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justkending · 6 months ago

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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 6/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I have only read through this once, but I plan on revising it this afternoon, so please excuse any mistakes! The next chapter will be the last, and I'm so glad you guys have enjoyed it up to this point :) You all are the best! (Also, I tried fixing as many of the tags as I could, but if it's still acting weird, please message me or send an ask!)

_________

Chapter 6:

“Shit, you have a mean right hook, but you kinda have to hit the target for it to have the impact you want!” I pant as I move just seconds before Bethanne makes contact with the wall behind me. “You learn that in pilates? Maybe I should take it up.”

Reggie let out a frustrated grunt from the room over where Bucky was now ducking and weaving out of angry, calculated swings.

In assessing my opponent's fighting patterns, I sense Bethanne going in for another swing. Grabbing the picture frame off the wall, I bash it into her head, where she teeters and falls back, discombobulated enough for me to move to help Bucky.

“I should have known better than to trust you two,” Reggie grunts as he gets a slight jump on Bucky, shouldering him and taking him to the ground. “Especially you’re bitch of a fake wife-”

I go to handle the comment for myself and help Bucky, but something about the slur triggers Bucky to handle the situation on his own, and the next thing I know, he’s now on top of Reggie and twisting his arms in a way that causes a wale in pain to follow.

“That’s not how you speak about a lady,” he grits through his teeth and winds back to swing.

At the same moment, with my attention elsewhere, Bethanne comes from behind me with a piece of glass from the picture frame -that didn’t do the job I’d hoped- and slices deeply in the back of my arm, getting a scream and hiss from me.

She’s seething when I turn around, her own hand dripping blood on their pristine white carpet from the clamp she has on it, ready to give another slash when the opportunity presents itself.

I hear Bucky shout my name, distracted by my injury, and then catch a glimpse of the tussle that breaks back out between the two men. One problem at a time.

Holding the back of my arm, feeling the blood leave my body faster than I expected, I twist my head to the side at the blonde. I learned the intimidation tactic from Wanda, and when I say it works, it works…

Bethanne’s crass smile falls, and she is smart enough to take a few steps back.

“I’m not a gentleman, so I won’t hold my tongue, bitch,” I add emphasis on the name and start walking to her with my head down and eyes glaring at her. Instantly, she turns on her heel and runs to another room, where I pick up my speed and follow her.

I get my foot in between the doorframe before she has the chance to shut it, and dear God, I wish I had my Doc Martens right now to kick the damn thing down. I shove my shoulder into it, and she stumbles back for a lamp in the bedroom we were in now.

Not well calculated, she throws a small one, and I dodge it as it slams into the door behind me.

“Come on, Bethanne. All those sole cycles and bare classes, and you don’t want to see if those muscles work? Throw a hit like a woman. Let’s make this more interesting,” I move to a fighting stance and ignore the sting on my arm, knowing I have fleeting moments of adrenaline before the blood loss catches up.

“You’re just mad you got caught,” she spits out, and I mean literally spits out. The saliva would have hit my foot if she wasn’t such a sissy. “You think we didn’t catch on from the second bug you destroyed? Pretty fucking obvious if you ask me.”

I could hear more pieces of furniture breaking off in the other room and realized that maybe this chit-chat needed to end.

“Sure. Let’s go with you guys figuring it out sooner. If that makes you feel better about all this,” I shrug, rolling my eyes and stepping in to move this party along.

____________

The night before. Bucky’s POV:

Due to the wire in the bathroom, which neither Y/N nor I wanted to deal with, I had to shift my nighttime bathroom routine to the master’s.

Like any normal master bath, there were two sinks, and I stationed myself at the one Y/N hadn’t. For the first time since coming to this place, we actually felt like a couple as we both got situated on our side of the counter and started doing our nightly regime.

“How intense of a wire do you think it is?” she asked quietly after washing her face and dapping the water off her skin with a clean towel.

The doors to the bathroom and her room were both closed, creating a barrier to the others.

“I think we’re safe to talk in here,” I answered, rinsing my toothbrush I’d just used and throwing it into the travel bag I had.

“Ok, so I can ask freely, how much longer do you think this mission is going to take?” she sighs, opening the cabinet in front of her, taking out three cosmetic vials, and putting them in a practiced order in front of her.

“Huh?” I let slip, and she turned to me with furrowed eyebrows.

“Huh, what?”

I shake out of my disbelief and look at her clean and noticeably smooth face. A subtle scar next to her eyebrow being the only form of imperfection by societal rules, but I wouldn’t call it that.

“I didn’t think you were a,” I paused, not sure what to call what I was seeing. I just saw her as someone who would splash some water on her face at the night's end and call it a day. Then again, I didn’t know enough about face creams and serums I’ve seen Nat and Wanda use.

“A clean person?” she finishes my sentence with a harsh laugh as she brings out a spray bottle with a maroon liquid in it from another cabinet, spritz her face three times and pats it in with her hand.

“Don’t think that’s the word I was looking for,” I shake my head, running a hand through my hair and fidgeting as I feel her gaze shift to me.

“Not a face washer and 20 ageless serums kind of guy?” she hums, rubbing a green goop in her hands before all over your face. “Well, not all of us are aging at the rate of paint drying. Some of us have to put in effort to look this good.”

I smirk at that because I don’t think she realizes what she just said.

“You say I’m effortlessly handsome?” I grin, turning and resting my back on the counter as I watch her.

She can’t seem to help her own smile and bites her lip as she fans her face, grabbing another small dropper bottle.

“You know what? Don’t even try and pretend you don’t know you’re a pretty face,” she blushes and tries to backtrack. “God. Can you believe the difference this conversation would have been just two hours ago? And now I’m here calling you pretty.”

“I’m not complaining.” The grin on my face hurts with how authentic it is. “And if it makes you feel any better, I think Reggie would steal you away as his wife if I weren’t already attached to you.”

“Ah, yes. The testosterone battle that took place tonight. Glad you brought that up,” she nods, placing the finished bottles back in the cabinet and adding the last serum to her face. Her skin had a nice glow after the magic treatments. “I knew men lay their claim, but you seemed more intense than I’d imagined you’d be about that kind of stuff.”

“He was undressing you with his eyes,” I said sternly, compared to the easy-going tone we had stuck to. “He needed to be set straight acting like that.” My arms crossed as I watched her unbothered by the conversation piece.

“And you, acting like a lion ready to bite the head off of him while trying to get on their good side, was the way to counter that behavior?”

“I wasn’t that intimidating.”

“You’re James Buchanan Barnes. You don’t have to put on an act to be intimidating. Therefore, when you put on any protective act, the intimidation act just multiplies.” She deadpans to me.

Ok, maybe she was right… I was a little more invasive into her space this evening, but it was to prove a point.

“I was doing my job,” I shrug, stepping closer, picking up her skincare bottle, and examining it.

“You played the annoyed and jealous husband very well. I’ll make sure your nomination for a Tony Award is submitted.”

I shake my head, handing her the bottle she places precisely in the cabinet.

“Are you a neat freak?” I ask, and she turns to me, pulling her hair out of the ponytail she had put in to wash her face.

“I’m not anal if that’s what you think? I prefer things to be organized where it’s helpful.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what a neat freak would say…”

“Says the man who organized the spices alphabetically and sorts the coffee pods by color.” She tidies her space, wiping any water with a washcloth, and turns out of the room, flipping the light switch with me still in there.

“When you’re cooking, it makes things easier to find. That’s just common sense. And the color thing? Well, it’s aesthetically pleasing,” I debate, following her on her heel.

“Sure thing, neat freak…” she laughs, going to her side of the bed and getting her nightstand prepared for the night.

I watch her, and she doesn’t seem to mind as I silently catalog her ritual. When she finally gets things settled and looks at me, waiting for a reason for why I’m still in her room, I stumble over my words.

“You’re question earlier.” Considering the life mic in the room across the hall, I have to be careful in choosing my words. “Maybe this suburban life isn’t as bad as we thought it was. It is a nice break from our former day-to-day.”

She nods, pulling back the covers of her bed and rubs lotion from her bedside into her palms.

“There are some aspects I’ve come to like,” she smiles genuinely.

“Agreed.”

____________

Present Time

In seconds, Bethanne was unconscious and lying on the ground with a curtain cord binding her on the ground. She’d be occupied enough for me to help Bucky restrain his opponent and come back to move her after.

I held the back of my arm, which was still oozing blood. The dizziness was slowly creeping up on me, but I tapped into the reserve of adrenaline to assess the chaos in front of me.

Lucky for Bucky, he was holding his own well enough even if his opponent was double his size (but are we shocked? No.), so I moved to the kitchen for a weapon, considering we didn’t have time to prepare before this fight broke out.

For context, this all started with me coming over here to meet Bethanne for a yoga class she had invited me to this morning. Bucky just happened to be heading home earlier from "work," given that he actually had nothing to do.

Lucky for me because Bethanne had used the excuse of yoga to corner me, and Reggie happened to be home to help, too.

I had played into their casualness to start, feeling the energy off and their disposition askew, and tried to stall for a while, knowing it would be a better fight with my partner nearby. I texted Bucky to meet me at their place with an excuse, and by the time he got there (5 minutes later), the fight broke out, and all curtains were pulled back to reveal the truth.

“Barnes!” I shout, and his head pops up from his position, trying to disengage Reggie. I throw the knife I got a hold of from across the room, and he spins, turning the giant perfectly to where the knife embeds itself in the front of his thigh.

A yell in pain sounds, and Bucky turns to hold his head in a lock that eventually makes Reggie pass out.

Silence takes over the space. The only sound is our panting as he looks at the damage and sees the end of our mission come to a close. Whether intentional or not…

“So, that was fun. Glad we got some cardio in,” I huff, pulling my arm closer to my body and putting pressure on the cut.

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky runs a hand through his hair and walks to me. “Where’d she get you?”

His hands are gentle and light compared to how he’d been using them the last few minutes. He turns me to the side, using my shoulder as leverage, and bends to look at the gash on my arm right above the back of my elbow. I had been wearing a dry-fit running jacket that clung to me, so the damage wasn’t 100% visible, I’m sure, but the hiss he lets out when he sees it leads me to believe otherwise.

“How’s it look, Doc?” I ask and wince with a sharp breath when he pokes at it. “Dude. Jagged glass cut. Careful.”

“Just moved the fabric,” he grumbles, still examining it. In front of us, Reggie groans. We both look at him.

“We can play operation in a minute. Let’s tie the big guy up, and you can help me get Raggedy Bethanne from the other room in here to interrogate,” I push past his shoulder as I move to get Reggie situated.

Begrudgingly, Bucky helped me move the sleeping giant and we shut all the blinds and set the space for a controlled interrogation.

Currently, Bucky is on the phone with Steve, letting him know the plan went awry. We were working on getting information while we waited for a team to come collect the two perpetrators. Steve confirmed he’d send undercover agents as cops for us to wrap up the loose ends.

In the middle of the call, someone knocks on the door, and we share a look. I’m still covered in blood, but I find a painter's poncho on the side, throw it on quickly, and grab a used paintbrush in the convenient tray next to it.

“One second!” I shout, making a few marks on the poncho and one on my face for show. I go to open the door, praying I don’t have any blood on my face, but I did well in keeping away from Bethanne’s pathetic attempts of retaliation.

When I open the door, I see their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Nosy-Nancy Betrum, smiling wearily in front of me.

“Oh, hello, Charlotte,” she says nervously, trying to peer into the house around me. “Is Bethanne in there?”

“Oh,” I perk up casually, turning behind me for a second and looking back at her. “She just ran to the bathroom. Is everything ok?”

“I just heard some shouting and crashing and wasn’t sure what was going on,” she started, still trying to peak into the background that I’m mostly hiding, so I moved a little to show the not-as-destroyed part of the house.

“Oh, she’s doing a kitchen renovation and asked if we could help since we have some experience ourselves. The boys are hauling and dismantling some things. Lots of grunting and noise, I’m afraid,” I cringe lightly to play into the apologetic side of the conversation. “I’ll let her know we’re being too loud.”

“Oh, ok,” she nodded, seemingly convinced but still glancing in.

“Char, can you come help me and Reggie with this?” Bucky shouts, and I turn to look at him as he gives me an out.

“Sorry about the noise, Nancy. We’ll try to be considerate about it. One sec, honey!” I nod back. “See you for Wednesday book club at Katrina’s next week.” I give an award-winning smile, and that seems to seal the deal.

“Let me know how the finished project comes out,” she waves, walking down the steps.

After I shut the door, I groan as the pain in the back of my arm throbs more and more.

“I’ll get Beth,” Bucky stands up from where he has successfully tied up Reggie and anchored him to a chair. “You go find a clean cloth and put some pressure on that,” he points out my arm that’s smearing red into the white paint I had tried to hide it with.

“Good plan,” I nod, hissing as I move to the kitchen to make a makeshift tourniquet.

_____________

The mission was done. I could sleep in my own bed now. My arm hurt like hell, and I was dreading the unfortunate aftercare and restrictions to come, but the mission was done, and I was headed home.

After we got Bethanne and Reginald situated, the interrogation started, and they squealed like pigs. Well, Bethanne did, but Reggie didn’t hold out like he thought he would after some convincing with Bucky’s form of torture. Restrained if you ask me…

We had a list of other names to hunt and find. We found solid evidence in their home to prove most of it. Steve and Nat were given puzzle pieces that we had come for originally, so we were on the right path of taking down the organization Fury had been hunting.

Things worked out for the better, even with the fact that they had successfully hidden a bug, and we were discovered. But there was a reason Bucky and I were picked for this, and we proved that.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Bucky asked, coming into the med-bay I had been stationed in for the last hour on the Quinjet home.

“I won’t need a robotic arm, unfortunately. I’ll have to wait a little longer before I can join your one-man club,” I sigh depressingly before I quirk a smile at him.

“Wouldn’t be a one-man club if you joined it, now would it?” he laughed, sitting on the bed next to me where the nurse finished the stitches and wrapped a clean gauze bandage around it.

“Thank you.” I nodded her way as she grabbed her things and walked out quietly.

“Gonna be a minute before you back out in the ring, huh?” he asked, bumping my shoulder. “Sam hasn’t been proving to be the best dueling partner. Maybe since you won’t try to kill me now, you can take up the title? I feel like you’d be a decent match.”

I turn to him after picking at my bandage and eye him. “Who says I wouldn’t try to kill you still? What’s the good of training if you’re not practicing the real thing?”

He rolls his eyes and spreads his legs a little more, causing his knee to bump into mine.

“I don’t think you’ll be up for the killing portion of our fights for a bit, so I’ll take the advantage as long as possible.”

“You think a little scratch like this has held me back from killing before?” He laughed under his breath, and we sat in comfortable silence for a minute. “The team isn’t going to believe I no longer have a vendetta against you,” I whisper. “They’re going to think we’re putting on an act.”

Bucky’s POV:

“I, for one, prefer the nicety over the insults, but that’s me personally,” I say, noticing the nerves in her comment.

“I’m going to miss insulting you,” she sighs heavily, and I’m shocked at her closing in the space enough for our shoulders to touch. “I don’t have to give it up fully, do I?”

I take her attempt of trying to lighten the mood and nod.

“Considering the team is going to give us hell for it, and Steve has a bet we’ll make up in 3-weeks-”

“Wait, make up? I thought the bet was how long until we bite each other’s heads off.”

“Nat’s bet is. She gave it until tomorrow actually. Steve was rooting for us I guess,” I shrug.

“Hmmm,” she nods her head as she thinks things through. I’ve seen that look many times. “What if we messed with them?”

“Channel our energy into keeping the charade going a little longer so neither wins?”

“You really shouldn’t be betting on your friends,” she grins mischievously.

“I’m always down for winning a second time this week,” I smile back.

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @billyseye @hallecarey1

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim @lovelybaka @julvrs @mostlymarvelgirl @heletsmelovehim @learisa @bubblegumbeautyqueen @that-d-bitch @rabbitrabbit12321

#mr. & mrs. hunt #mr & mrs hunt #avenger reader insert #justkending #marvel reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader insert #bucky barnes mini series #bucky mini series #marvel mini series #bucky barnes x avenger reader

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sissylittlefeather · 7 months ago

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Sissy- I’m so excited you reached your 500 follower mark. You’re very talented and I love sharing this little Elvisey corner with you. ✨

This photo of him is gorgeous and dreamy and sort of gives me Sissy poetry vibes. I’ll trust you to create whatever feels good to you. A little smutty, a little fluffy, whatever tickles your fancy dear 🖤

Thank you for being who you are 😘

@lookingforrainbows Awww you're the best! Thank you! Love you sweet friend!

I might've gotten a little carried away with this one, but you said poetry, so here you go...

Just the Two of Us

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, fingering, o in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, public(ish) sex, and some really indulgent purple prose

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"We're married."

"I know." You look at your new husband and you're in absolute awe. How did you get so lucky? As you walk hand in hand on the beach, you can't believe this is actually your life. You're married. And not just to any man. You managed to land the most famous man on the planet, but more than that, you love him more than you ever thought possible.

He stops and turns you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. The wind blows through both of your hair as the sun begins to set over the water. He leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek.

"I love you so much, baby." He coos into your ear. You can't help but smile at his obsession with telling you how much he loves you as often as possible. This is probably the tenth time he's said it since you've been walking up and down the beach. "Let's lay down."

You spread out the towels you've been carrying this whole time, take off your gauzy white cover-up, and settle on the sand, lying on your stomach. He lays next to you, propped up on one elbow to look at you.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He says with a sly smile.

"I'm starting to believe it. It's hard not to when you say it so often."

"I just want you to see yourself the way I see you, baby." He runs his fingertips down your cheek and leans in and kisses you again. Then, he looks out over the waves and surveys the beach around you. It's deserted, but of course it is since this is a private beach reserved just for your condo.

You're soaking in the last of the evening rays when you feel him fiddling with the strings on the side of your bikini bottoms. Your eyes pop open as he pulls on one and it comes untied.

"Elvis. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Just... playing..." He reaches across to your other side and pulls on that one too until it falls open.

"Elvis..." He slides his hand under the back of your swimsuit and takes a handful of your ass, squeezing it gently. The sound of the waves crashing fades into the distance as his hand drifts a little lower, his finger tracing the edges of your entrance. He moves his fingertip to your clit and begins to make slow circles. Without meaning to, you lift your hips and spread your legs a little. He knows this signal and pulls his hand back to press his middle finger into you.

"Mmm... Elvis we're on the beach."

"So? There's no one around for miles. It's just you and me, baby." He pumps his finger in and out of you and you moan softly.

"But still." He pulls his finger back.

"You want me to stop?"

"No!" He smiles and presses his finger into you again, using his pointer finger to rub on your sensitive button. He leans forward and presses his lips to your shoulder as he continues to play with you.

"I just want to please my wife on our honeymoon. Is that bad?" He adds a second finger to press inside you and continues to drag his other fingertip across your clit quickly.

"No... it's so good..." You can't help but moan as he works you with his hand. You feel your release building as he moves on you. His ability to bring you to a climax with just three fingers will never cease to amaze you. The pressure continues to build in your center and he stops pumping his fingers to focus on your clit. He moves his fingertip over and around you and the blood rushes to your core. "Fuck, Elvis!"

You try not to scream as your orgasm slams into you, spreading you open right there on the beach and burning you up like starlight. Everything is warm and pulsing and all you see is his smile. He knows how he's made you feel and it's all he wants. But there's one more thing he needs.

"Can I make love to you on this beach, baby? I need you... right now..."

Everything inside you is warm, sensuous honey, so the thought of saying no doesn't even cross your mind.

"Yes, please." He kicks his pants off, pulls off his shirt, and rolls over on top of your back, discarding your open bikini bottom. You spread your legs just enough for him to find your entrance with the tip of his rock hard cock. He pushes into you slowly from behind, filling you inch by gasp-inspiring inch. When he's got you fully stretched around him, he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts into you deeply again. He begins a steady rhythm of rolling his hips into you, pumping into you as you try not to make too much noise. You're up on your elbows with your ass raised to give him the best angle. He kisses your shoulder and then slips a hand up under the top of your bikini to play with your nipple. After a few more minutes of thrusting, he unties your top and takes that off of you as well. Now it's just you and him, naked together under the open sky, the sun setting over the water creating a kaleidoscope of cotton candy clouds reflected on the waves.

The places where your skin kisses his are lightning hot with passion and sweat. And his lips. He presses his lips to any place he can reach on your back as he continues to fill you with himself over and over again.

When he pulls out and rolls onto his back, you know exactly what to do. You've made love to him enough to know what he wants. You crawl on top of him, settling a knee on either side of his hips and sink down onto him. The change in angle makes you moan together in unison. Somewhere a dog barks, but you don't care as the wind brushes your nipples causing them to harden even more. He notices and reaches out with both hands to caress your breasts. The waves crest and break on the beach behind you as you move up and down on him, taking him as deeply as you can. The sun is just a sliver over the water, but the moon is full, replacing the purple and orange sunset with silvery beams and glittering stars. He looks at you like you've swallowed the moon, it's light emanating from every edge of you.

"You are the answer to every prayer I've ever spoken into the darkness." He whispers into the night. His hand finds your cheek and he drags his thumb across your lips. No one else on earth knows the poetry of your bond. But he breathes life into it every time he touches you. "I am whole because you exist."

You lean forward and lay on his chest as he thrusts slowly into you from underneath. He pulls you into a deep kiss, your tongues creating a medley of dance steps all their own. When the kiss ends, you whisper back to him.

"You are my sun. The center of my orbit. I am me because you are you." He kisses your cheek and smiles.

"The only thing that ever made sense to me was music. And now you're the only notes I hear." His voice is just for you in the inky black night. Your heartbeats match the rhythm of his thrusting and the waves pounding the beach.

"All I want is to be yours forever." You half-moan into his ear.

"You are mine, baby. And I'm yours. Until we ourselves are moonlight." He groans and closes his eyes.

Before you were married, your union would've ended now to prevent any too-soon consequences. But tonight, here on the beach as husband and wife, there's a longing from both of you to continue. Any uncertainty about the future is now replaced by hope. So he doesn't stop. Your movements create a tapestry of oneness and as he approaches his release, your pace is steady. It's an unspoken agreement, a covenant that doesn't need acknowledging.

"Oh, God, baby..." He moans, eyes closed and lips parted slightly. You look at him with endless admiration. He's almost angelic in this moment and you revel in his beauty as he tenses and then shudders into you. The warmth inside you is not just metaphorical and he fills you with everything he has. This is what it means to be joined forever.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He whispers, his voice husky with post-climax emotion as he kisses your lips between each phrase. When he's finished and beginning to soften, you readjust to lay next to him. He rolls over to face you, tracing his fingertips along the outline of your body as gently as butterfly wings. There is no more separation between you. You don't end and he doesn't begin. You simply are, like pieces of tracing paper layered together to create a single image.

"My husband." You whisper, your fingertips gracing the side of his face with a kind of holy adoration.

"My wife." He replies, his eyes like oceans deep enough to contain you both.

You lay there under the summer moon, two naked souls bound together by a love beyond comprehension. Tomorrow will bring you back to a reality filled with concert dates and meetings. But tonight? Tonight is just for the two of you.

******

The End

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#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x you #reader requests

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 1 month ago

Text

Sawyer/Slaughter Family Nicknames for their S/O! (Nancy + Drayton are platonic)

I’m back for October, people!

@morguemistress you requested this a while ago 🖤🖤🖤

Johnny “Hunter” Slaughter calls you possessive nicknames, things he knows have an underlying tone of owning, that play off that sweet power dynamic you both have going on. He likes thinking of you like his little prize- his dearest possession. He always brings in a little southern drawl when he calls you these things- always brings in a tone that’s just slightly softer, almost… caring. But he can’t truly care, can he? “Bunny”, “Sweetheart”, and “Darlin” are his favorites…

Nubbins “The Hitchhiker” Sawyer has a habit of worshipping you from the ground up- he prefers calling you names that reflect that. He also likes calling you names that are sillier- he names you after things he observes that remind him of you- you’ve ended up with some batshit crazy nicknames with even longer stories. But above all, you’re special to him, and he wants names that reflect that. “Lolipop”, “Cheeky”, “My Favorite”, and “Beautiful/Handsome”, are his personal favorites.

Sissy “Sunshine” Slaughter is a sweet partner- as long as don’t mind the aftertaste of her poison. She loves naming you after her environment- that’s what made her, well, her; after all. You remind her of all that is glory in life- her freedom, the fall leaves crunching beneath her naked feet, bear to the natural world. You ground her, heighten her five senses- she wants to reflect that in her pet names. Her favorite names to call you are: “Sugar”, “Sunshine”, and “Pumpkin Pie”.

Nancy “Black” Slaughter thinks you’re like her second child- she names you as such. She wants so call you things that bring you comfort- in an antique way, like the dusty smell of an old house, overrun with kittens. Maybe you don’t like that comparison- she doesn’t care. You’ll always like whatever she calls you in her eyes. She refers to you as: “Sweet Pea”, “Honey Bun”, “My Dear”, and “Darling Y/N”.

Drayton “The Cook” Sawyer doesn’t hate you- which says something. In fact, he likes you. As his favorite person, you get special treatment. He likes calling you names that aren’t anything too fancy or special, but makes it clear whom he is always the first to serve food to at the table. Basically, anything that straight up tells everyone that you’re his #1. He is a fan of calling you: “The Good Kid”, “My Best Assistant”, or “The-One-damn-sane-one-in-this-family”.

Bubba “Leatherface” Sawyer can’t verbalize his pure love for you, and out of all the family, he has the purest kind of love- like how a male dog looks up at you, with those precious, pleasing eyes. That’s how he looks at you. And while he can’t tell you his names, you already know what your dearest thinks of you as: His Wife/Husband/Partner, His Emotional Support Human, His Everything. He doesn’t need words to tell you how much you mean to him, you can tell it by his gaze.

Chop Top “Hippie” Sawyer likes teasing you- messing with you, that’s almost your whole relationship. His names for you aren’t the most romantic and elegant, or the most serious, but have his playful personality embedded into them, creating terms of affection that send the message across just fine- This is my person, with the goddamn fine ass. Chop Tops nicknames for his s/o consist of: “Sexy”, “Hot Stuff”, “Pickle Tickler”, or “My peice of ass”.

Hands “The Heavy” Slaughter is another non verbal- he cannot express his feelings for you in words, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean it isn’t obvious. Like with Johnny- you’re his. And he does a damn fine job of making sure people know it. The family knows exactly what you are to him: His Woman/Man, His Pet, His Person. You are his. You might not be able to tell from the way he looks at you, but you sure can tell from the way he grabs your waist.

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shesjustanothergeek · 2 years ago

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fifteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties! Guess who passed their State Board Exams…? ME! I DID! Now, all I gotta do is fill out some paperwork, and I'll be licensed. I've started working already, but it's only three days a week right now, so pretty good! Don't hesitate to comment or ask me questions. I love hearing them and seeing others discuss them. Happy reading, everyone, and let the celebrations commence!

Chapter Warnings: Violence

The celebrations of Aegon's birth had finally arrived. All the Great Houses were expected to come—all but one. The Velaryons and part of the Targaryen faction were not extended an invitation. Rhaenys had taken this as a political slight by Queen Alicent. She was collateral damage in the cold war between Rhaenyra and her old friend. Guilty by association.

Lord Corlys was still fighting for control of the Stepstones and had put his loyal Lady Wife on the Driftwood throne to rule in his stead. The alliance of the Triarchy and House Martell of Dorne was of much concern, and without the aid of the King's fleet, the battle was all but lost. Yet, through it all, the Sea Snake remained on the collection of islands, fighting tooth and nail against those who wished control of his rightful territory.

Princess Rhaenys did not know of your efforts inside the Keep, slowly but surely attempting to send help to the losing battles. The day she was crowned the "Queen Who Never Was" came to mind. She felt abandoned by her cousins, Daemon and Viserys, for refusing to take a stance on the insurgents. Baela was her only solace, her heart missing the pieces her children used to occupy. She would never forgive them if her husband died.

You sat at the exponentially smaller desk in your room, the maids you had yet to become familiar with brushing your silky hair as you read two pieces of parchment.

Jace and your father had sent you letters. Daemons were curt, mentioning nothing about how he missed or thought of you while away. It was as if he was speaking to a fellow warrior, not his daughter. Only ensuring you were still on track with your efforts, wanting to know how far the influence of the Hightowers reached and when to expect words regarding the Stepstones. You ignored him for now, folding it in threes and placing it in the side drawer of your desk as you read your brother's.

"Dear Sister,

Jealousy became me when I bid you farewell a few days ago. I knew what I said was wrong as the words lept from my tongue. I am not proud, and regret has haunted me since. I express my sincerest and deepest apologies.

You have always been open and honest with your emotions, and I wish to do the same. I love you, sissy, despite what my words may have alluded to. You have experienced hardships that no child of that age should witness, and you did not grow to resent your family for it. I cannot say the same for me if something similar happened.

I wish the Queen did not invite you to Kings Landing, not because I am jealous, but because I haven't a clue what I mean to do without you. Father wants me to be strong, like you. He wants me to practice swords like you. He wants me to listen to Mother's audiences like you, but I am not you. I am a boy whose lineage is clouded with stolen kisses and an accidental fire.

I wish you were still here so I could feel your embrace. I do not believe I can handle Daemon for much longer. How have you done it for so long?

The days cannot go fast enough as I await your return. I intend to give you a proper apology once you are home. Perhaps we can spend some time in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden as I grovel? I will arrange a picnic for when I do. I don't want to beg on an empty stomach.

Missing you,

Jacaerys Velaryon, your wretched little brother."

His endearing letter did not help the ache for Dragonstone. A smile burned your cheeks as you rubbed the dry paper between your fingers. You could smell the brimstone on the fibers, the sulfuric scent taking you home.

"My Lady," a servant gained your attention, taking your focus off the sweet words. "The men should be returning from their hunts in the Kingswood soon. I would suggest we start readying you for the tourney later today."

You nodded wordlessly, giving them a tight-lipped smile as you put Jace's letter next to Daemon's. You will be sure to write them both later.

You were confident Jace would love to hear how the tourney went. He had always gravitated toward stories of knights in shining armor valiantly jousting for a lady's favor. He had spoken several times about wanting to participate in the events. That was the only thing that pushed him to pursue the sword, other than your mother's and father's orders.

You could picture your little brother atop a white steed, armor resembling a dragon with a lance in his hand, asking for the favor of one special noble girl. The image brought a genuine grin to your face. Jace was always the gentleman his Mother taught him to be.

You wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of green royals you were sure to be seated with. It was to be your first public appearance since your legitimization, and you had to make an impression. You allowed your ladies to bathe you, and upon your exit from the tub, you requested one to show you the variety of gowns you had brought. Black was always the most innovative option, representing the colors of your House, and there were plenty to choose from, thankfully. It was only a matter of which one.

You decide to help your decision by considering the weather and environment. Most of the gowns you had were thick for the constant chill of Dragonstone and would indeed have you draped over a chair with a fan to cool off despite the changing seasons. That had only left you with a few options, which immensely helped. It had revealed a dress you once deemed too scandalous to wear in your family's presence.

It was not typical Westerosi fashion. Rhaenyra had commissioned a tailor in Dorne to create a gown when you officially became of bedding age.

You could tell it was something she had longed to wear as a girl, a freeing and rebellious design, but etiquette and her position would not allow her to wear such exotic clothing. You did agree with her that it was stunning. The deep plunging 'v' of the neckline certainly accentuated your breasts and made them much more pleasing to the eye as your maids tightened the strings in the back.

The fabric was a combination of red with an overlay of black lace. Golden thread held the seams together, and a matching cape to your shoulders, leaving your arms bare. Pieces of Aurelian were sewn on the shoulder pads of it, looking like crumpled yellow leaves that cascaded down your biceps. A circled belt of silver was delicately snitched around your waist, the excess of the metal resting between your legs.

After you were dressed, the servants ushered you to the vanity, holding the draping fabric so it did not catch as they began to fix your ebony hair. They elected not to put it in its usual braided style, instead rolling and twisting the long strands onto themselves until they reached the base of your head, pinning it to your head. It was simple, and you immensely enjoyed the freedom it gave to your range of motion.

Next, they adorned you with matching jewelry and a delicate headpiece that arched over the crown of your head. A necklace of a curled golden dragon wrapped around the hollow of your throat, a long needlelike chain attached to it as a polished metal fang hung at the end. They then slid a hammered bronze cuff on your wrist and rings of the same color, dragonglass, and rubies for its gems. The ladies applied the final touch of makeup to your skin, a fine powder to rid the shine from your nose, a dusting of rouge, and a hint of rose-colored balm to your lips.

You felt like the Targaryen princesses of centuries past, the blood of old Valeryia pumping your heart.

You would give anything for your Mother to see you now, dressed in the traditional colors of her House. Though you couldn't hide your relief in Daemon not being here, you were sure he would've made you change or barred your door to stop you from escaping in such scandalous garb. You stood, finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you and the belt it was connected with. You hooked it around your waist, adjusting it to be just out of view.

Your servants stared at you in awe, more amazed by their work than you as you grabbed the wreath of black charm lilies and black crystal pansies you requested to give your favor to the knights who asked. You didn't believe any of them would but knew it was proper to have one nonetheless. You smiled at your ladies, conveying your gratefulness through your unusual eyes. You turned, facing the three women, your cape resembling a waterfall.

"I believe I haven't inquired of your names yet," you prompted, looking them over. The youngest of three fiddled with the hem of her white apron, avoiding your gaze. "I do apologize for that. You all have been very kind to me."

"I am Jeyne," the oldest spoke first, giving you a curtsy. Grey hair poked from under her servant cap, wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes.

"I am Fiora," the next one spoke, bowing. She appeared not much older than you, with bright green eyes and a splash of tan freckles on her nose and cheekbones.

You would guess the youngest girl, around Jace's age, continued playing with her clothes, muttering a meek "Dyana" and quickly bending her legs. You frowned at her response, sensing her anxiety, and reached for her tiny fingers, rough and dry with callouses.

"You need not be frightened, Dyana. I am not as wicked as the whispers claim me to be," you jested with a grin. She returned it, but it did not reach her eyes. A pang of sadness struck your chest as your gaze flicked over her as if you could understand the reason for her apprehension at a glance.

"My Ladies," you said, standing and clasping your hands in front of you as you bowed your head. "It is a pleasure to become acquainted finally. I am sure we will become close during my stay here." You smiled at all of them once more, your attention resting briefly on the meek fair skinned girl. "If any of you need something from me in the meantime, no matter how small or trivial, I will be at your service as you are to me."

The three shared bewildered expressions, Fiora's mouth agape as all muttered their thanks.

You supposed their reaction was understandable. They had never been treated like people before, almost making you feel bad for your motives.

Your plan would not hurt them in the long run. If anything, they would most likely be grateful to have a princess as an ally. Most nobles did not realize how much of their life depended upon the people serving them, not considering that they saw and heard everything within their homes. You would be a fool not to take advantage of that during such tumultuous times.

"Well," you clapped your palms together, giddy to finally have that out of the way, "I have grown rather famished and wish for some snacks before I watch men get rammed with sticks." Jeyne grinned, and Fiora bit her pink lips at your crude words. "I know that this is not proper, but I truly am in the dark. If you would not mind, could you lead me to the kitchens? I frequented them much at Dragonstone, as midnight snacking is a vice of mine, and wish to know where they are when the cravings emerge."

Knowing your next moves hinged on their response, you had planned those words carefully. You needed to tell them something that they believed was a secret. Daemon had told you once that revealing something one would deem embarrassing, that displaying vulnerability to a fellow human would have them drop their defenses, but if they were smart enough to realize this, it would ruin everything.

Fiora gave a toothy grin, nodding vigorously before looking at her companions. The other two shared the same smile. Through those actions, you could quickly tell what her personality was. She was a giddy and sweet girl, albeit a bit more susceptible than someone of her age should be. The other women followed along. Her joy was contagious as they approached the kitchens with you on their heels.

A self-satisfied smirk replaced the kind smile you wore for your servants.

Everything was going according to how you imagined it. Your maids took kindly to you, and as you traversed the long hallways and steps of the Keep, each passing nobleman and servant noticed your presence. One Lady gasped as you rounded a corner and met face-to-face, quickly scurrying away like a scared field mouse. A man who stood over a full head taller than you raked his eyes over your form, his attention staying on your breasts long enough for Jeyne to notice. She silently stepped before you could truly capture his face, only noting his long black hair and eyes.

Servants bustled throughout the kitchens, some throwing large pieces of dough on a floured table, others running with plates of food and ingredients in their hands. None of them paid attention as you entered, hidden behind the uniformed girls, having to duck beneath a misplaced stone in the stairwell ceiling.

Jeyne, Dyana, and Fiora led you through an archway into a room filled with even more people who still did not notice you, peeling carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. You felt your chest deflate in defeat at your seemingly unimportant presence, not anticipating them to continue their tasks and not spare you a glance. It was not every day a member of the royal family graced them with their appearance.

It almost felt like the servants of the Keep did not see you as a Targaryen but as just another one of them. Your mouth soured at the thought, digging your nails into your palms until they left imprints. It would be best if you were happy to see them collectively agree you were not like the rest of your kin, but still, not receiving the recognition you tried so hard for was gutting. You could feel your body deflating, curling in on itself as your previous confidence dwindled.

No matter, you told yourself. This can work to my advantage.

They saw you as not someone to be feared, and perhaps you could extend those same opinions toward your Mother. Rhaenyra needed everyone who resided in the Red Keep to be on her side when she ascended the throne, the nobles who lived at court, and the knights who protected and defended the Targaryen name. Everyone was needed.

Jeyne handed you a peach from off the wooden table a male servant used to cut some vegetables, smiling as your thumb stroked the fuzzy skin. You could still remember when fruits such as that were unavailable to you, though these memories were faint and grew more difficult to recall as time passed. Dyana then found a jug of cider, filling a small goblet up to wash down the sweet taste that danced on your tongue, and Fiora used the corner of her apron to wipe the stray juices that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You smiled at them both gratefully, fighting on the inside not to swat their doting hands away, feeling like a child again.

You sucked the last bit of the pulp from the large seed before removing it from your lips and throwing it in the bucket they used for scraps. You continued to sip on the brass goblet Dyana had given you, following them from out of the kitchens and into a courtyard you had never seen before. It was lined with pens filled with livestock. Sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens belting, chirping, and snorting as you passed.

You were still determining exactly where the tourney would be held but had yet to hear of the vast and spacious arena it was. You knew you would be sitting inside the royal box next to the other noble members of your family, and you couldn't hide how less than joyful that made you feel. You did wonder if the King would be there, knowing that what the Maester and Otto said were complete lies about his health. Some of you still held onto hope that there was some truth in their deceitfulness. Indeed, they couldn't be so bold as to say something that could easily be disproven with one's eyes. The next Council meeting would undoubtedly be an eventful one.

Your ladies led you back inside an entrance of the castle you had never seen before, urging you to follow their steps and assuring you were close. Soon, the low rumbling of voices could be heard. Different pitches and accents all melted into one continuous barrage of sound as you ascended the stairs to your seat.

The first leg of the tourney was set to begin in a short while, and most of the royal family had already made their appearance. Even the eldest prince sat in a high back chair, practically falling asleep with a cup of wine in his hand. A slight grin formed on your face at the endearing sight, appearing as if you were looking at a babe rather than a man grown. His perfectly pink lips stuck out in a pout, a sigh escaping as he adjusted in his seat.

You were standing above him diagonally on the top riser and could see every huff, and every scoff he made as his Mother spoke to him, but Aegon could not see you. Queen Alicent said straight ahead, not looking at him as you saw her permanent scowl. It was her firstborn's name day, which should be celebrated with nothing but smiles and laughs. One would think she would be happy for such an occasion.

Aegon said something to his Mother that made her snap her head in his direction, ready to offer him some choice words as she saw you.

You could hear the gasp leaving Alicent clutching the pointed star of the Seven glued to her neck. You swore by the sound she made she had not seen you but the Stranger himself as her face paled. The Queen whispered something as she quickly looked away. Aegon was just as shocked as you regarding his Mother's reaction. He thought she might faint as he swiftly turned to see what it was all about.

Your gazes looked at one another, and your cheeks reddened under his stare. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, offering him a quick curtsey as you walked to an open seat at the lowest riser, crossing your legs as you adjusted the dagger at your hip.

Aegon had died. Well, it certainly felt like it when he laid his eyes on you. For once, his vision was clear and not yet clouded by the drink, and he could see your perfectly crafted body. He immediately went to the plunging neckline of your dress; how could he not? Your breasts were right there where he could see, noticing how much bigger they were than he initially imagined. He then noticed the curled golden dragon around your neck, reminding him of his own, Sunfyre. Had you chosen that for him? Did you purposefully put that on with him in mind? Aegon could feel his cock harden at the thought.

He watched you descend the giant stone steps, holding your skirts up so you did not trip as he saw your bare ankles. He could hardly contain the twitch of his hips at the sight. Aegon had been with many women in his life, too many to count, and yet seeing just a peak of your hidden skin had him nearly spilling in his breeches.

He thought back to your moment in the Godswood. Underneath the Heart Tree, the fragments of the sunrise peeking through the leaves dotted your skin with beautiful rays of yellow. One had been over your eyes, and Aegon had seen your pupils shrink and reveal more of the purple that bathed there. He never wanted to leave that moment with you. He wanted to stay forever underneath that tree, trace the scars on your skin, and kiss every part of you until he had you squirm underneath him.

Aegon remembered how your breathing hastened as your jaw trembled at his touch, your face contorted into a gorgeous pout as he pulled your lip with his thumb. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together even though you had no idea. Nothing had changed between the two of you, he realized. Aegon knew you desired him as much as he desired you. You just did not know it yet.

Gods. He wanted to take the empty seat next to you so badly but knew what his Mother would say if he did-- what she would do if he did. So, instead, he signaled for a serving girl to fill his chalice to the brim, drowning his sorrows in Arbor Red.

***

You felt rather pathetic as you shifted in your seat, the wood creaking with your weight as you still held your wreath of flowers. You could sense everyone's eyes on you and the empty chairs positioned at your sides. No one wanted to sit next to the bastard, you mocked in your head, feeling as if your eyes would pop out of your skull if you rolled them any harder.

It was the fifth round of the tourney, and five men had been knocked off their horses, but no fighting had ensued. Bracken, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, and Blackwood boys had to skulk back to the stables knowing they had lost.

The King had still yet to show if he was ever going to, and you had given a fierce glare at Otto Hightower a few rows up when he announced the tournament had officially started. You had caught the stare of Princess Helaena in the process and immediately softened, returning her kind smile before the One-Eyed Prince stole her. You made a mental note to see her at the feast the following evening, perhaps share a dance or two.

With the end of the fifth round started the sixth, and the vibrant lion banners of House Lannister were prominently displayed as Ser Tyland entered the arena. He sat atop his chestnut horse, trotting over to the squire that held his lance. He approached the royal box, and you thought for a moment he might ask you for your favor. You couldn't hide the distance as he smiled up at you but turned his face away, looking at someone behind you.

"I am Ser Tyland of House Lannister," he announced.

Yes, you twat, you said internally, we know who you are. You live here.

"Princess Helaena," he called, and she looked up from her fingers to the man below her. His voice nearly made you vomit. "Would you do me the honor of bestowing your favor for the next round, Princess?" he asked chivalrously.

She glanced at her grandsire beside her, and he nodded in approval as she stood, her pale yellow dress shining in the autumn sun.

"Of course," she smiled, walking to the steps to place her ring of white and blue flowers on the pole of his lance.

"I thank you, your Grace," he replied and then trotted back to the waiting young squire.

Helaena stood there momentarily, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. It didn't feel like her gaze was on you, but more looking through you as she whispered. "Heed the beast within the deep. Rock runs red, and rocks bleed."

You looked at her confused, brows furrowing, and reached for her hand, asking her to speak louder. She quickly smacked it away, her eyes widening in fear as if she was suddenly woken from a dream, and she hurried up the steps.

You didn't have time to dwell on Helaena's outburst as Ser Tyland Lannister's opponent entered the wring. His armor was an impenetrable crepuscule steel and as shiny as the scales that covered your dragon's flesh, a helmet the same color with a mane of yellow hairs spanning from his crown to the base of his neck. His banners were ones you had only seen on paper. Most of the fabric was black, just like his thick armor, but the sigil was a deep golden kraken with ten long tentacles, nearly spanning the entire flag. The squid-like beasts of House Greyjoy were said to terrorize the depths of the oceans and sink the ships of those unsuspecting.

You were unsure of which Greyjoy it was. Dalton or Veron or maybe a cousin or some distant kin that shared the name. You didn't care who it was. They were just another lord or knight seeking fame inside a wood and dirt stadium.

You signaled for a servant, and he gave you a chalice of wine as you slumped in your seat. You didn't want to cloud your mind with alcohol, always the one to be alert and observe things other people may not notice, but this was getting rather irksome, and you needed something to do other than sit and look pretty.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," the knight said, his horse a dusty grey color as he lifted his helmet off his head. You ignored him with confidence that it was not you he was speaking to, taking another gulp of wine as you swirled the drink.

Dalton was a fierce and ruthless man. You had heard his stories of his youth sailing the Basilisk Isles with his late uncle, pillaging the towns there. He had somehow claimed a Valyrian steel sword named Nightfall during those plunders. At one point, he had aided in the battle of the Stepstones as a sellsail, where his uncle was murdered. It had been rumored in a fit of vengeance, he killed every enemy within his sight and emerged from the battle victorious and drenched in blood. Since then, he bore the title of the Red Kraken.

"I come seeking the favor of the bastard girl the court speaks so much of." A collective gasp sounded in the royal box, shocked at his words.

You barked out a laugh at Ser Dalton, attempting not to choke on the liquid you just swallowed. You should have been insulted at him for calling you such a name. In the eyes of the law and the Seven, you were no longer a bastard, but clearly, that did not stop people from claiming you as such.

"You have found her, Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you mocked, crossing your legs as you began to play with a small leaf. You smiled as you noticed the maroon outline of his House sigil on his breastplate.

Everything thing about him was dark and menacing. He radiated an aura of malevolence from the inside as if you would cut him open; he would not bleed the same red. "Though, I do not think you deserve my favor after calling me such a name." Men and women released more gasps, and you could hear someone muttering a soft "Gods be good" under their breath.

You waited for the following apology, but it did not come, leaving you sitting there like a fool. You hummed in disapproval, pushing yourself upright.

"I am no longer a bastard girl," you stood, holding the flower wreath between your fingers, "but that of a woman born from a night of sinful heat and passion. I am skilled with the blade and well-read. I study history, philosophy, and the politics of the realm." Ser Dalton's onyx gaze crept from your leather slippers to the white streak in your hair. He watched you step closer and lean over the railing so only he could hear you. "I am not just a simple fucking bastard girl."

He watched the words roll off your tongue, gripping his lance tighter with parted lips as you placed the circle of black and wine-colored flowers on it.

You fixed your spine, staring down your nose at the bannerman before you. "Win this joust Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, and I will forgive the slight you have made upon me. For I am afraid if you do not, the sand of the Iron Islands shall turn to glass, and your Salt Wives will finally be free. You have my favor and my luck." You flicked your wrist as you walked back to your seat. "Off with you."

"Thank you, Princess. You honor me deeply." He lifted the fist that carried his helmet and crossed it over his chest, bowing his head with an amused smirk.

You sat down, grabbed the cup you had been working on, and asked the servant to fill it again, unbothered with his courtly manners. Ser Dalton placed his helmet back on and readied his horse for the first bout.

You almost chuckled at the sight, drink to your lips. Sitting on his horse, he looked like a nasty black pony with a yellow mane, ready to bite and kick anyone nearby. His whole get-up was quite ridiculous as you continued to watch.

Ser Tyland's armor was so very much... Lannister. There was no other word to describe the style. He wore a long red flowing cape, his dense silver breastplate trimmed with gold in the shape of a lion.

An announcer with a sizeable brass horn stepped onto a wooden platform a few meters before the royal box. He wore a plum-colored hat with a dyed feather and an off-white tunic dampened with sweat and stained with dust as he shouted the outlining phrases for the beginning of this round. He introduced each House and their respective ranks within them.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, conqueror of thirteen Salt Wives, Lord of the Iron Islands," he boomed into the sky, swaying his hand to the right side of the arena to where the man was. He paused to let the crowd shout their praises.

Screams and hollers of people echoed loudly, drowning out the announcer as he introduced Tyland next. You could see the proud Lannister boy's ego was hurt at the apparent favoritism, and you feigned a pout at the sight.

Finally, he blew his horn, signaling they could begin. Ser Dalton did not waste a breath in fear as he charged at Ser Tyland, his yellow-striped lance already bent and ready to take his opponent off his horse. You scoffed, taking another sip of the sickly sweet wine.

If he planned to knock Tyland down on his first try, he clearly did not comprehend the point of a joust. You did not understand why the audience would love him if he intended to get this over swiftly. This was supposed to be entertainment and not battle. It was meant to be a spectacle for the crowd, a break from the mundane life of the court.

At the last second, as Dalton and Tyland were about to collide stick to the chest, Ser Dalton lifted his lance straight. Ser Tyland's breezed past his rival, completely missing his goal with a cheer from the crowd. You mirrored their sentiments but did not show it on the outside, only adjusting in your seat with a soft sigh. You saw Dalton to the left now, and if you did not know any better, smirked at you. Arrogant, just like the Lannisters.

They went at it again, the hooves of their steeds thundering on the packed earth. This time neither of them started with their poles down, only for Ser Tyland to raise it at the last moment and knock Ser Dalton in the shoulder. Sadly, he did not fall off his horse and only lost his grip on the lance, dragging a line in the dirt. You laughed, pleased to have witnessed at least some bruising to the man's pride.

You tried your best to ignore the stares of those behind you. They had been on you since you sat. No doubt, if you looked, you would only be met with aversion and disgust. You steeled yourself, moving from your slouched position to rest your hands on the arms of the chair.

Aegon was part of the stares, though his expression differed significantly from the others. His Mother had cast him a sidelong glance at his reaction, and only then did he outwardly calm. He had been inside his mind until the squid boy approached you, asking for your favor. He even had the gull to call you a bastard! In front of nearly the entire court of the Red Keep! Oh, how Aegon wanted to call his dragon and burn the fish to pieces.

It also did nothing to soothe him when he saw you lean over the box fence, telling the squid boy only something he could hear. He knew your breasts were on display for the man judging by his hungry gaze. At one point, Aegon swore he saw him adjust his stance in the saddle.

Aegon was furious. His nails dug into his seat's material, feeling splinters wedge underneath them. He stole a pitcher of wine from a servant, keeping it on his lap so he could have continued access to it.

He was so, so furious as he watched your sudden interest in the tournament. He knew you were only mesmerized by the men in front of you because Ser Dalton gave you attention. Aegon wasn't upset over that; no, he was upset over the fact that the Lord of Pyke had won the round by hitting Tyland Lannister straight into the chest, sending him flying into the dust. He noticed how your shoulders lifted with barely contained excitement as he watched Ser Dalton send a bow your way.

He groaned, not filtering his discontent for the rest of the rounds that unfolded, which, sadly, each one Ser Dalton was the victor of. Eventually, the final bout started. His opponent was a Glover boy from the north, unsure of which one, but it didn't matter as he witnessed the Red Kraken get thrown from his horse. Aegon couldn't help but cheer theatrically at the sound of the lance splintering when colliding with his stomach.

He had caught your sudden gaze then, brown eyes flitting over how he stood and clapped his hands. You didn't smile but gave him a look of confusion, your thick brows furrowing. He had felt his jubilance subside, but only slightly.

Suddenly, Ser Dalton shouted, yanking a sword and shield from his squire and challenging the victor to a duel. Aegon felt his stomach sink into his chair as a strand of his blonde mane obscured his vision. Oh, splendid, he mused; the squid has pride.

The Glover had taken up the challenge without strife, still proudly wearing the banner of his House on his back. Aegon wondered if you had ever witnessed a duel before. He knew you had taken a life, but it was not the same as watching someone do it. Selfishly, he dreamed you would turn away at the sight and seek comfort from him, but that was all it was... a dream.

You watched with surprise as the Glover's and Dalton's swords clashed, the clang ringing in your ears. Each slash and thud of their metal longswords sent a jolt through your bones, curling your toes and squeezing your drink in a vice-like grip. You hated to admit that you felt nervous, your heart beating just a little too fast to be considered normal.

Ser Dalton's swings were wild but held a skillful precision, connecting with the Glover's side. It knocked the wind out of the poor boy's lungs and had him raising his shield as Dalton kicked it, sending him stumbling further.

He was so savage, so bloodthirsty that it made you shiver. You finally understood why he was called the Red Kraken, and you feared for the Glover's life. Surely, he wouldn't kill the boy; you hoped he wouldn't. The poor lad looked like he had just become a man. He was much shorter than Dalton but still taller than you, and he looked like this was his first tourney. You wished he would yield.

Ser Dalton swung at the boy, his armored fist connecting to his jaw with a nauseating crunch of bone and metal. Confidently, he kicked to disoriented teen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, his sword falling just out of reach. He went to pull his shield to defend himself, but Dalton stomped on the arm that carried it. You could see how the Kraken stood over the Armored Glove, unable to hear what he said to him. You didn't need to. You knew what came next, and it did not frighten you. The Glover lost the duel as the Greyjoy raised his sword, cutting off the words that attempted to leave his tongue with a blade to the throat.

It was bloody. So very bloody. The essence of the Glovers' life force spurted from his body onto the face of Ser Dalton Greyjoy, dripping from his chin. You heard the gasps of those around you, a platter dropping at the horrific show as the ground became saturated with red. You didn't feel sad as you watched two people drag his body away, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause. In fact, you felt hardly anything, sitting as if nothing had happened as the announcer raised Ser Dalton's hand in triumph. You were used to death by now.

To the outside person, you looked alright, but Aegon knew you were anything but. Your knuckles blanched around your drink, resting it in your lap. He felt foolish to think you would shy away from such things. He knew you were much more robust than that, but still, he hoped you would run to him.

Everything next seemed to happen in slow motion. Aegon watched the crown of roses intended for the Queen of Love and Beauty be placed into Dalton's bloodied palms, strutting over to the royal box as he called out the most beautiful name he had ever heard... Yours.

His little one. His love.

Aegon went to jump out of his seat, but the firm hand of his Mother yanked his arm, abruptly pulling him back down before he could mock the royal family with his outburst. He wanted to rip his Mother off him and run to you. He wished to hide you from the hundreds of eyes staring at you. This wasn't right. He panicked. This cannot be right. You were his, and he was yours until the end of days.

He pictured what Ser Dalton's head would look like on a spike as you walked down the stairs and onto the small platform below. He watched the Salt Lord's eyes rake across your body as he placed the crown on your head, whispering something that made you clench your fists.

Everyone knew what this meant grandiose display meant. The Lord Reaper of Pyke intended to court his pretty girl and make a Salt Wife out of her. No, Aegon thought. That will never do.

Master List of Series

Spotify Playlist

YouTube Playlist

I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's an exciting one! We've met a new character, Dalton Greyjoy. He plays a big part in The Dance of Dragons. I won't spoil it for anyone, but let's say his heart runs black… The next chapter is the feast for our baby boy's 20th birthday! Let's hope Aegon gets everything he wishes for.

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

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charathemoth · 11 days ago

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you may call me either chara or moth, whichever is easier to moan

I found I really enjoy voicing and writing hypnotic scripts, and the first one i ever wrote worked fantastic on my nestmate

I'd love to do this as a side gig, however i love doing this in general. capture my heart and i may just do one for you for free ;3

I'll write/record anything that interests me, but not everything i record I'm actively into, so please don't assume so. Further, I am in no semblance a top or domme. Attempting to enjoy either is impossible for me. i can, however, act and pretend. just don't expect a relationship where i can provide those comforts.

I'm transfemme, poly, and on the ace spectrum. i find plenty of people attractive, but unless I get to know you, you will not catch my eye in that way. there are of course exeptions, but thats if you're especially smooth with your words as well as the gender I'm attracted to.

girls and girlthings, feel free to flirt and invade my dms with whatever you wish.

@ccbmonster is my main

@teapartyofdeath is my nestmate

@sacchi-ko is my wife

and @ash-the-lizard-puppy is my big sister

i will follow and like from my main, as this is an extension of it.

I'm experienced in recieving hypnosis, as well as have a plethora of triggers myself, though still relatively new to inducing it so feedback is most welcome. it does not matter if that is via dms or ask box. anons will remain no matter what, but hate will not be interacted with. (unless i feel like flirting)

below is a list of my hard limits, please respect them

snuff - please do not direct it at me, I'm willing to write scripts in relation to it, but the topic makes me uncomfortable due to my overstimulating guilt response

piss - i am once again willing to write scripts on it, but drinking, bathing, or directly interacting with it (even in fantasy) is uncomfortable to me.

scat - no.

sissy, bambi, or bimbofication - those topics are a maybe, because i have never seen them implemented respectfully and properly. all are slippery slopes to fetishization in my eyes, so i do not wish to interact with them for the most part.

hypnosis is a relationship of trust and comfort, if there is anything i can do to make you more comfortable say so. further, not everyone is susceptible to hypnosis, and not everyone is susceptible to the same kind. please be understanding if my audios do not work for you. have a good time, dears.

THANKS SO MUCH SUNNY FOR THE PFP!!!!!!

#pinned post #pinned intro #hypnok1nk #hypnosis

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laurettelarue · 1 year ago

Note

I’m a sixty year old crossdresser who lost his wife 6 years ago and just doesn’t feel right with another woman at this time. Is it perverse or weird that I am fantasizing more and more about having a sexual relationship with a man? I want to have sex as a woman (or as close as I can get without any permanent changes

Dear pussyboyhose, As you can read in my profile, I am a 67 year young sissy. Sissy because people like to give labels and this one came close (enough). Personally I became aware of loving to cross-dress and was even more surprised when I found that I would like, no, yearn to have sex with a person with a penis, in my case a person with feminine features. So I do not think it strange or weird at all, if a 60 year old crossdresser is attracted to the thought of sexual intercourse with a man. In finding your personality, one should only have to be limited by how your feelings are towards your sexual and gender preferences and how far you want to go in that. If you want to have sex as a woman without physical changes, than, in my modest opinion, that's entirely up to you, and perhaps your partner of choice. 💋 Laurette

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endlessly-cursed · 10 months ago

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Bringing Good Tidings, Part Three: New Year Upon Ye

A/N: After 80 years, I finally finished the third part! This one's my second fave, and I hope you guys enjoy it. Bon apetit!

Summary: After today's victory, it's time to party! Let's hope that nobody else comes to rue the day.

Word Count: 1.2k

Rating: T

OCs featured: Lachlann Doherty ( @hphmmatthewluther ) Mathilde Coventry ( @camillejeaneshphm ) Frederick of Kent ( @that-scouse-wizard )

Taglist: @catohphm @gaygryffindorgal @magicallymalted

First Part - Second Part - Third Part - Fourth Part

The moment the foe had been vanquished, the king declared that the party must go on, and everybody, feeling relieved, had no trouble whatsoever on carrying on. A dance started, and everyone’s spirits were over the roof. Henriette smiled, watching her children play tag among them.

Fred appeared behind her, radiating hi usual warmth, kissing her cheek “You were wonderful out there, my love.”

“It was mostly Mr. Doherty.”

“No, it was not.”

She spun around and pecked him “Sneak away with me.”

Henriette blinked “Now?”

“Yes. I’ve missed you, and we won’t have a moment later. Please?”

“But we can’t leave the children unattended!”

Fred was about to concede when a voice she hadn’t heard in a long time reassured them “I’d be happy to watch them for you, my lady.”

The marriage whipped their heads to see a red head that they hadn’t seen in ten years “Go,” she insisted “your children will be in my care. Two hours shall suffice.”

Not taking chances, Fred whisked his wife away to another wing, one reserved for the royal family’s friends and lovers. The moment they were away from earshot, Freddie kissed Henriette fervently, picking her up “Geirmund!” She gasped, giggling like a silly teenager.

Their laughs were muffled after Fred opened the first door he spotted and closed it behind him, throwing his wife to bed, his shirt already on the floor “You heard our friend. We’ve got around two hours. Best to make them count.”

Henriette chuckled “Shut up and take me already.”

They rolled in the sheets, basking into the beautiful, stolen moment between them.

Brunhilda stood watch of Lady Henriette’s children, observing the merry scene in front of her, alongside keeping an eye on her own children. She chuckled, seeing how a clumsy little Louis tried to learn to dance from Dayana, who was already as graceful as herself.

However, the moment she saw a familiar blond hair, she froze “Come on, Sissy!” The little girl who greatly resembled her Mathilde cried “Before Sam spots us!”

Her heart hammered. They were here. She discreetly looked around the ballroom, and spotted Lachlann Doherty chatting with a duke, visibly bored by his hunting habits, perhaps. He looked up, and quickly spotted her. He had gotten taller, had gained muscle, grown his hair and the innocence in his beautiful eyes were gone, now replaced with sage and that fierceness that had beguiled her enough to give herself to him before her wedding. Excusing himself, he approached her, and she bowed “Mr. Doherty.”

“Bruna,” he marvelled “you haven’t aged a day. You look… as beautiful as I remember.”

“You have turned into a handsome man as well.”

He smiled “I’m glad my new look pleases you.”

She bit her lip “You always aimed to please.”

“That I do.”

They stood there, silent and processing the fact that she was here, before his eyes. He cleared his throat, washing away his last memory of her “Where is your husband? Again solving world hunger by himself?”

She bit a chuckle “Unfortunately, my dear husband has a stomachal issue.”

“Ah. How unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate indeed.”

A soft tune started playing, and Lam stretched out his hand “Dance with me.”

“What about your wife?”

“We shall greet her afterwards. She’s been asking about you.”

She gingerly took his hand and started dancing, as if ten years hadn’t gone by. It was a rather intimate tune, and often their hands grazed, their eyes never wavering from the other, as if the world ceased to exist. To finish, he spun her around and gently set her to the floor, their gazes still on one another. She was wearing a beautiful green dress, and her hair was up and visible by her thin veil, which didn’t conceal much of her powerful red.

Both clearing their throats, they abandoned the dancefloor and went towards Lady Mathilde, who had a baby Felix in her arms, cooing. Bruna’s heart melted at the sight. She was a formidable mother.

Mathilde looked up and brightened up “Bruna, Cherie!” She greeted her warmly, beaming. “Look at you, you don’t look a day over five and twenty!”

“You flatter me, dear.”

Just then, Dayana, Matilda and Louis came running, probably finishing playing tag. They stopped at the sight of their mother and quickly came by her side “Lord Lachlann, Lady Mathilde, these are my children; Dayana, Matilda and Louis.”

They all bowed and Mathilde’s gaze rested upon redheaded, little Matilda. Then, she looked at Bruna with fondness in her eyes “Are you the Mathilde I was named after, ma’am?”

“It seems I am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet my namesake.”

Mathilde beamed and kissed her cheek “And I am happy that such a beauty was named after me.”

Matilda smiled bashfully and hid behind her mother’s skirt.

“You have lovely children, my lady.” Lachlann spoke.

“Thank you, my lord, they are my pride and joy.”

Lachlann beckoned his own children to come and introduced his to Bruna “These are my own; Caitlin, Sam, Simone and Fèlix.”

“Is she the Lady Bruna you always talk about, papa?”

Bruna raised her eyebrows and Lachlann cleared his throat “Yes, Caitlin, she is.” He gave her a look and she quickly took the hint.

“Ahem, well, we should let our children carry on playing! Dayana, darling, do keep your new friends entertained, and include the Dohertys to your playdate?”

“Yay!” Louis cheered “More friends!”

The eight of them ran off to where Henriette’s children had been playing. Lachlann and Mathilde shared a look before she offered “It seems like dinner will be ready soon. Would you like to sit with us and catch up?”

Bruna smiled genuinely “I’d love nothing more. I want to hear all about your adventures!”

Henriette and Frederick were cuddling, relishing on the passionate moment they had just shared. Looking at the direction of the sun, Frederick sighed “We ought to get going. Dinner shall be ready soon, and we’ve been away for a while.”

“As long as you tell me where did you throw off my stockings again.”

Fred smirked “Too focused on kissing you to remember,”

She playfully shoved him “You’re terrible!”

Both got dressed hastily and Henriette saw something move within the trees. She frowned.

“My love? The gong just rang. We have to move now, or else we’ll raise a few eyebrows.”

She shook it off “Right.”

They entered the room a few minutes before the monarchs and sighed in relief, sitting right where they had been assigned. She spotted Lady Brunhilda and smiled at her as a thank you, and saw her cozy in the table with Lord Lachlann and Lady Mathilde. She hoped to repay the favour soon.

The monarchs were announced and the usual protocol was made, and all started to dine and converse, talking about this morning. But Henriette had a feeling. Something was about to happen, she was sure. This day was far from over. Somehow, she knew.

Like clockwork, the doors slammed open, and a figure that they didn’t expect came to greet them, a malicious smile on its face. She looked at Betwixt, who was as shocked.

“Helloooooo, children! Guess who has misbehaved!”

A noble lady pointed at the monster and cried out “The Krampus!” Before fainting with shock.

“Shit.” Said Fred before readying his weapon.

#bringing good tidings #hp founders era #founders era #oc: henriette of wessex #oc: brunhilda of cologne #frederick of kent #lachlann doherty #mathilde coventry #frediette #silvercrown #silvercrownlogne #collab #mywriting*

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moonstonedrawsrandomly · 1 year ago

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Q: Why does it seem like Kallamar hates Narinder? Like, I know WHY he hates him today, but…even in the baby pictures, it seems like he’s hated him for a long time, why is that?

Gaia: Oh Boy, a loaded question…so, that’s the problem, we don’t know. Unfortunately, there was an incident in their youth- you know what? I think it would be better to just tell you what happened…

…

“No fair, you shouldn’t be able to block like that!”

“And you take one of my legs? Fat chance! That’s why Elder Sibling is taking ME and NOT YOU!”

Heket (7)and Narinder (5)went back and forth with each other, while they both held their plastic swords. Heket was going off to train with her Elder Sibling, Shamura and Narinder was upset about this all. Including having to take his little brother Kallamar (3) with him as he bumbles around.

“I wanna go!”

Kallamar squealed. Heket pats his head warmly.

“No, you have to stay and protect Mama, okay? Can you do that?”

“I protect Mama?”

Narinder tuned out the conversation, he doesn’t like this mushy gushy stuff. He was thinking about asking elder sibling one last time, but then an attendant came for Heket.

“My lady, Bishop Shamura is looking for you, it’s time to depart”

“Alright, bye guys!”

“Bye bye Sissy!”

Kallamar shouted as they both waved to Heket. Narinder then picked up the plastic sword, and then looked at the armory.

“Hey Kallamar, you wanna see a real sword?”

“Yeah!”

The children weren’t allowed in the armory for any circumstances. Narinder, knowing how to pick locks was able to get in, and they grabbed a sword each. All the swords were Shamura’s and each of them had magical powers… something the kids didn’t know.

Narinder and Kallamar swinging the swords deep in the forest, Narinder looses control of his and smacks Kallamar hard in the back, Kallamar cries in serious pain.

“Big Brother, my back! My legs!!”

He screams in pain. He had the sword hit his spine, hard. Something broke, it had to have broke. He couldn’t feel his back OR his legs. He kept trying to reach out for his brother, but was in too much pain. Narinder didn’t know what to do.

“Oh no! What am I going to do?”

His brother felt the chill in the air, it was going to snow soon. The weather might be bad enough for them to turn around. Kallamar was still on the floor, but now his arms won’t move…he began to cry. Narinder picks up the sword Kallamar dropped.

“Brother? Where are you going, Brother! Brother?”

And then there was silence. Narinder left him there as he returns to the Armory and puts back the sword. Which he was quickly scolded and taken to Gaia.

“Nari, where is your brother?”

“Huh?”

“Dear, please pay attention. Where is your brother?”

“Oh…he…went with Shamura and Heket”

Gaia furrowed her brow. Why would they take Heket and Kallamar but not Narinder…he doesn’t even have his stuff with him, despite it was a two day adventure…regardless, they might have to cut it short, a storm is brewing…

“Make sure Narinder has his warm winter sheets and inform Kallamar’s nanny that he is out for the next 2 days.”

Gaia told Narinder’s nanny. She then tells her attendant to write a letter to Shamura, asking for her inquiry why her partner took a toddler to the training grounds and not Narinder? Regardless, Gaia was still uneasy, especially with the weather getting worse.

Meanwhile, hours later, the caravan with Bishop Shamura and Heket has turned around. The storm has gotten worse, to the point they decided it would be the safest time to turn around. They were quite close to home now.

“Thank goodness Heket got too cold. It will be nice to be in my warm bedchambers next to my WARM wife~*”

They said while Heket was bundled up as warmly as possible. They finally made it to the gates as the carriages were towed to the back. Gaia, in shock greets them but then realizes something terrifying

“Where’s Kallamar?”

“Wasn’t he with you?”

“Didn’t you take him?!?”

“Why on earth would I take a toddler in THIS weather?!?”

The panic began to set until Heket croaks

“Narinder…they were within the Armory…”

She said. Both parent and sibling screamed at the realization. Kallamar is lost in the storm!

“KALLAMAR!!!!”

The whole kingdom was on lockdown, and his attendants were either being beaten or out looking for them. Heket was given to her nanny and the two adult crown users, mounted horses? and galloped into the night, with fighters following them with medical aid and lanterns. Narinder, who was already tucked in bed was hearing the commotion.

“Young lady! You’re going to catch a chill! You’re not old enough to go!”

“Baby brother is missing! I must look too!”

“Look at your hands and feet! They are blue! You’ll catch your death in the cold…your poor mother and older sibling would be devastated! So that they know that your well and they only have to worry about ONE KID at a time! Understand?”

Heket mopes. They’re right. One kid possibly perishing is insane, but two?!? They would be besides themselves with grief. Heket slumps to the bath

“Your family is very proud of you wanting to take the initiative, but they will be extra proud that you’re safe!”

They said. Narinder was worried. He sneaks back into bed and wonders why they’re all looking for him?

“If he was strong, he’d find his way back…MaMa and ShaSha are both gone”

He said. It did occur to him that his little brother was weak, but to think that his little brother was still in the snow…he pulls the covers over his head, not trying to think about it.

Kallamar still remains in the snow. The adults don’t know where to look now. The armory was checked but they weren’t there.

“Keep looking!”

Shamura said as he still looks around for their lost brother.

“Help…”

Kallamar whimpered. His hands were turning blue from the cold and he was hungry. The pain in his neck and back were not going away.

“…maa…maa…shaa…shaa…”

He whispered as tears spilled down his little face. The snow was still coming down at this point. If his crown was stronger, he’d be able to stay warmer, but his crown was fairly new like him. They didn’t know how to keep him warm, let alone how to handle heat. Then something in the bushes began to shake

“Mama?”

Kallamar thought until the rustling came up to his head. It was another kid! Or a wild baby? It was a little Bagworm with Snow White hair.

“Wha-no! Stay away!”

Kallamar said scared. The wild baby put his head on his chest. All of a sudden, he began to feel warm

“Coo…”

“Oh…that’s warm…thank you…baby?”

It took a long time but Kallamar was already out there for a good 8 hours at this point. Even the search party were thinking about switching to a body retrieval…but no one wanted to be that brave. the wild kid’s power was also going as well…

“What is that sound?” 

“A beast maybe? Another crown user?”

 Shamura said. Gaia and their search party were still searching for the boy when they hear a low rumble. Gaia takes off towards the sound

“Gaia!”

“Your grace!”

And they all went after her. Kallamar and the wild child were making noise so that whomever was there could hear them.

“Mama! ShaSha! I’m here!”

He said. Finally after so many hours, Gaia can fell Kallamar’s crown! She ditches her ride and dashes for the signal!

“Kally! Baby! Mama is here! Where are you?”

Kallamar had no strength left. The wild child was making noises with whatever strength he had left. Finally, she pulls the bushes away and finds them

“SHAMURA! There here! I found them!”

Gaia quickly tries to pick up the child but is stopped by the tiny crown wielder. Sure, he’s a threat, but…he saved her son.

“Okay, listen. Come with me, and you will be okay too! I won’t hurt him! I promise!”

She said. At that point the wild child fainted. His duty was done and now, he was was in the embrace of his new found family.

Gaia: I’ll spare the details, but after this, we learned that it was Narinder who left his brother out there. I was so disappointed in him. His whole staff got kicked out and replaced with more competent ones. However, this didn’t stop Narinder.

I honestly don’t know what to make of that boy. Kallamar now has Leshy and his sister has Shamura. I wish to be closer to him…but I cannot ignore the harm he did to my other children…I just wish I knew why?

Random question post to follow up the last image, forgive the misspelling and errors!

#cult of the lamb #redemption au #questions

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