#was sick as a dog right after my wedding | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roosterforme · 1 year ago

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How Do You Feel About the Parking Lot? (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: language, drinking, angst, fluff

You were excited at first. Very excited. You showed off your ring to everyone and gushed over the fact that you were engaged. And while you were still wearing his mom's engagement ring, it was becoming obvious to Bradley that things were not quite as they should be.

"Hey," he said softly as he walked into the kitchen. It was exactly nine weeks ago that he'd proposed in the dining room and you'd happily accepted that ring that glittered on your finger right now. But tonight you just mumbled something at him without looking up from your computer where you sat at the island. It was nearly midnight on Friday, and he would have given anything for you to start planning this wedding with him. "Are you coming to bed soon? I thought we could talk about potential wedding dates."

"Oh," you replied without looking up at him. "I'm still putting this presentation together."

Bradley sighed. "Baby Girl, you've been working nonstop for weeks. I just want... a little bit of your time." He wanted a lot of things, actually. Like a long snuggle on the couch while you and he watched a movie, or a soak in the tub together. He'd love a blowjob or pinning your hands above your head while he slammed you into the bed. But mostly he'd love to plan his wedding to you, because more than anything, he wanted to get married this year. And it was already late September.

You glanced up at him and adjusted your glasses. "How about tomorrow? I really need to get this done before my work trip."

"Sure," he whispered before pecking you on the cheek and heading off to climb into bed alone.

But it only got worse from there. You worked all weekend. On Monday, you didn't come home until seven o'clock. Tuesday was eight o'clock. By Wednesday, he wasn't sure if you were even eating or sleeping any longer. And worse yet, you were leaving for Annapolis in a few days. Bradley wouldn't even see you for a week. Not that he really saw you now, he supposed.

He ate a bowl of cereal for dinner before sinking down onto the couch with Tramp and a bottle of scotch. He turned on Real Housewives, but he wasn't really watching it. He took a sip, and it burned. But the next one didn't. And neither did the one after that. He started to feel better. But he'd stop when you got home.

Another episode started, but it still wasn't holding his attention the way you would have, and that's when he realized it was once again seven o'clock, and you still weren't home. When his phone rang, he sloshed some of the alcohol onto his tee shirt reaching for it, and he was praying it was you calling to tell him you were on your way home.

He pressed his lips together and then took a deep breath before he answered. "Hi, mom."

"Bradley! I haven't heard from the two of you in days! How's your lovely fiancée? And Tramp?"

The dog must have heard her voice through the phone, because he perked right up. But Bradley couldn't answer with anything other than a raspy, "Fine."

The line went silent. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, mom," he lied. "How are you? How's dad?"

"Well, I went to lunch with Brenda, and I got the scoop on all of her kids. And your dad needs hearing aids, but he keeps arguing with me about it. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, if he can even hear you."

"Okay," he replied, realizing the room had started spinning when he leaned back against the couch.

"Bradley, are you drunk?"

How could she possibly tell? His own wife-to-be couldn't seem to see what was going on, but Carole could tell by his voice from almost three thousand miles away. "I'm... fine, mom. I need to take Tramp for a walk. I love you and dad. Bye."

Then he ended the call, because he could feel tears in his eyes. And when you got home at nine, he was already asleep.

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You needed to go to happy hour with your boss and coworkers on Friday, but you really didn't want to. You'd been pulling twelve hour days, and you were so exhausted, you just wanted to climb into bed with Bradley and sleep until you left for Maryland on a Saturday night red eye flight. You also really needed to tell him that he had to lay off the wedding planning until you finished this work project. It was just a few months of all these extra hours, and you desperately wanted to be promoted.

Your plan was to stop home quickly and change out of your uniform before heading back out with everyone to celebrate that fact that you were going to present your research at the Naval Academy. When you pulled into the driveway in your shitty, little red car, the Bronco was already there. But when you looked around the house for Bradley, you didn't immediately see him. But then you heard his voice through the open sliding glass door. He was sitting on the back patio in just his gym shorts with his back to the door and a half empty bottle of scotch set on his knee.

His voice sounded miserable as he said, "I tried, mom. She just... doesn't seem to want to. I don't know what I did wrong."

You froze in place. He had to be talking about you. Embarrassment and sadness filled you as you listened to what he said next.

"I really wanted to get married this year."

You ran down the hallway to the bedroom as you fought off your tears. You had to get changed and go right now while you still could. In another week, you'd have a little more time to talk to him about the fact that you couldn't plan a wedding and get married in the next three months with your current schedule.

You left the house again without talking to him, but he was still sitting on the patio on the phone. And when he dropped you off at the airport the following evening, he didn't seem to want to let you go as he whispered, "I love you, Sweetheart," and ran his thumb along your ring.

"I love you too, Roo. I'll be home in a week, and then we can talk about maybe planning a wedding for next year?"

He swallowed hard and nodded. "If that's what you want."

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When you landed in Maryland on Sunday morning, you were still exhausted and looking forward to crashing until your presentation on Monday. But Carole called you when you were at the baggage claim, and you knew you had to answer. A guilty feeling was about to eat you alive as you put on a bubbly voice and said, "Hi!"

"Have you arrived in Annapolis?" she asked straightaway, and you sighed because at least she didn't sound angry with you.

"I did," you told her softly. "Still at the airport."

"Perfect," she replied. "I'll leave now, and I'll be there in less than fours hours, and we can go get lunch."

You were so stunned, you watched your bag go past without realizing you needed to pick it up. "You're going to drive up from Virginia?" you asked her slowly.

"Yes. I'm grabbing my keys right now. Bye, Goose! I'll be back later!" You listened to her call out to her husband, and then a few seconds later, you heard a door close and a car start. She was actually going to drive up here.

"Oh, okay," you muttered, pressing your lips together, embarrassed about where you'd left things with her son. "I'll... see you in a few hours."

You managed to take a short, restless nap while you waited for Carole to arrive. You changed into a simple dress and put on some makeup, but you didn't really feel any better until you met her at a restaurant in the city. She rushed down the sidewalk toward you with a bright smile on her face. "My sweet girl!" she called out, wrapping you up in a hug next to a few tables full of people enjoying their lunch outside. "It's been too long." She kissed your cheek and started to lead you inside.

"Thanks for driving all the way up here," you told her, not bothering to fight the smile tugging your lips. She was absolute sunshine, and it was pointless to try to resist it. "You didn't have to do this."

"Nonsense," she said as the two of you made your way to a booth. "I wanted to see my future daughter-in-law."

You nodded and enjoyed some pleasant conversation. She told you all about Goose's appointment with an audiologist and about Brenda's kids. And after you finished your avocado toast and bowl of soup, she said, "Now, I think we should talk about what's really important."

Her voice wasn't unkind, and she was still smiling softly, but you knew what was coming as you whispered, "Okay."

Carole reached across the table and took your hand gently in hers. "I know you're smart and independent. And I also know that's part of why Bradley loves you so much. You don't need him. He's not offering you anything you can't get on your own or with someone else. You chose him, because you want him." Tears started to fill your eyes, and you had to swallow against the lump in your throat. "And he just wants you to be happy, so he would never tell you to your face that you're hurting him."

You tried to speak, but you just made a pathetic sound and started to sob. "I don't want to hurt him."

"I know you don't," she replied softly, squeezing your hand. "I know you're not trying to. But I think you need to tell him once and for all that you don't want to get married this year so he can finally get used to the idea of waiting a bit."

You buried your face in your free hand. Why were you trying to push it off anyway? It's not like you really cared where you got married or what the two of you were wearing. Planning some sort of huge celebration was not something you wanted to spend your time doing. You wanted to be with Bradley exactly as you were right now, just with two more rings and a certificate involved.

When you looked up at Carole, you whispered, "I don't really think I actually want to wait. And I don't want you to hate me either."

"No," she gasped, standing and coming to sit next to your on your side of the booth. She kissed your tear streaked cheek and whispered, "I could never, my sweet darling girl. I think you just need to talk to Bradley, okay? Can you promise me you'll give him a few hours of your full attention? And maybe let him know how much he still means to you?"

"Yes," you croaked, and you let her hold you as you cried.

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The week without you was kind of miserable. Bradley managed to dump the rest of the bottle of scotch at Carole's urging over the phone. And he did notice that she and Goose started calling with a bit more frequency which he didn't really mind. But the best part was that fact that you called him every night before you went to bed.

Every time he answered your calls, his heart thundered in his chest. And as soon as he called you Sweetheart, he could practically hear you smiling through the phone. "I can't wait to pick you up on Friday," he said over and over. If he just felt like he mattered to you again, then he could wait until next year to get married. That was no big deal in the grand scheme of things.

But when he met you in baggage claim at San Diego International late on Friday night, he was so surprised, he could barely speak. You ran for him with a garment bag in your arms, but you let it fall to the floor when you reached him. "Roo," you moaned as soon as you were in his grasp. "I missed you so much." You kissed him deeply. "I just got off the phone with your mom again. And I didn't tell you before, but I went to see my friend Caleb a few days ago," you said as you smirked.

"The tattoo artist?" he asked as he kissed your cheek fifteen times. When you nodded he asked, "What's in the garment bag?"

"My wedding dress."

"Holy shit." He scooped it up off the floor and held it tight. "You bought a dress?" he asked, trying to hold you and the garment bag both to his chest at the same time.

"Yes," you told him matter-of-factly as you tugged him toward the exit while you kissed his lips. "How do you feel about getting married in the parking lot in two months?"

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#if you ask emily #is it working for you?#roosterforme #b&bg #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x you

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kawaiigirly21 · 4 months ago

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Gem of Olympus 6

"Wait, say that again. I'm afraid I didn't hear you correctly. You…want…her…back?” Apollo stared at his brother as he sat across from him in the large garden. “Yes Apollo! I want her back! I-i miss her. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can barely look at Aphrodite without wishing she was… Natasha… I still love her. I don't think I ever stopped…” Ares put his head in his hands. This was one of the very first times he displayed his true emotions in front of anyone besides the goddess he was previously married to.

Apollo sighed as he took his eyes away from his brother to look at his wine glass. “Look Ares, I'm sure your feelings are genuine but do you know how much you hurt her? She unraveled because of you. Her confidence became undone. And so did her clothing. She went around starting affairs to compensate for what you did to her. She never once doubted her beauty until you planted those seeds of deceit and pain. She simply did all those things to feel beautiful again. To regain some semblance of power. Control.”

Ares could do nothing but simply listen to his brother as he spoke words of truth to him. His ears now finally opened and his mind cleared to truly understand what he had done. “I don't doubt your love for her, Ares. In fact when you two first started courting, I had never seen you so happy. But she's no longer yours. And if you want her back. If you want to be her husband once more, you have a lot to work on.” Apollo then stood from his chair and walked past his sulking brother.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I do have to get going. I do believe I hear mortals praying for me to heal their sick. Till tonight brother.” Ares simply waved his brother off and made his way out of the garden. He knew Apollo was telling the truth. He had much to work on. Such as getting rid of Aphrodite. Elsewhere on Olympus, Poseidon and Hera were planning his proposal. As Hera was the goddess of marriage, she jumped at the opportunity to help her brother wed Natasha.

“She did say she liked Dolphins right? Or was it tiger sharks… this is stressing me out…” Poseidon sighed as his eyes scanned the parchment in front of him. “It was indeed tiger sharks. Please don't let this bother you. It's just a proposal. It's not the wedding… yet.” Poseidon nodded before grabbing a pen. “I just want this to be perfect… I love her Hera… I truly do..” Hera smiled warmly. “I know you do. I can tell. Now back to the planning, you want to do this when?” Poseidon quickly answered. “The day after tomorrow! I don't want to wait any longer!”

While the two continued their planning, Hades, Persephone and Natasha were playing with Cerberus. “Come on boy! Come on! Go get it!!” Natasha smiled brightly as she watched the three headed dog run off to fetch the log she threw. “It's hard to believe he used to be so small you could hold him in one hand. Now look at him.” Persephone put a loving hand on her niece's shoulder as she led her to their usual table. “We have much to discuss my dear.” Hades spoke as he took a seat besides her.

Natasha knew exactly what it was they were about to discuss and smiled as the gossip flew. “Then she claimed she didn't know I was there. Can you believe that?” Natasha sipped her tea as she listened closely to her uncle's story. “Ugh unbelievable!” She added. “I personally wouldn't have tolerated such disrespect!” Persephone said. Once every month, Natasha traveled to the underworld for 3 days to spend time with her aunt and uncle. Most of the time, it was tea, cakes and all the gossip they could stand.

Other times....“Ah! Oh! There! There! Mm!!” Hades growled in Natasha's ear as he took her from behind. “Put that mouth to good use, darling.” Persephone purred as she led Natasha's head to her pussy. “Ah~ good girl~ mm~” Hades smirked as he pushed himself deeper into Natasha's weeping cunt. “Agh shit!! So tight you are little one! Fuck!!” Persephone smiled as she pet Natasha’s head. “Oh fuuuuck~ You’re too good at this~”

Later that day, Natasha laid in her bed reminiscing about her past affairs and her previous lovers while petting her lion. “Hmmm Hercules gave you to me. You big ball of fluff.” The nemean lion simply yawned while snuggling close to her. “Not much to say on that. You’re so spoiled.” As Natasha looked up at her ceiling, she heard a soft yet firm knock at her door. “It's open.” Fully expecting to see Hermes, considering his knocks were the only kind that sounded that way, the goddess’ eyes widened when the man in her chambers was not in fact Hermes but Ares.

“Do you have a minute?” He asked with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…sure. What is it?” Natasha moved from her lying position to sitting up with Leo, her lion, moving to place his head on her lap and continue his nap. “I um..here. These are for you. They’re your favorite right?” Ares asked as he pulled a bouquet of belladonnas from behind him. “Yes they are. I didn’t know you knew. Place them on my night table. I’ll vase them once Leo moves his large head.” The war god nodded as he placed the flowers down and stood in front of Natasha awkwardly.

“You may sit Ares. I’m not forcing you to stand.” As the god found a chair to sit in, Natasha watched confused. Why was he so awkward and nervous? He wasn’t even like that when they first started courting. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night…and for …everything…” This threw Natasha for a major fucking loop. Ares? Apologizing?! Since when!? “Oh well…You’re forgiven…at what cost though?” Natasha eyed her Ex husband suspiciously. “What do you mean? Can I not apologize without having an ulterior motive?”

Natasha immediately shook her head and stroked Leo’s mane while he purred loudly. “No. Not from what I've seen.” Ares sighed as his head hung low. “I beg for your forgiveness. Not for the benefit of myself, but for my love for you…” Natasha’s eye twitched as she watched in disbelief.

"Your love for me? When did you ever have love for me?! You cannot just come in here Ares and expect me to embrace you with open arms! After what you did to me?! You’re grateful that I even accepted your flowers and allowed you into my chambers! You want my forgiveness?! Work for it! Now…If you'll excuse me, I must get ready for bed. Goodnight.” Ares left the room tight lipped and humiliated. It wasn’t as if he expected her to take him back right away but he definitely wasn’t expecting that reaction either.

As the war god moved to make his way to his own room, He stopped in his tracks when his ears caught the condescending chuckle of his uncle. “Didn’t go as you planned, did it?” Poseidon asked as he appeared from his place behind a pillar. “How long were you there?” Ares asked as his eyes squinted. “Long enough to know I have more of a chance than I once thought.” Ares stepped to his uncle with an angered expression on his face. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Poseidon simply smirked as he walked past his nephew.

“Exactly what you think nephew. You had your chance. Now let me show you how a real man charms a woman.” Watching in irritation, Ares’ eyes widened as Poseidon not only knocked on Natasha’s door with a much firmer sound that just screamed authority and confidence but that it looked as if Natasha scrambled to open the door and immediately let the king of the seas in. while she was dressed in her finest nightgown as well. Before the door closed, Poseidon sent an all knowing smirk Ares’ way. It became all so clear then. This was war. And Ares was determined not to lose.

#character x oc #oc #x black oc #original character #greek mythology #blood of zeus #greek gods #boz #season 2 #blood of zeus season 2 #x black reader #x black!reader #x black fem reader #x black y/n #blood of zeus hermes #blood of zeus apollo #blood of zeus x reader #blood of zeus poseidon #ares greek god

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blossom-works · 1 year ago

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The Apple of His Eye

A peek into the life of the Kennedy household with a gentle cocker spaniel, a nurturing mother, a protective father, and their oh-so-adorable little human.

Original prompt

A/N: OC is the same OC from His Sunshine

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Leon's eyelids start to flutter at a familiar sound. His tired mind slowly lulls itself back to sleep. A few seconds later, his ears pick up at the same sound. Leon tries to go back to sleep but a loud babble forces his brain to kick his body into high gear. The babbling gets louder and louder.

'Doesn't sound like she's crying.' Leon compromises. If she really needs him or her mother, she will start crying. Finding a rational excuse, Leon sinks himself further into the mattress. Just a few more seconds and Leon will be back in dreamland.

Wrong.

The baby monitor transmits a loud screech, compelling Leon to open his eyes and kick his legs over the edge of the bed. Hhm, that is weird. The other side of the bed is empty. Where are you? The squawking does not give Leon enough time to think.

"Okay. Okay. I'm on my way, bunny." Leon grumbles while shutting the monitor off. The distance from the master bedroom to the nursery is only a couple of feet away. In fact, both rooms are located at the opposite sides of the staircase. The master bedroom is at the left, down a mini-way. The nursery is the door directly to the right of the staircase. Per routine, Leon looks down at the door to see Shiloh tapping her paws against the wooden floor, awaiting her chance to say "good morning" to her little human.

Pushing the door open, Leon gives the medium-sized dog to enter the decorated room. When the DSO agent first encountered BOWs, he never thought that he would get married and have a kid. It was something pre-Raccoon City Leon thought about, but that wishful thinking quickly left the man after the events of '98. It was not until after your one-year wedding anniversary did Leon really started thinking about having kids. He discussed his desire with you which led to some serious baby-making.

Leon never had any experience with babies before Eri was born. He never changed a diaper and he never held a baby. Kids, Leon was comfortable around. They know how to use the bathroom on their own, and they mostly run around all day. The cherry on it all was that Leon would be raising his baby from day one. As soon as that baby popped out of you, Leon would be a father.

Your pregnancy with Eri was relatively easy. You did not experience morning sickness or many aversions to food or cravings. You did get emotional here and there, giving Leon some serious whiplash. Most of the time you were just tired. Leon forbade you from doing field work when you told him you were pregnant. He was even able to convince the president to give Leon domestic cases so he could be closer to you.

After Eri was born, Leon's view of the world permanently changed. As much as Leon hates his job, the moment he held Eri, Leon knew he would be a DSO agent until his late fifties. Maybe early sixties. Why? Leon needs to do everything he can to make sure his little girl can live in a world without the worry of bioterrorism. When you took Eri home, Leon used his connections to up his home's security system.

Changing diapers. Bathing. Changing clothes. Cleaning spit up. Diaper explosions. Late-night feedings and changings. You name it, Leon did it. It was definitely a learning process for him, but you were able to show Leon the ropes. Thank goodness that you had experience with babies. You spent your teenage years babysitting your little cousins, and your older brother and sister have kids of their own. Lord knows the chaos that would have erupted if the both of you were clueless about babies and raising them.

Leon loves fatherhood. His own childhood (at least the parts he remembers) was not a happy one. His parents got into some sketchy stuff with equally sketchy people. Their family was always on the run. Then, Leon was orphaned. Eri is Leon's chance to make up for his childhood. He would be the father he never had. You would be the mother Leon wished he had growing up. The two of you would give Eri the childhood Leon never had.

Shiloh claws at the crib, whining through the wooden bars.

"Calm down, girl. I'll get her in a sec."

The baby stops her crying when she sees her father. Cheeks are free from tears. Leon lightly pinches her chubby cheek. "You little faker." He coos. On most mornings, Eri would whine and fake cry to get her parents' attention. She would always greet them with a mischievous smile that said, "Ha ha, I tricked you. Now pick me up!"

"Morning, bunny." Leon picks his daughter up by her armpits and holds her against his chest. Morning cuddles with his baby girl are one of Leon's favorite ways to start his day. The others are cuddling with his wife and umm...cuddling with his wife. Eri nuzzles against Leon's t-shirt, further messing up her brown hair. Other than her eyes and hair, Eri looks just like you.

After their morning routine, Leon lays Eri down on the changing table. His daughter looks around at the wall beside her and her curious hands try to grab at the garland of stars. With his quick reflexes, Leon stops her.

"Nu-uh. Your mom would yell at me if you pulled that down."

You spent days planning Eri's nursery. A couple of those days were just trying to figure out the theme of it. Leon told you that he did not care, which ended up biting him in the ass. You wanted his opinion, but you forgot that the man is not well-versed in home decor. Eventually, you narrowed your options down to a night sky/starry night theme. Leon never heard about this website called "Etsy" until then. So. Much. Shit. You bought off that place.

You even had your baby shower themed the same to keep things simple. Since most of your family lives in Georgia or the Carolinas, you had the baby shower in Atlanta. The Redfields, Jill, and some of your FBI friends came down to celebrate too. In this entire room, Leon's favorite object is the framed footprints on the wall. You asked your nurse to print Eri's feet on cardstock so you could hang up. Every month since Eri's birth, you and Leon make it a goal to stamp Eri's feet. A cute memorabilia for the two of you.

Clean bum, check. Now Leon needs to feed his baby. Putting her down on the living room carpet, Leon rummages through the fridge. On the second shelf, he sees two plastic-wrapped plates. The bigger plate, his plate has a note on it. It says, "Good morning, handsome. I left for a quick trip to the grocery store. I made you and Eri some breakfast to keep your morning easy. All you need to do is cut up an apple for her. I already fed Shiloh, so don't worry about her. - Sunshine <3"

God, you are amazing. Leon heats up Eri's plate first. Like Leon, she tends to get hangry. After heating the small plate up, Leon sets it aside to let it cool and he takes an apple from the fridge and cuts it into bite-sized pieces (while also getting his "dad tax" in).

'Wait a minute...It's too quiet.'

Putting the pairing knife down, Leon wipes his hands with the kitchen towel and looks for his daughter.

"Eri? Where are you, apple?" Leon peeps from over the couch and his daughter is nowhere to be seen. He calls out to her again. Great. Another game of hide-n-seek. Eri's favorite game to play. If you leave the little girl alone for long enough, Eri will wander off and hide. He blames you for introducing the game to her. You would hide around the house with Eri, waiting for Leon to find you. It was cute until Eri decided to spontaneously play the game by herself when she learned how to crawl. You and Leon had a full-on panic attack when you could not find your daughter.

Both of you have dangerous jobs. Resulting in making dangerous enemies. When you and Leon moved out of your shared apartment to live in a house in the suburbs, the main concern was security. Files on DSO agents and their families are strictly confidential. Even the people who work at the Pentagon have to have a certain level of clearance to access that information. Even Eri's birth certificate is confidential. The only information that is not blocked out is her name, date of birth, and sex.

But, there is always that small chance that someone can find out about your family. When that does happen, Leon wants to be prepared for it. Your home is on a large piece of land in Arlington, Virginia. It is close enough to the city for help to arrive in a reasonable time frame, but far enough to enjoy some well-deserved privacy. With Hunnigan's help, Leon was able to equip his property with a high-tech security system. Cameras, motion detectors, audio recordings, and more. Leon even chalked up some hidden compartments around the house to hold firearms of different kinds.

After twenty minutes of looking, you found Eri asleep under the dining room table. The chairs blocked her from your view. That day, you and Leon did not take your eyes off of her. One of you was always with her to make sure she did not crawl herself into trouble.

"There you are, you bad girl." Leon bends down to drag Eri out of the walk-in pantry. Oh, and Shiloh often hides with Eri. The two of them are partners in crime. "Let's get you something to eat alright? And not give your old dad a heart attack."

By the time Leon finished doing the dishes, you came walking in from the garage door with two arms full of groceries.

"Hey, handsome." You greet while tossing the plastic bags onto the kitchen counter. Leon greets you back with a kiss before helping you put the groceries away. Seeing her mother, Eri squeals in delight. She leans over the tray and makes grabby hands at you.

"Awee! Did my baby miss me?" You pick Eri out of her highchair and smother her with your love. Leon could live in this moment forever. If he had one wish, this would be it. Just him, his daughter, his wife, and his dog at home. No spontaneous calls from work. No investigations. Secretly, Leon takes out his personal phone and snaps a photo of you cuddling with your daughter.

The afternoon comes and it is almost time for Eri's nap. She usually naps for about two hours before being put to bed around eight-thirty. Today has been an easy one, and Leon hopes it stays that way. When the two of you are home, Leon puts Eri to sleep while you make lunch for the two of you. Eri always has an early lunch before she naps and a snack after she wakes up. The two of you found that to be easy considering Eri's tendency to get cranky when hungry. Like father, like daughter.

Leon walks into the kitchen to see you watching something on your phone. A pan is on the stove, sizzling.

"Watcha' watchin'?"

"A video popped up on my YouTube feed. It's about three things this guy learned from raising daughters." You hand the phone to Leon since the lessons are being told from a father's perspective.

When you plate your respective meals, Leon is sitting on the back patio. You find this unusual because he always tells you where he is going (with the exception of some missions). Even if it is somewhere around or in the house. You slide the patio door open.

"Leon? What's wrong, babe?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing." Leon opens his arms to invite you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle into Leon's shoulder.

"Did you get another mission?" Your guess is a valid one. Leon almost always gets like this, quiet, when he gets a call from his higher-ups. Your husband hates to leave you and he hates it more when he has to leave his darling apple, but Leon shakes his head "no".

"Is something bothering you then?" Again, Leon shakes his head "No".

Alright, then you will wait for Leon to tell you what is bothering him. Until then, you pull Leon up and bring him to the kitchen. There is no way that you are going to forsake your hard work. His appetite has gone down a little, but Leon knows that if he does not eat, he will not get a chance to without paying the "Eri tax".

Later that night, after Eri is snoozing in her crib, Leon tells you what is bothering him. The last thing the man in the video said hit Leon straight in his heart. The last lesson for dads is to teach their daughters how to shoot. It is Leon's job as a father to be his family's main provider and protector, but there will come a time when Leon will not be there to protect and provide for his family.

As much as Leon tries to rid of the dangers of the world, darkness will always lurk. It will be his job as Eri's father to teach her how to defend herself. To protect herself from the monsters that try to stop her from reaching her full potential in the world. Cause'...someday daddy will not be there to do it for her. Sometime in the night when the baby monitor picks up on Eri's cries, Leon volunteers himself to care for her.

Half-asleep, you hear Leon talking to your daughter. Repeating the same promise he made when she was born. To protect her for as long as he can. Then you hear Leon say, "Did you just pee on my hand?"

In the morning, your family of four go to a nearby park to take a walk. Eri is in her stroller, you pushing the stroller, and Leon is walking Shiloh. This writer has been focusing on the nurturing mother, protective father, and their adorable daughter, but what about the gentle doggo?

Shiloh has always loved people. Cocker spaniels are known to be wonderful family pets and very tolerant of small children. The first day you brought Eri home, Shiloh would not leave her alone. While you were pregnant, the dog would find every opportunity to nuzzle against your stomach. When Eri still slept in the room with you and Leon, Shiloh would sleep at the foot of the bed or next to the bassinet.

Their relationship would only grow as Eri gets bigger. You have a video of Shiloh giving one of her toys to a one-month-old Eri, wanting the baby to play a game of fetch with her. When Eri started eating solid foods, she would purposefully throw a small handful on the ground. Always nearby, Shiloh would lap up whatever Eri was eating. There was one time when you were out of the house, Leon was giving Eri a bath and then Shiloh hopped into the tub.

You used to be Shiloh's best friend, but you gladly gave that position to Eri. They make a cuter pair anyway.

With a household full of girls, Leon is always smothered with love. Before, you and Shiloh would always fight for his attention, and now he has three girls fighting for it. You like to mess with Eri when she gets cuddly with Leon. You would pick Eri up and put her a few feet away from Leon, before running back to him and taking her place. Purposefully, you dramatically nuzzle against Leon and kiss his cheek with a loud "Mwah!"

She only started crawling about a month ago, but Eri is a fast one. She would pop up at her father's feet and cry out to him, demanding that he pick her up. When he does pick her up and place Eri on his lap, she would try with all her might to push you off. If she could talk, Eri would say "My daddy!" Then Shiloh and Eri fight with each other to get Leon's attention. Safe to say that Leon loves the attention he gets from his girls.

Bath time is Eri's favorite. Right behind cuddling with mommy which is right behind cuddling with daddy, which is behind chasing the things that likes to play with her and lick her. Eri loves water. She loves slashing it everywhere. Leon introduced Eri to a water bath toy. It is a whale that lights up and spurts water out of its blow hole. Kind of a double-edged sword because Eri will not let either of you bathe her without that toy.

"That's enough, bunny." Leon begs as he scrunches up his face. Thanks to his baby girl, Leon's chest is all wet. He learned to rid of his shirt whenever he bathes Eri. It is easier to dry himself off without having to deal with a soaked shirt.

Eri dismisses her father's pleas and continues to punch the water. Her dark brown hair is clean and the water droplet on her nose enhances the button-like feature. Eri's eyes are a hazel brown, but if the light hits her irises just right, you can see a swirl of blue in them. You once joked that Eri's charming features would attract all the boys in her class, begging her to be their girlfriend. Leon did not find that funny. He protectively held Eri to his chest and said, "The sons of bitches better know how to shoot then."

Leon's last straw during bath time is when Eri shoves water over the edge of the tub, drowning the tile and soaking the edges of his gym shorts. Leon puts a diaper on Eri and takes the towel-clad baby to her room. Carefully, Leon tosses the clothed baby on your shared bed where you are typing away at your laptop.

"Watch the brat. I've gotta clean up her little mess."

You put your laptop on your bedside table and curl against your baby. You lift her shirt up and blow raspberries against her puggy stomach.

"Did you give your dad a hard time again?" Her little giggles say "yes".

You like to keep a few baby books in your room to keep Eri entertained. You sit up against the headboard and plop your daughter on your lap.

"Guess how much I love you."

Animated, you read the book in different voices and inflections. You use your hands to copy what the hares are doing in the book. At some point, Shiloh lays herself in the middle of the bed where your legs are. When you finish the book, you pull out another one.

"The giving tree."

Before you can read the first page, Leon takes it and climbs into his side of the bed. Minding the sleeping dog, he slides you over to him. Practically squishing Eri between you two.

"Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy..."

The Kennedy family has vital parts to it.

You are the sun that gave life and light to the apple seed, allowing it to sprout into a little tree. Shiloh is the birds and small animals that give the little apple tree companionship. And Leon. Leon is the protector. The one that wards off the pests that try to nip at the little apple tree. The one that fights off the wolves that try to eat the birds and small animals. The one that blows away the clouds that try to cover the sun's rays. Then there is the little apple tree itself. A precious gift of life that should be nurtured and protected.

"And the tree was happy."

---

Note: Eri may or may not have been inspired by the Eri in My Hero Academia...Why? Cause she's so darn diggity cute, that's why!

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 6 months ago

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I visited the WGA library to read Yellowjackets scripts and wanted to share some of my findings! (Pt. 1)

So as some of you may know, scripts for the latter half of Yellowjackets Season 1 have already been released to the public (you can find 1x05-1x10 here: https://drive.google.com/drive/mobile/folders/1FctrMniXqWRFJOe-rX6dSgvmXEO2KyLE?usp=share_link) and the Pilot script is pretty easily accessible on the internet if you look it up.

However, I have never been able to find the scripts for the rest of S1. An old draft of 1x04 can be found on Script Slug but A LOT has been changed from this script to the final product (Van is dead, Nat actually killed her dad, Javi is called Cody?!). It’s an interesting read for sure but it seems the actual final script of “Bear Down,” along with “F Sharp” and “Dollhouse,” are not accessible on the internet. So I headed over to the WGA Library and checked out those three scripts to read! It was super interesting (highly recommend going if you’re in the LA area!). I was not able to get any pictures of the scripts due to the Library policy, but I took lots of notes and saved some of my favorite lines!

I’m going to start with 1x02 and make two separate posts of 1x03 and 1x04 because otherwise this post would be way too long!

1x02 “F Sharp”

•The episode starts with Misty’s POV of the crash, and there’s this line that I love:

“Across from her, Lottie reaches forward to desperately clutch Laura Lee’s hand in the aisle. Their shared terror making it all the more clear that, in this moment, Misty is all alone.”

This shows Misty’s longing for companionship and affection. Even in what she thinks might be her last moments, she is utterly alone. I think this moment is part of what tips her over the edge into obsession in her relationships with Coach Ben, Crystal, and Natalie.

•In the final product, we don’t really see what Nat’s POV of the plane crash is (other than her nightmare in 1x03 but I’m not sure if that actually happened or not?) but in the script she gets knocked unconscious and buried under a bunch of luggage and equipment and the other girls have to dig her out.

•Misty and Taissa are the ones to pry the exit door open for everyone to escape.

•Jackie doesn’t even try to save Van in the script, she just immediately runs over and tries to drag Shauna away from Van from the get-go.

“Jackie runs after Shauna and starts clawing at her, trying to get her to move toward the exit.”

•After Shauna and Jackie make it outside the wreckage, Jackie and Shauna “begin fighting angrily in the dirt, Jackie clearly still desperately afraid to remain so close to the fiery wreckage” as Shauna tries to go back in for Van.

•And I just thought this descriptor was a cute little addition; after Misty chops off Coach Ben’s leg, we get this line:

“And as we realize this little show called ‘Yellowjackets’ is sick, unexpected and awesome, we smash cut to—

MAIN TITLE”

•“Laura Lee trying in vain to hold and comfort a struggling, hyperventalating Javi.”

A nice little moment of Laura Lee comforting Javi as he’s trying to find his dad.

•”Jackie: For the record, I was trying to save you. I thought…

I was going to lose you. Jackie bites her lip, a little teary. Shauna glances at her and nods, I know—but we also get the sense that Van isn’t the only one judging Jackie right now.”

A little Jackie/Shauna moment. You can see how much Jackie loves Shauna, but Shauna is still conflicted over Jackie’s choice to leave Van behind.

•Some things Caligula says when Natalie breaks into Misty’s house:

“Hello, pretty lady!”

“Hells bells! My dogs are barking!”

Love this.

•The information Misty has in her secret file: articles and magazine covers about the crash, press clippings, a local wedding announcement for Shauna and Jeff, Taissa’s campaign flyer, and a brochure for Natalie’s rehab clinic.

•When Nat asks Misty why she has all of this information, Misty says:

“You guys are the most important people in my life.”

Just another reminder that Misty’s whole existence revolves around the Yellowjackets, even after 25 years.

•Nat is hyper focused on looking at Travis’s drivers license in the bar scene when Kevyn walks up to her. She totally ignores Kevyn, just focused on Travis’ picture. She is described as looking “pale” and “like she’s seen a ghost.” Just shows how hung up Nat is on Travis and how much that relationship fucked her up.

•Misty says “Holy macaroni” when she sees Coach Martinez’s body. Insane.

•Okay brace yourselves for this one guys, in the script Coach Martinez is STILL ALIVE when they find him impaled on the tree.

“The coach’s eyes pop open. He suddenly grabs Travis. Eyes wild with pain and fear, the coach tries to speak but only makes raspy sounds as blood bubbles at his lips.”

“Travis: Dad! Let go!”

Travis’s dad won’t let go and there’s a scene where Travis is trying to claw him off of him, then the tree branch cracks and Travis shakes his dad off of his arm, “knows it’s his dad or the both of them” and the tree branch falls.

Wow. As if the scene that ended up making it in the final product wasn’t traumatic enough, Travis has to actively let his dad fall to his death when he’s still alive and desperately clinging to him? Ouch. I’m glad they cut that scene honestly poor Travis.

•Shauna is holding Javi and comforting him during and after this scene.

“We see Shauna still comforting Javi, we can’t hear what she’s saying but her body language is very giving—a maternal streak she didn’t know she had.”

Love the nod to Shauna’s maternal nature here. She’s naturally very nurturing and caring, but after she loses her baby she becomes more cold and distant with her other child, Callie, in fear that she will lose her too. I just love seeing the before and after here, we get to see what Shauna was like before all of the trauma. Shauna wants to nurture Callie, it’s a natural part of her personality as this scene with Javi shows, but she can’t get too attached after what happened in the Wilderness.

•In the adult timeline, there’s another deleted scene in which Nat drives to Shauna’s house and spies on her from outside.

“She seems to be fighting an impulse to get out of her car, but her feelings are unclear. Does she look uneasy? Vindictive?”

Another hint the conflict between these two that we still haven’t seen yet? Maybe this is lingering resentment from Shauna challenging Nat’s leadership as the new Antler Queen?

•When Nat hands Travis her flask to drink from after the whole Coach Martinez incident, there’s this line:

“She wants to tell him there is nothing he could have done. How guilt like this is poison, and if he’s going to blame himself she will punch him in the face”

I think this is clearly a nod to Nat’s own guilt around her father’s death. She knows that Travis is likely tearing himself apart inside because she did the same thing after her father’s death. She blamed herself, as Travis is doing now. Also love the punching him in the face line, it’s very on-brand for Nat and honestly wish she had punched him in the face a few times when he deserved it.

*1x03 and 1x04 notes to come!*

#yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #jackie taylor #shauna shipman #misty quigley #taissa turner #van palmer #travis martinez #yj #lottie matthews #Yellowjackets scripts

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leftmostbongo · 5 days ago

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In the Dog House

Short story

Title: In the Dog House

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Characters (Pairings but mentions of other characters): Sandor Clegane (The Hound) and Reader

Notes: Yeah, so. Yeah, reader is the daughter of a wealthy jewler and she spends a lot of time at the palace and junk and she's been doing a lot of naughty stuff with the scary watch dog (Sandor). Enjoysies!

The night you had been dreading for days was finally upon you. A “celebration” for Sansa and Joffrey’s wedding and you and your father were expected to be there as your father was a very prolific jewelry designer and friend of the Queen. The dress that was made for you was squeezing too snug against your skin and the fabric itched under your armpits as you stared out from the table with distaste. Your father sat next to you, chatting away with a lady and her husband, likely networking as he called it. On your other side, sat your friend who had been babbling about her recent endeavors with a knight she’d been seducing. You listened, absentmindedly but soon your attention was quickly drawn to the double door that swung open and revealed the young couple. And there, sauntering in behind them, was the Hound. Your heart quickened at the sight of him, armour clinging tightly to his broad chest. Those wide shoulders that make excellent resting places for your thighs seemed to span forever. He caught you staring and fought back a smirk as his eyes trailed over you.

You felt heat pool in your stomach but looked away before your father could notice your skin reddening all over. He stood behind the couple, looming over them menacingly, his big arms crossed in front of him as he gazed out over the room full of people but his eyes would always return to you, watching you giggle with your friend.

The night continued far longer than you wanted it to but the drinks kept you pleasantly numb to the snobbery. Your father seemed to have made a few friends as he approached you.

“Dearest, I’m making a trip back to the shop for the night with our new friends so I won’t be in my- HIC-” He chuckled drunkenly and continued. “I won’t be in my chambers this evening. You’ll be okay without me, right?”

“Yes, Father. I’ll be perfectly fine. A quiet night will be nice after this evening.” You lied expertly. “Wonderful, my dear! See you tomorrow!” He kissed your cheeks and stumbled off to join his new friends. Several more wealthy patrons began to exit the banquet hall, drunk and laughing and you longed to join them. You were beginning to grow sick from all the ladies showering you with questions and backhanded compliments. “And how old are you, dear? You should be marrying soon!” And “Oh such a pretty face! You’ll have such beautiful children someday soon!” You wanted to tell them where they could fuck off to but you kept a smile plastered on your face until you could finally excuse yourself. Stepping outside into the courtyard, you took a deep breath, cherishing the cool air.

“Hello, pretty girl. What are you doing out here all by yourself, hm?” A familiar gravely voice spoke from the shadows. A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth and you turned toward it. “I was hoping you’d still be around.” You replied confidently.

“Oh, you were?” The man stepped out of the shadows and into the light, his large stature lumbering towards you, menacingly. “And why’s that, lass?”

“I’m bored and tired of everyone. There are better things to do out here.” You replied, causing Sandor to chuckle and glance around for any potential eavesdroppers.

“I see. Where’s Daddy tonight?” He stepped just a little closer to you, enough that you could smell the wine on his breath. You wanted a taste.

“He’s preoccupied. All. Night. Long.” You closed the gap between the two of you, running your hands up the broad planes of his chest plate.

“Is that so?” He took your chin between his thumb and index finger and roughly tilted your head up.

“Yes.” You practically moaned. His dark eyes watched your lips as he spoke his next words.

“And what does my pretty girl have in mind, hmm?” He rumbled, his hand dropping to your throat and moving his other hand to wrap around your waist. “Speak up.” He ordered.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whined as you held onto his massive forearm with both hands. You could feel your own wetness start to dribble down your thighs.

“Mmmmm.” He hummed as he pushed you back behind a large column, safe from onlookers. You had to stop yourself from making any more noise as he roughly pressed his thigh against your cunt. His hand remained snug around your throat, fingers squeezing just enough to make you squirm.

“Tell me again, princess. Tell me what you want.” You loved it when he was like this. True, he was definitely drunk but Gods, it drives you crazy when he wants you this bad. He’s usually a non-verbal lover but when he drank, he told you what he wanted, how he wanted it and praised your every move. It was, for lack of better terms, fucking hot. “I want your big cock to fuck me absolutely senseless.” You whispered, grinding yourself against his thigh. With little time to even think, he crashed his lips on yours. It was feral, all tongue and teeth and claw. Your hips moved on their own against his muscular thigh, seeking desperately for friction. It was short-lived as he drew back with your lip between his teeth and released it, making a popping sound into your mouth. “Get your perfect ass down to my quarters. Right now and wait for me. I’ll give you what you need, little one.” He growled against your lips. He released your body from the wall he had you pinned against, and you adjusted your dress. You knew what he meant and your pussy throbbed. He was the King’s Guard so he couldn’t just up and leave. There were things that had to be done first. But when those things were done, he would come to his chamber and fuck you like the hound that he was. Rough and feverish. Not like the other boys who treated you like some fragile little doll. Sandor left bruises, marked you, made you bleed sometimes but you loved the ache that lasted for days. It made you think of him when he wasn’t there and reminded you of the dirty things you do together. You had to wear dresses with high necklines nowadays but it was worth it. “Do hurry.” You whispered, reaching out and touching his fingers at his side. He used to jerk away from you when you were affectionate like this but this time, he allowed your soft, little fingers to graze against the rough calloused pads of his massive hand. He surprised you by gingerly grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles. A smirk spread over his face as he watched the blush heat up your cheeks once again. “Get moving.” He turned you around and popped you on the ass, causing you to yelp. He chuckled and made his way back into the banquet hall. You were very fortunate to find that you didn’t run into a single person on your way, which was always preferred for Sandor. Your father was not a fan of the Hound and you were certain he wouldn’t approve of his cock inside of his daughter. But that clearly was a small bump in your path as you quietly pulled the large door open to his room. It was small but the bed was big enough to fit his giant frame. A small shelf next to the door held a variety of things. Books that you gave him to read together, a couple daggers of varying sizes and a large bottle of wine sat on top.

You had little time to continue looking around as the door opened and Sandor ducked inside. He had already removed his gloves and shoulder guards and proceeded to toss them down on the floor somewhere in the corner. His cold gaze fixed on you as he continued unlacing more of his armor.

“Take that off.” He ordered, gesturing to your dress. You obeyed him eagerly, tugging at the ties and pulling the fabric off of your body. “Seven hells.” He growled as you revealed your entirely naked form with your dress pooled around your ankles. “You were walking around all night with your pretty little cunt bare as a babe just to fucking do this to me?” He pulled off his thigh guards which allowed you to catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock, hard and aching in his pants.

“Yes.” You answered, your mouth watering at the sight of him as he shed the last scraps of metal. “Naughty girl.” He rasped, taking off his belt and tossing it in the other direction. He reached over and took the wine off of the shelf and opened the corked bottle with his teeth. “Come here.” He said, after spitting out the cork and taking a huge swig of the alcohol. You shivered with a mixture of anticipation and the cool air that was raising goosebumps on your skin, but you kicked off your shoes and obeyed his command. Swaying your hips as you approached him innocently, you ran your hand down the length of his muscular thigh. He took in a sharp breath through his nose and pressed the rim of the bottle against your lips. He tilted the bottle up so you could sip some of the liquid while your hand trailed underneath his shirt to feel his strong stomach. He pulled the bottle away from your lips after you had taken what you wanted and attacked your mouth, his tongue tasting yours. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, trying to keep your balance while he nipped and teased. He pulled back and trickled the dark liquid over your chest. Bending at the torso, he roughly sucked your nipple into his mouth. You panted desperately, holding his head to your chest, watching closely as he sloppily licked the liquid off of your breasts.

His lips began to travel up to your collarbones, nipping and biting until he reached your ear. His tongue trailed heavily over the shell of it, “On your knees.” He commanded, an edge in his voice that had you down on the floor faster than he could get the last word out. Finally, he opened his pants and pulled out his mighty cock. You marveled at it for a moment, but Sandor’s low chuckle brought you back to reality.

“My pretty princess loves this cock, hmm?” He reached down and took the entire bottom half of your face in his massive hand. You felt your pussy drip onto the floor and you whined impatiently.

“I know you do, pretty girl. Go on, take it.” He squeezed your jaw and pulled you forward. With a muffled moan, you gratefully took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could. Your hands trailed up to drag his pants down to his ankles so you could feel his strong, fury thighs.

“Fuck, good girl.” He groaned. He quickly repositioned his hands to comb your hair to the back of your head, keeping it out of your face. Now he was able to guide your head, pushing and pulling you in a steady rhythm. You adjusted quickly and without warning, he began to fuck your face. “Been waiting for this all night… FUCK missed your sweet mouth, pretty girl.” The words were falling from his lips as his hips bucked into your mouth. You clawed at his thighs, leaving crescent shaped cuts but he didn’t seem to notice. Tears started streaming down your face and stringy saliva dribbled down your chin while you held your throat open for him. Your head was swimming from the wine and the lack of oxygen as he held you down to the hilt for a couple seconds. ‘MMMmmmmm good girl.” He growled and released you right as your vision began to blur and you heaved in a deep breath. He pulled you up by your hair, making you moan then he shoved two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.” Came his command. Your lips stretched around the large digits and worked your tongue between them, slurping and sucking lewdly. With his lips parted, he watched you intently. You couldn’t help but buck your hips impatiently and moan. He cursed and wrapped his arm around you, lifting you up and hooking your legs around his waist with his free hand. You could feel his length against your wet pussy just beckoning for you to slip it inside. But he carried you over to his bed and flopped you down roughly onto the blankets. You almost protested but stopped yourself as you watched him drop to his knees and settle quickly between your thighs. His wet fingers easily slid into your drenched pussy, curling up and sending delicious sparks up and down your spine. He sucked and bit the soft flesh of your thighs while his fingers worked inside of you, pulling sobs and yelps from your lips and causing your body to jerk and squirm. “Please, Sandor…” You begged, desperately fisting the blanket beneath you.

“What is it, princess?” He grinned almost evilly. “Please… give me your mouth…” You almost sobbed as your pussy contracted and pulsed around his fingers, which slowed inside of you. “Mmmm” He hummed, his lips against your left upper thigh, so close but still so far. “Is this not enough of my mouth, little one?” He teased. You could feel your clit throbbing, begging for stimulation and you sobbed harder. “Pleeease please, I want your mouth on my pussy, please! I want your tongue to- FUCK” He cut you off by sucking your clit roughly and pumping his fingers steadily in and out of your greedy cunt. Stars swirled behind your squeezed eyelids, while your hands fisted the back of his head as he feasted on you. “Please don’t stop!” You sobbed out loudly, your thighs quaking around his head. He quickened the pace, filling the room with lewd squelching sounds and your combined groaning. His tongue flicked and rolled over your clit frantically, in perfect sync with his thick fingers bumping the sweet spot inside of you. “Cum for me, princess.” He ordered against your flesh. The next pump of his hand and the slurping of his lips against your clit sent you hurtling over the edge and your first orgasm of the night washed over your body. Your hips lifted off of the bed, but Sandors strong arms roughly held your pelvis to his face as he ravenously licked and sucked at your cunt. Your lungs released the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shook and moaned, riding out your high on the older man's face. He pulled away with an animalistic growl, “That’s my good girl. You taste so fucking good, princess.” All you could do was gulp in air and shake uncontrollably. He moved above you, removing his shirt and tossing it aside. “Does my pretty girl want me to fuck her now?” He asked, bending at the torso to drag his teeth over your hips and stomach. “Yes! Please fuck me now!” You sobbed, pulled out of your orgasm haze by a sharp nip to the skin just below your breast. “Gods, I love it when you beg for me!” He snarled and straightened at the waist to spread your legs wider for him. Without warning, he plunged his cock inside of you to the hilt. You screamed but it was immediately muffled by the large palm of his hand. You held onto his forearm with both hands, relishing the rough contact. “Shhh princess, you don’t want your daddy to come looking for you in the dog’s house.” He grunted above you. But his hips began to roll, steady and deep, filling you up every time. It felt like you were being cracked in half as you whimpered, pain and pleasure jolting across your nerve endings causing your eyes to roll back in their sockets. “Mmmm I know, pretty girl. Fuck, you feel so fucking good too. Such a perfect little pussy for me.” The praises kept spilling from his mouth and you moaned under his heavy hand, basking in his words while your pussy began to drip around his cock. The hand clamped over your mouth slid down to wrap around your throat while the other gripped your thigh so hard you knew there would be bruises. You choked on another scream as he brutally fucked you, hips slapping loudly against the backs of your thighs.

“YES yes yes yes!” You croaked as you held onto his forearm.

“My pretty princess loves taking cock from her big scary dog doesn’t she?!” He rumbled and attacked your neck, sucking deep red and purple marks into your skin.

“YES!!! Yes! Gods I love it! I love it!“ You sobbed, back arching into him as he bit down just above your collarbone, then licked the area lovingly. “That’s right… Ughh fuck. Fucking turn around.” He ordered, backing up and allowing you to move on all fours. You looked back at him over your shoulder and wiggled your ass. He slapped both hands on the globes of your cheeks and cursed when you let out a sharp gasp. “This perfect little ass…” He smoothed his hands over it, soothing the sting. He cracked his hand over one cheek and then the other. “I love that shade of red on this perfect little ass.” He chuckled maniacally, as your moaning got louder the harder he slapped your now burning bum. Just as the tears began to stream down your face and you felt like you couldn’t take it anymore, he plunged his heated cock back inside your soaking wet cunt. Your ass was throbbing from the beating and the wiry hairs adorning his abdomen and pubic area were scraping roughly against your stinging flesh. He began fucking you steady and rough, using your wide hips as handles while you pushed back to meet his thrusts. “Tell me who owns this sweet little cunt?” He grunted, reaching out to grab a fistful of your hair and pulled you up against his chest so he could keep talking in your ear. “Yours.. It’s yours! Fuck, Sandor! Please don’t stop!” You knew you sounded like a mewling whore but you didn’t care at that moment. This felt different to you. More desperate and passionate than usual and you wanted so much more of it. “Yes, that’s right. My good girl. Mine. All mine.” He wrapped his hand around your neck and squeezed, your moaning now a silent O accompanied by pitiful whimpering. But this allowed you to rest your head on his shoulder while his other hand slid down and began rubbing rough circles against your clit.

“Only I make you feel this fucking good, sweet girl.” He rasped in your ear. “You want the Hound to make you cum, pretty girl? Tell me.” He moaned and you knew he was close too.

“Yes! Please give it to me! Please make me cum on your cock, Sandor!!” You sobbed as best you could with his hand cutting off your air.

He snarled and shoved your head into the bed, his fingers digging deliciously into your scalp. The next crack of his hips against your ass nearly made you shriek but you bit your lip as he began pistoning in and out of you. “Good girl, take it so good. My little princess loves getting fucked by her mean old dog, hmm? You gonna cum on this cock, princess?” He panted. Gods, you loved it when he got desperate for you.“Uuuughh Fuck Sandor!! Yes YES YES fuck YES!! I love your cock so much!! Fucking cum inside me!! Fill me up!!” You screamed and sobbed into the room as he reached under you again to rub your clit.

“Yes, fucking take all of it. Yes, GOD’S-“ He bit down on your shoulder hard and you felt the warmth of his seed filling you up right before your vision blurred and your pussy contracted around him. You couldn’t even hear for several moments as you sobbed underneath him.

“Yeeesss, I know, good girl. You did so good for me, princess.” He panted against your skin where he bit you. Then, he started raining kisses all over your shoulders and upper back. His sudden display of softness startled you but you didn’t dare say anything. This was new but much welcomed treatment from the stoney man. He stood up and pulled his softening length from inside you with a grunt, leaving you feeling empty. “Sandor?” Your voice sounded smaller than you intended as you turned to him.

He picked up his dirty shirt from the corner to wipe himself off and returned to you with the article. “Hm?” He helped you to clean up as well, dragging the fabric over your oversensitive pussy to collect the mixture of fluids dribbling out of you. “Please let me stay here with you tonight?” You tried. He didn’t look up from his task. “We talked about this, pretty girl. You don’t want to get caught with me.” He finished up and tossed the article back down on the floor.

“Please? Just this once…” You begged. You felt like you sounded like a little kid and winced as he shook his head and looked away from you.

"I don’t want anyone to treat you differently. You’re a la-”

“Don’t you call me that.” You stopped him before he could call you a lady. “You are no Ser and I am no Lady. You are the Hound and I am your Princess. I don’t fucking care anymore about what people think of that. I will fuck whoever I damn well please.”

He chuckled low in his throat and pinned you back down to the bed and kissed your forehead, then your nose. “Such a feisty little one.”

“Sandor…” You called his name again. His eyes searched your face, as if looking for the answer to his predicament. “I want to be with you…” You attempted one last time.

He took a defeated breath in through his nose and lowered his face into the crook of your neck. “Alright, princess.”

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #smut #not a lot of plot here #how do you even tag #just like smutty stuff here be warned

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hihello-pinky · 2 years ago

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Sight (2)

Suna Rintarou x F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintarou had to learn this the hard way.

WARNINGS: mentions of abortion, mentions of miscarriage (NO SMUT IN THIS PART!)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WC: 3.3k Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort Other Tags: Forced Marriage, Developing Relationship, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, References to Illness, Angst with a Happy Ending, + more to be added.

I know I mentioned I’m working on having a longer part 2 but I kinda like where this ended. Thank you all for waiting and for the love and support!!!

part one part two part three part ???

leave me love?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Looking back to it, everything happened so fast. As soon as your friends forced Suna’s name out of your mouth after they found out you’re pregnant, they pulled all their connections to get the two of you to meet... Only for him to question the fatherhood of your child. That’s when you first met Osamu Miya. You did not know back then that he was Rintarou’s best friend and as devastated as you were, you spilled your problems to him.

That’s how you found yourself next in the most stressful weeks of your life. Mr. and Mrs. Suna telling you that you are to wed their son. Rintarou telling you that you should get an abortion. And several nosy people telling you that you are a whore who got herself pregnant to get into the rich Suna family.

You tried to refuse the marriage, telling the couple (who, unlike their son, were the sweetest people you’ve met) that there’s no need for a marriage, you just need support to raise your child. They of course wouldn’t have it, and you knew it’s partly because they wanted to punish their son. You admittedly entertained the thoughts of getting an abortion but you just couldn’t do it... not after watching your sister struggle with multiple miscarriages in the past. And with the people spreading malicious things about you... you tried to ignore them, until a few days before the marriage where the gossips suddenly stopped.

Marrying Suna Rintarou brought a lot of changes in your life. First of all, you had to forego the post-graduate internship that was offered to you at the end of your senior year. Second, you had to move to a house gifted by his parents, which caused a rift between you and your sisters since you initially promised them that you’d be living with and helping them. And lastly, you had to live with Rintarou, who explicitly lets you know that he blames you for the forced marriage.

Another surge of headache breaks you out of your reverie. You straighten on your seat in the hospital lobby, waiting for the doctor’s secretary to call you. You had dropped off the kids at Sacha’s place right after confirming with the receptionist that there’s an available slot for a check-up. Last night, right after Rin left, you had a terrible headache, much the same as the ones you’ve been having for the past few weeks.

You look at the queuing monitor and notice that there are still a handful of people before your turn. You open your bag to get your Kindle but it grazes the leather bind of your journal. You must have taken it with you when you took your reading device from the bedside drawer. And just as you’re always inclined to do, you flip to the already dog-eared pages and read through your journal entries from years ago. It’s time to relive the memories.

You were in your fourteenth week of pregnancy. The new house’s backyard was as empty as you felt for the last two months of living with your new husband. He would wake up early and arrive home late. Thankfully, you have managed to befriend the housekeepers, Yuto and Jiri. It was one evening, though, that neither of them was home since the former was on leave while the latter was sick.

The clock struck ten and the main door opened, revealing Rintarou who looked visibly unwell. You rushed to him and he tried to swat you away, only for you to feel how his skin was burning. He must have been feeling too sick because after two more attempts, he finally let you help him into his bed.

That night, you nursed him to the best of your abilities, from changing his clothes to wiping his face with cold cloth. You even cooked soup for him, feeding him as his hands were shaking too much. As you were about to leave his room so you could go back to the spare one where you have been staying since you two moved in, his rough voice stopped you. “Stay.”

Your eyes widened, unsure if you heard him right. “Are you...?”

He groaned. “Or call Jiri. I need her.”

“She’s sick,” you replied. “I’ll just stay... if that’s okay with you?”

He was quiet for a while. “Okay.”

That night, you ended up staying with Rintarou, sitting beside his bed and barely getting any sleep. It went on for two more days. When you woke up on the fourth morning, you were surprised to find a blanket on top of you, much less feel the softness of a mattress below you.

You jolted awake and was surprised to see Rintarou sitting up with his back leaning against the bedframe and talking to someone on the phone. “Thanks, Kita. Yes, I’m feeling better. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.” He must have noticed you staring at him for he turned his head towards you, the look on his face unreadable. “Call me when something urgent comes up. I have to go.” After dropping the call, he moved to stand up.

“Are you okay?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Weren’t you eavesdropping?” He shot back. “I’m feeling better. Jiri’s coming in today by the way, no need to make your pathetic attempts of forcing yourself into my business.” Suna didn’t even spare you a glance before he marched off to his bathroom.

Despite the two months of living with him, his actions towards you still managed to hurt. You gulped and moved to stand up from the bed, knowing too well that Suna would want nothing but to see his room void of you once he comes back.

Two days later, you found yourself with a flu. You begged Jiri not to tell Suna or his parents. But alas, you should have known better that while she had become your friend, her loyalty was still with the Suna family.

On the third night of your flu, you heard a knock on your door. It was odd since it was way past Jiri’s and Yuto’s hours of duty. Sighing, you forced yourself from your bed, wrapping the fluffy blanket around your body.

I must be delirious, was your first thought as you saw Suna at the other side of the door.

“Did something happen?” You asked, trying to hold back a cough, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He looked every bit uncomfortable as he handed you a paper bag. “Here.”

You reluctantly received it and peeked inside. Care package. You looked up at him questioningly. “What’s this for?”

He broke the eye contact and mumbled something.

“Sorry? What did you say?”

He let out an annoyed sigh and forced himself to look at you eye to eye. “Jiri told me you were sick and that you probably got it from me. She scolded me that I shouldn’t have asked you to stay in the same room because it’s risky for pregnant people.” His eyebrows furrowed. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” you replied but you knew your smile was still on your face. “You didn’t have to go out of the way to give me this, you know.”

“Then what the fuck was I supposed to do? Jiri would have never let me hear the end of it.”

“Hmm... could have just said ‘sorry’, maybe?”

Suna rolled his eyes and opened his hand, palm up. “Forget it, then. Give that back.”

You clutched the care package against your chest. “No way! No taking back, this is mine already!” Before you knew it, a giggle escaped your lips. You immediately froze, realizing it was Suna you were talking to. However, when you dared to look at him, there’s a barely noticeable hint of a smile on his lips, the atmosphere between the two of you warm. “Good night, Y/N.”

It’s only when the sound of his footsteps have receded that you realized what happened: he just called you by your first name.

“Mrs. Y/N Suna?” The secretary’s voice brings you back to the present. “Please enter room 125.”

You gather your things and make your way into your doctor’s office. She greets you with a warm smile. “How are you doing, Y/N?” The doctor asks as soon as you’ve settled down on your seat. “You haven’t visited in a while.” Megumi Hirai is a nice lady who’s in her early forties and you’ve taken a liking to her in the past few years. “I take it you’ve been busy?”

You nod. “It was the kids’ birthday party yesterday. There was a lot of preparation that needed to be done.”

“Oh, that’s nice. How old are they now?”

“Five,” you smile proudly. “I feel like they’re growing up too fast. I want them to stay little for just a little bit longer.”

At that, Dr. Hirai laughs. “Every parent experience that. I see no reason for you to worry though, you’re still young. Isn’t it about time that you and Rintarou try for another child?”

The smile on your lips drops a little. “We’re too busy for that this time, I think.”

Sensing that you want to change the subject, Dr. Hirai moves on to another topic. “How’s work going?”

“Great,” you reply. “A bit stressful, but it’s all good.” Despite the Suna family saying there’s no need for you to work, you still got yourself a job at a local publishing company. You’ve been loyal to it, and now you’re one of the head editors.

You’ve always been passionate about writing and editing; you could say you were depressed when you had to let go of the internship at the global publishing company because of the sudden pregnancy. The memories of you sharing that to Rin and him reluctantly helping you find a job poke at your head.

You will yourself to stay at the present. “I’m still happy with my job.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Dr. Hirai smiles. “What’s your concern, then?”

“I’ve been having these extreme headaches for the past few weeks. Sometimes they last long, sometimes they pass quickly. The other night, I think I passed out.”

The doctor hums. “Any other symptoms?”

“Um, I can’t think of any…”

“Have you noticed any trend on the times when they surge?”

You shake your head no. “Not really. I honestly don’t think it’s serious but they’ve been becoming more frequent lately.”

“Okay.” Dr. Hirai says, pulling out some papers. “I’ll be requesting for you to undergo some tests. Have them done as soon as possible so you can schedule another checkup with me.”

“Thank you, doctor.” You take the request forms.

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Hirai smiles kindly. “And Mrs. Suna?”

“Yes?“

“Don’t downplay the headaches you’re experiencing. You never know if they’re actually underlying symptoms of something serious. Have a nice day.”

--------

“I’m sorry to be saying this, but you don’t look too well.” Osamu Miya is placing the take-out rice balls you had just bought in the paper bags as he alternately looks between his task at hand and you, who’s sitting at the counter.

You had decided to drop by his restaurant before picking up the kids from Sacha. His statement makes you bite your lip. “Is it that obvious?”

“That you look like you had no sleep and cried your eyes out for hours?” Osamu asks in reply, then takes a deep breath. “Yes.” The gray-haired man shakes his head. “Rin is so fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize on behalf of him, Osamu,” you say. “He’s your best friend but his actions are all his own choices.”

The twin keeps quiet for a while as he finishes packing your order. In the meantime, you rub your fingers against your temple, symptoms of a headache beginning to manifest again. You close your eyes, hoping it goes away. Once you open them, you see Osamu staring intently at you. “I have a confession to make,” he says.

This piques your interest and you lean a little bit forward. “What is it?”

“It’s all my fault,” Osamu says, gulping. “After that first night we met, I went to Rin’s parents and told them what happened. He initially confided in me that he got someone pregnant and I wasn’t planning on getting involved until I met you. You were nice and kind, I couldn’t let Rintarou to just fuck up your life.

“I thought once he gets married, once he gets to know you... he’d grow and change. But I was wrong.” His eyes are now filled with guilt and apology. “I’m sorry, Y/N. If I had known that Rin wouldn’t change one bit during the past five years – ”

“Stop,” you cut him off, no longer wanting to hear more. “That’s all in the past now.” You contemplate your next words carefully. “Besides, it’s not like Rin was completely horrible to me during the time we’ve been together.”

Osamu’s voice is filled with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

It’s at that exact moment that the door of the restaurant swings opens and someone enters, your heart dropping once you see who it is.

Suna Rintarou. Your husband.

-------

Suna hasn’t seen you since the night before and he definitely wasn’t expecting to see you here at Osamu’s restaurant. Once you face him, he immediately notices the redness of your eyes that your makeup wasn’t able to cover. He chooses not to think about the reason behind them.

“Hey, Rin,” his friend waves at him from behind the counter. “Y/N is here.”

He rolls his eyes as he stalks toward the counter. “I’m not blind, ‘Samu.” He takes the stool next to yours and immediately notices you tense. He inwardly sighs, remembering what happened last night. He turns to face you and gets a little surprised when he sees you gathering your purse and the paper bag from the counter.

“I have to go. Bye, Osamu! Thank you for these!” And in a moment, you’re out the door.

As soon as you’re gone, he feels his best friend’s curious eyes on him. “What? Gonna ask me to go run after her?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “As if you would.”

While his friend is right, the statement still annoys Suna. “Why was she here, anyway?”

“As if you care.”

He tries to mask his annoyance as he clenches his jaw. “You’re, right. I don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence before Osamu speaks again. “Why are you here, Rin?”

Truth be told, Suna’s agenda was to force Osamu to join him on a night of drinking where he may or may not tell him about what happened last night. But seeing you here... and then Osamu’s rather irritating replies... “Forget it, I’m leaving.”

“Did you and Y/N fight?” His friend’s question makes him stiffen.

Suna rolls his eyes. “We often argue. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Osamu replies rather curtly. “But this time, it seems as if you’ve crossed the line.”

To his own surprise, Suna replies with, “Yeah, I think so.”

He doesn’t need to look at his friend’s face to see the surprise on it. “Wow, that’s a lot... coming from you. What happened? Please don’t tell me you hit her.”

He glares at the man. “I’m an asshole but I would never lay a hand on a woman, even if I hate her.”

“Why do you hate her, Rin?” Osamu asks. “What has she ever done to you? You still have your job and inheritance; you can still fuck around... I know she doesn’t demand much from you about the kids. In fact, she got the short end of the stick. Why do you hate Y/N?”

Instead of answering his friend’s questions, Rin adjusts his position on the stool and makes a fist against the counter. “She confessed to me last night.”

“And what did you say?” Osamu’s voice begins to become unreadable.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Suna shrugs. “We were having an argument so I figured she was just trying to fuck with my head.”

There’s a short silence that follows but it’s long enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Are you really that blind?” Suna prefers it if his best friend is shouting at him at the moment. But alas, Osamu sounds so calm and everyone knows that Osamu Miya is ten times scarier when he’s acting calm during moments that would call for him to be mad.

“What do you want to hear as my answer?” Does Osamu want him to admit that all these years, he thought your hurt towards his treatment was solely because you wanted to have a happy little family? That he didn’t think you actually fell for him in those few months that you were in good terms? But, admitting those would mean he needs to tell Osamu about that time, those five months where he opened his heart to you. Those five months that he never dared tell anyone.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Suna!” Osamu slams a hand against the counter, anger and frustration evident in his voice. “Anyone with an eye can see that Y/N is in love with you! Though it remains a mystery to me how she managed to fall for a dickhead like you, it’s clear that she loves you!”

Other explicit things leave Osamu’s mouth and Suna just stays there and takes them all. Once his friend is only heaving deep breaths, he begins to talk. His turn. “You asked why I hate her. Well, my answer is short.” He mentally sighs and, finally deciding it’s due time for Osamu to know, says the name that haunts him to this day.

Osamu’s eyes widen. “You mean...?”

“Yeah.”

He watches as a conflicted look dawns on his friend’s face. “Do you understand me now?”

“Kind of.” His friend’s gaze hardens a bit. “But you do know you’re being unfair to Y/N, right?”

Suna stands from the seat, retrieving the cigarette box from his pocket. “I know.” As he walks the short distance from Osamu’s restaurant to his car, all Suna can think about is, And I think maybe it’s about time I should apologize to her.

------

You’re inside the bedroom, just finishing up changing the sheets. Ever since Jiri left three years ago and you and Rintarou never hired someone new, you’ve been in charge of keeping the house tidy. In reality, you just had changed the sheets a week prior but what happened four nights ago just makes you want to change them, hoping that as they come clean, so does your relationship with Rintarou.

It’s been three days since the fight and oddly enough, Rintarou comes home on time and even doesn’t complain about sharing the bed. He barely acts as if you exist, cementing your belief that confessing to him was a totally wrong move. However, there are times when you feel him staring at you, as if he wants to tell you something...

You shake your head, reminding yourself that there are lots of things to do. First of all, the test results that you got yesterday after having the necessary check-ups from the day before. Second, the papers you have requested after a long call that you had last night.

You’re too engrossed in your thoughts that you fail to notice that Rin has entered your room. He’s wearing his work clothes which always make him look ten times more attractive. You straighten on the bed and try to look at his eyes. To your surprise, he meets your gaze. “We need to talk.” You both say at the same time.

You bite your lower lip, and seeing as he’s not saying anything, you take it as a cue that he’s allowing you to speak first. So, with a deep breath, you say the words you’ve been practicing in the shower this morning. “I want to file for divorce.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

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it-was-too-cold-always · 1 year ago

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Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 8

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky get married.

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, eventual smut, lots of angst, violence, PTSD/nightmares, panic attacks, language

Inside the courthouse, Bucky led you towards two men standing off to the side. Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson - your two witnesses. Steve wore tan slacks and a blue button up. His eyes were kind and body language was very approachable. You knew you’d like him. Sam wore a dark green polo with dark jeans. Very casual. He was still smiling from some comment he just made to Steve. All three of them towered over you, even in your stupid heels. Bucky introduced you; they each shook your hand and smiled politely. You were sure they pitied you, and you didn’t know how you felt about that. It probably didn’t help that you looked like a sad puppy dog, glued to Bucky’s side, overwhelmed with the bustling courthouse and impending wedding.

You were early to your appointment, so the four of you waited in the hallway. Bucky and Steve stood in the far corner, clearly discussing something serious. Sam, feeling bad that you weren’t in on it, decided to stay back and make small talk with you.

“Ever been married before?” he teased. You laughed.

“Nope, first time. You?” you asked.

“Nope. And I don’t plan on it anytime soon,” he replied. You smiled. It felt nice to be lighthearted about the situation. It helped your nerves.

You glanced back over at Steve and Bucky. Whatever they were talking about, it was frustrating Bucky. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. When he opened them, he met your gaze. You offered him a small smile, embarrassed that he caught you staring. Not wanting you to feel left out on your own wedding day, Bucky told Steve they’d talk more later and walked over to you and Sam.

“Stop harassing her, Sam,” Bucky said as he sat down next to you, swinging his arm on the back of your chair.

“Harassing? We’re having a perfectly civil conversation.” Sam turned towards you. “How do you put up with this guy? Is he always a pain in the ass?”

“No. Sometimes he’s asleep,” you joked. Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, smiling.

Just then, you were called into the room. It was finally time. You were all nerves and froze in your seat, unable to get up. For some reason, this moment made all of it feel more real.

“Doll?” Bucky whispered to you, “it’s our turn. You ready?” You nodded, breaking out of your trance. You sure as hell weren’t ready, but you took Bucky’s hand regardless. He led you into the room and gave your hand a small squeeze. You were grateful for the warmth. The next several minutes were a blur – you were pretty sure you were dissociating.

“…take you as my lawfully wedded wife…”

You were pushing down an anxiety attack. Just breathe, take one thing at a time, you told yourself. Handle the wedding first, you can deal with everything else later. Don’t even think about the impending pregnancy right now.

“…to have and to hold…”

You fixed your eyes on Bucky’s. He could tell something was wrong but wasn’t sure what to do about it. You should’ve done this sooner – something about just looking at him was calming you down. A few more deep breaths, you told yourself.

“…for better or worse…”

You thought of his nightmares, how you have seen him look so broken and sad. How he almost killed you that first night. How he begged you to stay in your bed and leave him alone. You’ve seen him at his lowest, and if you don’t get your shit together right now, he’s about to see you at your lowest.

“…in sickness and in health…”

You didn’t notice Bucky grab your hands in his until you felt a light squeeze. You looked down – your hands looked so small in his. You admired his metal arm; how intricate it was, his fingers somehow delicate, despite knowing what they’re capable of. His flesh hand was kind of sexy, you thought to yourself. Yes good, better turned on than having a panic attack.

“…to love and to cherish…”

Your breathing was evening out and you were more aware of your surroundings. You squeezed Bucky’s hands back, as if to say you’re okay. You can do this.

“…until death do us part.”

It was time for the rings, and part of you panicked – did you even have rings? Bucky reached into his pocket and took your left hand, which was shaking terribly. He slowly slipped the band onto your ring finger. You took a moment to look at it – it was a simple gold ring with a stunning marquis-cut diamond. It was perfect.

He handed you the other ring and gave you his left hand – the metal one. You hesitated for a moment; you knew how Bucky had mixed feelings about his arms. You were honestly surprised he wasn’t wearing his gloves right now. You slipped the gold band on his finger and admired how it looked on him. It complimented the black and gold in his arm beautifully.

Next came the dreaded moment: “You may kiss the bride.” Bucky took a step forward and leaned in, gently placing his hand on your cheek. You couldn’t take your eyes off his lips if you tried. He paused a moment, as if to ask for permission. That’s when you decided to be brave. You’ve been daydreaming about this for so long. You tilted your head, closed your eyes, and closed the gap between you. Your lips met his in a delicate kiss. Despite how short it was, it sent shockwaves through your whole body.

The sound of Sam clapping loudly pulled you out of the haze. Bucky straightened up and cleared his throat. As awkward as it seemed, it was exhilarating. You could still feel his lips on yours. You took a deep breath and hummed – you did it, and no panic attack. You were officially Mrs. James Barnes.

You all decided to get dinner and drinks after the wedding. Guiding you to a table in the back, the waitress asked if you all were celebrating anything today. Sam wasted no time in answering her.

“Yes ma’am these two right here just got hitched, so let’s start off with a round of drinks!” Sam was more enthusiastic about the marriage than the rest of you combined. Bucky shot him a look. Sam shrugged, “What? Maybe they’ll get us some free apps or something.”

You sat next to Bucky, who was quick to rest his arm on the back of your chair. His fingers grazed your shoulder every now and then, and it sent shivers down your spine. He was trying to be nonchalant about it. All the handholding during the ceremony – and the kiss – only made him want to touch you more. But he didn’t want to be weird about it, especially around his buddies, so he settled with occasionally brushing his fingertips against your arm.

The night went surprisingly well. Steve sat across from you and told you all sorts of stories about Bucky from back in the day. Bucky seemed to be enjoying himself, which made you smile. It was nice to see him relaxed. You laughed at Sam and Bucky’s quips; they pretended to hate each other, which was kind of cute. And to Sam’s enjoyment, they did give you a complimentary dessert to celebrate the wedding. You tried to have a good time, pushing down any nerves you had about what comes next - your first night together as husband and wife.

Chapter 9

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom @learisa @pono-pura-vida @smile1318 @stinkerbelle007 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @wonderland2425 @lowkeysebby @cookiie-c @mrsevans90 @touchit-pcy @vicmc624 @mrsbarnes32557038 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @wonderland2425 @tsofo26

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky angst

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thatgirlstrawberry · 2 years ago

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Sick Surprise pt. 11 - Wedding Planning

In which Y/N and Spencer fight over planning the wedding

Warnings: allusions to sex, fluff, angst, sadness, Derek Morgan is just the best advice giver, lmk if I missed anything!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“Oh baby, baby. How was I supposed- to know?” Y/N whipped her head in each direction to the music that was playing. Britney Spears to be specific. All she had on was one of his button up shirts and a pair of underwear. Spencer had no room to laugh though because all he was wearing was the bright red tie that went with the shirt his fiancé was wearing and his boxers. “That something wasn’t right? Oh baby, baby, I shouldn’t let you go.”

She sang the rest of the song, twirling around. Her hips shook from side to side trying to tease Spencer. At one point she tugged up from the spot on the edge of the bed by his tie and tried to twirl him around but they ended up a pile of limbs on floor.

Y/N let out a loud laugh. “Are you seriously hard right now!?” She cackled.

The only reason she was able to be so loud was because Eloise was staying at her grandparents house for the weekend. It took everything in her to let her daughter out of her sight after the Jake situation but they convinced her by saying that they’d FaceTime every night.

Now, they laid on the floor trying to catch their breaths from laughing so hard. “You’re laying on top of me in your underwear and my shirt. Of course I’m hard.”

Y/N giggled and sat up, straddling his hips where she could really feel him. “Baby, please.” He groaned. She smirked and leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

“Nope.” She hummed. “We agreed that we’d start planning today.”

Spencer chuckled and bucked his hips a little. “We can plan after. Please I need you.”

Y/N couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes and his rock hard dick underneath her. She bit her lip and ground her hips, letting a soft breath escape her lips and smiled and he groaned.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Four hours later and they still had not gotten to any of the plans. It was like he was avoiding it. Every time she brought it up he found something else to talk about.

Maybe it was too soon for him. Maybe he changed his mind about her. Maybe he didn’t want to be tied down to her and Eloisey. Maybe he realized that her parents were right and that she was a mess. Was this his way of letting her know without letting her know?

One thing Y/N did when she felt she was getting abandoned was… do the abandoning first.

They were now making dinner, freshly showered and clothed in pajamas.

Even though their day was great Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. She was stirring the sauce for the pasta and Spencer noticed her body language change when he walked up beside her.

“Can you get me the garlic powder, please?” Y/N asked quietly. Spencer did so silently and she bit her lip.

Spencer had noticed something about his fiancé. She got quiet when there was something bothering her.

“Y/N/N?” Spencer rubbed her arm with his knuckles gently. She looked up at him with her eyebrows raised slightly. “Are you okay?”

Y/N sighed heavily and looked back down. “Yep.” She answered shortly. Spencer tilted his head and bit his lip. He silently slid the strainer full of cooked penne pasta in front of her knowing that’s what she needed without her asking for it.

“Are you sure?” He asked quietly. She sighed heavily and he continued on. “B-because you seem a little quiet. And I feel like you’re angry and if you are I have no idea why. C’mon, talk to me, baby.”

Y/N stepped away from his soft touch on her arm. He furrowed his eyebrows a bit. “Wanna just call it off?” Her sentence didn’t seem like it actually came out of her mouth.

“What? Call what off?” He asked, his features contorted into confusion. He stepped back a bit.

She shut her eyes and placed her hands over her eyes. “The wedding— us— I don’t know, Spencer.” She shook her head and turned around.

He wants to leave you, Y/N. Leave him first.

Her eyes flooded with tears and her body heated up. “Y/N, what the hell are you talking about?”

She sighed again. “You don’t seem to want to marry me is all I’m saying, Spencer.” She rolled her teary eyes and turned back around to face him.

Spencer scoffed. “W- what? Of course— you don’t want to get married?”

Y/N kept her mouth shut, the tension filled silence making both of their minds go a billion miles a minute.

“So that’s a no then?” He asked quietly. She sniffled and bit her lip, still staying quiet. “I’m gonna go out for a bit.” He said, walking towards the couch where his jacket laid.

“Spencer, where are you going?” She asked, the tears finally falling as he left the kitchen.

He shrugged. “Uh… just to Derek’s for a little bit I guess.”

She nodded and crossed her arms, following behind him. “B-but you’ll be back, right?” She called as he ent for the door. She noticed that he didn’t even grab his key.

He didn’t answer her and left. The door shut and the apartment was still and silent. Her bottom lip quivered and when she felt that he was far enough away from the door, she let out a small sob and covered her face with her hands.

But Spencer was right there on the other side of the door.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Spencer did end up going to Derek’s for a little while and even got some advice.

“Listen, pretty boy.” Derek and Spencer were drinking beer on his couch while watching some football game that was on. “It sounds like she’s not great at communication. Which means, there was a miscommunication.” He said leaning forward.

Spencer nodded. “But she said she doesn’t want to marry me.”

Derek shook his head. “Did she actually say that or did she just stand there?”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean she did actually say that but she made it pretty clear—“

“Do you love her?” The man asked.

Spencer scoffed. “Of course I do.”

“Do you love her kid like she’s yours?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Reid, go back to that damn apartment and talk to her!”

With that, Spencer sighed heavily and got up from his couch and headed back home to his Y/N.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

The door was unlocked when he got back to the apartment. He walked in and took off his jacket, placing it on the hook.

It was quiet. If Eloise was there the TV would be blasting some kiddy song and her and her mother would both be passed out on the couch.

But he didn’t see that when he walked in. Instead, he saw Y/N laying down on the couch with her legs pulled up to her chest. She was sniffling and trying to catch her breath.

“Y/N?” He whispered as he neared the couch. Her sniffles stopped and she opened her eyes. She sat up and wiped her eyes, not really believing that it was him.

“Spence, you’re back?”

He got on his knees in front of the couch. “I’m sorry I left, baby.”

She bit her lip trying to stop it from quivering. “N-no, I was—“

“Talk to me, Y/N. What’s the matter?”

She sighed and picked at her fingertips, looking down at her thighs to avoid his eyes. “I um…” She swallowed, glancing up at him before her newly dried eyes tearing back up. “I just feel like… you’ve been pushing planning the wedding off. And then my mind spiraled and I thought that maybe you don’t want to plan because you don’t want to marry me. And I thought you were gonna— gonna leave me and so I tried to hurt you first.”

Spencer took in her words, trying to understand what she was talking about as she went on one of her nervous tangents. “I— the wedding plans? Baby, I didn’t want to do it because I want everything that you want. I want you to have anything you want. All I’m worried about is getting to marry you.”

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. “So you only didn’t want to plan because you want me to have what I want?” She repeated his statement. “Do you promise that you want to marry me?”

Spencer nodded and grabbed her chin softly to get her to look at him. “I want to marry you. And I will whenever you want me to, in whatever suit you want me to wear, in whatever building you want me to be in, trying not to stutter in front of whoever you want to invite.”

She smiled through her tears and nodded. “I love you, Spencer Reid.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. “I love you, Y/N almost Reid.”

She giggled and went in for another kiss but her phone rang. It was her mother. Spencer kept his hands on her knees when she answered. “Mom, what’s the matter?”

“Well… don’t freak out but uh… Eloise and I are at the hospital.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Yuhhhhhhh this was more sad than angsty but I’m still living for it

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!

What do you think happened with Eloise?? Is she okay?

Taglist:

@mrsgweasley

@tuesday-yellowxx

@blue-willows

@monzarella

@criminallymagic

@mermateyepmatewithte

@lipstixstain

@urlovelydarling

@dreatine

@f-me-reid

@fantastic-fans

@aleyda5

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@d0ntfeedaftermidnight

@jacksonms31

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@perseuswaves

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@fairy-alix

@whompwhompbang

@callsignwidow

@regulus-black-223048

@mushy-mushroom04

@v-i-o-l-e-t

@livviex

@fudosl

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@honey-on-my-lips

#spencer reid #spencer fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x original female character #criminal minds #spencer x oc #spencer x reader

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hypersomnia-insomniac · 1 year ago

Text

TKR Men Taking Care of Their Sick Partner HCs

Characters: Hakkai, Mitsuya, Taiju

CW: None

Reader: GN w/ high fever/super sick

Part 2

Mitsuya

As much as he loves you, he will be wearing a mask and maintaining a 3 feet distance at all times. He has little sisters to take care of and a sewing club to run, getting sick is not an option.

He'll sit you on the couch swaddled in blankets with your favorite show/movie playing while he goes and cleans. Mitsuya's the type to clean so well that he'll leave things better than when he arrived.

If you're the type that has a chronic illness or get sick often, he'll make you a few sets of custom of PJs that are so comfortable you feel like you're floating on clouds.

Since he often cooks for his sisters and mom, you bet you're gonna get an easy to eat, nutritious meal that is so good you groggily propose to Mitsuya right then and there.

"I'll think about it. Get better first," he says calmly. Deep inside he's already designing your wedding outfits.

Once you're asleep, cuddling the plushy he made, Mitsuya will gently push your hair out of your face and just bask in your beauty.

"Sorry I can't cuddle with you, baby. I'll make it up to you when you're better, promise."

Hakkai

Even though the both of you have been dating for some time, Hakkai is still nervous when it's just the two of you. So, his visits will usually be with Takemichi or Yuzuha and you guys might play some games or watch some shows if you're up for it. He'll slide you some sweets or takeout you're craving as well.

If he visits by himself, however, that's different.

When he first enters your home, he's flustered. He hasn't been in your room before, especially not with just the two of you alone. But when he sees you passed out on your bed with a flushed face and heavy eyebags, he puts all his nervousness aside.

If you end up waking up a little, Hakkai will bend down beside your bed and caress your face.

"Ho- How ya feeling? Have you eaten yet?" He'll whisper, eyebrows furrowed.

You say no, and he gets straight to work. He lifts you gently from your bed and props you up on the couch. After opening the blinds just enough to let some needed light in without adding to your migraine, he'll unpack the soup he brought.

Let's be honest, no one can top Mitsuya's food, but he tried and that alone made you feel better.

Once you're done eating, he'll let you hold his hand or let you lay on his lap if you ask. Of course, Hakkai's face will be just as red as yours and trembling like a leaf. But, he loves you and you're already his partner, so he'll brave it.

Taiju

My HC for him is that he's a germaphobe, total clean freak. He hardly ever gets sick, but something about snots and boogers grosses him out. Taiju runs a tight ship, a clean ship.

He probably won't visit very often. If you're just sniffling a bit, he'll drop off food and snacks before leaving. Maybe a hug, and definitely no kiss.

If you're having a full on coughing fit and sneezing like your lungs are filled with dust, he isn't coming within 10 feet of you. Taiju will use his long limbs to keep you faaaar away from him.

Taiju is the type to call you and stare at you through a window scolding you for getting sick. You're tired of it, but you know he cares when he sends someone by with a goody bag.

It's usually Yuzuha or the cat and dog duo (Koko and Inui). Most often it contains medicine and food that he forced had someone make. If you're lucky you might even get a card!

"Get Well." It reads. You're unsure if it's heartwarming or a threat. Either way, you're happy.

Author's Note:

This is the first installment of my "Sick S/O" HC series! I'll be adding onto it as I watch the anime and read through the manga. I hope to do all the characters and eventually do a girl version, but I don't quite have a grasp on Senju's personality yet and I want to release all the girls in one post.

#mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi #hakkai x reader #hakkai shiba #taiju x reader #taiju shiba #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you

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sparklingmineraltequila · 5 months ago

Text

American Wasteland

Note: Finally, a Cassandra POV. Sorry that it's a tiny bit shorter but I have had one of most emotionally traumatising weeks of my life. Don't worry, next chapter I'm back on my shit with smut and all.

Warnings: 18+, drugs, alcohol, sex work, references to past abuse, domestic violence

Hot afternoons can feel like an impending scream. It's the mundanity about them that has always killed Cassandra. All the filth and despair of wide, yawning night with its neon lights and hookers on pavements and aching solitude is manageable; at least she can focus her misery on something concrete. But these baked afternoons, when the hours bleed into one amalgam of humming fans and beading sweat, plunge her into a white hot light of clarity at just how fucking sad she is. She's indulging herself too. Has been for the past three fucking hours, doing nothing but picking at her nail beds and staring at a stack of Crash's books against the wall and studying them. He dog-ears his pages, she already knows that, and from here she can see that he cracks the spines too, not surprising. Cassandra quickly pushes down the bubbling sentimentality she feels at the closeness of Crash in those simple acts. Harder still when thinking about those ice blues eyes, the absent minded twisting of a wedding band that's no longer there but the memory of an ex-wife that Cassandra knows nothing about but her name, that oily scent of tobacco on his fingers when he pushes them past her lips. The trailer door opens and he comes in: Crash holding a pharmacy bag,

'You're up,' he states, not daring to make eye contact after what transpired last night. Cassandra thinks it's the first sheepishness she's ever seen cross the stoic lines of his face. She doesn't reply.

'I got you some aspirin,' he continues, setting the bag next to the bed, regarding her for a moment longer which she returns with a glacial look.

'I don't have to talk to you,' Cassandra deadpans, not even bothering to sit up.

'I know,' Rust returns, with an equal frostiness that sends Cassandra into indignant fury.

'How dare you take that mild-ass tone with me,' she spits, now shifting to sit up, 'I got fucking drugged and fucked and then made a complete goddamn fool of myself spewing my guts on the side of the road like some fucking teenager.'

'You are a teenager.'

'I'm twenty fucking years old.'

'Oh you think that a couple months, some cussing and hard-ass attitude means you ain't a teenager. You've still got your goddamn baby hairs, Cassandra.'

He's right and it makes her sick. All the things that she's done to shed that oppressive sheath of girlhood to become a woman. Woman: the word always seemed glossy and unattainable to Cassandra. Fuck if she didn't practice at whatever she thought it entailed: learning how to properly inhale, switching from tights to stay-ups, conditioning herself to like beer by forcing herself to order Blue Ribbons when she went out. It would also mean a whole new type of navigation in her relationships with men; the idea of sex now lingering behind every exchange. Sex. It's what has practically defined her life since she went through puberty. Who to do it with, who not to, how to use it, how to make that biker think you want him without ending with your head bashed against the stage when he realises you don't. Cassandra has learnt to keep her desire and attraction to a minimum. Like with dope dealers, the dumbest shit you can do is get addicted to what you sell. Then Crash came along and fucked up her whole plan. In and out of stripping, pay for rent and save up for student debt, get away from dad and stay alive and sane. But no, not since that night that he came in that year ago, hair starting to turn from that golden to the caramel brown that it is now and cut surprisingly short for a biker. He'd sat with Ginger and a few other of the Iron Crusaders, nursing a Lone Star with a look. far more terrifying than the feral cruelty behind his companions' eyes: ice cold impassivity. A man with nothing to lose has a degree of violence to him allowed by his complete detachment to anything and anyone. Cassandra knew this and yet still locked eyes with him every time she saw him watching her on stage. Never a lap dance, though. She'd tried once and his disgust had made her feel smaller than any of the copious insults dolled out by her father,

'No.' Crash had said firmly, pushing her off with a surprising gentleness.

'It's fine, y'know. It's my job,' Cassandra had tried to reassure him, sitting next to him. He'd turned to look at her and had asked,

'How old are you?'

That had made her arch her eyebrow,

'19. Why? You like 'em older?'

To a less observant person, Rust's jaw muscle twitching would've gone unnoticed,

'Yeah, I do,' he'd said, shoving a twenty dollar bill in her panties' waistband, Cassandra noticing how he'd chosen to place it on her hipbone, 'Clear off, baby.'

'Want me to send over Rose? Red-head, real pretty.'

As Cassandra had said this, a burly Iron Crusader had called her name from across the club, making her turn,

'Yeah, baby?'

'Come bring that pretty, lil' ass over to daddy's lap,' the man had slurred, making Cassandra wince and start to head in his direction. That was until Rust had grabbed her wrist, halting her,

'Easy, Thunder,' he had called over to his fellow Crusader, 'I haven't decided whether to take this one for a spin, yet. She any good?'

'The best, Crash,' Thunder had cackled back, raising his beer in salute to him. With that, Crash had pulled her down into the booth next to him, lighting and a cigarette with complete disregard towards a confused Cassandra perched next to him. When she'd tried to straddle him again, he'd pushed her off,

'Listen, I have a quota to make so do you want a fucking lap dance or not?' She had huffed with a slight agitation in her voice that she hadn't yet learned how to conceal. In those days, she was hungry for it: money, sex, attention, security. Too hungry to learn how to manage it when it spilled over and tinged her tone in desperation.

'What's your quota?' Rust had asked through an exhale of smoke, seemingly uninterested.

'Around 50 dollars, at least.'

He'd arched his eyebrow at her,

'You tryin' to do one over me?'

'I'm desperate, not stupid. If I was trying to scam someone, I'd have picked some liquored up truck driver who hasn't gotten some since Missouri,' Cassandra had stated dryly, making Rust's lip quirk up momentarily.

'50 dollars, at least, by the end of your shift, huh?' he'd drawled, cigarette pinched between his fingers.

'Yeah.'

'What time's your shift end?'

'About another hour.'

'How much money are you on?'

'Straight floor work? About 40.'

Rust had reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tattered, leather wallet before putting down 5 ten dollar bills,

'50 but you stick with me until you're done.'

Cassandra had eyed the bills with suspicion and Rust dryly stated,

'Don't be an idiot, Cassandra. Take the fuckin' money and just sit your ass down.'

'You know my name?'

He had jerked his head towards a huddle of Iron Crusaders in another booth,

'You're popular.'

'Oh.' she'd nodded, slightly deflated by the implications. Rust had picked up on the tinge of shame in her eyes,

'Ain't no shame in it, baby.'

'You don't have to be nice about it.'

'I ain't nice.'

Cassandra had regarded him for a moment longer, thrown off by his apparent self-discipline,

'So, you're stuck with me for an hour. What do you wanna do?' she'd asked, tucking her knees onto the booth. Rust had barely spared her a sidelong glance,

'What're you drinking?'

'Jack and coke.'

He'd scoffed at that,

'You're nineteen.'

'And you're a biker running meth so who's breaking the law more, here?'

That had gotten a proper look from Rust, almost turning his head in her direction before handing his glass,

'How's straight whiskey?'

Cassandra had taken the glass from him and taken a straight gulp while being watched by an impassive Rust,

'What's your name, baby?' she asked in a saccharine tone, a slight tilt to her head.

'Drop the act.'

'I don't have a fucking act. This is how I talk.'

Rust had hummed at that,

'Crash.'

'Crash, huh?'

'Yeah. Crash,' Rust had replied, fixing her with a cold stare. Cassandra had nodded, slightly intimated,

'Ok, Crash.'

A schoolgirl crush had morphed into a worrying codependency that had left her strewn on his mattress, in a semi-catatonic state. Worst part is: Cassandra cannot bring herself to hate him. The sickest part of her is even hoping that he kind of finds her attractive like this: at her rawest, most ugly state. She doesn't know how much longer she can keep the jig up; this near constant state of self surveillance is weighing on her heavily and this lacquer of practiced indifference is eroding. Fast. Even now, as Crash places a glass of water, a carton of Marlboro Golds and a bag of those plasticky powdered donuts by the mattress, she can feel her resolve faltering; trying to ignore the small disappointment that he cares so little to concede her her cigarettes. The grit in her wants to right-hook him hard and run away from this place, but she can't and she won't. She doesn't have anywhere left to run and the humiliation of having to ask to crash with one of her fancy college friends gnaws at her. She notices him staring at her, crouched by the mattress. Burying her head in the pillow, she mumbles,

'Stop it. Please stop it cause, I swear to god, that I'll cry if you don't.'

'Cry, then,' Rust mutters, 'Ain't no shame in it.'

'Yes, there is. A lot. Crash, I'm-I'm a whore,' Cassandra chokes out in a sob.

'Hey-Hey, you never fuckin' say that ever again. You hear?' Rust says, voice raising slightly as he clasps her jaw with his hand, 'What happened last night was me, all me. You were high out of your fuckin' mind and, even if you weren't, you couldn't had said no if you wanted to.'

'But I liked it.'

Rust ignores the heat that pools in his gut at those words,

'That don't make no fuckin' difference.'

Cassandra brings her hands to her face, trying to conceal her tear streaked cheeks. A futile endeavour, given the heaves of her sobs,

'It ain't even that. I've been a stripper since I was eighteen. Eighteen, Crash. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?!'

'You were a desperate, little girl with a daddy who beat her and no other choice in this cesspit of a fuckin' world other than to strip for men like me.'

'Not for men like yo-'

'Yes, Cassandra. For men like me. Stop making fuckin' excuses, you're smarter than that,' Rust borderline snarls, her chin still grasped in his hand as he shakes it slightly, emphasising his words.

Cassandra stares at him for a moment before she gives Rust the type of embrace that she hasn't given since she ran up to the police officer who pulled up, just as her dad burst out of the house with the jagged end of a bottle of malt liquor in hand. She buries her nose between the seam of his leather jacket and his faded t-shirt, inhaling deeply: sweat, Camels, beer, faint scent of deodorant. She moves her head up to thank him in the only way she knows how to and starts to kiss his neck. Rust gently grasps her shoulders to pull her away,

'Not now, baby. Tomorrow but not today.'

'I can-'

'You ain't in the right state of mind. I can see it. You ain't my Cass, right now. You're that scared little girl tryin' to reconcile the fact that her daddy has hit her for the first time and that it ain't gonna be the last.'

Cassandra flinches at that,

'Why the fuck would you bring that up?'

'To remind you that you should be scared.'

'Of you?'

'Of any man.'

Cassandra eyes him narrowly as he stands up,

'You heading out?'

'I'll be back, tonight.'

'Can you hand me a book?'

'Which one?'

'Something relatively chill.'

Rust goes to his stack against the wall, runs his hand down and stops at a book before lifting up the ones above it and slotting it out. He hands it to her,

'First bit of philosophy I ever read. I think most of what he preaches is placid bullshit but it ain't too intense a read.'

Cassandra takes The Stranger from Rust's hand and briefly flicks through the pages before landing at the first one. She squints to read some pen scrawl,

Houston, 1987,

For all those sleepless nights and to kickstart those philosophy courses that you've been mentioning,

From Claire to Rust

Cassandra's head snaps up, brow furrowing. She recognises one name, not the other. Her voice is gelid as she ask,

'Who the hell is Rust?'

#rust cohle #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle x original female character #american wasteland

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aphelea · 3 months ago

Text

a merry war (tiertice)

my fic for @keeper-big-bang-2024!!

check out the absolutely incredible art by @purplesoup-lad-le and @kingkrakie: here and here or read on ao3 here

Summary:

Sick of Tiergan and Prentice's rivalry, fiancées Della and Livvy—alongside Lord Bronte and Lord Fintan Pyren—create a scheme to convince each one that the other is in love with them. Meanwhile, Lady Gisela and her unmemorable sidekick are plotting to throw Eternalia into complete and utter chaos—but will Sophie and her friends be able to thwart them before they can ruin Della and Livvy's wedding? or: A Tiertice Much Ado About Nothing AU.

Tiergan knows the second the messenger arrives that he isn’t bringing good news. It’s not through any body language of the man himself, no—Tiergan has simply noticed a pattern with messages that arrive in his presence. He’s a bad-luck charm, of sorts. (Though Bronte would scold him if he heard him say that.)

In this case, the messenger arrives to him, Livvy, and Bronte eating dinner in the dining hall—Livvy, reading over a letter she had received that evening and Tiergan, pretending to be nose-deep in a novel. In reality, he’s attempting to read Livvy’s letter over her shoulder (for, although she won’t admit the identity of her “secret daily admirer,” Tiergan has his suspicions which he would have liked to have confirmed. Much to his chagrin, however, Livvy is one of only two people in the world who knows how to hide from his snooping.)

“My lord,” the messenger says, covered in dirt and grime and dripping like a wet dog all over the marble floors.

Bronte, to his credit, maintains his composure, though his lips do twist into a slight scowl. “Yes?”

The messenger procures a short note with ripped edges from his sack and leaves it on the table. “A message from the war camp, sir.”

“Do they return?” Livvy says, scrambling up from her seat. “When? With whom? For how long?”

The messenger seems vaguely uncomfortable at the barrage of questions, but is thankfully saved by Bronte, who simply states, “Well. I suppose we should prepare some rooms, then.” He frowns, for a moment, then asks, “How many, exactly? Fintan has been frustratingly vague, as always.”

“It’s…rather up in the air, at the moment,” he replies, gaze flitting back and forth across the room. “There will likely be some extra guests coming along. Strangers to Eternalia, I believe.”

And Tiergan suddenly feels the urge to bang his head against the table.

Many times.

Enough times, perhaps, to suffer a head injury that would send him to a physician far, far, away—conveniently for the duration of their guests’ stay. But alas, he cannot, and so he remains seated in silent suffering.

There are indeed plenty of men at the border of Ravagog, protecting from the ever-present forces of King Dimitar. But few would, so soon after a victory, venture so far out of the way as Eternalia. A few containing Lord Fintan Pyren—whose inexplicable connection to the city leads him to visit Bronte at every possible occasion—and those who find themselves otherwise drawn to the young masters of Eternalia.

Drawn, theoretically, to a years-long effort to annoy Tiergan till his heart stops.

“Tell me,” Tiergan cuts into the messenger’s speech on poor weather conditions, “is he coming back from the wars, or no?” He spits out the pronoun like spoiled food, and he frowns much the same.

The messenger furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

“The Keeper, as he insists on calling himself.” Truth be told, the name isn’t any more ridiculous than Granite, but Tiergan needs something to pick on.

Bronte huffs and readjusts his cloak. “Who on Earth are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about Prentice,” Livvy replies with an amused grin. “Prentice Endal, and their little rivalry.”

Bronte purses his lips. “Right, of course. How could I forget? You two scare away all the animals in this city with your shouting.”

“His shouting. I’m perfectly rational,” Tiergan protests, and turns back to the messenger. “Now, is he coming, or not?”

The messenger glances between them, clearly alarmed by Tiergan’s sudden displeasure.

Livvy laughs. “He’s hardly serious. They’ve got some merry war going on between them, but they like each other all the same.”

Tiergan huffs, but says nothing.

“Well,” the messenger says, apparently choosing not to press the subject, “yes, Sir Endal is coming along with Lord Pyren and Lady Vacker, I believe.”

“Wonderful,” Tiergan replies as Livvy grins widely.

Bronte, ever out of the loop, asks, “Lady Vacker?”

Discreetly, Tiergan flips Livvy’s letter over, hiding its contents, as Livvy hastily responds, “An old friend. She visited often, before…” She doesn’t finish her statement, but it is understood all the same. The days before Tiergan and Livvy had company in their studies and daily lives; the days before the Black Swan and Ravagog had been real, concrete forces. When Granite and Physic had existed in secret before their disappearances, never to emerge from their training.

Bronte’s gaze shifts to Tiergan, eyebrows raised, but Tiergan only shakes his head. He has no way to accurately explain Della and Livvy’s relationship in simple terms; it would probably take a few days, an accompanying slideshow, and primary source evidence to even get the main points across.

“We should begin preparing for our guests soon,” Tiergan says, before Livvy can admit anything too incriminating.

Bronte seems far from keen on letting the subject drop, but he allows it anyway. “Yes, we should. Do try and spend some time with our younger guests while they’re here; I’d hate to bore them after all they’ve been through.”

“Of course,” Tiergan agrees, grimacing internally. “I’m sure that won’t be difficult.”

They arrive too soon, too early, and too many.

Or, rather, two too many.

It’s barely sunrise when the horses arrive, led of course by Fintan Pyren himself, dressed in a long, muddy blue jacket with red embellishments. Not too far behind him are, unfortunately, Prentice and Della, equally as dirty. And hidden in the back are two strangers Tiergan has never seen in his life.

It appears that Bronte has, however, as he gives Fintan such an awful glare the moment he dismounts that Tiergan is surprised the man doesn’t burst into flames immediately. Tiergan, still exhausted from having been dragged out of bed mere minutes before, elects to hide behind Livvy to avoid any conversation. As fascinating as it would be to uncover another piece of Bronte’s shrouded backstory, it’s not worth the potential other complications that may arise.

Alas, even Tiergan cannot always get what he desires.

“Lord Bronte!” Prentice shouts, jumping forward and wrapping an arm around Fintan’s shoulders. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Good grief,” Tiergan mutters under his breath. Livvy turns to offer him a smirk, and gets an elbow to the stomach in response.

Bronte only nods. “Sir Endal. I’m glad to see you return safe and unharmed.”

“That’s entirely against his own will, I assure you,” Fintan replies, gently removing the arm around him.

“It’s true,” Della adds, sliding gracefully off her horse. “The ogres never feared his traps so much as they feared his ability to get us all killed in the process.”

Tiergan barely manages to suppress a snicker, but Della notices anyway, her eyes shifting toward his hiding spot in the shadows. Thankfully, however, she’s more captivated by Livvy standing in front of him, a blush dusting her cheeks.

“Lady Vacker,” Livvy says, stepping forward to take her hand. “You look beautiful today.”

From Tiergan’s perspective, that’s a blatant lie—she’s covered in mud head-to-toe with a rain-soaked frizzy braid falling apart over her shoulder. But perhaps Livvy sees none of that.

“Not as beautiful as you, milady,” Della replies, bringing her hand to her lips. And, as Tiergan had expected, it takes mere minutes for Livvy to take Della’s arm and remove her from the group under the guise of a “tour of the property.” The very property that Della has already seen more of that its actual lord has.

“So…” Prentice begins, as they all watch the two leave. “They’re married?”

“No,” Bronte says.

“Not yet,” Fintan says.

Might as well be, Tiergan thinks.

Prentice raises an eyebrow. “Hm. A strange choice. Certainly not one I’d make.”

“And you’re the model for respectable choices, now?” Tiergan can’t help but cut in. He’d hoped to spend his morning silent, but there’s only so much of Prentice’s nonsense that he can bear before he has to retaliate. After all, who else will?

Prentice smirks as Tiergan emerges from the shadows, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Well, if it isn’t the Lord of Disdain himself. Still living, shockingly.”

Tiergan scoffs. “My disdain cannot die as long as I can picture your face in great detail.”

“Am I really so memorable? I hear it often, though usually under different circumstances.”

“Yes, well, I imagine audiences rarely forget their favorite fools.”

Prentice rolls his eyes. “Such a pleasure, as always. It’s a wonder your face isn’t marred from all the punches you must be receiving.”

“I’d wonder the same, but truly even punches could not make your face worse than its current state.”

“How is it,” Prentice asks, stepping forward, “that love could possibly be enough for my dear friend to look past the horror of you as a brother-in-law?”

“Ha!” Tiergan replies, matching him. “It’s the folly of love, that everything should seem so rosy and sweet when it is all a waste of time. Though I would think you to be the expert, having experienced it tens of times over.”

“If that were all love, then I would truly be a fool. No, I find myself with a hard heart, with no particular care for wasting my time, as it were.”

Tiergan scoffs. “And thank God for that—you save a whole host of clowns from having to squander more than a day by your side. But in that respect, at least, we have similar thoughts. I’d rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”

“I seem to be interrupting something,” an unfamiliar voice says, snapping Tiergan out of his and Prentice’s shared universe. They both spin around to see Bronte and Fintan—who have clearly held some whispered exchange—and the two unfamiliar strangers that had arrived alongside the soldiers. One is a woman, dressed in a long, purple gown under a silver cloak, completely spotless. A variety of gems are pinned to her hair, though they seem to have seen better days. Beside her is a boy, not much older than Tiergan, wearing a matching outfit to Prentice if not far looser and far dirtier. His hair is blonde and overgrown, covering his eyes and leaving his face entirely unmemorable.

“Good morning,” Tiergan greets, in an effort to revive some semblance of politeness. The woman only tilts her head and stares at him.

“Lady Gisela,” Fintan hurries to say, gesturing to her. “This is Sir Tiergan.”

Tiergan winces at the title, and Prentice raises an eyebrow, but neither corrects him. He nods to the woman, unsure how to approach the boy, who watches in rapt silence.

Lady Gisela apparently notes his discomfort, as she says, “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s rather shy.”

Tiergan doubts that that’s the case, but he’s hardly going to challenge her. In a few days, at best, she’ll leave, and hopefully take the nuisance that is the Keeper along with her. (Although, Tiergan can’t help but admit that he is a little bit excited to return to their battle of wits. Few people here are confident enough to confront him or clever enough to match him.)

“Well,” Bronte says, clearly scowling, “hopefully he’ll feel more comfortable speaking once you are all safely inside your rooms. Which happen to be ready for your use. If you would be so kind as to follow these kind attendants over here…” He practically shoves Fintan toward them, and glares holes into Lady Gisela’s back as she walks away. Only Prentice lingers, just for a moment, mere centimeters away from Tiergan’s face.

He leans in and asks, “Does your sister truly love Della?”

Tiergan raises an eyebrow. “For better or for worse, yes.”

Prentice’s gaze flicks to the attendants and back. “I worry it will be for the worse.”

“Then it will be our duty to prevent that.”

“I suppose.” He leans back, expression still wary. “You know, you’re still much the same man as you were before, Tiergan.”

Tiergan laughs. “And you are frustratingly different.”

“Such is my charm,” Prentice responds with a smirk. And then he is gone, disappeared to the side of Lord Pyren once more.

Tiergan, for the first time, does not know what to think.

Inevitably, Lady Gisela formulates a dastardly plan of escape a mere one hour into their stay at Eternalia.

Ruy is not surprised; he has learned to assume that his boss is ten steps ahead of him at any given moment—though with this particularly humiliating prison, he had expected their grand scheme to take some more time. It does, at the very least, take a large amount of complaining.

“He brings me here like a guest,” Gisela spits, “but I am leashed! We are leashed, and it is obvious to any person who sees us. Again, I am treated like a second to him. He leads the army that I created, that I built with my bare hands and he throws me away like I am nothing. What right does he have, to be shocked that I would switch my loyalty to the only side who values my genius? What right?”

“They’ll never set us free, now,” Ruy agrees. “We’ll be zoo animals forever.”

At this, Gisela laughs, in that perfectly calculated way that always sends shivers down his spine. “Only as long as the zoo can stay in business.”

Ruy stares at her blankly. “...Right,” he agrees, having learned not to question her too much.

Gisela rolls her eyes. “We can tear this city apart from the inside.”

“Of course,” Ruy agrees, still confused. “So…how, exactly?”

She smiles wickedly. “Well, Fintan has kindly delivered us two wonderfully easy targets. It’s come to my attention that the young masters of Eternalia hold a rather secret career beyond their familial duties. And with Fintan’s soldier being so ridiculously in love with the girl despite barely knowing her, it shouldn’t be hard to plant the first seed of doubt. Doubt, perhaps, that Eternalia isn’t quite as loyal as it seems.”

Ruy hums. “And if Fintan believes that Lord Bronte has been harboring a traitor all this time, their relationship will be destroyed. The elven army at Ravagog will crumble.”

“Thus allowing Dimitar a clear path to victory. And me, a clear path to take everything afterward,” Gisela finishes. “It is simple, and it is very little work on our part. It all relies on their own constant panic.”

It’s so classically Gisela that Ruy can only grin. “Perfect.”

Sophie hadn’t been meaning to eavesdrop. But she can’t help it if, in the process of delivering luggage to the guests, she stumbles upon a fascinating conversation. All she can really gather is that the two strange guests believe that a traitor is residing in the heart of Eternalia—but it’s enough to spring her into action.

“Guys!” she calls, running to her shared quarters. “Get in here. I have a mystery for us to solve.”

The wedding is set the following day, although Bronte is still rather confused on how it all came about.

“I’ve been in love with her since the day we met,” Della says, holding Livvy’s hand where they sit next to each other on a couch in Bronte’s office. Bronte and Fintan share the couch opposite, and Bronte is getting rather sick of Fintan’s laughing at his apparent lack of knowledge.

“Nearly four years have passed since then,” Bronte states. “Why on Earth do you want to be married now?”

“The war is, for all intents and purposes, over,” Livvy responds. “Della is safe. I would be safe, as her wife, as she is no longer a spy. And, of course, I have no association with the war myself. None at all.” She chuckles awkwardly, then tries to hide it behind her hand.

Fintan sighs. “Bronte, I hardly see the problem,” he says. “They want to be married, so let them. I’d say their lives could have had far worse outcomes.”

For Fintan, it’s high praise—and Bronte is suddenly inclined to agree. If Fintan is truly unbothered, why should he mind? Livvy and Della are good for one another; they match each others’ attitudes and energies, and speak every word amongst them with pure devotion. Where Bronte himself was not afforded the luxury of happiness with his lover in his youth, he cannot possibly deny it to the girl he has come to see as his daughter. That is not a curse he is willing to continue.

“You have my approval, if you ever truly needed it,” he finally says. “And if you wish to hold the wedding here, in Eternalia, you may.”

Livvy and Della are beaming, with all the hope of young lovers. Bronte remembers that all too well. “Thank you,” Della says. “We wanted to hold the wedding soon, if you’ll allow it. Next week, actually. In order to minimize the chances of disaster occuring before it can take place.”

It is a smart move, Bronte has to admit, although he is entirely unprepared for the stress of planning a wedding. “Alright,” he agrees, “I’ll notify the staff. Although I imagine you’ll want to tell your brother first.”

It’s as if the tension in the room doubles at the mention of Tiergan.

“Good grief,” Della says. “I’m far from enthusiastic to hear Prentice and Tiergan’s next discussion over this.”

Livvy shakes her head. “It’s been a day, and I’m already sick of their nonsense. If they ruin the wedding with their antics, I may just have to exile them until they can find some semblance of optimism in their hearts.”

“In that way,” Bronte muses, “they are rather well-suited for one another. They see the same insignificance in everything but themselves, and each other. What a peculiar kind of hatred.”

At this, Livvy’s eyes light up. “Perhaps that is our goal, then. Show them that they are, indeed, the only existing well-suited people for one another. That their hatred is so peculiar because it isn’t hatred at all.”

Fintan gapes. “You aren’t serious.”

“But I am,” Livvy counters, the telltale lilt of mischief in her voice. “Would it not help our cause if the two guns ceased their constant fire?”

“And they respect only each other,” Della adds. “If each were to discover that the other had succumbed to that dastardly feeling of love, well, then, would they not be convinced to give it a try?”

Bronte understands very quickly why they choose each other as partners in life.

“If this works,” Bronte says, “it will be a blessing for the world. Complete silence, for the first time since their friendship, of sorts, began.”

Fintan snorts. “That is, if they do not kill each other within the first week of marriage.”

Livvy shrugs. “Either way, our goals are achieved, are they not?”

As Prentice trudges through mud to the stables, he contemplates his best friend’s sudden shift from battle-hardened, cold spy to a loving, carefree, wife. It’s something he had never expected to see out of Della. Of course, he’d known that she loved someone, having watched her write and receive letters nightly, but he had never imagined the relationship to be this serious.

Personally, he can’t comprehend why she would be ready to bind herself to something so soon after being free of the Black Swan. Especially something so volatile as marriage.

He’s halfway through the courtyard when he hears familiar, hushed voices from a bench nearby. The lovebird herself, it seems, alongside their host and Lord Pyren. Out of sheer curiosity (and maybe a bit of nosiness), he stops behind a tree and pretends to examine his hair in the reflection of his blade.

“The trouble,” Della says, “will be finding a gift in time for the wedding. I have ventured into the city a few times, but nothing measures up to my standards for Livvy.”

“Such is the trouble with love,” Bronte replies, though he sounds rather pained.

Fintan adds, “Indeed. In my youth I wasted half my money and half my time searching for adequate gifts for my lovers. Alas, they were rather particular themselves.”

The response is a sound rather resembling a choking bird, though Prentice cannot see who made it. How strange, he thinks, as he has never known Fintan to be in love. Perhaps that had been another casualty of the war.

“Right,” Della continues, after an awkward pause. “Well, I count it a blessing that I am not in the most difficult situation possible. I can’t imagine the difficulty Tiergan faces, what with Prentice’s luxurious tastes.”

What?

Prentice’s brain short-circuits.

“So it’s true?” Bronte asks. “Tiergan is truly in love with the boy?”

Fintan chuckles. “I had thought them both to be sworn off of love forever.”

Yes, Prentice had thought so as well. That had been the sole opinion he had believed them to agree upon, but it seems even Tiergan has switched his loyalties now.

“Apparently not,” Della replies. “But it’s a pity that he’s chosen Prentice, of all people, as the object of his affections. The poor boy, in love with someone who cannot see anything beyond his own greatness. A true tragedy, if I have ever seen one.”

Prentice forgets to hide his scoff, but thankfully, they don’t seem to notice. What nonsense!

“I love Prentice, I truly do,” Della continues, “but it’s a blessing to all that he’s so opposed to love. For all of his talents, he’s not at all suited to romance. No smart person would stay in love with him for longer than a week before realizing that the effort is worthless.”

Entirely untrue, Prentice thinks. He rather likes to believe that his opposition to love is a choice—he could love, if he wanted to, and he would be damn good at it if he did. In fact, he had been in love, once before, and though external circumstances had clearly soured that relationship, he’s fairly certain he could have been the perfect husband. No, it’s a choice, now, to stay out of love, no reflection of his talents. After all, he is the greatest Keeper the Black Swan has ever known. Nothing is truly beyond him.

And if Della, Bronte, and Fintan are convinced he cannot satisfy Tiergan, then so be it. Prentice will prove them wrong, as he always has.

Tiergan will find loving him the most enjoyable experience of his life, Prentice is assured of it.

Prentice is acting like an idiot, which really shouldn’t be surprising to Tiergan.

“Hi,” he greets at breakfast, sitting down right beside Tiergan with a pastry in hand. “How are you?”

“I was better before you arrived,” Tiergan quips, expecting another clever remark in response. But when he looks up from his tea, Prentice is simply watching him, silent, with an absurd, giddy smile. “Good grief,” he says, “are you sick?”

“Are you?” Prentice counters, which…is complete nonsense. Both entirely out-of-character for the man and completely fitting.

Tiergan rolls his eyes. “I’m perfectly well, thanks.”

“Indeed you are.” Now Tiergan has no choice but to gape at him, waiting for another, explanatory phrase to arrive. It does not.

Tiergan stands abruptly, slamming his mug to the table. “It’s too early for this,” he mutters, storming out of the room to confused murmurs from the others seated at the table. He swears he hears Bronte giggle as he leaves, but that would be impossible.

As he hurries up the staircase toward his bedroom, however, Tiergan finds himself in the company of furious whispers, coming from Livvy’s bedroom door, left slightly ajar. It’s rather odd; she tends to value her privacy, especially now as curiosity about the wedding grows. But as he approaches stealthily, Tiergan realizes that it isn’t Della inside with her.

“Cyrah,” Livvy says, “I’m truly glad you’re able to visit, even if you’re unable to attend the wedding. You know how much it means to Della and I, I’m sure.”

Tiergan furrows his eyebrows. Since when has Cyrah been in Eternalia? Although the three of them had been childhood friends, years ago, Cyrah had left to travel the world immediately after they had finished their schooling. She does visit, from time to time, but rarely with so little notice.

“Well, of course I’m here for you,” Cyrah replies, “but I have to say I was mostly captivated by the other contents of your letter.”

Livvy laughs. “It’s certainly the most fascinating piece of gossip to reach Eternalia in many years.”

“I’ll say. The possibility of seeing our Tiergan married is absurd. And to Prentice Endal, no less.”

Tiergan tries his best to choke quietly. He fails.

There is a terrifying pause before they continue that leads Tiergan to believe that they’ve noticed his presence, but thankfully, Livvy carries on without remark.

“It’s truly a tragedy,” she says, with a slight laugh, “that Prentice has set his sights on Tiergan. I almost feel bad for him; it’s a hopeless endeavor.” Cyrah hums in agreement. “Yes, but I doubt Tiergan will ever notice. The poor boy’s entirely clueless.”

Livvy snorts. “That, and he’s entirely incapable of being kind to anyone beyond us. His first reaction is always to bite without thinking, to shoot to kill before questioning himself. Prentice has done well to match his strikes so far, but there is only so long that he can hide his affections.”

“Ah, unrequited love,” Cyrah sighs. “Well, I imagine he’ll come to his senses soon enough. He’ll find someone less bitter about life.”

“One can only hope.”

Tiergan is left absolutely reeling. He gapes at her door for at least a minute, unsure what to believe. But it does make sense, he has to admit. Prentice’s…affections would certainly explain his odd behavior that morning, and his offense at Tiergan’s immediate snarky greeting. But why would Prentice be so foolish as to love Tiergan, of all people? Livvy is correct on the count that Tiergan has done nothing but snap at the man. There had been a time, years ago, when Tiergan would have understood such a development of emotions, but now it seems entirely ridiculous.

Perhaps, Tiergan thinks, he could stand to be a bit kinder to Prentice, for once. If only to give him a bit of relief.

When he returns to the dining hall later that day for lunch, he pointedly seats himself beside Prentice, who looks both utterly perplexed and overjoyed. “Good morning,” Tiergan greets, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

“It’s afternoon,” Prentice replies, and Tiergan raises an eyebrow. “But good morning to you, as well.”

Tiergan pretends not to notice the laughs that Della, Livvy, and Cyrah hide behind their napkins. If they believe him to be too bitter to love Prentice, then so be it. He will prove them wrong, as he always does.

Prentice will stay in love with him, if Tiergan has any say in the matter.

“It has been done,” Ruy announces as he steps into Gisela’s chambers. “The cache has been planted.” He sweeps some dust off his jacket, seating himself on the couch beside her desk.

Gisela nods. “Good,” she says. “Now, we wait.”

From their hiding spot beneath Gisela’s window, Tam, Linh, Marella, Keefe, and Sophie share a wary glance. “These are the people who are trying to catch a traitor?” Linh whispers. “They’re kinda… weird.”

“I feel like we should be concerned,” Tam notes.

Sophie shrugs. “Bronte wouldn’t have let them in if he thought they were trouble. I think.”

“Yeah, but these two seem weirder than the others,” Marella says. “Have you seen how quiet they are all the time? I thought they were just dealing with war stuff or whatever, but this is, like, extra weird. Plus, what’s with that whole scheme thing you were telling us about earlier?”

Sophie pauses. “I don’t know. I thought they were talking about Lady Vacker being a traitor, but now that she’s marrying Livvy, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Livvy wouldn’t marry a traitor,” Linh agrees. “I mean, she wouldn’t marry anyone without checking their entire life history first, I think.”

“But then why would these guys want people to think that Lady Vacker is a traitor?” Marella asks. “That’s stupid. It would ruin the wedding.”

Tam sucks in a breath, prompting them all to turn to him. “That’s exactly why,” he says, eyes wide with realization. “They want everything to be chaos here. That’s what he’s talking about—Bronte’s cache! Something only Livvy, Fintan, and Tiergan know the location of. It’s basically a safe containing classified war documents and plans of Eternalia. They’re not framing Lady Vacker, they’re framing Livvy! And if they act like she’s stealing the cache…”

Sophie pales. “Then everything goes to hell.”

“Random question,” Keefe cuts in, “but do you think I’d be fired if I didn’t deliver someone’s mail?”

They all stare at him.

“Like, intentionally,” he adds. “Kind of like stealing it. But not really. Just really, really, slow delivery.”

Marella snorts. “I mean, I’m all for it, but why?”

Keefe leans over and pulls out a sealed letter from his coat pocket. “Here. A letter from Lady Gisela to some guy at the warfront. Seemed kind of suspicious, so I kept it.” He hands it to Sophie, who handles it as gently as possible.

“Should we…” she asks, almost afraid to suggest the possibility.

“Read it?” Tam asks. “Yeah, obviously.” He takes the letter from Sophie and inspects it, tracing over the nearly illegible name on the front. “But not here. We need to get inside and warn someone before it’s too late.”

“But we can’t do that without proof,” Linh says. “And right now our only proof comes from things we’ve done that are completely illegal.”

Marella sighs. “I guess we’ll have to hope that the letter says something interesting, then.”

And with that, they slip away from their nook, panic setting in.

In the middle of the night, Della is woken violently by a frantic Fintan shaking her, and Prentice at the foot of her bed. “Good morning?” she asks, pushing Fintan’s arm away from her.

“No time, Della,” Fintan says, stepping back, “this is an urgent matter.”

“What could honestly be urgent enough to drag me out of bed the night before my wedding?” She’s both thankful and annoyed that she and Livvy had been given separate rooms, now—at least Livvy can get her beauty sleep while Della deals with her friends’ nonsense.

“Your fiancée,” Prentice states simply, and Della raises an eyebrow.

“Is this some kind of wedding ritual?”

Fintan scoffs. “Perhaps for her it is.”

“You should see for yourself,” Prentice says, and it’s his unsettling calm that ultimately drags Della out of her bed, suddenly shaken.

“Where is Lord Bronte?” she asks as they tiptoe down the dark hallway. “What is happening?”

Fintan shakes his head. “I haven’t spoken to him just yet. I worry that he, too, may be involved.”

Della furrows her eyebrows. “Involved in what, exactly?”

A heavy silence lingers, for a moment, before Prentice says, “Treason.”

Treason. “You believe Livvy to be a traitor.”

“I know for certain,” Fintan replies, voice grim. “I trust Gisela’s judgment on very few matters, but in this case, the proof is indisputable.”

Della feels her own heartbeat, now, racing out of her chest. “What proof does she have?”

“A stolen cache,” Prentice says. “Classified papers, attempted to be mailed. Some of it being…” His voice cracks, something close to tears welling in his eyes, and he looks away. “Some of it being details of your involvement in the war and prior.”

And Della freezes in her tracks. No, she thinks. Livvy wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t. But after nearly two years apart, how can Della truly claim to know her at all?

They reach Gisela’s chambers, where Della is handed a series of papers and testimony from both Ruy and Gisela of Livvy’s betrayal. Ruy has brought a friend, as well, a young servant named Rayni, who describes her own witnessing of Livvy’s theft of the cache. It’s all entirely sickening, and Della has to dig her nails into Prentice’s arm in order to keep herself from vomiting. Her head is swimming. She cannot breathe.

“But what can we do?” she manages to ask, after everything is presented. “What can I do?”

Prentice and Fintan share a hard look. “There is no choice,” Fintan says, with a deep sigh. “We must end the wedding, before it is too late.”

On the morning of the wedding, Tiergan is all alone—Prentice is, oddly, nowhere to be seen, and Tiergan’s almost disappointed at the lack of a witty morning greeting. He’d been hoping to have someone interesting to speak with during the wedding preparations, seeing as everyone else is more concerned with assembling the brides’ gowns and hair. Tiergan and Prentice, of course, had been banned days ago from assisting directly with the wedding preparations, as, according to Della, they’re “far too clumsy to be trusted, alone or together.”

Strangely, however, Tiergan hasn’t seen any of their guests the entire day. He almost goes to check Prentice’s bedroom, but decides that he hasn’t quite reached that level of desperation yet. And, of course, he wouldn’t want to give Prentice the impression that he returns his feelings. Absolutely not.

He’s almost worked himself into a panic by the time he walks into the marriage hall, worried that perhaps Della has abandoned the wedding entirely. Thankfully, she waits at the podium up front, looking strangely pensive—though he has to admit, she is dressed nicely.

Tiergan scans the rows for Prentice, but he is still, oddly, nowhere to be found.

“Sit,” Bronte suddenly tells him, holding a glass of wine. “Livvy will arrive soon.”

“Where is Prentice?” Tiergan asks, and Bronte raises an eyebrow.

“He and Fintan have yet to arrive,” Bronte replies. “Hardly surprising. Fintan may take years before he is fully satisfied with his appearance.”

Tiergan can’t say the same about Prentice, although he concedes that the man hardly needs to spend time to look nice. Prentice is naturally infuriatingly beautiful, even after sleeping in the dirt or riding for hours through a rainstorm. He could be covered in sewage and that damned smirk would still make him appear heavenly. Tiergan despises that.

The music begins a half-hour later, and every seat except for the other front row across the aisle from Tiergan is full. Livvy strides down the aisle, her gem-studded dress flowing majestically behind her, and Della turns ever so slightly. Tiergan wipes away the tear in his eyes, and he can see Bronte doing the same. He wonders, still, where Prentice is, but decides that he trusts him enough to see to his own whereabouts.

“Hi,” he hears Livvy whisper to Della upon reaching her. “You look beautiful.”

Della’s gaze is trained to the floor. “Thank you,” she murmurs. There is something odd about her voice, Tiergan thinks, but he cannot determine what emotion it is. Perhaps this is love; he can’t say he’s ever seen the feeling through long enough to reach this point. He wouldn’t understand.

An old man steps up to begin the ceremony, but he says nothing. He only stands between the two women, biting his lip and staring at the grand doors at the end of the hall.

“Good afternoon,” he begins, and his voice is so shaky Tiergan worries he may cry. “We are here—”

The doors slam open, and with it a scream: “End this nonsense!”

Tiergan jumps up, hand shifting to his blade, but Livvy beats him to the chase. She holds out a knife, hopping off the podium where Della remains, frozen.

But the man who emerges from the hallway is neither intruder nor ogre.

“Fintan!” Bronte barks, moving to stand beside Livvy. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lord Fintan Pyren struts down the aisle; behind him, Prentice, Lady Gisela, and the blond boy march silently. Tiergan suddenly finds himself nauseous. What does the fool think he’s doing?

“Bronte, my dear friend,” Fintan exclaims dramatically, “you truly believe that Lady Vacker is deserving of this girl?”

Bronte scowls, but stands his ground even as Fintan stalks closer. “Wholeheartedly.”

Fintan scoffs. “Then you are either foolish or a liar, and neither is worth my time.”

“I don’t understand,” Livvy says, glancing between Fintan and Della, who still has not moved. She only stares at the floor, tears welling in her eyes.

Fintan spins to her, a fire growing in his glare. “Don’t you, Miss Sonden? I’m inclined to believe that a spy will always deal in lies. After all, you’ve built a marriage out of them.”

Some of the guests gasp, while most look on in complete horror.

Tiergan steps forward. “Do not insult her,” he spits.

“These are only facts,” Fintan replies. “Is it not true that she has been a spy for the Black Swan since she was a teenager? Is it not true that she has files on nearly every person who passes through Eternalia? Is it not true that she accesses highly classified files on the daily, without the knowledge of any other member of the war effort?”

Livvy stumbles, and Tiergan rushes to catch her before she trips on her own gown. “I…That is not…”

But she cannot deny it, Tiergan knows. Though he wonders what on Earth leads Fintan to mention this now, when Della has done far worse in her equally long lifetime.

Fintan presses forward. “And is it not true that you initiated a relationship with Lady Vacker for the sole purposes of obtaining her incredibly classified records and sending them to King Dimitar himself?”

What?

Tiergan grips Livvy’s hand tighter to avoid doing anything he might regret. He meets Prentice’s eyes, from across the room, and is surprised to find some sort of sympathy. Prentice, unlike the two who flank him, seems strangely unsure of his position now.

“Have you lost your mind?” Bronte shouts.

“Have you?” Fintan replies. “You harbor a traitor in your midst, and you protect her!”

Bronte scoffs. “And where, exactly, is your proof for such a preposterous claim?”

Fintan pulls out a small, metal container from inside his cloak, and holds it out in front of him. “This was found in her room, its contents strewn openly across her desk.”

Bronte sucks in a breath, and Tiergan suddenly understands what this is. A cache. Not only that—Bronte’s cache.

He turns to Livvy, unsure what to think. He knows, as he has always known, that Livvy is loyal. This must be something different. This must be some misunderstanding, he has to believe that.

He looks back at Della, waiting in vain for an explanation he knows will not come.

Della meets his eyes, and then meets Livvy’s teary gaze with one of her own. “This shame will haunt you, Livvy. I hope you will never be free from your guilt,” she states, her voice tinged with disgust.

“I…I don’t understand,” Livvy repeats, her voice weak, and Tiergan’s heart breaks. He holds her tighter, stepping away from the scene.

Bronte turns around, and Tiergan can sense his disappointment. He believes Lord Pyren. Of course, it is to be expected, but Tiergan cannot help but feel betrayal. Once again, it is he and Livvy against the world.

“This is madness,” Tiergan spits, staring right into Prentice’s eyes where he stands, silent. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

Then he drops Livvy’s hand and storms out of the hall, anger blazing.

Perhaps following Tiergan out of the hall is a mistake, but Prentice chooses not to dwell on that.

It takes nearly half an hour to find him, given Tiergan’s far better knowledge of the building. Prentice keeps his ears open to the sound of screaming, or glass shattering, but none come—instead, he stumbles upon a grand balcony with its door ajar, accompanied by the noise of muffled tears.

“Tiergan,” Prentice asks gently as he slips onto the balcony, “have you wept all this while?”

From where he sits upon a bench, staring out at the vast blue sea, Tiergan sniffles and replies, “And I will weep a while longer.”

Prentice stares at him, unsure how to respond. He watches as another tear graces Tiergan’s cheek and onto his jacket, disappearing into the deep blue fabric. “That is…unfortunate,” he tries, and Tiergan snorts.

“Luckily, I do not weep for you,” he says. He looks up at Prentice with an uncharacteristic despair in his eyes, something so entirely hopeless that Prentice steps forward and rests a hand on his shoulder in some strange desire to share his sorrow.

“I am sorry about your sister,” Prentice says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think. “I mean it. I am trained to follow Fintan’s every order, yes, but I also let my fear get the best of me. I should have trusted you, Tiergan. I know that now.”

Tiergan only stares at him, silent, for a long while. Finally, he says, “I have run out of ideas to help her, myself. I suppose, now, I must seek a friend who can right this mess.”

Prentice frowns. “Is there a way to show such friendship?”

Tiergan sighs. “There is a way, but no such friend. I worry there is no person in the world who is willing to see it through.”

He turns to meet Prentice’s eyes, and for a long moment, they hold each other’s gazes, locked in a cycle of desperation and something distinctively different. From this distance, Prentice sees how much of a mess Tiergan truly is—his blonde hair has nearly all fallen out of its intricate style, and his eyeliner is smudged over his cheeks. His lips, too, have been bitten raw, an old habit of his that Prentice has not seen in years.

He remembers, instinctually, that feeling of rough lips on his own—a feeling he has not allowed himself to dwell upon for what seems like a lifetime.

“Tiergan,” Prentice begins, forcing himself to look away. He cannot bear to witness the consequences of his own confession, even with the knowledge of Tiergan’s own feelings. “You must be aware…I do love nothing in this world so well as you.”

He waits expectantly for an exclamation of reciprocation, but none arrives, and the silence forces him to turn back around and meet Tiergan’s indecipherable expression. “Is that so strange?” Prentice adds, hoping he hasn’t shocked the man speechless.

“Perhaps it is,” Tiergan replies, not meeting his eyes. “Though, perhaps… perhaps it would be stranger for me to admit that I love nothing so well as you.” He stands up abruptly, and begins pacing with such a strange fervor that Prentice almost misses half of his words. “If that were true, I mean. But of course it is, I do not lie. Still, you mustn’t believe me! I confess nothing; I confess nothing at all, do not mistake me…but I deny nothing all the same. I can neither confess to nor deny nor admit to my feelings—these feelings that may or may not exist. For you.”

Prentice raises an eyebrow. “So you love me, then.”

“That is not what I said,” Tiergan huffs, but steps closer to him all the same.

“You said you could not deny that you love me,” Prentice counters. “That would imply that you do.”

Tiergan moves forward, stopping mere inches away from Prentice. “And yet, I recall saying that I could not confirm it, either.”

“And yet,” Prentice mimics, “I am entirely certain of your feelings. I would stake my life on it, even.”

Tiergan scoffs. “Then you should count your days, soldier.”

Prentice steps ever-so-slightly closer, until he can feel Tiergan’s breath, cool on his cheeks. “Strangely, I don’t find myself worrying.”

Tiergan kisses him softly; it is light and quick and perhaps salty with dried tears, or perhaps sweet with familiarity, or bitter with the revival of old memories. It is every emotion Prentice has felt since the day he first met Tiergan wrapped up in a moment; it is their short-lived civility, their years-long personal war, their shared fears of the war destroying them, inside and out.

When they separate, they are both speechless.

“I…” Tiergan begins, but trails off, unable to formulate a word.

Prentice grins. “Is this an admission that the great Granite himself, master of wit, has run out of protests?”

Tiergan laughs. “Or, perhaps,” he says, taking Prentice’s hand in his, “it is an admission that I love you with so much of my heart that there is none left to protest.”

Prentice takes his other hand and falls to a knee, looking up at Tiergan for the first time. “Tiergan, my love, tell me what you wish me to do for Livvy, anything, and I will do it. I swear.” It is more an oath of love, than anything; he does not know what he is expecting in response, but it is certainly not the answer that comes without a moment’s hesitation.

“Kill Della.”

Prentice cannot help it; he scrambles backward, dropping Tiergan’s hands like hot coal. “What?”

Tiergan shakes his head. “It is simple. You asked; I gave my answer.”

“I cannot betray my friend!” Prentice protests. “Just as I cannot betray you, Tiergan. Ask me for anything else, I beg of you.”

Tiergan turns away. “There is no other option. We can claim Livvy’s innocence, but we have no sufficient evidence to counter theirs. If you duel Della, you show that you are willing to risk your life for Livvy’s honor. And your word is far more prestigious than mine, what with the fame you carry from the war, still.”

“Tiergan. I cannot.”

He scoffs. “I see. You love me, but you will not fight my enemy.”

Prentice strides forward, taking Tiergan’s hand once again. “Is Della truly your enemy? Is she truly who you wish to fight?”

Tiergan whips around to face him, a cold determination in his gaze. “She has scorned my sister so greatly that she likely cannot leave her rooms ever again! She dishonors my family and our very name. She is so consumed by fear that she will let it destroy the happiness she has fought for herself. Yes, indeed, Della is my enemy. Because I trust Livvy over the world, and I cannot stand to watch her be slandered.”

“And I trust you,” Prentice says. “I trust you over the world; I would fight for you through hell and back, through the roughest waters and the strongest storms, through the apocalypse and beyond. And so, Tiergan, if you are sure…” He takes a deep breath, unsure what to think about the very words he is about to say. “I will fulfill your request. Della shall face our wrath.”

He squeezes Tiergan’s hand just once, a familiar assurance, before marching away with a new focus. If this is love’s folly, he thinks, then he will die for it willingly—a strange realization, but a welcome one.

When he finds Della, she is in her room with Fintan, furiously gathering her possessions.

Fintan notices him first. “Prentice, finally. We must devise a plan for dealing with this treason. I worry the girl here is not the only criminal.” He spits girl as if it is a dirty word, as if Livvy’s name cannot dare to be mentioned in good company.

“So you believe it?” is all Prentice says in response.

Della laughs, with no humor behind it, only tears. “What is there to believe? There is evidence, and that evidence points to everything I should have expected from the beginning. I am surprised, though I shouldn’t be. I cannot be.”

“You are quick to fear and quicker to discard,” Prentice says, stepping away from her. “Characteristics of a spy, not a lover.”

Della raises an eyebrow. “And you understand the characteristics of a lover?”

“More than you, it seems,” he replies. “If you will not fight for Livvy, then I will take your place.”

Fintan scoffs, and Della’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious,” she says, hand moving to her blade.

Prentice holds her gaze. “I’ll see you at dawn tomorrow.”

News travels quickly among servants, most especially when Marella is involved. It takes only a few hours for every detail of the wedding disaster to reach each corner of the grounds; Sophie, Keefe, Tam, and Linh are lounging in the warm sun when Marella finds them with the story, excitement in her eyes.

“The letter!” Sophie suddenly exclaims, remembering yesterday’s chaos. “We never showed anyone the letter, guys.”

Keefe pales. “Oh, shit.”

Tam pulls the paper out from his pocket, skimming it quickly. “Oh, shit,” he agrees. “Yeah, this makes more sense now.”

Although they had read the letter the day before, it hadn’t made much sense. It detailed some plan of Lady Gisela’s, but none of them had been able to decipher quite what the plan was. And when a day had passed without incident, showing the letter to anyone hadn’t seemed like a priority. (Especially since they could all get fired easily for the stunts they’d pulled.)

“We need to find Lord Bronte,” Linh said, reading over Tam’s shoulder. “We can prove Livvy’s innocence with this!”

Marella nods. “He’s still in the wedding hall, I just passed him. I’m pretty sure Gisela and that blond kid ran, though. Everyone I asked says they haven’t seen them since the wedding this morning.”

“Where’s Livvy?” Sophie asks.

Marella shrugs. “There’s different stories going around right now. Most common one is that they threw her in a cell, for now. No clue what they’ll do after that.”

Tam jumps to his feet. “Then we need to show Bronte this letter, now. Before it’s too late for her.”

Linh hands him the letter again. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Fintan asks as he strides into the meeting hall. Beside him is only Della; Tiergan can’t help but feel a smug satisfaction at the strength of his own numbers. He and Prentice stand with Bronte, and Livvy sits on the stairs in front of them. A group of teenagers also stands with them, who—as Tiergan is told, at least—hold the key to proving Livvy’s innocence.

He watches Della’s steps falter as she notices the exhaustion on Livvy’s face. Good. Her guilt is deserved.

“Who are these children?” Fintan asks, scowling at the servants. “What more could you possibly have to say, Bronte?”

Bronte sighs. “Cease your incessant questioning, Fintan, and listen for once in your life. It seems I am not the one who has been betrayed.”

Fintan stops in his tracks. “What are you suggesting?”

Bronte motions for one of the children to hand Fintan the letter they’ve been holding. Fintan takes it reluctantly, and they all watch with bated breath as he and Della read through it carefully.

After just a few seconds, Della pales, and steps back with a hand over her mouth. “No,” she says, her voice weak.

Even Fintan seems strangely haunted as he looks up from the paper. “Gisela,” he spits, crumpling the paper in one hand. “Of course she would lie. Had I realized she was so deeply involved with the ogres, I wouldn’t have brought her here, I wouldn’t have—” He gestures wildly around the room, while Della remains frozen still.

“Livvy,” she cries, after a long moment. “My love. I cannot apologize enough.”

“No,” Livvy agrees, “you cannot.”

Prentice steps forward, taking Tiergan’s hand in his own. “Della, I did not lie to you in my challenge. I am no hypocrite; I know that I, too, was deceived by Gisela’s tricks and lies. But her schemes worked only because they capitalized on our fears. She knew that Ravagog lives within us, even here, hours away.”

Della looks away, blinking away tears. “I have not lived a day without fear in years. I was a fool to believe I could return to life in Eternalia without complication.”

“We were all foolish,” Livvy says, moving to stand. “Had I been more open about my involvement in the war…”

“There are many things we could have done,” Bronte says, stepping down in front of Fintan. “But it is Gisela who is the fool. She runs to Ravagog, unaware that Dimitar has received none of her correspondence. I sent guards to her the moment I learned of her betrayal. She will not survive long, on her own.”

Fintan nods. “I will write my men as well. She will know no peace anymore.” He and Bronte share an indecipherable stare, silent for an awkwardly long amount of time.

Tiergan squeezes Prentice’s hand. “Well. I am glad, at least, that no secrets remain. Certainly, it’s a weight off of my shoulders.”

He doesn’t expect his statement to increase the tension in the room tenfold.

Della, Bronte, Livvy, and Fintan suddenly all turn to look at each other, a variety of awkward chuckles, pale faces, and wide eyes between them. They seem to communicate telepathically, almost, and Tiergan turns to Prentice with raised eyebrows—but he only shrugs.

“About that,” Livvy says, after a long moment. “There is…something else.”

Her voice is so serious that Tiergan has to laugh. “Livvy, there is no secret of yours that I do not already know. Although I appreciate your valiant efforts at keeping Prentice’s feelings a secret from me, you failed tremendously.”

He turns to Prentice, expecting a sheepish expression, but is met with complete and utter shock. “My feelings?” Prentice asks, incredulous. “You fell in love with me! Lord Pyren said as much—”

The realization hits them both at the exact same time.

Tiergan turns, very, very slowly, to Livvy, well aware that his glare is practically murderous. “Livvy,” he says, “explain. Now.”

Livvy runs behind Della, which Tiergan supposes is deserved after the fiasco of the morning.

“Well,” Della responds, clearly uneasy, “it doesn’t quite matter anymore, now that you two are clearly in love.”

“I am not in love with him!” Prentice protests, and Tiergan scoffs.

“The feeling is very much mutual,” he spits, dropping their joined hands. He glares at Fintan and Bronte, who watch them with barely concealed amusement.

Prentice whirls to face him. “You confessed only hours ago the exact opposite.”

“As did you, if I recall correctly.”

Prentice huffs. “Well, perhaps I lied.”

Tiergan crosses his arms. “Perhaps I lied.”

Prentice moves to add another childish retort, but is cut off by one of the teenagers clearing their throat loudly.

“Um,” the blond one says, shrinking as all eyes in the room land on him. “Well, um, I kind of have proof to the contrary. You know.” He holds up two slips of paper in his hands—one of which is, unfortunately, far too familiar to Tiergan.

The girl beside the blond boy elbows him in the side. “Keefe!” she scolds. “You can’t keep stealing stuff.”

“I don’t know,” says a boy with bangs, “it’s kind of working out for him, isn’t it?”

Livvy runs over with barely-concealed glee and takes the paper out of the boy’s hands. “Well, well, well,” she begins, her grin growing wider as she skims through them. “Let’s see here—”

“No!” Tiergan and Prentice both shout.

“Dear Tiergan,” Livvy reads aloud, and Prentice buries his head in his hands, “you are the king of every sunset and the queen of every sunrise, the stars themselves personified into one, ever-gleaming halo of a person.”

“A true poet,” Fintan notes, and Tiergan can only stare at the man beside him. He cannot truly believe that, Tiergan thinks. There is no part of Tiergan that could be deserving of his words.

“And,” Livvy continues, and Tiergan’s blood runs cold, “My dear Prentice, I will love you forever, even when I am only a memory. I will love you with every part of me that has ever known love. I swear by it.” Livvy raises an eyebrow at him, but Tiergan does not notice. He is too concerned with Prentice, once beside him and now striding toward him at an incredible pace. Tiergan braces for an impact of some sort, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Prentice stops mere inches away from him and takes his hands gently. “My dear Lord of Disdain,” he says—softly, beautifully.

And then Prentice kisses him, and a shaky peace settles on Eternalia once again.

#tiertice #august's writing!#keeper big bang 2024 #fun fact this au exists because when i studied this play in school someone asked me if i thought don pedro and leonato had gay history #and i was like hey you know who that reminds me of?#and here we are

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