Hi, I'm Annie👋🏻👋🏻 and this is a page to show what I do and don't like. what I'll accept, and my boundaries on the internet.
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My requests are always open until I change my bio or that lil' ask me anything button
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My messages will always be open, so feel free to come talk to me. I would prioritize any older requests/messages over the more recent ones -but I will still answer you, it'll just take some time.
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I'll say yes to:
-smut stories. it'll just take a while for me to post
-angst. i'll try my best for you
-comfort. I WILL ALWAYS PRIORITIZE COMFORT THAN THE REST. ALWAYS.
-any random short stories or drabbles
-any appropriate requests. i'm still human
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I'll say no to:
-anything hurtful to the community or myself
-any creepy or pedophile-like requests/messages/intereactions
-any stories about anything illegal
-pregnant, parent, childhood stories. i just don't feel comfortable to write them
-stories that will put a bad reputation on any celebs or character
-TRASH TALK- ABSOLUTELY NOT, ESPECIALLY IF ITS ABT ANYONE ON THIS WEB
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THIS IS ALL I'VE GOT SO FAR, THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING!! 🤗🤗💞💞
So we have Principal Barry Dort, who manipulates students and gives out ugly stickers.
And then we had Larissa Weems.
Larissa Weems who drove her students to therapy.
Larissa Weems who would have surely taught Enid how to drive herself if need be.
Larissa Weems who would have welcomed Bianca's mother at Nevermore, had Bianca dared to ask for help.
Larissa Weems who must have felt so used sometimes being explicitly and implicitly asked to use her powers —since that's all anybody asks of shapeshifters at Nevermore, apparently—, but who did it anyway to protect her school.
Larissa Weems who must have been the only model for some young shapeshifters —which are evidently under-represented Outcasts— who now have nobody like them to look up to.
Larissa who knew what being a Nevermore student is like and could probably talk about its so-called "former glory" better than anyone else.
Larissa Weems who didn't partake in positive discrimination and didn't want to exacerbate her students' differences, but rather to help them feel safe in a world that was not meant for them while encouraging them to develop their abilities.
Larissa Weems who worked her arse off and never put anybody's reputation on the line but her own when trying to find sufficient funding for her school.
Larissa Weems who convinces the board to accept a student with homicidal ideation instead of using that same board as an excuse to let the most vulnerable students go to fend for themselves amongst the Normies.
Larissa Weems who put her own pain aside just to see one more Outcast be taught in a safe space and finally make friends.
Larissa Weems who ensured Xavier and Eugene could have their own spaces to explore their abilities.
Larissa Weems who died for Nevermore.
Larissa Weems who didn't put GODDAMN PURPLE ALL OVER THE GODDAMN WALLS.
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Quote: me over at my c.ai user @itsnever_supul
A/N: I’m in my Brienne era, dreaming of a female Knight in shining armour—vowing their life to me. Ha, a girl can dream! I hope you’ll enjoy this fic, I sure did giggle and kick my feet writing it!
The sun burned low in the sky, stretching the shadows of the field long and gold. Dust curled in lazy plumes where hooves had pounded earlier in the day, and the crowd now buzzed for the final match, eager for blood, for victory, for the thrill of steel meeting steel.
Brienne of Tarth stood tall in the centre of the arena, a vision of quiet strength, her armour catching the last of the light. Her grip on the sword was firm, but her stance relaxed, confident, composed. She was favoured to win. Of course she was.
You watched her from across the field, adjusting your helmet. The weight of it grounded you, familiar and steady. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but hard. You hadn’t fought her before. Not like this. Not in front of so many eyes. Not with your identity buried beneath plate and leather.
No one knew what you were about to do—not even her.
Especially not her.
Your armour bore no sigil. No name. You were simply a late entry, a nameless challenger allowed into the ring thanks to coin, anonymity, and the chaos of an already packed roster. Your heart clenched, not with nerves—but with something hotter. Heavier. You had something to prove. Something to feel.
You wanted to face her. Not as her lover. Not as the woman she kissed behind tent flaps and starlight. But as her equal.
The horn sounded.
You advanced.
Brienne’s expression shifted at once. Curiosity narrowed her eyes as she raised her sword, taking you in with a practiced gaze. You knew that gaze. It had scanned battlefields and challengers, had lingered on your face in candlelight.
She didn’t recognize you.
Yet.
The first strike was yours. Fast, clean, testing. She met it with ease, parried with the grace of someone who’d fought all her life. But there was no condescension. She didn’t underestimate you.
Steel rang as she countered, a measured blow that caught your side and sent you staggering back a step.
You grinned beneath your helmet and lunged again.
The crowd roared at the speed of your retaliation, your blade clashing with hers in a flurry of sparks. She blocked high, then low, pivoting around you with growing focus. Her brows drew tighter, suspicion creeping in.
You fought harder. Pushed her. She was taller, stronger—but you were fast, fluid, unpredictable. You circled, ducked, feinted, then struck low to draw her balance. Her blade scraped your vambrace. Yours barely missed her thigh.
She grunted softly, more in surprise than pain.
“You’re quick,” she muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. “But reckless.”
You danced away, giving her nothing.
She came at you again, this time with real force behind the blade. You blocked, barely, the impact jarring through your wrists. Brienne pressed forward, step after step, until you were nearly at the edge of the ring.
Her sword pressed lightly to your shoulder.
“Yield,” she ordered sharply.
Still, you said nothing.
You dropped and rolled out of her reach instead, dust clouding up in your wake. The crowd erupted again, some cheering for you now, others laughing at the way you'd ducked a knight like her with no name, no house, no honor.
Brienne turned to face you, her lips parted, breath rising. Her eyes had narrowed in recognition—not of you, not yet—but of something familiar. The way you moved. The way you tested her limits.
She was starting to sense it.
“You fight like someone I know,” she said quietly.
You didn’t answer.
You just struck again.
The fight continued, longer than anyone expected. Sweat beaded beneath your armor, trickling down your spine. Brienne’s hair stuck to her forehead in golden strands. Your limbs were aching, breath coming harder now, but neither of you relented.
She locked your blade in a twist and leaned close, her voice low and urgent.
“Yield, damn it. You’ll get yourself hurt.”
Still, you didn’t break. Didn’t speak. You shoved back with a surge of strength, forcing her off-balance for just a second.
It earned you one final clash—one last, desperate flurry that ended in a brutal pivot and the flat of her sword knocking yours from your hands.
The crowd howled as your blade hit the ground with a thud.
Brienne stepped in fast, placing her sword to your chest, her shoulders heaving. “Yield.”
This time, you did.
You dropped to one knee, panting beneath your helm. “I yield.”
Relief rippled across her face. She lowered her sword an inch—but didn’t step back.
You reached up slowly and removed your helmet.
The shift in her face was instant.
Shock, horror, disbelief.
Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Her eyes swept over your face like she couldn’t trust it, like she wasn’t sure she was seeing you at all.
“Gods,” she whispered.
You gave her a slow, crooked smile.
“Told you I’d find a way to fight you.”
Her sword lowered all the way now, slipping to her side like she'd forgotten she was holding it.
“You can’t— What were you thinking?” Her voice trembled slightly, but not with fear. With anger. With disbelief. “If they knew—if anyone knew—”
“They don’t,” you said calmly, getting to your feet. “They won’t.”
“But you could’ve— I could’ve hurt you.”
“You were supposed to try.”
She stared at you like she didn’t know whether to kiss you or drag you out of the arena by your collar.
You stepped a little closer, letting your smile soften just enough to cut through the tension. “You beat me fair and square, Ser Brienne.”
The official was announcing her victory in the background. The crowd roared her name.
But she wasn’t looking at them.
She was only looking at you.
And there was something in her eyes—rage and heat and longing all tangled up beneath the armor.
You let the tension hang there between you as the moment passed.
Later, when the moon had risen and the wine had quieted the campfires, you’d find her again.
You didn’t return to your own tent after the match.
Not right away.
You wandered the edges of camp instead, letting the quiet settle back into your limbs, into your chest. The tournament had drawn to a close with laughter and mead and the clang of mugs against steel, but you kept to the shadows, avoiding the firelight and the curious questions.
No one had recognized you. No one had pieced it together.
Except her.
She hadn’t looked at you during the celebration. Not once. Hadn’t approached while the other knights clapped her on the back, praising her victory. Her smile had been hollow, her eyes always fixed somewhere just beyond the crowd.
You knew that look.
Brienne was angry. Not because you’d lost. Not because you’d surprised her. But because she couldn’t say what she wanted to say.
Not there. Not in front of them.
Which was why you weren’t surprised to find her in your tent.
You slipped inside quietly, lifting the flap with a practiced hand. The lantern was already lit. She sat on the edge of your narrow cot, legs apart, elbows on her knees, hands clasped like she was trying to hold herself together.
She’d removed her armor, though the padded tunic beneath still clung to her frame. Her hair was damp from a rushed wash, curling slightly at the edges.
She didn’t look at you when you entered.
“I could’ve hurt you,” she said, voice low and tight.
You closed the flap behind you. “You didn’t.”
“You could’ve broken something. Your wrist. Your ribs.”
“I didn’t.”
“You could’ve ruined us.” Her voice rose then, only slightly—but enough to twist the air taut between you.
You stood still. “But I didn’t.”
Brienne finally looked up.
Her eyes, storm-dark, caught yours like a snare.
“You’re reckless.”
“I wanted to know if I could hold my own against you.”
“That wasn’t the way.”
You stepped closer, slow and quiet, like you might spook her.
“It was the only way. If I asked, you would’ve said no.”
She looked away.
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You’d have said no to protect me.” You crouched before her then, knees aching a little from the day’s battle. “And I love you for it. But I needed to do this. I needed to see.”
Brienne’s eyes flicked back to yours. “You could’ve said something.”
“In front of all those people? Who still think I’m only the King’s niece with a fondness for swords? You know what they’d do if they found out about us. About you.”
Silence stretched.
Long and heavy.
And then—very slowly—Brienne lifted one hand, rough and callused, to your face. Her thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, soft as a breath.
“I knew it was you,” she murmured. “Not at first. But something about the way you moved. I kept thinking: she fights like someone I know. Someone I—”
She stopped herself, but you heard it in the space between the words.
Someone I love.
You leaned into her touch. Let her feel you, warm and real and unbroken beneath her fingers.
“I never meant to frighten you,” you whispered.
Brienne let out a soft exhale. “You didn’t. You just… undid me.”
You stood then, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked with hers. Her hand dropped to her lap as you stepped between her knees. Her breath caught when your fingers gently found her jaw.
You kissed her—softly at first. Testing. A question.
She answered in kind, her hands finding your hips, her mouth moving against yours with slow, desperate hunger. Like she’d been waiting all day to touch you. To taste you.
When you broke the kiss, your lips barely brushed hers as you whispered:
“Yield.”
Her breath shuddered against your mouth.
And then she did.
She slid from the cot, dropping to her knees before you with a grace that made your stomach twist. Her hands smoothed over the backs of your thighs, reverent. Her eyes stayed on yours, blue and burning.
No hesitation. No shame. Only need.
“I would,” she murmured. “Only for you.”
You threaded your fingers into her hair and smiled, the kind of smile meant for no one else but her.
The kind that said mine.
Her breath hitched softly when your fingers curled tighter in her hair. She looked up at you from her knees—flushed, devoted, undone. No armor. No titles. Just Brienne.
Your Brienne.
You stroked your thumb across her cheek, marveling at the heat in her skin, the way her pupils stayed fixed on you like you were a star and she, a knight who’d spent a lifetime following the wrong light.
“Take your time,” you murmured. “No one’s watching now.”
Her lips parted slightly. You saw the hesitation flicker in her expression—respect, restraint, reverence—but you didn’t want reverence tonight. You wanted to be known.
You stepped back, just enough to unlace the front of your trousers, fingers a little clumsy from the nerves still buzzing under your skin. Brienne didn’t help. She waited, watching, breathing unevenly through parted lips.
When you bared yourself to her, you saw the change in her eyes—how they went darker, heavier with want. Still, she didn’t move. Not until you whispered:
“Please.”
That single word undid her.
She leaned forward, kissing the inside of your thigh first, just above your knee, soft and reverent. Then higher. Another kiss. Then a third, closer now, her breath warming your skin until your legs trembled beneath her. Her hands slid up to hold your hips—firm, grounding you—just before her mouth finally found you.
You gasped.
Her tongue moved slow, deliberate, drawing a long stroke through your folds like she meant to memorize you. She groaned low in her throat at the taste, the vibration sparking deep in your belly. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter as she licked again, pressing firmer now, more sure.
“Gods, Brienne—” Your head fell back, knees threatening to buckle, but she didn’t let you fall. Her arms wrapped around your legs, keeping you steady, holding you right where she wanted you.
Her mouth worshipped you like she was praying—gentle, rhythmic, unrelenting. Every flick of her tongue pulled another sound from you, raw and breathless, until you were panting her name in broken syllables.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
Everything she wanted to say was in the way her lips wrapped around your clit, the way her tongue flattened and lapped, the way she kept moaning softly between your thighs like this—you—was the only thing that had ever made her feel alive.
When your fingers tangled tighter in her hair and your hips began to rock against her mouth, she didn’t stop. She adjusted. Let you chase it. Let you grind against her tongue as if nothing in the world mattered but getting closer.
You came with a cry muffled against your own knuckles, stars bursting behind your eyes, thighs shaking around her shoulders. She held you through it. Steady, patient, reverent still—as you rode the wave down, gasping her name.
When you finally opened your eyes, she was still on her knees, lips wet, eyes burning.
You tugged her up to you by the front of her tunic, crashing your mouth into hers, tasting yourself on her tongue. She kissed you back, deep and hungry, like she needed to remind herself you were real.
You pulled away just enough to murmur against her lips, “Lie with me.”
Brienne didn’t answer. She simply scooped you into her arms and settled you both onto the narrow cot like you weighed nothing at all. Her hand found yours between your bodies, fingers lacing together.
And in the dark, tangled in sweat and breath and silence, you pressed your forehead to hers and whispered:
Aaahhh I feel like kissing homelander would be such an experience. I know he’s kissed before but I’m talking about a REAL PASSIONATE KISS. Not one for the cameras or out of anger and frustration when he’s trying to get a quick fuck from Maeve or some random person.
But like sitting him down on his couch and playing with his hair while you take your time with him. Kissing him just to taste him on your lips and to hear the breathy moans he lets out when you deepen it. Yk kissing him just because. No sex or grinding or even petting just kissing him till his lips are swollen and his head is cloudy.
Especially after he’s had a long day and you whisper praises between every peck on his lips. And he’s just so filled with the love that you’re giving him that those sessions often end with him crying softly into your chest. I don’t think he’s experienced actual intimacy with someone and just the thought of knowing that you genuinely care for him— not for The Homelander but for John—is often too much for him to take.
1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?
2. You talked to an ex today, correct?
3. Have you taken someones virginity?
4. Is trust a big issue for you?
5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?
6. What are you excited for?
7. What happened tonight?
8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted?
9. Is confidence cute?
10. What is the last beverage you had?
11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust?
12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?
13. What are you gonna do Saturday night?
14. What are you going to spend money on next?
15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed?
16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?
17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?
18. The last time you felt broken?
19. Have you had sex today?
20. Are you starting to realize anything?
21. Are you in a good mood?
22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks?
23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?
24. What do you want right this second?
25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?
26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color?
27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?
28. What was the last thing that made you laugh?
29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now?
30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?
31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to?
32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do?
33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda?
34. Listening to?
35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore?
36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is?
37. Do you believe in love at first sight?
38. Who did you last call?
39. Who was the last person you danced with?
40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?
41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake?
42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today?
43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?
44. Do you tan in the nude?
45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss?
46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?
47. Who was the last person to call you?
48. Do you sing in the shower?
49. Do you dance in the car?
50. Ever used a bow and arrow?
51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?
52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?
53. Is Christmas stressful?
54. Ever eat a pierogi?
55. Favorite type of fruit pie?
56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?
57. Do you believe in ghosts?
58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?
59. Take a vitamin daily?
60. Wear slippers?
61. Wear a bath robe?
62. What do you wear to bed?
63. First concert?
64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?
65. Nike or Adidas?
66. Cheetos Or Fritos?
67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?
68. Favorite Taylor Swift song?
69. Ever take dance lessons?
70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?
71. Can you curl your tongue?
72. Ever won a spelling bee?
73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?
74. What is your favorite book?
75. Do you study better with or without music?
76. Regularly burn incense?
77. Ever been in love?
78. Who would you like to see in concert?
79. What was the last concert you saw?
80. Hot tea or cold tea?
81. Tea or coffee?
82. Favorite type of cookie?
83. Can you swim well?
84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?
85. Are you patient?
86. DJ or band, at a wedding?
87. Ever won a contest?
88. Ever have plastic surgery?
89. Which are better black or green olives?
90. Opinions on sex before marriage?
91. Best room for a fireplace?
92. Do you want to get married
HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM! I JUST HAD LIKE THIS POP INTO MY BRAIN AND I THOUGHT YOU MAY LIKE IT!
MAYBE! brienne x femreader. READEERRRRR is super forward and blunt and sweet with brienne at first assumed a knight would want to be courted that way and that she couldn’t be shy with brienne!
And brienne isn’t used to it and sort of grows distant and nervous (a touch of angst FOR FUNZIES IF YOU WANT) ! (Can’t blame our shy queen!)
BUT THENNNN
Reader goes all shy and dejected and avoids brienne out of guilt THENNNN assumes brienne doesn’t like women OR just her THEN BRIENNE ENDS UP TOTALLY MAKING READER SWOON INTENTIONALLY TO MAKE READER SHY THEN HAPPY ENDING YAY
ANY GAPS IN MY PLOT YOU FILL WITH YOUR GENIUSSSSS ❤️ I HOPE YOU LIKE IT
Unarmored
Brienne of Tarth x fem!reader
A/N: Thanks for the request, I really enjoyed writing this!! Hope you’ll like it!
Brienne of Tarth had been in countless battles, faced men twice her size, and sworn oaths that bound her very being. She had fought, bled, and endured scorn from the day she first picked up a sword.
And yet, nothing in her life had prepared her for you.
The king’s daughter was relentless.
From the moment you first set your sights on her, you had pursued her with the same unwavering determination she had only ever seen on the battlefield. You were utterly fearless in the way you chased after what you wanted.
And, gods help her, what you wanted was her.
Brienne had absolutely no idea what to do with it.
The first time you truly caught her off guard, she had been training in the courtyard. The morning air was crisp, and the clash of steel rang loud against stone walls as she moved through her drills. The weight of her sword was familiar in her hands, the rhythm of combat grounding.
And then you arrived.
"Ser Brienne," you called, your voice smooth as honey, “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
Brienne, mid-swing, nearly fumbled her grip. She turned to face you, cheeks already heating. “I— I would never avoid my lady,” she said stiffly, standing at attention.
You hummed, stepping closer, your skirts swaying with the movement. “Good. Because I’d be terribly heartbroken if you did.”
Brienne clenched her jaw, gripping the hilt of her sword tighter. She had no idea how to handle this.
You tilted your head, watching her carefully. "A knight as noble as you surely knows the pain of heartbreak, don’t you?"
Brienne swallowed. "I— I suppose," she muttered.
You sighed dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. "Then you wouldn't dare be the cause of mine."
Brienne had faced warlords, assassins, and even a bear once. And yet, she could not stop the heat rising in her cheeks.
You grinned, clearly enjoying the effect you had on her. "I'll take your silence as agreement, then."
And with that, you turned on your heel, leaving her standing there—stunned, breathless, and entirely unprepared for what was to come.
It didn’t stop there.
The next day, you found her in the stables, brushing down her horse. She had hoped for a quiet moment to collect herself, but you had other plans.
“I imagine being a knight means you’ve never been properly courted,” you mused, watching her work.
Brienne stilled, fingers freezing over the mare’s mane. “I… suppose not.”
You tsked. “What a crime. A woman as strong and beautiful as you deserves to be showered with affection.”
Brienne’s breath caught. She turned sharply, searching your face for any sign of jest. But there was none. You were just… looking at her, like you meant every word.
“My lady,” she stammered, “you shouldn’t say such things.”
“Why not?” You tilted your head. “It’s the truth.”
She swallowed, heart hammering against her ribs. She had trained all her life to handle a sword, to stand against the most fearsome of warriors, and yet here she was, bested by nothing more than your words.
And it only got worse from there.
You truly were relentless, slipping into her presence whenever possible, showering her with compliments and teasing remarks that left her utterly undone. It was dangerous—your attention, your easy confidence.
One evening, as she escorted you through the castle halls, you sighed dramatically. “You know, Brienne, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a strong pair of arms hold me at night.”
Brienne nearly choked on air. “M-My lady?”
You glanced up at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Surely you wouldn’t leave a poor princess cold and alone?”
Brienne’s entire body tensed. “I— I—”
You smiled at her, all softness and warmth. “I’m only teasing, Brienne.” Then, after a pause: “Unless, of course, you’d like to keep me warm.”
That was the moment Brienne decided she might actually perish.
She needed to get away.
At first, she thought distance would fix it.
She kept her interactions with you short, avoided your gaze when you spoke, and responded only with curt nods or rushed words. She told herself it was for the best, that you would tire of this game and move on.
But she hadn’t expected you to retreat entirely.
Gone were the teasing remarks, the lingering touches, the smiles meant just for her. You no longer sought her out in the halls, no longer appeared in the training yard or the stables.
And Brienne hated it.
She missed the way your eyes lit up when you saw her, the way you leaned in too close when you spoke, the way your words made her feel—wanted.
She missed you. Desperately.
It was unbearable.
Her mind raced with doubts. Did you tire of her? Had she made a fool of herself? She knew how she had been acting—shaky, uncertain, too vulnerable—but she had never been trained for this. It wasn’t battle, wasn’t anything she could fight off with her sword.
It was you.
So, when she found you alone in the gardens one evening, staring up at the sky with a distant expression, she did something reckless.
“My lady,” she called out, voice softer than she intended.
You turned, blinking in surprise. “Brienne.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, hesitantly, Brienne stepped closer. “I— I owe you an apology.”
Your brows furrowed. “For what?”
“For… avoiding you.” She exhaled sharply, gaze dropping to the ground. “It wasn’t because I didn’t— I mean, I wasn’t—” She shut her eyes briefly before forcing herself to look at you. “You make me nervous.”
You blinked. Then, to her utter horror, you grinned.
“I knew it,” you declared, stepping forward. “You are shy.”
Brienne groaned, covering her face with her hand. “Gods, you are impossible.”
You laughed, then reached out, taking her hand in yours. Brienne’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.
“Brienne,” you said softly, voice losing its usual teasing edge. “If I overstepped, if I made you uncomfortable, you can tell me. But if it’s something else—” Your fingers squeezed hers. “I’d rather you be the one to tell me what you want.”
Brienne swallowed hard. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she lifted your hand to her lips and pressed a reverent kiss to your knuckles.
“I want you,” she murmured against your skin.
Your breath hitched.
And then, for the first time since this whole mess had begun, you were the one left speechless.
Brienne smirked.
Yes. She could definitely get used to this.
The next morning, Brienne walked into the great hall with a newfound sense of confidence.
She found you sitting at the long table, speaking with a handmaiden.
Brienne didn’t hesitate.
“My lady,” she said smoothly, bowing her head. “You look breathtaking this morning.”
You nearly knocked over your goblet.
Brienne bit back a smile.
“Oh,” you said, blinking at her. “Thank you, Brienne, I—”
Brienne leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough for only you to hear. “Would it fluster you if I told you I dreamt of you last night?”
