#george mills x reader

[siempre-bucky]

Thumb with George Mills? thank you

George Mills x Reader

[ THUMB ]: while cupping the receiver’s cheek in their hand, the sender slowly glides their thumb across their cheekbone in a tender, sweeping caress.

wc: 196

"It's going to be ok," George reassured you as you watched the ship leave the dock.

"Is it? What if I never see him again?" you tremble, tugging tighter on your wool coat.

George sighed heavily and took a step closer to your side. The war wasn't easy for anyone, he hated watching you cry as your father left, and now he had to witness it all again as your brother went off to war.

"He'll come home, just like your father," he told you softly, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"George," you whispered as you turned to him, his form blurry from the tears that threatened to fall, "I don't want to lose you too."

The boy gulped and nodded sheepishly. It wasn't a secret he wanted to join the war, and be helpful in any way that he could. Tt was just a secret from you.

George took his hands and cupped your face, his thumbs catching the tears that fell from the eyes he fell so in love with. "You won't lose me. I promise."

You wrapped your hands around his wrist and nodded, "Ok," you whispered, reaching up to kiss him.

#george mills #george mills x reader #dunkirk fanfic #barry keoghan

[reginageorgesgirlfriend3020]

Regina George as your girlfriend as your headcannons (Part 25)

She will let you borrow any of her clothes especially her black leather jacket

She says her clothes look so cute on you because you’re petite and her leather jacket keeps you extra warm during the winter and spring

Her notebooks on every front page including the front and back cover says ‘Regina George loves (Y/n)’.

And Regina isn’t afraid to express her love for you at all

Lots of hugs

lots of kisses

mega cuddles

While you’re getting lunch Regina will see you and hug you from behind with her hands on your body.

”Mind forever”. Regina said to you. You smiled

”Always”. You said. She smiled

When you’re tired and wanna take a small nap before the movie starts Regina will take a nap with you while she holds you

She loves to protect you

She loves to keep you as safe as possible

And she will definitely hold your hand everywhere

Even during history class Regina write a note to you saying how beautiful you are and she can just eat you up and put you in her pocket which makes you giggle

#regina george x you #regina george headcannons #regina george x reader #regina mills #mean girls 2024

[pm-something-respond]

#crow #boku no hero academia #george weasley x reader #keto #fit #revolution #park shin hye #prince #regina mills #my sims

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader)

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, implied ED

Parts

Part 1// Part2//

School trips were never really your thing. Sure it was good to be out of classes but to you it just seemed like an extension of school and honestly you’d rather be anywhere else.

One of the teachers thought it would be a bright idea to take you all out of school for a week to spend it in a forest ‘immersed in nature’. Possibly their tactic to get everyone to stop being at eachother a throats especially after the whole Cady incident a few months back.

It didn’t help that your best friends Janis and Damien both ended up getting sick at the last minute so couldn’t come with you , now you had to stay in your shared cabin alone. At least you didn’t have to room with a random person the whole trip, small mercies I guess.

The coach drive there was boring. You sat near the front, making sure to put your bag on the seat next to yours so nobody tried to sit with you. Of course Queen Regina and her minions took ownership of the back of the coach, that’s why you decided to sit upfront. Best to stay out of the firing line.

It’s not that you hated Regina, you understand why she’s the way she is. It’s a smart move to position yourself at the top of the food chain to avoid being mauled. Your tactic has always been to just steer clear of the food chain entirely which has worked so far.

The coach finally comes to a stop after a few hours and everyone shoves their way off and mills around in groups before a teacher starts to call out names and lodge numbers so people can go and unpack.

As soon as you turn the corner you hear Regina’s shriek of horror.

“Eww, what the fuck are these. I thought we were staying in chalets”

You roll you eyes. The cabins were clean, neat, maybe a little rustic. Of course Regina would still have to be dramatic about it.

“I’m sure forcing us to stay in one of these is some form of neglect.” She snarks at Mrs Norbury as she takes her hot pink suitcase over to her accommodation.

Luckily you get assigned one of the cabins at the edge of the forest, it’ll be quiet. Unfortunately it’s the next cabin over from the plastics. Not that they’ll even notice you there, I’m not sure any of them even know your name. It feels safe to be invisible, if not a bit lonely.

Once everyone is settled, a teacher comes round to each cabin explaining that tonight you can just get settled. No hiking or activities today, just a campfire and dinner later. That suits you perfectly. You sit on the creaky bed in your cabin, pull out your Switch console and start to get lost in a game. Hours pass before dinner call and you make your way, alone to the campfire.

You sit on your own, out of the way of all the different high school cliques. At this point you wish Janis and Damien were here. It feels vulnerable sitting alone.

To distract yourself you watch the other groups like a documentary maker. Noting the way they interact, the tension between them and the clique next to them. However nobody quite catches your eye like Regina.

She’s like a lioness. She has this invisible hold over everyone. They can all fuck about in their own groups but as soon as someone steps a foot out of place she roars and swishes her mane and everyone scampers back to obedience.

Currently she’s sitting at a bench with Gretchen and Karen, they’re talking enthusiastically about their plans for the trip; makeovers, cabin decoration, girly shit. Regina seems zoned out, she’s been pushing the same bit of food around her plate for a good 15 minutes. Every few minutes it’s like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, rearranging everything until teachers tell us to go back to our cabins and rest for the evening. You’re not sure you saw her eat a single thing, the food is probably not up to her standards.

Regina stands and suddenly seems snapped out of her trance, flashing a grin and summoning Karen and Gretchen back to the cabin with her.

You follow, a good distance behind. No point getting too close to danger, and slip back to your Cabin unnoticed.

There’s not much to do alone in a forest so you end up putting on a movie and start a new page in your sketchbook. Janis and Damien are the only ones to know you draw. That’s how you ended up speaking with Janis in the first place. If that news ever got back to Regina she’d probably have something to finally pick on you for, but so far you aren’t even on her radar.

You lose a lot of time sketching out some of the trees you can see out of the window, lots of tall, looming pines fill the page, you start to sketch a lion between the trees.

Eventually darkness creates a blanket around the forest. There’s a soft glow from many lamps outside of cabin doors, but past that, the forest seems endless in the dark. It’s 10:30pm. Teachers are fast asleep. Students definitely are not.

You hear snickering coming from the plastics cabin. Their lights are still on, not that you care at all.

Since all the teachers are asleep you decide that it’s probably safe to sneak out and have a cigarette. You stand down the side of the cabin so that your silhouette is obscured slightly by a bush and hunt through your pockets for a lighter. Finally you light the cigarette, trying to blow the smoke downwind, away from the teachers window.

“Karen! Fuck! Would you just stop puking, shut up!”

You watch from the shadow as Karen falls out of the door and begins to heave into the bush next to their window. Gretchen follows quickly, shaking Karen by the shoulders, desperately trying to get her to shut up so they don’t wake anyone. Regina steps out too, slightly loosing balance and nearly falling down the steps after them.

Clearly they’re all drunk. Someone must have snuck alcohol in.

Regina tries to keep a composed look but you see panic flash across her face briefly as her eyes scan around them, watching for any witnesses. You stay completely still against the cabin wall.

Karen finally stops for a second and they grab her by the arms to try and get her back inside. Their balance isn’t very good either and on the way in Regina’s foot connects briefly with a terracotta plant pot which wobbles for a second and then crashes to the ground, smashing over the front step. A sound that cuts through the night air.

The light to the teachers cabin flicks on.

You quickly drop the cigarette and stomp it out before silently scrambling back into your room, making sure the door closes soundlessly, watching intently through the window.

Mrs Norbury storms over to the plastics lodge, already suspecting they caused the noise.

You can’t make out exactly what’s being said. There’s a lot of shouting, from both parties. Then Mrs Norbury leaves, and the plastics light goes off too.

You quickly get into bed. It’s unlikely anyone will check in on you, but you decide it’s time to sleep anyway, it’s late, and drift off to the sound of the wind through trees. The wind sounds faintly like a roar.

In the morning you shower and begin to get changed when there’s a knock at your door.

“Regina will be rooming with you for the rest of the week, make sure she doesn’t try sneaking out.”

#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #renee rapp #mean girls fanfic #regina george fanfic #lesbian Regina george

[apute11as]

Everything happens for a reason part 2 - Alexia putellas x pregnant!reader

Author note: Hey as requested this is part 2 to my alexia x reader pregnancy fic! Sorry if it’s not great but I’ve got ideas for further chapters that I’ll work on soon! Also please send ficlet requests if you’d like more consistent posts as they take significantly less time :)

Warnings⚠️: mentions of vomit, tiny bit of suggestive content, angst

Part 1- https://www.tumblr.com/apute11as/733631966220582912/everything-happens-for-a-reason-alexia-putellas

~~~~~~

As you strolled through security, your mind flickered back to the conversation you’d had with the mother in the plane. Unease overtook your body as you couldn’t help but wonder if she were right, but she couldn’t be, surely? Yes you and Alexia had been trying but you’d taken a test after the last round of IVF and that test read a strong negative.

Casting the thoughts out of your mind, you decided to shift your focus to the important upcoming tournament. Getting though baggage control was yet again, a thankfully unproblematic task and you’d found your driver with minimal effort. These were further signs that you’d simply been overthinking the spontaneous sickness from this morning which was mostly likely due to fatigue or anxiety.

Having had help from your driver with hauling your luggage into the back of the black car, you finally sat down in the back of vehicle and allowed yourself a breath of relief as the most difficult part of your journey had been achieved. This moment of peace finally allowed you to check your phone, where of course you were met with a text from Alexia that read:

“I hope you had a safe flight bebita, I left you a suprise in the top pocket of your bag, te quiero mucho amor ❤️xx”

Smiling down at your phone, you clicked her icon to reply with a simple

“just got in the cab, can’t wait to see it te quiero más bebé xx”

The journey from the airport to St George’s Park was relatively short and you’d surprisingly managed to occupy yourself well enough that not once did your mind shift to your impending potential pregnancy. Upon arrival, you thanked your driver, giving him a generous tip for his good service and further help in hauling your heavy bags from out of the car. Thinking, you had another moment of peace, you reached down to look at a message which was a short lived attempt as you felt yourself being almost plowed down by a body being thrown at you.

“HOLA CHICA” bellowed none other than Mary Earps, the English goalkeeper wrapping you into a tight hug.

“Hiya Mary” you sighed after getting over the initial shock of her entrance, recovering from the near dropping of your phone onto the concrete floor below.

“How’ve you been, we’ve missed you at home, how’s Spain treating you?” she exclaimed, bombarding you with questions.

“Let the girl breathe Mary” rung the voice of Millie bright, the defender taking a much more gentle approach to you welcome.

“hey Mill, I’ve missed you all so much it feels like ages since I’ve seen you all” you replied.

“Clearly you’ve found some superior company though” stated Leah Williamson who now entered the scene, greeting you with a hug.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, confused.

“well if the marks on your neck are anything to go by then I’m sure you’ve been just fine with Putellas” Leah jeered teasingly.

“oh shit I totally forgot, it’s been such a hectic morning I didn’t even realise” you stuttered although thinking back, your wife would surely have noticed your failure to cover up the less than subtle marks that littered your neck. Although, knowing Alexia she would have watched you walk out with pride, knowing that everyone would know you were hers just by taking one look at you. Typical la Reina.

“don’t get all stressed now, some of us a just single and miserable” the Chelsea defender gestured to Leah.

“haha very funny bright” retorted the younger blonde, and with that the pair of defenders wandered off inside.

“you said this morning has been hectic but I thought travel was smooth?” questioned Mary with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah yeah travel was perfect, it’s just other things.” you said with your expression visibly faltered.

“If your ever need to talk babes I’m here, it’s nothing to do with Putellas is it? Because i swear if that woman hurt you…”

“No no” you insisted, cutting her off. “Alexia has been perfect, just got a lot on my mind right now.” You assured the older woman.

“Alright hun, just don’t hesitate to reach out” she said with a smile.

“Thanks Mary I appreciate that so much” you replied.

After a further wave of reintroductions and also a couple of greetings towards the new players, you found yourself in a room with Sarina, the team and the assistant coaches.

“Right as usual of course, your rooms are to be assigned” stated the coach

“Leah and Keira”

“Georgia and Ella”

the list went on in a typical fashion.

and “Y/N and Alessia”

You let a small smile slip at the revelation, knowing that the blonde forward was easy to talk to and respected your quiet time, something you felt as though you needed more than ever, given your current stresses.

You were presented with a key card each and then made your way upstairs, having to haul your several bags into the elevator, a task that left you unusually out of breath. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Alessia as you hunched over, clutching your stomach.

“Are you ok Y/N?” the younger girl questioned.

“yeah thanks, I’m ok. I think it’s just a little discomfort from travel.” you replied with a weak expression.

Finally, the two of you reached the comfort of your shared room and unlocked the door swiftly. You offered Alessia the window bed as you knew that she much preferred it and felt slightly claustrophobic otherwise.

You both began unpacking your vast array of bags and unloading stuff into the wardrobes, when your mind shifted back to the text your wife had sent you earlier. You reached for your carry on bag and unzipped the pocket, to be met with the sight of your favourite Spanish chocolates with a small note that read:

“Para mi princesa. Un regalo casi tan dulce como tú. Te amo mucho mi corazon.”

You smiled softly, your wife had always expressed her love so beautifully through words, the terms of endearment making you tear up slightly.

“What’s that?” Alessia asked with curiosity.

“Just something Alexia got me to remind me of her.” you replied, wiping your eyes simultaneously. “They’re spanish chocolates” you continue “she knows they’re my favourite from our local chocolatería.”

“that’s so sweet” the younger girl replied with a smile.

“Yes it really is” you said, beginning to open the sweet treats but before you got a chance to offer some to Alessia, the smell hit your nostrils. Normally that would elicit a mouth watering response but this time you felt your stomach lurch in discomfort, similarly to the way it did this morning. You the found yourself bounding to the bathroom to throw up the small sandwich you’d eaten on your flight.

“Oh my god Y/N” exclaimed Alessia, worry evident in her tone. “I knew you looked pale earlier, you are sick!” she said holding your hair back and grimacing as another round of nausea had you further emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowel.

“Sorry Alessia you don’t have to stay for this.” you managed in between the dry heaving that had replaced your sickness.

“No god I don’t mind, should I go get a staff member though?” She questioned.

“No, no definitely not I think I know what it is it’s fine.” You assured her.

Though Alessia wasn’t convinced and made a mental note to ask you again after team bonding, which you insisted you were well enough to attend.

“I thought you said those were your favourite chocolates, why did they make you feel sick?” The blonde questioned curiously.

“I’m not sure maybe they’d gone off” you offered weakly.

The two of you finally made it downstairs to the team, albeit 10 minutes late as you changed and freshened up after your spell of sickness.

“Look what the cat dragged in” shouted Beth as she attempted to rugby tackle you to the floor but before she was successful, she was stopped forcefully by Alessia.

“Careful Beth she’s not feeling great” explained Alessia.

“It’s alright Less, I’m alright now” you assured the girl.

“Anyways now that you two have finally arrived, we can start the fifa play offs!” cheered Georgia

As the night progressed, your stomach settled but your anxiety levels only heightened as the reality of your situation truly began to settle in. You were shocked out of your thoughts by a soft hand on your shoulder, that belonged to your captain- Leah.

“Woah there jumpy” she said as you flinched at her touch. “I was just checking if you wanted a hot chocolate but is everything all right?” she questioned.

That did it, the tears that had been threatening to flow came free now. You ran off hurriedly to the bathroom, Leah watching in awe as to what had actually just happened.

“It’s alright I’ve got her.” Alessia assured a couple of the team members who had gathered at the commotion.

You were now balling your eyes out in the bathroom, as the thoughts of what the pregnancy would mean dawned upon you. Ordinarily when you’d planned the pregnancy, you wouldn’t be attending the World Cup, opting to sacrifice it for your wife who’d just come back from an injury and was 4 years older than you anyways. However, now here you were, ready to go to the tournament and were potentially pregnant. You heard the door swing open and were soon met with the concerned face of your roommate, knowing you now definitely had to share your concerns with her.

“What’s up Y/N, no “I’m fine” or any nonsense, you’re struggling with something let me help you.” said the blonde, sympathetically.

“I-I think I’m pregnant” you said for the first time out loud since you began questioning.

“That’s good surely? Wait you’d have to do ivf for that, unless it’s not Alexia’s baby oh my god, oh my god is it somebody else’s, that’d explain the tears…”

“No Alessia” you urged, cutting off her rambling. “It would be Alexia’s it’s just not quite gone to plan” you continued as Alessia stared at you with a confused face.

You the preceded to explain your conversation with the woman on the plane, the negative pregnancy test from earlier this month and yours and Alexia’s plans to start a family. Alessia listening intently and comforting you as you spoke.

“Maybe the best idea would be to get a test” Alessia stated “because for all you know you’re getting stressed over nothing.” She reasoned.

“Yeah yeah that’s true, I just didn’t have much time to get one between the airport.

“We can get one tomorrow at lunch, it’s late now anyways maybe you should call alexia and tell her what’s going on?”

“No no no I can’t call Alexia she can’t know” you urged.

“why not she might be able to help you see clearly” said Alessia

“No she’ll be on a flight over here to make sure I don’t play, I really want to play Alessia” you pleaded

“Ok then let’s tell the girls you don’t feel well so we’re going to bed early how’s that?” Asked the blonde

“Yeah that sounds good thank you Less it means so much that you care.” you thanked her

“Of course Y/N anytime” she smiled.

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #fcb femeni #espwnt #espwnt x reader #fcb femeni x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics

[bloodynereid]

Rulebreaker

pairing: warren rojas/rhodes x fem!reader

a/n: there is a criminally low amount of warren fics and daisy jones & the six fics in general so I'm trying to rectify that. also I listened to the Aurora album on repeat when writing this so if you haven't listened to it already go do that. requests are open for all characters if you want to send anything in. i also love chatting with all of you so send in ur opinions or thoughts :)

tw: mentions of period typical misogyny, cigarette smoking, swearing

description: the night you met warren rojas, all of your rules fly out of the window.

Y/N: Being a female producer in the 70s was… how to put it delicately… absolute shit. But I tried my best. I had a list of rules to live by: don’t date anyone related to my job, never stay later than 7pm, always have more than one person in the room with you and never drink on the job. Not even coffee. I broke most of those rules the night I met Warren Rojas.

It was 9pm (rule break #1) and you had just finished mixing one of the last songs for an album you were going to show George tomorrow. You were about to head home with a cup of coffee (rule break #2) you had snatched from the snack room when suddenly one of the doors to the recording rooms slammed open and a whole gang of people poured out. The noise had startled you so much that the cup in your hand sloshed and hotstingburnoww the liquid fell onto your hand.

“Shit!” You had realized in the last moment that your little expletive caught the attention of the last people milling out, a curly haired guy and one of best known producers of the time, Teddy Price, otherwise known as your mentor. “Oh hey Teddy.”

“Y/N! I don’t think I’ve seen you here this late before.”

“Just had to finish mixing a song you know me.”

“Oh I do. That’s why it’s surprising.” You rolled your eyes with a smile and then looked over to the man standing next to him.

“Who’s the new band? Haven't seen them around here before.”

“The Six. This is Warren Rojas, their drummer. This is Y/N L/N, she’s one of the best producers out there.”

“You flatter me too much. It’s nice to meet you, Warren.”

“You too.”

“Either of you need a ride? I’m heading out soon.”

“Nah I’m fine. I’ll just go with the band.”

“Yeah I’ve got my bike.”

“You parked close?” Teddy asked with his usual protective tone.

“Just a 5 minute walk.”

“I would walk you but I’ve got to finish looking over some tapes.”

“I’m heading the same way. We can go over together.”

“You sure?” You asked as you took a sip from your coffee.

“Yeah, I’m sure the band can wait.”

“Great. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“Bye Teddy.”

“See you.” 

You and Warren set off to navigate through the maze of recording rooms and offices. (rule break #3) He had lit up a cigarette and when he offered you one, you graciously took it, throwing out the finished coffee cup.

“So if you don’t mind me asking. Why do you call yourselves the Six if there’s only 5 of you?” Warren laughed and looked at you with a smile.

“I honestly have no idea. Something about there already being too many iconic bands with the number five in them.”

“Right well, I can’t be one to judge anyway, I can't even sing.” 

“I can’t either so I think we’re on the same playing field here.” You laughed and nudged his shoulder. So he was funny on top of being ridiculously attractive.

“So how did you get into producing?” And he wasn’t being a anti-feminist asshole, unlike SO MANY people in this industry.

“Well I liked music and I would record demos for my brothers when I could. It was honestly just pure luck. I met Teddy when I was interviewing to be a secretary here. He taught me some of the ropes and then persuaded the big bosses to hire me. I really only produce for smaller names but… it’s my passion, you know.”

“As part of a smaller name, we appreciate your help.” He said with a mischievous smile whilst wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh shush. So I guess now it’s only fair to ask how you got into The Six?”

“Well, Graham got us into this band when we were like 14 and then he persuaded his brother, Billy, to join. Then some random dude convinced us to head out here and try our luck with Teddy Price so here I am. We actually used to be called The Dunne Brothers and then we changed it for some reason, I think we all collectively decided against that name one night at a diner.”

“Well if you’re getting produced by Teddy then you have to have at least a modicum of talent.”

“Don’t know if I should take that as an insult or a compliment.”

“Take it as you want.” His eyes flickered under the streetlights as you made your way out onto the street. Warren Rojas has a majestic quality to him and well, he was also nice and exactly your type. Okay so maybe rule number #1 was meant to be broken.

“Warren! Hurry up man or we’re leaving without you.” A man yelled from one of the parked vans. He was leaning out of the window and pushing on the car horn.

“Well it seems my luck is still going strong cause that’s my bike.” You point at the black motorcycle that is parked next to the colorful van. He sent you a beaming smile as you both wandered over to where your separate vehicles lay.

“So will I be seeing you again?”

“We work in the same building so probably.”

“You know what I mean.” I stamped out the cigarette and winked at him.

“I might come around to see how you sound tomorrow.”

“I’ll be sure to be playing the drums to the best of my ability.”

“I'm sure you’re supposed to be doing that anyway.” You smirked at him as swung your jean clad leg over the motorcycle and twisted the key in the ignition.

“Warren!”

“Yeah yeah, one second. Give me your arm.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’re really pretty and I want to give you my number.”

“How do you know I’ll use it?”

“I’m taking a gamble.”

“It seems like you take a lot of those.” 

You held out your arm anyways and let him scribble down his number in black ink. Your helmet went over your head after he finished and you looked down at the list of numbers with a little heart next to them. So he was a sap as well.

“I’ll be seeing you, Warren Rojas.”

“I sure hope so, Y/N L/N.” You smiled and gave him a little wave before revving off. But not before you heard a last: “Warren! What the hell man I’m starving over here.” Which made you chuckle.

Y/N: I ended up going to that recording session the next day. And the next and the next. Teddy even let me mix a few of the songs. I also wrote down his number immediately after I got home. I’m pretty sure I still have the receipt where it’s written on somewhere. Anyways I ended up breaking that first rule after the tour. Warren asked me out when we were surfing. Actually I was surfing and Warren was trying to. God that was a beautiful day.

Warren: The sun was just about to set and I had given up trying to surf so Y/N and I were just sitting on our boards watching the sky turn different colors. We had been friends since that night Teddy introduced us and I was obviously attracted to her. But it was then when I realized I was in love with her. I ended up asking her to marry me at that exact same spot a few years later.

Y/N: I immediately said yes, both times. Warren and I just work. He is like a part of me I can’t bear the thought of losing.

Warren: I love her with my entire self and more. I can’t see my life any other way. I think one of the greatest things that came out of the band was not just the music but it also led me to my soulmate.

Y/N: Rule breaking is really one of the best things I could have done. I met my other half and worked with people I would consider my family. Sometimes plans just aren’t meant to be followed.

Y/N Rojas is one of the top producers in the music industry. She shared producer credits with Teddy Price on Aurora and has gone on to produce some of the biggest names in the 80s and 90s. Currently she lives on a houseboat with her husband, Warren, the former drummer of Daisy Jones & The Six and their twins, Teddy and Karen. She owns a music label (Reconstitution Records) which will be producing the newest album of the reunited band, Daisy Jones & The Six.

hopefully I did Warren justice cause it's my first time writing for him

taglist: (lmk if you want to be added to the warren taglist or general daisy jones & six taglist)

@pinkdaiisies @just1riqht

#daisy jones and the six #billy dunne #graham dunne #karen sirko #daisy jones #camila dunne #daisy x billy #warren rojas #warren rhodes #eddie roundtree #taylor jenkins reid #amazon prime #warren rojas imagine #warren rojas short story #daisy jones and the six imagine #djats fanfic #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes x reader #djats #daisy jones and the six x reader

[matchamilkislover]

White Horse, 2. (a.a.)

pairing: knight!abby x princess!reader

cw: fantasy!au, fem!reader, a tiny bit of blood mentioned, eventual displays of fighting and violence bc it’s fantasy, kind of slow burn?, tension, reader has an attitude, tall af!abby bc size difference, royalty!au, mentions of arranged marriages, some mentions of au politics, abby in armor is a warning in itself

synopsis: you are the youngest princess of the royal family that rules over your kingdom, Aphrynia. now a young adult, you’ve come of age in a tense time, and your personal protection is of utmost importance — which is why the resignation of your previous personal knight means a rushed reassignment ceremony with little to no preface. That being said, why does the name of your new knight sound so familiar?

word count: 3.67k

a/n: this is a kinda slow and really dialogue-heavy chapter but i’m still giggling and kicking my feet, i am so excited for the rest of the story omllll (it’s my own story i have to write it myself but i’m also delulu)

you can read part 1 here!

⊹ ⋆｡˚ ————————— 𓆩♡𓆪 —————————⊹ ⋆｡˚

Clapping resounded in the large room, but you paid the sound no attention. Yours and Abby’s gazes were still locked on each other, like you were caught in a dance to see who would break away first. Finally, she gently kissed the top of your hand and released it, standing to tower over you with her tall, built form. The simple kiss on your hand made your heart speed up unexplainably, and you swallowed and quickly pulled it down to your side, burying your hands in the skirts of your gown. Abby’s gaze, however, was still locked on you, and you looked down and then around the room to avoid her gaze. What in the world was going on?

Realizing that everyone else in the room had moved on from the ceremony and started milling about, you too decided that it was time to go, clearing your throat before stepping out of place to find Nina. Abby opened her mouth and looked like she was about to reach out and say something to you, but was interrupted by members of the court starting to swarm and try to steal her attention. Thank god, you thought to yourself, dashing away before court members could swarm you, too.

A hand suddenly fell on your shoulder as your eyes searched the room for your lady’s maid, and you cursed in your head, turning to see which Lord or Lady (or worse, daughter or son) had gotten their claws into you. You would’ve breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that it was one of your own siblings if it wasn’t George.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’d just seen a ghost, little sister,” he teased, that shit-eating grin of his spreading across his face. You just rolled your eyes and turned to face him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, George,” you lied, brushing his hand off your shoulder and crossing your arms. He laughed.

“Oh sure. She’s the one you always attended lessons with, right? Yeah, she was fun,” he replied casually.

“If by fun you mean insufferable, then sure,” you retorted. “Please, you only liked her because she supported your shenanigans.”

He lifted his hands humorously. “Hey, you got me there. It’s nice to feel appreciated once in a while.” You sighed and started visually searching the room again, hangover still leaving you in a mood not quite fit for George’s lovely personality.

“I’m sure it is. But you’re a big boy, so if you could entertain yourself so I can get away from this lovely conversation, that would be great,” you finally huffed and quickly strode away, back on the hunt for Nina. Finding her meant finding breakfast and a nice rant session. And, you thought as your head throbbed again, a lot of water.

“There you are!” A familiar voice squealed as you moved about the cavernous room. You instantly smiled.

“Oh, Nora, thank goodness,” you squealed back as your eyes landed on your friend approaching just from your left. The two of you met with joining hands, squeezing comfortably.

“Are you alright? You looked entirely shocked to see Knight Anderson up there,” Nora inquired, her brows furrowing in concern. You sighed for what felt like the millionth time on this already exhausting day.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t really expect to see her, that’s all,” you replied, trying your best to brush off the way your heart pounded in your chest. You really wished it would stop that. Nora suppressed a knowing smile.

“She’s certainly changed a lot, hasn’t she,” Nora noted with waggling eyebrows.

“Nora,” you gasped, fighting the urge to smile with her. “You know good and well my opinion of her, so you can stop that now!” Though it felt genuine to you, your retort was unconvincing, and Nora simply rolled her eyes.

“Are you seriously still hung up on that? It’s been what, 8 years?”

“9,” you interrupted. “It’s been 9.” Nora rolled her eyes again.

“Close enough. If you want to hold a grudge, that’s fine by me, but I am going to enjoy this while I can,” she teased, sauntering away as you gasped again and feigned reaching out to hit her playfully as she walked away.

Finally, you spotted Nina waiting patiently for you near the edge of the room and let out a breath of relief. You approached her quickly, and her face lit up as you neared, feeling much less awkward when she was with you rather than being alone as a lady’s maid without her princess. You easily hooked your elbow with hers as you took a spot next to her, desperate to seem too occupied to socialize with anyone else.

“Can we please get out of here?” You begged through the clenched teeth of your plastered smile, nodding gracefully to people who passed you like nothing was wrong. Nina almost giggled.

“Yes of course, princess,” she replied, the two of you stepping forward and turning to the door.

“Why does everyone keep giggling at me?” You questioned, again through clenched teeth.

“Excuse me for my bluntness, but your reaction to Knight Anderson was quite entertaining,” she replied, still suppressing giggles.

“My reaction? What reaction?! I was under the impression my face was quite neutral, thank you!” You replied in a way that was almost offended.

“You just seemed quite surprised to see her, is all,” Nina explained gently. “I highly doubt someone who doesn’t know you well would have noticed, princess,” she reassured as the pair of you finally approached the large doors that would lead you out of this blasted throne room.

“It’s not my fault no one told me she of all people would be my new knight! You would be caught off-guard too if you were me!” You retorted, trying to keep your voice to a whisper despite your urge to raise it.

“All I’m saying, princess, is that-” Nina’s reply was cut off by a voice ringing out over the chatter of the crowd to you.

–

In terms of the aftermath of the ceremony for Abby, it was certainly a wave of attention — attention she didn’t want even one bit, especially when the only person she really wanted to talk to was you. Judging by your reaction, you certainly hadn’t been expecting to see her. Hell, she hadn’t been expecting to see you either until maybe 10 days ago. But it seemed like no one had bothered to inform you that she would be your new knight.

“Knight Anderson?” a voice asked, bringing Abby out of her thoughts and back to the many people surrounding her in the throne room.

“Hmm?” She replied, clearly having zoned out and not heard whatever the woman had said. She was quite a sight to take in, with gaudy clothing and a tight, pointed face. The woman smiled, but it looked more like a sneer.

“Oh, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Lady Ulfrid, I’m new here as well. I was just wondering, Queen Arabella spoke quite highly of your accomplishments, and it must be so for you to be a personal knight for her youngest daughter. What might these so-called accomplishments be, I might ask?” Lady Ulfried sneer-smiled again, and this time, Abby couldn’t help but feel like Abby saw the expressions just as they were. She was questioning her.

Raising an eyebrow, Abby let a smirk dance on the corners of her mouth and adjusted her stance. “Well, I was top of my class in training, but that’s not the answer you’re looking for, is it? So what would you like to hear about? The battles I led in our recent land conflicts with Chryiont? Or the ones I led 2 years ago in Dungard? Or was it my successful takedown of the great Pirate Duke? You’ll need to be more specific, my lady,” Abby replied with a knowing smile, satisfied by the woman’s widening eyes.

“Oh, well, I- I just meant, um-, well,” Lady Ulfrid floundered, and it satisfied something a little sadistic within Abby. She was tired of being questioned because of her age, much less her gender, and it felt nice to make people who questioned her then question themselves instead.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, cutting off the woman and leaning down to her height. “I think I know exactly what you mean.” She smirked, and stood back to full height as Lady Ulfrid’s face reddened and she sped away from the knight, muttering something incoherent under her breath.

Turning to scan the rest of the room with her hands clasped behind her back, Abby suddenly realized that talking to Lady Ulfrid had made her lose sight of you. Last she saw, you were talking with one of your court friends — Nora, was it? — and now you had completely disappeared. Something about this felt oddly familiar. Right as she thought she caught a flash of your dress — god, that dress made you look something unearthly — another person tapped on her arm, and she nearly groaned before turning and seeing who it was.

“Long time no see, huh Anderson?” George asked with a sheepish grin, pulling her in for a one-handed hug. Abby grinned back and returned the hug gladly.

“Too long,” she replied easily. “But you know, I don’t think I can condone your shenanigans now,” she continued teasingly. George laughed with a wide, open mouth, patting Abby on the arm.

“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to figure out a way around you,” he replied jokingly.

Abby chuckled and shook her head. Suddenly remembering that she had been looking for you, she snapped to attention, scanning the room quickly. Finally, she spotted you nearing the exit with your lady’s maid, and she patted George on the arm as a farewell before starting after you.

“Princess!” She called, nearly jogging across the room and swiping between different huddles of people. “Princess!”

—

Your smile dropped when you heard Abby calling after you. Shit. While you stood there trying to accept that Abby Anderson would be constantly on your heel from now on, Abby caught up, slowing to stop and face you. You looked at her, expecting her to say something, but she just stared back.

And you both kept staring.

Looking at her felt like seeing a dear old friend and someone entirely foreign to you all at the same time. Like two winds hitting you from opposite directions, pushing the breath out of your lungs and filling them back up all in one motion. She was so different but so familiar, it made you want to both run away and never leave her presence all at once. You didn’t even realize you were staring, studying her like art in a museum, until Nina loudly cleared her throat beside you.

Whoops.

You came to a start and also cleared your throat awkwardly, nodding to Abby as a delayed greeting as you shared an uncomfortable look with Nina. “Well, uh…I, we…it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” You remarked awkwardly. This was already going terribly.

“It has,” Abby confirmed with a nod. You pursed your lips.

“Well, uh, I suppose we should get going, shouldn’t we, princess?” Nina asked timidly, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Oh, yes, of course,” you replied quickly, nodding and turning with Nina to return on course to your chambers.

You grimaced uncomfortably in Nina’s direction, and she returned the look apologetically. Abby looked like she had wanted to say something else, but instead bit her tongue and followed the two of you silently. The walk through the corridors was painfully quiet, you unconsciously straining to listen to the sound of Abby’s footsteps behind your own, hyper aware of her proximity to you. For someone who called her despicable the last time you had seen each other, you were certainly strangely invested in even the smallest movements of Abby Anderson.

Once you and Nina were safely inside your chambers, with Abby standing in place just outside your door, you flopped into a chair, rubbing your forehead. “This day has got to be some twisted sort of dream,” you moaned, slipping off your shoes one at a time. Nina simply suppressed a giggle and shushed you.

“These walls are not as thick as you wish them to be,” she reminded you in a hushed voice, perching in a chair adjacent to yours while she awaited your breakfast request. You pouted and sighed.

“I truly don’t understand why nobody told me she would be my new knight! I mean, she disappeared the day after we had our millionth argument 9 years ago, and now, out of the blue, she’s going to be right behind me 24/7? Guarding me? Protecting me like someone’s out for my blood? It’s just…fucking insane!” You whisper-yell, frustration bubbling over now that it was just you and Nina. Well, and Abby, waiting just outside the door.

Nina sighed, knowing that she should try to make you feel better, even though she couldn’t help but agree with how you felt. “The queen does what she does for a reason, I’m sure. With you being young and the whispers I hear from the other servants, I’m not surprised she wants a trusted eye on you,” she replies in a quiet voice. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, nodding.

“I know, I know. It’s just frustrating that not a single soul ever bothers to tell me anything. I mean, I would have really liked a warning that the girl I basically grew up with was not only returning to the palace as a knight, but my personal knight, and, to make matters worse, she looks like—” you gesture wildly to the door, “—that! How am I supposed to deal with that!?” you exclaim, your whisper lifting a little. Nina starts giggling uncontrollably, and after a minute you join her, if only because of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“I think,” Nina says, taking a deep breath once her giggles finally subside, “that some breakfast and a lot of water might help make you feel better, hmm? Maybe a tonic from Dr. Anderson?” Nina offers kindly.

“Yes, please, you’re a saint, Nina,” you reply, rubbing your forehead again as the throbbing pushes forward. “But, no tonic, actually, please—I can’t handle being embarrassed by asking Abby’s father for a hangover cure the first day she returns, I think I might keel over from sheer embarrassment,” you finish with a groan. Nina chuckles and nods, standing from her perch.

“Whatever you say, princess,” she says with a pat on your shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.” With that, she pushes the door open and exits the room, mumbling an awkward greeting to Abby that makes you cringe from sheer discomfort.

Sighing, you look around at the chaos that is your room after this morning’s rushed preparation activities, and decide that the least you can do even with this raging hangover is make your bed. You stand determinedly and approach the bed, pulling back layer after layer neatly to then arrange each one on top of the last. It’s a bit awkward with the shuffling of your dramatic skirt around the edge of the opulent bed frame, but you manage to make it work.

You’re tucking in the last corner of your many blankets when an unfamiliar knock on the door catches you off guard, and you get stuck pulling your hand out from beneath the mattress. You pull harder and harder, gritting your teeth and kicking yourself mentally for the ridiculousness of it all. Stupid fucking mattress, you groan mentally as you pull, why is this thing so goddamn heavy!? With one exceptionally strong pull, your hand rips free from its feather-filled prison, only for the momentum to send you falling backwards into a heavy sofa behind you, the collision making a crashing sound that mixes oh so wonderfully with the surprised shriek that leaves your mouth. You catch yourself just barely on an arm of the sofa, but have no time to process what just happened when Abby comes barging into the room, eyes wide as she searches for you.

Just perfect.

You both stare at each other like deer in headlights when your eyes meet, unsure of what to do. It’s Abby who breaks the silence first.

“Are you alright, princess?” She asks in a concerned tone, walking over to you gingerly. Her large form seems almost unnatural in your space, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the proportions.

“Um, yes, I’m fine, I just…fell,” you explain awkwardly, cheeks going pink. You stand straight and pull your hand off the sofa arm, hissing quietly when the friction stings on your pointer finger. Looking down to inspect it, you notice a long splinter shoved inside of the skin and grimace.

“You just fell?” Abby asks quizzically, raising an eyebrow as she eyes the splinter.

“Well, I, um— I got my hand stuck, and when I pulled it out, I guess I pulled too hard and just…fell…” Your voice trails off as you look from her to the bed and back to your hand, touching the splinter gingerly and hissing again.

Abby nods, humming in understanding. “I see…do you need help, um, with that?” She asked, gesturing to the splinter.

“Oh no, I’ve—I’ve got it,” you reply casually, trying to hide the clenching of your jaw when you gently pull on the slice of wood. Abby opens her mouth to ask if she can help again, but you're already setting your jaw and pulling the splinter firmly, gasping at the more intense stinging when it slips out of your skin. A large bead of blood immediately forms on the spot, hinting to a stream, and your face pales at the sight as you bite your lip and look away, eyes searching for a handkerchief.

Your breath quickens in panic as you search, just the thought of the blood now seeping out of your finger making your breath quicken and your heartbeat skyrocket. A warm hand on yours and the feeling of a handkerchief being dabbed on your finger pulls you out of your growing panic, and you look to see Abby ever so gently holding your hand in one of your own while the other dabs the blood from your finger with a handkerchief.

“I remember one time when we were 9, you fell and scraped your knee on the stone while we were running in the garden, and you were very nearly screaming,” Abby said suddenly as she looked at your finger. “I guess I was right to assume that fear hadn’t changed much,” she continued, chuckling. A breathy chuckle left your mouth in return, gaze still focused on her hands touching your own.

“I never did have the stomach for it, did I?” You responded quietly, a gentle smile dancing on your lips. “I guess some things never change.”

“Yes,” Abby agreed, “some things never really change, do they?” She spoke in nearly a whisper, eyes finally glancing up to meet yours. Your breath caught in your throat, heartbeat slowing as you gazed into the stormy blue of her eyes.

“I guess not,” you whispered.

The sudden rapt knocking of Nina’s small fist and her pushing the door into your room ripped both of you out of the trance you had been in, you grabbing the handkerchief and holding it to your finger while Abby’s hands dropped yours and she stood at attention. Her mouth opened like she was about to announce her arrival before she spotted the two of you standing unusually close, and her movement stopped, brows immediately furrowing in confusion.

“I— We—“ you started.

“She fell!” Abby nearly shouted, her expression unsure. “She fell and I heard the commotion, so I came in, and she, um, got a splinter,” she finished, gesturing toward your hand. You raised your handkerchief covered finger as proof, and Nina nodded slowly. You weren’t quite sure why you felt like you had been caught doing something wrong, but it certainly did, and you certainly weren’t sure how to feel about it.

Abby cleared her throat, and nodded to the still open door. “Well, um, I should…yeah,” she stuttered, nodding a goodbye to both of you before returning to her post outside of the door that she closed behind herself.

As soon as the latch clicked, Nina’s eyes were on you like a hawk, and you were retreating back to where you had been sitting with your face in your hands. “Did I seriously just see that?” She asked incredulously, bringing a tray of food over with her and setting it on a small table. You nodded, face still in your hands, but you were quickly coaxed out by the smell of the food.

“I was just trying to make my stupid bed, and my stupid hand got stuck under the stupid mattress, and I fell pulling it out and got a splinter on my finger, and then it started bleeding when I pulled it out, and…yeah. That’s about it,” you poured the words out quickly, immediately feasting and downing large gulps of water when you finished. Nina simply nodded knowingly and watched, nibbling on a piece of toast as you ate.

“Y’know, that didn’t seem very despicable to me,” she remarked after a few minutes of comfortable silence, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

“Ughhhhh,” you groaned, turning an annoyed glance at her. “Are you going to keep being like this? It was just an awkward situation,” you complained, shoving another piece of fruit in your mouth. Nina laughed and nodded.

“I’m sorry, princess, but it’s been just too easy,” she retorted, still laughing. You rolled your eyes, but inside, your heart still skipped a beat every once in a while, thinking about her calloused, warm hands encapsulating yours, and her deep eyes gazing into yours like nothing else existed in the world.

You seriously needed to distract yourself if you were going to survive this.

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taglist: @paqerings @katniiss @dummysimp011 @chocbaleine

#white horse #knight!abby x princess!reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby is so calling you princess coded #knight x princess #wlw #abby x reader fic #abby anderson fic #abby x reader #matchamilkislover

[cregan-starks]

Flames of Deceit

Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.

Words: 13,005

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC, Alyn Velaryon x OC

Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.

Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @revolution-starter 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)

Ao3 | Masterlist

EARLY 130 AC

HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS

          The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

          The current castellan – and Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.

          Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.

          As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.

          Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.

          At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.

          Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?

          ‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’

          Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.

          Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?

          ‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.

          ‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’

EARLY 130 AC

STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

          Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide the respite that they had needed.

          Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.

          ‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.

          The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.

          For five days, her scouts had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?

          On the sixth day, they had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.

          ‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.

          I’ll do my best, father.

          The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.

          Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.

          ‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.

          The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.

          Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.

          Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a silver platter. I think not.

          Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.

          ‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.

          Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.

          Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.

          The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.

          Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.

          Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.

          ‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’

          Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.

          ‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’

          Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.

          Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.

          The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.

          She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.

          She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?

          She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.

          Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.

          The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.

          With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.

          ‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’

          ‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.

          Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.

          ‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’

          ‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.

          Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.

          ‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’

          Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.

          ‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.

          ‘What’s new?’, suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’

          ‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’

          Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.

          ‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’

          ‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’

          ‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’

          ‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’

          I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’

          ‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.

          ‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.

          ‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.

          ‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’

          ‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.

          ‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.

          ‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.

          ‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’

          ‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.

          ‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)

          ‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)

          So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)

          ‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’

          ‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’

          Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.

          Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.

          ‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’

          Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’

          ‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.

          ‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.

          ‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.

          ‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.

          ‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’

          Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.

          Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.

          That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.

          On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.

          “People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”

          Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.

          Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.

         On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.

          ‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.

          ‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.

          Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.

          ‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’

          ‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.

          ‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’

          ‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.

          ‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.

          ‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’

          Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.

          ‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’

          It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.

          He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.

          Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.

          The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.

          Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.

          ‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’

          ‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’

          Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.

          If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.

          ‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.

          ‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’

          ‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)

          Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.

          After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.

          In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.

          I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?

          ‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)

          ‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’

          Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.

          Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.

          A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...

          ... but her decision has already been established.

          The truth is important to me.

          Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.

          ‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)

          At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.

          The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.

          She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.

          If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.

          ‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)

          Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.

          When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.

          Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.

          Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.

          ‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)

          The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.

          An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.

          Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.

          And love is seldom simple.

          Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.

          A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.

          Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.

          Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.

          Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.

          Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.

          She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.

          The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.

          She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.

          Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.

          His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.

          A metal item pokes at her thigh.

          My brooch.

          Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.

          Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.

          What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.

          He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.

          ‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’

          ‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’

          Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothment – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.

          ‘Lord Stark is a good man–’

          ‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’

          Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.

          ‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’

          Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.

          ‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)

          ‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’

          She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.

          The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.

          The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”

          Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Splinter had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.

          By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.

          ‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’

          Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?

          ‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’

          Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.

          A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.

          ‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’

          Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.

          ‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’

          The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.

          Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…

          ‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’

          ‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothment years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’

          ‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’

          Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.

          I’m severing my noose.

          ‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’

          Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.

          ‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’

          ‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’

          She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.

          ‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’

          Puny northern savage? Innovative.

          “Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.

          Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.

          ‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’

          And, oh, how you despise that…

          ‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’

          Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.

          She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.

          I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.

          Tears cannot quench dragonfire.

          ‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.

          And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.

          Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.

          ‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’

          ‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’

          A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.

          As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…

          ‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’

          She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.

          Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.

          ‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.

          I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.

          Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.

          A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.

          I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.

          ‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’

          Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.

          Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.

          And I will not regret Cregan.

          While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.

          She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.

          I lost my innocence long ago.

          Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.

          “I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.

          Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.

          No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.

          Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.

          Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.

          He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.

          “Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”

          Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.

          She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.

          Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.

          ‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.

          ‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.

          ‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.

          ‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’

          Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood in the marriage ceremony. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.

          Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.

          ‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.

          ‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Splinter, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’

          Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.

          Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.

          ‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’

          ‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’

          ‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.

          On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.

          “Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.

          I will.

          Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.

          We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.

          I must not forget my mission.

          Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.

          ‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’

          Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.

          ‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?

          ‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’

          You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.

          ‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the dire conditions of the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’

          ‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.

          ‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’

          Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.

          ‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.

          ‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’

          Then why am I trying to dissuade him?

          ‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’

          ‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’

          ‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’

          You chose for me.

          ‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’

          Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.

          ‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’

          Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.

          ‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’

          Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.

          The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.

          When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.

          Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.

          It ends as it had begun, with fire and blood.

          Bloodlines will burn.

          Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic @aaleksmorozova @aemondsversion @aereth @agirllovespancakes @another-life-addict​ @burningshewolf @buttercup--bee​ @cecespizza01​ @cleastrnge​ @crazylokonugget​ @five-seconds-of-socialising​ @flosaureum​ @haystack-boy​ @lavendertales​ @lordsrks @maharani-radha​ @mandaloresson​ @masset-fotia​ @missusnora @moonlight-prose​ @oloreaa​ @poppyreader​ @prettyboyeddiemunson​ @revolution-starter​ @sofietargaryen​ @stargaryenx​ @strawberrypeachesss​ @sullho​ @sweethoneyblossom1​ @s-we-e-t-t-ea​ @that--thing​ @valyriians​ 

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targayren fic #aemond targaryen #cregan stark #alyn velaryon #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen/oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen/reader #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fic #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark/oc #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark/reader #alyn velaryon fic #alyn velaryon x oc #alyn velaryon/oc #alyn velaryon x reader #alyn velaryon/reader #daemon targaryen #criston cole #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #tori's flames of deceit

[ornii]

When it gets Dark Outside

Must be fun being a Super Hero, right?

Spider Gwen X Male Reader. (Y/n) has been flaking on his Girlfriend for a while now, and unfortunately it all comes to a head.

So. Let’s do this, one last time

My name is (Y/n) Riley, turns out my birth was your normal Mom and Dad stork story, I was created in a lab by a man named the Jackal, using the DNA of a guy named Peter Parker, unfortunately my dna wasn’t purely his and was mixed up somehow, letting me not look exactly like him. And for the last two years I’ve been New Yorks Spider-Man after Peter decided to retire and live comfortably with his Girlfriend, and I gladly took on the mantle of The Scarlet Spider-Man.

You know the rest, saved the day, got the girl and have been doing pretty decent hero work if I could say so myself. One of the biggest helps in that was my girlfriend, Gwen. She doesn’t know about my powers, I’m too worried what she might say, but it’s getting too much to hide, and I’m worried it’ll blow up in my face. Well, I guess it’s too late for that now.

It was ranging to be an average New York night for most. Bustling city, beautiful lights, and your run of the mill Supervillain trying to rob a bank, shocker.

Speaking of Shocking, The Scarlet Spider-Man swings though the city until he lands on a light pole, as police quickly surround a large bank embedded into central street.

“Long day?” He asks to the Police chief, George Stacy, who frowns at the web head.

“Focus, we got Shocker in the main Lobby, zapping anyone and anything that gets even a few feet near the parking lot, we’ve cut off the block to avoid casualties and civilians.” George said, Spider-Man nods and points to the bank.

“I’ll take out shocker, it’s up to you guys to finish clearing the block in case something happens.” He swings away and lands on the wall, crawling in though a window he sneaks onto the roof, the bank is, well was before it got blown to bits, a nice regal place. Marble floors, beautiful pillars and all, Spider-Man stood up and smirked. Standing below him was shocker, ready to fight anyone coming into the door.

“Got a hot date shocker?” He says, Shocker turns without hesitation and blasts his electric bolts, Spider-Man leaps out of the way and onto a pillar.

“Oh Cmon man? You’re breaking my heart.”

“Grrr! Step off Spider before I fry you!”

“Yeah, Like im Gonna let that happen, so why don’t you do your old man a favor and just surrender?” He asks, Shocker responds by attacking again, Spider-Man leaps over him and fired his web shooters, beginning to slowly web up the shocker, avoiding a blast but getting knocked into a pillar, he sees shocker wind up for a big blast, using his slingers he hurls a table at him, letting the attack hit that and causing a substantial sound wave, knocking the glass out of the doors, Spider-Man lands from the attack and prepares to fight, before seeing an incoming call on his mask. Gwen.

“Uh, Hello?” He asks, inside his dormitory, Gwen was sitting there, waiting for him.

“(Y/n)? Where are you? I thought you were ready to study?”

“Uh Yeah! I Just had small detour?” He says, avoiding a death blast, he webs shocker by the ankle, making him trip.

“Look I promise I’ll be there, just wait a little longer.”

“.. you aren’t doing anything dangerous are you?”

“No, you know me.” He says back, trying to convince the girl, who was silent for a moment.

“…Yeah.” Gwen responds with a bit of deadpanned sadness. She hangs up and Spider-Man turns to shocker.

“Alright, can we wrap this up I have something super important to—“ he says, before another incoming call appears.

“Again? What she’s—“ his distracted headspace was the perfect opportunity for Shocker, who hits him with a heavy blast to the chest, sending him flying out of the building in slow motion in front of the police, time slows down and he quickly fires his webs against the wall, using the momentum like a slingshot, he flies back though the building door with a big drop kick, sending Shocker into the wall stumbling, he changes his cartridges and fires his classic impact webs! The hit and explode on contract with Shocker, webbing him perfectly. He grabs and spins him around before hurling the villain right out into police custody. He sighs with relief and collapses down to one leg.

“Well.. that sucked, alright.” He stands up, taking a few deep breaths, before swinging out of the bank and back to his dormitory, bring a Highschool student on a boarding school in New York wasn’t the worst thing, granted he had no roommate so keeping his identity was much easier without his parents walking in on him. Granted it still was a hassle with school, but he made it work, he stumbled into the room via the window, tumbling in as he held his side, he tore off his mask to sigh in pain.

��Okay, just gotta get to—“ he looks up, and his eyes ran straight into Gwen’s, she looks rightfully stunned as he stands up, holding his side.

“I..can explain.” He says, and Gwen starts to get, obviously frustrated.

“Is this what you’ve been doing?”

“… Yeahhhh..” (Y/n) sadly admits, and Gwen was at a loss for words.

“I thought you were working at a homeless shelter or something, you’re Spider-Man? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to! I just never really knew how you’d react.” He responds, her anger grows.

“So you lied? All this time?”

“Yeah, for a good reason Gwen! If I had told you and they found out who I was, I don’t know what would happen if something happened to you because of me.. I’d never forgive myself.” He admits, and her anger slowly began to subside.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and he sits down on his bed.

“If someone found out that I’m Spider-Man, they’d go for the people I love the most… and that’s, you.” He says in a halfway confession.

“..Love?” She asks and he nods, Gwen approached and sat next to him, her hand gently laying on his.

“I totally understand why you’d feel that way, I see you fight for you life protecting everyone, my dad included, even though he hates your guts. I was mad But, i Understand why..” she admits, and she smiles so, earnestly and the way she always smiles just, warms his heart.

“Thanks Babe, you don’t know how much it means to me to get this off my chest.” He says, Gwen slowly leans in, and (Y/n) does as well, taking the opportunity to try to kiss her, suddenly a hole in the ceiling begins to form seemingly out of some scientific tech, and a white figure landed. She Checks a device on her wrist.

“Rats, might not be the right universe to—“ she halts as she slowly turns to her side, and sees (Y/n) and Gwen staring at her, which was more of a surprise since Gwen was staring at another version of herself

Spider-Gwen. Normal gwen turns to (Y/n).

“So.. Something else you didn’t tell me about?”

#spider gwen #gwen stacy #spider gwen x Male Reader #gwen x Male Reader #spiderman #male reader #Reader x gwen Stacy #into the spider verse #Spotify

[writeshite]

Infatuation

Summary:

Seattle Grace is like school, if you miss a day, you’ll miss out on a lot. Unfortunately for you, you’d missed several days, and returned to the masterpiece that is Doctor Mark Sloan.

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male!Reader

Tags:

Fluff | Inaccurate Medical Aspects Probably | First Meetings | Wee Bit Of Smut

Words: 3021

Author's Note:

I started watching Grey's Anatomy mainly out of curiosity, and now I'm hooked. I haven't gotten that far into the series, I'm on season 3 but as it always is I have gotten attached to many of the characters, most notably Mark. Anyway, I hoped on here and found a lacking number of male!reader fics for him (I didn't find any 😭) , so I've decided to solve that problem. 😃 Also, when I tell you I scoured the internet for medical cases to pop in here, I scoured the goddamn internet, even went as far as cross referencing.

Seattle Grace is like school; you’ve got the gossip, the drama, the learning, and like school, if you miss a day, you’ll miss out on a lot. Unfortunately for you, you’d missed several days after catching the flu, but now you were back, you were back and mindlessly wondering to yourself when the chief hired god to make him a new surgeon. You don’t often get the chance to interact with other surgeons outside your group, but today was a slow day, and with nothing else to do, you and the others had started shit-talking discussing your colleagues. Christina was in the middle of another tirade on Burke; you’d rolled your eyes at her, turned, and made eye contact with a man you could only describe as sex on legs. He tilted his head slightly at your staring, smirked, winked at you, then walked off.

“Oh my god, you’re drooling over McSteamy?” Christina’s voice drew you back, your mouth flapping open and shut for a few seconds. Alex scoffed before breaking into laughter; you kicked at his leg, muttering curses at him as Christina joined in. “Of all the men, McSteamy?! Really?”

“Ok, first of all, I’m not drooling over him; I don’t even know him,” you corrected, “and second, I just happen to admire his features.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t bother with him; he’s Meredith's new squeeze,” George chimed in.

“He is not my squeeze!” Meredith had been mostly silent, barely paying mind to the conversation, but Geroge’s statement had burst through her bubble. She attempted to curve the conversation away or correct the statement but was unable to after Izzie and Christina teased her. 

“Come on, Mer, McDreamy dumped you, so now you’re rebounding on McSteamy,” Izzie said, sipping her coffee with a side-eye cast on Meredith.

“No, he’s not; we’re just…I…it’s complicated!” she muttered, slumping back in her chair.

You all chuckled at her expense as she threw pieces of her sandwich at each of you; the relative peace of the moment was broken not long after when Dr. Bailey walked into the room. Hand on her hip, her eyebrow raised, you raised your hand to ask what she needed but were beat to it when she began delegating tasks to all of you. She directed you to shadow a doctor Mark Sloan; you glanced at her in confusion, inquiring on who that was. Dr. Bailey sighed, already appearing irked with you all, when Alex burst into laughter at your question, muttering something under her breath; Alex patted your shoulder and left. The others didn’t answer your question either. All of them, especially Christina, chuckled as they went; George stopped in front of you, taking you by the shoulders; he apologized before running off.

“What was that about?”

“God, if I know, I’m not invested enough in the gossip mill to care.” She responded, “Well, what are you still doing here? Go! Dr. Sloan’s waiting for you in room 306.”

You nodded. Speed walking away, holding the folder close, you rushed up the stairs, reading the room signs as you passed them. You let out a sigh of relief when you found room 306. The room was mostly empty - the sounds from the bathroom indicated the patient was busy - a man, doctor Sloan you presumed, had his back turned to you. His arms shuffled a bit as he noted something down.

You cleared your throat, “Uh, Dr. Sloan, Dr. Bailey assigned me as your intern for the day.” You opened the folder, “sorry I’ve never really heard of you until today; I was sick for–a–while—” The sentence died in your throat when you glanced up; Dr. Sloan had turned around as you’d been speaking, a smirk on his face as he took in your speechless composure. McSteamy was standing in front of you. McSteamy was also checking you out, rather blatantly.

“Damn, you’re even cuter up close.”

You smacked your head repeatedly against the lobby desk to the entertainment of Alex and Christina. 

“Why does the universe hate me? I vowed I wouldn’t end up falling for my boss, but he’s so fucking hot,” you whined.

“Oh no, bad move. Never make a promise like that, especially here,” Christina told you.

“Yeah, everyone above us is pretty hot,” Alex added.

“Not helping, guys.” You carried on banging your head against the desk, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Fuck him.” Alex and Christina replied in unison. You gawked at them, eyes wide at their suggestion.

“I can’t fuck him; he’s my boss!”

“So? Crack a quickie or two; then you should be fine.”

“I—”

“Hey rookie, get up here, now,” McSteamy called out.

You pulled the finger at Christina and Alex as you walked away; as McSteamy came closer into view, you schooled yourself into some form of indifference. “You called Dr. Sloan.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“You’re my intern rookie; you might as well call me by my name.”

You tried very hard not to fawn over the slight hint of dominance in his voice, “Alright, Mark, what do you need.”

“Our patient’s done with her bathroom trip; come on.”

The patient - Sylvia Cole - was a sweet older woman, practically loved by everyone at the hospital, even in her short time. You’d only known for barely an hour, but she was practically an angel; the poor thing had been in a bit of an accident and needed a full oral rehabilitation - dental implants requiring mandibular reconstruction. She couldn’t really speak much without inducing pain in her jaw, so she’d been writing words in her native German and showcasing them to the doctors. The surgery would present multiple complexities but should work out fine. You relayed this news to her; she scribbled something on her board, turning it around to you and Mark.

“Bitte,” you told her. 

“You speak German?” Mark inquired, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, I took it as a minor in university.”

“Hmm. You sound sexy.” 

You glanced away, avoiding his gaze as you continued to explain to Sylvia about her upcoming procedure; it didn’t help that Mark stood there, body leaning close to you as he watched you speak. His smirk grew wider when you fumbled over your words after he moved closer; Sylvia erased her board, furiously writing something on it. Mark didn’t understand what she’d written, but he could pick a hint. The stammering that poured from your mouth as you gestured between you and him was enough for him to patch the puzzle together.

“Frau Cole, wir sind nicht–”

Sylvia waved her hand giggling. For the second time that day, you found yourself smacking your head against a hard surface - the wall - as the rest of your friends laughed at your expense. Sylvia Cole managed through surgery; of course, that didn’t mean you stopped being her doctor. That meant you spent more time with Mark as you informed her family, dummed things down, and translated things, and each time the words came out of your mouth, you could practically feel the horny stare from Mark. Sylvia’s family - her daughter, daughter-in-law, and grandson - were all equally as sweet as the older woman; they also immensely enjoyed the board she communicated on. The grandson especially.

“Verstehen Sie das?” you asked after a long relay on Sylvia’s improving condition. 

“Ja. Danke, dass du dich um meine Mutter kümmerst.” the daughter - Mila you remembered - thanked you. She shook both your hands, thanking you profusely.

“She’s thanking us, right?” Mark whispered.

“Yes,” you chuckled.

The grandson - Tommy - turned his attention on you and Mark then, “Mama, sind sie beiden verheiratet wie du und Mutti?”

You practically dropped your pen then, glancing between you and Mark once again, you conveyed that no, you were not married but were met with looks of disbelief from the family. Mark’s eyes darted between you, confused as he demanded to be privy to the conversation.

“Es tut mir leid,” Mila apologized; you waved your hand dismissively, assuring her it was alright. Mark didn’t let go of that once you left the family. He blocked your path, demanding to know what got you so flustered once again.

“Sylvia’s grandson thought we…were married….like his mothers.”

Mark’s expression beamed once he processed the words; side hugging you, he leaned his head down, “Well, rookie, I wouldn’t be against it. What say you and I get down to the chapel unless you’d rather a Vegas-style wedding.” You untangled yourself from him; you didn’t look back as his laugh boomed down the hallway; you found an empty patient’s room, placed your belongings down gently, and screamed your lungs out. Later at Meredith, Izzie, and Geroge’s, you screamed into a cushion, Mark Sloan was going to be the death of you.

Thankfully, you weren’t tied to Mark’s hip like Meredith was to Dr. Shepherd; unfortunately, though, that meant when you did get assigned to him, he was far more adamant about keeping at his side. It was both a blessing and a curse, a blessing because it meant you didn’t have to do as many coffee runs as Alex, and a curse because none of them would quit the teasing. It also meant you got a lot of alone time with him, which resulted in him doing things like leaning ever so close to you, like unnecessarily close, close enough for you to feel him breathing down your neck, and if you were standing, close rough for you to feel the hard-on he had around you.

You were actually in such a situation at the present moment, trying very hard not to pay attention to it, as Mark guided your hands on making coffee. How something simple as making coffee required the attention of an expert surgeon like himself, you didn’t know, and you weren’t going to question. The universe managed to give you some form of reprieve; it was three in the morning, the canteen was completely empty, and you were ninety-nine percent sure Mark was starting to hump against you. Actually, he was definitely humping, and you were definitely rocking your hips in response.

“Coffee goes there, milk’s already out, that’s good, you want something frothy, this time of night,” he muttered in your ear, “Slow down, sweetheart. We still gotta turn the machine on, don’t want something cold in your stomach, do you? You need something to warm you up.”

“I thought you were doing that, sir,” you breathed out, biting your lip to contain any moans that might come from you.

“Say that again. Call me sir again, sweetheart.”

You dropped the spoon in your hand and clutched onto the counter; Mark’s hands also dropped, one to your pants, palming your cock on the outside, the other up your shirt, twisting your hard nipples. “Come on, sweetheart, say what I wanna hear.”

“Yes, sir.” Your breaths came out in short huffs; you leaned back into Mark, and his other hand moved from your cock to your mouth. His fingers plugged your mouth shut as he continued to hump against you. 

“Can’t have you waking whoever’s still here.” He whispered. After the hand on your nipples descended to the inside of your pants, he gripped your cock, squeezing it as he pumped it in quick succession; it wasn’t long before you cummed into his hand; he turned you over, hand still in your pants. “Good boy.”

“My locker’s got a few spare pants; they should fit you pretty well; there’s a belt in there if it doesn’t.” He told you, moving away, he smacked your ass as you left the canteen. The pants did not fit snuggly, so you were forced to take the belt, shoved your cum stained pants into a plastic bag, and tossed them into your bag. Your legs felt like jelly. You weren’t really walking all that funny; more so, you were trying to get your legs to wake up again.

“What are you doing?” Meredith asked.

“What? Nothing, I’m….strolling?” 

“Was that a question?”

“No. Maybe. Yes.” You responded, “I may have had a sort of nighttime quickie with McSteamy in the canteen.”

“In the cante–people eat there, you know that, right? People eat there.”

“We didn’t make a mess; most of it was in my pants,” you admitted, “fuck.”

“Don’t feel bad. Derek and I once had sex in a patient’s room.”

“At least that would’ve gotten clean if Dr. Bailey found out I had sex in the canteen, she’ll have my head.”

Meredith chuckled, “You’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t blame you; McSteamy is pretty hot.”

You agreed. You made the mistake of not swearing Meredith to secrecy before you left the hospital; Izzie practically congratulated you when you returned. You glared at Meredith, who shrugged her arms in response; you groaned in frustration, laying your head in your hands, and grumbled. Your moment of grumbling was cut short when a finger poked you in the shoulder, you looked over to the culprit, George pointed ahead, Mark stood by the lobby, kissing the air at you, he lifted the coffee in his hand in the air a bit. When he lowered it down, he patted his pants and winked before leaving you there with five surgeons with a lot of questions. Your prayers for escape were answered when Dr. Shepherd called for your assistance; you practically jumped at it despite your lack of time in the Pediatric Unit; you practically jumped at it.

“Thank you, Dr. Shepherd; you have no idea how much a lifesaver you were.” 

She laughed, “I can guess. I saw the look Mark gave you this morning, the pat on his pants, cocky little smirk; you’re practically craving him, aren’t you?”

You glanced away, “I–well–yes. God, he doesn’t make it easy.”

“No, he does not.” You side-eyed her, unsure of her last statement; now, granted, you didn’t know what relationship Mark and Dr. Shepherd had now, but you were silently hoping it was of the romantic variety as you would like to have the chance for that yourself. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in chasing after him again; even if I was, I doubt I could compete.”

“Now, are we done discussing Mark Sloan?”

“I suppose we are.”

“Good, because Angie over here needs our full attention. Angie here’s got a collapsed lung, and her mother’s down in ICU after an intense C-section; we’re scheduled to drain the air in a few hours, so keep your head clear and avoid Mark. Believe me, when I say, you don’t want to scrub in with him running through your head.”

“Yes, Dr. Shepherd.”

She smiled, “Good.”

If the rest of the day had gone by as nicely as your interaction with her had been, you’d have been on cloud nin regardless of whether or not you got a date with Mark. But good things don’t always happen. Angie’s mother started bleeding internally when you were in the OR; you and Dr. Shepherd were busy celebrating and congratulating each other that you barely noticed the grim look on the nurse who ran in. She lamented Angie’s mother was not doing so well and was touch and go at the moment, Dr. Shepherd delegated you to the care of Angie as she went to check on the baby’s mother. Angie was adorable, a little tiny, but adorable. Her hand curled around your finger; her progress had been excellent in the past hour. You sang the german alphabet to her, cooing words of encouragement in between the letters. Her grip wasn’t firm, but it would get there one day.

“You know she can’t understand what you’re saying?” You shrugged at Mark’s question as he entered the room.

“I find it comforting, so maybe she might too; besides, I didn’t want to sit here in silence.”

“Silence can be good,” he retorted.

“Mark Sloan, we are in the Pediatric Unit; if you so much as think of uttering anything along the lines of flirtation, I will have Dr. Shepherd on your ass.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

“Alright, sweetheart, you win.”

You sat side by side; Mark’s eyes were glued on you, his chin in his hand -  he leaned forward to admire you as you repeated the song from the beginning. Dr. Shepher returned with Alex during your fifth round of the song, glancing between you and Mark with curiosity; she excused you both and took over. Alex gave you a thumbs up as you left; his left hand formed an ‘o’, and he pushed his index finger in and out of its center. You signaled his death with angry faces and a swiping motion across your neck - he chuckled to himself. You and Mark walked down the halls together; he led you off the path to a broom closet. “Wow, this reminds me of my high school days, making out with the hot guys in the closets.” And make out you did. Mark, had you shoved against one of the walls as you kissed, the breaths between you becoming steamy. His hand gripped your ass tight, fingers just on the hem of your, well, his pants.

He shoved his leg in between your legs, moving you up and down in an effort to have you ride his thigh. You held onto him, warning him these were his pants, and you were not stripping naked because he made you cum in the only pants you had. He grunted, putting a stop to the impromptu thigh riding; he opted instead to go for your neck. You clutched onto him, mewls and moans spilling from your mouth as he bit his way around your neck; your hands weaved through his hair, tugging at it lightly when he bit particularly hard. He ventured down a bit to your chest but left it alone and returned to your neck. He moved back to rest his head against yours sometime after; you panted alongside him, arms holding desperately in fear you might collapse on jelly legs. 

“That–that was–”

“Hot?” Mark supplied the word.

You nodded, “I hope you realize that I need a date first if you want me in your bed.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

End Note:

I have a soft spot in my heart for Mark Sloan, so if I have to write the fanfics for him myself then fine, imma do it.

#mark sloan x male reader #grey's anatomy imagine #feel free to correct me on the inaccurate medical aspects if there be any #mark sloan x reader

[theyraylovehate]

Wheel of Fan Fiction Masterlist

Smut 🔥

Fluff 🌸

Angst 💧

*This is like brand new so most of the characters won't have anything just yet*

•Stranger things

-Billy Hargrove

-Steve Harrington

-Eddie Munson

-Robin Buckley (Fem/NB only)

-Argyle

-Johnathan Byers

-Nancy Wheeler

-Jim Hopper

-Joyce Byers

-001/Henry

-Will Byers (No smut)

-Mike Wheeler (No smut)

-Max Mayfield (No smut)

Hateful Cuddling - Female reader 🌸

-Dustin Henderson (No smut)

-Lucas Sinclair (No smut)

-Eleven (Jane) Hopper (No smut)

•Marvel

-Iron Man/Tony Stark

-Captian America/Steve Rogers

-Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff

-Hawkeye/Clint Barton

-Hulk/Bruce Banner

-Thor

-Loki

-Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes

-Black Panther/T'challa

-Doctor Strange/Steven Strange

-Scarlet Witch/Wanda Maximoff

-Quicksilver/Pietro Maximoff

-Starlord/Peter Quill

-Gamora

-Spiderman/Peter Parker

-Falcon/Sam Wilson

-War Machine/James Rhodes

-Valkyrie (Fem/NB only)

•X-Men

-Professor X/Charles Xavier

-Magneto/Erik Lensherr

-Wolverine/James Howlett

-Quicksilver/Peter Maximoff

-Rogue

-Jean Grey

-Storm/Ororo Munroe

-Cyclops/Scott Summers

-Mystique/Raven

-Beast/Henry "Hank" McCoy

-Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner

-Havok/Alexander Summers

•DC/Young Justice

-Batman/Bruce Wayne

-Superman/Clark Kent

-The Flash/Barry Allen

-Aquaman/Authur Curry

-Cyborg/Victor Stone

-Joker/Jack Oswald White

-Harley Quinn/Harleen Quinzel

-Wonder Woman/Diana Prince

-DeadShot/Floyd Lawton

-Kid Flash/Wally West

-Nightwing (Robin #1)/ Dick Grayson

-Red Hood (Robin #2)/ Jason Todd

-Robin (#3)/ Tim Drake

-Beast Boy/Garfield Logan

-Superboy/Johnathan "Jon" Kent

-Artemis/Artemis Crock

-Red Arrow/Roy Harper

-Green Arrow/Oliver Queen

-Black Canary/Dinah Lance

-Miss Martian/Megan Morse

-Aqualad/Kaldur'ahm

•Umbrella Academy

-Luther Hargreeves (#1)

-Diego Hargreeves (#2)

-Allison Hargreeves (#3)

-Klaus Hargreeves (#4)

-Five Hargreeves (#5)

-Ben Hargreeves (#6)

-Viktor Hargreeves (#7)

-Marcus Hargreeves (#1)

-Fei Hargreeves (#3)

-Alphonso Hargreeves (#4)

-Sloan Hargreeves (#5)

-Jayme Hargreeves (#6)

-Lila Aryu

-The Handler

•Harry Potter

-Harry Potter

-Ron Weasley

-Hermione Granger

-Fred Weasley

-George Weasley

-Ginny Weasley

-Draco Malfoy

-Sirius Black (Older)

-Cedric Diggory

-Oliver Wood

-Neville Longbottom

-Luna Lovegood

-Remus Lupin (Older)

-Nymphadora Tonks

-Lucious Malfoy (Older)

-Narcissa Malfoy (Older)

-Severus Snape (Older)

-Bill Weasley

-Charlie Weasley

•Marauders

-James Potter

Friendly Love - Male reader 🌸

-Lily Evans

-Sirius Black

-Remus Lupin

-Severus Snape

-Regulus Black

-Lusious Malfoy

-Narcissa Black

-Peter Pettigrew

•Greek Mythology

-Zeus

-Hades

-Posideon

-Apollo

-Hera

-Persephone

-Ares

-Athena

-Demeter

-Aphrodite

-Artemis

-Dionysus

-Hermes

•Divergent

-Beatrice "Tris" Prior

-Caleb Prior

-Eric

-Peter

-Christina

-Will

-Tobias "Four"

-Zeke

Zip line of Love - Nonbinary Reader (Requested) 🌸

-Uriah

•Star Wars

-Anakin Skywalker

-Luke Skywalker

-Leia Organa

-Han Solo

-Obi-Wan Kenobi

-Kylo Ren

•Supernatural

-Dean Winchester

-Sam Winchester

-Castiel

-Crowley

-Lucifer

-Rowena MacLeod

-Gabriel

-Charlie Bradbury (Fem/NB only)

-Chuck Shurley

-Jody Mills

-Ellen Harvelle

-Kevin Tran

•The Walking Dead

-Rick Grimes

-Daryl Dixon

-Glenn Rhee

-Carl Grimes

-Maggie Greene

-Negan

-Michonne

-Shane Walsh

-Rosita Espinosa

-Carol Peletier

-Paul "Jesus" Monroe

-Abraham Ford

‐Tara Chambler (Fem/NB only)

-Enid

-Ezekiel

-Aaron (Masc/NB only)

•The Walking Dead Game

-Clementine

-Lee

-Kenny

-Luke

-Javier

-Gabriel

-Kate

-Louis

-Omar

-Ruby

-Mitch

-Marlon

-Violet (Fem/NB only)

IT (2017)

-Richie Tozier

-Beverly Marsh

-Eddie Kaspbrak

-Bill Denbrough

-Stanley Uris

-Ben Hanscom

-Henry Bowers

-Mike Hanlon

-Patrick Hockstetter

-Victor Criss

-Belch Huggins

•Desendants

-Mal

-Evie

-Ben

-Jay

-Jane

-Chad

-Doug

-Lonnie

-Carlos

-Uma

-Harry Hook

-Gil

•Maze Runner

-Newt

-Minho

-Gally

-Teresa

-Alby

-Chuck

-Brenda

-Aris

-Thomas

-Frypan

-Jorge

[azulera]

Inseparable

Pairing: Reece James x Black Reader

Summary: Reece is away on international duty, and you're away on a family trip. The distance helps you to make an important realization about your relationship, but certain visitor(s) always seem to be around when you think to share it with him.

Genre/Warnings: slice of life fluff, humor / none

Notes: i started this during international break, just wanted to read something sweet about my bf reece so i finally finished it :) this is only section 1 of 6, but u can visit ao3 to read the whole thing. just pretend reecy didn't go home early and enjoy the jude b jumpscares throughout! thoughts and feedback are welcome

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I. Day 1

When the FaceTime call first connected, a brown forehead and dark crop of curls were the only things visible. Any words of greeting were lost among the noise of bustling people and intercom voices announcing arrivals and departures in Spanish, English and French that filled the airport and all your other senses. After a moment, you connected your headphones and propped the phone up on the suitcase handle in your lap. Predictably, the airport signal was poor.

“Hey babe, can you hear me?” You looked into the camera, at the still fragmented view of head and hair, and rearranged your flight-ruffled twists over your shoulder. “Reece, can you hear?”

“Yeah, just hold on–”

Your stomach rolled in excitement to see him, though it hadn’t been more than 24 hours since the last time. The relationship, only 4 months old, was still in the rose-colored center of the “everything is perfect” phase, and you weren't sure you’d ever get used to being apart.

“Alright, there.” He’d pulled the camera back, so you could see his full face, and the smile that burst forth was effortless.

“Wow.” You drew out the word. “I can’t believe I flew 2000 miles away from you, by choice.”

“I can.” He complained, even as a soft grin settled on his lips and eyes. “It hasn’t stopped raining in London since you left. Did you all get in okay?”

“Yeah, we did! We’re here. Waiting now for a cab to our hotel, it should be around soon.” The light layer of scruff he’d grown across his chin caught your attention as you looked down at his face, and suddenly, seven days, the length of time that would pass before you could pass your fingers against it, seemed brutal. You tried instead to direct your thoughts to the positive. “Even from the plane, though, everything looks amazing. Where are you? Still at St George’s?”

“We just wrapped up, actually. I’m – can’t you see?” He tipped his phone back, and you got a view of one of St. George’s physio suites, lined with beds, therapy equipment, trainers, and a few other players milling about. Reece himself lay on his stomach with his shorts pulled high, his calf tattoo and the backs of his thighs glistening with some substance.

“Oop! Wait-” Your eyes widened. “Wait, let me see again? I didn’t get a good look–”

“Y/N,” Reece tutted. “Behave.”

Your eyes rolled toward the domed airport ceiling, even as his words bounced around somewhere warm in your chest.

“It’s not my fault you’re built like that. Just want you to squeeze me between them and -–”

“Okay! Okay,” He said through a nervous laugh, darting his eyes around the room he was in. “We are in public, the both of us. Let’s change the subject, please.”

You sighed and took a glance around the airport, which continued to fill as other flights landed, all sorts of eager travelers preparing for or returning from vacation. To your boyfriend there wasn’t so much new to say, as hours of the night before had been spent in bed cuddled up close, Reece’s body between your legs and your hands in his hair, chatting about whatever little thing came up. It was a nice activity on its own, but the real objective had been simply taking each other in, his scent, the feel of your hands roaming his back, the shape of his curls beneath your fingers, and trying to store up as much closeness as possible for the week ahead.

In the short quarter-year of your relationship, this week would be the first and longest time you’d been truly apart.

“Are you having a massage, then?” You asked finally.

“Yeah, I am. The gaffer’s let us off a bit easy today since it’s the first day back, but it’s still cold as ever. S’not good on the bones.”

You shuffled around in your seat, not accidentally nudging your sister, who was sleeping in the adjacent chair. She was 14 years old and yet still a baby, who’d whined about needing to nap while your parents went out to watch for the cab.

“Well, that must be nice then, getting warmed back up. I could use a massage myself, my sister fell asleep with her big head on me the whole way and my shoulder’s dead.”

“I got you when you’re back, don’t worry.” Reece replied. You rolled your eyes another time, choosing to ignore the cheeky look on his face. Little strings of missing him pulled at you already.

“So, what are you all up to the rest of the day?” He asked more innocently.

“Sleeping, probably.” You stole a look over to your sister, who was still dozing with her suitcase clutched to her chest, nose up in the air. “Our hotel is right by the water, so we might go for a swim, definitely grab some food. Tomorrow, I know we’re going to an outdoor market my mum wants to see, and then this cathedral my dad won’t stop talking about.”

“Oh, that sounds fun.” Reece’s face pinched as the massage continued. All you could see from the screen were a pair of pale forearms working and disappearing behind him. “And tell them both I said hi, yeah? And your sister, too.”

“I will,” You nodded. “She’s still been begging for a Chelsea away kit in her size, even though I told her to stop, but — are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Almost done.” He bit down on his lip. “These don’t feel as nice as you think, you know. Especially with old Robbie here, I think he’s got it out for me.”

You heard the deep, muffled voice of the trainer in the background and Reece’s responding laugh. Then another deep voice joined in.

“Not too much on Robbie here, he’s a good lad.” Reece’s eyes lifted to it’s source, somewhere up above the camera, and a slight shadow fell over him.

“No one’s asked you? Move.” Reece laughed at the invisible voice.

“Are you on the phone? Who are you talking to?”

“Don’t worry about it–”

“Oi, hello Y/N!”

Beside Reece suddenly appeared the dark brows and brown eyes of Jude Bellingham, the only match for the strong Birmingham accent that you could imagine talking to your boyfriend that way. You’d first met last year, at a small party for Reece’s birthday, and you’d found his constant banter with Reece and chameleon personality immediately endearing. It had been months still since you’d last seen him.

“Is that Jude?! Long time no see, friend!”

The young man smiled and pushed closer into the center view of the camera, blocking Reece’s face.

“Way too long, I swear. Reece keeps you locked away like a prisoner or something. How’ve you been? You’re away on holiday, I heard?”

“Nah, he’s not so bad. I get food and water, some outdoor time.” You joked. “But I’m great, really. In Spain for a week with the family, we actually just made it in!”

On the screen, he struggled against Reece’s strong shoulder to keep his face in the frame. “Oh, that’s nice, innit? I’ve been a few times with my family, and it’s lovely. You’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah, but I am worried about Reece … he might lose his head without me.” The words left you jokingly, but not without some truth in them.

“It’s already looking that way, you know. He’s been getting massaged for like an hour, which makes no sense cause, what does he even do on the pitch? Just stands there.”

Your mouth popped open, releasing a surprised laugh, as Reece told his friend in a very impolite way to stop talking.

“You’ll look after him, then, won’t you?” You asked. “Make sure he’s alright while I’m gone? Annoy him a little bit?”

“Don’t you worry, sis,” Jude patted a hand atop Reece’s head, which he swatted away. “I promise to stay on his nerves. And make sure he’s tucked into bed and had his tea by 10.”

“I’m forever indebted. You know how grumpy our Reece can get when his schedule’s thrown off.”

“You two are mental.” Reece laughed, and you joined him, continuing to catch up with Jude until your sister made a sharp movement to your left.

“Mum texted and said the car's here.” She said through a yawn. Her puff was smushed from where it had pressed against your shoulder and the seat. “Stop blabbing to your boyfriend and let’s go.”

A glance was just barely spared for her before you turned back to the phone. She would flip if she knew the special guest who was also on the other end of it.

“My mum says our cabs here, babe, so I’ve gotta go. But I’ll call back soon. Every two days, remember?”

The question was met with silence, as Reece’s face turned for a moment away from the phone.

“Reece? You repeated, stretching out the vowels. “Do you remember?”

A loud “smack” resounded in the air, and you caught sight of Jude’s hand slicing through the air and down onto Reece’s skin.

“Pay attention, bro! She’s talking to you.”

Reece’s features drew into a scowl, that slowly receded as he turned his face back. Another laugh trapped in your throat.

“Every two days, babe, I know.” Reece nodded. “I won’t forget. But you have fun, yeah? No worrying about work or classes or anything like that. Just enjoy it.”

You smiled, assuring him that you would, gathering your suitcase and standing up from your chair.

“And if you need anything, or to talk, on the off days,” Reece suddenly added. “It’s okay. I’ll be busy, but, I’ll find the time. Just let me know.”

The sentiment hidden behind his words, and the care in his eyes as he said them, made another, heavier, equally tender three words rise and itch in the back of your throat. Neither of you had uttered the phrase just yet, “I love you”, but each memory made and day spent together made the declaration harder and harder to hold back. But for now, several countries and a few timezones apart, you swallowed it down. The noise in the physio suite and the airport seemed to rise as you and your sister reached the exit doors, and regardless of how Reece might react, the truth of your feelings for him was a message you believed better delivered in person.

“I really appreciate you communicating that. But I think I’ll text Jude first, make sure it fits with your schedule, okay?”

“Whatever” he mumbled, before you said your goodbyes and ended the call. Being separated when you’d spent so much time together the last months was a strange, new feeling, and even now, it wasn’t clear how well you’d respond as the time went on. But Reece being back in the 3 Lions camp, and you surrounded by loved ones was a comfort you were sure would see the both of you through. The week would fly by, and you would relax, and enjoy it as it did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ao3 link to read the rest :)

#reece james imagine #reece james x reader #reece james fanfic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #footballer x reader #footballer x you #football imagine #football fanfic

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

Yay! May I request Royal (Prince?)! Bucky x Baker Reader? And for the prompts, 10 from your MCU list, and 31 from the other list. Also congrats on 200 followers!

thank you so much! when i saw this request i rushed to see what prompts you asked for, and i was so excited to write this! i’ve never written for prince! bucky before and this was so much fun. as always i got carried away and this is going to be a series (mini-series? idk what number qualifies as one or the other).

((this is a request for my 200 followers writing celebration which can be found *HERE*, requests are open for a while so click the link and send something in! or if you’re a writer, take from the prompts and write something too!))

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ~ 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎! 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛! (𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎) 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

CHAPTER ONE

word count: 1.4k  (((this is sort of just an intro, but the chapters get much longer after this!!!)

     AT THE YOUNG AGE OF 22, LIFE WAS DEFINITELY NOT WHAT YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE. You’re not unhappy, but when you think of everything that happened to get you to where you are today, you don’t exactly jump for joy.

Since you were old enough to work, you’ve been helping Peter run May and Ben’s bakery. It’s located just outside of the palace, and you often get asked to make various sweets, pastries, and cakes for events that they’re hosting.

Despite that, you don’t have many interactions with the people within the palace themselves. When making anything for them, guards and servants always come to you guys to pick them up. However, there does seem to be one exception to that. 

Steven Rogers, who insists that you call him Steve. You don’t know his title exactly, but you know he’s basically Prince James’ right hand man. And he’s kind to you. Though a bit higher up on the totem pole, he treats you as if you were equal. In fact whenever he comes in to pick up an order, he gets 2 extra pastries (mille-feuille’s to be exact). Last time he was in, he let it slip that the extra pastries were for Prince James. It’s why he comes to pick them up, they’re his favorites.

For the past 3 weeks in a row, he has come in once a week for the sole purpose of purchasing 2 mille-feuille’s, and a little conversation.

One afternoon, you can’t help but notice that he hasn’t come in yet. And everyone that does come in, all you can hear is gossip about the palace, and specifically, King George Barnes.

Being a bit nosy, you’re finally unable to take the wondering anymore, so you ask Peter what’s happened. He gets a sad look on his face as he tells you that King George had a heart attack and passed away very early this morning.

You don’t know much about Prince James, but you know that you’re pretty much the exact same age. When you were much younger, your parents always told you how ‘cool’ it was that you and the prince were born just 2 days apart. You instantly think back to being 10. You’d lost both of your parents, and were taken in by May and Ben. Now, you can’t help but feel your heart break a little for the prince, knowing just a little about what he’s going through. You can’t imagine how hard it must be to lose them after having spent the past 22 years with them, and have to deal with royal business.

The rest of the day goes by slowly, and you resist the urge to tell customers to maybe quit their gossiping about the Barnes family. Yes, they’re royalty, but that doesn’t mean there needs to be speculation now that a tragedy has occurred.

At the end of the day, you and Peter high-five as you realize that you’ve sold almost everything that was baked last night and early this morning. In order to cut down on waste, for the last few hours you make a game of seeing who can sell specific pastries to random customers.

Oh a whim, you grab 8 of the remaining dozen pastries and put them in a box. A small smile appears on your face as you realize 3 of them are Prince James’ favorite ones. You put the last 4 in a smaller box, and tie everything up with nice silk ribbons.

As you hang up your apron and Peter heads towards the door, waiting for you so that he can lock it, you tell him that you’ll meet him later at home. He asks where you’re going, and you say you’re just going to see if you can drop off the boxes at the palace gates.

Peter offers to come with you since it’s late, but you insist that you’ll be alright.

You nervously approach the gate where 2 men are standing guard. As soon as you’re within hearing distance, they ask what your business is in the palace. The Barnes family aren’t welcoming guests at the moment.

“I— I don’t mean to intrude,” you begin to get nervous, wondering if this was a good idea. “I’m just… Steven Rogers comes in once a week to get desserts for himself and Prince James, and while I know they won’t do anything to help the situation, I thought it might be something of a comfort to him.”

Hearing this, both guards expressions immediately soften. They know exactly who you are now that you’ve said your name. They just hadn’t seen your face before.

You hold out the smaller box, explaining that you’ve brought some for them specifically as well. One man takes the smaller box from you, a big smile now on his face. He introduces himself as Samuel Wilson, but insists that you call him Sam. He restrains himself from telling you that Prince James has raved about your baking.

The other man introduces himself as Clint Barton, and he promises to see that the other box gets to the prince.

“King George was a good man. I met him once, and he was very kind to me. Please give Prince James and the rest of the Barnes family my condolences.”

Later that night when you’re asleep, you dream of the worst day of your life. You’re just a girl, running around the backyard with Peter while Ben watches after you both. May joins you all of a sudden, and whispers something in his ear. By the way Ben’s facial expression changes, and the way they’re both looking at you, you know something is wrong.

May then asks Ben to take you inside, and she sits with you as she gently breaks it to you that your parents are gone. You immediately think she’s lying. That’s impossible. I’m only 10, I’m supposed to have them around for years and years, you think to yourself.

“Y-you’re lying… they only had me when they were twenty, and they’ve only just turned thirty. You have to be lying…”

You always wake up form the nightmare just after your little body collapses onto the ground. 

Knowing you won’t be back to sleep anytime soon, you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, returning to your room immediately after. 

Just seconds after you’ve closed the door, Peter bursts in, having heard your door open and close.

He’s silent as he pulls you in for a hug, rubbing small circles on your back as you cry. He still vividly remembers the day when he and Ben went with you to your family home, while May was sorting out the legalities to ensure that they’d become your guardians.

All you did was sit on your bed and try your best to not cry. You were meant to be packing up your room today, the home would be taken care of later. But you didn’t think you could do it. 

Peter didn’t say a word then either. He was incredibly patient, even for a 10 year old. He and Ben just packed up your room, and every once in a while Peter would sit next to you and you’d lay your head on his shoulder.

Now even though it’s been 12 years, it still feels like it just happened.

“I’ve lived without them longer than I’ve lived with them. I hate that I’m still like this.”

“Hey,” Peter steps back, holding you at arms length, “there’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you’re feeling right now. And if you ever want to talk about it, no matter what time it is, you come get me, alright?”

He desperately wishes that he could take your pain away. Even before your parents died, you and he were raised together practically like siblings. So you’ve always been extremely close. And once you moved in, you really did become like brother and sister, so he hates seeing you like this.

Meanwhile at the palace, Prince James lays in his bed, wide awake as he tries to fight the tears.

His father was his best friend, but his heart is also aching for his mother. She must now rule by herself, and he doesn’t know how she’ll manage. He understands that eventually he’ll have to become king, but he always imagined that he’d do so once his father was older and wanted to step back, pass down the crown. How is he meant to do all of this without his father there to guide him?

requested tags: @hallecarey1, @thebuckybarnesvault

if i’ve missed you, i apologize and please let me know! i’m still not used to people being asked to be tagged in my things so i might’ve missed someone. 

if you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know via my ask! you can specify with the title of this story, or if you want to be tagged in everything written for bucky.

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes au #winter soldier au #marvel #mcu #marvel au #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #winter soldier x fem!reader #bucky x fem!reader #steve rogers #peter parker #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

[delicatel0vers]

Masterlist

Hey yall! I made a masterlist, bc I can. Feel free to send in a request<3

Julie and the Phantoms

Luke Patterson

Headcannons

Love Language

Reggie Peters

Headcannons

Ray's computer

Narnia

Series

Edmund Pevensie

Confessions parts 1 & 2

One shots

Wingman

Headcannons

rain

love language

gift

Susan Pevensie

Peter Pevensie

Prince Caspian

Lucy Pevensie

Young Sheldon

Georgie Cooper

Ounce Upon a Time

Hook

Henry Mills

Regina Mills

Emma Swan

Peter Pan

Felix

The Walking Dead

Carl Grimes

Maggie Rhee

Glenn Rhee

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

Pretty Little Liars

Jason DiLaurentis

Emily Fields

Aria Montgomery

Ezra Fitz

Spencer Hastings

Hanna Marin

Toby Cavanaugh

Harry Potter

Luna Lovegood

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Harry Potter

Pansy Parkinson

Hermione Granger

Draco Malfoy

Cedric Diggory

Merlin

Mordred

Merlin

Morgana

Arthur

Gwen

Gwaine

Percy

Leon

Cobra Kai

Robby Keene

Miguel Diaz

Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz

Demetri Alexopoulos

Tory Nichols

Crossovers

Narnia x HP

Slytherin Edmund x Ravenclaw F!Reader

[lillianofliterature]

about me. . .

Lillian, 23, she/her, panromantic asexual, pots, adhd, infp, 2w1

follower of Jesus, friend to bugs, obsessed with dinosaurs

aspiring author, fanfic writer, jewelry maker & paleoartist

what i’m typing. . .

REQUESTS

"silver fox”, terry silver x younger!reader [age gap] [mini series]

ONE-SHOTS/MINI SERIES

“extending hospitality”, obi-wan kenobi x reader [part three] [mini series conclusion] ON HIATUS

“reflections of the heart”, severus snape x reader [mini series]

“the guilt of seven graves”, severus snape x reader [one-shot] [dark content warning]

"of gits and glowers", severus snape x reader [one-shot]

links and resources. . .

main masterlist

imagines/preferences masterlist

request guidelines

my spotify (including character themed playlists and povs)

characters i obsess over. . .

alan grant, aragorn, august booth, beetlejuice, beorn, bofur, bruno madrigal, daniel larusso, data soong, din djarin, dwalin, eddie munson, elrond, frodo baggins, george of the jungle, haldir, heimdall, jack sparrow, jareth, johnny lawrence, killian jones, loki, obi-wan kenobi, remus lupin, rick o'connell, rumplestiltskin/mr. gold, severus snape, silco, spencer shay, spock, tarrant hightopp, terry silver, thranduil, tyrion lannister

ariel, arya stark, brienne of tarth, danaerys targaryen, emma swan, frankie bernstein, jinx, katniss everdeen, leia organa, merida, mulan, natasha romanoff, regina mills, sansa stark, zelena

my fandoms. . . 

TV/SERIES:

once upon a time, outlander, arcane, star trek (tos, tng, voy, pic), stargate (sg-1, atlantis, universe), cobra kai, game of thrones, good omens, our flag means death, the last of us, the clone wars, the mandalorian, the book of boba fett, the falcon and the winter soldier, loki, avatar: the last airbender, the legend of korra, grace and frankie, the waltons, matlock, sherlock, icarly, 2000s nickelodeon/disney channel shows

MOVIES:

the hobbit, the lord of the rings, harry potter, the chronicles of narnia, star wars, star trek, marvel/mcu, jurassic park/world, pirates of the caribbean, the karate kid (I-III), labyrinth, hunt for the wilderpeople, sense and sensibility (1995), alice in wonderland (2010), finding neverland (2004), the phantom of the opera (2004), beetlejuice, the nightmare before christmas, the little mermaid, emperor’s new groove, tinker bell, and a gazillion more 

BOOKS:

the hunger games, the hobbit, the lord of the rings, the true confessions of charlotte doyle, percy jackson series, the selection series, anything austen or brontë, and a lot of heckin’ good fanfiction

WEBTOONS/COMICS:

lore olympus, let’s play, midnight in poppy land, the wolfman of wulvershire, suitor armor, he’s harmless i swear, the first night with the duke, the remarried empress, tricked into becoming the heroine’s stepmother, subzero, what’s up beanie, not even bones, my gently raised beast, your throne, madame outlaw, the wrath & the dawn, forever after, siren’s lament, eaternal nocturnal, age matters, of swamp & sea, lady knight, house of stars, archie comics: big ethel energy, blood stain, punderworld, i love yoo, brass & sass, miss widow, and even more (obviously I’m obsessed with them)

VIDEO GAMES:

animal crossing: new horizons, animal crossing: new leaf, animal crossing: city folk, breath of the wild, the wind waker, jedi fallen order, the last of us (I & II), any and all lego games, and more!

MUSIC/GENRES:

film scores/soundtracks, musicals, reggae, alternative/indie, celtic punk, celtic music, various independent instrumentals/composers, folk rock, 70s/80s rock, indie folk, pop, and a sprinkle of everything else (I listen to almost every genre, it just depends on what my soul needs in the moment! music is so cathartic, i’m almost always listening to it)

james newton howard, howard shore, bear mccreary, rachel portman, anne dudley, alexandre desplat, john powell, john williams, harry gregson-williams, mark isham, bob marley & the wailers, jack johnson, dave matthews band, red house painters, iron & wine, cat stevens, daft punk, adele, lord huron, fleetwood foxes, dodie, birdy, avril lavigne, priscilla ahn, AND SO MANY MORE! (i freaking love music)

if you want to know more or chat about any shared fandoms or inquire about unlisted fandoms or interests, just dm me!

#meet the author #meet the fanfic author #meet the writer #welcome to my blog #welcome to my tumblr #fandoms #fanfics #about me

[beccanimes]

request?

hi guys i’m opening request for these following fandoms and the people:

The Walking Dead 

Daryl Dixon 1

Rick Grimes  1

Negan Smith 

Glenn Rhee

Supernatural 

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel 

Jack Kline 

Lucifer 

Gabriel 

Criminal Minds 

Spencer Reid

Derick Morgan 

JJ

Arron Hotchner

Emily Prentiss 

Penelope Garcia 

Luke Alvez

Alex Blake 

The Vampire Dairies 

Damon Salvatore 

Stefan Salvatore   

Kai Parker 

The Originals 

Klaus Mikaelson (Both TVD or TO)

Elijah Mikaelson (TVD or TO)

Marcel Gerard 

Rebekah Mikaelson (TVD or TO)

Divina Claire 

Kol Mikaleson (TVD or TO) 

Marvel 

Steve Rogers

Thor 

Natasha 

Clint Barton 

Peter Parker (Tom Holland 

Perter Parker (Tobey Mcguire) 

Peter parker (Andrew Garfeild)

Loki 

Tony Stark 

Buck Barnes   

Wanda Maximoff 

Stephen Strange 

Vison 

Harry potter/ Fantasic Beast

Harry Potter 

Ron Weasley 

Hermione Granger 

Draco Malfoy 

Siruis Black (harry potter and maruduer era)

Seamus Finnigan 

Cedric Diggory  1

Fred Weasley 

George Weasley

Remus Lupin 

Newt Scamander 

Tina Goldstein 

Theseus Scamander 

Stranger Things 

Steve Harrington 

Johnathan Byers

Nancy Wheeler 

Robin Buckley 

Billy Hargrove 

Eddie Munson 

Alexei 

OUAT

Regina Mills 

Emma Swan 

Charming 

Snow white 

Killian Jones 

Belle 

Graham 

Neil Cassidy/ Baelfire 

Robin Hood 

Ruby Lucas 

Tilly 

Mulan 

Felix 

Margot 

Jefferson 

August/ Pinocchio

Chicago Med

Will Halstead

Connor Rhodes

Ethan Choi

Crockett Marcel

April Sexton

Natalie Manning

Chicago Fire

Mathew Casey

Kelly Severide

Joe Cruz

Otis

Peter Mills

Stella Kidd

Gabby Dawson

Chicago PD

Jay Halstead

Adam Ruzek

Antonio Dawson

Sean Román

Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz

Erin Lindsey

Kim Burguss

Chicago One

Jay Halstead and Will Halstead x sibling

Kelly Severide x Platonic best friend

Kelly Severide x Sibling reader

Hermann x child reader

Gabby and Antonio x sibling reader

Hogwarts legacy

Ominis Gaunt

Sebastian Sallow

Garreth Weasley

#twd #the walking dead #supernatural #criminal minds #vampire diaries #the originals #marvel #harry potter #fantastic beats and where to find them #stanger things #ouat #hogwarts legacy