#she unwittingly frees her

[mariasont]

Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear. 

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen. 

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly. 

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest. 

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped. 

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily. 

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand. 

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip. 

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down. 

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all. 

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny. 

You went back to your phone.

Hi

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud. 

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter.  It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip. 

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood. 

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side. 

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[thesirenisles]

Pluto’s Sirens 🦂

beauty, love astrology observations ✨

scorpio sun, scorpio moon, scorpio mars, scorpio ascendant , Scorpio lilith, Black moon lilith

8th house placements including Lilith

Lilith aspects, Pluto Aspects, Venus Opposing Trine Conjunction Square Pluto, Ruled, Dominant

Pluto in the 1st house, Pluto in the 8th house

“She knew death quite well. She often drowned. But, never in fear. The storm waters of love, pain, and sorrow filled her lungs and from their depths, she rose metamorphosed — a captivating phoenix of the sea.”

-The Siren Isles

do not steal any of my original work. All rights reserved. © 2024 The Siren Isles | Leave a tip if you enjoy! 🧜🏾‍♀️

🦂Child of Pluto,

The stunning dark beauty that disappears intermittently, only to reemerge a brand new person.. having lived another full life to it’s completion.

You have walked the Valley of Death and your essence was fortified by means of eternal hellfire. There’s really no wonder why you’re so intimidatingly hot. 🔥

As a water sign, this is similar to the siren-like energy of Neptune. However, a Neptunian might unwittingly lure suitors to their death, but you, Plutonian Goddess are the siren who wants the kill.

🥀You are the siren they fear.

You are a mistress of the deep, a beacon of light through the annals of life’s taboo topics like sex, death, occultism, and mystery.

When considering Plutonian energy, I imagine the scorpion deep within a fierce ocean of emotions, burrowing deeper and deeper into the sand… searching and feeling…

Deep within these depths is where you thrive. The drowned woman… I say this because Scorpio is a fixed sign, meaning its energy can be stagnant.

So, it is literally fixed water or stuck water. Being stuck underwater can symbolically connote to drowning.

This is also where the big misunderstanding of Scorpio comes from because… a scorpion does not belong underwater?? Yup, you’re an anomaly.

But, hence this is literally why you cannot stay under water for too long. You’re meant to dive deep beneath the surface, transform yourself, others, and your surroundings BUT only for a little while.

If you try to resist and stay submerged, life literally pushes you to transform and resurface for fresh air. By the end of your journey, you come out reborn anew, carrying nothing but the wisdom you’ve gained.

At your core, you are here to transform yourself and others.

With this energy, you are always digging and craving depth wherever you go, whether you realize it or not just like the scorpion. This could be for emotions, the truth, or other extremes.

Your plutonic vibrations sometimes does this for you and easily charm souls into revealing their darkest and deepest desires to you.

Pluto has gifted you with a gaze that certainly helps to compel information, while also commanding authority and exuding power. (It’s giving Vampire Diariesss)

🥀A fierce siren, you wish to take hold of your romantic partners, friends, and families and lead them to the deepest depths of human existence.

But, this is only an attempt to free them from the confinement of the human ego and mundanity.

🦂The Misunderstood

The Scorpio/ 8th house slander is endless. But, I feel it’s just misunderstood. I love Plutonian energy. I find it refreshing, possibly because I have Scorpio 11th house & Scorpio Mars lol.

But, I get them. My longest friendship is with a beautiful Scorpio Sun and I have never had to second guess her loyalty.

She has been through more than anyone would guess, but maintains a heart of pure gold. Her shell is hard to crack though.

This is because you guys have seen the other side of life… death. You are aware most people aren’t living their truths or even knowledgeable of the truths of this Earthly realm… and it infuriates you at times.

It’s not easy being the one who sees a liar in a fake smile or an enemy within a friend. You see people without their masks and you call them out when needed… including family.

This can ruffle many feathers, of course. We all know how truth tellers are deemed in society.

And to some, your intense need to dive deep can terrify them and trigger them because in some way they are not living their authentic truth.

But, it’s meant to!

Pluto in the 1st house natives know this reaction well, as they wear the hellfire mark wherever they go. This triggers those who are not comfortable with darkness or their own shadow self.

Significant Lilith placements can resonate with this energy. Your presence and rebel energy triggers those whose identity is based upon a facade.

A Plutonian is a friend with their shadow self. They have seen the likes of all darkness.

You are the wounded warrior with these placements, (and honestly deserve so much more and so many hugs for what you’ve survived🥹) But, you seldom allow anyone to see you sweat or any weakness.

This need to conceal weakness hides your incredibly, loving heart and loyal spirit.

You can come off a bit brash at times. (Think, Jade from Victorious… Marlo from The Wire.. Matthew McConaughey’s character in True Detective) But, Its hard to empathize with those who seem ungrateful for their less challenging life paths or who refuse to make simple life changes out of fear.

You are like a butterfly. You have lived several lives, experiencing completely new things at each stage of life, but ultimately improving yourself each time.

While painful at times, that’s your superpower. ✨

The ironic part is that people see you in your Butterfly phase, ornate wings and beautiful colors, and assume you have not had it hard.

Until you sting. 🦂🩸

Absolutely incredible and yet so misunderstood.

Believe me when I say, it is such a GIFT to be able to transform in a world where Saturn’s energy reigns supreme.

🥀A piece of advice I leave to you all is… while understanding death.. DON’T forget to LIVE. Take a page out of the book of your sister sign, Taurus or Planet Venus… pamper your soul. 💅🏾

You are allowed and capable of just as much happiness and soft living as any other soul. Do not be afraid to open up and love or allow yourself to be loved.

You ARE loved over here! ❤️🫶🏾

🦂La Petite Mort “Little Death”.

To possess significant scorpio or 8th house placements is to live through many small deaths to be born anew.

Ironically, while Pluto rules sex, the French saying for an orgasm is Le Petite Mort … or “Little Death”.

Perfectly fitting.

With these placements, you can transform yourself and others through your sexual encounters.

🥀Your sex is transformative!

The sexual energy exudes from your pores, thanks to Papa Pluto and those around you can smell the fragrance.

When a suitor spots you, perched upon a rock amidst the chaos of the ocean… they can’t look away.

They don’t know what it is about you, but they are drawn… hooked and captivated by your watery siren gaze.

You call to them on the shore… and they approach only to be grasped and delivered to the bottom of the ocean for an unforgettable awakening.

This is why Scorpios/ Plutonians/ 8th housers rule the sack. There is less inhibition, less hesitation, and your goal is sink your prey… to the depths… and transform them. (This gives me chills to think about… very powerful stuff!)

Both men and women of Pluto have this quality. Even if they aren’t perfectly symmetrical or dreamy, you have to admit they are HOT AF & their raw sexual energy caught your eye and made you wonder if you even possess the endurance to swim in their waters…

Keep transforming the world Plutonians! We need you!

Thank you for reading! Wishing you blessings💋

Neptune ♓️⬅️✨ MERCURY♍️♊️ Mars ♈️♏️✨ Venus | masterlist

Alton Mason (Scorpio Sun) and Kofi Siriboe (Scorpio Pluto, Moon, Jupiter STELLIUM 😮‍💨)

@thesirenisles | masterlist | Enjoyed? Support!🧜🏾‍♀️

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

one thing that I love about your eleutherophobia fics (among many many things) is that, despite being free of a Yeerk haunting his mind, Tom has now unwittingly replaced that with a reader listening to every thought and memory that he cares to share with us through the first person point of view. He’d be mortified if he ever broke the fourth wall ;)

thanks for your lovely writing and blog! definitely part of what’s keeping me going in these very weird times

Thank you! And yeah, I think a lot about the unique narration style in Animorphs, because I'm trying to imitate it. There's always an awareness that the characters are telling a story — the books open with the narrator going "I can't tell you my last name", and Marco especially will use imperatives like "don't tell anyone I said that." Clearly you is the reader, and each of the kids is meant to be aware that the reader is there.

There are some fascinating hints (handwaving Jake's line in #53) about who each narrator considers their audience. The Chronicles all state outright that each is an account of oneself (X) consciously crafted for one particular audience: Elfangor's talking to Tobias, Aldrea and Dak to Seerow Jr., Visser One to the Council (and Eva), and Toomin to Rachel. Ax says that he's narrating for his fellow andalites, so that they can better understand Earth (#8). Jake implies he's narrating for his great-grandkids: "I'll need to buy a footlocker" (#31). Tobias at one point implies he's talking to his imagined therapist (#23), but I also think you could argue that he's talking to the Ellimist (#13) or his dad (#33).

The others are a little trickier. Cassie seems to have Jake's same educational bent, but I'd argue she's trying to teach about the biology rather than the ethics of the war. Marco is probably talking to a kid his own age who thinks they're reading a sci fi novel. He's defensive ("call me Mr. Ruthless" as he feels empathy for baby seals), he's misdirecting ("now you know how I got a blowhole" instead of clarifying his role in the war), and he's desperate to impress ("I'm slightly not tall"). But he also references the reader "vegging out" and "watching TV." Rachel? I'd argue Rachel is talking to her own adult self. She doesn't care what others think of her, but she cares a lot about living with herself. She's trying to define who she is and who she wants to be, more than anyone else on the team.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Edge Of Ever After | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Sandor runs his fingers down my spine and sighs, "everything I ever touch goes to shit." He grabs my hip and pulls me close. I turn to him and nestle my face into his chest. He traps me in his arms, "but you... you turn my shit into gold."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, smut (piv, cunnilingus), mentions of pregnancy/fertility issues, sunshine x grump, enemies to lovers (to enemies ? HAHA), slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, horrible communication, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: cross posted on ao3

I wake up with laboured breath, with a severe tightness in my stomach. I grunt and shift, realizing promptly Sandor's arm was squeezing me.

"Sandor," I groggily yelp, yanking his arm off me.

Thankfully, his arm gives and I manage to roll away. I catch my breath and whimper, making a disgruntled face at my husband.

In the name of the seven gods, the man was still asleep, as though he did not make an attempt on my life unwittingly. I huff and push myself up on my elbows, "Sandor."

I nudge him with my knee.

He sighs peacefully in his sleep.

I huff and brush his hair. I caress the side of his face which was free from burn marks and shake my head, "you vicious pup. How am I to sleep now?"

I turn to the window, seeing how the sun was barely shining and decide it was worth it to try and go back to sleep.

Alas, I could not and eventually just got out of bed. I decide to tidy up and change, giving us a headstart for the day.

I struggle to get myself ready, especially in doing the ties of my dress and styling my hair. After deciding I looked decent enough, I pondered what to do with the sopping wet clothes we had from the night before. I gather them from the floor, wrapping them in towels, as they were still dripping wet, and head downstairs.

When I reach the main room where we had eaten dinner, I gawk at how large it looks without it overflowing with people.

"Can I help ya?" a low and slightly annoyed voice asks.

I turn and make a soft sound of surprise at the sight of the hulking man before me.  I smile at him, "good morn to you. Yes. If you could, that would be lovely."

He raises his thin brows as I shuffle with the clothes in my hands.

"If it is possible, I would like to have my clothes washed. They have gotten terribly-"

He grabs the clothes from me.

"-oh... wet from last night..."

He inspects the clothes pulling them apart one by one, the hanging them on his large arm.

"I- UH-" I freeze when he picks out my shift and small clothes. I begin to fidget but he doesn't bat an eye. He does raise his brows when he sees Sandor's clothes.

He holds it up then looks at me, "this yours, lil lady?"

"My husband's."

He measures the shirt against him, "he's almost as big as me."

I blink at his observation.

He huffs and tilts his head, "it's gonna cost ya. Work don't come for free."

I nod quickly, "and I can pay," I pull out some coin, "I would also like some food for us."

He takes the coin from me, "it's not gonna be ready til a lil later."

I nod again, "I understand. I can wait."

He stares at me for a moment. He tilts his head the other side, "what's your name then, lady?"

I tell him my name and then he laughs.

"Clegane? Like the Mountain?"

I am married to his brother, Sandor."

"Mmm," he walks off, "must be nice being Lord Clegane."

I step back as he exits through the front door. And as if on cue, Trysha comes in, "ooh, pleasant morning, dear lady. I see you've met my other son."

Oh. I smile at her.

"Did he give you a hard time? What did you need?"

"Some laundry services and break fast. I've already paid for it."

Trysha smiles, "well, don't you worry, milady. I'll go find Donnie and see to your laundry. Riley will cook you and your lord food first thing."

"Oh, thank you, Trysha," I smile back.

She nods at me, "it's my pleasure, milady."

I step forward and fidget with my fingers, "if I may, how many children do you have?"

She grins, "I have five sons, each as big as the other. The first is Wencel, then Donnie, Riley, Graham, and Ian."

"I see. And I assume their father was quite large as well."

"Aye," she wiggles her brows, "if you know what I mean."

My lips part yet I say nothing.

She giggles and shakes her head, "why, how improper of me to jest with a lady."

I chuckle nervously, feeling my face warm slightly.

"Ah," she sighs, "Riley is the spitting image of his da, from face to the frame. He gets his ruggedness from me though. My Hugh wouldn't hurt a fly... and that would be why he got killed."

I frown at his words, "my deepest sympathies for your loss."

She waves a hand, "it's been ages. It was a hard day but you learn to live with it." With that, she smiles and says she'll tell Riley to start making my food.

I walk towards the open door and hum at the sight of the muddy floor. I debate if I should get my boots dirty, but figure, it'll get dirty anyway once we leave, so might as well. Mud could be washed off.

I pick up my skirt and tread carefully out of the place. I wander towards the stables and remember that Riley mentioned our horses were moved somewhere else.

I spot a man by the beasts. I lock eyes with him and smile, "good morrow! Are you the stable keeper?"

He stares back at me, face contorting slowly. 

As I walk closer, I realize just how large he is, appearing opposite, only because he was dwarfed by the horses around him. I then wonder if he was one of Trysha's other sons.

"Who's askin'?"

I manage to step on a drier patch of dirt and explain to him who I was. I tell him I was only concerned for the well-being of my steeds, since they got terribly wet in the storm last night.

"Ahhhh," he says with some form of realization, "you're the lady Riley spoke about."

I hum, "if the lady was one he saved from a gang of brutish men, then, indeed, tis I."

The pets one of the horses' snouts and tilts his head, wordlessly walking off after.

I furrow my brows and clutch my skirt tightly, "do you expect me to follow?"

The man stops and turns back to me when he realizes I don't.

"You answered none of my questions and did not even say where you are leading me off."

He raises a brow a me, "clearly, I'm leading you to your horses."

"Well, it was not clear to me because you did not say so," I shake my head, "I do not even know your name. Why would I follow you?"

He purses his lips and crosses is arms, "and telling you my name will make a difference?"

"Of course."

He stares at me for a moment then chuckles dryly., "Graham."

"Brilliant," I smile at the confirmation of his identity, "lead the way, then, Graham."

Graham leads me off to a wood shed that had enough vacancy to house my two horses. They recognize me and chuff. I smile and offer each my attention and touch their faces.

"Hello, hello," a voice calls from the side.

A man walks towards Graham. He is red in the face and sweaty as he carries a large log on one shoulder.

"Hello there. Good morn," I offer in between combing my horse's mane with my fingers.

He drops the log on the ground. He huffs and tilts his head when he looks at Graham. Graham shrugs, then they both turn back to me.

"Need some help, lady?"

"Mmm?" I turn back to him, "no, I just wanted to check on my horses."

"Traveling with a bodyguard?"

"I'm travelling with my husband," I reply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I look between the two, and in this moment, realize they looked awfully similar, "you wouldn't happen to be named Wencel, would you?"

The man curls his lips up as the other laughs, "nay, lady! I'm Ian."

Graham slaps the man's arm in laughter.

Ian shoves him away, "I look nothing like that ugly shite."

"Who you calling ugly, orge?" a deep voice speaks above the sound of galloping hooves.

A man leading a donkey with a caravan walks towards us. He does not stop and eyes me as he walks past. He nods his head at me and I offer the same regard. I watch as he leads the horse to what was probably a back entrance to the inn.

"MY ASS IS PRETTIER THAN YOU!" Ian calls out.

"At least my ass is done with my morning chores."

Graham laughs harder.

If it was not painfully obvious before, it was now. These men were brothers, Trysha's sons. Though they were big burly men, the sight of them made me feel warm. They reminded me of my own brothers, how I used to be with them. It make me imagine what it would be like had they not died, and even how they would be once I had a son of my own.

I press my lips into a line and feel myself fel sick. I give my horses on last pet before going back inside the inn.

When I get back inside, I am faced with Riley, who perks up when he sees me.

"Oh, h-hello... I wanted you to know I've started cooking, but I didn't know what you wanted... so I was gonna ask."

"Oh," I bring myself to smile, "I'm alright with anything. I normally eat whatever my servants prepare, which is porridge, or eggs."

Riley hums, "alright. I'll be done soon. Take a seat."

I don't have an opportunity to ask if I could bring the food upstairs, so I merely just sit down and wait.

The moment I do, Graham and Ian walk in. They walk towards me and look at each other before turning back to me, "if our conversation offended you, we apologize," Graham says.

"Aye," Ian nods, "if you want to go back to the horses again-"

I shake my head, "no." I take in a breath, "I left because I was finished. My apologies for leaving without a word."

"Nay, it's alright," Ian waves his hands.

"Aye, aye," Graham nods.

"Out of the way," Riley says, shoving his brothers to the side. As the two shuffle away, Riley places a bunch of plates before me. Porridge, eggs, sausage, bread, jam, and fruit laid on a tray before me.

"Oh my, thank you-- this is a lot."

"Aye, seven fucking hells," Graham mutters, "can you finish all that?"

"I can help!" Ian blurts.

"Fuck off," Riley hisses.

"Actually," I shake my head, "my husband won't be awake until early afternoon, so please," I motion, "help yourselves."

Ian sits down across from me without much thought. He sighs as he eats the fruits, "fuck I haven't eaten yet."

"Lying bastard," Graham grabs the strawberry in his brothers fingers, "you ate my ham."

Just as Riley looks like he's about to tell his brothers off, I cut him off by offering him to eat with us.

Riley looks at me in shock for a moment. The next moment, he walks off and comes back with more food.

The next thing I know, all five brothers and their mother break their fast with me. Whatever unpleasant idea that tried to fester in my head was warded off by their familial bickering. It make my heart feel a little Les lonely to be in this moment with them, even though I was a merely spectator.

At some point, they ask my about myself and I tell them about Lucy, about my pups, about Sandor's strawberry garden.

"Aww, I'm glad to know your husband adores you," Trysha says.

One of the men grumbles.

Ian says through a mouthful, "if you ever comes to it, we can set you free."

I stare at him with confusion, "pardon?"

"Kill'im," Donnie says.

"Donnie!" their mother scolds, "that's not what he meant."

"That's exactly what he meant."

"Ian!" Trysha slaps her youngest on the arm.

"Aye," Wencel agrees.

"Wencel!" she scolds. She sighs where I chuckle. I shake my head, "I am flattered, but you needn't worry. My husband takes care of me."

Trysha nods, "and we can tell. My boys are just untrusting of men because of how I've been treated after their father died."

I offer her a solemn look and take her hand.

She waves me off and rubs my hand, "it's alright, milady."

Just then, I hear my name get called. I turn and see Sandor, frozen at the end of the staircase. I smile and wave at him.

I stand and walk up to him. I haul him to my seat and sit beside him. He looks at the faces around the table.

"Here," I push some porridge towards him, "it's still a bit warm."

"I'll go get you some more food, lady," Riley says, gathering some of the empty plates, standing up, and walking off.

"I'll go help," Wencel stands next, cleaning off what remained on the table.

"I have to finish chopping wood," Ian says.

Graham leaves without a word.

Donnie stares at Sandor. Sandor stares back at him.

Trysha smiles, placing a hand on my husband's shoulder. He turns to her as she says, "my sons and I were keeping your lady company, milord. She is a darling. I'm glad to know how much you care for her."

Sandor turns to me. I smile and shrug.

With that, Trysha stands and nudges Donnie. The man follows and he clears his throat. He nods before walking off with his mother.

Sandor glares at him until he disappears. He turns back to me, "by all the gods old and new. What the fuck was that, woman?"

I wave my arms, "I ate with the inn keeper and her sons."

He groans and leans towards me. He wraps his arms around me and I whimper when he bites my neck.

"I won't share you," he mutters against my skin, rather unprompted.

I am tickled by the feel of his beard and pull away, "Sandor-"

"Don't leave the room before I wake ever again."

"San-"

"I'm not playing," he straightens up, "this isn't a game, girl."

I press my lips into a line.

Riley comes back with some food for Sandor. The two of them stare hotly at the other before Riley walks of. The Hound huffs as he begins to eat everything he gets his paws.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting my armor on, what does it look like I'm doing?"

I walk up next to him as he puts on his top. I knit my brows and place my hands on his arms to stop him, "we cannot leave yet."

"And why the fuck not?" he snaps, "don't tell me you want to hang around those smelly oafs."

I raise my brows at him, "you're one to judge a smelly oaf."

Sandor stills.

I release his arms.

We stare at each other.

I blink as I look up at him.

"Damn."

I bite my lip and break into a giggle.

Sandor sighs and shakes his head.

I yelp when he bends down and grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder. I shriek, "Sandor! My belly! Your armor hurts!"

Sandor dumps me on the bed and shakes his head again, "dirty game for a dirty girl," he removes his armor, "this what you wanted? To rid me of all my clothes? To bathe with me?"

He chucks his armor onto the floor dramatically.

I cannot help my laugh. I get on my knees and crawl towards him, "I wasn't playing a dirty game, dirty boy."

Sandor groans and places his large hand beneath my jaw, the rest of his palm sprawls on my neck.

I giggle and hand my hands on his wrist, "I had our clothes washed. We couldn't possibly leave them."

He rolls his eyes.

I scoff in offence, "do not roll your eyes at me.*"

He tilts my head back; his fingers snake into the roots of my hair, "do not play games with me then."

"I'm not-" I push him off and get on my feet, "-playing games with you!"

I impose upon him. I cross my arms and look down at him from where I stood on the edge of the bed, "why can't you take me seriously?"

Sandor looks up at me. His lips part and his breath hitches.

I await his response but he gives me none. He gawks at me instead. I knit my brows deeper, "well? Suddenly you're at a loss for words."

He gulps. He strokes his beard, "you're right... I should take my clothes off..."

I pull my head back, "wh-" I cut myself off as I watch him undress.

Sandor rids himself of his shirt and drops it on the floor. He eyes me up and down, "now you."

I am at a loss for words. He wraps his arms around my legs and sinks his face into my side. I place my hands on his shoulders and watch him as he inhales deeply. I cannot help but chuckle, "Sandor."

He looks up at me. I raise my brows at him. He rubs his face on my clothes.

"And here you had yourself believing I was the bitch in heat."

Sandor perks at the thought then bursts into a belly laugh, deep and rich and lovely.

I give a gleeful giggle in response. It realize now that this was a rather rare occurrence. I caress the side of his face, the scarred side. His laughter does not cease. He does not flinch.

My breath hitches when he leans back into my stomach. He sighs, "can you blame me? You smell so good."

I bite my lip and comb my fingers though his hair, "you have to help me out of my dress if you want me naked."

Sandor pulls back and gawks, rather taken aback.

I jump down the bed. I look up at him, then turn around. He wastes no time in undoing my dress. He was a bit too hasty about it, which elicits a giggle from me.

I tut, "husband. Do I look like I'm running away anytime soon?"

Sandor pushes my hair aside and licks a stripe on my neck, causing me to whimper. He nips the area then peppers it with kisses, "you make me feel like a starved dog."

I gasp when he pulls my dress off, along with the rest of my clothing. He wraps his arms around me and continues to kiss my shoulder.

He breaks away only to rid himself of his pants. I turn to watch and bite my lip at the sight of his half-hardened member. He cups my cheeks then he kisses me. I wrap my arms around him, moaning when I feel him press against me.

We end up on the bed, with Sandor squishing me beneath him. I mewl and make room for him between my thighs.

Sandor kisses my neck. My breath catches when he bites me harder than normal.

"Puppy," I whine.

The Hound groans and pulls away from my neck to roughly kiss my lips. I yelp when I feel him grind his hips into mine.

"Stop calling me that, girl," he mutters under a hot breath. He pulls away to give me a grumpy look.

I feel my belly flip. I chew my lip, bat my lashes, then kiss his chin, "but you are my puppy."

Sandor nudges my face with his own and nips at my jaw, "you should know that pups don't listen to anything but themselves."

I give and airy chuckle. He slowly moves down on me.

" 'M hungry."

"W-we just ate."

He kisses down my belly, "like the taste of pretty squirrels."

I grip on the sheets when he pushes my thighs up.

My mouth makes noises before my brain can tell it to do otherwise. My belly tightens and my breath catches as he kisses my womanhood. I whimper when he laps my folds through labored breaths. He hooks his arms around my thighs and pulls them apart when I begin to squeeze his face a bit too much.

"Sandor," I whine, looking down at him. I tangle my fingers into his hair and pull at his roots. I let out an erratic sound, "w-w-- mmm-- fuck- wait-"

Sandor does not hear me, or more accurately, ignores me and sucks on my sensitive nub. He goes on by licking firm circles and strokes on my weeping cunny.

We had done this only a few times, and each time, it was a mind breaking. Perhaps a little too much so.

My back arches as I feel myself come close to the edge. I squeal, "Sandor! Wai-" my voice breaks into a moan when he prods his tongue into my entrance to lick up my wetness. The lapping only intensifies, and I tense up even more.

I throw my head back and close my eyes, "S-Sandor, please."

He huffs and hums against my flesh.

With a cry, I come on his tongue and grind my hips against him. I feel him chuckle which just pushes me more over edge. I can feel him drink up all the wetness that comes from my pleasure.

He only stops when my legs begin to twist and shake in overstimulation.

My husband licks and kisses my thighs. The scratch of his beard was somehow comforting against my skin. He emerges between my legs but keeps himself between them as he lies atop me.

I instinctively wrap my arms around him as I catch my breath.

The wetness on his beard keeps the tingle in my belly. He rests his face on my shoulder, "delicious."

I feel myself blush, "Sandor."

"What? You like it when I kiss you there," he says a matter-of-factly, "you finish so quick when I use my tongue."

I scowl, "... that's the point... I shouldn't be doing that."

He lifts his head and raises a brow, "who says?"

"... I saith. You apologize everytime you finish quickly, I-"

"Fucking hell, woman," he sighs and rests his head back down, "that's not the same. I can't peak 10 times. But you can, and I'd love to make you one day."

My heart drops, "t-that's too much."

Sandor kisses my breast, "mmm, I got you to peak 3 times in one night before... what's seven more?"

I gasp at the idea.

He rubs my side and chuckles, "all the gods, old and new, I jest, my lovely wife."

I sigh in relief.

"...although half-hearted. I'd love to make you spill all over my face a thousand times."

"Sandor!" I swat his arm.

He laughs and tightens his arm around me, "you're too innocent to know men kill for this. I'm lucky to have such a dutiful bride."

I brush his hair and shift beneath him into a slightly more comfortable position. He immediately takes this as a sign of discomfort and pushes himself off.

"No!"

"I know," he hushes, "I'm here, love," he rolls over and brings me along with him.

I yelp and adjust once I'm on top him. He chuckles and squeezes me against him before allowing me to laze on top him.

I feel his hardened length on my thigh and gasp at it, "Sandor-"

"Nevermind it. I'll fuck you soon enough."

I chew my lips. This was why I did not want to come so fast. I want him to be pleasured too. I take a breath and decide to straddle his lap. I'm still overstimulated, evident by my shivers. The way Sandor moans and grabs my hips makes me want to power through it though.

He hisses my name out and evens his breathing, "are you trying to test me?"

I mumble weakly, "you can... stay inside..."

He cusses loudly.

"... then I'll move when I'm ready."

He screws his eyes shut and roughly squeezes my thighs, "you want to kill me. You want to fucking kill me, don't you?"

I bite my lip, "n-no, honey... but you know..."

I push him into my pulsing core and make him howl. In slight panic of his loud noise, I cover his mouth. He stares at me, dumb with lust, and pants.

I pull my hands away. I release a breath, "Trysha's sons offered to kill you."

A sliver of sobriety overcomes him.

"If you were cruel... they said they'd help me get free."

The Hound growls and sits up. I whine when I feel him rock his hips slightly, "am I cruel?"

He rubs my sides and kisses me. I make a sound when I taste myself on his lips. He clutches my body tightly. He presses a kiss on my ear, "maybe I should make you come on my cock 4 times."

I moan, "n-no, that's- that's too much."

I whimper when he begins to thrust into me.

"Sandor-"

"We'll see about that."

Sandor pushes me back and lifts one of my legs. He then proceeds to fuck me to prove a point; it brings tears to my eyes, literally. It was a mix of pain and pleasure that grew less and less painful and more and more pleasurable.

When I feel myself get close again, the idea of coming more than this exhausts me. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and beg, "please, please, come inside me. Please finish in me. Please, please-"

"You want my seed so bad, do ya?"

I nod frantically.

"You want me to come, or do you want my come?"

"B-both-- fuck--"

We both peak a few thrusts later. My mind goes numb as heat ripples through me. My shaking body follows after and soon I'm thrashing for respite.

Sandor pushes my thighs up to my sides and rests atop me. He kisses my cheek and licks my sweat.

I call out his name.

He calls out mine.

He kisses my cheek again, "you take me so well."

My eyes water, but out of exhaustion, if anything, "clearly, not well enough, my lord."

Sandor holds his breath.

I feel myself grow a little too hot, "Sandor... I'm too hot. Can you roll off?'

He pushes himself up on his arm and looks down at me, "I didn't mean it like that."

I raise my brows at his response and shake my head, "I'm not upset, darling. I genuinely am," I shimmy away from him, "burning up."

Sandor watches as I pull away.

I whimper as I feel my womanhood throb as some slick trickles out of me. I rest on my side and cross my legs. Sandor looks at me, rolling on his back. He reaches out for my hand and rubs it.

My expression softens, "I'm not upset."

He doesn't respond.

I clutch his hand in both of mine.

"Do you know the rumors of House Inglewood?"

I knit my brows, "no. I do not divulge in gossip, Sandor."

"Didn't think you did, but I know for a fact your blabbermouth wench does."

"Sandor," I say sternly, "stop calling Lucy names."

He tilts his head, "funny. I meant Cressida."

I raise a brow at him, "no, you didn't."

"Mmm," he chuckles, "no, I didn't."

I roll my eyes at him.

He scoots closer and laughs, "well, rumor goes the lord and lady of the house were unhappily arranged and could not conceive an heir... until Lord Inglewood's cousin made a visit."

I make a face, "I don't follow."

"Lord Inglewood has yellow hair, his cousin, red. The boy that was born to Lady Inglewood was a fucking ginger."

I raise my brows. I cannot help but feel sympathy for the lady, knowing how most ladies are treated, "people assume Lady Inglewood had an affair with her husband's cousin because of her son's red hair? They're cousins. They both could have yellow or red haired children."

"His cousin is not his blood relative."

I purse my lips.

"They became cousins when Lord Inglewood's uncle married into a house with a widowed lady."

I make a face and shake my head, "how do you know this? Don't tell me you listened to the maids in the Keep speculate."

"Against my will. They yap about like they're on either sides of a field."

I chuckle the sigh, "I sense you didn't simply want to share this rumor with me."

Sandor brings my hand up to his face, "they think it a wives' tale, but I've heard my fair share of yapping to know it's true. Men can be barren."

I tilt my head at his response.

"What are you going to do if the reason why you can't have a child is me?"

My lips part.

He turns his gaze to my hand. He rubs my knuckles.

My breath catches in my throat. My voice is low, "I... I don't believe it is."

"That's not what I asked, pretty squirrel," he mutters. He turns to me, "would you take another man?"

I am baffled by his question.

"If I was the problem, would you find someone else to father your child?"

I rip my hand out of his and sit up. I wait for him to say something, to retract his accusatory remark, but he doesn't. "You think so little of me," my eyes water, "I thought we were past this?"

Sandor sits up and raises a hand, "recall once when you told me to take another woman. I'm only asking if you would want the same for yourself."

"YOU DID NOT WANT ME!" I blurt and jump off of bed, "I told you to find another because YOU DID NOT want me!"

The Hound looks at me, as though he was wounded. He whispers, "I have always wanted you."

I scoff and begin to dress myself, "I did not know that."

Tears stream down my face as I put on my clothes. I turn from him as he stands and walks up to me. I pull away when he reaches out. He calls out my name cautiously.

"Do not touch me, brute," I hiss as I tighten the ties on my dress with much effort. I feel like I'm suffocating as I secure my clothing.

"You said it yourself," he speaks, dejected, "people remember names, not blood... I will safeguard any child that you b-"

"SILENCE!" I snap and heave. I place my hands on my stomach. I pant through my tears. I feel ill. I feel sorely loathsome. 

He stares at me. He looks scared. I feel like retching. In fact, I feel like my morning meal wishes to find its way out through my throat.

The Hound approaches me when my breathing gets too irregular.

I sharply pull away and grab his clothes, throwing it at him in anger. He catches it. I cry, "does my love and affection ring so untrue in your ears that you insult me in the most egregious of ways?"

He can no longer keep his gaze upon me. He looks away and puts on his trousers.

"Do you even truly care for me?"

His head turns. He walks over to me, but I pull away still. The Hound is hurt. His eyes water, "you're the only thing I care about... you know this. Everything else is fuck all."

"Then why would you wish me away?!" I whine, "why would you want me to give myself up to a man I do not love to sate my want for a child?" I cover my mouth as I feel bile rise up my throat.

He calls my name.

"I know you don't care for my sense of duty, but -" gag "- do not mangle my discernment for the sake of dissuading me."

"That's not what I'm doing," Sandor speaks pleadingly, "I only wanted to-"

I feel too sick to listen to him. In the heat of the moment, I find myself running towards the window and hurling out of it. I vomit so much it comes out of my nose. I stare at the disaster that descended on the ground below. I retch at the sight.

I feel him rush over to me. I feel him rub my back.

"Fucking hells. What-"

"I told you not to touch me!" I hiss under my breath and elbow him weakly.

I wipe my mouth as he reels back. I glare at him even though my tears were burning down my cheeks. He looks frantic.

"If you do not believe in my curse, if you do not believe in my journey, if you do not believe in my love, do not twist it into mine own disbelief," I grunt and walk off.

The Hound watches as I begin to pack our things.

"You're right. We should not waste time on frivolity. The sooner we finish this damned trip, the sooner this torment can end for the both of us." I look over my shoulder, "that is, if you still wish to safeguard a woman who may have to bear someone else's child," I scoff coldly.

He does not respond.

I turn and raise my hands questioningly.

"You-" his voice breaks, "-have me til the end, my lady."

I turn away and continue packing.

[starlingflight]

I have only recently discovered your writing and was wondering if you've done a scene where Harry tells Ginny he smells her in his Amortentia?

I just think you capture their personalities so perfectly that I think you'd do the scene justice.

Anon, you're my new favourite person - so I dropped everything and wrote this for you 😘

AO3 or read below:

The smell hit her like a punch to the gut. 

It had been lying dormant, in wait, hanging unseen in the air of the dungeon corridor, ready for Ginny to wander unwittingly into its trap. 

She wasn't even taking potions this year, but Luna was, and the first day of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts had been so lonely and unpleasant that she'd been unable to resist using the end of her free period to wander down here to meet one of the few friendly faces remaining to her in the castle when the school day officially ended. 

It wasn’t the homely, comforting aroma of her mother’s apple pie that had the heart-wrenching effect on her, nor was it the damp, earthy fragrance that brought to mind the orchard after summer rainfall. The scent that had Ginny leaning heavily against the cool stone wall was more subtle, a faint hint in the air of something woodsy, evergreen and clean, and so intrinsically Harry that she suspected it would’ve taken her breath away even if she’d been expecting it. 

The door to the potions classroom burst open, spilling a handful of her classmates into the dimly-lit corridor. Ginny forced herself to stand upright, before anyone could see a hint of her distress. 

Despite their shaking, her legs carried her forward. Some invisible force summoned her; she pushed against the crowd exiting Slughorn's classroom, slipping through the doorway; ignoring Luna's puzzled gaze as she followed the scent to a golden cauldron sitting atop the nearest desk. 

The surface of the potion within had an opalescent sheen, and the vapour rising from it was ascending towards the stone ceiling in distinctive spirals that would’ve allowed her to identify it even if the overpowering scent hadn’t already given away its identity.

“Amortentia,” Ginny read aloud, peering over the top of Ron’s borrowed copy of Advanced Potion Making from where she was sitting on the ground opposite Harry. “Sounds a lot more interesting than levitation charms.” 

Harry looked up. Distracted from his attempts at revision, his head fell back slightly against the beech tree he was leaning against. “Slughorn brewed it for our first lesson this year. I could smell it before I even walked into the classroom.” 

Ginny tossed the charms textbook she’d been pretending to read aside, giving him her full attention, which, really, he’d had from the moment he’d convinced her to leave the library in favour of the castle's sunlit grounds. “And what does Harry Potter smell when confronted with the world’s strongest love potion?” 

Harry’s cheeks flushed and Ginny’s grin widened. Making him blush was a new, and favourite, activity of hers. “I’ll tell you next year,” he said evasively. “When you can tell me what you smell too.” 

Fleetingly, she considered accepting his non-answer. It was, after all, a deeply personal question. But this was one of the few boundary-pushing questions that Ginny could ask, unlike the others that she unswervingly steered away from – what are you whispering with Ron and Hermione about? What are you doing when you’re summoned to Dumbledore’s office? Why do I feel like talking about anything further ahead than next Tuesday is tempting a fate that I’m not ready to face? – Amortentia, by contrast, seemed utterly tame. 

She rolled onto her stomach, her elbows sinking into the grass, supporting her upper body and holding it upright. Her smile, she knew, was full of challenge. “I bet I can guess.” 

Harry’s eyes wandered the length of her body, before returning to her face. He mirrored her smirk. “And if you can’t?” 

Laughter rose, light and breathy in her throat, but Ginny swallowed it down, schooling her face into a look of total seriousness. “A forfeit of your choosing… and if I win, a reward of mine.” 

Despite what half the school would probably say, Harry was absolutely terrible at hiding his smile. He shook his head. “Considering my choice of forfeit, and your choice of reward are definitely the same thing, there doesn’t seem to be much risk for you here?” 

“Or you,” Ginny countered, conveniently ignoring the risk of him having to reveal a deeply personal fact. 

The spark in Harry’s eyes told her he hadn’t forgotten the risk, though he didn’t say as much. “We should probably just skip to kissing then.”  

There was nothing she could do to contain her laughter in the face of such a brazen statement; it rang out clear and bright across the grounds. A few weeks ago, when she’d been starting to wonder if he was going to tiptoe around this growing attraction between them forever, the idea of him saying such a thing outright to her would’ve been unimaginable.

She tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider the suggestion. It did sound tempting, but Ginny knew that neither of them would really agree to it. Lines had been drawn. A challenge laid out. Satisfaction must be granted. 

She started with the obvious. “Treacle tart.” 

Harry’s smile fell, clearly concerned by the speed with which Ginny had delivered a correct guess. He recovered quickly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Been watching my dessert habits closely, have you?” 

Ginny ignored this, finding nothing worthy of denial in the question. “Now it’s a matter of narrowing down what you like more… flying seems an obvious choice, but there’s your fondness for Hedwig to consider–” 

“Hedwig?” Harry burst out. He leaned forward, leaving the tree trunk behind as he looked at her disbelievingly. “I did not smell my owl in a love potion!” 

“Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” Ginny said, fighting the urge to laugh once more at the outraged expression on Harry’s face. “Stop looking at me like that!  She's an important presence in your life – I think she’s amortentia-worthy!” 

Harry’s expression remained unchanged. “...She’s an owl.” 

“Fine,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “But I think Hedwig would be deeply offended by your reaction.” 

Harry released a snort of laughter, returning his back to the tree. “Well, it’s a good job she’s not as nosy as you, so she’ll never have to know.” 

“Flying then,” Ginny pondered loudly, her fingers twisting in the grass as she let Harry’s comment pass without argument. When it came to her interest in him, ‘nosy’ didn’t quite cover it. 

She fell silent for a moment, considering the many possible scents associated with flying. Her mind immediately went to the rich, leathery fragrance of a quaffle, but she dismissed this at once. She was a chaser, not Harry. Snitches, delicate and metallic, didn’t really smell of anything in her opinion. Being in the air had a unique smell, fresh and clear, but that wasn’t right either. 

Flying, she knew, started before you got in the air. Flying was the sense of anticipation, flying was the rush of pushing off from the ground, flying was endless possibilities. 

“Your broom,” Ginny said definitively after another moment of deliberation. Broomsticks were freedom. 

Harry nodded, confirming her guess correct. Their eyes met, and she knew, without either of them speaking, that her reasoning was sound too.

“Two out of three…” Ginny mused, waiting for Harry to correct her if her calculations were wrong. He didn’t. 

This time the silence that fell between them was charged with suspense, though Ginny suspected this might just be in her head. A flutter of butterflies had broken loose in her stomach. 

She didn't need to be in the presence of a cauldron of amortentia to know that she would smell him. The way he looked at her, it didn't feel completely out of the realm of possibility that Harry would smell Ginny too, but they'd only been together for a matter of weeks, and she'd wanted him for years, and if she guessed herself, and he told her she was wrong, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take the blow. 

“Not Hedwig…” she smirked with an air of confidence she definitely didn't feel, buying time, and coaxing a smile onto Harry's face that went some way to soothing Ginny's nerves. 

“Definitely not,” Harry agreed. 

“More food?” Ginny hedged, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “Or something like that? You do have a liking for butterbeer.”

Harry shook his head. His lips pressed together but Ginny could still see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You're doing this on purpose.” 

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. “Doing what?” 

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you make me admit it, you don't win.”  

Her butterflies were flying wildly now, swooping and diving within her. For once, Ginny found she didn't care very much about winning at all. “I want you to say it.” 

“Fine,” Harry sighed. His hand found hers on the ground, fingers entwining together in the long blades of grass. Much to Ginny's delight, his blush made a return. “You… your hair, if you want me to be specific.” 

“My hair?” She asked, somewhat breathlessly. Her free hand reached out and pulled a strand of her hair to her nose. “It just smells like hair.” 

Harry's cheeks turned from a faint rosy pink, to flushed crimson. “It smells like flowers.”

“Flowers,” Ginny whispered, elevating the word to the height of the world's greatest compliment in her mind. She was certain her smile looked completely ridiculous, but she was incapable of caring. She pulled herself upright, careful that their hands remained clasped together. She shuffled forwards on the grass until her face was inches from Harry's. “Really? My hair?” 

“Yes,” Harry laughed; there was a hint of nervousness beneath the usually carefree sound. “Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?” 

Ginny's smile remained in place as she shook her head. “No, I don't think I can.” 

“This can't be news to you,” he protested, apparently gathering some confidence from how clearly delighted Ginny was about this revelation. “Have I not made my feelings clear?” 

She supposed he had, in a very Harry-ish way. Kissing her in the centre of the full common room had been a fairly loud declaration, even if no words had been exchanged at that particular moment, and he'd been very attentive from that moment onwards, but this was different. Amortentia was magic; pure, and ancient, and undeniable. 

“I’m ready for my forfeit now,” Ginny announced, not waiting for any further instructions before leaning forwards, her lips finding his, eager to make her own feelings clear in what time they had left before lunch ended–

“Miss Weasley!” Professor Slughorn's voice pulled Ginny abruptly back to the present. 

She was standing beside the golden cauldron; her knuckles had turned a ghostly white from the strength with which she gripped the edge of the desk. She was breathing deeply, taking in great lungfuls of the heady scent emanating from the potion. 

Slughorn was frowning at her, his face a mask of concern and pity. Ginny wasn't sure which sentiment she hated more. 

“Sorry,” she said, using all her force of will to take a definitive step away from the desk. “I was just looking for Luna.” 

“I'm here,” Luna said from the doorway. Her eyes were wide, piercing. “Did you want to go to dinner?” 

Ginny nodded, now that she'd come to her senses she was desperate to remove herself from the dungeons and the heavy miasma that surrounded her. 

Slughorn cleared his throat uncomfortably before she'd taken even a step towards Luna. “Are you sure you're alright, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't want you to go up to dinner if you're not feeling yourself… there's a lot of observant eyes in the great hall these days.” 

“I'm fine,” she lied, ignoring her thundering heart, and schooling her face into a mask of perfect neutrality she was already fed up with wearing after only one day of term. 

“Very well,” Slughorn nodded, though he still looked reluctant to let her go. His eyes travelled between Ginny and Luna. “The weather's still quite fine for this time of year,” he said, his tone observational. “I always find a walk around the grounds to be a pleasant prelude to one's dinner… There's nothing quite like fresh air to clear the mind.” 

[loz-the-noob]

Because I’m playing dual destinies and I miss Ema Skye with my whole heart, please take this WIP list of Silly Goofy Things Ema Has Done throughout the games I’ve played. Feel free to add to it if you think of anything I’ve missed.

Things Ema Skye has Done

Threatened to spray potentially hazardous (?) chemicals on a child

Unwittingly convinced everyone she was a crack addict

Sung a song in a court of law with very little persuasion  

Openly admitted that she intended to commit tax evasion. To a lawyer.

Accused a blind orphan of murder with a 45. caliber revolver 

Cried because she couldn’t push something over

Essentially received a bonus in the form of snacks and was completely fine with this

Apologised to a trash can 

Bullied Apollo into buying tea for her from an overpriced vending machine

Somehow confused the words “pickle” and “sausage” in the context of a well-known phrase. 

Inexplicably physically morphed into the Prosecution’s imprisoned brother briefly during a trial. This is never addressed. 

Said ‘Ah’ AT LEAST 12 times in Apollo Justice. I’m pretty sure I missed some 

“Eh heh heh, you want to know about my tool do you?”

Signs legal documents with a little heart next to her name

Was placed on security for a major venue with literally no means of communication with backup?? She had to physically go and get people. This is not her fault.

She has been set on fire. This was also not her fault.

She’s canonically very clumsy. Allegedly breaks bulbs all the time. Did I mention I love her.

Momentarily considered going on a destructive rampage at a concert she was supposed to be security for.

Very nearly let a 15 year old girl convince her to eat potential evidence at a crime scene.

I’m 90% sure her footwear is a health and safety risk

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Courtney: Where’d you two go? Oscar: I’ll tell you later. Courtney: Is Ivan not with you? I thought he’d be home by now. Oscar: I think he said he was going out-.. I told him it’d be fine. Courtney: Out? Oscar: Like, out out. Courtney: And you let him?! Oscar: What do you mean, let him? Is he a child? Courtney: That’s not a good way to cope… [Oscar snorted dismissively] Oscar: Maybe getting his.. stick wet will cheer him up. Courtney: OSCAR! Oscar: What?! It might! Courtney: I can’t believe you’d let him do that. Oscar: He’s a grown man, Cookie. Oscar: Besides-.. maybe he’ll meet someone nice. Courtney: Maybe you should go out n’ meet someone nice as well, someone new. Oscar: [laughs] I have a perfectly perfect wife at home-.. the spaghetti’s questionable though. [Courtney gasped, launching a forkful of said spaghetti at Oscar’s head-.. she missed, probably giving Lou or Oreo a free morsel and unwittingly giving Wren a free pass to launch yet another fistful of her own meal in some unknown direction] Oscar: That one’s on you. Courtney: Yeah, yeah. Oscar: Robin’s in trouble, by the way, so no dessert for him today. Robin: Dad-… Oscar: Don’t dad me, that’s what you get for playing spy. Robin: Dad had a cigarette! Oscar: You little-.. no dessert for a week now. Robin: [gasps] But-… Courtney: You heard him. Don’t snitch on people either, it’s not nice. [Robin scoff-sighed and rolled his eyes; all these rules were stupid and so were parents-.. sometimes]

[vsnyarbll]

A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden pt2

atpiahb masterlist, part1, part2, part3, part4, part5

main masterlist

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, platonic!Aegon II Targaryen x reader

words: 6.050

summary: Three weeks after y/n gave birth.

warnings: explicit language, mentions of cheating, angst, patriarchy, love triangle (kind of?)

a/n: English is not my native language. / I tried to write it taking into account everyone's wishes. Also, before I wrote this chapter, I wanted y/n to be with Aegon, but everything can change. / Helaena and Aegon are not married. / Laenor is still alive, but Laena is dead. / The age of the characters is not the same as in House of the Dragon. (according to the age differences between them) Prince Aemond is 25, Prince Luke is 20, and Prince Viserys is 13. y/n is in her 20s.

“What did you name your son?" Aegon asked, looking over y/n's shoulder at the baby in her arms.

"Your mother insisted that I name him Aemon."

There was an expression of disbelief on his face. "You didn't."

"I didn't. My son's name is Maelor."

Aegon looked at the baby with a sparkle in his eyes. He was tiny and looked like her mother, except for the characteristic features of the Valyrians.

y/n smiled, noticing Aegon's admiring gaze on the baby. "Would you like to hold him?"

Aegon's eyes widened slightly. "I've never held a baby before."

"It's simple. I'll tell you what to do."

"All right, then." Aegon was afraid of hurting him. But y/n's trust in him gives him confidence.

He came nervously to the edge of the chair. He slid his arm under the baby and held him, carefully cradling him against his chest.

"You need to support his head from underneath." y/n got up from her chair and stood beside him.

"Like this." She took Aegon's left hand and placed it under her son's head. She didn't take her hand away for a while to let Aegon get used to it. When he got comfortable with the baby, he breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in the chair. Seeing that Aegon was getting used to the situation, y/nv returned to her chair.

"He's beautiful, y/n," he said with a smile. "He looks a lot like you. I feel like I'm looking at a silver-gold-haired version of you."

The smile on y/n's face widened. Aegon unwittingly began to rock Maelor.

"Is he still forcing you to bed with him?" he asked in a low voice.

y/n's smile froze on her face. She pulled her gaze away from Aegon. "He never did anything like that," she said, her voice even lower than Aegon's. Aemond had asked for it once, but it hadn't happened, and it had never come up again.

"You don't have to be afraid of him, y/n." He carefully placed the baby in one arm, reached his free hand to y/n, and took her arm. "Let's run away together. I'll take care of your son as if he were my own. You can tell everyone that I am his real father. Or, if you want to hide your identity, we can start a new life from scratch."

y/n turned her gaze back to him, she couldn't accept it.

She was her father's only child, and if she disappeared, her husband would inherit everything, and he would bring that Rivers witch to the castle and marry her.

y/n couldn't let any of that happen.

"I can't let Aemond be happy."

"But just because of that, you won't be happy either."

y/n looked Aegon straight in the eye. "I will only be happy when he is writhing in pain."

Aegon turned his gaze to the child in his arms to avert his eyes.

y/n hadn't realized how fast time had passed. Aemond had gone to a meeting of his father's council. The council meeting must have been over or almost over.

y/n stood up in a hurry. "Aegon, you must go. Aemond will be here soon."

“I am not afraid of him.”

“Please. I want at least one day of peace.”

Aegon thought for a moment but decided to do as she said. "All right."

He stood up and handed Maelor to his mother. "I'll see you later."

She took Maelor in her arms and hugged him tightly. "Goodbye, Aegon."

xxx

y/n put her son to bed and sat next to him. She tried to enjoy her solitude in the room.

There was no Aemond, no Aegon. She just sat by herself, not worrying about anything for a while.

It had been a week since Aemond had returned to the castle.

No further conversation had passed between them. They just said good mornings and good nights to each other. y/n was not complaining. She couldn't bear to see his face, let alone chat with him.

The door to the room opened. Aemond walked in and closed it quietly, thinking that Maelor might be asleep.

y/n watched him silently. Aemond left his books on the table as he went to her side.

"Your parents have reached the castle. They want to see you."

y/n's face lit up, and she stood up quickly. "Let me get changed, and we'll go to them."

Aemond nodded and sat down where y/n had just sat.

He leaned toward Maelor and saw that he was awake, his big eyes scanning the ceiling. He smiled when he saw Aemond's face.

Aemond carefully picked him up. He wrapped his arms around his tiny body and leaned against the headboard. He's been spending his time like this every day for a week.

He looked up and looked at his wife.

She had called her maid, and with her help, she was wearing a dress in the colors of her own house.

He loved her.

His devotion to Alys Rivers was not love. There were things Aemond was afraid to say.

y/n's maid put a simple braid in her hair.

She picked some jewelry from the table, put it on, and walked towards Aemond. He was on his feet and heading for the door when y/n stopped him.

"I will carry my son.”

"We're going together anyway. Does it matter who carries our son?"

"Yes, it does. Can I take my son?"

Aemond sighed and held Maelor out to her.

Together they left their chambers and started walking down the corridor.

y/n's parents were waiting for them in the garden.

She held Maelor tighter as she quickened her steps.

Aemond walked silently beside her. He wanted to ask her how her day had been, but he didn't. They were still on bad terms and Aemond knew very well who was at fault.

When they went to the garden, they saw y/n's family with the King and the Queen.

y/n and Aemond bowed to them and went to the Lord and his wife.

"My beautiful daughter," said her mother. And then she took her grandson in her arms.

y/n hugged her father tightly after giving her son to her mother. "Father, I miss you so much," she said, smiling as she left his arms.

"Ah, what is the name of this handsome little boy?" said her mother smiling as she looked at her grandson.

"My lady, we haven't decided on a nam-" y/n interrupted Aemond. "Maelor. That's his name."

Aemond turned to y/n in surprise. But she did not return his gaze.

"I thought his name would be Aemon," the Queen said. "After his father."

"I have considered your suggestion, my Queen. But I think Maelor is a better name."

The Queen turned to Aemond with questioning eyes.

"What does Prince Aemond think about this?" the Queen asked.

"I-"

"I don't think it matters what he thinks. Prince Aemond wasn't the one who carried him for nine months and was in labor for hours. He wasn't even in the castle the day he was born. Why should he have any right to name my son?"

y/n's father turned to Aemond. "Did Prince Aemond have something more important to do than the birth of his son?"

Queen Alicent spoke without letting anyone else. "The birth came earlier than the maesters said it would. None of us knew she would give birth that day."

This time y/n's mother turned to her. "Why was Prince Aemond too far away to return when summoned, leaving his pregnant wife?"

Queen Alicent took a deep breath. "The prince had other business that demanded his attention."

"My husband was busy while I was giving birth to y/n. But he came right after he found out I was in labor."

The Queen looked at Aemond out of the corner of her eye.

"I understand what you mean, but-"

"My queen, I understand what you mean. We did not sell our daughter to you. You know how wealthy my house is and how important I am to the crown. When you came to us and insisted that we marry our children off, we thought it was only fitting that she should marry a prince. Lord Lannister has offered us many deals, but we knew that honor comes first. And we did not doubt that you raised your son with it," said y/n’s father.

The queen had nothing more to say.

The king came and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "My Lord, I am sure you are tired from the journey. Would you like to come in and have dinner?"

The Lord looked at his wife and nodded. "If you don't mind, we will spend some time with our daughter and grandson. We will join you in a moment."

The king and queen smiled and nodded. They turned and made their way to the castle, but Aemond did not move.

The Lord looked at the prince and smiled falsely. "My prince, we prefer to be alone."

"But-" Aemond said, and the King turned and interrupted his son. "Come, Aemond, let us give this beautiful family some private time."

Aemond looked at y/n and her father. He didn't want to go but obeyed the king.

When they were out of sight, the Lady handed her grandson to her husband and hugged y/n tightly.

"My daughter," she said. The Lady kissed her daughter on each cheek as they parted.

Her mother's eyes were full, but y/n was smiling.

For the first time in a long time, she felt so happy. Her family was here, with her.

"We heard everything. I'm sorry." her voice trembled as she spoke.

"It's okay, mother." then she turned to her father. "But I need something from you."

"Sure, whatever you need."

"You know about Aemond," she said and averted her eyes.

Her father just nodded. He regretted marrying his daughter off to the one-eyed prince. And her broken state only added to his regret.

"I am your only child. Leave me all your inheritance so I can beg the king to end my marriage to Aemond. If he asks High Septon to do so, he will surely end our marriage. The two of us will move in with you, into my home. Your inheritance will pass to me and from me to Maelor. My son is of the blood of old Valyria and will be a dragon rider. And more importantly, he is of our blood."

His father sighed. "My daughter, I want you to be happy more than anything. But the king will never agree to end your marriage. If your marriage ends, all alliances and treaties between our house and the kingdom will end, and no one in the king's council will agree to do that."

y/n felt her happiness fill with despair. "But the king is a good man. He would understand."

"He might be. But you cannot ask the king to do such a thing."

"I can at least take my chances-"

"y/n, I cannot break the centuries-old traditions of our land. Don't ever ask me to do this again."

y/n felt her breath catch. "But-“

“The other lords will never accept your leadership. As much as I love you and want your happiness, I must also think of the future of our house."

y/n's expression hardened. She was angry that her father had destroyed her chance of salvation.

She took Maelor in her arms. "There's a dinner in honor of your arrival at the castle. We'd better not keep the King waiting."

Her father sighed. He wanted to give her everything she wanted. But no matter how influential a man he was, there were things he couldn't afford.

Together they went inside the dining room.

y/n's mother never left her side.

As soon as they were in the dining room, the King stood up happily. "Welcome again.”

At the king's words, everyone recognized the Lord and his family entering the hall. And those sitting in the chairs stood up because the King was standing.

Princess Rhaenyra and her family had also come to the castle for the birth of her nephew.

Her sons stood together next to their mother. Prince Viserys, son of Princess Rhaenyra, was excited to see the baby.

As y/n and her family walked to the table, one of her maids came to her and took Prince Maelor from her.

The lord and the Lady sat in chairs next to the King and Queen, and y/n sat with her husband. On the other side of her sat prince Luke.

Aemond tensed as he realized that the Prince Luke was sitting so close to him.

y/n liked Aemond's nervousness. She knew about the fight that had taken place between them years ago and that neither of them liked the other.

She leaned toward Luke. "My prince, your lapel pin is beautiful."

Luke looked around as if he didn't believe y/n was talking to him. He looked at her with big eyes. "Me? Oh… yes. Yes, thank you, my Lady. It represents my dragon."

y/n giggled slightly. "I love dragons. When I was little, I read stories about your ancestors, and dragons were my favorite part."

Luke felt his face warm. y/n was beautiful. He was too shy to admit it, but she was.

Even Prince Daemon had laughed the first time he saw her and said he couldn't believe his one-eyed nephew had married her.

"My dragon may not be the largest, but I can introduce you to him if you'd like. We can even fly together."

y/n smiled. "I certainly would."

"If my wife is going to ride a dragon, Vhagar is the only dragon she's going to ride," Aemond said, cocking his head and glaring at Luke.

"My prince, why are you being rude to your nephew? If you wanted to introduce me to Vhagar, you could have done it any day in two years. Besides, I prefer a more willing rider."

Aemond's gaze hardened. "He's an inexperienced dragon rider. You don't know if he can control his dragon. It wouldn't be right for your safety."

y/n looked at her husband with a smile. "If I remember correctly, his dragon egg cracked to him. I'm sure the bond between them is strong."

Luke chuckled. "It certainly is, my Lady. I'm surprised you know so much about dragons."

"After all, my son will be a dragon rider one day. I try to learn as much as I can."

"That's very wise. If you would like someone to accompany your son on his first experience with his dragon, I would love to help. When I was five years old, it was a different feeling to communicate with my dragon for the first time. I don't think anyone who hasn't experienced it would know."

y/n smiled again. "That is very kind of you, my Prince. My son is lucky indeed. Prince Daemon came to my chambers yesterday and said he would like to give Maelor sword lessons when he grows up. I think it is a wonderful offer. After all, he is the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms."

Aemond clenched his fist under the table.

He wanted to pick a fight, to vent his anger, but he could not disrespect his mother.

He bit the inside of his cheek to calm himself.

"Did you ever think to consult me before deciding on my son's education, y/n?" Aemond asked angrily.

y/n turned back to Aemond, her smile widening as she saw him getting angry. "No, I didn't."

Aemond was about to say something when the servants began to disturb the food. He had to stop whatever he was going to say.

Not much else happened during the meal. Except that Princess Rhaenyra complimented y/n on her beauty. y/n thanked her. And she said she hoped her son would look like her when he grew up. Everyone at the table laughed except Aemond and the Queen.

After dinner, as everyone continued to drink wine and eat dessert, the King asked the servants to bring his grandson.

y/n's maid immediately brought Maelor into the dining room and gave him to the King.

The King kissed his grandson's head and gave it to his daughter, Princess Rhaenyra, who was waiting by his side.

Princess Rhaenyra took her nephew and went to her sons. Jace, Viserys, and Luke were sitting next to each other.

Rhaenyra looked at y/n for confirmation when her son Viserys insisted on holding the baby. y/n nodded.

Princess carefully handed him to her son.

Jace looked at his cousin with a smile. "What's his name?"

"Maelor," y/n said.

The King's smile grew. "Maelor Targaryen, a name fit for a great lord."

"It certainly is, my King," y/n's father said.

Princess Rhaenyra turned toward y/n. "What a responsibility for a child so young."

The princess loved y/n very much. They had written to each other often for two years. She was one of the most outraged when she heard what her brother had done. "He is just like you. I'm sure he will fulfill his duty without cheating.”

y/n nodded. "He has my father's blood in his veins. I'm sure he will be an honorable man like him."

y/n's mother was proud of her daughter's courage.

The queen wanted to answer her outburst. But she couldn't do it in front of the King. Everyone knew how important it was for her family to be allied with the kingdom.

Aemond, on the other hand, wanted to crawl under the table and hide from everyone. He was embarrassed and annoyed that everyone had been teasing him all day.

Prince Viserys looked at his cousin's face. "He looks a lot like uncle Aegon," he said.

In fact, he looked exactly like his mother, except for his golden-silver hair and beautiful violet eyes. Viserys was too young to be aware of what was happening in the room and did not try to imply anything.

y/n put her hand on the table and leaned toward the brothers. "He really looks like Prince Aegon."

There was a great silence in the dining room.

Aegon was staring at y/n with his mouth open.

Aemond was on the verge of attacking someone.

"After all, he is his uncle. Of course, they can look alike."

Everyone let go of the breath they were holding.

The queen fidgeted uneasily in her seat.

"I suppose." y/n said.

Aemond slammed his hand on the table and stood up, but his mother gestured for him to stop.

"Let's leave the princes and ladies alone to spend some time,” she said. ”And we'll have tea in the King's chambers if you like, my Lord."

“Of course, your grace.”

Aemond squeezed the edge of the table hard, not understanding what his mother was trying to do.

The King, Queen, y/n’s parents, princess Rhaenyra, Lord Laenor, and Prince Daemon rose from the table.

The queen came to her son. "May I speak to you?"

Aemond looked at his wife next to him, but she was not looking at him. Then he nodded and left the room with his mother.

Baela and Rhaena came up to y/n. "If you are bored with the wine at the castle, we have brought some good wine. We are thinking of drinking it in my room if you want to join." Baela said.

y/n looked at the twins and smiled. "I'd love to,"

y/n told her maid to take Maelor to his wet-nurse and left the dining room with the twins.

They went into Baela's room.

The room was empty except for the bed, the armchairs, and Baela's suitcase.

Baela had told her maid not to unpack her belongings as it was unclear how many days they would be at the castle.

She pointed to one of the armchairs. "Have a seat."

As y/n settled into the armchair, Baela took the mentioned bottle of wine out of her suitcase.

There were several glasses on the low table between the armchairs. Baela filled them and handed one to y/n.

She took a few sips and realized that the wine was indeed different. It burned her tongue and throat slightly, but it was more flavorful than the wines at the Red Keep.

"Do you like it, my Lady?"

"I like it very much, but please don't call me that. You can call me by my first name."

"All right then. You need to call us by our names too."

y/n smiled and nodded.

The three of them talked and laughed for a while.

y/n almost choked on her wine when Baela told her a rumor about one of the ladies who lived in the castle.

Then they talked about some of their favorite painters.

Rhaena made a mental note to send y/n a painting as a gift on her name day.

Then, there was a short silence between them.

Baela glanced at Rhaena and then turned to y/n. "There is something we want to talk to you about."

y/n looked at the girl with curious eyes. "What is it?" 'Please not about Aemond.'

"It's about Prince Aemond."

Oh.

y/n's expression instantly hardened. "I guess you know."

"Yes. But we didn't bring it up to bother you," Rhaena said.

Baela got up and sat next to her, and took her hand. "I have people I know and trust in the Riverlands. Especially in Harrenhal, you know, thanks to my husband."

y/n put her wine glass down on the table.

'She knows some people in Harrenhal because of Jace.'

"They said Alys is not pregnant with Aemond's child."

Rhaena continued. "She had a Dornish lover. Aemond hadn't been to see Alys for five months, and the maesters said the baby was three months old. They said Aemond didn't say anything when he saw she was pregnant. After Aemond left, she ran away with her other lover."

y/n couldn't believe what she was hearing. Baela could read it in her expression. "I know it's hard to believe, but four people told us this separately."

"Who knows?"

"Probably everyone. And those who don't know will soon learn."

y/n nodded. "I'd like to go to my chambers if you'll excuse me."

Baela stood up and gave way to the girl. "Of course."

They said good night to each other, and y/n left the room.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she knew where she was going.

She went to Aegon's room and went straight in without knocking.

Aegon jumped slightly from where he stood and turned quickly toward her.

"y/n?"

When she saw Aegon, the tears she had been holding back all the way came to her eyes. "That witch had another lover and was pregnant with his child. She ran off with him a week ago."

Aegon walked toward her in astonishment. "Unbelievable."

"I couldn't believe it either when I first heard it. But it explains Aemond's cold and sullen demeanor." y/n smiled at her own words, her eyes still full. "I mean, colder and more sullen than usual."

Aegon smiled too, but he was worried about her. "Aren't you sorry?"

"Because Alys Rivers left Aemond for a Dornish?" she asked and tried to smile, but a tear fell from her left eye and landed on her chin

Aegon took a step toward her, but she stopped him. "It happens all the time these days. Don't worry."

He clenched his jaw. "Don't worry? Are you out of your mind?!"

y/n was startled by the loudness of his voice.

Aegon's stern expression softened instantly. He cursed himself and Aemond inside. "I'm sorry."

y/n shook her head. "It's not your fault. I guess lack of sleep made me sensitive to the sounds around me."

Aegon clenched his fist and walked past her.

He was about to open the door when y/n ran after him and grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

Aegon turned toward her, fire in his eyes. "If I don't kill him tonight, I won't sleep well."

He was about to take his arm away from her and leave the room when y/n's sobs stopped him.

"Aegon.” She sobbed. “Stay with me.”

Aegon turned back to her and put his hands on her arms. He never knew what to say in these situations. "Can I hug you?"

y/n nodded in agreement.

Aegon immediately wrapped his arms around her waist. y/n put her arms around his back. Aegon kept whispering into her hair that everything would be all right.

y/n felt Aegon kiss her head, but she wasn't sure.

She had stopped crying because of the feeling of relaxing.

"My maid is in there cleaning my bath." Aegon was worried at the idea of her seeing them like this.

y/n smiled as an idea struck her. She raised her voice high enough for the maid to hear. "Aemond can't get hard whenever we have intercourse. Do you have the same problem? It could be a family thing."

Aegon was at a loss for words. "I think it was a fluke that I got pregnant. I'm not sure about this. Can you tell me if it's right or wrong?"

Aegon swallowed and waited for her next move. "Does having a small dick affect getting someone pregnant? If so, I don't think Maelor will have a sibling soon."

Aegon's emotions fluctuated between surprise and admiration.

He grabbed her by the arm and hurried her out of the room. He didn't want the maid to see her disheveled state.

They went to a space in the hallway. "y/n!" He said and laughed.

y/n smiled. Butterflies fluttered in Aegon's stomach at the sight of her.

"What you said will certainly undermine Aemond. But it may also be to your detriment. People won't think it is right for you to speak such things to your husband's brother."

"Fuck people," she said and added. "They won't talk about me when they're busy talking about Aemond."

Aegon leaned toward y/n as he laughed.

y/n had recovered a little.

And then, instantly, the question that had occupied her mind for days and that she had avoided knowing the answer came back to her.

The feeling of being stabbed in the back filled her again.

She kept telling herself that if he knew it, he would have said so. But there was nothing the queen knew that her children didn't know. And it was unlikely that the prince of the realm would not know about something that even the maids in the castle whispered in the corridors.

She just kept lying to herself to keep from losing him.

She took a step away from Aegon. "How long have you known?"

Aegon averted his eyes.

"You were the only one in the castle who knew that I don't exist only to bear children.” She balled her hand into a fist to suppress her anger. “I thought you were my friend.”

"Maybe you don't realize it, but I don't have many friends either."

"So we're friends because we have no other choice."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Aegon looked at her and thought about what he wanted to say. I love you. I can't keep from my tongue what my heart knows. I sleep every night thinking about you and wake up every morning thinking about you. "Only we can understand each other."

"And yet you chose not to come to me as you learned."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. It was hard to choose between my brother and my-" He looked at the ceiling. "My friend."

"If I had a sister, and you were married to her, and if she was cheating on you, I would have come to you the moment I found out. My parents would have been mad at her and made her never see her lover again. That's how we in honorable families deal with such situations."

Aegon bowed his head. "We have never been an honorable family. Pride, perhaps."

"Did you all think that would make your actions forgivable?"

"No." he paused. "Maybe."

"There is no other family that could not handle being Targaryen like the Targaryens."

Aegon grinned. "Can you imagine what would have happened to Westeros if we had all been great warriors and leaders? There is a reason why the gods have made most of us lazy and stupid."

y/n stared at Aegon. "I've never seen a stupid Targaryen except you and your siblings. I think it's a family trait. Your Hightower side, perhaps?"

"It’s likely," he said and smiled.

y/n didn't smile. "I don't know when I can forgive you."

Aegon nodded. "So you will, one day."

y/n turned away. "Don't push your luck too hard."

"I give it a day!" Aegon said as he watched her walk away.

He wondered if the stones on the ground hurt her because if they did, he would pick up each one with his hands.

He was ready to lay down his life for her. But he still had to watch his stupid little brother's back.

After all, blood ran thicker than water.

Aegon cursed himself once more as he tried to console himself inwardly.

y/n was always talking about what a dishonorable family they were, but here Aegon, going through his days without even kissing his brother's wife once.

He had not been to a brothel in two years and had not been with a woman in months.

He felt as devoted to her as his mother had been to the gods.

Aegon's was even more difficult.

The harder it is, the thicker the bond. That's what his mother told him whenever he refused to come to worship with her.

He hoped she was right.

xxx

y/n went to her room. She didn't want to go there. She didn't want to face Aemond.

But she had nowhere else to go.

She walked to the large closet in the room and took a silk nightgown from it. The nightgown was cream-colored, and the fabric was thin enough to chill her at night.

She liked being cold.

I should have married a Stark and gone north, she thought.

She craved wine. She didn't want to think about what she was going through. If she did, she'd keep beating herself up for nothing.

After filling her wine glass, she picked up a random book from the table where the wine decanter had been.

She took the glass and the book and went to bed. She lay down, careful not to spill the wine.

It was one of the history books Aemond had always loved to read.

When she opened the first page, a piece of paper fell out.

When she picked it up and examined it, her hands shook with surprise, and she had to put her wine on the coffee table next to the bed.

y/n's picture was on the paper. She knew it was Aemond's drawing by the softness of the lines.

It was unexpected. Was Aemond in love with her? If so, why was he acting this way toward her? He was always cold around her and acted like he didn't want to be there.

When she turned the picture over, she saw a date. It was about six months after they had been married.

Either Aemond was trying to play with y/n’s mind, or there was something that she couldn't understand.

She had seen Aemond draw before, but it was usually of trees and flowers and how he saw King's Landing as he flew with his dragon.

She placed the picture back into the book.

As she took it to the table, the door knocked.

She walked to the door, sighing.

She opened the door and saw Aemond's long golden-silver hair.

He smelled strongly of wine.

"y/n, my wife."

"Are you drunk?" she asked.

"No, I'm not."

Aemond was definitely drunk. But his movements and the way he spoke still looked partly the same. He still had that serious look on his face that he always had. Of course, y/n thought.

"My son, our son. Is he really Aegon's?"

"I don't know, Aemond. We have no way of knowing whose child he is."

y/n straightened her posture. "And it doesn't matter if he is your son or not. No one cares if you have heirs. The only thing that matters to Maelor is my blood. And it is definitely my blood that flows in his veins. He is my heir, and that is all that matters."

Aemond cocked his head to the right. "I do not care as long as he is yours."

y/n tried to close the door. "If you have nothing to say, I'll see you in the morning.

"Do you want to end our marriage?" he said, the seriousness in his eye giving way to sadness.

"Did you hear us in the garden?"

"I did."

"I thought you went in with the king and queen."

"No, I went in after a while."

"And now you're spying on me, Aemond, another dishonor."

Aemond leaned his arm against the door and leaned toward y/n.

"Why don't you want us to stay married?"

"Why?" y/n laughed. "The answer to your question is right in front of your eyes. You cheated on me. And then you decided to come to the castle whenever you felt like it. I'd never been to the Red Keep until the day we got married, Aemond. I had no friends, no one to take my side."

"I don't want her anymore."

"Aemond! You can't go to her even if you want to! I know how she cheated on you. Isn't that ironic?"

"y/n, I always wanted you. I was the one who asked my mother to marry us."

"I know, Aemond. For my inheritance."

"No, no. You-" Aemond struggled to get his words together. "I swear I never loved her." he swallowed and closed his eye tightly. "There are other things." He rubbed his temples. "Other things."

He opened his eye. Under his heavy gaze, y/n was startled.

Even after two years, his gaze still melted her.

"I want to be with you."

"I don't want to."

"Why? Please." He sounded desperate and in pain. “Please.”

"We're only going to stay married to fulfill our duties, Aemond. Do what you want. I don't care. Because I'll do what I want."

Aemond looked confused. He jumped to another topic as if he had not heard her. "Some men from my father's council want me to be the King."

"Aemond! I don't give a shit!"

"You'll be my queen." He paused. "My everything."

y/n looked Aemond straight in the eye.

"Aegon will be the King."

Aemond's face hardened. "Are we still going to talk about him?" No one wants him on the throne."

y/n laughed. Aemond looked at her in surprise. "Is that what all the fuss was about? Is that why you insisted on a son?"

"A son of yours."

y/n laughed again. "Oh, Aemond." She stood up on her tiptoes and approached his face. "I will bear Aegon dozens of sons if he wishes. For our king. If he wills it, that is how I will fulfill my duty to the realm."

Aemond laughed. "Dozens of bastards."

"Oh, you think I would bear our sons out of wedlock."

y/n pressed her finger against Aemond's torso. "When he becomes the King, he will annul your marriage and mine, and then I will marry him.”

Aemond squeezed his hand on the doorjamb tighter. "You are not a maiden."

"I'm not." she brought her hand to his cheek and stroked it with her thumb. "I assure you, he's aware of it.”

Aemond's gaze dropped to her lips.

The one-eyed prince was poisonous.

One of the moments that made him want his wife more was when she hinted that she was cheating on him.

He felt like his blood was boiling, his veins bursting.

He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

He was angry, and he was heartbroken. But at the same time, he was burning with desire.

He leaned his face toward her. "He can't fuck you the way I fuck you."

y/n moved her face closer to Aemond's face. Their noses almost touched. "Lucky me, then.” Her breath hit Aemond's face.

Aemond laughed. The hardness in his pants was becoming uncomfortable.

He tilted his head to the right and leaned toward y/n to kiss her, but she pulled back.

"Good night, Aemond."

She closed the door in his face, leaving Aemond no chance to say anything.

She leaned against the door and took a deep breath. y/n hated him.

But also, she couldn't stop the ache between her thighs.

She was just as poisonous as he was.

next chapter

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[3amfanfiction]

It's Just Dinner pt 3

John needs another date and Kyle is very convincing. MDNI cw: gazlighting, manipulation, forced prostitution 2.8k First || Previous

Thankfully the next few weeks pass quietly. There's no surprise dates, no uncomfortable conversations. Just you and Kyle, like it used to be.

You're tentatively relaxing into the rhythm when the next bombshell goes off.

Kyle's running around, getting ready to head to base early in the morning, talking to you over his shoulder when you hear, "Price has an opera he needs to see with one of the brass this weekend and he needs a date. I told him you were free," finishing with his shoes he grabs a jacket, coming over to give you a dirty kiss complete with a healthy grasp of your ass. "We'll go shopping when I get back," —assured, nonchalant, just another day.

No. No! You're not doing this again!

"Kyle! You can't just volunteer me—"

"Bye, babe!" echos through the entryway as the door slams shut.

Conversation over.

///

You fumed for hours. How dare he? How DARE he? Did he think you were a child he could make decisions for? Absolutely not.

You were ready for him now.

You'd spent all day preparing and when Kyle got home tonight you were going to sit him down and you were going to be firm. You weren't going to let him talk over you, you were going to stand your ground tell him you wouldn't be going on any more dinner dates with John Price.

Simple.

But as with any battle plan, it only lasted through the first encounter.

"Why are you acting like this?" Kyle frowned, not understanding. You crossed your arms defensively where you were standing in the bedroom, having followed him in when he got home. Why did you feel defensive?

You watched him pause, holding his t shirt in one hand as he looked over to you, head tilted in confusion. "You said you'd go, I already told him you agreed." He stepped towards you, dropping his shirt back in the drawer before stopping a short distance away, "you can't back out now babe, he's already booked the reservations."

Stop. Take a breath. You're not going to lose your temper.

"I never said I'd go, Kyle."

"Yes you did!" he insisted, eyes wide in disbelief, rolling right over your moment of breathing, "I was standing next to the kitchen table this morning—putting on my shoes—and you said yes."

He took a small step, bridging the distance between the two of you.

"Are you feeling okay, love?" his concerned voice made annoyed pinpricks creep up your spine. "You've been awful stressed lately. Is something going on at work? Anything you want to talk about?"

For one moment you imagined dumping it all on his shoulders, hysterically yelling, I'm pretty sure your boss tried to kiss me! to see what he would do with the information.

Kyle lifted his hands to cup your face, rubbing your noses together gently before you could do anything hasty. "We're partners . . . you know I've always got you, right?"

And just like that, the annoyance dissipated.

"I know, Kyle. That isn't what this is about," you reassured, leaning into his warm calloused palms, taking strength from his presence. "I just don't want to go to an opera this weekend."

You never brought up the half-kiss John had pressed to the corner of your mouth. After your bathroom pep talk you had met back up with him and he behaved himself for the rest of the night—there was no reason to worry Kyle about it.

But it still festered in the back of your mind.

His brow furrowed while he looked disappointingly at you, "Love, it would look really bad if I had to go back to my superior officer and say, 'sorry sir, she changed her mind, we can't help you.' It puts me in a bad spot when he's counting on us, on you, for the night."

His expression turned sad, "I wish you wouldn't have agreed if you had reservations about this."

Did you agree? He seems so certain, remembers it so clearly, maybe you did indicate acceptance somehow this morning, unwittingly.

"No—no I didn't agree, or at least, that's not what I meant," you capitulate, giving ground, shoulders rounding ever so slightly.

You have been stressed lately.

Maybe he's right.

He pulled away to frown down at you, "why are you so against going to dinner this time? Last time you were excited to go."

"I wasn't excited Kyle," you stammered, "I told you I wasn't sure about all this."

"No babe, you told me you were nervous," he pauses to smile at you as if you were in on a secret together, "after all Price is a handsome man and anyone would be nervous to have his full attention on them," you firmly don't think about the swoop in your stomach when he had cupped the back of your neck, the static shock that skated up your spine when his lips brushed yours, ever so slightly.

"—but then you had a great time." you focus back on what Kyle is saying, pulling your wandering mind under control, "I don't understand why you're being so skittish about this now."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest before shuffling the both of you over to the bed. Sitting, he moved you into his lap, chest to chest so he could look into your eyes.

"Are you sure no one said or did anything?" His voice dripped with sincerity, looking for something to fix, some way to help, "You know you're my best girl, right? I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Fuck. How do you keep messing this up? Now you're sitting here crying as Kyle promises to protect you. Should you just tell him? Get it over with, off your chest. Would that unlock the chain that was dragging you down? You wanted it to go back to how it was before.

No. You weren't a child and you didn't need to be babied. Nothing truly happened so there was nothing to tell Kyle.

But without telling him, you didn't have a valid reason for not going this time.

So you sat there in silence, unable to give ground any further. After a few moments of this, Kyle continued, tone lowered —assured, "Who's always looking out for you? Making sure that you're safe and you're happy, hmm?" he used his thumb to wipe away the tear tracks on your face.

"You," you assure quickly. This at least came easier, "but Kyle, this is—"

"Pet," stern, direct, "you're getting all twisted up in this when you don't need to be. You trust me right? You know I'm always doing whats best for us?" he holds your gaze, forehead pressed against yours, watching every flick of your eyes. "I love you more than I ever thought possible, but if you don't trust me . . . that's a hard thing to come back from, you know?"

"I do! I do trust you Kyle, I'm sorry. I don't know why I feel this way," rushed, pleading.

"I told you, even though you're my best girl, your head still gets in the way. We need to turn that pretty brain off, don't we?" He kisses you sweetly, as if you're everything he could ever want. "I've got us, baby. I wouldn't steer wrong."

Breathe.

"Okay," you give in after one more moment of resistance, tired of the pushing and pulling, the cyclical conversations, "okay, I'll go. But this is the last time, do you hear me Kyle Garrick?" You pulled back to show him your no nonsense face, "I'm not doing this again."

Kyle laughs as if you'd stomped your foot in assertion, something too cute to ever be taken seriously, "I hear you, babe. Thank you for coming around to see my side of things," he squeezes you to his chest, your face tucked into the warmth of his neck, "you're going to have a great time, you'll see."

He leans away to take you in, "How are you so wonderful? I feel like I must've saved an orphanage from a fire or something to have gotten you in my life."

Smiling at you as if he could see the universe in your eyes, "it's you and me, right sweetheart?" he questions, a child looking for benediction.

"You and me," you assure, disquiet bubbling softly in the back of your mind.

///

You saw John before he saw you.

He was standing in the foyer, looking at his phone, dressed to the nines.

His snug black suit emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, biceps bulging at the seams. His button down shirt tucked into his pants emphasized his thick waist, the muscles of his core covered by a healthy layer of fat.

His thick gold rings caught the light from above as he swiped through his phone—

Was that your living room on his screen?

The thought was derailed almost as soon as it formed due to John noticing you. He turned with a beaming smile as he locked his phone and slid it into a pocket. Holding his arms open he ushered you into a hug.

The smell of his cologne was earthy, loamy—it curled up in your nose and sunk its tendrils into your brain. How did he always smell so good?

Tensing slightly as his arms closed around you, he did no more than press a firm kiss high on your cheekbone. "You are a vision, my dear," John said in awe, pulling back slightly to take you in from head to toe. "Every time I see you, you end up more stunning. How is that possible?"

You laugh, charmed despite yourself. It's hard to keep up walls when John Price is looking at you like that, "You're too sweet, John," you demure, intending to have a good time tonight, "shall we find our seats?"

///

Several hours later, when the night was all but over while waiting for your car, you don't notice at first that John has taken a step closer. You're too distracted by the chill breeze that has sprung up, attempting to keep your skirt where it belongs.

You realize how close he had gotten when his hand comes up to brush against the skin of your jaw, fingers trailing softly as if dragging against spun gold.

Something precious. Something treasured.

You inhale shakily, unsure of where this was leading but wanting to stop. To take a step back onto stable ground.

"John—" is as far as he lets you get before his mouth covers yours, his other hand coming up to cradle your face in his palms while he devoured your mouth.

Because there was nothing timid or hesitant about this kiss. He claimed with it. His tongue pressing into your mouth at the first sign of weakness—the smallest gasp you couldn't control.

His fingers tightened against the side of your head as he groaned, angled down from above, making sure he was all you could see, all you could hear.

After what felt like years he pulled away, panting like he'd just ran a race, "Fuck me, sweetheart, but you taste even better than I'd hoped."

You stand there, eyes wide as you hold onto his wrists, one hand covering the smooth face of his watch. "You—you kissed me," you murmured, only just loud enough to be heard, "you can't kiss me, John."

He smiled as if you said something cute before pulling you back in. His lips had just brushed yours when you wrenched your head back, desperate to put space between the two of you.

"No, John," shaky but as determined as you could make it. You watch as something rises from the depths behind his eyes. A leviathan observing you, deciding where to bite first, where to grab as he pulls you into his depths, his maw closing around you . . .

Only for it to sink back below the surface, John's blue eyes clearing once more.

"Of course, of course, you're right doll, we shouldn't be doing that here." He continues talking over your spluttered here? as if you never said anything.

"There's your car anyways," the brakes squeak ever so lightly behind you, the thrum of the engine filling the night air, "you be good, sweetheart." A smile as John steps back, holding your door open for you. You climb in quickly, not wanting to spend any longer in his presence than needed.

John looms over the open doorway, forearms braced against the roof, "until next time." He winks at you before shutting the door, a soft double tap on the roof his notice to the driver.

As the car pulled away from the curb your thoughts began to spiral and you started to hyperventilate.

You had to tell Kyle now, you should've told him before but you can't go changing the past.

As soon as you get home you'll sit him down and talk to him. You'll tell him everything.

You ignore your slick thighs and the pressure of your underwear on your throbbing clit.

///

You made the car drive around the block—twice—before you worked up the courage to go inside.

Time to face the music.

"He kissed me, Kyle," you say, bracing for the explosion. You were still reeling from the evening, light tremors shaking your limbs, making your knees feel like they were knocking together.

You know you have to tell him everything, you can't keep something like this quiet. You have to lay it all out and hope he doesn't lose his mind.

Kyle froze. You watch him swallow, noticing his pupils expanding to eclipse the brown of his eyes. You hoped it wasn't in rage.

He quickly gathered himself as youlet out a broken sob and launched yourself at him, tears already streaming down your face.

You cried into his chest, latched onto him in search of strength. He pressed soft shh shh's against the top of your head, cradling you close to him, trying to coax you to breathe.

Eventually you were able to draw in a semi-steady breath without it immediately devolving into a sob and found yourself apologizing to Kyle, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why he kissed me—" breaking off into another wet hiccup.

"None of that now, you're making it a bigger deal than it needs to be," Kyle promised sternly, squeezing you tightly to him, "I know it's not your fault, you did nothing wrong." He soothes you when that causes another round of sobbing to begin.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," he announces quietly, with a somber air, once the tears began to peter off. "It might cause some . . . friction on the task force but if it's made you this upset then I'll handle it."

Why? Why does John have to be Kyle's boss?

It made everything so complicated.

If it were anyone else, you'd be able to trust Kyle to set them straight, no concerns about consequences. But with John . . . he had control over Kyle's life. Is a kiss worth it? Is anything worth risking Kyle's life?

No.

You'd decided before that you wouldn't risk bad blood between them. You held onto that decision even now, even as things have gotten heavier, more complicated.

You bury deeper into Kyle's chest, arms wrapped as tightly as possible around him, "No, I don't want to cause trouble for you at work."

"Doll, it's no-"

"No, you were right, I'm making it a bigger deal than needed. I was just worried, that's all."

He hunched down to rest his chin on top of your head, "worried about what?" he presses.

"Just that . . . that you're saying it's okay when it's really not. I don't want you to be upset with me." Your eyes started to well up again but you blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears from falling down your cheeks.

He slips an arm free to tilt your chin up, angling your face towards his, eyes locked so you have no way of hiding from him and what he's about to say.

"I'm not upset with you and you did absolutely nothing wrong," holding your gaze, chin firmly grasped. "Do you think I care about the captain kissing you?" —amused, placating almost— "I care because you care, love," he looked down to your lips, pursed slightly from the pressure of his grip.

"Here," quiet, sensual, "I'll show you."

When he pulled you into the kiss it was warm coffee on a cold morning, it was waking up to realize you have an hour left on your alarm, it was the house lights being on when you get home at night.

It was comfort.

You chase after him slightly when he pulls away, wanting to continue. He smiled and gives you another peck. "You taste," he murmurs, lips brushing yours with every word, "utterly delicious."

You pant softly, waiting for him to press into you again. He smiles and gives another soft kiss, "chapstick and cigar smoke taste perfect from your lips."

Next

Story Repository || Main Repository

[bonefall]

how do surrogacies for cats in another Clan work, socially? With honor siring you don't have to stick around once the cat you're siring for is pregnant; but with surrogacies you're going through an entire pregnancy and kitting process, which your Clan will probably catch onto at some point. Do you just... go off to give birth and come back and tell your Clan "bad news they didn't make it :( they all got uhhh eaten by a hawk sry all" after dropping them off with the cats you surrogated for

The out of universe reason is simple logistics. Some parents can't give birth but they still need a visit from the stork, with how small Clan sizes are.

In-universe, it's a whole process.

MOST surrogacies are done by family, or are in-Clan. A sibling who is able to get pregnant will do so, with the expectation that their family member will take and raise the kits.

More are done on a sort of "open book" policy. Onestar and Whitetail are an example of this; One wanted kits and asked White, but didn't want to coparent. She agreed, and neither one kept it a secret.

So Whitetail is not Heathertail's MOTHER, but it is known she was the honor-sire.

Likewise though, it's within your rights to keep it secret, even within a Clan. If you asked Onestar where the kit came from, invoking Queen’s Rights would shut it down.

But you could put two and two together that Whitetail was probably pregnant and stopped being so right when Onestar became a Mi.

For the record though. Listen carefully.

not every cat who is expecting will suddenly flash like a neon sign indicating it. The whole Clan will not suddenly get a text saying "DUDEHEART IS PREGNANT." Some people just don't show. Some cats don't smell that different. It's rude to ask unprompted and even worse if you guess wrong. Like real life.

Please understand.

On the Anthro-Scale, from 100% feral cat to 100% fuzzy human, BB cat gestation is closer to the feral cat than most of their other behaviors. So this is not the same "big deal" as a human pregnancy.

In general, I write "medical" topics closer to real cats than the Erins do. I mostly take "liberties" in the portrayal of disabilities so THOSE are closer to the real humans in my audience

intelligent cats are not going to be correcting me on my incorrect portrayal of Feline Diabetes, but I could unwittingly cause harm in spreading diabetic misconceptions that real people try to clear up, y'know?

Anyway. What that means is that warriors giving birth is not the federal issue that it is for humans. It's still not TOTALLY safe, but dying in childbirth is exceptionally rare, plus being much less painful and considerably faster

"The Birthing Stick" means something is wrong.

So there's several factors at play within Clans, but Out-of-Clan surrogacies are much more interesting.

These are usually arranged at Aftergatherings. They were rarer before the move to the Lake, which now sees waaaay more cross-clan friendships.

USUALLY the Clan's Cleric will be involved, which IS technically a waiving of the Queen’s Rights. Leafpool simply doesn't interpret it that way.

A more "traditional" Cleric, like Littlecloud, will NOT be involved for personal safety and comfort reasons. This makes a bad situation but that's the reality of QR (and is a reason why Fire Alone cats think QR doesn't go far enough.)

Kits are always given to the parent before 1 moon. Fading Kits aren't socially questioned if they fade before that 1st moon. So it's pretty easy to hide it.

"All of my litter was faders" is unfortunate in the way that a car accident is unfortunate. "Shit, are you ok?" "Is StarClan trying to keep a close eye on you? Are you going to try again?" Etc.

"Frequent Flyer" surrogates, like Brightheart, often keep a single kitten from each litter to avoid the implication of "bad omens."

If they aren't Brightheart who likes raising kittens with her mate, the kitten is often given to an in-Clan parent who wanted a child.

Most surrogacies aren't "free," but it does depend on who's doing it for you.

Like all other things in BB, this looks very different between generations, and depends heavily on the "attitudes" of the Clans at the tine. But, Queen’s Rights will protect you from revealing too much. STILL, surrogacies ARE harder than sirings. Just not impossible.

[ingravinoveritas]

(CW: Sexual assault, eating disorders, fatphobia, racism.) So, for those who might not have seen, Georgia posted this Insta story earlier today:

I wanted to take a moment to talk about this because the brand that she tagged in the story is Brandy Melville.

For anyone who may be unfamiliar, Brandy Melville is a clothing store geared primarily toward teenage girls. Just earlier this year, a documentary was released on HBO highlighting BM's extremely questionable business practices, from racism (relegating black employees to working in the stockroom or behind the tills) to ageism to fatphobic sizing (almost nothing beyond a size Small) that has led to a preponderance of eating disorders among employees and customers alike. The company also solicited photos from minors--teenage girls who tagged the brand on Instagram in the hope of being featured and sent free merchandise.

In addition, Brandy Melville founder Stephen Marsan is said to have shared despicably sexist, homophobic, and antisemitic memes and images in group texts between members of BM's leadership team; and a former staff member spoke in the documentary about another staff member who was reportedly sexually assaulted in a Brandy Melville-owned apartment in NYC. And none of this is even touching the problem of Brandy Melville as a "fast fashion" brand that has used the country of Ghana as a dumping ground for hundreds of pounds of waste and harmed its people and their environment as a result.

The reason I mention this is that while Georgia is certainly free to wear whatever she wants and may not have known any of the above, it takes approximately five seconds to find this information by searching on Google. Five seconds of looking is all it would've taken to think twice about endorsing this company, but it seems that Georgia did not even think or care to do that.

And while unwittingly shilling for a company like this is ill-conceived on its own, it somehow seems far more deliberate when we see Georgia's hashtags beneath the caption: #dreambig #aslongasthedreamonlycomesinonesize. Knowing that Brandy Melville is notorious for exclusionary sizing, it's difficult not to see that tag as anything other than incredibly tactless.

I'm just not sure what Georgia was thinking, but given the number of followers she has and the reach her content sometimes attains, it seems downright irresponsible of her to promote this brand. Because it's hard to "dream big" when everything about Brandy Melville seems like nothing but a nightmare...

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

HOTD stans: "Ugh those TB fans whining over every change and insisting HOTD is biased against them. Don't they think that maybe the writers made changes just so the story would be more interesting, not because Otto Hightower placed a gun to their head? Don't they see how much more interesting and complex the characters are now than in their fictional history book?"

also HOTD stans: "The Greens are just so much more interesting though. Sorry Rhaenyra, on principle I do support female succession. But you, Jakey boy and the rest of the pot plants just can't compete with Alicent and her poor tortured fucked up kids. They are THE dysfunctional family they are just so much more interesting-"

Wait... you mean ignoring half the cast didn't make them more interesting? Could it possibly be that bias isn't just a case of which side is portrayed as sympathetic, but which side is given attention?

Nah, of course not. I mean, a script direction stating that Jacaerys had already gone through an offscreen identity crisis over his parentage years ago and had come to terms with it? I thought that was so much more interesting than actually depicting it. I'm glad they got rid of Jace being bullied and focused on Aemond instead - it really made Jace a much more interesting character. Exploring the internalised shame of being a bastard, or what it's like to be constantly targeted and bullied by a kingsguard knight whose obsessed with destroying your mother, just isn't as interesting as Aemond being sad he doesn't have a dragon, or Aegon's daddy issues.

Giving Baela and Rhaena no screentime or dialogue? Genius. I'm so much more intrigued now. When they established Rhaena's yearning for a dragon I was worried we were going to see more of her, but to my upmost relief we spent her mother's funeral following Aemond instead. And the writers appropriately only used Rhaena to keep Aemond sympathetic, by having her be the one to initiate the fight instead of him hitting a toddler - once she was done serving Aemond's character we really didn't need anything further from her.

That one-off line about Daemon ignoring Rhaena was sufficient really, no need to explore that relationship any further. Just as there was no need to explore Baela's relationship with Jace, or the girls relationship with their stepmother. Let's go back to how Aegon is so sad that he has to rape women, or Helaena's bug collection. Let's throw sympathy on Vaemond while the female heirs to Driftmark stand silently in the background. Let's fart around in a Green-centric episode with a 100% stake-free race to find Aegon first. Let's throw in a scene of Larys masturbating over the Queen's feet, because the more powerless she is the more we can see Olivia Cooke's beautiful brown eyes weeping. The Blacks certainly don't need their own episode to breathe.

Sure, I did feel bad for book Rhaenyra when she was ordered away to effective exile on Dragonstone by her own father after the fight at Driftmark. And when her father almost called her home again to be his Hand, but then prioritised placating his wife and chose Otto instead. That sure SOUNDS like a compelling father-daughter conflict on paper. Perhaps we COULD have seen the tragic tale of a daughter whose father keeps failing to fight for her and unwittingly sabotages her, as his peacekeeping 'neutrality' effectively chooses his wife over her time and time again.

But I don't know, there was just something about Rhaenyra voluntarily bouncing because 'the wise sailor steers to avoid the storm' that felt much more intriguing than being forced away by her own father. Rhaenyra staying away for years was much more intriguing than her father passing her over as Hand. It really made the moment where Viserys drags his corpse out of bed to defend her stand out, you know? And it let us keep the focus on how Alicent is sad that her husband doesn't appreciate her, because the more victimised interesting Alicent is, the more interesting everyone is!

Daemon bashing his wife's head in with a rock also really made him more grey as a character.

As did Rhaenys slaughtering the smallfolk and championing the Geneva Convention the very next episode. That writing decision definitely had nothing to do with shock value. I mean, when asked why she didn't just end the war there and then we got solid Watsonian explanations such as 'it wasn't my war to start' or 'she wouldn't do that to another mother' (women, right?). That's how you know that creatively it made sense, because they wanted it to happen. Where was she keeping that change of armour?

Who needs Laena matchmaking to secure Driftmark and the Iron Throne for her daughters when she can spend her time wishing for self-immolation? Who needs Laena trying to fly one last time, desperate for that last taste of freedom before she dies, when she can instead kill herself via self-immolation?

Laenor faking his death via the murder of an innocent bystander and leaving the charred remains of the body to traumatise his parents and children (whose biological father has just died in a fire)? That needs no further exploration, I'm sure that didn't psychologically scar Jace and Luke any more than Laena's self-immolation affected her daughters. All that matters is we didn't bury our gays, isn't that great? This way Laenor didn't get assassinated, just his character!

I mean, we could have had Laenor's death be a tragic mystery, with unconfirmed rumours that Daemon had a hand in it. We could have placed the audience in Rhaenyra's point of view, we could have watched her grapple with the doubt, struggle over whether it's a possibility she can live with. We could have had the moment she gets passed over as Hand be the moment she decides to marry Daemon, like in the book. That could have said something interesting about her character and their relationship. But on second thoughts, "we'll fake Laenor's death and then we can be the ultimate power couple and RULE THE WORLD" was much more sophisticated.

Oh, and de-aging Aegon the Younger? Just look at the emotional range on that baby.

The casting for Addam and Alyn too... Honestly, not just their casting, I think overall the decision to cast characters aged 13-15 with grown adults is really going to underscore the tragedy of their stolen childhoods. It worked for Game of Thrones!

Nettles? Don't we have enough black women in the background?

[defectivevillain]

born into blood

pairing: Ghostface/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: Christina Carpenter wasn’t the only woman to have an affair with Billy Loomis… Your mother did too. You’re Billy’s child, just like Sam Carpenter. But you saw what happened to Sam—so you keep silent. Your father’s real identity is a secret you will take to your grave. At least, that’s what you think. Then, one day, Ghostface comes calling…

word count: 2.2k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, character death; attempted murder, strangulation, blood, hallucinations; scream (2022) spoilers.

notes: I wrote Ghostface with he/him pronouns, but he remains nameless—so feel free to imagine whichever killer you want.

thank you @palefaceswhore for the beta! 🖤 any remaining mistakes are mine.

You don’t usually answer phone calls from unidentified numbers. But you had a job interview a few days ago, and you still haven’t gotten a response from the company, so you accept the call and bring your phone up to your ear with hope brewing in your chest. You thought you did a decent job in the interview, and you hope the recruiters thought the same. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of breath on the other line. Dread begins to prickle across your skin. Your tongue feels stuck to the roof of your mouth. Just as you summon the courage to speak, the other person speaks.  “What’s your favorite scary movie?”  

A shiver runs down your spine at the familiar voice. You immediately hang up and slam your phone face-down on the table. With quick breaths, you pick up your phone and shakily open your phone app again, blocking the contact. It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a prank call mimicking Ghostface, unfortunately—since the Stab movies first came out, unruly teenagers have started doing it rather frequently. But your particular situation is a bit different than that of the average person. After all, Billy Loomis is your father. 

For the longest time, you had no idea. But once you turned sixteen, your mother sat you down and told you the truth: she had an affair during her marriage, and that affair resulted in your birth. Safe to say, you were sick to your stomach. That revelation only proved to be much worse, however, when she revealed exactly who she slept with: Billy Loomis, one of the original Ghostface killers. A murderer. 

It took you a long time for you to begin trusting your mother again. And a small part of you knows that you’ll never look at her the same again—both because of what she did and because of the years she spent keeping it a secret from you. When you finally moved out from her house, you were mostly relieved. Leaving that house meant leaving it all behind. You didn’t have to meet your mother’s eyes and see a killer’s malice reflected in them any longer. 

Time passed and you slowly moved on. Ultimately, you decided that it would be ridiculously dangerous for you to tell anyone. You’ve kept that promise to yourself since your mother first confessed the identity of your father to you. You can only hope the secret dies a swift death, never seeing the light of day. After all, Billy Loomis is dead. You can take comfort in that… right? 

Then you hear about Sam Carpenter, and everything comes rushing back. The world had slowly moved on from Billy Loomis, as the Ghostface mask was passed from killer to killer. But once Sam Carpenter was unwittingly thrust into the public eye, you saw your quiet life slowly crumbling before you. You didn’t need to know Sam personally to know how she must’ve been treated for her parentage. The public villainized her—even with incontrovertible proof that she wasn’t the killer. Ghostface is everywhere now. You can’t avoid him, no matter how hard you try. All you can do… is hope that no one else discovers the identity of your father—otherwise you’ll be pursued with vengeance, just as Sam and her friends were. 

A ringing sound draws you from your thoughts. You frown and walk through your living room, attempting to discern the source of the noise. Once you walk into the kitchen, you realize that it’s your landline—the one that was supposedly disconnected. You’ve never given out that number to anyone. Hell, the phone hasn’t been used in years. It rings again and you flinch, before shaking your head in disbelief.  You should just ignore the call, obviously. But that’s against the rules, a voice in your head whispers. In the movies, if you don’t answer, he’ll just come out and stab you in the back. At least this way, maybe he’ll give you a chance at life. You know this isn’t a Stab movie… but your hand moves of its own accord, grabbing the phone and bringing it to your ear. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” That warped, deepened voice sends chills down your spine.  “Don’t try that again.” 

You’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t a prank call. And on the small chance that this is really happening—that Ghostface himself is calling you—hanging up would be a death sentence. You swallow hard and remain on the line, despite everything in your head screaming at you to hang up and run away as fast as you can. You try to take slow, measured breaths as you look around the room for signs of his presence. You don’t see anything. 

“Good,” Ghostface says patronizingly. You try to take a deep breath. It isn’t your father. But that doesn’t quite matter—that deepened, warped voice still reminds you of him. “Now, let’s try that again. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You rack your brain and try to think of something to say. “… Saw .” You eventually respond. Admittedly, it’s hard to focus on the conversation. All you can think about is the high probability that Ghostface is outside of your home—or, hell, even in it—already. 

“Really?” Ghostface hums interestedly. “Not Stab ?”

“No,” you respond, your heart jumping in your throat. The mere mention of the movie franchise is enough to make you nervous, as you remember your father. Something stews in your chest and your fingers tighten around the phone as you hold it to your ear. 

“Why not?” Ghostface asks innocently. His voice is mocking. “It’s about your father, after all.”

You’re silent, entirely frozen as a victorious cackle sounds through your phone. 

“Oh, you thought no one knew?” He continues. “Billy Loomis was a player, and that’s no secret.” 

“What do you want from me?” You choke out. You’ve spent more than twenty years outrunning your father’s reputation—doing everything in your power to ensure that no one ever knew your connection to him. And now it’s all slipping away from you. All your hard work is slipping down the drain, falling through your fingers like granules of sand. 

As if sensing your unease and distress, Ghostface’s voice has a triumphant lilt to it. “What I want…” He breaks off, “is for you to give in. ” You stare ahead in shocked silence. The taste of bile settles on your tongue. “It’s time for you to carry on your father’s legacy.” 

The call abruptly ends. Immediately, you whip around and brace yourself against the kitchen counter, dread churning in your chest. You’ve seen the Stab movies—once Ghostface hangs up, he reveals himself to his victim. You grit your teeth and frantically search your drawers for a knife. When your hand closes around the knife, you turn around to find Ghostface standing right in front of you. The knife in his hand glitters at you mockingly. 

“Come on,” he says, his voice still distorted and deep. You squint at him, surprised that you don’t see him holding a voice changer in his hand. There must be something fixed to the inside of his mask. Unfortunately, you’re not given the luxury to muse on that thought, as he steps even closer and forces you to back up against the counter, before standing still. You can sense his eyes boring into you through the mask. “I’ll give you a free shot. It’s your birthright.” Ghostface reaches out with his free hand, taking your hand in his and tilting your knife up until it points at his shoulder. 

You swallow hard, your heart thundering in your chest as you try to grasp the reality of the situation you find yourself in. You’re standing before a killer and he’s willingly giving you a chance to weaken him. Despite knowing that you should take the shot he’s giving you, all it takes is a flicker of your father’s visage in your mind’s eye for you to shake your head stubbornly. Making the first move is far more difficult in reality than you expect it to be. Besides, while he’s certainly antagonized you, Ghostface hasn’t actually harmed you yet. Stabbing him without being provoked isn’t something you can get yourself to do, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that you need this advantage he’s giving you. 

Silence stretches on, settling in the air between you. Ghostface is standing far too close for you to be comfortable, and his grip on your arm is extremely tight. Eventually, he exhales. “I gave you a chance,” the killer shrugs. Despite that statement, he’s still grasping your hand. “Now, I’m afraid your cameo has come to an end… The killer’s child becomes the victim. It’s poetic justice!” 

You don’t get a chance to pick apart that statement before Ghostface is lodging his knife into your left side and pulling it back out forcefully. You scream, quickly pressing a hand to the wound in a rather futile attempt to stop the bleeding. As you fall to your knees, you return the blow and sink your knife into his thigh. He hisses and falls to the side, giving you time to sweep his feet out from under him and clumsily get to your feet. Through your pain-hazed vision, you manage to navigate through your kitchen and into the living room. Remembering your phone in your pocket, you take it out and attempt to call emergency services, only for Ghostface to slam into you and tackle you to the floor. You try to throw him off, but he looms over you and tries to stab you again. You manage to roll to the side, letting out an uncomfortable hiss as the movement sends pain flaring up your side. His knife lodges into the floor beneath you with a solid thunk. 

“That’s it,” he spits, grabbing your shirt collar. “Bastard.” The insult is punctuated by a harsh thud, which you realize moments later to be the sound of your head hitting the ground. Your vision is spiraling and blurring as his hands move to your throat. You immediately try to push him off.

Suddenly a bright light flashes before your eyes, and your father is staring down at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes fall to something near your side and you follow his gaze, remembering the knife that is still lodged into the ground. In his enraged fervor, the killer hasn’t seemed to notice it. It’s nearly right in front of him—you’ll have to be very quick to grab it. Your vision is practically pulsing at this point, but even through the blurriness, you can see Billy Loomis’ twisted grin.

Ghostface brutally tightens his grip on your throat and rips the air from your lungs. You’re writhing and thrashing against him, but his hold is strong and unflinching. You don’t have much time, so you make a grab for the knife and manage to free it from the floorboards. It clatters to the ground and suddenly, both you and Ghostface are reaching for the weapon. With a stretch that sends bolts of pain down your forearm, you manage to clasp the knife first—and you don’t hesitate to bury it into Ghostface’s neck. His hands fall from your neck and you frantically inhale, coughing and choking as you push yourself to your knees. Saliva falls from your lips and you wipe at it with your free hand, before focusing your attention on Ghostface once more. He’s sprawled on the ground before you, clasping at his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. But blood is positively oozing out of him, and his form promptly slackens. 

You’re still not convinced. Doesn’t the killer always miraculously lurch forward at the last moment, when the victim thinks they’re dead? You decide you’d rather not test that theory, and settle for yanking the knife back out of his neck. The blood loss will kill him, if he isn’t already dead. 

After a few more moments staring down at Ghostface and contemplating your next move, you grab at his wrist and feel for a pulse. There’s nothing—a notion further punctuated by the way his arm promptly crashes to the floor when you release it. Your attacker is dead. 

The adrenaline that kept you alive begins to fade, leaving you with a bone-deep ache and a stinging sensation in your side. The knife slips from your grasp and falls to the floor with a deafening clatter. Ghostface’s blood is pooling beneath him, and your hands are painted crimson with it. You’re shaking extremely hard, your chest burning from your near suffocation only moments prior. Your equilibrium is all off, and you’re forced to watch from an outsider’s perspective as the world sways and tilts to the side as you fall back down to the ground. Shadows are crawling across the room; when you blink, you see black boots on the ground next to you. Your father crouches down and stares at you, his expression unreadable through your foggy vision. He almost looks to be resisting the urge to reach out to you. A tear crawls down your cheek as you hear sirens in the distance. 

“Well done.” Billy Loomis says, his voice reverberating through your ears. He crouches down even more, until he’s sitting next to you. With ghosts for company and pain stitching your body together, your vision quickly fades to black. 

thanks for reading! <3

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[snorklingfae]

Shades of Deception- Prologue

Dark!Joel Miller x naive!Fem reader

Synopsis: Amidst the ruins of a broken world, one survivor stands out from the rest - Joel Miller. With his sharp wit and unmatched ability to deceive, Joel has always managed to outmaneuver those around him. But when he meets y/n, an unsuspecting and trusting survivor, Joel sees an opportunity to take his game to the next level. As their relationship progresses, y/n unwittingly becomes entangled in Joel's web of lies and deceit, utterly unaware of the true extent of his cunning and manipulation. Will y/n break free from Joel's grasp before it's too late?

Notes: thinking of instead using the term y/n as it can get tedious to write but use Bambi instead as a nickname Joel uses.

Warnings: none yet more will be added in each chapter

Joel trudged wearily through the overgrown remnants of what was once a thriving city. The air hung heavy with the scent of decay, and the dilapidated buildings echoed his every footstep, reminding him of the world that had crumbled around him.

His senses were on high alert, scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Survival had become his second nature in this unforgiving landscape.

One day, fate intervened as Joel was patrolling the area, and he saw a movement amidst the rubble of an abandoned storefront.

He slowly approached, weapon at the ready, prepared for any threat. But as he drew closer, he realized it wasn't a runner or clicker. It was a survivor, like himself, but far more vulnerable than he could have imagined.

She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and her face was illuminated by a faint glimmer of hope that still flickered within her.

Despite the grim reality of their world, she radiated an aura of innocence and purity that Joel found both unsettling and strangely captivating.

As Joel observed her, a comparison sprang to mind, one that surprised even him. She reminded him of a character from a storybook, a creature from a world untouched by the darkness that now enveloped them—a fawn, fragile and trusting, with wide eyes that held a spark of curiosity and wonder.

Bambi, he thought to himself, though he doubted she would understand the reference in this harsh new reality.

"Are you bit?" Joel's gruff voice betrayed his concern as he approached cautiously.

"No, I swear," she replied, her voice trembling.

After a few seconds of debating, Joel sighed, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, offering him a tentative smile that tugged at something deep within Joel's hardened heart.

“I'm fine," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... scared."

Joel crouched beside her, his expression unreadable as he studied her carefully. He could see the fear in her eyes, and the uncertainty mirrored his inner turmoil.

Despite the danger that lurked around every corner, there was something about this girl that drew him in, a flicker of humanity amidst the chaos that consumed their world.

Without a word, Joel extended a hand to her, offering her comfort in a world devoid of kindness.

“Come on," he said gruffly, his tone softened by a hint of warmth that surprised even him. "You'll be safer with me."

And with that simple gesture, Joel's solitary journey took an unexpected turn, leading him down a path he never could have anticipated—a path that would intertwine his fate with hers in ways neither of them could have imagined.

As they set out together into the unknown, they would discover that sometimes, in the darkest of times, it was the tiniest glimmer of hope that could light the way forward.

Shades of deception tags

@orcasoul @paanchusblog

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Dumb Anti-Aang Zutara fanatics: “OMG Katara pulling Aang out of The Avatar State is emotional labor! Aang puts so much responsibility on Katara, look how sad she is!”

KATARA

Katara never saw Aang being in The Avatar State as a burden, she saw that her friend was in emotional distress and possessed by a force beyond his control, and she went to comfort him of her own choice with no fear because she loves Aang that much.

AANG

Aang would never intentionally put Katara in harms way, he never expected or asked Katara to emotionally support him, but he appreciates everything she does for him and appreciates her in general. Additionally he clearly feels remorse for unintentionally letting his anger get the better of him..

It baffles me how these weirdos will romanticize and swoon over Zuko forcefully grabbing Katara so he can tie her up, but see this beautiful moment of Katara without fear or hesitation going to Aang when he loses himself to a force beyond his control to comfort him of her own volition because she doesn’t see him as a destructive force, but a friend who’s suffering from grief and sorrow, and the act of a simple embrace is enough to free Aang from his unwittingly destructive state, and they think “evil abusive Aang is forcing poor submissive Katara to coddle his violent tantrum”. We gotta gate-keep the show from these media-illiterate morons. 

[saturninemartial]

Taps my mic. Is this thing on. Ahem.

I'm currently thinking about a modern AU, where everyone is aged up about 9-10 years. And Kaya is a medical resident at the hospital Law works at, and they're friendly enough; and Kaya posts a flier on a bulletin board in one of the lounges, for a drag show, for one of her fiancé's best friends, she explains, the best friend being the headliner Chouquette. Law has no intention of going, initially, but he gets dragged into it by the surgical techs he always has to work with, Penguin and Shachi, and current surgery fellow, Bepo.

(I am thinking that Minks will stay Minks in this AU, bc I never see that in modern AUs. Same with Fishmen, etc. And Devil Fruit powers are instead powers that people are born with, but still have to figure out and "awaken.")

The group goes to the show, and the first couple acts are fine; but then it's finally time for Chouquette, and it's clear most of the crowd is here for her. She clearly has some pretty big fans up front, hooting and hollering as she sings and tells jokes.

When Chouquette is finished with her performance, Law sees Kaya at the bar with some other people, and she's talking to a really cute-looking boy who has his eyes all over Law. Law doesn't look away fast enough, and Kaya catches his eye and waves him over, first introducing him to the cute boy, Luffy, one of her friends through her fiancé, Usopp, who's also sitting nearby. Luffy quickly introduces Law to everyone else, including Zoro, who wraps his arm around Chouquette when she joins them at the bar; and Chouquette as "Sanji, who's a girl when she's Chouquette, but a boy a lot of the rest of the time" (genderfluid Sanji expressing this via drag...and in the bedroom sometimes 🤭💕).

Law gets unwittingly inducted into this friend group, and with Luffy very interested in him romantically.

I don't have much worked out for this AU, but Luffy is a preschool teacher. And zosan, namivivi, and usokaya are all engaged and lowkey in a competition to see who gets married first. And Brook is still a skeleman and Jinbei a fishman, and Chopper a reindeer. <3 Just a chaotic but fun found family modern fic with some more canon elements dashed in.

I am a fic writer, so I definitely want to write in this AU! Feel free to follow for more, and send me your thoughts/ideas. :)