The best thing about the both of us liking the boos is that when I’m being cursed with thoughts, I can pass them onto you and drag you into hell with me. Anyway here’s a thought that I think I haven’t told you yet.
If you kissed any of the Kings while they’re in their boo form, their lips would be able to completely cover your face. They might even purposely switch into their boo form with the intentions of smothering you.
Also who do you think is more into doing this to their partner, dark moon or sunny? I always thought sunny can pretty smothering.
Ah so THAT'S why I keep thinking about Sunshine 🤨 cursing me with him I see...
And they absolutely would do that oh god
I see Sunshine doing that the most, he's more of a physical affection guy to me (If Boo Berry would say something about their crush already they'd have that happen to them smh... coward)
Dark Moon would probably do it out of cuteness aggression once in a while... like how could he resist... (points to Prisboo's cutieful face)
Part of me is excited that X is going back to more traditional episodes instead of crafting heavy plot, because his accidental lore is almost always 100% wilder. "I'm not doing lore now, oh but just so you know there's a world filled with alternate Xisumas and the one you see each season is just whoever managed to fight their way out first that time" thank you sir those are some absolutely off the wall things to imply for a three minute bit and I love it
in which jack abbot is the first to notice the wallflower resident of the ER.
summary; reader has always been used to being left behind, and eventually stopped trying to make space for themselves. she doesn't think anyone notices her, until jack abbot starts paying attention.
warnings; fem!reader. use of y/n, use of she/her, probably medical inaccuracies bc all my medical knowledge comes from shows lol, also NO AI used !!! i use em dashes sometimes but i PROMISE this is strictly a no-ai account!! also reader has a cat bc i said so
i might make a part two of this tbh but i wont label it as a series bc then my brain will start procastinating and i'll lose all motivation to write it LOL
edit; part 2 here
The noise of the ER buzzed around you. The muscles in your neck ached, begging to be stretched and massaged. One of your hands came up to gently rub on your neck, the other slowly typing out the chart of your latest patient.
Some of the interns were huddled together, giggling to each other about something. It had become a habit of yours to listen in on them— on whatever gossip they had going on this time. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you were part of it. That you got to gossip with friends just like they do.
That'd never been the case for you. In your intern year, you were the only one. Already feeling alienated, you struggled to find your place in the ER. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, aside from you.
For a while, you tried. You tried to include yourself. You joined the others when they went for a beer after a heavy shift. But as time went on, you didn't feel any closer to belonging. It didn't feel like anyone was making room for you either. So, you stopped showing up. And no one said anything.
Now, you just worked. You took all the patients no one else wanted. You stayed a little later to make sure another coworker could get home on time. You helped in traumas, then slipped away as soon as it was done.
This routine worked. It'd been your routine for years now. It wasn't that you were a bad doctor, no. You just didn't fit in.
A small wince covered your features as you rubbed your neck again. You truly couldn't wait to get off shift, and go home. You know your cat must already be sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the sight of you walking through the door.
"Nice catch, earlier." You heard a gruff voice behind you— one you recognized as your attending, Jack Abbot. Being the eavesdropper you are, you waited to hear the response of the person he was complimenting. You wondered if they'd be humble or gleeful. You know that if you were complimented like that, you'd be over the moon.
The light of the monitor made your eyes burn a little, but you just had to push through this last chart.
Then, you felt a hand tap your shoulder.
"Kid?" Dr. Abbot hummed, looking down at you, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. "Did'ya hear me?"
Your eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel your heart jumping up into your throat, making your breath hitch. He was talking to you. No one ever bothered talking to you, not if it wasn't necessary.
"I— er- sorry, what did you say, Dr. Abbot?" You cleared your throat, trying to get your heart to return to a normal pace, the chart all forgotten now.
He watched you for a moment, his gaze softening from playful to a more gentle one. "I said..." His hands gripped both ends of his stethoscope, the one he always had around his neck, "Good catch earlier. With the silent heart attack patient. Not many of us could've caught that."
The apples of your cheeks shifted into a deep red color, your eyes darting from him to your keyboard, then to your water bottle, the floor, keyboard, him...
"Oh- um, yeah, thank you, sir." You nodded in response, already mentally degrading yourself for being so awkward. This is your attending, for gods sake. You should be professional.
But that easy grin rested on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, sure, kid. You're one hell of a doctor. Keep it up." He gently squeezed your shoulder, and walked off. And that was that. He complimented you like it was nothing.
That simple compliment swam in your head the entire day. It made you smile as you prepared your lunch for work at home that evening. It made you hum with content as you settled into bed, curtains drawn shut to hide the rising sun.
Good catch earlier.
It started happening more and more. Abbot would pull you into traumas with him, let you take the lead on them, and then give you a small compliment, and one of those warm smiles. He'd linger when you charted, always trying to spark up small talk.
You never came out of your shell, though. It was driving him insane. He tried everything. But you always shut it down and got back to work. For a while, he thought you might just dislike him. But he could see the small smiles you gave him, and the pink tint in your cheeks at his compliments.
So, he tried asking the other residents about you. Imagine his shock when no one knew anything about you. Everyone just responded off-handedly.
'Oh, Y/N? Yeah, she's a quiet one. Dunno much about her.'
'Y/N? Great doctor. Haven't talked to her much.'
'Saw her a few times in her first year of residency. Then she stopped coming out.'
No one knew anything. That's what made Jack perk up a little more. He tried to subtly keep notes on you throughout the day. See who you spoke to. If maybe you left with someone. Maybe discussed patients. But he got nothing.
You were all alone.
The last straw was when he spotted you slipping into the abandoned wing of the hospital, settling yourself on the dusty staircase, and opening your lunchbox. You even hid away to eat.
He had to fix that.
So, he became a little more persistent. He'd ask you to eat lunch with him, and before you had a chance to decline, he'd already led you into the breakroom, making you sit down with one pinned stare.
He could tell you were a little anxious. So he always made the first move. He'd ask questions that required more than a nod for an answer, just to get you talking. And he would listen. Full attention, eyes glued to you the entire time you spoke.
No dismissive nods, no hums of acknowledgement in a way to just make you feel heard, no. He made sure you knew he was listening. When you mentioned your cat, he asked for its name. He asked to see pictures. When you made an offhanded complaint about the hospital coffee, he asked what your favorite coffee place was.
The next day, a coffee from said place was waiting for you.
Synopsis: Thoughts on how you found out about Robbys desire to become a father. Or: how an innocent comment revealed Robbys raging breeding kink.
Warnings: fluff then smut, female reader, No use of y/n, breeding kink to the max - I'm not sorry. (Also not proof read)
MDNI !!!
A/n: Robby would absolutely think he's too old for you to want children with him, but then turn feral when he realises you do want his babies. I'll die on this hill.
The two of you are on the couch with your legs across Robbys lap. You're both tired as hell, happy to be at home relaxing after a long shift.
He's watching a documentary about ...something, meanwhile you're watching him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and taking in the features of his face that you adore so much.
You see Robbys eyes flit over to your face and back to the TV a few times, before they finally abandon the documentary entirely. He turns to face you with a questioning, tone teasing as he asks, "What're you looking at, hm?"
Smiling you reply, "Just admiring", which has his face turning bashful, a slight redness creeping up his neck.
"Not much to admire I'm afraid", he chuckles, at which you tut at his self depricating humor, climbing into his lap. You love the way his large hands instantly settle around your waist.
"I'm serious, I love looking at you." You're stroking his face now, over his graying beard and his nose that you love so much, before the tips of your fingers settle on his cheeks.
As you get lost in your favorite part of him, his deep brown eyes (that now turn shy under your gaze) you note absentmindedly, "Hope our kids get your eyes."
The change in him is immediate.
Robbys posture straightens and his eyes shoot up to yours. "Kids?", he asks.
You're too startled by the sudden shift in atmosphere to answer with much more than a confused "Huh?" , hands dropping to your sides.
Robbys hands leave their place on your waist, moving to cradle your face instead. "You said you hope our kids get my eyes", he clarifies, "You want kids? With me?"
You're still struggling to keep up a bit, your tired brain confused on what to make of his excited state - so you settle for a bit of preemptive damage control.
"I mean, I, yeah. I don't... Well I've always thought I'd have kids one day and I think you'd make a good father. I didn't mean to say we have to now, o-or at all really - if you don't want to - just think it'd be nice, like maybe one day-"
Robby shuts you up with a kiss that you're too stunned to reciprocrate properly and when he draws back you finally get a good read on his expression. He's positvely beaming - looking at you like you've hung the moon the sky.
"How about now?", he asks, moving to pepper kisses over your face and neck.
Your head is spinning both from the dizzying kisses and the emotional rollercoaster you've just experienced.
"What? You... Robby hold on love." Pushing him back gently at his shoulders, so you can look at his face again you ask: "Robby are you asking me what I think you're asking? You want to have a baby? With me? Like... now?"
He's still grinning as he picks you up, steady steps taking you towards the bedroom. "Sweetheart, I want to give you as many babies as you'll let me."
You really get the sense that he means it about 15 minutes later, when he's got you laid out in bed, your knees pressed to your chest as he's relentlessly pounding into you. At this angle his cock is hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars, the fullness of it almost too much to handle.
Robby is grinning down at your fucked out expression, leaning in to give you a kiss, one massive hand around your jaw and mumbling into your open mouth, "How many are you gonna give me, hm? Sweetheart?"
When the only thing that leaves your mouth in response are the tiny "uh, uh, uhs" being punched out of you in time with his thrusts he shakes his head in mock dissapointment.
"I asked you a question. Gotta give me an answer love or else I'll pick a number." Robby watches your face for a moment, grinning at the way he can tell you're trying to formulate a thought, but fail to do so.
"Oh poor thing, too gone to answer? That's ok." His hand shifts to stick two fingers in your mouth, hypnotised by the way you immediatly begin to suck on them, as he continues, "How's five sound? Five's a good number, hm? Yeah, I like the sound of that."
Something in Robby seemingly breaks when he sees the way your eyes roll into the back of your head in response, unable to stop the flow of words spilling from his lips.
"We gotta hurry though, still wanna be able to play with them all, while I still can."
"Gotta be one after another, hm?"
"Can see you bouncing our little one on your hip, already swollen with the next one. Fuck you'll be such a pretty momma"
"Can't believe you're letting this old man knock you up."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It's three weeks later, when you're presenting Robby with a positive pregnancy test after your period being late prompted you to take one. He's grinning like an idiot, tears in his eyes, kissing all over your face and then kneeling to do the same all over your stomach.
He swears up and down he couldn't be happier than he is in this moment...
...he gets proven wrong at your 8 week OBGYN appointment when the sight of two little babys on the ultrasound screen almost makes him jump out of his chair in joy.
How would the akotsk men react to the reader accidentally getting hit by someone else? I love your blog!!
⋆˙⟡ HURT BY ANOTHER — akotsk men
⋆˙⟡ summary how they react to you being hurt by someone else.
⋆˙⟡ notes requests are closed! i have so many fics on the go rn
⋆˙⟡ warnings aerion
MASTERLIST
AERION
the whole altercation had been his own fault, but he would not take such blame.
him and a smaller lord had gone from a heated debate to physically launching at each other.
nobody would dare intervene, or else it would be their life ended. but you did not share their fear.
you tried to shove your body between them both, catching the smaller lord's fist to your cheekbone.
only when the prince's wife had been struck did people clamber from their seats, aerion lifting you from your position at his feet.
he would have their head. even if it were an accident.
even if you pleaded him not to, that is was just a careless accident.
"people must learn to mind their gangly limbs. accident or not. they must learn." he would tell you, as you cried into his lap later that night.
VALARR
you would find enjoyment in watching little lords, matarys included, train with blunted steel around the castle.
for king's landing had the best master of arms, of course.
but you were stood too close, and matarys had swiped his sword blindly, cutting through the fabric of your dress.
your arm had bled, though it was not a deep laceration. easily wrapped, required no stitching.
the boy cried into your chest, tears soaking your bodice as he apologised profusely.
“it is okay, little prince.” you soothed him, but it seemed his tears caught the attention of his elder brother, your husband, valarr.
“only a minuscule cut, husband.” you spoke for the boy, who refused to let go of your skirts. “i am fine.”
valarr inspected the wound, fingers delicately assessing it. but he was in a good mood, wanted to teach his brother how careful he should be around princesses. and women, in general manner.
“sorry wife, we have to amputate it.” he sighed, only worsening the tears of his brother.
you shoved your husband, who still had firm hold of your wound. kissing above the severed fabric.
BAELOR
you had begged and pleaded your husband to let you try your hand at sword fighting.
after many moons of denying you, insisting it would be dangerous.
and a long night of trying to get your way with sweet kisses and wandering hands, he allowed it.
you wore thicker skirts, gloves, a tailored padded vest; all to appease your husband.
it all happened so fast, you couldn’t keep up with the lord training you. and he sliced your shoulder.
it wasn’t a fleshy wound, nothing a bandage could not fix. even as the lord fussed over you, keeping pressure on your shoulder with his severed cloak, you were more annoyed than anything else.
for you knew what your husband would say.
“never again.” he mumbled at your side, crouched beside the lounging chair as a maester tended to your cut.
MAEKAR
maybe not as extreme as aerion, but would berate and dismiss the offender.
striking a woman, his wife, would not be simply forgotten. albeit an accident.
a guard had barged you down a small stairwell, in front of your husband, who had swiftly shoved the guard in retaliation.
“were you born blind or are you simple?” he would retort. despite the guard’s apologies, admitting he did not see you behind him in approach to your husband.
he would check you were okay after the fact, no wounds or broken bones. would
but the guard soon disappeared from his post, though not without generous coin, at your request.
DAERON
wouldn't be there to witness you getting hurt, and I think that would make him feel worse.
you would run to find him the moment you had caught an elbow to the face, from a pair of drunken men fighting.
crying sobbing into his chest, unable to speak about what had happened.
he would sober up so quick. and he would detest using his family name to inspire fear, but for you, he would.
he did not have the stable footing to fight for you, but he would focus on ensuring you were okay. kissing your head better, cooing at you like a struck child.
a whole load of "there, there" and "i'll make it better for you".
DUNC
his emotions would get the better of him.
maybe some drunken lord swung his empty mug of ale around in song and dance, the thick metal cup colliding with your head.
he would shove the drunken lord, sending him stumbling onto the floor.
heavy breathing, clutching your head to make sure you were okay.
he would take leave with you immediately, though he could hold his own in a fight. nobody would dare even challenge your giant husband.
but taking you away from danger and ensuring your safety was paramount.
LYONEL
is starting a fight.
if some drunken fool barged you in the midst of dance, sending you to the floor to be trampled on.
the drunkard would be hoisted out of the feast by his guards, whilst he tended to you.
he would throw you over his shoulder, take you to a vacant spot in the hall to check you over.
"i promise, my love, i am fine." you would scoff at his unnecessary attention.
"nobody will hurt my wife whilst i am still breathing. forgive me for caring so much about my sweet girl."
Summary: Lyonel discovers he's a girl dad. That's it. I wanted to write a Maekar fic for my debut as a writer for this fandom but i can't sleep until i get this out my chest. I wanted to write a longer fic but i'm a little sleepy i can make a part two later.
Tags: Pregnancy, Mentions of labor, Fluffy fluff fluff, Misogyny happenings towards you and your baby cuz firstborn daughter (not by Lyonel), speaking of Lyonel he might be ooc but idk, not proofread so some things might make no sense. I proofread after posting and it pissed me off so i edited them right. Sleep deprived ESL writer type shi.
WC: 940~
When he got the news of your labor, it was during a hunt. Lyonel promised you with soft kisses that he'd never leave the castle when you'd enter the final month of your pregnancy—as you'd expressed to him your anxieties and fears at the thought of doing it surrounded by unfamiliar faces, watching you at your most vulnerable and exposed state.
"If i ever try, or hells – think about leaving you in that room. I permit you to imprison me and inherit Storm's End." He joked, then stood up "Matter of fact, allow me to put this into writing, with both our signatures and all that."
You giggled as you pulled him back into his knees and nuzzled your face into his temple, breathing in his scent. Where many women grew to dislike their lord-husbands scent, you seemed to think he smelled better than the catalogue of flowers he had tailored personally to your tastes—roses of all colors and lillies of all kinds—decorated the span of the godswood in your home. It was your favorite place to escape when it all got too loud, when wine and parties didn't do it for you, and your husband wasn't there to soothe you. You'd read your books, letters sent by your family, or just take in the fresh air without your duties weighing you down—Lyonel, eager to please you, made sure to turn that godswood into a work of art.
Lyonel broke no promise. It was nowhere near the expected time.
A lord had the audacity to tell him to stay and that he shouldn't meddle in women's affairs, and to let the maester and midwives take care of it. Lyonel merely gave him an uncharacteristic, cold look, silencing the company in the Baratheon's tent, and he told him to go fuck himself - placing his antlered crown down firmly onto the table and making several lords, ladies and servants flinch from the sound.
"Enjoy your hunt, my lady needs me by her side." Then he left without further discussion.
Fear stricken, he rode hard back to you. Chest heaving and sweat trickling down his forehead, he opened the door to your chambers. Finding you laying back, eyes closed with a smile spanning ear to ear. And he sighed in relief with his hands on his knees head lowered to the ground, catching his breath.
Lyonel apologized repeatedly as he sped walked to your side. kissing your hands, he said again. "I'm so sorry, my love."
"For what, beloved? How could you have known our daughter would come earlier than expected?"
"Daughter?" it was not a tone of disappointment, yet the maester seemed to deem it disappointing.
"Yes, my lord. It is not uncommon to have a daughter for a firstborn with my lady's family history having many—"
"Did i fucking ask you to explain why my daughter was born a girl?" Lyonel rose fixing the maester with a glare. The man didn't dare respond.
"You said," Your husband began, then he changed his voice to imitate the man's, "'the moon charts estimate that my lady won't labor for another month.'"
"Premature births this far along are not uncommon, my lord."
When your husband went to retort with another curse, the cries of a child—your child, reached your ears. You sat up, excitedly, albeit with a little discomfort. Despite the fear that struck you during your pregnancy, which was mostly about the labor itself, you were excited to have a child of your own. Especially one who had your husband's beautiful brown eyes and warm air. You had no doubts about your daughter growing up into a beautiful, humorous and kind person. Wasn't it sign enough that she made your first labor easier than what most mothers had? You heard stories of the ladies around you who spoke of labors lasting as long as thirty hours.
You dismissed the rest of the servants except for the sweet, older midwife named Elayne, who came closer with your daughter, "The little one's hungry, milady." she lowered her into your arms slowly and carefully as she shushed her with you imitating her pacifying sounds. With Elayne's guidance you fed your daughter for the first time, it was extremely uncomfortable – but you weren't handing your baby girl to anyone so soon, rest be damned.
Lyonel sat by your side staring at your daughter with wonder, "Are newborns supposed to be this small? She's so tiny, a breeze could steal her away!"
"She did come earlier than she was expected to." You reminded him, gathering her in your arms. "Would you like to hold her?"
His eyes widened at your offer, she's so frail he's scared he'd break her little bones.
"You're not going to hurt her, love. You only need to mind her head and neck, they're very weak as of this moment."
He nodded and reminded himself of the fact over and over until he had her in his arms. You giggled as he sat stiffer than you thought was possible of him.
"Relax." He's trying his best!
After half a minute or so, his muscles lost their rigidity.
"Come on, give me your hand." You instructed and he followed, you folded his fingers in except for his thumb.
"Look at this," Pressing his thumb into her little hand, he watched, as it closed tightly around it. "Strong isn't she? just like you."
Her hands were half the size of his thumb. He scanned her features, entranced—her hair had the coloring of a Baratheon's, the exact shade of your skin, and her eyes opened to reveal gems reminiscent of your own.
"No, I believe she's the perfect blend of the both of us."
Hello! I stumbled onto your blog via your Accidental Fae courting with Sebek and was wondering if you would be amenable to doing the rest of Diasomnia eg. Malleus, Lilia, and Silver? If not, I totally understand! It is just such an amazing piece. Really, thank you for it and the amazing laughter and fuzzies it gave me.
Accidental Courting 2.0
Lilia / Malleus / Silver x GN! reader
[masterlist] || sebek ver.
a/n 🍨 : Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words and for requesting this — it truly means a lot💛 I apologize for taking a bit of time before accepting it (especially the fact that this request is before i closed my request thus why it's been months) I tend to take a while with requests (mostly because of irl responsibility and wanting to write other stuff, but I always appreciate every idea and prompt shared with me💛 Nonetheless, thank you for reading my humble messy writing and I hope this version brings you the same laughter and fuzzies that Sebek’s piece did! remember to eat warm happy meal 🍲🩷
Lilia Vanrouge : Moonlight Applications
You found him lying on the grass, arms folded behind his head, the moon spilling over him like poured milk. He looked unreal like that — a painting half-forgotten by the gods, left to bask in the quiet ache of starlight. Fireflies hovered around him like they knew a secret you didn’t. You should’ve kept walking. Instead, you said, “Your hair’s a mess. I’m braiding it.”
He turned his head toward you, grin lazy and knowing, crimson eyes glittering with trouble. “My, my. Touching a fae’s hair under moonlight? How daring of you.” Lilia's voice was velvet over blade, amused and devastating.
“Do you know, in my homeland, such tenderness is a declaration?”
“Of what?”
“Of intent. Of longing. Of—ah, motherhood, perhaps? I do have three children, you know. Is this your application?”
Slowly you knelt beside him anyway, fingers finding strands of soft black silk that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist. “You talk too much...” you muttered, pretending not to tremble. The moonlight clung to his hair and your hands like it was conspiring with him.
Lilia hummed, low and thoughtful, the sound vibrating against the grass. “Well~,” he began, tone lilting and casual, “I already have three children. Wonderful boys, really. A bit dramatic, a bit loud, a bit sleepy—but endlessly dear.”
His grin deepened, dangerous in its warmth. “Hmm. I think you’d be a good parent for them. They’re all grown now, of course, but a parent figure is good for any age, isn’t it?”
“WHAT— LILIA— I WAS JUST— YOUR HAIR—”
He laughed, full-bodied and delighted, the kind of laugh that made the moon lean closer. When you stumbled away, pink-faced and sputtering, he only smiled up at the stars, ribbon glinting faintly where you’d tied it. Later that night, it appeared on your pillow again, humming softly with leftover laughter — like the world itself was in on his joke.
Malleus Draconia : Confectionery Catastrophe
It began, most disastrously, with a cookie. You offered it without ceremony — a little crescent of mortal sweetness, butter, and sugar fused in a gesture so harmless it might as well have been air. But when Malleus took it, he held it like one might cradle a newborn star.
The courtyard stilled. The air shimmered faintly around him, as if the world itself had leaned in to eavesdrop. “You… offer me a gift wrought by your hands, beneath the constellations’ gaze?” His voice rumbled low, reverent, confused.
You shrugged, halfway through chewing your own cookie. “Yeah? I baked too many. Take it before I eat twenty.”
Silence. A dreadful, blooming silence. His pupils dilated, those eerie dragon-green eyes catching the moonlight like stained-glass about to confess. “In fae custom,” he murmured, “such gestures are reserved for one’s—”
“Don’t say it,” you interrupted, suddenly aware of the way his tail flicked, “—intended.”
Malleus looked halfway between smitten and having an existential crisis. His ears twitched, a faint pink climbing the sharp line of his cheekbones. “Then… I must answer this courtship with a token of my own.” he whispered, and before you could say please don’t perform any fae rituals in my yard, he vanished in a hush of green fire and terrible inevitability.
Come dawn, an obsidian pendant rested on your desk — still warm, humming faintly like a heart that wasn’t yours. Sebek shrieked. Lilia had to sit down from laughing. And across the hall, Malleus Draconia watched you with the expression of a man who just got engaged accidentally and was too enchanted, too polite, and too terminally in love to correct it.
Silver : My Logic
He was sitting under the moon again, the grass whispering soft secrets around him. A tiny bird perched delicately on his finger, chirping as if gossiping about the stars. Silver smiled at it — slow, quiet, all warmth, and patience — and whispered something back in a language the air seemed to understand.
That’s when you appeared, carrying a small blanket. “You’ll catch a cold...” you said, draping it over his shoulders before he could protest. Your fingers brushed the back of his neck — fleeting, human, harmless. Or so you thought.
But Silver froze. The bird tilted its head. Somewhere in the echoing hallways of his mind, Lilia’s voice purred fondly: Ah, to cover a fae with your cloak or cloth — that’s an old gesture of devotion, you know. Quite romantic.
Silver blinked trying to process the current situation. Romantic? He thought. His pulse stuttered. His father's voice, smug and certain, continued: A sign that you claim them. That you’d shelter them always. A promise made in fabric and moonlight.
He looked at you, standing there, smiling like this was nothing — like you hadn’t just rewritten the laws of his world with one gentle touch. “You… wish to protect me?” he asked, too earnestly.
You blinked, startled. “I— what? No, I just didn’t want you to sneeze!”
But it was too late. His heart, poor obedient thing, had already drawn its sword and sworn allegiance. He held the edge of the blanket with almost reverent fingers, the way a knight might hold an oath. “Then I’ll protect you in return...” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
Later, you found him stationed outside Ramshackle’s gate at dawn, eyes bright despite the hour. “Silver,” you question him in confusion of his actions, “why are you here?”
He smiled faintly, moonlight still clinging to his hair. “You’ve given your word, haven’t you? Father always said a vow made beneath the moon must be honoured.”
You wanted to correct him, to scream — but he looked so calm, so heartbreakingly certain, that all you could do was sigh and let him stay. Somewhere far off, Lilia laughed into the night, the sound of a man far too proud of his matchmaking instincts.
