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mountainsandmayhem · 13 hours ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 6

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I don't think I understood the term "labour of love" until right now. I'm emotionally exhausted yet so fucking proud at the same time. Thank you @lotusbxtch for fixing all my grammar and formatting. I also couldn't of done this without @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69, @alltheirdamn, and @for-a-longlongtime (even if you did just try to distract me with Santi the entire time LOL)

Word Count: 14.6k (sorry, grab a snack or two)

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

CW: use of petnames, mention of losing a spouse, mentions of child abuse (mostly verbal), use of nick names (baby, sweet girl, etc.), dirty talk, spanking, sexual activity in public, kissing, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of falling in love, Dom/sub dynamics.

You: 911, I need to go buy a dress, but ya’ll can’t ask me what it’s for Laren: no strings attached shopping? Fuck yeah! You: I’m serious though Laren: Dude, I won’t ask you as long as you don’t ask about the hickey on my neck Jamie: Damn, my dad’s in California so I can’t leave the office. You: hmm…maybe we just tell each other one secret each Laren: oh sorry, forgot I have to vacuum my cat today, can’t shop You: fine, no asking about the hickey. Pick you up at noon? Jamie: Have fun. I need a sugar daddy. Odette: booo! I’m studying. Someone alert me when we learn about the hickey.

You

Laren’s jaw drops as you step out of the dressing room, the soft silk of the floor length black gown skims against your body. Your eyes trail down the thin straps along your shoulders and down the deep v that sits low on your sternum. You’ve never appreciated your small breasts until now. The risque cut has a soft and romantic feel. Somehow, so does the long slit up your one leg, stopping much higher than most black tie venues would find acceptable. You spin to take in the way the silk dips low on your back. Yeah, Joel Miller is going to love this.

“You look stunning. I’m not gonna ask, but whoever you’re wearing that for is going to fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you.”

You laugh at her, watching as she tugs the collar of her sweater up to cover the very prominent purple hickey on her pulse point. If only she knew how ridiculous that statement really was. Joel Miller, your dom, falling in love with you. It’s impossible.

The big box that you stuffed the small, pink and bedazzled box in snickers in your mind then taunts you in her uppity British accent. He loves you, remember how he held your hand so tenderly through that last orgasm? “It’s a date”, “It’s only you”.

You shake your head and run your hands down your torso and hips, the silk feeling like water under your hands.

“Wow, that dress was made for you.” The peppy store clerk says as she rounds the corner to the dressing room. “Oh! I have just the accessory, if you don’t mind me showing you?”

You nod and then look over at Laren through the mirror. The two of you haven’t been friends for that long, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not wearing her massive engagement ring, plus that giant love bite; something is off. “I’m not gonna ask about the hickey, but are you ok?”

“Ya - I’m fine, why?” Her phone goes off in her purse for what feels like the hundredth time since you picked her up. She hasn’t looked at it once and this newest alert doesn’t change that.

“No reason. I’m here for you though. I hope you know that.” The corners of her mouth lift, but that vivacious sparkle in her eye doesn’t make an appearance.

You spend longer than you ever had getting ready on Friday. You’ve shaved, exfoliated and moisturized every inch of your skin. You painted your fingers and toes with a fresh coat of pearly white polish, noticing that the skin around your cuticles on your hands isn’t picked clean. For the first time in your life, your anxiety hasn’t needed its usual outlet; picking and pushing at your nails until they’re clean. Even with the last few days kicking your ass, Mister Miller made it better, made you better.

After about three hours, you’ve completed the look: big loose curls, one side pinned behind one ear with a gold clip, exposing the soft slope of your neck that Joel loves to press his lips to. You’ve opted for a neutral glam look; a light smokey grey eye, flirty lashes, a touch of blush and highlighter and a nude lip.

You keep the jewelry simple, just thin gold hoop earrings and two dainty golden chains, the accessories that the sales girl picked out. The first chain is the longest; one end loops tight to your throat then lays down your sternum, a small clip on the other end holds it in place to the lacy black thong you bought for the occasion. The second chain wraps around your exposed thigh. A few small crystals dangle off the garter. It feels perfect for a sex club, almost like you’re being tied up in gold.

After wrapping the gift you bought for Joel today you debate taping the dress in place. It’s a sex club, surely a nip slip isn’t the worst thing that can happen. However, Joel would probably forcefully remove anyone who got a peek. As tempting as it is to witness that, you decide to save his sanity for one more day and after placing the last piece of tape you hear the rev of his engine coming down your street. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, it’s been weeks since you’ve heard that sound. That deep rumble will probably always fill you with an excited anticipation of seeing Mister Miller.

You agreed to let him pick you up tonight since Odette is out. You slip your perfectly pedicured toes into black heeled sandals, working the small golden buckle around the ankle quickly as Joel’s shiny black Jag parks in front of your building. You watch from the window as he gets out of the driver's side door, flowers wrapped in brown paper clutched in his hand. A man that size doesn’t look like he’d fit in that sleek sports car.

Even from your birdseye view from the fourth floor he looks absolutely gorgeous. You’re sure once he’s right in front of you he’ll be devastatingly handsome, especially once he’s added the gift you got him. Similar to you, he’s in all black tonight.

The beep of his car locking and the buzz of your door go at the same time and you excitedly hit the button to let him up. It feels like hours before there’s a light knock on your front door. After a shaky breath, you open the door.

Fuuuuuck me, you think as you take him in and actively stop yourself from drooling.

He looks as hot as sin dressed in all black, the lapels of the jacket and the tie slightly silky against the flat black of the rest of his clothing. He’s the living, breathing epitome of JMKink right now. Dressed like that matte black letterhead he still leaves you notes on when you clean for him. You lick your lips as your eyes trail back up his tie. Fuck, you want him to wrap it around your wrists.

He steps into your front entrance and the apartment feels so much smaller; almost like he takes up every bit of space and simultaneously sucks all the air out of you. His hair is parted to the side, trimmed neatly around his ears, curls perfectly placed. You’re sure it was effortless on his part, just running his fingers through it after getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips. Your mouth waters as you continue to just stare at one another.

Joel

“Wow,” he finally manages to rasp. His throat feels like it's full of sand all of a sudden. He clears it gently before continuing. “You look…you’re always beautiful, but you are…”

His eyes travel up and down your body again, he’s feeling lost for words which is not something that happens to him often. He watches your bottom lip slip between your teeth, waiting for him to form a thought.

“Sorry, sweet girl, I need a second here.” He places the bouquet of wildflowers on the small table at the entry then reaches out towards you. He actually feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you soon. The whorls and calluses of his fingers drag down the warm, soft skin of your arm gently before he closes his hand around yours. Usually, he loves how small your hand looks in his, but he’s finding it impossibly hard to break eye contact with you right now. As he steps in closely you smile sweetly at him and he’s surrounded by the smell of mint, lavender and something distinctly you. “You look life-alteringly gorgeous. I’m not sure if that’s a word, but wow, Freckles.”

You place your free hand on his chest and he’s sure you can feel how hard his heart is pounding behind his chest. Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart at this point. He cups your face with his other hand and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the way you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him deepen the kiss. He swallows the quiet moan that you make just for him. You pull away too quickly for him, an excited smile across your face.

“I got you something!” You spin and he’s left breathless again by the low back of the dress and the way the silk skirt sways with your hips.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, following you into the living area of your small apartment. “I don’t want you spending your money on me, sweetheart.”

You spin again and his cock twitches as he catches just how high the slit of the skirt is, and the golden jewelry wrapped around your thigh. In your hands is a large, light brown box tied with a black ribbon. “Technically, I spent your money on you,” you say with a wink. “Open it.”

He steps in close, watching your face go from excited to downright giddy as he pulls at the ribbon. He slips the lid off the box and stares down at the exact same black Stetson that he sent with Tiffany. His heart stops beating as the memories, both good and bad, flood through him. This is the same hat he wore the night he met her, the night of their first date, the night he told her he loved her for the first time, the night he married her. Joel Miller doesn’t believe in signs from the universe, but this? This is something.

No, he thinks as emotions start to clog his throat. This was Tiffany.

He blinks away the tears that threaten to form behind his eyes and whispers your name. “Thank you, sweetheart. I - I used to have a hat just like this.”

When he looks back at you your brows are furrowed together, a genuine curiosity across your face. “Used to?”

He clears his throat again, “Yea, it’s complicated, but this - this means more to me than you could ever know.”

He slips his hands into the box, the felt of the brim spreads a warm comfort up his hands and forearms. He swallows hard as he realizes it’s the same comfort he feels when he has you in his arms.

Oh my god…I think, no, I know. I love you.

It hits him so hard that he has to clutch the hat tighter in his hands to ground himself as he pulls it from the box. He knew he was falling, he knew the second he saw you. He can’t push it down anymore.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Joel.”

He turns the hat over in his hands, the black satin liner exactly like his old one. He looks up at you, no longer able to stop the smile or the tears that flood his lash line. Your lips part as your eyes dance around his.

“No, baby, you didn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been really missing this hat lately.”

“You gonna try it on, cowboy?” The sultry flirtiness of your voice feels sweet on his skin and after a shallow breath he brings the hat up to his head. As the satin slips over his hair a calm confidence washes over him. His eyes meet yours and your flirty smile turns shy as you blush under his gaze. He’s whole again.

“So?”

“I’m gonna have to fight the women off, I think.” You say softly.

He laughs, moving the box from your hands back to the table and then cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll only be looking at one woman, my sweet girl.” His lips meet yours gently, your tongue swiping softly against his lip as your slant into the kiss.

I love you.

You

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you’d get from Joel giving him the hat, but his eyes welling up and his breathing getting all shaky was not what you expected. Something about that hat called to you when you saw it. When you picked it up, the soft felt against your palms reminded you of how it feels to be in Joel’s hands.

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and glances around your apartment. Months ago you would have felt shy or self conscious about Joel in your space, so wholly different from his, but he has never judged you for anything, and you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him which is not a feeling you’re used to. His eyes fall to the scratched wooden coffee table that you got for free from Craigslist.

“You have college letters,” he says proudly, looking back at you.

Your arms cross across your body subconsciously, like they’re trying to shield you from the possibility of being rejected again. “Ya, the last two came today. I’ll open them later.”

“Baby, let's open them! It could be good news.”

He looks so goddamn handsome, in a suit that probably costs more than the entire contents of your apartment and his new black Stetson hat. His expression is encouraging, that same look from his kitchen when you ate some toast; prideful and empathetic.

“I’m scared,” you almost blurt, wishing you could be smoother with this man. “I don’t want to ruin tonight. If these are both no’s, I don’t know how great of company I’ll be tonight.”

“Freckles, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want. But I think you’ll be thinking of the letters either way.”

“Ah, my consent stands even for mail,” you joke.

“Well, it's a federal offense to open someone else's mail so…” Joel winks and flashes a devastating smile your way.

“Ok,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, you’ll be wondering all night what those letters say, and Joel has a way of making you forget, making you feel understood, important and cared for. “Do it.”

As if he’s a child on Christmas morning and you just gave him the ok, he snatches up the University of Austin and Berkeley letters, almost vibrating as he says, “Which one first?”

You start to pace the few steps of your living room, wringing your hands together as your heels click on the cheap laminate hardwood. “Austin, I’ll be less upset by a no from them.”

The tear of the envelope sounds like a dagger to the ribs as you go to grab the flowers Joel brought for you, desperate for something to do besides stand there.

“It’s a thick envelope..” Joel says as he slides the letter out.

“Ya, I’ve learned that that doesn’t mean shit,” You say sardonically.

Joel laughs in surprise, “Always shocks me to hear that pretty little mouth swear.”

“Yea?” You ask, “Open the fucking letter, you’re killing me.”

Joel snorts as his strong fingers gingerly fold open the letter. His eyes shoot to yours, “You got in!”

“W-What?” You drop the flowers on the counter top and cover your mouth.

“Sweet girl, you got in. I’m - I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You stand frozen on the spot. It’s not the school you wanted, you want Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter what that letter says now, because either way, you’re going to be a lawyer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as Joel's arms pull you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” His lips press to hair and you start to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You both part from the hug as you fight to stop tears of pure joy from ruining your makeup. “It’s just…you know, for a second there I actually thought that I wasn’t smart enough. Me? I have a 4.0, I graduated early, I’ve been top of my class for years and I actually thought that I wouldn’t get in.”

Joel's eyes dance, a big smile across his face as he watches you fill a vase. “Open the other one.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he opens the next letter. As he folds open the thick eggshell coloured paper you plunge the flowers into the cold water, his face drops and you prepare yourself for the worst, “You got in. Baby, you - you got in.”

You - Four Years Prior

“So what? You think that getting into your fancy university in Texas means you can just leave Arizona whenever you please? Your mom needs you, you can’t just leave.” Your dad is in his patchwork recliner, a beer in his hand despite it being nine in the morning. The hot June morning heating the small house to an uncomfortable stifle.

“I’ve contributed as much as I can, dad. Two months from now I’m not going to have any time to myself. I deserve some time doing what I want.”

Your dad snorts, legs slamming the leg rest down on the recliner. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

That should sting, it would to anyone else, but you’ve been called every name possible by your father. You see him now for what he truly is, a loser. He can’t hold a job, hasn’t been able to for years. When you were younger, you thought you were the apple of his eye. He’d show up to every school function, every award ceremony, all the little things. You were eight when you realized he didn’t even speak to you at those functions, just walked around bragging about how he was the reason you’ve achieved whatever you were being celebrated over. It was his time to shine, his award, not yours.

“I’m going,” you say, hoisting your duffle bag of clothing over your shoulder. You’ve always wanted to go back to California. You went once with your mother when you were nine or ten, and the minute you got to the beach and felt the warm sand between your toes everything went quiet. It’s called out to you ever since.

As you spin towards the front door you hear the groan of your dad standing up. Fear spikes in your veins, your heart slamming in your ribs. He’s never hit you, but with the redness of his face as he called you names this morning you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Like fuck you are!” He bellows as a hard object strikes the back of your head, followed by warm liquid soaking through the back of your t-shirt.

One of your hands cups the back of your head as you bolt towards your recently purchased, and slightly rusted, SUV. “Get back in here right now you little cunt! You stole money from me for that vehicle, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh as you get in the front seat. You don’t bother locking the doors, you know he’s barely out the front door without looking. He’s not strong enough, and definitely too drunk, to overpower you. You throw the vehicle into reverse and yell out the window, “You don’t have any money for me to steal, Doug!”

You hit his first name hard, knowing damn well how much it will enrage him. You drive away without looking back, and you only stop once for gas for the next ten hours.

The sun is setting as you reach the motel in Newport Beach. You head straight for the beach, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, “Mom” across the screen in bold letters.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, still feeling like a child even though you aren’t.

“Get our ass home, right fucking now. You’re supposed to be contributing to this family and somehow you had enough money to buy a car? And a trip to California? Mark my words, young lady. If you don’t walk back through that door by this time tomorrow, I will come there and get you myself!”

A lump forms in your throat. You’ve spent your whole childhood trying to get them to see you. Contributing? None of your friends had to contribute, they all got to be kids. You’re going to be making a lot of money as a lawyer one day, and they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re getting a single penny of that money.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, mother.”

“You’re in for a rude fucking awakening, little girl. Just because you were the smartest person here, does not mean you’ll be the smartest person anywhere else. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, and your father and I will not be here to fix you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than now. Good bye.”

You hang up before she can respond and look out over the water. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of peaches, marigolds and lavenders. You block your parents' numbers before snapping a picture of the sunset and setting it as your background. A sense of calm washes over you as the waves crash along the shore. You walk towards the water and dip your feet in, the water washing away the last eighteen years of your life. You’re free.

You - Present Day

A whispered ‘holy shit’ is all you can muster as realization washes over you. Your dream school - and you got in. You can go to the beach and listen to the ocean, feel the sand under your feet. You can feel as free as you did almost four years ago. You lock eyes with Joel. Can you really leave him?

“I can’t believe I got in. To two schools. I’m going to be a lawyer.” Excitement floods your body. You can worry about deciding later, even though deep down you already know what you're going to choose. Right now, you can just be happy and proud. He reaches a hand out to you and you step into the living room to take it. He pulls you in, wrapping you in his strong arms.

“I know I said this already, but I am so god damn proud of you, sweet girl. No one deserves this more than you. I want to celebrate this with you soon, please?”

“Well,” you say with a hint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “We are going to be at the club.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve never seen before. “Ya - the club.”

“Oh my god. We’re late, Joel!” You push out of his hold. This is his big night, his five year anniversary of owning his club.

“Baby, stop,” he pulls you into his arms again and cups your face. “I don’t care. Just let me kiss you until you need to reapply that lipstick, and then we can go.” His lips crash passionately into yours. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweet girl,” he gasps between kisses.

Joel wasn’t lying. He really did kiss you until your lips were swollen and you had to touch up not only your lipstick but the bit of highlighter on your nose; he also needed to participate, taking one of your makeup wipes to his nose, chin and lips before opening the door to his Jag for you and speeding off to the club.

Upon entering the club, the two of you were separated almost immediately. Joel was whisked away to the stage where he, Tommy and who you assume is Tess are now. The stage is lit up as he gives a speech and thanks everyone. A glass of champagne is handed to you as you stand along the edge of the bar. Everyone claps and as he tries to make his way back to you is pulled into a handshake from a very wealthy looking older man. You smile into your glass of expensive pink champagne as the woman from the stage approaches you.

“Hi! I’m sorry for having to steal him the moment you two walked in.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand out to you. “I’m Tess.”

You go to introduce yourself and she cuts you off as she continues. “Oh, I know who you are. Joel will probably kill me, but we have all been very interested to meet you.”

“All?” you say, swallowing nervously.

She shrugs. “No one has ever seen him this, hmm, this relaxed before. He’s usually here or across the street barking orders. You don’t become as successful as him without a little stress, but since you came along he seems different. Happy.”

You blush, watching him engrossed in a new conversation, his eyes often meeting yours across the room. “Look,” Tess says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I hang around the Millers way too often and I could really use some girl talk. Is that ok?”

“Tess, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s girl talk.” You smile at her and then turn to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, please!”

She takes a breath, looking at Joel and then back at you. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Joel wore a black cowboy hat again.”

You raise an eyebrow at Tess, this could be your chance to get an explanation around his response. You know you weren’t imagining his eyes getting glassy, and he did say it means more to him than he could ever tell you. “I got him that hat.”

Tess’s jaw drops and panic rises in your chest. “What? Why? What’s wrong with the hat?”

“Tequila first,” she says as the shots slide across the shiny black marble bar top. A shiver racks through Tess after she swallows, you don’t flinch. “I don’t know if it’s my place…”

“It’s girl talk, he’ll never know.” You state, sucking at the lime. Tess clears her throat and motions to the bartender for another round. The next time she speaks it’s a hushed, sad voice, just barely above a whisper.

“He, umm - well, he had a hat just like that growing up. Wore it all the time actually. He had it on the night he met Tiffany, and pretty much every important day in his life since then. Their first date, their wedding. Shit, I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Sarah as a newborn in that hat. He also wore it the last time he held her.” Her voice trails off and heartbreak for her friend lines her features. “He…she loved it so much that he sent it with her.”

You swallow hard and glance past Tess’s shoulder to Joel across the club. The moments of time between each of your heartbeats are filled by memories of his reaction. Tess continues, “Look, maybe you're like Joel. Maybe you don’t believe in astronomy or signs from the universe, but I don’t think you finding that hat was a coincidence.”

You aren’t like Joel; you do believe in signs. You thought you were going crazy when you found that hat today. It literally called to you from inside the store. It wasn’t on display in the window. No, you heard someone call your name behind you and when you looked over your shoulder the hat was all you could see. Could that voice have been from the wife he lost too early? You catch Joel’s gaze across the room; something about him, even before you knew him, comforted you. As your mind starts running through the depth of what that hat means to him he winks, you think you might be falling for him.

All of this means something. It has to mean something. Right?

“Girl talk stays between us?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely!” Tess exclaims, you like her more and more and can see yourself being very good friends with her, even if she is almost twice your age.

“Tequila first,” you say in the same way she did earlier.

She clicks her glass against yours and then on the bar top before slamming the shot back. “I hate tequila,” she rasps while sucking the lime.

“I can’t talk to my girlfriends about this. I don’t know if you know how me and Joel met, but one of my best friends is sort of my boss and I would get fired from my job for knowing him.” Tess nods, and orders you both a glass of what you’re sure is very expensive rosé. “Sometimes Joel says things that make me feel like maybe we are more than a sub and a dom, but that’s ridiculous, right? It’s the heat of the moment.”

“Babe, do you know how long Joel has been doing this?” She asks gently.

You shake your head and take a sip of your wine.

“Years…at one point, being a dom was how he made money. He’s a professional.”

Her words feel like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, bile starts to burn at your throat. The whiplash of thinking he’s falling, and knowing that you are, and now dealing with this is almost too much. Joel has moved onto a conversation with yet another guest. “Right, he’s good. He’s supposed to make me feel wanted. I think I’m just not used to someone being there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Tess’s hand comes to grab yours, squeezing reassuringly. “Professional doms don’t say things in the heat of the moment. They don’t give false hopes. If he’s calling you his or struggling to follow limits, that’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.”

The silence after her words is thick between you. He doesn’t say things in the heat of the moment? You swallow the lead weight that’s made its way from your stomach to your throat, your mind racing through all the things Joel has said to you. My sweet girl. It’s a date. It’s only you.

“Hey,” Tess says, shaking your hand to bring you back. “This DJ sucks, should we go take over the booth?”

You smile, grateful not only for her words of wisdom but now the way she’s able to stop you from spiraling. “Yes, this is a club AND a friday afterall!”

She smiles at you mischievously as she reaches over the bar for the bottle of rosé and then links arms with you as you both practically skip to the booth. “Owning a club is so fun, I recommend everyone try it,” she proclaims through a laugh.

When you reach the booth she waltzes right up to the DJ, “We need dancing music, it’s Friday, it’s a club, and it’s a fucking party!”

“Sorry, Tess. I can’t do that. Joel wanted background music only.” The DJ, who barely looks old enough to be in a club says, his eyes wandering to the low cut of your dress. A few months ago you probably would have been endeared by that look, but you have a real man now. A real man who loves you, says the sparkling box of feelings.

Tess snorts and then tuts at the poor guy. “Joel won’t appreciate you ogling what belongs to him like that. So play Best Friend by Saweetie or I’ll be sure to let him know.”

His eyes snap back to his booth set up, one hand held up in defeat, the other pushing a few buttons and then turning the volume dial up. You and Tess laugh, taking sips straight from the bottle as you move to the dance floor. This is what you need, a friend to help you dissect what’s been happening. A friend who understands the dom and sub relationship, but more importantly, understands Joel. Does him having feelings change how you feel about university? You’ve always seen yourself going to Berkeley, that’s been the dream, but now?

Maybe you should just end this now before your feelings grow too far out of control. The box of feelings laughs. You have no idea how deep you are in this, do you?

Joel

I’m gonna kill that little shit. Frustration rolls through his body as the music grows louder and as he turns to shoot daggers at the DJ he sees you and Tess. Your beautiful face is lit up in a large smile as you sip directly from a $400 bottle of rosé. His anger dissipates as you move your body with a sexy sway, lost in the music.

Joel moves towards the bar, never taking his eyes off of you. Your arms stretch over your head as you shake your ass, the slit of your dress exposing your soft thigh. His palm tingles at the thought of how good you feel against him. The smooth warmth of your leg against the rough calluses of his fingers.

I love you.

Joel orders a whiskey and then walks towards the edge of the dance floor, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he watches you. As the song changes your eyes find him and you crook a finger at him, when he shakes his head you stick your bottom lip out and give him big doe eyes. He shakes his head again as Tess hands you the half drank bottle of wine. The pink tone of the wine casts a romantic glow across your exposed chest as you take a small sip. His cock stirs to life in his pants, remembering how those lips felt wrapped around him. He shakes his head at you again and takes a long pull from his drink. You stick your tongue out at him and spin away from him, wiggling your hips while glancing over your shoulder.

I fucking love you.

You spin back towards him and crook your finger at him again, mouthing ‘please?’. He stays rooted to the spot. Joel doesn’t dance, especially not to this kind of music. His heart flutters as you start to walk over to him, everything moves in slow motion, the sexy way your dress clings to your hips with each movement, the flash of your thigh, the slight bounce of your breasts with each step. It feels like hours have passed by the time you stop in front of him.

“Please come dance with me.” You say, fluttering your lashes slightly.

He grabs the expensive bottle of wine from you and places it on the tall table beside him. “This is very expensive wine.”

“That was Tess’s doing,” you smile.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His hand strokes your cheek and he clocks the goosebumps that rise on your skin.

“Please come dance, Mister Miller?”

“I don’t dance, sweet girl.”

You pout again and he wants to suck that perfect bottom lip between his teeth so badly. “What if you just stand there and I dance around you?”

One day he’s going to have to learn how to say no to you, but today won’t be that day. He takes the last sip from his glass and puts it beside the wine. You bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he holds a hand out to you. You lead the way, the dance floor now full of people, heading back towards Tess. Joel’s hands come to your hips as you grind against him for the last few bars of the song.

A slow twang of guitar starts off the next song. Joel spins you to face him. “This I can dance to.” He whispers, pulling you in close, one hand low on your back, the other holding yours to his heart.

You smile up at him, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, sweet cheeks?”

At this angle the brim of his hat blocks out everything except for you; not that he needs something to block out the rest of the world when he’s around you. I love you.

“For the right woman I can be, freckles.” He says warmly as you melt into his body.

The two of you continue to dance in a comfortable silence. He watches your lips as your tongue glides across them and just as he’s about to lean in and taste you you speak. “I don’t think I said this yet tonight, but congratulations. This is a huge accomplishment and I’m so proud of you and grateful that you brought me into this space. I hope it’s not too bold, but this has done exactly as I hoped. I feel - freer almost, if that makes sense.”

“Good,” his lips press to your forehead. “And thank you.”

Your neck cranes forward, towards the tangled mess of your hands against his chest. Your lips pressing to the knuckle of his thumb. The gesture shoots straight to his heart.

“I’ve been feeling a bit bad though. You’ve had to go to two events for me this week.” You go to protest but he cuts you off. “What would you be doing tonight if it wasn’t for this?”

You hum in thought. “Any bar where there’s an open mic night or a local band.”

“That so? Do you participate in the open mic?”

“No, absolutely not, but I enjoy music and watching people do things they’re passionate about.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. I’ve said thank you to all the VIP’s. Let's go do your thing.”

You

“Can we do that?” You ask, trying not to let the smile that’s pulling at your cheeks win.

Joel laughs quietly. “It’s my party, I can do what I want. They can all stay, but the longer I stay here the more I’m going to be pulled away. And you’re the only person at this party that I want to talk to.”

That’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.

The boulder is growing in your throat again as you croak, “We’re dressed awfully fancy for a local bar.”

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes soft. You start memorizing every detail of his face. Everything surrounding the two of you went fuzzy the second he pulled you into his arms. This man, dressed in all black, blurs the edges of everything around you, sucking you in and making you feel like the only person he sees. The slow country song that you didn’t even hear starts to come to end. “I don’t care. Any more concerns?”

He doesn’t care, he’ll never care, he just wants to be with you. The box of feelings that's grown exponentially over this evening inches its way out of the shadows, and you can’t deny it anymore.

You’re falling in love with Joel Miller.

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement replacing the lump in your throat.

Joel wastes no time, peeling your bodies apart and pulling you towards the exit. He doesn’t look back as Tommy calls his name, only stopping at the front desk to grab your purse. You feel giddy, almost as if the two of you are doing something wrong. He opens the car door for you and then hops into the driver's seat. You pull out your phone, ignoring him as he comments on your cracked screen being a hazard, and check for open mic nights, finding one in a small bar just a few streets over.

The bar is small, about ten tables crammed together and then a few stools along the bartop. The stage is only big enough for one person, a few guitars on stands, a stool, and the mic stand. The lighting is low, different neon signs above the bar doing the majority of the work. You’re way overdressed and the looks you get from the packed bar further prove it.

Joel pulls you through the crowd towards the bar. You were feeling slightly tipsy dancing with Tess, but there is something so sobering about being pulled into Joel's arms. And now that you’ve realized you’re falling in love with him, his next question is very welcome.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” You smile sweetly, plastering your front to Joel’s side as he squeezes into the bar. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Two old fashioneds,” he says deeply to the bartender. You stifle a giggle, “What?”

“You just give me so much ammunition sometimes.”

He swats at your ass and then squeezes, not caring who may or may not see. It’s exhilarating getting to just be yourselves away from the club and you have a feeling you’ll quickly become addicted to this. “Mighty thin ice, baby.”

The raspy voiced woman with crazy curly hair finishes her set as Joel pays for the drinks. It appears that most of the crowd was here to see her, a few tables free up and the place doesn’t feel so crowded. The MC for the night gets back onto the stage.

“Alright, if anyone else wants to show us what they’ve got tonight I’ll be by the bar.” There’s a few cheers and some clapping as the bar empties out drastically, only about twenty people are left. Joel pulls out a chair for you and then sits beside you.

“Thank you for the drink,” you say, bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a small sip. The warmth of it heats all the way down to your belly, a familiar feeling when you’re around Joel.

“Of course,” he nods, sipping his. “So? Do you come here often?”

You laugh, leaning forward on your arms, noticing the way Joel’s eyes bounce from your face to your breasts; now pushed together for him. “What a line! But no, I have never been here. I kinda like it though.”

The MC’s voice fills the room, welcoming a brave soul to the stage. A tall man in cowboy boots and a shiny buckle joins the stage, carefully picking a guitar from the rack before he begins singing. You can tell by the warmth along the side of your face that Joel is watching you and not the man on the stage.

“He’s pretty good,” you say, looking back towards Joel. It’s almost unfair how he can still look so sexy in the neon glow of the lights above the bar.

“Mediocre,” he says with a scoff and sips his drink.

You glance around, “Ok, well you listen to this mediocre man, I’m going to find the washroom.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on your back as you walk away. The gender neutral bathroom is surprisingly clean and you giggle to yourself at the interaction you had once Joel was no longer looking at you. You try to act natural as you head back to the table, sitting down and smiling at Joel.

His eyebrow arches, “What did you do?”

God you hate how well he knows you. There’s no hiding anything from this man. Regardless, you stifle the fit of giggles that are right on the tip of your tongue, “Nothing! I had to pee. Is that not allowed?”

You raise your glass to your lips, trying to hide the smile as the MC heads back up to the stage. “You did something bad, I can tell.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have another performer tonight. Please welcome to the stage Joel Sweet Cheeks Miller.”

Joel shoots a teasing glare at you as you start hollering, “Woo! Sweet cheeks!!” You clap your hands loudly. He lets out a sigh, pushing himself up and then grabbing his drink before heading to the stage.

He steps up, running his fingers over the guitars before choosing a black acoustic. He puts his Old Fashioned on the stool and loops the guitar over his head. Your body reacts in a way you didn’t think it would. Fire erupts on your belly, you take a sip of your drink to try to put it out but the heat of the liquor only makes it worse. He adjusts the knobs on the guitar after hitting the strings a few times and then looks up at you and crooks two fingers, calling you to him. You obey, practically floating to the man you’re falling in love with.

Joel bends at the hip, taking his cowboy hat off and placing it on your head. His voice is a gravel filled whisper as he says, “I’m going to spank that pretty little ass of yours in that washroom you were looking for after this.”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You rasp.

He stands back up, and clears his throat before starting. “This is, well, this is the largest audience I’ve ever played in front of so, go easy on me.”

His hand pushes back the few curls that have fallen onto this forehead before he strums at the guitar.

If I ever were to lose you I’d surely lose myself

His voice is like stepping into a hot bath, full of warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ve found here I’ve not found by myself

He doesn’t break eye contact with you, only glancing away occasionally when he moves his fingers along the cords.

Try and sometimes you’ll succeed To make this man of me All my stole missing parts I’ve no need for anymore

You stare up at him, lips slightly parted, as everything falls into place.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You could go to Berkeley and do great, probably middle of the pack, but you’d reach your goals. You’d become a lawyer and leave school with a handful of job offers. Or…you could stay. You could stay and be the top of your class here. You could stay and continue being with Joel.

Back when I was feeling broken I focused on a prayer You came deep as any ocean Did something out there hear?

The box of feelings starts to vibrate, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the complexities and games No one wins, but somehow they still played All the missing crooked hearts They may die, but in us they live on

You’re staying. You’re going to the University of Texas at Austin School of Law.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

And just like that, the box of feelings explodes like one of those worms in a can of fake peanuts.

When hurricanes and cyclones raged When winds turned dirt to dust When floods they came, the tides they raise Even closer, became us

This wasn’t part of your plan, but you can’t let this go.

And all the promises at sundown I meant them like the rest

You hear his voice, ‘It’s only you, sweet girl’ and ‘your consent is the most important thing to me.’

All the demons used to come ‘round I’m grateful, now they’ve left.

‘Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect’, ‘tell me, tell me you’re perfect’.

So persistent in my ways Hey, angel, I’m am here to stay

‘I’m here for you’.

No resistance, no alarms Please, this is just too good to be gone

You’re not falling in love. No, you’re already so madly, deeply, insanely in love with this man that it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You suck in a breath for what feels like the first time since he started singing, your chest practically heaving at the release of emotion you’re experiencing.

You and me It’s just, you and me

You’re not sure if people are clapping, you can’t hear anything over your own voice in your head screaming out ‘I love you’ over and over again. Joel hops off the stage, his eye flashing onyx as he growls, “punishment time, my sweet girl.”

Joel

The way your eyes sparkled as he sang and the way you’re following him now, your warm fingers laced in his as he pulled you gently to the bathroom, almost have him convinced that you feel the same way he does.

He locks the door, then jiggles the handle to make sure it’s secure. He’s shared subs with other men and women, he’s used the rooms for people to watch at the club; fuck, one time he even made one sub kneel completely naked at his feet while he sat at the bar of the club. But someone seeing you, something that is all his, ignites a protectiveness that he’s only ever felt for two other women.

You giggle mischievously as he steps close, plucking his hat off your head and placing it back on his. “What did I say I was going to do to you, baby?”

He watches your bottom lip disappear between your teeth before you say, “You were going to spank me.”

He spins you roughly by your hips, pulling your back flush to his chest before walking you over the pedestal style sink. He watches in the mirror at the tell tale signs of your building arousal. Your cheeks flush, the pink creeping down your neck and exposed chest. He sees the way your eyes glass over, cock drunk before even getting it. Joel loves how easy you are to turn on, loves even more that it’s just for him.

No, I just love her.

He stops, the soft light above the mirror lighting the two of you up in yellow glow. The small bathroom is clean, but dark. White and black checkered floor with white walls; hopefully thick walls, but he has ways to keep you quiet while he punishes you.

His lips come to the exposed side of your neck, hovering just above where he can see your pulse quickening. He hears the hitch of your breath as he inhales your lavender scent. He slips into full dominant mode, keeping his voice a deep growling whisper, “Hands on the edges of the sink, sweet girl.”

You obey him without hesitation, leaning forward and wrapping your hands around the shiny white sink. His eyes lock on yours through the mirror as he fists the soft silk of your skirt. His palms tingle at the thought of getting to feel you soon and his cock jumps at the thought of your heart-shaped ass being pink with his handprints.

As the skirt crawls to be just above your knees he says, “How many should you get for that little stunt?”

He watches the goosebumps that spread across your skin. “Five?” Your voice is sweet and innocent with the ask.

The skirt starts to hike up higher, the long slit could give him easy access, but he’s playing a role right now, and he knows that the anticipation makes it better so much better for his sub. “Not much of a lesson in five. How about ten.”

It’s not a question and he knows you know it. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t want to see if you’d fight him just a little bit. Brat taming is not his thing; granted neither is spanking a sub he’s fallen in love with in a bathroom of a dingy bar while wearing a six thousand dollar suit.

A shiver runs through your body as he exposes your ass. The lacy black thong sends his thoughts into overdrive. God damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck this woman, just once.

“Do I have your consent to spank you ten times?”

You nod, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He takes one of your wrists in his hand and brings it back to hold your skirt up and then repositions himself to be beside you instead of behind you. He takes you in, bent over with your ass exposed, pupils blown out. Your chest rises and falls with shallow, shaky breaths. He’s going to have to keep you quiet.

A hand clamps around your lips and your eyes widen. “If you want me to stop, drop the skirt. Got it?”

You nod into his palm as the first slap fills the room. Your skin is soft and warm under his touch as he makes contact again. By the third strike, his hand around your mouth muffles a squeal. The fourth spank lands on your other cheek and a quiet husky moan rumbles against your lips and his palm.

“You’re supposed to be my sweet girl,” he taunts as another loud slap fills the room. He’s been watching you in the mirror the entire time, enjoying the way you try to keep eye contact; but now, at the halfway mark of your spanking, your eyes are hooded with need. He looks down your ass, grinding his hips into your side at the sight of his bright red handprints tattooed on your cheeks. “Fuck, you look so good all marked up.”

He spanks you again watching the jiggle of your ass and how it ripples down your leg. Your back arches as you whimper quietly. “Atta girl,” he says proudly, smiling to himself. “Three more.”

Joel administers the last three spankings quickly, two on one cheek and one on the other. The sound of his palm on your flesh goes straight to his cock each time, he’s practically rutting into your hip bone to relieve some of the ache. He’s given a lot of spankings in his time as a dom and his body has never reacted this way. I’m so goddamn in love with her, I should keep spanking her for making me feel like that, but if I don’t taste her right now I’m going to go insane.

His hand grabs your skirt while his other drops from your face. Your breaths come in fast, like you just ran a marathon. He guides you to stand and then spins you around, a hiss leaves your lips, “It’s cold,” you whisper, making eye contact with him.

He takes his hat off and places it on your head before kneeling down in front of you.

You

The cool porcelain soothes the delicious burn along your ass, but the burn quickly spreads through your body as the man you’ve realized you’re in love with kneels in front of you. His voice has an edge of desperation as he says, “I need to taste you, please baby.”

What is he doing to me? He has to know what he’s doing to you, right? Did he mean the lyrics of that song or is it just the only song he knows? However, at this moment, you’re just as desperate for him.

“Yes,” you nod frantically as you speak, “Mister Miller. Please.’

His mouth connects with your lace covered cunt. Licking over the thin fabric, teasing you with light but mind numbing pressure. Joel Miller always looks good, tall and broad, tanned skin that crinkles slightly around his eyes when he smiles, but when he’s on his knees in front of you it ignites something low in your belly. His curly dark hair is soft to the touch and you bring your hand to his scalp now. He groans at the feeling of your hands on him and continues to lick at your clit through your panties.

The black cowboy hat falls over your eyes, your other hand raises to hold it out of the way. Even with the decision to stay here for law school, you don’t want to miss a second of the salacious acts playing out right in front of you.

“Oh god, Mister Miller,” you whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

He moves to kiss at your thigh, hooking a finger around the gusset of your soaked lace. “This fucking garter, sweet girl. Been drivin’ me crazy all night,” he growls between kisses.

He pulls your panties to the side and your nipples harden under your dress as the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. “Fuck,” he practically whimpers. “You smell so good. Taste so good, too.”

His mouth latches around your clit, sucking it between his lips and everything goes fuzzy as the burn in your lower belly starts to spread. “Ohgodohgood, f-fuck.”

The tip of his tongue flicks against your swollen aching clit with each suck and you start to panic over how you’re going to keep quiet while you come. One of his fingers that pulls your thong out of the way teases at your entrance, gathering your arousal, before he pushes it inside of you to the first knuckle. He looks up at you, eyes flushed onyx as he swallows down everything you give him.

“Mister Miller,” you hum as he pushes his forefinger the rest of the way in. When he curls it forward you release the grip on his salt and pepper curls and clamp your hand around your mouth.

He pulls away, a dimple carving out his cheek as he smirks. “Feels that good?” He flicks gently at your clit and you moan in agreement into your hand. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel sucks your clit back into his mouth, pumping his thick finger against the spongy spot that makes you melt and the heat bursts into tingling pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you fight to keep quiet, grinding your hips unabashedly against Joel’s face. He’s relentless with his ministrations and you bite at your palm as another wave rolls through you.

The spasms of your pussy around his finger slow and you’re finally composed enough to drop your hand, grabbing his shoulder as your knees threaten to give out. Joel slips his finger out from you, placing light, lingering kisses on your mound before standing. His hands find your hips, holding you steady.

“Kiss me,” you slur, feeling drunk off the pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck as he kisses you. His lips taste like you and you lick at the heady sweetness. You slant your head, kissing him deeper. His body goes soft, relaxing into the kiss. You could do this with him forever, and for once it’s not the box of feelings saying that. The contents of that box have coated your entire brain with the love it housed for the man you’re not even supposed to know exists. The two of you break apart, both panting for air. You break the silence first.

“Take me to the club.”

“We can’t go back there. I’ll just get sucked back into the crowd.” His nose runs up and down yours, dark chocolate brown eyes never leaving yours.

“I need more, Mister Miller. Please, take me.”

“Shit,” he huffs. “Come with me.”

Joel

This is so incredibly stupid, he thinks as he pulls into his neighborhood. The moment the two of you got back into his car you leaned over onto his shoulder and closed your eyes. He should take you to your apartment. You must be exhausted from all the studying and working you’ve been doing. Plus, he kept you out late for two nights. He pulls up onto his driveway, and the slight bump from the curb causes you to stir. He parks in the driveway and watches as you blink and register where you are.

“I can take you home if you want.”

“No, I want to be with you.” Your eyes widen and you start to do that thing where you ramble, only to dig yourself deeper.

Joel chuckles and then leans forward, pressing your lips to your forehead to stop you. “I knew what you meant, baby girl.”

He gets out of the car and then comes around to open your door. When you left the bar tonight you tried to open your door, again, and he scolded you gently. He smiles to himself that you’ve listened finally, that or you’re just too tired and he should really be taking you home. But when he helps you out of the car and meets your gaze again you look anything but tired. Need and arousal flood his system as he takes you in, lips slightly parted and eyes dancing around his face. Your words from the bathroom ring in his ears. I need more, Mister Miller.

He snaps, lips slamming against yours, your hands immediately finding the curls at the nape of his neck; the only hair you can reach because of the cowboy hat still proudly perched on top of his head. He lifts you, moaning at the feeling of your toned thighs wrapping around his waist. He moves on instinct, closing the car door and walking into the house while the two of you fervently kiss in a mix of tongue and teeth. You nip at his bottom lip as he walks into the marble foyer. He closes the garage entry door and presses you against it, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, His cock is painfully hard behind his pants.

“I need you,” you whine after your lip is free from his mouth.

“What do you need?”

You kiss at his neck, hands moving to loosen his tie. “I need you to fuck me, please, Mister Miller.”

I love you.

He keeps you pinned to the door, his one hand grabbing yours and pinning them above your head. How many times is he going to have you in the position, fighting against what you’re begging for? Hopefully, it never stops.

“My sweet girl, you know I can’t do that.” It physically hurts him to turn you down.

You pout at him before speaking, “Then just be naked with me, I need to feel your skin on mine. Please?”

He kisses you again and starts to move the two of you towards the stairs. Between kisses, he says, “What happened to that shy girl who couldn’t even tell me she wanted me to dominate her?”

You laugh against his lips, “She’s been corrupted.”

“I’m a bad man,” he hums with a laugh and walks up the stairs with you plastered to his chest; one hand around the globes of your ass, the other tucking your head into his neck so he can see where he’s stepping. The moment you reach the top of the stairs he pulls your face back to his to kiss you again.

“This is where it happened,” you say, as he passes the office.

“Where what happened?” He says, pulling back to look at you, his eyebrows draw in in confusion and the black Stetson he forgot he was wearing falls forward slightly. You take the hat off his head, looking at him all wide-eyed and amused.

“The corruption,” you say with a wink. Joel snorts in response and then his lips are back on yours. He has missed having this mix of passion and humour with someone.

When he passes over the threshold of his bedroom he places you on your feet. He told himself he wouldn’t ever have you here. No, not told, promised, because he knew what having here would mean. But you made him fall in love with you anyway. The air in the bedroom feels thicker, and his breathing quickens as he looks at you. The only light that trickles in is from the hallway. He takes in your sparkling eyes, your lips, puffy from his kisses and light nips; the perfect curls of your hair are slightly dishevelled and truthfully - he has never found you more beautiful.

I love you.

You

Butterflies assault your stomach as you stare at Joel. He takes the hat from you and tosses it gently on the foot of the bed behind you. The room is deafeningly silent, only the sounds of both of your quickened breathing and thundering heartbeats fill the void. You stand frozen, the heels of your strappy black sandals sinking into the plush carpet of his bedroom. You remember when you carried his sheets to the washing machine just a few weeks ago, being surrounded by the delicious scents of ash and leather. You had no idea who Joel was then, the man in this house was just a fantasy in your mind. You wait for him to make the first move. Finally, his thick fingers find the zipper along your side.

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his voice is hoarse, and you can tell he’s nervous. You wish knowing that would calm you, but truthfully it just makes your heart burst even more. This morning, the thought of anyone, but especially Joel, having feelings for you was ridiculous, but now you aren’t so sure it’s that absurd after all.

“Yes, Mister Miller. I just - I need…” he watches you patiently. Playing with the small metal zipper pull.

“Don’t be shy, sweet girl. Just tell me what you need.”

“I need to feel your skin against mine. Please.”

He pulls at the zipper as his lips meet your neck. “I love when you ask so politely. My good girl, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, fighting the sway of your legs to stay upright.

If he’s calling you yours, that’s Joel speaking. Not his dom alter ego.

Joel’s fingers come to the thin straps along your shoulders. The warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to shiver. He drags the straps down your arms and then frowns at the tape holding the dress to your chest. He tugs gently and you gasp at the pull of the tape. Before you can protest, the sting is soothed by his lips, kissing the sore, pink skin. He does the same thing after tugging the other side and the silky black dress pools at your feet.

You watch the muscles of Joel’s throat flex as he swallows, eyes trailing down your body. “Turn around.”

You spin on the balls of your feet, careful to not catch your heels on the carpet. “So you need to feel me, is that right, sweet girl?”

You nod your head. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

One of his hands comes to gently rest on your shoulder and instinctively lean into his touch. His fingers whirl around as he traces down your shoulder blade and then back up to your neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you looked tonight. I kept getting pulled away from you every time I tried to get back to you. It was killing me to be away from you.”

You let your eyes close as his fingers run down your spinal column. You feel his heat leave your back and then his lips sponge kisses along the globes of your ass, his hands holding your hips possessively.

“You were such a good girl tonight. Outside of the little singing stunt,” he says between kisses. Every spot that took the punishment of his palm is given attention. “But you paid for that, didn’t you sweet girl?”

You giggle quietly before saying. “Yes, Mister Miller. Thank you, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” he laughs, standing up behind you. You hear the unmistakable sound of his silk tie being pulled off. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop teasing me.”

He tosses the tie towards his dresser. Before you know it, he’s spun you around and lifted you into his arms again. Your body knows just what to do, your legs clamping around his waist on their own. He captures the squeak that leaves your lips with his mouth. Nothing makes you melt faster than the feel of Joel’s lips on yours. They’re soft but firm, his tongue warm against yours as he takes what he wants from you and there’s no way you’re not going to let him.

He sits you on the dresser and plants his hands on each side of you as your hands move to work the buttons on his shirt. His lips never leave yours.

“I need you,” you whine as you get the first few buttons undone. The heat of his chest skimming against your fingertips has a fresh wave of arousal coat your already soaked pussy.

Joel moans needily at your confession as he pulls back slightly. He rips at his shirt, buttons burst before he tears it off and stands shirtless in front of you. Your eyes trail down his strong broad chest, stopping on the prominent bulge behind his pants. Your hands fly to his belt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you work the buckle and then the button of his pants.

As you move to the zipper, his fingers go to the lace of your panties. He growls as he splits the fabric.

“Joel!” You gasp. “Those were thirty dollars!”

He grabs your leg, placing the ball of your foot on his chest,unbuckling your shoe. “I just ruined an $800 dress shirt. I’ll buy you more.”

The shoe hits the floor and he grabs your other foot, his eyes locking to yours as he commands, “And it’s Mister Miller. I’ve been lenient with you. Another mistake and you will be punished - severely.”

For such harsh words, he’s being so careful with the small golden buckle on your shoe. “Yes, Mister Miller,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes innocently.

“Feet up on the dresser. Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.”

You lean back slightly, hands being used as an anchor behind you, placing your heels on the edge of the dresser. Cool air hits your drenched cunt and you fight yet another shiver. You’re spread wide for Joel, every single thing on display for him. He looks at you like you hung the moon and your heart flips behind your ribs. You suddenly feel like you did the first time the two of you spoke in his kitchen, his gaze is too much, too intense, and it becomes nearly impossible for you to not yell out that you love him, so you look away, your eyes falling to his strong chest.

“Eyes up here,” he murmurs as he takes the smallest step back.

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. In your peripheral you can see his hands going to his belt, the sound of the buckle jingling tempts you to look down. “Atta girl, stay right here with me.”

You stay in his warm coffee brown pools, flecks of gold and honey appearing as the soft light of his bedroom hits him. I love you.

He bends slightly, his pants and boxers falling to the ground. You try to swallow once, twice, never leaving his gaze as the rest of his clothing comes off. You swear that time stops, the two of you are suspended in a moment that’s all yours. He steps forward and you can feel the heat of his skin against your entire body, you melt into his warmth.

“You want to look, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

The soft tip of his cock gently nudges at your clit and you gasp. “Look down, baby.”

You peel your eyes away from his, looking down to see where his body caresses against yours. The tip of his impossibly hard cock, precum glistening as it leaks for you, pressing lightly to your soft and swollen clit. His piercing lays flat against his pelvis and you remember what he said about there being benefits to it. You try to memorize the sight in front of you. As filthy and debauched as this is, it’s also passionate and beautiful; it's the epitome of Mister Miller and your time with him.

“Fuck, sweet girl. Your pussy is so pretty…and soft.” You watch as he wraps his hand around the thick base of his cock and rocks his hips. His cock slides easily along the warm folds of your drenched cunt, you swear you can feel the ridge of the underside of the tip as he says, “Who has you this turned on? Huh, sweet girl?”

“You,” you whimper as your legs start to tremble.

“God damn,” his voice now matching yours, “How’d I get so lucky.”

This time you know he’s not asking you a question, yet you hum in agreement as his cock slides back over your clit, the swollen nub relishing in the friction and the feel of him against you. You hope he’s going to keep going, you want to feel him inside of you more than you need oxygen. Instead, his other hand slips between the two of you, his strong digits teasing at your entrance. He slides along your clit again as one of his fingers pushes inside of you.

“Is this ok?” He whispers.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, Mister Miller.” A bead of pre cum lands on your mound at the sound of pleasure passing your lips.

“Such a good girl for me. Already learning how to take me so well.” His finger slips out as a second joins it. “She’s begging for it, tryin’ to suck me in. So tight, my gorgeous sweet girl.”

Your foreheads meet and it all becomes too much again. You close your eyes as his fingers finally fill you. “Don’t stop,” you whine desperately.

His hips pick up their pace, pressing harder along your most sensitive spots. You get that floating feeling again. He’s so close to exactly how you need him, how you want him. The voice from your now-exploded box of feelings adds, “For the rest of your life”.

You keep your eyes closed, sparks of pleasure occasionally flickering behind them. You’re getting closer to your high with every press of his body against yours. You know if you opened your eyes you’d be able to fall over the edge, but you aren’t ready to be done imagining how it would look if his cock was doing what his fingers were right now.

“I can feel you’re getting close, baby. Clenchin’ my fingers so hard.” His voice is full of admiration, not a tone you’re used to hearing in moments like this. You used to think that you had a first love, and while none of your exes ever mistreated you, they also didn’t look at you or speak to you the way Joel Miller does.

His pace increases again as he curls his fingers forward, your body jolts up with the newly applied pressure behind your clit. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself, the inside of your thighs start to ache, but you’re not going to let your feet fall from the dresser. Truthfully, the burning ache only seems to intensify the pleasure at the apex of your thighs.

“Open your eyes, watch how good your pussy looks against me.”

“I ca-can’t. ‘M so close. I don’t - oh fuck - don’t wanna be done.”

“Just because you come, it doesn’t mean we are done, sweet girl. I’m not ready to be done. I want you to come as many times as you need to.” He presses his cock down against your clit harder as he speaks.

Before you can even take your next breath your orgasm washes over you. It hits hard and for a second you think your throat is constricted, but just as the wall of your pussy relaxes and begins to flutter, a euphoric scream frees itself from your airway. You start to pant, your body falling back to rest on the wall behind you. Joel falls forward with you, and just when you think you’re about to come down from your high, the pressure at this angle sends the strongest wave of your orgasm through you and you begin to gush around his fingers.

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Soak me.” Pride swells in his eyes as you chant his dominant name like a prayer. Your breathing starts to even and he slows his fingers and hips, ensuring not to send you into any overstimulation. I’m not ready to be done yet. He slowly removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around you to pull you up. Your feet fall from the dresser and the relief your muscles feel causes you to let out a pleasurable sigh.

Joel

He needs more, so much more, but waits for you - taking a few slow breaths in time with yours. When he sees you coming back down to earth he slides the tip of his cock up and down. At this angle, there’s no risk of accidentally slipping so he runs himself along every part he can reach.

“Kiss me,” you mumble, bringing your face towards his. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, a kiss he’s sure you can tell isn’t the way a dom kisses his sub. He realizes at that moment that he’s never kissed you that way. No, he’s always kissed you with everything he had, giving himself to you piece by piece.

More. His inner voice growls. I’ll never come back up for air now.

Joel whispers your name between kisses and you both pull back just enough to see each other's faces. “When we got here, you said you wanted me to fuck you. Do you still want that?”

He watches your eyes dance around him. Confusion, fear, excitement and arousal line yours before you pull back from him. He scolds himself for saying it. Of course you’re going to panic, this is supposed to be a safe space. He set a complete ban on sex before he even met with you the first time. It’s right there, in his dom profile; because that’s what he is, he’s your dom. You can come here and beg for it, because you know it’s a safe place where it won’t happen.

He prepares himself for you to slap him or yell at him. Instead, you say, “Mister Miller, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. This was a hard limit for you, and where I very much want to, I don’t want you to break any promise to yourself.”

He let his eyelids fall shut, for the first time, he doesn’t want to be Mister Miller. He wants to be Joel.

I love you.

Goosebumps break out along his skin as you drag your hands up to his neck, fingers scraping along the back of his scalp. “Talk to me.”

“Just call me Joel,” he says through the boulder that’s lodged in his throat.

He feels your warm lips meet his cheek, kissing him softly before you clear your throat quietly and then whisper into his ear. “Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me or I might die or go insane.”

“Again,” he growls.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You say, louder and with more conviction than the last time.

He scoops you off the dresser, your soft naked thighs tightening around his waist and he steals your squeal with his lips, kissing you hard with hurried passion. He’ll worry tomorrow about what getting you to call him Joel means, all he knows at this moment is that he needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs you.

He lays you on the bed, pressing down into your warmth. He can feel how wet you are as you grind up into him. His lips grow hungrier, kissing every bit of your face and neck he can reach, relishing in the feel of your hands running up and down his biceps, your short nails scraping his skin occasionally.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks before fusing his lips to your neck.

Your feet fall to the bed and you arch into him. “Yes, Joel.”

He raises to his knees, unclipping the chains around your body and then working with you to slip your ruined panties off. He reaches over to the bedside table to get a condom, using his teeth to peel the foil open and sliding it on. You’re always completely at his mercy, but this time he’s wholly at yours. One of his hands grips your hip, the other wraps around his cock as he takes in all your soft smooth skin, and memorizes the constellations that your freckles make along your body. Your breasts heave with each shallow inhale and shake beautifully with each exhale. Finally, his gaze meets yours, your eyes filled with every emotion he’s feeling.

“There’s no safeword anymore, my sweet girl. If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You nod as he lines himself up, the warmth of your tight entrance calling to him. Joel pushes gently, your hips rising to encourage him. His balls tighten at the feeling of you wrapped tightly around the tip.

“So tight, sweet girl.” He falls forward, both forearms beside your head to keep his weight off of you.

The two of you rock in tandem, working more of him into you. “Oh god, Joel. More,” you moan.

There was a time when he told you to only call him Joel, it was the only name you could use that would keep this side of him from taking over. But now, hearing your voice say his name in the needy little vibrato, it’s having the same effect as when you call him Mister Miller. He’s sure you know exactly how he feels, and he’s now certain that you feel the same way.

Your hips grind into his and pleasure spikes through his entire body. He’s fully seated inside of you now, your tight pussy squeezing him sweetly. He buries his face into your neck, lavender hypnotizing him. Everything he can see, hear, smell and feel is you. His sweet girl.

“More, please, more.” You whine, circling your hips.

His jaw flexes as he fights his body’s instinct to come. He pushes down with his hips to still you. “I need a minute, sweet girl. Shit - you feel too good.”

Your soft giggle at his confession causes your pussy to flex tighter around him. A shiver runs up his spine, “Baby, please don’t. Just stay still, please.”

He pulls himself away from your neck, his hips flexing forward. He watches your eyes widen as his piercing presses right where it’s meant to. You gasp and clench his hips with your thighs. He smirks, now flooded with desire and determination to fuck you until neither of you can walk.

“Ready?” He says, his voice deep.

“I think - Joel, fuck - I might…”

His animalistic side kicks in, he pulls out to the tip and then slams back in, swivelling his hips so his piercing stimulates your clit, which he’s sure still must be sensitive from earlier, before pulling back and repeating.

“Think you might what?” He demands, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna - gonna come.” You moan between thrusts.

“So fuckin’ needy. Aren’t you?” You met each of his thrusts with a flick of your hips. Even with the condom, you feel better than he could have ever imagined. All the things he wants to do to you run through his mind; he wants to take you from behind, or watch your tits bounce as you ride him, he pictures you strapped to the spanking bench in his room at the club. But right now he just wants to worship every inch of you. He wants to show you how you should be treated and loved.

The words are on the tip of his tongue. I love you.

He shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your leg so he can take you deeper. “Sweet girl, I want to feel you come on my cock.”

“Fuckfuck don’t stop.” He peppers your jawline with kisses.

“Kiss me,” he whispers. He tilts his head, parting his lips for your warm tongue. Joel starts fucking you faster. He breaks the kiss, “Come for me, baby girl.”

“Are we going to be done if I do?” You ask.

“No, baby.” He huffed a laugh, his hand pushing the hair away that’s started to stick to your forehead. “Never. I’m never going to be done with you.”

“Joel - oh my god.” He feels you getting tighter and tries to distract his thoughts. He’s not ready to be done, but he’s not young anymore so he can’t risk finishing quite yet. “Your - your piercing.”

“Let go,” he says into your lips. He feels it then, that infinitesimal tightening of your pussy around his length before it begins to flutter. Your whine fills his head. He watches the pleasure fill your face, he swears he can see the clouds that form around your vision as you look deep into his eyes and succumb to your high. Your soft body quivers beautifully underneath him, “That’s my girl.”

The primal need to fuck you hard into his mattress simmers his skin. Not yet, not this time. She’s too perfect right now.

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

Between pants you moan out, “So good, Joel.”

Your body begins to slow beneath him as your orgasm crests and he gives himself a mental pep talk to hold on just a bit longer. His cock is achy with the need to come, and it’s going to be slightly tortuous to stop, but he wants to take you at least one more time before you both fall into what is sure to be an exhausted sleep.

His lips come to your shoulder. “I love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me.”

Your nails scrape at his back. “It’s t-too much. Fuck. Sorry…sorry.”

Joel stills his hips, releasing your leg and pushing his weight off of you, but doesn’t pull away. Your eyes are clenched tight, “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes pop open, pupils blown in pleasure and love. There’s no denying it now, he knows you feel the same. “Don’t be sorry.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, “But you’re not, you didn’t yet.”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“You didn’t get to come yet,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to yet. I’m going to let you catch your breath and then you’re going to climb onto my lap and really learn what that piercing can do.” He winks and then gives you a small smile before slipping out of you. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, removing the condom and dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed.

He hears you hiss, panic clogs his throat as he whips back towards you. “What’s wrong?”

You nod towards his almost impossibly hard cock. “That looks painful.”

“I’m ok, sweet girl.” He pulls you in, melting at the way your body molds so perfectly to his. He kisses your forehead, “You’re incredible.”

“You too.” You nuzzle deeper into him, your warm breath hitting his chest and your leg wrapping around his.

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before you speak, “Hey Joel?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I think we should ditch the condom.” He pulls back as you look up at him, “You have a vasectomy. I have an IUD. We had recent test results as per the club's rules.”

Joel swallows. Not wearing a condom, even though he had his vasectomy over a decade ago, has never been an option. Another rule of JMKink is that you have to be wearing a condom during all penetrative activities; even if the person you’re fucking is your husband or wife. It hits Joel then that the only person he’s felt that intimately before is Tiffany.

“Are you sure? I know the chances of getting pregnant are very slim, but you got into law school today, I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I’m sure,” you hum. “I’m also sure that you should put that cowboy hat back on for the next round.”

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ky-landfill · 1 year ago

Note

Just wondering but have you read “the big road home” by crumpetz? I’m rereading it now (and taking extreme levels of emotional damage from doing so) and it seems like something you’d really enjoy

"Tim does excitement a little differently than most people, a little quieter and with less movement, but it’s really obvious once you know him. He’s not saying much or screaming or anything, but Tim looks like a human sunbeam. Like he’s glowing under his skin."

#fic rec #thanks for breaking me anon #jason todd #tim drake #batbros #honestly been consumed by this story #baby jason and tim #need them to heal #nga mihi <3 #prompt response #no ball games (original motion picture soundtrack) by patrick jonsson

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writingwenches · 3 months ago

Text

Aemond x Peasant OC

synopsis: Aemond leaves the comfort of the Red Keep to trek around the backwoods Riverlands, where an annoying peasant doesn't believe he is a prince. Then they do hand stuff near a lake.

themes: brat!Aemond, spoiled!Aemond, mixed race main character, mc grew up in a westeros version of a nunnery, surprise trans side character~ this is just the start of a larger “rewrite HOTD” type story.

word count: 10k (i hate me too.)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no targcest, hand stuff, mouth stuff, mommy issues if you squint, mentions of sex work, mentions of child death and pregnancy complications. Religious nonsense.

PART TWO OUT NOW

Freedom From – Act One

Charity is the only hope for useless girls, and not enough to go around. The Maidenhouse of Haronfall was an ancient structure, run by the Faith for centuries as a place to send discarded girl-children, forging useless girls into something worthy. It was their true calling, regardless of what those girls’ wants.

For unwanted men of the realm, there was the Night’s Watch. Some unwanted boys are sent as soon as they were old enough to lift a sword. They were raised and trained to be useful along their brothers, forged to the sole purpose of defending the realm and never to be left wanting.

The Septas of the Faith of the Seven recruited woman of fine birth, in want of a life not owned by a husband, and those who’s families were willing to pay handsomely for a life of purpose for their unfortunately female child. Women worked and clawed and won their way into the duty of a Septa, the Faith had no use for useless girls.

There was no place in the realm for unwanted girls. Brothels did not want them. They already had enough bastards, and young flesh did not turn enough of a profit. Girls were not wanted unless they were useful, and many unuseful girls found themselves living on the streets or dead in a ditch.

That was what would befall Lyn is she were ever to be found wanting, of something more, of something else. She was lucky to have been given her place amongst the holy woman of the Faith, even if she was not going to benefit from their handouts much longer. Lyn had been found wanting at an early age, never reaching the hidden marks required to be gifted a role as a Novice. Those girls found wanting were given hard work of servitude, waiting on the Septas that filled the halls of the Grand Motherhouse, constructed around the ancient order’s orphanage, nestled in the swamp lands of The Bite.

The prayer before work was never ending, but no one had the heart to interrupt the young girl, hands clasped together, eyes stitched shut, conversing with the gods in earnest. Lyn tried to shake her mind from racing at the thoughts of the future, focusing on the task at hand. House Erenford was not able to keep a staff his large permanently, but they would take every chance for a few strong-backed girl servants from the Faith to tend their Keep during festivals and feasts. House Erenford honors hard workers, and knows that the serving girls’ would be in need of work away from their lands as soon as they could find it. The elderly Lord Erenford would always put in a good word with visiting households in need of additional servants.

Lyn tried to for her back to appear straight, as she lowered herself enough to reach the basket of herbs that needed plucking. Her fellow maid, Hanna, peeled potatoes below the table and out of sight of piety. This was not the first time the group of maids had been contracted to work during a feast at House Eronford’s keep, and Lyn knew that they did not have time for endless prayers and blessings if they were to keep their schedule. Their traveling party lost many hours to traveling from the Motherhouse, where the young maids hailed.

Lyn’s eyes remained downcast, she was raised by the Septas of the Faith of the Seven since as long as she had memory. She had learned to pray before she could do any other task, it took many years to learn how to appear to be praying, which is much more efficient.

Her small movements had been noticed, however, by the Lady Aeditya Mallister. She had been raised on a far-off world, at a distance Lyn could not properly imagine, away from the tradition of the Faith.

Lady Aeditya cleared her throat, trying to get someone’s attention, her empty cup dancing in her hand.

For years, Lyn assumed Aeditya was of mixed peoples, like Lyn herself, with skin of a strange middle ground between dark and light. But, after serving the lady on numerous occasions, she was assured that Lady Mallister was of impeccable birth, thought to possess ravishing beauty by her entire nation, a nation where all peoples looked like her, but obviously less beautiful.

Lady Aeditya exhaled loudly, and no move was made to fill her empty cup while prayers were still being pledged.

Lyn agreed that Lady Aeditya was beautiful, but knew that her distant land would not welcome her for her skin alone. Their features were completely different, were Lyn was plump and sturdy, Aeditya was slim and narrow.

“LYN!” the lady finally shouted. The prayers abruptly stopped. “My cup is empty. Where is the wine?”

“Of course, Lady Mallister,” Lyn said dutifully, flicking away the moist bits of shredded herbs from her fingers, glad that the room burst to life as work for the feast could finally begin. Behind the pillar of the wine cellar, Lyn suck a few gulps from the pitcher to warm her belly before returning to fill the lady’s empty cup.

—

“Ugh!” Lady Aeditya huffed, as she lounged on the stone hearth, stroking her distressingly pregnant belly. “It’s too quiet in here, someone speak,” she ordered, her wine cup almost empty one again.

“Is the duck ready for the oven?” Hanna chimed, thinking her thoughts aloud as she passed.

“No!” Lady Aeditya stamped, “The babe grows ears! Do not speak of things I know nought about!” Her words staccatod for emphasis. “It is isolating to me, we must not encourage such things for the babe,” she said as if it were obvious. “Lord Ryver and Waltel Frey are sparring, as always, and I did not come here to be bored.”

Lady Aeditya came to Haronfall, along the edge of The Bite, all the way from Seaguard, the western most point before the Iron Islands. It was the only area of land Lyn had ever known. It was more than a week’s journey between the two settlements, and every pregnancy, Aeditya seemed to spend the majority of her time away from her lord husband.

“What would you like to speak of, Lady Mallister?” Lyn asked, sharing smiling glancing to the other girls working. She tried to get the savory herbs from beneath her fingernails, to not spoil the sweet pie filling she was mixing.

Lady Aeditya signed again. “it is always up to me, the true burden of being a lady.” She sat up straighter and addressed the help with her eyes. The Lady Aeditya saw an unorganized gaggle of unmarried maidens, who were long old enough to bare children of their own. Poor, former infants that were abandoned by their destitute mothers at the Faith’s doorstep, now traded around as extra help for a few measly coins. Aeditya say little difference between this and woman who sell their bodies in other ways. She could never imagine sullying herself with such unfulfilling work with a true lack of purpose. She pitied them in some ways – an envied them in others. “Girls, be thankful your minds are not always at the helm of every stimulant in conversation.”

Honestly, Lyn was thankful as her brain was far away from the dank kitchens, hidden below the gathering hall. The windows were scarce and to allow only for light, rather than a beautiful view of the fertile swamplands surrounding the keep. Lyn’s mind was free to soar and wonder, watching a bale of turtles balancing on a single log as they competed for the best spot in the sun. Lyn often wished she were a simple turtle, floating along the creeks and bogs, armored against chomping lizards and long beaked birds. She was free.

Very much unlike Lady Aeditya.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, both hands reaching for her overlarge belly. “Come hither! The babe! He kicks!”

The room flurried with rushing girls and dropped buckets.

Lyn did not think Lady Aeditya so bad. Lyn was present at her last birth, as Aeditya’s labors began in Haronfall, and lasted days. The boy was born asleep, the Septas said, wrapping him in cloth and not allowing the mother a single look before carting him away, leaving Lyn and the other girls to hold Aeditya close as she wailed. At the request of Lord River, Aeditya remained in Haronfall to give Lord Mallister’s temper time to subside.

Lyn smiled as she felt the babe kick, before other girls pushed her palm away to feel for themselves. Lyn didn’t know how much she believed in the gods, but she prayed to all of them on behalf of the Lady Mallister, prayed that they would finally bless her with a single child that lives, if only to spare her from her lord husband’s much-gossiped-about wrath.

Lyn was very thankful she was a poor maid, with no hopes and no prospects. She had seen first hand what prospects could do to a woman.

—

Whatever the reason for Cinda Lannister’s personal crest being a lioness fighting a diamond snake, many speculated that she was much more the snake than a lioness. Perhaps the speculation began from Cinda herself.

“My prince,” she curtsied impeccably. “Oh, how I wish you’d allow me to call you ‘my favorite prince,’” she teased, snaking her hand around Aemond’s arm, without him offering it.

“As I have told you since childhood, you are allowed to do no such thing,” he scoffed, wishing he could shake her arms away like he could his mother. Cinda Lannister was a high-born lady, not something that could be manhandled, so he allowed her closeness begrudgingly. “What is it you want this time, Lady Cinda?”

The younger sister of Master of Coin, and personal possessor of the largest sapphire mine in all of Westeros, threw her head back with a laugh, allowing the tall prince a better view of her bare neck and low-lying neckline. “You are always a laugh, my prince!” she mused, “I do not want anything from you. I simply wish you tell you of a surprise gift I have found for your dear, sweet, sister, the Princess Helaena.”

“What is it?” he asked plainly, wishing the halls of the Red Keep were shorter, or any other reason for this conversation to end.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you!” she jested back, “no, I will not tell you what it is, simply where to find it, if you would wish to help me fetch it for her.”

Aemond offered Cinda his hand at the end of a long staircase, as any proper gentleman should, and she gracefully accepted it. “Fine,” he held his tongue in anger, “where is it?”

“Haronfall,” she replied quickly.

“Heronhol?” he had heard, expecting the gift to be some haunted tree spider.

“No, my prince. That is a common miscommunication. Haronfall, along The Bite, Near The Twins, but not quite. Ruled over by Lord Eronford. It is far older than Haronhol and some say it could be the inspiration for Lord Aaron’s naming of his own Keep.”

It was not often when Aemond took more than a thought to remember the heraldry of a house. “A heron on a pink banner?”

“Correct, my prince!” Cinda used this as an opportunity to giggle. “That is correct?” Cinda asked, turning towards Aemond’s back.

Aemond had not noticed the girl following behind, a girl, barely old enough to be called a lady, clad in bright red rubies and lace. “Yes, aunt,” she replied meekly, not looking up at Aemond. The daughter of the Realm’s Lannister Master of Ships.

“Thank you, Cordelia,” Cinda said.

Aemond had been offered the young Lady Cordelia on numerous occasions since her birth. The second-born prince had no interest in playing nursemaid to a child, or bedding one.

“Haronfall is where I shall be traveling to, unfortunately I shall be missing the King’s nameday festivities, but as you know, your sweet sister’s own nameday is so soon after, that she rarely receives much fanfare.” Cinda said.

“And with all of the troubles she has had of late with those nasty girls from the Stormlands. I simply shudder to think of the vile insults thrown her way.”

—

In the past, Helaena’s ladies forced her around the keep, the princess’s feet dragging paces behind the ladies’ closely fortified wall of linked arms. They had all hailed from the Stormlands, a great honor bestowed by the crown. Jena Estermount, the eldest daughter to the second richest house in the region who openly mocked the gods, Arianna Tarth, a half-dornish girl, and Corenna Storm, a noble bastard of House Baratheon.

As they wafted through the walls of the Keep, Aemond thought it plain to see that the princess’s ladies were not interested in the princess at all. Helaena did not seem at all bothered when the Queen dismissed the group of catty ladies from court after she discovered them mocking the princess behind her back. Queen Alicent distrusted each girl for their own glaring flaw, and only had the prejudices enforced through the girls’ actions.

In reality, Helaena had not minded the names they called her. Some of the names were quite clever. One of the girls, the bastard, had called her “Batty.” Helaena had never given much thoughts to bats before that name, and since has discovered she finds them quite fascinating.

—

Cinda had always seemed to have the Queen’s interest at heart. Aemond figured Cinda was a child when his mother was married, basically offered as a gift from the Lannister family. Cinda was a Lady in her own right, the rightful daughter to the Lord Paramount of the West, and had the authority born from her great house, to assist the queen with any ladyly matters that concerned women.

Aemond wasn’t sure what ladies did all day, but he supposed planning gifts for a princess was a worthy endeavor.

Aemond had only known Cinda to honor his mother in whatever way necessary. He liked the way she made people squirm.

“Careful, Lord Larys,” she quipped once, while his mother and the clubbed foot whispered in the corner. “If you aren’t careful, I shall marry you. And I shall keep my husband on a much shorter leash.”

Cinda was young enough to be a proper match to marry Prince Aemond, but old enough to lack many more fruitful child baring years. It would basically be admitting to the realm of his care for the woman, which he had none, no matter how many times he returned to her bed to lay his head upon her chest. It meant nothing, he told himself, even as the tears stung the corners of his eyes as he burrowed himself into her.

Cinda was just a teen, helping the Queen Mother after Aemond’s incident on Driftmark, letting the small boy lay on her chest as he was sick on milk of the poppy.

His mother was there, asleep on the chair near his bedside, but she could not bare to touch him. The last time she cradled his face, the night it happened, she erupted with rage and she was horrified, afraid she would lash out at the boy with her anger like she had attacked her once best friend.

It was Aemond that snuck into Cinda’s chambers a few moons past when they stopped sleeping in his own chambers. It was the first time he had seen a lady without a corset, when he climbed into her bed, teary eyed and pouting about the pain his family was tired of hearing. She let the pitiful boy sleep on her chest, Aemond thought her was much more comfortable without her corset.

Cinda had never changed the way she looked at him. He had always been the poor, second son that she loved to dote upon. Even after gaining Vhagar and losing his eye, she never faltered in her incessant mothering of him, always to his annoyance.

The winter following his lost eye, Cinda had made sure to strap him into his winter coat personally, buttons, belts and all. So many, the young boy would grow too impatient every time he attempted to shrug it off.

Aemond would threaten to feed Cinda to his new dragon at her every annoyance, and every time she would hug him close, and before long he was tall enough to get a face-full of her ample chest.

It had become a game for him, without him realizing what he had been up to, with his newly formed fascination with women’s breasts.

Cinda was the first to notice his little scheme, calling him out in their quiet place, “I thought you my favorite prince for being so different from your elder brother, His Grace. I can’t have you being a leacher as well.” Her thumb as passed over his lips as she caressed his cheek and he felt every inch of skin set aflame.

He legs stormed him out of her room and down two corridors before he was able to hear the world again. The blush did not leave his flesh for weeks, as every time the young boy caught a glimpse of a red dress, he was reminded of her alluring words.

Aemond had been panicked for so long that Aegon noticed. When Aegon approached Cinda about the incident, she licked her thumb to wipe away from dirt on Prince Aegon’s nose. He lost interest quickly, not enjoying her mothering the way others did.

His grandsire had even requested to speak with him about something important. Aemond was enameled by the strategic maps and sums that scattered the office of Hand to the King.

It was a meeting, much worst than he could have ever feared. Otto thought it had been time that the young prince he spoken to about urges. Aemond thought about jumping from the Hand’s Tower, surely death was better than this.

“I don’t…” Aemond was cut off, Otto was not going to let him get out of this one.

A large, ancient tome was presented to the young prince. Aemond closed the book as quickly as he opened it, after seeing the crude drawings of nude bodies. “I don’t want this,” he said, pushing it back to his grandsire, not making eye contact.

“Think of it as an early nameday gift,” Otto patted him on the head, not allowing Aemond to leave without the book.

The young prince held the tone like it was covered in acid, not wanting it to suddenly burst into flames. That was until he noticed Aegon a floor below, and Aemond hid the book under his shift, tucked into his breeches to unsuspiciously walk past his elder brother and little cousins.

It obviously did not work.

It never worked.

He stopped seeing Cinda unnecessarily after that, only allowing a passing conversation at a mutual dinner or ball. It wasn’t something he needed, he reminded himself, with his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the Harvest Ball in the Red Keep. The festivities were distracting his brother and his club of suitors from The Reach, all who took great pleasure in Aemond’s discomfort. If the Reach Ladies ever found out about his secret nighttime travels to Cinda’s chambers to be swaddled with a babe…the only option would be to sacrifice himself to the Old Valyrian gods by Vhagar’s dragon fire.

Even as a man grown, Aemond could still picture the sting of Lady Ivyanne Tyrell’s voice in his imagined scenario that he allowed to play on loop every night.

“By the gods, One-Eye, do you love Cinda Lannister?” He could feel their laughter, even without it ever happening.

Not that he had thought about the exact scene in his loneliest hours of sleep, Cinda was never at a lack of quips and womanly come-backs. Lady Cinda Lannister was not afraid to call out Ivyanne for the sapphic invert she truly was. “Have fun with your Game of Flats, I’m sure Prince Aegon enjoys watching.”

Not that Aemond ever imagines such things, especially right after he had just finished his imagining. It was always the last time, every single time.

Lady Cinda Lannister bathed in the morning, before the sun is fully risen, beginning her day before some of the Keep’s servants. Aemond knew that much about her routine, after being gently woken and forced to trek back to his own chambers before the castle was awake.

The early morning after his thirteen nameday festivities Aegon had talked him into, Aemond found himself in Cinda’s chambers once again. She did not have to ask, his tears could not be controlled.

Cinda had derived a way to lock the doors from the inside, she was never one to to be caught off guard.

They both bathed in their shifts. Aemond cried into her neck as she washed his hair and sponged his face. She distracted him with Lannister family histories, courtly gossip she had overheard, talk about her excitement for his sister princess’s new ladies-in-waiting arriving from the Stormlands soon.

They couldn’t stay there forever, as Aemond would have wished. The dream between sleep and awake evaporated together into the cloud of his memory. Aemond could not remember if he asked Cinda to marry him that night, or if it was only a fleeting dream. Regardless, there was a sweet declaration of her painless rejection. Aemond had not minded.

—

“I hope you are daydreaming of me, my little prince,” Cinda laughed, grazing his cheek with her fingernail.

The waking nightmare had been so real that Aemond started back to attention, tripping young Cordelia, who was following him too closely.

“You will be gone for weeks,” Aemond continued forward, leaving the young Cordelia to pick herself up from the floor.

“I hope you do not miss me too fiercely while I away,” she shined.

“I never do,” Aemond blanched as she pressed her lips to his cheek.

—

Aemond could not withstand another moment of his father’s sixtieth nameday celebration, and took to the skies before the great hunt had finished. He had been given his heading of The Bite, and he had studied the wastelands of the kingdoms in his youth for this very reason. He had no need for a map.

Vhagar circled the estuaries trickling out of The Bite, the bitter air of the cold swamp fluttered upwards, the smell of fresh death, and decay played inside him. Only a place like this could grow the strange bog creature his sister was surely going to cherish from Lady Cinda.

The settlement had been easy enough to find, after a few hours of searching the shores. Vhagar’s legs sank into the muck as she landed, the elderly she-dragon grunted with every movement, refusing to lean on her wings for support. She took two additional landings for Aemond to calm her enough to dismount.

Before his dragon had disappeared from view, tall, squawking birds had found perch upon her wide back. Aemond was sure her dragon fire would not find purchase amongst the brush and trees, the place was too dank to be set ablaze.

By the time he reached the settlement, Aemond had cursed every rock and root he had passed for the past few miles. He wished Vhagar had roasted the entire countryside rather than spend another moment knee deep in cold muck.

—

“Ryver has gone mad yet again,” Lady Aeditya’s slurred down the stairs, she risked tumbling for a change at her favorite exaggerated eye roll, marking her judgement on others. “He thinks there is a Targaryen prince at his door.”

The work in the room stopped at once.

“…another one?” Hanna asked, her hands almost burning on the pan she paused handling.

“It seems so,” Aeditya shook her cup until it was filled.

“This shall be the fourth ‘prince’ to show at up his door, correct?” Lyn asked, she could not hide a smile stretching over her lips.

“When his Lord father is away, Ryver will open the Keep to anyone with silver hair and a claimed title.”

“What do you think this one will be like?” Hanna asked, “handsome for once?”

They all had a laugh at that.

“This one is different,” Aeditya answered, “Or so Ryver claims. This one…has lost an eye.” The lady stretched out her iris as she drained her cup.

Lyn did not understand the gesture.

“The prince,” a quiet maid said, “one of the prince’s is missing an eye. They call him ‘One-Eyed!’”

There was mumbling amongst the ladies, Lyn even joined in.

Aeditya could not help but be correct in all things, “Girls! Do not be such gullible lambs! Are we really to believe there is only a single silver man in the entire world and he lives at the king’s palace?”

The new mumbling confirmed that the Lady had a point, as she usually did. Lyn was glad that her worldly education was being put to good use somehow. “Girls these days–” Aeditya said, ignoring their clearly overlapping ages, “–are so quick to believe whatever best suits them. Back when I was a maid, girls were instructed on forming more than the quickest of opinions.” Her hands were at her belly, wishing her wisdom above all for her future son. Wisdom and breath.

“And besides, I’m sure he would have been born without the eye. Marrying one’s brother dilutes health, it is a simple matter of nature. And besides,” Aeditya looked over the gathered foods. “How would a young princeling lose an eye to begin with? They own the strongest guards on the continent”

“Perhaps it could have been an accident?” Hanna asked, seeing it as a reasonable offer.

“No.” Aeditya put down her goblet. “I saw the creature’s face, that scar was no accident.”

—

Lyn did not want to admit to herself that she wanted a peak at the potential prince herself. If only for the chance to see a nasty scar. Lyn wasn’t one for violence, but she did think the human body a fascinating thing. She sometimes forgot about the prominent marks that scar her own face, a thing that some Septas preach as a consequence for a mother’s sinful life. She was only reminded by her betters. When a traveling Septon instructs her to stand as an example for his sermons on the ill-effects of sin on the body. Lyn did not mind the occasional Maester passing through their congregation asking to examine her. She had been assured that there was nothing malicious about the marks on her face.

Lyn likened her marks as her calling card, she was an easy face to remember a few summers past, it was what helped her gain her odd-jobs, helping rebuilt fences and carrying stone for ailing paupers. Most in the Realm would scoff at the offer of manual labors from a woman, but those in need are much kinder. They they are not always grateful, it is not because of her sex but because no one wants to turn beggar. Though, accepting help from the Faith was always easier on an ailing conscience.

For as long as Lyn could remember she had been amongst the statues of the Seven Gods, and the Septas of the faith. She had learned to clean herself by them, she learned discipline by their rods, she learned how to be of use to the world.

Lyn was grateful for her life amongst the Septas, but was glad to be away whenever possible. Lyn thanked the gods that they only appear in Haronfall for the markets, and only require novices to accompany her during work in the Erenford’s Keep.

Lyn surmised most of the Septas had not imagined ending up in such a cold, dank place in the middle of the Kingsroad. The western shores of The Bite was unforgiving terrain, a swamp of brackish, mud-colored water that every structure eventually sinks into. The Reverend Mother often reminded the girls of her life in the southern Reach, of the endless summer days and sweet smelling grass. The wet, grey skies where the North, Riverlands and Vale meet leaves much to be desired for a southerner.

Lyn was not meant for a life as a Septa, as was foretold since her youth. The maesters and Septons tested the young girls as they came into the charge of the Faith and Lyn, and the other girls of the Maidenhouse, left them unimpressed. She had not shown intelligence, or gifts for art, or sums, or memorizing prayers. So, she was ranked amongst the useless girls who needed to be molded into something more.

Lyn knew of the dangers of a beautiful face, the Septas told them every tale that could exist of beautiful girls being dragged away and savaged by men of all ages and sizes. It was horrifying. Lyn was glad that no man would ever want to drag her away or trap her in a tower. Lyn did not mind being disgusting and ugly because of the marks on her face.

Besides, girls did not care about such things as ugly, they cared about her all the same. So, she was glad the world was not ruled by women, just like the Septas they would force a use for her in their world, no matter what she looked like.

“You can really give it to him, my Prince!” The eldest child of the current Lord Erenford called. “We Riverman can handle our own!” Lord Ryver shouted, as he hurled his sword into the guarding shield of his companion Waltel Frey.

The two young men began fighting in earnest, as a third party looked on. The Supposed Prince. Lyn assumed.

A small boy ran into the fray, wooden sword blazing and iron helmet blocking his line of sight, requiring a few strikes to properly attack his opponent’s buttocks.

“Yes Robyn! Attack!” Ryver shouted, “Go for the legs!” the small boy wrapped himself around the Frey’s knees as the clang of realm swords sounded until Waltel Frey yielded, which was traditionally followed by a rant of Red Ryver from the Erenford boys.

“Oy!” Waltel called from his chosen place to end his tragic death rattles for the amusement of Little Lord Robyn.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite grayscale woman!” Robyn leaned against the fence encircling the training yard.

“Have you ever seen greyscale?” Lyn asked, her tone trying to convey that this was not her favorite greeting.

“Obviously not,” Robyn answered, he might have been known as the Red Ryver, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“It does not look like this,” Lyn pointed to her face, “I know this because Maesters have shown me their drawings.”

“Do you speak to Maesters often?” It was the turn of the Supposed Prince to speak now.

Lyn regarded him, with her eyes. “Charmed,” she stated, echoing the word of Lady Aeditya to denote that she was less than pleased.

“Lyn lives at the Motherhouse!” Little Lord Robyn added, firing an arrow into the fencepost Lyn was standing in front of, thankfully his ever present helmet did not effect his view, this time.

“The Maidenhouse?” Waltel questioned.

“Maidenfort!” Ryver echoed his common words for the Faiths Cloisters.

“We get plenty of Maesters there, if it please you,” she stated, bowing slightly in the presence of Supposed royalty.

“Are you a Septa?” Aemond regarded her this time. She had a ruddy face covered in mess and sweat, brought upon by the brisk pace of a servant’s life. Her hair was braided down slick to her head, it was either flecked with blonde or dirt. What Aemond first guessed was mud on her face turned out to be her, freckles could not contain the black stains that blotched her cheeks. “You are dressed like a child servant.”

Lyn’s skirts were inches shorter than the noble ladies and their proper servants, “It’s easier to walk,” Lyn stated the obvious. She did not need yards of extra fabric mucking about her purpose in life. “And I am no Septa,” Lyn clarified, though not wanting to explain her life any further to this imposter.

“So…it seems the Prince of the Realm has come to Haronfall.” Just as Aeditya had many times before, Lyn brought the conversation to the group. Ryver had wasted no time to clasp his hands upon the Supposed Prince’s shoulders. He did not seem to like that. “That is exciting. What brings you here Ser–Prince?” Lyn had never thought how to address a royal before.

The Prince scowled, “I am here to fetch a gift for my sister,” he answered plainly.

“I make baskets!” Lyn could not help but exclaim proudly. The Septas had instructed her to always he in search of work, then one would never be wanting for it. “If your sister is in need of a gift.”

The Haronfall boys were dutifully thrilled at the suggestion.

“–no,” the Supposed Prince chuckled the word with an arrogance Lyn had not experienced in a man of his young years.

“Alright!” Lyn did not need to defend the usefulness of a basket very often, and her blood was beginning the boil.

“You make baskets?” he mused in her direction, not lowing himself to speaking directly at her.

“I do. I make them all m’self, I do. I harvest the grass, I dry them, I weave them, without help from no one,” the words bubbled from Lyn’s mouth. “Unlike the looks of you, who could nought tie his breeches alone.”

Aemond did not like when she pointed to his breeches, or their ties, or the general area in which they reside, in some field, in the damned Riverlands. It was unseeingly! Prince Aemond Targaryen was a god amongst men, the rider of the largest dragon in the world and he would not have his manhood regarded by some peasant.

“I am a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms–”

“More like six,” Lyn said loudly enough for Ryver and Waltel to stifle a laugh. Ryver’s only respite was promising to explain the jest to little Robyn at a later time.

Lyn pointed at his breeches straps again, just to watch his face twist in annoyance.

“I could have you whipped for saying that,” Aemond spat, nearly disrupting the wooden fence separating him from the swampland creature that dared to grace his–

“If you were the real prince–“

Aemond’s mind echoed the if, convulsed his annoyed face into confusion.

“If!” Lyn repeat to overpower the groans from Lord Ryver, who had thought the group was at a place far past this. He had only been wrong three times before. That did not denote a pattern. Yet.

Lyn looked the supposed prince in the eyes, a gaze devoid of any reverence or interest. “If you were the real prince, you could have me whipped no matter what I say,” she regarded the man no further. “If it please you, I have a job to return to.”

Aemond’s hand was on his dagger, he had every right in the whole of the realm, on any continent on this earth to carve a hand from the woman’s body and feed it to Vhagar on his return to the Crownlands.

“But! He had one eye!” Ryver called after the disappearing peasant.

A shiver dripped down Aemond back like a bead of sweat on a hot day, his body defensively braced himself for a jest at his own expense.

“Everyone here seems to think,” Lyn turned and shouted across the lawn, “that the prince was born with only one eye! So, perhaps, have your tale at the ready for your…situation,” Lyn mimed his injury with her giddy hands.

She was too far away for a sword, but Aemond was sure he could hit her if he pried the bow from the little boy Lord’s hands.

In reality, Aemond was greeted by the stare of Haronfall boys who seemed to think the peasant woman had a point to make.

Aemond could feel Vhagar rushing through him, she was far from this place, instantly disliking the frigid swamp mess. The easiest option would be to cart the nonbelievers to his dragon, but he knew he would be too tempted to order Vhagar to feast upon them before taking to the skies to burn the village to the ground.

It seemed that the truth was taken as fact relatively quickly, with little questioning. Both Lord Ryver Erenford and Ser Waltel Frey seemed to ponder a vague memory of their fathers reading a message over dinner, some years ago, regarding the tale.

It seemed that the lowborn, lord, peasant men and the helmet clad child believed him long enough for supper and a bed, though he was growling unsure he even wanted that.

—

Prince Aemond had never been to such a disorderly affair, seated as one of many at a large cypress table that curved around the hall. The food was served in no rememberable order, plates of meats and desserts lingered together on the table.

Lord Ryver regaled his guests with the grand tale, depicted on the keep’s newest addition to the tapestry gallery. In the threads it told the story of renowned warrior, The Red Ryver, and House Erenford’s defeat of some Rivermen, somewhere. Even Ryver’s younger brother, little Lord Robyn, was featured, wearing the iron he has refused to remove for the past six moons and his miniature bow.

Aemond watched as the help gathered around the table, listening to Ryver climb upon the hall’s table to reenact memorable battle moments.

The servants were dressed in an array of clothing clothes and fabrics, as if the group had been bandied together for this night alone. Most of the maids wore a grey dress fit for a child, the length only reaching to their mid-calf. Aemond had a mind to walk back to Vhagar and never leave the comfort of King’s Landing again, Cinda could fetch her own surprise.

Aemond did not make himself sick from wine and exotic liquors often, but this was a specific situation he wished to forget his memories as he went about making them.

—

There was dancing after the meal, and the maids joined in on that as well, acting as if they were High Born ladies, dancing with visiting lords and

Lyn stepped out of the overly warm keep, to get a deep breath of the fresh night air. It smelled of rotting plants and decaying leaves, like the smell of new life sprouting from under every stone. She noticed that she was not alone.

“I see we both needed time away,” she said to the figure, clad in leathers like he was ready to ride away given the slightest reason.

The prince had just excused himself to be sick on the grassed levee fortifying against the encroaching swamp.

Prince Aemond scoffed at the girl, his mouth foal with the taste of wine and sick. The peasant girl’s skirts were riding even higher on her legs from the dancing, her leggings as disappeared hours ago as the temperature of the kitchens rose and warmed the entire keep. She looked like someone begging for his coin.

“Hello, Greyscale,” he retorted, his mind shifting to the quick insult.

“Hello, Cripple,” Lyn barely tolerated the language from her friend and employer, this man would get no sympathy.

Aemond did not like that. He did not like a single moment. His skin lit up in a drunken daze as if he were standing on guard for a fight. His hazy mind did not know where he had placed his weapons.

He opened his mouth to speak, but thankfully was interrupted, for he would not have been able to swallow his sick back into his stomach in that moment.

“Listen closely, Silver-boy,” Lyn began, as Aemond gripped the hilt of an imagined dagger.

“As I am sure you are well aware,” he started. The moon was mostly full in the sky, but the torchlight of the terrace was not enough to see his lavender eyes sway drunkenly as they attempted to focus. “Your brothers have visited here. Three times now, I’d wager.”

“What?” That made no sense to Aemond, as his mind reeled to Cinda. Had she charged Daeron and Aegon into her mission? She would never do that to him.

“And I think it only fair, seeing that the last Targaryen Princeling to weasel their way into these walls stole a favored sword of the Lord Erenford!” Lyn’s tale weaved itself. She was sure Haronfall had been the talk from the North to the Vale after the beating Ryver’s Lord Father gave him after that.

“I just think,” Lyn continued, “That after the feast, you should just take your leave. Lord Erenford need not know of this feasts guest of honor.”

“I will not be ordered about by some–“ Aemond was sick again.

“You’ve filled your belly, just leave quietly,” Lyn laughed at his misfortune, “It was smart of you to come during the King’s nameday celebrations. The Septas told us of the King’s nameday and all of his grand plans. And I would assume…” Lyn moved closer, clasping her hands behind her back. “…That you knew Lord Ryver would be left alone and… vulnerable, with Lord Erenford traveling to the capital…where I would assume the true prince is,” Lyn enjoyed immensely being right. “–celebrating his own father’s nameday?”

Never in Aemond’s life had he needed to prove his lineage, it had been clearly written on his face and stitched into his clothing. The green of House Hightower was as thick in his veins as the blood of dragons. And yet here, he was some imposter.

And he was growing tiered of this ruse he was seeming to play. He was growing tiered and perhaps too drunk. It reminded him far too much of the time a young Aegon recruited the Reach Girls and his cousins to pretend that he had been rendered invisible for weeks on end one boring winter in their shared youth.

“Fine!” Aemond had been many things in his life, he had been a failure, a twat, an annoyance, a disappointment, but never…no one. “Fine! I shall leave! Just stop with the ceaseless tales, of rivers and princes! My head is spinning.” He could walk to Vhagar and leave this place and no one would never know or believe that a real prince had graced their halls.

It could have been the wine, or the company, but Aemond could not prevent a laugh when regarding his current fate.

“I’m glad that you agree,” Lyn was pleased. “I was a good plan. Little Robyn even believes he saw your dragon fly above the keep.” The deep breath of the night air carried with it something that she had only smelled somewhere in the memory, that she could not place.

Aemond could not stand the taste of sick in his mouth and fished a forgotten fruit from his coats pockets.

“What is that?” Lyn asked.

“What?” Aemond asked, as the woman pointed to what he was idly palming between his hands.

“Is it something for your dragon?” she laughed.

“This?” he asked, “is an orange.” Aemond was sure he recalled his mother telling a story about it being one of his first words as a babe.

“An orange? Like the fruit?” she asked.

“Yes, you imbecile.”

“Well, where did it come from? Was it a gift from The Twins? Ryver has never–– it seems so–“ The wine rushed through Lyn’s system, and the beautiful smell embolden her.

“No, I thought it for my travels,” he quipped. “I am glad of it. I was not aware the Riverlands to be such a dreadfully barren place”

“The land is plenty fruitful here, when it wants to be,” she replied, holding out her hand. “Now, give it here, I want to try it.”

The fantasy played through Aemond’s head that it pulled a smile onto the corners of his face. The image of himself offering her the fruit, and just as it graced her palm, he would use his entire strength to throw it into the fucking swamp. His glorious vision was interrupted by the disappointed eyes of his mother. Her furrowed brows were too vivid from much wine. Aemond groaned and handed over the mysterious fruit.

Lyn inhaled loudly, the smell like she had never experienced before. It filled her nostrils and woke up her blood.

Aemond’s hand twitched slightly as she prepared an opened mouth bite into the skin. His hands were then crossed under his arms.

“Is it safe to eat?” she asked, stepping forward to eye him in the dim lamplight. Aemond felt the stone wall of the terrace against his leather clad back.

“No, it’s poison, I will gladly watch you die.”

Her laugh sounded like a pigs snort. Her smile was quickly replaced with a scowl as her teeth peeled a thick membrane of skin into her mouth. “It’s–delicious,” she forced herself to say, open mouth chewing the bitter bite.

“No! You fool,” he wrenched the fruit back before she could cover it in any more of her bile. “It must be peeled first.”

Aemond was so glad of the dark night’s lack of light upon their shadowed corner of the terrace as the woman spit the bitter taste into the dirt. The Prince nearly dropped the orange in disbelief of a lady performing such a disgusting act.

She laughed at him once again.

“Here!” He huffed, as he had picked away the disgusting bits. His bare fingers gripped the dripping fruit as he held it out as an offering.

The blood drained from his body and disappeared deep inside of him at the contact of her tongue on the tips of his fingers as she took the fruit from his offered hand with her mouth. Aemond had not been aware of the deep breath that had been held up inside his lungs, but they emptied as the girl’s eyes flashed in the torchlight, the color of honey passed before a flame. The prince watched the endless dance of emotions over her face as she experienced the flavors for the first time.

“Its a mess!” The fluttered giggle that left her made him offer another piece without thinking, and she took it the same way.

He responded somewhere between a right and a yes as he tried to memorize the coloring and ridges and valleys of her face, as if he would need it later to solve a life threatening puzzle. He wanted to lick the juice that he had watched drip down from her chin, to the place under her clothes.

He felt things under his own clothes stir.

“Come swim with me,”

“What?”

“Its the least you can do after eating all the food I helped prepare,” she said, beaconing him away from the terrance and into the expanse of the night. “A prince would be in want of a bath, I am sure,” she laughed, for she nor any other servant would be prepared to carry water up stairs after a feast like tonight.

Aemond allowed himself to be led away. His hands still grasp around an imaginary dagger, at the prospect of her robbing him blind.

“I do not plan to steal your virtue, princeling” Lyn’s words had a drunken edge in their own right. She did not often partake in wine, as it was not offered to her as it could take away from the Septas reserves.

Aemond’s hand released the dagger that had never been there, as his eyes played their way over her body as he followed her into the moonlight. He played the scenes of her trying to overtake him and none seemed to have purchase. Unless she attacked him with a stone, but Aemond was sure his arms were longer. This had not been the first time since they met that he had imagined choking her.

“So, where are you from?” Lyn asked, flexing her lady-like conversational skills that Aeditya spoke so highly of. Lyn allowed him some time to answer, as they maneuvered past a precarious log.

“A Valyrian bastard,” he replied, just like his nephews. “I hail from Dragonstone. It is an isle in the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Near the capital.” He got close enough to see her face in the dark, adding on more information until he found recognition take root.

“Could you see the palace, from your isle?” she sounded eager to be fed more.

“From my own palace?” he felt something inside of him at her gasp.

“Did you really live in a palace?”

Aemond could not begin to guess what she had been imagining, but he liked watching the wheels turn in her mind. “When I was a boy,” he did not want to get too far from her now.

“What was it like? Could you simply ask for an orange and it would be fetched for you?” He nodded until she continued. “And there would just be oranges in the kitchens? And what if the kitchens run out? Would they–“

“They would be punished severely,” he added, strangely not enjoying her new gasp as much. “But–“ he had to think quickly to play her throat like an instrument. “We could never run out of oranges, they grow on the island.” She enjoyed this more, he enjoyed when she licked her fingers at the lingering taste. “Giant orange bushes, all along the ocean’s edge, too many to ever eat in all the feasts of the year.”

She touched him with her next astonished laugh.

“And when you needed clothes they would clean it? And when you wanted a bath…would they bathe you?” her last words were a whisper, a topic proper ladies should not be speaking about.

The Septas and girls of the House of the Faith all bathed together. It was a cloister of women, no one had anything to hide. And Lyn had once heard Lord Erenford state that men should not sit in stagnant water, it unaligned the humors.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered back. “They would bathe me every day.”

“Would they only bathe you? Or would there be–?”

Aemond licked his lips as he watched the moonlight dance on the dipped juice along her chin. “Would there be what?” he could barely hear himself speak over his heart beating. “What could they have done?” he played dumb, he could smell the orange on her breath.

“They would have…” Lyn eyed his lips, his eyes far too towering above her head. She guessed that he liked being tall. Lyn could not help but laugh. “… they would have stolen your virtue!”

“The servants did not bathe me!” He admitted, rolling his eyes at her naivety. “They were servants, they only fetched water.”

Aemond would mow anyone down with his sword if they overlord the ‘wow’ that left his lips as the girls twirled in the moonlight.

“We are here!” she announced, it seemed to be a river.

“Turn around! It is too dark to see anything!” she called, her hands moving to unclasp her work clothes.

“If it it too dark, when why must I turn around?”

“Valyrian gentlemanly duty?”

He turned without much fuss until he heard her body splash into the water. He had been a gentleman and not looked, he had given his word.

His eyes fell on her discarded clothes and drifted to her swimming form. He did not know the state of her, but from the pile she left behind it didn’t seem she have many options to be left wearing.

“Now you turn around,” he ordered, as he kicked off his shoes.

He watched her turn, not knowing when to stop himself in his state of undress.

Aemond watched as her head turned over her shoulder. He undressed completely and wadded into the water. He had not taken a breath the entire time. The water was warmer than he expected.

They spoke about the sky, and the weather, and whatever other topics that flattered them, their distance ebbed and flowed like the tides, inching closer to one another and then pulling away.

“Ryver is a bastard?” Aemond asked, his toes could feel the bottom of the lake if he put his mind to it.

“No. Ryver is the first true born child of Lord and Lady Erenford,” Lyn explained. “But, little Lord Robyn is the heir because Lord Ryver was born…as Lady Ryver.”

There was a pause in the air as Aemond let it all sink in.

“The Lord Erenford allowed it, and all will be well as long as Robyn lives to inherit after their father dies.”

“And if not?” Aemond asked.

“Lord Erenford’s brother does not approve of…any of it. And he is next in line after Robyn. But! Even before then, The Red Ryver wishes for a Keep all his own. ‘Feast Keep’ he calls it. A place where all and everyone are welcome. Fortified to withstand any threads from his uncle and…those would you see them all hang. Away fro the Septas…”

“Away from King’s Landing,” Aemond added, understanding her meaning, forgetting his imagined birthplace. He turned his body in the water to face her.

His hands floating in the water to support himself, just as she did the same in the moonlight. He had washed his mouth out of the water many times over, he smelled her beautiful orange breath, assuming his own was foul. The orange juices had been long wiped away, but Aemond will imagined her lips would taste of sweetness.

He was brought back to reality when she spit a mouthful of water into his face.

“That’s disgusting!”

“We’re in a lake,” she shrugged one arm above the waterline.

Aemond eye was at the water’s edge when he saw the moonlight glisten off the skin on her bare shoulders. She had marks there too. He wondered where else on her body she had them. He watched her skin disappear below the water, like a beaconing ancient puzzle.

“You’re disgusting.” Perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not mean that has an (entire) insult.

“And you’re a liar,” she pointed out.

Aemond enjoyed being a low-born, if only because he knew it was entirely temporary. He let out a laugh and a breath at a realization he had yet to make.

“You’re naked with a liar,” he whispered, if he could see her bare shoulders then what else could she be wearing.

“Well!” she laughed, “You are to, I’d say.”

“But–“ That was entirely different.

“Because I’m a girl,” she barked back.

Aemond swam after her.

“–a woman,” she corrected. “A lady, even!”

“You are no lady,” he was enjoy this game that he could not tell you last time he had ever been angry.

“How would you know?” she teased.

“Because–” they had stoped swimming, just treading water, his toes dipped to the pebbled floor if he covered his nose. She was close enough to touch. Aemond reached his hand out and brushed her bare waist. “I’ve met ladies, and they would never be so–”

Did she not notice his touch to not flinch away? Or did she simply not care? There was no word for this feeling. He had felt it above the clouds, away from the red keep, and now between his toes in the muck.

“Ladylike?” she offered.

Aemond watched as her her hand breached the water, like she was trying to not frighten her prey, and rested itself atop his shoulder.

“What are ladies like?” she repeated herself, after her second hand touched his shoulders. He had not heard her the first time.

“They must…” he tried to remember anything else that wasn’t here, in this lake, under his moon. “Beautiful, and well-read. They should sing, and dance, be pious, but not overly-so. Painting, embroidery…drawing, even, an art is important for ladies to be accomplished with.”

Lyn was surprised there was even more.

“She should know her histories, and geographies, and sums so she might not bleed her husband’s purse dry. And, there is just something about her,” he almost sighed, “in her manner, and walk. Her air should be build to maintain her husband’s social and political alliances.”

“All at once?” She removed her hands from his shoulders. “All the time?” Lyn could not help but laugh.

“Not all the time, but yes! All at once! Some try and many fail,” he scoffed.

“You seem pleased with the failures of women,” she mocked, stretching herself backwards to wade towards the shallow edge. Her back arched and she felt cold air on her chest.

There was a pause in Aemond as his brain worked, a whisper brushed against his mind that reminded him of Aegon. “…What women?” he asked, closing the distance between them.

Lyn was pleased, this time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, not close enough to touch him. She nodded her head, and he copied, she shook it and he did too.

“Good boy.” It was as quiet as the wind. He could stand easily, and palmed her waist with a sigh.

There was a long silence.

“…have you…?” she asked, he felt it in his chest, as if she had said it in any worldly tongue he would have known what she was asking.

“Yes. Once. A long time ago.” The words came out, slowly, one at a time, but it was said. “My brother, took me to a brothel on my thirteen nameday. And…never again.”

“Oh,” she only said, her tone dipped in sadness at the edge of the sound.

“Have you?” his brow furrowed, in a genuine question. He had never given much thought to the purity of lowborns.

“No,” she answers firmly. “…yes,” but she corrected. “He…It wasn’t my…” she sighed into the story, never having told it before. “Last winter,” it had been over a past year, “A friend got sick, the Septas wanted us to pray but, she a needed medicine, and there was a man…and he was very handsome…so I…got the coin…” She picked her fingers behind his back. “But at least…I did not lie to a Riverlord for a free meal?”

“But aren’t you worried the Septas will check you?” Aemond heard her attempt to make light, but ignored it.

“I don’t think they can tell,” she answered.

“What?”

“I grew up with girls, and some went out and…had their fun, and some were taken before getting there, and some swore to have never and…I think the Septas feel what they want to fell.”

“So you think they're lying about it all?”

“Maybe!”

“You think everyone is lying,” he teased.

“Perhaps, sometimes, they are!”

He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, but she stopped him.

“Come sit on the dock with me,” she motioned, they were back where they started. Her hands gripped and pulled herself out of the water in one fluid motion, to sit atop the dock, bare as when she was submerged.

Aemond watched the watch drip from her hair down her neck and disappear into the shadows of the night, if only he could see in the dark. He was at her knees, standing in the waist deep waters, he could rest his chin on the dock if he liked. He liked his lips and place his hands on the girl’s knees.

“Have you ever seen a lady like this?” Lyn asked, she shoulders swayed in the sticky night air and her should feel her breasts shake as they lay on her crossed legs.

He shook his head in answer.

“What about this?” she asked, moving her hands with her knees and she spread her legs wide, exposing her cunt to him.

She had something else snarky to saw, but Aemond did not hear it. The moon and the stars would not support his endeavors to drown in the sight of her. Where his hands had been idle before, he gripped her knees to pull her further spread before him.

“What are you–?”

He was close enough he could almost…His tongue licked up her core and she played him music with her voice. He moaned into her as his tongue explored the raised flesh where her opening met. His tongue circled whines and moans around the bundle of nerves until he kissed her clit with his lips and didn’t let go. He suckled the bud, as he had wanted to suckle hard nipples of bellowing beasts in his sick fantasies. Her hands are in his hair, Aemond would not be freed from his prize, leaving Lyn to fist his hair like reins of a saddle. Her moans were shaking her entire body.

His finger played at her entrance. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he finally relented, for his desperate question.

“No!” she shook her body. “It’s…messy and wet and,” she could never bring herself to do it, and he did not let her finish.

His two fingers sank in, “You are wet.” She spread her own legs now, bucking against him as he returned to lapping at her clit while he coiled his fingers in side of her. “And messy,” he pumped in and out, his free hand twisting her nipple in his hand. He had never seen it gentle, but she clasped both hands over her own mouth to scream.

Aemond felt her clenching around him fingers as his mouth continued its attack. She bucked and tried to press her legs together, but he would not allow it. “Ahhhg!” she moaned, into the air, and slowly her quakes came to and end.

“Stop, stop…please–” she panted, her back layer against the dock.

Aemond did not like his lack of a view, and joined her on the platform, his own breath panting as he studied her face like a treasured map. She breathed, and her chest rose up and down, the water had dried from her skin but dripped from her hair. Aemond’s hands were firmly planted on the dock besides him, not wanting to touch something to fragile that she might run away.

“My turn,” she finally said, sitting up and catching his lips in a kiss. He had tried kissing before, but not often, mostly in games of children who could still play innocent. His mouth opened slightly and her tongue licked at the entrance.

He moaned into her as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Lyn nipped at his lips lightly as she began to pump him, she could feel his skin tighten with every stroke, growing longer, and wider, filling her hand.

His mouth was useless for her kisses, she licked his tongue as his mouth hung open in pleasure. Aemond’s head found the crook of her neck and moaned into her skin. Her free hand fingered the strands of his silver locks. He was a shivering mess as he pumped his hips into her firm palm.

“Mmm,” he moaned as her free hand found his balls, palming them with every trust of her hand. He matched her pace and trust himself with her, she breathed heavy in his ear to match the pace.

“Lyn!” a voice called out from the darkness.

“What?” she shouted back, the loudest and sweetest sound Aemond had ever heard.

“Where are you? It is the Hour of the Owl! We must be going!” The ghost voice cursed them.

She moaned. “I am coming! I shall be there! Away! Please!” she begged.

Aemond had lost his pace, his head was shaking, he could not do this anymore.

“Wait,” Lyn hushed him, “Shh, shh, wait.” She was assuring, her strokes still strong as she could feel him hardening into her hand again.

“Let me,” she moved herself to between her legs and lowered her face to his cock. Her tongue starting at his base and licked up to twirl his head around her lips. She peppered kissed down his length as her hand returned to stroke him. Her kissed reached the base and went lower, kissing and sucking in the skin of his balls as he trust himself into her hands. He did not last long, the naked girl with her mouth on his cock. He trust and whine and pumped and he could hear her laughing and sucking and breathing and he came shaking on his chest.

They breathed together, and their breathing turned to laughter. Their discarded clothes still in the same pile it was forgotten.

“You’re called Lyn?” he said, praying to whatever god allowed him to remember her name. “I’m called–“ she interrupted him with a finger over his mouth.

“I don’t care,” she said, kissing his cheek and disappearing into the darkness, leaving Aemond a mess of himself.

//authors note – thank you SO MUCH for reading! This is the first project Im posting that I am proud of. It is barely edited, so I will eventually work on that. But, this is the beginning of a story worked out well. Plenty of twists and turns to come! I am always here for encouraging words, fic recs, headcanons, questions, and anything else~

My work on this fic inspired THIS POST. I’m just fascinated at HBO’s lack of “courtly ladies”, especially in a family where sisters are born to marry their brothers. So, I changed that and made some angsty mean girls to make fetch happen

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night-market-if · 11 months ago

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Support Small Authors

I got hit with a pretty big E.R bill for my daughter (thanks healthcare) and my computer after only a year, is already on the fritz. All of this before the holidays and, surprise surprise, my husband is going to be laid off for a bit right after Christmas. Most of you have already bought my game and stories but reblogs would be wonderful.

Welcome to the Night Market. Book 1 in a series. The Night Market is an interactive fiction novel in which you awaken to a lantern filled world with no memory of how you got there. Desperate to get home, you must find the gate that leads back to your world, while navigating a foreign land, rife with political intrigue, arbitrary rules and secrets designed to keep you distracted. Nine barons rule the market , a place so vast that not even they can truly know its scope. But, one baron holds the key to your safe return home. Yet, no one has seen or heard from them in over a decade.

Book 1 Steam

Book 1 Itch.io

The companion piece to the Night Market with dozens of stories and works of art, all relating to book 1. Find out what each of the RO's was thinking and doing when MC was not around and dive further into the world of the Night Market itself.

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Welcome to a Night Market Kristus story. My holiday story for this year. A fully interactive story featuring MC, the RO's, and some new characters that have been introduced in the WIP of book 2. Enjoy this fun romp through a holiday horror show and have a few soft moments with your chosen romance.

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Join my Patreon. Here you will receive monthly lore posts. Short stories each month. Decision making on polls. The occasional development blog. And early access to any of the chapters that are coming out for book 2. Join a high enough tier and I will even write a short story or a lore post for you.

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#the night market #interctive fiction #book 1 #twine game #twine fic #angst #original characters #writers of tumblr #lgbtq #poly #small author

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sadlynotthevoid · 7 months ago

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Crack idea here: LCF modern AU with magic where og!Cale accidentally gains a swordmaster aura after way too many hours of playing beat saber.

Cale: *intensely playing the same game for 74th time this (new) year*

Cale's body: *starts exuding glowing mist*

Cale:

Hans, who just opened the door: Excuse me, young mas— Hhh...

Hans: Madam Violan!!!

#i put madam bc in a modern au they most likely wouldn't be nobles #and idk what a butler would call the wife of the house #but i searched and was tht or mistress #i went with that bc i feel like hans would rather avoid calling her mistress #when it's a word that some people could use for its other meaning to offend her #anyways #og cale who gets genuinely surprised for the third time on his life #because he has so much potential he accidentally developed an aura #most people don't get one even if they train on purpose for decades #but he got it after a few years of seriously playing a game #for fun #and there are witnesses #now he can't pretend he doesn't have one #lcf au #accidental swordmaster og!cale AU #crack fic idea #og cale #original cale henituse #og cale henituse #og!cale henituse

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eccentricallygothic · 8 months ago

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Dating Joel Miller

Pairing: Bf!Joel Miller | Reader.

Warning(s): Age gap (reader is in their 20's), allusions to mature activities, mild d/s dynamics, fluff, cg!Joel, Daddy kink, begging, making out. I'll be safe and say minors do not interact.

Setting: TLOU 2.

He's definitely an experience.

Single-handedly rocks your world in more ways than one.

So, so laid-back it's fucking sexy.

Definitely tames the brat out of you.

What he says goes because he's older and knows better.

Or?

You live to learn he was right.

So smug when that happens.

Not very vocal about his feelings but cares for you so much.

The littlest of things that can easily be missed, Joel makes a point of remembering.

Won't ever openly admit it though.

Tough love in an endearing way.

From your favorite snacks to your preferred clothing, to the kinds of flowers or things you like to collect to getting you food whenever he does for himself and picking out the condiments you dislike to being mindful of the drink you prefer with it, he's got it all covered.

A total ass when it comes to training and you best believe he doesn't hold back on it. After everything that's happened, he wants you to be prepared for anything and everything.

Only rolls his eyes and shakes his head when you're being the kid that you are with Ellie and Co.

Simply snorts when you all tease him for being a geezer.

Because he knows that all it takes him is one certain look if it goes too far.

And you are whimpering into your place like a puppy yanked by their leash.

Besides, you can act all high and mighty as you want, Joel knows that the one who will have you all whiny, grabby and mushy underneath them will be him.

Whenever he wants.

You're down so bad for him, oh my God.

He knows it, and that's exactly why he doesn't get riled up when foolish little boys try their luck on you.

Well, that is, not usually.

Loves to tease you and make you beg after you've acted out all day.

"Oh, but I thought I was an old man who 'just didn't get' y'all, huh baby?" And you're a quivering, panting mess with your limbs tangled in his.

Great. Fucking. Kisser.

Hot, sloppy, wet, sense melting, passionate kisses while his calloused hands roam all over you, occasionally squeezing the parts that cause you to make such a huge mess in your pants that he tuts when he feels it through your clothes.

"Noooo, Daddy…" You're literally aching.

"Tell me what you want, baby. Say it for Daddy and he will give it to ya" you are a writhing mess as your hips grind against his and you hump yourself on one of his thighs.

"Please, Daddy… Need you so bad, Daddy… Please use me~" it depends on his mood how he treats you in bed though.

Some days he could be the most tender lover with gentle caresses, featherlight touches, cotton-soft pecks and passionate love making.

Other days include him pressing your face down into the mattress as his huge cock hammers in and out of your leaking slit, rough bites littering your skin as you struggle to breathe through the animalistic fucking.

Nothing gets you to cum harder than when he sometimes wraps his hand around your throat, features stern with all that's taking him not to just obliterate you.

Some days though, he likes to combine the two styles.

Eats you out like a starved wolf.

But can take his sweet time with that as well.

Lets out the deepest, most throaty grunts when you suck his dick.

Has a couple ways of reprimanding you if you're too clumsy and neglectful with yourself.

No one else is allowed to give you any shit though.

Isn't overbearingly domineering at all.

He knows you're young and dumb and will need to make some of your own mistakes to learn.

Always there for you with open arms to console you when you do.

Your silly little friend group definitely knows when to make themselves gone when Joel decides that he's had enough of sharing you for the day and wants you all for himself.

It's always subtle; like a gentle caress on your shoulder or a soft nudge in your side. Sometimes it can be a claiming hand on your lap. And then everyone knows that it's time to scurry out.

Doesn't always play voluntarily.

But when he does, it's for you.

Especially if there's a storm, or you're extra sensitive from playtime, or just emotional in general. Sometimes he's just feeling affectionate.

Will usually deny it like his life depends on it but there are certain songs, a specific range of lyrics and a peculiar sort of tunes that he plays only for you.

Every now and then you crawl into his lap after an intimate session and ask him to teach you how to play a song or two.

Then hours pass with you two just huddled into each other, strumming melodies to life as your naked back presses into his strong chest, your ass fitting perfectly in the crook of his abdomen as he rests his chin on your head and revels in your scent.

Sometimes he slowly cockwarms you in that position as well.

Cannot sleep without you.

He wasn't always like this.

But there's no going back now.

Joel is sure to keep tossing and turning until you're locked up close in his arms.

Your safety and well-being is his top priority.

Always.

Playing TLOU again and boy am I needy for this grizzly bear. Also I haven't watched the show but I love Pedro so yeah. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated <3

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toilandtroubled · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐘𝐃𝐀 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 · ── ✧⠐⠄

[inspo]

#original character #game of thrones #ocappreciation #a song of ice and fire #gif edit #fanfic #asoiaf #gyda snow #new oc #oc x oc #multiship #stark oc #fic title: from the gallows #she’s the most doomed by the narrative #bless my girl of death

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heartofmortis · 22 days ago

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✶ Lionheart

Chapter One

Robb Stark x (Baratheon/Lannister!) Reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, robb is down bad

note: ignore the reign pilot inspo in the third scene lmfao

word count: 4.1k

tag list: @houseofamidala @madeofstaardust @justmymindandstuff (lmk if you want to be added of removed!)

masterlist

You walked with heavy steps. Your gaze flickered sideways to the Silent Sisters, who stalked around the body of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. The former Hand of the King. A cold shiver tensed your body as you walked. The air had felt heavy since Lord Arryn passed. Mere days ago, you and Lord Arryn had talked, as you often did. It was no life-changing conversation: you spoke of the weather, how you felt about reaching marriageable age, and what was the last book you read. But it was the last time you spoke before the Hand took ill, wracked by a horrid fever — your mother had the masters flurry around you for two days to make sure you had not been infected. All things die eventually.

Your path led to your mother and uncle — the golden, twin lions — who were also watching the Silent Sisters and Jon Arryn, watching like vultures after their prey. Jaime Lannister’s head raised as you approached, his smile at you made brighter by the gleam of his Kingsguard armour.

“How was the Small Council meeting?” Jaime asked, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Dull, as usual,” you admitted. You attended most meetings of the Small Council as your father’s cupbearer, even though Robert Baratheon seldom attended the meetings, and you spent more time listening into the Council’s discussions about the state of the realm than you did offering refreshments. It was your grandfather, Tywin’s suggestion to your father that you attend the meetings. You were just a girl, but you were a princess too. You could not influence what was being said, but you could learn. “They were predicting who is going to be the next Hand of the King.”

Cersei turned from the funeral preparations to look at you. “Who do you think should be Hand?”

“I don’t think my opinion matters. Father told me he is going to ask Lord Stark.”

Your mother chuckled. “A Stark this far south for that long? Northerners never fare well here.”

You caught your uncle looking at the centre of the throne room. “Eddard Stark is an honourable man. He might do a good job.”

“Did your father mention who is following him when he travels to meet with Ned Stark?”

You gave a short laugh. “All of us.”

***

The streets of King’s Landing were bustling with smallfolk. With your blonde hair braided back and a thin cloak over your sky-coloured dress, you ran like a river down the cobbled pathways. Accompanied only by two of your ladies in waiting, you made frequent quiet visits into the capital city. You saw no reason to hold yourself higher than the smallfolk: you were all the same and they had far more need for gold than you did.

You brought yourself to one of the orphanages in the city. The matron on the door graciously gave you entry. There were too many homes for children in King’s Landing — children who had lost their families to sickness, drowning, starvation, or terrible accidents. In the few official visits your family took through the city, you saw too many people left to fend for themselves. It was the least you could to try and help the children into good positions. They deserved good lives, these children were the future. (So were you.) You were a ray of light, a hope for the future. A sign that the smallfolk were not forgotten by all the lords and ladies in the land. Your heart did not crave power and a throne, despite the world you were raised in, instead you laid it with the people. Those trodden into the dirt by people like you — you liked being the exception, though you wished it could stand for more.

With your pockets of gold and sharp mind, you devoted yourself to helping people. You donated to keep the houses running, to keep children safe, and taught them to read and helped them draw, and showed them that someone cared for them. But today’s visit was filled with less joy than usual. If you and your family were to travel North to the seat of House Stark, you did not know if or when you would return home from Winterfell. (You tried to fight the thoughts of leaving people behind, you knew this journey would be good for you.) You had already had help lined up to continue your efforts in the city. It would take weeks to travel to Winterfell, you would be gone for months at the least. You would miss the children greatly — the bright-eyed skinny figures who held your hands and reminded you of your youngest siblings, Myrcella and Tommen.

The children were far from thrilled when you explained your journey to them. Worse, so many of them wanted to join you, to flee the city and take refuge in the cold north — you had no choice but to break their little hearts and tell them they could not go with you.

A brunette girl stuck out her bottom lip. “Why would you go when it is pretty and summer here?”

You scooped the girl onto your lap. “I haven’t much choice, I’m afraid. I’m supposed to marry the future Lord of Winterfell.” (It was all that encouraged you to go. You had not seen Robb Stark in years now, but he was a kind boy and you missed him.)

“But the North is scary!” one child whispered to his friends when you objected to them coming with you. “It’s all big and cold. Man-wolves live there.”

“Why can’t he move south and live here?”

“All their ghosts freeze in the snow and come back as dead ice creatures!”

Children shrieked with fright and intrigue. “Don’t leave, Princess!”

You giggled. “I have visited the North, it is not so bad. It is terribly cold, but there is wonder in it. I promise, no winter monsters will harm any of us. Winter is scary, but it does not last forever. We do not even know if it will arrive soon.”

“But the Long Night lasted a generation!” another boy cried.

“Oh, but that is an old story. Who has been telling you such tales?” You scooped shivering children into your arms, their worries fading from their faces. “None of you have anything to fear.”

***

Dawn arrived with the northern sun trying to claw its way through soft grey clouds. The royal carriage crawled towards Winterfell in such a slow fashion that caused you to grow restless. You were quite tired of these early mornings that had plagued them all for a month. Having already thumbed through the books your Uncle Tyrion had allowed you to borrow for the journey, you could tell anyone everything about Dragonglass but nothing about how to entertain your younger siblings who were even more bored than you were. The evenings were usually easier to sit through, when everyone relaxed after a day’s travel and you could finally source a moment of peace.

You had visited the northern reaches of Westeros before, but only once, when you were ten. You had travelled by yourself, with only guards and ladies-in-waiting by her side — it was the furthest you had ever travelled without your mother. That time, you had taken a boat from King’s Landing to White Harbour, for a quicker journey, and made the unfortunate discovery that you suffered from violent seasickness. Your last experience was part of the reason your family was now making their journey along the Kingsroad instead of quicker paths — your mother had insisted that her eldest daughter's comfort be a top priority — as well as your father’s love of hunting, which had the party taking frequent breaks for expeditions deep into the woods. You would not have minded the hunting trips if your younger brother, Joffrey, had not brought you a rabbit that he had killed and showed you how to skin it for supper. (You had screamed then and eaten nothing but bread and vegetables for two weeks after, even when any other kind of meat was placed in front of you.)

“We’re almost there, I promise,” Cersei Lannister said as she considered the tired expressions across her three children.

You stared out of the window at all the men on their horses. Even though you could not ride, you wanted to be out there with your father, your brother, your uncles. On horseback, you would be able to go anywhere and move at your own pace. But in the carriage, you were stuck. Your mother and two youngest siblings were never bad company as you loved them all so dearly; you almost felt guilty when you dreamed of having your own space again. But when Winterfell finally came into view, your complaints washed from you mind like a summer storm, and you knew the long journey was worth it.

***

Robb Stark stood in line with his family to greet their King and his family. With his father on his left and his twin sister on his right, Robb was the Heir of Winterfell and he needed to prove himself worthy of his place. As stoic and noble as he tried to present himself, Robb could not calm his thunderous heart. He almost trembled with anticipation. The King’s visit to Winterfell was the greatest honour, but it also came with the promise of a new chapter and the return of the spring to his winter.

He tried not to glance sideways at his twin, Alys, as he knew she would take the piss out of his hopeful demeanour in all her annoying and particular ways. And as King Robert rode through the gates with his eldest son and second child, Prince Joffrey, and their Kingsguard and carriages, nothing could dampen Robb's high spirit.

His eyes searched as the riders and carriages poured into the confines of Winterfell, almost completely distracted from the King coming forth to greet Robb’s parents, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell: Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Robb counted the seconds until the formalities would conclude. And then he saw you again. It had been more than five years since Robb had last seen you. More than five years since your fathers had decided their eldest children should marry when they reached better ages.

Dressed in pale pink silk, shining like a sunray, you followed your mother out of the carriage, which could scarcely fit through the gates of Winterfell. Soft as a spring bloom and thrice as sweet, you had always been beautiful. Robb watched as you helped your siblings down from the carriage too, holding your youngest brother under his arms so you could spin him around and make him laugh before setting him down. Your eyes reached Robb's blue, and he tried to look away before you could find him staring at you, but you were too quick. You gave him a bright smile and a small wave — it took everything for Robb to not break into a grin.

Finally, the introductions came to a close. Your fathers went off in the direction of the crypt and the maids and servants snapped back into action to tend to the royal family. As soon as he could move without appearing rude, Robb closed the distance between himself and you. You were ordering the septas and handmaidens to bring your siblings into the castle when he approached (although ordering was too strong a word for the politeness and care you showed your staff). Robb knew others would not be so kind, but this was your unshakable nature. When your siblings were taken care of, you turned to search for Robb and beamed when you found him before you.

Robb bowed. “Your Grace.”

You giggled, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Please, you don't need to be so formal.”

Though it had been almost six years since you had last breathed the same air, the two of you had not been lax with communication — you and Robb had written to each other almost every month in the years you had been apart. Your first meeting had left both of you hopeful for the future, even though you had only been ten and eleven, but the letters had allowed Robb to truly begin to know you. Neither of you were marrying a stranger, Robb was grateful for that at least.

Robb noticed your fingers fidgeting with the chain around your neck.

“The castle seems bigger than I remember,” you said, staring up at Winterfell with wonder in your eyes. Then you looked at Robb. “And you too, of course.”

Breaking into a short laugh, Robb asked, “Is that such a surprise?”

You shook your head. “I was taller but you were so much faster than me — I hated that.” You giggled. “I felt like I was always chasing after you.”

Robb stretched out a hand to take the bag you had strung over your shoulder, and you allowed him to take it. “You’re staying in your old room, if that’s alright?”

You smiled and nodded, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Of course. As long as you don’t challenge me to a race this time.”

You both laughed and began walking across the courtyard together. Robb grinned. “Don’t hold your breath.”

***

Your room was precisely how you remembered it.

You had last been in Winterfell a moon before your eleventh name day, your trip cut short by your mother’s insistence that her daughter should come back home. Winterfell had enchanted you since the first day you arrived. The castle felt far more homely to you than the Red Keep or Casterly Rock did. But what you truly held envy for was the Stark family. They were far more tight-knit and loyal to their blood than your family had ever been. You held such love for your siblings, sweet Myrcella, little Tommen, even Joffrey — despite his wretched ways, he was still your little brother. You knew your parents held no love for each other, you would have had to be blind or stupid to not see it. The only bonds you possessed that could be akin to the familial bonds that were so strained and lacklustre in your own family, were the friendships you had with your ladies in waiting — four girls you had known since girlhood, four girls you trusted with your life.

When Robb left you to get settled, his presence was quickly replaced by your ladies. You had been surrounded by Erielle Lannister and Alyssa Baratheon, young cousins of your parents’ families, since your siblings had been born. Then came Lana Tyrell, a grandniece of Olenna Tyrell, and Jeyne Westerling, whose family were Lannister bannermen. They busied around you now, helping to unpack your trunks. They were there to serve you, your mother had drilled that into you, but you valued your ladies far more than that.

There were still hours until the welcome feast by the time Erielle finished slipping pins into your carefully styled hair. Lana stood behind you, tying the corset threads of your gold dress securely before sweeping furs over the your shoulders.

Alyssa took your hands. “Let’s explore. It has been half of summer since we’ve last seen snow.”

You grinned. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

You felt ten years old again, chasing around the old stone castle. Last time you visited, your company was far smaller, but now every corridor in Winterfell was flooded with rushing servants and marching guards. It made the castle feel like a grey and colder mirror of the Red Keep, not the northern wonderland you remembered from being a child.

You found your way to the courtyard. Outside, under more eyes, you tense your shoulders. As far as you enjoyed being girlish and running about giggling, Gods forbid your family — or worse, the Starks — saw you acting childish. You had already let your heart guide you the way North, but the time to play was passing. You had been betrothed to Robb Stark since you were ten years old; you would be Lady of Winterfell one day. (It felt far more real now you were standing back in the castle’s walls. At home, in King’s Landing, you could almost forget your fate.) There was a time to be the girl you longed to be, and there was time to be the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms — it was an easy balance to maintain, as long as you remained focused.

Suddenly, Jeyne gave a shriek, the sound muffled by her hands covering her mouth. Your attention snapped to the girl — and where she was looking. Inside the kennels, where Winterfell’s hounds slept, were wolves. Seven darling pups of grey, brown, black and pure white.

“Those aren’t normal wolves,” Alyssa whispered. “But it must be impossible. Direwolves do not live south of the Wall.”

You walked forwards, shaking off the clutches of your friends. In the last letters you and Robb had passed before you and your family began their journey north, Robb had told you pages about the litter of direwolves the Starks had found in the woods. You had not truly believed him until now. A smile rose to your face like the morning sun. The pups were days old when Robb sent his letter describing each of his siblings’ wolves, and soon they would grow bigger than any dog.

The pups played together while Lana tugged on your sleeve and begged you not to get too close.

“I promise they won’t hurt you.”

You and your ladies turned to see Robb approaching them. The afternoon sunlight made his red curls glow. By your lead, the girls curtsied to the heir of Winterfell, and Robb bowed to you. (It had taken two years of writing for you to convince Robb to stop calling you “Your Grace” at the top of every letter.)

“Have you decided which wolf is who?” Robb asked, standing at your side to watch the little wolves.

You nodded. You pointed out Robb’s wolf first. Grey Wind, a smoky grey pup with bright golden eyes. “The others watch him. They follow him like little ones look to their eldest sibling.”

Grinning, Robb bent down on one knee and called Grey Wind to him. The wolf ran over eagerly but paused to consider you. You lowered to be closer to Grey Wind’s height and reached out a hand, which the wolf sniffed at, before licking at you and allowing you to stroke his head.

You could not hide your own grin. “He’s beautiful. They all are.” Grey Wind seemed to understand you and nuzzled against you.

“Are you looking forward to the feast tonight?” Robb asked. Grey Wind ran back to his siblings and Robb took you hand, helping you to your feet.

You gave a shrug. “It will be nice to see your family again, properly. But I’ve never been so fond of feasts.” A red flush painted your cheeks. “I prefer quiet evenings.”

“Then perhaps I will find you later and free you. I’ll find a nicer way for us to spend the night.”

You smiled at his kindness. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

Robb mirrored your smile. “I’ll see you later.”

***

The feast was as lively as you had anticipated. It was not the noise and the food that you found wretched, or the company of your siblings, it was the rowdiness that came with alcohol. At the top of the hall, beneath the high table where Lord and Lady Stark hosted your parents, you sat with your three siblings and the Stark children. You made polite conversation with the eldest Stark daughters, Alys — who you were glad to see again — and Sansa, who had been too young to join in your games last time you had visited. It took three quick glasses of sweet wine to begin to dull your senses enough to start to enjoy yourself.

Hours passed and courses of food were devoured, little Tommen tugged on his eldest sister’s sleeve. You looked down at your brother. “Are you alright?”

“Do we have to stay at the feast all night?” the little Prince asked.

You shook your head. “Of course not. We can leave whenever you like.”

“Can we go now then?”

You stood and picked Tommen up under his arms to lift him off the bench.

Myrcella had been sitting on Tommen’s other side. “Can I come too?” she asked, pushing her plate away.

You smiled and reached out for your sister. “Always.”

You kept a tight hold of your brother and sister’s hands as you weaved through Winterfell’s great hall. Past the singing bard, your father and his drunks, and the guards by the door. The cold night air made the Baratheon siblings’ cheeks turn red. Also outside you found Joffrey. You had not seen him slip away from the feast.

“Joff, you should stay inside. You’ll catch your death out here,” you warned. Myrcella and Tommen skipped off in the direction of their guest rooms.

Joffrey gave a bitter laugh. “Always the mother. Good thing you’ve had plenty of practice with those two before Robb Stark gives you your own wolf pack. Are you looking forward to it, sister? To be bedded by a wolf?”

You wondered what could have gone wrong for your brother to turn out so rotten when Myrcella and Tommen had always been so sweet. Whatever it was, you were happy to watch Joffrey saunter away from you. You wished you could wipe that smirk from his face. Gathering the fabric of you skirt in your hands, you raised the hem of your dress off the ground and followed after your youngest siblings.

The three siblings settled in your room. Myrcella and Tommen, in their nightclothes, nestled warm under the blankets of the bed, while you sat the foot of the bed

Myrcella whispered your name. Her emerald eyes glitter in the glow of the smouldering fire you had tried to light. “You won’t leave us forever will you?”

“I would never,” you promised. “I will live here once I marry, but I will visit often. And one day, you two will also marry wonderful people and have your own castles.”

“Can you tell us a story?” Tommen asked, tucked up to his chin in the warm furs. “You’re the best at stories.”

You chuckled. “Then what story would you like to hear tonight?”

***

Robb found you outside, bright as a midnight sun. He watched you walking back towards the great hall from the guest quarters. The clouds had opened to release a gentle fall of snow upon the castle. Robb found himself staring at you again as snowflakes landed in your hair. Six years had not taken the wonder from your eyes as you grinned, twirling alone in the snow. Robb felt as though he was intruding. He turned to leave, to return to the feast and wait for you there, but gravel crunched heavily underfoot and you found him.

You blushed scarlet. Your figure straightened, ever regal. The glow in your eyes dissipated. Disappointment and guilt spread through Robb as ice froze a lake. “I’m sorry,” he spoke quickly to get ahead. “I should not have disturbed you–”

You shook her head, brushing snow out of your tightly wound southern-styled hair. “No, I’m sorry. I was acting improper. It’s just–”

“–Been a long time? I know.” Robb came closer to you and offered you his arm. “You don’t have to hide from me. We can dance in the snow all night if you want to.”

You giggled and took Robb’s arm. “That would be far nicer than spending the rest of the night inside.”

Robb took you in the direction of the godswood, where he knew it would be quietest. “The men are going hunting tomorrow. Would you come with me?”

“Oh.” The pinkness returned to your cheeks. “I cannot ride. I was never taught. My mother thought my skills should be better tuned elsewhere.”

“I could teach you.” Perhaps his tone was too eager. Taryn had not been here a day yet. They entered the woods, there were enough gaps in the dark clouds to allow moonlight to shine through and illuminate the trees.

You smiled — the same smile you had given Grey Wind earlier in the afternoon, the same smile that came in the snowfall. “I would love that. It’s suffocating sometimes to be in the castle, unable to go where I like because I need a carriage to take me around.” You shuddered.

“I won’t keep you caged in,” Robb said. “You’ll be safe and free here at Winterfell. I promise.”

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x oc #robb stark x original female character #robb stark x you #robb stark fic #robb stark fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #game of thrones fic #lionheart

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slaymitchabernathy · 2 months ago

Text

A Sweet Promise

She looks so young. His future wife.

Coriolanus is all but smug as she walks down the aisle towards him, escorted by none other than Strabo Plinth, the man who’s as good as his father now that Sejanus is out of the way.

He can hear the whispers, the murmurs throughout the room as she gets closer to him. Some are about her youthful beauty and yes, she is entirely beautiful. Others are about her age, but he doesn’t see it as a pressing problem. Only a few are about where she originated from.

The Districts.

Never in a million years did Coriolanus Snow think he’d get married to someone from the Districts but his life has proven to be full of surprises.

Once he became President it seemed that everyone around him was waiting for him to get married. He hasn’t been opposed to it really, he just wasn’t entirely eager to tie himself down.

Unless it was done on his terms.

He didn’t want to marry some rich and spoiled Capitol girl who expected him to worship the ground she walked on. No, he needed someone easy to teach, to train. To mold.

After pouring over all the Districts for a somewhat suitable match he landed in District Two, the Capitol’s most loyal District by far. Several screenings were done with all of Two’s young girls ranging from eighteen to twenty-two. Most of them were quite the depressing sight with their sunken in cheekbones and bony fingers.

Then he saw her, saw Soarynn.

She was slightly better looking, but that could be credited to her being the daughter of a Peacekeeper commander. She was quiet, but he didn’t mind. Her eyes were so startling as he looked at her through the two-way mirror they had set up. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as the interviewer asked her all sorts of questions about herself and her life.

After enough data had been collected they ran a set of tests so ensure that Soarynn was more than capable of providing Coriolanus with children.

She was.

And so, their marriage was arranged. He withheld any contact with the girl until this fateful day as to not ruin her perception of him. He needed her to fear him, to respect him and all his commands. If he got too close, too kind and gentle, then this would all be for nothing.

Soarynn and Strabo finally reach the altar and Strabo helps Soarynn up the few steps that lead to Coriolanus who takes her dainty hand in his large one.

He notices her freshly manicured nails immediately and is more than pleased with how she’s cleaned up since he last saw her. Once Coriolanus knew he’d be marrying Soarynn, he made sure that she was properly prepared to become not only his wife, but the First Lady of Panem.

She was given all the Capitol treatments that the Tributes usually receive before participating in the Hunger Games. Her hair was styled and trimmed to his liking, her skin was waxed and smoothed, her face was scoured for any imperfections. She was perfect now.

He carefully lifts the veil up from over her face and he’s truly dazzled for a moment by her striking facial features. Her upturned nose, the freckles that cover her entire face, her long lashes and her blue-gray eyes.

She’s beautiful.

Coriolanus also ensured that she was put on a proper diet before arriving to the Capitol a week ago. He couldn’t have his wife looking like a starved child from the Districts. He’s pleased to see that she’s filled out more, she’s now lean and her cheeks are no longer hollowed out.

Soarynn’s eyes reflect a similar feeling of bewilderment and curiosity. She’s heard of him of course, but from what he’s been told, she’s had lots of questions about him since the marriage was arranged.

Coriolanus thought it was somewhat…childish for her to want to know so much about him, even if she was about to marry him. He’ll be quick to shut down any prying questions from her. He really only needs certain things from Soarynn. He needs her for public appearances, to make him seem like a well rounded individual and politician.

He also needs her to provide him with a future, with children.

What he doesn’t need is love. If he wanted a loving companion then he would’ve gotten a dog.

Soarynn is a close second in his opinion.

And she’s better off marrying him than any man from Two. By marrying him, she has a safe and secure future with the promise of a full belly and a warm bed to sleep in. She’s won the lottery of husbands it seems.

Coriolanus tunes out most of the ceremony, his mind too focused on other things like the meetings he has coming up surrounding this years Hunger Games. This entire ceremony is being done out of obligation. They have to sell it, sell this idea of a young couple being madly in love.

If he had his way then they would’ve been married in the Justice Building and gone about their day. But there are images to uphold and people in the Capitol love a good wedding. They’ve taken to the streets in fact to celebrate this union, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the young bride.

So he nods when it’s time to vow himself to her, to be loyal and kind, to protect her and give her children. Soarynn does the same, promising to give him children and remain obedient and trusting.

That’s all she really is to him. A sweet promise.

꧁ ꧂

꧁ Two Months Later ꧂

Coriolanus only hears his footsteps echoing throughout the Presidential Mansion, alerting any staff that might be in his way. Any Avoxes that is.

He’s never been to fond of having staff that can repeat information that he’d rather keep private, so Avoxes were the perfect solution to his dilemma. Easy to train, easy to replace.

Unlike his little wife.

Over the past two months, Soarynn has been doing her very best to avoid him at all costs. Not that he can blame her, he’s an intimidating man and a busy one at that. He barely sees her as it is but their limited interactions lack any genuine connection and that frustrates him.

She doesn’t need to be in love with him, but she could at least make the effort.

She’s been getting lessons in etiquette from his event coordinator, Eudora Trinket to ensure that Soarynn doesn’t publicly embarrass him and they’ve been paying off so far. He’s only brought Soarynn to a handful of events and most of them have been dinners or galas where she’s been pressed to his side the entire night.

But even in her spare time, she never leaves the Mansion.

He’s offered up the idea to her before, well, to Eudora at least, encouraging the older woman to take Soarynn out to see the sights of the Capitol and get more accustomed to life with the elite but Soarynn simply refuses to leave.

And he’s about to find out why.

He approaches the library and tries to remember the last time he actually read a book for enjoyment. According to Eudora, Soarynn spends all her time in the library, pouring over books from all different genres. Coriolanus was simply surprised that the girl could read in the first place let alone actively seek out knowledge.

He pushes the large doors open and the smell of candles and vanilla hits him like a wave. It appears that Soarynn has taken a liking to the vanilla-scented products he got for her. He can’t have his wife smelling like a wild animal.

He scans the large room for any sign of Soarynn but finds none. Perhaps she's somewhere else and he was ill-informed. But then he hears the sound of a book landing on the ground and a small gasp, found you, he thinks to himself, walking to the left side of the library.

The library is huge, filled with mahogany bookshelves and wall paneling. There's a large sitting area in the middle of the room with sofas and armchairs and a large table with notes scattered about from previous Presidents. Coriolanus left this room untouched since it didn't really serve him any purpose, but it has now it seems.

He rounds a corner and finds Soarynn sitting on the floor surrounded by several books and a small white, fluffy creature. Her cat.

When Coriolanus selected Soarynn to be his wife, he was alerted that she had one singular demand once they were married. That she be given a cat. Apparently, her father has an allergy to the particular animal and Soarynn figured that it was now or never to put in such a request. Coriolanus thought it was rather adolescent to ask for a pet, but he didn't marry her for her weathered age. So he got her a cat, even let her pick out the one she wanted.

He's only seen the feline once or twice since she was brought into the household but from what Eudora's told him, the kitten is very sweet and is a ball of energy. Just what he needs.

He watches his wife for a moment, she looks so small sitting on the hardwood floor and she seems absolutely infatuated with the book in her lap. So infatuated that the kitten notices Coriolanus first and meows at him, causing Soarynn to look up, wide-eyed once she takes notice of the President of Panem staring down at her.

The kitten is fearless it seems and runs over to him, batting at his pants. Coriolanus steps to the side and eyes the feline warily, "What's its name?" He didn't care to learn the name of his wife's cat, not when it didn't directly affect him.

Soarynn swallows and watches her kitten continue its assault on his pants, "Her name is Petunia."

Petunia, how precious.

Petunia looks over at Soarynn when she hears her name and runs back over to her owner, purring up a storm. Coriolanus watches how Soarynn smiles at the kitten, how she picks her up and strokes her fur. He also notices how Petunia's eyes are almost identical to Soarynn's, blue and gray.

"You seem to spend a lot of time in here," Coriolanus says, running his finger along a dusty shelf, "a majority of your day in fact." He's not mad, in fact, he knows that it could be much worse, a young District-born girl running rampant around the Capitol sounds like his worst nightmare. Having a shy, introverted wife might just be his biggest blessing in disguise.

Soarynn stares down at the book in her lap, having the decency to look somewhat ashamed, "It's quiet in here," she whispers, "and warm." It certainly is warm since she's got the fire going, plus the added warmth from the large windows makes the library nearly as hot as the greenhouse during the summer.

"Do you get cold often?" He doesn't really care but as her husband, he should at least act somewhat interested in her beyond the basics. Soarynn shrugs, "It was always cold in Two." Indeed it was, what a wasteland.

Coriolanus grunts, "I see. Well, I came to see if there was a specific reason as to why you weren't venturing out to see the Capitol. You have a car and a driver at your beck and call, along with Peacekeepers to keep you safe at all times,"

Soarynn furrows her brows, looking up at him, "Why do I need Peacekeepers when the Capitol is the safest place in Panem?" Looks like someone was paying attention in class. Coriolanus takes another step towards her, closing the distance between them and he doesn't miss how Soarynn tenses up, they haven't been this close together in a room alone before.

"You have Peacekeepers because I want you to have Peacekeepers," he tells her, his voice low and authoritative, "do you understand darling?" Her lip quivers as she tries to give him a somewhat defiant look but she fails miserably, "Yes," she whispers.

Coriolanus hums, pleased at how well this is going for him, but he should backtrack a little, soothe over her wounds. "What are you reading?" He nods towards the book in her lap, the book that Petunia is napping on top of. Soarynn's fingers absentmindedly trace over the letters of the page, "It's a romance book."

Romance, what a horrible genre.

"How interesting," he states, taking one more step until his shoes are next to her dress that's pooled around her on the floor, "you've been doing a lot of reading since you got here, most children from the District don't even know how to read." That seems to knock her down a few pegs which is good in his opinion, always good to remind her of her place, "Two has the best education compared to the other Districts," she repeats, straight from what he's ordered every educator in Two to tell it's students.

She's not wrong though, Two receives the best education, which isn't a lot, but it's better than other Districts like Twelve. Mostly because Two is where the Capitol gets most of its Peacekeeper force and having a bunch of idiots with guns is less than ideal for Coriolanus who would very much like to keep his country under control.

"Indeed they do," he agrees, "I've just never seen someone read as much as you do." From what he's been told, she's gone through a lot of books since she arrived in the President's Mansion. A small blush creeps across Soarynn's cheeks and she brushes her hair behind her ears, a habit he's noticed she does whenever she's nervous.

"We're having dinner tonight, just the two of us," he tells her, leaving no room for argument, "outside in the gardens, six o'clock."

He can see a wave of confusion wash over Soarynn's face since not once have they had dinner together just the two of them but Coriolanus needs to start utilizing his little wife in every way he possibly can.

So he's going to start with dinner.

He doesn't leave her room to argue, simply turning on his heel and making his way out of the library, "And the cat can't come," he calls before slamming the doors shut.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn is a vision.

She's cleaned up exceptionally well for dinner tonight which means she most likely mentioned it to Eudora who insisted that she look her absolute best for her husband.

Soarynn's hair has been pulled back into a ponytail with a pink ribbon tying it up. Her face has a hint of blush, adding some more color to her tan skin. Her dress is also pink, taken in at the waist to show off her frame and it's sleeveless, showing off her arms. It's warm enough to still have dinner outside without needing a heavy coat and Coriolanus enjoys hosting parties and gatherings throughout the summer.

Soarynn's only been to a few of his famous garden parties but she has yet to be granted the privilege of seeing his greenhouse filled with his precious roses.

"You look beautiful," he tells her, resting a hand on her bare shoulder. She slightly tenses but pushes a smile to her face, "Thank you." It seems her lessons in etiquette have been paying off nicely. He guides them through the gardens, pointing out specific plants or sculptures every now and then. Soarynn doesn't say much, just nodding along with his words while she looks up at him. He only looks down at her once and it hits him once again how young she is.

So young and naive, pure and ripe for the taking.

"What's that?" They're just nearing the pavilion when they come to a halt by the tall shrubs, "That's my maze," he says, "in the center, there's a courtyard with a statue." This seems to fascinate Soarynn because she goes to step toward the maze but Coriolanus is hungry so he's quick to latch onto her wrist, pulling her back into him, "Perhaps we'll explore the maze after we have dinner," he suggests.

That seems to be enough for Soarynn who nods and follows him to the pavilion where a lovely spread has been laid out for them. Platters covered in cheeses, crackers, meats, and breads, paired with olives, grapes, and jams.

Coriolanus helps Soarynn into her seat before taking his own and he raises his glass of wine, "To the future." Soarynn is hesitant to raise her own glass, probably because she doesn't partake in drinking, "To the future," she says softly although she does not sound like she believes it.

They dig into the platters and Coriolanus watches Soarynn try every jam that's been laid out for her. She scrunches her face when she tastes something she doesn't like but he also notes how her elbows never rest on the table, another sign that she's been doing well in her lessons on how to behave like a proper Capitol lady.

"So your cat, how old is she?"

Coriolanus hadn't spared the cat a glance if he was being honest. He signed the papers that needed to be signed and made sure that his wife was given the most perfect cat in the entire world before he forgot all about it. Simple yet effective.

Soarynn perks up at the mention of her pet, "Petunia is six weeks old, which is young but she's very smart. She even knows how to do tricks!"

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at this bold statement, he highly doubts that Petunia is as smart as Soarynn claims but knowing tricks is something worth noting, "I see. You know, I could get you horses, you could go riding every afternoon if you wished." They'd have to build stables but there's more than enough land surrounding the President's Mansion to do so.

Her face slightly falls, "Oh. Um, no thank you."

Now he's confused. "Do you not like horses?"

Soarynn picks at her plate, not hungry anymore it seems, "I've never seen a horse before, at least, not in real life. I've seen the ones on the Avenue." The Avenue of Tributes is a well-known spot in the Capitol where Tributes for the Hunger Games are paraded down the Avenue, allowing the Capitolites a first look at the fresh blood. The Tributes are brought down on chariots pulled by beautiful horses and it seems that they've managed to catch Soarynn's attention.

"We'll have to go to the horse races," he decides, taking a sip of his wine, "you can go down to the track before the race and meet the horses and their jockeys." Being President means shaking a lot of hands that belong to people you don't quite care about which include the men who ride racehorses. Still, Coriolanus enjoys the races mostly for the social aspect though.

Soarynn hums and her eyes wander around the pavilion, a large marble structure that's been here since the Mansion was built. Coriolanus rarely dines here but tonight is a special occasion. It's normally occupied by the older generation when he holds gatherings, all the old women sit and grumble about the younger women and what they're wearing and how "scandalous" it is.

"I like this dress, is it new?"

Of course, it's new but Soarynn doesn't seem to be trying to engage in any form of conversation. She looks down at her dress and nods, "Yes. Eudora bought it special for me to wear tonight. She says I should try to talk to you more."

Coriolanus makes a mental note to give Eudora a raise because the woman is doing charity work at this point guiding Soarynn through this marriage. He grunts in approval, "You most certainly should. We've been married for two months and yet I know little to nothing about you."

Coriolanus doesn't quite care to learn much about Soarynn, just what makes her tick, what makes her cry. What he can use against her.

She looks somewhat caught and her hands grab at the table cloth, twisting it in every direction, "I miss my family," she says softly, "I...I know I shouldn't, and that I should be very grateful for all you've done for me," it sounds as if she's reading off a script, "but I don't know anyone here and I'm quite lonely."

Well, he certainly wasn't expecting that.

Coriolanus can see tears welling in Soarynn's eyes and he can't have her crying, he's never been good at emotions, especially coming from a woman. He quickly reaches across the table and takes one of her hands into his, giving it a gentle squeeze, "Then I'll introduce you to people your age, make you the most well-connected woman in Panem. You're the First Lady darling, act like it, embrace it, you have the world at your fingertips. All you have to do is ask me for something and it shall be yours."

That seems to strike something within Soarynn because her eyes twinkle a little bit at his words as if something is brewing beneath her surface. She looks down at their intertwined hands before looking up at him, "Anything?"

He nods, "Anything."

Soarynn sits back in her chair, her hand slipping out of his when she does so, "I want a room to paint in," she says, "a big room with lots of windows so I can have a lot of natural light. And I want more mystery books in the library, I've already read all the ones we have."

A grin curls across his lips at the demanding woman his wife has suddenly become. She's sinking into her role as his wife and First Lady it seems and he's more than happy to feed into her little fantasy so long as she behaves. He chuckles, sliding his hand back over to his side of the table, "Very well, I'll have a room cleared out for you on the West Wing of the Mansion, near my study. And I'll have more books brought in for you."

Soarynn seems pleased with the confirmation, shocked even that it was this easy to get what she wanted. "Good. Now why don't you tell me about your day?"

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus can't remember the last time he actually walked through the maze. But Soarynn was insistent on seeing the statue in the center so he humored her and besides, dinner was more than plesant. She immediatley opened up to him once he granted her wishes, asking about his day, listening attentively, complimenting the food he chose for them tonight.

A world of a difference compared to the girl he married two months ago.

"How do you get the hedges to grow so tall?"

Coriolanus looks down at Soarynn who's still holding onto his arm as he guides them through the maze and he chuckles, "I don't know darling, you'll have to ask the gardeners." Her eyes are wide with fascination as they stroll through the maze, and she gasps when they finally reach the center, "Oh, it's so big."

Coriolanus nearly forgot what the statue looked like but it's clear as day that it's a marble statue of a very well sculpted man, a man who has a similar resemblace to him is he says so himself.

Soarynn pulls away from him to get a closer look, her finger tips gripping the edge of the statue's marble platform, "Where did you find this?" She asks him, looking up at him from over her shoulder. Coriolanus shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs, "It's supposedly from before Panem was Panem, before the fires and the floods came. That's what I was told at least."

Part of Coriolanus thinks that he was fed a load of bullshit about this statue, but, it's a good center piece for his maze, so he'll keep it. He takes another step towards Soarynn until he's right behind her and he slips his hands around her waist, drawing a gasp from her lips.

They never had sex on their wedding night, but he's willing to overlook that for the sanctity of their marriage.

He noses the soft skin on her neck and inhales that sweet scent of vanilla that seems to cling to her. "You know, we never got properly accustomed to each other on our wedding night," he murmurs agasint her neck.

The entire reason they decided to forego their wedding night festitivtes was for the sole reason of Soarynn being absolutely terrified of sleeping in the same room as him. She was fine at the wedding, but the second they got inside the Mansion, the girl was a mess, shaking and whimpering like some wounded animal. Coriolanus had just handed her off to Eudora and went to bed, not wanting to deal with the tears that would come should he try and fuck her.

But now he's ready.

"I um...I thought you didn't want anything to do with me," she whispers, recalling the harsh words he had mumbled while walking away from her that night. Coriolanus presses a kiss right under her ear and he feels her shiver, "A man can change his mind darling. And besides, what would everyone say if they found out that Coriolanus Snow's wife refused to sleep with him? They might peg you for a...whore," he tacks on some heft to the last word, "some slut who's been unfaithful to me and didn't stay pure."

Soarynn whimpers and he takes it as a sign to suck on her skin hard, leaving behind a dark shaded bruise, "I...I'm not a whore," she gasps, her hands finding his and tugging on them but Coriolanus isn't budging. "Oh really?" He taunts, shoving his leg between hers, "we all know how you District folk like to keep busy and your Father was in charge of Peacekeepers. Who's to say that you never gave them a little taste of what's in between your legs hmm?"

His bites her ear lobe, tugging the skin between his teeth and Soarynn cries out, bucking agasint him, trying to break free, "I didn't!" She cries, her voice desperate and breathy, "I never slept with anyone, I saved myself for marriage."

That's all he wanted to hear.

He presses a hand agasint her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, "Good," he says quietly, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear, "because one day, I'm going to put a baby inside of you, and I can't have myself worrying about you giving birth to some bastard." Soarynn goes quiet, those words seem to be sinking in for her, the gravity of what they mean.

"You want to have a family with me?" She whispers, looking up at him from over her shoulder. They're inches apart, the tension is thick. He licks his lips, "Yes. I need an heir, and I'd do well to give you a daughter to take care of as well, keep you busy."

Soarynn scrunches her nose, "But you're getting me a horse, why do I need to have a daughter as well?"

He smiles at her naive way of thinking, she's still so young, so unaware of her place in society. He places a soft kiss to her temple, his hand rubbing circles on her stomach, imnaging how it'll feel when her skin is stretched over their child, "Because every woman needs a child, something to love and nurture, hmm? And we need to keep the bloodline strong, you're a Snow darling, and as the First Lady of Panem, there's certain expectations for you to provide me with children."

He doesn't mention how he knows exactly how fertile Soarynn is right now, how young and moldable she is. Getting her pregant now would be the best thing he could possibly do for her, keeping her busy and latched onto him.

But what he said seems to sit right with Soarynn because she's all sappy and asking for more things which he easily agrees too so long as she keeps her promise to provide him with an heir.

It's a sweet promise really, a sweet, sweet promise.

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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bellinyx · 2 months ago

Text

Heart of the Sea

Prologue: The Woman on the Cliff

Love and Deepspace

Summary: "When you take me into your waiting arms and steal my final breath as payment…take with it the memory of him." Pairing: Rafayel x Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings/Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Angst With Comfort, Suicide, Character Death, Star-Crossed Lovers Trope A/N: Hello! Please be reminded that this is a work in progress, and I am still relatively new to writing, so please be patient with me. If you guys do end up enjoying it, then likes and follows are always appreciated. With that said, I hope you all enjoy the story!

The sound of waves crashing against the cliffside seemed to drown out the rest of the world as a woman stood atop the cliff face. Her eyes trained on the sky as dark storm clouds rolled in from the west, darkening the sky with their approach and blocking out the light of the setting sun. The distant clash of thunder ringing in her ears, and the flash of lightning shining in her lifeless eyes as she lost herself to the memories running through her mind. Lost herself to the memories of her lover and their time spent together. The feeling of his soft purple hair running through her finger, the sight of his glittering scales as he swam through the ocean currents in the morning light, the warmth that spread within her heart as she stared into his unique eyes.

His eyes.

What beautiful eyes they were

The colors of blue and pink mixing perfectly together, and reminding her so much of the setting sky now blocked out by the dark gray clouds above. The storm rolling in around her and causing the temperature to drop drastically, her warm breath coming out in puffy clouds against the cold air. The wind speeds rising, and the waves crashing hard against the cliffside below as she continued to stare up at the sky. The cold grass beneath her bare feet barely registered within her mind as she took a step forward.

Then another.

Until at last she stood at the edge of the cliff, her lifeless eyes still trained on the sky as lightning flashed once more. Thunder shaking the earth below as the first rainfall began. The droplets gently pelting against her ice cold skin, wetting her hair and causing her clothes to stick to her skin. The soft smell of rain mixing perfectly with the familiar scent of the sea as the frigid winds rose up from the crashing waves below. The wind running through her damp hair and brushing against her cheek in a gentle caress, as if knowing and acknowledging her struggles, as if beckoning her to join it in the dark depths below.

“Please…”

The woman began, her voice no more than a whisper against the raging storm around her. Still, even the waves seemed to calm their assault against the cliffside at the desperation in the woman's tone.

“Grant me one last act of mercy. When you take me into your waiting arms and steal my final breath as payment…take with it the memory of him. The memory of his beating heart beneath my fingertips as I sang to him late into the night, of his hands in mine as we danced beneath the waves in each others arms, of his lips pressed against mine as he pledged his love to me…of his hands reaching out to another woman, of his kingdom falling to ruin and of his blood staining the ocean red and his broken scales floating atop the water's surface as he took his final breath.”

She begged, praying to any god that would listen to grant her this one last wish before she is swallowed by the depths of the sea and forgotten for all time.

As her words were spoken into the world, lightning flashed across the sky with thunder following soon after as the storm grew in its intensity. The familiar scent of sea salt invading her senses as the wind brushed against her cheek in a final caress, reassuring her of her decision before carrying her words across the sea. The wind parting the clouds above her and allowing a steady stream of light to peek through, its colors a beautiful mixture of blue and pink, so reminiscent of his eyes. The light shining down upon her and beckoning her forward, promising her peace if she just took that final step. The sight causing a soft smile to spread across her lips as the woman raised her hands to the sky, welcoming the beautiful light as if welcoming home her long lost lover.

“Thank you.”

She whispered, her voice filled with an overwhelming gratitude.

A single tear rolling down her cheek as she finally closed her eyes, that single droplet rolling off of her chin and falling into the ocean below as she took that last step forward. The cold ground beneath her bare feet disappearing as she allowed herself to fall.

Down.

The wind picking up in speed and the waves crashing against the now empty cliffside with a renewed vigor. The roaring of the thunder drowning out the sound of the woman's body hitting the ocean below with a sickening crash.

A deafening silence greeted her as she sank beneath the waves, the ocean welcoming her into its cold embrace as she sank further and further into its depths. The metallic taste of blood on her tongue and the throbbing pain in her head causing her to lose focus as she watched the surface grown farther and farther out of her reach. The frigid cold of the ocean waters seeping into her bones and chilling her to her core as her vision began to blur. The sight of the raging storm above the surface of the water the last thing she saw before she slowly closed her eyes. A soft smile spreading across her lips for the last time as she finally allowed the darkness to take over her mind.

The pain of her throbbing body and the frigid chill of the ocean within her bones slowly fading away as the ocean did as she asked. Taking her into its waiting arms and stealing her final breath as payment before finally taking the memory of her long lost lover away from her.

———

At the docks sat a young woman, her legs crossed beneath her as she stared down at a notebook held within her hands. Her brows furrowed in thought as she tapped a pencil against her chin, trying her best to think of what to write. Yet, as the minutes ticked by, she couldn't help but grow frustrated with herself as her mind continued to wander.

Realizing she wasn’t going to be getting anything done, the woman sets her notebook down in her lap with a sigh of irritation. Her pencil falling from her hands and rolling across the dock as she buried her face into her hands. A soft pout making its way onto her face as she glanced out across the ocean, her chin propped up against her hands as she leaned on her knees. The sight of the setting sky beyond the ocean calming something deep inside of her as she stared for a while. The soft blues and pinks within the sky mixing beautiful with the golden glow of the setting sun shining across the ocean. The feelings of warmth, love and dedication the colors caused within her heart confused the woman, yet she couldn't find it in herself to mind as she allowed the sight to calm her racing mind.

To anyone looking in, they would see a woman sitting peacefully at the edge of the docks, a notebook in her lap as she staring lifeless out at the setting sky beyond the ocean. However, in the woman's eyes, all she could see was the colors of blue and pink mixing together in a beautiful display. All she could see was lightning flashing across a stormy sky, the sound of thunder shaking the earth and waves crashing against the side of a cliff, and the feeling of the wind caressing her cheek as her body is plunged into the icy depths of the ocean below.

The sound of her pencil falling into the water below is what finally brought the woman out of her thoughts. The memories and faint sensations fading from her mind just as fast as they had come as she glanced towards the edge of the dock. Her head peaking over the side as she glared down at the wooden pencil floating atop the waters surface a couple of feet below.

“Darn it, not again.”

She whispers, her hand reaching out to pluck the pencil from the sea, only to stop as something caught her eye.

It was a small fish, no bigger than her palm. It's scales a beautiful iridescent blue against the ocean surrounding it. It's head poking out of the water to nibble on the side of her pencil, looking the same as a puppy chewing on a stick. The sight causing the woman to chuckle as she takes a moment to glance around, making sure no one was watching her before finally reaching her hands out. Her fingers dipping into the water below as her Evol slips out, her eyes glowing a soft blue as the water bends around itself to form a water bubble around the fish and the pencil. The bubble hovering just above her palms as she pulls it towards her. Keeping its shape and allowing her to get a better look at the little fish with the pencil still in its mouth.

“Hello there.”

The woman says, her smile warm as the fish glances at her before going back to chew on its prize.

“I’m sorry to say, but that’s not food, little one.”

She says, reaching inside the bubble and gently pulling the pencil out. The bubble remaining intact around the little fish as she sets the pencil down next to her on the dock.

“Now, what are you doing so close to the docks? I’ve seen a big old fat cat walking around here lately who looks like he would eat you the first chance he got.”

The woman says, her smile teasing as the fish begins circling around the bubble. It's eyes wide and filled with curiosity as it checks out its new vantage point before finally glancing back down at where the pencil was lying beside the woman. Its eyes hungrily eyeing the prize it had worked so hard to get, only for it to be snatched away in the end. The sight of such a look on a fish’s face causes the woman to laugh as she reaches down and picks the pencil back up before finally slipping it back inside of the bubble.

“Alright, fine. You can have the pencil, it’s not as if I was getting anything done with it anyways.”

The woman mumbles with a pout, watching as the fish immediately latches onto the side of the pencil. Its little eyes finally looking up at the woman as it nibbles on its new treasure.

“Hmm, with your love for that pencil, I can only assume that you are a very artistic young fish. You wouldn’t happen to have any ideas for music, would you little one? I’m having a bit of writer's block while coming up with something new.”

She says with a smile, not expecting an actual answer as the fish looked at her with curiosity.

“Do you get all your ideas from fish?”

Someone suddenly asks from behind the woman.

The sudden voice caused the woman to gasp, her body jumping in surprise but the bubble luckily staying intact above her hands. The little fish looking at her with what could only be described as a pout as she glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she finds a man standing right behind her.

He looked young, probably no older than herself, with soft looking dusky purple hair and fair skin. He was dressed in a beige multi-colored cardigan over a white button up shirt and black pants with a dangly earring hanging from his right ear, a travel brochure clutched in his right hand as he stood with his arms crossed.

Once the shock of his sudden appearance had faded, the woman's surprise was then replaced by amusement as she finally registered the strangers words.

“Of course I do. After all, fish always have the best ideas.”

The woman says, giving the stranger an amused smile as he raises an eyebrow. A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he comes closer, crouching down to examine the fish still nibbling on the pencil within the protection of its bubble.

“Are you sure about that? This one doesn’t look too intelligent.”

The man says, reaching out to gently poke at the bubble and watching as it keeps its shape.

“I’ll have you know this little fish has big plans for himself. See, he already had the first tool that any great artist needs.”

The woman says with a confident smirk, nodding to the pencil within the fish's grasp as the fish continues to nibble on its prize, completely unaware of the two people arguing over its intelligence.

“Is that so? Well, if that's the case, then he should probably learn that pencils aren't food.”

The man says, his voice teasing and his eyes filled with mischief as he glances away from the fish to instead look at the woman with a playful smirk.

His eyes.

At the sight of his eyes, the woman's smile slowly falls as she stares up at him. Her eyes widening as she loses herself in the soft blues and pinks of his eyes. The color familiar to her in a way she couldn't describe, the memory of a heartbeat beneath her fingertips and light caressing her skin flashing through her mind as she loses herself in his gaze. Seeing the dazed look in the woman's eyes, the man gave her a curious look. His playful smirk still present as he raised his eyebrow in a silent question. The subtle warmth hidden within his gaze causing the woman's heart to race as she tilts her head. A soft smile spreading across her lips as she stares up at him with a far away look in her eyes.

"What beautiful eyes."

She whispers, her voice soft in the silence between them.

However, her words seem to have an effect on the man. His eyes widening, the smirk falling from his lips as he stares at her in shock. The look in his eyes haunted, filled with a deep anguish and guilt that the woman could not understand.

As if he had seen a ghost.

It was this look that caused the woman to finally snap out of whatever trance she had been in. Her eyes widening as she realized what she just said to a complete stranger. A dark blush of embarrassment spreading across her cheeks as she looks away from the man. Her eyes glancing over the fish instead as she tries to calm her racing heart. All while the fish looks at her with what could only be described as pity as it continues to nibble on its pencil.

By the time she had gathered the courage to turned back to him, the man had already stood and was making his way back down the dock towards town. His sudden departure causing the woman's eyes to widen in surprise, her eyes trailing after him as his figure got further and further away.

“Oh um, goodbye. Nice meeting you.”

She says, her voice filled with confusion and guilt as she watches him walk away for a moment longer before turning back to the fish.

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

She mumbles, her eyes scanning over the fish for a moment before her smile returns.

“Well, thank you for spending time with me, little fish, but its getting late. You should probably start heading home. I hope you enjoy your new treasure.”

The woman says, reaching down to gently set the bubble back into the ocean. Her Evol returning to her as the bubble disperses, allowing the fish to swim around in a couple of circles before finally making its way further into the sea with its prize held tightly in its mouth. The sight causing the woman’s smile to grow as her gaze slowly travels to the setting sun in the distance. Savoring the sight of the blues and pinks of the sky blending together before heading home for the day. The familiar scent of sea salt invading her senses as the gentle breeze blows through her hair and brushes across her cheek.

With her distracted, the woman didn’t notice when the man from before stopped walking to glance at her over his shoulder. That same haunted and regretful look in his eyes as he watches her savor her time by the sea. His eyes scan over the familiar sight of her white hair cascading down her back in beautiful waves and her pale blue eyes filled with warmth as she watches the sunset beyond the sea. The sight almost too much for him to handle as he finally turns away. His steps heavy and his heart even heavier as he makes his way further and further away from the one place he wanted to be, refusing to turn back around for even a second.

Knowing that if he did, he would never leave her side again.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed, be sure to like and follow for more!

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