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boolger · 8 months ago

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A lapdog at a farm - chapter 5

<-former chapter -AO3 link -next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.3k

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

MDNI. MDNI. Dead dove do not eat.

Authors note: do note there will be the use of prong collars in this. Just like all the other fucked up stuff in this, i don't support that irl, but this is fiction. On a different note, it will probably be at least a week before I can give you another chapter lol, shit is happening, my sinners and im holding on. Also thank u to all the nice asks and comments ive been sent. means a lot <33. ENJOY!

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You could only stay in the farmhouse for so long; even though you desperately wanted to stay inside, Price dragged you outside, talking about fresh air and enjoying nature.

To you it was nothing but lies and the smell of animal shit.

There were no pavements, no cars flashing by, no advertisements or shops, no scents of food or sweets trying to lure you in. There were no hybrid clothes shops, where John would play dress up with you for his next party. Show him how the lingerie set he picked out looked against your tail.

He would make sure your nails were always perfect and manicured. Without the claws, he made sure you knew you were loved anyways, your nails adorned with expensive nail polish and gemstones. Anything that his Daisy, his princess, his darling, his puppy wanted, she always got.

Now you were here, following him into the stables, to see how far Nikolai - who had forced himself into your life - was with the tractor.

Warily looking out for the hybrids, staying close to your owner.

The stitches were gone and everything was healed all nicely - that didn’t mean that you wanted to start over and get more bites that would need stitches. Once was enough. Hopefully Price and Nikolai understood that too.

Also, you didn’t want to get fucked dumb by those mutts again; they didn’t deserve your pussy. Especially not Ghost or Gaz. Not really Soap either, he had just been nice because he had to. You were sure. They were nothing but stupid working dogs, who didn’t know how to behave.

Your owner, John Price, looked in love; he was watching Nik just as much as he was watching the tractor. The stress that had sometimes followed him home when you lived in the city was no longer visible. It had left his bones, made him happy and pliable, clearly blossoming in his new role as a farmer. You loved him but what the fuck were you supposed to do with this whole situation? Pretend to be happy?

You were a pet, so it wasn’t like you had any options. And your attempts at persuading him to move back to the city hadn’t gone well. Resisting your ever present urge to let him fuck you, would probably not do you any good. Earn you a spanking from both him and Nikolai. They might even throw you to the hounds.

One of those said hounds were getting closer to you, the hybrid making you tense up a little.

“You’re looking good, princess,” Gaz said casually, shooting you an awfully charming smile, his tail wagging while you tipped your ears backwards instead of replying.

“Feeling better?”

You didn’t reply, merely stared at the tractor, boring as it was. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away. He stepped closer to you, his dark gaze resting on you, while you stepped closer to John, growling as a warning.

“Behave,” Price said over his shoulder, clearly more interested in that Russian man of his, than your safety.

It only took another step and Gaz’s teeth a tad too close to you, to send you bolting out. Back inside it was then, you concluded, enough farming bullshit for today.

Only to meet Ghost in the way, his scarred face grinning smugly, ears tipping towards you.

“‘Ello pup.”

Nah, you weren’t fucking with that today. You managed to see the shadow of Soap before you bolted again.

Running still wasn’t your best talent; so though you knew it was stupid, you decided to do what you weren’t allowed to anyways. You crawled the wooden fence, ignoring the male hybrids' shouts and barks — as well as the fence’s slight squeak - and landed on the other side with a grunt.

The corns were tall and you took a breath, looking over your shoulder, only to see a worried looking Soap being the closest.

He let out a concerned whimper.

“Dinnae lass,” he warned, a softness in his voice that you recognized from your moments inside.

You would deal with the consequences and the punishment that Price would give you for leaving the ground. It was better than getting your shoulders bitten to pieces - so you got up and rushed into the tall corn field. Abandoning the male hybrids.

Stupid. They were all stupid.

Maybe this should be your new go-to hiding spot. You could hear them bark aggressively but not getting nearer. They weren’t allowed to leave either. You felt your chest swell a little with pride over the idea. You wouldn't be gone for long, just until they lost interest in you.

It was several seconds before you stopped, panting with your tongue out. You couldn’t see the fence or the farm from all the corn by now, which finally meant some peace. Your tail wagged and your body relaxed, a soft wind playing with your fur for a moment, making the corn move around you, like waves in the ocean.

However, that peace didn’t last long.

“My my,” the voice almost appeared out of nowhere and you turned slowly, unsure but still afraid of what you would see, “what are you doing here, perrita? On my property?”

You knew Alejandro and Rodolfo had gotten a hybrid, but you had been too swept up in your own nightmare to ask about her; now, as she towered above you, seeming more wolf than dog, you would rather have one of the mutts on your own farm. A scared little whimper escaped you.

“You must be Price’s precious lapdog, no?” She asked, slowly moving in between the corn with ease, as she circled around you, fear making you stay still, “a little city puppy, forced to be out on a farm. How sad.”

There was no trace of sympathy in her voice. It took you a moment to swallow some spit and another moment to take a proper breath.

“I’ll go home again, I’m sorry.” You tried your best to seem submissive, leaning forward a little, tail tugged along your leg. You at least had your owner at the farm - but here? Here, with this new, wolf-like hybrid, you didn't have anyone. You weren’t even supposed to be here, weren’t allowed. Sure, you knew Alejandro and Rudy, but they also knew you weren’t supposed to be there.

“Hmmm,” she answered in a rumble, licking her teeth slowly, casually showing off her fangs, “what’s your name, perrita?”

She screamed danger. Her energy screamed ‘I can make worse wounds than them’ and you certainly didn’t feel like testing that. In fact, you would rather get as much distance between you and her as possible.

“D-Daisy.” It was the name Price had chosen, not that you were really called it. But you weren’t going to tell this hybrid woman who looked like she could swallow you whole, that you were usually called princess, pretty girl, puppy or sweetheart.

“I’m Valeria,” she replied, finally stopping her circling, only to step closer to you. She wasn’t really that tall, but her energy was as if she was, she had strong arms and legs; scars littered her too, her hair short, ears big and tipped forward without a care in the world. Her collar was thick and sturdy, opposed to your own fancy one.

You almost wanted to point out that yours was prettier. That you were a lapdog, not one of the working ones, that you were not made to be played rough with. That you were no threat.

You could hear barking in the distance. Voices calling out for you. Even though you hadn’t met Valeria for more than a minute, you already knew you wanted to get a good distance between you and her.

“Uh nice to meet you, but I better get back home, sorry-“ you turned around quickly but before you could even think to bolt, strong arms were around you and the other dog hybrid pulled you close to her chest.

“Eres tan linda e ingenua,” she almost lovingly growled into your ear, and while you didn’t understand what she was saying, you were much more distracted by her tongue. She licked your cheek a couple of times, slow and wet strokes; you got the feeling that she might eat you raw without regret and you twisted a little in her grip, letting out a louder growl. She laughed, one of her hands pawing at your tit, claws sinking into the fabric. She smelled of danger and lust; like the mutts at home when they first got their dirty paws on you.

“I’m gonna enjoy me—“

“VALERIA!” Her name echoed through the fields, making both of you freeze. Like a warning rushing in between the corns, her name couldn’t be ignored.

She growled deeply, seeming annoyed with the disturbance, while you wanted to kiss whoever of your neighbors it was. She rolled her hips, humping your ass twice, before she was interrupted again.

“Valeria!” It was Alejandro, you realised then, who yelled once again, “ sé que la tienes! Let her go!”

With one deep sniff of you, while you whimpered, the wolf-looking hybrid finally let go of you.

“I won’t be as nice next time, perrita - now go, before I change my mind and take you from your boys.”

You didn’t need to be told that again and didn’t want to argue that they weren’t your boys - the moment she let go, you bolted towards the way you came.

How they knew that she had gotten a hold of you wasn't clear, but it wasn’t like you were gonna turn around and ask Alejandro or Rudy.

The answer came to you anyways; one angry looking John Price stood with crossed arms, phone in hand. A grinning Nikolai next to him and three growling hybrids moving back and forth along the men and the fence. Every single one of them stilled and stared at you as you sheepishly walked to the fence, tail between your legs and ears tipped down.

You stood, just for a moment, with the fence in between you and the others. Considering staying there, as if that would be a good solution.

“Get your arse over here,” Price snapped, his voice stern and dark, as he put his phone in his pocket, marching towards you.

You hastily and in a rather inexperienced manner, climbed the fence and got to the right side. Instantly, tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a whimper, almost ready to tell about the horrors you had just been through - only to bark loudly at the hybrids as they all charged towards you, hands touching you, only stopped by a sharp whistle.

“Nyet,” Nikolai called harshly, “off her. Now.”

Soap and Gaz instantly let go, stepping back as John reached you, but Ghost didn’t move. His hand rested on your neck, pressing your collar against your skin, his nose almost fully pressed against your temple.

“Let go.” Price’s voice was sharp and you let out a little whimper- not sure who of them you would rather deal with right now.

“She smells wrong,” Ghost replied, not moving, but his voice not as harsh as it could be, “smell of her.”

Her. You didn’t know whether Valeria would be in trouble over this or not. You had been the one to step into her territory anyways. She wasn't the one who had jumped a fence after all.

“We will fix that.”

Ghost let out a grumble but after two seconds of staring at each other, the hybrid finally let go of you, earning himself a swift “Good boy.”

Then Price grabbed into the ring in your collar and pulled, ignoring how you instantly broke into tears, excuses and explanations spilling from your lips like a waterfall, desperate to avoid punishment. You didn't want to stay with Valeria, but you didn’t want this either.

You were dragged past Nikolai who shared a short glance with Price - and they gave each other a short nod.

“C’mon boys,” Nikolai then called, the hybrids instantly moving to him, even though you could feel them staring at you, “we’re gonna join them.”

They were what? You cried harder, tugging at John’s arm, your owner ignoring your pleads and cries.

“I’m sorry sir, I got scared, I didn’t mean to run away,” you babbled, every second word followed by a small sob or whine, tail between your lets, almost making it hard to walk normally, “ they scared me, I was gonna come back, I’ll be good sir, I’ll behave! I wasn’t running away!”

There was no mercy from your owner, who just marched you towards the farmhouse that had almost become home by now.

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be a dog on a farm by now, surrounded by working hybrids, you would have laughed in their face. Loudly and impolitely.

You? Pretty lapdog living in the city out on a farm?

You weren’t even at the house yet, somehow crying harder because you felt so sorry for yourself in general. You were such a perfect lapdog, such a perfect being, forced to be out here, in the cold countryside. A tragedy.

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The prong collars looked like they would choke too and you wanted to scream merely at the sight.

“I’m not running the risk of having my darling all bitten to pieces again - this will hopefully help you to remember.”

None of them seemed too happy about it; you couldn’t blame them, you wouldn’t want those either, but you were horrified by the idea of getting bitten as harshly as they did last time. If both Price and Nik hadn’t been there, you doubted it would be possible to get the collars on them.

You were still crying yourself, from the shame of having jumped over the fence and creating chaos, only resulting in this.

The moment they were allowed, they were on you, ignoring your whimpering and fingers trying to push them off - Soap was the nicest, helping you get your clothes off instead of letting the others rip them, even if all of them were obsessed with your smell. Or well, with how you smelled of Valeria to be exact.

Soap licked your cheek and you growled at him, tipping your ears back, trying to push him away, fingers against his chest; but he didn’t move, only pressed himself closer, growling back to prove he was stronger than you - that you were supposed to be submitting to him.

“They shouldn’t be this aggressive,” you heard Price point out to Nikolai, but you were too distracted by Soap grinding his still clothed crotch against your poor, exposed cunt - you whined his name, but he didn’t stop.

“Gonn’ mark ye, hen,” he promised in a murmur, teeth sinking into your jaw for just a moment - a warning tug in the leash made him let go almost instantly, instead licking the spot a couple of times, “gonn’ make ye smell all bonnie again.”

Both Gaz and Ghost were barking, but they were both held by the collars by Price and Nik, kneeling next to them, clearly antsy.

“-are working dogs-” it was hard to hear them, over your own mind buzzing so much, over the barks and the pleasure that you hated, “-hierachy is importa-”, one of Soap’s hands disappeared and a moment later, you heard his fly get tugged down, “show them where the line is, so–”

You howled in a high pitched tone as he forced his cock inside you, making you twist and try to push Soap okay. The stretch was intense, burning despite how wet you felt. “It's okay, bonnie lass,” Soap growled, forcing his cock a little deeper into you, nosing at your shoulder, near one of your scent glands, his hands moving to grab onto your thighs, “we’re nae gonna hurt ye.”

You both knew it was a lie - but you at least trusted Soap a little more than the two other mutts who were watching, knowing he could control himself. They were barely able to sit still, tongues out, almost drooling, while their eyes were dark in a way that reminded you of that time in the shed.

He forced his cock deeper, the knot finally reaching the opening of your poor, stretched cunt and you let out a sound at the fear of it sliding inside you. The scent of Soap was already beginning to overwhelm the scent that Valeria had left behind against your will - a part of you wished you had fought her more, had attempted to hurt her more.

The cry that left you was pained and afraid - his fangs almost having forced its way through your skin; you were only saved by John, who pulled Soap back by the collar, the prongs digging into the hybrid’s skin.

“Behave, boy,” John snarled while a mixture of a whine and a growl left Soap, as he helplessly pawed at the collar, “No breaking skin - already told you.”

“‘m sorry, sorry,” he promised, a pained tone to his voice, “dinnae mean tae.”

You doubted it was true; there was a darkness in the air despite the way your owner tried handling them.

He was let go off and the moment the prongs didn’t painfully dig into his skin, he was on you again, tongue on the indent he had left, his cock pressed into you again, his tail wagging.

“‘m sorry,” he barely managed to say in between his licks and moans, before his hands were back on you, his moaning louder, as he ignored your whines of slowing down. Your own hands grabbed onto his mohawk and ears, but the hybrid did nothing but moan even louder, moving his hips a little upwards and fuck - he hit the perfect spot, grinning like a feral hound when he noticed and heard your sounds.

You came against your will, crying out and spasming around him, his hands grabbing harder onto your thighs, claws teasing the skin.

He was panting and moaning like a hound, mounting you like there was nothing in his mind but the feeling of your cunt.

“Gonna fill ye up,” Soap promised, words barely escaping his mouth, drool dripping down on you; not like you cared, too gone yourself to really do so.

“DON'T knot her,” Price’s word cut through the air like a sharp knife, slicing into your mind; you wanted him to knot you, a part of you realized, no you needed him too - while another screamed in delight of not having to be stuck to him.

“Nnngh,” his hips were going so fast it almost hurt as they clashed against your skin, “please sir, please plea—“

“No.”

The hand that appeared made you shudder - and then a second later, Soap came, almost a guttural scream leaving him; you could feel Price’s fingers near your cock, stopping him from sliding his knot into you.

“Later,” Price answered, then pulling Soap back by the collar and hair, your own hands slipping easily from him, “we don’t have the time to wait for all of you to knot her right now.”

The moment he was pulled away, you moved, whimpering and curling to the side, wincing as cum slid out from your pussy; it wasn’t John’s, you wanted it to be your owners. You barely had time to breathe before Nik released one of the others. Gaz pushed you onto your stomach - one hand on your neck to keep you down as you snarled.

“Wait,” you barked, ears tipping down “lemme breathe, for fucks sake—“

“Need you, puppy,” Gaz merely replied, grabbing onto your collar and tugging, his other hand pulling on your tail, ignoring your yelp, “gonna make it all okay again.”

“Nothing happened-“ you snarled, trying to make him let go, but you separately rose to your knees in order to levitate the pressure on your tail.

“Why did you smell like her then, huh?” He all but snarled, finally letting go of your collar, to push down his own pants, “stinking of her lust!”

You tried twisting to grip onto his ears to tug at them, hoping it would make him let go of you but he merely let go of you fully for a moment - your wrists were caught by his hands and he slammed them against the wooden floor.

“Be nice, собака,” Nik warned him, “I’m in no mood for broken bones.”

You barely heard him nor Gaz’ aggressive reply; you were too busy, having a realization.

They were jealous ; you weren’t sure why it had taken you so fucking long to realize. The three mutts were jealous somebody else, somebody they didn’t know, had touched you and hadn’t you been so fucking upset, you might have laughed.

Instead, you felt a cock forcing its way into your cunt, making you howl in pleasure against your will; the slide was easier this time as Gaz fucked you, as you were already wet from the round with Soap - and now with his cum as well, Gaz fucked you almost smoothly. If not more aggressively than Soap had.

It didn’t take long before his teeth sank into your skin, the first two seconds it was nothing more than an extra grip, his cock roughly thrusting into you as if attempting to move your organs, his drool sliding along your skin, mixing with your sweat. His claws were digging into your skin slightly, but even more into the floor - while you were a mess, panting and attempting to growl in between your pathetic moans, barely able to see straight.

The pressure he bit you with changed quickly however and suddenly you were whining in pain, so loudly that you almost didn’t recognize your own voice.

Apparently Gaz had tried to bite Price in aggression over being ripped away from ‘his bitch’ as Nik called it, and you heard the harsh words and slaps, while you sank down a little, your tits pressed against the cold floor, your cunt empty.

He was back as soon as he disappeared though, pulling you up again, only to almost instantly try to bite you again – halfway pulled away once more. You looked over your shoulder, seeing how the prong collar dug into his skin for a short moment until Price let go of him again.

The moment he was back, you turned however, using the moment to grab onto one of his long, dark ears and tug; it was almost a squeal that left Gaz and you heard both the hybrids bark and growl, Nik saying something – but it was the harsh spank from the leather leash that made you loosen your grip.

“Behave, Princess,” John was squatting down next to you, strong hand on your pretty collar; it stood out so violently when compared to the others’ current prong collars, “or I’ll get you a collar too.”

“They’re mean!” you whimpered, giving him your best puppy eyes, before sending Gaz an angry look, as he was barely held back by John.

“Well you’re not quite playing nice either, eh?” There was a slight amusement in his voice but you didn’t get to comment on it, before he moved again.

Price gave Gaz more leash and the hybrid was instantly on you again, but this time Price didn’t let go of the metal ring in your own collar, keeping you in place, as if to remind you to behave; to remember he was right here, calling the shots.

“Yeah, Princess,” Gaz mocked, pushing into your cunt again with a moan, the movement in his hips exposing the fact that he was wagging his tail, “Behave.”

“Shut up!” you hissed angrily, a tug in the collar reminding you that Price was right there.

Gaz’ hands were mostly on your hips - he nuzzled against your back and neck, licking your shoulders and in between your shoulder blades - he bit you a couple of times, but they were barely anything more than nips, a gentle tug on his collar reminding him to behave.

Then one of his hands moved, almost catching you off guard and making you whimper - it slid beneath your stomach, pawing at it for a moment, before it found its way to your cunt where the two of you were still connected, his thrusts still hard; he touched your clit without hesitation, snarling out words you could barely recognize. Mercilessly forcing you towards another orgasm.

Price let go of your collar and you let your head slumber down against the floor, wincing at the small pool of drool that had been created, hating how you pushed back against Gaz, the dual pleasure of his cock hitting that right spot and the fingers on your clit, so good you could barely breathe.

You barely heard Price’s command of not knotting you, from the mere tsunami of pleasure that overtook your body as you came, a howl that barely made any sound, snapping of your teeth and the pawing at the floor. You tightened around his cock, the knot having been so close, oh so close to being forced into your over oversensitive cunt - but then it was pulled out of you, almost making you sob.

Cum spurted on top of your lower back and ass cheeks, before Gaz willingly went - you could hear the almost instant sound of him and Soap making out with each other. And there was only one person back, which meant you had to go now.

A hand grabbed onto your ankle, dragging you backwards as you managed to crawl forwards a few steps - you turned around, back on the floor, raising your opposite leg to kick Ghost in the face, but the other hybrid caught it easily; grinning at you, almost feral-like, lust heavy in the air. Sometimes you forgot they had been in the military for so long.

Leather connected to your skin once more, this time on your raised thigh, a whine leaving you, your eyes flickering to look up at John who stood with the leash curled in his hand, ready to spank you with it once more.

“behave,” John hissed at you, while Ghost chuckled. Idiot.

You didn’t have much time to argue, Ghost letting go of your ankles, just to grab onto your thighs and pull you closer; he was kneeling, almost pulling you into his lap, that feral grin still there, fangs exposed.

He leant over you much quicker than you had anticipated, ignoring your growling and snapping with teeth - one hand resting next to your head, the other pulling down his boxers, pants already open.

Was his cock this big last time? It was like you couldn’t remember the last time right now, you could barely think, in fact, your mind was overwhelmed with so many things. Pleasure, oversensitivity, pain and anger - his dick seemed inhumanely long.

“Not so snappy now, huh?” he crooned, voice low, his free hand grabbing onto your plush thigh, fingers digging into the fat, ears tipped towards you as he spoke, “cockdumb already?”

“nnngh,” you tried pushing at his clothed chest, twisting in his grip, but it was no use; it was like the cock inside you kept you from doing anything. Somehow you managed a small “shutup” and that was enough to set Ghost going.

“Gonna teach you to not go whoring again,” Ghost snarled against your skin, tongue sloppily leaving a wet trail of spit over one of your bouncing tits, simply ignoring your hands trying to push his face out of the way, a plethora of moans and small yaps leaving you as he didn’t stop fucking you with that monster cock of his. You knew you were being watched, both by your owner and his boyfriend, as well as the two other hybrids, it only added to the humiliation of being turned on.

“Belong to us,” his words were barely audible as he growled them, the wet sounds and rustling of his clothes seeming to overtake it, “not her.”

“I won’t, won’t go, won–” you were barely aware of the words slipping from your lips, the volume rising as you felt his teeth scrape against a spot on your shoulder over your right breast, “nonon, please, I wont–”

“Ghost–” Price’s warning was stern, the little tug in the prong collar making him grumble, licking over the spot a couple of times - your eyes met.

Ghost’s eyes almost seemed like they wanted to own you too; as if it was no longer John who you bowed to, but the pack that you didn’t want, on a farm you didn’t want to be. His thrusts quickened and then his eyelids lowered together with his head – biting down into your skin.

Despite his fast attempt at breaking your skin, mauling your flesh into his, Price was quicker – pulling him back by the collar. He held an extra grip on his hair and you managed to look up, see through the tears.

It was like there was a flood in your ears, Price looking mad, Ghost’s ears tipping backwards as he spoke.

Fighting to get some air into your lungs, you panted and tried wiggling free. Ghost’s fingers merely dug deeper into your plush thigh even though he was currently pulled back by the prong collar, the tips of his claws pressing against your skin as a warning.

The moment he let go, Ghost was back at it, staring down at you with a dark smile, grunts and small moans even leaving him. It took a couple of moments before Price let him have enough leash to bend down over you again and this time Ghost growled into your ears instead of your skin. Licking your furry ears while you whimpered at the feeling and the words.

They owned you; were going to breed you, use you, keep Valeria away, and do whatever they needed to keep you. You were theirs. The moment you let us, he had panted, we will love you.

There was an odd feeling in your stomach, almost as if you were going to piss yourself, but with no mercy from any of the men, one of your hands dug into his short hair and the other grabbed onto his shoulder as you screamed.

It had been a while since you squirted and it took you by surprise, just as it did the others. There were several barks, voices but then Ghost was fucking you even harder than before, bordering on painful, forcing his mouth against yours. You came a second time, this time not squirting but it almost felt more intense.

Ghost came just a moment later, perhaps caught by surprise himself, but he made sure not to knot you.

The world was spinning around you. There were teardrops in your lashes as you squinted up at the hybrid, who was still pushed inside you. Price’s hand petting him shortly on the head before pulling him back.

There was speech but you barely noticed - then strong hands pulled you up into a lap. The overpowering scent of leather and oil told you who it was and despite your slight hate for Nik, your tail wagged as he pulled you into his arms, cooing at you.

“Such a strong puppy,” he praised, one of his hands drying away some of your drool, caressing your cheek as he sat on the floor with you on his lap, cum no doubt dripping onto his clothes, “you deserve treat for being so good, da?”

Compared to the first time you had met Nikolai, you didn’t want to bite his hand anymore - he clearly didn’t fear you doing so either. You snuggled into his hand, nodding as you squinted up at him, a small “uh-huh” leaving you.

His hand disappeared and then there was a faint rustling of plastic - even without seeing it, you smelled it. It was that mouthwatering scent that made you weak in your knees that first time and your nose instantly sniffed, almost trying to sit up further to get a look of where it was - to get it before the boys did. Nikolai laughed, letting out a “there you go, milaya,” letting you grab the piece of jerky from his finger, instantly sinking your teeth into it with a pleased sigh. Your tail wagging a little again as you heard Soap whining over not getting a piece.

You even had to take a bath with them afterwards. Your life was officially over - you made sure to tell Price that, who just huffed and rolled his eyes. Sure, you weren’t the biggest fan of showers, but you wanted the cum off and you wanted a bath in the tub… alone. That was your thing.

“- ‘nd they’re gonna use up my shampoo and my conditioner -” you continued overdramatically as Nik carried you in front of John, the russian man merely snorting at your pitiful complaining.

“We’ll buy more-” John tried to point out, but to no avail, life might as well be over for you right now.

“- ‘nd my brushes - all my nice brushes!”

“I will be sure tae use yers, Mo ghràdh,” Soap happily proclaimed, sending you a wink, fully naked as he was, his usual collar back on, small red marks on his neck from where the prongs had been, “I will use theim the wrong way. Just fer ye.”

Gaz snickered and even Ghost let out a chuckle.

“Jooohn,” you whined, only struggling a little as Nik sat you down in the tub, the water already nice and warm, your poor body having needed this, “I’m gonna need new brushes.”

“I doubt that, Princess,” he cooed, petting your hair, “Now who wants to join in th–”

Soap was in the tub, sliding in behind you before John could even finish his question, happily ignoring your pout and growl.

“Dinnae be like that,” he crooned, “where is yer special shampoo?”

This day had been awful.

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“Princess.”

You almost jumped as the voice called for you and you turned, squinting slightly in suspicion at the sight. Gaz stood in the doorway, all calmly, looking at you, playing a little with his gloves. He didn’t look aggressive and didn’t smell turned on; in fact, he looked pretty harmless, his tail wagging ever so slightly, ears turning towards you and an almost shy smile.

“What?” you asked, sitting up in the dog bed, crossing your arms, not caring about sounding nice, looking him over for a moment before adding, “you’re dragging in mud.”

He looked down at his shoes, letting out a little ‘oh’. They weren’t really supposed to be in here, so you didn’t really understand why Gaz stood there. You didn’t really care either.

The other might be beautiful, but he was still not one of your favorite people.

“I - want to show you something,” he finally said, one of his charming smile appearing, though it was a little more careful this time, “Soap said you would probably like it.”

“What is it?” You didn’t sound too impressed.

“It's a surprise,” he smiled a little more.

“If it's your knots, then you can–”

“Jeez,” he rolled his eyes, as if they weren’t fucking you silly on the livingroom floor the other day, “it’s not. Nothing like that.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” he answered, wagging a little more than before, “Swear on my tail.”

"Hm. Where is it?”

“In the barn.”

You scrunched your nose at the mention of the barn, the idea of being stamped to death by a horse already scaring you.

“It’s nothing scary - I wouldn’t bring you if it was.”

You let out a sigh, before getting up - he went to the hallway again and you followed, stealing one of John’s jackets as well as a pair of his boots, before following Gaz outside.

“Some air would do you good once in a while, ya’ know,” Gaz said after a few moments, “we’re not that bad all of the time, Princess.”

You huffed, wondering for a moment if you should just turn around and go back. “You haven’t really proved me otherwise.”

He let out a hum that almost sounded agreeable but opened one of the doors to the barn, ushering you inside.

“It’s all good, I promise,” he said once more and you reminded yourself, that if he tricked you, you were going to snap off his tail. Pretty as it was.

He steered you to a booth where you noticed the heat lamp at first, more than anything else - but then you saw them, letting out a little gasp.

Tiny baby goats, all snuggled together in the hay beneath the lamp. A few of the mothers stood nearby and one of them came to the door of the booth, sniffing at Gaz’ hand, before letting out a bleat - then turning around again.

“They’re adorable,” you whispered, looking back at the babies, some of them looking at you, others sleeping with no worries in the world.

“Aren’t they?” Gaz asked with a smile, “They were born yesterday night. Come.”

You let out a scared sound as Gaz opened the door to the booth.

“Won’t the mothers attack us?” you didn’t like how Gaz chuckled to your genuine, fearful question but he shook his head.

“Nah, me ‘nd the others hang out with the animals all the time.” He explained, petting one of the mothers who came to greet him for a moment.

It was cute. You had to admit that, even with your limited love of the farm animals.

“But I don’t.” you pointed out, still standing in the door of the booth, afraid to step into the hay and join the other as he sat down next to the baby goats.

“No, but the mothers know I won’t let a predator near,” he explained gently, “Not at daytime and not during the night.”

“Oh.”

There was something special over this that you could not explain. You didn’t want to explain it. You sat down next to Gaz as he patted the spot, still a little unsure about the momma goats - but none of them battered an eye as Gaz took your hand and made you gently pet one of the babies.

“They’re so tiny,” you whispered, almost to yourself, for once not hating or fearing Gaz. At least for right now, you were just in a moment together with him, doing something that you hadn’t expected would be that nice.

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ghost-in-the-hall · 8 months ago

Text

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Pt. X

Hello hello! After a long time away I have finally returned! It's good to be back! Here's an update for the Eepy's, I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: Mentions of injury and blood, suggestive comments

My Masterlist! ~ A03 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

Part IX - Part XI (TBA)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Got a second to talk?”

“Yeah.” You respond after a moment of hesitation, your voice raspy with sleep. “Yeah, let me just grab my coat.” You shove your feet into your boots. You glance at the group in your living room, silently telling them to stay put. All four of them looked ready to rush to your rescue without hesitation. But, if they got involved, it would only make the situation even riskier than it already could be. You shrug on your winter coat before stepping onto your landing. “Something wrong, officer?”

“That’s what I came here to ask you.” He responds. “Got a call? An unfamiliar pickup truck showed up in your lot. Four suspicious men were seen approaching your apartment.” He looks down in the lot at the beat-up truck sitting next to your car. “I'd say there's a pretty good chance they're still here.”

“That's really why you're banging on my door at the ass crack of dawn?” You ask in an annoyed tone, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well, I'm going to tell you right now, you're not getting in here without a fucking warrant-” He cuts you off by firmly saying your name.

“I'm not here to arrest anyone.” He explains in an attempt to try and diffuse your hostility. “I'm just here to check in. Are you in trouble? Do you need help?” He whispers, eyes darting between the door and your less-than-pleased expression.

You let out an aggravated sigh, “Mike, listen… the only reason I'm not running you off my property right now is because you've helped me out in the past. If I needed your help, I would ask for it. I'm not going to let you show up here and harass me or any of them because some fucking backwoods country bumpkin wants to demonize a different way of living.” You take a deep breath, seeing the genuine concern on his face. “This… isn't like last time; they wouldn't hurt me. I'm safe, promise.” He looks at the door and then back at you.

“If you even get the feeling that something is wrong, you call me.” You nod.

“Get back to the station. Your wife would be worried sick if she knew you were out driving right now.” You nodded to his vehicle, watching him descend the stairs before heading back inside the apartment. You stepped through the door, kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat with a sigh of relief now that the situation was over.

“Thank god, you're safe.” Vessel pulls you into his arms, his voice thick with worry. “What did he want?”

“Someone called to report an unfamiliar vehicle and four suspicious individuals entering my house last night; he was just swinging by for a wellness check.” You reassure him. “He might be a bit of a hard ass, but he means well. I'm sure he won't give you guys any trouble.”

“Bit of a sour start to our first morning all together, isn't it?” III chuckles, making the rest of the group laugh.

“And here I was, looking forward to cuddling up with you.” Vessel purrs, the tension from your unexpected visitor quickly melting away as they all attempt to soothe your nerves.

“Nothing is saying that can't still happen, Ves,” II responds with a smile. You see a devious smirk quickly pass over Vessel’s features. You yelp, and your feet are lifted from the floor in one swift movement. Vessel easily tosses you over his shoulder to carry you towards your bedroom. You giggle as he gently tosses you on the bed, quickly being surrounded by warmth as the boys pile around you. You lay sandwiched between II and IV, III holding one of your hands in his as he lazily plays with your fingers. Vessel’s hand possessively wraps around the curve of your waist as he reaches over II, needing to be somehow able to touch you. It didn't take long for your eyes to grow heavy, returning to sleep for the last few hours of dawn as the new day's light began to melt away the cage of ice that had covered the surrounding trees.

You smiled as you woke up, pressing into the body's warmth behind you with a soft hum. A strong arm wrapped securely around your waist, his thumb rubbing slow, languid strokes across your hip. You reach over to find the other side of the bed empty. “-’s just you and me, lovey.” Vessel purrs. You let out a soft, pleased sigh.

“Is that so?” you ask in a slightly teasing tone, your voice still thick with sleep. Was that your plan all along? Get me in bed all alone?” He meets your playful smirk with a chuckle of his own.

“You’d like that, wouldn't you, sweetness?” he whispers, his grip tightening on your waist. Your cheeks grow warm, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel his lips brush over the shell of your ear. “Trust me, my first time with you isn't going to be some messy little hook-up in your bedroom.” He chuckles. “I plan on worshiping you like the divine creature you are.” A shiver runs up your spine as he presses his lips to your pulse. “Until then, we just have to be patient, don't we?”

“Fine.” You sigh in mock annoyance, making Vessel laugh softly. You rest your hand on top of his, languidly tracing the spaces between his knuckles as you allow yourself to melt into his warmth. “Where are the others?”

“They're making you breakfast. We all want to make sure you have a better day after starting on the wrong foot.” He explains softly.

“You’re sweet, " you say with a smile. “The power came back on?” He lets out a hum of approval.

“Clicked on a little while after you fell asleep.” You lay there for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of Vessel’s body molding against yours. You sigh as you attempt to roll out of bed. “And where do you think you're going?” He chuckles, tightening his grip on your waist. You roll over to face him, the playfully grumpy expression on your face making him smile. “Trying to run away without giving me a kiss? That's how it's going to be, hm?” You giggle as he pulls your lips to his.

You could get used to mornings like this. After leaving your lungs burning for air and your head spinning, Vessel lazily helped you get out of bed. Scooping you up in his arms to escort you towards the kitchen. “Well, good morning, beautiful.” III stood at the stove, bacon sizzling in the pan in front of him, IV at his side cutting up fruit and tossing it into a bowl, and II sat at the table drinking a steaming cup of coffee.

“Good morning.” You greet all of them. Vessel sets you down on the floor before collapsing into one of the other chairs that had been dragged into the kitchen. IV approaches you, holding out a piece of fresh fruit for you to bite into. He rests his hand against your cheek, carefully running his thumb under your eye.

“Eyelash.” He whispers with a chuckle. He holds it out on the end of his fingeMakemake a wish.” A smile creeps across your features at the simple request. You think about it momentarily before closing your eyes, wishing that every morning could be like this with them, and blowing the eyelash away. Your eyes flutter open to meet IV’s curious gaze. He presses his lips to your forehead before returning to the task he was completing prior.

“You hungry?” You smile as III wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“Starving.” You respond, giggling as he squeezes you against him, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I'll have breakfast done shortly, love.” You stand up on your toes, sharing a kiss through his mask before allowing him to finish cooking.

“Well, good morning, baby.” II quickly caught your attention, a warm hand settling against your waist as he pulled you into his lap. “Thought you forgot about me.” He teases with a chuckle. “My pretty girl is getting so much attention.” He squeezes your hip as his gaze lazily trails down to your lips.

“Trust me, that’s not remotely possible.” You giggle as his forehead bumps against yours, holding his lips just out of reach.

“Good,” he whispers, “because after holding you in my arms this morning, I can't seem to think of anything besides you.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips finally brush over yours. You feel II’s legs tense underneath you as you hear IV let out a sound almost akin to a growl from across the kitchen.

“Relax.” III states in a warning tone. “You can spend time with her, too.” You watch IV’s shoulders soften under III’s intense, almost corrective demeanor. “And II, keep it respectful, yeah?” III stood like a wall between the two men, ready to launch into action at the first signs of a fight.

You hear II make an annoyed sound of approval. The fact that he seemed to be acting like a child who had just been scolded by a parent almost made you laugh. You press your lips to his cheek, “I'm going to see if they need any help.”

“Don't let them work you too hard, love.” He jokes with a wink. You laugh, shaking your head as you hop off his lap. You walk up to III, crossing your arms behind your back.

“Head chef.” You address him seriously.

“Yes, love?” He responds with a chuckle.

“Where would you like me to help?” You ask, following III’s gase as it trails over to IV. He nods in his direction, smiling at you as you walk away.

IV tenses slightly under your touch, your hand resting on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” You grab a bowl from the cabinet in front of you and place it on the counter to pour the fruit into.

“I'm sorry,” he apologizes quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the cutting board. “Guess I'm just a little jealous.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” IV sighs, his shoulders softening as he lets some tension roll from his body.

“No, you're absolutely perfect, love.” His eyes finally meet yours, the corners crinkling slightly as he smiles. “I just need to get out of my head, I'm afraid.” He finishes with a chuckle. Your heart skips a beat at the sound of him saying your name, “promise you're still my girl?”

“Of course.” You say, shooting him a flirty smile. “Besides, you still have to take me out on that date.” He chuckles bashfully.

“Yes, I do. I just want to make sure I think of something special first.” He gently nudges your shoulder with his own. “My girl deserves only the best.” Your cheeks grow warm, the two of you sharing a small glance before finishing breakfast in silence.

“All set, sweetheart?” III asks before clearing your dishes from the table.

“I can bring my own plates to the sink; I'm not helpless, you know.” You joke.

III chuckles as he strolls up to you, “And why should my pretty girl have to lift a finger?”

“You're such a flirt.” You tease with a flustered giggle. You sigh, standing to answer your phone in the other room.

“Thank god I got a hold of ya’.” The momentary panic that had bubbled up in your chest at the sight of the contact that flashed across your phone quickly died at the familiar calm tone on the other end of the line.

“Henry, is everything alright?” Henry McMann owned the dairy farm up the road; you had grown close to him over your time running the store.

“Everything's fine. Tree fell and put a damn hole in the barn roof. I was hoping I could convince those boys you have staying with you to come down and help; I could use their pickup truck to clean up the place.” Your eyes narrowed at the request.

“How did you know they were staying here?” You question.

“Whole damn town’s talking about it, kiddo. Hell,” he starts to laugh, “at least three people have called up here this morning asking if we've heard from you.”

“You weren't the one that sent the police here, were you?”

“No, ma’am,” he responds immediately. “Your business is your business. As long as no one's getting hurt, I frankly don't give a damn what you're getting up to.”

“Let me see if I can get Vessel to come talk to you; he'll be able to help.” After some gentle convincing on your end, you managed to get him on the phone. Vessel might be wary of strangers, but despite his icy exterior, he couldn't turn down someone who needed help. After a while, he carefully hung up the phone and wordlessly approached the others.

“Let's get going; we have some work to do.” You weren't exactly sure what Henry could have said to Vessel that made him agree to head out there, but you were happy for whatever it was. Pulling up at the farm always provided this strange sense of home. Seeing Henry waiting on the porch, a dark pipe lazily perched against his lips, was a sight you'd witnessed a hundred times at this point.

“Thanks for showing up.” Henry’s hand claps into Vessel’s with a firm shake.

“Thank you for giving us the opportunity to.” Vessel responds simply. “Why don't you show us this barn.”

The tree hadn't damaged much but couldn't remain across the barn’s roof. “We need to get the sheep to the other building before we do anything.” You caught Vessel silently nodding at III, who quietly slipped from the group. You stood by as the pair formulated a plan, Henry seemingly impressed by Vessel’s initiative to help. You startled at the bleating from behind you, turning to find that III had successfully managed to herd all the sheep together.

Vessel calls your name. " Why don't you take Henry inside so you can both warm up? The more people out here, the more dangerous it'll be.”

“You don't have to tell me twice.” Henry chuckles. “You boys drink coffee? I'll get a pot started.”

“That would be great, Henry, thank you.” Vessel responds before his attention turns to you. “Go on, love. We won't be long.” The sight of his smile was enough to put you at ease. If you were being honest, this whole interaction was going a lot better than you thought it would. You were expecting Vessel to be cold and Henry to be abrasive, but the two seemed to be getting along just fine.

“Oh, wait, they're going to need some chain.” You sent Henry inside, insisting you would be right in. You were just going to jog back over and tell them where to look in the– You skidded to a halt as you rounded the corner. IV stood under the tree, his jacket discarded on the truck hood and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His muscles strained under the weight of the colossal trunk; with a groan and one strong push from his legs, he lifted the tree from the barn. You hear him curse before pushing the tree forward, causing it to crash loudly to the ground. You watched him grab onto his hand, droplets of blood dripping from his fingers into the pure white snow. You were immediately consumed by panic seeing him hurt, the inhuman strength you just witnessed being pushed from your mind. You yell for him, rushing forward to see the damage. “Are you okay? Let me look.” The wound wasn't anything terrible, a gash left behind by what you were assuming was a sharp branch, just enough to cause him to bleed. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” He wordlessly followed you, allowing you to rush him inside and past Henry to the bathroom. You kicked the door shut behind you, pulling out the first aid kit from under the sink. IV stared back at you with confusion in his eyes, apprehension rolling off him in waves as he waited for you to address what you had just witnessed. He was snapped from his daze by you softly saying his name, “Can I see?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, placing his injured hand in yours. “I'm sorry you have to play nurse,” he chuckles. I wasn't expecting that bark to be so jagged.”

“It's no problem; it's what girlfriends are for.” He breathes out a sigh of relief as you smile at him. The silence still hung thick between you as you carefully cleaned the wound, being as gentle with him as possible. “So, you're strong enough to squat a tree?”

“I guess, on a good day.” He responds in an awkward attempt at a joke.

“Can you… Can all of you–?” You make a vague flexing motion, making IV chuckle.

“To an extent, yeah.” He leans closer to you, a smugness lacing its way into his words. “I would like to point out, however, that I am quite a bit stronger than II, thank you very much.”

You smile coyly at him, “As long as you're strong enough to sweep me up in your arms, that's all I care about.”

“You're acting like that would be much of a problem.” You swallow thickly, your heart racing as your eyes meet his.

“Try to sit still while I get you wrapped up, alright?” He laughs at your abrupt change in subject.

“Yes, love, whatever you need.” He leans in, gently pressing his lips to your forehead

“Is he gonna make it?” Henry asks, unbothered by your usual frantic chaos rushing through his living room, reading yesterday's paper in his recliner.

“Yessir, just a scratch,” IV responds with a chuckle.

“We're going to see what else they need help with; we’ll be back, " you explain before heading out of the house. You step onto the porch, pulling your jacket around you to try to shield yourself from the frigid wind. You squeal as IV effortlessly picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder.

“See? No trouble at all.” He teases before turning you into a more comfortable position, holding you close to his chest. By the time you had gotten back to the barn, Vessel and II had made quick work of chopping up the tree, the back of their truck filled with neatly sliced logs ready to be moved elsewhere.

“There you are! You were gone so long we thought she had to chop your damn hand off.” II chuckles.

“No, he got lucky this time.” You joke, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You mind going to check on III? Tell him we're just about done.” You nod, running off towards the other barn. Upon entering, you couldn't help but laugh, watching III attempt to calm the panicked sheep.

“I'm not trying to eat your flock; I'm just trying to help.” He attempts to bargain to stop the bleating.

“Want some company?” You ask with a smile.

“Please.” III chuckles in response.

“I'm surprised they don't like you; Henry’s sheep are usually very sweet.” You muse, patting the top of one of their fluffy heads as you pass.

“I tend to be rather scary to livestock animals… for one reason or another.” He responds vaguely.

“Well, Ves wanted me to tell you they're just about finished.” He slides to the ground with a sigh, patting the empty cushion of hay beside him.

“Good, that gives me a couple minutes to spend with you.” He responds in a flirty tone. You tumble down next to him, allowing him to pull you into his side. “How's your day going, baby?”

“Well, I'm spending it with you, so I can't complain.” You say with a smile.

Your heart raced as he leaned in closer to you. “Glad to hear it.” His gaze drops to your lips, slowly tracing your features before meeting your eyes again with an eye-crinkling smile. “Do you think, um– Do you think I could maybe steal you away for myself tonight..? Only if you want, of course.” The memory of III confessing how he just wants to get you alone bubbled up in the back of your mind, making your stomach flip.

“If you can manage to get me away from the others.” You joke with a giggle.

III releases a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle. “Oh, don't worry about that, pretty girl. I'll make sure everyone knows you'll be spending the night with me.”

“Alright, III, bring them back in!” You hear Vessel call from outside. He stands with a groan, offering you his hand to help you up.

“Alright, everyone, let's make this as painless as possible.” He calls over the hoard of bleating sheep. He was surprisingly efficient at the task, rounding up the entire flock into one solid group to lead them from one building to the other. You noticed how he quickly spotted anyone who fell out of line, nudging them back with his knee as he barked to keep moving.

You jump as Vessel places a hand on your waist, “I think that went well, don't you?”

“I think you're right.” You smile softly, leaning into him as you share your hushed conversation. “Thank you for giving Henry a chance; he's pretty much family.”

“I can't say no to you,” he breathes out a chuckle. You asked for my help, and I'll always be there to give it to you… and, I guess, Henry doesn't seem so bad.” He playfully nudges your shoulder.

“You boys hungry? The wife and I would like to make you some dinner to say thanks for helpin’ out.” Vessel looks to the others for a response.

“Well, you know I could always eat.” III chuckles with a shrug.

You hear II sigh, somewhat relieved, “Would either of you like help in the kitchen?”

“No, you've done more than enough. All of you.” Henry confidently walks up to Vessel with a look of determination. “After today, I can tell just how much bullshit those reporters are trying to fill everyone's head with. You're a good group; if you ever need anything, just let me know. Just make sure you take good care of my girl.”

Vessel smiled, genuinely shaking Henry's hand. “Thank you; I really appreciate that. And, trust me,” despite the mask covering his face, you could feel Vessel’s eyes shift to you. I plan to.”

You stood side by side with May, Henry’s wife, in the kitchen, helping her wash vegetables for dinner. “Those boys seem very sweet on you.” She gracefully dances around the subject. Your cheeks grow warm as you struggle to think of a way to explain your four boyfriends. “They're all very handsome; you'll have to come by and tell me about them sometime.” She whispers giddily.

“I’d love to; they're all amazing. I'm happy you finally get to meet them.” You jumped at the loud boom of laughter from the living room, smiling at the sound of the group.

“I think Henry likes them too.” She chuckles.

May insists she can finish up the cooking herself before sending you out into the commotion. You couldn't get over how lovely they all were, genuinely enjoying their time sitting in Henry’s cramped living room. The house was full of laughter, stories, and all the small things you missed about being at Henry's farm. The hours flew by, and before you knew it, you were comfortably tucked into the truck's cab, settling into III’s lap while Vessel drove towards their camp. III wraps his arms around your waist, chin settling against your shoulder. “How's my pretty girl?” He whispers.

“Good.” You reply with a pleased sigh. “Tired.” You follow up with a chuckle.

“Do you still want to spend the night?” A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of his warm breath against the shell of your ear.

“Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 year ago

Text

Natalia IV

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: Magda finds out

Spending time back home in Sweden is a must.

When you're not playing for your club and you're not playing for your country, you come home to your mothers to decompress.

Talia usually comes along for the ride as well as Reina, Kung and Prins.

Reina seems to enjoy the big house your mothers own and makes herself at home, stretched out on the back of the sofa. Kung has his own little set up in the corner of the living room and amuses himself by hopping around and trying to burrow into old clothes.

Prins is extremely happy with all the long walks he gets taken on now and thrives in the snow when you let him off the leash as well as spending a relaxing evening nap in front of the fire.

Your favourite bit is being cuddled up with someone, under a thick blanket watching whatever mindless tv you can find.

Like now as you and Pernille laze around.

Talia's across the room, typing away on her laptop while the distinct smell of your favourite dish wafts in from the kitchen.

Magda comes in, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

"Dinner's ready in about ten minutes," She says, taking a seat on one of the armchairs and pulling out her phone to scroll mindlessly on social media.

You can tell what kind of things are coming up on it just by how her brow is scrunched up and the music playing from her phone speakers.

"Edits again, Magda?" Pernille laughs," You're a masochist."

"I..." Magda shakes her head," I just don't get it. She's still a baby. She's not meant to be attractive."

No one needs to ask who the 'she' in her statement is.

Talia grins. "I find her attractive."

Magda waves a dismissive hand. "You're an outlier."

A little laugh bubbles out of you. "I'm trying not to be offended here."

"You're a beautiful girl, princesse," Magda says," So beautiful but I don't like the fact that other people are recognising that."

"Don't worry, Magda!" Talia teases," I've got her under lock and key! No one's taking her from me!"

Magda lets out a long suffering sigh that you and Pernille giggle about.

"Did you have to choose that one?"

"Hey! I'm right here!"

You nod. "I love her, Morsa."

Magda huffs and goes back to her phone. "I mean, really? How many hand edits can one account need?"

She shows her phone and you're not surprised that it's Talia's secret one. It's somewhat of a fan favourite and you can tell your girlfriend's feeling a little bit smug when she ducks her head with a grin.

"And the captions!"

"I quite like the captions," You say, burrowing a bit further into Pernille's body as her arm curls around you.

"What are the captions like?" She asks and you laugh.

"Unhinged."

Talia's properly grinning now as she stares down at her laptop.

Pernille frowns when she watches your eyes dart towards your girlfriend and the both of you share a secret smile.

Magda's still ranting and raving about this one account and you and Talia just can't seem to help yourselves as you giggle and smile at one another.

"And there's a Twitter account too!" Magda continues, clicking the link to the attached Twitter account, which ends up being a fanpage to you.

"Magda," Pernille admonishes, coming to the conclusion that you and Talia know something they don't about both accounts," Honestly, it's just a fanpage. We had plenty of them back in the day."

"But this is different! This is our daughter! I don't need to know that people want to sleep with her!"

"They can try," Talia mutters under her breath and you stick your tongue out at her.

Magda's ranting falls silent though, not that you and Talia have noticed as you squabble about the fact that you wouldn't even notice whether someone was trying to sleep with you or not.

"Magda...What is it?"

Magda's still silent though and Pernille gently pushes you away so she can go to her wife's side.

"Magda? Is something wrong? What is it?"

In answer, Magda turns her phone around.

It's a picture of a pair of feet stretched out on a ottoman. It looks simple enough and Rocky's hanging out on the shelf nearby.

"It looks fine, Magda."

"No," Magda says, face pale," That's Princesse's house."

"I know. Rocky's right there."

"No," Magda says," You don't understand. It's the fan account!"

"What?"

"This was posted to the fan account!"

It suddenly dawns on Pernille as to why you and Talia kept smiling at each other.

Talia is the one who owns a fan page dedicated to you.

"She's got a stalker! They've broken into her house!"

Pernille sighs. "Magda. Just take a few seconds to actually think about this."

To help her along, Pernille purposely flicks her eyes towards Talia.

Clarity dawns in Magda's face moments later and her mouth open and closes like a fish.

"She-?"

"Yes, Magda."

"The edits-?"

"Yes, Magda."

"Oh my god."

Magda's sudden leap to her feet has you and Talia stop giggling amongst yourselves and you turn in confusion to look at her.

"Morsa? Is something wrong?"

"Natalia Guijarro! You've been making hand edits about my daughter?!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

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stil-lindigo · 1 year ago

Note

You'r eunder no obligation to reply but I'd like to ask, how do you keep your head up these days considering the genocide? It's been nearly five months now, my entire family is giving up the stirke and falling into propoganda, and every time i think "surely this is the end, no way the us will keep supporting this, israel is on limited time" i keep seeing no end in my twitter feed to the countless losses, i keep seeing gore and childrens butchered on my tiktok. i dont wanna lose hope or faith but ive started feeling so depressed these days that i dont even wanna open my social media because i know what ill see. it might sound selfish but i hope i can open up my tiktok and see silly little people doing trends again instead of seeing one between 6 posts asking to use filters so that they can donate and detailing the necessities that israel banned from palestine and it just feels so soul crushing and hopeless. it makes me feel worse because if im tired of it then how do palestanians cope being in it? if you have any tips or good news id be grateful

hi anon. A lot of what Palestinians report first-hand is graphic, and horrifying, and would contribute to that soul-crushing feeling. But they are so tenacious, they have so much love for their people, their country. Often, Bisan or Motaz or Plestia when she was still in Gaza will share little slices of joy from displaced Palestinians. It reinvigorates me, and I'll often return to watch them when things seem dire.

A baby in Gaza, blessedly unaware of the horrors. Look at that smile!

A Palestinian mother makes donuts for her children, and offers Bisan one as she prepares for an interview. She (the mother) talks about how she makes treats like this to try to cheer up her children, how she keeps herself busy like this so she can't feel the grief of the situation. It is expensive to buy firewood these days, and flour. At her side, her children chip away at a block of wood to help her.

if you'd like to support people like this family, donate to CareforGaza, which directly distributes supplies and money to families in need. They have stopped donations to their Gofundme campaign due to overwhelming support, but you can still donate via the paypal link in their bio.

Young Palestinians parkour in the ruins of Gaza, to show that Israeli bombing will not kill their spirits.

Mo, a Palestinian man, buys cat food after searching for two days straight, and feeds the stray cats in Gaza.

Palestinian children at a refugee camp filming a cute video.

Although they've lost their home, a Palestinian family gather to celebrate their youngest child's birthday, complete with a small cake and a birthday hat.

Bisan makes bread in Khan Younis.

Palestinians celebrate the birthday of an injured girl in hospital, with a small cake. One of them has dressed up as a clown.

After losing 22 members of his family and being injured in a bombardment, a Palestinian man named Mohammed Al Ghandour marries his fiance in a tent.

A Palestinian journalist plays with a baby who survived an airstrike.

@/nisreendiary on TikTok documents the process of making fresh bread in a tent in a calming video.

I got most of these off twitter, from this thread. Twitter is a hellscape at the best of times, but the easy communication it provides is a blessing. I'll try to share more of the good news here, as they pop up. In the future, I recommend you follow Eye on Palestine, or Al Jazeera if you'd like to stay informed on the situation in Gaza with minimal scrolling.

#keep your head up anon #theres no losing hope when palestinians find time and space in hell to feel joy #palestine #free palestine #free gaza #free west bank #palestine support

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gaywineauntsstuff · 7 months ago

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I love those incorrect Wayne family posts where a baby bat (usually dick) calls Bruce to be like … so the house is on fire….

But what’s infinitely funnier

Is the fact that

Dicks house blew up, the circus was burned down, everyone he so much as brushed shoulders with on the street was being gunned down, his last link to learning his language lost.

He then finds out all of this happened due to a traffic jam, watched a man die in front of him, had a panic attack on a rooftop, had…stuff that’s less than savory and I will not discuss done to him on said rooftop by a former FBI agent who was sisters with the district attorney.

And he still didnt call Bruce.

Dick Grayson would rather commit suicide via radioactive city than ask Bruce Wayne for a dime.

and the best part is when its not Dick its Tim

the boy who invented a fake uncle so CPS couldn't fuck with him and he didn't wanna ask Bruce to adopt him

Bruce adopted Dick so that Tims fanboy instincts (I got adopted by one direction au except its the last survivor of a niche acrobat troupe you were obsessed with as pre-teen) would override his repulsion at asking Bruce for help.

Like Tim calls Dick for help with casework and goes "only bruce is free... guess ill just die then lol"

and when Dick needs help... he calls superman (not bruce) or the titans (who hate bruce) or he also goes "well Ive had a good run let me see if I can mask this attempt on my life as a last bid at heroics"

Bruce would cry tears of pure joy if Dick or Tim called him for help with anything ever. (after testing to see if the weren't replaced by clones and also half expecting this to be a case of being trapped in a dreamworld)

like the rest of the kids also wouldn't call Bruce but these two are the ones who like bruce (mostly in Tims case.... Occasionally in Dicks but yeah)

there's Cass but she fought Wonder Woman and broke into stephs, babs, dicks and Bruces places for shits and giggles she's not asking anyone for shit.

#nightwing #dick grayson #batman #batfam #comics #batfamily #cassandra cain

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 15 days ago

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"This isn't my memory"

pairing: robert "bob" reynolds x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

requested? yes! by my love, @naushtheaspiringauthor

el's thoughts: it's a bit vague... but i hope you like itttt!

bob masterlist

It had started as nothing more than a stray malfunction.

Bob had been testing a new neural-link flight sim, something still deeply experimental and very hush-hush. All of it, hopefully, would give Bob more control of his powers. Y/N had been there because, well—she always was. Watching, teasing, and cheering him on with her soft voice and that quick wit he adored. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the test. But then she laughed and jokingly tapped the touch interface while his neural band was active, and—

Everything went white.

And then, black.

They didn’t land in a desert of empty nothingness, the way sci-fi films showed the void. No, this void was dense. Quiet. Slow-moving shadows, like ink dispersing in water. Heavy.

Bob stood up, blinking in alarm, trying to orient himself. The air hummed, not with life, but with memory. He could feel it. It wasn’t neutral space.

It was personal.

“This…” he breathed out, turning in place, frowning at the eerily flickering images forming in the distance. A bedroom. A classroom. A hallway littered with papers and muffled shouting. “This isn’t my memory.”

Behind him, Y/N stood frozen. Her face was pale, her hands trembling at her sides. Her gaze had locked onto one flickering echo—a younger version of herself, no older than twelve, sitting quietly in a chair while voices screamed in the other room.

“No…” she whispered. “It’s mine.”

Her voice was hollow.

Bob turned sharply, seeing the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Y/N?”

But she was already moving—slow steps forward, toward that memory like she was sleepwalking through smoke. The moment she got close, it shifted. The memory wrapped around her, and Bob saw it happen in real time.

Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes. Not a single one fell.

“I never cried,” Y/N whispered. “I just… sat there. Like it didn’t matter.”

“Y/N—stop.” Bob reached for her arm. “We need to get out of here. Whatever this place is, it’s wrong.”

But more scenes were forming, drawn to her like magnets. A high school hallway. Y/N was at a locker, being jostled by other students who laughed behind her back. Then older—college, maybe, standing at a party where no one noticed she was there. Then—

A hospital room.

Y/N stopped breathing.

Bob looked closer. She was on the bed. Same eyes. Same frame. Hooked to an IV, jaw clenched while a doctor spoke to a disinterested figure in the corner chair.

“I forgot this one,” she murmured. “I made myself forget.”

Her knees gave out.

Bob caught her before she hit the ground, kneeling with her, his arms wrapped tight around her shoulders.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know it would send us here. I’m so sorry, Y/N, I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, but her voice didn’t sound okay. It sounded like ash.

She clung to him, shaking. “I thought I was over it. Thought it was all just… in the past. But seeing it like this… I remember it all. How alone I felt. How small.”

Bob rested his forehead against hers. “You're not alone anymore.”

She looked up, startled by the certainty in his voice.

Bob reached out, fingers brushing over her temple—over the invisible thread connecting them to this place. “We’re leaving. I’m pulling us out, okay? But I need you to come with me.”

The void pulsed. Another memory started forming—this one worse—and Y/N flinched, instinct screaming at her to run.

Bob’s hand wrapped around hers.

“I got you,” he said, voice steady this time. “Look at me, Y/N.”

She did. Barely. But it was enough.

He pulled.

Everything ripped.

She woke up screaming.

Bob was already there, unstrapping the neural band from her hand, whispering reassurances over and over as her breathing came in wild gasps.

“You’re okay. You’re here. You’re with me.”

She blinked, eyes wild, skin clammy. “Bob…”

“I’m here.”

And he didn’t let go of her hand.

It was two days before she spoke about it again.

Bob didn’t push.

They were sitting on his porch, watching the sun bleed into the ocean. She had a blanket over her shoulders and a faraway look in her eyes.

“I think I lied to myself,” she said. “All this time. I pretended those memories didn’t shape me. But they did.”

Bob turned slightly, studying her profile in the orange light. “They made you who you are. But they don’t define you.”

She looked down. “It’s just… hard. I’ve worked so hard to be okay. But seeing her—me—and realizing how much I buried…”

He reached for her hand again.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time.”

She blinked, eyes shining.

“You were a kid,” Bob continued. “A kid who survived a lot of things she shouldn’t have had to. That version of you? I’m proud of her. Because she didn’t give up. And because she became you.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky laugh. “You’re way too good at this emotional support thing.”

“I’m military trained,” Bob said, deadpan. “And also really good at reading manuals.”

She snorted. “There’s not a manual for this.”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ve got one hell of a heart.”

And for the first time in days, she smiled.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, you do.”

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds imagines #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #ellora.writes

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the-moon-files · 8 months ago

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Alright, so I just read through that language barriers post of yours and had a Blast Tm, BUT! Now I have several thoughts that need to be spoken. Firstly, what with english being this really ancient language now, yn‘s basically got a free phd in hyrule, don‘t they?? Predestined for exploration because of their „excellent skills with the language used in the ruins and temples of old, as well as their familiarity with the mechanisms“ or something. The ruin researchers probably beg to have them in their team.

Secondly, apparently accents are really appealing to some people? The chain already finds yn‘s morning voice really hot, but how would they even react to the way they sort of mispronounce the words? Idk too much about how japanese sounds, but maybe they emphasize the consonants too much which makes them sound harsh all the time, or the opposite, too much emphasis on vowels and sounding very soft. Just… brainrot about rambling and not trying too hard to speak perfectly accurately being all it takes to have the boys smitten and kicking their feet.

Thirdly!! What about a yn that knows multiple languages? The chain tries their best to learn english, and then yn comes around the corner like SIKE. THAT‘S NOT ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEVER COMPREHEND IT ALL. (That‘s what I‘d do at least.)

sorry for late reply i have a hectic life rn and i got hit by hurricane helene lol

ao3/writing blog author curse is so real u guys, this was like a 100 year not anticpated flood or smth, also we're in the mountains??

anyway gonna assume u mean masc/male reader bc of the reference to this post!! if u want context or a sorta part 1

this is just gonna be a quick reply so i can share anons ideas w/the world tho since ive been hoarding asks 😔

at the very least Wild's Zelda is harassing you

at the very most, every time u guys get near a town or city, u are kidnapped by hylian researchers

just the image of a bunch of nerd hylians mobbing u and fangirling while the rest of the guys, in full armor and swords just stand awkwardly behind lmao

(they get lowkey jealous after awhile i mean what who said that-)

the way Legend, Hyrule, Four, and Twi hover a little closer when you talk

Wild and Twi are practically like excited dogs whenever you speak, perking up when they hear your deep voice, u know, bc u tried randomly talking in the evenings abt nothing and watched them pavlov respond and look to you every time

even when u just started talking about the grass or some flowers

lowkey you accidentally almost mess up their dungeon exploring bc theyre just so used to your accented voice in their heads, just around them, or smth guiding them along, that when they all split up into smaller groups in the dungeon,

each Link pair accidentally starts following a man's voice echoing in the dungeon until they all accidentally converge in a main room and the Link equivalent of the point spiderman meme happens with you in the center with Time, who had been your dungeon buddy (he's laughing at them as every Link goes a little red after realizing they just followed you unconciously)

ur favorite thing to do is leaning down to whisper in each of the pointed hylian ears randomly, just talking about mundane or random things and watching it twitch, some trying to stay still like Time/Twi/Wars/Wild, while others leap away like u burned them lmao Legend/Hyrule/Four, and Sky managing to do both, trying to maintain composure before he inevitably breaks out all red and hides in his hands lmao

(Wind dared you to do it originally, and he snickers every time he sees you doing it again lol)

ok but the multiple languages is endless comedy gold

bc everytime a Link thinks he's got it or starts to listen then realize ur actually speaking smth completely different language

u get the most memeable faces of his confusion

like these gems

(four's blue is showing, he's offended u switched languages every other word one time)

they're actually so fed up lmao

☆

anyway sorry for late reply!! I hope u guys are having a good week so far, and ill try to post some more, tho cant guarantee when as the holidays close in for me

(rip my class is also getting near the end too im Stressin)

peace out anon,

🌙

#lu x reader #linked universe x reader #lu x male reader #link x reader #linked universe reader #loz link x reader #linked universe male reader #moon asks #moon rambles #tysm for this fun ask <333 #there was so much more i couldve yapped abt but i couldnt make it into #yknow coherent thoughts #lmao

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month ago

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its wiiiiiiiip wednesday my little dandelions

HI all. it has been some days since ive posted. ive been feeling weird but im better now mostly. anyway.

it is time at the moment to choose one of five (+1, got more requests than usual this week and i am benevolent) wips for me to update tomorrow. will i 100% listen to democracy? we shall see. is there i chance i leave it to the last minute and get too tired to write anything but a 100 ways? you betcha. but regardless: the poll will immediately succeed this message. then, i will link previous iterations of each wip AND a small snippet of what i currently have for the update. i will work on and post this TOMORROW. read snippets before u vote. mwah. love u.

naomi fic: art more art 1 2 3

The baby does not scream. He does not cry. He does not even blink, for a moment, for a heart-stopping minute; he does not even move.

This is what the nurses tell her, anyway.

Naomi does not know. Naomi was unconscious, and damn near died on the table; her little parasite wormed his way out of her limp as a rag doll and the doctor had sworn he was dead, but he was only resting, taking a breath, a minute, to situate himself. To feel the cold air of the new world before committing to existing inside of it. Cautious, her little parasite. Wary. Already heeding her warnings.

All Naomi knows is that he is small, when she holds him. He fits in her one hand. There is still blood and fluid caked everywhere but his little face, where the nurses wiped him clean, and his nose, even this early, is dotted with freckles, spreading across his cheeks. He opens his tiny little eyes and they are blue --

-- celestial blue --

-- sky blue --

-- and Naomi gasps, struck breathless. He is silent. He is open. He is trusting, tiny and helpless, but quiet in her arms, against her chest.

"You and me," she whispers, tucking her baby son against her chest, against her slowly beating heart, "you and me, sheer fuckin' Will."

divorce fic: 1

Will huddles in the fork of his favorite tree, Cass nearby, gathering herbs, and taps his pen on his notebook. On a page near the end, in careful, neat writing, are names, scrawled up and down the page, crushed into the margins. It reads:

Top choyses: - Bekendorf (nice) - Clarees (proteks me maybe) - Carter (plays soker with me) - Silena (pretty) - Annabeth (frend) - NOT ellis (anoying)

Among others. Will works the end of his pen in his mouth as he squints at the list, considering. He tries to remember some of the summer-only campers, but he can't keep them straight as well since he hasn't seen them in almost a year.

"Cass," he calls, waiting for the sound of a snapped root and her followed yes, firefly? "Which summer campers are the least annoying? Nobody like Michael."

She ponders that question for a good moment. Will watches several different expressions morph across her face.

"...Well," she says, biting her lip to hide her smile, "it might help if I knew what you'd been scribbling away at for the last hour."

pomegranate au: 1 2 (*snippet once again subject to change; i have like 3000 words written that i am not vibing with so i might need to restart)

In his dream, they are in Ephyra. Will stoops low over a flowering bush in a meadow between two orchards, and Nico stands, hair curling in the misting humidity, watching him.

He looks good in red.

There are bangles of gold on his wrists and ankles, like there usually are. His fingers glint gold off the sun. Wine-dark begonias make home again in his hair, twisted among the strands, and black leather sandals adorn his feet. Nico tilts his head, noting them; the thin bands that wrap up his calves and the new soles sitting stiffly under his feet. He shifts, bending low towards the flowers, and Nico imagines he can hear them creak, creasing under the changing weight.

He steps, once, towards him.

He does not move.

He calls out, or tries to. His voice travels out of his mouth and wraps around the rain, disappearing into the low-hanging clouds; he huffs, and drops to the ground, crossing his feet under his thighs and resting damp palms on his knees.

Rain drips, stinging, into his eyes.

He watches Will for a long time. Or, it feels like he does, in his dream; Will flits, humming, from plant to plant, gathering stems and flowers in the apron of his robe, stretching ever few moments as the bend pulls the muscles on his back. When he has gathered enough, and his apron is overflowing, he stands, sighing, and walks up the hill to where Nico is sitting.

Will does not look at him. He looks through him, where he sits, he moves in his eyes in the direction where Nico is watching him but no recognition lights up his features, no part of his irises trace the shape Nico takes up. He only walks, as if there is no one, and sits an arm's length to Nico's right.

Nico reaches out. There is stone, between them, invisible, or at least it feels like there is.

scientific method fic: prologue 1

———

Step Two: Research

———

Will wakes up and beelines for the Hermes cabin, long before they are anything close to getting up for the day, and climbs through the window. He paid Connor seven dollars for a map of their booby traps yesterday, so he manages alright, only setting off the one pie plate full of whipped cream that Connor neglected to tell him about, but jokes on him 'cause Will tripped trying to get over the window sill and landed on his face before the pie plate could nail him on the nose.

He steps around the mess, creeps to the bunk on the lateral side of the cabin, nestled right in front of the opening of the secret tunnels Will isn't supposed to know about, and crawls very, very carefully on top, balancing on his knees. It's a strain, but it's no worse than the climbing wall. He breathes carefully and shallowly, hovering over the sleeping body, waiting for the sun to cheerfully inch all the way above the horizon, and for the rays to turn mussed auburn curls gold, for the light to fan over dark eyelashes. There is squirming, and then a sleepy yawn, and then, from across the cabin, a what the -- followed by harsh shushing. Will manages to bite back a grin.

And then there is the slow blink of brown eyes.

"Hi," Will says.

Cecil screams at the top of his lungs.

"There is something -- fucking wrong with you!" he shouts, kicking Will off his bed, and then cusses him out in so many different languages that Will loses the ability to actually inhale, dying in a little ball on the floor.

"Your -- your face," he wheezes, having no energy to dodge the kick Cecil aims for his ribs. "Oh my gods, your soul left your body --"

"I hate you."

"Oh my gods --"

"Genuinely. Die."

"Gods," Will says, wiping a tear from his eye. A quick glance around the cabin shows several of the other Hermes kids in a similar state. Connor seems to have actually blacked out. Julia reaches over and high-fives him. Will smacks her hand with verve, cementing his role as Cecil's replacement. Currently he is winning their eternal prank war 2,701 - 2,699, which has to sting.

"It doesn't sting. Just know that when I get you, there will be no mercy involved."

"Yeah, yeah." Will snorts, crawling up onto his best friend's bunk and making himself comfortable. He watches as Cecil tries to get dressed in the clutter that is his cabin in the early mornings and offers unhelpful commentary -- "You are colorblind, please stop trying to tell me what socks pair best with this shirt." -- until he sighs and stops fighting the smile pulling across his face. "You love me."

"Whatever." Will pouts. Cecil sighs. "Yes, I love you, you rat bastard."

"Excellent. Hey, subject change -- have you ever died before?"

road trip au: 1 2 3 4

It is not quite dark, when they cross the Tennessee border, but the sign is squarely behind them and deep, dark orange, glinting blindingly off the blue road sides. Regardless, Will doesn't falter; he does not slow down and squint at every exit sign or murmur to himself as he counts the miles. This is unusual, because Nico has seen him squint to verify the street signs on the road he lives on.

Nico watches him, quietly.

Will pretends he doesn't.

They are in and out of Chattanooga. The mountains, too, are only flashes -- beautiful, staggering flashes, but Will winds through them with ease, and does not pause. Nico notes the bored holes every few feet and traces the jagged cliff faces with his eyes, memorizing the way the setting sun turns the stone to ruby.

He flinches every time there is a sharp turn, or a hole in the road. Every twitch of Will's shoulders has him gripping onto the holy shit handle, and if Will so much as removes one hand to scratch his nose Nico stops breathing. They are never doing this again.

But it is nice, this one time. To watch the world whir by outside the rolled-down windows.

pillow princess: 1 2

He wakes up before noon, as instructed. Today there is no struggle. He does not bother to pray for the strength to keep his eyes open. In fact he almost leaps out of bed, and would have outright sprinted to the Apollo cabin was there not a piece of paper balanced on his nose.

He sits upright and collects it off his lap, where it falls, inspecting it closely. It is heavy paper. Cardstock, ivory. Folded crisply once, like a place card at a banquet table. The writing is elegant cursive and shiny gold, which is murder on his dyslexic eyes, and takes him a good twenty minutes to puzzle through.

To His Highness Niccolo di Angelo, son of Hades, Prince of Hell, it reads, in confirmation of your appointment at the Chelsea Hotel, Penthouse Suite. On this day, June 5th, no later than 2 post meridiem.

And then, in messier, penciled handwriting, under elegant swirling decorations:

do NOT shadow traval!!! xoxo Will <3

Nico traces his finger over the misspelled 'a', grinning.

"Alright, you little weirdo," he mumbles, heading to his closet. He digs around until he finds the deep, wine-red shirt that always makes Will twitch. "Let's see what this is all about."

#alright!#i had fun with the scientific method one #so we'll see #wip wednesday #wip wednesday poll

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i-love-oldermen · 1 year ago

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|Now you know my name| pt.1

A/n: I know it’s been a while but Ive recently started watching the boys and fell on my knees for this man. Literally on my knees for him, I love him so much.

Summary: After having a long mission all you wanted was a shower along with a sneaky link but What happens when you take a steamy shower pic and send it to the wrong person?

Warnings: Language, homel@nder (such a cunt)

Smut will happen in pt.2 I promise

Word count: 1.5k

Some of the basics you just joined the boys and have became close with Frenchie, Kimiko, M.M, Hughie, and even Annie. For some strange odd reason Butcher never seemed to be interested in you or even care to remember your name. You’ve tried being nice and understanding towards him but he either ignored you or walked off. That’s when you decided you weren’t going to pay attention to him anymore and for 3 whole weeks you haven’t.

You couldn’t think of Butcher at this exact moment though, the only thing you thought about was finishing a stupid mission to get some intel and get out quick. You sat with Frenchie and Kimiko in the van right behind Butcher who was driving. Everyone was busy talking who was doing what, when Hughie turned to you.

“You remember what your job is right y/n” he seemed nervous but serious.

To be totally honest today wasn’t the best day for you and you weren’t having it he told you your job over and over today least to say you were tired of it. Sure you were the youngest but you weren’t dumb.

Sarcastically you say “ You know what Hughie after the million times you told me, I don’t fucking remember”

The van got silent for a moment. Hughie was in shock along with M.M and Frenchie.

“Oí whats the matter with you” Butcher roughly says while looking in the mirror to look at you.

“Can you just drive” Rolling your eyes you avoid the gazes from everyone else by looking out the window. You see as Butcher he goes to say something but you just put on headphones and ignore him.

————————————————————————

After an agonizing car ride, the van comes to a full stop. You took off your headphones and climbed out of the van, Frenchie holding the door gave you an apologetic look. You pull down your pencil skirt fixing your blazer as well.

“You okay, mon amour” he put a hand on your face.

“Yeah Frenchie don’t worry about it” you gave him a comforting smile and turned to close the door.

The job today was to get into vought and plant a bug in Stan Edgar’s office. The seven haven’t seen your face around enough to remember it so you were the one going to sneak in.

Frenchie was hooking you up to a mic and camera so if you were to need back up you could get it within minutes. “Okay you should be able to get in and out with little obstacles” Hughie reassured you. M.M handed you the bug which you put in your phone case as Hughie did.

“Okay I think I’m ready to go” you were confident you were going to be able to do this.

“Aye don’t screw it up”

You turn to Butcher. He has a dumb smirk on his face that you want to punch off his face but you keep your composure while you put in your ear piece before walking away.

You pulled out your phone while walking in the building typing a message.

‘You’re such a cunt William , fuck you’

While walking through security and getting a pat down, you see Annie walk by she gives you a smile and a head tilt on which way to go. You are escorted by security up to the elevator. You had a cover as being an important investor to vought but you wanted to meet the man himself. Stan Edgar. Feeling your phone vibrate in your hand you look at it to see a message from Butcher. Without unlocking your phone to see the message you show it to the tiny camera connected to your shirt.

You hear through your earpiece, it’s Frenchie telling you to ignore the English man so you do putting your phone down to your side.

When you hear the elevator ding you are met with none other then Homelander. He has a disgusted look on his face as he looks at you. You start walking out of the elevator when he speaks.

“Have we met before”

You don’t know what to say almost to stun to speak so you just smile “No I don’t think so, maybe at a charity event”

You give a smile to reassure him. He looks you up and down seeing his expression change you change the topic. “Hey would you happen to know where Mr.Edgars office is?”

“Oh sweetheart you’re on the wrong floor” you cringe at the ‘sweetheart’ part feeling your skin crawl.

“Here I’ll take you” he states not making it seem like a question at all.

In your earpiece you hear Butcher -don’t fucking get in the elevator- he sounds furious so you take out your earpiece and take out earrings to cover it up and shoving it into your purse. Now your team can only see and hear you.

Homelander steps into the elevator holding the door for you, giving you an overwhelming smile “so are you coming or not”

You smile back to him before stepping inside the elevator. “Thank you so much for showing me”

He holds the smug smile on his face “No problem sweetheart” you cringe at the name again as your smile dies down. It becomes awkwardly silent as the building floors ding, you hear your phone starting to blow up. Homelander turns to you “You can answer that if you need to” you give him a head nod “oh it’s nothing important” he starts to speak as the doors open.

You take a step out quick not wanting to be with him a minute longer, leaving homelander in the elevator by himself. Thanking him you hurry to Stan Edgar’s office, he’s not in his office according to starlight. Quickly you pop in putting the bug under his office desk. You rush out of the office to be greeted yet again by the bitch in red white and blue.

“He wasn’t in there was he” he’s staring into your soul, taking a step closer to you.

“Oh no he’s not, my assistant was texting me that he rescheduled last minute” you smile to him hoping it would make your lie seem more believable.

“You’re a lying bitch” the supe threatens backing you into a corner with a freighting grin on his face.

“Excuse me”

“I do know you, you’re one of Huggies little friends aren’t you”

You try to shove him but he doesn’t move “I don’t know what you’re talking about” He pins your arms down.

“You’re lying, I can tell” His eyes start to glow red, when starlight comes into view.

She rushes to your side as she yells for him to let you go. He lets go “Oh hey starlight” he tries to play it off.

“Miss why don’t you come with me” She puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you back to the elevator. When inside the elevator and the doors close she turns to you with a worried look on her face.

“Did you really take out your earpiece”

“Yeah but Annie-“ you try to justify for yourself but she cuts you off.

“Y/n that was really risky, if it weren’t for Hughie who knows that homelander would have done”

“Okay im sorry” you didn’t mean it you still finished what you were suppose to and nothing that bad happened. You open your phone to see you have 10 messages all from Butcher.

Ignore the dumb cunt.

Don’t get in that fucking elevator.

You’re stuck with homelander how is that not in your fucking brain.

Y/n get out.

NOW.

Bloody hell stop being a cunt.

You’re going to get killed.

GET OUT!

He’ll KILL YOU!

Get the bloody hell away from him.

You have a shocked look on your face turning your phone to Annie. She has a puzzled look before grabbing your phone and looking at the messages. She’s shocked too. She covered your camera mouthing how she’s so shocked and didn’t know Butcher was this upset, totally agreeing with her as you are still in shock.

As the elevator doors open you separate now at the main floor, you step out of the elevator giving her a small wave. Walking towards the front door, you see a person you recognize pretending to read a newspaper. As you meet his eyes Butcher drops the paper and starts walking over to you. You stop walking standing in place in shock. He grabs you by your wrist before practically dragging you outside the building. M.m pulls up with the van before Butcher shoves you inside following you in climbing in the backseat. M.m drives away and that’s when Billy starts yelling.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking” he yelled.

“I think I planted the fucking bug” you yelled back at him getting into his face.

“You almost died y/n”

The van got quiet. Butcher had never said your name ever. To stunned to speak but still boiling with anger. You try to turn away putting on your headphones.

He pulls them off “I think the fuck not”

“Oh so now you want to act like you care like you’re my daddy”

You continued on “You treat me like shit just to care now, fuck you butcher”

Hughie tries to intervene “Guys come on-“

You turn to him “Hughie thanks for the back up but I swear to fucking god-“ you feel a hand go across your face. You hold your face.

You hear Frenchie in the back of the van “oh shit”

You turn to Butcher “Did you just fucking slap me”

#the boys #kimiko the boys #frenchie #hughie campbell #mothers milk #m.m.#william butcher #billy butcher #y/n #starlight the boys #the boys imagine #butcher the boys #billy butcher x reader #homelander #billy butcher imagine

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pastorfutureletthembe · 1 year ago

Text

I actually started this blog for one post only. The theory is that the story we are following is currently the 5th timeline.

I would need to watch the donghua again to find hints in the show itself but for now this post is exclusively about the content we keep getting served as fanservice. Now, people nowadays see this word as negative but in this particular case, we are evidently caught in an ARG (Alternative Reality Game), which is AWESOME.

For those who aren't familiar with the concept, it is basically a treasure hunt outside of the original media. For example, if you gather enough clues during your playthroughs of OXENFREE, you'll find the coordinates of an actual place where a real object, a gift FOR FANS was hidden. In the context of Link Click, I believe the rules and answers regarding the worldbuilding are hidden in plainsight for us to discover!

I will make different posts on the clues in lyrics, but for now we're gonna have a talk about VISUALS only. And boy, do we have THINGS to talk about

First things first, let's start with

>>>>> Promotional posters.

I'm opening this analysis with this particular one because it is the most relevant to current events. Black circles are V and white ones are IV. The huge clock is the background isn't supposed to be oriented this way for starters. One V is where XII should be, which could mean our journey starts here. The other V is between Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianxi, on the light side, while both VI are on the dark side. Every other VI on this artwork is a broken piece taken out of a quadrant except for the one on the right near Qiao Ling which is still part of the biggest piece.

It is interesting that we don't see any clockhands here, only the quadrant, and the only whole number is 5, ONLY on CXS's introduction.

Not so subtil, the mirror or "painting" is labeled 'V'. Lu Guang is also looking directly at US, viewers.

Probably five lines of five x but we only see 3, of which only the first one got 5x. Four diformed shapes can be seen at LG's left, under V/VI, which could be the four previous failed timelines. You might notice that LINK CLICK is written 5times. The clock says 00:05. Oh, familiar, isnt it?

As you can see, the V is a light in the darkess at Lu Guang's feet. it is a broken piece, though. The fact it is the enlighted one could mean two things. 1) It marks the spot, where we're currently at. 2) Hope. I would argue that until then Cheng Xiaoshi always died and now, at the end of season 2, Lu Guang is in the dark because he never went that far.

VI is there too, in complete darkness, blocked from view by a ring. There is something to say about VII being completely obliterated but I honeslty don't know how meaningful that could be.

>>> It is my understanding that if a character change the past, it breaks the timeline. Past changed, present and future cannot be the same ever again. It doesn't create a new timeline like in MARVEL, there is actually no going back from a changing node, it unravels this world. Either it already happened, allegedly because of Lu Guang, or will happen in the next season, we can suppose that Timeline VI is the actual doomed one. The fact Cheng Xiaoshi is trapped is relevant too. Destroying Present and Future would trapped him in the Past, hence Come back from the dive back in time.

>>>>> Dive Back in Time

There are many things to say about this one, but I'll keep it simple since it's already a long post. Let's start with something a bit out of topic: colors. Why? It actually indicates that LG isn't from the same timeline than CXS and QL. And I swear it would be useful at the end of this post.

Blue and Red are on the same plan, no matter if we're talking about RGB or CMYK, but Green and Magenta are not. It's like CXS and QL are anchoring LG in this reality, but Magenta is not supposed to be part of the mix. Primary colors in photography are Red, Blue and Green; not Magenta. Since we're talking about photography and this is not the original timeline, I think it is intended.

I'll leave the count of squares to you (spoiler: either 5 or 3 (I'll explain this one in another post) :D).

>>>>> Overthink

I recommend you read this glorious meta about this ending. I'll just "correct" mimicha on one point:

The way the hands are "cutting a piece" of the clock; just like in the promotional poster for Train Trail. It indicates 5. I'll also add this one:

If you look carefully, you'll see two words: TIME PARADOX. As said above, a paradox should NOT be possible with the rules LC gave us so far, but it could be related to the possible 6th doomed timeline. The "dark side" could try and make it happen. Just food for thoughts.

If you want more meta on OPs/ENDs, I recommend you also watch this glorious analysis. That's all I have to say for this one regarding the number 5.

>>>>> VORTEX

Not much to say, except for this "blink and you'll miss it" screenshot. If I missed anything, feel free to share with the class!

THE TIDES has, sadly, nothing to offer on this current topic!

>>>>> 3rd Anniversary: Surprising Click

Oh boy, do I have THINGS to say. Don't be surprised when I'll make another post about this Link Click monument haha. Note: 5 PVs were prepared for this anniversary. Coincidence? (I think not).

N O W A N D F O R E V E R

The only 5 clue I found is what looks like a clock with one hand going backwards, from X to IV, it appears while the chorus is playing. That might be a bit farfetched but I'd mention it for archives purpose anyway.

B R E A K

I won't be a smartass by pointing out BREAK is a five letters word but- okay that's infuriating of them if it is on purpose.

Most of it is obvious, the same logic applies, except for the cogs and hourglasses, we see four of each falling. Since LG's shadow/light goes from IV to V, it's safe to assume that those symbolize the four failed/achieved timelines. The ones left behind. I'll probably post something about cogs and hourglasses one day.

A last one, for the road:

S U R P R I S I N G C L I C K

You should take a look at this fan's brain! They did a wonderful work. I already had this part prepared so I'm still gonna share the obvious. Five mics ("time is like music"), and five letters (with photographs inside I'm guessing). Magenta and Green are very flashy in this one.

Oh, here are LG's five magenta squares from Dive Back in Time ;D

Four failed timelines/tasks, and... loading the first out of three chances. (Again, I can't address everything in one post, this one will have a long meta on his own, don't worry :D)

T R A I N T R I A L

Two occurances worth mentionning. Once again, V is the only timeline enlighted.

B U R N I N G P A L A C E

Many things are happening in this one but only one regarding our current meta. If you pay attention, you'll see it several times, while the chorus is playing:

x x x x x

Now, if you remember correctly, green is the exact chromatic opposite, the complementary color of magenta. They aren't on the same plan (primary vs secondary)/from the same timeline. Usually, they color Lu Guang but here, there is no magenta and no Lu Guang. With this in mind, could it be the paradox OVERTHINK warned us about? We can only assume Vein is from the same original timeline as LG. Red and Green are primary colors so yeah, we'll see.

That's all for today folks!

I had this brainworm eating at my life for weeks so I'm very happy that it is finally out there.

| Part 2 |

#link click #shiguang dailiren #时光代理人 #meta

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siilent-wanderer · 5 months ago

Text

Valentines with IVE

Where would the IVE members take you out on a date?

Yujin

Dog Café & Park Picnic Date

The moment you step into the café, she gasps dramatically

"Babe. Do you see this? We are in heaven"

She immediately crouches down to greet the dogs like they’re old friends, giggling as they pile onto her

"Okay, but which one do we smuggle out?"

“We already have Azzo tho…”

“Yeah, but Azzo needs a friend”

As you sip your drink, a small puppy climbs into your lap, and Yujin watches with a dreamy smile

"Oh, I’m in trouble. You look too cute right now."

Later, she leads you to a park where she sets up a picnic, grinning proudly

"Yes, I made all of this. No, you may not question how much of it is store-bought."

Feeds you bits of fruit with a mischievous smile

"Say ‘ahh’—oh, wait, there’s something on your lip."

She gently wipes it off before kissing the same spot

Lays back on the blanket, pulling you down with her, fingers brushing against yours.

"You, me, and a bunch of cute dogs? Perfect date, 10/10, would do again."

Gaeul

Roller Skating & Late-Night Milkshakes

The moment you step into the roller rink, she smirks.

"Alright, be honest. On a scale from pro to disaster, how good are you at skating?"

"Are you challenging me, Kim Gaeul?"

When you waver on your feet, she immediately grabs your hands, laughing softly

"I got you. I won’t let you fall."

After a few shaky rounds, she playfully spins you around

As you both skate side by side, she leans in and murmurs

"You know, this kinda feels like a scene from an old romance movie"

"You're so cheesy"

Later, at a 24-hour diner, she stirs her milkshake and nudges your foot under the table

"What’s better, the skating or spending time with me?"

Draws little doodles on your palm absentmindedly, eyes soft

"I really had fun. I’d like to keep doing this… if you want to."

Rei

Art Museum & DIY Painting Date

As you step into the museum, she links arms with you and whispers, "Prepare to hear my world-famous art critiques"

Stares at a random abstract painting and deadpans, "This clearly represents someone realizing they forgot to turn off their curling iron"

Bursts into laughter when you play along, making up even wilder interpretations

"I'm pretty sure this was done while sleepwalking"

"I love how unserious we are. Let’s get kicked out together."

After the museum, she takes you to a cozy café with a painting station, setting up canvases side by side

Playfully smudges a bit of paint on your cheek

"Oops. Now you match the artwork"

When she finishes her painting, she slides it toward you, cheeks slightly pink

"It’s for you. Even if it looks silly, you have to keep it forever, okay?"

On the way home, she holds onto your sleeve lightly

"This was the best day. Next time, let’s paint together again. Or maybe… I can paint you?"

Wonyoung

High-End Shopping & Fancy Rooftop Dinner

Walks into a designer store like she owns the place, immediately picking out outfits for you

"This? This is so your color. Try it on so I can admire you properly."

Takes candid pictures of you in every outfit, smiling to herself

"Oh no, you look too good. I might have to gatekeep you."

When you hesitate to let her buy you something, she pouts

"What’s wrong with me spoiling my girl? Just take it, pretty."

Later, she takes you to an exclusive rooftop restaurant, the city lights twinkling around you

"Why is there nobody around, Wony?"

"I rented the whole place for us, love"

Holds your hand across the table, thumb rubbing circles on your skin

As you finish dessert, she rests her chin on her hand, watching you

"Let’s make this a tradition. Once a month, you and me, a perfect night out."

When she walks you home, she squeezes your hand before letting go

"Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams — though I hope I’m already in them."

Liz

Beach Date & Sunset Bonfire

Drags you into the water the second you arrive, laughing as she splashes you

"Come on, don’t be shy! I’ll protect you from the waves!"

Competes with you in sandcastle building but gives up halfway to just admire your work

"Okay, okay, I admit it. You’re the superior architect."

As the sun sets, she sets up a tiny bonfire, handing you a marshmallow

"This is the best part of the day — warm fire, cool breeze, and… well, us."

Plays music on her speaker and sways slightly, then offers her hand

"Dance with me? No one’s watching. Well, except the moon, but I think it loves us together."

When you shiver, she pulls her hoodie over your shoulders, smiling

"There. Now you have to return this, which means you have to see me again."

Before you leave, she catches your hand, her voice softer

"Today was perfect. But you know what would be even better? Waking up next to you on a beach trip someday."

Leeseo

Amusement Park & Cotton Candy Date

Drags you straight to the roller coasters, eyes sparkling

"No hesitation! We’re sitting in the front!"

Laughs breathlessly after the ride, gripping your hand

"Okay, that was terrifying. Let’s do it again."

Buys you the biggest cotton candy she can find, beaming

"You have to share with me, though. It’s the rules."

Takes you to the photo booth and insists on silly poses before sneaking in a heart-fluttering one at the end

When you win her a plushie, she clutches it dramatically

"This is my emotional support bear now. Thank you, my hero."

Holds your hand while skipping toward the fireworks display, eyes shining

"You know what? Best. Date. Ever. But let’s make the next one even better."

A/N: happy valentines day :>

#ive imagines #ive scenarios #an yujin x reader #gaeul x reader #rei x reader #wonyoung x reader #liz x reader #leeseo x reader #yujin imagines #gaeul imagines #rei imagines #wonyoung imagines #liz imagines #leeseo imagines #girl group imagines #fem reader #ahn yujin x reader #ive headcanons

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amethystarachnid · 4 months ago

Note

I was reading “New Year Eve - part lll” and it’s just so cute ☺️☺️☺️☺️ I was thinking about a part lV, we need to see their wedding 🩷

NEW YEAR EVE - part IV

�� ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Young!Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Timeline: they just finished college

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes but nothing explicit

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II | Part III

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Tony Stark has always been a force of nature—chaotic, brilliant, impossible to contain. But somehow, against all odds, his three-year-old daughter has managed to outdo him.

Layla Stark is unstoppable.

And now, as you and Tony attempt to finally plan your wedding, she is at the center of every decision.

"No pwetty weddin’ wifout me!" she declares one evening, standing on the couch with all the confidence of a CEO delivering a company-wide announcement.

Tony, lying beside her with his hands folded behind his head, grins up at her. "Oh, don’t worry, Princess Menace. This wedding is all about you."

You roll your eyes from where you’re flipping through a wedding catalog. "It’s not all about her."

Tony sits up dramatically. "Excuse me? Our genius, beautiful, perfect child has to be involved in everything."

Layla nods in agreement. "Evv-thing!"

You sigh, but you can’t help but smile. Layla might have Tony’s personality, but she’s got your stubborn streak, and together, they are impossible to handle.

Still, you and Tony both agree on one thing—Layla will be part of the wedding planning, but only within reason. You both worked too hard to build your lives from the ground up, and you’re not about to raise a spoiled child who thinks she gets everything she wants.

That… proves to be a challenge.

The first tantrum happens when you take Layla with you to choose flower arrangements.

Tony is holding her in one arm, casually inspecting a bouquet with his free hand. Layla leans over, examining the flowers with a critical eye.

"Dis one ugly," she declares, scrunching her tiny nose at the soft peach roses.

The florist chuckles nervously. You sigh. "Layla, that’s not nice."

Tony nods sagely. "Yeah, honey, you have to be diplomatic." Then he turns to the florist. "These are hideous. Do you have anything better?"

You smack his arm. "Tony!"

"What?" He gestures at Layla. "She’s just calling it like she sees it."

Layla nods proudly.

You groan. "Okay, how about this?" You point to a different arrangement, white roses with delicate baby’s breath. "This is nice, right?"

Layla tilts her head, considering. Then she gasps dramatically. "No, no, no!"

Tony gasps, matching her energy. "No?"

She shakes her head wildly, curls bouncing. "Piiiink!"

Tony nods. "You’re right, pink is the way to go."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Tony, we are not making everything pink."

Layla pouts. "But Daddy said—"

Tony quickly sets her down. "Mommy’s boss. Mommy’s boss," he says, hands up in surrender.

You sigh, watching Layla cross her little arms. You crouch down and gently cup her cheek. "Baby, you can help, but you don’t get to decide everything, okay?"

Layla’s lips tremble slightly, but she nods. "Okay, Mommy."

Tony picks her back up, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. "C’mon, Princess, let’s find some pink and some white. Compromise, yeah?"

She sniffles but nods again. "’Om-promise."

Crisis averted.

Tony is obsessed with Layla. Absolutely obsessed.

It’s something you’ve known since the moment she was born, but it becomes even more apparent during wedding planning.

"She needs her own special seat," he says one night, sitting at the kitchen island with his tablet. Layla, in her little pajamas, is curled up in his lap, chewing on a cookie. "Something fancy. Gold. No, platinum."

You give him a look from across the kitchen. "Tony, she’s three."

"And?" He strokes Layla’s curls. "She deserves the best."

Layla hums around her cookie. "Best."

You sigh. "She’s already the flower girl, Tony."

"Obviously. But she also needs a crown."

Layla gasps. "Crown?!"

You put your face in your hands.

Tony continues, undeterred. "And a tiny microphone so everyone can hear her adorable little voice during the vows."

Layla squeals in delight. "Mic! Mic!"

"No!" You shoot him a glare. "Tony, she is not getting a microphone at our wedding."

Tony pouts. "But—"

"No."

Tony looks down at Layla, whispering dramatically, "Mommy's mean."

Layla nods. "Vewy mean."

You snort. "I am the mean parent. And you know what? I’m proud of it."

Tony sighs. "Fine. No microphone. But the crown stays."

Layla cheers, shoving another bite of cookie in her mouth. "I pwetty pwincess!"

Tony beams. "The prettiest princess."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it—Layla is going to look adorable.

The day you go dress shopping is the first time in your life you’ve had to ban Tony from something.

He is desperate to see the dress.

"Just a little peek," he pleads, hands pressed together. "I won’t even look at all of it. Just, like, a corner."

Layla shakes her head, curls bouncing. "No, Daddy! No see! Bad luck!"

Tony gasps. "You’re turning against me? You, my own flesh and blood?"

Layla giggles. "Mommy win!"

You smirk. "That’s right, baby. Mommy always wins."

Tony groans, draping himself dramatically across the couch. "Betrayed. By my own family."

Layla clambers onto his chest, patting his face. "Shhh. It’s okay, Daddy."

Tony sighs, pulling her into a hug. "At least I still have you, Princess Menace."

Layla nods solemnly. "Yes. But no see dwess."

Tony grumbles. "Fine. But it better be hot."

You throw a pillow at his face.

Everything is finally coming together.

The venue is booked. The dress is chosen (and still a mystery to Tony’s frustration). Layla’s flower girl dress is perfect—a soft pink (her choice, obviously) with tiny sparkles.

And the wedding is officially toddler-proofed.

No glass centerpieces. No open flames. No delicate decorations that could be immediately destroyed by a certain little whirlwind.

Layla has approved everything with great enthusiasm, though she still has little tantrums when you don’t let her have full control.

But she’s learning.

And honestly, as you watch her run around the penthouse, holding Tony’s tablet as she pretends to help him plan more things, you know one thing for sure—

This wedding might have taken years to happen, but it’s going to be perfect.

Because you have Tony.

And you have Layla.

And together, you have everything.

The night before your wedding was supposed to be a wild, extravagant bachelor and bachelorette party. That’s what people expected when it came to Tony Stark—something over the top, something people would talk about for years. But that was never the plan.

Because, as it turns out, Tony Stark isn’t just the genius billionaire playboy anymore. He’s a fiancé. A father. And the only thing he wants to do the night before his wedding is spend it with the two people who matter most.

Layla is practically bouncing off the walls as she holds both of your hands, swinging between you and Tony as you walk down the brightly lit streets. The city is alive tonight, people already celebrating something—you’re not sure what, maybe just the fact that it’s Friday—but it adds to the energy.

"Daddy, ice cweam!" Layla gasps, pointing wildly at a stand on the sidewalk.

Tony makes a dramatic gasp of his own. "Princess Menace, did you just read my mind?"

Layla nods enthusiastically. "Yeah!"

You roll your eyes but smile as Tony swoops her up and carries her over to the stand, rattling off a ridiculous order that includes way too many toppings.

The vendor is trying to keep up as Tony continues listing things. "And, uh, throw some sprinkles on there. No, more. More. Even more—"

"Tony, you’re gonna give her a sugar rush."

Tony turns to you, utterly serious. "She deserves it."

Layla nods. "I ‘serve it."

You sigh, shaking your head as the vendor hands Tony an ice cream cone that is practically a structural hazard.

Layla takes one bite and gasps. "Daddy, it yummyyyy!"

Tony grins. "Told ya."

Layla shoves the cone toward you, nearly getting ice cream all over your dress. "Mommy, bite!"

You take a careful bite before she can smear it all over you, and she giggles, satisfied.

Tony watches the two of you, his expression soft. "Best night ever."

And for a while, it is.

You wander around the city, Layla dragging you both from one thing to another—street performers, little shops, anything colorful or sparkly. Tony lets her sit on his shoulders as she chatters about everything she sees, her voice a mix of excitement and toddler gibberish.

But then, of course, people start to notice.

The first fan approaches cautiously, just asking for a quick selfie. Tony is polite, even as Layla tugs on his sleeve, wanting his attention back. But then another fan approaches. Then another.

Then the paparazzi.

The camera flashes are immediate and blinding, coming from every direction.

Layla flinches, pressing her little face into Tony’s neck.

You frown, reaching for her. "Baby, are you okay?"

Layla whimpers, her tiny hands gripping Tony’s shirt. "Too bight…"

Tony tenses, his grip on her tightening. He doesn’t even try to hide his frustration as he turns toward the cameras, his voice sharp. "Hey! Back off!"

Some of the paparazzi hesitate, but others keep snapping pictures, shouting questions.

"Tony, how does it feel to finally be settling down?"

"Y/N, is it true you’re already pregnant with baby number two?"

"Layla, are you excited for Mommy and Daddy’s wedding?"

Layla presses further into Tony, shaking her head, her little voice muffled. "Nooo…"

That does it.

Tony turns, his face furious, and pulls you close with one arm while shielding Layla with the other. "We’re done here."

You nod, hurrying alongside him as you weave through the crowd, ignoring the flashing lights, the voices, the chaos.

Layla sniffles against Tony’s shoulder.

"Shh, baby, it’s okay," you whisper, rubbing her back.

Tony is silent the entire way back home, his jaw clenched, his hold on Layla protective.

By the time you get home, Layla is exhausted.

Tony carries her straight to bed, whispering softly as he lays her down. "You’re safe now, Princess Menace."

Layla clings to his shirt for a second before finally letting go, curling up with her stuffed bunny. Her little face is still slightly scrunched, but her breathing evens out.

You kiss her forehead, smoothing her curls. "Sweet dreams, baby."

Tony stays for a moment longer, just watching her. Then, without a word, he takes your hand and leads you out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door clicks shut, Tony lets out a long breath and runs a hand through his hair. "I hate those assholes."

You step closer, resting a hand on his chest. "I know."

He exhales, looking down at you, his expression softening slightly. "She was so happy tonight. And they just—" He shakes his head.

You nod, threading your fingers through his. "She is happy, Tony. A few bad moments don’t change that."

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering back to Layla’s door. "She’s just so little."

You squeeze his hand. "And she has us."

Tony looks back at you, his brown eyes warm despite his frustration. Then, suddenly, his lips curve into a smirk. "Damn. You’re kinda hot when you do the whole calm, supportive wife thing."

You roll your eyes. "I’m not your wife yet."

Tony hums, tilting his head. "Mmm. Feels like you are." He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "And after tomorrow, you definitely will be."

You shiver. "Tony…"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding to your waist. "Y’know… tomorrow’s a big day. Might be hard to get any alone time."

You raise an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting something, Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, walking you backward until your back hits the bedroom door. "I’m saying," he murmurs, fingers slipping under your shirt, "that since technically it’s still the night before our wedding… we should really enjoy it."

You smirk, looping your arms around his neck. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

Tony leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

"Let me show you."

The morning of your wedding starts in absolute chaos.

You wake up to the sound of Layla jumping on the bed, her little voice full of excitement. "Mommy! Daddy! Wake uuuup!"

Tony groans beside you, his face buried in the pillow. "Five more minutes, Princess Menace."

Layla gasps dramatically. "Nooo! It wedding day! No sweep!"

You blink sleepily and glance at the clock. It is early, but there’s no going back now—your three-year-old has declared the day officially started.

With an exaggerated sigh, Tony flips onto his back and scoops Layla up, pulling her onto his chest. "Alright, alright. We’re up. Happy?"

Layla giggles, wiggling against him. "Happy happy happy!"

You laugh as Tony tickles her, her giggles filling the room. Then, reality sets in. "Okay, we really have to get up now. We have to go to the wedding suite."

Tony groans again. "Fine. But only because I wanna marry you."

Layla cheers. "Yaaay! Daddy mawwy Mommy!"

Tony smirks at you. "You hear that? Even she approves."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is already melting.

Getting to the wedding suite is an adventure.

The moment you arrive, people are everywhere. Hair stylists, makeup artists, planners running around trying to make sure everything is perfect. The energy is high, but with it comes absolute chaos.

Layla, wearing a little silk robe that matches yours, is zooming around the room, dodging people’s legs and shouting random things.

"Auntie Pep! I got nails too!" she announces, showing off her tiny painted nails to Pepper, who laughs and compliments them.

Meanwhile, you’re trying to sit still as your makeup artist works on you, but it’s hard with Layla constantly running back to you for attention.

"Mommy, look!" she exclaims, holding up her flower girl basket. "I gots da petals!"

You smile. "That’s right, baby! You’re going to throw them when we walk down the aisle."

Layla nods seriously. "I do good job."

You kiss her forehead. "I know you will."

Meanwhile, in another room, Tony is dealing with his own chaos.

"Where the hell is my tie?" he grumbles, searching through a pile of clothes.

"Tony, calm down," Rhodey sighs, handing it to him.

Tony takes it and immediately holds it up to his suit. "Does this look right? Is it too classic? Too modern?"

"Tony, it’s a tie," Happy groans.

"But it’s my wedding tie," Tony argues.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. "Dude, just put it on. Y/N is gonna love it no matter what."

Tony huffs but obeys. "Fine. But if she doesn’t like it, I’m blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Despite the chaos, once Tony is finally in his suit—perfectly tailored, perfectly him—he stops and takes a deep breath.

This is it.

He’s about to marry you.

The ceremony is perfect.

Layla walks down the aisle first, clutching her little basket, taking her job very seriously. She throws petals one by one, pausing way too long in between, but no one minds. If anything, the guests are completely charmed.

Then it’s your turn.

The moment Tony sees you, he forgets everything else.

You’re stunning. Breathtaking. And you’re walking toward him.

He barely even registers the rest of the ceremony because his mind is focused on you. The vows, the rings—it’s all a blur until—

"You may now kiss the bride."

Tony doesn’t waste a second. He cups your face and kisses you like he means it, deep and full of love, dipping you slightly as the guests cheer.

Layla claps wildly. "Yaaay! Mommy an’ Daddy mawwied!"

You’re both laughing when you pull away, and Tony whispers against your lips, "Finally."

The reception is just as chaotic as expected.

Layla is running around, high on sugar, and Tony can’t stop showing you off.

"Look at my wife," he keeps saying to people, as if they didn’t just watch you get married.

The dance floor is packed, the food is incredible, and at some point, Layla grabs a microphone.

Tony notices immediately.

"Oh God."

Layla taps the mic, her tiny voice ringing through the speakers. "Mommy an’ Daddy?"

The guests awww, and you and Tony turn to her, both smiling.

"What is it, baby?" you ask.

Layla’s face scrunches in concentration. "I wuv you so much big wike da moon an’ da ‘tars an’—" She pauses, struggling to remember her next words. Then she gasps. "An’ da doggies!"

The entire room melts.

Tony is already tearing up. "Oh, Princess Menace—"

Layla claps. "Okay, bye!"

Everyone laughs as she puts the mic down and immediately runs off, probably to find more cake.

Tony wipes his eyes. "Our daughter is perfect."

You lean into him, smiling. "I know."

He kisses your forehead. "So, Mrs. Stark… happiest day of your life?"

You grin. "Every day with you and Layla is the happiest day of my life."

Tony cups your face, his eyes shining with love. "Damn. You always know exactly what to say."

And then, as the music plays and your loved ones cheer, he kisses you again—slow, deep, full of promise.

Your perfect beginning.

By the time you, Tony, and Layla finally get back home, it’s already late, but Layla is still bursting with energy.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she exclaims, practically bouncing as Tony carries her inside. "It so fun! I wuv da cake! I wuv da dance! I wuv—" She gasps dramatically. "I wuv marry!"

Tony chuckles, setting her down. "You love marry, huh?"

Layla nods eagerly, then grabs your hand and Tony’s, holding them tightly. "You two marry. You not weave, ‘kay?"

You crouch down to her level, brushing her hair back. "We’re not going anywhere, baby. We’ll always be together."

Layla beams, satisfied with your answer. Then she gasps again and runs toward the couch. "Now we watch moobie!"

Tony groans, rubbing his face. "Princess Menace, it’s way past your bedtime."

"But no sweep!" Layla protests. "It still marry day!"

You exchange a look with Tony. It’s your wedding night. You should be enjoying each other in private, but your little ball of energy has other plans.

Tony sighs dramatically. "Alright, one movie. But then you have to sleep."

Layla cheers, scrambling onto the couch. "Yaaaay!"

You shake your head, laughing as Tony flops down beside her. "You’re such a pushover."

He smirks, pulling you into his lap. "For you two? Always."

Layla claps her hands. "Okay, we watch—um—da one wif da big big doggie an’ da baby!"

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Are you talking about Beethoven?"

Layla nods furiously. "Yes! Da big doggie!"

You sigh, already knowing this is going to take at least another two hours.

Tony, however, is more focused on you. As Layla is distracted by the opening credits, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You do know we’re supposed to be, I don’t know, consummating this marriage right now?"

You shoot him a look. "Yeah? And tell that to our child, who still thinks it’s party time."

Tony sighs dramatically. "I knew we should’ve gotten a babysitter."

You smack his arm lightly. "She is the reason we waited this long to get married."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, kissing your shoulder. "But I swear the second she’s asleep—"

Layla suddenly turns to you both. "Daddy! No kissing! Watch moobie!"

Tony freezes. "She felt that."

You burst out laughing.

Layla frowns at you both. "No funny! Watch!"

Tony sighs, throwing his head back. "My own kid is cockblocking me."

You smack him again. "Tony!"

"What? It’s true!"

Layla, still unaware of what that means, just points at the screen again. "Watch!"

So, you do.

For the next two hours, you’re stuck watching Beethoven, Layla giggling at every scene, while Tony shoots you dramatic, desperate looks. His hands on your waist, his lips occasionally brushing against your shoulder—he’s suffering.

You, meanwhile, are thoroughly enjoying this.

Finally, about twenty minutes before the movie ends, Layla’s energy starts fading. She blinks slowly, her tiny body curled against Tony’s side, her breathing growing heavier.

Tony glances down. "Is she—?"

Layla shifts a little, murmuring sleepily, but doesn’t wake up.

You exhale. "Yeah. She’s out."

Tony immediately scoops her up, carefully carrying her to her room. He tucks her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Night, Princess Menace."

Layla stirs slightly, mumbling, "Wuv you, Daddy..."

His heart melts.

He stays there for a moment, watching her sleep. Then, quietly, he tiptoes out of her room, closing the door behind him.

When he turns back to you, his expression changes.

"Now, where were we?"

You smirk. "Oh, I think we were about to, I don’t know… consummate something?"

Tony groans dramatically. "Finally."

And with that, he grabs you, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you straight to your bedroom.

The second he kicks the door shut, his lips crash onto yours.

It’s desperate, hungry—three years of waiting for this exact moment.

His hands are all over you, tugging at your dress as he walks you backward until your legs hit the bed.

"Mrs. Stark," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with want. "I need you."

You smile against his lips, your fingers slipping into his hair. "Then take me."

And that’s exactly what he does.

For the first time as husband and wife, you truly become one.

The morning sun spills into the bedroom through the half-open curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. You stretch with a satisfied sigh, the soreness from last night still lingering in the best way possible. Tony, already half-dressed, is standing by the mirror, fixing his watch with that cocky smirk of his.

"You look way too smug for someone who barely got any sleep," you tease as you sit up.

Tony turns, eyes twinkling. "I had better things to do than sleep, Mrs. Stark."

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks warm at the memory of last night. "We just got married, and you're already impossible."

He saunters over, placing a lingering kiss on your neck. "You love it."

Before you can respond, the bedroom door slams open.

"Daddy! Mommy! Wake up!"

Layla barrels into the room, her curly hair bouncing with every step. Her little face is lit up with excitement, and she’s practically vibrating with energy.

Tony barely has time to react before she launches herself onto the bed. "Cruise!" she shouts, bouncing in place. "We go boat! Big big boat! Daddy say big boat! We go now? We go now?"

You blink, still groggy. "Layla, baby, it's—what time is it?"

Tony glances at his watch. "Way too early for this much excitement."

Layla pouts dramatically. "But boat!"

Tony sighs, rubbing his face. "You see what you've created? A monster."

You laugh, scooping Layla into your arms. "A monster who got your energy levels."

Layla wiggles free, bouncing on the bed again. "Boat, boat, boat!"

Tony groans. "Alright, alright! But first—" He picks her up, spinning her around, making her giggle wildly. "We gotta check our bags, Princess Menace."

Layla gasps as if this is the most serious task in the world. "Yes! Check bags! Daddy say all, all packed?"

Tony nods. "Exactly. We can’t go on the big big boat unless we make sure we have everything."

Layla wriggles out of his arms, immediately sprinting to the luggage by the door. She starts patting the suitcases, then dramatically flings one open.

"Layla!" you gasp, but it's too late—her tiny hands are already pulling clothes out.

"Check, check, check!" she sings, throwing a pair of your shorts over her head.

Tony watches the chaos unfold, grinning. "I like her method."

You glare at him. "Help me fix this, now."

After fifteen minutes of repacking—while Layla tries to help but mostly just throws things around—you finally confirm that you have everything.

Tony picks up Layla again. "Alright, now we can go."

Layla throws her fists in the air. "BOAT!"

The drive to the port is filled with Layla alternating between singing a completely made-up cruise song and asking "Are we there yet?" every five minutes.

Tony, ever the show-off, had of course arranged for a private driver to take you to the dock, where the most luxuriouscruise ship you’ve ever seen is waiting.

The moment you step out of the car, Layla gasps.

"BIG BOAT!" she yells, pointing dramatically at the ship. "Big big boat!"

Tony crouches next to her. "Told you, Princess. Only the best for us."

Layla grabs his face with her tiny hands. "I wuv you, Daddy."

Tony melts on the spot.

You nudge him. "What about me?"

Layla turns to you, thoughtful. Then she smushes your face too. "I wuv you too, Mommy."

You and Tony both melt.

Then, as if the moment never happened, Layla suddenly shrieks, "We go now! We go now!"

Tony laughs, scooping her up as you all head toward check-in.

From the moment you step aboard, it’s clear that Tony went all out.

Your suite isn’t just a suite—it’s practically a penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows with ocean views, a massive bed, a private deck with a hot tub, and a personal butler waiting to cater to your every need.

Layla, meanwhile, has only one concern.

"Where pool?!" she demands the second you step inside.

Tony ruffles her hair. "We’ll go to the pool after we unpack, kiddo."

Layla pouts. "But now."

You shake your head, laughing. "Let’s at least look around first, Layla. Daddy booked the best suite."

Tony grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Only the best for my girls."

Layla, however, is not impressed by fancy furniture or a king-sized bed. "Pool."

Tony groans, dramatically flopping onto the couch. "She’s relentless."

You smirk. "She’s your daughter."

Tony points at you. "First of all, rude. Second of all—" He suddenly scoops Layla up again, spinning her around, making her giggle wildly. "Alright, alright, let’s check out the pool."

Layla cheers, kicking her little legs excitedly. "Yaaaay!"

As Tony carries her toward the door, he shoots you a look. "Later, though… you and me? Hot tub."

You arch an eyebrow. "Oh? Planning something?"

He smirks. "Oh, definitely."

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

For now, though? It’s time for Layla to enjoy her big big boat.

The first day of the cruise starts with Layla practically bouncing on the bed at the crack of dawn.

"Wake up! Wake up! Boat day!" she squeals, shaking Tony’s arm.

Tony groans dramatically, rolling onto his stomach. "Kid, it’s too early for this."

"Not early! Sun up! Wake up!" Layla insists, yanking the covers.

You laugh from your side of the bed, watching Tony bury his face in his pillow like it’ll protect him from your very determined three-year-old.

"Alright, alright," you say, sitting up and stretching. "Let’s get ready and go get breakfast."

At the mention of food, Layla gasps like it’s the best idea ever. "Pancakes?"

Tony finally peeks up. "Only if you let Daddy wake up properly first."

Layla considers this for one second before shaking his arm again. "Nooooo, pancakes now!"

Tony sighs dramatically, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips as he lets Layla drag him out of bed.

Breakfast is held at the ship’s massive buffet, and it’s clear that Layla is in heaven. Her plate is piled high with pancakes, fruit, and a suspicious amount of whipped cream that you definitely didn’t serve her.

Tony nudges you with a smirk. "She’s eating like she just discovered food for the first time."

Layla, her mouth full of pancake, points at him. "Mmmmf!"

Tony snickers. "Yeah? You got something to say, Princess?"

She swallows dramatically. "Food good."

You shake your head, amused. "We might have created a food critic."

After breakfast, the real fun begins.

Layla is beyond excited when she sees the kids’ club. The ship has an entire area dedicated to toddlers and small children, with soft play areas, toys, and activities led by trained staff.

She stares at the colorful setup with wide eyes. "I stay here?"

You crouch next to her. "Only if you want to, sweetheart. We can come get you whenever you want."

Layla looks at the playroom, then back at you. "You go?"

Tony smirks. "Mommy and I were thinking of checking out the boring adult stuff."

Layla giggles. "Boring!"

"So, do you wanna stay here and play?" you ask gently.

Layla nods so fast that you barely have time to react before she runs inside, already making herself at home among the other kids.

Tony watches her go, shaking his head. "Didn’t even hesitate."

"She’s three and has unlimited toys," you say, linking your arm with his. "She’ll be fine."

Tony tugs you closer. "Well, in that case… we should go have some fun too."

With Layla happily occupied, the two of you take full advantage of the adults-only areas of the ship.

You start at the infinity pool, where Tony orders drinks while you both lounge in the sun.

Tony stretches, sunglasses on, looking completely relaxed. "Not gonna lie, I love this."

You sip your drink. "Me too. But I bet in about two hours you’re gonna want to check on Layla."

Tony scoffs. "I can last at least three."

You just give him a look.

"…Okay, two and a half."

You laugh, leaning back into your chair. The day is perfect—just the right amount of sun, the soft ocean breeze, and the best company.

After the pool, Tony takes you to the onboard spa for a couples' massage, which he pretends he’s too cool for until he actually starts enjoying it.

By the time you check on Layla in the afternoon, she’s still having the time of her life and doesn’t even want to leave yet.

Tony sighs dramatically. "She’s too independent. This is tragic."

You pat his arm. "Guess we’ll have to entertain ourselves a little longer."

Tony grins. "Oh no, whatever will we do?"

The evening brings a huge welcome party hosted by the cruise line. The deck is lit up beautifully, with live music, champagne, and a celebration of the first night at sea.

Layla, dressed in a tiny sundress, is thrilled by all the attention she gets from the other passengers.

"Daddy, dance!" she demands, pulling on Tony’s hand.

Tony smirks, scooping her up and spinning her around, making her squeal with laughter.

You watch them, heart completely full. Layla may be the biggest menace, but she’s also the best thing to ever happen to you both.

When the party starts winding down, Layla is still buzzing with energy.

"I no sleep!" she announces proudly.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Princess, you are definitely sleeping."

Layla shakes her head. "No!"

Five minutes later, she’s completely passed out in Tony’s arms.

Tony chuckles, kissing the top of her head. "Told you."

You smile, brushing Layla’s curls back. "Let’s get her to bed."

Once Layla is tucked in and completely out, you and Tony finally slip outside onto your private balcony.

The ocean stretches out endlessly, the moon reflecting on the waves.

Tony, already in the hot tub, holds out a hand. "Come on, Mrs. Stark. The water’s perfect."

You raise an eyebrow. "And you promise this is just about the water?"

Tony smirks. "I never promise that."

Still, you join him, sighing as the warm water envelops you.

Tony pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you. "Finally," he murmurs. "Alone time."

You glance back toward the room. "Temporarily alone."

Tony grins. "Then we better make the most of it."

His lips brush against yours, slow and deep, his hands trailing down your back. The sound of the ocean mixes with the gentle splashing of water as his grip tightens on you.

"You know," he murmurs against your lips, "I think we should always have a hot tub wherever we go."

You laugh softly. "Oh? And why’s that?"

Tony smirks, nipping at your jaw. "Because it always leads to good things."

You shiver as his fingers ghost over your skin.

"Tony—"

"Shhh," he murmurs, kissing you again. "We gotta be quiet, remember?"

Your breath catches as he pulls you closer.

Being discreet? Easier said than done.

46 notes · View notes

maryaandmorevna · 2 months ago

Text

A Song of Swan and Dragons VII.

VII. Sīkuda (ao3 link)

Summary: Arianne's offer of truce is rebuffed, war is declared, and Aemond reaches a conclusion after a sleepless night.

Tw: There is explicit content in this chapter in Aemond's POV.

Words:88,263

Links to previous chapters: I., II., III., IV., V., VI.

Tagging @kyonkyon69, who is my most wonderful beta, and @lacebvnny, who got me into Aemond haha.

Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other. - Miguel de Cervantes.

(Arianne)

Her face was burning.

Arianne dug her heels into the dirt, solidly on the ground at last. She breathed a sigh of relief before realizing one very problematic thing.

Her fingers were still clutching his tunic.

Aemond's hands were still on her waist.

Their warmth permeated through her silks, sending peculiar frissons up her ribs.

Frowning, she quickly let go of him, cradling her arms to herself. Aemond had seemingly watched her for a few seconds before tilting his head and sneering.

"You are the clumsiest woman I have ever met."

Arianne blinked, unable to ascribe any importance to the insult because he still held her, gods — and grasped his left wrist.

It was...utterly improper, touching his bare, warm skin. Yet, she had no choice, because he'd either forgotten to release her or did not want to.

She tugged on the sinewy thing to peel it away from herself.

His jaw tensed, and that sole, blue eye of his dragged down to where his hands were.

Abruptly, Aemond pulled back, as if astounded by his lack of decorum, setting her free from his hold.

For several moments, they just stared at each other, and her embarrassment finally caught up with her. Arianne straightened her spine and wiped her awfully clammy palms against her skirts.

She could not think about who saw her almost tumbling down like a sack of turnips, and she refused to admit Aemond Targaryen saved her from a rather humiliating experience. No, not because it had been Aemond, the insufferable boor, but because he could've released her immediately, as the propriety demanded!

He did not need to...hold her.

What if someone saw it as more than what it was? Arianne could not afford such a scandal. The facetious slander was one thing, but being seen so close to a man was another thing entirely.

She needed to be above suspicion.

Was he trying to ruin her life again?

Her eyes darted toward the dusty ground. The pebbles scattered around the courtyard mocked her — silent, impassive, but still somehow complicit in her humiliation.

Arianne crossed her arms.

"I merely...I would've found my footing. The ground was uneven." Her lips pressed into a tight pout as she pointedly avoided Aemond's gaze.

He hummed, the sound reverberating low from his throat.

"You could try swinging a sword at it, little swan. Teach it a lesson."

She narrowed her eyes.

Was he making a jab at her attempt to strike him or at her stumble?

Yet, there was something off about his voice; it was brittle, almost as if he too was struggling to keep composure. Arianne dug her fingers into the sleeves, trying to suppress the annoying buzzing beneath her skin.

The sickening flush encasing her neck.

Mother above! He IS a Stygian monster to make me ill with fever!

"I told you not to call me that! Have the common decency to respect it, Your Grace." She hissed.

Aemond was quick to respond. Almost as if he were glad she attacked him, rather than thanking him demurely.

"My lack of common decency is nothing compared to the treason that spills so freely from your lovely lips. I assure you, you'd not fare well down in the black cells, little swan." His shapely mouth twisted with scorn.

"Treason?!"

"Is it not treason to insult the honor of the King's son? To call a Prince, how was it?" He tapped his right temple with a long index finger, as if recalling a fine verse.

"—a vile liar,"

Arianne swallowed. Now, wait a moment!

"—a malevolent arse,"

Paled.

"—a prejudiced twat."

She shook her head. Not because the words were wrong, but because she’d said them aloud. And worse, he remembered.

All of it.

Arianne stared at him, utterly horrified because even a fool knew the mortal danger they would find themselves in should a Targaryen prince insist they were prancing around tossing insults his way. Her stomach dropped like a stone in water.

Aemond blinked, predatorily still.

His mouth curved at the right edge as if he were wholly amused at her dawning dread. She counted thirty pulses while he seemed to pore over her expression, savoring it.

Drawing out her loss like a fine wine.

Vintage Arbor gold.

"Some might find it a jest. Alas, I am a wretched, stodgy bore, am I not?" He finally asked, almost gently.

The sound made her shudder.

"Those were—" she began, but halted abruptly. Those were not insults, but descriptions, sounded like something treasonous too.

Arianne wanted to yank at her hair. Why was he so —

Why was he so unfair?

"I was defending myself! It is not as if I deliberately... You always start first! I was practically forced to behave in such a manner."

His brow arched.

"I forced you to insult me?"

"I merely responded in kind —"

"Oh, so now you appeal to reciprocity?" His tone was dry as old parchment.

Arianne grasped at her skirts, her heart drumming like a downpour.

"Offense begets defense. The first blow thus invokes the law of return. D-did you never read Thyrne?" She stammered, surprised that she even thought of that.

Something tumultuous flashed inside Aemond's sole eye.

His brief silence spurred Arianne to continue, as nervousness always made an expert blabberer of her.

"N-no? Well, tit for tat principle is older than the Hightower, or even the Old Pyramid of Ghis. It explains the behavior of men quite accurately, I'd say. He who strikes first, which would be you, my Prince, teaches his foe to sharpen their sword. I don't have a sword, but well, one must use what they have — and why should I suffer your cruel jabs like a castle under siege, and not fire back? The law of equivalent retaliation grants me the right to be as rude as you are. "

"Citing An Inquiry into Retribution grants you nothing!" Aemond snapped, appearing more offended than usual.

Arianne pursed her lips.

Oh, so he did read it. Was there anything he did not read?

Her fingers curled into her fists, nails digging into the softness of her palms.

"So, now you dispute —"

"Thyrne wrote about duels, matters between men." He stated levelly, much to her growing irritation. Her cheeks were burning, both from anger and something else that remained on her skin from when he'd caught her.

She should get away from him, lest she truly end up in the sickbed with butterfly fever. Mayhap, Aemond was not a demon at all, but some form of Naathi butterfly, spreading illness while appearing so...so wrongly handsome.

"Fine." Arianne bit out, loathing him with the might of a thousand storms.

"Do you want me to apologize? I am truly sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities, my prince."

She held his icy stare for several seconds.

“Mhm,” he hummed again, unimpressed. “Somehow, I find myself not believing you, Lady Arianne.”

Aemond brought his arm to rest idly on the pommel of a dagger sheathed at his side.

"Believe what you want." She hissed, squeezing her fists at her sides. "I have better things to do than converse with you. Go away."

He blinked.

Then again.

Her gaffe would not go unnoticed.

"You want me to vacate my own yard for your sake?" The condescension in his tone was laid so thick, he might as well called her a simpleton.

"No." Arianne shook her head. The command had slipped out from sheer frustration, not from any foolish hope that he would ever do the gallant thing and deprive her of his company.

"No, I will leave, of course."

She dipped into a low curtsy and headed towards the stone stairway. Well, this morning had been a colossal waste of time.

A thought struck her, as sudden and annoying as the man behind her.

Arianne could not possibly continue wasting so much time arguing with him when there were so many vital matters to attend to, including preparing Rhaenyra's banquet for Rhaenys, reading through scrolls on fund management Ser Tyland recommended, and, most importantly, making Jace jealous.

That required better planning, clearly, as Jace was nowhere to be seen, and she was stuck under the scorching sun with his malicious uncle.

Again.

If she were to avoid the training courtyard and Rhaenyra's drawing rooms, of course, she'd have to consider some different approach.

Maiden Day's ball, then. Just what on earth was she going to wear? And worse, she could not go with Myles Mooton, now that he had fled from her, so her options were either faking an illness or finding someone else. It was going to be a disappointment either way. In Stonehelm, she was always among the selected few ladies who recited the prayers and sang the hymns, preening in the centre of the castle's grand hall of white and black stone.

Rhaena also mentioned something about the newest lady Wylde organizing a cyvasse tournament together with her husband, Master of Laws, which was something Arianne was most excited about.

She could not afford more social blunders, more failures, just because Aemond Targaryen had a penchant for targeting her! Not to mention the most important woman in the Realm just happened to be his mother, unfortunately, and it was the Queen's whim that decided one's standing with the Court.

More so for a young, unwed lady.

Especially so, for those who wished to marry someone from the royal family.

It would be prudent to settle this...this pointless animosity, because somehow the One-eyed Prince's mere presence kept ruining her carefully concocted schemes.

She pivoted abruptly, purposefully — her crimson skirts swishing around her.

"I propose a bargain."

Arianne declared, resolved to end this. End him — not literally, of course, though the thought was tempting.

Aemond, still lingering by the wooden rack, merely lifted one silvery brow.

"I will stay away from your precious courtyard." She offered, voice sugar-laced spite. His lack of reaction would not daunt her this time.

“No more… nefarious schemes, as you so charmingly put it.” Her hand gestured to herself with a mock flourish.

“I vow never to insult you again. In fact, I will do my utmost to avoid you altogether.”

Arianne inhaled, trying to read anything off the steely edges that made his face.

"In return, you'll leave me be. We needn't ever speak again."

The One-eyed Prince cocked his head, like one might when considering things, before he clicked his tongue.

"Daor." (No.)

She was already halfway to a nod, expecting a curt fine.

No!?

“B-but—” Arianne sputtered, irritation bubbling up her throat. “It would be a mutually beneficial agreement. You find me contemptible! You can even draw up a list of places I must avoid for your sacred peace!”

“A list?” Aemond drawled, lazily intrigued.

“Of places? Like my Keep?”

“It is the King’s Keep! Must you be so needlessly aggravating—?”

That damned smirk tugged at his mouth. Vain and wicked both, a testament to his enjoyment of her frustration.

She scowled.

“Why in the Seven Hells would you not accept a simple truce?” Arianne demanded, her voice rising an entire octave.

“Why indeed?” The One-eyed Targaryen gazed somewhere far off, a painting of genuine wonder.

“Is it because dragons don’t make bargains with songbirds?” His baritone dipped low.

“Or is it because you amuse me, Lady Arianne?”

Her nostrils flared.

"So, you'd scorn my peace offering and rather be my enemy?!"

Embers shimmered inside his sole eye.

“Your enemy,” Aemond echoed, rolling the word over his tongue, tasting it.

“And how do you plan to end me? Will you take up swordsmanship to challenge me in a single combat?”

He took three slow, deliberate steps toward her, each one heavier than the last.

“Or command armies from your solar? You have enough witless admirers for a battalion, I’ll give you that.”

Arianne had to tip her chin to meet his gaze now. Gods, he was tall.

Unfairly, so.

"Princess Nymeria commanded her army even if she never lifted a sword herself. It is a matter of strategy and tactics, not of brute strength."

“Nymeria,” Aemond scoffed. “A coward who fled and lost half her people during voyages.”

“Retreat is not cowardice!” she shouted, fire finally flaring.

“Am I to assume you’d have stayed and let yourself be scorched alive?”

He grinned, cocksure and a tad self-indulgent.

"Why, lady Swann, I'd be on the back of a dragon, doing the scorching."

Of course. Of course, he would be. How utterly foolish of her to ask.

"Charming..." Arianne muttered with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "But since I don't have a dragon, my solar will do just fine."

"War is not your domain," Aemond remarked flatly, gesturing to the toppled shield rack she'd stumbled into as if it proved something.

She stiffened.

"You are meant for comfort. For adorning a hall. For bearing sons. You've read Thyrne, so what was it that he wrote of your kind?"

Her jaw locked.

"Unlike you, I think for myself, so I do not agree with everything he wrote." Arianne recited frostily.

He didn’t even flinch at the insult — callowly pressing on.

“I agree with nothing that old fool wrote. Thyrne was a Septon who never fought, never bled. Nine scrolls on combat, not one scratch earned. Yet, you are the one who cited him, Lady Arianne.”

"What is your point?"

"That if you intend to use his words to defend your schemes, then I will use them to remind you of your place. As per Thyrne, you, my lady Swann, are in the wrong." Aemond was practically purring from satisfaction that he'd outmaneuvered her with this.

"It does not matter if you're as comely as Maris the Maid or as clever as Alysanne, because you are just a lord's spoiled daughter with a sly mouth and too many ideas above your station. And frankly," he drawled, glancing deliberately to the hem of her crimson skirts before slowly dragging his gaze back to her face.

"Why are you even reading so much? Thyrne would chastise you for it, you know."

Arianne’s mouth opened, stunned, ready to lash back, but he continued before she could inhale fully.

"He'd say you were made to be looked at, not argued with." Aemond added, deceptively mellow.

Wait a moment!

She squinted.

Arianne had read that particular scroll thrice, as Thyrne hailed from a village near Blackhaven, so her grandsire on her mother's side had all of his works. “The gods gifted beauty that it might be admired, not questioned. A woman’s loveliness is her highest art.”

Well, that did not make any sense; it didn't even sound like an insult or critique. It sounded...

She scrutinized the marble-like plains of his face for a sign of an incoming rude jape. Did he...did he just imply that she was beautiful? HIM?!

Arianne’s mouth went dry. Her palms itched, damp with rising heat.

"Forget the bloody Thyrne." She bit out.

"As I've said, that law is older than anything. I read because it is useful to know things, and it is expected that one should know plenty if they find themselves serving on the Council —"

"You are a woman, no such thing is expected of you." Aemond interrupted, voice cold like the winter night.

"Nothing is, except to be a docile broodmare for your husband."

Arianne's eyes widened, his words landing like a strike. Worse. Like a lashing with a birch branch over her palms, which her Septa employed often while she was younger. It was an insult. It was dismissal.

"I do not expect you to know every single sigil of noble houses. Robb must, but you need not."

"Question me again, father, I know them now. Truly! Better than Robb."

Lord Donnel sighed.

A searing, hollow ache bloomed in her chest, pulsating in time with her rabbity heartbeat. How could he know? The secret grudges and pains she'd kept close.

Her lungs seized, a hot flash of humiliation laving her throat.

A docile broodmare?!

Arianne slammed her palm against the wooden rack beside her, fingers grazing the hilt of a nearby blade.

"Nothing is expected of you either." She bellowed, fury scorching her vocal cords like wildfire.

"It does not matter if you're The Perfect Knight come again, or as accomplished as Aegon the Conqueror, because you are just a spare. You will never inherit. You will never rule!"

The last sentence tumbled from her full lips with mundane cruelty.

He would strike her for this, she was certain, but found herself not caring because at least his reputation would be in tatters as well.

Aemond’s eye darkened — iris shifting from pale cerulean into Cape Wrath.

Storm-surge grey, violent, and vast.

His hand fell upon hers, caging it against the wood.

The callouses decorating his palm, warm and firm and unyielding, scraped the thin skin over her knuckles.

Aemond flexed his fingers — it sent disconcerting tingling up her arm, like the stabbing of pins and needles from a sewing cushion.

He'd done it almost eerily calm, a gesture of restraint rather than aggression.

Unmistakably deliberate.

The closeness of him reminded her of her stumble earlier. Right into his arms.

Arianne's face reddened to her hair, because the truth of the matter was very troubling. He'd touched her more than any man ever did.

Brushed his thumb over her knuckles while speaking of Lorath in flawless Valyrian, and that was...she'd explained it by some odd courtliness, but then he'd seized her wrist like it belonged to him, and just minutes ago held her waist, and now...

And now, this. This.

How was it that he, the haughtiest, most infuriating creature the gods had ever allowed to exist, was the one she engaged in this strange skinship with? Did he think himself above the rules and laws of propriety?!

No, no, the only gossip she'd heard about the Queen's middle son was that he was boringly committed to rules and duties. A voice from the sunken gorge in the back of her mind taunted her with utter nonsense — he wanted to touch her more than he cared for propriety.

Arianne fought the urge to yank her hand away and run. Something in his darkened gaze told her that he would enjoy it.

That if she ran, he would follow.

And worse still, that he would catch her.

So she bit into the inside of her cheek and willed her hand to remain where it was. Trapped underneath his larger one.

Willed her thoughts into order, and willed her feverish skin into forgetting how he'd held her earlier.

This was —had to be — some contest of will. She could not lose. How could she hope to rule a court if she allowed herself to be cowed by Aemond Targaryen?

He made her cry several times, but Arianne would be damned if she was going to let him do it again! So she merely batted her lashes and stared at him.

At last, Aemond spoke, his tone thrumming with warning.

"Thread carefully, my lady." He leaned down until she felt his breath graze her cheeks.

"You cannot win a quarrel with me."

The words slithered down her ribs, soft, because no, Aemond had not raised his voice at all.

She did not...She did not want to quarrel with him in the first place!

"I do not need to." Arianne replied tightly, following the deep scar splitting his left cheek. "As you've poetically put it, I am only expected to marry a man who will."

She felt silly for vocalizing it, because now he had another thing to humiliate her with. Her affection for Jace. But something else passed over his sharp face.

A surprise, perhaps.

Aemond released a low, dry laugh.

"There is no such man for you."

His brief stupefaction morphed into reverence.

"I am a Targaryen." He murmured, filled with ancestral vanity. "We are closer to gods than men, little swan."

Arianne spoke before she could think it through.

"There is." Her voice rang clear, all righteous fury. She could no longer control the torrent pressing against her teeth.

"It is you who should take care to treat me kindly, because I will outrank you one day."

That jolted him.

His shoulders went rigid, and Aemond's infuriating little lip tilt vanished, mere inches from her face.

She lifted her chin, pressing the momentary advantage of his surprise.

"When Princess Rhaenyra is Queen, Jace will be Prince of Dragonstone, and I will marry him." Her blood was boiling, thundering through her vessels like it wanted to erupt out of her skin. She could not... could not stop, even if his unnatural stillness prompted the cautious voice inside her mind into urging her to retreat and run far and wide.

Arianne stood on her tiptoes instead, so enjoying the tensing of his jaw and the way his pale eye widened. The way something brackish and furious was sizzling beneath his skin.

His hand was still wrapped around hers, a furnace of flesh.

"So that day, when he is King and I his Queen," She spat, reckless and heedless of the darkening grimace on Aemond's terribly close face.

If she moved any closer, she'd hit his nose with her own.

"— will come, and you’ll regret all this. I’ll have you exiled to Mossovy! To Cannibal Sands!"

Aemond did not move, but his fingers tightened, their shared warmth burgeoning between them.

It thrilled her that, for once, he was at a loss for words. If only she could think of how to utter it in the High Valyrian he cherished so — What’s the matter, Prince Aemond? Nothing to say?

The chink in his armor now crystallized in her mind, a path that led under his steel skin, just how his scathing comments always burrowed under hers, a tit for tat.

He clearly loathed being reminded of his unfortunate birth order. Behind Rhaenyra, behind Aegon. Not even second, because even his sister came before him, and all of her children...

Suddenly, Arianne had all these new ideas wanting to tear from her throat.

"And I will give him sons." She sang, swearing it like an oath.

"Many, many sons. And if you're still here, you can watch how my brood sits on the Iron Throne before you ever do."

Aemond blinked, just once, but his countenance altered subtly, horribly.

Suddenly, it was as if every ounce of vitriol from moments before was flushed away, carried by the violent stream of her declaration, to be replaced by equal parts astonishment and fascination.

His single eye widened almost imperceptibly, something volcanic shifting behind it. Something endless and consuming, permeating his gaze and burning through her heavy silks to settle low in her abdomen.

He looked at her as if he had never truly seen her before.

As if only now did her shape make sense to him.

Arianne shivered, waiting for the rude retort she had expected — venom, a sneer, the insufferable boor's usual arsenal of weaponized wit.

Yet, Aemond seemed engrossed in the movement of her face, like one might be in reading a fine scroll. Like her mouth was a particularly interesting paragraph. Like she was a riddle to be unraveled, made specifically for him.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

Then, he somehow drew even closer, sending her heart into a frenzied spiral.

Her breath slammed against her sternum.

Surely not—he wouldn’t dare touch her like that—!

Unbidden, the idea that he truly would kiss her took sudden, tyrannical root, like weeds in her skull.

A treasonous thrill cascaded down her spine.

She squashed the errant thought like an irritating bug.

He hated her. He'd never.

Such perfectly shaped lips wasted on Aemond Targaryen, she mused wildly, stupidly, blasphemously — a soft lower lip, a parabolic curve of the upper bow.

Swallowing, Arianne lifted her gaze.

A mistake.

His eye gleamed like wildfire hidden behind glass.

"No. Bargain." Aemond hissed flatly, the words reverberating inside her skull.

Silence fell, and the air congealed between them. She could see the pulse in his neck thrashing vehemently, leashed underneath the ivory skin.

Then, so painstakingly slowly, Aemond pulled away.

His hand lifted, and the warmth vanished.

He glared at her for a moment longer before turning and heading towards the stone staircase, his long, silver hair snapping behind him like a war banner.

Arianne swallowed again, felt the strain in her throat.

Flushed and breathless and stunned, she realized one horrible truth:

She made a colossal, disastrous mistake.

A blunder of match-ending proportions.

She'd just set herself, a lone elephant, against the opposing dragon.

Aemond Targaryen now knew of her dream, of her wicked, covetous heart, and he would not let her be.

Arianne marched straight to her chambers from the yard, just so she could scream while holding a pillow over her face.

“Wretch!” she seethed into the feathers.

“Horrid, despicable dragon—”

She kicked her legs against the bedding like an angry child, the silks tangling around her ankles.

Aemond Targaryen accused her of scheming, and she told him...

How could she have told him those things?! Gone so close to his sharp, cold face, too close, improper, improper, contemptible — and told him she would be Queen one day. It was...unseemly.

He provoked her into behaving unbefitting of her station.

Seven take him!

What if he tells? It was enough that cruel tongues lashed at her about Saera Targaryen and Johanna Swann, now they would gossip about her complete lack of scruples and denounce her as a profligate grasper from the Marches.

The bed was too soft.

Too stifling. She threw herself off it and seized a chair with a sharp scrape across the stone floor, the sound grating in her ears.

Aemond Targaryen was going to kill her.

Or worse.

Her chest rose and fell in unsteady bursts.

He held her. Gods, he held her, like he had the right.

The heat suffused her face just remembering it, not just from humiliation, but from something molten, muddled, unwelcome.

Arianne furiously opened the scrolls on the variable tax that Ser Tyland Lannister lent her. Something, anything, to banish the image of him. Numbers and footnotes.

Structure.

Order.

Aemond Targaryen, with his insufferably fast reflexes. With those unbearably corded forearms that flexed every time he handled a blade...or her...

She scowled at the parchment.

How dare he?! State all those awful things and use Thyrne against her!

That old Septon might’ve been daft and entirely mistaken about some matters, but he was hers — a fool of the Red Mountains! Blackhaven’s library held his original texts. Her grandfather brimmed with pride when her mother brought her there to be presented to him, just shy of her fifth birthday and already reading! Of course, she was not reading An Inquiry into Retribution back then.

Some coddled princeling could not have outargued her like that!

Establishing regular markets increases trade, and once prosperous, the lord might levy fees on the passing traders. Stall rents are usually set from 2 to 20 percent, though gate fees could be used instead...

Despite the sheer amount of work she had to plow through, it was impossible to quiet her mind. It buzzed like a hive, stuffed full of wasps and that voice of his.

Arianne had to read the same line three times.

Her vision blurred, not from tears, but from rage.

You told that Stygian fiend that you would be Queen, what if he —

Arianne shoved the scrolls to the side and glared at the notes about market tolls she had made from them, a judgmental chorus of 'stupid, stupid, foolish girl' ringing behind her eyes.

Stonehelm sorely lacks markets. Also, legal protections for smallfolk should be placed in case of overzealous tax collectors.

She yanked at her hair.

How could she trip right in front of him?!

Seven, the indignity.

She’d touched his chest, she remembered, all lean muscle and heat beneath that black tunic, and now that knowledge lived inside her, terrible and permanent.

Arianne leapt to her feet again.

Her skin prickled. It felt too tight. Too small. Like it didn’t fit her anymore.

She couldn’t get comfortable inside herself.

The air was irritatingly warm. It was unbearable all around her, and even worse, she'd felt something shift underneath her ribs. The entire day it had simmered, pooling low in her spine.

Now it fluttered, sharp and aching, like the unfurling of wings.

Ever since she watched those damned duels. Watched him move in equal parts violence and grace. Observed how he carved through men, trained and twice her size, with the almost bored precision. War lived in Aemond's limbs.

And in the way he looked at her.

Arianne bit the flesh around her thumbnail, remembering the press of a calloused palm against her knuckles. Not gentle. Not overly firm. Just...there, claiming.

She loathed it, how he only flexed his fingers, and her entire body shuddered.

He could've easily hurt her.

She thought he had wanted to. But he only hovered too near, his heated breath ghosting across her cheek like a caress.

Her words rattled him; she saw it in the tensing of his jaw, in the tick of his cheek, in the whirlpool of his eye.

After several unsuccessful attempts, she managed to undo the lacing at her back, shimmying out of the constricting silk.

Why had she even worn it? Jace clearly cared not if she wore fine red gowns or the simplest woolen frock. Why hadn't he done what Aunt Johanna wrote about?

Why had Aemond done it?

Did he really have to hold her like that, long enough to be gossiped about?!

He was her enemy now; that much had become evident.

Arianne sat on the edge of her bed and pressed her hands to her cheeks.

She flinched.

Her face was hypersensitive, like it was sunburnt.

It had to be some kind of illness.

A food poisoning or a late summer's fever.

She plopped down, ignoring how even her shift and smallclothes felt off, and drew her legs to her belly. Her thighs squeezed together unwittingly, wishing for some elusive pressure.

Arianne thought again of Aemond's hand, the weight of it, the intent of it, how it steadied her, how —

The audacity! How dare he touch her and insult her!

Her pulse fluttered wildly, pounding all the way to the tips of her ears. Her chest ached.

Speak to her of the vilest things!

He'd said men imagined undressing her. Deflowering her.

Gods.

The words were like teeth at her throat. Aemond was a man, wasn't he? Did he —?

Arianne gulped in air, horrified at the thought. Horrified at herself.

What was wrong with her?

She shifted restlessly, one thigh crossing over the other, then uncrossing, then crossing again, as if there were an itch she couldn't quite scratch.

How dare he catch her like a chivalrous knight from a story, then lean so improperly close...as if, as if...

Her fingers splayed wide across her belly in an attempt to press the strange sensation down, to tame it into stillness.

Yet, her skin did not wish for stillness, no, it thrummed like it couldn't wait to chase after something.

Was she ill?

Or—

Arianne whimpered in horror.

Was it a sin?!

The one her Septa screeched about, a sin beautiful men inspire in maidens who aren't careful and pure of thought. The one that led Saera astray. The sin of wantonness.

No.

No, no, gods no.

She needed to be above such vile matters if she were to become Queen one day.

Arianne had done everything that was required and expected of her. She might have skipped a prayer here or there, but she went to the Sept regularly, feted every Holy Day of the Seven, she obeyed her parents and did her needlework, even if it was poor and ugly.

She prayed for a husband and spent no time entertaining debaucheries. Her refuge from idleness had always been books and games, cyvasse most often, but sometimes tiles and dice too. Though she disliked dice, her brother's favorite, as it was horribly unpredictable.

How did this illness come her way?!

She was overwrought. Delirious. Her shift stuck to her back from the sweat.

It was Aemond's work.

She should notify Her Grace Alicent Hightower that her son was spreading illness around the Keep. Perhaps she would send him away to be purified.

He was something sinful, of the valyrian variety — long limbed, and sharp-tongued sin, with tresses of moondust silver and hands as splendid and beautiful as the marble ones on the statue of a Warrior in the Royal Sept.

Or maybe he poisoned her?

Enchanted her?

There were some weird tomes she found in the library on Dragonstone, and it was a commonly told legend that Queen Visenya dabbled in dark rites and sorcery.

Prince Aemond had her dragon.

Maybe he had her potions too.

Arianne swallowed and attempted to pray, but her hands wandered without asking for permission — over her thin shift, down the slope of her stomach, pausing just at the edge of the shameful, tingling place.

A small sound escaped her throat when her fingers darted too low.

What in the Seven...?

She moved again. Slower. Curious.

It was...pleasant.

Arianne mused about being held, the heat on the small of her back, just above the lacing, what if Aemond had...?

He had looked at her like that, with that sole eye, that bottomless, tumultuous piece of the Sunset Sea — like she was a woman, something alive and volitant that might disappear if he didn't grasp firmly.

Like he was plagued by the same, dark reveries, he accused Myles Mooton of.

The suggestion was preposterous, and dangerous, and disgusting, and Aemond loathed her.

Yet, it thrilled her.

Would he kneel like bodies woven into those tapestries, if she let him undress her? Would he kiss her? He said that she was made to be looked at, so would he look? She imagined his shapely mouth would hiss and denounce her as a shameless courtesan, even as his gaze drank every bared inch. So, who would really be without shame, her, or the prideful prince on his knees?

Arianne bit into her plump lower lip.

Would he curve those long, shapely fingers around the line of her waist to steady her? Would he kiss her...there? Like the kneeling man in the tapestry...

Would he be gentle? Or would he devour her whole like that ravenous glimmer in his eye promised?

She pressed the heel of her hand between her legs. And gasped, actually gasped, as a pulse bloomed there, white-hot and maddening.

Arianne bolted upright like a flame had licked her.

Gods.

She couldn't —

It was a sin.

A maiden must be clean of mind and body. Chaste in thought and conduct.

At first, she debated whether she ought to find a branch and whip her own palms, but then Arianne hurried to find something to wear, one of the simple, woolen dresses she could put on herself without Miriam's help.

Honest work is the best way to keep demons at bay, or so her Septa would say.

Her ankles were tangling more than usual.

She felt...ductile.

Unsteady.

Like a fawn learning to walk.

"Or is it because you amuse me?"

Hadn't Johanna mentioned in her letter that —

No.

She gritted her teeth.

She would forget it happened at all. From now on, she would avoid Aemond Targaryen at all costs.

Arianne was in far better spirits now.

She'd found the seneschal presiding over the kitchens and, after some careful haggling, secured the exact meats, sauces, and dishes she wanted for Rhaenyra's banquet with Princess Rhaenys.

She had brought her coin pouch, of course, as she did not have much faith in her charms. Gold was a universal charmer, however.

So was competency.

Perhaps that was why she was so thoroughly, so foolishly infatuated with Jace — handsome, yes, and second in line to the throne, but above all capable. When Rhaenyra had tasked him to resolve a squabble between two stubborn tavern owners in the village below Dragonmont, he’d done it in a single day.

Aemond —

No! Don't even think it!

He...

He read, almost as much as she did, he spoke High Valyrian effortlessly, and he moved so gracefully, tunics clinging to the broad shoulders and narrow waist, that unfair body she’d only accidentally touched for a second...

Prince Aemond fought so well. But only...only because he cheated! In a way... His mentor was of the Marches, and only marchers fought like that.

Scowling at herself, Arianne pushed the thought aside and hurried to not miss the evening meal. She had successfully bribed the seneschal, though she loathed to use that word.

Bribery was a sin, of course. She'd never do it, and the seneschal agreed her gift was most welcome.

For all the hard effort.

If he just happened to serve Rhaenyra's banquet hall with the suckling pig Lady Baela supposedly enjoyed, well so be it. It was not a feast by any means, no, of course not, they couldn't be hosted in the Keep, without the Queen's leave, under her nose.

The princess, and heir to the Iron Throne, Arianne insisted, was great with child and simply ravenous for meat, even though the Queen wanted poultry served for the days preceding the Maiden's Day, as it was the custom.

Rosey helped her, vouching that the lady was kind and discreet, truly! Of course, when someone helps you, you ought to help them back, so Arianne pressed two silver stags into her hand. She added a few copper groats once the woman mentioned her children had outgrown their clothes.

Absently, she wondered if she could bribe someone from the kitchens to serve Aemond a tray of strawberry tarts...laced with just a whisper of greycap. Enough to tie him to his privy for three miserable days. Nothing serious. She did, after all, like having her head firmly attached to her shoulders.

Grand Maester Aethelmure states the poisoner is beneath contempt, though.

The One-eyed twat had declared war upon her! What courtesy did he deserve?! The problem was that him being a member of the royal family meant she could not do anything to him.

Gods, she could not do away with him on her own!

She thought about telling Jace what had happened.

Decided against it a moment later, because Jace was already overwhelmed with reading on the previous inheritance disputes and perusing his family tree for dark hair.

As if hair were enough to declare someone baseborn!

Swanns were known for their green eyes and nigh-raven hair, which, she supposed, was how Johanna got the moniker — the black swan of Lys, for her dark curls, yet one Saera Targaryen was enough to ruin that. Her father was pale-haired, and though her mother had thick, dark auburn tresses, both Arianne and Robb ended somewhere in between.

All her cousins appeared more Swann than her.

For one madcap moment, she thought her father had liked Jace because their children could be born dark-haired and green-eyed, not like Targaryens at all, but perfect, little Swanns.

But, if Jace were truly... no, no she would not dare think that. Bastards were a treacherous lot, sired in sin. Jace was nothing like that.

Arianne shook her head, focusing on the problem at hand. She could not tell Jace, because there was nothing to tell, really. How would it even sound?

"Save me, my prince, from your loathsome uncle who thinks me a scheming tart?"

And anyway...What was Jace doing this morning? Why hadn't he approached her?

She had wanted him to interrupt her idle flirtation with Myles Mooton and...

Gods be good, why did Aemond?

It should have been Jace who pulled her aside, who glowered and chastised and looked at her like she mattered. Not his uncle.

If he held such a low opinion of her, why did he not just accept her bargain?

Arianne hated not knowing, hated all the little gnawing questions that wormed into her mind. So instead of forgetting, she tucked the matter away, neatly boxed and shelved for another day. As well as one other thing Aemond had mentioned that bothered her, concerning her grandmother.

She had to report to Rhaenyra about her success. Truly, the most wonderful of duties, Arianne thought morosely while crossing the drawbridge to the Holdfast, ensuring that Lady Baela feels comfortable while she flies off with my prince into the happily ever after.

"It would solve everything!" Arianne heard Prince Daemon shout before she even entered the solar. Rhaenyra touched his shoulder and hissed something quietly.

Arianne made herself useful, helping Lady Mathilda herd the younger children to table.

"Are they arguing?" she whispered, glancing sidelong as Rhaenyra swept after Daemon to the adjacent chambers, her skirts twinkling from all the rubies sewn into them.

Mathilda Strong shrugged.

"Prince Daemon wants to fly to Driftmark and behead Ser Vaemond before he can open his mouth in Court."

Arianne blinked.

That would be... unlawful?

"Oh, he also wants to behead the Hand after that." Mathilda added, tone laced with grim amusement.

Arianne, trying not to look as horrified as she felt, sat stiffly beside little Aegon and began cutting his honeyed turkey into neat, manageable bites.

She'd heard that Prince Daemon and Ser Otto Hightower were bitter rivals while they both served Viserys, but the Hand speaks with the King's voice and builds what the King dreams. Surely, the King does not want his grandson to be disinherited?

"Do you know...if the King has an opinion on all this?" Arianne asked carefully. "The Queen was presiding over the Council when they decided to hear Ser Vaemond's petition."

Mathilda shook her head.

"I don't. The princess thinks to bring Maester Gerardys here to help him...she does not trust the Hightowers. Or their maester."

Arianne was exerting considerable effort not to glance up as soon as she heard Jace and Luke arrive, Rhaena with her two ladies in tow. Tonight, she concluded irately, I am writing to Johanna and begging for some other advice. This ignoring thing is driving me mad!

Rhaenyra and Daemon had not returned, so she tried to nod along to Rhaena's excited monologue about seeing her sister after three whole months.

But her eyes followed how Jace cut into his venison — too tightly, his knuckles white. Those thick, inky curls were in disarray, one grazing his left cheekbone.

"You’re very daft sometimes," He snapped after Luke suggested they race their dragons against Baela above King’s Landing, and Rhaena's happy disposition melted away.

Oh.

How terrible that must be, to be the only one without a dragon.

"You’re just sour because you ended up wet earlier," Luke said cheerfully.

The girls looked up in confusion.

"A page tripped in the yard," He explained, grinning.

"Spilled a bucket of water right over him."

Arianne blanched.

Mathilda Strong giggled into her hand.

So that was why he hadn’t come to her.

Some clumsy boy, some fool boy with a sloshing pail, had ruined everything she had so carefully laid out.

Was it a jest from the gods? As a flash of animosity passed through her chest, she almost asked if the page had been punished for his stupidity.

Yet, there was something incredibly funny about Jace now, pouting and glaring at his younger brother.

Arianne met Jace's long-lashed, brown eyes and fought a girlish laughter on the brink of her throat. He was so princely handsome, even when seething.

She turned to Rhaena instead, inquiring about the writings of Elysar, who had been the Conciliator's Grand Maester. More importantly, he wrote a detailed account of her grandmother's scandal.

A topic always forbidden in her household, and Arianne had always respected that and her father's rules, but...something that Aemond had said tormented her, like a minuscule itch behind her ear.

"... everyone knows what happened the last time a Swann, a Mooton, and Saera played their games in Court."

No, that had to have been a deliberate slander on his part, because her grandfather was not at Court during that time! Her father might have been strict and hard to please, but he was no liar. He'd always insisted her grandmother was the corrupting, nefarious blight forced upon their family, a testament to the depravity and arrogance of the dragons.

Well, not that Arianne could blame him for hating her, she'd abandoned him before he could walk.

Her grandfather was an honorable man, a true Marcher, made of steel, stone, and war, and...

"I must know, Rhaena." She muttered, glancing at Jace, who was already staring at them.

Did he hear her?

"Perhaps you should ask Myles." Her prince declared acidly.

Rhaena blinked, and Arianne flushed.

Jace stood, plucking a goblet from the table, and lifted it in a mocking salute, his eyes trained on her.

"But I'd wager he can't even read."

(Aemond)

Aemond had returned to the Holdfast perfectly composed. His gait had been measured, his mind numbed from how wonderfully calm he had been, his breathing even.

He had answered a letter from Daeron, musing on how rare their correspondence had become. More strangers than brothers.

He had gone to check on Helaena after, and got roped by the twins into playing monsters-and-maidens with them. Even Aegon, bleary-eyed and reeking faintly of wine, had participated, tottering about the Queen's Ballroom as a shrieking maiden while Jaehaerys chased him.

His sister laughed at them, embroidering large, fat, black spiders. One of her ladies bounced little Maelor on her knee.

It had been a pleasant afternoon, in the way afternoons could sometimes be.

Aemond had had enough once he was relegated to playing monster five times in a row.

It suited him, perhaps. He was neither kind nor charming, and after that bastard had a go at his face, he thought he could no longer be called handsome either. Without all those blessings working in his favor, it was rather obvious why any courtly lady would chase after him.

Ambition.

Which she seemed to have in spades.

That sinful, dark glint in her eyes when she declared that she'd have sons — many, many sons — and sit them on the Iron Throne before he ever climbed there ignited something terrible and ruinous in his lower back.

He should have struck her for it.

He wanted to strike something for it.

Aemond grimaced.

But it had been a pleasant afternoon nonetheless because he was calm, and his mind was clear, and he did not have unwelcome thoughts about Arianne Swann, the sort that rarely plagued him.

Once he had returned to his chambers, he unbuckled his sword belt haphazardly, letting it hit the floor with a resounding clang.

So now that he was alone, lying on the chaise and perusing The Battles and Sieges of the Century of Blood, Aemond was focused and did not abandon the book five pages in, because he realized he had no clue what he'd just read.

How dare she say those words to him!

He paced his chambers in agitated circles.

Poured himself a cup of dry Arbor red and didn't drink it.

He should've let her tumble. Let her scrape her elbows bloody. Let her crack her obstinate, unreasonable skull.

Let her split open her pretty lip or muddy her ornate silks.

Instead, she fell into his arms — soft, warm, delicate — and he held her. Steadied her. Felt her waist, the fine edge of her corseted spine, the heat of her breath on his neck.

The distractingly decadent scent that clung to her, jasmine or something else so flowery, something like woods after rain, when everything is wildly, unapologetically green. Yet, there was warmth underneath it that was obnoxiously soothing and made him want to bury his nose into her neck. Her hair.

He shouldn't have ever tread so close to feel any of those.

Now he was tormented by imaginings that should've forced him into prayer, had he found solace in the gods like his mother did.

Aemond was not calm, and he could not tear the memory of her nearness from his mind, no matter how savagely he tried.

It clung like barnacles down in the Blackwater Bay. It festered.

Sickening sweet and vile.

"...when he is King and I, his Queen."

Aemond ceased his relentless pacing and slumped into the chaise. The table before him was filled with books, scrolls, and a half-empty inkpot from his earlier correspondence.

At least it made sense. She made sense now. It was not some fleeting infatuation that fixed her so firmly to the eldest bastard's side, it was determination. Hunger.

Aemond realized why his japes struck so deeply. He'd told her the court would never accept her and Jacaerys as rulers when they conversed during the second banquet for his whore of a half-sister, and she practically trembled. Now it was clear, she took it personally.

It finally dawned on him why Arianne had lashed at him, even at the cost of her own lady's manners.

Not that she had any, he corrected himself.

She did not want comfort, docility, song, and dance — good for her, truly, since she was completely left-footed and clumsy as Seven Hells.

Seemingly, she did not even wish to pretend at swordsmanship, or play at some woman-warrior tripe, or freedom, or a grand, law-defying affair, or any such thing ill-behaved women often sought.

No.

Aemond exhaled through his nose.

She wanted queenship.

She wanted legacy.

Perhaps, lady Arianne was much more astute than he gave her credit for.

She was driven, like him.

There was something irresistible in her spirit, something that called to the black-blooded part of him, the dragon in his marrow.

She wanted power. He needed it.

She meant to rise. He would.

Perhaps she was like him. Not!

He hated the thought. Refused it.

A Queen.

She dared to say it out loud, without so much as a tremble in her voice. The audacity struck him like an open palm to the cheek. She stood on her fucking tiptoes to spit it at his face. Infuriating little wench.

Aemond removed the eyepatch, twirling the leather between his hands.

Did she plan to kiss him?! To ensnare him, rope him in with her considerable wiles so that he too, was her ally while she climbed. A co-conspirator of her ambition?

He tossed it onto the table.

The idea was preposterous, yet he found it easier to stomach than the alternative—that she completely dismissed him and did not look at him the way women looked at men when they wanted something.

The spare.

That she was mocking his forever-crownless brow.

Second son.

Gods, how he loathed her!

Aemond wanted to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake.

There was the third alternative, more preferable than the second. Less than first.

She saw him as a threat. He supposed that was fine, he was a threat to his half-sister and her brood of bastards.

Aemond's fingers drummed against the wood, restless and agitated.

"Many, many sons."

She'd spoken as if they were already nestled in her womb. It positively angered him. Because...she was right. Shall his half-sister be crowned, Jacaerys Strong-Targaryen would be King after her, and then those sons. Her sons.

Bastard's little bastards to steal the Iron Throne from the King's trueborn sons and grandsons. Aegon. Jaehaerys. Maelor. HIM. Daeron.

Him most of all.

Because he was deserving of it!

He should've laughed and told her to keep dreaming. He should've seized that insolent, lovely curl that always fell out of her braid and given it a good yank.

Or he should've turned away. A small, buried part of him almost wanted to tell her to be careful with her words and bold, little statements like the one she'd just thrown at him, because someone was going to do away with her. If not his Hightower grandsire, then his uncle.

No, Daemon fucking Targaryen would absolutely not stand for his wife passing the throne to her Strong whelp and Saera's granddaugher.

So, there had been plenty of responses Aemond could've used to take her down a peg.

But in that damned, cursed, utterly despicable moment, he just stood like a complete, horsebrained fool, positively riveted.

Thinking that she'd look even more defiant with his son inside her.

More queenly.

Beautiful while she writhes and moans underneath him, and parts her thighs for him.

His eye stung, pinpricks burrowing through his left temple.

Her sharp little mouth, tamed by pleasure.

His left hand had ached from restraint. From not crushing her bones underneath it.

His cock — Seven Hells — had throbbed like it had a mind of its own.

Aemond had to leave and extricate himself from that humiliating experience. It was disappointing that the best he could come up with was that he'd not give her that silly bargain she concocted. There was nothing in it for him.

His fingers stilled.

What had he done to deserve this torment?!

Aemond's jaw clicked. He bit into his lower lip until he tasted copper.

There was an illness in him, he thought. Some acrid, festering wound between his ribs that always opened, craving for what eluded him.

That inconsequential, infuriating lady Swann meant to provoke him — oh, and she had. Just not in the way she had expected.

Aemond cursed low in his throat, dragging a hand through his hair, tugging on it until his scalp prickled. He untied the ribbon at the back of his head and let it fall loosely, haloing his face.

He could now see her.

Proud, venomous, clever. And ripe.

He could imagine her fat with child. His child.

There was something so deliciously perverse in the idea. Corrupting her plans, taking what she meant for another, and making it his. Twisting her ambition until it was coiled around his.

Him.

Arianne Swann hated him, or at least she claimed so. It would be a challenge. Aemond enjoyed challenges like one does a fine plate of snails in honey and garlic. Harsh ones, painful ones, difficult ones, grueling practice, and endless studying...and the greatest challenge of them all, approaching the largest dragon in the world in the middle of the night.

The adversity only made the triumph sweeter.

He gave up reading on the struggles plaguing Western Essos after the Doom and smoothed his palm over the cover of the book once more, tracing the title absentmindedly.

Aemond groaned irritably, the events from earlier playing in his mind over and over in seemingly an endless loop. He would have been pleased to say that it was her declaration of war he was lingering on, dissecting and scheming on how to best deal with her, insignificant as she was.

The truth was far, far worse.

His empty hands curled into fists. Then uncurled.

It was the sight of her lying helplessly in his arms that kept harassing his mind. Full, heart-shaped lips slightly parted, soft cheeks rosy, green, green, the greenest eyes wide and resplendent.

That daringly low neckline revealed the elegant line of her collarbones and the shallow hollow between them, a space just begging to be kissed. And lower...The valley of her breasts peeked above the dip in the center of her bodice. Pert and infuriatingly perfect, and, gods, he fought men with less effort than it took to keep his gaze from slipping below her throat.

The delightful curve of her lower back he'd touched.

The soft curve of her arse he hadn't touched.

The lissom curve of her waist she intended to ruin with bastard's whelps.

I should...I should kill her, Aemond nodded to no one in particular.

I should have her.

He tore at the clasps of his tight-laced leather doublet, yanking it off with far less decorum than he usually allowed himself. His tunic and breeches soon followed, as did his smallclothes, and Aemond found himself bare.

Kill her.

He threw himself onto the cool sheets, willing them to douse the surge through him. But his hips twitched of their own will. His cock ached, insistent and shameless.

His skin burned, even in the comfort of his bed.

Have her.

His good eye snapped shut.

No, it would be best if he could just ignore her entire existence.

Aemond rolled onto his stomach, wondering if he could just smother his arousal into the mattress.

He needed sleep.

Unfortunately, the One-eyed Prince had woken several times throughout the night and all of his attempts to discipline his body into obedience fell through, his cock throbbing harder and making it clear he would need to address the...issue the next time he woke.

He never had much qualm with pleasuring himself. It was perfunctory and kept him focused and away from female snare. Until now.

His...carnal musings had never been fixated on someone, but now this bastard-loving, whore-serving annoyance named Arianne Swann violently inserted herself into them.

He should really kill her.

It was not the first time he'd found release with her image in mind. He'd done it after that infernal dream in which they played cyvasse, on his bed, and lacking any form of clothing.

At the hour of the wolf, Aemond gave up and rolled onto his back. He glared at the canopy while concentrating on the lines the pads of his fingers left on his skin while they slid down his abdomen. His hand hesitated once he felt the sparse, pale curls.

Shutting his sole eye, Aemond felt the last shreds of his resolve vanish into thin air. What did it matter, truly? It was just mundane physicality.

His cock was terribly warm when he gripped himself, rubbing over the tip to spread the dampness around his length.

He thought about her full, bottom lip quivering with fury before she slammed her small hand onto the wooden rack. He thought of preventing her from ever opening her mouth to call him a spare, by kissing her.

Not gently.

But she'd like it.

Aemond moved along his length in firm, languid strokes, musing on how wroth and flushed she might've been then. She'd accuse him of stealing her first kiss with that shrill voice of hers, but they'd both know she would've been lying.

Because she wanted him to dare.

She was practically baiting him with that damned curl-twirl around her index finger. It was a simple law of reciprocity, which Arianne seemed to enjoy using to her advantage.

Then he'd dare more.

Until he had her bent over the wood, flipping those ridiculously heavy skirts up.

He'd remove her undergarments without much effort and hear her whine as the cold air tickled her bare skin. What a lovely sound that would be.

Perhaps he'd yank her stockings down and grip those shapely hips of hers. Perhaps he'd leave fingertip-shaped bruises, so she'd remember him whenever she dressed.

Aemond bit his lower lip as his pulse quickened, his breaths growing more shallow.

He would not take her immediately. During those few times, years ago, when Aegon pressured him to copulate with whores, he'd learned it was much better if a woman was wet. Sometimes, he loathed Aegon for that because he could scarcely recall a more humiliating moment than one of those visits.

Sometimes, he wondered if Aegon had truly thought he was doing him a favor, because he had called it a gift. A rite of passage. Laughing even as some unnamed woman, old enough to have birthed both of them, attempted to make him stiff with her hand. It would've been easier if his brother hadn't been right there, downing wine and attempting to cheer him on.

Horrendous.

At least he left knowing how cunts looked like and how it felt to fuck one. Warm and wet, and he wished to fuck one right now.

Not some paid whore's.

Hers.

Aemond bucked slightly into his hand, exchanging full strokes for shorter, firmer touches around his tip.

Arianne would shiver once he rubbed his clothed groin over her womanly flower, letting her feel everything that she was going to take. He would use his hands, too, if he felt generous.

And then —

Once his breeches were damp with her arousal, a darkened, wet spot right above the outline of his hardened cock she rutted against, he'd pull them down and —

Inch by agonizing inch he'd split her tight cunt open.

Perhaps she'd cry out and whine so sweetly, and shiver from being ruined so vulgarly.

Her precious maidenhead, taken by the second son.

Perhaps she'd curse him, Aemond, Aemond, Aemond you vile twat!

But he'd scarcely care. He tightened his grip, imagining how her untouched cunt would clamp around his cock.

Perhaps she'd ask him for more.

Aemond moaned, seeing one of his hands grasping at her hair, his fingers finding purchase in those thick, wild locks, the other digging into the soft, plush thigh to keep her in place.

The pinpricks of pleasure, molten, scorching, began to tighten the muscles in his legs, his abdomen, his loins.

Perhaps, she'd beg him for mercy.

Just a sliver of mercy for the undeserving, grasping girl from her dragon prince. She'd finally realize her place and beseech him while he tasted the creamy skin beneath her ear as he thrust into her.

"Kostilus, ñuhys zaldrīzes." (Please, my dragon.) Aemond almost, almost, wished he could imagine himself saying yes, why, when she begged so sweetly in his native tongue.

When he coaxed such exquisite, breathless whines from her obstinate mouth.

But no —

No, he'd conclude darkly as he ravished her. She was the offender, the uninvited scoundrel, she deserved no salvation from what she brought upon herself.

But he'd be kind. Kinder than he's ever been.

He'd give her his precious seed, every last drop of it, until it trickled out of her full, bruised cunny.

Aemond's lips parted as the pumping rhythm he'd set deteriorated. His hips stuttered, quick, jolting thrusts into his calloused palm.

Then, she'd turn around, glaring at him with those large, thick-lashed eyes, brimming with tears — from pleasure and desperation both, and admit he'd won.

His head snapped to his right, and the One-eyed Prince bit into his pillow to prevent guttural, completely crude sounds from escaping his throat. The near-constant pressure that was building up as he stroked himself erratically capped, and the rolling, violent waves of spasms crashed through his groin and thighs.

Aemond spent himself immensely all along the back of his hand and across his abdomen.

His cock pulsed for an embarrassingly long time and the tingles he felt all the way down to his feet.

He opened his eye, breath still shuddering.

For a few silent moments, he wallowed in self-loathing and the puddle of his own sweat and seed.

Aemond gritted his teeth and profaned all of the Seven and all of the Valyrian deities he knew for forcing this weakness of flesh onto him.

Then he cleaned himself and slammed the door to his chambers open, barking at a frightened guard to have someone fetch him water for the bath. The coldest water they could find.

"Yes, now!" The prince shouted. Must he truly repeat himself just because it was the middle of the night?!

Aemond felt much better today.

He'd never gone back to sleep after his bath, so he was up at the hour of the nightingale, striding out of the Holdfast to complete his drills.

At last, his mind was clear. It seemed all he needed was to release the pent-up frustration.

Yes, yes, obviously, now he was safe from Arianne Swann's nefarious designs.

Immaculate.

All focus and precise strikes as he parried.

"You're doing well, my Prince." Ser Criston nodded as he observed him.

"How did your sparring yesterday go?" The older man inquired, and Aemond muttered a response. He couldn't say much because Criston would notice. The man knew him better than his own father.

He was the only fixed male presence in his life, though the One-eyed Prince did not complain much about that. Criston Cole was the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms and fiercely loyal to his mother and family.

Aemond adjusted his stance and motioned for squires to change. He'd tired out this one, he could tell by the boy's profuse sweating. A shield was up again for him to strike.

"So, a lady did not fall into your arms as I've heard the first thing in the morning?"

Aemond blanched.

His grip faltered, and he missed the target completely.

Single cerulean eye snapping to Cole, he scowled.

"You are the last person I'd expect to gossip like a fishwife." His lips peeled back from his teeth.

Ser Criston merely observed him, arms crossed underneath his padded gambeson.

Gossip. Gossip! He loathed gossip, and now that wicked little swan had made him the victim of it.

"Easy, Aemond." The tone of the older man's voice was not judgmental, at least, which helped his temper.

"It is a good thing, helping a damsel in distress. The Seven encourage us to protect the weak. The celebration for the Maiden's Day is approaching, and she looks favorably upon those who offer protection."

Aemond was not sure Criston was mocking him, unlikely though as Criston was as much of a bore as he apparently was, or was he simply spending too much time with his mother to spring into the sermon whenever it was needed?

He even considered, very briefly though, asking Cole to give him advice on how to deal with Arianne Swann. It had been Cole who took him in after the loss of his eye. Cole, who hadn't given up on him and who trained him despite his glaring weakness.

When he ran to the Keep, crying, after that horrifying night on his thirteenth name day, it had been Cole who had found him slumped outside the empty council chamber, curled in on himself like a child. The whore, or another one, had taken his eyepatch. His cheeks were raw with shame and anger, like someone had welted him across them.

Cole, who never murmured useless comforts or pretended his half-sister and Daemon weren't coming for their heads. Aemond trusted him in a way he trusted few others, but asking him about Arianne felt like breaching some sacred line.

Cole would tell him to stay away from her altogether.

Or worse —

To be honest, decent, pious, and a load of other useless things.

If he were honest, Arianne would have won.

She asked him whom she had seduced, with that defiantly raised chin, and honesty would've forced Aemond to name himself.

Then she'd laugh at him, all the while twirling that infuriating curl.

No.

Absolutely not.

He must prevail over everything.

"Mother." Aemond's voice carried into the drawing room just after the midday meal. Alicent Hightower was perched on a comfortable oval settee, an array of tomes scattered on the low table in front of her.

She seemed deep in thought, glancing alarmingly up at the intrusion.

"Aemond. Have you eaten?" The Queen closed the Great Code of Septon Barth, which she had been scrtutinizing.

He furrowed his brow.

Amongst the tomes, he recognized several books of law and legal commentaries, The Seven-pointed Star, The Book of Holy Prayer, and a few crisp scrolls that smelled faintly of fresh ink and Oldtown.

"Yes." He answered, sitting across her.

"What is all this?" Aemond asked, gesturing toward the mess. Alicent released a sigh so tired it worried him.

Now that he truly looked, his mother did seem paler than usual.

She must've been exhausted and restless this past week. It had to be the presence of that cantankerous whore of his half-sister.

"Just...I need to be certain that I am doing the right thing. The just thing." He heard a mild tremble of vacillation in her tone.

What?

"Mother, are you referring to the petition for the Driftwood Throne?" He asked, incredulous. Aemond had assumed everything was set up to strip Rhaenyra's bastard of it.

Alicent nodded slowly, reaching for the scroll closest to her.

"Lord Corlys may still recover, and if he does..."

"Then the truth remains unchanged. Rhaenyra's sons are bastards." Aemond snapped, much harsher than he had intended.

"It is not the truth that disturbs me, it is the punishments for treason." She explained, her large, light-brown eyes scanning the parchment she had just unrolled.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, frowning. Those who committed the crime should think about the repercussions. Not his gentle mother. Hadn't she suffered enough already?

"You haven't slept." He observed flatly.

Alicent waved the comment away.

"Mercy is the highest form of virtue. Would the gods want us to condemn Rhaenyra's children to exile or worse?"

"The gods are cruel," Aemond responded, thinking of his eye he lost, the scorn he bore.

"I thought that to be a requirement of godhood."

Alicent gave him a look that denoted she did not wish to debate the nature of divinity with him.

He bit the inside of his cheek before continuing.

"Besides, do we truly want a child loyal to my uncle at the command of the greatest fleet in Westeros?"

Alicent smiled wryly.

"Ser Tyland and Lord Wylde have already voiced such concerns. And your grandsire, too." She returned to her reading, and Aemond idly reached for the Great Code, flipping through its pages.

His thoughts, unwittingly, came back to Lady Swann and her irritating arguments. Perhaps he should write her a detailed refutation explaining why she was the offending party, and why, then, the law of equivalent retaliation did not apply.

She was utterly ludicrous if she thought to best him with shallow snippets of child-level philosophy. He was not some barely literate nonentity from Maidenpool.

Like the Mooton squire she touched and laughed with.

Aemond scoffed under his breath.

He hated that he stewed while watching them talk, his fingers gripping the balustrade. He hated that her little declaration affected him and that he'd spilled in his hand with her name in his throat.

"Why are you scowling so much?" His mother interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Alicent had lowered her scrolls, studying him now with narrowed eyes.

Aemond blinked, clearing his mind.

"Because I loathe to see you losing sleep over them." He stated, smoothing his expression into one of dutiful concern.

Our enemies.

Aemond was furious.

After leaving the Holdfast, he was inspired to find a solution for his Arianne Swann problem. He debated visiting Septon Eustace, his mother's confessor, and baring his soul to the gods. He had plenty to complain about.

Perhaps, he could find a refuge in the Seven. Perhaps, there were things the Hightowers did better than the blood of the dragon.

Because his Targaryen blood surged through his veins, thick and sizzling and frenetic.

Arianne.

He hated her name. It sounded a lot like Alysanne, and it only brought back her bold declaration to the front of his mind.

Aemond wondered if she felt as fevered as he was, because they did share blood. Exactly through their great-grandmother, The Good Queen.

Or if she was as cold, calculating, and smug as he imagined.

He realized that if the Great Council his great-grandfather assembled had somehow decided on her father, as Saera's child, not that it ever could've happened as he was from the female and youngest line both, Arianne would've been a princess.

Aemond also remembered that she mentioned a brother who got bored with trying to destroy her defensive cyvasse formation. Tough luck, he grinned, there goes your crown, little swan.

Unless she wed her brother and bore him many, many sons —

Why did she sound as if she imagined spending days in his bastard nephew's bed?

The One-eyed Prince scowled.

Enough.

He was becoming vexingly fixated.

Aemond had long been obsessive. He was aware of it.

As a child, he could not stop himself from attempting to claim a dragon. Even Dreamfyre, who had already been bonded with his sister. Rationally, he knew it was futile, but Helaena flew less than Aegon, and she was perfectly happy while collecting bugs.

He was miserable on the ground.

Aemond crossed the yard toward the tall, round building. The Royal Sept was notably smaller than the Grand Sept atop Visenya's Hill.

He had forgotten how crowded it would become now that the Maiden's Day was almost here. Dozens of women had begun to visit for daily prayers, carrying candles and flowers for the offering.

Then, the worst thing that could have happened, happened.

There, among two dark-haired women who held more resemblance to his nephews than Velaryons, walked the object of his ire, dressed in a simple, gray frock, carrying a white candle.

Aemond stilled.

Her hair was down.

Unadorned.

She giggled at something one of the women had said and plucked a flower from the other's basket to add it to her candle.

It was a pretty, girlish sound.

Aemond had quite the mortifying awakening — He wanted her. Even when she was dressed modestly, and when she did the most mundane thing in the world, like laughing.

And he didn't know how to stop.

It was not even her beauty, though she was truly lovely. The court was filled with comely maids. Perhaps it was not even her clever mouth, though he quite enjoyed that too.

It was her raw, brazen desire to matter.

Once he was at the threshold of the Sept, he realized he was irreparably fucked.

Arianne was kneeling before the altar of the Maiden, head bowed low, arms raised in prayer. He couldn't hear her over the many others, but it was evident she knew it well.

She appeared...prim and proper.

Pious, little offering.

He couldn't find anything to criticize.

Aemond turned on his heel and left before someone questioned him being there.

There goes that, he concluded irritably, he couldn't even have the gods because she got to them first.

He didn't need gods.

There was no conclusive proof of their interference on anyone's behalf, and besides...Aemond was no craven to seek refuge from anything.

Retreat was cowardice.

Losing was unacceptable.

And he would have her.

*For my show-only readers: Blackhaven is the seat of House Dondarrion, so Arianne's mother is a Dondarrion. They are also from the marches, and funny thing, Criston Cole's father is/was a steward for House Dondarrion.

Maelor is Helaena and Aegon's younger son. For some reason, he doesn't exist in the show.

**just to answer one of the prior questions: Arianne calls Johanna "aunt", but Johanna is not her aunt, as her father is an only child. Johanna in canon was a niece of Lord Swann when she was enslaved. That Lord Swann in this story is Arianne's now deceased grandfather, so Johanna is more like...her second aunt/grand-aunt?. I do not want to get too verbose with describing Arianne's family tree, but her grandfather had brothers/sisters, so she has Swann cousins.

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