, and gently massages the tight line of her shoulders from huntress to human once more.

“That’s nice...” Maria says with a sigh; leaning into the soothing touch upon her sore shoulders, “Adeline… tell me, what is it you’ve scented this water with…? I cannot tell, beyond the lavender.”

She tilts her head back, opening one eye to look her lover in the face, and she’s glad for it. Her saint’s expression is alight in an instant, brighter and sweeter than sunlight at the chance to speak of her beloved garden. Maria cannot sequester the fond curl that takes to the corners of her own lips.

“Oh, well - the salts went with honey, and it was lavender with chamomile to ease your mind… We had it all the time growing up, to help with sleep. The soap’s made with dandelion and orange peel, to keep you healthy even through winter months,” Adeline hesitates suddenly after a moment, her cheeks going pink with the beginnings of embarrassment. Maria rests a hand over hers.

“Go on, my dear,” comes an adoring encouragement.

“Ah, I had only meant to say… perhaps the lumenflower gave you pause? To be truthful, it’s something I’ve only thought recently to try, but... based on the current evidence I’ve got, I think it may quicken the mending of small scrapes and bruises.”

“Is that so?” Maria asks, and at the other’s bashful nod, her smile only grows, “You are a genius, Adeline. Do you know that?”

The furious flush which overtakes the saint’s face burns so bright that Maria knows if she were to tuck her hair behind her ear, she’d see their tips painted pink. “Oh— gracious—,” Adeline stammers, trying to cover the smile audible in her voice, “Maria, you can’t just say things like that...!”

“And why can’t I?” she counters with a playfully raised brow.

“Or else — I might burn up!” the saint cries with mock indignance and a childish pout.

“Burn up you say? My, well we can’t have that now,” Maria replies, flicking a few drops of water onto her apron; replacing Adeline’s playful pout with a cheeky grin.

“No good! It’s no good! No measure can save me now!” she exclaims, splashing the other back in retaliation between peals of laughter as their banter escalates to an all-out water fight.

“Have it your way then!” Maria declares, and Adeline recognizes that wolfish grin means a moment too late — as she’s all of a sudden hoisted into the tub with an astonished, delighted squeal. The water calms before their laughter does, leaving the pair entirely drenched with Adeline more or less draped over her lover; certainly not helping the ruby color of her face which is promptly buried in the crook of her hunter’s neck. Strong and calloused fingers card through the saint’s curls as they both come down in warm, content silence broken only by the water lapping at the sides of the bath.

“...You’re all wet now,” the hunter observes plainly, in a manner which would be nearly apologetic if it weren’t for how she grins like the cat that got the cream.

“I am,” the saint agrees, finally daring to meet Maria’s eye and finding nothing but adoration. Instinctively, she raises a hand to tenderly cup the side of her now-pink face in another peaceful pause.

“Beautiful,” murmurs Maria, and means it. Dark curls and lashes capture pearly drops, scattering them like freckles across rosy cheeks; those deep green eyes liquid as a calm sea. The weight of the woman atop her warms something so raw within Maria it seems to burn.

“You are,” agrees Adeline again, yet not an ounce of refutation can be found from those honeyed lips as she draws them up to her hunter’s. Maria’s body is soft, sturdy beneath her own, her hand steady on her hip and warm beneath the collar of her dress, and her saint can’t help but smile against her soft mouth.

Adeline’s heart skips a beat as they part for a breath, Maria’s face is so clear so close to her own, her touch slow and grounding. Her eyes are warm, molten gold, pupils blown wide, fond and loving in a way that it feels nearly impossible for it to be all for her. She wonders what Maria sees reflected in her gaze, and as their lips meet again, she prays it is all that and more. Their fingers twine together, the gentle pressure daring her own touch to wander, bodies ebbing, flowing, in slow synchrony.

SPLASH!

“Patch!!!”

The answering bark is coupled with water leaping out of the bath as the guide dog’s tail wags a mile a minute before hopping out of the tub again, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Oh — Lady Maria — I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Adeline rushes out, but her apologies are eased by Maria’s vibrant laughter as she rights herself, pushing her bangs from her eyes. Oh, it’s a rare sound indeed, but Adeline savors it all the same.

“He’s a good boy,” the hunter chuckles, reaching to scratch the pup behind the ears when he perks at the phrase, “Come to protect you from the treacherous bath. Were you missing her, little one?” With Flowerpatch seeming delighted by the attention, Maria turns that rare, radiant smile of hers to Adeline. “Come, dear. Your clothes are soaked because of me. It’s only right I should help dry you.”

As she helps her out of the flowery water, Adeline can’t help but smile back.

[gucciwins]

The First Kiss

Harry and Y/N go on their first date...will they finally become something more?

Word count: 4814

A/N: I know how much you all love breakout room and the follow up it's your birthday. I love writing them and it's been a while but do know they are doing well. this is nothing but sweet fluff. I do mention the vaccine and wearing masks which I hope you all are doing. it's important to stay safe and truly wish nothing but the best for you all. I love you xxx

please reblog and let me know your thoughts

_____

“Are you feeling good? I sent over a goodie basket.”

Harry giggled, loving how concerned you were. “I’m doing good, baby.” He sees you tuck your head into your sweater smiling, when he notices it’s the one he sent you in a goodie basket after you got your second shot of the vaccine.

It’s spring break, and Harry can finally say he is officially vaccinated after letting the mandated two weeks pass. It’s perfect timing, honestly, as he has been itching to finally see you in person again.

Your university let you know that they would begin to have vaccine dates open to students through an email that you quickly forwarded to Harry. You had to register to get a date for your first vaccine, and slots were filling up fast. You shot Harry multiple texts telling him what day you got and time, but you went without an answer for an hour which is weird, seeing as Harry never liked to leave you waiting more than five minutes.

By the time he got back to you, he had to wait two weeks, unlike you, who would be getting in only three days. You asked why he didn’t answer, and he said he was in class. You frowned because even then, he always answered. He then confessed he lost his phone in his apartment and didn’t have time to search for it.

You laughed about it, but he was disappointed because he wanted to see you. To give you a hug. To hold your hand.

After spending his birthday together, you both decided against meeting in person for safety even though you both wanted to, more than anything. You postponed your date to the future. Instead, you completed the group assignment through zoom meetings that led to facetime calls. After submitting the project and learning that you aced the assignment, well, you both caved in.

Harry gushed on how he always got B’s on the professor’s assignments, and to celebrate, he sent you a dozen cupcakes from the bakery that you never stop raving about located only three blocks from where you live. Then proceeded to call him over to celebrate and who was he to say no. Harry was shocked at how rich and full of flavor they were because he wasn’t aware it was vegan. Yet, it tasted better than anything he ever had. Harry realized why it was your favorite, promising to take you there in person to have your pick of favorites and not only red velvet and carrot cake because they were safe choices.

You couldn’t say you’ve been on a proper date with Harry, but you’d like to count all the zoom calls and facetime calls as dates not that you let Harry know it would only inflate his ego. You’d start a call to ask a question on assignments, and it would lead to sharing stories back and forth of what their favorite book was to where they would visit if they could go that very second. You loved how insightful he was, also liked how he used pastel highlighters to mark his annotations. Harry was a fan of how you always had a pencil in your hair or behind your ear. How you always had a snack on hand because you didn’t want to listen to professors without something to eat or you’d lose focus.

You were glad you’d be able to get together safely but also taking all the needed precautions. Safety is hot, as Harry liked to say all the time when you sent him photos of you wearing your masks.

“Yeah, like the basket?”

Harry grins, but it’s not as bright due to the lacking pixels of your laptop. He holds it up, having placed it in his lap. “I did love the bath bombs.”

You smile back at him, “Going to change your life. Self-care is important, bub. Even in the smallest ways as a bath.”

Harry nods, “I know, baby. The reason I remember to take deep breaths each morning, no longer eager to reach for my phone.”

“Proud of you.”

“And I of you, baby.”

Harry shines his dimples at you when you turn your head away at the sweet name he started calling you a few weeks ago. You adored it, honestly, but it always left you feeling flustered.

“H, please.”

“Baby, I like seeing you flustered.”

“You’re a menace.”

He shrugs, still giggling.

“How are Mitch and Sarah?”

“Wonderful, sickly in love as always. Spend their time at Sarah’s like composing together.”

“That’s sweet.” You lean in, smiling at him, “you know we should all hang out together. I get to meet Mitch properly and see Sarah again, and you’ll get to meet Amy.” You grow excited at the thought.

“Not before I get to see you.”

“H, we got to coordinate a day that works for all of us. No need to get jealous.”

“Not jealous.”

“Sure,” you reply sarcastically.

“Got to learn to share me with Amy. I cook her lunch and dinner; otherwise, she’d be nothing but a walking cadaver.”

“I want you to make me lunch and dinner,” he pouts.

“I can now that you’ve vaxxed.”

“That I am, so you are.”

“Yes,” you’re waiting for him to go on.

“Will you go on a date with me? Think we waited long enough, and if my feelings weren’t obvious enough, I like you and really want to take you out.” he rambles on.

You interrupt him knowing fully well he could go on for days, “I’d love to, Harry.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Great. Friday then.”

“I’m free.”

“I know, know your schedule by heart.”

“Creep,” you gasp at the news.

“Shush, like you don’t have my classes added to your planner.” Your turn to pout.

“I like knowing your schedule, and they overlap.”

“I do too. Look forward to your messages every day between classes.”

“So Friday? What are you planning?”

“A picnic.”

You jump up in excitement, causing your laptop to fall back on your bed before you dive to save it. Harry yelling dramatically in the background as if you just dropped him.

“H, be quiet. You’re fine.”

“Dropped me, darling.”

“Dork.”

He mutters something in return, but you can’t hear him.

“So I’ll prepare lunch because you’ve told me once or twice that you’re hopeless in the kitchen.” Harry doesn’t even try to fight you because it’s true. “You’ll take care of drinks and desserts.”

“Seems like you’re planning the date,” he teases.

“I like picnics.”

“Well, I like you, so I’ll let you take over.”

Your smile turns soft, reaching your hand out as if you could reach in and caress him. “I like you, too. I can’t wait to give you a hug.”

“Counting down the hours.”

“Alright, you have class in ten, and you always struggle to log in.”

“Making me hang up. Not fair.” Harry frowns, debating skipping class for you.

“Don’t think about it, Styles.”

“Fine. Take care, baby.”

“Bye, H.”

A date.

You have a date with Harry.

Finally, it happened.

_____

You were nervous.

Why were you nervous? It was just Harry.

Harry, who wanted to date you from your first meeting, who emailed you asking you out, and who has not stopped talking to you since February. Constantly reminding you of his feelings for you. You hope he knew you felt the same, in texts and sending him little gifts even as small as writing him a letter.

You got up early today to prepare lunch. You decided on sandwiches, a non-messy meal, and Harry always said he wanted to try the bakery bread you use and not the basic store-bought. It was a bit pricey but not as much anymore because you had become a regular, meaning the sweet owner began giving you a discount, especially when finding out you're a student. Still, you always remember to leave a good tip. The turkey sandwiches were finished with cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes. Looked so good that Amy had one as you were making them. You made three and packed them up in your glass reusable containers.

Staring at the sandwiches, it felt like too little food when Harry had told you many times how much he enjoys eating, so you cleaned up and got to make a second meal. You decided on vegetable rice paper rolls. A favorite and easy meal to make that you enjoyed eating. It was packed with lettuce, avocado, cabbage, bell peppers, cucumbers, noodles, and fresh herbs. This was a meal your dad made you all the time as a child with the special slightly spicy peanut sauce that you could drizzle on top.

Harry was going to enjoy this, so you hoped. He promised to make strawberry lemonade. Assured you that it would not be store-bought, and you believed him. During one of your late conversations, he shared how his sister would make him some when she returned from uni. Reminds him of home, he would say.

After packing everything away in the fridge to keep it cool it was time to get ready. You stood in front of your closet for a good five minutes before you began to swipe through the hangers. You knew you wanted to wear a dress; it was warm weather and would only get hotter as the day went on.

You searched your entire closet, there were three options once you had decided on, but you called Amy in to make the final decison for you. She decided on the one sitting in the middle of your bed, which was exactly what you were thinking.

The dress was a white button-front high slit that fit you nicely. You hadn't used it in quite some time, seeing as when you left your apartment, it would be in leggings, sweats, and the first sweater you could slip on.

You couldn't stop looking in the mirror, loving how it flowed around you when you twirled. For accessories, you slipped on a gold ring that had a little heart on it and another that was a gift shaped like a small snake as it was going to scale down your finger. A simple heart locket gifted to you by your grandparents hung right above your cleavage. You decided to leave your hair natural, liking how it air-dried after the shower you had that morning.

There was no makeup on your face, just your favorite rosebud salve lip balm that left your lips soft. Amy insisted you put some on, but you stood firm in your decision, knowing you'd be wearing a mask and didn't want anything smudging.

You looked down at the time on your phone and knew it was time to head down, Harry said twelve, and you didn't want to make him come up to your apartment only to walk down the three levels again. You grabbed the picnic basket that was sitting in the back of yours and Amy's shared doorway closet and made sure to place everything neatly, leaving room for Harry's drink and stashing a bunch of napkins in for any accidents. Basket prepared, you slipped your sunglasses in your hair, placing your lavender tote bag with tiny embroidered daisies on your shoulder that contained sunscreen, your wallet, extra face masks, and a book Harry had told he had wanted to read.

Before opening your door, you put on the white mask that you embroidered sunflowers on. It was one of your favorites, and glad it complimented your look well. You walked down the stairs slowly, not wanting to drop the basket.

You walk out the front door and find Harry getting out of the yellow mask on his face. As you get closer, you can see it's the one you made him. It has bees on it, and embroidered on the left side is 'my honey.' Harry had turned quite pink when he opened the gift he got in the mail over facetime with her. You happily screenshot his reaction, happy to have it to look back on.

As soon as you reach him, it's as if all the nerves you had disappeared. Calm washes over you as he comes to stand in front of you. You can't see the smile he has, but the crinkles by his eyes prove he's just as happy to see you.

"Hi, Harry," you say, your eyes taking him all in.

Harry doesn't hide, he's checking you out, and you're thankful for the mask at the moment, able to hide how bashful you're feeling. "Hello, baby. You look gorgeous. I'm a lucky man."

"Yeah," you swayed side to side, "gave me a reason to dress up."

"Always beautiful, but I'm so glad to see more than just your shoulders." He laughs, and you join him.

"Look pretty, H. I had not seen this cardigan." You reach out, running a finger down over the pastel yellow cardigan that looks to be well-loved. He paired it with a plain white shirt that fits him loosely with Gucci denim trousers that he told you he found a few years ago when he was thrift shopping in London with his mother.

"No, brought it out just for you. Wanted it to match my favorite mask." Although he couldn't see it, you hoped your eyes were doing their job expressing your joy. "Let's put this basket in the trunk. Got a blanket and a few pillows as well as the lemonade."

"And the dessert?"

He chuckles, "and the dessert."

You place everything in the trunk, taking a step back for Harry to close it. He walks you over to your door, opening it for you, you offer a soft thank you, but before you get in, you turn to look at him.

"What is it, baby?"

You stare down at your ribbon-tied wedges before looking up into his piercing green eyes. "Can I have a hug? I just--I'm really happy to see you."

Harry falters for a second before answering, "of course, come here." He's quick to bring you in for a hug, and it feels like home. It's comfortable, and you can't believe you haven't hugged him since February, a good two months ago, when it has honestly felt like a lifetime. "I would have earlier, but when you came out, you truly shocked me with how amazing you looked."

You just hug him tighter, enjoying feeling his strong arms around you. He looks at you smiling. "That was nice." You nod because it was, and if he'd let you, you'd stay in his arms all day.

"Well, shall we go?"

"We shall."

And with that, you were off to your first date with Harry, which would hopefully lead to more.

_____

The drive to the park was short; you unloaded everything from the car once you got there. Harry offers to carry the basket, letting you lead to picking the spot. You walked ahead, glad he brought you to a park you recognized; it's one you liked to walk around during finals week when you were drowning in essays and exams. This was a nice break. On the other side of the park is a lake where you can rent pedal boats, but you were sure they hadn't opened up for business just yet, wanting more of the population to be vaccinated.

You led him to a secluded area laughing when he joked if you were leading him to his murder. Once you reached the clearing, one large tree with lots of shade and a few rose bushes surrounded it.

"It's beautiful here." Harry awed in amazement.

"Yeah, I found it my first year when I was trying to destress; I don't think many people know about it because it's not on the maps."

"Lucky us."

Harry grabs one end of the blanket, helping you spread it on the grass. You set your tote bag on one corner as well as setting down the pillows. As you make your way to sit down, Harry gently grabs your elbow, causing you to turn and look at him; he's holding a bouquet of tulips.

You felt your eyes well up with tears, not used to such a kind gesture; it's been a long time since you've been on a date with someone you really care about, "You got me tulips, H."

You reach forward and cradle them in your arms. "Course I did; I think you deserve all the beautiful things life has to offer."

You set the flowers on top of the basket before straightening up and pulling Harry into a hug. Your arms around his neck, his resting tightly around your waist, "including you," you whisper in his ear, causing him to squeeze you a bit tighter. Harry pulls back, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Let's eat, baby. Know you made something delicious for us to enjoy."

Harry set the food out, and you are sure to hand him the wet wipes to clean your hand before you could begin wanting to be clean and not wanting to venture out to find a restroom. He eyed the sandwiches first, then the veggie rice paper rolls.

"Couldn't decide?"

"Wasn't sure what you'd like. So I gave you two options."

"Too sweet angel." Harry leans in to kiss her cheek.

"Think we ought to take off the mask now." You giggle, sad you didn't get to feel his lips on your cheek.

"Yeah, so comfortable it doesn't really bother me wearing them. I am hungry."

You place your mask in your bag, and Harry puts his mask in his pocket. He opens up both containers and digs into the veggie rolls first. He hums after the first bite, chewing happily. "Delicious," he mutters between chews.

"Can add this peanut sauce to give it more flavor, just a tad bit spicy." He watches you as you pick up and spoon drizzle a bit on top, taking a bite. Harry follows your steps taking another bite, and his eyes go wide at the added flavor.

"Shocked, I've lived all my life without this food."

You laugh, "well, now you don't have to."

He chews happily at your response.

_____

Lunch is filled with little conversation, both praising each other for a well-planned meal. The strawberry lemonade complimenting the food perfectly. He brought a raspberry lemon loaf cake for dessert, and you happily admit you ate two pieces. It tasted so heavily, making Harry promise you to buy more in the future for you. He agreed, stating he'd do anything to make you happy.

"It's nice going out with someone, enjoying the sweet fresh air." Harry comments.

You hum in agreement, "I adore my alone time, but with the right company, it can feel just as perfect."

Harry's cheek turns rosy pink quickly, not at all trying to hide from you. You love that he loves to show how much you affect him.

"It feels normal like we've done this hundred of times already.”

You chuckle, nudging his shoulder. "It's cause we have. Just never called any of them dates."

"So you agree, we've been dating since February," he teases.

"Yeah, I think we can say that."

"When was our first zoom call?"

"Hmm...after class a week after your birthday. Think we worked for an hour and talked about nothing for another."

You look over at Harry loving how the sun reflects off his skin; it makes him look like a gift from the Gods. Harry feels your gaze on him, flashing you a big grin, his dimples on display just for you, because of you.

"We will call February eighth our anniversary," he declares.

You laugh, not a silent one but a full-out belly gripping laugh; you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. Harry sits there confused, not sure where the joke was.

"You alright, baby?" He asks, just a bit concerned.

"That is what you were thinking so hard about; you couldn't figure out a week from your birthday quickly. Took you a good few minutes." You shake your head, trying to catch your breath, tiny giggles still escaping you.

"Oi, no need to be rude."

"Sorry, honey."

"Never claimed to be smart."

"The pretty ones never are," you tease.

"Alright, that's it. I've had enough."

Before you can stop him, he's on top of you, his fingers tickling you from your sides to your thighs. He knows your body getting all your secret spots that make you squirm away from. You almost succeeded in getting one of his hands over your head, but he surprises you by straddling you. You've stopped laughing, but Harry keeps going.

His curls are falling over his head, his eyes shining bright, a new lightness to them. At that moment, you realize how lucky you are, and before you know it, you reach your free hand up and place it on the back of his neck, bringing him down to your lips catching him by surprise.

Harry stays frozen for a second before sinking into the kiss, responding softly, wanting to explore you as he'd been thinking about this moment for months. You love the feel of his lips against yours; you'd happily give up breathing, never wanting to part. Harry tries to pull away, but you chase his mouth, not ready to stop kissing. He smiles against your lips, humming when he places a hand on your cheek, adding more pressure; you're not sure who lets out a moan letting it out into the universe wishing for more, hoping for forever.

You don't get butterflies or fireworks. Instead, you feel the ease of calmness wash over you like when you arrive home after a long day. That's what kissing Harry is like coming home.

You pull back, laying your head on the pillow Harry was wise to bring; you don't try to contain your smile as Harry stares down at you in a look of awe. You run your thumb over his bottom lip-loving how swollen they look thanks to you. His eyes never leave yours; you gasp as he places a kiss on your thumb before taking it in his mouth, sucking it gently; a moan escapes you, surprised at how hot the teasing is getting you.

"You're filthy, honey."

Harry smirks, "just for you, baby."

"Only our first date, H. We aren't going to move fast."

"A makeout isn't too fast for you," he teases.

"Felt just right." You smile, loving the feeling of his weight on top of you as he has not moved from his position, still straddling you.

"I agree."

"Sorry, I didn't ask if I could kiss you. Consent is sexy."

Harry's smile is soft, his eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes, "You hereby have permission to kiss me whenever you please, my love."

"You know all the right things to say to make me puny for you."

"Good to know. Got to keep a mental list."

"What's on there so far?"

Harry smirks, leaning down his mouth right over your mouth; you remember the taste of lemon you felt when you kissed him, and well, you don't try to stop yourself when you attach your lips against his. There's no sweeter feeling, you've decided.

He pulls back, keeping the kiss short, "Know you can't be close to me without giving me a kiss. Know your heart is racing like it might beat out of your chest, and I know you're dying to ask me to be your boyfriend."

"Guess you are smart," you whisper.

He chuckles, nudging his nose against yours, humming as he places a kiss on the top of your nose.

"You know, I was right."

"Yeah, about what, H?" You reach your hand up to run your hand through his curls, brushing them back, giggling as they fall forward again.

"That your laugh sounds better in person. Know it's cheesy but truly music to my ears."

"You nutter!"

"Oi, picking up my slang, are you?"

"Got to, especially when you called that Evan kid a wanker for dismissing my response." You snicker, remembering the moment a few classes ago when you spoke up to give your opinion only for Evan trying to mansplain how women in politics were growing already especially having a female-run as a candidate a few years back. You would have cussed him out, but Harry did it for you. He packed up all your points with his own references. Safe to say, Evan has not spoken up since then.

"Cause he is one. You're the smartest person in the class, and that tosser should not even be in this class. Clearly, hasn't learned one bit since January."

"Settle down, honey. All in the past." You pat his chest a few times, getting his focus back on you. "Got that book you've wanted to read, want to give it a read now?"

"Course, baby. Happy you had it in your collection." He's gotten back into reading now that he seemed to have more time on his hands, and they had been bouncing recommendations off of each other. You had told him to stay off Book Tok because it was the same ten books being promoted by every page. His sister told him to read The Silent Patient, but he couldn't rationalize spending fifteen dollars, and he couldn't find the free pdf. He asked you and told him Amy bought it for you as a gift for feeding her.

"Let me get it out of my bag; you can lay in my lap easier to listen to."

Harry's eyes go wide; you're going to read him. He did not expect that, but he had to make sure. "Going to read to me, darling?"

"If you don't mind." you tuck your hand into your tote bag again, "brought my kindle in case you didn't want to. Won't be sad if you don't want to."

"No, I want you to. Yeah, more than anything. Got the prettiest voice." Harry pecks your lips, pulling back giddy because that's the first time he's kissed you, and well, he has to do it again. Your lips move in sync, the kisses feeling smoother but just as passionate. You break the kiss, playfully push him away, hands-off, letting you adjust yourself before he sets one of the smaller pillows in your lap and lays his head. Your hand is quick to find a place in his hair, thankful you've mastered the one hand reading and page-flipping due to always having a book in your hand growing up.

_____

After reading for a bit, Harry lifts his head from your lap, taking the time to admire you. You kept reading, letting him take you in from this new angle. You stopped brushing his hair instead, allowing yourself to get immersed in the book once again. You giggled, thinking back at Harry's reaction to the opening line of chapter one.

You had just flipped to a new page, ready to start chapter seven, when you saw how fidgety Harry had gotten. He clearly had something on his mind, so you wanted to give him his space; you had only read five words when he spoke, interrupting you.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" Harry blurts, shifting to sit in front of you.

You don't smile, but you know he can see the gleam in your eyes at his words, "Hmmm...will you give me a cute nickname?"

Harry doesn't know what you're doing but goes along with it. "Already do, so yes."

"Will you let me make you more masks?"

"Yes."

"Will you knit me a sweater?"

"I'll knit you hundreds."

You nod, "then yes, I'll be your girlfriend."

"Yeah, you want me to be your boyfriend," Harry teases.

"Dork," you shove his shoulder, causing him to fall back. He gasps in shock.

You laugh, and it's music to his ears; his dramatic response is swallowed as he takes you in. Harry isn't sure where he'd be without you. He takes in the happiness displayed on your face and knows if you could look in a mirror, he'd look just as happy if not more. You are a light in his life.

These last few months have changed everything about him. Harry hadn't really understood what it meant when people said that your partner should also be your best friend. He thought it was cheesy and something to give false hope to others, but with you, he knew it was true.

Starting off as friends built a strong foundation for you both to grow together, and he is forever thankful you took a chance on him.

Harry called it fate, but you well, you think it was all thanks to the zoom gods who set you up in a random break out room not once but twice.

_____

thank you for reading :) I adore you xx

[galactia]

In your own bed.

As if any other simply wasn't... his.

"Ah-... yes. Yes, I'm sure I will." Kaeya answered, voice tightened around an emotion that he ironed out with a breath. Giving up the warmth of the blanket to stand, he was a bit dizzy and unbalanced, and he might have wobbled on his feet, but he braced a hand on the divan as if there was nothing at all wrong and he was simply occupying the space.

"M-miss Adelinde, may I speak to you?" Barbara asked, packed and ready to depart, but it seemed not before giving some last minute instructions.

"Master Kaeya?" Elzer stepped over, hovering at his elbow in an unspoken offer.

The Captain huffed out a low chuckle, "Not the most graceful tonight, am I?" Despite his humor, he did not wave Elzer away. His concern was touching, "I'll be all right. I know my way well enough to make do."

More than 'well enough', but Elzer nodded, even if he did not move to leave him, just yet.

"Thank you, Acting Grand Master, for coming to see after my health." Kaeya inclined his head to Jean, who fixed him with a mildly furrowed brow but warm eyes.

"I'm glad you're safe, Captain Kaeya."

And he nodded, glancing past her to Diluc. He would not have been, had Diluc not-...

A bath was exactly what he needed, Adelinde was right (she was never wrong).

For what felt like an eternal moment Kaeya simply sank into the water, soaking the tension out of his battered muscles and basking in the light of familiar candles. Though daylight had broken outside, the curtains were drawn here, and he was tired enough to imagine the gentle nights he'd spent just like this, washing clean the bruises of a day of training, hours left still to have a dinner at the family table, and talk with Diluc long into the night.

He was dried (with his own towels.... they'd been kept?) and slipped into a comfortable pair of trousers (his own) when there was a knock at the door.

"Master Kaeya, are you decent?"

"Yes, Addy. Come in." Kaeya answered, looking toward the door as she slipped through it, a bottle of salve and rolls of bandages in her hands.

"Lady Barbara left instruction on how to tend what remains of your wound, and scars. Shall I?"

Kaeya turned a half-smile at her, tilting his head playfully, "And if I said no?"

"Then doing it yourself might prove quite the trial." Adelinde remarked, unconcerned by his teasing as she unrolled the gauze.

He huffed, amused, and then stilled as she began to apply a generous layer of salve onto tender skin, warped by fresh, glossy scarring. It still burned, both in reality and memory, and there was both some sting and relief to the cool of the medication. He must have drifted momentarily, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, because Addy murmured a,

"You look exhausted, Kaeya."

To which his mouth twisted in a weary curve. He felt it, dragging at his limbs, pressing into his temples. A fever still lingered, making his head spin if he moved too quickly, and dulling what appetite he ought to have had.

"So I am, Addy. So I am..."

Kaeya glanced down as she finished, surprised by the touch of a kiss against his forehead when he wasn't looking. He tensed for as long as it took to inhale, and then melted against the arm she held on his shoulder. She didn't have to say I was worried. He knew by the way she lingered. She didn't have to say Foolish boy. Please be more careful. He knew. But the quiet moment passed, and Kaeya almost wept, for the way it felt to be home.

"Diluc."

They were alone in the upstairs hall, Kaeya's hand braced on the railing, when he caught sight of him.

"... I'm off to bed on my own power before Addy orders me. A few winks, and I'll be right as rain." The smile he flashed and maintained, slipped. He knew Diluc would not be interested in any false impressions of sprightly wellness. It wasn't like he'd only just seen him nearly meet his end... except, well, he had. The humor was something they both knew was another mask he wore, to stay safe.

Wasn't he safe, here?

"You could use some rest too, I think." He added, gentler, far more sincere.

He hadn't let go of the railing. He wasn't admitting he needed it, but... the weakness had crept in. He'd nearly died.

Kaeya turned, to head toward the door of the room he hadn't staid in in years. (His room, his room-) He paused, looking back through a gold eye that was hazy and blurred, but still made out Diluc's frame. They'd been just like this so many times it could blur like the clarity of his vision - frozen in the hall, exchanging goodnights and tired remarks, and plans for the next day. Two brothers who as boys had spent nearly every night in each other's bedrooms, staying up too late talking of childish nothings.

"Thank you, 'Luc..." Kaeya said, low and quiet, and real, "for saving my life."

And then he slipped away, into the dark at the end of the hall, into the familiar door of his room, hand braced on the door-frame to keep from falling.

“Very well. I’ll take that into consideration and we can discuss once you’ve rested,” Jean replied, ending the discussion about their protection with a firm look between them that forbade any further debate. What mattered most was Kaeya’s health. Anything else could wait another moment.

Barbara arrived soon after and Diluc made himself busy in his corner of the room, paging through a heavy text about avian care and training without truly reading the words, his senses fully fixed on his brother. How Kaeya sucked in a breath or relaxed his limbs, how the scent in the room changed in response to Barbara’s power, the sharp tang of blood replaced with something gentle and cool, like a forest spring.

In all the chaos, he’d entirely forgotten that he, too, was covered in Kaeya’s blood. He thought, perhaps, that was why Jean kept glancing his way, silently assessing just how much of the blood covering his once-white vest was his own.

While Barbara applied some tonic to Kaeya’s scars, Diluc stood and crossed the room to Adelinde and Elzer, speaking in a low voice, “I think we’ll each need a bath and fresh clothes. And you can let the winery staff know they have the next few days off, as well as half of the house staff. I want as few people around as possible until I have more information about The Knave’s plans.”

They nodded and, as they left to see to his orders, Diluc heard Kaeya mention his name.

While Barbara hurried over to examine his hand, Jean looked at him sharply, though not without concern, as if she might scold him for not mentioning that he was wounded sooner.

“It’s nothing so serious,” Diluc said with a sigh, removing his glove so that Barbara might see the angry, blistered skin beneath. “I’ve burned myself enough by now, I can barely feel it, anyway.”

“A-all the same, these are very serious burns. Please give me a moment,” Barbara said, reaching for her bag of supplies and extracting a bottle of something she’d been applying to Kaeya’s burns earlier. “This will soothe the burn and help with the blistering. If for nothing else, treating it will help prevent an infection from developing. You should leave your glove off for a few days while it heals, to not irritate the skin.”

Diluc didn’t argue, only extended his hand to her so that she might apply the cool balm. It glistened in the lamplight and smelled of mint, making his nose wrinkle.

“You used this hand to cauterize Captain Kaeya’s wounds, correct?” Barbara asked, gently applying a bit of lotion and then a bandage around the burned hand. “It’s a good thing you were there.”

He blinked at the unexpected comment and felt a heat under his blood-soaked collar as he searched for some safe place to look that wasn’t Barbara or Jean or Kaeya or anyone else standing around. “... I suppose,” he replied after a long moment. When she was done, he flexed his fingers under her carefully applied bandages, testing the flexibility. “Thank you.”

Adelinde returned with a gentle knock on the door then, saying, “We’ve drawn the Masters each a bath.” To Kaeya, she added, “I’m sure you’ll rest better once you’re cleaned up and in your own bed.”

[lluvguts]

hi friend!! :) saw that earlier today you said you wanted asks!

so i have been summoned :3

my question is….

thoughts on jeff x self care routine?? 👀

YES!! i'm gonna answer this while i'm working on chapter 3 of ddtc SO the thoughts are flowing <3 this might be a lot because creepypasta brain rot is REAL but hey

in the early stages of being recruited jeff's self care was stolen alcohol and bloodlust but we've matured albeit a breadth from that

in terms of physical self care

he's very thin/frail in my opinion (see older headcanon post)

so because of this physical activities like working out and muscle training are very unlikely (outside of killing and, you know, escaping from authorities)

lung damage caused his stamina to go down significantly

he's good at killing

not so much running

hardly washes his hair

the sensation of water running down his hair and face is too similar to gasoline and bleach

only washes his face if there's blood or dirt on it, otherwise he doesn't touch anywhere that's heavily scarred

in the beginning stages, after being recruited he had a sort of panic where he frantically tried every salve, cream and the like to lessen the smile lines

like borderline manic

now he just accepts it

maybe a little too uncaring about his physical condition imo

like won't shower won't eat won't do anything for a few days

very touchy about water temperature and staring at his body for too long so baths are a no

when he has free time he definitely picked up wood carving

originally made spears and shit

still makes spears and shit

hey self care is self care no matter how deranged

he has probably vision damage so reading books or anything of the like is out of the question

he won't tell anyone but Liu (and sometimes BEN) that he enjoys cooking

it's the food prep he finds the most peace in

the repetitive chopping and cutting up various foods

the DAY jeff briefly mentioned his interest in it BEN ordered (read: hacked into the system and 'purchased') a kiss the cook apron

that jeff immediately lit on fire once seeing the package

it's difficult for him to do much of anything other than hold the handle of a blade because of the damage to his nerves and skin

so killing is also like stress relief, in it's own...way

anyway mwah