#poor roberts family

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Hello, what do you think about the fact that Muggles are discriminated against in the Harry Potter saga? For me the term muggle is...... derogatory but I want to know your opinion.

Hello anon!

I don't mind the term 'muggle'. Just like I don't mind the term 'mudblood'. It's simply part of the lingo in the wizarding world and helps us understand the culture. It's convenient to have a word for non-magical people.

The problem is when muggles are so looked down upon that it becomes a slur, akin to mudblood. It certainly sounds like a slur when Hagrid says it.

JKR wants me to believe mugglebornes like Hermione or Lily are the ultimate victims of the WW but that's total BS. And the issue is not even that muggles are being discriminated against. The issue is that JKR keeps downplaying all the bigotry and harm muggles and other magical creatures experience, make it into a joke or completely ignore it altogether.

It's a problem when the DEs attack the Roberts family in book 4. But the ministry constantly mind raping Mr Roberts is A+. Especially when we consider how messed up Bertha was by constant mind spells. Why were the Roberts even at a wizarding event in the first place!

When the Weasleys, Hagrid or Dumbledore invade the Dursleys' privacy, we are meant to feel smug that the Dursleys are being shown their place. But as abusive and horrible as they are, they don't deserve for their property to be destroyed and Dudley doesn't deserve to be traumatized by wizards.

Hermione mind wipes her parents and I don't recall her friends even batting an eye. Curious how Hermione is one of Harry's best friends yet we know more about Neville and Draco's parents than Hermione's...I wonder why???

It's honestly terrifying when you think about it. The wizards have free reign in the muggle world. The DEs are attacking in book 6 and the muggles in Britain can't even know what's attacking them.

In a nutshell, I don't have a problem with discrimination - I have an issue with how JKR handles and resolves it.

Also, we know wizards have a practical reason for distrusting muggles which is the witch trials...or at least they did. JKR made a mockery of the trials by saying wizards pretended to be burning on the stake and they were merely chilling :). So...what's the issue here? JKR made wizardkind even bigger pricks than they already were lol.

PS: The statute of secrecy is a joke. Either there needs to be some form of integration. Or we do like Draco said in book 1 and the wizards are completely cut off from the muggle world.

[townsenddecades]

1315 – Day 2 – Praaven Castle

Praaven Castle and its inhabitants aren’t exempt from uneasiness about the lack of food stores. As the most powerful landowners in the area, the Dudley family at least can acquire food for themselves and their retainers from the local peasantry, but eating it leaves a bitter taste in Robert’s mouth. He may have spent half his life in the castle, but he remembers his childhood on the farm. Some poor family of farmers is starving so they can eat. It isn’t just.

He is fourteen now and has recently ended his page position to instead serve as squire to Sir Silas. If he does good, he could be a knight in a few more years’ time. And Robert intends to do good. He may not have wanted this life when he was sent to be Sir Silas’ page at age 7, but after spending most of the last decade in his half-brother’s household, a knighthood is all he aspires to.

But his ambitions aren’t the only thing that drives him to train with the bow and arrow that afternoon, or even the distraction from moral questions the exercise affords him. No, he does it purely to prepare himself for trouble. Banditry has risen ever since food has grown scarce, and there may come a time when the Earl will be forced to act against it. Roberts intends to be ready.

He is so intent on his target, at first, that he doesn’t notice that he is being watched. People are constantly milling about the courtyard, so he mostly ignores them. One young woman, however, watches him intently, and moves closer when she realizes that he has caught her looking.

His breath catches in his throat. By the fineness of her clothing, he can tell that she is of high birth, but she is also one of the most stunning women he has ever laid eyes upon. Her dark dress sharply contrasts unusual greyish-blond hair, and her eyes are the clearest sky-blue he has seen in his life. She has a very sweet face too, gentle as a doe’s eyes.

He lowers his weapon and makes a bow. He doesn’t know who she is, but he has spent too much time in a noble household not to recognize someone of higher standing when he sees them.

“Oh please, don’t stop because of me”, she says, in a voice sweet as honey. “I was quite enjoying your display.”

“I am glad to have been of assistance”, he says. “And sorry that I have curtailed your entertainment so.”

“Well”, she says with a slight smile. “You could always set that to rights by resuming your archery. Now that I’m standing closer, I’d have quite the opportunity to enjoy the view from another angle.”

There is an amused look in her eyes, but he is unsure how to take her words. She cannot be flirting with him, or at least he doesn’t think she can. Highborn ladies are born and pred to be quiet and modest, not whatever this girl is doing. Maybe she thinks it’s harmless fun, and he has to admit that he is flattered that her attention is directed towards him.

Still, he knows what Sir Silas would say if he were to reciprocate the flirtation.

“I don’t believe we have been introduced”, he says, taking a discreet step back. “My name is Robert Townsend. I serve as squire to Sir Silas Ellesmere.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Robert Townsend. I’m Katheryn Deane.”

He had heard that name before, but could not place where, so he simply bowed his acknowledgement. “Are you a guest of Lord Petersmarch, Mistress Deane?”

“Of the countess, rather. Lady Petersmarch is a distant relative of mine.”

He had been right that she was of noble birth, then. Not that it had been hard to guess.

“I hope your time here has been enjoyable so far”, he said, fishing for a topic of conversation. She merely smiles.

“Quite. Although I might have come here earlier had I known what company awaited me. And here I thought all I had to look forward to was painting with my cousin.”

“You paint?”, he asks, despite himself. “Lady Petersmarch has graciously been teaching me.”

“Oh, so you’re her protégé. I might have known. Yes, I paint, but with much less skill than enthusiasm. You will have to show me some of your work sometime.”

“If it please you, my lady. Maybe, if you’d permit me, I would be honoured to have you for my muse sometime.” He looks at her silver-blond hair, coloured as if touched by moonlight, at the clearness of her complexion and the sweetness of her features. “I think any man would be glad to get to paint you.”

“Why, Master Townsend, I almost believe that was a compliment. One I’ll gladly take, of course.” She steps closer. “And it would mean that we could spend more time together. I’m curious to hear how you got to be a squire to the captain of the guard.”

He is saved from having to disclose his family connections by a timely call of “Kate! There you are!”

The countess is striding through the courtyard, her face brightening when she spots Robert. “Ah, and I see you’ve already met young Robert here. I hope you have accorded Lady Katheryn every courtesy, Robert?”

He can’t help but stare at his new acquaintance for a moment. He had known that she was highborn, but if she is a Lady, that means that her father has to be at least an earl.

Katheryn, however, does not hesitate for a second. “Of course he has. As if any protégé of yours could do any less, cousin.”

“Regardless, I was looking for you, and I am sure Robert needs to finish his archery practice.”

“It is really no bother, Lady Petersmarch.”

“Regardless.” She smiles. “Lady Katheryn is staying for a while, so you will have time to get acquainted. For now, however…” She motions for her cousin to walk towards the portals of the castle, and together, the two ladies disappear inside.

Not, however, before Lady Katheryn throws him a last look over her shoulder, smiling all the while.

Prev: 1315, Day 1 <--> Next: 1315, Day 2, Part 2/3

[maxbegone]

I will say that I’m very nervous about Wyatt and I’m very curious to see the road that’s taken with Robert’s request and Owen’s decision toward it.

[beemovieerotica]

No wonder “gender identity,” understood by well-meaning LGBTQ+ advocates as an abstract feeling, has done such a poor job of justifying sex change. If biological sex is part of a material structure of value, then society has a concrete interest in any potential gains or losses that may result, feelings be damned.

Gill-Peterson tells the story of Robert Stonestreet, a 10-year-old boy who was brought to the Johns Hopkins Hospital for a rare urethral defect in 1915. When the doctors informed his father that the boy had ovaries and should be reassigned as a girl, the man refused, explaining that he already had six girls at home and his son was a great help around the family farm. Of course, Stonestreet was prepubescent. Whatever biological advantage he had over his sisters was the natural spoils of working daily on a farm. The point is that his father’s social validation of his gender was the basically incidental result of an economic calculation about his sex. Twenty-one years later, Stonestreet asked the same doctors to certify him as male so he could wed his fiancée. They refused — one suspects because a marriage with no reproductive potential struck them as dead in the water, especially with the national birth rate at an all-time low. Three days later, Stonestreet committed suicide — the victim of a society that could not make up its mind on how best to make sense of his gender while also extracting value from his sex.

This is the larger historical reason why the anti-trans movement does not want transgender people to receive sex-altering care. It is not clear how, if at all, such people will fit into the division of sex in America.

-Andrea Long Chu

[laurrelise]

oh dear god i fucking hope not

am i going crazy or did anyone else notice that in S3E9 of tua it's insinuated that klaus and sparrow ben did the shabangbang? i swear to god i never picked up on it before but in my most recent rewatch i was like "okay... they wake up after a drunken night that neither of them can remember.. both shirtless.. sprawled out on the floor and on the pool table.. klaus is in his undies.. he also says something about ben opening up his 'kimono' to him..." AND later in the episode luther asks five if ben hooked up with anyone and five just smirks and doesn't answer. not to mention ben and klaus were cuddling when all of the siblings were outside after luther and sloane's wedding. y'all i swear im not crazy, watch the scene where they wake up the next morning and tell me there isn't some kind of tension there. tbh it's probably some more queerbaiting weird sibling sh!t that the writers are pulling cause let's be honest i do not put that past them. it just caught me so off guard and i haven't seen anyone on here mention it so far.

[lxclerc]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 ─ 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

summary: where oscar has done everything in his power to make his feelings for you as obvious as possible, but you are simply quite clueless to the poor boy’s advances pairing: oscar piastri x driver!reader warning: fluff, oblivious reader

note: i wrote this in two hours and it's purely for fun. i did not bother thinking about how realistic this could be at all so it's a bit ridiculous i think

masterlist

sometimes, oscar just wants to run into a wall and knock himself out. 

maybe that would shake his brain enough for it to formulate a plan for you to finally realize all the oh so awfully obvious hints he’s been dropping. he’s been so obvious that the entire world knows it; all the other drivers, mechanics from practically every team, reporters, fans. literally everybody has picked up on his pitiful attempts at catching your attention but you. 

or maybe he needed to push you down a flight of stairs and knock you out for you to finally figure out that he likes you as more than friends. because at this point, it’s starting to get ridiculous. he’s been pursuing you since f3. in every ridiculous challenge with prema to every track walks and everything in between, he’s done everything possible to show you that he likes you, fancies you, absolutely besotted to the sound of your voice. 

that never seems to discourage him though, if anything, it only makes him like you more. robert once joked that you’d put a spell on him and oscar can’t quite deny it if he’s being honest. 

“y/n, wait up!” he called to you right before the driver’s parade, leaving lando behind him, who whispered a quick good luck to him. 

hearing your name made you turn to him, an instant smile on your face that made oscar’s heart violently lurch forward. most of the time, you preferred to keep your hair in a tight ponytail, wanting all the little strands out of your face when you’re on track but this time, strands had fallen off the paintail, framing your face in such a perfect way that knocks the breath out of oscar’s lungs. 

you’re perfect in his eyes all the time of course; even in the few times you’d pushed him off track, but there’s something so ethereal about you when your smile is for him. 

charles, your teammate, and lewis whom you were previously talking to subtle stepped away from you in order to give the two of you a moment. charles throws oscar a small thumbs up with that maniacal smile of his whenever he’s fortunate enough to be able to watch oscar absolutely get crushed by y/n’s cluelessness every time he tries and drops a hint to his feelings.

“hey, osc,” you greet, easily falling into step with him. 

“hey, how’s the down under treating you?” he asked, trying to act casually as he buried his hands in his pockets. 

he winced at his own words. how’s the down under treating you? really? 

at least you seem to find it amusing as you award him with a chuckle, hand instinctively wrapping around his arm the way girls do when they’re really comfortable with you and don’t want you to get lost in the crowd. you only ever do it to him (and he’s made sure to check) and it never fails to quite literally turn him to mush. 

“you know i’ve adored it!” you gush. you love australia, this is no secret to everyone , so much so that you’ve joked about it being your second home race, to which oscar have always enthusiastically nodded in agreement to. “charles, alexandra and i went cafe hopping all around melbourne yesterday.”

oscar hummed, trying to hide the hint of disappointment in his face that you hadn’t asked him to accompany you like the few times in the past but he knows that you and charles’ girlfriend have formed a very close friendship. “is that so? i’m glad you had fun.”

you smile up at him. “how about you? i reckon it’s nice being back home, isn’t it?”

“absolutely. the family’s been asking about you, by the way.” he just wanted you to keep talking. you could talk his ears off for hours and oscar would never complain. 

you face instantly light up at that. “i’ll make sure to drop by the mclaren garage later. i miss nicole.”

“she missed you too,” he says before clearing his throat. “so um, are you immediately flying out tomorrow?” 

you shook your head. “no, i’m planning to stay for a couple more days.”

“oh good.” he thanked god his hands were buried in his pockets so you can’t see how much they’re shaking. “you’re free tomorrow then?”

you nod and he nods back at you awkwardly. “yeah.”

“oh good.” stop. stop. he already said that. “do you want to check out that restaurant we went to during f2 maybe?” 

your face lights up again and your hand that’s holding on to his arm squeezes it ever so slightly in excitement. “oh absolutely. maybe i can bring charles and alex along and you can bring lando and logan.”

oscar wanted the ground to just swallow him up. he could probably shout i love you at you while staring directly into your eyes and you’d think he’s talking to someone behind you. one time in f2, he wrote all his feelings for you in a note and gave it to you only for you to hand it straight to robert without even glancing at it thinking he just wanted for you to pass it along. another time, he spent hours and hours trying to gather the courage to wrap his arm around your shoulder only for you to grinned up at him and wrap your arm around logan’s shoulder thinking he’d just wanted the three of you to huddle around. oscar is running out of ideas if he’s being honest. 

“that sounds…fun, but i was hoping, maybe, it could just be — you know, the two of us. like old times,” he manages to let out. 

“poor oscar,” lando says as he, charles, max and lewis watch your interaction. 

“oscar should just kiss her already,” max said.

charles cackled at that, shaking his head. “she’d probably think it’s a friendly kiss.” 

“maybe he just needs to shake her shoulder and scream im stupidly in love with you right on her face,” lewis joked as they kept watching the two of you. 

oscar watched as you let go of his arm, leaning onto the railing for the parade. you seem to take your precious time twisting the cup of your water bottle open and torturing oscar at the way your throat constricted as you drank water before you turned back to him with a smile. “yeah, sure, osc. i’d love that.”

oscar returned back to the group of boys with a dopey smile on his face, high off of you as lando slapped him on the shoulder in a small congratulations. 

charles couldn’t help but laugh at the look of the younger driver. “y/n’s broken him, i think.”

—

logan tried to contain his amusement as his australian best friend fell on his hotel room’s couch with his face buried in his hands, groaning in frustration and looking red in the face. oscar wore a loose white button up with a dark pair of jeans. he’d even worn his nice shoes for the occasion, wanting to be as presentable as possible as he picked you up from your hotel room to see you in the prettiest sundress in the most beautiful shade of blue that contrasted perfectly with your skin. 

the two of you ate and laughed and walked around with you holding on to his arm as oscar gathered the courage all night to tell you how he felt. 

“and then what happened?” logan asked as oscar groaned, frustratedly running his hands through his hair. 

“i told her i love her,” he muttered to himself and you smiled at him with that beautiful smile of yours.

“that’s great, osc!” logan tried to cheer him up, clapping him on the back as he remained hunched over the couch. “what did she say?” 

that seems to be a sore spot as oscar only groaned louder, petulantly kicking his shoes off. he can’t quite fathom how such a perfect night turned to him crashing in his best mate’s room so he can vent. 

“she said, and i quote ‘aw, osc. i love you too. you’re one of my best friends.’ and then i just about died on the spot.” 

logan winced at that, his hand now rubbing on oscar’s shoulder in comfort. “well, maybe next time the wording should be ‘i’m in love with you’?”

but oscar only groaned again. “this is a lost cause. best friend? is that all i am?” oscar starts his rant. “am i just one the many best friends in her life? will we drift apart after we both retire? at this point, i’d count myself lucky if i ever get invited to her wedding. maybe if i want to push my luck, i could be the fucking godfather of her kids.” 

and logan only winced again because he never even thought someone could be that clueless and oblivious.

—

“you look beautiful, y/n,” oscar tells you as he passes you by the media pen, ignoring the cameras and lando’s knowing grin. 

“thanks, osc. you look quite handsome yourself.” a dust of pink covers your cheeks as you smile at him, hand reaching to squeeze his lightly as you pass him by, being led by your pr team. 

for a moment, oscar freezes on the spot, unable to stop the way all his blood rushed to his cheeks and the smile that stretched across his lips. 

“mate, pull yourself together,” lando teases, pushing oscar forward to get him out of what lando dubs as the ‘y/n l/n induced lovesick daze’. 

a reporter who’d seen the entire interaction couldn’t help but laugh as she said; “y/n truly is quite a sight, isn’t she?”

oscar didn’t think his cheeks could get anymore red as he nodded. “she always has been the most beautiful girl.”

lando playfully rolled his eyes as he and oscar continued on. if he was being honest with himself, even he is getting tired with the constant pining between you and oscar. the boy could scream at the top of his lungs how in love he is with you and you’d still think it’s all platonic. this entire thing was getting a bit too pitiful for both of your friends to watch.

which is why charles and lando have taken it upon themselves to finally force you to see what’s right in front of you. oscar loved you too much to even think about putting you in any form of uncomfortable situation even if it comes at his own expense, thankfully for lando and charles, they don’t share the same sentiment and so the two got to planning. 

it was simple enough really. lando grabbed oscar by his collar, dragging him all over the paddock towards the ferrari motorhome.

“lando,” oscar whined behind him. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“trust me, mate, this is for your own good,” said his teammate, ignoring all the cameras that had gathered around them, following along. 

“can’t you at least let me walk on my own?” oscar complained again, hunched over as lando quite literally dragged him by his mclaren shirt’s collar. 

lando shook his head. “nope. i legitimately cannot handle this not going the way it’s meant to again.” 

in the distance, both mclaren boys heard you voice your complaints to charles as your teammate held you on the shoulder to keep you in place, a group of mechanics and engineers huddle around the two of you, watching in curiosity, 

finally, lando let go of oscar, allowing him to stand properly as the younger boy threw a glare at him while fixing his shirt. then he found himself face to face with you, confusion all over your face as it finally dawned on him what this is all about. 

“oscar?” you asked, looking between him and lando along with the group that had accumulated on their way to ferrari. “what are you all doing here?”

lando and charles folded their arms over their chest as charles motioned towards the two of you. “we figured the only way for you to finally get it is if there’s an audience.”

“get what?” you asked again and oscar, palms already sweating in front of you and looking as though he’d rather get struck by lightning awkwardly cleared his throat. 

“well get on to it, oscar,” lando says though his accent makes oscar’s name sound like oscah and oscar almost wanted to punch him there and then. 

again, oscar awkwardly cleared his throat as you finally face him. “y/n, i have to tell you something.”

you motioned for him to continue. “okay. what is it, osc?”

“i don’t know how else to tell you this without being upfront about it so—”

“what’s going on here?” and at the moment, fred vasseur stepped into the scene, confusion all over his face as he found practically half the paddock inside his motorhome, all of them crowding around you and oscar. 

everyone groaned, charles threw his hands up in frustration and lando wanted to bang his head against the table. “fred, you’re my boss, but please stop talking.”

fred was just about to say something else when charles physically dragged him to his side to shut him up. 

you turned back to oscar, encouraging him to keep talking even though you would have preferred more privacy. 

“i like you a lot,” he finally blurts out. “ever since f3. no, way before that. ever since karting.”

you smile at him kindly. “i like you too, oscar. i told you, you’re one of my best friends—”

every one groaned, cutting you off and oscar shook his head. 

“no, y/n. you don’t get it. i don’t just like you. i’m very much in love with you,” he emphasized, remembering logan’s words about wording it properly as he took her hand in his shaky ones. “like…i want to spend my life with you kind of in love with you.”

you eyes widened in surprise and a part of oscar had thought that maybe you were just in complete denial the entire time but he realized now that you truly, absolutely had no idea about his feelings. he doesn’t know which one is worse if he’s being honest with himself. 

“well, why didn’t you tell me, osc?” you ask gently. 

“love,” he starts softly, the nickname effortlessly rolling off his tongue. “i can’t count anymore how many times i’ve told you and how many times i’ve tried to tell you and how many times i tried to show you.”

“i never noticed.” for a moment, you seem completely dumbfounded and he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips at the adorable way your mouth parted in surprised. you’re adorable, beautiful, gorgeous and every other adjective even if you unintentionally made his life hell the past few years. 

“that’s alright,” he reassures you.

you couldn’t help but smile shyly at him as you squeezed his hand. “well, if it makes a difference, i’m very much in love with you as well. like…i want to spend the rest of my life with you kind of in love.”

at that, he laughed again, pulling you towards him as your lips crashed together.

and everyone fucking cheered at that.

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[writer-in-theory]

Ever since he can remember, everyone has always said Steve looked like his Mama.

He acts like her too—that persistent kindness and protectiveness for the people they love, the ability to talk to people with relative ease, even the propensity for having a bit of an attitude. Even his soft brown eyes and the texture of his hair, all of it was Maggie Harrington.

Maggie always said that Steve was her greatest accomplishment, one of her best friends. She was so proud of her son, first for being Hawkins High's first All-State Champ in swimming and then for being a good role model in town. She'd missed the moment when he began to distance from her, from his parents, until she hardly knew anything about his life. She thinks it might've been because of Robert.

Steve Harrington could only have the best in store for him, which is why she'd allowed Robert to be tough with him. He knew what it meant to build a good future, what it would take to find happiness and stability. So she'd let Robert yell at him for throwing a party at their house and allowing a poor girl to go missing there. And she'd thought it had worked, based on the way Steve started bringing around sweet Nancy Wheeler and stopped hanging out with the Hagan boy. She thought it had worked.

When the Harringtons came home from their last business trip to Chicago, Steve was being dropped off by Police Chief Hopper. It looked like he'd been in a fight, and as much was confirmed when the Chief told him to stay out of trouble. Robert had been furious, ready to lay into Steve about the Harrington name and respectability, but then a group of kids Maggie didn't recognize tumbled out of the car, too, all hugging Steve and thanking him. He was their hero, they'd told the Harringtons, Steve was the best babysitter ever. Steve had never showed interest in babysitting before, but the way all of those kids so clearly looked up to him had Maggie in near tears.

Maggie had a feeling the mall job was a mistake. She'd felt it the moment Robert made the decision, loudly proclaiming that their son would learn what it was like to work a tough job, that he'd realize how lucky he had it that there was a family business he could be hired in. Maggie hated the humiliated look their Steven had given the first time he set out for the mall in that sailor's uniform, but her husband knew what it was like to be a teen boy, surely he had Steve's best interests at heart.

But then she'd gotten the call that there had been a fire, that Steve was involved and they needed to get down to the hospital. If she thought the fight in '84 looked bad, then nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her son in that hospital bed, vomiting profusely into a container and wincing through the obvious pain in his head. The morning after, that same group of kids fought the hospital staff to visit Steve, demanded it. The one with curly hair and the youngest girl loudly proclaimed that Steve had saved their lives, that he'd risked himself to make sure they were safe. Her baby was an actual goddamn town hero and she'd almost missed it, she almost never knew because she was too busy worrying about his future.

Maggie stopped worrying about family names and legacies, after that. She was the first to ask how his shifts at the movie store were and never minded when his talkative friend came over for dinner. Maggie kept waiting for the moment Steve would admit the two of them were dating, but he kept insisting they were friends, best friends.

She never saw Eddie Munson coming.

After the fourth tragedy to befall Steve, Maggie was convinced he needed to get out of Hawkins before it destroyed him. No one could find Steve in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake. He wasn't at the shelter, or the hospital, or with any other search parties. She'd worried briefly that the serial killer had gotten him, too, that they'd have to see what was so horrific about the method of killing that had left the town sparking a witch hunt for the guy.

He was found later at the Munson trailer, wearing military-style gear and bleeding out from his abdomen and neck. Maggie would never understand how an earthquake could cause that level of damage, nor the kind that was found on Eddie Munson just beside him. When Steve had woken up in the hospital, he'd simply told her that he couldn't talk about it, that it was better if she didn't know. She thinks that might be true.

Once Steve recovered, he stayed by the Munson boy's bedside every day. He'd bring a book, or a hacky sack, anything to keep himself busy while Eddie slept off his injuries. And when he came home, Steve was with him constantly. They were volunteering, he'd told her.

Then one day, months after the earthquake, Steve came home looking nervous.

"Mom." Maggie ached for the days when he'd come waddling into the living room screaming Mama, missed when he felt like he could tell her everything. When had that disappeared? "I need to tell you something."

"Of course, Stevie. You can tell me anything." Steve winced in the way she figured he would: they both know that hadn't been true in years.

Steve shuffled on his feet, wrung his hands together and worried them through his hair. Finally he stood ramrod straight, eyes focused directly on hers as he blurted the truth out. "Mom, I like guys. And girls. It's called being bisexual and I'm not sorry for it. I can pack a bag tonight if I have to, but I won't pretend anymore. I won't."

It was supposed to be scary. Maggie knows the version of her four years ago would have been terrified by the statement, angry or upset. Maybe she still is a little scared, only because she knows what the world is like for people who are different. She used to be upset by people who were different. In '83, she might've kicked Steve out for the fear of it all. But looking at him now, she saw the kid who drove those middle schoolers to the arcade because he could, and who saved peoples' lives in the mall at the near expense of his own, the guy who believed Eddie Munson was innocent even when the entire town had turned on him out of fear of the Other. She saw Steve Harrington, her darling son who'd grown up before she even realized it, becoming far greater a man than she could have ever hoped for.

"How long have you two been dating? You and Eddie Munson?" Maggie asked gently, a smile working its way on her face. She'd wondered why he hadn't dated anyone after Nancy, but maybe it was simply that he wasn't telling her about that part of his life anymore.

Steve's eyes widened, lips parting like he was surprised by the response. He floundered a little, looking around for an explanation. "Um. Since last summer, we met at the mall. How did you...?"

Maggie laughed then, far brighter than it ever had been in years. "I know when my son's in love. I just didn't know where to look, didn't notice the answer was right there."

"You're not...mad? Disappointed?"

"Honey," Maggie sighed, taking a few steps forward so she could grab onto his arms. "Steven Robert Harrington, you are my son. I will always love you, no matter what. I'm so sorry I ever ever made you feel otherwise. All I've ever wanted for you is happiness, and if that's with Eddie Munson then that's that."

"Mom," Steve croaked, voice cracking around the word as he pulled her in for a hug. She could feel him shake in her arms, sniffling like he was trying to hide the tears. "Do you want to meet him? Eddie, I mean, do you want to...?"

"He's outside?"

"He came over to support me, in case we needed to, well." In case his parents were kicking him out. God, where had they gone so wrong? "Do you want to?"

"Please," Maggie answered quietly, knowing this wouldn't be enough to make up for the years of wrong they'd done. She wanted to know her son, wanted to know the people who made him happiest. She wanted to hear about his day and know that if something ever went wrong that he would call his parents himself, not wait for the hospital or the police to do so. "Please."

Then Steve was bringing in Eddie Munson, who stood out in the pristine, polished Harrington home but who made Maggie's son's eyes light up in a way she'd never seen them. He was smiling, holding his hand out for a handshake.

"Mama, this is Eddie," Steve was saying, and Maggie could cry because it felt like she'd done something right, because she could see how deeply in love Steve was with Eddie because it was a mirror of her own expression when she looked at Robert. This was her son, and her future son-in-law, and Maggie couldn't be prouder.

[bitchesgetriches]

Are there any economics books you'd recommend, or finance books that aren't personal finance? Thanks!

Hell yes. A book recommendation request is like my personal Bat Signal! Here are some of my favorite books by contemporary economists, memoirists, journalists, and sociologists with a focus on finance:

Poverty, by America by Matthew Desmond

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City by Desmond, Matthew 

Plunder: Private Equity's Plan to Pillage America by Brendan Ballou

These Are the Plunderers: How Private Equity Runs—and Wrecks—America by Gretchen Morgenson

Pound Foolish: Exposing the Dark Side of the Personal Finance Industry by Olen, Helaine

Poor Economics: A Radical Rethinking of the Way to Fight Global Poverty by Banerjee, Abhijit V.

Profit and Punishment: How America Criminalizes the Poor in the Name of Justice by Messenger, Tony

The Deficit Myth: Modern Monetary Theory and the Birth of the People's Economy by Kelton, Stephanie

The System: Who Rigged It, How We Fix It by Reich, Robert B.

Winners Take All: The Elite Charade of Changing the World by Giridharadas, Anand *

Squeezed: Why Our Families Can't Afford America by Quart, Alissa

Hand to Mouth: Living in Bootstrap America by Tirado, Linda *

Dark Money: The Hidden History of the Billionaires Behind the Rise of the Radical Right by Mayer, Jane

I expect a book report on each and every one!

Now reblog with your own recommendations, my darlings. I read about a book a week, so I'm always adding to my to-read list.

Did we just help you out? Tip us!

[freeworldallahmbaclass]

Another monument for me this time in my hometown Harlem New York City for finding the cure for HIV/AIDS that is what the statue symbolizing me finding the cure for HIV / AIDS and funny stuff it is on 135th street across from the Percy Sutton school and I laugh at the 32nd precinct now I found the cure for HIV / AIDS and I sponsor it get Cabenuva it will help you go undetected for HIV eliminating the chance of it developing into Aids the miracle has finally reached the general public and I sponsor it so forget the noise and take your medicine as prescribed so you grow up healthy and strong success is the best revenge guaranteed you heard it from me Cabenuva is that cure and I sponsor it thank you I'm honored for the privilege to help , thanks .

Thank you so much . I love you according to Christianity you are forgiven and according to Joel Osteen I can't compromise with that , no thank you I forgive you .

Thank you I'm honored . Wherever their is people starving and dying from hunger and HIV AIDS use my page to help that country whether it's India , Brazil and not talked about regions and areas in poor neighborhoods in places like Africa and raise the salary for people in Dhaka give them water pumps and more on their paychecks so they can afford to take care of their families thank you it has been great helping the people goodbye and good luck to you and your family .

Eat good , be content with the little bit that you do have like good friends and put God first and everything else that you want and better yet need will be added to you , and read these books from my personal coach , trainer and mother Joyce Meyer and new Minister and teacher of New York City my mom and your mother Joyce Meyer . I'm just happy that all my friends are successful in life and prospering in their career and have blessed families even though the puppet masters had me on the computer trying to hate on them on facebook and this social media tumblr page for years typing on the computer trying to hate on them but they are good and doing great in life and now my conscious is clear and it is not as expensive pain for me no more as long as they good great music great wives and kids and longevity in their career I decided to go back to them as their friend and stay with my friends and keep that circle of friends that I grew up with and keep the hope for myself because I still believe in love for myself like that Vado and Mary J Blige song beautiful Mary J Blige , I got the fame I wanted and the mother play I wanted sponsored by the 2nd stage theater I got what I wanted basically now I'm at peace with myself now and is being educated by my ministers and pastors and my second call to do something I love , music and stay with God first place in my life .

The greatest donation I can give to anybody , I give you a dollar to get your life together and in some places it can pay your bail and God will take that hold off of your life and free your head from the birds I mean the vultures and stop Satan your enemy from stealing the word God's word from your heart and memory .

Congratulations to me for my gift 🎁 from the Brooklyn public library a book called the making of a king 👑 by Robert Hardman about me King Charles the third and the modern monarchy and them crowning Nicki Minaj and Cardi B real Queens of the world officially like official Queens of the world now that is hot thank you both sponsor me and my practical basic education and it is good since I'm a private person and shy away from the crowd both women is people that the public the hood like more than me and love so they could be friends with them they are like my protectors what I mean is like I give you somebody you could be friends with if you don't like me a lot of people don't a d aren't going to like you can't like the person helping that is how it is that is always how it is with leaders and since people see me as the geek type quiet reserved guy my female friends women friends are more cool and outgoing and love to meet people and chill with the common people and party with them while I stay to myself , thank you it has been an honor helping with this page I hope this help find you in good health good luck and goodbye , thanks .

I woke up here and I inherited it the same place where I'm at its bad but it is mines I inherited it , thank you .

Yes I do stay in a not so clean and dangerous place well a dirty place if you call it that but if you know anything about me I actually own the neighborhoods I live in I own the hospital my own hospital given to me by a Governor it's my incubator , I own the parks in my neighborhood New York City parks now all of them now and where I live in where the girls don't get to come to see me here but I venture out to see them sometimes we are cool they call it a liability but I inherited these neighborhoods and New York City and a rough and dangerous place to live but it is okay and hopefully my goodness , hospitable charm and love for them warms them and help them like I said thank you I'm working on getting out of here so I will see you outside thank you .

I'm King 👑 the decree from the British Monarchy thank you that is huge thanks and own the 2nd stage theater is mines and no I don't mess with street people no more I did everything for them got them Citibikes computers on Rikers Island and legalized weed for them and I moved on from them and Governor Kathy Hochul told me to dump them slim down lose the weight from the overload of carrying my enemies and their girlfriends off of me and get my life together and I'm doing just that no thank you that should make us friends .

I'm going to end it on this note here Vado from Harlem a rap musician and Mary J Blige got a song called I still believe in love that is somebody from my neighborhood that made it a way for me to be able to get a future for myself financially through a regular paying job and getting myself together and I said thank you to him and Mary thanks now Im stepping off from them and wish them the best of luck in their career and goodbye to me from my old neighborhoods and people from my past so that I can get my life together anybody got any ideas on how a super hero can get a good paying job , see you on there side of success personal success thanks and goodbye it has been an honor helping the people .

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Billboard project

* * * *

One for the history books!

September 12, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

After delivering one of the best debate performances in American political history, Kamala Harris is receiving begrudging and stinting praise from many in the media and commentary class. But 67 million people saw Kamala Harris demonstrate she is made of presidential timber. They witnessed a masterful performance that revealed a penetrating intellect tempered by decency and humanity. On the substance and execution, she should have earned the support of all voters and unqualified praise from the media and political commentators.

Trump's performance was vile and disqualifying. It was worse than Joe Biden’s widely panned debate by far. While Joe Biden turned in a horrible debate performance as measured by the artificial rules of made-for-tv spectacles, Donald Trump made dozens of statements that were objectively depraved, racist, antidemocratic, delusional, and deceitful.

Trump transcended the debate format and devolved into fascist demagoguery that should have resulted in universal condemnation by all voters, the media, and political commentators. If Joe Biden was driven from the presidential race because of his poor debate performance, Trump should be banished from politics, expelled from his party, and relegated to a place of dishonor in the annals of American history.

Talking about the debate is difficult because of the urge to focus on Kamala Harris’s brilliantly executed strategy of baiting Trump into ranting about his insecurities and the horror of Trump's worst-in-the-history-of-the-nation performance on substance.

I get it. Harris’s ninja debating moves and Trump's racist deer-in-the-headlights stare made for riveting television. But we focus on those aspects of the debate to the detriment of the substance of Kamala Harris’s message. She spent a substantial portion of the debate discussing her policies and her plan to help heal the divisions that beset America.

It is disappointing to see so many stories and commentators describe the debate as “fierce” or “contentious.” I heard one commentator on MSNBC bemoan the fact that neither candidate seemed interested in bridging the divide in America. That is false. Kamala Harris promised to be a president for all Americans and to focus on the needs of the people, not the needs and wants of the president. She said, in part,

And I think the American people want better than that. Want better than this. Want someone who understands as I do, I travel our country, we see in each other a friend. We see in each other a neighbor. We don't want a leader who is constantly trying to have Americans point their fingers at each other. I meet with people all the time who tell me "Can we please just have discourse about how we're going to invest in the aspirations and the ambitions and the dreams of the American people?" [¶¶] I've only had one client. The people. And I'll tell you, as a prosecutor I never asked a victim or a witness are you a Republican or a Democrat. The only thing I ever asked them, are you okay? And that's the kind of president we need right now. Someone who cares about you and is not putting themselves first. I intend to be a president for all Americans and focus on what we can do over the next 10 and 20 years to build back up our country by investing right now in you the American people.

Kamala Harris repeatedly offered her policy vision for America, including tax breaks for business startups; subsidizing downpayments for first-time home purchases; incentivizing the construction of starter homes; granting tax credits for families with newborns; investing in American chip technology, quantum computing, and AI; supporting worker’s rights; reducing reliance on fossil fuels; granting tax cuts for the middle class; requiring the ultra-wealthy to pay their fair share of taxes; and protecting the Affordable Care Act, Medicare, and Medicaid. She also promised to protect reproductive liberty, LGBTQ equality, and voting rights of all Americans.

The media has hounded Kamala Harris for weeks about the alleged absence of policies in her campaign. On Tuesday, she talked about dozens of specific policies—and the media is not saying a word about those policies after the debate.

Not. A. Word.

It’s almost as if the media didn’t really care about Kamala Harris’s policies but were only interested in a talking point they could use to criticize her. Hypocrites!

So, before talking about how well Kamala Harris executed her strategy of baiting Trump and how abhorrent Trump's performance and positions were, let’s give Kamala Harris her due on the substance: She gave a presidential-level discourse on policies that will affect the lives of hundreds of millions of Americans. The fact that Trump and the moderators ignored those policies does not diminish the respect she showed for the American people by clearly setting forth her policies if elected as president.

Among the many insipid criticisms of Kamala Harris was that she used facial expressions to convey her disapproval, amusement, and disbelief over Trump's utterances. This was an effective use of her non-speaking time and allowed her to diminish Trump without saying a word.

Dahlia Lithwick demolishes the critics who faulted Kamala’s facial expressions—a criticism that would only be leveled against a woman. See Dahlia Lithwick, Slate, Harris–Trump debate: Kamala Harris’ face on Tuesday was the stuff of legend. (slate.com). Lithwick writes,

It must be beyond maddening for a political actor to be summoned into a “debate” that is not really a debate, pitted against some frothing amalgam of WWE reenactor and Tasmanian devil, warned that your microphone will be muted while he is speaking, cautioned that he will be allowed to talk over you and the moderators, then be criticized for … blinking? [¶¶] Harris’ face roamed free and far on Tuesday, and it was thoroughly warranted and frequently enjoyable. I think of her mobile, legible face as a satisfying call-and-response to Trump’s lifelong preference for female adulation and Botox. Women have faces. Their faces have expressions. If that was upsetting to you during Tuesday’s debate, you might be dismayed to learn that deep beneath our expressive faces lie thoughts, dreams, frustrations, and other markers of human agency. If a woman smiling freaks you out, imagine what happens when a woman votes.

While talking about Kamala Harris’s facial expressions may seem superficial, it is not. One of Harris’s most significant accomplishments was her ability to show herself to be a likable, relatable human being. She did so by using the medium of television to her advantage. Were the expressive facial reactions real or practiced? It doesn’t matter; they were successful. People liked Kamala Harris. For a candidate who has been on the national scene since 2018, the percentage of voters who still say they don’t “know” her is shocking. But she went some distance in the debate to introduce herself to those voters in a positive way.

Among Harris’s many pointed and powerful answers on Tuesday, none were better than her response to Trump's gloating over the demise of Roe v. Wade. Harris said,

In over 20 states there are Trump abortion bans which make it criminal for a doctor or nurse to provide health care. In one state it provides prison for life. Trump abortion bans that make no exception even for rape and incest. Which—understand what that means. A survivor of a crime, a violation to their body, does not have the right to make a decision about what happens to their body next. That is immoral. And one does not have to abandon their faith or deeply held beliefs to agree: The government, and Donald Trump certainly, should not be telling a woman what to do with her body. You want to talk about, this is what people wanted? Pregnant women who want to carry a pregnancy to term, suffering from a miscarriage, being denied care in an emergency room because the health care providers are afraid they might go to jail, and she’s bleeding out in a car in the parking lot? She didn’t want that. Her husband didn’t want that. A 12 or 13-year-old survivor of incest being forced to carry a pregnancy to term? They don’t want that. Understand in his Project 2025, there would be a national abortion—a monitor that would be monitoring your pregnancies, your miscarriages.

There is more room to praise Kamala Harris’s performance in the debate, but we must turn to Trump's horrific statements during the debate. So, let’s get Trump’s “debate performance” out of the way: It was the worst debate performance (in terms of style) in the history of political debates. See The Guardian, Republicans dismayed by Trump’s ‘bad’ and ‘unprepared’ debate performance. Brit Hume of Fox News said, “Let’s make no mistake. Trump had a bad night. We just heard so many of the old grievances that we all know aren’t winners politically.” Coming from a Fox commentator, that is as bad as it gets for Trump.

There were many disgraceful, disqualifying statements during the debate by Trump: Refusing to say that he hoped Ukraine would defeat the Russian invasion; refusing to acknowledge that he lost in 2020; refusing to express any regret for his actions on January 6; claiming that “every Democrat” wanted to “get rid of” Roe v. Wade.; and repeatedly saying that execution of babies after a full-term delivery was permissible under existing law.

To state the obvious, if Kamala Harris had uttered a single statement that was one-tenth as egregious as any of the above, the major media would be calling for her withdrawal from the race.

But Trump's worst statement was the race-baiting claim that Haitian immigrants are capturing domestic pets in Springfield, Ohio and eating them. That trope was originally directed at immigrants from other countries but has been repurposed by Trump to slander Haitian immigrants who are legally in the US.

The claim is false and started as triple-hearsay thrice-removed:

On Sept. 6, a post surfaced on X that shared what looked like a screengrab of a social media post apparently out of Springfield. The retweeted post talked about the person’s “neighbor’s daughter’s friend” seeing a cat hanging from a tree to be butchered and eaten, claiming without evidence that Haitians lived at the house.

So, a “screenshot” of a retweet (three levels removed from personal knowledge) talked about a “neighbor’s daughter’s friend” (three more levels removed from personal knowledge). In short, the claim is the worst sort of internet rumor—intentionally unverifiable. Repeating such a rumor is beneath a candidate for the presidency.

But the crassness of repeating the rumor is the least of the offense. Trump did not repeat a rumor—he asserted the rumor as “fact” for the purpose of stirring racial hatred against Haitian immigrants. The false rumor has been circulating for weeks among right-wing websites that attack Haitian immigrants as the cause of an increase in crime in Springfield. See WaPo, Anatomy of a racist smear: How false claims of pet-eating immigrants caught on.

Trump then leveraged the cat-eating Haitian claim to smear all immigrants as law-breaking, violent, less-than-human invaders whom he would deport en masse from the US. The entire episode was an appeal to the most racist, xenophobic backwaters of American society. It was shameful and divisive. It may lead to violence against immigrants—just as past statements by Trump have led to violence against immigrants in Texas. See NBC (8/5/2019), Trump's anti-immigrant 'invasion' rhetoric was echoed by the El Paso shooter for a reason.

No modern presidential candidate has appealed to racial animus during a presidential debate. Trump's attack on the Haitian community should have been the end of his candidacy. As should his statements about Ukraine, the 2020 election, January 6, and abortion—and that list excludes his dozens of other falsehoods.

In short, the debate should move the needle in favor of Kamala Harris. Whether it will do so is a different question—one that will be determined, in part, by whether the media maintains the same intense focus on Trump's  debate performance that it maintained on Biden’s debate performance in July. On the substance, Trump's debate performance was objectively worse, by far. Let’s hope the media doesn’t get distracted by the less consequential matters.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[mickyschumacher]

𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you were in love with f1's beloved honey badger and you had been for almost year. but why in the world had you instead fallen for his teammate? or in which infidelity has laid it's sticky little hands on you.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: slight angst, infidelity naturally, falling out of love, steamy makeout sesh, suggestive content, pining, sad boy hours for daniel, lando being kind of a sneaky bastard, age-gap between reader and boys (8 years for dan and 2 years for lan), reader born in australia, set in 2020/2021, false or incorrect marine biology lingo and protocols lol, mention of crossiant horner, poor explanation of f1, mentions of insecurity, proof-read...ish

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: daniel ricciardo x marine biologist!female reader, lando norris x marine biologist!female reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: i felt bad for not posting so here's me digging into my reserves! written when i did more song-based fics!! i wish life wasn't so busy 🤧 i have started a few thingsssssss but it's definitely going to be a while before i post them sorry 😣

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

You, honestly, were a normal girl. Mundane as mundane gets. Never once had you imagined of cameras, headlines and the need for a PR specialist in your life.

But it's what you had gotten. That's what Daniel Ricciardo came with.

You had met the Australian on pure accident. It was late 2020 and the season had just come an end. Hamilton was a six-times World Champion and Daniel had his last season with Renault. He hadn't got the result he wanted but he was optimistic about his future with McLaren. So eventually, he headed home to Australia for the Christmas holidays.

Now you would like to consider yourself a well-versed Australian. Especially considering you were born there. Robert Irwin was the most beloved Australian for years to come and Margot Robbie and Chris Hemsworth were your Aussie reps in America.

Somehow, however, you had never really got F1 or Formula One. That's not to say you hadn't heard of it. Honestly, for the past few years it was difficult to pass Albert Park in the summer of March without it flashing in front of your eyes. But if someone were to ask you anything about it, you would blink blankly and apologise.

Which is exactly what you did in early December. You were out having lunch with your closest friends at a local cafe, catching up on the year in the fresh yet skin-damaging Aussie sun.

You were in midst conversation when a brunette girl politely interrupted you. "Hi, sorry. This is going to sound really weird. I'm doing this on a bet. But do all three of you know that man over there? In the hat?”

You looked over to her table full of people. It seemed like she was with her family and friends. You and your friends zoned on the man in the hat, a guy who was trying to not make it obvious that he was aware of what was going on.

You scrutinised him carefully and unsurprisingly, you didn’t know him. Surprisingly, you did find that he was attractive. The curly hair, the scruff… you wondered whether he was actually Australian because no men in Australia looked like that.

Your two friends nodded while confirming with one another. “It’s Daniel, right? The driver?” One of them asked.

Your other friend hummed in agreement.

The brunette looked over at you. You blinked at her as your face slowly morphed into an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

The brunette, which you expected to be somewhat sad about it, ended up smiling while your friends’ faces dropped.

“Thank you! Oh my god. You have no idea what you’ve just done!” The brunette laughed loudly, capturing the attention of her table. She pointed at the man in the hat, clutching her stomach. “She doesn’t know who you are, Danny. Take that!”

Similarly to your friends, the male’s face dropped. He looked at you and tilted his head.

When Daniel actually saw you for the first time, he was in shock. Not the type of shock of an Aussie not knowing who he was. But rather the shock of being in the presence as someone as beautiful as you.

Your eyes were tantalising and your apologetic expression was cute.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s okay. I’m just an F1 driver.”

You nodded in slow understanding. Maybe you had in fact seen his posters in Albert Park. Honestly, you couldn’t be sure. Life as a marine biologist was busy and all over the place. Recognising celebrities or athletes was kind of the last thing on your mind.

━━━━━━━━━━━

That day you went home with the expectation of a normal tomorrow. One where you were out at the ocean and exploring the waters you had loved so much.

You wish you could say it came as a shock to see that same curly haired man on the wharf, but given the current temperatures that heavily contrasted your winter, it was reasonable as any other Aussie here.

What you didn’t expect was you passing him to get to your boat and then hearing a voice enter the air. “Hey! Excuse me. Sorry. You’re the girl from yesterday, right?”

You turned to the man, hand over your eyes to protect yourself from the harsh rays and take a closer look at him. Just in case it wasn’t him.

“Uh, yeah? You’re the driver, right?”

Daniel gave a wide smile, extending out his hand. “I’m Daniel. Daniel Ricciardo.”

Oh my. What a smile he had. The type to make you feel happy just by looking at it. You couldn’t even help but smile in response. You reached out to shake his hand, not ready to feel a weird sort of spark between the two of you.

“I... I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Daniel slowly removed his hand from yours, grabbing any last second he could. He eyed the briefcase and scuba gear in your hands. “You diving?”

You looked at your equipment. “Well, testing. I’m a marine biologist. Although, I guess I’m still diving.”

Daniel pursed his lips. Now he had to get to know you. You were beautiful and a marine biologist. An Aussie dream.

“Oh yeah? What are you testing?” He queried with a raised brow,

“Oh! Uh, currently things like the local fish populations in decline. Their habitat. Whether they’re safe or not. Algae growth. Predators. pH levels. All the fun stuff...” You sheepishly trailed off once you realised you began rambling.

You didn’t know but in that moment Daniel was in awe of you. The twinkle in your eyes that rose once you talked about your work. Like your work was your passion. That’s how he felt about F1.

You watched Daniel nod as if he were actually interested. “Do you mind if I come with? I won’t contaminate anything. Promise.”

You mended your brows together. It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask to join. But the way Daniel said it… like it was something he had to do or he would regret it for the rest of his life, you couldn’t help feel compelled. “Um, yeah. Do you not have to be on the road or something though? ‘Cause your a driver?”

“Oh F1 only goes between March and November. We’re on holiday at the moment. Well sort of.”

“Oh,” you mumbled out cluelessly. Your cheeks burned with a tinge of embarrassment. How had you managed to get through all these years of living and not known about this?

Daniel laughed lightly at the reddening of your cheeks. Just when he though he could find you any cuter. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you F1. And you can teach me the ocean.”

So the two of you went into your boat. The sun beat down onto you so harshly that for most of it, you had retreated to driving the vessel in the shade as Daniel sat next to you.

It had gone so well that this, whatever it was, became a regular occurrence after you exchanged numbers that day.

You were learning a lot about him and his job. He was actually Italian-Australian. He started this passion with go-karting. You found out F1 wasn’t just racing but it was racing to another extreme. 300 kph. God, getting your car to 100 kph for the open road was thrill enough for you.

That made Daniel wheeze with laughter and promise he would take you for a drive in a sports car to get a taste of the speed he craved for.

Apparently F1 had 10 teams, each with 2 drivers. In each of the teams, the drivers had the same car to drive, cars that were constructed originally by each team. The point of the races were for two championships. The Driver’s World Championship, the title the driver wanted to win, and the Constructors’ Championship, the title everyone from the driver to the team strategist wanted to win. They were calculated by the amount of points received by the drivers in the races.

All the races were settled through a long weekend of sorts. Fridays were for practices to see how the car was on the track as they had different conditions per track. Saturdays were for qualifying. Here, Daniel would push the car to its limits to get the fastest lap time as the drivers were ranked to then get a position for the actual race tomorrow. Sundays were where they raced for points.

All of it was slightly complex, especially with the penalties and rules that they followed. Buy you seemed to get the gist of it.

Daniel had learnt that you had grown up in Australia and like him had to travel a lot for your work. Weirdly, some times his race dates would match up with your travelling. Daniel chose to take that as a sign. You were 8 years younger than him, taking him by a slight surprise. You were 23 and he was 31. But it didn’t seem like it mattered to you. Communication between the two of you was a smooth sail.

Daniel even opened up about his time with Red Bull. A whirl of bad and annoying memories. But when you had said that you would like to see Christian Horner step on to your boat and throw him overboard into a tank of piranhas, only for thirty seconds of course, Daniel had never laughed harder.

━━━━━━━━━━━

By the billionth time you had hung out, the sun was setting in the evening, providing a refreshing cold breeze to match the heat. Christmas was close soon. And Daniel was aching to ask you out.

He had to go into this next season of driving knowing he had you by his side. Even his own family was pushing him to ask. Especially his sister, Michelle, who had dubbed herself the cupid as she was the very brunette who had technically introduced you two, or so she claimed.

The both of you had finished a dive and were heading to Daniel's car. You were supposed to have dinner with his family on this fine evening.

"You good, Danny?" You looked over to the man. Daniel, for the loud and outgoing person he was, was being rather quiet today. You couldn't really put your finger on why either. You took pride in being able to read people. But it looked like his mind was at some sort of battle.

He gave an idle hum, getting into the driver's seat.

You raised a brow, closing the door on the passenger side shut. Your hand reached out to his thigh, making him break his trance and flicker his eyes towards you.

"Listen, I don't know what it is or what's going on. But I'm all ears if you want," You smiled, patting his thigh. You went to remove your hand but Daniel placed his hand over yours, keeping you there.

Daniel's heart was in his throat. He was not normally a nervous man. He was the epitome of confidence. But you seemed to tear that down, in the nicest way, quite easily.

Daniel absorbed your curious eyes before releasing a shaky breath. "Uh," he awkwardly chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not normally like this. I can't really explain it... but these past few weeks, I... I haven't felt like this in a really long time. With you I feel free... happy... I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really like you. And even if I'm ancient, I would really like to be with you. You know. Together. If that wasn't clear."

The smile on your face the moment you realised what was going on hadn't stopped growing. You watches his eyes dart around, looking for a signal of anything. A yes. A no.

You looked down at your hands. The warmth of his spread among your one. You turned your hand to intertwine them with his and squeezed his hand, looking back up at him. "I think you took the words right out my mouth. I like you too, Danny. A lot. Even as an 'old ass man.'"

An odd silence settled within the car as Daniel simply stared at you, honey brown eyes hold your own.

"Danny? Are you okay?"

Daniel's eyes turned into crescents while his infamous wide smile sprawled onto your face. "Can I kiss you?"

You stilled in the passenger seat. Your eyes flickered to his lips before meeting his eyes once again. You weren't sure if you could trust your voice at the moment so you gave a curt nod.

Daniel smiled softly at the flustered expression you sported. Instead of leaning his head in like you expected to, he reached over to your seat and lifted you out of it. You released a small yelp before landing onto his lap, straddling his crotch as you faced towards him.

Daniel's fingers played with the slightly dampened tresses that had fallen around your face and pushed them behind your ears. His fingers trailed down to your heated cheeks and to your jaw. Bringing you closer to him, he leaned his head towards you.

Daniel's lips fell into yours. His hands soon fell to your back as your arms snaked his neck. The world... your surroundings were all gone. All you could feel was each other. His fingers sneaking past the hem of your shirt and grazing your bare skin. The action sent a wave of heat within you.

You let out a small muffled moan causing Daniel to adjust himself in his seat. A bulge had formed in his pants, aching at your touch. You released yourself from him for a gasp of air, which fell into further pleasurable gasps as Daniel's swollen lips had found your neck, leaving a trail of small sloppy kisses.

Daniel rested his chin onto your shoulder before pulling back to look at you. He grinned at your dazed expression. "As much as I would like to continue this in such a fitting setting like a car, I would rather our first time in an actual bed."

You let out a small laugh, feeling yourself fluster even further while you gave him a tight hug.

And that's how your relationship had started. Since then, it had been almost a year. In that year, you had gotten impossibly closer. You had visited his races without telling him because you were scared. You were scared of distracting him and scared for him. The first F1 race you went to matched up to your meetings with other marine biologists and techs in Spain. God, you didn't know cars could even go that fast. The occasional toss of a car to the side sent fear coursing through you.

Eventually, Daniel had found out and reassured you that you being there wouldn't harm anything. In fact, the thought of it calmed him down and encouraged him. He had even introduced you to some of the team and whispered in your ear when he pointed to Red Bull's team principal.

"Oh... so that's the man going overboard. That's a shame. You didn't tell me he look like a sea otter. Sea otters are supposed look cute. I'll just pretend he's plant plankton."

Daniel had never laughed harder at something. Just when he thought he couldn't love you more. God, you were a sight to behold. He would never understand how you managed to be who you were.

You had felt the same.

Well, at least that was until when you met his new teammate in McLaren, Lando Norris.

Lando was two years younger than you and what some people called the British Ricciardo. He was constantly smiling and cracking jokes. He was the moodmaker.

The vibe he had was like an annoying little brother of a sort.

But people obviously didn't feel attracted to someone if they truly thought of them like that.

You shouldn't feel this way. It was wrong. You had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who adored you. You had tried to keep yourself occupied with your job to avoid having to attend too many races and meet the McLaren team, in fear of meeting Lando.

But of course, how were you going to refuse to celebrate Lando's 2nd podium of the year in Monaco when Daniel asked?

So here you were. In a club dressed in a cream coloured set: a long sleeved bralette and a long skirt starting from your waist, ending just before your heels with a slit in the middle.

The compliment you had received in your ear from Daniel made you wish you could say you were dressed for him in the first place. But it would be a lie to say that.

You had navigated yourself around the club to drown yourself in some alcohol. You needed a distraction and you felt that being some what drunk and out of it would've helped.

you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talk. you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong. and i got a boyfriend, he's older than us he's in the club doing, i don't know what you're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.

You were out of it for sure. Because sober you did not have the guts you had right now. The guts to not only sit at the same table as Lando but next to him and make fun of his British accent with Carlos.

"No, Carlos. I'm pretty sure he sounded like 'No no no... you ruined my ice cream,'" You laughed lightly as the Spaniard refused to agree with you.

"No he has bit of a weird sound at the 'ruined' part. He sound like those kids in the UK... on the road? What are they again..."

Lando's face burst with amusement. He laughed so hard, he had to prevent his cup from falling out of his hand. "Do you mean..." He gasped for air, "Roadmen?"

Jesus. Carlos Sainz discussing roadmen was the funniest thing that had happened so far.

You weren't sure where Daniel was even. All you knew he was probably talking to some other team member of McLaren. You were rather preoccupied and entranced by the British male next to you.

You couldn't explain it but it was as if there was a magnetic field around him and you, like an element, were simply attracted to him. As if there was no other path to go. He made you laugh differently. Feel differently. He was also a looker. That boyish charm that simply pulled you in. It made you wonder how strong his magnetic field was.

The science of it was simple. You may be a marine biologist but you hadn't flunked physics. The stronger the intensity of a field, the further the magnet, Lando, will be able to attract elements, like you. All you knew was that he was strong enough to inexplicably take you attention away from your own boyfriend.

you're so gorgeous i can't say anything to your face 'cause look at your face. and i'm so furious at you for making me feel this way but what can i say? you're gorgeous.

This attraction you felt to Lando what ridiculous in itself. But you had felt it from when you first met him and you felt it now. Lando was simply gorgeous. His smile was breathtaking. His laugh felt pretty.

And it infuriated you. You wanted to yell at him, tell him to stop. These feelings, this flutter, this tingle... make it all stop, you wanted to say.

But you could never say that to his face. How could you? Those same things came back every time you looked at him.

The smile. The flutter. The tingle.

You wondered whether he had even looked at himself in the mirror. You wondered whether ever had felt insecure about the way he looked and that if he did, you wished he hadn't.

Everything thing about him was simply enticing. A delightful view... from the arms of Daniel.

you should take it as a compliment that i'm talking to everyone here but you. and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room. if you've got a girlfriend, i'm jealous of her. but if you're single that's honestly worse. 'cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts.

This feeling... this infatuation was overwhelming for you. You were a taken girl. You had even made it was to the multiple Instagram F1 'WAGs' accounts and were met with the most glorious welcomes by fans.

You needed to get a grip on yourself for Christ's sake. Lando was also taken. Even if he was single, which if you were being honest was an insult to romance itself, you didn't have a chance let alone now. No matter how jealous you were, you had to be realistic. You paled in comparison to the fame Portuguese models that F1 drivers often found themselves with.

Of course, you had to admit they were beautiful. You had no conflict with them. They weren't your classic mean girls. They were impossibly nice and you even found yourself in some interesting conversations. But at the end of the day, you were simply a marine biologist.

So in the darkness of the club, you had managed to isolate yourself from Lando, who had gone with Pierre somewhere, and made the struggling and gruelling effort to talk to anyone else but him. You had conversed with Carlos before he had gone somewhere with his girlfriend. You had settle for Charles as a distraction.

Charles was a pleasure to talk to. As always, he was also so kind and sweet with his words. The type you were sure that when you looked at the, you knew that their mother raised them right.

Daniel had finally found his way to you, mentioning that Zak Brown had just pulled him aside for a talking to. You asked if he was okay, in which he responded with a smile and said: "Now that I'm with you, yes."

You managed to give him a soft and believable smile. Daniel was standing behind you, joining in your conversation with Charles. It wasn't until you were in the midst of a conversation about life in Monaco that you felt a hand on yours.

You smiled gently, expecting it to be Daniel's but instead it was Lando's.

ocean blue eyes looking in mine. i feel like i might sink and drown and die.

Your eyes snapped up to meet Lando's face. His blue eyes bore into yours.

Those goddamn eyes of his would be the end of you. The similarity of them to the oceans you had travelled and the beautiful creatures you had seen was uncanny.

Your heart paced furiously against your chest. He must've been drunk or tipsy to the very least to stumble onto you. There was no way he had purposely wanted you to drown in his eyes.

You sucked in a quiet sharp breath and edged to removed your hand. But as quickly as you had made that decision, the gnawing feeling at your heart had grown more intense and taunted you. Lando's hand hurried to grab yours and place it back where it was.

Your eyes shook with awe and lingered with a dangerous thrill. You could feel his fingers rub the back of your hand gently before intertwining them.

You looked blankly at the table in front of you while Lando had joined in the conversation so casually, like nothing was even going on. You had to thank your stars that the club was able to be as dark as it was.

A lot of the noise around you had turned into white noise and blurs of sound. Charles must've complimented you as you had managed to capture some mention of fish and coral reefs from your boyfriend.

you make me so happy it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and you are so gorgeous, it makes me so mad. you make me so happy it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats alone unless, you wanna come along?

It was Daniel kissing your cheek fondly and Lando's hand grazing your knee under the table that had brought you back to reality.

The happiness and adrenaline you felt was wrong. You knew with every crevice and fibre of your body that this had to stop. This attraction and sickly sweet infatuation with Lando. God, he just made you so fuzzy. You could barely think straight.

You were stuck in between two men who had their touch on you. It wasn't right. As much as you liked Lando, he angered your entire being. He had simply waltzed into your life. He was playing along with your feelings.

Lando's damning eyes averted to you when he felt your hand slip away from him forcefully.

You hoped the guilt in your eyes shone as much as they could in this darkness.

You were going to have to break up with a man who would give you everything. You would have to leave all of... this... and get away from here.

You needed everything to return to normal. You had no idea how exactly you were going to explain a sudden return home without inflicting any suspicion.

All you knew now was that you had to make a lengthy apology to a man you had not realised you had fallen out of love with.

You supposed that was love.

Love was a bittersweet feeling. It was beautiful and fluttering but brought a lot of tragedy and strife along with it.

That was love: simply gorgeous.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[starryschoolgirl]

Good Husbandry

Summary -> While you view preparing for your honeymoon as finding all the hottest destinations in Honolulu for tourists, Elvis knows that he must help you, his soon-to-be virgin bride, understand all that comes with the honeymoon. What a good man he is, to give you a little hands-on lesson on what good husbandry is.

Warnings -> Lovely domestic things, innocence/purity kink, religious undertones, smut, just the tip trope, hinted breeding kink, swearing, Elvis gets a little rough, mention of RFK's assassination, the reader is overbearingly sheltered when it comes to topics like sex, cum eating, fantasies of "ruining" a girl's vagina, there's definitely some plot here I won't lie, loved writing this a little too much.

WC -> 7.3k

A/N -> This is an installation of the Baby Love AU. Find Masterlist Here!

The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion for everyone. Elvis was doing press conferences for the NBC special he was about to start filming for, and while you usually go with him, with the recent assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, it was decided unanimously that it would be best if you were at home.

Elvis would have liked to keep you by his side, but given your family’s public connection to the Kennedys he knew that the press might behave in an uncalled for manner toward you.

It was also to be noted that he’d been very patient with you the entire week, after all you did know the man. He was a close family friend, a lot closer to your father, mother, and older brother than you. But there were still tears shed a few nights ago when it had occurred.

Most of that week you sat around the current California home, keeping the couch company like you were the prettiest of pillows as you spent most of your time on the telephone with your hysterical mother and being soothed by your childhood nanny who now watched your younger brother. You’d decided to write a letter to Ethel, she was no doubt being bombarded with phone calls from press and other family with the recent death of her husband. 

It was a rough way to start the month, it was only 6 days into June when something as tragic as that had occurred. 

You were certain things would change in regards to the guest list of your wedding just a little over a week away, for one you could understandably count on the possible absence of Ethel Kennedy and her children. Aside from her it wasn’t Elvis’ side you were worried about, because when Elvis says jump they all say “how high?”. It was your own side that worried you.

You knew it was selfish and stupid to be thinking of that at a time like this, those poor Kennedys have been through so much. But you couldn’t help the worrisome thoughts that lingered in your mind. Your parents already didn’t approve of Elvis all that much, with the influx of emotion that this event caused they might just cancel all together and then you’ll be left without anyone from your own family.

And that alone could cause an emotional storm to brew in Elvis. He always expressed his own disdain for your family, but you knew there was guilt deep down that he felt. And if he realized that he were the reason your wedding day went without family, he would be angry with you and himself. But that was only because he felt things very deeply, he was caring in that way.

So you made sure the past few days to get in as much reading as possible, so that even if your wedding doesn’t end up being the dream you hoped for, that your knowledge of your honeymoon destination would make up for it.

It had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.

"We better get up and get changed soon..."

You hummed absently at Elvis' words as your eyes continued to skim along the page.

"Wouldn't want the rest of the boys seein' ya in ya nightie"

You hummed once more at whatever he had said, much too focused on your book to pay much mind. Elvis noticed this and laughed softly as he asked,

"What are ya readin' Honey?"

You looked up from the book that you had been enthralled in for the past half-hour to see Elvis staring at you over one of his religious books, he had a crooked smile and a quirked eyebrow, his facial expression likely from the fact that you were actually reading a book.

You smiled cheekily and crawled closer to him on the bed, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you quickly card your floral bookmark in between the pages you were on before closing it and presenting it to Elvis, your fiancé.

"It's a book all about Hawaii, it has some of the best secret locations on all the islands, including Oahu"

You smiled up at him as his eyes scrolled to look over at you then at the book, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. He set his book down on his lap to grab yours, one of his fingers tracing over the cover as he murmured honestly,

"Well Babylove, I don't think these locations are all too secret anymore considerin' the book is 7 years old"

You hummed softly at the statement. Truthfully you only picked the book off the shelf because one, it said Hawaii which is the place you and Elvis were planning to be your honeymoon destination, and secondly, it was pink.

Elvis shook his head fondly and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair, thankfully at the moment there were no rings on his fingers to pluck and pull at the strands of your hair. With that in mind you happily leaned into the touch like a cat getting its fix from its owner.

You roll your body closer, dragging one leg over Elvis' legs as if he were one of those long body pillows. You snuggled your face into his chest, feeling the silky fabric of his short ascot scarf. He'd recently begun wearing them often, you didn't mind it because you could tug him by his scarf whenever you wanted a kiss.

Your voice was soft and murmured into the fabric, "I wanna start our marriage off right, our honeymoon has to be perfect, and this book,”

You pull back for a moment to grab the book and open it to the first page. Elvis watches with an amused smile as your dainty little finger flies across the dust-colored pages to the sentence that you read aloud,

"These spots will guarantee a sweet time with that special someone"

Elvis’ voice is laced with harmless sarcasm (that you don’t quite catch) as he says,

“Oh well if the book says so, it has to be true”

You then excitedly close the book and show Elvis the back cover, where a quote from what must've been a review was laid out in bold, "Has the hottest places for America’s hottest honeymoon destination"

Elvis laughed softly. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand runs up and down your back, calluses grazing the delicate fabric of your satin nightie with a scratching sound before taking its rest on the curve of your ass. He explains, "Well little one, there's a bit more to honeymoons and marriage than that"

Your eyebrow quirks in the way you learned from watching Elvis' own eyebrow within the span of your relationship. It looked as if you were suspicious of Elvis, thinking he was trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

With a gentle hand Elvis removed the book from your hand and set it on the nightstand where he then set his own book on as well. You laughed softly as Elvis’ hands pulled you into your place, till you straddled his lap innocently for him to explain something,

“Well Babylove, a big part of marriage and honeymoonin’ is good husbandry.”

You go silent for a second, thinking to yourself as your fingers trace little shapes on Elvis’ chest absentmindedly. When you come to the conclusion that you’re clueless on the subject you ask,

“What’s husbandry?”

Elvis’ hands run along your sides, running up to your ribs, down to your hips, then repeating their cycle, it was in his own absentmindedness that he did it as he explained,

“Well, husbandry is kind of cultivatin’ and makin’ use of land, sorta like plantin’ a seed and takin’ care of it.”

“Like farmers do?”

“Very good girl, like farmers do. Now ya see, that comes into play within things like marriage and honeymoons. To be a farmer, the first thing ya gotta do is plant a seed, then ya get your farm goin’ and everythin’ is just dandy as long as you keep takin’ care of that seed.”

You nodded your head along to what he was saying, it made sense. But what did that have to do with your honeymoon?

“Just as that goes, to be a husband, you also gotta plant a seed. So ya see, in marriage, instead of a farmer plantin’ a seed, it’s the husband who plants the seed, and he plants it right in your petals”

You grimaced with embarrassment as you heard Elvis mention your “petals”. Such talk was still very new to you. Having been raised by the church most of your life, and having only attended catholic private schools, you’d been taught that such talk was deplorable and vulgar. 

Elvis seemed to be trying to undo all their teaching as he was very free and open with topics such as that one.

He could see the way your face began to dust a precious pink along your cheeks as you stared down at your hands scrunching up his shirt’s fabric within them. He couldn’t help but adore his sweet girl and lift your chin to take in the entirety of your innocence, the privilege of being innocent and naive having been fed to you with a silver spoon since you were a baby with your family’s fortune.

Your education didn’t span too far, it was done under the assumption that you’d be protected from the roughness of the world, the riff-raff. And though Elvis was a fair match monetarily-wise to your parents and the people you were raised around,with enough money to keep you as far away from the world’s roughness as possible, he was still considered to be in that riff-raff crowd.

Oh, what a shame for your family and the rest of your upper-class culture to have a rare purity, like you whisked away from your family made up of good breeding and a pure bloodline by a man like Elvis who would screw it all up when he one day planted his seed into your womb, making your once purebred French bloodline his own as he mixed himself into the history of your DNA to make a child that you will carry for months.

A child you will love to no end while your ancestors roll over in their graves.

Just the thought of it all made Elvis giddy.

His smile is cheeky as he grabs one of your nervous hands to soothe you while also keeping a grip on your chin with his other hand, his voice is breathy from speaking through a laugh,

“Now don’t let me lose ya, still got some splainin’ to do”

You can’t help but continue to duck your head away into your shoulder to hide your embarrassment, till Elvis pulls you out of it with his sweet little nickname for you,

“C’mon now Bubbles, need ya to keep listenin’ f’me”

You look up to meet those dark blues of Elvis’ that pierce with a strange softness.

“To seal the marriage a man plants his seed in a woman, and from then on he has to take care of that woman, that’s good husbandry. That’s part of what happens on a honeymoon. Understand?”

You nod slowly, and mumble a soft, “I understand”, before laying yourself down on Elvis, making yourself comfortable as you lay your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso, somehow squeezing their way between Elvis' frame and the mattress.

Marriage seemed scary. Ever since you had gotten engaged to Elvis you felt a different weight begin to fall on your shoulders. And though you were excited to marry Elvis, you couldn’t help but remember how your mother described marriage to be with your father.

As Elvis dragged his hands along your body tracing every poke of a bone through your skin he closed his eyes, showing his affection through the action, you thought back to how marriage was represented to you as a little girl.

There were nights when your father stayed late for work that you’d sit on the floor between your mother's legs as she sat on the sofa, by then she would be nursing her 4th glass of wine that night, and let her braid your hair before bed.

You’d whimper softly as her diamond-littered gaudy engagement ring, which was comparable to the one you now owned, would catch on some strands of your hair. But you wouldn’t voice any complaint as she was too busy voicing her own, complaining to an 8-year-old you about your father’s “wandering eye”, how he loves work more than he loves his family, and that he can’t even function without a pill, in what sense she meant “function” you’d never know, because you only saw your father as a personal superhero. The man who would bring gifts like Santa, the man who would read you to bed on the rare nights he could, the man who held the whole world in his hand every time he held you.

You didn’t recognize the man your mother would drunkenly describe. And soon after you wouldn’t recognize your own mother as she would break into tears and talk about how it’s her fault, and that she knows it all falls on her to make the marriage work, she just needs to try harder.

You’d caress her knee and try to soothe the adult, “It’s okay Mommy”, while mustering up the courage to promise her that, “It’ll be okay”

And then at the end of the night, she would turn you around and slur with as much affection as she could muster,

“Always tend to your husband Sweetie, don’t make a prude of yourself like me, don’t make a nagging wife, be pleasant and pliant and you’ll be a happy wife”

Of course you weren’t married yet, and that might’ve been what was causing you to be such a worrywart, because you were scared of the unknown. That’s why you’ve been trying your best to find ways to start the marriage off in the best way possible.

But you now had a whole other thing to worry about perfecting, husbandry. 

It would all work out though, as long as you heed your mother’s words and be a pleasant, pliant wife, you’ll be just fine, and you’re confident that Elvis would never turn out to be the kind of husband that your mother described your father to be.

You mumbled into the fabric of Elvis’ shirt,

“How does a man plant his seed in a woman?”

Elvis’ hands came to a halt at your words. He thought he’d gone over this kind of thing with you before, then again there was never much need to. You never prodded for more than you were given, because you were simply unaware there was more you could get out of the pleasures of your body.

Elvis stared down at the top of your head as you kept your cheek resting on his chest, he realized how abstract your thoughts must’ve been compared to his within your relationship. He had spent countless nights holding himself back from making you his completely, there were so many times he easily could’ve done so. So many times you put yourself in the position to be vulnerable to the disgusting thought of a man who knew the pleasures you could give.

Had Elvis been a different man he would’ve done so by now, taken you shamelessly and left you crumpled on the floor next to your crumpled up clothes.

But he’d be reigned back by the thought that God wouldn’t make something like you, something so pure and holy, for sin. Had Elvis not been a god-fearing man he would’ve had his way with you.

All those nights he spent eating you out, listening to you finally break that voice box of yours in, the only thing he’d thought about was how much louder you would be when he could finally fuck you, meanwhile you thought that the sensation guided by Elvis’ tongue that momentarily blinded you was as good as it got, was as close as you’d get to God.

Oh Elvis could show you so much more, teach you so much more, touch you so much more. And as shameful as it is, he’d be a liar if he said that the fact that he wanted to be the one deflower you didn’t play a role in your engagement.

“I could show ya how it’s done Honey, would ya be alright with that? It’s a little different from anything we’ve ever done”

You sat up on his lap and nodded as you kept a hand to support yourself up on his stomach. He basked in the sight of you with a small smile, digging his hands through your hair like roots in the dirt, so deep and entangled it could be hard to tell where your hair began and his hands ended.

It wasn’t at all painful in the way your mother’s hands used to rest in your hair during her drunken stupor.

It was gentle as Elvis always was.

He used a gentle force to pull you close enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead for a moment and hold it there, you closed your eyes and let out a breath, any stiff stress in your body leaving at the touch of Elvis’ lips.

He pulled away, lips and hands.

“Lay down Baby”

Elvis patted your side of the bed and you quickly laid down as you usually would, and with a quick fwip of his hips Elvis’ knees rested just outside your thighs, his entire body hovering above yours as he reached over to your nightstand.

You heard the clink of glass, no doubt the two glass figurines you’d had since you were a child, your voice was soft but panicked as you felt a pang of protectiveness over your childhood trinkets.

“W-What are you doing?”

His response was immediate as he knew your sentimental feelings toward your figurines,

“It’s alright Honey, jus’ turnin’ Dottie and Lottie around”

“Oh.”

You let out a sigh of relief before having a blush spread like a wildfire in the summer across your cheeks. When Elvis had first touched you, you felt the need to turn your glass figurines Dolores and Charlotte, also known as Dottie and Lottie, around before he could continue any further. When he asked you why you could only mumble a quiet explanation about wanting to preserve their innocence. Elvis didn’t mind the strange gesture, he thought it was rather cute actually, it was something so girlish and sweet, something he’d never think of, it further instituted that you really were an endearing little girl.

And ever since then anytime Elvis touched you, he’d always turn your figurines toward the wall for you. And him doing it now meant that to plant his seed in you, he had to touch you.

You close your eyes as you relax into the mattress completely, and feel a shift in the bed then the cold air began to linger up your nightie, or rather Elvis made your nightie linger up your skin, giving way for him to view the cutely contrasting color of your pastel yellow panties to your pastel blue short satin nightie.

As the bed shifted a little more you allowed Elvis to part your legs so he could slide off the piece of fabric, his hands caressing the skin of your ankles a few seconds longer than the rest of your leg, and then he intricately removed your panties off your feet he laid them on the outside of your thigh, within arm's length.

You assumed what you’d be feeling next was what you always felt whenever he touched you, those calloused fingers of his walking their way up your thighs as he made himself comfortable right between the two limbs, his mouth and nose inches away from that bundle of nerves that he so lovingly explained was the bud of your little rose. 

His fingers would then drift down to what he called the petals of your rose, separating them gently, exposing your hole to the cold air of the room making you shiver like the scared little girl you were as he did so. But he liked it, liked how visceral all your reactions were from your inexperience.

Only this time, you’d been wrong as you heard the familiar shink of his belt, and as if you were a trained dog and his belt were a clicker, your eyes shot open as you knew what that sound meant. It meant you got to do the touching, but, why were your panties off if you were doing the touching?

As you sat up you saw Elvis shucking his pants and boxers down, you watched with a blush as you saw his dick, it wasn’t yet completely hard, it more so at half-staff if anything, with that it maintained enough loose skin so that the usual image of his veins bulging profusely through the thin skin was not a sight you’d yet see, but you could change that.

As you sat up with your legs still spread enough so that Elvis once he was free of his pants was able to swiftly kneel between them. You leaned forward with an eager hand but Elvis had caught your wrist before you’d made it to your target, you batted your eyelashes up at him in confusion.

“Elvis?”

He had a crooked smile on his lips and asked, “Don’t ya remember what ya gotta do first? C’mon Hon we’ve been over this a dozen times”. You had to think for a moment but felt flushed with embarrassment at your own mistake.

Elvis’ eyebrow ticked upward as he caught your realization, then he slowly raised your hand up to your mouth for you to lick a stripe along it. When he didn’t immediately pull away you knew to keep lapping at the skin till Elvis saw it suitable.

His head tilted down a little as he made eye-contact with you through the cracks of your fingers, staring at you as you licked lines of wet along the lines of your palm, he was mumbling a praise or too like “There ya go”, and “Just like that”. You only shut your mouth as his free hand came up to cup your cheek and gently push you back from your hand.

With your newfound view of his cock it definitely looked less limp than before but Elvis had taught you how to get it standing, and you wanted to show him that you could. He’d been loosening the reins lately and had been giving you more independence to touch him in the way you knew he liked. But at the perfect moments he’d step in and be a helping hand, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he showed you what kind of pace he liked when his dick twitched a specific way.

It was him helping you build this muscle memory that was slowly etching its way into your brain, on the walls of your skull, and in the nerves of your hand

With the softest of groans leaving Elvis’ mouth your eyes shot up from his cock that maintained the attention of your palm, wanting to see his face, see the preview of your own triumph as you continued to stroke with the pace his hand guided yours along.

His smile was gone as his mouth twisted slightly to let out the low noise, he licked his lips quickly and tightened his hold on your hand, in turn tightening your hold on his cock as he ran your palm up and down it, your voice was hesitant and soft as you questioned, “L-Like that Elvis? I do it like that…”

He hummed an affirmation and mumbled, “Keep at it”, before pulling his hand off yours, leaning back on the bed on his palms while watching you with lowered lids, had they been any lower they would’ve been closed.

You tried shuffling yourself closer by planting your heels into the mattress and scooting yourself closer, but it was hard to focus on both things. You didn’t want to louse up what a good job you were doing, but you felt you could do better if you were just a little closer.

Elvis must’ve read your inner turmoil as he leaned off his palms and cupped the back of your knees with each hand, pulling you closer at the top of your calves where they connected with your thighs. As you continued with your strokes you noticed how close you now were, your bare pussy had never been so close to Elvis’ cock.

With the realization a strange curiosity shot through you, a kind of curiosity that had filled your senses one of the first times you’d sat on Elvis’s lap. He kept you on one knee easily, and it had been the leg that he often bounced absentmindedly, and as he easily bounced you on his leg you felt a weird sensation, and that damned curiosity of yours got the best of you subtly shifted on his leg, and suddenly the jumbling of your legs on his knee had shifted to a jumbling on a small bundle of nerves between your legs.

No you wouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you again, you wouldn’t.

As Elvis pulled his hands away from your legs he leaned back on one palm and the other he reached forward to rub that very bundle of nerves you’d just been thinking of about. Just the slightest bit of force made your body react with what could be described as a convulsion as you breathed out a noise of surprise.

Elvis’ almost dazed look on his face didn’t shift as he glided his calloused thumb down between your folds, scooping up whatever was beginning to wet them, then using it as a lubricant to give your clit a good rub down, his facial expression unwavering as he watched you twitch and struggle to focus on doing a good job.

His voice was low and almost sounded slurred as he mumbled,

“Now this is hard ain’t it Honey? Tryin’ to pleasure each other at the same time?”

Your face shrunk and your lip quivered as you tried to maintain that you wouldn’t break under the sensations of it all, wanting to do good.

Upon gaining no answer Elvis’ eyes glazed up to meet yours, they now shifted to sympathy as he reassured you gently with little circles of his thumb around your bud,

“It’s alright Baby, I know it. I know it’s hard, that’s why through marriage a man can plant his seed in a woman, makes it easier y’know? A man can help you while he helps himself, ya shouldn’t have t’be doin’ work Honey”

You don’t know when you started nodding along to his words, you hardly understood them, but the way his eyebrows arched, the way his lips curled, the way his voice drew out, he seemed like he knew everything in the world. He was so in his element that you wouldn’t question it if he told you a cat were a dog.

But you had to ask, through your soft pants and whimpers, “H-how?” How was it possible to both be pleasured at the same time? How was it possible for both of you to reach that special spot just between the earth and the heavens where all felt impossibly right?

Elvis’ lips grew to a smirk once more as he removed his thumb from your clit and his hand wrapped around yours to pull you away. As you looked down you saw that familiar sight, that thin skin stretched out to show that long vein that started at the side of his dick and traveled down the center.

His other hand ran up your calf, to your thigh just to rest on your stomach, still covered by the top of your satin nightie, and with a firm force and a, “Lie back f’me” you were laid down on the bed with your legs spread.

He spread them a little further, and you watched as best you could while still laying down, craning your neck painfully to see what he was doing as he made a ring out of his thumb and index finger.

Elvis’ eyes met with yours, making sure you were watching before lining the tip of his cock up with the little makeshift hole he made of his fingers for demonstration.

“When a man plants his seed, he fills you with himself. This right here,” He lifted the little ring he’d made of two fingers, “This is like that little hole between your petals, so what I’m gonna do is fill it just slightly,” he slid the ring over the tip of his cock, leaving you to watch with a mouth slightly agape as his movement stretches the foreskin.

It’s not like when you stroke him though, he stops much too short, and doesn’t even go near the base of his cock, he ends at the base of the tip only.

“Now, this much is just till the wedding Hon. We can only do just the tippy top Baby, can’t break ya in just yet, we gotta wait till we’re unified under God to make that kinda connection-”

“...cause it’s special”

Elvis looked up at you, surprised to hear your soft voice so suddenly, it seems the words left your mouth with a little thoughtful pout. God, let this man hold back today. Let him be graceful and kind to his babylove, Elvis thought to himself as he smiled softly and hummed, 

“Yes it is sweet girl, it’s somethin’ special”

As a moment of sweet silence filled the air the two of you made eye contact, you smiled, feeling unsure of what was to come, he smiled back knowingly.

“Are ya ready Babylove?”

You bit your lower lip nervously and could only nod with trusting eyes. Elvis’ figure suddenly shut out most of the light from the ceiling as he supported his body above yours with one hand while he used his other to line up the tip of his cock.

You let out a shaky breath as he parted your fold with the tip of his cock before running it along your leaking slit. From the bottom up past the top till he hit that bundle of nerves that he could find with a blindfold. You squeaked softly at the bit of force he was using to circle your clit with his cock.

Elvis swore he’d do everything with you in mind, but as he watched the way your big eyes would crinkle to little bouts of eyelid folds and as he saw the way your lip quiver with every squeak and breath you let out, he couldn’t help himself but gauge your reaction to a little something.

Your breaths came out one by one in panic as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock begin to bat around your little bundle of nerves from the top, from side to side, even attacking from the bottom. Your eyes shot open from their little crinkles of stress and just before you could open your mouth his little batting around of your sensitive bud turned to slowed drawn out circles rubbing along the edge.

“That feels good huh Honey? It’s gonna get even better, just need ya to relax. Uh huh, that’s good, you’re doin’ good”

You relaxed into it, your jaw falling slack and your breaths coming out shallow. As you sank into that warmth that always accompanied Elvis’ gentle touch, Elvis pulled his neck back slightly to get a better look at your hole, with your folds parted he had a perfect view if he could look past his cock. He craned his neck a little to the left and found the target, wide open from your relaxed state, he licked his thumb to lubricate it and like a veteran, he navigated his cock down and at the forefront of it as his thumb took its place and pace in circling your clit, had you not been watching through lidded eyes you wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Here it come Baby, here it come”

Elvis couldn’t even look at you to gauge your reaction as his head fell back immediately as he was engulfed by your heat. Somewhere in the distance he heard a high-pitched noise but he was too high on the feeling- No, the knowledge that the first thing to fill you, to really fill you was his uncut cock’s head.

He breathed out to the ceiling, or rather to the Lord,

“Fuck…”

How could a feeling like this fill his mind, body, and soul from just the tip going in. Shit if he hadn’t already proposed to you he would do it now, just so he could one day feel the full effect of your body on his.

And then he finally peered down at you, and you were a sight to behold. He hadn’t been with a virgin in a long time, and the ones he had been with, you made them look like the most experienced girls in the world.

Your face was crumpled and your clenched fist was brought up to your mouth, you bit down so hard on your knuckles Elvis could see the skin losing its color around your little teeth. His hand slid down to your hip, running along the skin soothingly, as he hummed out, “Relax, it’s alright, just relax”

You nodded and pulled your fist from your mouth to show you were relaxing, but as your lower lip trembled Elvis could only softly remind, “Relax…”

And after a few moments of Elvis running his hands along your hips you spoke in an unsure whisper, “I-Is that it?”, Elvis sighed with a smile, “No Hon, don’t worry, but I can’t show ya the rest till ya relax, alright?” Elvis could feel you tightly around him, if he tried to pull the head of his cock back out he’d hurt you, he knew that.

"I-I am relaxed"

“No ya not Babylove”

You sighed softly, feeling a bit frustrated, this wasn’t what you thought it would be, it hurt. And it was obvious that you weren’t acting in the most pleasing way, so you lied through your teeth with a bit of an edge to your quiet words, “I’m relaxed.”

Elvis’ soft smile fell slightly at the tone of voice, and his eyebrows rose as he stared down at you, only now you avoided eye contact and opted to look at the wall. You tried to focus on the paint of the wall as best you can but it was thrown out the door as you felt a painful pull.

You whined at the feeling, and watched as Elvis pulled out, now you attempted to look him in the eye but he didn’t even spare you a glance as he muttered before lining himself up again, “Call that fuckin’ relaxed? If you’re so relaxed it should be easy goin’ back in”

Before you could voice an apology he’d already shoved the tip back in. It was much rougher than the first time he had put it in, it had you release a loud whimper and kick your feet, your heels pushing you away from his body, but his hips only chased further.

And those hands that were soothingly rubbing along your hips earlier now had them in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.

“Said ya relaxed, so fuckin’ act like it-”

Elvis let out a low groan as he stroked his cock while your little hole contracted from the stress of it all, it was like you were trying to swallow him, trying to suck him down into you. Almost like your body knew you needed his seed. And had he been a different man, or more accurately, had you been a different girl, he would’ve given it to you without shame. But you were different, you were special, you made this special.

He pulled out once more just to push back in, and then he repeated with no time in between, leaving you gasping at the rough push and pull of his cock head and whining at it, before blubbering out a series of apologies to him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, ‘m not relaxed..! I-It hurts Elvis..!”

He’d ignored your apologies, but the way you said his name, like he could solve all your problems while also causing all of them, it was like you had this type of innocence. A pure innocence that no matter the pain he’d cause you, you’d still love him. Like if he kicked you, you’d come running right back.

Elvis stopped himself from pulling out once more and stared down at you, his grip released and one of his hands cupped your cheek and rested a thumb at the corner of your eye just before your temple, ready to catch a tear in case those teary eyes of yours spill over.

You stared up at him with a frown and pulled your hands to rest nervously on your stomach, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness mixed with discomfort at the idea of Elvis being upset with you. But instead he seemed to sympathize with you,

“Now you see, ya gotta listen to me Babylove. I don’t expect much from ya, all I expect is honesty, now, be honest and let me know when you relax.”

You let out a shaky breath and soft noise as Elvis’ thumb landed back on your clit, beginning to rub those circles that make your hips twist a little from instinct. Elvis’ lips had been on yours in the blink of an eye, but his kiss was deep and slow, it wasn’t like when he’d kiss you so hard and so fast that your teeth knocked against his. Instead you felt his tongue explore each and every inch of your mouth carefully, could feel the way his tongue swiped along the small space between your lower gums and teeth.

His nose lightly grazed against the start of your cheek as he tilted his head to get a different angle. 

And in what would be one of the only moments for you to catch your breath within the kiss, you managed to breath out, “‘M ready”

It was a different kind of tug due to the efforts of the both of you. You were relaxed and open and Elvis was only rocking back and forth into you, no complete pulling, you couldn’t handle that yet.

With each rock of his hips, you let out a little breath or squeak. For a moment you lost focus as you watched the way Elvis used the thumb on one hand to stroke your little bud while using his other hand to stroke himself, but you were pulled back into your moment with Elvis as he groaned lowly, followed by a groan that sounded a bit more throaty. He was close.

And knowing that it was because he was in you made you feel a sense of excitement, and sense of sexuality, realizing you could make a man feel this way by doing nothing but laying there like a pliant doll.

Be a pliant wife. Your mother was right.

Your hips dragged upward slightly, crashing into his hips that were rocking down into you, the collision of skin made you moan softly as your manicured nails reached for the sheets, one hand gripped them brutally while your other hand ended up in Elvis' hair, not gripping, only carding through the dark strands.

“E-Elvis, it’s- I’m…”

You couldn’t describe it, what was coming, but thankfully you didn’t have to as he mumbled into your lips,

“I know Baby, I know. It’s comin’ f’me to, comin’ fast Babylove- H-how’s it comin’ for you?”

As the upward grind of your hips turned to little upward thrusts that your feet could manage on the slippery sheets of the bed you could hardly choke out a word as his thumb had entertained that warmth just below your stomach for too long, it’d been teased and tugged along far too long from the rubbing of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves that at its peaking point, it snapped, leaving you to try and choke out the words,

“It- I- It’s-”

As your mouth remained agape but your voice fell silent, and those pitiful attempts at thrusts of yours fell back to wishful grinds of your hips. Elvis thanked the Lord, he’d been trying his best to hold on for you, to slow his rocking when he felt himself get a little too close, he’d been edging himself almost the entire time for you.

And now as he pulled out and continued to stroke his cock with one hand, the hand previously fondling your clit reached for the pair of panties he laid aside so long ago.

As you caught your breath you watched as Elvis’ hand stroked twice, thrice, four more times along his length before he buried his cock in your crumpled up panties, letting his head fall back and a guttural moan fill the room as he reached his peak.

After a few moments of silence accompanied by the pants of the both of you Elvis removed the metal ring holding his short ascot scarf together at the center of his neck, you heard a clink as he tossed it somewhere on the wood floor, then you watched as the fabric got closer to your face, closing your eyes at the contact you could feel Elvis wiping away the dampness building on your head and cheeks from the heat what you just experienced. As the feeling left you watched as he wiped his own face off before bringing the satin scarf down to your petals, wiping off the proof of your pleasure from your pussy’s lips then wiping off your thighs that happened to be the victims of the heated juices that spread through your body which were shoveled out from the earlier pulls of Elvis’ cock’s head.

After Elvis caught his breath and pulled the panties away from his cock to see his work, then he flipped it toward you, and you saw that familiar white liquid that Elvis told you was a reward for your hard work.

“When we get married and I fill you with my seed, this is what I’ll be fillin’ ya with, I promise…”

Your eyes were lidded and tired, but full of love as you took in the sight of your fiancé, his once perfectly coiffed hair now ruffled, you could see sweat stains forming on the blue silk shirt he didn’t bother to take off before starting, and those eyelashes of his must’ve been batting so much as he now had a stray on his cheek, he must’ve missed it with his scarf.

As Elvis prepped your reward, scraping it off the pastel fabric with a finger you parted your lips, and as he finger-fed you his seed you accepted the finger into your mouth, closing your lips around it as you sucked it clean. “Atta girl, did so well” 

Your own little finger guided up his cheek to swipe the eyelash off his cheek, he watched with confusion at the way you smiled around his finger, then you flipped your finger around to show him.

As he crawled over your body to lay down beside you, removing his finger in the process you spoke with a bit of hoarseness, “Make a wish”

Elvis smiled fondly and put a hand over your thigh, “You can have this one Babylove”

You smiled before checking once more, “Are you sure?”

He wanted to laugh at how serious you were taking it all, and with a gentle rub of his hand he reassured, “I’m sure Honey, I’m sure”

You smiled down at the little eyelash resting on the middle of your index finger. And you wished for all that you could want, you wished for a happy marriage.

I had so much fun!! I really liked writing this, and I'm so happy I've had requests to write this character to the point I can turn it into a whole au!! hope you liked it.

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!

@fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat here it is lovelies

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part One

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k

Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.

But she was here, finally. Oxford University.

Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.

An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.

She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.

She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.

They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.

When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.

She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.

“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.

But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.

She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?

Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.

“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”

She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.

“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.

Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”

Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had. 

Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?

When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.

Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.

She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.

Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.

Just my luck.

The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.

A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly. 

He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”

She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.

“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”

“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”

She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.

Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.

Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.

“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”

A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.

“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”

She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.

“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”

Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.

She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.

It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.

“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”

“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”

“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”

He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.

“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.

He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.

“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.

“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.

“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”

She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.

“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.

“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.

“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”

“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”

She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.

They’re so blue.

“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”

“A simple table is sufficient, look–”

His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.

“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”

She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.

“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”

This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”

“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.

She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.

Does he always have to be so bloody intense?

“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”

“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.

She sighs.

Of course you do.

“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”

He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.

“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”

He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”

“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”

Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.

Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!

She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”. 

Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.

Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.

Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.

She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.

Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from mgavey628318@hotmail.co.uk pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.

Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.

“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.

Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”

“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”

“See you then.”

Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.

She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.

At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.

“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.

He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”

She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.

Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!

“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”

They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.

She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.

“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”

She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.

“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.

“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”

Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.

“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”

She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”

“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”

“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.

“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”

“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”

“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.

“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.

A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”

She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”

The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.

They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.

Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.

She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.

Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.

It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.

“H-hello?”

“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”

She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”

Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”

It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”

“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”

“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”

She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.

Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.

She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.

Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.

Without thinking, she types out a message to him.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Within seconds he’s typing a response.

“Would you like me to have alcohol?”

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Shame

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex working, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn't no longer matter when he meets his friend's younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Until he met Criston and Robert at university he was a total loner, really only going to classes and shopping. Ever since he moved out of his family home, he didn't feel the need to interact with anyone except his mother and his youngest brother.

Nonetheless, once their quantum physics professor selected them as a group to tackle a joint project in his class, it turned out that they got along very well.

He was quiet and withdrawn, best at solving equations and finding the correct formulae; Robert threw interesting, chaotic insights and ideas from his sleeve, and Criston pulled it all together to form a whole.

They scored the highest possible grade and from then on they naturally stuck together; Robert and Criston didn't seem to mind that he usually didn't contribute to their discussions, simply allowing him to be in their company with a cardboard cup of coffee from the vending machine.

They often asked him where he got his money from, since, according to him, his parents did not help him financially to live in a completely different city. He usually answered evasively, feeling a squeeze in his throat in those moments, a fear that one day they would somehow find out how he made his living.

What he was doing.

That women paid him to tie them up, to beat them, to slap them, to degrade and humiliate them, to fuck them in ways he wouldn't even be able to explain, taking unspeakable satisfaction from it.

He was a professional; he signed contracts that included each party's boundary and safety words. He expected his clients to have medical examinations to make sure they didn't carry any diseases, but he used condoms anyway.

He rented a bedsit intended as a meeting place, with no intention of hosting anyone in his flat; his main rule was not to get emotionally involved, apart from having sex and entitling himself that his client was comfortable, he did not get into any conversations with them even though they tried to do so.

It started with one woman, Alys, who he met when he graduated from high school; it turned her on when he tied her up, when he fucked her while telling her she was a nobody, when he punished her and it shocked him what a tremendous sense of power it gave him.

She told him admiringly that he could be a professional dom and earn a lot from it, which gave him pause for thought. To her despair, he ended their relationship shortly after he started doing it for money, recognising that he didn't want to break his rule about not having a relationship, where she already knew far too much about him.

He was more careful with others.

They called him sir and knew nothing about him except what they read on the website.

He admired in a way how desperate some of them were, how much they were balancing on the edge of overdoing it; in a few cases he had to check their pulse to make sure he hadn't killed them.

His clients were not poor women and sometimes, for extra things or to show him their admiration, they paid him more than what they had agreed for; however, he never accepted excess money, knowing that if he broke the rules they would think they could expect more from him, which he was unwilling to allow.

So, for obvious reasons, he kept his profession to himself, fearing that if his friends found out about it they would think he was just fucked up. He genuinely liked them, as well as the field of study he was attending, and didn't want to change anything in his life.

When Robert invited him and Criston to his house for his birthday he agreed immediately, seeing no obstacles to celebrating with him; he knew that apart from him and Criston there would be a few more friends from his neighbourhood and he was fine with that.

When he got his car into his driveway he decided to have a smoke before going inside, tired after a long, intense session with his female client, wanting to clear his mind.

That's when he heard her for the first time.

"Are you Robert's friend?!"

He looked over his shoulder and saw her − she had jumped off the blue slim bike with the white basket in the front. Her hair was loose and in a slight disarray due to the wind, her face pink from exertion, her full lips parted slightly in a quickened breath, her large eyes shining with curiosity.

He felt everything he saw in his cock, looking at her pale, with his eyes imagining her moaning beneath him with that pleading, sweet voice to keep fucking her.

"− yeah −" He hummed in a slightly trembling voice, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide what was happening to him, in what direction to his horror his thoughts had fled.

"That's wonderful! I'm Robert's sister. I forgot to buy candles for his cake, which was rather unfortunate considering it's his birthday and I had to go quickly to get them." She said breathing heavily as she walked with her bicycles deeper into the driveway, looking at him expectantly over her shoulder. "Do you have a lighter?"

He couldn't play the idiot and pretend he didn't have one, so, as she requested, they went around her house and walked inside from the terrace, walking quietly to the kitchen − he could hear the voices of Robert, Criston and the other guests in the distance.

She opened the fridge, which illuminated her pleasant, smiling face with a bright, bluish light, and slowly pulled out a meringue cake with a cucumber glaze decorated with berries.

"It looked better in the picture on the internet, but I was making it for the first time. Can you help me?" She asked lightly, pulling candles from the pocket of her dress.

He just nodded, feeling his mind working in slow motion, his heart pounding like mad, his mind focused on her body and on her scent, some sweet, girly fruity perfume.

He thought, swallowing loudly, that she was like a ripe peach or strawberry, begging to be bitten into, to taste its flesh.

He pressed his lips together, sticking the last candle into the crisp texture of the meringue, thinking with despair that he was a disgusting man, that she was his friend's younger sister.

And above all, she was not his client.

He handed her a lighter; their faces lit up by the warm glow of the fire as she began to light the candles one by one. She smiled at him when she finished in a way that made him feel like saying he didn't give a shit about the candles, the cake and Robert's birthday − just to pull her panties off her legs and fuck her on the countertop.

"Let's go." She said warmly and he nodded, letting out the air from his lungs, watching her with a look that, had it not been for the darkness in the room, would surely have terrified her.

They walked into the living room; his sister began to sing a Happy Birthday loudly and the other guests joined her in chorus, Robert stood up embarrassed but clearly pleased. After a round of applause, he walked over to them and blew out the candles, saying happily that his little sister remembered how he loved the meringues and hugged her.

He lowered his gaze at the thought that they were close.

That he needed to pull himself together.

When Robert offered him a drink he immediately agreed, distraught and terrified at the thought of spending the whole evening in her company; she walked around the room with a smile, talking to everyone lightly as if she had known them for years.

At the same time, he craved and feared that she would eventually sit down next to him, noticing his distancing and tiredness and walked out into the garden, sitting down on a bench, lighting a cigarette.

He closed his eyes as he heard someone's footsteps and for some reason he knew, subconsciously felt, that it was her.

He smelled her scent as she sat down next to him with a quiet creak of old wood and slowly opened his eyelids, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She was holding her drink, probably vodka with orange juice and mango, for some reason it seemed obvious to him that she only liked alcohol if it was sweet.

"Beautiful evening." She said warmly, softly, her gaze slightly dreamy, gazing up at the cloudless, starry sky, her body as if spilling over the backrest of the bench, her head lying comfortably on it, framed by her shiny hair.

He thought with embarrassment that he couldn't cause her pain even if she begged him to.

Though maybe he could slap her buttock a time or two before sinking his face between her thighs, leaving the red mark of his hand on her skin.

He swallowed loudly, taking another drag on his cigarette, looking ahead, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen, the arousal he knew so well, his manhood twitched in his trousers.

He didn't answer.

After a moment, however, Criston came out to them, chatting them up, making him feel relieved, feeling like he was going to go mad because of her presence.

He left the party faster than he wanted to; Robert tried to stop him by saying that he could spend the night at his house, but he refused, terrified by this vision, knowing that he wouldn't last, that he would go to her room.

That one word from her would be enough to make him fuck her and regret it for the rest of his life.

He would leave her with nothing afterwards.

She seemed like a good, nice girl, deserving of a decent man who wouldn't think about tying her up.

As he drove home in his car he breathed out loud, somehow proud of himself, knowing that he had done the right thing, that maybe he wasn't as bad a person as he thought he was.

He fought with himself not to look for her on social media, and although he himself had accounts under pseudonyms with black squares in place of profile pictures, knowing that she was Robert's sister, finding her was too easy for him to resist.

So, in despair, he spent the evening giving up, recognising that if someone publishes something on the internet it means they agree to let others look at it. He swallowed loudly, surprised to see a new notification on Facebook and it was nothing other than an invitation from her.

He felt the cold sweat on his back and the quick, hard pounding of his heart, as if he was about to defuse a ticking bomb.

Accept?

Reject?

Do nothing?

He stared at his screen with his lips clenched and involuntarily clicked accept.

Fuck.

He ran his hand over his face, knowing it wasn't the best idea, but that if he removed her quickly from his friends now she'd still get a notification that he'd accepted her before and it would be weird to say the least.

He figured that she had surely only added him because he was a friend of her brother's and she had no intention of doing anything more with it.

He almost choked on his tea when he saw that she had sent him a message.

He stared at the chat bubble and clenched his eyes, clicking on it, unfolding the conversation, recognising that he wouldn't fall asleep if he didn't see what she had written to him.

He looked at her message with a fast-beating heart, reading it several times, swallowing quietly with a sense of some kind of relief that it had no subtext. It made him feel warm at the thought that, in essence, what she had written was kind and affectionate, expressing only her innocent concern and gratitude.

He figured he could write her back without any remorse that he was doing something wrong, for some reason feeling excited about talking to her.

He wrote back and sighed heavily, recognising that his reply was terribly dry and distant, but then thought that perhaps it was better. He twisted restlessly in his seat looking expectantly at his screen when he saw that after a moment she had displayed his message.

He involuntarily smiled reading it and thought she was sweet.

Over the next few days, he involuntarily returned to that brief exchange of words, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to somehow strike up a conversation with her again, although he didn't know how to do so.

"What are you thinking about, buddy?" Robert asked him with amusement, slapping him on the back with a friendly, masculine hand gesture; he swallowed loudly, pulled out of his reverie, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Nothing."

One of his clients had expressed a desire to meet again after their last session, wanting a more intense experience this time. Looking at her message, he ran his hand over his face, for some reason feeling doubts surging into his mind, though he didn't know what they stemmed from.

What would she think of him if she found out?

During the meeting with his client he had given her everything she wanted, but there had been no intimacy with penetration between them and he had satisfied her only with his hand.

He felt for some reason distanced from what he was doing, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

He imagined that if it had been her lying in front of him he would have done it differently, that he would have brought her to the edge of despair, but he would have had more understanding and patience, he would have been tender to her.

Why?

When it was all over and the woman had left he cleaned everything, threw the old bedding in the washing machine and put on the fresh one, so that it would be ready when he returned there.

He left and locked the flat, then ran down the staircase and headed for the car park across the street.

"Aemond!" He heard a happy, girlish, warm voice, her voice; he turned over his shoulder, terrified, for some unexplained reason certain that she had caught him in the act, even though they were standing in the middle of the street.

She jumped off her bike halfway down the road, grabbed the handlebars and ran over to him, a shopping bag in her basket, a cute fabric clasp backpack on her shoulders.

She was dressed in dark, long high-waisted trousers, pleasantly emphasising her waist and a short-sleeved T-shirt, her hair tied up in a braid that was partly blown by the wind.

She stood in front of him smiling broadly, in the light of the sun her face seemed even more gentle and soft to him, although she appeared to him to be nothing more than a figment of his imagination, so he merely stood and looked at her with his mouth slightly parted.

"Where are you going?" She asked lightly, her eyes shining with an innocent, childlike curiosity from which he felt a tightening in his throat; he thought she literally beamed with a kind of warmth from which his whole body shuddered.

He licked his lower lip quickly, swallowing loudly as he tried to get any meaningful sentence out.

"I'm just getting home." He said in a low, cool, distant voice, having no idea why he sounded that way − he had the feeling that his whole body was somehow trying to prevent what was just happening to him. She blinked, cocking her head as if she was expecting the rest of his statement, though he wasn't planning one.

"I…I had my business to take care of. And you?" He changed the subject quickly wanting to distract her from himself − she smiled even wider, shifting from foot to foot.

He noticed the outline of her breasts under her T-shirt proving she had no bra underneath and looked away, horrified and aroused by this discovery.

Fuck.

If she was his, he'd show her what he thought of it.

He squeezed his eyes shut wondering what he was even thinking about when the last thing he was looking for was a relationship.

"I'm just going to a lecture by my favourite professor in the history of philosophy. Want to join me? Entry is free!" She said clearly excited by her own idea and proposal, and he swallowed loudly, looking at her in disbelief, analysing quickly what she had said, whether he should do it.

He had no commitments, his whole evening was free.

He hummed under his breath, putting his hands in the pockets of his black trousers.

"How far is it from here?" He asked hesitantly, and she waved her hand.

"The lecture will be held at the Community Centre, two streets away. Five minutes' walk."

He looked at her, at her pretty, overjoyed face, and gave in.

"Why not."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Realm's Delight

Summary: You were the twin of the dark haired child Cersei had with Robert. While fever took your twin, you survived. You are known throughout the seven kingdom as the realm's delight. The years has passed and your younger brother Joffrey wants something you have. Sandor Clegane x Baratheon! Reader A/n: Let me know if you enjoy this. Likes and comments are appreciated. Enjoy -L

Warning: SFW, Joffrey is Joffrey, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Word Count: 5.3K

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Chapter 2

Joffrey's hatred towards you started when he was a teen and grew tremendously as he became older. He remembered you being an amazing sister, reading him stories when he was a child. Walking with him around the garden and to the Red Keep but he yearned for the attention of his father. Robert’s attention was always captured by the fancy wine, his whores and you. He knew Robert’s love for you is boundless, there was simply no end to it. Robert never yelled at you or hit you even when you protected Joffrey after he killed the kitchen cat.

He disemboweled the poor feline when he found out it was pregnant. He wanted to see the kittens, he cried out as you held him so he didn’t receive a second hit from his father. You stopped defending Joffrey when he became more ill-mannered. His hatred towards you began when you yelled at him for being discourteous to your help.

“Mind your manners when it comes to those who work for me. My servants are not bitches and my guard is not a dog. Learn to respect, brother.” You scolded him then turned to console one of your servants.

It's been a month after the events of Robert accepting your refusal to wed your betroth in Dorne. Cersei hasn't spoken to you and so didn't Joffrey, he grew more annoyed by the fact that you didn't care at all. You went on talking with Robert, to your uncles and his younger siblings. Joffrey was looking out the balcony trying his best to take short breaths so he didn’t have to smell the shit coming from below where the commoners live. He was staring out because he heard the ruckus you were making this morning. You didn’t break fast with them, he hasn't seen you all morning. Of course, Robert was fine with it. He told Cersei you were busy with your activities.

“Feeding the poor is one of her activities now?” Cersei spoke with a mocking tone. She got angry when Robert straight up ignored her and continued on with his meal.

Joffrey rolled his eyes when he finally found you. You were walking with Sandor up and down the streets of King’s Landing. Sandor walked behind you as he led his horse. Joffrey’s blue eyes hardened when he saw a group forming in front of you. Your smile didn’t break when they got near you, Joffrey couldn’t believe you could be near them. They reeked of shit, he couldn’t even be around them for 5 minutes before he started to gag.

Your smile didn't falter, it grew bigger as you walked around the dark mare to open the bags draped over its body. The people's eyes widened when you came back with slices of bread and cheeses wrapped in a white cloth. Sandor remains silent as he looks over at you then at his surroundings.

Joffrey walks away from the balcony when you continue to walk around with Sandor. It was evening and Sandor can tell you were tired. You were walking slower, you were up at dawn wrapping bread and cheese with the servants of the kitchen. This wasn’t something new, he’s been walking around King’s Landing with you feeding the people for years. You were kind unlike your family, Sandor thinks as he passes the last house that stood at the bottom of the hill. He had told you it would have been better to ride in a carriage so you wouldn’t have to walk all over the place but you told him you didn’t mind it. You wanted to speak with the people and have a close interaction with them.

“Princess.” Sandor looks over at the last house to see an elderly woman walking out of the front door. She bowed her head when she got close to you.

“How are you today?” You asked, grabbing the last bundles in the bag.

“Better now that you are here.” Sandor watches as you give her a smile while handling her food.

Sandor bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling as he watches you communicate with her. You spoke to her like an equal. You’re the first to ever do it with the commoners. That’s why they called you the Realms Delight. It was one of the many reasons why Sandor fell in love with you. You never looked down at anyone, you treated everyone with kindness especially to the unfortunate.

When it tends to bite you in the ass because of it that’s why he’s there with you. Sandor has threatened people throughout the years since you started giving food out. People got ahead of themselves and took too many bundles. He was always there to make sure everyone got their share. He gives them a stare down when they begin to fight with others for more food.

He remembers the first time the children from the orphanage wouldn’t get near you since he was behind you.

“No need to fear. Sandor and Stranger are here to help me.” You tell the children but they don’t believe you until a man tries to cut the line. Sandor bares his teeth, sending him running away.

“You see. Sandor is here to help me to make sure everyone gets their share.” The children calms down as Sandor brings Stranger closer to you so you start passing out the bundles.

“Remember to eat up so you can grow tall and strong like Sandor.” He shakes his head as you tell the children before walking away.

Sandor was so busy remembering the past that he didn’t notice you were walking inside the older woman’s house. Sandor shouted your name and you waved at him to come inside. He leans down to get his big frame past the door frame. When he gets through he notices you were talking with a young girl. Sandor awkwardly stood by the front door as you talked with her. The young girl was the older woman’s daughter. They were all alone after the woman’s husband died from the recent war. He was unaware when you placed a comforting hand on the woman's knee. A war broke out not long ago, your father’s brother wanted to be King. Robert brushed it off but soon it became clear that his brother was serious when he received support from other houses. All you could do is pray for when the next war breaks out that your father would win it again.

Sandor heard the words working and tavern but didn’t pay attention to it. He was busy looking around to make sure no harm would come to you. As much as you like to believe the people in King’s Landing wouldn't hurt you. Sandor thought the opposite. His eyes almost pop out of his head when he sees you sitting on a chair, pulling your dress up to your knees so you can remove your black slippers.

“Seven Hells!” He shouts but you look over at him with a stern face that shuts him up.

“Princess! No! Please. We can not.” The mother tells you while the daughter is pushing the slippers back towards you.

“Nonsense! You can’t work with those shoes. They are falling apart.” You pointed at the old slippers near the bed by the daughter.

“Princess Y/n.” Sandor calls out walking towards you. You were getting out of hand now, passing food was one thing but giving up your belongings was something else completely.

“Sandor. Please.” You look up at him. How can he say no when you look at him with those puppy dog eyes.

Sandor’s nostrils flare but he looks away from you letting you continue on. He hears that you tell the girl to take it. If they were too big or small to have the cobbler fix it. He hears the coins clinking together as you grab a hold of your small pouch that was kept strapped on your waist.

He looks out the door when the mother and daughter start to cry by your kindness, giving them money to make sure the shoes would fit properly. He walks out when you mention to them that you should be returning back to the castle. Sandor had already pulled the bags off of Stranger and draped it over his shoulders.

“Get up here.” Sandor tells you when he saw you were about to walk barefoot up the hill. Sandor helps you up, settling you on top of Stranger. He wanted to snap at you but couldn't when he saw the smile you had on your face.

“Why?” Sandor asked you after a moment of silence.

He can’t comprehend why you were so kind to everyone. He knew you had the ability to manipulate, manipulate men, and the king but you never did use it for anything wicked. Years of him guarding you; you’ve never changed, you've always been kind since the very start but he just can’t wrap his head around the idea of it. Maybe because he was so used to being treated like shit by his brother and by others when he was younger that it was normal to him.

“Remember what you told me two weeks after guarding me?” You asked him, looking down at him as he walked side by side with Stranger.

“Aye.” Sandor answered you with a nod. He had snapped at you because you were being too nice with the guards. Your intentions with them were innocent and nothing more. You didn’t notice their beady eyes ranking up and down your figure.

“You were the first man to ever tell me how this world works. Mother told me a few things on how to get what I want but you showed me a whole other side of the world beyond the castle’s wall.” Sandor senses a sadness in your voice.

“There is so much pain and sorrow in this world. I want to ease their pain, even if it’s just a little bit.” You look towards the castle.

“I am grateful to have survived the fever when I was a babe. I was born into a wealthy family. I have a roof over my head and I will never go hungry. My relationship with my family may not be the best, but I have my father.” You told him as you felt Stranger’s soft fur against your toes.

“ And I have you.” You said looking down at him with a smile.

He will never get used to your kind words and it makes him dread even more when the day comes for you to get married to some Lord, leaving him all alone in King's Landing. He will miss it, miss everything. He will miss hanging out with you, guarding you and loving you. When he and you finally made it to the stables, he shook his head letting all those sad thoughts of you leaving, disappear.

The stable boys welcome you and you greet them with a smile, asking them about their family. Sandor huffs at you, he doesn't even know their names, he was impressed on how you remembered most of the people's names that work for your father. He keeps quiet as you speak with them.

The stable boys walked out as Sandor brought Stranger into his stall. The dark mare wasn’t fond of other people that weren't Sandor.. You grabbed a hold on Sandor's shoulders as he put you down to the ground.

“It’s evening.” You told him. The stable boys were already leaving for the day. He places you on top of his shoes so you won't touch the dirty stable floor. Stranger is eating the hay placed out for him in the corner as Sandor shuts the door, pushing you against it, lifting you up to meet his face.

“I do, enjoy evenings.” He tells you. Evenings were the best, the workers were retreating back home, others were already at the castle breaking fast to eat dinner. King Robert and Queen Cersei should already be drunk out of their minds. Both of you can be alone, he can be close to you now. Your face is flushed from being outside all day, he feels your legs wrapped around his waist, he hides his face between your neck and shoulder.

“Spend the night with me. We can bathe and eat.” Sandor grips his hold on you tighter as you kiss his mutilated ear.

“You can fuck me.” You whisper and he looks at you by your choice of words. His only brow rose up at you as you smirked at him.

You cupped his face with your hands, your thumb brushing over his beard as you looked at him. Passing food to the ladies in the whore house had you shocked when one of them noticed Sandor over your shoulder. They were very outspoken about Sandor. Wondering how big he is and how he would fuck. One girl was about to ask you about him when the other hushed her, telling her you, the princess wouldn't know such a matter when it came to Sandor’s sex life. You quickly walked away when they commented on his face.

You wonder why people thought Sandor was hideous, he really wasn't. The burns were large and took up almost half of his face but he was the most handsome man you have seen. If anyone got the chance to see him smile, they would know it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world. His eyes were a deep and rich brown color, his lips that seemed to only know foul words were pale pink and kissable. You can’t recall the amount of times you nibble on it for the fun of it.

“Is that a yes?” You asked him. Sandor nods softly as he leans down to kiss your cheek. You moved to catch his lips.

Joffrey was walking out of his mother’s room when he heard laughter. He walked to the railing trying to listen where it came from. He was leaning over it when saw Sandor walking with you draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Joffrey frowns as he notices you were barefoot. He could believe that The Hound had cracked a smile and laughed when you slapped him on his behind. Joffrey broke out a sinister smile when he saw Sandor playfully biting your ass making you squeal.

This was something much more than a guard guarding the princess. Joffrey kept staring as he started to form a plan.

Sandor had dropped you at the end of the hall when he noticed your servants were waiting for you by the door of your bed chambers. You fixed your gown and walked towards the room. You asked them to bring the large brass tub you wanted to bathe today and to bring food so you can dine inside your chambers as you released Sandor from his duties. After convincing the eldest servant that you wanted to bathe alone, she bowed to you and left the room. You were in the tub relaxing when a couple of minutes later you heard the door open. You looked ahead to see Sandor walking inside, he’s not wearing his usual gear. Locking the door behind, you sat up straight in the tub moving to the side to make room for him. You grin as he walks towards you.

“Water is still hot. Come inside.” You tell him. Sandor doesn’t need to be told twice. He removes his white tunic shirt, dropping it to the ground. Watching him remove his clothes you bite your bottom lip, you can’t help but stare at his body, his cock as he gets inside the tub. The water overflows over the edge of the tub as he sits down across from you.

“Come here.” He tells you. You move towards him, turning around. His legs are spread, leaving you space to get in between and lean back against his chest. You can feel the coarse thick hair of his body on your back. Your hands trail up his thick thighs under the water.

“The girls were sweet to get these roses and lavender from the garden. They said it will help me ease my mind and body.” You told Sandor as you grabbed a rose petal floating near you and giving it to him over your shoulder.

Sandor takes it between his fingers, giving it an uninterested look. “Hopefully I won’t find one between my arse.”

You break out laughing as you throw another petal at him. “The best smelling arse in the seven kingdoms.”

He chuckles at you before tugging you closer to him making you giggle as he kisses your neck. His wandering hands are touching your hips and waist before settling down on your outer thighs.

A comfortable silence drifted over both of you, enjoying each other's company; this was something he liked. Being close to you, feeling you on him. Your mind wandered off as Sandor leaned forward to grab something from the side. You look down to see what he got. You smiled when you saw what he was holding. The bar of soap looks so minuscule in his hand, he dips it in the water and rubs it against your skin. He lather you up well and you let out a moan when you feel his hand working on a knot on your shoulder.

When he was finished you took the bar out of his hand, you slowly turned around, moving his legs straight so you could straddle him. His hands immediately went to your waist as you placed your hands on his shoulders. Sandor’s stares at you as you were washing him, rubbing the soap on his chest and shoulders. Gathering a rag hanging from the edge of the tub you use it on him. He relaxes as you wash him. He was so relaxed to the point that he had his head tilted back. You dropped the rag in the water and kissed his open neck. He whines as you nip his throat and shoulders. You thought this would be the perfect time to tell him something. Sandor wasn't the only one thinking about the future.

“I want to tell you something. It’s been plaguing my mind since the event with Joffrey and my father.” Sandor brings his head back forward to look at you with a worried expression.

“I know my time will come when my father expects me to marry.” You felt Sandor tense up under you. His face became blank as he looked at you.

“Why don’t we run away?” You ask him, moving his hair out of his face. You don’t know what Sandor is thinking.

“I’ll give you my jewelry to sell at flea bottom. We save enough money to go wherever you wanna go. Braavos?” Words kept spilling out of your mouth as he kept silent.

“Anywhere you want. We can buy land and have a farm. Stranger would be so happy with all the open fields.” You frowned when he didn't say anything.

“No more King’s Landing. No Joffrey, no more guarding, no more rules. No more Gregor.” You mentioned his brother’s name softly.

“You would give up your title? Run away with me?” He asks you quietly. You nodded at him as you got closer to him. Your chest was close to his face as you looked down at him seriously.

“I will.” Sandor shook his head.

“Y/n.” Sandor tried to find the right words to say. He looks around at your room. The gowns are hanging from your closet, the large bed of silk sheets and feather pillows. He can see your jewelry on the vanity.

“If we leave. I can’t give you all of this. The pretty and expensive dress. Jewels and dornish wine.” You look around your room following his gaze.

“You deserve all of it.” His words make you angry. “You know what I deserve?” You ask him.

“I deserve to be happy. You are what makes me happy. Being with you makes me happy and the idea of getting to spend the rest of my life with you brings me so much joy. No more hiding. I want to kiss you when I want. I want to make love to you whenever I want. I want you to fuck me whenever you want. I don’t care about the dresses, the wine and the jewels. Sandor, say yes. Say yes to me.”

He feels like he must have done something to please the gods and now they were rewarding him with you. He can’t believe that you were willing to give all of this up to be with him, a second born son.

“Say something.” You tell him with tears in your eyes. Sandor brings his hands to face, cupping his hands in your face. Droplets of water are running down his arms to your chest.

“We do it but I make you mine. Make you my wife.” You let out a smile.

“What do you say, princess?” He asked you.

“This would be the last time you call me that. Next time it will be Y/n Clegane.” Sandor smiles at you before pulling you in a kiss. He liked the sound of your new name. Leaving the tub when the water became cold, Sandor and you sat by the table eating dinner as he talked about how he could sell the jewelry you offered, a few jewels without people knowing it from you. He would have to go early in the morning and in secret.

You agreed with him. Talks about the future filled the night, both of you were tired from the walk. Slow kisses and gentle touches both of you gave each other. Sandor refused when you were going to have sex with him. He can see it in your face that you were tired. He kissed the top of your head and told you, “We will have all the time in the world to make love when we are free from King's landing.”

It was dawn when Sandor snuck out of your chambers and made his way to his own. He froze outside of his door when he noticed a light coming under the door. He didn't leave any candles on. He pushes the door and walks inside. He frowns at the sight of Joffrey and Ser Meryn Trant sitting around the table in the middle of his room.

“About time.” Joffrey said with a loud sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sandor threw a glare at Meryn Trant who grabbed his sword that was on the table.

“We have been waiting for you all night.” Sandor shuts the door behind him and walks towards his bed.

“Went to the tavern and stayed the night at the whorehouse.” Sandor lied as he sat on his bed. His eyes went to his sword near his bed post.

“Without your armor or sword?” Joffrey asked with a smirk. “Very strange.”

“Everyone knows not to fuck with me. No need to carry all that shit.” Sandor answered him bluntly. Joffrey looks over at Ser Meryn Trant.

“I searched every whorehouse in King’s landing. You weren't there.” The knight answered.

“Where were you, Dog?” Joffrey asked. Sandor frowned at the nickname. It’s been so long that someone called him that. No one dared to disrespect him when he started to guard you. You demanded respect for him and your servants.

“My sister has such a loyal dog, Ser Meryn Trant.” Joffrey told the knight next him when Sandor did not respond.

“You're wasting my time already. We were waiting in your room all night. I know where you were, Dog.” Sandor stared hard at Joffrey.

Joffrey told him how he saw him and you walking away from the stables. A disgraceful sight, Joffrey called it. Sandor felt his heart dropped to his stomach when Joffrey mentioned how he saw him going to your chambers last night.

“What do you want?” Sandor asked, looking down at the ground. Joffrey stood up from his seat and walked towards him.

“Look at me, Dog.” Sandor’s jaw clenched but he obeyed Joffrey.

Joffrey gave him a malicious smile. “It all makes sense now. Why wouldn't she get married.”

“She is in love with the dog. How ridiculous! What a joke this is!" Joffrey cracked a laugh and looked over at Ser Meryn Trant who joined him with his own laughter. Sandor felt his mouth go dry as they laughed at him, laughed at the idea that you love him.

His laughter dies as he looks back at Sandor. “What would the king say when he hears about this? Mother would die from this news. Y/n will be stripped from her title. She will be disowned and severely punished for being with a lowborn.” Sandor felt ill to his stomach.

“Perhaps she threatened you to sleep with her. Or you raped her and she had no other choice.” Sandor stood up at his words. He never in his life had made you do something that you weren't comfortable with and you were the same to him.

“She will be punished.” Joffrey showed no fear when Sandor stood in front of him.

“Like I said. What do you want?” Sandor asked him as Ser Meryn Trant stood up from his seat. Ready to swing his sword incase Sandor harms Joffrey.

“I want her to suffer. I want her dog to go to her room and tell her you don't want her anymore. You will be my new guard. You will tell her that you don't love her and everything between you was all a lie. Tell her that you used her.” Sandor shook his head at him, he wouldn't. He couldn't do that to you. He would runaway with you today and fuck the rest. He will work to provide for you, he will do anything but he wouldn't say he doesn't love you.

“If you don't obey. I will tell my father everything. He will disown her and you will never see her again because you will be punished. You know how? You’ll be executed for raping my sister. I swear on everything, Dog. If you don't agree with this. I’ll have her head chopped off with yours.” Sandor looks away. He blinks the unshed tears away, he refuses to cry in front of Joffrey.

“I’ll give you an hour. Break her heart and report back to me.” Joffrey said he was about to leave when he looked over at Ser Meryn Trant.

“I always wanted a dog. Now I got the largest and the most dangerous of them all.” Joffrey laughed as he walked out of the room with Ser Meryn Trant behind.

Sandor looks at the door, he’s breathing heavily and tears are rolling down his face. He knew it was too good to be true. Sandor let out a growl and flipped the table over and leaned against the wall.

He doesn’t think he has the heart to break things off with you. He was strong to kill and fight but to tell you that he doesn’t love you. He couldn’t but he has too for your sake. He has to do it to keep you safe. You will hate him forever but you will be safe.

Sandor dresses for the day and walks slowly to your chambers. He sees your servants coming out of your room, it meant you were dressed as well and ready for the day.

He knocked on the door and heard your voice saying to come inside. He walks inside and shuts the door behind him. His heart is beating out of his chest as he watches you wrapping something by the vanity.

“Good Morrow, Sandor.” You tell him as you look ahead at the mirror to see him by the door.

He doesn’t say anything. You carefully wrapped the cloth and walked towards him. “I have it. These should be sold off first. I had them for a while so no one will suspect a thing.”

You tell him, holding out the jewelry for him to take. Sandor is still silent as he looks at you. You frowned when Sandor didn’t move. You grabbed his hand trying to open it so you could give him the jewelry. He doesn’t look well and it worries you.

“What’s wrong, my love?” You whispered. Sandor rips his hand from your gasp and walks back to the door.

He had his back turn to you. He couldn’t look at your face. He didn’t want to see how your face looked when he ripped his hand from your gasp. You must have looked so hurt by his action.

“This is wrong.” Sandor said as his shoulders rose up and down with each breath he took.

Before you can respond he cuts you off. “Between me and you is wrong. It must end. It’s over. I won’t be your guard anymore.”

Sandor doesn’t wait for a response. He’s about to open the door when you push him against the door and flip him over with all your might. His back hits the door and refuses to look at your face. He doesn't want to look at you, he knows if he does he’ll break down.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?” You asked him.

“Sandor!” You shouted his name, the jewelry in your hands had fallen to the ground as you slapped his chest trying to catch his attention. He was ignoring you. He told you it was over.

“Tell me what’s wrong. I can help you.” You told him.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You cried out as you slapped the chest armor again. He has to do it. He has to break your heart. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, punished, or disowned for loving him.

“It’s over between us.” Sandor said, finally looking down at you. You shook your head.

“What do you mean?” You asked him, Sandor hears your voice crack.

“Sandor..”

He wants to cry but the look on your face. You looked so hurt, eyes tearful, brows knitted together in confusion. He needs to touch you one last time, hold you. He wants to remember how warm and soft you feel under his touch. His fingers are twitching to touch your face.

“What did I do? I’m sor- for whatever I did I’m so sorry.” He wants to yell at you for being so stupid. How is this your fault? How can you believe that you were the one in fault?

“Sandor, I love you. If this is about last night of me deserving all of this, I’ve told you. I told you all I want is you. I deserve to be happy and you are the only reason that makes me happy.”

‘You’re the only reason he’s happy too’, he says to himself. The words that he’s about to say kills him on the inside, it feels like bile coming up his throat.

“I changed my mind. I don’t love you. Not anymore.” You took a step back from Sandor. You place a hand on your stomach as you cry. You shook your head at him.

“I don’t believe you. You love me and I love you.” Sandor felt his tears at bay, he had to leave the room at once. You flinched at his sudden moment when he walked away from the door and towered over you giving you a scowl.

“I don’t love you anymore. Princess.” The tone of his voice drops down in a hiss.

“I never did. I just used you.” Sandor quickly turns to open the door, he does it so hard it almost comes out of the hinges. He hears you crying as he walks out of the room.

Joffrey was in his room when he heard a knock. Ser Meryn Trant opens the door when Joffrey welcomes in whoever it was. Joffrey feels like the first in his life, he won. He won on making you feel unloved just as he felt, he wished he could hear your cries right now. What he would give to see your face at this moment but it didn’t matter because his pet was waiting outside for him.

“Dog. Come in.” Joffrey said with an ominous smile.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

Taglist: @federalclassroom, @snixx2088

[bethanydelleman]

I saw a post you reblogged at some point about Fanny being stuck in a time loop and it got me thinking: if the main men (both protagonists and antagonists) of the different Austen novels time travelled back to the day they first met their love interest/the start of the novel - whichever is latest so wentworth, knightley, and Edmund Bertram would travel to the day the main events of their novels start - who do you think would end up changing the least of the events and the most (intentionally or not)?

Because I feel like Knightley would change the least and Henry Tilney and the three S&S gents would come next. But like Wentworth would immediately throw the entire novel off track and like Darcy and Henry Crawford would come in close second trying to change their truly awful first impressions

(Also I just want to add that I really love your Austen takes and discussions 😊)

Thank you!

This is a fascinating idea. Here are my thoughts:

Wentworth just marches into Uppercross Cottage and proposes again. Doesn't even wait to be properly introduced to the family. He's getting Anne back NOW. (She says yes, of course)

I can imagine Darcy having a tiny little crisis as he decides if he really wants to be married to Elizabeth, maybe he could just not accompany Bingley to Netherfield and his life could go the way he planned... nah, he can't resist. Off to Netherfield he goes and he lets Bingley introduce him to Elizabeth at the assembly ball. Things progress unimpeded and by Christmas there is a double wedding and Wickham's character is known throughout Hertfordshire. He skips town and Lydia is packed off to Pemberley to benefit from some better society. (Side note: Mrs. Bennet would push Mr. Collins on Mary if she had any inclination that Darcy liked Elizabeth).

If Bingley knew everything, he'd never leave Jane. He'd return from London and marry her, no matter what Darcy or his sisters said. (I wrote that once actually)

Does Wickham count as a main? Because I don't want him having the ability to predict the future. Yikes on bikes!

Henry Crawford is very interesting, because does he actually understand where he went wrong? I'm not sure he does. Can he resist a flirtation with two very pretty sisters? That would be a fun fan fiction to write. Because if he went for Fanny right off the bat and she knew nothing else about him... he'd probably succeed with her, secret Edmund love or not. And she certainly wouldn't have a leg to stand on in refusing his proposal.

Does Edmund come back in the same timeline as Henry? That would be so agnsty! If not, he'd probably be doing whatever he could to keep Maria and Henry apart, but he's shockingly ineffective in canon, so would he even be able to change anything?

Henry Tilney would probably just try to prevent Catherine being sent home alone. He could easily come back early.

Mr. Knightley's best move would be to tell Robert Martin to propose in person. I doubt Harriet could have resisted. Then he could just sit back and watch everything else play out.

Honestly, I don't know if Frank Churchill would change a thing, other than making sure his final letter was posted to Jane. He enjoyed the subterfuge.

Poor Edward Ferrars has to travel back while engaged to Lucy? I feel like he wouldn't even want to relive the novel, there is nothing he can do anyway.

Colonel Brandon would probably change a lot. He could immediately save Eliza and challenge Willoughby. He might even spare Marianne from a lot of pain.

Reginald de Courcy (Lady Susan) would likely act as well and save Frederica earlier than in the novel.