#crowned mommy issues...

[theladwhoisweird]

Do you think you're still my mother in another universe?

...hope not.

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

The Worm's Mother (2/3)

If I get to write this fic Leshy is both (1) the Main Character and (2) Literally A Worm Who Became God. Like he will be driving the plot, and the plot will be the Cat Takes the L and the Lamb suffers Religious Trauma. CW: rotting corpses and descriptions of Leshy eating them. I'm sorry. [Prev] / [Next]

His mother loved him. She would have told him if she didn’t.

He’d hatched into a cocoon of loam and root. His first bites, teeth still tender, had been of the sweet, sour, bitter nest around him. The darkness muted sound, but the warm pressure held his body safe sinew was wrapped in muscle, and soft carapace became chiton. He was kept patient by roots snaking through the soil for his teeth, sharper and stronger, to suckle on. In the dark, her heartbeat lulled him to sleep. When his claws were strong enough to dig, she gave against his touch.

Here, where loam touched clay.

Here, where the roots carried water.

Here, where Mother brought him blood.

The smell, the smell. The enlivened touch across his pallet, like cool water but sweeter, headier, thicker. He thought it was the roots, stupid worm, some incredible plant with red roots and black juice that ran so sweet he gobbled even the soil around the weeds.

He tunnelled up. He tunnelled out. He needed more.

He needed it until he bit into a kind of plant that would not shred (fabric, Shamura would tell him later), so he used his claws to tear into the fruit. The flesh. The flesh.

Fruit within fruit. Sweet within bitter. Tangy under salt. Textures his mind had no words for, a crunch that made all his infant eyes open for the first time, deep in the body of the great warm bloody dead plant-fruit he’d already eaten half of.

Ears, suddenly open without Mother’s embrace, wracked with sounds not from her or from him. If he wanted a fruit like this, so would others.

And if he was covered in its juice, others would eat him too.

He ripped the bones from the corpse and retreated back to mother. He dug deeper, and squirmed tighter, and never found the nest again (not that he had left much of it behind). But he did find a hollow where cold water pooled and no light came, and Mother did not warn him of anything save the swaying of the trees whose roots formed this burl in the ground.

He ate his bones. Like the fruit he’d torn them from, they were treasures wrapped in treasures. Soft meat, crunchy gristle, sharp and salty and when ground with his front teeth made his whole head vibrate before the deep dark butter within slid down his throat.

He slept after that first meal. Deeply. Safely. Mother protected him.

He went back to that grove (the battlefield, Kallamar would explain) several times, and brought bones back to the burl to eat and then sleep. The fruit was less good, less sweet, more pungent, kinda gross. He needed to dig a different path each time too, always too big after sleeping to squeeze back up the same way. Mother warned him with trembles, and sighs, and once a face-full of rancid (festering) water to stop retracing his path, to learn, and grow, and dig anew.

His legs sprouted, bringing misery. Thoroughly unexpected and unwanted, and Mother would not make the burl large enough for his new bones. It was not fair that the corpses’ bones had become his bones, no one had told him this would happen. The claws on his toes were not strong like the ones on his hands. They were not good for eating, or burrowing, or—no, scratching they were good for. Extremely good for. The scratching—oh the itching? Why itching?

His fur sprouted, bringing itching, and odor, but oh the scratching yes yes yes the scratching (the scritches someone else would say). Yes, all the time. So good. So, so, so good.

There was nowhere else to try his legs but the grove. The sun had turned the corpses putrid, and the flies had turned to maggots writhing in the last of the meat. Maggots were okay, like any other grub, but boring. No gristle, no grinding, no challenge. More bitter than meaty, and small. A snack. A boring, same-y, stupid snack.

He stood by accident, but mostly instinct. The sun was setting. There were no more fires. Fresh rain lay dewy on the trees and grass, covering the rancid smell of the blood where it was crusted under bloated corpses, no longer appetizing. He simply went from clicking his claws over strange thin loud cold stone (Kallamar would call it tempered steel with an oxidized finish. Shamura would call it shoddy.) to being taller than the corpse and the corpses around it.

Foot-claws were good for not falling, but that would take time and this time he fell and he shrieked and he kicked and now the bad-meat smell was his smell and EW. FUCK. DISGUSTING. HOLY SHIT I’VE BEEN EATING THIS?

The first time he saw birds fly was when he lay on his back in an unmentionable pile of viscera. The sky was the colour of an iris petal streaked with orange and pink. Thin white clouds like dandelion juice broke up the prism, and the black bodies of soaring corvids streaked by with open throats, echoing his own outraged trumpet.

He lay there for hours. Or maybe five minutes. He dug his claws into his mother and felt her ever-cool ever-present ever-real presence holding up his back and tail and legs and feet and arms and head, opened his mouth to the yawning expanse of new-evening stars in their crown of war-blackened treetops, and for the first time since his birth he laughed.

Two thousand years later, in a pumpkin patch and at the edge of twilight, Leshy will hear the birds and the trees and smell the green and the wet and feel the cool and present and real form of his mother beneath him, and for the first time since his fall and resurrection he will laugh.

But on that day, in the distant past, in a world he did not know and did not care to know of, the worm rolled over in the viscera to stand and gurgled as something stared back at him in the muck.

He blinked his yellow eyes at it. It blinked its green eye back.

Useless thing for a worm to have. A crown with a blinking green eye. No good for digging, or scratching, or chewing or eating.

He tried to eat it anyway.

No good.

But it felt good. And like that first mouthful of flesh, and that first glug of sweet blood, if it was good then it must be good.

So, he picked it up, and he put it on, and he walked (badly) from bloated corpse to dew-crisp grass, set his claws to digging, and vanished to show Mother.

Mother loved him. She would have warned him if she’d known.

[Prev] / [Next]

[emilydickinsonsghost]

Whenever straight men try to convince me that I’m not really gay and I just haven’t “met the right man yet” I’m always like: “Yea sure I guess you’re right. There’s exceptions to every rule…

Soooo, are you perchance Hungarian musical actor Máté Kamarás circa 2005?No? Oh, ok, well then you’re flat out of luck, buddy, sorry! You can stop trying now. No really, please stop, you’re embarrassing yourself…”

[stewykablooey]

and i think he had a thing for marcia too!

[greythroat]

for me the most important part of liking a character in this game is that they have mommy issues that have gotten people killed

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aemond x brothel reader 👀

So what if instead of Aemond visiting the older woman in yesterday’s episode - he goes to the brothel and immediately regrets it and is about to leave until he sees reader and is mesmerized by her beauty. They have their little moment and she gives him comfort. Definitely feel free to add more or change anything! This is just a thought that I’d like to see created. Thank you!

Request: Aemond and a brothel girl (maybe a dancer idk) like the scene in the episode. Except they are more intimate and not weird age gap like the madam. It gave me the ick… He truly feels for her.

Warnings: mention of (past) character death, mommy issues,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The mysterious customer under a cloak all piqued your curiosity. You never had the chance of properly seeing him, always immediately escorted to a private bed. Some girls said he was disfigured, and that it was the reason he covered himself with a cloak. Some said it was Aegon Targaryen, but you knew the newly crowned King favored Flea Bottom’s whores. 

As you danced, your eyes would try to see through the veils he hid behind. To get a glimpse of him. But you never saw anything other than his bare feet. All you knew was that he was with Madam Sylvi and that he requested hot milk.

One late evening, you saw him leaving the veils. His cloak was on, but he saw you. He saw you dancing and moving your naked body to the rhythm of the music, entertaining the customers. 

The next time he came by, he asked for you. 

Madam Sylvi was not pleased, but he was the paying customer. 

You reminded him of his mother — physically —, but more caring and nurturing. He found your voice soothing and loved to rub himself against the fullness of your breasts, making your nipples harden to the stimulation, until he came to rest his cheek on top of it, humming in satisfaction. His mother let him do this as a child, when she was still comforting him, and he missed it. 

Every night, he would curl against you, or in your lap, and stay here for hours as you gently caressed his pale skin. Unlike the other customers, Aemond was not there for sexual satisfaction. He just wanted comfort.

‘’Daemon sent them to kill me,’’ he said, his naked body shielded by the veils circling the large bed. ‘’It was my head they wanted, not my innocent little nephew’s.’’

Your heart was heavy as the prince mentioned the murder of Jaehaerys — a child. The barbarous act had everyone in tears. 

You rubbed his arm gently, the aroma of calming lavender wrapping around you. ‘’But you were with me.’’

‘’I feel sorry for my brother and sweet sister. She is traumatized.’’ Guilt filled his stomach as he remembered the suffering and painful grief in Helaena’s eyes. ‘’I should be grateful they did not find me, but a part of me wishes they had. Unlike my little nephew, I would have been able to defend myself.’’

‘’We cannot change the past, my prince.’’ 

‘’I know,’’ Aemond whispered, his cold, princely facade completely down in your company. He sighed deeply as your gentle caresses soothed his weary soul. His body relaxed as he buried his face into your covered chest, seeking solace in your warmth and tenderness. ‘’There’s a lot I would change about the past if I could. I…I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it.’’

You stroked his hair gently, the soft, silvery locks running through your fingers. You could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away as he rested against you.

Aemond's eye closed at your touch, and a small sigh escaped his lips. ‘’They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different. One time, in the dragonpit, they…they said they found me a dragon. It was a pig. And my brother was part of the prank.’’

’'That was cruel of them,'’ you said softly, leaning to kiss his temple. He leaned into your touch as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace. ‘’They were cruel to you, my prince. You didn't deserve their taunts and mockery.'’ 

You felt his hand reaching up and palming your breasts through your clothing. Getting the hint of what he wanted, you untied the front of your dress and freed your breasts. Immediately, Aemond’s mouth started to press kisses over them before. His hot tongue swiped over your nipple. You let him do what he desired, knowing this was his way of finding comfort. The warmth of his hand and the wetness of his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused on his needs.

As Aemond continued his sweet assault on your breasts, you noticed his cock was getting hard against his thigh, but didn’t mention it. Madam Sylvi never touched him there...or kissed him. Only you — when he asked for it. 

The music outside the curtains changed, and he shifted, letting go of your breasts to curl up with his head on your lap instead. You continued to rub his shoulder down to his back, then along his thigh and leg. 

‘’When I claimed Vhagar, I felt powerful.’’ 

His pride and confidence had swelled to an almost unmanageable extent when he returned to Driftmark. He was excited to tell Aegon, and his mother about Vhagar. But his cousins and nephews found him first. They got into a fight over the dragon…and Lucerys Velaryon took out his eyes. 

As if you read his thoughts, your finger brushed the scar going through his eyebrow. You couldn’t imagine the pain he went through. 

‘’Was it why you went after Luke that day? Because you wanted him to be afraid of you and your superior dragon?’’ 

Aemond grew still at the mention of Lucerys, the memory of that fateful day on Storm’s End, the catalyst of the brewing war, still fresh in his mind. 

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slowly. ‘’Yes... In a way, I suppose so.’’ 

You hummed, brushing your fingertips along his cheekbone softly. 

Aemond wished he could take you to the Keep. To his chambers. It would be nice to not have to hide under a cloak at night and risk getting seen by anyone who shouldn’t. He wished you would be there, in his bed, when he would return from small council meetings, training or even just supper, to take care of him and hold him.

But that was impossible. His mother would never allow it.  

—

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[hildergard]

A GENTLE HAND ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

SUMMARY | "Gentle Hand," Mylenda insists on calling you, and perhaps that is what you are destined to be, perhaps that is what Prince Aemond needs.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Maid!Reader

TAGS | Mention of sexual assault and abuse, mommy issues, angst and light fluff.

WORDCOUNT | 10k

NOTE | This is my first fanfiction on this website. Ewan Mitchell plays such a fascinating Aemond that I had to write this. I hope it's any good. Tell me if I should write a part 2! <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The roebuck’s blood turned your fingers sticky and the knife handle slippery. 

Brought by the royal hunters that very morning, the poor creature now lay on the counter of the Red Keep’s kitchens between the dismembered rabbits and the plucked ducks. It had only taken you a few cuts to skin the beast⏤practice makes perfect. 

The flesh was now raw and spilling its bloody perfume. You grabbed a thyme leaf from one of the bouquets garnis picked for the mutton stew and pressed it against your nose to soothe your nostrils, assailed by the disturbing scent of game⏤a full-bodied mixture of earth and wildness. Above this acrid aroma, death distilled its powerful bouquet and turned your stomach. It had been years since you entered the service of the Crown and yet the disgust never vanished. 

"She's coming," a small voice yelped from the kitchen entrance. 

A murmur passed through the crowd of maids. All around you, they hurried their movements. Two tables away, Cass grimaced and hurriedly threw the pieces of mutton into a large pot before drowning them in wine. You met Dacey's panicked gaze as she hastened to peel potatoes. The blade of the knife slipped and nicked at her palm, but she had no time to care or feel. 

Nothing mattered when Mylenda was around. 

You straightened up and slipped the thyme leaf into your apron pocket. Your knife took no time to sever the roebuck’s tendons, spread the muscles, scrape the bones and, finally, dislocate the shoulder with a clean cut. The second limb followed immediately afterwards. 

Heavy footsteps echoed through the kitchen and rattled the pans. The strong, greasy smell of venison, which had been bothering you all morning, disappeared at this familiar noise. Your fingers tightened around the handle of your knife as you stuck it in a leg. 

One piece of meat wasted and your head would be chopped off. 

"Is that venison ready, girl?" the matron’s voice grated against your eardrum. "It shouldn’t take you hours to cut up a poor carcass. I taught you better. Has my absence made you lazy? You know what happens to slackers."

You shook your head. 

"Sorry, ma’am."

She grabbed your hand. The knife fell with a sharp clang, silencing all movement in the vicinity. Pots and pans, chopping boards and spits were cast aside. Amidst this deathly silence, all eyes fell on you. 

"These are no hard-working hands. No, they're not… Next time I see you, I'd better see blisters on your lazy palm. Such… Such gentle hands in my kitchen," she scoffed, "Even whores get rougher skin jerking off cocks."

You flinched. 

"You better start working harder, got it?"

Terror ran through you. You nodded frantically before wrenching your hand from her grasp and cradling your clenched fist against your heart.

Mylenda muttered something you did not care to hear, your ears deaf to anything but the frantic pounding of your heart against your temples. You looked down and immediately came across the beast's eyes, sitting in a clay bowl and reminiscent of the pile of gooseberries that would be used as a sauce for the chops. You could almost taste the delicious berries on the tip of your tongue. 

Your stomach rumbled. 

If the old woman heard it, she said nothing, too busy assessing your work. 

"The cut could be cleaner," she criticised, "but I don't suppose the royals will mind when the meat crumbles into the stew. You're lucky we're not roasting it. You’re as tactful as a headsman, girl. You’re not cutting off a thief’s neck but the King's dinner. You better fix that."

"Yes, ma’am."

Your gaze fell even lower, to the hide piled up in a jumble on the floor. You were hoping to make a coat out of it this evening, in the privacy of your little bedroom. The air was getting colder and colder and your cotton dress would soon no longer suffice. Gilliane, like a true Northerner, kept saying that winter was coming. 

Whatever that meant.

You kicked the skin under the table and prayed to the Seven Gods that Mylenda would not see it.

"Once you've finished cutting it up, you’ll make a terrine from the legs and shoulders," she ordered. "The Hand loves it. And don't forget to cook the guts. I ain’t letting a plump liver like that go to waste. Must’ve been a brave beast, that one," the matron said as she struck the bloody organ with pride. "A persillade should do. The mutton stew will be the main course."

You nodded and swallowed down your bile. The rancid scent of the old woman rivaled with the earthy exhalations of the venison. 

"Back to work, girl."

With these words, Mylenda left to go and torment Cass, who was struggling to cook the mutton. Bubbling wine stained the sides of the copper pot and evaporated on the flame. 

"Gi' me that. I'll carve it up for ya."

Someone snatched the knife out of your hand. You lifted your head and found Gilliane beside you, her gaze riveted on the matron who had turned crimson from screaming at poor Cass. 

"Gentle hands... Gentle hands... I’ll tell her what I think of her hands. I'd love to see them so-called palms wrinkled wi' effort. I've never seen her hold no knife since I arrived," she mumbled. 

Her defence warmed your heart. 

"Tek care o' them offal ‘fore the old cow decides to serve yer kidneys wi' mustard instead," she whispered. "She'd get a kick outta that, that madwoman." 

"Do you think she can smile?" you asked. 

"Gods, no," she scoffed. "She was born wi' pursed lips and that ugly wrinkle between her eyebrows."

You both laugh before returning to your tasks. Gilliane was busy carving up the rest of the venison so you concentrated on the liver and the parsley. The smell of garlic and herbs wafted out of the mortar in front of you and made your mouth water as you added a pinch of salt and a spoonful of oil. 

For a second, you dreamt of being a lady and imagined tasting these exquisitely flavoured dishes. The soup⏤more water than broth⏤and the stale bread you were entitled to once the service was over were intended to feed you, not to please. This right was reserved for people of good breeding. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mylenda stopped to face Hendry, a little boy of just thirteen who had joined you a month earlier. It wasn't unusual for people to sell their children in exchange for a new cart or some meat. Sometimes, mothers would lay their babies outside the gates of the Keep and pray that the place would blossom into a better life. From here, you could see the boy's pale complexion and shaking shoulders. The plate he was cleaning was dangerously close to falling. You prayed to the Gods to spare this child from the wrath of the woman next to him. 

"The King's dinner my arse..." you grumbled as you started to dice the liver. "She doesn't give a damn about doing His Majesty a favour as long as she can torture us."

"What's worse is she doesn't realise that she doesn't need t'beat us. Just a whiff of her rotten breath and believe me, even the worst brigand would fall to their kn–"

Oswell Pyne stormed into the kitchen, his fist wrapped around the arm of a weeping Prudence. 

You dropped the pestle at the sight of her swollen face. Her milky complexion faded into a mass of frightening bruises. The purple and blue weren't enough to hide the drops of blood beading at her temple and the edges of her lips. 

What had this poor girl fallen into? 

You immediately abandoned your post⏤to hell with the damn parsley⏤and tried to make your way through the other servants who had gathered at the entrance to the kitchens, just as eager to find out more. Gilliane insulted two or three of them, who immediately moved aside for fear of poking the Nordic woman and having to face her coarse tongue. 

"Steward Oswell," Mylenda stammered. "To what do I owe your visit? You don't normally drop in until dinnertime, which, if I'm not mistaken, doesn't start for another two hours."

She turned to the maid, whose sobs had worsened at the sight of the old hag. Her headdress had been ripped off and her blonde hair was falling in knots over her tiny shoulders. 

"Prudence, what have you done, girl?" she asked dryly. "Oh, sir... I hope she didn't cause you no trouble. My girls usually know how to behave."

"Well, it seems Prudence here has seen fit to answer back to His Majesty."

The whole kitchen fell in an uproar.

Mylenda, who ruled with an iron fist over the henhouse of the Red Keep’s maids, harped on to you all day long about the importance of keeping quiet. You still remembered your first day in the service of the Crown and the words she had screamed… 

"Maids can gossip all they like in the kitchens, Gods know stirring a stew for two hours can put even the most seasoned of maids to sleep, but if I catch any of you uttering a single word outside these walls, they will be punished. The Lords don't need to be reminded that we exist. As soon as you stop smelling the kitchens, you shut up."

Shivers ran down your spine. 

"Obviously," the steward continued, heedless of the chaos his words had unleashed, "Prudence didn't care about the repercussions such disastrous behaviour might have on the maids. Or on Mylenda herself. Am I right, girl? Own up your mistake."

He shook Prudence's arm and she let him, her chin trembling. You wanted to slap that horrible man, to make him swallow his arrogant smile, but what could you do but stand by and watch this horrifying spectacle? 

Next to you, Gilliane cursed against the matron and the steward. Her insults were drowned out by the whispers of the other maids. Cass, her apron still stained with wine, was turned towards Ellyn, the baker. Even Hendry had leaned over to Dacey and was whispering something in his ear. 

"Quiet, girls!" Mylenda shouted before turning back to Prudence. "Well, what are you waiting for? Speak up! For Gods’ sake, what's got into you?!"

"He... He tried to... To... I didn't want to... My father... he would have... No... I couldn't..."

Your heart fell into your stomach. Of course. You closed your eyes and breathed in to try and silence the flicker of indignation blossoming inside. The hubbub around you increased. Several girls gasped. A few had the courage to protest. Next to you, Gilliane grunted and clenched her fist. 

How many more maids would have to suffer the same fate before someone took action? How many young girls would have to be broken, their prospects dripping down their aching thighs, because of the animal urges of one and the same man? 

"And that gives you the right to answer back to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms?" the steward growled. "You fool!"

The memory of Dyana still haunted the kitchens. No one dared mention her name for fear of invoking her tormentor, whom the aromas of poppy and dirty gold could not mask. How naive you had been to think this had been enough to keep him out… The executioner had invited himself into your ranks and was sowing his eternal seeds of destruction. Again and again and again. 

Such was the luck of Targaryens and their royal blood while the small folk picked up the pieces and healed the wounds. Spoilt blood flowed and flowed and flowed without a care in the world. Who would stop the bleeding? Were we destined to die, our empty bodies turned towards the gold-covered hands that held the knife? 

"I understand Prudence was to be one of the cupbearers at tonight's dinner. You can understand why the King would be... offended if he had to endure the sight of that... that seductress while he ate his meal. Would he not?"

Ashamed, the old woman grumbled under her breath, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Mylenda only cared about her reputation. She forgot that, like all of you, she was nothing. You frowned, disgusted by this dishonourable but not in the least surprising display. 

"Of course, sir! Come here, girl!" Mylenda barked at Prudence before grabbing her hair and pulling her forward. "I'll show you what I do to maids who dare to talk back! You'll be sorry you didn't let the King get his way!"

Next to you, Gilliane took a step forward, ready to fight, but you held her back before she too sealed her fate. You had seen what happened to girls who dared to speak out and you didn't want to see your friend beaten to death by a stick. 

Mylenda's crazed gaze swept across the assembly before coming to rest on you. She pointed at you with her bony finger. 

"You! Gentle Hand! You'll be the cupbearer in Prudence’s stead. I hope you fill glasses better than you cut meat. I will not be humiliated any further by one of my maids. You will behave yourself and do me honour. Got it?"

You paled and glanced around in panic, but the other maids lowered their heads, happy not to have been chosen. Nobody wanted to be the cupbearer. Not since the coronation. Standing for hours enduring King Aegon's indecent babblings, his lips loosened by the acrid taste of wine, was an ordeal you all sought to avoid. Until now, you had managed to escape it, eternally hidden behind the steaming pots. 

The Gods had now taken away your chance and were throwing you into the dragon pit.   

You stammered incomprehensible words, pointing to the pieces of liver ready to be cooked, but Mylenda would have none of it and glared at you until you bowed your head and admitted defeat. 

Oswell stood next to the matron, staring at you with his nose turned up⏤like watching an insect, you realised. He finally nodded and left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. 

His departure set off a firestorm. Gilliane turned sharply towards you, her grey eyes ablaze with rage. 

"One day, I’ll gut him like a pig," she spat. "Mylenda. Oswell. They're rats, all of 'em."

You watched as the others busied themselves around Prudence. Cass wrapped a cloth around her shoulders and led her to a chair. Ellyn handed her a loaf of bread and forced her to eat before bringing a glass of water to her bruised lips. 

"Poor girl," Gilliane continued but you were listening with a distracted ear. "She's far too good to work here. I'll pray t'the Old Gods for her tonight. Maybe they'll hear me and get her outta this hell ‘for the old cow gets the better of her."

The Northerner shook her head and, at last, looked at you, her eyes moistened with concern. She leaned towards you and asked if you were all right. Words fell short on the tip of your tongue, troubled by the sight of a destroyed Prudence and the evening ahead of you. Your chores consisted of cooking and washing cloths, nothing that would justify being in the company of the royal family.  

You shrugged. 

"If ya want, I can ask Mylenda to swap us," Gilliane suggested. "I don't want ya to have anything to do wi' him. Not after all that mess," she nodded at Prudence. 

Henry was clumsily dressing up her wounds. 

You shook your head. 

"No. It'll only get you in trouble with the old cow. I'll go. It's just serving wine, isn't it? It can't be that bad."

"I guess," Gilliane conceded. 

You knew very well that your friend wanted to protest. You could see her plea right at the edge of her lips, but you went back to your post and your persillade before she could tell it. Protesting wouldn't change anything, so you might as well get used to the idea and put up with it. You deliberately ignored the shiver of terror that ran down your spine at the thought of the King and grabbed a new sprig of parsley, chopped it roughly before adding it to the mortar. 

Mylenda appeared beside you as you grabbed the pestle. 

"What are you still doing here, girl? Didn't you hear me? Go and look after the wine. We still have to add the honey and decant it. And for Gods’ sake, change that bloody apron! Spare the royal family the sight of these hideous rags! Ahem. Right, then. Now, where was I? Henry, polish these bloody chalices!"

The old matriarch left you alone, arms flailing away. 

Contrary to popular belief, the wine cellars were not next to the kitchens. You had to venture even further down to find the huge and cold rooms. You were already missing the lively melody of the kitchens before leaving them. 

"We probably won't see each other again before dinner, so... Stay away from t’King," Gilliane whispered to you before pursing her lips. Her hand squeezed your shoulder painfully. "If anything happens, anything, tell me and I'll take care of it–" 

"Don't you worry about me," you put an end to her budding act of betrayal. 

She nodded, frowning and her gaze determined. It was hard to believe that this fiery fury had been bred by the icy winds of Longtown. 

"Can you do something for me?" 

"Anything," she replied immediately. 

"Hide the roebuck skin." 

Gilliane smiled and winked at you. 

"As long as ya leave me some to mend me cloak."

"Deal."

You gave her a thin smile and abandoned the venison and parsley, your knife and mortar for barrels and crushed grapes. When you reached the caves, a cellarer was stirring wine in a gigantic pot. Beside him, another was pouring honey into the red bath. They were probably making the hypocras the King was so fond of. 

"I... Mylenda sent me. I'm the cupbearer... For tonight’s… dinner..?" 

The pourer interrupted your poor explanation and nodded towards the corner of the room. 

"Make yourself useful and fill those jugs up, girl."

The two hours passed quicker than you had wished and soon you found yourself with your back against the wall, your arms already tired from carrying the jug of wine you had filled yourself. 

You thought back to Mylenda and lowered your head a little more. Her orders, engraved in your skull, haunted you. You could almost feel the old woman's bony fingers wrap around your chin and yank it down. The labyrinthine floors of the Keep were not enough to blur the threat of the old woman. Even when she wasn't there, she forced you to keep your head down, your eyes glued to the floor and, above all, your mouth shut⏤if you dared utter a single word, you'd suffer her fury and her fist. 

You remembered Prudence's swollen face and shivered. Aegon Targaryen may have cast the first stone in her doll's face, but you had no doubt that the matron would throw all the others and beat her to the bone. You tightened your grip on the jug's handle and prayed to the Gods to spare you from the same fate.  

With a distracted ear, you listened to the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower, speak in a soft voice, but her words faded under the suffocating presence of the King. He stood close enough to you so that you could hear every gulp of wine drunk, every mouthful chewed open. He spat out your persillade and stained the white tablecloth with vulgar words, obviously caring little for decorum. 

The perks of being King, you supposed.  

Your mind wandered away from Kings and Queens to the hide under the worktop. Had Gilliane taken it away or was it still lying on the sticky kitchen floor? Would you keep the hair or turn it into a leather coat, less warm but more durable? After what Mylenda had called the "deer disaster", she wouldn't let you butcher any more animals. No more skins for you. You'd have to buy fabric, but the few silver stags you were given every month wouldn't be enough. 

Despite the plump little purse hidden under your straw mattress, you refused to dip your hand into it. The Crown housed you and fed you; clothes were a mere futility when the Keep provided you with a red dress and a white apron to wear. So why spend your fortune, meagre though it may be, on coquettish whims? No. The purse would remain hidden until you left the Keep. 

Leather it is, you thought. 

"Girl. Wine."

You startled and hastily filled the glass the Hand held out to you. Otto Hightower glanced at you for a moment but said nothing. He took a sip and turned to continue his conversation with his grandson, Prince Aemond. You sighed, relieved when his attention left you. A small voice in your head, however, whispered to you that he would definitely mention this incident to Oswell, and if not to the steward, to Melynda herself. 

You gulped and absent-mindedly wiped the drop of wine from the jug.  

As you moved to regain your place by the wall, your eye drifted to the venison terrine in front of the Hand, left untouched. You frowned. The fruit and cheese had long since filled the plates and foretold the end of dinner. A bitter taste poisoned your mouth and tugged its corners down. They were happily wasting the food while, under their feet, maids would fight to trim the bones of their leftovers, like vile carrion-eaters around a leprous corpse. 

The nobles boasted of their noble education and mastery of good manners, but these vanished in the indecency of their existence. 

A pale hand burst in front of your eyes and stopped under your nose to present you with an empty cup. Without a word, you poured the King another drink and kept your head down. His insistent gaze burned the side of your face and moved lower, stopping on your heaving chest. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end and the handle of the jug pressed painfully into your sweaty palm.  

You pig. 

You looked around for a way out and found no better distraction than the Prince Aemond. Your gaze immediately fell on his eye patch. You were standing on his blind side, you realised. The thought reassured you. For the first time, you could observe the members of the royal family as you pleased. 

Unlike his brother, the second son of the late King Viserys did not take pleasure in fondling servant girls. He spent his urges studying the texts and holding the blade when he wasn't off murdering his nephews⏤for the war that emptied your stomachs and purses had blossomed at the hand of Aemond Targaryen. 

Your eyes fell on his clenched fist, his angular jaw and his famous leather eye patch. 

Yes, you could easily picture him a as murderer.  

You left your thoughts for a moment to serve the Dowager Queen again, noticing that there was nothing left of the parsleyed liver that had filled her plate⏤a flash of satisfaction shook you⏤but your gaze quickly returned to the statuesque figure of the Prince. 

You frowned. 

A crack split the fascinating sight. His hand was gripping his glass so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, but even this strong grip couldn't mask the tremors shaking his fingers. The veins in his wrist gushed against the pale skin and seemed to be screaming out a pain that no one could hear but you: the King had started singing, the Dowager Queen was biting her nails and the Hand seemed about to insult his Grace. 

Other details suddenly jumped out at you, as the din next to you worsened: his eyebrows furrowed, his other hand gripping the edge of the table, his vacant purple eye. He wasn't even answering Otto Hightower any more, just nodding absently. 

Prince Aemond soon had enough of his brother's ditty and stood up. The chair legs creaked against the floor and made you wince, but you lowered your head and pursed your lips. He greeted his family in a curt voice before leaving, his head held high, a far cry from the spectacle of weakness you had just witnessed. 

"My glass isn't going to fill itself, girl. More wine. And don't be stingy. To the brim. I'm thirsty."

You watched in silence as the red liquid crashed into the golden glass. A fine foam rose to the surface, the syrupy aromas of the spiced wine oozing out of it. For a second, you indulged yourself in the divine fragrance and its sweetness, which almost made you forget the King's perverse eyes. 

Aelinor stepped forward and cleared the Prince's place setting. She took the empty plate, then the glass, and soon it was as if Aemond Targaryen had never dined here. Only a round of wine, where his glass had been placed, was proof of his presence. 

He had never asked for a refill, you realised.  

For some reason, the vision of Prince Aemond stayed with you for days. 

A new servant, Gretchel Stone⏤a bastard of the Vale⏤had been hired to replace Prudence as cupbearer and waitress. The blonde girl had disappeared from the Keep three days after what the maid now called 'The Accident'. Wherever she was, you prayed for her good fortune and health. The law of the Lords was merciless⏤they played games and let the Small Folk suffer the consequences of their actions. 

If Prudence's departure had saddened you deeply, Gretchel's arrival had freed you from your duty as cupbearer. You were elated to be back in the kitchens and the laundry. The mere memory of the King's gaze still sent shivers down your spine. It stuck to your skin despite the hours you spent in the bath, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing. Your flesh, however raw, couldn't shed the terror. 

The hour of the Nightingale enveloped the Keep in an unrivalled softness. You enjoyed this in-between moment, when the night clung to the fragments of moon that still remained and left the few early risers to enjoy the quiet that the sun would take away. 

The journey to the Great Sept was quick and untroubled. The few drunkards sprawled out on the ground in their own filth were fast asleep and the laborers already working had no use for you. Wrapped up in Gilliane’s cloak, your friend still asleep, you hurried on⏤soon, the Red Keep would awaken and duty would crush you.

When you finally passed through the monument's great doors, septas were silently cleaning the wax from yesterday’s burnt-out candles. 

You passed them and knelt before the wall of the Crone, letting your gaze drift over her wrinkled statue and the murals carved in her honour before taking a splint and lighting a candle. You clasped your hands together and closed your eyes. 

"Dear Crone," you whispered, "You who have seen so many lives and so many fates, grant me clairvoyance and discernment, for the future seems full of trials. Give me patience in my struggle and the strength to act with justice and compassion. Enlighten my steps and bless me with your mercy." 

A bruised, stoic face appeared before your eyes, but you stood up before your thoughts drifted into those dangerous waters. 

Lowly people need not concern themselves with the affairs of a Prince, an unknown voice said firmly.

When you returned to the Keep, it had come alive, bustling with hurry and duty. The kitchens were busy preparing meals for the Lords as other maids were coming and going, their arms drowned in clean and dirty linen. When Mylenda saw you, she threw a white pile into your arms and ordered you to change Prince Aemond's bedding. 

 "Gwenys, the poor girl, is ill," the matriarch explained. "The flu, no doubt. Bloody business. I'll be damned if the Prince catches it. He breaks his fast an hour after dawn. Any minute now, in fact. Make haste, Gentle Hand! And don't let anyone see you."

You stammered your obedience and hurried to Maegor's Citadel. The huge closed doors sent shivers down your spine. They separated you from the power of the World and its cruelty. The blood of the dragon slumbered in these quarters and you would not be the one to poke the sleeping beast. Your gaze fell on the King's chambers ⏤had an innocent soul once again fallen to his cruelty last night?⏤but you lowered your head and continued on your way. 

You knocked on the door⏤your knuckles hitting the carved wood painfully ⏤but nobody answered. Your shoulders relaxed and your breathing calmed. The heavy door would not budge as you tried to push it open. Where were the Kingsguards? You threw your entire weight against the wood and when it finally did open, a thick layer of sweat was soaking your back. 

Your eyes quickly swept over the Prince's quarters, drowned in the distinct opulence of royalty. In one corner, a bookcase was overflowing with ancient tomes and the smell of parchment filled the room. On the walls, murals glorifying House Targaryen caught your eye, but you forced yourself to keep your chin down, your mouth shut, and moved towards the bed, ignoring its warm and cosy appearance, a far cry from your straw mattress. 

The four-poster bed alone was bigger than the small room you shared with Gilliane. Its tastefully embroidered green and black curtains caught your eye, but you resisted the urge to touch them. 

Your arms went to work on their own and fell into familiar gestures. 

You pulled off the worn sheets⏤trying not to think about the fluids trapped in them⏤rolled them into a ball and let them fall to the floor before taking the new ones and draping them over the feather-filled mattress. At last, you fluffed the cushions, releasing a musky and unmistakably masculine scent in the air. It floated in your nostrils. Your heart raced and your cheeks flushed. A little voice⏤sounding strangely like Mylenda’s⏤discouraged you from giving in to temptation, but the perfume numbed your senses and your reason. 

Your trembling hand grasped the cloth and brought it to your face... Already, the scent caressed your cheeks. You gasped, your lips parted, ready to taste this intoxicating bouquet... 

The door slammed. 

The cushion fell from your hand. 

You scrambled to your feet, almost tripping over the pile of dirty sheets on the floor. 

The look on Prince Aemond's face made your blood run cold. 

"Out."

Head down, you picked up the linens and left, taking care not to approach the Prince, who was visibly enraged. As you passed him, his gasping breath caught in your eardrum. You risked a glance in his direction and glimpsed at his clenched fist. 

Just like at dinner.  

The doors closed behind you with a slam that startled you. You had just enough time to hear a grunt and see the Prince's silhouette collapse to the floor. You paled and opened your mouth, ready to offer help, but Mylenda's threats came back to haunt you. You lowered your chin and disappeared around the corner of the corridor, determined to turn a deaf ear to the Prince's groans of pain.

Surely he would have ordered you to stay or fetch a Maester if he felt the need. His silence said it all, didn't it? A creature as proud as Aemond Targaryen probably wanted to be left alone to brood over the illness that was tormenting him. Perhaps Gwenys flu had affected more people than Mylenda thought. 

Yes, that must be it. 

Gwenys' ailment had turned out to be much more than the flu. Blood flux, a nasty ordeal… Oswell and Mylenda had tried to keep the matter quiet so as not to alert the Lords and give them more reason to hate the servants they were condemned to brush shoulders with. Several maids were dismissed from their duties to stop the spread of the disease⏤better letting it grow in Flea Bottom than the Keep, the steward had said⏤and their tasks had fallen on the already stooping shoulders of the remaining workers. 

Busy changing the Prince's sheets at dawn and working in the kitchens during the rest of the day, it had become difficult to find time to pray to the Crone and the Mother in the Great Sept. This new schedule left you exhausted and irritated. Gilliane sometimes had to wake you up⏤something that would have been unthinkable just two weeks earlier. You were finding it hard to mourn the Hour of the Nightingale and the peace and quiet that Mylenda had forced you to give up. Now you had to pray in your room late at night, with the smell of cooking and soap still clinging to your skin. 

But the Gods turned a deaf ear to your pleas and left you to face alone the guilt that grew in your heart each time you abandoned the Prince to his painful fate. 

Your mornings were structured around a heavy sense of déjà vu. No matter how late you changed the Prince's linens, he would always appear and order you to leave with a booming voice before collapsing in a tornado of pain that, strangely enough, broke your heart. 

"I don't know what's wrong with him," you shrugged. But I'm sure... I mean… It can't be the blood flux," you dared to whisper the forbidden word. "His sheets are always clean. I've never found any blood or vomit or... or anything. No... It must be some other affliction. For it to happen every day... Maybe it's his spirit? With all this talk of war... Oh, it's terrible. And strange. I can't stop thinking about it. Perhaps I should speak to the Maester..."

You stirred the contents of the pot absent-mindedly. As you had predicted, Melynda no longer trusted you to cut the meat and had assigned you to the sauces, much to your delight⏤the dreadful scent of fresh had been replaced by bouquets of redcurrant, wine and mustard. 

Next to you, Gilliane cut a rabbit’s head in one clean stroke. 

« Dozens of masters would travel from the Citadel just to treat him. It's not yer job to worry about him. He doesn't deserve it and it’ll only get ya into trouble. Maybe it's a ploy to bed ya. ‘Ve heard he spends lotta nights in the Street of Silk."

"Hmm... I doubt that's it. What's the point of dismissing me, then? If it was a ploy to... to do that… wouldn't it be easier to let me help him? I don't think the Prince is like his brother. No... He seems genuinely unwell."

"Generations of incest do that to ya," your friend scoffed. "It's about time the Gods punished 'em for their sins... These Greens are rotten to the core and you'd do well to remember that. These... These usurpers are–" 

"More cutting and less talking, girls. The Crown pays you to fill stomachs, not to gossip like wenches. If working is such a bother, I'll be happy to replace you with obedient young ladies. Hundreds of them dream of your position in Flea Bottom." 

"Yes, ma'am," you replied in unison. 

Gilliane waited until Mylenda had gone before turning back to you, the bloody tip of her knife pointed towards you. 

"Don't waste your prayers on that kinslayer. And keep away from him, d’ya hear me? There's something evil about that boy, I know it."

You nodded silently and stopped your thoughts from drifting to the Targaryen man. Perhaps Gilliane was right. A prince's business was none of your concern and it would be foolish to think otherwise. 

Yes, you would do your chores quietly and let the lords play their game and fight their demons alone. 

Prince Maelor's flushed and  tearful face refused to leave your mind as you took his dirty linens to the laundry. You did not normally look after the King's heirs⏤Queen Helaena preferred to entrust this task to her trusted servants since that night⏤but a panicked Jenny had stormed into the corridor of Maegor's Citadel, a crying Jaehaera in her arms, as you went to the Prince's room. You had not hesitated to volunteered to take the soiled sheets to be washed; on the contrary, you welcomed the distraction with open arms⏤everything was good to postpone the duty that awaited you. 

The smell of urine emanating from the sheets in your arms made you wince and quicken your pace, but your heart wept for this little toddler whom life had not spared. The King's last child had been prone to accidents since the barbaric assassination of Prince Jaehaerys⏤no doubt the traumatic death of his brother had upset him, as it had all the inhabitants of the Keep. 

Once the sheets had been dropped off, you turned around and retraced your steps until you arrived in front of Prince Aemond's room. You swore under your breath as noises pierced the wood. The sun, already high in the sky, was taunting you. Your little diversions had only delayed your duty, not erased it despite your prayers, and now you had to change the Prince's bedding with the man in the room. 

Maybe he would not care to hold it against you... After all, he told you to leave every day, whether his linens were changed or not. You turned on your heels and were about to head for the kitchens and Gilliane, but a scream stopped you in your tracks. 

A second followed, then a third. You glanced around, hoping to see a Royal Guard burst around the corner, but no white cloak appeared. The corridors remained empty and the Prince's screams continued to ricochet off the alcoves and ceiling mouldings with you as the only ear listening. 

Over your shoulder, the door taunted you. It was ajar, you realised. An unusual lack of attention from the Prince. You took a step towards it, keeping your eyes fixed on the small gap. Soon, the Prince's silhouette came into view. 

On the ground, wearing only a shirt and trousers, Aemond Targaryen was shaking like a leaf, a trembling hand pressed against his bruised eye. A new wave of pain must have swept through him as he curled into himself and screamed. 

You rushed to his side. 

"Are you all right, my prince?" you asked breathlessly. Mylenda and her orders be damned. "Would you like me to fetch the Maester?"

Your hand hovered over his shoulder, which twitched with agony, but you did not dare to touch it for fear of retaliation. The Targaryen man raised his head with an almost bestial growl, resembling the dragon on his coat of arms. When he recovered enough to understand who was standing in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed and his complexion flushed with anger. Your heart skipped a beat and fear seeped through your veins in a matter of seconds.

"Get out," he gritted before turning his head⏤no, hiding. 

"My Prince, I fear I must insist. Your eye–"

His eye patch had slipped off and, although it didn't unveil the horror that lay behind it, it did reveal a red and irritated scar. The lower eyelid was now a mass of inflamed skin. You turned your head and saw a bottle of milk of the poppy overturned, its translucent liquid staining the floor. 

"Get out or I'll have your head!"

You jumped. In an impulse you would no doubt regret, your fingers went to his bruised cheek and brushed against the burning skin to feel the damage before you squeaked. The Prince's hand tightened around your wrist and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed, until you yelped and abruptly pulled away. Pain colonised your palm, your fingers you could now barely move, and the bone at the centre of it all. You got up on shaky knees and walked away, leaving the Prince alone with his torments. 

Instead of heading for the kitchens, your legs led you to Maester Orwyle's dark and silent storerooms. No doubt he was busy deciding the fate of the kingdom with the other members of the Small Council. Silently, you slipped through the door and lit a candlestick before examining the shelves filled with ingredients of all kinds, some perhaps older than you. Hundreds of labels jumped out at you, but none caught your eye until the orange of a jar lit up your retina. 

You glanced behind you and were relieved to see the room still empty. Hastily, you uncorked the jar and dipped your hand in. Your fingers brushed against the softness of its contents before closing around it. You repeated the operation once, twice, thrice, until your pockets were overflowing with expensive and precious ingredients. When it came to stealing the powder you needed, you hesitated but ended up finding a small wooden bowl, insignificant enough so that no one would notice it missing. 

Just as you were about to leave, the faint glow of the candle caught on a small metal container and blinded you. You read its familiar inscription before dropping it, too, into your apron and setting off again, praying to the Gods that the Maester didn't notice the missing ingredients, otherwise you'd certainly end up on the scaffold. 

Your footsteps hit the floor of the Keep. The corridors gave way to staircases that revealed the lower floors, hiding your bedroom. Once you were safe, you tossed your loot onto the bed before digging out a mortar and a sticky jar from underneath it. With trembling hands, you dipped a wooden dish into a bucket of clear water normally used for bathing before grabbing the pestle. 

In the mortar, you emptied the bag of green clay and drowned it in the water before stirring. The pain in your wrist redoubled, but you gritted your teeth and persevered. You added the marigold and camomile petals, then the gooey inside of a Dorne plant whose name you didn't know, before adding two large spoonfuls of honey. 

The neck of the metal container hung in the air for a few seconds. Was that wise? You hesitated, thinking back to the bottle spilt in the Prince's room, but gave in to temptation and let three drops fall into the concoction. 

You ran back towards Maegor's Citadel and snuck into the Prince's quarters. He raised his head and his features quickly contorted with rage at your sight. 

"You again! I shall speak to the steward of your–"

You threw the mortar on the floor, along with some bandages, before turning around and slamming the door. Your back slid against its wood until you fell to the floor, gasping for air. 

Seven Hells, what have I done? 

For a week, your nights were spent praying to the Gods to spare you from the Prince's rage. Sleep slipped away in night terrors that always woke you with a start, leaving you paranoid enough to look over your shoulder every few minutes, waiting for the inevitable. A beating by Mylenda, a dismissal by the steward, even a visit from the Royal Guard... but nothing happened. And that somehow made it worse. Perhaps the Prince wanted to deal with you alone. A series of shivers made you waver. He was terrifying, untouchable⏤impunity incarnated. If anyone found out what you'd done... 

No. No one would know, you tried to convince yourself. 

You decided to keep the incident from Gilliane, who wouldn't have understood anyway. No doubt she would even have chastised you for not leaving him to die on the icy floor of the Keep. A staunch supporter of Rhaenyra, she hated the idea of working for the enemy. You had no thought on the subject. Politics did not matter to you as long as you were paid and the Gods let you live. You wouldn't spit on the hand that fed and housed you. 

It was comfort that kept you under the yoke of Mylenda and her petrifying breath, not ideology. 

The dirt on the King's sheets dissipated in the icy water of the washroom. Your purple fingers struggled to wring the fabric. Terrified of having to face the Prince and reap the consequences of your reckless act, you had asked Mylenda to change your chores in the morning. Fortunately, the matron didn't argue too much, sending you away with just a barb about your hands⏤as was her custom⏤before returning to her duties. Washing clothes had never been your forte, but you preferred it to Aemond Targaryen’s presence.

Two more weeks passed without the Prince making his presence felt. He seemed to have disappeared from the Keep. According to the other maids, his appearances at meals were brief and always tense, and some had even seen him lose a duel during his sparring sessions with Criston Cole. 

When you realised that the Prince would not take revenge, your shoulders relaxed and your mind returned to more pleasant thoughts. 

How naive of you to think that Aemond One-Eye would give up. 

He cornered you in a corridor one evening as you were making your way to your room. Your fingers were itching to do something other than stir sauces and wash cloths. The deerskin, hidden under your bed and still intact, was waiting for you. With all this fuss, you had never found the time to make your long-awaited coat, a decision you bitterly regretted⏤the cold had definitely fallen on King's Landing and left you shivering when your chores weren't there to warm you up. 

A hand pulled you into an alcove. You attempted to struggle but the stranger quickly overpowered you, leaving you unable to move or scream. White streaks cascaded in front of your eyes, carrying a distinct musky smell which stunned you into compliance. 

By the Gods, he had come seeking revenge. 

Aemond Targaryen was going to kill you. 

"Which Maester did you steal that poultice from?"

His sharp tone was terrifying. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes and a squeak fell from your lips. The prince turned you towards him, waiting for an answer, but you didn't know what to say. Your thoughts were all jumbled together, rendering you as mute as Cromm, the horse keeper from Flea Bottom. He was close, so close that you could see the grain of his skin, the purple of his eye and the scar on his cheek⏤less red than last time, you noticed. 

"Answer me, girl. Where did you find this ointment? Maester Orwyle assures me he has no knowledge of it. Nor do his colleagues. No one in this Keep knew of its existence until I mentioned it. So speak up!"

You stammered a few words, incomprehensible even to your own ears. This seemed to frustrate the Prince to no end as he tightened his grip on your arm. 

Your wrist throbbed, reminiscing the pain. 

"If you do not tell me who–"

"It’s mine," you cut him off, eager to free yourself from his grip. "I made it."

The silence stretched and wrapped around your neck in a horrifying premonitory vision. 

"... You? »

"Yes?"

He glared at you. The darkness of the alcove didn't dull the brilliance of his purple irises. It glowed and made your heartbeat quicken. Legends said the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men and you couldn't help but agree, blessed enough to contemplate their work. 

"Hm."

The pressure on your arm vanished. 

"You will tend to my linens. The new maid cannot do it properly."

The Prince turned around and disappeared into the night. 

The green and black curtains of the four-poster bed had long lost their novelty but none of their splendour. You fluffed the pillow before picking up the duvet. The musky scent of the Prince invaded your nostrils and dilated your pupils. You'd never admit it, but you were relieved to find yourself back in the quarters of the Dowager Queen’s second son. No more freezing water. No more soiled sheets. No more vomit and sperm staining the King's robes. 

The Prince entered the room without a word, but his panting alerted you. Over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of his clenched fists, furrowed brows and soaked forehead... You didn't wait for him to dismiss you before curtseying, your headdress almost falling off. You gathered up the sheets and headed for the door, but he held out a hand.  

"Stay. I've... I've got to..."

The sheets fell at your feet as the Prince wobbled. Your hands struggled to hold on to his torso, which, in its mass, threatened to send you to the floor too. With clenched teeth, you guided the man to his bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in your arms, and immediately covered him with a blanket, not caring that you had spent time tucking it. 

"What... what should I do? Should I fetch Maester Orwyle? Or someone else? A guard? Ser Criston Cole, perhaps?"

The situation was surreal. Prince Aemond Targaryen, kinslayer and rider of Vhagar, was turning to you for help. A spark of jubilation ignited in your chest but panic spoiled the moment. Large beads of sweat beaded on the Prince’s forehead and ran down his skin to his twitching eyebrow. Your eyes widened at the sight. The whole left side of his face was twitching and convulsing. 

You were right to add chamomile, you thought gravely. 

Prince Aemond had spasms, his muscles never healed from the loss of his eye.

A pang lacerated your heart at the thought of this young boy, fated to suffer in silence during all those years. 

A warm sensation brought you back to the present. A pale and large hand had engulfed yours and was gripping it so tightly that you winced. But you said nothing, just whispered words of encouragement that were drowned out by his groans. He was no longer the terrifying Prince the maids talked about. He was turning into the fragile, battered being he had once been before your very eyes 

"Do you... have your... your poultice?" he managed to say. 

You shook your head. The prince had started to shiver. In a fit of bravery, you placed the back of your hand against his forehead and found it burning. A spark of panic ignited your chest.

Fever was never a good sign. 

"Can you... Can you make some?"

"I–"  you stammered. "My Prince... The ingredients are not easy to find."

"Paper… And a quill."

Not wanting to exhaust him further, you rushed to his secretary and promptly grabbed the items before running back to his bedside. He grasped it with a trembling hand and scribbled something on a roll of paper before handing it to you. 

"Give this to Maester Orwyle. He'll grant you access to his supplies. I... I need your help."

With a determined nod, you set off in the direction of the healer's quarters, who was stunned by your request before letting you in. The man watched you make the ointment in silence. The weight of his gaze slid over your tense body, too concentrated on your movements to pay attention. You left, throwing a thank-you over your shoulder, and returned to Aemond's room, out of breath and with your heart pounding against your temples. 

The Prince had not moved. He only moved when you handed him the pot.  

"Can you... put it on me?" he asked in a small voice. 

So, you, the ever-dutiful maid, did what you knew best and obeyed. 

Gently, you removed his eye patch with his permission and dipped a bandage in the poultice before placing it on his wound. You were careful not to stare at his wound for too long. The Prince was tense, uncomfortable with the idea of his face bare. His hand had found a piece of your apron and was clinging to it like a mussel to a rock in the vain hope of finding comfort. Sometimes, in an uncharacteristic show of bravery, you would let your fingers caress his before taking a new strip and starting the operation all over again. 

Soon his scar was entirely covered with the ointment except for his eyelid, whose bright red flesh alarmed you. 

"You must remove the sapphire, my prince," you murmured, thus speaking into existence what had until then remained silent. 

He tensed under your fingers. A rustle echoed in the room. His hand had torn off a piece of your apron. You swallowed and looked down. 

Had you gone too far? 

Mylenda will beat you for ruining your apron, a more urgent voice reminded you. 

"Your eye socket is irritated," you tried to explain. "And the pressure of the gem seems to be... making it worse. Perhaps it would be best to let the flesh rest and not torture it any further."

"Turn around." 

Your eyes latched onto the drapes and slid higher, over the murals. Dragons were drowning castles in their flames, ridden by white-haired men. Behind you, something clanged against the bedside table. Here and there, blue reflections ricocheted off the wall and drowned the blaze in a fragmented ocean.

"Resume."

A gasp escaped from your throat before you could take it back, horrified by the new mural, even more violent than the war scene you had just abandoned. There was nothing left of the eyelid. The empty eye socket clung to the remaining skin, but it was tangled up in a carnal mess⏤the work of a hurried butcher. The roebuck galloped into your mind. Mylenda would have grumbled at the sloppy stitching. 

"Resume," he repeated. 

His voice trembled with rage. 

Silently, you wet yet another strip of cloth and placed it on the remnants of his eyelid with a trembling hand. Your finger grazed his temple before falling back into your lap. Once again, the Prince grabbed your apron. The chamomile perfumed the room, releasing its soothing fragrance all around you, but he remained impervious to it, battered by pain and ghosts. 

With his face wrapped in white clothes, Aemond Targaryen resembled the dead king.

At least the spasms had subsided. That reassured you. The first bands were already hardening and working their miracle. The hollows in his forehead had disappeared, his body finally giving itself a well-deserved rest. The Prince let himself fall back against his pillows. 

You took this sign as a dismissal and got up, not wanting to impose your presence on him any longer. The dirty sheets from the night before were still lying on the floor. Mylenda was probably wondering what you were up to. Gilliane couldn't make up excuses indefinitely. 

"Stay."

"I have to get back to the kitchen. And your sheets..."

"Stay," he commanded in a weak voice. 

What could you do but make yourself comfortable at the Prince's bedside? The order sounded like a request, but no doubt he would have taken your refusal as an affront. He was still a noble and nobles did not like to be contradicted. 

"Can you touch my cheek? Your hands... Your hands help."

His purple eye rolled in its socket and struggled to stay awake as it rested on you. The Prince was not in his right mind. The pain left him bare before you, vulnerable. What could be more dangerous than a vulnerable Targaryen? He would wrap you in his secrets, not caring that you would surely burn in them. In the Red Keep, it was wiser to remain ignorant. To be a confidant was to meddle in unknown and dangerous matters. 

Mylenda was right. You should have kept your mouth shut. 

So you said nothing as the Prince grabbed your hand and pressed it against his cheek. His courage seemed to surprise him, for he tensed before relaxing and pressing back against your hand, desperately seeking the warmth of your palm. His lips parted and he sighed. Your cheeks flushed at the sensual sound, but you clung to the illusion of peace that embraced the room and buried your fears in a corner of your chest.

It was easier to cooperate. 

Your fingertips traced his temple, the arch of his eyebrow, the hollow of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and then repeated the exploration on the other side. His purple eye disappeared behind an intact eyelid, so different from the other. He sighed happily and curled up against you. The grip on your apron loosened. His breathing slowed. 

"Mummy."

The moan pierced the silence and took the peace with it, leaving only the cruel reality. She laughed at you and your naivety. Your blood turned cold. A wide purple eye looked into yours. You immediately stood up and mumbled an apology. The Prince followed suit, despite the pain. A bandage fell with a wet noise onto the sheet but, for once, you could not bring yourself care. Your eyes remained stuck on your hands. 

Stupid, stupid girl. What had you done? Touching a Prince like that? If His Highness didn't take care of you, the steward would beat you⏤like Prudence, like all the others. And Mylenda... The horror squeezed your stomach painfully and twisted your guts. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll–"

Hot tears rolled down your cheek and dried your skin before landing on your trembling lips. You shook your head frantically and picked up the pile of dirty sheets before running for the door. 

If there was one thing Mylenda had taught you, it was to shut up. 

[haystarlight]

What if mlp characters had Tumblr

🌟 smartypants Follow

I have a princess conference in the morning but that won't stop me from staying up till 3 am on AO3. Mama needs her bedtime stories

🐉 ogres&oubliettesenthusiast Follow

OP go to sleep or I will eat your crown

2,008 notes

🎈 smilesmilesmile Follow

All of you are like "would you fuck your clone?" hypothetically but, in practice, clones are too dumb to give consent and that's the real reason why I didn't sleep with any of my clones when I had the chance

🎈 totally-not-a-clone Follow

OP you still have a chance

10,000 notes

✨ great&powerful Follow

It's always "take off the evil amulet! it's corrupting your mind!" and never "oh! you look so pretty in your new amulet!"

✨ great&powerful Follow

Celestia forbid ladies do anything

102 notes

😏 sexiestvillaintournament Follow

🦋 Id-like-to-be-a-tree Follow

Um, would you guys please stop voting for my boyfriend?

🌪️ whatfunisthereinmakingsense Follow

I take it as a compliment

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

I am offended

500,467 notes

🍎 cmc-omc Follow

Y'all know how some families got a gay cousin and all 'em other cousins are straight? Well mah family's the opposite. Ah don't even think we got a straight cousin!

🍎 cmc-omc Follow

Mah sister says we have to assimilate other ponies into our family so the family name don't die out. She would do numbers here

5,667 notes

🌈 20%cooler Follow

GUYS I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYS

I've just been on the hospital (again) cause I got zapped by lightning (again)

But I promise I'll update my Daring Do/Reader fic as soon as I can! Thanks for the patience, love you guys!

🌟 smartypants Follow

It's okay, take your time! I'll just reread the old chapters in the meantime

🐉 ogre&oubliettesenthusiast Follow

NO!!! YOU WILL GO TO SLEEP!!!

120 notes

💎 chicunique&maginifique Follow

"how are you so good at fashion" well you'd be an expert in fashion too if you'd spent 20 years in the closet

🔔 professional-theatre-filly Follow

My sister in Celestia that closet was made of glass

20,354 notes

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Nothing like coming back from exhile just to find your bedroom was replaced by a whole ass forest

Some people have no respect for others belongings

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

I don't control the growing of the magical forest, bitch

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Rude

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

Don't think I forgot about that time in 500 B.E. that you stole my ice cream

200 notes

🛴 the-agender-acrobat Follow

You can't hurt me I have mommy AND daddy issues I'm unstoppable

🌈 20%cooler Follow

OP do you need me to adopt you

🛴 the-agender-acrobat Follow

I would love that actually

1,554 notes

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

*levitates my cat out of the way so I can use the sewing machine, which I need for my job*

my cat: YOU LIFT OPALESCENCE?!?!???! YOU LIFT HER WITH YOUR WICKED SORCERY?!??!!!! YOU ASSERT CONTROL OVER HER WITH YOUR MAGIC?!?!??! OHHHHH!!! MOTHER IS EVIL!!!!!

🔔 professional-theatre-filly Follow

I agree with the cat

1,827,654 notes

🥕 Carrot-TOPING Follow

Girlfriend is out of town all week so I'm gonna dye my mane and tail green

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING

🥕 Carrot-TOPING Follow

She's all my self control

364, 245 notes

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Back in my day we tagged our fanfiction properly. There's a difference between / and & you rufians

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

Shut up old lady

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

YOU'RE OLDER THAN ME

30,150 notes

🩵 girlboss Follow

Sure, sex is great but does *your* husband help you check all your shipping fanfiction for grammar errors? Didn't think so

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

She's everything, he's just Ken

🛡️ malewife Follow

Happy to be of service 🫡

2,035 notes

[alastorsbookie10228]

Alastor with a mommy kink

warnings: smut (obvi), fem!reader (i can write male as well, just ask), sub!Alastor, p in v, oral f! receiving, mommy kink (also obvi), most likely poorly written. this is my first time writing smut

Alastor doesn't find sex appealing, and he never has. he died a virgin, and he never had a problem with that. sure, he'd have his little flings, but he never went all the way with them, deeming it unnecessary.

that is, until he met you.

he couldn't seem to take his attention off of you when you were in the same room as him, eventually deciding he'd take you to Cannibal Town on a date 4 months in to meeting you.

it was no surprise that you said yes to that offer. you'd be crazy not to. Alastor was a gentleman, a handsome gentleman at that.

5 dates in, and you both agreed to put a label on the both of you, him properly claiming you as his girl through one of his broadcasts.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Alastor walked in to the bedroom you both shared, a needy look in his eyes and a whimper threatening to leave his lips.

you immediately took notice and placed your book on the bedside table and walked over to him.

"Alastor, you okay?" you ask, placing a hand on his arm. you heard the scratch of radio static when you did that, and when your eyes met his, you noticed the almost begging gaze boring into you.

"my dear, it seems as though i'm having some...cravings" Alastor says, and you tilt your head, confused.

"what, like, cannibalism cravings?" you ask, and he shakes his head.

he grabs one of your hands gently and guides you to the bed, laying you on your back. he strips himself of his coat, bowtie, and gloves, folding them neatly on the desk nearby. by the time he had made it back to where you were placed on the bed, the middle of your white cotton panties were stained grey.

Alastor reaches for the hem of your sleep shorts, tugging them down quickly along with your panties. he climbs onto the bed, causing you to slide back until your back was against the headboard.

Alastor looked up at you with almost innocent eyes, his red irises boring into you affectionately as he lowered his face down to where you needed him most.

he licked a stripe up your slit, earning a moan from you in return. he put both of your thighs on his shoulders, burying his face deeper in your heat.

he circled your clit with his tongue and stuck a finger into your glistening hole, making your eyes roll back. you gripped his hair on the crown of his head, your wrist resting between his antlers. you pushed his head in more as you moaned loudly.

Alastor stuck two fingers inside you, immediately curling them, making you squeal with pleasure. you back arched up and you felt the coil inside your lower stomach tighten. apparently Alastor did too, because he added a third finger and fucked his hand into you harder. you threw your head back and damn near screamed bloody murder as you came on his face.

after coming down from your high, you look down to see Alastor sucking his fingers clean and wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“you taste divine, my dear.” he said, and before you could protest, you were on top of him, his hands securely on your waist.

“please, remove this tacky material before i shred it.” he said, tugging at your shirt.

to avoid any issues, you quickly tug it up and over your head, not caring where it landed. you reach for his pants and tug down the zipper, easily unbuttoning them and taking them off of his slender legs.

you fold them neatly and toss them onto the chair close to the bed, knowing he’d have a fit if they were wrinkled.

you reach up and unbutton his shirt, doing the same and tossing it to the chair. you lean down and kiss him hungrily, allowing him to guide you onto him.

as you slid down his hard length, a soft moan slipped from both of you. your knees gave out and you sunk all the way down, your clit brushing perfectly over his pelvic bone.

"oh my god." you moan, your head falling limply. with a laugh, Alastor places his hands on your hips and begins to move you up and down, making whimpers and moans seep through your lips.

you move your hands onto his biceps and hold onto them tightly, trying to ground yourself through all of the mind-fuzzing pleasure you're feeling from Alastor's cock seeping in and out of your dripping hole.

"mmmmh, fuck." Alastor groans, his radio filter absent. that alone had you closer to the edge than you'd like to admit. Alastor twitches slightly inside of you, making your body give out more due to pleasure. you lean forward slightly, allowing Alastor's cock to hit the spongey area deep inside you. you let out a loud moan, mumbling gibberish, your mind too clouded with pleasure to even function.

you feel the coil in your lower stomach start to tighten and whimper. "Al, 'm gonna cum soon." you say softly, small whimpers and gasps littered through your sentence. you feel Alastor twitch again, and more frequently, making you assume he is too.

you unintentionally clench harshly onto his twitching cock, making him groan loudly. "mmh, mommy!" he yelps in pleasure, making your eyes snap open.

"what?" you asked, surprise and confusion bubbling with the extreme arousal and pleasure coursing through your veins. "what'd you say?"

Alastor's neck turns slightly red, along with his cheeks. "I said- mmh- I said mommy." he admits shyly.

the word you'd only expect to hear from miniature you's came from the lips of your partner. you didn't expect it to, but it did wonderful things to you. It made your clit ache and the coil in your stomach tighten.

"fuck, say it again, please." you beg, moving your hands to his shoulders, allowing him to hit deeper. he groans out and fucks up into you pathetically. "fuck, mommy! oh, close!" he grunts and whimpers helplessly, making the coil in your stomach snap.

you whimper and throw your head back, your hips rolling against his to help you ride out your high. your eyes roll back and you see stars as you cum onto him, clenching harshly onto his pathetically hard member.

he whimpers softly and bucks up into you once more, releasing his hot seed into your cunt in strips. the feeling alone is almost euphoric, causing a moan to slip from your lips. you sigh in pleasure and slump down onto him, exhausted and comfortable, despite him still being buried inside your deliciously tight cunt.

"that was nice.* Alastor says softly, making you snap your head up. "the way you sounded didn't seem like just nice to me." Alastor looks away, his grin slightly strained, making you laugh. you lean up and place a small kiss on his chin.

"it's alright, i think mommy sounds hot coming from your mouth." Alastor's head turns slowly to face you, making you laugh loudly. his eyes are wide and his smile is very strained. you feel him buck up into you and sigh. time for round two.

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

holy shit that took so long to write. I'm so sorry! I'm about to move houses, so I've been packing and staying stressed tf out 😭 but I hope you enjoyed this!

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Shattering sapphires tear under love

Aemond x prostitute!reader

warning : +18, smut (handjob), mommy kink, body worship, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional, cuddling, crying, family issues and mommy issues, kissing, no use of Y/n, Aemonds just needs a little love

Summary : The death of his nephew, whether intentional or unintentional. A fact that had consequences and left the prince at a low point he hoped he would never reach…to be the disillusionment of his family. A prince of the realm crying broken dark in the dark finding escape with his other gem…

Info : OH MY GOD Aemond in the trailer and now seeing him a dream came true (even though I thought it was Rhaenyra at first strangely enough) this picture is just incredible ahhh. I knew I had to write it now have a lot of fun with it I had it again very much ;)

the aemond gif (very pretty by the way) is from @barbieaemond thanks for that and check out the blog

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

Rain and wind he could still feel nature on him. The lightning and thunder that struck around him tried to tear away and devour every living thing in the sky.

The winds tried to whirl him around, but the rugged wings of the ancient dragoness Vhagar were more powerful and had nature under them.

A creature of magic and ancient Valyria blood did not submit to the winds, it flew through them, obeying the commands of its fourth and final dragon rider.

Now it obeyed orders it was not commanded to obey as its mouth full of old sharp fangs closed around Arrax. The dragon's roar was barely audible, but the last look he gave his nephew was the one that burned into his eye like dragon fire, breaking his sphair.

He looked into those dark eyes and saw nothing but fear in the knowledge of death. I killed him. The blood and the torn body parts of the little dragon seemed to close around Lucerys and the prince and his dragon rushed to the water. It was as if Vhagar and the sky could control themselves again.

The anger subsided and he stared at his trembling hand, covered by a leather glove, which he had reflexively stretched out. Pathetic. It had happened, it had been done, and the sound of Vhagar's wings carrying him home seemed to be the only thing left of the world.

His pounding heart, his trembling hands and the burning pain of his scarred skin where his eye had once been seemed to be only the beginning of this nightmare. But the worst part of arriving back in the city, in King's Landing, in the castle that was his home from the towers to the courtyard and the throne room, was meeting his mother's eyes.

The initial touch of fear that something had happened to him during the storm, ,,Aemond, thank the gods you're all right," had drawn him into her arms for a moment, but this changed to an uncertain and nervous one when she saw how upset her son actually was.

When she saw that he didn't seem calm and almost cool like his violet eye showed emotions of fear and sadness that he didn't have until now at least. ,,Do you realize what you've done?" the loud voice of his grandfather and hand Otto Hightower echoed in the room intended for the small council.

He had never seen his grandfather so full of anger and hatred, at least not towards him. I was always better than him. A glance at his older brother only confirmed that he found it amusing that their sister's bastard was finally dead. The violet of the two brothers met and yet he could see that Aegon gave him a silent sign.

He would be on his side no matter what…a small certainty in time. ,,Aemond! By the crown, do you know what this means?" even his mother shouted now, his wonderful, strong mother, his queen dowager.

The woman who had held him when he was wronged, the blood running from his ruined eyes no more than scarred flesh now. The woman who had fought for him, his brother and Heleana, against a woman, his older half-sister, who had gotten everything.

She had had a hard time and he had let her down a reality that hurt as much as her grip on his arms. Pressing her bloody fingernails into the dark fabric of his sleeves, he could have sworn they left small marks. ,,It means war, mother," he replied calmly, regretting that it came across as cold, but inside he cried out for forgiveness.

The pain behind his eyes was like dragon fire itself, his fingers clenched into fists again and again to stifle the trembling. He almost backed away when his mother and grandfather made a move towards him, thinking they were going to hit him. Just as useless as Aegon.

But with the rise of Aegon and the opening of the door as Criston stepped in, both Hightowers paused to give their son and grandson a look that burned itself into Ameond's eye just as Lucerys had.

The same dark accusing eyes, he was to blame, he had disappointed…he was only the second son after all. ,,To war then', Aegon had interrupted the entrance, giving his younger brother a curt nod to disappear for a while, surrendering to the voices of his family, with wine the new king would be able to bear anything.

Leaving the room hastily before anyone could grab him, the prince of the realm disappeared into the dark corridors to escape to his chambers.

It was as if his heartbeat was mingling with his overly rapid breathing, the trembling of his fingers would not stop and whether it was the third cup of wine or the food that tasted of nothing, not even the old Valyrian books could calm him down. He almost shouted at the servants to leave him alone and even Heleana he was too afraid to let her see him like this.

She herself doesn't deserve you. But he knew from the sound of her shallow words that she already knew what had happened to him. ,Two dresses, silk shattering eye shattering castle under dragons…mother will understand dear brother" he had heard her voice as she had probably turned almost dance-like through the corridors in her hands her insects flying and crawling around and also that his ,,Thank you Heleana" which came across like a stifled whisper was heard by her.

His face hidden in his hands, leaning slightly hunched over on the armchair in front of the fireplace, seemed to break in his emotional thoughts. ,,Get a hold of yourself," he hissed angrily that he had become such a thing because of a boy…he had murdered and disappointed…he didn't deserve it…didn't deserve the love of his family…his mother.

It seemed to get worse with every moment, his usually too big room suddenly too small and suffocating. The light of the moon shining through the window let him know that there was King's Landing, a city that was always open to him. His gem was still there.

Not a decision but rather a feeling of attraction without overcoming it, he made a decision within himself. Turning away from the armchair that raised the fire that made his spahir sparkle and reaching for his cloak, he walked out of his chamber at the hour of the wolf.

He had evaded the guards with his brother since he was a child. The steps still the same feeling of uncertainty and curiosity as then. The time his brother had grabbed her and pulled him behind him towards the city, towards the Street of Silk.

The Street of Silk lay on the hill of Rhaenys, a street notorious for lust and whimsy. But it was the place, it was her place where he knew she was the only one who was always good-natured towards him.

Deep down inside, whenever he heard the faint jingle of his coin purse, he knew that at the end of the day it was just a service he was getting with money.

But maybe this was exactly what he needed, a service, a woman, a woman who would embrace him and not see him as what his family, his mother despised him for today. Coins are the life of a whore.

He pulled his hooded cloak low over his face, covering his face as best he could as he knocked on the door and heard the activity behind it. Or at least he knew what it looked like in there again, a den of lust that had been no stranger to him since he was thirteen.

After another brief moment in the darkness, the door opened and he saw the familiar dark curly hair of the older woman. The mother of the brothel. ,,At this late hour, my…customer," she said and he saw her eyes peering easily under his cloak. It was her, she was his first, he was her most endless.

He would not forget her and even though he had hated his brother, he had simply left him in the brothel while Aegon had disappeared into the building with several whores of both sexes.

So Aemond had been taken by her most of the experience and to this day he lied to himself. He could have had a younger one but even inside, hell she knew he had longed for nothing more than a mother's approval.

A fact that lay unsaid between them all these years until he found his new gem. It no longer remained unsaid. ,,Is she there?" he murmured as she grasped his hand again as she always did and almost patted it.

She led him through her large house past the customers, the young men and women she was one of the oldest but every brothel had to offer a complete age range. The silk on the bodies that were naked underneath gave a look of lust but his eyes were mostly on the floor or on his companion.

,,You know she's always there for you, my prince. I thought something a little more robust was needed," she remarked and he felt her rubbing his hand as they both knew exactly what it was. ,,Robust soon…but no, something more caring," he replied and stopped when they arrived in front of the door decorated with silver.

The silver he had paid for was evidence of his many visits and he was not surprised that the silver showed the shape of dragons and fire. His gemstone marked by the prince's coins.

He heard the older woman's laughter make her curls bounce as she broke away from him and paused, ,,Anything you wish for my dear she, me or anyone else my house is always open to you…she will take away your guilt" she said and winked he instantly tensed and had to suppress a sigh. Her eyes were guilty and cleverly she had to realize what her customers wanted.

But she could and had always read him just as well. Pulling the golden dragon coin out of the small pouch and throwing it in her direction and catching it, he only heard her laugh and saw the knowledge in her eyes before he had too much to do and went into the room.

His cloak still lay over him as he walked into the largest room of the house, the double bed with a sett curtain, the finest furniture and ornaments with murals, even relatively expensive jewelry could be found here.

It was the prince's second room and everyone knew it. He heard her humming a song as she always did when she looked in front of her mirror and combed her hair, cared for herself and enjoyed a cup of wine.

,,Who is it?" she asked into the room and waited for his answer but his throat seemed dry, suddenly those suppressed emotions came back. He felt the pain in his eye, his fingers were trembling and he couldn't control himself, it was terrible.

As he approached her, the cloak still on him, he saw that she had seen him in her mirror and put a knowing, gentle smile on her lips. ,,A cloaked man…who could that possibly be? What pretty thing is hiding underneath?" she asked knowingly and rose to her feet, making her sapphire necklace sparkle in the candlelight and her dark, almost green silk dress flap.

All gifts he had given her to transform her into something that was not him by blood but that didn't matter here, here in his own realm…not today, not yesterday and never.

She came closer to him and gently undid the clasp of the cloak, taking off the hood and tying the dark garment. He saw the hint of a smirk as she always did when she wanted to make a joke.

But just as her hand was about to rest on his cheek, she paused and saw in his violet eye what his mother had seen. ,,My Saphier, what's wrong? What's worrying you that it hurts, my prince?" she asked and took his hand with her other hand, seeming even more surprised to feel the slight trembling.

She slowly took off his gloves and finally her warmth met his coolness and for a moment she just continued to watch him. Skillful eyes always saw what a client needed but her prince, the perfect second son, what had shaken him so?

Slowly his hand take the warmth on his cold he always seemed cold. Slowly moving him towards the couch, the two-seater next to the bed was actually his favorite place. He listened to her there when she read him books and he combed her hair against his and told him about Vhagar and the dragons.

It was almost a sweet moment they shared, but with his stillness and tenseness, she tried to whisk him towards the bed. A soft smile on her lips, moving her hair around and already making a lurid sound, she stopped when Aemond didn't follow her. ,,I didn't want to disappoint you," he said suddenly, his violet eye looking at the floor for the first time.

Seeing how she immediately changed again she listened, trying to figure out what had happened. ,,You can never let me down," she murmured, taking her hands off him and walking to the bed alone instead, leaving it up to him if he wanted to keep talking, if his violet eyes were detached from the green in her dress, the image of his mother screaming at him.

Meanwhile, the muffled thud of pillows and furs could be heard in front of the lit fireplace in which the dark wood was burning. She sat down on the furs, her legs apart and her fingers gently, almost carefully, stroking the green fabric from her shoulders. I'll take you again and again. Her body dancing through the flames cast shadows that were slowly taken over by Aemond.

She showed him her upper body, the bare skin the sapphire necklace seemed to be the only thing still covering her, the look in her eyes invitingly caring...motherly.

Waiting for him on the fell, her arms outstretched to him, his name spilling from her lips, ,,Ameond...my darling...come here" she brought to him knowing that he wanted and needed the flattery, the praise. Knew that she could give him what he needed, even if she didn't yet know what had happened, she would find out.

Slowly, almost appathetically, he reached for the top layer of his clothing, opening the heavy leather and the expensive dark fabrics to let the cloak fall to the floor. ,,Your darling," he murmured and she saw the flash of his gemstone as he came closer to her, slowly kneeling down in front of her still expecting a blow.

But instead her hands went to his light-colored hair, twisting a few strands back and forth before she combed her fingers through it. ,,You smell of fire and smoke... have you been flying on Vhagar again?" she asked, her eyes closed, trying to feel his reaction a little, knowing that she would only trigger more nervousness in his gaze.

A question, an everyday life, an everyday life with a protector, caring, motherly, full of empathy. He felt himself slowly stop trembling, probably imagining that everything would be all right again while she was asking him. ,,Yes, we were on our way to Storm's End," he revealed after a moment of silence, hearing him exhale almost shakily, and she knew that Storm's End was the seat of House Baratheon, even a whore had a knowledge that was due in no small part to her.

A long flight of revenge and duty. Leaning forward slightly, she let one hand wander over his shoulder to his chest while her other hand continued to play with his hair.

She skillfully and slowly began to undo the buttons and the shuttles, making small noises that were drowned out by the crackling of the fire. ,,Tell me Storm's End is far away my dear, was there a reason?" she asked quietly and slowly slipped the top off his body, pulling it down his beautiful almost porcelain-like body over the small and larger scars from fighting and the cold.

But as soon as the clothes came off, she felt him tremble again as if he had the shivers. ,,Shhh not yet I'm here mother is here dear" she whispered to him giving him a gentle kiss on his sleep still playing with his hair as she began to kiss his neck and back.

Sensed that it had probably happened on Storm's End, that the smell of fire and smoke couldn't just be Vhagar, that the rain had left a few drops on him. What had happened in the air that night?

She paused again for a moment as Aemond moved slightly, she saw him lift his hips slightly to remove the leather trousers, tossing the piece carelessly into the room and yet not turning to her.

The prince slowly lay down by her again, but she didn't ask him to do anything else. She watched him, seeing his features only slightly shadowed by fire, knowing that his violet eye was coated with softness while the gemstone still flashed. ,,Stay with me, never leave me," he demanded, his hand reaching behind him to grasp hers and she sensed he was still reaching for something she wasn't aware of. She didn't have the same coldness as her, she didn't have the same life traits as her...she wasn't what had given birth to him.

She was not the woman who could beat him with a single word, a single lift of her voice...but she was a woman who came closer, a substitute for the prince who longed for love.

,,I'll never leave you Aemond, I'll stay with you right here and you'll stay in my lap with me where nothing happens...what happens doesn't matter, you understand?" she asked, exerting a barely perceptible pressure on his body, making him lie down slowly, stretching out her legs so that he could position his head correctly in her lap.

She could finally see his face when he wanted to, but he could also turn away from her at any moment. But he decided to look at her, she saw him looking at her with something like loss in his eye as she continued to play with his hair. She saw how needy he was, how needy he was in her lap.

He needed it after his journey after his flight after his anger had made him do something.

She heard him inhale almost shakily as his body shifted slightly into a fetal position and she stroked his hair again. ,,I-I...killed Lucerys," he admitted, silent tears flowing down his cheeks and he closed his eye, taking in her eagerness for a second before she relaxed again and leaned forward to embrace him in his prone position.

His hands holding onto him over the scars and old wounds, her own fingers stroked over his body, twitching to tell her when to stop or continue. The prince was someone she found joy in wanting to take care of, it was a love for him. Your jewel is mine.

And he continued to close his eyes, trying to erase the memories of his nephew, the boy who disfigured him and he got no revenge. ,,It was an accident...nothing more it will all be over my lovely...let it go" she whispered to him letting his hands continue to wander over his body stroking over scars hearing his sigh and slowly moving towards his center letting his mind wander for a moment before she began a few gentle strokes.

He felt a sigh mingling with a sob as his fingers clutched at her legs and neck and he pressed against her, trying to forget the horrible scene and all the pain inside him. Letting the mix of hatred and anger mix with excitement and lust.

He bit his lip, not wanting to let out a soft sound that would make him feel like it was his own fault if he heard himself ,,Shhh it's okay, let it go" she reminded him, her other hand wandering gently over his face, intertwining with his hands, feeling him tremble slightly as her hand on his cock lightly passed over the tip for the drops of pleasure to gather and the lustful noises in the room intensified alongside the distant music.

,,Mhh I-I uhg didn't want it," he murmured, moving his hips lightly with her gentle, quiet pace as she felt him cry, moving him lightly back and forth like a mother moving a baby back and forth in her arms, talking to him while she continued to make physical love to him.

,,I know you didn't want it...I'm not angry or disappointed Ameond" she assured him, placing gentle kisses on his head as he continued to press against her, more lustful sounds escaping his lips and tears wetting his cheeks.

She picked up the pace and lifted her hand from his lap, taking her time to let him know she was there, ,,The sight of Lu-Luce he," Aemond murmured again as he glanced at a velvety red pillow and moved into her lap, his legs resting slightly above hers and his head tucked into the crook of her neck, her hand continuing to stimulate him as she kept reassuring him that everything would be alright while he moved his hips harder and harder, his fingers digging into the fabric of the blankets and pillows.

,,I know, but I'm here, you're the prince, nothing will happen," she kept talking to him as she watched him open his closed eyes, his pink cheeks flushed with lust and his lips curled up to look at her as he sighed into the kiss and she made a sound of pleasure herself as he turned slightly and let his lips trail over her torso.

He kept kissing her and his anger and hatred, his sadness and worry seemed to slowly disappear and louder and louder noises left his lips, which were easily suppressed by the sucking on her breast. The king and prince fascinated by one and the same jewel.

He didn't know that he had the same calm expression as the king when he was in her arms but it didn't matter, she cared for the one-eyed prince, her good boy who only needed his mother one way or another, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry mother," she heard him murmur and saw him look briefly at her, showing a kindness and understanding that drew him into another kiss and she felt him approach his climax.

She nodded assuring him that all was well and saw his face show the mix of shame, fear, lust and pure devotion it was pure beauty. Beauty for which she was and will always be with him because she knew he would come back he was a dog of the king with the mark of a dragon.

A young man fascinated by his uncle and holding deep feelings for his nephew who is better than him beyond death in a way Aemodn could never be.

But most of all he was dependent on her, he got no care from the Dowager Queen and every time he came back to her she loved him that she knew he would come back. ,,I always love you my dear Aemond...and now let go and rest and dream of memories and times past" she commanded him as she saw the anger in his confused mind penetrate him and he let out another whimper before his body stirred slightly and he clawed at her before he poured himself into her hand with a loud moan.

She still held him through his high point, stroking his head and giving him a sort of goodnight kiss as a lullaby came over her lips and she wiped her hand on the pillows before covering herself and him with a blanket.

She felt how it took a few moments before the pain relaxed completely and, at least for a few hours, a sleep that did not make him wake up with guilt and fear in the arms of a woman, a woman who could show him affection.

She would always be his jewel, and she was prepared to accept that if the sapphire broke, she would always be there to pick up the pieces.

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

@ladythornofrivia , @omgsuperstarg , @girlypieee , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @mymoonempress

[ireneispunk]

Reunions

Jacaerys Velaryon x female aunt reader fluff

You and your childhood friend Jace share an intimate evening in wake of familial troubles.

w.c: 2697

c.w: no use of y/n, targcest but no smut, mommy issues

a.n: i finally had some inspo to write!! and it's not smut!! who is she! missed yall ♡

jacaerys t.l: @redmmmmind @jacaerysgf (open! comment if u wanna join jace brainrot crew)

Cold winds relentlessly beat upon your face, your hands gripping the reins in front of you. You and the dragon beneath you worked in perfect sync, large wings tearing through the clouds, tilting your far enough to the side for a thrill, but never far enough for you to fall. You turned your upper body around, eyes squinting in the wind, you could just about make out flashes of pale crowned with red scales. You laughed to yourself, pulling the leather reins up towards you. As you and your dragon parted through the clouds you eyed the familiar roof of the dragon pit. You felt a small jolt as you landed with a large boom rattling the ground, startling a few of the guards. You slid off of your saddle, pulling off your gloves and stuffing them in the pocket of your coat. You ran a hand down your dragon’s neck. She leaned her enormous head down to the ground to meet your touch. “Sȳz, sȳz,” (Good, Good) You spoke to her, running a soothing hand upon her cheek. “Perfect as always, Dyni.” You spoke almost a whisper to her. She snorted through her nostrils in response, sometimes you wondered if your dragon was the only one to truly know you. The huge creature looked into your eyes as her snout nudged beneath your palm. A flapping of wings brought you out of your thoughts as you turned to face your racing opponent. You smiled as you walked over to Lucerys who was in the process of dismounting Arrax. “I believe that’s seven for me and still, well, zero for you nephew.”

He huffed giving Arrax a quick scratch upon his head before meeting you in the clearing. “It’s not exactly fair! How old even is Dyni at this point? she’s huge.” No matter how many times you’d ran this race, his spirits never dwindled.

“It’s quite discourteous to ask a Lady her age you know.” You spoke, not being able to hold in any laughter as you both turned to Dyni who was accepting mutton from one guard and batting another one to the ground with her tail.

You stopped him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “Keep training with him Luke, he’s started listening to you more which is what is special. Strength is pointless if you cannot control it.” You smiled, offering genuine advice as you made your way back to the Red Keep.

Your race around King’s Landing had not gone unnoticed, especially by a certain Velaryon. It was hard to ignore how you and your dragon commanded the skies and Jacaerys found it hard to not be impressed by you. ‘Dyni’ he thought to himself, it translated to ‘beast’ in High Valyrian which was certainly a befitting name. The dragon herself easily towered over any man and appeared to be growing larger than Dreamfyre and Caraxes every day. Dyni had earned her name from her tendency to grow unruly with her male dragon riders, killing and eating her past recorded three in less than a moon.  Queen Alicent had been nothing short of mortified when you returned upon the beast’s back all those summers ago. Dreamfyre, whilst also large, was soft tempered, ‘more feline than dragon’ Jacaerys recalled the guards of the dragon pit stating. Even King Viserys, who remained rather cold towards his children with Alicent, was impressed with her. Jacaerys stood in the courtyard, back against the stone wall and arms folded across his chest eyeing the training that occurred just ahead, Aemond and Ser Criston faced off with a shield and blade in hand. He huffed to himself, every time his family were in King’s Landing, he could not wait to leave. The gates were pulled open revealing you and his brother in your riding clothes, grins across your faces and talking between yourselves. The conversation became clearer as the pair made their way over to him.

“Helaena?” He heard your giggle fill his head, “My sweet sister, I don’t believer her nor Dreamfyre are ones for competition, but we may always convince her to come for a ride with us.”

You and Luke reached Jacaerys, and you watched as he pulled himself from the wall, hands falling to his sides. “Ah! Maybe you could join us on the next one?” You watched as Luke spoke to his older brother. Jacaerys’ eyes panned towards you, lingering on yours.

“Uh- yes, the next one.” He spoke with some uncertainty, earning a puzzled look from you. Jacaerys internally recoiled at his remark. He could barely control his own footsteps around you, now he was expected to be able to control a dragon? You parted ways with the two, glancing at Jace once more as you made your way up the steps before colliding with someone. You looked up to see your brother Aemond.

“Do be more discrete when you’re drooling over our nephew, sister.” He said, partly annoyed but mostly amused. He continued down towards the corridor as you quickened your pace to walk beside him.

“I was not!” You scoffed, pushing into him with your shoulder. He shook his head, as you quickly looked back towards Jacaerys, “Has he grown taller since we last saw him?” Your blatancy earned a rare genuine smile from you brother, causing your laughter to echo the hallways.

As the two of your rounded the corner you were met with your mother, on her way to collect Ser Criston no doubt. She stopped in front of you and looked you in the eye and inhaled slightly. “Have you been on dragonback? Once again?” Her tone was short, as it mostly was with you.

You smiled sheepishly, “Well she is my dragon, there aren’t any rules for when I can-“

“Enough,” She cut you off, “Go and bathe before dinner, please.” Despite her plead it was not a question.

“But mother, Luke never has to bathe after he rides Arrax?” Your tone was frustrated.

“Lucerys is not my child, you are my child. Go, now.” Her harsh tone felt like prickles across your body.

“Yes, your grace.” The honorific rarely left your lips unless it was out of spite. You heard a sigh from your mother as you barged past the both of them towards your chambers.

The food upon your plate looked less and less like a royal meal with every prod from your fork. Your posture was slouched, cheek resting in your palm as conversation lightly buzzed around the table. Your mother’s sharp glare caught your eye, ‘Sit up.’ She mouthed. You huffed, plopping your fork down and sitting back in your chair and bringing your cup of wine with you. Your eyes trailed across the other side of the table, your mother stealing a small glance at Rhaenyra who watched the seat in which your father, the king, had sat before returning to his chambers. A soft laugh caught your attention. You watched as Baela once again had the Prince Jacaerys enthralled by her story telling. You didn’t quite know why this was vexing you, but it was. With a harsh roll of your eyes, you finished your cup and placed it on the table with a dull thud. The chair beside you creaked as Aemond leaned towards you.

“Something bothering you, sister?” You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing he knew exactly where your mind and eyes had been all evening. As you opened your mouth to speak, the pair audibly laughed once more.

Your lips flattened into a straight line, “Just curious as to what could be so entertaining, tis all.” You spoke dryly. You raised your cup lightly at the cup bearer, before Alicent raised a hand to him.

“Two is plenty, for one evening.” She spoke with a smile so weak it was almost a frown. You glared to your brother Aegon, who was however many cups in, hair dishevelled and talking to Otto about whatever nonsense he could.

You rose to your feet gently, fingertips resting on the edge of the table. “May I be excused? I am rather tired, your grace.” You spoke to your mother, ready to rid this night from existence.

“You may not.” She spoke bluntly catching the side eye of Daemon. “This is a family meal, as the King desired.” Alicent swallowed lightly, the interaction now gaining the attention of the rest of the dinner guests.

You scoffed, eyes meeting the floor for a second. “This is some family meal, our father cannot bare to stay for the evening, leaving the rest of us to sit here in some façade pretending we do not despise one another.” Alicent looked taken aback, and dare you say a … little hurt? A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you heard Aegon chuckle at your outburst. Whispering a small ‘excuse me’ you left the silent hall, not stopping to breathe until the heavy doors were shut behind you. As you stepped into your chambers you hurriedly wiped the few tears that escaped your eyes. You were a woman grown, yet the thought of how your mother looked broke your heart.

About an hour had passed, and you had readied for bed. Not being able to sleep yet, you sat beside your windowsill above the gardens. The book in your hand was barely lit by the dimming candle beside you, but you didn’t dare leave to find another. You heart thudded as there was a gentle knock at your door. You breathed lightly, “Mother I-I am sorry, I should not have said that. I will apologise to the princess and her family before they leave tomorrow.” There was a beat of silence after your words.

“It’s me.” A voice spoke quietly, so quiet you couldn’t quite make it out. Setting your book down, you made your way over to your door and carefully unlatched it. You opened it and felt your jaw fall slightly.

“Jace!” You exclaimed, his eyes met yours and cheeks flushed lightly at your saying of his name and the sight of your small clothes. You wrapped your robe across your front and crossed your arms, “Jacaerys. Ah- nephew- my prince!” You grimaced at your blubbering which caused a small smirk to spread across his lips.

“I am still Jace, to you.” He smiled at you, settling in your presence for a moment.

Despite the way you felt about him being here, you had to ask, “What’re you doing here?” Part of you didn’t wish to know, as it meant the moment could be over. You watched as he produced two cups and a half empty bottle of wine from behind his back. You raised your brow at him, your fingers playing with the edges of your sleeves.

“I figured you could use that extra drink,” He smiled sheepishly, watching you from under his dark eyelashes, “I know I could.”

A smile played at your lips, letting him struggle under your gaze for a moment, before stepping to the side and allowing him to come into your chambers. You allowed yourself to admire the broadness of his back as the door clicked closed behind you. Jacaerys wandered through your room, his eyes following each detail, each decoration, as if trying to absorb who you had become in an instant.

The sweetness of the Dornish wine went down nicely and had the both of you giggling and sharing old stories. Your hand placed over his as you laughed, “It feels like yesterday that we were carving our names into the trees in the Godswood.” Your paused for a moment realising the severity of what you had said. “Thank the gods the roots grew in unseasonable thick that year before the queen could see.” You giggled. Jacaerys placed his free hand over his heart and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the ceiling with a smile upon his face. “You jest! But trust me, Jace, if my mother knew, and they accepted girls into the Night’s Watch, I’d be all in black and celibate right now.” You laughed and rose to your feet from the bench you both resided on. You moved your hair out of your face to one side, fanning your neck slightly. You couldn’t be sure if it was the wine or the company or both that had you feeling the warmth of the night.

“Are you?” Jace asked you, his face immediately regretting asking.

You looked at him inquisitively, “Celibate? My prince! I am unmarried, it would be improper.” You spoke delicately, with a hand upon a post of your bed, swinging round it onto a seated position upon the blankets. Jacaerys watched you confused, eyes falling down to your body as your robe slide down your arms to expose your shoulders. Your eyes met once more as you scoffed, “Of course I am, I am barely allowed to keep my own dragon. My mother must govern every other aspect of my life.” You sighed, remembering earlier today.

Jace walked over to your bed and tentatively sat beside you, his posture stiff and eyes anywhere but on you. “Has she always been so…” He trailed off, wanting to be careful with his words about your mother and the queen.

“Incredibly overbearing yet unloving all at once?” You finished for him, and he hummed. “You’re returning to Dragonstone in the morning, yes? Best not to try and unwrap the complexities of my mother if we do not have the time.”

He chuckled lightly, eyeing the pitch-black sky outside before turning to face you. “If it would ease the weight of it upon your shoulders, there is time.” His dark eyes bore into you, like they would never see you again.

“I am more like my brothers, I suppose. More than I am like Helaena. She resents me for it, but with Aegon? Aemond?” You groaned, laying back onto the bed with your legs hanging off slightly.

Jacaerys paused for a moment, “I do not think she truly hates you; she would not care so much if she did.” You hate that he made sense, though you would never admit it when it came to your mother. Your eyes met once more as you patted the bed beside you.

“Lay with me for a little while.” He hesitated, feeling as if he had already overstayed his welcome in your chambers by about three cups of wine. Jacaerys however, much like when you were children, took one look at your glazed eyes and small frown and felt his body caving and lay beside you before his head could comprehend it.

You both lay there, nothing but the burnt-out embers of the fireplace occasionally cracking and a soft breeze gently shifting the fabrics that hung from the posters of your bed. You breathed deeply through your nose, allowing your eyes to close. It had been a long time since you felt so still, so at peace in your own home. You felt Jacaerys soft finger graze against yours slightly, before you took his hand into yours and let your fingers intertwine. You stayed like that for a little while, both afraid to move and force the moment to be over. Your eyes opened and gazed upon your muraled ceiling for a moment before feeling Jacaerys’ on you. You tilted your head towards him meeting his gaze.

“I wish you were not returning home tomorrow.” You whispered, not wanting to speak it into existence.

He smiled sympathetically and hesitated a moment, before his free hand reached the side of your cheek and delicately ran a thumb over it. He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss against your forehead. It felt as if his lips left your skin much quicker than they should have, as he settled to return his eyes to your face.

“For tonight, I am here with you.” He thought for a moment. “I’m sure Dragonstone will be capable of accommodating Dyni sometime.”

A large grin spread across your face at the thought of riding upon dragon back to see Jace again. All you could do was nod enthusiastically as Jacaerys squeezed your hand in response, bringing a rare and tender night to an end.

[thecapricunt1616]

Carmy X Nervous about a home birth

Let’s be so real here. If you told Carmy you wanted a home-birth - his first reaction would be 😦😰 - because with his mommy issues, the only way he feels as if he’s being a ‘good husband’ is if he is giving in to your every single need, and desire as a partner - and even more as the mother of his baby. But Mike, Nat, and Carm were born in a hospital - so the idea of not being around 40 doctors freaks him THE HELL out, but his Queen gets what she asks without a single question -- So of course his answer is ;

“However you think little bear wants to be brought into the world, Angel. I’ll get the best damn doula and midwife Chicago has to offer, hmm?” 

As he’s rubbing lotion into your swollen 5 month belly and giving it sweet gentle kisses. Whispering to your adorable bump and resting his ear to it, whispering “shhh- wait I think I heard them move!!” All excited, even if it was just the grumbles of your hungry pregnant tummy, he probably knew that, but had such high hopes for his little. 

(More BTC ❤️)

I genuinely think that Carmy would hold pregnancy and birth so close to his heart, because he would see it as the one single thing he literally could never provide - so the fact that you so willingly and openly offered your body, no matter the dangers it came with - to bare his child? He can hardly believe it and it makes him teary eyed every time he talks about your pregnancy because of the sacrifice he sees you making each and every second of every single day you’re carrying your little love to delivery. He can’t say

‘thank you’

and ‘I love you’ 

and ‘you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting’ enough throughout those 43 long and a lot of time grueling weeks of pregnancy as a first time mommy, making sure you knew and undertood jut how grateful and amazed he was with your body and mental perserverance. 

When the time came - holy shit. When you woke him up? At around 2:40AM poking his ribs being like “Bear?!!” While wincing at your very much more painful then Braxton hicks contractions. He just gave you a lazy-ass ‘mmmph’ 

But as soon as you said “He’s coming, like- today- like now, Bear, he's really actually coming” he leaps into action.

He grabs his phone off the charger with quickness, rushes into the living room of your 3 bed house- holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sprints through your yard in nothing but boxer briefs, hauling the long ass garden hose he bought exactly for this through the window as the phone continues to ring.

When it goes to voicemail? He’s PANICKING !! He’s whisper shouting into the mic 

“SHES IN LABOR. THIS IS CARMY FUCKIN BEAR. DO YOU HEAR ME??? THIS KID IS ON HIS FUCKIN WAY OUT. GET YOUR ASS HERE DO I PAY YOU TO NOT ANSWER ME? FUCKIN'HELL!!!!”

Hes rapidly hanging up and calling again over and over as he chucks wet washcloths in the freezer and drops to his knees in front of the couch trying to fill the birthing yoga ball with the pump as fast as he can. The midwife answers and is like 

“SHE BETTER BE FUCKING CROWNING ARE YOU STUPID MY RINGTONE WAS SCREAMING THE ENTIRE TIME THIS BABY WAS BEING DEL-“

and Carmy is like

“NOW. NOW. NOW. SHE SAYS SHES 8 MINUTES APART. GET YOUR ASS HERE. NOW. WHAT THE FUCK DO I PAY YOU FOR, LINDA??”  as he’s throwing the electric pump to the side out of frustration and using a fucking bike pump to fill your yoga ball so you could bounce on it like all the labor books said.

Meanwhile you’re in the bedroom, groaning and moaning, just absolutely miserable. Hearing your husband shouting at your doula before calling the midwife and saying 

“What the fuck do I do, Sara?! Sara she’s- she’s nearly fucking crying!! What do I- oh. Ok. Ok. Yup. Heard. Heard. Ok. Mmhmm- ok. Promise? Ok. See you then” and he’s right back in your room, rubbing your back as you contract and groan just whispering as he massages your pressure points to help get the baby down that he learned in birthing class, cooing 

“That’s it- mmhmm- good girl, let it all out beautiful, I know it hurts- but You’re doing such a good job with y’breathing princess. I’m gonna put this cold cloth on your forehead, yeah? It’ll help you feel nice and cool, and relaxed, pretty girl” like he explains every single thing he’s doing, before he does it. 

Whenever you have an extra big contraction, he's grunting with you and easing you through it like they taught him in the classes, adding the pressure to your back to counteract the incredible pain you felt every single time it washed over you whining and sobbing to Carmys chest "I- I can't- oh god- Bear, somethings wrong!!! Hurts so bad, so fucking bad- please!! Please let me I need to go to the hospital!! Somethings wrong B-Bear! This pain c-can't be normal"

He shook his head and rubbed your back soothingly, telling you the whole time to listen to him talk, and how it hurts so bad, and joking 'f'course my son would give his mommy a hard time huh? Sug said the same thing, Berzatto kids are brutal. Shoulda told you before I got you knocked up, huh?" his forehead rested on yours and rubbing your spasming back muscles soothingly.

“That was a big one huh? That means he should be coming soon huh? My strong beautiful angel - you’re almost there princess- a few more pushes and he’s gonna be in our arms. You’re so fucking amazing-“ he encourages, gently rubbing your belly that had dropped lower then you'd ever seen. You were on your knees in the bath, forehead to forehead with Carm. He carefully sat in front of you on his own knees.

"Alright one more- alright? Just one big push, yeah?" he echos your midwife, ever so carefully letting your belly go and resting his hands below to catch his little guy. You look at him nervously, sniffling and whimpering nervously.

"Wh-what if I can't, Carm? What if hes t-too big or- or-" he cuts you off by kissing your lips lovingly.

"You, You? Baby? Shhhh, shush, princess- Listen t'me- you're made f'this, mm? You're the strongest woman i've ever met. So focus, focus, princess. Listen t'my voice. I'll count you out, baby. Only 10 seconds ok? Push as hard as you can, ready?"

He sticks his hands in the water, cradling you close and kissing your cheek and temple and contains for you through the energy sucking push. When you rest back, second 5, sobbing

“I- I can’t do it- he feels stuck- I can’t do it Carm, i'm so sorry. I failed us. I’m sorry I failed our baby” 

And he’s just shushing you into your skin, 

“Shhhhh, shhhhhh- let’s breathe, mm? Together. It’s just you, an’me. Ok? Don’t even think about him, princess. They told us, as long as you breathe he's gonna come out, easy as pie, hmm? So let’s breathe, yeah? Princess? Breathe him out, just in, and out, force all that air out as hard as you can like they taught us, remember baby? see-” he holds your hands, kissing them and demonstrating big grunting strong breaths for you to copy and of course you did. 

When it got to the point your contractions were a minute apart, Thanks to him, in 2 more big grunting pushes your little boy was born. When you were in transition Carmy sat outside the pool, knelt and pressed forehead to forehead, whispering to you through every contraction how your little boy was almost here, and how he could never repay you ever for the gift that was his birth.

By the time you were begging on your knees in the bath to stop pushing because it was "too hard" , Carmy knew from what they explained in birthing class that meant -- it was time.

So he coaxed you through three more huge pushes. Even though you told him each time ‘I can’t do it, please, Bear. He’s not ready- I can’t.” But he rubbed your back and told you how amazing you were and to just try, and assured that if your little man wasn’t ready they’d send you home, and that he was right there ready to catch your son and lift him on to your chest.

And after your third other worldly push, you couldn’t even put in to words, the amount of energy it took out of you. It was harder then you’d ever pushed in your life for anything. - but of course the little guy was scream wailing just like any other Berzatto would. 

You couldn’t stop choke sobbing as the baby wailed and Carmy kept muttering ‘you did it! You fuckin’ did it, princess. He’s so beautiful. Look at him! He’s perfect. 10 fingers 10 toes- hear those lungs, angel? He’s perfect” as he rested the pretty little cub on your chest.

You would just look at him amazed, by instinct guiding him to your breast to pacify him and watching as the nurses usher Carmy out of the way and you would reach out, hooking your hands together so he couldn't get too far away.

“Alright Momma! Congrats, now let’s deliver this placenta in 3 pushes that’s the magic number. So when I say 3 you’ll- oop!” The nurses gasp as they look down “lucky! You’re lucky! Alright mommy never mind. No tears, and your body went ahead and did that work for ya! Alright momma, here we go here’s your placenta” the nurse pulls it out of the water and you nearly gag at the look of it 

“Get that thing away from my baby! Keep it in the bowl!” You demand, holding him to your skin and cradling his head, you had told yourself you would do a delayed cord cutting, but you in no way wanted your baby to be next to that... thing - it just freaked you out.

“that is nasty! Disgusting” you sniffle, looking back at your little angel who was peacefully suckling off your breast. 

“Oh- sweetheart” one of the nurses giggles, putting it in a biohazard bag. “Are you sure- didn’t you say your baby’s father is a chef? Sweetheart, this will boost your milk production - it’s giving you all the vitamins you lost while pregnant. Are you sure?” 

*cut to Carmy actually gagging at the nurses American horror story ass tactics while you're like 'what am i, a CAT?!??!"

And the nurse is like “BABY!! Every other animal does it!! You said holistic is best!!! Alright I guess I'll toss it if it bugs you that much..” 

[aereasrage]

Notes on The Favorite pt. 2

summary: as requested, i elaborate on the relationship between daemon, rhaenyra and alicent’s daughter!reader (but mostly rhaenyra and reader sorry😭) (links: part 1 /part 2/part 3 /part 4/ part 5/ notes 1)

cw: rhaenyra kinda preys on your mommy issues, manipulation, mentions of parent/child incest (but nothing actually occurs), platonic yandere, some…interesting undertones between these two sisters.

Rhaenyra was occupied with her own matters and her own miseries, too much so to truly be invested in the rearing of her youngest sister. She'd never spoken to the girl alone but she knew her eldest was fond of her. That was why she offered a betrothal in the first place, when she was shot down, she felt for her son but reconciled herself easily to the fact that having a relationship with her sister was simply never to be. Alicent guarded you like a hound and if not her, then Aemond. It was abundantly clear that her being around you would only be another point of contention in an already volatile family. After the night at Driftmark, she accepted that there were to be no mended fences and she, who had already been suffering the fallout for years, retreated back into minding her own children. The distance was final and irreparable.

She viewed Jace's obsession with you as a youthful infatuation which would fade with time as he realized the position they were all in. She was mistaken. Jace, at a tourney for your birthday, nearly killed himself trying to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty. And the boy didn't even have shame about it, he seemed proud when she confronted him. He was languishing in bed, bandaged and delirious, he could only grin when she spoke of you. She could not get through to him for the first time.

Daemon, in turn, went to Baela about the matter thinking that surely his daughter would have something to say about her betrothed's behavior. A wish to break from this betrothal in the face of such insult. Mayhaps, even, a wish for him to be thrown from his horse sometime. But what he found was not his daughter scorned but a steadfast image of her mother, her eyes betraying a certain thrill. "He has not insulted me, father. He is taken with another, but I have been taken before, mayhaps just as much." He hadn't known how to respond to such a revelation. Oh, the curse of having a daughter who was just like her mother. He'd never know how to be a father to her. He should have advised her then but all he could do was be somewhat…pleasantly surprised by the depth of his daughter's similarity. She had gained so many wants and nuances right under his nose and he'd not known until then. She’d developed a fervor toward something that she wished for.

So, they left it be and watched with a precognition of doom when you married Aegon, your mother having to hold your hand as you said your vows. She waltzed you away from the feast and Daemon noticed that you were nodding on your feet from one cup of wine but thought little of it until the queen did not return to the event to continue entertaining congratulations. Jace was sullen and Rhaenyra was in his ear, trying to cheer him, not having noticed the state you were in. Later, the two would compare what they’d seen and heard. Daemon would crassly, half jokingly suggest something between you and Alicent. Rhaenyra would propose that her son might have already had you and your mother, though remaining silent, sought irrefutable proof of your duty to Aegon so as to be certain of the cleanliness of all their reputations. Though, that never accounted for why she didn’t wed her eldest daughter to her eldest son. It was distasteful for you to be wed to him, Rhaenyra thought and it made something in her feel uneasy.

And when the first dark haired child was born, there was no surprise in it happening (mayhaps there was actually even a bit of relief) but rather how casually it was handled. Daemon and Rhaenyra surely had eyes just as well as Alicent but there seemed to be no commotion about the fact that her grandchild was surely sired by Jace. Rhaenyra didn’t have any desire to stir trouble but Daemon surely did and he made jokes whenever the family was gathered in one place. “My grandnephew bears such a resemblance to my other grandnephew, it seems my brother’s blood runs strongly,” he’d said smugly to Alicent as he came upon the three of you in the garden. He couldn’t help himself, the jokes were not toothless but he wasn’t serious about brooking any trouble. He even found you worthy of some credit given how firmly you seemed to have planted everyone’s heads up your arse.

The couple found it eerie how your mother was always hovering over you, Daemon would have liked to know how you got out from under her long enough to fuck his stepson. Rhaenyra had heard she’d even been in your chambers during your first night with Aegon. And it seemed her madness translated to the rest of the family. The image of piety all day long, your siblings always calling after you, always wrapped up in you so much so that they seemed not to even realize how their nephews and niece so resembled a certain prince outside of them. Not even your lord husband seemed to care or notice that all your children took after Jace, it was peculiar. The oddest part about it was that it felt sincere for most of them, when Alicent had told her that the children looked the way they did because of whatever nonsense she spouted, Rhaenyra truly thought she seemed as though she believed it herself. That was what frustrated and baffled her more than anything. She loved the girl so much she’d even gone blind.

In a way, it was perhaps a good thing for her cause that all Aegon’s heirs were sired by her son, although it made clear an upsetting double standard. If you’d been so endeared by her son, to some degree, you’d have no choice but to have sympathy to their cause. They could make something of that. And perhaps both of them would find out why their children were so enamored with you.

When she was finally able to separate you from Jace, she had you in her chambers, staring at you like a hawk, circling around your form. She didn’t intend to give you hell or be a nightmare of a goodmother but it was life and death, she wanted to know who you would be loyal to. If she’d have to keep you as a prisoner or a sister. You didn’t shrink under her gaze yet. You were always somewhat intrigued by your big sister. Such attention was paid her, such fuss. Her arrival in each room was like an event unto itself. Whispers carried on the wind about her. Your mother talked about her all the time. Maybe it was part of the reason you had your children the way you did, to pull some of your family’s focus back to yourself. She was your mother more than she was Rhaenyra’s enemy, after all. You envied Rhaenyra, you admired her. You were kin to her and so unlike her at the same time.

“I have always wondered how your mother had the audacity to ignore how much your children resemble mine,” She murmured, her eyes wide, pupils dilated and dark as she stared at you. She remembered also how her own children had been treated and that brought a flare of anger she was quick to quell. “They say the red keep is in a frenzy because of your absence. Do you long to return?”

Yes…and no. It was complicated. “I long to stay wherever we are safest.”

She smiled to herself, mirthlessly. “You would be safest a year in the past. Answer me this…you wear our colors, you have had my son’s children, but would you put an oath to me? Over your lord husband? Do you have that much love of my son if not of me?”

She startled you by taking your hands in her own, you hadn’t been anticipating her to touch you. You had never been so close to her, now that you thought of it. It felt like a domineering gesture, as though asserting that she could do anything to you. “I expect that I won’t have to keep you here as a hostage,” she murmured, catching your gaze. “Am I right in assuming?”

“I do love your son…” you hesitated, trying to think of some sly thing to say. You were trying to ride the fence as long as you could and she had cut through to ask you directly your position. She was full of hateful memories of the red keep when she looked at you, barely contained and her patience worn very thin. She had in her hands a potential tool and she wanted to be certain of what using it would entail. You didn’t know her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t harm you if she didn’t have the heart to hurt your children, you needed to tread lightly. “As I love the rest of my family.”

“Does your husband know his children don’t carry a drop of his blood?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” you admitted easily, it had been nothing to lie to Aegon. He was happier for it and what did it matter when it was you he loved and wanted rather than babes who need care they cannot return to him? “I’m not faithful to my husband in that way, I admit. And if this war comes to have his head, then I can only pray for him. It is his war to fight and win or to fight and lose. But I ask that you spare my mother and sister their fates, then you will have all my loyalty rather.”

Rhaenyra deliberated for a moment, letting go of your hands abruptly and stepping away from you a few paces as her eyes surveyed you closely from top to bottom. “If I have my way, they’ll not need to be harmed,” she said, finally. “There will be more bloodshed if you seek to betray me than if you do nothing. I can promise it.”

You, the very jewel that the rest of her family sought to keep away from her, in her grasp finally and looking at her as though she were about to eat you. She hadn’t known she wanted this but somewhere deep inside, now that she had you alone, she felt a certain modicum of satisfaction. You were…delicate, frightened, perhaps more willing to obey than she’d thought previously. A conquering desire overtook her caution and anger. Pull you away from your mother and your other siblings…what could she turn you into? Her own? …yes, mayhaps the endeavor of it would please her.

She hovered ever closer and reached out, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers. She’d wanted to see how you’d react to a softer touch, a more intimate, motherly gesture. She’d wanted to know how to felt to do so as well. Your breath hitched at the semblance of touch which reminded you so much of your mother. You hadn’t meant to lean into it but it was reflex and a need for a mother who was not there with you. More disconcerting was the fact that your sister smiled softly at your reaction. “Give me your word and I’ll give you mine,” she commanded but in a softer tone she reserved for her own children.

She had you in her grasp. She was beginning to understand why your mother had held so fast to you. You nodded, struck dumb by intimidation and mild admiration, “I swear I would never betray you. On their lives.”

She smiled softly and you couldn’t keep yourself from feeling a strange sort of pride at her approval. She was to you what you were to your lady in waiting at the red keep, the one who adored your every movement simply because you were the princess and she couldn’t believe she was in your presence, at King’s Landing. This was your illustrious elder sister and to be near her…was it the fact that your father favored her so much that made you feel as though her presence were greater than it was? Was it all the whispers? Either way, you had a latent desire for her smile, for her to look at you and speak to you.

“No undue harm will come to Alicent or Helaena, I will not harm them so long as they stay only as figures of this war.” Her words were careful, sly, even but even that much assurance made you sigh in relief. “You’ll stay with me, with us, until the war has reached an end.”

She liked that idea more than she should. Liked the thought of her half-sister, apple of her stepmother’s eye trailing her skirts more than she should. She enjoyed the thought of having you.

[st4rg1rl-16]

━━ ✶✶˖° 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡𝟰𝗦.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) ━ 2019 to 2023!f1 grid x driver!female oc

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━ in a club max, lando and carlos make a plan to discover if the ferrari drivers are in a relationship, how? making charles jealous!

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ━ 2019, 24 march

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ━ barcelona, spain

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ━ they are in a club so alcohol consumption jealous!charles, the boys being the little shits they are, fingering (wait what?!) lewis kinda flirting with bella?

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━ I been MIA I know, sorry for that but here it is!!and things are starting to get heatedddd

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ━ @namgification @louvrepool @d3kstar @omgsuperstarg @whoselly @yl90 @wcnorris

• — need for speed’s masterlist

𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻

♡ liked by 𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵, 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗹𝘆 and 𝟴𝟲.𝟬𝟲𝟴 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀

𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 After revolutionizing not only the motorsport world but also our hearts, Arabella Torres is crowned with the title of the new "it girl" of Europe.

"I've spent this last month hating my body and I'm tired of pretending that everything is fine" The Formula One driver opens up to us showing us her most vulnerable side about hate on social media and several other topics in the interview for the 200th issue of our magazine, now available on 💥 our link💥

Text: 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗿

Interview: 𝘁𝗼𝗺_𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁_𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

Photograph: 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸_𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱_𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗼

Styling: 𝗺𝗼𝗯𝗼𝗹𝗮𝗷𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘄𝗼𝗱𝘂

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 have been tagged

𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀 🏎️🏎️🏎️

⤷ 𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 😍

𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭 Wait, I’m running to get it

𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟮 I wasn’t a big fan of her but since I saw the live I love her

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟯 the same happened to me

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟰 Sorry for my ignorance, but what happened? I just got into the fandom.

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟯 Last month she was sexualized a lot on twitter because some youtubers uploaded a video and mentioned sexual things about her body, she went viral and began to have even more hate than she already had and made a live saying that she was going to leave social media for a while and then talked about how bad she felt, how it was a shame for her family and how it was “staining” her career. She basically talked about how bad it is to sexualize and also took out things like sexism and things like that (+)

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟯 (+) Then she left social media and we only saw her in the Shanghai and Azerbaijan gps and during these four weeks a lot of celebrities have talked about her and she has gone viral and now she is like the “it girl”.

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟱 ooooh, thanks for the explanation 💖

𝘀𝗰𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗮𝗿𝗶 That’s our girl!! 😌

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 muchas gracias por darme esta oportunidad! 🤍thank you very much for giving me this opportunity!

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟲 aww she is so cute, why do people hate her?

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟳 Unfortunately there are many people throwing hate at her even though she is a great person

⤷ 𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 Te queremos, Arabella! 🥰 We love you!

𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 ARABELLA TOOOOOOOORRESSSSSSSSS

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 and 𝟭𝟮𝟳 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀 liked this comment

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟴 my ship 🥺

𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟵 What they've done to her is horrible, now she hates her body when she's beautiful

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭𝟬 I would kill for having a body like hers

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭𝟭 that’s how society works 🙂

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭𝟮 she is probably going to get even more hate after this

"IT would be awesome if your first victory was in Spain" Oliver's smile was focused by the camera. His mother snapped her tongue looking at him with reprimand.

"Oli, son, don't swear on the table, please" The boy looked at his mother and gave her his most charming smile.

"Yes, mommy" The woman rolled her eyes and threw her napkin in his face so he complained while her husband laughed.

Arabella smiled watching the familiar scene unfolding in front of her. The truth was that she had missed it, after so many months away from them and seeing each other only by casual video calls, it was nice to be all together even if the whole family was not yet there because her parents had traveled to Barcelona, where her next race was going to be, with her brother the previous week to celebrate the birthday of the youngest of the Torres family and now a week later her grandparents, her uncles, aunts and her cousins were still to arrive so that everyone could attend the race on Sunday because they wanted to support Arabella in their native country. But this was nice, she had missed hearing her brother's nonsense, her mother acting like a mother and talking about cars with her father. She missed a normal life that she had never had.

"By the way" Her father caught her attention, turned her gaze to him drinking from her glass full of sangria. She saw out of the corner of her eye how she pointed to the team of Netflix’s cameras that surrounded them in the garden of the house they had rented during their stay in Barcelona “Do we have to speak in English or...?”.

Marisa, her mother, let out an disgusted moan “Oh, with how much I struggle with English”.

The green-eyed boy laughed as he nibbled at the chicken wing that his fingers were holding “I still don't understand how you don't know English, mom. Your children are literally international athletes, you should know English”.

"I know English" The eyes of the same color as that of her two children opened in the direction of the teenager before she began to speak in English with a very strong Spanish accent "How are you? I'm fine, thank you!” She smiled with self-centeredness, pointed to herself “See? what your mother doesn't know how to do...”

“Jeez" The girl murmured, sticking her lips to the glass again while her brother burst into laughter, almost chocking with the wing.

The one wearing the glasses looked at his wife with a small smile, obviously trying to hid the laughter that was about to come out, and winked at her “Of course, honey! you are good at everything”.

Her brother's smile increased when their mother smiled sending a kiss to their father, clearly not grasping the intention of his words. Arabella shook her head but still a smile had made room in her full lips, she left the glass on the table and lay down on her chair after making a sandwich with the chorizos that her father had cooked on the barbecue.

"It's for the Netflix’s Formula One docuseries" She spoke with her mouth full, making her mother look at her badly but she didn't see her because she was looking at her father. She shrugged her shoulders turning her gaze to the sandwich before giving it another bite “They wanted to see what my private life is like and we speaks in Spanish so no. Speak in Spanish, period”.

"But your private life so fucking boring" She looked at her brother badly while her teeth crushed the food in her mouth, he stuck out his tongue at her.

"Oh, really? Okay, okay, I don't invite you to the party tonight then” She smiled evilly at what the moto driver let out a gasp bringing his hand to his chest.

"So rude, sister" He shook his head "So rude”.

A pleasant silence covered the table after her brother's words. Manuel, her father, shared smiles with his wife while they watched their children eat. They had also missed the family moments and were grateful to be together, especially after what their daughter had gone through thanks to the internet.

"Then will you go out tonight?" The man cleared his throat, turning his gaze to his firstborn, who nodded.

"It's been the boys' idea" She rolled her eyes “They've just arrived and they already want to party”.

"Don't you have the classification tomorrow?" She nodded to her brother's question and grimaced when she felt their mother's gaze on her.

"Arabella Torres González, don't even think about drinking tonight." She raised her finger and pointed at her accusively. The girl nodded while father and son looked at each other knowing that she was indeed going to drink. The blonde turned her gaze to her plate when she began to cut a piece of bacon “If you drink, don't drive”.

"I wasn't going to go drunk to practice, but well" She murmured, giving the last bite to the bread. She wiped his lips with the napkin that was next to her plate.

The only brown eyed let out a breath of air when the cold Coca Cola passed through his throat and smiled “Well, I think it's great that you go out, honey. Especially after everything that has happened”.

She nodded, offering a smile to her father before looking down at her plate, a common reaction she had to the mention of the twitter situation.

"Do you think you're going to win?" She heard her brother ask and although she thanked him mentally because she knew that he had changed the subject to entertain her, she couldn't help to, without knowing why, tense.

Being honest, she knew why: everyone's eyes would be on her, not only because it was going to be the first time she was going to race in her country since she in formula one, but because of the same issue she was trying to avoid. She had disappeared since what happened, the only time the media could see her was in the Azerbaijan race and they didn't even see her too much because she refrained from doing interviews or any kind of media in addition to the fact that she had moved away from social media even closing her twitter account temporarily after announcing on Instagram live that she was tired of the comments towards her body.

She had managed to hide well from the paparazzi and that had made people talk about, the whole gossip magazines was talking about her and not only them because even in the sports they had mentioned her situation which had caught the attention of many celebrities, especially women, who defended her from the internet trolls and praised her for continuing with her sportiness above all. Her popularity had risen like foam and the contracts and offers of all kinds of brands had not taken long to reach her manager's email. The first offer they had accepted had been to be the cover of the May issue of GQ Magazine where she had taken the opportunity to talk about how the online comments about her body had affected her, which was something quite healing for her, being able to talk loudly about it because she had been keeping it to herself.

Before she didn’t give too much importance to her body, focused since she was a child on cars and nothing else had not gone through that stage in which insecurities about her physique tormented her but that controversy had provoked it. She had suffered a mini crisis in which she was never very hungry, she spent hours looking at her reflection in the mirror thinking that it was what was wrong with her, her wardrobe had changed to a more comfortable and wide one that did not reveal more than the minimum of skin and the salt of her tears was the only thing that fed her.

She wasn't proud of herself, far from it, but what could you wait for? She was just an eighteen-year-old girl receiving hatred everywhere, although none of those people had a face to look at when she read those insults Arabella could not prevent them from affecting her. And although she was much better now, after talking to Sebastian –who was on a plane on his way to Spain, because unfortunately he hadn’t been able to attend Azerbaijan– as if he were her personal psychologist and spending time with her family, she could not help but tense every time something reminded her of the small trauma she had experienced.

She closed her eyes inhaling and exhaling "I have a good feeling but I don't want to jinx it”.

Her mother's hand curled up on hers, looked up to see her and immediately felt a warmth and security invade her body causing her to relax her tense shoulders. Marisa González smiled sweetly at her daughter "No matter what happens, we will be proud of you, cariño. Okay?”.

She bit her lower lip feeling her eyes begin to sting, she nodded "Okay" Her voice came out more raspy than usual, causing the woman to get up from her seat and approach her daughter to hug her.

"THIS is so awkward" A somewhat drunk Lando looked worriedly at his teammate while he rolled his eyes denying. He pushed his arm when he saw him “Carlos! What do we do? I can't keep this secret that is eating me alive”.

"It's not a secret because we don't know if it's true" He leaned over to take his glass from the small table in front of the sofa on which they were both sitting and drank from it.

He was going to need alcohol to survive the night.

He opened his eyes in an exaggerated and paranoid way “What do you mean, Carlos? Look at them, they look like cats in heat!” He extended both arms towards the dance floor where they could see Arabella dancing with Daniel and Pierre while Charles was next to George at the bar, neither of the two pending the presence of the other to the very opposite of what number 4 had said.

A "Mmh" sounded on the other side and they both quickly turned their heads to see the Dutchman sitting on the other sofa. The McLaren's idiots opened their eyes with surprise when they remembered that the Red Bull driver was with them.

"So, do you think Arabella and Charles are together?" He raised one of his eyebrows, curious because he swore to have seen things among the members of the red team but he had not yet mentioned his suspicions to anyone.

"Don't tell anyone, but yes”.

"It's not that we believe it, it's that we know it" The British raised his index finger to emphasize his words.

"Oh, really? How?” Max moved in his seat, approaching them to try to get information from them because he had decided not to drink that night so he was bored as he watched his friends and co-workers approach the ethyl coma.

The curly-haired one approached him too, looking over his shoulder to prevent unwanted ears from hearing their conversation “Have you seen how they look at each other? Or at least how Charles looks at her? She is more discreet but he is not and clearly that look is not from friends”.

"Mmm" The 33 rubbed his chin before a mischievous smile crept into his lips "Maybe we can make them confess”.

"Ohhhhh" Lando laughed while Carlos pursed his lips.

"I don't know, guys" He denied taking another sip from his glass "We shouldn't get in, I also think they're angry at each other”.

"Yes” Verstappen’s blue eyes moved to the spaniard "I've noticed it too, they're acting weird. They don't talk much”.

Norris let out a moan of protest while patting his thigh “Now that we have something to entertain ourselves, they go and break up”.

"Shut up, shut up!" The eldest of the three exclaimed between his teeth when he saw Pierre and Arabella approaching the VIP zone, the reflections of the lights colliding against the brightness of the girl's skirt almost blinded him "They're coming, they're coming”.

Pierre let go of the girl's hand and dropped with a sigh on the sofa next to Max, who looked at him raising both eyebrows making the Frenchman smile at him unwillingly “God, i’m dead”.

"But we barely have danced, P” The girl who was still standing laughed, Carlos moved making room for her but she denied leaning a hand on his shoulder. She made puppy eyes “Carlitos, you coming to dance with me”.

He shook his head without looking at her because he knew he was going to give in if he kept looking at her “No, no, I'm okay here”.

"Oh, come on!" She complained before taking his hand and began to pull him but it was of little use. Releasing a blow, she sat next to him and took the cup, earning a complaint from him “You are the only one with whom I can sing the songs, this useless frenchie doesn’t know the lyrics”.

"Sorry for not knowing Spanish!" The other exclaimed as he raised both arms "I already know English and Italian and that is more than enough”.

"Hey, what about Daniel?" The Dutchman frowned when he realized that his former teammate was not in the group.

"He found a girl" The girl shrugged her shoulders accepting the glass of the other spaniard when he took a sip and then hand in it to her again.

Immediately everyone let out complaints in unison and she laughed because she knew why. They had decided to ignore the hotels and rent a house all together to be able to stay a couple more days in the country and, well, they were going to have to listen to the australian and his fling all night.

"Can I sleep with you today?" Carlos looked at her horrified because he was the one who had his room next to Ricciardo's, she denied what he opened his mouth in pain "Why not?"

"Because you don't want to dance with me" She was busy arguing with him so she didn't notice when Max collided his knee with Lando's to get his attention, once the boy looked at him he nodded to the girl opening his eyes.

"What?" He asked in a confused whisper to what Max rolled his eyes and Pierre approached them, curious about what was happening.

"Go dance with her so we can make Charles jealous”.

"Why is Charles going to get jealous because Bella dances with Lando?" Pierre looked at them strangely, he was not surprised about a jealous Charles because, obviously, he had also realized the feelings of his friends, what he didn’t understand was why was he going to feel jealous of the little boy of the McLaren team.

A demonic smile was planted on the full lips of the much acclaimed lion “You'll see”.

With his gaze he pointed to the duo that was approaching them and Gasly nodded impatiently to see how the Dutchman's plan unfolded.

"Bells" The voice of the curly haired one came out high and both the 10 and the 33 had to put their hands to their mouths to avoid laughing. The girl looked at him expectantly but smiling, he swallowed saliva feeling nervous suddenly “I can dance with you, if you want”.

She nodded before getting up and extending her hand towards him, who didn't take long to take her between his much larger one and let himself be guided by her to the dance floor. Along the way they met Charles and George, his blueish green eyes collided with the greens of the Monegasque who clearly did not look very happy at the image in front of him. He swallowed again, praying mentally that the elder would not end up beating him up. The girl in front of him kept pulling him, completely ignoring her teammate but not without giving a smile to her other British friend who responded by raising both thumbs.

Fuck he thought when the reggaeton song of which he didn't know how to pronounce its name changed to Reminder by The Weeknd. A wave of screams filled his ears when the first chords filled the nightclub, he watched as the sweaty bodies stuck even more when he heard the song and suddenly he felt that the shirt that decorated his torso was too small for him. He hooked his index finger on the neck to relieve the sensation a little but it didn't work too much.

His eyes went down to the girl in front of him, despite wearing heels she was still shorter than him so he could see the club above her head. He bit the inside of his cheek when they finally found a clear space on the track and turned around to look at him.

She analyzed him from top to bottom before showing him a nice smile "If you want we can go back, Lan. It's okay”.

He immediately denied “No, no, it's fine. Let's dance, that's what we've come for, right?”.

"Okay, but if you feel uncomfortable, tell me" She stood on her tippy toes to reach his ear because Abel Tesfaye's voice was too loud. The boy closed his eyes when he smelled her perfume “Okay?”.

She separated from him, enough so that they could look at each other's face but not so that their bodies would stop being against each other. He nodded speechlessly looking into her eyes and she smiled funny before taking her hands and placing them on her hips to which the boy opened his eyes wide making her throw her head after laughing.

"They are just hips, Lando!"

"Yeah, i know, but... don't blame me" He laughed too.

On the other side of the nightclub, their friends watched them as if they were the best show in the world while Charles felt that he was going about to throw up. He squeezed his grip on the glass that was in his hands without looking away from the young drivers, who now danced very close to each other. It should be him who was there moving his body next to hers, it should be him who had his hands on her hips, it should be him who had his arms around her neck. It should be him and not Lando.

"They would make a good couple" He heard Sainz speak, who was looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I thought that if she would date with one of us it would be Max" All the eyes, including Charles's, went to George, who had not realized that he had become the center of attention because he was very distracted on his mission to catch with his straw a gummie that was at the bottom of his glass.

The named one frowned “With me?”.

Pierre moved in his seat offended "Yes, what do you mean with Max?" Why not with me?”.

The Spaniard laughed scratching his leg over the fabric of his jeans “Don't you have a girlfriend?”.

"Shut up, Carlos. This is important” The Frenchman raised his hand trying to block the Spanish's face.

Russell's bulging eyes rose to look at his colleagues “I mean... I don't know, between Max and Bella there is like this strange tension but at the same time they get along well. I guess it will be because they are both so focused about beating Hamilton but I thought they would end up together”.

The green eyes of the number 16 traveled to his childhood rival, his desire to throw up became even stronger when he saw that he was struggling not to let out a smile. He knew that he had liked the British's words and although he couldn’t blame him because, to be honest, they were all young men and she was practically a goddess so he was not too surprised that he was not the only one interested in her.

"Mmmh" Pierre's lips furrowed in agreement. "Yeah, they wouldn't look bad together. It would be kind of enemies on the track to lovers off the track, it would make sense”.

Russell pointed it at him “Right?”.

"But she and Lando have already kissed" After Verstappen's words, everyone looked at him strangely.

Carlos let out a high-pitched squeal “It was you who interrupted them!”.

"Yes" He laughed nodding as he drank from his glass, he moved his gaze towards the boy sitting next to him.

"Well, Landito has a lot of advantage then" Carlos' honey eyes returned to the dance floor causing the others to imitate him. The youngest pair of the group were dancing as close as they could to each other, they were sure that not even a pen could fit between them, Arabella was with her back to him with her arms hanging from his neck while Lando hid her face in her neck and his hands kept a firm grip on the girl's waist.

"Do you think they will fuck tonight?" The dirty blond with a beard smiled like a kid, entertained by the reaction of his best friend but also happy that his friends got some kind of action.

"Looks like it”.

Before Max's words, he squeezed the glass so much that it exploded, attracting the attention of others and even of some people around them. He felt the cold liquid from his cup pierce the fabric of his pants when he released the last piece of glass that he was still holding in his hands. He waved his hand to get rid of the liquid and let Carlos take it to inspect that no crystal had been stuck in his skin.

"Fuck, Leclerc" The one with the raspy voice handed him napkins from the napkin holder that was on the low table in the center of the sofas.

He looked back at the dance floor ignoring how Carlos called a waitress or how Pierre and Max tried to clean the mess by throwing an unnecessary amount of napkins on the floor. Suddenly he was relieved when he saw the dark-haired British boy walking towards the table, with no trace of the brunette next to him.

"What happened?" Lando's disheveled eyebrows came together when he saw his friends trying to clean the floor and Charles soaked from top to bottom.

The monegasque had to look away from the boy when he noticed a mark of lipstick of the same color as the one Arabella wore on his cheek. He got up abruptly releasing a quick "I'm going to the bathroom" before leaving.

He walked through the club as if the devil himself was behind him, he ignored the screams of the people when the song changed and also the looks of the Spanish girls on him in addition to their whispers. Once he reached the hallway where the bathroom was, he let out a sigh, his knuckles had turned white from how hard he was squeezing his fists. He leaned against the wall taking advantage of the fact that the hallway was empty and sighed, bringing a hand to his hair.

Damn the day he met Arabella Torres. Since that day, everything that could have gone wrong was going wrong. He didn't blame her but the damn fate for playing with him that way.

He leaned his head on the wall, looking at the ceiling and thought that it wasn’t as he had expected the night to be. He had gone to the party hoping to be able to talk to her and fix their problems but no, she hadn’t even give a single look to him and that drove him crazy because since their fight and having left him lying in her driver’s room they hadn’t spoken, except for some video that the Ferrari stuff had forced them to record for the YouTube channel and little else. They hadn't even seen each other since the last race, they were supposed to have flown together from Azerbaijan to Barcelona but Arabella had run away to Madrid to celebrate her brother's birthday with her family so it had been almost two weeks since they had last seen each other.

For a moment he wondered what his life would have been like if maybe they were in different teams or if they were normal people and met at a party like this or maybe at college. Everything would have been very different and much easier.

He moved his head following the rhythm of the song without knowing that the lyrics said because it was in spanish and sighed when he heard the door of one of the bathrooms open, he looked down even without separating his head from the wall.

Oh, what a coincidence.

"What happened to your pants?" Arabella was in front of him, looking with a frown at the dark spot that covered much of the fabric that covered his leg.

"My glass exploded" He replied in a hoarse voice because he had not said a word almost all night. He observed her through his long eyelashes, trying to memorize the image in front of him before she ignored him again.

"Ah, good luck cleaning that then" She squeezed her lips and began to turn, ready to get out of there, to run away from him again but he prevented her by grabbing her wrist. She froze in his place, she had missed his touch, she let out a sigh trying to stay calm “Charles, let me go”.

"Why?" A cynical smile stood on his lips "Are you in a hurry to go back to Lando?".

He saw how she tilted her head to the side before she let go of his grip and turned around, he saw how she looked at him confused.

“What does Lando have to do with this?”.

"I've seen how he was kissing your neck and how you danced very close. Too close to be just friends" Everything around Charles was red, as red as the cars they drove or the uniforms they wore on weekends. He was jealous and drunk and didn't think too clearly because they both knew that he wasn't like that. Arabella looked at him strangely, she never seen him that way “What, have you already found my replacement?”.

"What the fuck?" She murmured in spanish. The girl was surprised and as incredible as it may seem, turned on.

"Maybe you can go to McLaren" He bowed his head as his gaze went from her eyes to his lips "But you know that orange will never look as good as red on you”.

She immediately realized that it was a metaphor and wanted to laugh but was too confused to do so. The alcohol in her system next to Charles' perfume wasn't really helpful. She knew that he was playing a game and that if she followed it she could get burned but everyone knew that Arabella Torres was reckless and that she liked danger.

Her confused expression changed, Charles couldn’t describe it but when she began to shorten the distance between them he began to walk backwards, unconsciously entering the women's bathroom, which was empty thank God. He felt his mouth dry when he saw that the girl's hand went to her chest where she began to play with the buttons of the shirt she was wearing “I'm not sure if the red fits me so well” Slow but very slowly she unbuttoned the first buttons revealing a red lace bra. She gathered his eyebrows looking at him with feigned curiosity and in an innocent tone asked him "What do you think?"

He blinked a couple of times before looking up at her. He cursed in French before shortening the distance and smashing his lips against hers. He passed his hand through his neck entangled his fingers between the soft waves of brown hair, closed his fist and pulled her hair forcing her to walk towards the sink. Her ass hit the edge of the marble board making her moan in his mouth because his free hand was squeezing her butt making the Prada's skirt rise and she could feel the cold marble against her skin. The moan in his mouth made him smile, his hands moving from top to bottom through her body caressing her barely covered skin thanks to the open shirt and the short skirt.

Her hands traveled to the boy's neck, one of them taking over the small strands that were born on the back of his neck causing Charles to open his lips but not move them, he stayed in his place watching as she twisted under his touch, the smug smile he had on his lips made her know that he was enjoying it. The tips of his bangs stuck to her skin thanks to the thin space between their foreheads tickling her, which was making her nervous.

Arabella let out a small moan when she felt his right hand go up from her ass to her naked thigh and go through the bottom of her skirt to her underwear. He kissed her again as he pressed with his finger –she wouldn’t know which one– against the fine red lace garment that separated her skin from the contact of his hand.

For a second she thought that she had reached glory when she felt how he was pressing even harder but she fell from the cloud when he separated. She looked at him frowning at what he gave her a smile of apology before asking her with his eyes if she was okay and comfortable with that.

At another time maybe she would have thought it was cute but she was drunk and horny so she could only roll her eyes and take his hand with hers to place it back on her panties “For God's sake, Charles. Just do it”.

This time it was she who joined their lips, ran her fingers through his hair and pressed herself as hard as she could against him while their tongues fought each other. She let herself be embraced by his pleasant smell and the thousand sensations she felt when he was like this with her.

She released her grip on his hair and took her hands along a path from his neck to his chest where she took the shirt in her fists and, in one movement, pulled it breaking the buttons making them fly. He walked away from her when he heard the buttons touch the ground, he looked at them without expression before turning his gaze towards her, raising an eyebrow looking at her between his eyelashes. She bit her lip because, let's be honest, he looked too good looking at her like that from that angle.

"I'll buy you a new one" She went to tell him, but before she opened her mouth, he screwed his hands on the back of her thighs, causing her to let out a small choked scream in surprise when she didn't feel the ground under her feet.

She hissed when the cold of the marble hit the skin of her thighs although she was silent when she felt Charles' hands raise her skirt more to have better access between her legs. The monegasque released the garment when he felt her gaze on him, he looked at her without raising his face, giving a dark touch to his gaze. They watched each other in silence for a few seconds until Charles took his right hand to her jaw and kissed her quickly, separated from her but not enough so that their breaths didn’t mix and took his fingers to her lips.

"Open your mouth" He murmured still holding her gaze, the girl obeyed by letting his fingers pass between her lips meanwhile he looked down at her mouth “Suck”.

He watched with delight as the girl's swollen lips closed around his digits, he felt her tongue playing with them. He looked into her eyes and found that she was already looking at him and almost moaned at that moment.

"Merde, mon ange" He cursed when she let go of his fingers making a pop resonate through the empty bathroom. Shit, my angel.

"Charles..." She said his name in a sigh. He looked at her expectantly with his fingers still touching her lips, the skin of her mouth stained by the red lipstick collided with his finger tips surely staining them too “Charles, please”.

"Please, what?" His voice came out in a murmur but she still heard him and of course she did because the only thing she could hear, feel and smell was him. She was drunk but the alcohol wasn’t what the room had circling around her but him.

She hated Charles Leclerc, she hated the effect he had on her, she hated that even though she was angry with him she felt the stupid need to feel his skin against hers, she hated that they couldn’t be together, she hated that he was playing with her that way, she hated that it made her question every damn aspect of his life. She hated him.

Damn Leclerc and his perfect eyes.

She squeezed her grip on his shirt and kissed the fingers that hadn’t yet separated from her lips before looking at him through her long eyelashes with the most pleading look she could give him "I need you. Please”.

Pathetic, she thought for a moment but the boy's hands rolling up on the fabric that covered her private parts returned her to reality or at least to that bubble in which they had both locked themselves. She rested her hands on the white marble countertop and raised her hips to help him slide the garment down her legs before he made a gap between them and kissed her abruptly.

She felt how the tips of his fingers caressed the inside of her thighs until he reached his destination. She felt how they grazed her folds, covering them with her juices and she groaned in his mouth when she felt him slowly rubbing her clit.

The boy broke the kiss by grabbing her neck when she saw that she made the move of throwing her head back “Was that what you wanted?” His voice was so calm, in contrast to how trembling her breathing was “Did you want my fingers, mmh?”.

"Please" She groaned and he pressed his fingers harder.

She let out a gasp when his fingers slightly touched her entrance, pushed her hips against his hand desperate for his touch, that caused him to laugh. He put one of his fingers inside and a soft moan came out of her, hips moving again to look for some kind of liberation “More” She complained in a murmur under the intense gaze of the boy.

"More?" He smiled and inserted another finger, feeling the walls tighten around his fingers, his hand moving to equalize the movements of her hips, putting in and pulling out his finger being able to hear the wet sounds.

The whining and moans began to get stronger, the nails stuck strongly in the skin of his shoulder on the fabric of his shirt and he moaned at the sensation, looking at her as he fucked her with his fingers.

Arabella thought that not only did his fingers feel incredible, but he also looked so good in front of her and just by looking at him touching her she thought he could send her to the limit. His thumb went up to rub her clit causing her to sink her teeth into her lower lip, the sensation became too intense.

"I'm so c-close" She groaned and he straightened up, crashing his lips in hers, their tongues dancing in a passionate kiss while his fingers pushed into her faster and deeper. The fluids ran through his hand while his thumb applied even more pressure. She felt so overwhelmed that she couldn't even keep up with the kiss, she was too focused on how well her fingers felt inside her.

And just when she began to feel those tickles in her lower belly that she had rarely felt in her life, everything stopped making her open her eyes abruptly. She looked at the boy in front of her confused and moaned when she felt how her disconnected their bodies.

“Charles...”.

His free hand squeezed on the back of her neck, he approached her ear and she heard how he smiled, "You're right, red doesn't look that good on you.

He walked away from her causing a sudden feeling of being cold to cover her body, she frowned when he saw him crouch and take her thong from the floor. With a mocking smile he shook it before storing it in the pocket of his pants “I'll keep this, maybe it will bring me good luck and I beat you in your home race. See you, mon ange”.

He winked at her, causing his dimples to be marked on his face. She looked at him, her eyes shining thanks to the tears of frustration that had accumulated. She clenched her jaw watching how he was leaving the bathroom so calmly. She looked silently for a couple of seconds at the door through which he had disappeared before releasing a scream of rage. She swallowed between quick breaths and closed her eyes, dropping her head against the cold mirror.

"Fucking asshole”.

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 added to their story!

A mischievous smile was present Charles' face, who was looking at the photos that Arabella had uploaded. He looked up from his phone when he heard footsteps enter his part of the garage, he saw one of his teammate's engineers approach his car to talk to his own engineers. He ignored him and looked back at the device in his hands, trying to hide his deception when he saw that it wasn't the brunette.

But when a part of the conversation made its way to him he couldn't help but turn his attention to them. He continued looking at the phone and moving his thumb across the screen from time to time to disguise it.

"I recommend that you don't talk to Arabella today" Said the man whose name Charles didn't know. He had seen him several times in the other part of the Ferrari garage but the truth was that he had never paid much attention to Arabella's team. His ears perked up at the girl's name.

“Why?” His engineers were clearly not as interested as Charles as they didn't even give him a second glance and continued inspecting the car.

"Just don't say anything to her unless she talks to you first".

And with that he ran to the other end of the red walls. He frowned and got up from his seat, left the garage belonging to his team and began to walk towards McLaren's, ready to find Carlos because he knew on good authority that the spaniard was the one who kept the paddock's princess' secrets.

He laughed to himself wondering if she had told him what happened in the bathroom at the nightclub last night. He hesitated because she told him everything but he wasn't so sure if she would tell him that.

I'll find it out now, he thought as he saw the spaniard sitting on the ground with several others. He clenched his jaw at the sight of the other part of the McLaren duo but continued his pace towards them anyway.

"Haven't you noticed that she's acting strange?" The Australian's notable nose wrinkled at his own question. He narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah? No, I don't know" Alex raised his head looking at the others confused "I mean, I don't know her as well as you do but there is something different about her".

"Maybe she's just focused on trying to win in her homerace" His best friend shrugged, turning his head to look at the other side of the paddock. He raised both eyebrows when he saw him and was immediately excited "Charles is his teammate, surely he can tell us what is happening to our girl".

He looked down at him, his expression showing very clearly that he had not liked the way he had referred to the spanish woman. Gasly's annoyed smile widened as he separated the green from the blue and shook his head.

"We argued so she doesn't talk to me" He put his hands on both hips and rested his weight on one leg. He looked at Carlos surreptitiously trying to see some kind of expression that would give away that he knew about their relationship but nothing. On the one hand he felt relieved, on the other he felt the need to talk to someone about it but he knew it was too big a risk.

He felt Ricciardo's hand collide with his shoulder and then his contagious laughter filled his ears "Have you never heard the expression "happy woman, happy garage"?.

"What have you done now?".

He looked at Albon, putting a hand to his chest, offended “Why does it have to be me?”.

"She's the one who doesn't talk to you, the one who must have screwed up must have been you" Carlos joined his hands on top of his knees, his eyes focused on some distant point behind Charles' body.

He opened his mouth to complain but the vpice of the protagonist's of the conversation made everyone look in the same direction that Carlos had his eyes on. The girl walked through the paddock alongside a group of cameras and interviewers, answering her questions with her calm even though the press seemed to be about to kill each other to be able to walk near her. As if she were some kind of saint who just by being close to her and breathing her air would cure most horrible symptoms.

Lando broke the silence that had formed between them by speaking for the first time since the monegasque had joined them “They have never fought to interview me.”

"Me neither".

"Neither" Daniel responded and Alex just clicked his tongue.

He curled his lips and then remembered that in the other two races she hadn't done any kind of press. Charles didn't know why but it wasn't like he could ask her either. He watched her walk away and twisted his head, something was happening here.

"POLE position, baby!" Alexandre exclaimed in her ears and she laughed at the man's enthusiasm. As always before getting out of the car, she thanked the team over the radio and took off her helmet followed by her balaclava. She heard the roar of the Mercedes and watched as Hamilton's car parked next to hers, she saw him get out of her and copy her, taking off his helmet and balaclava. He looked at her and smiled at her raising both eyebrows to which she rolled her eyes and started walking away.

“Why are you avoiding me?” The British accent sounded soft and sweet next to her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye seeing that he had not taken long to get next to her. She tightened her grip on her helmet.

"Because I don't want to see you" She smiled sarcastically still looking ahead. Lewis frowned and quickened his pace to stand in front of her, walking backwards. He observed her face delighting in it when he saw her make a face of frustration when she saw him in front of her "You're going to fall".

A smile planted itself on his plump lips “Aw, you care about me.”

"On the contrary, it would brighten my day" Sarcasm continued decorating her pretty smile.

"I thought me being second was what would make your day" He stopped his pace abruptly, causing her to collide with him, she placed her hands on his hard chest to avoid stepping on him and grunted in annoyance while the british man smiled, clearly enjoying the moment.

As if he were poison, she quickly let go. She looked up to see him, remaining silent for a few seconds because she didn't know they were so close to each other. She blinked before pushing him away, his annoying laughter soon filling her ears “Enjoy the views from the second place.”

The man laughed again watching her walk away from him towards her garage, her car being driven by one of the engineers following her at a considerable speed. He sank her teeth into his bottom lip before raising his voice“I'll do it! Believe me, I will".

She hurried into the garage, clenching her jaw as she saw the monegasque driver giving her a smile as if nothing had happened between them "Congratulations…"

She raised a hand blocking his face and his words before passing by him and heading to the hallway that would take her to her room, ignoring how the red polo shirts were soaked with champagne and how everyone was celebrating the pole position. Upon arrival she dropped the helmet on the ground without giving much importance to the loud noise it made when it hit the ground and threw herself onto the sofa while releasing a sigh. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"ARABELLA TORRES CROSSES THE STARTING LINE CROWNED AS THE NEW WORLD CHAMPION!"

Despite the roar of the car engine and the cloaks covering her ears she could hear the screams of the audience. She frowned when she saw a sea of red and yellow flags, her team began to take their place on the fence that separated the track from the pedestrian zone, she saw how they shouted with smiles on their faces and how they waved their flag in the air and then she knew.

She had won.

She had won the last race of the season and just like that the fucking title of world champion was hers.

She laughed madly, raising her arm above the halo in celebration. She pressed the button on the radio and incredulously asked "Have I won?".

"YOU'RE WORLD CHAMPION, BABY!—She heard Susie's scream, behind the blonde's voice she could hear the others celebrating the victory. Her smile widened even more making her cheeks start to hurt. Wolff wiped her own tears and picked up the microphone, bringing it to her lips. "You've won, Arabella. You've done".

Her lips trembled but the smile didn't fade, her throat went dry and for a moment she saw blurred "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you so much to all of you, guys."

Come on, get out of the car so we can celebrate" This time it was Toto's voice that rang through her ears, he nodded and followed the few meters of road until she reached the sign with the number one. She parked in it and sighed before getting up from her seat and raising both arms in victory.

She got out of the car feeling tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She took off her helmet and balaclava before kneeling on the ground right in front of the car, clasping her hands together and resting them against the nose of the black car and then resting her forehead on her hands, as if she were praying to the machine. She lowered her head until her forehead was almost touching the floor and, finally, she cried. She let out a sob so hard her chest hurt, and she grabbed the fabric of the chest of her suit tightly.

"Arabella, Arabella, Arabella!" For a moment she heard nothing but the audience chanting her name.

She sobbed again, raising her head, looking around around. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Was that really happening? She looked at the camera in front of her and with her hand on rop of her heart chehe vocalized several "Thank you" non-stop.

Suddenly she heard a loud bang and immediately afterward the screams of people, she looked at her hands and frowned when she saw that they were illuminated by an orange light.

She raised her head slowly seeing how her car was on fire, she moved her gaze to the right finding the red car embedded in the side of hers. She watched in horror as Charles's lifeless eyes looked back at her.

“Arabella, Arabella, Arabella!” The crowd's cries grew even louder and she willed them to shut up. She got up to run towards Charles but it was too late, neither he nor both cars nor even the circuit were there.

“Arabella, wake up” Some light pushes drew her to reality, with a gasp she opened her eyes, meeting Sebastian's face.

She smiled when she saw him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She heard his laugh and felt how he gave a kiss on her hair before caressing it.

"I'm here, siéger” He whispered into her ear, his voice immediately bringing him peace. She sighed against his shoulder “I'm here.” Champion.

"God, I've missed you so much" She murmured against his jacket, she hid her face even more in his neck, feeling the man's hand go up and down her back.

“Me too, siéger” He patted her on the back a couple of times and began to let her go. He looked at her with a frown “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Yeah, but…wait” Her gaze ran to rest on the clock on the wall right next to the television. She opened her eyes in surprise before looking at the man kneeling in front of her "Is it Sunday already?".

Vettel nodded “Yes, you've been sleeping here since qualifying. It's been a long nap”.

She put her head in her hands, hiding her face in them, and let out a sigh “I didn't sleep much yesterday.”

“How much?”.

She denied, remembering that when she arrived at the villa that the boys had rented she couldn't sleep but instead stayed tossing and turning in bed all night without stopping thinking about the race and how frustrated the green-eyed boy had left her. Plus Carlos's unconscious body trying to hug her every chance she got didn't help her much “An hour”.

“Fuck, siéger” He let out an incredulous laugh “And yet you qualified on pole, incredible”.

She shrugged as if it was nothing. She turned her neck to both sides grimacing when she heard the bones creak and got up from the couch being followed by the german, who stepped forward to open the door for her.

They walked among the paddock, heading to the common cafeteria so the girl could have breakfast. They both ignored the surprised looks at seeing the former champion walk and chat so calmly next to the driver, since it was not public knowledge that she and Sebastian Vettel had known each other and had maintained a friendship since she was a child. She licked her lips watching the cameras not far from them, she knew that at any moment people were going to find out so she tried not to give it much importance while the dark blonde, on the other hand, looked a little worried.

Sebastian knew that the girl didn’t want the public to know about her friendship, either the one she had with him or with the Schumachers, since the public would quickly question all of her achievements in her career. Both Sebastian and Mick understood and agreed with her, they knew Michael would agree too. And that's how it had been since they met, distancing herself from the Schumacher’s son while they were in public when they met at a race even though they both wanted to talk or simply enjoy each other's company, not being able to go to Sebastian's races to support him or couldn't even talk about how the germans had become fundamental supports in her life since she met them at the tender age of eleven.

That's why he couldn't help but be surprised when he accepted her call and heard her invite him to the next race. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, he knew that she had had a bad time and he was worried about her, after all for him, she was like his eldest daughter. Not for nothing did his first-born daughter bear her name.

Once seated in the cafeteria, they were accompanied by the girl's manager and her publicist, who after waiting for her to have breakfast, dragged her away because she had to do some interviews.

“Don't you notice something strange on her?” Nicholas took a bite of his croissant, both men watching the two women walk away at a hasty pace.

“There is something in her gaze” He responded, nodding “Something that I don't know if I like”.

He had noticed it and it had not been difficult for him to recognize that shine in her eyes. He more than anyone could know it, because a while ago he also had that shine in his own eyes.

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - IV

Summary: Your dreaded twentieth birthday has finally arrived, and you and your parents set off to Tir Asleen for one final time to plan your wedding to Prince Airk. However, at the celebration dinner, Sorsha delivers some shocking news, sending Kit into a spiral and creating conflict within the castle.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: angst, fighting, kissing, non-explicit mention of vomiting, forced marriage trope, mommy issues

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: this was supposed to be the smut chapter, but I decided to divide the two, since it seemed odd to add sexy time to such a dark chapter. Apologies in advance for all the angst, I promise it won’t last forever!

Ever since your mother’s announcement of your engagement, each birthday after your fifteenth seemed to creep up, startling you out of nowhere and filling your stomach with existential dread. The once joyous celebrations now felt like ticking time bombs, every well-wish serving as a countdown to a life you never wanted.

On the morning of your twentieth birthday, you woke up to nothing but nausea. When your handmaiden entered your room to get you ready for the day, she found you kneeled over your chamberpot, heaving up the shallow remains of your stomach's content. Needless to say, your twentieth birthday was spent hidden under your covers, drinking ginger tea and being waited on hand-and-foot.

Alas, it was only a matter of time before you began to feel better. After several days of sickness, your body had nothing more to heave. The moment some color started to return to your pale cheeks, your parents ushered you into the carriage and set off for Tir Asleen, where you would stay for two months while preparing for your wedding to Prince Airk Tanthalos.

As usual, the road to Tir Asleen was long and slow. You tried to numb yourself to your parents' endless chatter, but your mother decided to fuss over your appearance throughout the entire trip, as if you were a child again.

“This is the first time you’ve seen your fiancé in five years,” she would say. “You’ve grown into a lovely young woman since, it is important for Airk to notice!”

Your cheeks instinctually puffed out at the word ‘fiancé,’ but your stomach was so empty from the long illness that nothing could come up even if it wanted to. Instead, you opted for tucking your head in between your knees, closing your eyes and muffling all unwanted noise from the outside world.

Eventually, the gentle clip-clop of the carriage horse faded as you reached the front of the Tir Asleen castle. You uncovered your head and allowed your parents to exit first, using the extra seconds to let your blood flow redistribute itself.

After hearing the sound of your mother squealing pleasantries from outside, you decided to make your presence known. You stepped out of the carriage to see your mother engulfing Airk in a bear hug, showering him with words of flattery while he chuckled nervously and tried to mask his discomfort. Your father, who had been exchanging formalities with Queen Sorsha, was now gently patting his wife’s back, attempting to subtly pry her off the poor boy.

While you stood watching the amusing display from your family, you didn’t even notice Kit approaching you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning into your ear.

“Good morrow, beautiful.” She whispered, her warm breath against your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily.

“Beautiful?” You giggled. “Be careful, our parents' eyes could be upon us.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on your jawline. “They’re much too focused on my brother. It’s just one of the benefits of being the black sheep of the family.”

Sure enough, Kit was right. Your father had managed to successfully pry your mother away from Airk, and now both your parents were bombarding him with questions about his life the last five years while Sorsha stood proudly beside him.

With one final squeeze, Kit loosened her grasp until you could turn around to get a good look at her. She had always been pretty, at least in your eyes, but over the years had grown into a stunning young lady. Her hair was no longer a muddy indigo black, but rather restored back to her natural chocolate-brown, and styled akin to the tresses of woodland sprites. She had grown into herself, with her face defined by striking cheekbones and eyes that seemed to get bluer with every visit. The fabric of her tunic clung to her skin, accentuating every new curve as well as the definition on her upper arms, muscular from combat training.

Before you could even begin to speak, Kit placed her hands on either side of your head and ran them through your hair, gazing down at you lovingly. “Truly, beautiful.”

“I do apologize for her appearance, Prince Airk! She doesn’t usually look this dreadful! She’s been terribly ill!”

You turned around to see your mother leading Airk over to you, speaking loudly about your demeanor. Any confidence inspired by Kit vanished at her harsh remarks, and you drew into yourself.

“Good morrow, Princess,” Airk greeted you with an awkward bow and a tight-lipped smile. Ever since you audibly gagged and ran off after taking his first kiss, the two of you hadn’t necessarily spoken.

You cleared your throat, offering back a perfunctory curtsy. “And to you as well.”

“My, my! Someone has grown quite slender!” Sorsha’s voice called out, approaching the four of you with your father in tow.

You looked down at yourself. Sure enough, your ailment had withered you away, making your once perfectly-fitting gown now hang off you like the tendrils of a willow tree. Your mother noticed this too, because she immediately inserted herself between you and Airk to resume nitpicking your appearance.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Airk and Sorsha! My daughter has had an illness. She’s feeling well now, but she still looks absolutely dreadful! I’m sure her gowns will fit right in due time, but…” she turned her attention towards your face. “…darling! Your complexion! You resemble a ghostly wight! Couldn’t you have bothered to apply a touch of rouge?”

“You’ve raised a beautiful daughter, your highness.” Kit stepped to your side and snaked her arm around your waist. Your breath hitched at her touch, and you worried your parents may catch on to your secret with how bold she was being. Still, you tried to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks after she stood up for you.

Your mother looked between you and Kit, and you could've sworn you saw her eyes flicker with a hint of suspicion. However, she simply grimaced in Kit’s direction, offering pleasantries purely for display. “Yes, well, much obliged, Kit.”

Kit responded with a grin that was polite, yet cocky. Your mother cleared her throat, quickly recomposing herself before taking your hand and joining it with Airk’s.

“I must say, you two, I am absolutely elated for this union! A royal wedding, why I don’t believe I’ve attended one since my own! The two of you make a very attractive pair.”

Airk forced a grin in your direction, looking down at your conjoined hands instead of at you. As your mother continued to ramble on about the party planning, you peered over Airk’s shoulder and noticed a blond girl standing in the distance, carrying a serving tray, and glaring daggers into your soul…

“That would be Muffin Girl,” Kit explained later that day when you asked about the mysterious blond. The two of you had managed to break away from the group long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the Tir Asleen gardens.

“Muffin Girl?” You inquired.

“That or Miss Muffin, whichever you’d prefer.”

You shot her a quizzical expression, causing her to chuckle heartily. “Well it’s not her real name, clearly. She’s one of the kitchen maids, and her signature dish are these buttered muffins she serves at breakfast.”

“She was glaring at me earlier while my mother discussed wedding plans,” you said. “I almost thought she would break her tray in half.”

Kit hummed in agreement. “Jealousy. It makes sense. She is my brother's latest lover.”

“Pardon?” You froze in your tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Kit leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms and gazing at you with a pointed brow. “I hate to inform you, Princess, but my brother has become quite the ladies’ man since your ‘dalliance’ in the courtyard. Muffin Girl is just his latest conquest.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Sure, you didn’t love Airk, or were even remotely attracted to him, but he was still your betrothed.

Kit smirked at your stunned expression. “Surely you’re not jealous, are you?” She moved closer until her face was mere inches from yours. “I can’t imagine it would drive you mad. My brother, your fiancé, rolling around in the grass with a scullion? Cheeks flushed, legs intertwined, her leaving little bruises on his…”

You cut her off with a playful smack on the shoulder. “Hold your tongue, Tanthalos.” She giggled at her lighthearted taunts, causing a smile to spread across your face. “I’m not jealous, rather shocked. He’s engaged… to me… and Queen Sorsha is allowing this affair?”

With another chuckle, Kit teasingly ruffled your hair. “Oh Princess… you really assume my mother is at all aware?”

You gasped, leaning in closer to Kit to whisper. “She doesn’t know?”

“I’m sure she suspects something, what with the aforementioned bruises, but knowing my mother, she’d rather stay with the mindset that her son is still a moralistic virgin.”

Kit pulled you in closer, pressing your body against hers until your noses barely brushed together. “I suppose this is just one more secret between us, don’t you think Princess?”

You giggled, quickly making sure the coast was clear before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a sweet kiss.

That evening, the six of you gathered for a hearty supper to celebrate your reunion. Servants bustled about carrying various dishes, including the mysterious ‘muffin girl.’ You couldn’t help but observe the longing glances exchanged between her and Airk, lingering between each course like a seed caught between teeth.

Just as you and Kit were stifling a laugh over their latest lust-filled gaze, Queen Sorsha rose, tapping silverware against her raised glass. The table quieted, all eyes fixed on the regal woman as you awaited her speech.

“Friends, family,” she began. “I am pleased that we’ve all gathered here this evening to begin wedding plans for the Prince of Tir Asleen and the Princess of Azarenth.”

Your parents clapped excitedly. Airk stared down at his lap while you and Kit exchanged vexed glances.

“Even more pleased,” Sorsha continued. “That the forthcoming ceremony will feature an extra element, making it a profoundly rare occasion!”

Her words puzzled you, and a quick look around the table confirmed that the twins seemed just as confused. Your parents however, shared knowing grins, clearly in on the secret.

“The King and Queen of Azarenth have graciously agreed to turn their daughter’s wedding into a double wedding!” Sorsha turned to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Kit…”

You whipped around to face Kit, who stared at her mother, frozen, her expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “You remember when we discussed the Prince of Galladoorn, don’t you?”

Kit nodded. “Sure we discussed him, but then he fell out of a tree and died, right?”

“Kit!” Sorsha scolded before quickly recomposing herself. “It’s true, Dermot Hastur had an untimely death,” she held her glass to her heart solemnly. “However, it appears Galladoorn is still interested in an alliance, and King Hastur has a younger son, Graydon.”

Your heart dropped as you realized what Sorsha was saying. Glancing back at Kit, you saw her face now stricken with terror. “Mother… no…”

Ignoring her daughter, Sorsha simply raised her glass again. “It’s my pleasure to announce the engagement of Prince Graydon Hastur to my daughter, Princess Kit Tanthalos!”

“No!” Kit exclaimed.

“What?” The shriek came from a disembodied voice. Only after you received shocked expressions from each member of the table did you realize the voice was yours.

Your mother squinted at you, the corners of her mouth flickering sardonically. “My dear, I didn’t expect you to be upset at sharing the limelight! After all, you and Kit are such good… friends.”

You glared at your mother head-on, suppressing every urge to lunge at her from across the table. She said nothing more, instead turning away to innocently sip her wine.

Kit was in the midst of her own altercation, arguing her case with pleading eyes. “Mother, please… I cannot marry Prince Graydon!”

“And just why not?” Sorsha demanded. “Prince Graydon is an esteemed young man, his parents speak very highly of him.”

“I’ve never even met him!” Kit’s voice wavered in stifled sobs.

“You will before the wedding, now that is quite enough! It is your duty to your kingdom. I don’t want to hear another word about this until the alliance is signed, and that is final!”

Kit slammed her hands on the table, tears falling as she ran away. Sorsha screamed after her until the sound of her bedchamber door slamming reverberated across the room. The table fell silent, none of you knowing where to look. After a moment, Airk cleared his throat, breaking the tension as he rearranged the silverware on his plate.

“May I be excused, mother?” He muttered.

Sorsha sighed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He got up quietly, exiting the room and making a beeline for Kit’s door. The remaining four of you resumed picking at your food, the sound of silverware scratching against glass dishes only deepening the stillness of the room.

As you pushed your food around, you couldn’t help but steal glances in the direction of Kit’s door. You turned to your mother, wanting to speak.

“Let it be a passing thought,” she denied your unspoken request, not bothering to look up from her plate.

Fortunately, dinner didn't drag on much longer after the commotion subsided. Once everyone had hastily departed from the table, you made your way to Kit’s room and positioned yourself outside her door. Kit’s muffled sobs mingled with Airk’s whispered words from the other side of the wooden barrier, causing you to pause before entering, afraid of disrupting them.

Just when you were about to throw caution to the wind and grasp the handle, the door swung open, revealing Airk. He startled at your unexpected presence and closed Kit’s door behind him.

“Uh… hi…” he muttered lamely.

“Hello there,” you replied softly.

The two of you stood silently in front of Kit’s door, a multitude of unanswered questions hanging in the air that neither of you knew how to ask.

“She’s, uh…” Airk broke the silence, jerking his head towards Kit’s door. “…having a difficult time coming to terms… with everything.”

You nodded slowly. “Were you… able to get through to her? At all?”

“Inconsolable,” he admitted regretfully. “I haven’t seen her this distraught since… our father…”

You winced, recalling the initial heartbreak Kit faced when her father’s letters stopped arriving ten years ago.

“I understand…” he continued. “I also know what it’s like to be forced into a loveless marriage.”

His gaze bore into yours, carefully chosen words that riddled you with guilt. You knew you had no right to hurt feelings after that night in the courtyard, but you couldn’t help the sharp pang that hit your chest like a piercing arrow.

“Airk…” you sighed, overwhelmed with remorse. “Please let me apologize for that night…”

“No need,” he interrupted coolly. “It’s really quite alright…”

“It’s not,” you insisted. “My reaction… I assure you… had nothing to do with your character, or your appearance, or anything, really. It wasn’t about you, it was never about you, it…” you took a deep breath, your secret weighed on your shoulders as if it was carved from stone. “Airk… I’m in love with someone else.”

Airk looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

“My hand belongs to you…” your voice trembled. “…but my heart belongs to another.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You shut your eyes tightly, the burden of your secret lifting but replaced with overwhelming fear. Airk stood, silently, his expression cycling through shock, relief, confusion, and finally… sympathy.

“Likewise…” he whispered, causing you to look at him again. “There’s this… local maiden, a quiet beauty who carries herself with the gentle elegance of a dove. She may not have been born into privilege, but she’s captivated me. My heart belongs to her.”

He looked at you, expecting a reaction. You attempted to feign surprise, but ended up failing miserably. He smirked. “Was it that evident?”

You chuckled. “With all of your enticing stares at dinner, it almost felt as if I were intruding on something private!”

He laughed airily along with you, long-standing tension finally broken. You started to relax, feeling a weight lift as you and Airk came to an unspoken forgiveness. He smiled warmly, genuinely at you before his expression turned serious once again.

“I hope you know I would hate for my mother to receive word of this,” he said in a low voice.

You nodded in agreement. “You needn’t worry, my lips are sealed. I understand what it’s like… living with secrets.”

He waited for you to continue, but you simply folded your hands in front of you and smiled, silently refusing to speak further.

Airk departed soon after your conversation ended, leaving you once again face-to-face with Kit’s door. You raised your knuckle to the chestnut wood, giving it two gentle raps.

No response.

With a shaky hand, you turned the handle and opened the door with a slow, steady creak. Kit lay flat on her bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. She made no indication of noticing your presence, so you stepped inside and carefully closed the door with a click.

No response.

Stars studded the now-blackened night sky through a small window in the corner. The room’s only light source was a flickering candle that cast shadows over Kit’s unmoving body and danced along the wrinkles of her garments. You stood near the entrance, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

“Which is worse?”

The sudden sound of her voice startled you. “Pardon?”

“I’m wondering…” she sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of her bed. “…which is worse? Spending half a decade counting down the seconds until you’re forced into an unwanted marriage, or having it thrust upon you without warning?”

She met your gaze, expecting an answer. You had none. She continued.

“On the one hand, the first option reads torturously, like sitting on death row waiting for execution,” she contemplated, deep in thought. “But on the other hand, it allows for processing time, providing an opportunity to numb yourself to the situation.”

She looked back over to you, her expression stoic. “What do you think?”

“I think I won’t ever be numb to the situation,” you replied with a half-smile.

Kit gave a halfhearted chuckle, staring down at her feet. You moved to sit next to her on the bed, resting a soothing hand on her back. She sighed. “You don’t know how fortunate you are.”

You furrowed your brow. “How do you mean?”

“You’re betrothed to my brother,” she answered. “Someone you grew up with, someone you trust.”

You frowned. “Kit, Airk and I may have history, but I’m still being forced into a loveless marriage. You and I suffer the same plight.”

Kit’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she began to speak in a small voice. “You truly believe our situations are at all similar?”

You removed your hand from her back and leaned slightly away from her. “Kit…”

“Do you?” Her fingers clenched the bedsheets as she finally met your gaze. “I am marrying a man I’ve never met, so I can help form an alliance with a kingdom I’ve never visited! My entire life is conforming to the whims of my mother, do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Have you observed my mother?” You shot back, standing up from the bed. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not she cares if I live or die, just as long as I marry Airk to keep up appearances like a performing minstrel!”

“Cry me a river, Princess!” Kit growled, also abandoning the bed. “My sincerest apologies that you have a mother that gave you fifteen years to become accustomed to her chosen spouse, and a father to give you away at the altar!”

You softened your gaze, realizing a large part of the reason for Kit’s distress. “Kit, I didn’t…”

“I’ll have to walk down the aisle with Airk!” She interrupted, angry tears now streaming down her face. “There was enough prattle when news of my father’s disappearance spread, and now all of Galladoorn and Tir Asleen combined is going to witness me being given away by my own brother. So don’t you dare stand there and claim that you and I ‘suffer the same plight!’”

“Kit!” Your voice wavered, a tightness in your chest threatened to unleash a flood of tears. “That was not my intent, and you know it. You're hurting, and you have my deepest sympathies…”

“I don’t need your sympathy…”

“Then don’t take it!” Your voice cut through the air, sharp and defensive. “All I said is that I share your pain in being forced into a marriage with someone you don’t love. I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

Kit bit her lip, sniffling and wiping away tears. Her red, puffy eyes struggled to meet yours as she searched for more words to use as a line of defense.

“Because marriage isn’t about love, Princess,” she finally replied. “And frankly, your lack of realization is troubling.”

Her words brought a lump to your throat, like a boulder lodged within a narrow cave. Without another word, you spun on your heel and walked out of Kit’s room, making sure the wooden barrier slammed shut behind you before giving into the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @love4lyn @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sophi4v13 @detmarmalade

[sailorstarr-chan4]

Anime Titles Summarized (Poorly)

Vampire Knight: *insert Twilight joke here* Ouran High School Host Club: *small child voice* There's debauchery here! Sailor Moon: Everyone's bi. No, I mean it. EVERYONE. Clannad: I'm not crying yOU'RE CRYING Your Lie in April: Mommy Issues & Lots of Tissues Fruits Basket: MOMMY ISSUES ON STEROIDS Yuri on Ice: Sexy gay figure skating Sk8 the Infinity: Sexy gay skate-boarding Blue Exorcist: "[Satan] may have been your father, but he wasn't your daddy." FullMetal Alchemist: Family is your best ally Trigun: Family is your worst enemy Kaguya-sama Love is War: Idiots to Lovers the anime The Ancient Magus Bride: What if a monsterfucker romance was also Ace? Violet Evergarden: Gorgeously animated ✨TRAUMA✨ Made in Abyss: Adorably animated ✨TRAUMA✨ Madoka Magica: *Admiral Ackbar voice* IT'S A TRAP! My Hero Academia: X-Men alternative universe where mutants are the majority of the population Yu Yu Hakusho: Yusuke came here to chew bubble gum and kick ass. And he's all out of bubble gum. Inuyasha: Time travel, youkai, and jewel shards, oh my! Ranma 1/2: The original bisexual harem Urusei Yatsura: Crack. Just pure, unadulterated alien crack. MAO: Feral Catgirl x Tired Catboy Tokyo Mew Mew: Cute girl fursonas are named after food Shugo Chara!: His Dark Materials magical girl!AU Kamisama Kiss: The How to Train Your Dragon of shoujo Noragami: Girl adopts homeless god Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle: Eat your heart out, Doctor Who Skip-Beat!: Eat your heart out, slow burn fanfiction Kiss Him Not Me: Losing weight = gaining a harem Baccano!: Murders on the Immortal Mafia Express Cowboy Bebop: Bounty hunters need therapy Attack on Titan: EVERYONE NEEDS THERAPY Alice in the Country of Hearts: The sexiest and unhealthiest escapism Cardcaptor Sakura: Beautiful gay representation, terrible Elephant in the Room Fushigi Yuugi: Look, when I said falling in love with a fictional character, I didn't mean that LITERALLY-- Angel Sanctuary: Mutual incest destroys the world as we know it Guilty Crown: Unrequited incest destroys the world as we know it Zombie Land Saga: The undead as cutesy idols. That's it. That's the show. Yurikuma Arashi: Lesbian bears Princess Tutu: Duck becomes ballerina

Part 2 Here!