#peter parker x royal!reader

[tarjapearce]

Crimson Crown (Pt. 5)

Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Special thanks to @pinkiemme for this amazing cover ❤️✨

WARNINGS: Mentions of poisoning, awkward flirting, privacy invasion, mentions of character's death. Unresolved sexual tension, Unrequited sexual tension.

Summary: As danger looms in the horizon, a new objective is set in mind.

A/N: Didn't feel that well, so poured myself into this thingy ~ Hope your like ✨

Prince Gabriel approached today, I must say, there was something odd about his apology. Not in the disingenuous way but rather a more sudden and brazen one. The kind of way that leaves you confused.

He apologized, yet I wouldn't like to encounter his drunken self ever again.

Miguel blinked to read the next paragraph.

Odd things keep happening. The king has requested my presence today, Unexpected as it was, he is awaiting for me. I won't deny I dread this little encounter, hopefully this meeting brings me a little peace.

Everything seems to be happening at such speed is quite absurd.

He flipped the page with a sigh.

I've met the king where he instructed. And once more he manages to surprise me in such way I am... aghast. I'm still debating if it's a good thing or more of his political side taking over.

He said I was no stranger. He acknowledged me! I know this might sound preposterous even, but I'm glad we can settle for something more than strangers that occasionally have lunch together.

His words convinced me that he cares deeply for his people. Never in my life I've met someone that shares my vision for my future kingdom. It pleases me deeply. He is wise and I'm glad I am able to have such visionary on my side.

Oh...

He blinked as his mouth gave a shaky and surprised breath. His heart stirred in a pleasant feeling. It was odd and that terrified him. His heart was trying to settle a beat according to an specific emotion, but all of them mutinied and sent his brain into a brief override.

"Are you done invading her privacy?"

Miguel glared at a mirthful Jessica.

"This is the only way I can get some direct information."

"About yourself?" Her brow quirked with a little deadpan.

"The kingdom."

"Oh yes, the kingdom, of course."

Miguel rolled his eyes with a shake of his head and resumed his reading.

I was awaken today by the clashing of swords. The king was practicing some sword fighting with his brother. And now I can understand why he is called The Red King, or The Dragon's Claws in Onerim.

That was definitely a new nickname.

He wielded a sword in each hand. His technique is unique, precise and so deadly if one would be a tyro in the arts of combat. Even though it was a practice he didn't held back.

I cannot describe the feeling he... stirred  within me. May God forgive me for such volatile imagination.

His lips curved in a smirk.

"Flip the page."

Jessica's voice made his eyes snap up at her. She was away in her spot.

"You'll get extra patrol."

"Ohh, what did you read?"

"Si si, ya. Cállate, me interrumpes." (Shut up, you're interrupting me)

The power the king holds in his garden is... beyond me. How could he just accept things without looking into it? A bit reckless considering mostly of the plants he owes are either poisonous or quite medicinal. There is no in between.

Peter seemed concerned for the safety of the people that take care of the gardens, must admit his reaction was laughable.

But to my horror, tragedy attacked. There were many injured, but the king concerned me the most. I know his men are dear to him, but he shouldn't neglect himself. Not when he had a deep wound that could end up in a serious infection.

He allowed me to help him. He gave me a chance to prove him how worthy I could be. Hope my efforts didn't go unnoticed.

They didn't. How could he forget about your doting fingers working on him with such expertise, he barely felt any pain. He flipped the page.

Was I too straightforward when I said I admired him? He seemed uncomfortable even told me to see someone else as a role model. He's quite hard to read sometimes.

He's always frowning or scowling. Should I stop trying to approach? Even if we know our duties, I wouldn't want to be at odds with him.

But right now, my mind wanders to my father. He is ill, and I must visit him. Hopefully the king will understand.

Miguel exhaled. His shoulders slumped, and he rubbed his face. Once again the questions assaulted his mind, yet wandered towards your family.

So far they seemed good and they were keeping the promise. The economy kept thriving and so far none had complained of any trouble in the West Passage.

He put the diary back in it's place and left your room. The lovely smell of rich violets had been long gone. You had left a day ago. Nothing had changed except his inner turmoil regarding your safety.

Not that he didn't trust his men. Peter was more than efficient, Gwen was capable despite being young, just like Hobie. And Webslinger was more than seasoned. You'd be alright. You had to.

He left your room with Jessica tailing behind him.

"One day you'd have to tell her that you've been reading her diary."

"Probably she'd end up poisoning me."

"And you'd die a happy man."

Jessica chuckled as he was about to protest.

"Do you miss her already?"

His shoulders tensed and slicked his hair back. 

"How is the east frontier gateway doing?"

"Holding up as it should"

He nodded, "Any complains?"

"Negative. The mutinies have been controlled and the leader has been arrested." Jessica rolled her shoulders to ease some tension, "It's the second mutiny regarding a rebellion we've encountered this month."

"Do you think it's a pattern?"

"It better not. Rebellions although used for higher causes, always bring second hand intentions. With enough fire and ignorant people, it can be dangerous."

His nose flared, frustration simmering in his heart.

"Sometimes I do wonder if I'm doing a good job as a king."

"You can't keep everyone happy, Miguel."

"I know. Still I'm doing everything I can yet it's never enough it seems."

"It won't be for those who aren't satisfied. You're a good ruler. And if this keeps happening, we'll handle it. Like we always do."

"Thanks."

"Besides, you have the Princess now. You said she shared your ideals, hold onto that."

"Might as well invite her for a hearing in a council."

"Don't listen to those old people, they are nothing but square thinkers."

"As long as their interests aren't threatened, the princess will be alright."

"We gotta see her temper as well. Oh! can you imagine her being like you? The scandal!"

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Of course I am. You're worried about something else that isn't the kingdom for once."

"She said we're acquaintances."

"Better than strangers or people that see eachother as something convenient. Does it bothers you being only that with her?"

"It's not that. Wouldn't want to be on her bad side either. You know I don't trust easily."

"You're still seeing if you can trust her?"

"Of course. That's why I read her diary. Her thoughts are truthful."

"Whatever works out for you, I guess. As long as you remain truthful."

----

Your carriage stopped in the outside of the castle. Your mother and Lucille already awaiting. Peter opened the door for you as you stepped out.

Lucille rushed to hug you.

"I've missed you so much!"

The queen joined in a heartfelt reunion. Peter and the rest followed you inside.

"My dear. You have... no idea how much I missed you."

The queen gave you a kiss on the forehead and a hug.

"How is father?"

"Stable. Come."

Peter stood behind you, paying a keen ear to the conversation.

"What happened?"

"A poisoning attempt."

Your hands covered your mouth and the queen squeezed your shoulders.

"And by none other than his beloved mistress. That wretched whore poisoned him once he refused her whims."

Your jaw tightened upon hearing the things that came out her mouth. Another reason to abhorre them. Not only they had meddled with your parent's marriage, but now one had tried to kill him.

Peter saw you tense, now having a wider perspective on why you were so upset regarding them. Understandably so.

"Tell me she is dead."

Peter blinked at your words.

"I assure you this ain't the first attempt she tries. Remember when he suddenly fell ill by an everlasting raving? The whore had diluted datura and henbane on his drink."

"As much as I'd love to handle her treatment personally, I shall go to see the king. Lucille, Peter please come with me."

Peter gave the rest a sign call to remain put as he followed. You were on your element, and it showed as you gave turns around the castle, like muscle memory.

Lucille separated to go to a lab-like room as you walked to the king's chambers.

Guards saluted you as you entered. Heart sinking at the sight. Your father laid on bed, pale due sickness, lips devoid of color, eyebags dark and sagging thanks to the little sleep.

"Oh no. no. Please leave!" You dad whined but you held his hand soothingly

"How could you ask such thing when you're fighting for your life?"

"Who is this man?"

"Commander Peter B. Parker. From Arachne."

"You've already gotten married?"

"No. Not yet."

You soaked a rag on the water next to him as the damage was assessed.

"From all the things you could've done, was to anger a woman that is power-hungry."

"Please, child-"

"You know how that... Sarina is."

"She's just angered, but she will come to me. I know so. This is just a quarrel -"

"Father."

Your voice was stern, laced with anger, yet you kept wiping his sweat.

"I'll have her executed for murder attempt."

The king groaned and sobbed.

"In my time, none went above me. And look how things have changed, ser!" Your dad looked at Peter, trying to get him to reason with you. He just gave an awkward smile.

"It's beyond me how can you keep defending such... woman after everything she has done to you. You might tolerate it. But I do not."

You stood and went to the little medical station that was left either by Lucille or another doctor. Hands ground some herbs as Lucille brought a pot of boiling water.

" You don't know her like I do."

"Oh, my apologies dear father, but anyone that attempt to kill me in the name of love must surely be a lovely person"

Peter just remained watching, until you called him while stirring a goblet with a steamy green concoction.

"Hold the king." You instructed as he blinked stupidly.

"Beg... your pardon, your majesty?"

"Please hold the king's hands. I will give him his medicine."

"If you dare to touch me, I will have-!"

"You barely can keep your own head up, father. Stop it."

Peter sighed and held the king's hands firmly. His skin cold, clammy and waxy. Your father whined like a child as you made him swallow the potion, green and thick drops of the brew rolled down his chin. His face contorted in a repulsed one at the strong and sour taste.

"Thanks, Peter."

The Commander stepped away and let you work. You seemed used to your father's antics at this point, and so was Lucille.

"Now, if you excuse me, I must talk to the queen."

"Your mother refuses to talk to me, child."

You rolled your eyes.

"Understandably so. You can't expect  people that love you be happy for such repetitive behavior. Much less with someone that brings suffering. You're lucky if she doesn't makes you watch that woman's execution."

"Sarina has done nothing but to bring joy to my life!"

Sighing you shook your head.

"My God... why men must think with their groin?! How can you so blind, father? You've hurt my mother with your little childish affairs." You took a deep breath, "You're a king. An old one, mind you. Behave like one."

Your voice laced with anger. A warning tone.

-----

As day passed, Miguel poured himself into work. The reports of Rhino sure had decreased, the villain so far knew to keep a low profile, which was odd. It was against the rouge's nature to be so quiet and cunning, unless someone else was with him. And that meant trouble.

Sighing for the millionth time, Miguel plopped on his chair. One that had to be custom made for him, and then, slicked his hair back. Sometimes he wanted to pull his hair out due the strain he was constantly facing, and other times he really wanted to just punch something or someone.

He was sure that if that desperation would be a human or something tangible, he'd not only punch it, but would try to make it through the same  suffering it was making him endure. His heart beat faster and he clutched at his chest. A few deep breaths was enough to ease his irregular beatings.

He closed his eyes and relaxed his body. His fingers rubbed on his aching eyes. He had been sleeping less and less, to the point of having random yet unwilling naps and waking up tired and sore.

His neck popped as his spine cracked back into place and grunted like a rusty machine. His mind tried to empty itself, gravitating towards your soft and warm fingers on his aching skin. It was the closest someone has ever been touching him in a non threatening way.

Your fingers felt like silk sliding down his upper body, A gentle caress from the wind, a soothing touch in aching bones. Balm to his bleeding body.

Soft caresses on his face and hair turned real, palpable even. Like if his thoughts were taking shape and were now massaging his scalp with such softness it made him groan. He was surely losing his mind, but the touch was so soothing and slumber inducing that he remained still, slowly melting into the caresses. They reminded of yours.

Had you returned already?

His nose was filled in with a scent he wished to have long forgotten eons ago. His eyes frowned as the too real dream now delivered fluttering kisses up and down his neck. His scent strong in myrrh and herbs.

"Hello there." The feminine voice snapped his eyes open and sigh.

"Leave."

"But you seemed to be enjoying it, Miggy."

Dana's voice purred into his ear which he quickly shook off with a disgruntled sigh.

"I said leave." He nearly growled and that made her stop, only to kneel before him, spreading his legs, her hands roaming over his clothed inner thighs.

"I've seen your new toy. Even though she is quite the looker, it makes me wonder. For how long you'll play until you break her?"

Miguel's eyes darted to her as she placed little kisses on his hands. He quickly removed them off her lips, annoyed, earning him a giggle.

" I know you. You like playing rough until your toys can no longer amuse you. But I'm still here, Miguel."

Her fingers roamed his injured arm gently, but even so, Miguel winced. Her touch felt soiling yours.

"Did she heal you, my love? How sweet of her to keep you in good shape for me." Her hand hovered over his groin but he quickly grabbed her by the wrist. "How long has it been since we had some pillow talk?"

"How brave of you to prowl when she is gone."

"I am generous to spare her a bad time, by seeing me coming out of your chambers. Isn't that nice of me?"

"¿A poco si?" (Are you?) His face went blank

"Oh, Miguel. You mockery has turned soft. Just like you. I wonder if it's by that little witch influence."

"Witch?"

"I'd be careful around her. She knows too much." She sat on his lap.

He quirked an eyebrow without amusement. Stoic as ever.

"Follow your own advices, querida."

Dana widened her eyes slightly as she seized him with an undignified stare.

"You wouldn't allow her to do so such thing."

He shrugged and pushed her off his body gently, a cue for her to move but completely missed it.

"Who knows? I might feel bored and in dire need of amusement one day if you keep testing my patience. I said leave."

Dana stood with anger as he growled.

"We are on the verge of war and you suddenly start being all moronic and stupid over a pair of pretty eyes. She has been washing your brain! "

"The prettiest I've seen, indeed." He taunted.

"You are mine. And I do not share. Much less with a witch! For all I know she could've already poisoned your drinks!"

Miguel gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes and approached her.

"Is that so?" Her lips smirked as she bit her lips. Miguel took her by the chin.

"You don't like sharing?"

Dana shook her head and gasped as Miguel cornered her to wall, hand still gripping her chin. A grip that turned borderline painful as he kept squeezing.

"Tell me, dear Dana." The octave lower tone he pronounced dear made her gulp, "Do you see a ring on your finger?"

"She doesn't have one either."

"Yet. The difference between you and her is that she will. You won't." He spat. His smile long gone as he scrutinized her face. "We share a vision. You and I? A bed many months ago."

Dana growled but yelped as Miguel patted her cheek a bit too roughly.

"You don't love her" She taunted with a smirk, trying to swallow the painful stabs his words provoked her.

"What makes you think I love you instead?"

Something dern slithered in Dana's eyes.

"I am not in the mood for your stupid games and hysterics. Not now, not today, nor ever. Entiendes? Stay away from her and my affairs." (Understand?)

Dana stole a kiss, leaving a little wound in his lips in the process, a desperate way to mark him. Miguel snarled and took her by her arm then shoved her out of his chambers, slamming the door in her face. Rejecting her completely.

Little did Miguel know on taking Jessica's warning words at heart.

A scorned woman holds such wrath even you must learn to be wary of.

Dana left, her thinking gears turning and moving. Miguel would learn, whether he liked it or not. He was hers. She licked his blood off her tongue.

-----

"I apologize you had to witness that. My father... Is like a child once he gets bedridden.

"Do not fret over it, your highness. I've seen and done worse than that."

You chuckled as you walked through the gardens, checking on your roses and herbs.

"I always forget to ask you, ser Peter... Has the king been always this serious?"

"Even as a kid, yeah. His father trained us together."

Nodding your fetched a basket and then asked for boiling water to one of the nearby servants.

"Was he as ruthless and bloodthirsty as people say?"

"Ruthless, yes. He is when it comes to protect the kingdom and people he holds dear."

"But?"

"There is no buts, Princess. It is as it is."

"He loved the slaughter then?"

"Not to that point, but he wouldn't hesitate in ending someone's life if it was a threat. As little as it seemed to be."

You nodded and pulled two black roses along some berries to then put it on a kettle.

"What has changed?"

"He got tired of the bloodshed. And so Arachne. So we strive for the peace, wars leave nothing but destruction and broken families in their wake. "

"But?"

"We won't hesitate to wield our swords again if we are called for duty."

Nodding, you poured a cup for yourself and another for Peter.

"Sit." You instructed as you added honey to your tea, "We grow these for our women. In Theleria, fertility rites are quite sacred."

Peter eyed the simmering flower, the hot blend slowly turning into a subtle red-ish hue.

"But for men, it's just another drink for energy boosting" You smiled, "Thelerians are avid tea drinkers."

"Not my business to prey in, but... You're to kill that woman?"

"The Queen is. Can't pry away that from my mother. My people found out she is mingled with King Fisk's men. And thanks to her influence on my father, my kingdom just lost a couple more lands to him."

The tea's flavor blooming so sweetly in your mouth. A stark contrast in the sourness of your words.

"I don't like mistresses for that exact motive. Sure, love can be displayed with them, since royals get together to secure territory, legacies and the like, nothing more nothing less."

A sigh.

"I truly wouldn't want for the king of Arachne to fall under the same curse we have."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Some of our past kings have had a fair share of mistresses. And all of them have had a favorite that for some reason, turn out to be calamities."

Another sip of your tea, "I'm aware that such position influences greatly in a king's judgement. Sadly our past kings thought with their groin." Your eyes stared off at your drink, "And little by little they engaged in wars that costed our kingdom greatly."

"King Miguel is wise enough to not fall under such things."

"Not to underestimate his reasoning, but these women are cunning. You don't see them coming until is too late."

"Princess. I promise you, it's not the case with the king. Please, don't waver your faith in him."

"I will trust your word, ser."

Peter nodded with a solemn nod.

"How... -"

"Will the Queen dispose of her?"

Shrugging you finished your tea

"That is up to her. One would think that my mother would enjoy this, be satisfied even, but little do people know is that she is in pain."

"Pain?"

"Indeed. She never managed to get my father's love entirely, as it was an arranged marriage as well. And after my brother's passing it turned worst. My father's behavior I mean."

Peter sipped his now warm tea, for his surprise it was mellow and sweet tasting.

"He shut himself off from everyone. My mother specially. But with that woman, he seemed a different man. Even I was a fool to believe their supposed romance."

You ate a little candied flower before speaking again, trying to sweeten your mouth after the acrid words.

"It's not easy for her to get rid of my father's source of... twisted joy. But her treason to this kingdom weighs more than a heartache."

"If you were in this position-"

"I am, somehow, ser. And I hope I never meet them."

Peter's lips pursed and nodded

"Would you proceed like your mother?"

"No. I'd step away. There is no business for me to do in that situation. Can't get in between two people that seek eachother."

"I see"

"Why?"

"Just thinking. What if it's a one sided thing?"

"I'd need you to be more specific on that, ser."

"What if the king doesn't partake anymore in such activities, but the other... part, seeks him?"

"Still. Why would he keep them around to begin with, if he has no intention of such activities?"

You sighed once more, "It's more complicated than that, ser. I know that King Miguel has had concubines or mistresses before. But it's confusing."

"Confusing?"

"I'm not one to be authoritarian, and I know it's tradition for you and the rest of the continent. But in my kingdom, mistresses are... heavily frowned upon."

"May I ask why?"

"We value, respect and cherish those whom we decide to share our lives with. Adding someone else in the picture would not only make our partner feel unworthy."

You wet your lips after much talking, "But rejected even, a clear 'I do not need you nor want you'. My father was the fourth king in following such wretched customs."

"Do you feel disrespected, your highness?" Peter tried carefully, and your eyes casted down.

"I'd be a liar if I say I don't, even though prince Gabriel apologized. But customs are customs, I suppose."

Peter could only sigh, disheartened. Naturally he'd had to inform back to Miguel, however your words had opened a new perspective to him. He could now understand why you were so upset about how everything displayed.

Still, the drunk habits of prince Gabriel weren't appreciated.

"Wander the city, have some fun while you're here. I am to remain whitin the castle anyways. Must prepare my father's medical dosage and then I'll have some tea with Lucille."

You stood and left, cutting him short before he could reply.

-----

In the end, the execution of Sarina was a quick beheading, once the king had enough color on his cheeks, you were set to go. With a heavy heart you said your goodbyes to Lucille and your mother, who you had shared the past events.

"If he keeps causing you pain, return. We'll find a better solution. I will not tolerate you to end up like me."

She had said, comforting you at her best. Gwen, Hobie and Webslinger had toured the city with the help of Lucille. They carried some souvenirs back at work. You on the other hand, had been keeping your attention at your needlework all your way back to Arachne.

It took you two days to arrive, three and a half to stay and another one and half day to arrive. A whole week.

The scenery had changed, the might and grandeur welcomed you with open arms once more. Calling you, demanding your presence at the castle as red eyes settled on the window, watching from the horizon at the door, expecting; preying.

His eyes lit up with keen interest as your carriage stopped within the porch. Peter helped you out, Gwen and Hobie followed you as Webslinger returned to his post.

Peter arrived minutes later, a turgid expression painted in his face. Miguel didn't know if to feel worried or even more distressed.

"Report."

"Hello to you too, pal. Glad to see your sour face again."

Miguel exhaled deeply, begging for patience to heavens.

"Hello, please report."

"What happened to your lip?"

Miguel's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

"Then I am not speaking."

"Ah que la chin-... Mira, Parker no estoy para juegos." (Fuckin sh... Look, I'm not in the mood.)

"Neither am I. So you better speak up. What happened?"

"Dana happened. Alright? Now fucking speak."

"You absolute cheater"

Miguel's eyes widened in anger at his words.

"Whatch your fucking tone, Parker."

"I give two flying ducks who you are right now. You slept with your mistress again? While the princess was gone?"

"Funny for you to think I have the time for that. I didn't. She barged in my chambers, told her to fuck off and she bit me instead."

It was Peter's turn for his eyes to widen as Miguel spat his words angrily, nearly seething.

"You should definitely put that rabid dog down. Why do you keep her around if you aren't engaging?"

"Because..." Miguel sighed, " Because I know what that...pinche zorra is capable of." (Fucking whore)

"Kill her then."

"No."

Peter deadpanned, "You've killed for less. You've killed other mistresses before!"

"No. Still, is not easy to get rid of someone like her. You think I don't want her out of this place?"

Peter sighed and removed his gauntlets.

"Everyone warned you about her."

"You act as if you weren't young and stupid."

"I told you, Jessica told you, even your mother that didn't like anyone warned you about her."

"I was nineteen! I had just been crowned."

"And now you see the consequences of spoiling a pet too much."

Sighing, both friend's fumes dissipated, Peter face grew somber as Miguel pinched the bridge of her nose.

"She feels disrespected."

"Who?"

"My hen."

Miguel quirked an eyebrow to him, confused.

"The princess! She explained a bit of her customs and yeah, it makes sense for her to be upset about Gabriel calling her a concubine."

"She's still upset about it?"

"Rightfully so."

Peter explained the conversation he had with you. The king's health, the motive of said illness, the execution; Lucille and your customs. As Peter spoke Miguel's face changed into many emotions. Confusion, anger, discomfit and a hint of sadness.

"That's pretty much about it."

Miguel chewed at the insides of his cheek and gave an exhausted groan.

"No puedo más. I... No puedo."

Miguel wanted to rip his hair out, or scream until his voice was raw. Instead he stood.

"I'll be right back. Tell Jessica to bring in a new dose."

The king left his office, he'd receive the reports later, his steps guided him to your chambers. he entered albeit unannounced.

"My goodness!" You squealed and quickly secured the robe that laid loosely on your shoulders and legs, around your body. Cheeks flaring.

Miguel turned around to give you some privacy while picking his palm with his nails.

"My apologies, Princesa."

Smooth and supple skin was engraved into his mind. He cleared his throat.

"It's... It's fine. Didn't expect your visit. I am dressed."

A shame.

A little part of his brain screamed as he glared at none in particular for such thought. He turned around and you were fumbling with some things inside a little wooden box.

Your face lit up, when pulling out a piece of fabric with an intricate embroidery design. It was Arachne's and Theleria's emblem, woven together in the richest threads colors he had imported.

You stepped closer and offered it to him.

"A gift for you. I cannot express my gratitude enough for allowing me to see my family again, my lord."

"You did this?"

The fabric felt soft on his calloused ones, he was marveled. He'd never had enough time to indulge his own desires and hobbies as they were long gone forgotten and replaced by countless hours of work.

"In my spare time. Been planning on making this for quite a while. And now that I've finally finished it, it's yours."

You placed the thing on his hand and smiled

"Do you like it?"

"I do" He smiled gently, "Thanks. You're quite skilled in this."

"Thank you, ser."

A pregnant pause fell upon you both. Eyes squinting at the broken flesh of his bottom lip. Your fingers examinated it gently. It was a bold move considering you had only touched him once before, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Are you alright?"

A sudden adrenaline rush came to him. His mouth went dry at the sudden proximity you had created between the both. You couldn't help it, the healer in you always took over whenever seeing a wound.

"I injured myself." He lied and his mouth felt dirty, his heart gave a doleful beat as you frowned in concern.

"If stressed, lavender will relax you. Would you like me to prepare some for you?"

"It's alright. Just a stupid injury."

"I differ, but this one isn't that bad."

"Is the king better?" He quickly segued between topics and nodded with a smile at his question.

"He is. My mother and Lucille took a great care of him. I just added the finishing touches to his health."

"What about the Queen?"

"Oh? She is alright. Thanks for asking."

"Do you miss them?"

"Dearly. But my duties remain here. They will be fine."

"I'm glad you made it back. Unscathed I mean."

"Thank you."

Again, he cleared his throat at the uncomfortable silence.

"Is there anything else I can help you with, your highness?"

"I'd like to introduce you to the council soon, we'll have a meeting someday this week. I'd like for you to attend."

"Oh? Sounds like I should prepare myself."

"You'll do just fine."

"Even though I am scared, I will be there. I'll take it as another chance to learn from your kingdom."

Your eagerness about something new always made his eyes soften.

"I will let you rest, Princesa."

He took your hand and kissed the back of your palm. Your cheeks burned again.

"Have a good night."

"You too, my lord."

As Miguel left, his hands caressed and scrutinized the fabric. Your dedication shown in the pristine weave. A red skull spider like symbol surrounded by a wreath of roses.

A symbol of your future union. And now it was all his. He was glad you were home unscathed, that you saw your family and friends. But Peter's words had caused such effect on him that humbled him right away.

He wasn't aware of your customs, never really took the time to take a look on it. Which costed him a big time of his trust. He had disrespected you without knowing, and it was all up to him to fix it properly.

The thought of Dana touching him made him feel greatly repulsed. Touches that he once got lost in, were now selfish yanks and pulls that suffocated and irked him. Contrary to yours, that not only healed, but treated him with respect.

You didn't pressured him into things. You understood his motives, and how his time was used. But still, after reading your diary, he knew he also had to make an effort to keep you included and not sought after just when the conditions demanded your presence.

Exhaustion finally took a grip on him, he just removed his armoring and clothes, too quanked to even remove his shoes, limbs too heavy to keep moving. The bed under him creaked by his weight and for once in a long while, Miguel followed Jessica's advice and went to sleep early. No bad dreams nor ill heartbeats hunted him.

-------

Taglist:

@tayleighuh @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @nxrdamp @a--dedicated--fangirl @rin0r1na @queenofroses22 @sofi786 @murnsondock @okayiamkassandra @kimmis-stuff @ceoofmiguel @meeom @handsomeprettytoes @ladymoztaza @chiikasevennn @mxtokko @gabrielarose29 @oooof-ifellforyou @minalovesyoubabes @kikisstrawberrie @know-that-its-delicate @aikoiya @st0r-fruit @ittybxttykxttytxtty @local-mr-frog @liidiaaag @berlinswifey @eepybunny0805 @vonev @cheerrioeoz @solesurvivorjen @zaunsin @ange-grayson @peachsteven @kdrosebme @geraskier-thots @rjasmin2021 @yehet-moi-ohorat

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #royal au #king miguel #Crimson Crown #dana d'angelo #jessica drew #peter b parker #t writes✨

[shellshocklove]

blurb: i want to forget | tom holland

pairing/AU: university AU - modern king!tom holland x female!reader

summary: reunions are always sweet, aren’t they?

warnings: swearing, infertility, smut (+18 mdni!!), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 3.1k

a/n: this one’s interesting that’s for sure! very curious to hear people’s thoughts on this tbh! 😳 also this is barely edited. i only read through this once!

series masterlist

“Your Majesty! His Majesty gave orders that he did not want to be disturbed!”,

The muffled voice travelled through the door to Tom’s office. He found himself spending more and more time in here. It was the only place where he could get some peace and quiet, and not be bothered by all the vultures at court clawing for a piece of him.

The door flew open, and his Queen, Genevieve, burst into his office. Quickly, and as discreetly as he could, Tom folded the paper he’d been reading, tucking it away under a notebook.

“Leave us!” she ordered the guards; anger coated her words.

She looked pretty, he noted. Her summer dress ruffled with every stomp towards him. Daisies ruffling in the wind. The sweetness of her outfit, dimming the impact of her scrunched face. With a hard stop in front of his desk she slammed her hand down.

“What’s going on?” Tom queried calmly.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Gen huffed, gesturing toward his desk where a pregnancy test was left in her wake.

Tom’s stomach turned at the sight. Like a crystal ball the small plastic stick would tell him his future. With a shaky hand he picked up the test, feeling the sting of Genevieve’s eyes. Holding his breath, he turned the stick around.

One line. Not pregnant.

Relieved he huffed out a breath, “It didn’t work”.

“Are you seriously happy right now?” Gen spat. “After all the treatments I’ve had to go through, all the hormones and a fucking egg retrieval– you’re fucking happy!?”.

“What­– No,” he lied.

And then Genevieve did something he wished she didn’t. She started crying.

“No, you are!” she sobbed, “Why do you do this to me? Do you know how much pressure I’m under, huh? Do you?”.

“Gen,” Tom tried.

“Don’t ‘Gen’ me” she pointed an angry finger at him, “Nobody cares about me– do you know that? I’m not important like you are, I’m just your wife! All they want from me is a baby. Every time I’m photographed the gossip train starts: ‘She’s gained weight, hasn’t she?’, “That must be a baby bump’” her shoulders shook with exhaustion as she spoke.

Carefully Tom got up from his office chair, taking soft steps around his desk, before he wrapped his arms around her shoulder.

“Ge–“ he cut himself off.

“I’m twenty-six years old, Tom, I should have no problem getting pregnant! I don’t understand why we have to do it like this” Gen cried into his shoulder.

Tom didn’t say anything, he only rubbed her back in soothing circles, trying his best to calm her down. She’d been extra emotional these last couple of months. And he didn’t blame her. He knew the hormone treatment took a toll on her body. He felt ashamed that it had come to this. IVF. In vitro fertilisation. Nothing was wrong with them – the tests said so – but he just couldn’t do it. He was married to Genevieve, and still he couldn’t have sex with her without feeling like he was cheating.

“We still have more embryos,” he started, trying to comfort her, “we can try again next month”.

With a huff she pushed him away, “What’s the point, Tom? You don’t even love me! You’ve never loved me”. A tear hung in a thread from her left eye, waiting to spill.

His silence said it all. He just stared at her in disbelief. She’d never been so straightforward with him before.

“Are you even capable of loving anyone?” she asked him, her words tasted bitter. “You avoid me like the plague, you stay in this room every chance you get… When was the last time you spoke to your brothers? Or Harrison? Or Tuwaine?”.

Tom didn’t know if she was concerned about him, or if she was just accusing him of being heartless. And maybe he was. His heart had been taken a long time ago, and he had yet to get it back.

Staring at her, his wife, he had a hard time forming words. He felt his throat constrict around the words,

“I…”.

“What?” Gen spat.

I didn’t want to get hurt again, he thought. But he couldn’t utter the words. When he, again, said nothing, Genevieve scoffed.

“That’s what I thought!”.

She quickly wiped her tears before she grabbed the pregnancy test off his desk. Turning on her heels, she let his office doors slam behind her.

Sitting back in his chair, Tom wanted to cry. How had his life come to this? With a groan he fell back against the leather, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to hold back his tears. When colours started to swim before him, he sat back up again. Scanning his desk, his eyes landed on the paper he’d snuck under his notebook earlier.

Pulling it out again his eyes skimmed the words.

“Dear His Majesty the King

On the 23rd of July we invite all prominent alumni to attend our 200th anniversary as a university. The gala will start at 7pm and be held on campus grounds. There will be dinner, drinks, and entertainment. Attire: Formal.”

“No Queen Genevieve tonight, Your Majesty?” The Vice-Chancellor asked Tom as she guided him towards the gala. He’d been ceremoniously met at the entrance by the whole senior cabinet of chancellors, where pictures had been taken and interviews had been held by the press.

“No, unfortunately Her Majesty wasn’t feeling well” he apologised knowing that was far from the truth.

After their fight and the failed IVF attempt, Gen had barely spoken to him. Having her accompanying him to an event like this after weeks of silence sounded awful. He didn’t think he could put on a smile and pretend everything was fine when he knew she hated him. He also didn’t want to push his luck with her. She’d agreed to another round of insemination – and as much as he wished he didn’t – he needed her to get pregnant.

But that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want her to attend.

“That’s unfortunate… Please send Her Majesty our well wishes!”

“Thank you– I will” Tom promised.

Passing through the doors of the ballroom, Tom noticed he was the last one to arrive. Round tables, heavily decorated with flowers, filled up the room before a stage. A steady hum of conversation filled up the room as penguin dressed waiters circled the tables, pouring wine.

“We really appreciate The King taking the time to attend tonight and holding the opening speech! And as a thank you, we did our best to grant His Majesty’s wishes for the seating arrangements– it’s so important to reconnect with old classmates!” The Vice-Chancellor said, guiding him through a door to the backstage.

The speech Tom held was as basic as they could come, and Tom wouldn’t have had it any other way. What was there really to say except for some semi-sincere words about his time at the university, and how important education is. He was happy his speech writer had kept it short because he couldn’t wait to get it over with.

After a round of applause he eagerly he got off stage. The reason for his eagerness sitting right in front of him with an empty seat beside her.

“Your Majesty,” you said, a timid smile on your face as he found his seat. The table cards placed him a chair away from you, noticing that they’d assigned a seat for Gen beside you.

“Miss. y/l/n” he said ceremoniously, trying his hardest to fight back his smile and revealing how happy he was to see you again. A waiter quickly stepped forward after he’d taken his seat, nervously asking if he preferred red or white wine for the appetisers. With a quick glance at the menu placed on his plate before him, revealing seafood, he decided on white wine.

“You can clear all this,” Tom gestured to the seat separating him from you, while the waiter poured his wine, “Her Majesty isn’t coming tonight”.

“How about… uh” Tom heard you speak. Glancing over at you, he watched you shift nervously in your seat. “We just do this?” you quickly grabbed your own table card, switching it with Gen’s.

“Is that okay?” you questioned, biting your lip.

“More than okay!” Tom reassured you quickly.

Grabbing your purse by your feet you got up from your seat. You were clad in a silk dress, one Tom recognized. A memory flashed before his eyes. You in his lap on his birthday. He could still remember the feel of the silk fabric under his hand as he pushed it away to reveal your soft skin underneath.

You sat down beside him, your foot accidentally brushing against his as you got comfortable. You looked beautiful. Even more beautiful than he remembered. He almost couldn’t believe that you were real.

He’d almost not done it – his request. The university had asked him to speak, and he’d countered with his wish of being seated with his former classmates – specifically you. It was a dangerous request – but seeing you smile at him again – he found himself not giving a shit.

“I’m sorry Tom,” you giggled, courtesy of the wine, “I need the loo”.

He’d missed you so much he didn’t understand how he’d been able to go all those years without you. He missed the feeling you gave him. Your conversations. To be understood without saying a word. The fact that he’d barely spoken to anyone else but you the whole night didn’t bother him much. He was like an addict, and you were his drug. An innocent taste was enough for him to never want to leave ever again. His longing for you had not been fed in years, and now it had grown too large. It ached to be relieved.

“Yeah, me too” he was quick to say, getting up from his seat, “I’ll walk you”.

Looking up at him, you tilted your head like a puppy before a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. It hit him right in the heart.

“Escorted by royalty? I must be one lucky girl” you teased.

He’d missed your jokes too, and how they were always at his royal expense. You treated him like just Tom, and no one had treated him like that in years. With a hesitant hand at the small of your back, he led you towards the toilets.

Waiting for you outside the toilets, all Tom’s bad decisions replayed in his head. He was fucking stupid for even entertaining this idea – but he was desperate. He’d denied himself for too long. His stupid head always got in the way. For once in his life, he wanted to follow his heart, if only for one moment.

“You finished?” he looked up from where he’d studied the floor. Your heels clicked as you stepped closer.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “no line in the men’s”.

You hummed, swinging your leg back behind you. “Ready to go back?” you asked, smiling.

“Can we…” he trailed off. Why was he so nervous? He never used to be this nervous around you.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, “You okay?”. He thought his heart was going to stop when your hand came up to rub lovingly over his bicep. He let out a breathy chuckle,

“Yeah… just, can we talk in private?”.

Your rubbing hand stopped at his question before you let it fall. You bit your lip, your eyes dancing over his face. Before you answered, Tom looked around the corridor. With the coast clear he pushed off the wall and opened the door to the accessible toilet. You hesitated for a moment, your front teeth digging deeper into your lip before you quickly stepped inside.

At the sound of the lock clicking, Tom stopped thinking – but he didn’t want to think – not if it wasn’t about you. He crossed the space between you, pulling you closer to him. His hands shook with wanting.

“Tom–” he cut you off with a kiss.

He could finally breathe again. He shed his straitjacket. The weight of his crown fell to the floor. You kissed him back, and he could cry with happiness. He felt your hands around his neck. The silk fabric of your dress bunching in his hands as he pulled you closer.

“I miss you” he mumbled against your lips, “I miss you all the time”.

You whined into his mouth. He’d missed that sound, so sure he’d never hear it again.

With careful steps he walked you both backwards until your bum hit the sink. He was greedy. Hands exploring your body, feeling your familiar bumps and curves, the one’s he’d memorised so many years ago.

A smacking sound bounced off the tiles as you pulled away from his kiss. You were breathing hard under his touch. Your eyes looked at him with longing and sadness, and guilt. He shook his head, cupping your cheek to try and comfort you.

“You’re not doing anything wrong, darling!” his thumb traced circles against your skin, “This is only on me”,

“You have a wife,” you whispered. The look you gave him made his heart break.

“It should’ve never been her– only you!” he pecked your lips.

Your eyes fell shut from his kiss. Your eyelashes kissed the soft skin under your eyes as your face twisted in agony.

“I’ve missed you” you confessed.

Tom couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He kissed you with a feverish touch. Hands sliding over your arse where he gave it a squeeze. With a small jump he helped you to sit on the sink, legs spread for him to slot between. He pressed himself against you. He was rock hard. His cock straining against the front seam of his tuxedo pants. Pushing the silk from your thighs, he collected the fabric around your waist. With a press of a finger to your clit, you mewled against his lips.

Tom didn’t waste any time. He slipped his hand inside your panties, feeling how wet you were for him. When he teased his finger at your entrance, you pulled away from his kiss. You looked at him with eyes blown wide with lust.

With a bite to your kiss-swollen lips you gave him a nod. He pushed his finger all the way inside you, smiling when he felt your walls contract around him. Your head fell back with a sigh when he started thrusting his finger inside you.

Tom couldn’t hold back his smile. He’d missed this more than anything. Being intimate with you. There was this connection between you he couldn’t explain, one he hadn’t even noticed was there before it suddenly was gone. He knew exactly what you wanted, how you wanted it, and when.

Quickly pulling out he pushed back inside with a second finger. Under him you moaned. Eager to coax more moans from you he pressed his thumb to your clit, circling it the way he knew you liked.

“Tom” you gasped.

Tom groaned, feeling how his cock twitched in his pants at your name falling from your lips. He needed to make you come, to watch you fall apart for him. He sped up the thrusts of his fingers, every slap against your wet cunt coinciding with a circling of your clit.

You tipped your head forward, “Please…” you begged, a hand gripping his jacket.

“What– what do you want, baby, tell me” he asked. He curled his fingers inside you and hit your spot, making your eyes widen and a gasp fall from your lips.

“I–I’m close” you let him know. Your eyes were intense. He knew he’d drown in them if he wasn’t careful.

He never let up his pace, “It’s okay, baby, you can come!”

A strangled moan escaped your throat as he felt your clench around his fingers. He slowed his movement down as you rode your euphoric high. He loved the way you looked as you came. You let everything go. Baring your truest self to him. Your chest heaved as you came down. He slowly pulled out, gently dragging his fingers through your folds.

Your hand on his tuxedo jacket pulled him closer. Your lips on him in an instant. The kiss was tender and tasted way too sweet. A quiet thank you without uttering the words.

He withdrew his hand from your panties before he hooked a finger under the waistband to pull them down, just above your knees.

Your own hand palmed him over his pants, making him involuntarily buck into your touch. If he didn’t fuck you soon, he think he’d combust. You fumbled with his button and zipper before dipping your hand inside his pants and taking his cock out.

Taking him in your hand, you wasted no time. He was so hard; the head was dripping with precum. With a finger skating over the head you slicked him up, and gave him an experimental tug. Your hand was so soft. He’d missed your hands too.

Falling forward, he buried his head in your neck. “Can I fuck you?” he asked, pressing kisses up your skin.

“Please” you begged, hands letting go of his cock.

He stood up straighter and stepped even closer to you. With his hands on your waist, he pulled you closer to him. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you lifted your legs, panties constricting you slightly.

Grabbing his cock, he ran the head through your folds before he pushed inside you. Tom savoured the feeling, the soft velvet of your walls swallowing him. He wanted to go slowly, to drag it out, but he was desperate. Desperate for you.

He reeled his hips back, before he slammed back inside you. God, you squeezed him just right. You felt like heave. He was not gonna last.

He picked up his pace. A slick sound muffled by the slapping of his skin against yours, melded with your combined grunts and moans.

He was an awful man. An awful man for loving you. An awful man for being unfaithful to his wife. An awful man for not feeling guilty. Being with you didn’t feel like cheating. Nothing had felt as simple as this. Loving you was the easiest thing in the world. And nothing or no one could make him feel ashamed for loving you.

You mewled under him at a particular hard thrust. He couldn’t control himself – he was so close to ecstasy.

“I’m sorry” he panted, “I’m gonna come”.

“It’s okay” your breath was heavy, “Come for me, Tom, please”.

The coil in his stomach snapped, and he fell off the edge. He didn’t have the sense to pull out, emptying himself inside you with a heavy groan. He pulled you even closer, hugging you to his body – wanting to feel close to you.

“I love you” he said softly, “I love you so much”.

He was so fucked. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except you.

previous: the wedding | next: the end

tags (tagging the i want to forget taglist and a few other people that have shown interest after it was finished): @justapurrcat​, @lnmp89​, @petrspideyparker​, @hollandweather​, @userholland​, @imawhoreforu​, @onepieceya​, @sparklingsin​, @annathesillyfriend​, @mayal0pez​, @transparentpsychicempathkid​, @fic-rewind​, @peterparkerfilms​, @the-unknown-fan-girl​, @mannien​, @moonlightdotmp3​, @padlockedhearts​, @moniffazictress11​, @all4koo​, @angelayse​, @svechnibrock​, @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx​, @xxtomspideyxx​, @i83andrew​, @clockblobber​, @fangirlinggalore​, @luciwritesstuff​, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @lol-just-kidding002​, @allywthsr​, @captainsbestgal​, @readheadwriter​, @parkersdahlia​, @cosmicryuz​, @tomxxxhollandxxx, @the-not-so-silent-back-up​, @rebloggingtheficsilove, @peterdarlingg​, @obsessedprincess​, @alltoowelltom​, @hey-im-bored504​, @storybookholland​, @sadisticsongbird​, @prettyjendeukie​,

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #prince!tom holland #uni au #college au #royal au #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction

[kaeswift]

new blog! :)

hi, im kae!

im not exactly new to tumblr (im 20 and have been here since i was 12, 8 years on this hellsite) but I've just created a new blog for a fresh start! im looking to get back into writing fanfics, so please send me any requests you may have!! im open to pretty much anything :)

heres a list of things ill write for!

(mainly looking for heartstopper and rwrb requests atm, but ill take anything!!)

heartstopper (nick x charlie; sfw only)

red, white, and royal blue (firstprince/alex x henry; sfw and nsfw)

stranger things (ronance, steve x reader, robin x reader, eddie x reader; sfw and nsfw)

supernatural (sam x reader, dean x reader, castiel x reader, destiel)

spider-man (peter parker x reader; sfw and nsfw)

thanks for reading!! hope yall enjoy my future content!

#heartstopper #red white and royal blue #rwrb #nick x charlie #alex x henry #firstprince #supernatural #stranger things #spider-man #peter parker #peter parker x reader

[sadisticsongbird]

divided by the crown ~ peter parker

part three

a/n: y’all i am SO sorry. i thought i had queued this yesterday already because I had a funeral. but here it is. FINALLY. the last part of divided by the crown and i’m not going to lie, i am NOT going to miss it. although it was fun to write, it was difficult to continue working on it for a long length of time. i am however willing to answer any questions you may have about the series or write little blurbs here and there if they end up in my ask box. but without further adu...

summary: the close of your and peters royal adventure...

warnings: this has NOT been edited

word count: 9.5k

You had officially run out of tears and your throat was raw. Screaming wasn’t helping and now your voice was left to a broken sound. The funny thing was that you weren’t screaming for your sake, for them to let you out. You had been calling Peter’s name over and over. Even now as sound was barely escaping you, his name was the only thing leaving your lips. Your back was sore and you were sure that you had countless slivers in the palms of your hands. It had been only three days since you had been locked up and you hadn’t even seen Peter once. You were sure that guards were keeping him away, but you couldn’t help but ask why he didn’t take control over the guards. They were HIS soldiers after all, not MJ’s. You sighed before getting up from the hay on the ground upon seeing your breakfast tray lying at the foot of the barred cell door. You looked up to see a guard standing before your cell, staring straight ahead. Of course, she would set up a watch. She probably had guards on Peter’s door too, keeping you two away from one another. 

When they had brought you here, they had given you only a sheer dress, even worse than what you normally wore. There were already rips in the fabric from the rough ground and rock walls, holes in the most inconvenient of places. It was long, thank God, so it wouldn’t ride up. Peter was kept behind after they had brought you in, Lord Stark the one to take him home. He was escorted to his room immediately and probably hadn’t left it since. 

It had only been days, but it had felt like years. He had been sitting at his desk for the time being kept in his room. The ring that sat on his finger was being twisted between his fingers and your necklace that sat in his pocket felt heavy. All he could think about was you. You locked up in a cell.

All because of him.

He wouldn’t stop until he had looked at every last document, every last note until he found a loophole to get you both out of the situation you were in. He had yet to be visited by the princess and was quite dreading a visit from her. What had happened in the short afternoon and evening that he had disappeared for? It had been normal for him to disappear and abandon all responsibility in the past few months, but how far did MJ have her nails in the court? Lord Stark, whom he trusted, was even submitting to the foreign royal’s orders. In frustration, he plopped down in the chair that was sitting behind his desk. Peter couldn’t bare to think about what would happen to you if he couldn’t succeed. What would the princess do to you? Your relationship was one forbode and MJ was meant to take the place that you currently held. Would she go as far as killing you to be at Peter’s side? 

And what would be of him? If MJ intended to continue to control his guards and court, what place did Peter serve? What if she intended to kill the both of them and take the kingdom for herself? He couldn’t let that happen. To either of you. He would make sure of it. 

A knock was heard at his door and he scrambled to his feet and tried to scatter the documents and maps across his desk. Although they probably knew that Peter was doing whatever he could to get out of this mess, he didn’t want them to know if he had made any progress and stop him. If he was making progress at all. Unannounced, his doors opened, revealing the princess herself. 

“Peter.”

“MJ.” 

There was an awkwardness radiating off of the young prince, making MJ very aware of his vulnerability and it gave her all the more reason to keep pursuing confidence. 

“Your little love bird is sitting in a cell right now…but you want to know what the weird thing is?” Peter didn’t say anything. “She doesn’t seem to be concerned for herself…only for you.” He gulped. It sounded like something you would do. Even though you should be worrying about yourself, you concern yourself with others' well-being. “You must’ve fooled her well. That move you pulled in the woods, the defensive boyfriend bit,” she muttered, making her way closer to Peter and placing her hand on his chest. He recoiled slightly but didn’t move far. “I’ll admit, I was convinced. Really, I’m impressed. But does she really know the truth about the young Peter Parker?” Her hand dragged lower and lower until it was sitting near the waistband of his pants. Just before she reached his belt, he grasped her wrist in his hand and twisted slightly, if only to inflict a little pain. If it did, it didn’t show on her unmoving features. 

“Enough, MJ,”

“What?” she scoffed. “You upset your little play thing’s locked away?”

His scowl grew deep. The anger between the two didn’t dissipate and the princess was only making it worse. He threw her hand away and turned around. He was scared of what he would do to her if she kept on instigating him. 

“Come on, Peter. Just admit that you were playing her and this whole thing is over…”

“What’s over!?!” he yelled. “What is this?! What’s going on?!!” He paused, waiting for a reaction. When she didn’t give one, he decided it was enough self-control. “What, did daddy pull the plug on your money? He tells you that you couldn’t lead the kingdom because of that recklessness we both know you possess?”

“SHUT UP!!!” she screamed. 

Peter fell back. He wasn’t expecting such an outburst and definitely wasn’t expecting the red glow coming from her eyes. She was a sight. Her entire body glowed like it was aflame and her eyes…her eyes bore into him, leaving his head spinning. This was no princess, at least not the one he knew from years ago. 

“You have 24 hours, young prince, to relinquish your right to the throne…willingly or this kingdom will fall to the ground.” She flattened her gown, attempting to look clean before storming out of his room. 

Fear. That was the only thing ingrained into him at the moment. Who was the woman that had just been standing in front of him? He should have guessed that something was up the moment a cocky grin appeared on her face the very first evening. While the girl that he knew had attitude problems, she didn’t like confronting people, too worried that her mistakes would lead the kingdom into further ruin. That girl wouldn’t be as straightforward with him as she was nor would she order around guards as smoothly as she did. Whoever she was, she wasn’t MJ. But her warning let him know that he had 24 hours to figure out. 

You weren’t sure exactly how long you had been locked down there but everything was dark and you couldn’t make anything out besides the little cracks in the bricks that surrounded the torch posts on the wall. It was cold, a slight breeze traveling through the corridor, insinuating that it was most likely night now. You knew that there were guards down here. You could hear them talking at the end of the hall. The straw and the rock were beginning to make your feet raw so you opted for sitting on the makeshift wood plank they called a bed. When - if - you got out of this, you’d be talking to Peter about making the prison cells a little bit more comfortable. While being in jail wasn’t meant to be a leisure opportunity, last days or hours deserved to be spent in better conditions, especially in once-in-a-lifetime situations like yours. And maybe adding some windows or a source of natural light down here. What you would give to see the sun one last time, hear the birds chirp in the spring once more, feel the rain on your skin. But you had sealed your fate the moment you had stepped into Peter’s room that night to help him with his nightmare. You loved Peter, but that came at a cost. One you were scared to pay. Although it should have made you more worried about yourself, all you could think about was what would happen to Peter after you were gone. Did MJ have too much control of the kingdom already and it was slipping through Peter’s fingers? Would your death take a toll on the prince and would he be strong enough to lead after you were gone? Would he be vulnerable enough for MJ to take the kingdom or would he give up willingly?

Questions seemed to take more place in both of your minds rather than action. But then again, what could you do?

You had given up on trying to make a key out of straw after about ten minutes and the bars were too strong to be broken or even indented with your bare strength. So here you were, giving up and hopeless just as you promised Peter you wouldn’t be. You felt like you were letting him down. He was probably trying as many things as he could to try and get you out and yet you were sitting here, surrendering to your fate. 

A clang rang on the bars outside of your cell. You didn’t turn over, keeping your back to whomever stood outside your cell. You kept your eyes on the stones, tracing the cracks in the walls with your eyes. 

“I take it you're probably hungry?” Immediately upon hearing the voice, you turned to see Wanda standing there, holding a tray of food. 

“Wanda!” You stood up right away, but your legs gave out from underneath you. You were weak and hadn’t eaten much. What little strength you had left in you, you wanted to preserve. 

There was a single soldier standing with Wanda, who began unlocking the door while your friend waitied anxiously to attend to you. The key turned and you felt the only thing that kept you from escaping opening for the first time in what seemed like forever. 

Wanda rushed over to you, setting down the food and helping you sit up. “You’re weak. Come on, eat.” She handed you a piece of bread. “God, they couldn’t have opened that door any slower,” she said without even bothering to see if they had disappeared. Luckily, they had retreated to their position at the end of the hall. 

Your arms could barely support your weight, but you used your free hand to shove the piece of bread in your mouth. You weren’t sure if your stomach could hold it down, but you would take anything to soothe your hunger. Your friend stayed silent, only watching you scarf down what was in front of you. 

“So, you and Peter? In the woods? Naked?” She rose her eyebrows a few times, teasing.

“Shut up,” you giggled, unable to stop the blush creeping up on your cheeks. Taking a sip of water, you finally had the confidence to look up at her. 

“There’s a smile…”

“H-how’s the kingdom? Is MJ…is she-”

“Y/N, ask what you wanna ask…”

You gulped. “How’s Peter?” “He’s…struggling. Guards are posted outside of his room and limited staff are allowed in. He most likely hasn’t slept since you were locked up.” You looked down, breaking eye contact with Wanda. This was all your fault. If you hadn’t given in to Peter’s antics, neither of you would be in this spot. “And the princess, she made a deal with Peter. He has 24 hours to fulfill her request before…”

She didn’t even have to finish. You knew. You knew what would happen. Both of you sat in silence in the straw. You knew that Wanda would have to leave any moment. Although you wished she could stay longer, the red-head had already gotten up and picked up the tray. She left the bread on the ground. You grabbed what was left of the bun and raised it to her. 

“Keep it. Take a few more bites. Trust me.”

You looked at the bread in hand but didn’t understand. Before you could look at her again, she was walking out of your cell and was already halfway down the hall, the door locking again behind her. Subconsciously, you took a larger bite into the bun and something hard hit your teeth. It sent a jolt of pain through your mouth as you quickly pulled the food out of your mouth. Your hands were swift to pull the bread apart and a metallic clink landed on the stone floor. Attempting to follow the object in the minimal lighting, you let your hands roam around the floor, searching with your sense of touch. When you felt something cold on your fingers, you grasped it. The moment you felt what it was, recollection flooded you and you felt a warmth in your chest. Peter’s ring, the one you had given him. And it only meant one thing. Peter had found a way. There was hope.

He had found a way to smuggle Wanda into his room, someone he knew you trusted. It was all the more reason for him to trust her. Peter had given her very specific instructions on how to place the ring in the bread, then bring her food. Once you had gotten his gift, you would know that he was going to get you out and end this madness. While scanning documents for loopholes to this whole fiasco began to seem pointless after a few hours, the maps had given him some closure. The only way to escape the problem was to escape. He had a way to sneak out of his room to get to you. All he had to do was wait for the right opportunity. He hadn’t thought about how to deal with MJ yet. He didn’t even know if it was truly her or if he could even defeat her. Peter didn’t want to give up his kingdom or give up on his people, but he couldn’t leave you for death either. He knew he shouldn’t, but his heart desired your safety above anyone else's. It was wrong. Being the Heir Prince, he was supposed to put the kingdom above his own needs and be responsible in situations like this, but he just couldn’t let you go. 

Peter had changed into something more comfortable for being on the run and had a small bag packed with resources for a short while. All he had to do was wait a few more minutes. The guards would be changing and it gave him only a two minute window to slip out of his room and hide. But escaping his room would be the easy part. He still had to deal with everyone else in the palace, soldiers and apparently court members alike, get you out of your cell, and not to mention a head to head with the princess if he wanted to save his people. His foot continued to tap against the ground under the weight of his shaking legs. Nerves were nowhere near settling and they probably wouldn’t die down until he knew for sure that you were safe and free. 

The clock kept ticking and he was growing impatient for when the clock finally struck 2. He had spent the last few hours devising a plan after MJ had paid him a dear old visit, just trying to figure out how to get to you without her noticing either one of your disappearances. The guards normally weren’t inside the hall by the doors, only at the end of it. As the prince, he held a set of emergency keys in case something like this were to happen. Well, not something exactly like this, but being the sole leader of the kingdom, he had access to everywhere in the palace with these keys, including the prison. He was sure that MJ took them out of his desk before locking him in, but then again, she probably wasn’t expecting Peter to leave his room either. He slipped the jail cell key and the sewer tunnel key off of the link that they were on and slipped them into his jacket pocket. He decided on the coat that he had given to you the night you came in to comfort him. It made his heart slow its beating, having a piece of you around. While it looked a little cheesy on him, your necklace also took a place around his neck. It was tucked under his shirt so the chain wouldn’t fall off, worried that if it was in his pocket, it could possibly fall out. 

It felt like way too long since he had seen you, but he didn’t want to know what kind of state you were in. He couldn’t bare looking at you hurt, knowing that it was his actions that caused it. Why couldn’t he have just stayed away? Now here he was, hopelessly in love with you and risking his entire kingdom to save your life. He watched as the last seconds on the clock ticked down. The second the minute hand hit twelve, he flew to the door. He crouched down to peek through the small lock in the door. He prayed that the guards wouldn’t all of a sudden have a feeling that he was going to leave, I mean, he hadn’t tried in the days already spent locked in his room. Peter heard silent footsteps walking down the hall and he took a deep breath. This was it. This was his chance. Silently, he pushed open the doors to his room, leaving only enough space for him to sneak between them. He never left his back to the hall, making sure to keep an eye out for anyone coming up the corridor. 

His plan was simple. Sneak down to the servant chambers. Wanda would be waiting down there as long as she had successfully brought you your food. She had a set of clothes waiting for him to take along for you and some shoes. Then he would travel opposite the kitchen, hopefully unnoticed, to the prison which was conveniently located in the same hall. He still didn’t have a plan to lure the extra guards out, but he’d get to it when he got there. Then unlock your cell, get you out, and run to the sewers and exit where Wanda would be waiting with a horse. See, simple. 

His heart was beating out of his chest. There was no imagining what kind of consequences would befall his people if he failed. Would all of the people assisting him be condemned? The fate of the kingdom was resting on his shoulders and the worst part was that his people didn’t even know about the danger they were in. He guessed that was a good thing, but would his people rally behind him if they knew? Peter had been a pretty poor leader since his parents passed. His father was a god compared to his leadership skills. All he’d done was endanger the kingdom with his reckless love. The prince was always impressed with his father. The authoritative tone that echoed across the throne room, the way that he seemed calm no matter the circumstances that pressed down on the lives of his people. When Peter stepped up to the throne, fear was definitely expected, but the sinking feeling in his stomach that he was going to let down everyone, wasn’t.

This was his chance to prove to not only to his people but himself that he could do this. 

His head turned to glance around the hall. Once he knew that it was clear, he ran down the corridor until he saw the small door tucked away into a divet in the hall. No light illuminated the doorway and, if Peter was honest, he almost missed it. Slipping through the door, he began walking down the steep staircase. He carried nothing with him besides what was on his person, so there was nothing to get caught and make him trip, although he still was cautious. The stairs were already risky as it was, only one foot sideways able to fit on the stairs at time. The trudge down seemed to take forever and it only made Peter more anxious. He should be more excited. He was getting closer to saving you, but the only thing that was running through his head was how scared he was. 

He had only explored these halls a few times when he was little, so the maps were a nice refresher. Whenever his parents were busy and needed to tend to royal business, he would come down here and explore, pretending he didn’t hold the life he held. Most kids in the villages surrounding would love to be where he is, but in all honesty, he envied the life that they held. The life that you held. You had freedoms that he didn’t. Peter had been basically betrothed since birth and was destined to lead the kingdom. He just wasn’t expecting it to happen all so soon. 

The servant chambers were nearly in sight. The light was on in the kitchen and the last thing he expected to see was Chef Rogers so late at night. As long as he wasn’t seen he would be fine, but he couldn’t be too loud either without waking up the entire servants quarters. Waiting until the chef had turned around, he ran quickly around the corner to the servant quarters, opening the door carefully so as not ot make a sound or let in too much light. When he stepped inside, he was expecting the room to be a lot more occupied. With the dozens of beds that were held in the room, only a few of them were currently being slept in. He had never thought about the fact that they worked while he slept, doing things for him to prepare for the next mornings that he never acknowledged. 

Wanda was sitting on her bed, holding a small journal in her hands, writing something down. She didn’t say anything, only motioning him over. No one else seemed to be awake. If they were, they were too caught up in their own world to know that the Crown Prince had just walked in. The closer he got, the more he recognized what had been put together. A small care basket, one holding a blanket, small hand held mirror, and a few apples. If anyone else were to see the haul that Wanda had been holding for you, she would be killed. 

“Just a few seconds more. I have something I really want her to have.” Wanda’s voice was unsteady. Everything that had happened lately had happened so fast. One morning she was covering for her best friend to spend the day in the woods and the next, she was helping that same friend escape the royal prison. Along with the Prince. 

Peter waited impatiently. He knew that whatever Wanda was writing was special and something that you would need to hear, but he was in a hurry to get you out before MJ noticed that anyone was out of place. He let out a sigh of relief when Wanda signed the bottom and began folding the delicate piece of paper. 

“That pile of clothes,” she gestured to, placing her note among the basket items, “put it on.”

“What?” Peter asked. “I already changed.”

She scoffed patting her hand on his chest. “Right. No one’s gonna recognize you with the royal emblem on your clothing.” He looked down and sure enough, what he thought was an inconspicuous disguise had royal prince sewn all over it. 

She chucked the clothes at his chest and turned around. Normally he would be embarrassed to change in front of a girl, but since everyone else was sleeping and that your life was on the line, it didn’t seem to bother him. He slipped the keys out the jacket and set them in the pouch in his belt. Changing quickly, he wondered what he would do with his clothes. After the whole jacket fiasco, he didn’t know what he’d do if your friend also was imprisoned because of him. 

“You have it very simple. All you have to do is go down the hall, the guards are usually asleep at the time. If they aren’t, this,” she took a small white pouch out of the basket, “if you set it on fire, will knock ‘em out in a few minutes. You just might have to be careful. You could take Y/N out in the process and, trust me, it’s gonna be easier to take her with you if she’s conscious.” He only nodded along with the instructions, mapping out the plan in his head. “I’ll be waiting by the sewer tunnel with your horse and your supplies. You think you can ride without a saddle?” He shook his head vertically. “Good.” She paused, looking him the eyes deeply. Wanda needed him to understand how important that this was, how important you were. You and Peter may have known each other since you were little, but he didn’t KNOW you. Not like she did. When he looked at her like a deer in headlights, it didn’t make her too confident that this was going to work. Inhaling deeply, she stared him down. “You realize her life is on the line?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Because you don’t look to enthusiastic.”

Something snapped in Peter. He had been up all night and day for who knows how long and no Wanda was questioning his reliance. “Listen, Y/N is in this mess because of me. And that means that I’m gonna get her out of it. You know her more than anything, and as much as it pains me, even more than me. But do you really think that I would be down here risking my future just to ensure that she gets hers?” He stopped and looked around the room, realizing the volume he was speaking at and making sure that there was no one woken up from his outburst. 

Wanda laid her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. “If Y/N trusts you, that’s enough for me.” She gave him a small smile. “Good luck.”

“Good luck to you too.”

“You’ll need it more than me,” Wanda admitted. 

The prince gave her back a small smile. He turned around once before pausing. “That jacket. Can you make sure that it gets back to me? I know it’s asking a lot, but it technically belongs to Y/N?”

“You’re asking me to endanger myself more than I already have?”

“Yes?” his voice scooping up at the end. 

She smiled slightly. “I’m kidding. Now go, we won’t have much time.”

You had been wide awake since you received the ring from Peter. You continued to twirl it around your finger, feeling the engraving that you had gotten special for him. Your butt was starting to get sore from sitting on the hard bed. But you weren’t ready to move or fall asleep, afraid that you would miss Peter coming in the second you closed your eyes. The prison was silent, only the sound of the torches crackling at the end of the hall, and the faint sound of guards giggling at the end. Every moment that ticked by was a nightmare, scared that Peter had gotten caught or something worse happened to him and that all hope was lost. But a faint smoke appearing from where the guards were, made you step back from the bars, scared of the unknown gas. You stayed a fair distance away and slipped your dress over you mouth so as not to inhale the smoke. There was a clang, like the drop of a sword, heard from the end of the corridor and someone emerging from the smoke. Your heart began to race. What if it was MJ or Lord Stark? What if it was a guard coming to take you away so that Peter couldn’t find you? Relief flooded your features when the face molded into one you knew. Before thinking, you raced over to him, forgetting about concealing your features to protect yourself from the smoke. 

“Y/N!” he whisper shouted as he messed with the lock on your cell, waiting for the click.

You quickly lifted the thin clothes on your body over your face, but it was too late, you could feel the effects of the smoke hitting, not strongly, but enough to make you feel dizzy. 

It was nice to feel you in his arms again. After days apart, you both felt deprived from one another. He began to scan your skin for marks and bruises. You could feel his fingertips grazing your skin, not failing to miss a single blemish. You were drowsy, but you managed to pull his gaze to your face and look him in the eyes. Planting a weak kiss on his lips, you managed to get him to focus on you. He couldn’t believe that this was happening. All of this had been his fault. If he had just stayed away from you like he knew that he should have, he wouldn’t be holding your shaking hand, looking into your empty eyes, hearing the shallow breaths. You would have been safer without him. Now, he was risking both of your lives on top of countless others to unsure that the two of you were together. It wasn’t hard for him to decide to come save you, but it was difficult for him to convince himself to come along for the ride. 

“Y/N, love, we need to go. Now.”

You shook your head in agreement, but your feet wouldn’t move on their own accord. Peter felt your grasp tighten on his arm and saw how your eyes seemed to droop. 

“No, no, no…” he mumbled. “Y/N, please, we have to get moving.”

“I-I can’t, Peter. My l-legs.” 

No matter how hard you tried, whatever smoke you seemed to be inhaling was making you feel limp. You knew that this was going to slow the both of you down, but the material against your face just wasn’t thick enough for you to avoid inhaling the fumes. 

In a swift movement, you were suddenly in Peter’s arms, his cloth no longer around his nose. He was inhaling it just as much as you now, but he made a quick effort to get out of the prison. Everything was a blur. You could hear Peter breathing heavily, only praying that whatever the smoke did to you wouldn’t befall Peter too. This was likely your only chance to get out. Another chance wouldn’t arise when MJ realized what the two of you had done. 

It didn’t seem like the two of you had gotten far, but when you heard the sounds of water splashing beneath Peter’s footsteps, you knew you were further than you thought. You had been slipping in and out of consciousness. You were shocked that it didn’t seem to be affecting Peter more than it did. He must not have had enough time to inhale it properly because he wasn’t stumbling or coughing anymore. Peter began to fumble with something on his person, letting his hadn fall from under your legs momentarily. More metal could be heard before a click sounded through the dark tunnel. The small gate opened and you were busy trying to keep yourself awake in case you needed to be aware of your surroundings. Your eyes were closed, but you could tell that you were outside the palace now, the light from the moon illuminating through your eyelids. Crickets were chirping around you and Peter, but whatever noises you were making were louder. Evidently, you had been whimpering because he turned to you, shushing you softly and kissing your forehead that was leaned against his shoulder. The more that you tried to keep your eyes open, the more the exhaustion crept over you. You didn’t want to become a burden in your own liberation, but whatever concoction that Peter whipped up to knock the guards out certainly had done a number on you. 

“Is she okay? You didn’t let her inhale it, did you?” you heard a familiar voice ask. 

“I tried to stop her but she got too close too fast. I didn’t have enough time to warn her.” He paused. “I got some of it too, but I don’t think I had enough to knock me out like her.” 

You loosened your arms from around Peter’s neck enough to get your head out of Peter’s chest. One look at the red hair was enough to know that you should have figured she’d still have a hand in assisting your escape. 

“W-wanda?” you managed to slip out.

She must have heard your small voice, coming over and immediately combing her hand over your hair, pushing whatever was in the way out of your face. 

“Hey, Y/N,” she calmed you. 

“Where are we going?” you managed to ask softly. 

“Peter’s gonna take you somewhere. Even I don’t know. But it’s for your safety.”

You nodded along, feeling as if you were understanding everything the moment the words left her lips, but the more you let the words soak in, you realized what she truly meant. Blinking a few times, you could see the tears falling from her eyes. 

“N-no, no, no, no, no…” you began to cry, sounding more like a child as you hurried out your oppositions. 

“I know, I know. But it’s for your safety. For all of our safety.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” you whined. 

“I-” Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but her voice failed her, threatening to show you just how upset that she was. But she couldn’t let you see that. Turning around, she moved to the horse, making sure all of the straps were secure. 

Peter let her have a moment, responding to you himself. “Love, it’s okay. You’ll see her again. I just need to make sure you’re safe.” His hand slipped under your chin, wiping the tears off with his thumb. He followed your best friend towards the horse, calming you down in the process. 

“I’ve got everything set. You know where to go?”

“Once she’s safe, I’ll let you know. I just… can’t risk it right now.” 

She shook her head in response. “Make sure she gets my letter when she feels better.”

“I will.” 

Wanda stepped away from the horse, ready to take you while Peter mounted. He handed you off gently, making sure that your feet were steady on the ground and Wanda was supporting you enough before letting go. Getting on the horse, made him anxious to be separated from you. While he knew that he could trust Wanda, he felt that you weren’t safe unless you were with him. At the same time, though, you were probably in the most danger with him. The red head supported you when Peter reached out for you. With every bit of your strength, you pulled yourself up and into Peter’s lap and fell back into his arms, just as you were moments ago, curled up into his chest. Once he felt comfortable that you were settled, he bid a short farewell to Wanda, riding off into the forest. 

“Pete,” you muttered. He looked down at you, keeping one hand on the reigns and the other around your back. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about that, just sleep.”

And you did. 

“I want to know where they are! How could he slip right under your noses?”

“Your Majesty, if I could-”

“Shut up! You have been no help to me, Stark,” MJ’s voice thundered through the room. “Maybe your soft spot for the boy is more prominent than I thought.”

“Princess,  I can assure you-”

“Assure me what? Assure me that my only collateral has run away? Assure me that you’ll never see the light of day again? Cause you’ve done a fine job of that so far.”

Lord Stark stayed silent this time, cowering at the creature that was seated on Peter’s father’s throne. The throne room had been transformed into a room of chaos. Whatever magic that had a hold on the princess seemed to radiate through her anger. The curtains that shaded the windows were in tatters, the pillars holding up the ceiling now littered with cracks that only seemed to be growing.The doors burst open, making the princess stand. 

“Your Majesty, we have someone who assisted the prisoner and prince.”

Followed shortly after the messenger, to soldiers began dragging a girl into the room, one that bore an all too common head of red hair. 

“Get off of me! I haven’t done anything!” she screamed. 

The guards grip on her arms didn’t loosen until she was right in front of MJ’s feet, dropping her like a dead weight. 

“And who might you be?” she asked coyly. 

“Someone who serves the prince, not whoever you are.”

A flame of red rushed around Wanda’s neck, making her grasp at her neck and search for air. She could see the red in the princess’s eyes, brighter than the ripped curtains. 

“I won’t ask again. Who. Are. You?”

Just as it appeared the red wisps were gone, allowing the serving girl to breathe again. 

“Wanda. I’m a servant.”

“Well, Wanda, someone tells me you had a hand in the prince’s escape from the palace. Might you have any idea where they went?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” the princess asked, stepping down the stairs, closer to Wanda. 

“Are deaf or stupid? I said I don’t know.”

“Ooh. Someone’s got a little fire in her,” MJ laughed, sending shivers done your best friend’s spine. Her conniving laugh didn’t stop until she reached the bottom of the stairs and grasped Wanda’s chin, pulling her up to meet in the middle. “Too bad it’s gonna cost you your life,” she spit. 

Realization flooded through Wanda as she felt the guards pull her back, she didn’t try to scream or resist this time, feeling numb to the fate she was befalling. She would never see you again, only hoping that you found comfort in her last letter. They had about dragged her out the door completely when she spoke again. 

“You’re not going to win.”

MJ’s feet stopped from ascending the stairs and turned around to face the girl once more. “I think you overestimate how much you puny prince can do.” 

Without another word, Wanda was escorted out of sight and MJ kept walking. 

“Stark, we only have a few hours left. Ensure that Peter doesn’t get in the way. But if he doesn’t give me what I want,” she paused, taking a seat once again, “people are going to start. Getting. Hurt.”

The sun was blinding and nothing you were used to. You hadn’t seen the sun in days and waking up to the bright light was in some ways comforting. Your fingers reached beneath you to feel cloth and a mattress, making you shoot straight up. The room was small, but it was the perfect cottage bedroom, only a small curtain separating you and whatever was making a crackling noise on the other side. You threw the sheets off of you and stepped onto the wood floor. Taking a look around the room, you were sure to be quiet, unsure if anyone else was in here. 

But Peter… Where was he?

Stopping your tour of the room, you made your way to the curtain, bunching it up to see the other side. It was a small kitchen, a wooden table in the middle and cupboards that held food and dishes. There was a small oven with something cooking inside. Peter stood near the window, looking outside. He had yet to notice you, so you decided to let him know that you were awake. You had so many questions. 

“Pete?”

He turned, startled by your voice. “Y/N, you’re awake.” Hurrying toward you, he engulfed you in his arms, picking you up and twirling you around. “You’re okay. How do you feel? Are you hungry? I'm assuming they didn't feed you much. Is your head okay? I know you inhaled a lot of smoke when I got you out.”

Peter continued to rant and ask you questions and all the while, you couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. He got you out. He saved you. He stupidly put his life and his whole kingdom at risk for you. There was nothing but adoration and love shining in his eyes and you didn’t want to look away. You still didn’t understand how the two of you had gotten here. It seemed like only hours ago, he was kicking you out of his room in the palace, too caught up in grieving to care about anyone else but himself. Now, here you both were, in the middle of who knows where, holding one another. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for the boy in front of you and now you were sure that he would do the same. Not that you doubted him before, but because you didn’t want him to. You were - are - nothing compared to him. You didn’t want him to risk a future for you, but you knew that if you told him, he would just tell you that he didn’t want a future without you in it. You knew it was cheesy, but it made you feel a comfort that you hadn’t in a long time. You hadn’t realized that Peter had stopped talking, now silent as he stared back at you. 

“Y/N?”

Crashing his lips onto yours, you savored the moment that you two were finally, both consciously in one another’s arms once again. You couldn’t get enough of his taste, one that felt familiar, that felt like home. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you into his body. You broke the kiss with a smile, encircling your arms around his neck. 

“Hi,” you whispered. 

“Hi.”

“I don’t mean to sour the mood, but…what happened?”

He chuckled at your first statement. “You, uh, fell asleep. Whatever Wanda used in the knock out stuff got you too. The moment you were on the horse, you were out. And I didn’t want to wake you.” He reached up to grab a stray piece of hair falling in front of your face. “I got all of the stuff off the horse. And let you sleep.”

“Have you slept?” 

“I don’t think I could’ve anyways,” he admitted. He was going to continue, but didn’t know if he could put the extra strain on you after the past week. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s the princess. She gave me an ultimatum.”

“I know. Twenty-four hours. Wanda told me.”

“Ho-”

“Peter, look. If you wanna do this thing alone, be my guest. I won’t interfere if that’s what you want. But know that you don’t have to. Who do you think the people would rather have lead them? Some princess they hardly know or the prince that has been looking after them since he was a little boy?”

He wanted to disagree with you, but he knew there was no point. You were right. He knew that it was safer to do this alone, but the thought of anyone else getting hurt on his behalf felt like too much of a burden. 

“Y/N, I don’t have a lot of time. MJ…she isn’t who she says she is, at least I don’t think so. There’s this…aura to her. It’s not normal, almost as if something is controlling her. She’s dangerous.”

“If you don’t want me to deal with her, Peter, then I won’t. But please…let me help.” You paused. “What can I do?”

Giving in was going to be easier than withholding things from you. Trust had become a fragile thing in Peter’s life, but he knew that if there was anyone in the world that he would never doubt, it would be you. 

“I don’t have an exact idea, but I’ve got some clue on where to start.”

When you and Peter got into the armory, you both assumed that there would be someone in there, but apparently, MJ had the soldiers occupied elsewhere. You had completely expected the need for weapons, nevertheless, you were shocked when Peter handed you a sword.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Use it."

"You know what I meant."

Peter placed his sword in its place on his side. "To protect yourself. Look, this is a dangerous situation and I might not always be able to help. If I'm to go head-to-head with the princess, you can't be anywhere near me. She'll use you as leverage, I just know it. I'm not - I WILL not - lose you again."

You nodded, pushing down the argument that you wanted to help. It was a given that you were going to be an inconvenience, but you couldn't just let him waltz into the castle alone. While you hadn't seen what MJ was capable of, you still feared for his safety. Any protection you could provide for him was better than nothing. 

"Peter, I'm not going anywhere."

You stood on your tippy-toes to plan a kiss on his cheek. It seemed to calm him down for the time being while you finished preparing your weapons. You had yet to run into anyone in the castle, but the sooner you got out of the armory, the more you had to worry about running into people.

"When we make it up to the main hall, I want you to go to my room," Peter began. "I want you to stay hidden until I come back to find you."

"But-"

"No, no 'buts.' Stay hidden until I come back, understand?"

You shook your head, following Peter as he ascended the stairs in the corner of the armory. They led through the kitchen towards the main hall. When you reached the top, you were to go right while he traveled in the opposite direction. He wanted to say goodbye, but wasn't sure if he should. He didn't want this to be the last one, but he also didn't want to leave you with nothing. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the little necklace that he'd given you only days ago. He had his ring on the chain as well, taking its place next to his mother’s pendant. You shared a look, yourself not knowing what was happening. Before you knew it, Peter was reaching behind your neck to clasp the necklace. When it was connected, his fingers retraced the chain to the simple pendant hanging on the front.

“Keep it safe for me?”

You had vowed that there would be now tears, but looking at Peter for what could be the last time made your heart want to break. You had considered the possibility of one, if not both, of you not making it out of here alive. But your heart yearned for that not to be true. Peter had always told himself that he could never go on if something were to happen to you. At first you had dismissed it, but the more that you had fallen for the boy, the more that you realized you felt the same way. A life without Peter seemed pointless now. You probably sounded ridiculous, some servant girl in love with the prince, her life doomed without him by her side, but it was anything but. It was your reality. 

You placed your hand on top of his resting on his chest. “You’ll have to kiss me to get it back,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. Thankfully, he smiled, keeping his hand under yours for a moment. When he began to pull away, your fingers subconsciously tightened around his, but they weren’t strong enough to keep him from backing away. The throne room was yet another corridor away, where Peter would wait to encounter the princess. He began to walk backwards, keeping his eyes on you. When he turned around to begin running, it felt like your heart was going to shatter into a million pieces. Trying to be strong, you turned too, making your own trek towards the all too familiar bedroom. Your fingers had yet to leave the ring sitting on the chain of your necklace. You twirled it around like you had done less than twenty four hours ago, sitting in a jail cell. Only prayers would allow you to return the ring to him. 

When you rounded the corner, your hand fell from the piece of jewelry to the sword on your side. There was no one in sight but you wanted to be prepared in case there was anyone uninvited in Peter’s room. The door wasn’t ajar and you didn’t want to make much sound so as to alert anyone of your presence, so you only opened the door enough for you to fit through. Your mistake was not taking a loot inside first. One step into the room and there was a figure standing behind Peter’s desk, staring out through the windows into the courtyard. 

“Ah, yes. Y/N, I’ve been waiting for your arrival.”

You cleared your throat, so as not to let the fear show. “Lord Stark.”

When Peter entered the throne room, he was expecting anything but the chaos he encountered. The room that his parents had kept pristine, in perfect condition was in ruin. Curtains torn, metal posts knocked over, cracks in the foundations and pillars. But the thing that made him want to throw up the most was the sight of his fathers’s throne aflame. But it wasn’t just any fire. It was a fire that had a red tint to it, almost unnatural. He quickly had his way up to try and extinguish it, but the flames weren’t burning the throne like they seemed to be. In curiosity, he moved his hand threw it and was surprised when he felt no burning pain on his skin. 

“I was wondering how long you’d wait.” 

At the sound of her voice, Peter drew his sword. Turning around, he as quick to place her walking through the doors, wearing a simple gown his mother had worn often. 

“That doesn’t belong to you.”

“You were always one to make an entrance, though,” she voiced, completely ignoring his comment. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show. But then, again I knew you’d come back to protect your people. Or should I say my people? Are you ready to give up?”

“Not quite.” Lunging forward quickly, he swung his blade, preparing to strike her when the red wisps began to encircle them both. After a few seconds, they evaporated, allowing the prince to see that the princess was no longer in front of him, nor was he standing in the same spot. 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to draw blood, Pete.”

He ran towards her again, swinging the sword towards her head, but the same thing happened again and suddenly he was in a different corner of the room. Aimlessly, he continued, hoping that a strike would finally hit. But once he took too many steps forward, he sent himself flying into the stairs, his sword flying out of his hand. He would have moved but he could only feel something circling his wrists and pulling him back towards the ground. MJ was standing over him, his sword in hand. 

“How fitting for you to die for your people? They really don’t deserve you.” She laughed as Peter began to pull against the red restraints keeping him held down. Placing the sword on his forehead, she began to trail it down his face, his abdomen. “Any last words?”

The doors to the throne room suddenly flew themselves open, with you and Lord Stark walking through. “Let him go or the necklace goes!”

The princess looked up at you, the necklace in your hand, with a look of panic. “NO!” She launched herself at you, but before she could, a sword was pointed towards her, Stark defending you. “Ah, ah, ah. You heard her. Let the boy go…”

“Y/N, what’s going on? The necklace?” Peter asked. 

“Is a little bit more than one of your mother’s trinkets?” you started. “Did you ever wonder why MJ conveniently showed up after your parents deaths? Your mother knew what this could do.”

“Enough. I’ll let him go!” The restraints holding Peter down were suddenly gone. He scrambled to his feet quickly, making his way around MJ and towards you. 

“The necklace that Peter gave me was more than just a piece of jewelry to hang around my neck. It was a symbol of love and protection as it was for his mother. In the hands of the wrong person, it could become a beacon of destruction.”

“But in the hands of the right people,” Tony continued, “it could protect those around them from the dangers that magic possessed.”

Without another word, you dropped the necklace, stepping on it with your heel before the princess could stop you. Both Peter and MJ yelled out opposition, but there was nothing to stop the now rising gold dust. Stark held Peter back when you blew the dust in MJ’s direction. The gold dust seemed to form a similar pattern to the red wisps of MJ’s magic, encircling her. There was bits of red getting caught in the gold when a loud scream broke across the room, deafening all of you. Peter grabbed hold of you, pulling you into him and keeping your head against his chest. Both of you kept your eyes closed, waiting for the madness to be over. 

When the room was silent, you turned your head to where the princess was moments ago. In her place was a girl. She was crouched on the floor, cuddled into herself, and rocking back and forth. You moved out of Peter’s grasp and towards the girl. The closer you got the more clear it was that she was whispering to herself. You kneeled down next to her and placed a hand on her back. She flinched at your touch, getting out of her previous position and backing away. It was still the princess, only looking broken and dull. Her eyes were dark with circles underneath and her skin was pale. Was this really the same girl in front of you only moments ago? 

“MJ?” you asked. 

She took a moment before speaking up. “W-what have I-I done?” she whimpered. 

You didn't respond, only held your arms out for her and waited. She looked at you with a questionable look. Why would you want to help her after she had caused so much pain? When you didn't seem to shy away, she crawled back towards you and fell into your arms. You could feel her tears falling onto your skin as you looked up at Peter. He didn't say anything either, just watching the scene unfold before him. The throne room was silent besides the cries of the broken princess.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to be out in the gardens. Working and living at the palace for years, you had come to find peace within sitting in the flowers. There was something about the scents that relaxed you, allowing you to daydream about a life beyond the castle walls. Wanda would join you whenever you both had a chance, reading stories to one another, playing games at a younger age, and gossiping about the court. Her favorites were wishbone flowers. They symbolized happiness, reminding her that even though she may not have the life that she wanted, she was truly happy. Friends, you, people around her were what gave her a life of joy. You had plucked a full bouquet of wishbones which now took their place in front of her gravestone. 

“I miss you, Wanda. So much.” Tears were falling from your eyes, leaving warm wet trails down your cheeks. “I got your letter. Peter gave it to me when…when I found out. There’s no way to tell you how much I love you. I wouldn’t be here without you and it’s going to be so hard now that you’re gone. I promise I’ll keep visiting whenever Peter actually lets me out of his sight.” You chuckled to yourself, knowing that she would’ve laughed too. You turned around to look at Peter, who was waiting by the horses. He gave you a look of concern, but you returned it with a smile, letting him know that you were okay. “You don’t have to worry about me, though. He’s got me. He loves me. And I love him.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #prince peter parker #royal peter parker #peter parker series

[abibliophobiaa]

Another Love - tasm!peter parker x f!reader (3/3)

a/n: well, here we are. almost 50k words later and we are at the final part of this crazy brain-child i had one day after i knew i would be doing an april au event over on @spidervee’s page. i've loved every minute of it. also, definitely the first time i've written this much in a long time. or ever, for that matter.

warnings: 18+ to be safe - minors dni. blood. gore. typical time period violence. i've also mentioned pregnancy multiple times in previous chapters, so just want to throw out that it is mentioned. briefly. and peter and reader are parents by the end. also mentioned only briefly, as i know not everyone is into that. but it is a royal!au and heirs are a thing. 

cross-posted on my ao3. 

| PART ONE | PART TWO | MASTER LIST |

*

“holy water cannot help you now,

see i’ve come to burn your kingdom down.”

seven devils - florence + the machine

*

Time was a fickle thing. One moment, you were careless and free. Troubles all a faraway memory. Thoughts pushed far from your mind, focused instead on the present. 

Of running through fields. Dancing beneath firelight. Whispering poetry against wine drunk ears. Playing chess in no more than a fur cloak to cover your form. Hot eyes trailing along bare flesh. Of plush pillows and heated hands. Of pleasure so deep, it made your head swirl. Dragged beneath the depths of it. A breathless surrender. 

Even then, you knew it to have been limited. Merely shards of sand falling through an hourglass. Counting down until this very moment. 

You had two months. Two months of wedded bliss at last. Selfishly, it wasn’t enough. 

You kept repeating those words in your mind as Peter dragged you back to the garrison. Lifting your armor he had fitted for you when you began training. Helped you into it as you stared off into the distance. 

Not enough time. 

I am out of time…

“I need you to try to avoid battle as much as possible. Your primary goal is to assist the other healers.”

You barely heard him. Eyes drifting to his face to look at him. Taking in those kind eyes, full of assurance toward you when all you felt was dark, cold dread. It swallowed you in those inky, black tendrils. Till all you knew was breathlessness. 

“Did you hear me?” He asked. Curled his finger around the tip of your chin, turning your head to him. “Hey. Hey…look at me. I am here. I am right here, please do not go where I cannot follow you.”

Your fingers reached up to cup along his cheek. Memorizing every feature. Every line and sharp angle. The thickness of his brows. The curve of his nose. The gentle slope of his jaw. The indent just above his top lip. The way his bottom one jutted out just so. Perfectly made for your own. And his honey brown doe-eyes. Always so full of emotion; your favorite as of late being the love he so deeply bore you. 

“I heard you.”

Your words were so soft, you weren’t even sure you’d truly spoken them. Hollowed, just as your chest felt at the reality etching its way into it. Replacing every shred of joy and replacing it with bitterness and fear. 

“You got a little quiet on me. You are generally very outspoken.”

You forced out a laugh. Your lips dragged downward once more, eyes trailing over your breastplate. Over the family crest; the name you shared with your husband, emblazoned on the metal. 

“We are out of time.”

“Do not say such things.” He demanded, forehead pressing forcefully into yours. 

“What if it is true? What if we have been given a short glimpse at eternity and that is all we get?” Your eyes watered, pinching shut as you shuddered on an exhale. 

“Then I will die happy knowing it was spent with you,” he said, tugging you to your feet.

“Please…do not speak of death like it is an option.”

His hand smoothed down the side of your neck. Your shoulder. “Love, it is not an option. As I said, we will see the sunrise again. I am certain of it. We have many years yet, all of which we will spend with one another. You may even grow to tire of me.”

“I would never tire of you.”

He leaned forward and kissed you once more. Lingered for a bit before Lord Bartrand cleared his throat, hand crossed over his chest. Peter quickly dressed himself and turned to the man, clasping your hand in his. 

“You must address the army, Your Grace. Morale is high—though Carstell soldiers have still not arrived.”

“How many soldiers did Hollowhall bring?”

Lord Bartrand glanced down. “It looks to be thousands. Likely three—maybe more.”

“We are outnumbered,” you whispered out, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. 

Peter turned to you then, smiling. “It is the hearts of the soldiers that matters. Not the number.”

You believed him. Had to believe him. And it was hard not to when he looked into your eyes with an assurance that made you feel like every inch of you glowed. His words inspired. That heart of his steadfast and brave. You loved him. Reminded him of such, as Lord Bartrand looked away for a moment to give you the privacy of a whispered affection between the two of you. 

“I am sorry your honey moon has been cut short,” Lord Bartrand said, as the two of you fell into step beside him. “But your people need you more than ever, Your Graces. We may lose many lives before the battle is over.”

The reality of it settled on you then. Knowing that many of the soldiers here today might meet the end of a blade today, dying for something they believed so fiercely in. Brave soldiers who had a heart for their country—and those of your father’s, coming to defend their once gilded Princess. 

As you stepped out and into the open fields near the garrison, you were met with the countless soldiers standing pressed together in a sea of bodies. Their swords were already in hand, raised with their fists as they shouted their love for the King. And for you. 

You remained at Peter’s side, never allowing your hand to part from his as he tugged you nearer to his chest. Ran a hand along your armored side as Lord Bartrand moved to attach a billowing red cloak to your husband’s armor. The wind made it trail behind him. Stark against the midnight sky, illuminated by torch light. 

Those faces staring up at you made your breath catch as it settled in the back of your throat. So many of which you didn’t even know the name of. Faces you might find buried in a few days time. Whispering words to console to grieving widows, to their children…loved ones. They lived and breathed for Ayelandia. For the hope of a long reign to come. You would not disappoint them. 

“People of Ayelandia! People of Glendhaven! Hollowhall soldiers stand at our doorstep. They would hope to overtake our lands—to take what is ours. But we will not let them. Our hearts beat for our home, and we will do whatever we can this day to preserve it!” Peter began, his voice loud and clear over the din. “In the words of late Queen Gwen, ‘No matter how buried it gets, or lost you feel, you must promise me that you will hold on to hope and keep it alive. We have to be greater than what we suffer. My wish for you is to become hope.’ So we will do that. We will be a hope for our people. A beacon. We do not surrender!” 

Shouts of Long live the King and long live the Queen permeated the air. A chant that beat loudly in your ears as you stepped down the stairs leading toward the swelling crowd. Greeted the soldiers with an arm across your chest as you passed. Reminding them tonight you were one with them. Golden ring twined in your hair, symbolic of your training and acceptance from the Guard. 

So, with your heart beating wildly in your chest, your husband gripped your hand in his own and led his army toward the fields of Ambrosen. 

To war. 

—x—

A healing tent had been prepared some weeks ago on the fields of Ambrosen. Lined with numerous cots, bandages, linens and herbs and ointments which you knew would be vital in the hours to come. As soon as you entered, you counted everyone within. Ten healers. You hoped it would be enough. Hoped none of them would come in the line of battle. 

Bronwynne appeared at your side, wearing only a slip of chainmail over her simple frock, and an apron overtop. You reached forward to wrap your arms around her neck, drawing her near to you. She trembled beneath your grasp, eyes leveling with yours. 

“This is really happening?” 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes. You go ahead and make sure everyone is prepared. I am to join my husband briefly, but I will be right back.”

Bronwynne, with a newly secured assurance, began making her way about the room. Distributing orders to the rest of the healers. You had argued with Healer Agatha to stay behind with the other women and children of Ayelandia, despite her many protests. But she had conceded eventually, understanding it was in her best interest. 

“We are all well equipped thanks to you, Healer Agatha.”

Her eyes had burned with unshed tears. Her palms coming up to clasp your forearms. “We are so very blessed by you, Your Grace. Lion heart. Ayelandia will see you and your husband reign for years to come.”

You brushed at your eyes, slipping from the tent to join your husband where he stood on the rampart. Overlooking the field of soldiers baring torches, ready to fight. His fingers tangled with yours, lips pressed against your cheek. 

“Archers, prepare the first volley!” 

Peter shouted, archers all around you moving their arrows into position. You had gripped a bow as well, alighting the tip with flame. You met his eyes briefly, before he gave the order to release the first wave of flaming arrows. 

The results were immediate. Soldiers at the front line screaming and shouting their agony. Some silenced immediately with a bolt to a head or a throat, while others screeched in their pain as fire licked at their forms. Your breathing halted, hands trembling as you reached for another arrow, watching your husband move into position as he prepared one as well. 

The second wave was released a moment later, and all hell broke loose on the battlefield. Hollowhall soldiers rushing forward toward those of Ayelandia and Glendhaven on the lower levels. Swords clashing in a flurry of rage and ferocity. The sound elevating itself up and over the ramparts, amplified only by the screams of the dying men and women below. 

You shuddered beside Peter, preparing to grab another arrow as his hand curled around your wrist. You gazed up at him, understanding settling over your face. You pressed your forehead against his, nodding slowly. 

“I will go join the other healers. Strike lucky and true, husband,” you whispered. 

The teased title curled his lips. Memories of your earlier days flashing across your minds. Of banter and displeasure at first. And then a companionship…melting into curiosity. Morphing into love—a love so deep and so certain. You had never known anything like it. Would never again, you were certain. 

“I love you,” you reminded him. 

“As I love you,” he said softly, kissing you one last time before you began running toward the stairs leading toward the battlefield. 

Nothing prepared you for the sights within the healing tent. You had seen wounded men before. Had witnessed death. Watched a man lose his life for treason many months ago now. But experiencing the men and women struggling on cots in varying degrees of distress eradicated any experience you had thus far. 

People moaned and cried around you. Healers flitting in and out of cots, tending to each of their patients. Deciding what methods might be used to save one—and what methods might bring another relief in their final hours. 

You held the hands of the dying as they slipped away from the world. And whispered words of comfort to others as you stitched their wounds back together, before bandaging them and sending them back into battle. For what felt like hours, bodies kept filtering in and out of the healing tend. Each one worse than the next. Each making you feel all the more helpless. 

Your breath halted when one of the familiar faced recruits you had trained with was brought inside and presented on the bed nearest you. His face twisted in pain. Hand pressed against a bleeding wound on his stomach. Charred marks scoring his body, where a Hollowhall soldier must have gotten him with a flaming arrow or a burning spear. He reached out for your hand, breathing coming out in short, puffed breaths. It wouldn’t be long now, you assumed, from the amount of blood seeping from the wound. 

“Please…please, Your Grace. I do not want to die alone.” 

Bronwynne glanced up from where she stood with her own patient. Bloody palm print scored across her face. Stained there by the woman who had died under her care only minutes ago. You glanced back down at the young man, settling down on the cot beside him. Hand clasped around his own as his murky eyes raised to yours. 

In the distance, one of the other healers began to sing. An unfamiliar Ayelandian tune. Of crossing over into freedom—of passing beyond into death. A comforting tune of a life outside of this one. Of a peace in death. A hopeful thing to ask for as you watched the man’s eyes slowly begin to close. His breathing becoming slower as you pressed your fingers against his throat. Counted the far and few in-between heartbeats beneath your skin. 

“You are not alone, my friend,” you whispered, inhaling through your tears. Brushed your face against the sleeve of your shirt. “You have served well. You can rest now.” 

His head nodded once slowly. 

Then again. 

And the beating against your fingers stopped. 

You slipped away in your mind for a moment, then. Like a phantom in the night as you stood to your feet, wiping your bloodied hand on your pant leg. Watching as soldiers lifted the body from the cot and replaced it with another. Watched as soldier after soldier met the same fate. Bleeding from wounds no medicine would ever be able to heal. 

It seemed futile. Your capabilities limited. More—you wanted to do more.

“You need to take a moment, Your Grace. You look as pale as death,” Bronwynne muttered, stirring you from your stupor. “I will tend to this patient.”

You nodded, walking over to grab a canteen of water. Sipped it briefly before your stomach churned and betrayed you into the nearest bucket you could find. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead, breathing slowly in and out of your nostrils. Trying to block out the moaning around you. The grief-filled cries. The requests to tell loved ones of their dying family members last words. 

You took another sip of water and returned to your patients. One after the other, passing in and out like the waves on the Ayelandian shores. Cleaning and tending to wounds until your fingers ached. Until you felt you were unable to do anymore. 

It was on your second break to grab water that you smelled the fire. Rushed out of the tent to watch the smoke billowing high above the ramparts separating Ambrosen fields from the gates of Ayelandia. The white cloud unfurling into the sky, and the amber glow radiating beneath it. Your heart lurched. Icy, cold dread spilling into your gut. 

Your eyes searched around the battlefield to find your husband. Your sword drawn and poised at the ready. Commander Ayla spotted you first, rushing over to your side as you walked across the fields. 

“You are not meant to be in the heat of battle,” she grunted, intercepting a Hollowhall soldier with her sword. Kicked him backward and sank her blade deep into his chest. 

You gasped at the way his blood bubbled in his throat. “I need to speak with the King.”

“I will take you to him, Your Grace. Stay close to me.”

Nodding, you rushed after her. Eyes trying to not focus on the people battling around you. Men standing over one another as they dealt final blows. Throats being slit from behind, spraying arcs of blood into the winter air. Arrows sinking into flesh and silencing life. It was chaotic. Constant movement resulting in death. 

Multitudes and multitudes of death. 

There, in the distance, you finally saw him. Red cloak flowing behind him as he struck down a soldier. That golden crown on his head catching your eye. Muscular arms hewn from years of training flexing and moving with each swing of blade. He was a vision on the field. The true king defending his kingdom. 

His eyes darted toward the two of you as you approached, his hand immediately rushing out to grasp yours as he rushed you away from the heat of battle. Pressed you against the trunk of a tree once distanced enough.  

“It is the healing houses,” you gasped, clutching at Peter’s arm. “I must go. Someone has lit them aflame—you can see the fire from here.”

“You will absolutely not race headlong into a fire.”

You squeezed the hand around his forearm tighter to draw his attention, ducking as a Hollowhall soldier ran toward the two of you. Stabbed straight and clean through the heart by your husband as you tugged him along behind you. Gasping for breath, hand tugging at your increasingly too-tight armor. 

“Our storages are there. I cannot help anyone if we run out of supplies. Do you understand?” You pleaded with him, glancing up into those horrified brown eyes. “I have seen so much death; we will experience even more if I do not do something.” 

He nodded. Understanding the reality of the situation you were presented with. Either run and try to save whatever you could or remain on the battlefield and suffer many more casualties. There was no easy decision—though Peter leaned down and kissed you all the same. 

“You come back to me. That is an order from your King.”

“Giving me orders now, love?” You smirked, pressing another kiss to his mouth. “I will be right here as soon as I am able to. I will bring Bronwynne with me; we can bring along sacks and try to salvage as much as we can. I fear we will lose many preventable deaths if we do not.”

“Promise me.” It was a whispered plea. Anguish deeply set on that handsome face. 

You imagined he was thinking of Gwen. Grown cold in death. You would not leave him this night. He had promised a lifelong love. A love that continued even after death. You would find him. Your heartbeat in tandem with his…its perfect partner. 

So you nodded, turning on the heel to find Bronwynne fending off a soldier with a tiny dagger, before Lord Bartrand ended his life. Shouting for the both of you to make a break for it while you had an opening. 

You rushed along with her toward the gates. Only to find them already lifted. That wasn’t right. Your heart picked up in your chest, fear pumping into your blood. There were supposed to be guards posted. 

Where were the guards? 

“Wynne, something is amiss.”

Her eyes drifted to the distance. Unfocused and rounded. “The men were slain. Look.”

You trailed your gaze to where she was looking. Hand coming to cup over your mouth at the sight of the guards with their throats slit on their posts. 

“There are women and children here. We must help them evacuate—”

“The healing houses, Your Grace!” 

“These are our people, Wynne. We will search the healing houses first and then help the people. Have you ever held a sword? You will need it.”

“No,” she muttered, as you reached to grab one from the ground. Settled at the booted foot of the soldier slain before you. “But I will do what I must.”

You made your way through the streets on quiet feet, entering the healing houses. Coughing at the cloud of smoke billowing from the highest point of it. Fear propelled the two of you forward, rushing down toward the lower levels before the fire overtook them. Packing as many supplies you could carry into slings positioned at your back. 

That was, until you heard the coughing from the corner of the room. Lifted your head in the direction it had come from, feet drawing you nearer. There, in the corner, you spotted Healer Agatha. Hand splayed over her stomach. Covering a bleeding wound beneath her apron. 

Bronwynne’s footsteps echoed behind you as you moved the healer’s hand aside and lifted the edge of her apron. Saw the blood pooling beneath it. By your estimation, she did not have long now. Mere minutes separated her from death. Your hand clutched in her own, eyes boring into hers, pleading. 

“What happened? People were supposed to be evacuating to the tunnels. There were boats docked at the ports to rush the women and children to Carstell—to stay with our ally.”

She gasped out a breath. Eyes searching for your face. Clouding. “It was if someone informed them. The Hollowhall soldiers. They cornered the civilians. Cut them down in the streets—”

“No,” you breathed out. Holding back a sob as you glanced over your shoulder to Bronwynne. 

She didn’t meet your eyes. Only stared off into the distance. 

“They…lit the houses on fire. To draw out the other healers. Killed them, too. I tried to fend them off—” 

She broke off into a fit of coughing. Blood dribbled at the corner of her lips, your thumbs coming up to brush it away. 

“You fought well,” you said, noting the dead body of a Hollowhall soldier near to her hip. 

“Your Grace, you must leave here. You must…I fear there is a plot…”

Her head rolled to the side. Eyes staring up into nothingness. Gone now from this world. You lowered her eyelids, pressing your fingers to your lips before positioning them in the middle of her forehead. Standing straight on wobbling legs. 

Too much. You had seen too much death today. But you could not shake the sinking feeling her words had instilled. Someone had warned the Hollowhall soldiers the citizens of Ayeladia would be escaping to the boats. 

An informant lived in your midst all this time. 

But who?

“Your Grace, we can still help the surviving women and children to safety. There is hope to be had yet,” Bronwynne reminded you, pulling you back to reality. 

You slid your eyes toward hers. Noting the blood all over her hands. Her dress. Her face. You were certain you looked the same now. Unrecognizable. You supposed war did that. 

Wondered if anything would ever be the same. 

But she was right. There were lives to still be saved. Death still capable of being prevented. 

So the two of you worked to do just that. Searching through the homes to find the living. Greeted time after time with loss. Grief settling like rocks in a pool in your gut. Each door darkened by the Hollowhall soldiers who had already managed to get there before you had. 

You prayed many had already made it to the tunnels. Knew the courtiers likely already had, spilling from their chambers to rush to Carstell aid. But these people were just as deserving. Your people. The blood of your husband and therefore your blood as well. Spilled in vain, for a nefarious king’s selfish gain. 

Your fingers brushed across the forehead of a woman, sprawled out in the street. Rage pooling violently in your chest. 

You heard it then. The faint cries of a young babe coming from the tavern. The door cracked ever so slightly, you questioned you had seen it properly. 

Gesturing for Bronwynne to follow, the two of you slipped inside and your heart leaped at what you saw there. Dozens of your people filled the room, wielding chairs and knives and tankards in their hands. 

“It is the Queen!” Someone whispered, and the room began to grow louder in volume. 

You stood atop a table. Drawing their attention to you.  “We must make haste. The castle is not far from here. I promise you that you will be safe yet. The tunnels are still opened and there are ships prepared to take you away from here. But we will need to be brave—to fight. Are you all with me?”

Those faces which greeted yours were full of uncertainty. Many already grieved by loss—you could see it in your eyes. They were tired; you did not blame them. Were tired yourself. All seemed lost already. But there was hope. 

A little boy stepped forward first. Gripped an empty tankard in his hand and walked over to your side. His tiny hand reached upward to touch yours dangling at your side. Fingers curling into your own. You glanced down at him, heart shattering with the weight behind his young gaze. 

“I will fight with you, Your Grace.”

“As will I,” a woman said, stepping forward, clutching an unlit torch in her hand. 

“And I,” said another, wielding a broken off leg of a chair. 

Your eyes watered as the room erupted in an endless sea of children and adult alike coming forward and taking up arms. Bravery so gallantly displayed before you in the face of uncertainty. 

The unlikely band of soldiers walked behind you through the streets of Ayelandia. Defending themselves to the best of their ability as enemy soldiers attempted to attack. Thrusting lit torches at them. Throwing chairs. Goods in the market. Anything they came in contact with at them.

The Hollowhall soldiers were met with skirmish after skirmish as they attempted to attack the Ayelandian citizens. Your people rising up to defend one another, even if it meant laying down their own lives to do so. These were you people. This was what your husband had meant. About it not mattering that you were outnumbered…because it was the hearts that truly matter.  

Bronwynne walked beside you at the front, hands curled around the hilt of her sword. Shaking and uncertain, though she had no time to think as a soldier rushed toward her with his sword at the ready. 

You rushed forward to defend her, grunting as his blade slammed hard against your own. Gasping at the weight of him, you pushed as hard as you could forward. Screaming in your rage as another woman came forward and crashed into his side, knocking him off his feet momentarily. 

You seized the opportunity. Slid your blade through his chest, striking that vital organ within. Stomach immediately curling inward on itself at the realization. That you had ended a life. His eyes growing wider as his blood pooled around you. 

Felt yourself growing sick as you vomited onto the cobblestones below—uncaring of those around you. Shrugged off Bronwynne’s hand as she reached forward to console you. To tell you everything was okay. 

Because it was not. Nothing about this was. 

Still, you could only push onward. The castle itself was eerily quiet. Still luckily guarded by soldiers. Unaware of what had occurred in the town only a mile or so away. You loathed to think of it as the men settled their eyes on your bloodied form, shouting for the doors to be opened for the Queen. 

Parted them to allow the people of Ayelandia safe passage. The halls were nearly emptied inside—many of the people already evacuated. Save for the few who trickled here and there toward the tunnels. 

The pace of the people behind you picked up. Certainty beginning to imbue every footfall. Of safety being within reach. You noticed Bronwynne’s disappearance soon thereafter as you ushered the women and children toward the doorway to the underground tunnels. Bidding them safe travels as they rushed onward with torches lit in their hands. Muttering their thankfulness toward you. 

Only saw Bronwynne once more some time later. Her eyes rounded in fear. “There are children hiding in the library!”

Bronwynne’s words struck fear in your heart. There are children hiding in the library! 

Yelling at the others to run and make their way down the underground tunnels, you raced back the way which you came. Legs burning as you darted up a flight of stairs and sprinted through the halls of the castle. Berating the decorator for placing the library so far from anything else. 

Gasped out loud at the sight of the guards who had been posted at the doors to the castle now in bloodied pools on the ground. Prayed that there were no enemy soldiers chasing the women and children through the tunnels—that they would find safety at the end, and not the end of a sword. 

Panicked breaths reached your ears. Mind only recognizing they were yours as you raced after Bronwynne. Not understanding why she wasn’t slowing down for you. 

The door opened in the distance, her form slipping inside, as you slipped in behind her. Searching for her familiar, slender silhouette as you worked your way through the unfamiliar stacks. 

“Bronwynne, I do not hear anything,” you whispered in the night. 

Wondered, briefly, if the soldiers had already silenced the young ones. Shuddered to think of the dozens of broken bodies you might find, slain before their time. Only there was nothing. No light was visible, save for the few candles left lit earlier that evening. Now nearing the end of their wick, flame flickering dully from their containers. 

“Wynne, where are you?” You asked, frustrating rumbling in your gut. “This is not funny. There are ships awaiting our arrival. We must get the women and children out and rejoin the battle. There are people dying.”

You stepped down another path. Noting the brighter flicker bouncing off the wall. Casting the shadow of a form against it. A man, you presumed, by the width and height of it. Slouched against what looked to be a plush couch. He shifted to stand, silhouette growing as he moved in the night. 

Exhaling shakily, you gripped Poison at your thigh and slowly slid it out from its sheath. Pressed the blade to your lips for good luck as you crouched down into a hunter’s position. Heart thudding in your chest like a drum beat. 

Your foot skidded on something beneath you. The object slid across the flagstones at your feet. Your hand clapped over your mouth, trying to hide the rapidly increased breathing. Air trying to escape your lungs. Every inch of your body trembled in panic, dreading the moment someone might find you unguarded and exposed in the library. 

Bronwynne appeared to your left, then. Her eyes trained on your face. Rounded and bright and full of…tears. Your resolve crumbled. A raw awareness replacing every bit of worry had spun you into a panic only moments ago now. 

“You should be heading to the ships, Wynne. You need to get far, far away from Ayelandia for now.” You whispered the words. 

Heart splitting into two as the familiar form of Prince Harry slipped into view. Icy blue eyes and slick brown hair. A silvery crown sitting lopsided on that proud head. He twirled his dagger in his hand, looping it around and around as he whistled. Eerie smirk curling those lips upward. Eyes roving your form as he stood there, taking in every inch of your being. Enjoying every second without remorse. 

“Wynne…go to the ships,” you pleaded. It sounded like your throat was being scraped by shards of glass. Felt like it, too. 

“I cannot.” 

“P-please.” 

It was a mere beg.

A last resort.  

“No.”

Betrayal spilled into every beat of your heart. The downcast eyes. The forlorn expression. The way her teeth chewed miserably at her bottom lip. It throbbed in you. Ate at you, until it became every fiber of your being. You thought back to every encounter. All those moments spilling together in front of you like pieces of a puzzle. Tried to distinguish the moments you might have known. Moments where she had shown her hand. Pieces of a deeper deception you had never seen coming. 

Those early days in the storage room. Secrets shared. Stories of your childhoods told. Jokes exchanged with hysteric tears in both your eyes. Problems worked out from the struggles in your marriage. Her desires. Her many wishes. Her dreams. The inner workings of your own thoughts. Machinations of your mind. 

As of late…war planning—war planning.

An informant; you had supplied an informant. 

The way she positioned herself at his side. As if he drew her to him by some invisible force. They were lovers; had been, for some time now. All those memories of her writing to an unnamed man. Her wondering if she would see another spring. The fear and guilt imbuing her every word. You hissed to yourself, reaching toward your hip to draw your sword. A last, futile attempt at freedom. 

A careless swirl of metal against his own. Grunting as he blocked yours and kicked your wrist. Your blade clattered into the corner of the library. Books tumbling as you threw yourself forward and tossed some sitting atop a bookshelf behind you, making a break for it. Screamed as Prince Harry gripped you by the back of your head. Fingers wrenching you to him. 

“Do not hurt her!” Bronwynne shrieked. 

You snarled at her. How dare she even try to save herself now? You roared at him. Kicking limbs furiously from the tight grip he held you in. Dug at his flesh with your fingers. Whimpered as he hooked an arm around your neck, pressing something into your nose. You inhaled, eyes growing heavy at the scent of the ether. Your eyes grew hazy around the edges. Color seeping into darkness, swirling and blending behind your eyelids as they drooped. 

“So happy I did not marry you. I wanted a tamed wife, not this beastly thing he turned you into.”

Your legs tumbled from beneath you. Fingers growing limp around his forearm. His breath fanned along the shell of your ear. The scent of the concoction and liquor filling your nostrils. Your limbs grew heavy and useless. Head fuzzy, like there were thousands of bees buzzing within them. You opened your mouth to speak—but your mouth came up dry. Tongue like cotton, swollen and unable to form speech. 

“Sleep, Your Grace. You are going to need your rest.”

There was darkness. You surrendered to it. 

You saw Peter. In the wispy fog billowing around the floor. His form bent over, hand cupped around his eyes. 

Searching…searching for you. 

You worked your mouth into a scream, only to find no sound came out. Why wasn’t Peter seeing you? Where had he gone? 

Wasn’t the field of Ambrosen littered with the dead now? All the gore and decay of battle marked earth. This couldn’t be, and yet with further clarity, you knew it was. Your feet moved forward. Carried you toward him. Toward those beautiful arms extended toward you. Waiting for you. 

He called your name and you raced toward him. Fingers reached out to touch him. Gripping onto the fabric of his tunic, his eyes widened as they took you in. Hands reaching up to brush the hair away from your cheeks. Kissed you soundly. 

The taste of iron spilled into your mouth. Bitter and acrid. A coughed whisper of your name spilled into your flesh. Peter’s breathing shallowed. Blood seeping past his lips. Down his throat. Pure, unfettered horror lined those features as he stumbled forward. Crashed down onto his knees, blood spilling from a wound in his gut. 

You glanced down and saw it then. The dagger embedded there. 

Poison, streaked with his blood. Red. So red. Life spilling onto the grass before you. Growing, growing…growing. Spreading in a deep, dark pool beneath him. There was so much. Too much. Life draining home him rapidly. Horror lining his features. 

“Why?” He asked you. 

Eyes trailing downward. 

“I…”

“How could you do it?”

You followed the line of sight. Gasping. Screaming, as you pulled your dagger from him. 

Watched the life seeping from him. Pulsating from him as his own heart gave out. 

As if the blade were the only thing keeping him alive. 

“I love you.” He tried to whisper, only blood bubbled against his lips. 

Perfect rosettes spilled onto the grass. 

Dropped. Dropped. Dropped. 

Bled into the puddle. Joined together like a marriage. 

In the next moment, you were nestled beneath Peter beneath a canopy of leaves dancing in the wind on branches above. One hand cradled against your cheek as he rocked into you. A slow, steady movement. Sending you closer and closer to completion. 

Gasped pants against skin. His lips against your chest. Fingers rubbing at that highest point between the apex of your thighs. 

Each thrust another promise. 

He loved you. He cherished you. He worshipped you. He adored you. Would spend every day for the rest of his life reminding you. 

A memory, yet also not. 

“Open your eyes, dove.”

Tendrils of sleep curled in your vision. Noting the way the scene warped around the edges. The heaviness of your mind as you stared up at him. Those kind, longing eyes only for you. 

“I do not want to. Just want to stay here forever with you.” 

The words were yours, and yet they weren’t. Muffled somehow. As though you hovered inches from your body and the words took some time to form in your own mouth. 

“Open your eyes…”

“Just a while longer. Please.”

“Only a little while longer,” he whispered, pressing his forehead into yours. “I will never tire of you like this…”

You rolled up and over Peter. Pinned his hands against your hips. Watched his irises turn black as you rose above him and sank down against flesh. Moved. Slowly at first, and then with abandon. Chased that string of webbing closer and closer to the brink.

“Open…your…eyes…” 

When you woke, Peter wasn’t there. Instead, the darkness of the tent filled your gaze. Hand locked into place by a chain. Tethered off at the end to a rig in the ground. Tugged at it. Screeched until your throat rubbed raw from the strain. Begged for someone to come. Anyone. Shouted his name over and over again until you rocked forward on your knees and sobbed into the earth. 

There was a moment of silence before you tried once more. Screaming for help. Shouting your husband’s name in the dark. Bronwynne’s. You remembered, then. The way she curled at Prince Harry’s side. Her comfortability in his presence. The way she looked at him with love. In a way you had never seen her before. Driven enough by it to betray you. 

The memories of your dearest friend in Ayelandia stricken by it. Bitter anger burned in your gut. The thought of retribution howled in your veins. Revenge for the betrayal. For so blindly trusting her these many months. You felt stupid. Screamed once more at the reality of those dead because of Bronwynne’s betrayal. 

Healer Agatha. Those soldiers. Women. Children. Did she grieve at all for them? So blinded by her adoration toward the Prince. 

“No one is coming.” 

Bronwynne glanced up at you from the other side of the tent. Positioned behind a desk, feet propped up on the wooden surface. You growled at her low in your throat, clambering to your feet to rush at her. Clawed at her face with your hands, only to come up a few inches short. Whimpered as your wrist screamed in protest. 

She had sealed her fate. There was nothing you could do to save her now. Either she died by your hands or by your husbands, treason against the crown was punishable by death. Even in Ayelandia, where there were lesser rules and regulations. Order needed to be maintained. Yet it grieved you still; despite her betrayal. To watch the young woman who had been a confidant, always present at your side, lose her life would leave an irrevocable scar on your heart. 

There was, however, the matter of getting yourself free from your bindings. The rig buried deep into the earth as if it had been prepared for you. You knew it was likely it had been. That this, too, was planned months ago. During the stormy season in Hollowhall, before death marched onto your doorstep. 

“Whatever you are planning, it is not going to work,” Bronwynne said, shifting on her chair to better look at you. 

Those sad, rounded eyes met yours. 

You found hatred there in your heart burning for her. 

“Do not look to me with pity,” you hissed, tugging once more on the chain for emphasis. “I am your Queen, I cannot help you in this. You will be beheaded, Wynne. You understand that, do you not?”

“I will be far away by then,” she said, waving her hand in the air in a mindless circle.

“And where do you expect to be? We are in the middle of a war. There are only two ways this can go. Either Ayelandia or Hollowhall wins.” 

Bronwynne’s lips quirked upward. Wistful. “Prince Harry said he will marry me. Can you even think of it? Me, a Princess.”

You tampered down the desire to snort. To roll your eyes at the careless nature she carried. That there weren’t the sounds of clanging swords and dying men filling the campsite that very moment. Instead, the woman stared far off into the distance. As if recalling a memory, or conjuring a fantasy in her mind. 

“Do you honestly think King Norman will allow you to wed his son?” You pleaded the words with her. Crawled across the tent and sat before her. “King Norman. Do you know what his desire was and has always been for as long as I have known that man? He wants to rule not just one country but many. His son intended to marry me, but my father would not have it. Did Prince Harry tell you that?”

“He did not wish to marry you—he loves me.” 

“Wynne, what he feels for you likely is a form of love. But people like Prince Harry…people like me cannot afford to love. Not truly. It is not the way; we are often bought and bartered, like sows on a market. It is how it has always been!” You cried out, just as Bronwynne slammed her palm down on the desk. 

“What do you know of it?!” 

You inhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Prince Harry’s marriage contract to me was drawn up before I ever married King Peter. His father, King Norman, wanted Glendhaven to join them. We have a large army. We have skilled soldiers. We are next in weaponry only to them. A marriage bond between Hollowhall and Glendhaven would have amounted to King Norman having dominion over large portions of the world. It was his goal.”

“What does this have to do with me?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.  

“Prince Harry will not marry you, as he cannot marry you. You cannot offer his father anything to advance his kingdom. You have been used—”

The slap echoed in the tent. You felt like you’d been dragged over hot coals. Cheek burning as you reached up to touch it. The woman sitting before you bore you no love. How had you ever thought of anything otherwise? There had always been a goal. Some secret mutterings in the dark; an ulterior motive driving passion. A ringing clanged in your ears, eyes pinched shut against the blinding pain. 

How far the two of you had come, now. From two giggling women in a storehouse to enemies. Thought back to that day in the clearing when the two of you had played like children. Minds focused on nothing but the warmth of the sun and the joy elevating your hearts. 

Only now it was tarnished by blood and ruin and death. Lives lost by her hand, and in some part for trusting her, your own. You loathed thinking of it. Swallowed the pain burning in your chest at the memory of Healer Agatha bloodied and open-eyed at the moon. Ripped from the world. Those children and their mothers, frozen in horror where they lay. Mouths rounded in silenced screams.

“He will marry me. He told me himself countless times. I am to be his wife.” 

The words sounded frantic in your ears. As if even she struggled to believe it. Wanted to believe it herself. You turned from her then, stalking over back to your crumpled-up bedroll in the corner of your makeshift jail cell. Ran a hand against your stricken cheek as your eyes rolled up to her once more. 

“What is King Norman’s plan for me?”

“You will be used as a bargaining chip. The acceptance of Hollowhall as ruler over Ayelandia, so long as King Peter turns himself over for you.”

You laughed. A horrifying low and chilling sound. Disbelief rattled you to the core. “A bargaining chip? Even if my husband rescinds the throne to King Norman, they will take him as a prisoner and murder him. And then after that, I will be killed as well.”

Bronwynne shook her head. Those blonde curls bounced over her shoulders. Reminding you she was still a young girl. Hadn’t seen much of the world, yet harbored such darkness in her heart if she would have sold you over for a lie of lover’s affection. So innocently foolish. You almost pitied her for it. To be so doe-eyed and captivated with a man you failed to see how deep the poison in his family ran. 

“He will not. That was part of the deal. They told me you would be left unharmed.”

“They lied, Wynne.” You shook your head, standing to your feet. “Even if they take Ayelandia, there will be people who will rise up for my cause. Those who would see me still on the throne. Loyal supporters of my husband. There will never be a day of peace again in my country. There is also the chance I am with child. If that is so, do you not think my child would have a claim to that crown that threatens Prince Harry’s? They will have to kill me, too. To silence any chance of unrest.”

Bronwynne shook her head. Eyes watered. “No, he promised me.”

“You have sold me to my death, Bronwynne. I know you now to be cruel, but never knew you to be a murderer as well.” 

“No. You are wrong,” she rushed over to you, clasping your hands in her own. You hated the fact she was touching you. Felt burned by it. Yet met her gaze anyway, tears brimming on her lashes. “He will not kill you.”

“What else did he promise you?” You asked, breathlessly. 

“He said once King Peter rescinded the throne King Norman would declare Prince Harry as the King of Ayelandia. We would then marry.” 

“And of my role?”

Bronwynne’s mouth worked on the words. Eyes dropping. As if she finally understood. Pain bloomed in her features. Stark as death, in the way she looked at you. As if already picturing you in a grave beside your husband. Gone from this world. 

“He…he never mentioned it.”

“Do you understand now, Wynne? What he intends to do? I know you care for me…in a way that is hard to grasp in this very moment; but please know his intent was never for me to survive this war.”

She swallowed. Your own chest burned as she squeezed your hands tighter. Her bottom lip trembled. “He p-promised.”

“He lied,” you whispered. The sorrow in your voice was genuine this time. “You must help me. Free me from these chains…please.”

Bronwynne shook her head, teeth pinching her bottom lip. “I cannot do that. You know I cannot.”

“Please.” 

She exhaled, running a hand through her blonde curls. “I do not have the key. I am not even certain of where it is held.”

You returned to the other side of the tent, dropping down onto the bedroll. “Then I am as good as dead yet.”

You weren’t certain of how long they kept you there. Locked away without so much as food or drink. You could tell the sun was beginning to rise, the darkness dissipating into golden light. Your wrist ached where you’d tugged against it for the past few hours. Skin already bruising around the edges. 

You hung your head low. Wondered if you might yet start screaming again. Maybe earning the pity of a defecting soldier, fueled by a sudden desire to honor Ayelandia’s royals. Sighing, you curled up onto your side and brought your knees upward toward your chest, hugging them. Pictured your husband’s face in your mind. Prayed he was still alive this very moment. 

Wondered if you’d ever be able to run your fingers through his hair ever again. If you’d ever be able to reach upward onto your toes and press your lips to his. If you’d ever even hear his voice. You wished you could hear him now. If only to comfort you—remind you that everything would be okay, when in all actuality it felt like everything had fallen apart around you. 

“Oh good, you have stopped your incessant screaming,” Prince Harry said, sauntering into the tent with a dagger in hand. 

You jolted upward onto the bedroll. Feeling his eyes on you as you shifted onto your knees before him. Bronwynne entering a moment later, taking up residence once more at the desk. 

Prince Harry leaned down toward you. Pressed his pointer finger and thumb to your chin. Pinched it as he shifted your jaw toward him. Wincing, you met those icy blue eyes. 

“Things are going to get exciting soon,” he said, smirking. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“I am a Queen,” you hissed out. 

“For how much longer is questionable, my dear.” He released your chin. Twirled that dagger around in his hand. “You know, it will be fun seeing King Peter. The last time I saw him…he was in a bit of distress. So sad what happened to his wife. It is such good luck for him he found a new one.”

Ice spilled down your spine. “What did you just say?”

His lips only turned further upward. Those eyes closing as he tilted his head upward, laugh spilling from his lips. You knew then. You knew his intended meaning. Screamed and raced for him, his cackling only strengthening as he dodged your attack and stepped away far enough you were met with empty air. 

His wife. Peter’s wife. He had been there. Harry had been in the room and…no. 

“You did it. You killed her.”

“See…that was quite an unfortunate event. I had intended to kill your husband instead. She had gotten in the way, but it weakened Ayelandia all the same.” He laughed again. “We could have avoided a war if it had been him that day. But this is more fun, do you agree?”

You thought of Queen Gwen in Peter’s arms. Body broken and bleeding onto the stone floor as he held her to him. Begging her to stay with him. To hold on just a while longer. Until a healer could come—until he could put her back together again. As if his love might have stitched her mortal wound.

You thought of your people on the battlefield. Fighting for their lives this very moment, while a coward of a man stood before you. Taunting you.  

You hated him. Hated the both of them. All of Hollowhall. Screamed at him, incoherent words spilling from your lips. He had taken so much from your husband, and now he intended to rip him from you as well. You wanted to kill him. To watch Poison slip between his ribs, right in the spot Peter had shown you would kill a man, and watch as his own life seeped from him. 

“I had help, of course. How do you think I slipped out of the castle so easily after?” Prince Harry said, running a hand down the side of Bronwynne’s neck. “Thank you for that, my love.”

She glowed under his affection. Like a flower blooming beneath the sun. 

So even then Bronwynne had been dreaming of sitting beside her Prince on the Ayelandian throne. Had pictured it for years now. Waited for the perfect moment and was willing to commit regicide to do it—had actually committed regicide, despite the intention being for Peter to have been the one to die that day. And she was willing to attempt once more, solidifying her rule once and for all. 

Your stomach heaved. Limbs carrying you to the nearest bucket, emptying out the contents of your stomach there. Prince Harry wrinkled his nose, tossing you a dirtied rag. 

“Clean yourself up. We have a gathering to attend.”

“The two of you, then. All this time…?” 

Prince Harry’s lips dragged into a smirk. “Ayelandia was always our ideal first step. Some of its land resides close to Hollowhall’s border. Technically it should already be ours. But we had planned on Glendhaven helping us invade it.”

“It is why you intended to marry me,” you said, grimacing. 

He nodded. “Your father’s army is impressive. And I would have had a pretty wife. There are worser things a man of my station could be given.”

“You are disgusting,” you hissed at him. “You killed an innocent person.”

Prince Harry paused in his pacing, head turning to look your way. “It is the cost of war—of ambition. Lives will be lost along the way. You and your husband are no better. You beheaded one of my soldiers as well.”

“They attempted to kill us—”

“Fighting for something they believed in! Do not look down upon me for the loss of human life when you have ended lives in the name of your kingdom. We are no different, Your Grace.”

“Darling, this is a waste of time. Let us eat before we begin the negotiations.” Bronwynne reached up to press her hand to Harry’s cheek.

“So today, then.” Your words were soft. Laden with fear at the prospect of watching Peter be killed.

Prince Harry reached down and pushed a strand of hair away from your face. Tucked it behind your ear. You trembled as he leaned down and pressed his lips to the hollow of your ear, inhaling slowly as he whispered. 

“Oh, but we would have been so happy.” He said, and you shivered against him. “You certainly would have kept your pretty little head if you had married me instead.” 

And then the two of them were gone. Slipped out of the tent leaving you trembling in their wake. Wondering, at last, if you were finally running out of time. 

—x— 

Bronwynne returned sometime later with a bucket and fresh linen. Some sort of delicious smelling soaps had been dropped into the water, and you nearly sighed into the cloth as she reached up and pressed it to your cheek. Wiping away the smell of sickness. 

Neither of you spoke for some time. The discomfort between you thick in the air. Her recognition over the fact you were no longer friends hanging in the air. The woman before you wanted your throne. Would be willing to put you and your husband to death to do so. It wasn’t something you could or would ever forget. 

“I am sorry. I know you do not believe me, but you must understand I was mistaken. He assured me nothing would happen to you.”

“He lied to you. You see that now, do you not?” You whispered, staring up at her through your lashes. Frowned. “What else might be be lying about? Think of it, Wynne.”

She exhaled, pressing the damn cloth into your chest. Grimaced to herself. “I looked for a key while he was distracted by some of the other men. Believe me when I say I tried to free you.”

She had no reason to lie to you now. You were likely to be placed in a jail cell in a few hours time depending on how the evening rolled out. 

“I did grieve Queen Gwen, I hope you understand that. I am not this unfeeling woman. She was never meant to die; it was a needless death. Harry told me there were things we needed to do…obstacles we needed to overcome to ensure we could be with one another,” she said, brushing near your lip. “I never meant to like you, though. Becoming your friend—that was all real for me, Your Grace. I love Harry, yes, but I love you too.”

“Then help me,” you begged. 

She glanced down at the bucket. Tossed the linen inside. “I am trying. I will do whatever I can.”

You nodded, understanding she was limited by what she might do in order to help. Without a key, the only person able to free you was the very man who intended to become King of Ayelandia after the bargaining took place. 

“I know we can never be friends. But I never wished for him to hurt you.”

“I know.” 

The words were a forced out lie. But the uncertain smile lining the girl’s lips before you brought some peace to your aching heart. You stood up then, running your fingers through your hair. 

“When will they begin negotiations?” You asked. 

“Prince Harry had a Hollowhall informer speak with Lord Bartrand. King Peter has been summoned.” She exhaled softly. “You will be brought before the King in an hour’s time.”

So soon. 

In an hour you would see your husband. Very likely for the last time. Your heart twisted at the notion of it all. Of seeing those eyes fall on you one more time before he was taken from you. 

You had a year—twelve months with him. 

It hadn’t been enough. Though part of you understood that no amount of time would have been enough for the man who had earned your heart. The person who filled those crevices and filled them with himself. Entwined his soul with yours, in a way only two people made for each other could. 

Your hand wiped at your eyes. A sob spilling unwillingly from your mouth. “Then it is to be done.”

“It is to be done,” Bronwynne whispered, glancing off into the distance. 

Part of you wanted to blame her. To shout at her and remind her this was all her doing. That when the life slipped from Peter and you lost your love, it was because of another woman’s selfish ambition. But you reminded yourself there was still some time yet. A possibility Prince Harry revealed his hand and Bronwynne was able to free you once and for all. 

There would be no negotiations without anything to bargain for in the first place. If Prince Harry lost his captive, Ayelandia still had hope yet. All was not lost. Your kingdom not yet fallen. 

The two of you settled into uncomfortable silence as Bronwynne returned the bucket into a far corner of the tent and kicked her feet up onto the desk. Leaned back in the chair and tilted her head to the ceiling. Your fingers plucked at the earth, finding it so strange now to sit in a room with her and want nothing to do with her. 

There had been a time Healer Agatha would have raced down into the storehouses to reprimand the two of you for causing a ruckus. Now, it was as if you both were strangers; in a way, had always been so. 

Sighing, you tilted your head up and took in Bronwynne’s profile. Her pretty jawline. That slender nose which upturned at the edges. Freckles dotting the highest points of her cheeks. You’d loved her once. Part of you still did. 

You played on her sympathy toward you. 

“Do you know where he put my dagger?” 

Your sword had been discarded somewhere in the library. But if you managed to get your hands on some sort of weapon…there was an opportunity to attempt a final attack. A last ditch effort before submitting to whatever fate had planned for you these next hours. 

“Your Grace…you know I cannot.”

“You can, Bronwynne. You can.”

“It is not beyond me to think you might try to kill him. I cannot let you do that.” 

You toyed with the chain at your wrist. “Your lover is going to kill my husband.”

She had no words for that. The silence which greeted you bringing no comfort. Countless lives already lost. How many mor sufficed? To what end would one go for absolute power? 

“At least there is comfort in knowing I will join him soon thereafter.” 

You thought back to the moment in the alcove. Basking in the afterglow of simply being with him. The way his words had burned into your skin. That he would love you long after you departed the earth. How foolish to imagine you had a whole lifetime stretched out before you. 

It almost came as a relief when Prince Harry and Bronwynne entered the tent after slipping out for some time. Ignoring Bronwynne’s affection as she reached forward to press a kiss into his cheek. Her face dropped as his footsteps carried him over to you and unhooked the chain from the post. Before moving to lock both your hands together, despite your protesting. 

“So you do not stab me in the back,” he said coolly, dragging you by the arm in front of him. 

“My love, you promised,” Bronwynne reminded him, voice shaken. 

“Will you mind your tongue, woman? My father already has half a mind to leave you behind in Ayelandia.” He grumbled out, your eyes narrowing at him as Bronwynne paused in her footsteps. “Let their people do whatever they wish of you once they have heard word of your actions these years.”

“Do not speak of such things,” she whispered. The sound seemed choked on your ears. 

“Then do not pester me so incessantly and I may not be inclined to listen to him.” 

He whirled on her, face inches apart as his eyes bore down into hers. His lip curled up a moment afterward, ire slipping into something sensual. Something wicked which made your stomach churn as his hand spanned upward and around her throat. Fingers pressed into flesh, her eyes blown out in fear. 

“This is what you wanted, is it not?” He leaned forward and pressed a slow, forceful kiss to her cheek. “Then mind your tongue and do not question what I am doing.”

“Can I have a moment? With my friend before…” Bronwynne asked. Voice low. 

“I suppose. Make it quick, we have a meeting to attend,” Prince Harry grumbled, slipping out the parted flap of the tent. 

“What is it—”

Bronwynne cut you off with her palm flush against your mouth, finger pressed to her lip to try and shut you up. Understanding, you watched as she pulled her hand away, moving toward the top of her corset to pluck what looked to be a key. You nearly cried with joy as she pressed the metal piece into your palm, leaning closer to you to speak, so as to not alert the guards posted outside. 

“Too many are near us now for you to run. But as soon as there is an opportunity, you run. I cannot save your husband, but I can at least try to wipe some innocent blood from my hands this day.”

“How did you?” 

She smirked. “There are ways, as you know, a woman can obtain exactly what she wants.”

“Thank you for this kindness. Wynne, I cannot save you from punishment. But…my husband may yet be merciful,” you whispered, leaning forward to wrap your chained arms around her neck. 

This time, the affection was not forced. You could not deny the life laid on the line for a chance at your own safety. Exile was a kinder punishment than execution; Peter might be inclined to allow her life outside the walls of Ayelandia, instead of forfeiting it completely. 

“Now this might hurt a bit—”

“What?” 

“My love, we are ready to move!” Bronwynne called. 

You reeled back as Prince Harry entered the tent once more, Bronwynne’s hand connecting with your cheek. You grimaced at the feeling of your already bruised face burning once more. The split lip you bore parting as blood dribbled onto your chin. The moan which spilled from your lips brought a smile to Harry’s face, those cool, blue eyes trailing your features as he tugged you beside him. 

“Wynne, you did not have to ruin her face more than you already have,” he cackled, giving her a playful shove as you walked through the campsite. 

“I needed to remind her of what her place will be when you come into your power, My King.”

Your heart lurched at the title, though you steeled your face into an unfeeling mask. Eyes narrowed. Jaw hardened. Shoulders tucked back. You imagined a string from your belly button to the top of your head, pulling your spine straight. Tilted your head up, imagined you were sitting on your throne back at the castle. You were fierce. You were lethal. A beautiful, deadly thing as your husband had called you. You would not break. 

Not even as soldiers parted around you. Blood staining their armor. Some missing limbs. Some groaning in the throes of agony, bleeding from sword wounds. So many Hollowhall soldiers. You knew Ayelandia had to have been depleted. Carstell delayed for battle due to choppy seas. You whispered a silent prayer there was still hope yet. Glanced up at the sky and saw the beginnings of the sunrise starting to form. 

It had been at least one day since you had seen your husband. You anticipated as much, given the fact you had been drugged and left to sleep for hours. 

You had lived through another sunrise. 

And today you had lived to see another. 

You kept your eyes locked on the ground as you walked toward the fields of Ambrosen. Heard the comments from jeering men as you passed. Of being the foreign bitch. Of what they would have liked to do with you had you given them the chance. These men, who viewed women like possessions. Objects to be attained. You wanted to kill every last one of them. Nearly screamed it at them all. 

Instead, turned toward the crowd and growled out, “I cannot wait until my husband and his men repay you for every atrocity you have bestowed our lands.” 

Prince Harry tugged you along harder at that. Your feet skidded beneath you as you were whipped against his side, your heart pounding as the battlefield stilled at the sound of a horn blowing. Men and women soldier alike separated. Every eye turning your way as Prince Harry pushed you forward. 

It was then you saw him. Peter, in all his battle regalia, whirling toward you. That red cloak billowing about his shoulders. Blood seeped from a wound on his forehead. Dirtied features on his face dropping as he beheld you. His relief rushed across his face, ignited something within your chest. You wanted to run to him. To wrap your arms around his neck and never let go—slip away from the brutality of war for just a moment. 

King Norman approached Prince Harry on your path down the battlefield. His voice echoing on battle scorched land as he shouted. “King Peter, it seems you have lost this battle. You are outnumbered. We have your wife. Give us your word of concession of your crown and we will end this war. There need not be anymore bloodshed.”

Prince Harry allowed you a brief moment, muttering, “I am not so cruel as to not give you a moment to say goodbye. You get one minute.” 

Your feet stumbled to reach Peter where he stood. The two of you dropped to your knees before one another. His hands coming to press against your cheeks. Fingertips running across your bruised face. The split lip. The burns from the fire at the healing houses. 

Those eyes—his beautiful, kind eyes watered as he took you in. As if he were seeing a ghost; in many ways, you felt the same. Sitting before him, your forehead pressed into his as you sobbed against his mouth. Disregarding the men and women standing around you as you kissed him. Over and over and over again. Aware it may very well be the last time. 

“I am here, dove.”

“So scared…I have been so scared.” You leaned forward to kiss him once more, whispering, “It is him. Prince Harry. He killed her.”

He nodded then. Understanding. “Everything is going to be okay. And look, my love, we made it to sunrise.” He swallowed, standing to his feet and bringing you with him. “I did promise you.”

“I love you.” 

You whispered the words. Heart splitting as he mouthed them back to you and turned to look over your shoulder at Prince Harry. 

“It has been some time, my friend. And what a situation you have yourself in,” he laughed, twirling that annoying dagger in his hand. Leather jerkin rippling as he moved. “You know…to lose one wife is a tragedy. But to lose a second one? Well, that is simply irresponsible. Which is why you must give up this fight. You do not need her loss on your head as well.”

You turned to Peter. The short jerk of your head meant to be a screaming ‘no’ from your own lips. But you found you could not form words. Only began working with the bindings at your wrist as Lord Bartrand and King Peter began talking amongst themselves. Prince Harry and King Norman a few paces away. Leaving you there in the center, trying to gauge who was nearest to you. 

Commander Ayla and a small group of your fellow recruits were nearby. Enough so, that if the opportunity presented, you could run and find cover with them long enough to obtain a weapon and fight. You saw another group a little further away. You could even form a shield wall under your command if needed. 

Sighed in relief as the latch around your wrist popped. Pushed the links together enough so no one would be likely to notice you’d managed to free yourself. Glanced over to Bronwynne as she stood there. In her too large armor. 

Many things happened in tandem then. The glint of metal was the first. Your heart pounded as Bronwynne approached the Prince, her small knife hidden up her sleeve. No one saw it coming as she sunk it into his side. Her screamed ‘RUN’ coming out garbled as Prince Harry slashed a blade across her throat in the next second. 

You tumbled over your feet as you raced toward your husband. Him and Lord Bartrand calling for defense against oncoming arrows beneath the veil of a shield wall. Body crashing into Peter’s as he tugged you into the center of the group, chains around your wrists at last clattering to the ground.

Through the little gaps you could see in the shield wall you saw it then. Bronwynne’s body on the floor. Her hand stretched out toward you. The other cupping the ugly wound scoring her throat. 

To stop the inevitable. 

To plead with her lover as the life and love seeped out of her. 

Your first friend in Ayelandia. Your betrayer. Now gone from the world before she turned one and twenty just as she feared. You thought back to her words. A hoarse sob at the time. She had thought she might never see another spring—and your heart lurched at the notion she had not.  

“S-she—he killed her. Peter, he killed her…they were lovers—”

“It is not the time, my love. Right now you need to pick up a sword and prepare to fight. Hollowhall outnumbers us, but Ayelandia and Glendhaven are strong. We will not submit to their rule, do you hear me?”

You nodded your head, standing to your feet as a soldier tossed you an extra sword. Your body ached from the hours of captivity, but will ruled out. The world exploded around you in a flurry of steel and blood and destruction. Your movements limber as you ducked and rolled away from oncoming soldiers. 

Striking down foe after foe as you fought for your kingdom. Hollowhall soldiers dropping every where you looked. A newfound strength pumping in the hearts of your soldiers. In your own self. 

Your husband battled nearby. His back turned to you as he blocked and swung at his enemies. Slaying them as they drew closer to him. Your heart battering in your chest as you moved closer, breathing easier once his back pressed against yours, the two of you striking down your enemies in tandem. 

Until, that is, Prince Harry snarled and rushed at the two of you. Breaking past the soldiers littering the field around you. You brought your blade down to attack him, grunting as his sword clanged against yours. His foot came up then, kicking you backward onto your rear as Peter attacked the Prince. 

Rage burned in his eyes. Unbridled and terrifying. The knowledge of one wife’s murder fresh in his mind as his blade came down against Harry’s again and again and again. Paired with the fact he had captured you and held you hostage. Used only as a bartering piece for a kingdom he would never rule over. 

“You will never touch another person I love, if that is the last thing I do,” Peter shouted at him, swinging upward with his blade. Meeting metal. 

You whirled on your feet, parrying an oncoming attack from a Hollowhall soldier. Grunting as you kicked him square in the chest and ducked below his blade, before stabbing upward in a deadly arc. Grimaced as blood poured onto your wrist. Dark and final, as his body slumped forward at your feet. 

It was then you heard Peter’s strangled cry as Harry’s blade sunk into the vulnerable gap in his armor. Your own scream deafening on your ears as Peter pulled out a dagger and jabbed it low into Harry’s neck. Silencing him immediately. You rushed to his side then, pressing your hand into his wound. 

“I am okay. I am okay…” He ground out, covering your hand with his own. 

“Peter—”

You heard it then. All of you did. The thunderous pounding of what sounded like a drum beat. Faraway at first, before it became deafening. Echoed on every ear on Ambrosen fields. The pounding, you realized, of hundreds upon hundreds of Carstell soldiers, led by King Eugene bearing the Carstell flag. 

He whirled it around above his head, the Hollowhall soldiers shifting in the direction of their newest enemies. Uncertainty filling their gazes, searching for their king to direct their steps. Their now decimated ranks clearly outnumbered. 

Your hand pressed tighter to Peter’s side as soldiers from your newest ally’s began pouring onto the fields. Their swords and arrows finding purchase in enemy Hollowhall soldiers. Screams of ‘THE PRINCE HAS FALLEN’ and ‘RETREAT’ bellowed from King Norman and the garrison commanders. 

The world swirled around you in a flurry of chaos. Soldiers rushing back to their encampments. Hollowhall men retreating with haste, carrying the dead body of their cruel Prince as they escaped back to their camp. Carstell soldiers chasing them down,  ending their lives before they might slay yet another. 

Only you remained at Peter’s side, grimacing at the way his breathing had changed. Becoming ragged. Face breaking out into a sweat. Cheeks flushed as you lifted his chainmail and inspected the wound below. A wound that would not normally kill a man—thankfully. But you knew right away he needed to lie down and rest. 

“You are okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as Lord Bartrand appeared at your side, requesting to know the health of the king. “He has been wounded. We…the storehouses have been depleted, but I will need fresh water, linen and thread. Anything to sew up his wound. He has lost a bit of blood.”

“Bind it for now,” Peter grunted out, squeezing your palm as he stood to his feet. “I must address our ally’s.”

“Peter—”

“Please, my love. I will be a quiet patient after I thank the people for allowing us to see another day.”

You hated the suggestion, but still rose at his side as he did. Winced as his form hunched over as he stepped toward the center of the field. His voice rang out clear above the crowd as a horn sounded. An Ayelandian flag erected in the middle of Ambrosen. Cheers ringing out as Peter declared Ayelandia free from Hollowhall influence. 

It was a sight to behold. The thousands of soldiers coming to crowd around the King, awaiting to hear what he had to say. Adrenaline still pumping in all the hearts of the men and women standing around you. Those who had fought and lived to see another day. To bring peace back to your country. 

You stood beside Lord Bartrand in the distance, stained with the blood of the many lives you had slain in the past two days, glancing over toward the woman left behind by Hollowhall soldiers. 

Bronwynne, who had betrayed you and spared you all in the matter of days. Stirred by love into betrayal, only to find the love she bore Prince Harry was contingent upon what throne he sat upon. 

As Peter gave a speech of bravery and of friendship, crowd raising their voices in victory, you found yourself stepping closer to Wynne’s body. Dropped onto your knees and closed those beautiful eyes once and for all. Pushed her bloodied blonde hair from her face, wiped at the dried blood on her fingers with the hem of your tunic. 

“Sleep now, Wynne.”

And as the cheers around you lifted toward the sky, your gaze drifted upward. 

To the sunrise. 

To the promise of spring to come. 

You were, at last, free. 

—x—

As requested, you were brought supplies to your bed-chamber. Husband currently sitting in a bathing tub filled with soaps you knew to carry healing properties within them. You kept the needle and thread on a nearby tray, presently focused on the task at hand as you rubbed a lavender scented concoction into your husbands hair, cleaning the bloodied strands as he sprawled backward leisurely into your touch. 

He’d been like this for some time now. All honeyed moans, happiness and comfort radiating from him despite the fact his skin appeared paler than you would have liked. His under eyes a blueish hue, veins straining against skin. You knew he needed sleep, but there would be time for that yet.

Your fingers roamed through the strands once more, before sliding down the sides of his neck and settling over his shoulders. Fingers pressed into the highest point there and began rubbing. Slow circles along muscular flesh.  

“You are a dream, my love.” He sighed, gripping your hand mid massage to press a kiss into the inside of your wrist. 

At your shudder, he tugged you closer to him. Tilted his head back so your lips would press against his. Moved against his mouth slowly, still grateful you were reunited with him once more. As his mouth opened beneath yours, you trailed your tongue along his bottom lip. Heat making your toes curl as a moan rumbled against your flesh.

“There is more than enough room for you to join,” he said, smiling up at you with hooded, blown out eyes.  

“You are in no condition for any of that.”

“A man cannot enjoy a bath with his wife without it leading to something else?”

“Precisely, my love.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, reaching to grab a cloth and run soap along your husband’s bloodied face, grimacing at the cut on his forehead. “This one should not need to be stitched.”

“I will keep my looks then?” 

He teased, tugging you closer still. You groaned in acquiesce, stepping into the bathing tub in your thin sleep shirt you had slipped into. He shifted to allow you to sit between his legs, back pressed against his chest. Careful to not aggravate the wound on his side. 

“You will keep your looks yet,” you murmured sleepily, smiling as his arms slid around your abdomen and settled there. Hugged you close. You closed your eyes, humming quietly. “I could sleep for ages.”

“And we will once we have dinner with the soldiers and citizens.”

You shifted in his arms, glancing upward at his face. His profile was on full display,  your fingers inching upward to trace the slope of his forehead. The line of his nose. Brushed along his bottom lip as he opened his mouth against it. Pressed a slow kiss to your flesh before reaching over with his palm to cup your cheek. 

Those dark eyes met yours before fluttering shut, lips slanting over your own. A slow, sensual kiss that promised more. Your breathy sigh fueled him onward, hands coming to shift your hips over his. Slotted your thighs on either side of his, careful to not aggravate his wound. Pulled back as a stuttered breath slipped from his lips. 

“You should be resting,” you whispered, eyes rolling backward as his fingers curled around your throat. A nip and scrape of teeth against your collar bone. “Your wound—”

“I do…” He pressed you flush against him, rolling your hips in a circle onto his. “Not care…” Awareness building in your stomach at just how little he truly did not. “About the wound.”

“Peter.”

He kissed you once more, fingers brushing beneath your sleep shirt. Trailing around the side of your rib cage. “I am a man who just wants to make love to his wife. Will you have me?”

Your nodded reply was all he needed. The two of you became a mass of tangled limbs, lips, fingers and teeth against skin. Of panted gasps as you allowed him to tug your sleep shirt up and over your head, before you lowered yourself down onto him. Watched his head roll back with his eyes as you began to move, his fingers trailing up your spine. 

You came together a second time after Peter had finally allowed you to stitch his wound and bind it with a new dressing. His smile warm as his form shadowed your own, fingers hooking around a knee as he parted you to him before settling himself there. Swallowed your gasp as he moved over you, and then within you. 

And in a way…it had become like that. All the parts of him you loved most, woven intricately in your own heart. Stitched into the innermost parts of your own self. 

And you knew, simply in the way he looked down at you, he felt the same. 

Creating a moment so infinite...so wholly yours. Untouched and unmarred by the world. 

Hours later, as soldiers drank and celebrated in the vast courtyards of Ayelandia, you walked around the exterior of the party with your husband. Arm looped through his own as you went. Your heart soared at the idea of another day within his love. Of being so cocooned in it, you might never resurface. 

Today, he had told you, you would celebrate the war won. Tomorrow, you would come together as a country and mourn the lost. To remember those loved and now gone. 

“When I heard you were taken…I did not think I would ever see you again. I nearly lost myself when they informed me. Having you here now, I find that I never wish to let you go,” Peter whispered, brushing his lips against your own. 

“Every moment I was gone it was your love which kept me grounded.” You cupped your hands in his own, squeezing them. “We will never be parted again. Promise me.”

“I promise you,” he breathed out, drawing you closer and kissing you deeper still. 

Wrapped his hands in the back of you gown and bunched the fabric there, pressing himself further into your body. Breaking off in a pained moan. His hand moved toward his side, palm clutching where he had been stabbed. 

“You need to rest.” You admonished. “You have already exerted yourself too much.”

He smirked down at you. “If I remember correctly, my wife, you were very happy to participate in such exertion.”

“You are very…persuasive.” You teased, drawing him alongside you. “There is something I wish to tell you, however...”

He turned to look at you then. Curiosity brimming in his gaze. “What is it?”

“Your Graces,” Lord Bartrand said, approaching the two of you on the walkway. 

“Lord Bartrand, you fought bravely, my old friend,” Peter said, chuckling as his drew the older soldier toward him in a hug. 

You lingered behind, palms smoothing along the bodice of your gown as the Lord in question looked over your husband’s shoulder in your direction.

“Your Grace, the people are already singing your praises. Said you led a band of women and children through the castle like a true commander.”

“Now…I would not say that,” you mused, coming to stand beside the soldier as the three of you continued on your stroll. “Though some of the women did smack Hollowhall soldiers over the head with chairs. And that was the bravest thing I have ever seen.”

“You must tell us all about it,” Peter said. 

And so you had. News you wished to share with your husband placed aside as you recounted the stories of what happened when you rushed to the aid of the healing houses. How you had found the women in the tavern. Their bravery as they took up arms with a willingness to fight for what they believed in. 

Shared the story of Bronwynne’s betrayal. Of Harry’s plotting. Your eventual capture after leading the people to safety. The true confession of Gwen’s murder. And even the too-late redemption of Bronwynne coming to your rescue. The sadness in which you regarded her love gone cold. How it must have felt in those final moments as her lover ultimately murdered her. 

So foolish. 

And yet your husband gripped your hand in his own. Brought it to his lips and kissed it slowly. Thanked Bronwynne for the sacrifice that had led you back to him. 

You carried on for what seemed like hours. The firelight basking the soldiers in an orange glow as you eventually joined them. Joining in the celebrations and drink with your husband. Until your eyes began to flutter closed at the table you were settled upon, Lord Bartrand seated on your right as Peter jested with your step siblings and King Eugene by the fire. 

“Does he know yet?” Lord Bartrand asked, eyes sliding toward yours. 

You lifted your head from your palm, sleep clinging to your vision. “I do not know what you speak of,” you said, barely containing your smirk. 

The next morning you woke curled against your husband’s chest. Uncertain of how you had managed to end up there. Could vaguely remember the events of the night before. Sighed and stretched your arms above your head as you shifted out of his arms and walked over to the mirror in the corner of the chamber. Sliding your eyes to your face there. The purpled cheek. The split lip. Burn scoring your forehead. You had survived. 

You shuddered, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pushed memories of the battle and death from your mind. Instead, searched through your wardrobe to slip on a simple black gown. A Queen garbed in black to honor the dead. 

You were midway through brushing a comb through your hair when your husband appeared over your shoulder in the mirror, fingers sliding along the side of your neck. He held out his hand for the brush, gripping the cool handle as he ran it through your strands. Stopping every so often to press a kiss into the skin of your neck. 

“Today we will honor the lost. I just cannot help but to be overwhelmed with gratitude that you were not one of them,” he whispered, voice shaking as he spoke. 

You tugged him down onto the chair beside you, smoothing your palm up his chest. Rested it over his heart. “It was you who promised me we would live. Prince Harry is gone now. He cannot hurt anyone else we love now.”

He pulled you against his chest then. Fingers threading through your hair as your arms slid around his waist, ear pressed over his swiftly beating heart. Squeezing him tighter as he cried into the crown of your head. Remaining there as an anchor. In whatever way he needed you. 

“I am here, Peter. You have me…for the rest of our lives you have me.” 

“And even beyond that,” he echoed, kissing your forehead. 

“Even then, my love.”

You stayed like that until the two of you were required to join your people for the mass funeral to be held for all those lost. Soldiers had begun to gather the dead in the wee hours of the morning, lining them across the fields of Ambrosen. A mass grave was dug out, and bodies were settled within to be laid to rest. 

Bronwynne, naturally, had been left on the field. Traitors were not buried with the fallen, you knew this. But she had saved you in her last moments. Changed her mind before time had run out. A fact that Lord Bartrand repeated to two soldiers as they grabbed her fallen form and laid her within. 

You walked beside Peter onto the fields. Both of you donning black mourning clothes to honor those killed to see your throne secured. Sacrifices not in vain. 

“You said you had something to tell me,” Peter said as you approached the grave, looping your arm through his own. “What is it, my love?”

“Now is not the time. I will tell you later.” You promised, coming to stop before the freshly filled grave. 

Lord Bartrand stepped forward to raise his voice above the crowd. Speaking of the lost. Of lives so bravely lost. Of lost loved ones. Fathers who would never see their children. Sons. Daughters. Children to parents. Wives. Friends. Simply put—people. Innocent people. 

Memories of those who would never be forgotten. Even as winter turned into spring. And spring into summer, their memories would linger in the hearts of those who loved them. 

You brushed at the tears in your eyes as soldiers began to filter away from the burial site. As men and women alike clasped arms around shoulders with the promise to grab ale together and toast to life. To celebrate the dead. You lingered behind with Peter, dropping to your knees in the grass. 

Glanced over to him as he settled down beside you and watched you grip a handful of fresh soil in your palm and tossed it onto the pile. For the women. The men. The children. 

For Healer Agatha. 

For Bronwynne. 

He did the same. Fingers curling around dirt and tossing it over the grave. Pieces being swept across in the wind as it whipped your hair about both your faces. 

And in the fading sunset, the two of you walked back to the castle. Looking ahead. 

To the future and to restoration. 

To a new beginning. 

Ayelandia celebrated that night. Instead of sitting shrouded away in the shadow of death, the people toasted to life. The women and children carried off into the safety of sea retuning as the moon grew to the highest point in the sky. 

The joy of seeing loved ones reunited bringing a smile to your lips as you sat beside your husband, a goblet of wine pressed into your palm as he stroked a slow circle along the back of your palm. 

You watched as the little boy who had grabbed your hand in the tavern ran over to his father, jumping into his arms and giggling as he spun him in a great circle. As parents were reunited with their sons and daughters. Joyous crying as they wrapped each other in warm embraces. 

The weeping of new widows and widowers as they found comfort within the arms of friends and other family members. 

You looked over to him then, placing your goblet of wine on the table as you extended a hand to him. Grinned as he led you onto the dance floor. Spinning you round and round in a circle as the people flitted about the room. Your step brothers raising a glass in salutation. Father beaming as he clasped hands with King Eugene. Lord Bartrand dipping his head to the two of you. 

To success in the Battle of Ambrosen as many had now titled it. To your marriage. To your lives. To your reign. 

And later, as your feet had begun to hurt from dancing and your heart felt lighter in your chest, you settled back down beside Peter as your guests continued in their feasting and celebration. 

At one point, reached over and gripped his palm, pressing it over the lower portion of your bodice. His eyes rested there, realization dawning across his features. Eyes widening as they glistened with tears—of joy unbridled. You reached up with your free hand and brushed at the tear that rolled down his cheek. 

Nodded in answer to his unspoken question. 

“I was not certain at first, but it seems flowers will not be the only thing blooming come summer.”

—x—

EPILOGUE:

TO SEE THE SUNRISE

“I am upset with you, husband!” You grumbled, walking into your bed-chamber to find Benjamin and Peter nuzzled up together beneath the downy furs on your bed. 

“Can you be upset with me a little bit more quietly? Benjamin just went down for a nap,” he asked from the bed, eyes closed as his son curled up against chest. 

Your smile grew at the sight. Their dark hair spilled over both their foreheads. Peter with his arm curled around the one year old prince, as the little one pressed his hand into his father’s chest, thumb in his mouth. 

Sighing, you lifted your skirts a bit as you climbed onto the bed beside your two favorite boys, running your hand down your husband’s arm before curling up beside your husband and son, running your fingers down his little cheek. The curve of those chubby arms. 

“I have been informed you picked out a dog for our son. A son who is not even old enough to appreciate or understand the responsibility of having something living to take care of.”

“My love, how could I not? One of the stable dogs had puppies and Lord Bartrand thought it would be a great gift—”

“You are not blaming Lord Bartrand for getting yourself a puppy.” You teased, batting your husband’s hand away as he reached over to run his fingers through your hair. “Where is this puppy, then? If I will be a mother again, I would like to see the little one.”

He pointed toward your bathing chamber door. Your feet immediately moving to take you over to it, opening the door wide and watching as a blonde haired pup with massive paws came barreling out. Jumping up onto the bed and plopping down beside your husband and sleeping son. 

At your crossed arms and unamused expression, Peter chuckled uneasily. “What can I say? He loves me already.”

You groaned and settled back down on the bed. Watching as the pup wiggled over to you, paws toying at your dress clad thigh. Nose bumping your hip. You reached out tentatively and giggled as the thing leaped in response and swiped his tongue across your cheek. 

“Okay…okay. He is cute. We can keep him.”

The months after the war proved to be challenging. Those first months of winter some of the most grueling you had experienced since becoming Queen of Ayelandia. The alliances forged through your marriage had become a blessing. Goods being sent from Glendhaven as your country rebuilt. 

Many had come together to start the process of fixing the destroyed homes and burned healing houses. Roofs being rebuilt as the lives of those affected within learned to continue on. The streets those first weeks were empty. Somber in nature. Nobody seemed to truly mill about until the spring arrived and the weather started to warm. 

Lady Cecilia and her children had revisited as new buds began to form on the trees in the gardens. Her little girls now talking and excited over the prospect of their new ‘cousin’ coming in a few months time. 

Lady Cecilia overjoyed at how much had changed in the months since you had last seen her. Over the way your husband seemed only that much more in love with you. Worshipping the ground you walked on.  

Hollowhall had grown silent, King Norman’s throne now unsecured with the loss of his son. Though there were whispers of those who still hated King Peter and wanted to see him uprooted. Those whispers squashed, however, before they could come to any fruition. 

You continued your work at the healing houses for some time, despite Peter’s many worried of you working yourself too hard. Those first few weeks of walking in without seeing the familiar faces of Healer Agatha and Bronwynne breaking your heart all over again. You still mourned them both, and were certain you would for many years to come. 

But time healed the lands, just as it did anything. And before long you found the people settled into a new routine. Found new things to be grateful for—to be happy about. 

Peter had found that in the gift you kept nestled away beneath your heart. In the first cries of your son as the spring turned into summer. Would never forget the way he had settled down on a chair that day, looking down into Benjamin’s eyes with a love so deep it had split your heart in two. 

You were finally at peace. 

Sighed against the downy pillow as you reached over to grip Peter’s palm in yours and twined your fingers with his. The puppy coming to rest his snout across his new father’s forearm. 

But you did have to admit he was adorable. What with those floppy golden ears and sagging lips as his mouth puffed in his sleep. 

“We should be getting ready. The court is practically buzzing at the prospect of celebrating Benji’s first cake day.” You mused, watching as Peter lifted himself and the sleeping prince into a sitting position. 

“They just wish to use it as an opportunity to drink and be merry,” he said, pressing a kiss to the little boy’s forehead as he stirred. 

“Precisely,” you said, circling around the bed to kiss your husband soundly. “So let us drink and be merry, my love.”

The prince in question did not care for the party. Only enjoyed spending time within Lady Cecilia and Queen Freya’s arms with his fist in his mouth. 

Had thanked Lord Bartrand and Lady Cecilia when they offered to take the boy for a while when you and Peter eventually decided to slip out into the gardens, giggling as he laid you down on a his fur cloak beneath a tree on a patch of grass. Watched as the leaves danced above your head. Dappled light casting shadows over your husband’s face. 

“I had dreamed of this once—or something like it,” you muttered dreamily, reaching up and untying the leather keeping his now shoulder length hair tied behind his head. Toyed with the strands as they fell forward. 

He snorted, blowing a strand away from his face. “Did you now?” He curled you up against his side, arms circling your waist. “And what exactly happened in this dream.”

You tugged at the strings of his britches. Freed the shirt from within and ran fingers along bared flesh. Gasped as he leaned down and pressed open-mouthed kisses into your skin there. 

You reached forward and guided him where you wanted him. Skirts tossed up around your hips as he moved against you. Peppering kiss after kiss against your lips. 

“It started just like this…” You whispered, back arching as his finger brushed against that sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“And then?”

“And then…” 

You shoved him over onto his back, palm pressed against his chest to keep his back rooted to the ground as you moved above him. 

Like in your dream, each roll of your hips another promise. 

You loved him. You cherished him. You worshipped him. You adored him. Would spend every day for the rest of his life reminding him. 

When you parted in a panting tangle of arms and legs, you curled your arms around his waist. Nuzzling your face against his chest as you settled down with him. Basking in the fading summer sun dancing along your skin. 

“To think, when we met we were mere strangers,” you said, thinking back to those early days. 

To your wedding day. Standing before him as a quiet princess, uncertain of who she was. 

“I was a beast to you.” He brushed a hand along your cheek lovingly. 

You remembered those early dinners. The clanging of silverware as you danced around one another. Figured out how to navigate the murky waters of your relationship. 

“We became friends, though.” 

“We did become friends.” 

He kissed your nose as you pictured him. So long ago now in that tent, looking at you overtop your makeshift pillow barricade to separate the two of you. 

“And then there was a flirtation,” you said, running your hand along his chest, moving toward the waistband of his pants. Then lower still until he shuddered against you. 

Your mind conjured up the sight of him in your bathing chamber. Looking over at you with heat swirling in his gaze. And even after still, to those first exploring kisses over a game of hangman’s noose.

“I was a beast again,” he groaned, chuckling. 

You felt your skin as it flushed at the memory of sparring with Peter at the garrison. Mere moments before he confessed he had done the unthinkable and fell in love with you. 

“And now you are my heart,” he said, kissing you soundly as he rolled back over you. 

Making love to you anew in the grass as images of the last months continued to flit across your mind behind your closed eyes. 

Those first moments of new intimacy. The moment you were reunited on the battlefield after the war when you had feared you might never see him again. The first time he had learned he was to become a father. The tentative way his palm had settled over yours that day when you had felt Benjamin quickening for the first time. When he looked at you for the first time with his son in his arms, as if he had fallen in love all over again. 

And even still, as he looked at you now, reverently. Like he had been searching his whole life for a treasure and found it within you. 

The two of you ventured back to court some time later, earning the curious gazes of the other royals who would dare not say anything of what you had gotten up to. Instead, you pushed past them and lifted Benjamin from Lady Cecilia’s arms, as Peter bid the rest of court good night. 

You settled the little Prince down in his bed and smiled at the pair of arms that had come to slide around your waist. Leaning into the warmth of the man leaning his chin against your shoulder. His fingers brushed along the mop of brown hair on Benjamin’s head, your sighs echoing in the chamber. 

“I love you, you know?” You whispered. 

He turned your head to the side, your eyes locking with his. “And I you. I am yours. Until my dying day.”

“And even then.”

“Even then.”

tag-list: @rae-gar-targaryen @spidervee @withahappyrefrain @mrshipsmcgee @squiddtheekidd @ambivalence-is-me @levylovegood @novaalexander @spideysfav @wolfiepirate @withahintofpestoaioli @basicrese @andrews-lovr @nxstalgicnxbxdy @daisiesandinvasives @namoreno @liz-allyn @mysticfluffyness @thrashc4n @dovesandorchids @ouralcohol @bijleegiregi @itsfloorcry @mad-elia @decadentpaperduck @iprobablyshipit91 @aa-li-yxh @ethereal-lovers @standarizedpumpkins

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #luna’s loves #tasm!peter imagine #april au #tasm!peter parker #april au event #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker au #royal au

[liz-allyn]

Hi I wanted to ask a question unrelated to your fics a long time ago I read this maxing Peter Parker reader Inserted story it was royalty au where Peter was a king and he and the reader were In arranged relationship have you seen this fic anywhere across tumblr is so could you link it otherwise I’m so sorry to bother you hope you have a great day

omg I know exactly what you're talking about (possibly)!

more than likely you're thinking of Another Love, from @abibliophobiaa!

#Lizzy recs. #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker au #tasm peter parker #tasm au #royal au

[themorningsunshine]

Moodboards

Here is a masterlist for all the moodboards that I have created : 

A royal romance   (Loki x princess!reader)

Heist   (Robber!Steve x robber!Reader)

Valentine’s day (Peter Parker x reader)

Mornings by the sea (Peter Parker x reader)

Old school Love (1940s!Steve Rogers x reader)

Medical School (RIch!Medical Student!Bucky Barnes x Medical student!Reader)

Silver Jewellery (Mattheo Riddle x reader)

Study Sessions (Hermione Granger x reader)

Rains (Steve Harrington x reader)

#moodboard #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #steve rogers x reader #royal romance #heist #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #captain america x reader #harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

[1000night]

Well…it might be How to train your dragon au

And yes, Bucky and winter soldier are separated.

I will setting they are twins, but I'm not sure winter's name👀👀

As for another Seb's character…I still not sure his name.🤣🤣

#1000night masterlist #fantacy and royal series #mood board #steve rogers x female reader #bucky x female reader #ari levinson x female reader #curtis everett x female reader #peter parker x female reader #geralt x reader #winter soldier x reader #ransom drysdale x female reader

[criesinliess]

━MARCH 2023; susan's recs

LOCKWOOD&CO

knock knock. who's there? @klineinie

━━ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

a taste of normalcy @websterss

the stray from arif's @↑

everything @frogserotonin

marker mayhem @oblivious-idiot

no one else @vi-trying-to-survive

public displays @↑

the language of longing. looks and stolen glances @fleetingvow

at times like these @teaandransacking

out the window @givemea-dam-break

patch you up @↑

you left me @↑

anthony @↑

i know it hurts @warrenposts

love me, forever, always @klineinie

dancing with our hands tied @bloodcanbehot

i wish you would @↑

you talk too much @helloooofandoms

TOP GUN: MAVERICK

━━JAKE 'HANGMAN' SERESIN

tiktok trouble @ultralightpoe

do you want me to lie, sir? @simpforrooster

the princess and the hangman @↑

howdy, darlin'; part2 @↑

━━BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW

daddy would say yes @roosterforme

GRISHAVERSE

━━KAZ BREKKER

six months @grimbanes

the king @magpiencrow

bejeweled @honeyfict

━━NIKOLAI LANTSOV

i want you to want me; part2 @sophierequests

the one you think about as you lie awake; part2 @↑

young royals @clairecrive

stars in the night @↑

currents @lantsovsupremacist

august @↑

sick & stubborn @fleurspun

healer’s duties @↑

the art of pretension @↑

speak up @prince-septimus

SPIDER-MAN

━━ANDREW!PETER PARKER

you're not peter parker; part2 @curseofaphrodite

coffee run @↑

caviar and cigarettes @↑

MARVEL

━━DRUIG

unrequired; part2 @givemea-dam-break

MARAUDERS ERA

━━JAMES POTTER

getaway car @curseofaphrodite

mortal enemies @↑

━━SIRIUS BLACK

collide @curseofaphrodite

━━REGULUS BLACK

drunk nights; part2 @curseofaphrodite

the door @↑

words unsaid @↑

the break-in; part2 @↑

wishes and a gift @↑

of monsters and men @↑

the best man @↑

tricks and charms @↑

THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA

━━PRINCE CASPIAN

my prince @heliads

OUTER BANKS

━━JJ MAYBANK

assigned seat @quin-ns

fiending for something, might just be a meaning @idcntlikedarkness

a visceral feeling, that i can never leave behind @↑

throw another stone at a glass house @↑

went out searching for an angel, then you came to me my darling @↑

━━RAFE CAMERON

whipped @mrsstarkey1

said you’re smoking less, and then you ashed it on your chest @idcntlikedarkness

this too shall pass @probably-writing-x

another? @↑

country club @a-aexotic

rafe defending pogue!reader @↑

no for one night stand @↑

i'd choose you over anyone @↑

cuddle buddies; part2 @fantasylandloser

tear-stained cheeks @sunraies

BULLET TRAIN

━━TANGERINE

safe house @quin-ns-moved

ÉLITE

━━GUZMÁN NUNIER

out of love; part2; part3; part4 @probably-writing-x

THE BEAR

━━CARMY BERZATTO

the way to his heart; part2 @adore-laur

little by little @↑

#susan's recs #fics recs #anthony lockwood x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #kaz brekker x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #andrew!peter parker x reader #druig x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #regulus black x reader #prince caspian x reader #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #tangerine x reader #guzmán nunier x reader #carmy berzatto x reader

[pasukiyo]

COME IN WITH THE RAIN

peter parker x f!reader word count; 3,357 warnings; nothing really, just good ol' fashioned hurt & comfort summary; peter knew he'd messed up. he'd grown accustomed to being a screw-up throughout the years but just once, just this once, he wished he hadn't been. he can't stop himself from going to your apartment, however, and he certainly didn't expect the surprise of seeing your window already open...

 No calls.

 No texts. 

 Peter stared down at his blank lock screen, as if if he looked long enough, he could will a message or a call or something to appear. The streets of Queens bustled with life below his dangling legs, cars honking and people shouting into the night. The air was thick and smelled like rain, big, daunting gray clouds illuminated by the city hovering in the sky. Peter felt like they were there solely to taunt him, their promise of downpour his punishment for having screwed things up so royally. 

 Although he knew rain was on its way, Peter couldn’t bring himself to tear away from the ledge he sat on. He couldn’t look away from his phone, couldn’t stop thinking of what he could say even if she did call, what he should say, what he should’ve said before. If rain fell now, he knew he’d deserve to be drenched, deserved to swing home in an uncomfortably wet spandex suit. 

 Peter knew he was a fuck-up. He’d known it all his life. He knew he was bound to mess up everything in his life but just once, just this once, he hoped he wouldn’t screw this thing, this beautiful, amazing thing up. 

 Of course he should’ve known that it was all wishful thinking. 

 Of course he fucked up again. Why did he expect this to be different? 

 Peter thought back to the last time they’d talked only the night prior, he could still see the furrow of her eyebrows, the frown he’d created on her lips, the tears that rimmed her sockets that he knew he was the cause of. He still recalled the way she sounded, her raised voice thick with her tears. He still remembered the quiver of her lip whenever he said words he didn’t mean, the way her chest heaved with her irregular breathing, the way she ran her hands over her face when she tried to calm herself down, holding her palms over her ears when he raised his voice.

 All of it haunted him, it was all he could see when he closed his eyes, when he breathed, when he blinked. He wished he could turn back time, could take back every belittling thing he said, wish he could go back and wrap his arms around her instead of leaving her to do it herself. 

 He still remembered the way her gaze cowered to the floor when she pushed him out the door, the sound of it slamming closed behind him piercing his ears like a gunshot. Peter didn’t know why he said all of those awful things when he truly didn’t even mean them, too wrapped up in his own emotions to even care whether or not his words held any weight on her or not.

 And now it was all coming back to haunt him.

 A droplet of rain fell from the heavens and fell in a wet plop against his cheek, foreboding more rain to come. Peter sighed as he glanced back down at his phone, using his hand to shield the rain away from the screen. It wouldn’t matter, of course— there were still no calls, no texts, nothing. 

 Peter blinked down at his empty phone screen as rain began to fall harder, weighing heavy on his lashes. It was close to eleven now— maybe she was asleep. He hoped so, anyway. 

 With a sigh, he locked his phone and stared ahead towards the city before him, facing the direction he knew her apartment was. He pondered the possibility that she was awake. If he could just see her, even for just a moment…

 Would she turn him away? Yell at him, throw things at him, break up with him, get rid of him for good? Peter knew at this point to expect the worst, but the overall urge to swing to her window for just even the smallest chance that her curtains wouldn’t be drawn closed and he could just see her was too strong for him to resist. 

 So, he tucked his phone away, pulled down his mask, and despite the rain beginning to pour, swung his way towards her building. He couldn’t stop thinking about how dumb this must be, how pathetic it was for him to show up at her window out of the blue in the middle of the night. He knew he should leave her alone, wait for her to come to him whenever she was ready, give her the space she’d pleaded for just the night before. 

 But it was impossible for Peter to even live with himself knowing he was just sitting back on his heels, waiting to be broken up with. He’d fucked up, yes, and he’d screwed up countless amounts of times before in his life. But he’d also never tried to make up for the things he had done, never fought for something like he was realizing he wanted to fight for her. He wouldn’t let this go, this beautiful, amazing thing he had taken for granted.

 He didn’t care what it would take. Peter would at least try to fix the castle he’d crumbled. 

 He hissed through his teeth when he stuck a particularly hard landing against the side of her building, fingers and toes stuck like glue to the wet brick as he crawled his way to her window. Peter narrowed his eyes behind his mask to get a better look past the rain, because he swore that he could see the wind blowing her curtains out of the window, as if she’d left it open.

 Goosebumps littered Peter’s skin beneath his suit– it was freezing, how could she have left her window open in this weather? It would be a miracle if she didn’t catch a cold.

 As he approached, he realized that he was right– her window was in fact open and her curtains were in fact not drawn, the rain falling straight onto her window seat, soaking the blankets and pillows she kept there. Her pink curtains were drenched as well and whipping in the wind, the material slapping Peter in the face as he approached and he grumbled, using one hand to slap them away while the other held onto the brick.

 The curtain kept whipping back in his face and he groaned, clutching a fistful of the fabric to hold it in place. Finally, he had a better view of her bedroom, the soft marmalade glow from her bedside lamp the only light illuminating her room. When Peter crawled closer to catch a better look, he could see her figure only halfway beneath the covers of her bed, turned to her side, her arm bent beneath her pillow to support her head. Her lids were closed, her eyelashes softly twitching against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted as she breathed. 

 Warmth flared in Peter’s heart at the sight and his gaze scanned over her figure again when he realized how cold she must be, wearing only a short sleeve shirt and shorts with an entire leg sticking out of the comforter. He cursed beneath his breath as he crawled as quietly as he could inside her bedroom, warily landing on her window seat, wincing as he glanced back at her, hoping he hadn’t woken her. Once he had confirmed she was still asleep, he lowered himself onto the ground, aware of the wet footprints he was leaving behind as he tip-toed his way over to her bed.

 Peter knelt towards the ground when he had reached the side of her bed, his fingers itching to touch her face as he stared at her. She looked so peaceful now, a stark difference to her demeanor the last time he’d seen her. He wondered if she was dreaming now, and what she could be dreaming about. Somewhere deep inside his chest, a selfish thought bloomed that he couldn’t help but ponder. He wondered if she was dreaming about him, if she’d even been thinking about him before falling asleep.

 For a moment, Peter let his fingers, covered in soaked spandex, reach for her face, his forefinger a mere whisper away from her cheek. He sighed, deciding against touching her as he looked off to the side at the comforter partly covering her body. He couldn’t risk waking her– not now.

 Peter reached over for the comforter, adjusting it on her body so that she was fully covered, hoping the goosebumps that had littered across her skin could finally be put at ease now. Peter rose from where he knelt beside her once he was sure that she was covered, taking one last long look at her. Part of him wished she was awake, not only so he could beg for forgiveness, but so he could see her, could look into those beautiful, wonderful eyes he’d grown to love so much. He hated the image of them that haunted him now, the hurt and anger they held when they looked at him last time he saw her.

 Peter’s shoulders heaved with his sigh as he turned, making his way back over to the open window to leave her alone again. That was, until he heard stirring from the bed behind him, his breath hitching at the base of his throat when he heard a soft, tired moan.

 “Peter?”

 A knot of anxiety formed in his chest at the realization that she was awake and everything Peter had planned to do to apologize to her was completely thrown out the window. When he turned around to see her knuckles being dug into her drooping eyes, he panicked, his breath stolen from his lungs until he was rendered speechless. This was not how this was supposed to go, he certainly wasn’t planning on being caught standing in her bedroom in the middle of the night uninvited like a creep.

 “Um…” Peter stammered out as he backed away towards the window, hitting his heel a little too hard against the bottom of her window seat, squeezing his eyelids closed behind his mask in a wince. He fell onto the window seat and crossed his legs, elbows against his calf as he held his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the pain.

 “Are you okay?” He heard her ask from behind his hands and Peter nodded, lifting up a thumb towards the air in reply. His heart was thudding in his chest, partly due to the embarrassment of not only being caught but also freaking out over hitting his heel, and also due to the fact that he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to face her now, to tell her that he was sorry, that he wanted to fight for her. 

 “Peter?” She called his name again, her voice thick with sleep. He could hear the rustling of bed sheets again and when he lifted his head, he saw that she had swung her legs over the side of the mattress so that she now sat up, facing him. “Peter, let me see you.”

 Peter’s heart lurched in his throat at the words she’d often say to him– he had a habit of keeping his mask on when he was in his suit, even when he was alone. He usually didn’t have a problem with removing it but now– he was scared. Like he didn’t want to expose himself to her now, like he was scared his emotions would be written all over his face. It was because he was certain they were, and he was scared of being so vulnerable to her when he knew he had no right to be.

 He was the one who messed things up, he was the one who had hurt her. He had no right to be so upset, to be so damn pathetic.

 “Peter?” 

 Peter’s shoulders drooped with his sigh when he glanced up at her again, her brows furrowed but yet, not in the way she had done the night before. She wasn’t mad now, only curious. In a way, it made him feel relieved. And so, with his twitching fingers, he reached for the hem of his mask, tugging it away from his face, his hair damp and flat against his head once he had finally removed it all the way.

 Now exposed, he couldn’t quite dare meet her gaze, but he could feel it. He could feel her eyes scanning over him, trying to read him the way she knew to do so well. He usually wouldn’t be so terrified beneath her gaze but now he shied away, ashamed that she was seeing him like this.

 “I was waiting for you, you know,” she said after a prolonged silence and Peter dared a glance up at her. She had her knees tucked up to her chest and although she wouldn’t admit it, he could tell she was cold solely by the way her shoulders trembled and her bottom lip quivered. Rather awkwardly, Peter staggered to his feet and turned, pulling her window down, the wind and the rain pounding their fists against the glass when they’d finally be shut away. “Left the window open for you and everything.”

 Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he turned back around to face her, eyeing her quizzically. “Why?” He asked at last. She tilted her head, and he continued. “I mean, why not call? Text? I’m not worth freezing to death over.”

 She shrugged where she sat, pushing her back up against the mattress and tugging her comforter up closer to her legs. “Too tired to call you,” she replied. “Guess I knew you’d come anyways. I know you, you know.”

 Peter shifted his feet awkwardly beneath his weight where he stood, fondling with his mask between his fingers. He couldn’t quite meet her stare so instead he chose to eye the floor as if they held the words he needed to say, the sorrys he knew he owed her. His mouth opened and closed, almost words on the tip of his tongue but dying before they could ever be spoken. He sighed in frustration, turning and scratching his damp head of hair as he stared at the window sill. She said nothing, only watched, waiting. 

 “I don’t… I don’t…” Peter drew his hands in to his chest and pushed them back out, as if trying to force the words from his throat. He shook his head, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “...I don’t know what to say.”

 She blinked as her gaze softened, staring at the boy her heart beat and her chest burned for. She could hear it in his silence, feel it in the way he was visibly trying to speak but failing that he was sorry, that he still loved her despite everything he had said before. She knew that he didn’t mean a single thing he had said and that he was sorry for that too. She knew that he wished to take it all back, to erase it all and somehow make it up to her.

 He didn’t need to say a single thing. She could hear it in the silence.

 “Peter…” she called his name again and he turned towards her abruptly, sighing as he released his bottom lip from between his teeth. 

 “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, wincing and visibly cringing at his tone, at his abruptness. With the hand his mask was clutched in, he held his hip, the opposite reaching up to scratch at his forehead, shaking his head at himself. His mouth moved as silent curses tumbled past his lips and he turned away from her again, contemplating jumping out the window altogether.

 She could feel the corners of her lips twitch upwards as she pushed herself out of her bed, her footsteps unnoticed by Peter as she approached. He tensed when her fingers grazed the wet spandex of his suit over his hips, circling around his body until their gazes could meet. Deep, inviting pools of brown surged into her stare, so dark that his irises almost melted into his pupils. His brow was furrowed, his gaze so soft, so vulnerable, so apologetic that her heart leapt in her chest.

 Her fingers reached for his and Peter, through a shaky breath, watched as she removed either of his wet gloves until his hand was bare. His breath hitched when her skin met his, so warm that her flesh seemed to melt into his. She squeezed his fingers and drew in closer, their eyes locking once more when he glanced up at her.

 “I know you are,” she said in hardly a whisper, still holding onto his fingers with one hand but using the other to swipe loose strands of his damp, dark locks away from his face. Peter’s lips quivered when she touched his forehead, her fingertips tracing a half moon down his cheekbone before dropping down to his chest, right over where his heart was. “You’re shivering,” she noted. “Why don’t you go change and come to bed?”

 Peter’s heart swelled when he remembered the clothes he’d always somehow left in her bathroom, which had since been folded neatly upon the top of her sink when he wandered inside. He glanced up towards the mirror, watching through the reflection as she settled herself back into bed, head on her pillow as she turned to face his. 

 Peter’s lips parted at the realization that she still wanted him, that she still loved him. He was quick to peel off his damp suit after that, tossing it over the shower rod before stepping into the pair of boxers and his t-shirt he had left. He shut the bathroom light off behind him as he shuffled his feet back into her room, making his way over to the side of her bed that had since been assigned to him, slipping beneath the sheets beside her.

 Warmth enveloped him and once he had finally settled, he glanced up to where she laid, her eyes already upon him. Her arm was tucked beneath her face to support her head and he matched her position, letting himself relax into the plush of the mattress and his pillow.

 For a moment, they simply stared at one another and at some point, her fingers had wandered to the side of his face, toying with the still-wet ringlets there. He closed his eyes and relished the warmth of her touch, desperate to hold on to his moment of solace to make it last forever. But still, a question lingered in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite repress the urge to ask.

 “Why?” He asked quietly, her eyelids fluttering open to meet her stare. Her brows furrowed, “why what?”

 Peter’s tongue darted between his lips to wet them, his eyes dropping to hers for a brief moment. “Wait for me? Leave your window open for me? Why do you even still want me when I was so awful to you?” He asked, wincing at himself. She’d already seemingly forgiven him, so why was he insisting on making her reconsider her choices?

 She blinked, her lips curving into a soft smile. Peter’s lips parted and his breath hitched at the sight before him, the woman laying beside him so beautiful, so wonderful, so his that he couldn’t even quite believe that she was real, that she wasn’t just a dream. 

 “We all say things we don’t mean,” she replied. “I said a lot of things I didn’t mean last night too. A relationship is pointless if we can’t trust one another enough to work past it.”

 The pad of her thumb soothed over the expanse of Peter’s cheek, leaving warmth in her touch’s wake as she drew herself in closer to his chest and he wrapped his arms around her with the intent of never letting go. Never had Peter felt more comfortable, more at home than when she was laying in his arms.

 “Besides,” she began, the crescent shape of her smile evident on his chest even through his shirt. “I had a feeling that you’d come in with the rain.”

a/n; this is yet another fic that i've had waiting around in my drafts unfinished for MONTHS now and only just got around to finishing it... but had to make a fic for one of my fave taylor songs ever <3 hope you're able to enjoy this one!

TAGLIST;

@sallowsarchives

@cancelledkaley

@strangerfromketterdam

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@iamthejam

@corruptcoder

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@jxxey3

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #spiderman #tasm andrew garfield #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman

[tarjapearce]

Crimson Crown (Pt. 2)

Royal! AU Miguel O'Hara x Princess! Reader

Special thanks to @pinkiemme for this amazing fanart for this fic ❤️✨

WARNINGS: Historical background, lil bit of research on medieval fertility rites, made up holidays, fluff until angst comes. Tension, arranged married, slow burn, sibling bonding, Peter B. Parker being a lil more serious.

Summary: A hopeful moment gone sour.

Pt. 3

Ever since mankind has had use of reasoning, wars have been waged over the simplest motives. Power display, conquer the prospect of new and better lands, and of course egoistical purposes such as spite, bloodshed, hatred, revenge, and love.

In the far lands of Enethor, war was part of the staple list of things to do if you were part of the land. The four kingdoms that shaped the continent had been long time witness of how entire bloodlines died and rebirthed. How whole kingdoms separated, only to be conquered later by those with enough power to rewrite history at their will.

Enethor was separated by four kingdoms. Erunia, Therelia, Onerim and Arachne.

Erunia, the land of iron and silver. Home of the artisans that had taken the kingdom's warriors abroad in their distinctive red wooden ships. Cradle of silver refinery and alchemy. The ultimate underwater explorers.

Monarchy in Erunia settled with the most recent bloodline, The Fisks, in charge of King Wilson Grant Fisk. A bloodline that had been reigning for the last fifty years, and made the once forsaken by war kingdom into one of the most technology advanced right after Arachne. Even though it's ruler was deemed ruthless, he was more a cautious, cunning and strategic man whose only god was money.

Erunia's economy was based in exportation, silver refinery, iron smithing and of course, private security. Meaning, mercenaries for hire to anyone with enough money to afford them.

The latter of course was a loud secret between the other nations, most acted according their righteous morals, but secretly sent their servants to hire Fisk's services. The little business had earned him the name of 'Kingpin'. He was a feared yet somehow respected king.

Theleria was the smallest of the four. The Land of medicine, arts and gold. Rich soil, perfect for growing a vast array of medicinal plants, and perfect for gold minery. Even though its land was reduced, the bloodline was one of the eldest and purest among the other kingdom's monarchies.

The Blanchards. Settled two houndred years ago, they had watched the fall and rise of nations, in the expense of their own territory. In long forgotten history, Therelia owed half of Erunia's land and Onerim's islands. But as The Rapture War ensued, Onerim's islands were released from The Blanchard's reign.

The Rapture war took place in the Rapture sea, a cemetery of ships and long honored and forgotten warriors, and after another twenty years in war with Erunia's old sovereign, another part of the territory was lost. Theleria had spent the last houndred years trying to recover from the blows the belic conflicts had put the kingdom in.

The Fallen Reign, the other nations called it. The last and final blow that weakened them considerably was the most recent war against Erunia. Fisk had made his intentions of taking over the West Passage for himself, but the prince life was the higher price The Blanchards had to pay to keep it.

The passage role was to connect Erunia and Arachne as well the merchant ships that came from other lands. Without it, a good part of the economy would slowly but surely collapse. Theleria produced the finest aesthets, fabrics and medicines for the continent.

Its festivities had been the reason many people from other lands to come and celebrate and also increase the tourism affluence. Paint Day, would be a day to honor the aesthetic, the fine arts and good taste. Many would give hand crafts to their beloved, as a token of love and appreciation.

Some even had the common belief that if that person gave a token back, meant a good omen for a future together.

Fertility Day honored the future parents. The streets would be dressed up in wreaths of mugwort, mistletoe and seeds of parsley would be the hot sale of the day. Some women would tie a little sprig around their bellies, others would plant the parsley seeds as it was believed that if it sprouted, a child would grow into the woman's womb.

The Festival of Embers was a memorial day, used to honor the memory of those who had fought in the previous wars and also, the prince funeral. People would leave flowers and medicine over their lost ones graves, so the least fortunate could later pick up the elaborated potions. It was a way to heal others, while letting the grieve to follow it's course.

And finally, Winter Day. A holiday used to welcome the first days of the winter season. Warm and comforting food would be served, duvets would be sold cheaper and of course, the pastries would be a staple. It also had a romantic connotation, just like Paint Day. People gave a small sweet bun full of jam to represent their hearts with a clear message "my love is as sweet as the jam, and as dense like the bread".

Onerim on the other hand had just the Independence Day. The land of pearls, where the fawn was as feared as respected through the realm. It wasn't a secret that many considered the kingdom as failed and misbegotten, since its ruler Sergei Kravinoff had taken the throne after killing his father and rebirthed as Kraven.

And still, people around were wise to avoid picking a war with him. His warriors were ruthless and they held no compassion towards their victims. A savage, King Blanchard had called him once. But his prejudice wasn't only skewed as they were opposites, his view from the world only revolved around hunting, the bloodshed.

Onerim's economy was based on controlled fur trades, weapon commerce such as spears, traps and other trinkets perfect for unsuspecting close killing and gold.

The south east area from Enethor was rich in minerals.

And finally, Arachne. The biggest kingdom of the four. Half of the continent was occupied by it. None really know how the curious shape of the realm was created. Mother nature had her secrets after all, but certainly, Arachne was the most prominent; in all sense of the word.

Despite being a relatively new kingdom, with a hundred year mark of existance, Monarchy wasn't settled until sixty years ago, the first ruler Tyler Stone, had ruled under a relatively prosper and steady command. However, the king had died under mysterious circumstances, and a new ruler rose. George O'Hara.

Most speculations turned into the royal family, the rumor of King Tyler being poisoned by his own half brother, George so he could take over wasn't the only unhinged thing people said. But it was denied as George died of heart attack a couple of months later and the queen, Conchata perished two years later, out of sickness. 

Others believed that Kingpin had his fair share of guilt. That there was a complot for Tyler to be dethroned and the lands on the west extension of Arachne to be sieged and won for Erunia.

But whoever the conspirator was, would deeply regret to overlook past one detail. Miguel. Miguel O'Hara. The young and brilliant king that had continued his father's legacy in a way that not many had expected. Clad in black obsidian, iron and red zarconite, Miguel had lead his army into the depths of war. Kraven surely knew bloodshed, but The Battle for the Alchemari sea and its shores declared Miguel as the new King of Sieges.

The foreign army's blood that came with conquering intentions dyed the shore red, just as his eyes. The Red King was born as his message to the others who had the same ideals was clear.

This is my kingdom.

And so it has been for the last seventeen years. Thriving in an alarming rate in technology, the army grew, as many others soldiers from around the world joined him. Miguel had gathered an army of exceptional people with different skills that once trained under his command, would form the completest army a sovereign would only dream of.

Spies, people that excelled in close ranged combat, archery, weaponry and of course intellect. People who were ahead of their time could earn a spot in his army, after a scrutinizing training.

Arachne prospered in many areas, technology, fawn and flora, weaponry; importation and exportation of goods, minery of obsidian, iron and zarconite and of course fishery. The capital, Nueva York, was the main prosperous land, and where Miguel's castle resided.

A fortress in that one would be lost if one didn't know it like the back of a hand.

The world recoiled and guarded itself as much as it could, when the drums of war echoed for Arachne. To kill or to be killed. Red and blue marching behind The Red King. Some died, but would gladly do so, when the king had taken them in and gave them a purpose.

Festivities weren't really a thing, but people celebrated in their own ways. Unlike Theleria, Arachne only counted with three holidays.

New Rain Feast. A celebration to conmemorate Miguel's first battle won at the Alchemari Sea's shores. It was said that after he won over, the rain had washed over any bloodshed. Erasing from history those that had dared to foray his territory and giving hope towards a new future.

Rain was a good omen in the vast kingdom.

The Armistice Day was used to celebrate the memory of those fallen in battle and the successful treaty among international lands.

And the most expected of them all, The Rainbow Festival. It was more like a huge fair for merchants to sell their goods in the capital, that somehow had ended up with music and a new invention for people's amuse. Fireworks.

Only those close to the king knew how much he exerted himself to keep his people safe. He lived and breathed to maintain them all safe. Your arrival however had caused little to no disruption in his routine.

But it was certain that he wasn't looking for a bride. He had got so much more than he actually bargained for. And for your mother to offer you as the last resource only proved not only their good faith and sincerity towards him, but how others saw him. Your parents feared him. Good. Fear kept people in check and prevented then from doing stupid things.

Your surrender was a clear act of desperation. A token, really. A token that would eventually be queen, even without you both getting married. He needed that passageway open for his merchants to not disturb the economy. He could seize your kingdom if he so desired, but he was a man of word, and so far your parents had kept their end of the promise too.

Of course he'd be civil enough so far to keep you comfortable, and when Peter had told him about your concerns regarding him, he knew that sooner or later he'd have to make an approach. Not that he didn't want to. He was just too busy with external affairs that often forgot even about himself.

Peter would often find him sleeping over the documents sent to him, reports, finances from the different main districts through the nation and possible alliances with far lands.

He'd sometimes would have to be dragged off by Jessica to at least eat something. Lyla, one of his advisors often nagged him to look after himself.

And now, you. A new addition to his list of worries.

You were pretty, sure, but love was something he didn't actually consider in a long long time. He had his own concubines, but even those had been neglected to the point of avoiding his chambers. He wasn't precisely gentle with them either.

Gentleness wasn't something that rendered The Red King. He lived up to his image as a cold, irritable yet polite man that would do anything to keep his kingdom safe.

But soon, priorities would have to be rethought as he grew older. One of them awaited for him in the dining hall. Just as he had instructed.

His armor seemed like a staple into his wearing. It was rare when he was without it. His mind prepared psychologically for the events. He was tired, but still. Hungry. The kiss he had given your hand was out of impulse, but said impulse was enough to make you light up and his heart to give a small shimmy at your reaction.

He still could provoke emotions that wasn't fear or a severe longing for death. And that amused him.

"Princesa"

You stood up, and bowed your head.

"Please, take a seat."

You obeyed, and were seated to his right. Food was soon brought.

"Hope your staying has been comfortable enough?"

The table was being occupied with different lots of food made out of fish. After all, fish and seafoods were the main protein in the capital. Stews, soups and so many other things you had never seen or tasted before.

"It has been, yes. Thanks to you, your majesty" Your lips curved into a bashful smile as the servants donned your plate with a small soup first.

The silence settled in as he begun eating. And that's where you noticed, the protuding fangs on each side of his mouth, tearing and chomping down the meat. It made you wonder if he was used to eat like this.

The only sounds in the dining hall was him scarfing down the food as you ate yours. He was too deep in his task to actually mind your awed stare his way as he ate.

"Your Majesty?" Your sweet voice made him stop as he was about to devour a stuffed fish. Red eyes darted your way, and the fabric piece of napkin you held before him with a small giggle.

"I didn't know one could have such an appetite"

He gulped and cleared his throat.

"Food is exquisite, my lord. Can understand your urge, I've never tasted something so scrumptious like this."

He drank from his cup, the food soothing his nerves and sudden thoughts.

"Glad you like." His tone although monotonous was genuine, like his words.

You'd think he'd had his fill, but another round was brought. This time you were served a lighter seafood stew. This time he ate with a bit more moderation despite his hunger. Of course a man his size had to keep himself well fed.

"I'm quite happy for you to take considerations in such things like art." You mumbled after finishing the contents of your plate.

"Can't be all bloodshed, right?"

You smiled with a soft nod.

"Do you favor a certain branch of arts, my lord?"

"Like?"

"Painting, sculpting, scripture, smithing?"

He pondered for a minute, doe eyes seized him with keen interest.

"Smithing, perhaps."

"It suits your likings." You nodded, "I mean, I can tell by the way your armor is built."

"And what could your highness tell from it?"

"That you saw its building yourself. That is a special armor for you, cause I know no other king that would put that much of effort into his battle armor."

His lips curved slightly but pleased.

"You favor paintings, that much noted. What else do you like, princesa?" He drank from his cup again as Jessica marched in with a small box with a vial. A green-ish liquid contained in the glass.

He nodded at Jessica as she left. Then gulped down the little flask. Face contorting into a disgusted gesture for a brief moment.

"I do like embroidering and gardening."

"Gardening?"

"Of course. I was instructed in the arts of holistic medicines back in my kingdom."

"So you're a doctor?"

You giggled and his tiredness slowly felt melting.

"Kind of. Mother wanted me to be the head of our art academy, but father insisted to keep my medicine studies. Somehow both worked. But medicine proved to be more effective. You can't heal injured soldiers with art, after all."

He chuckled and nodded.

"I've heard that you have been visiting the library. Anything you actually need to find?"

"Oh, I apologize if I've come out as a snooper. I just wish to know more about your kingdom."

"Is that so?"

"Don't get me wrong, my lord. I wouldn't want to embarrass you before your council at not knowing a bit more of your culture in case my opinion or input would be asked."

His eyes twinkled in amusement. A wise desicion indeed.

His lips were about to speak when the jumble of familiar voices approached.

" Your Majesty, Prince Gabriel has arrived" Peter announced with a soured expression, one that Miguel knew wasn't a good thing.

Prince Gabriel?

You looked between him and Peter as said Prince barged in behind the commander. Armor similar to Miguel's but his wasn't as opulent, a smaller crown, hip adorned with a black sword, and of course a grail in his hands.

"My king, my lord, my... My Miggy" He hiccuped and approached him slurring his words, careening steps guided his tipsy self closer to where Miguel was, but stopped as his green eyes settled on you.

"And whose this?"

"Gabriel" Miguel warned

"Ohh, a new concubine?! About time!"

Your eyes widened in surprise and your mouth settled in a tight line. Of course he would have concubines. Mostly kings did. Even your father did.

"Gabriel!" His voice froze him in the spot. You stood up, almost abruptly, hands fisted on your dress, heart beating miles per second as your chest grew tighter within.

"Thanks for your time, your majesty. I shall go back."

You bowed and left, Peter trailed after you after Miguel's order. Both just looked where you had disappeared.

Gabriel sat down with a goofy smile that soon vanished. Miguel's glared holes his way

"You're done acting like a fool, Gabriel?"

"You're done playing the horny idiot?"

"Dame paciencia... She's a princess, Gabriel." (Give me patience)

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because" His voice rose and seethed but quickly caught himself, "Fue tan inesperado para mi como lo es para tí" (It was as unexpected for me as is it for you.)

"You're marrying her?"

"Yes."

"Why? We don't need that sort of problems now."

"Thats precisely why I am marrying her. To avoid future troubles."

"What do you mean?"

Gabriel took a mouthful of shrimps as he sat where you had been sitting minutes ago.

"Her kingdom owes the West Passage."

"Wasn't it closed?" He mumbled through a full mouth, Miguel scrunched his nose in disgust as he swallowed.

"Can you not talk for a second?"

"Right, right"

"It was closed due political shit with Erunia."

"Kingpin?"

"He's getting annoying at this point."

"So they closed it because they feared an invasion, I guess."

"Thats why I'm marrying her."

"That's cold, Miggy."

"But necessary."

Gabriel sighed and looked at his older brother. Despite his age, a few white strands protunded from his head due the perpetually stressed state he always seemed to be.

"So, marriage instead of protection."

"Correct. We can't risk our economy to be surpassed by a crime lord as Kingpin or Kraven."

"Why don't just absorb her kingdom as an extension of ours?"

"¿'Tas menso?" (You dumb?)

"What? Just a suggestion"

"No. They just fought a war. The Prince died. There is enough bloodshed as it is."

"That smug and cocky boy?"

"Sounds familiar?"

Gabriel pouted and sighed.

"You're not nice. What if she finds out about it?"

"I'm sure she's well aware of the mess."

Gabriel shrugged and popped another shrimp in his mouth.

"You'll apologize to her."

"Naturally. Enough torment she gets by getting married to you, Miggy."

Gabriel scrambled away with a laugh as Miguel approached him.

"¡Cálmate!" (Chill!)

"Imbécil." He swatted his head, "Any news?" (Dumbass)

"Not good ones, I'm afraid"

------

A concubine.

"Your Majesty!" Peter trailed after you.

The word had been engraved into your mind.

"I beg your pardon, my lady. Prince Gabriel is-"

"It's fine. You don't have to apologize on behalf of another's ignorance."

Peter gulped and sighed as he walked before you.

"I'm really sorry that this happened, your highness. Prince Gabriel is... quite the card when he's under the effects of mead"

"Well, a drunk's words are sober thoughts aren't they?"

Peter frowned and stepped back.

"I know this is an arranged marriage, ser. I know what it implies. Love isn't into the list. And I respect that. After all, this union was born from the need to keep our people in peace and our countries thriving. Nothing else."

Peter blinked.

"I shall take my studies and meals in my room tomorrow, if that's okay. I don't... wish to be disturbed."

Peter bowed and left you be.

Despite your chambers being warm with the fireplace, you felt cold. Colder as you removed your current clothing into the sleeping ones. Just when you had thought that he was being genuine with you, the hope had been crushed cruelly. But of course you had provoked your own tristful mood by idealizing something you weren't even sure of.

-------

Miguel's frown only deepened as Peter's expression.

"What now?"

"She wishes to not be disturbed for tomorrow"

"Of course she does..."

Miguel rubbed his face and rested his chin on his palm.

"Your brother-"

"I know he messed up, Peter"

"I don't think you're understanding. Miguel."

"I do understand." He pinched his nose bridge.

"I've know you since your father trained us to protect you"

"How long has been that? Eighteen years ago?"

"Twenty for me. I've known you for twenty years, Miguel. And for the first time in your life, you're not being honest with yourself."

Miguel’s brow quirked at him.

"Meaning?"

"You're making reckless desicions even if they come with good intentions. But in that recklessness you're hurting people without realizing. "

"Can't hear you when you're talking full of yourself"

"Act tough and proud all you want, but I wouldn't be surprised if she just rather go back to her own country-"

"It's arranged, Peter."

"You're such a jerk. It's not... You know what? Whatever."

Peter turned around and prepared to leave.

"Commander."

Peter stopped and grunted, annoyed.

"I hate it when you do that."

"Did she say something?"

"You're underestimating her"

"Explain."

"No. Ask her yourself."

"Must I remind you who are talking to?"

"I'm talking to you as a friend."

Miguel sighed and let him continue.

"I'm not saying be moonstruck with her and forsake the kingdom and damn your responsibilities. But the least you could be doing is keeping your allies close, she might not be what you wanted at all. But she understands her duty as well. Don't take her as a fool."

"I know she isn't a fool"

"I'm telling you this because I'd never want my daughter in the same position as she is. You think this is easy for her?"

"A kingdom isn't ruled on its own, Peter"

"Precisely my point you idiot! You can't rule it all on your own! Unless you pay with your life." Miguel glared at him but Peter just rolled his eyes.

"I've done this alone for the last decade and some more"

"Yeah, and look at you. A mess that is always mistrusting people."

"I've got my own reasons."

"God, to be a brilliant inventor you're such a dumbass sometimes. Just apologize to her, alright? I'm getting tired of being your personal courier."

Peter left him be. Of course he had seen your reaction, he should send Gabriel away another two weeks for scouting for his stupid little act, and of course he hated Peter being right.

This is exactly why he didn't meddled in these sort of things. But he was a man of honor. And certainly he had enjoyed the little talk with you, so he would take Peter's advice at heart. Disrespectful as he was. He'd keep you close.

----

Tag list

@tayleighuh @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @nxrdamp @pinkiemme @a--dedicated--fangirl @rin0r1na @queenofroses22 @sofi786 @murnsondock @okayiamkassandra @kimmis-stuff @ceoofmiguel @meeom @handsomeprettytoes @ladymoztaza @chiikasevennn @mxtokko @cheerioeoz @gabrielarose29 @oooof-ifellforyou @minalovesyoubabes @kikisstrawberrie @know-that-its-delicate @aikoya

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #t writes✨ #atsv miguel #spider man 2099 x reader #royal au #princess reader

[shellshocklove]

blurb: i want to forget | tom holland

pairing/AU: university AU - modern king!tom holland x female!reader

summary: it’s a nice day for a white royal wedding.

warnings: swearing, no smut but a make-out session and some groping so mdni!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this was semi requested by @prettyjendeukie​. i hope you like this little blurb (it’s a little different)! <3 just like last time i wrote a blurb i don’t know if people are interested in blurbs for this series but here’s another one 🤲

series masterlist

“Your Majesty?”

It was John. With a sigh Tom spun his chair around. For just a second his royal office melded with the blurry feeling inside his head. His desk was a mess. His red box opened in front of him, governmental papers spilling out like guts.

“Yes?” Tom sighed again.

John stood awkwardly in front of his king’s desk, one hand hovered over the back of one of the chairs turned towards the big teak table, while he carried a black leather briefcase in the other. Leaning back in his chair, Tom gestured for John to sit.

“If it’s alright with you sir, I would like to go over the security for the wedding?” John said while placing the briefcase on his desk.

“Yeah, sure” Tom said indifferently. Something scratched at the back of his neck. Under him the leather of his chair squeaked as he shifted in his seat. With a quiet drum the locks on John’s briefcase burst open.

Pulling out blueprints and documents, lists and directories, John started talking, “As His Majesty knows we’re expecting somewhere between three thousand and thirty-five hundred guests. We got the Royal Military Police, Scotland Yard–“

Tom cut John off, “Cut to the chase, will you? I’m sure you’ve got everything under control John. Just hand me the papers­– I’m sure there’s something you want me to sign”.

Tom almost felt bad when he watched John’s face fall. If he’d asked anybody else, they’d probably say John’s face was as stony as a statue. But Tom, he knew John inside out. Getting to know every little micro expression in his hard face over the years.

Shifting through his briefcase John pulled out his papers to slide them across the polished teak. Every paper needing the king’s signature marked with a small yellow post-it. Grabbing his Parker pen, Tom got to signing. As he flicked through the papers, he felt John’s stare.

“Was there something else?” Tom asked, “I can feel you staring”.

His words made John shift in his seat before he cleared his throat, “I was just informed that Lady Genevieve is on her way to the palace and will be arriving in about an hour”.

Tom’s pen stopped for a beat at the sound of her name. This was the first he’d heard of this. He clenched his jaw in annoyance.

“I might’ve been told by a little bird, aka Lady Evelyn,” Tom rolled his eyes as he finished signing the last paper, Lady Evelyn was Gen’s mother, “that Lady Genevieve is planning to stay past dinner”.

Tom fell back in his chair again, toying with his pen as the springs rocked him back and forth.

Maybe he was the worst person in the world, Tom thought. Being with Lady Genevieve, his bride to be, made him feel awful. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, she was always kind and understanding, she was good with the people, always knew what to say and when to say it – she was arguably the perfect woman for him. But…

… she wasn’t you.

He hadn’t seen you in over a year. The last time being right after his grandmother passed and his whole life turned upside down. He still remembered that day so clearly. The feel of your body under his touch, how you’d held him so tenderly as he’d let all his worries pour out, the kiss. He could become a hundred years old and senile, and he’d never forget that last kiss. You’d made him feel like everything wrong in the world was suddenly right.

After he’d watched you leave that day, a hole had started to grow inside him. You’d left, and with you you’d taken the sun, and his hopes, and his heart.

“If she’s supposed to be arriving in an hour it’s too late to tell her to turn around” Tom sighed.

“You can’t avoid her forever, sir” John said, “Soon you’ll be husband and wife”.

Husband and wife. The thought made his skin crawl. He was way too young to get married– he wasn’t ready to be someone’s husband. Well… he wasn’t ready to be Lady Genevieve’s husband.

“Husband and wife” Tom tasted the words in his mouth. Then, with a lazy throw, Tom threw the Parker pen haphazardly. It made a sharp sound as it hit the teak before it rolled towards the middle of his desk.

“John?” Tom queried, “do you know, like maybe somewhere in the histories, if a king has been married and his wife hasn’t been queen? Like she’s just his wife, and they’re just together”.

John gave him a look only he could interpret. “I’m sorry, sir, I have not. To the best of my knowledge: when a king marries, his new wife always becomes Queen Consort. You’d have to abdicate…”.

Tom only hummed at John’s unspoken words. He’d have to abdicate to marry you.

“Listen,” John started, “I know it’s not my place–”.

“You’re right! It’s not your place” Tom cut him off, the words coming out stricter than he wanted.

Silenced, but not angry, John was never angry, he gave Tom a sad but knowing face. Tom’s mood told him to leave it be. To not infect his still opened wound. Instead, John gathered his papers, stacked them neatly into his briefcase and locked it with a satisfying click! Before he could get up from his chair his king asked him,

“Could you please make sure she gets an invitation? To make sure she’s there?”.

His king didn’t need to utter your name for John to know he was talking about you.

“Of course, Your Majesty!”.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming” Gen apologized, turning to the side facing Tom where he laid flat on his back against his silk sheets, “You’re not terribly mad, are you?”.

“No, Gen– it’s fine, I’m not mad”.

She’d arrived when John had told him she would, and she’d been escorted straight to his office first thing (per her command). Companioning her was their wedding planner and her ring binders thicker than A la recherche du temps perdu.

He wanted to be supportive. He wanted to be as excited as Lady Genevieve. But he just couldn’t. Every mention of the wedding made him feel like someone was tightening a buckle in his metaphorical straitjacket.

“Okay, great” she giggled and shuffled closer to his body, “I don’t think I could bear it if you were”.

“Me neither” he mumbled, lifting his arm for him to wrap around her body. With a satisfied hum she settled into him, her painted nails scraping seductive circles over his naked chest.

“I’ve missed you” he heard her confess before he felt a soft kiss to his shoulder.

One kiss became two, then three, before he stopped counting. They all climbed up his shoulder to his neck and jaw.

“I’ve missed you too” he heard himself say before Genevieve brushed her lips over his.

Against his better judgement he kissed her back. Her kisses were always a little rougher than yours. She pressed her lips too hard against his, and sometimes she’d nip at them in a way he didn’t enjoy. But a kiss was a kiss. And sometimes he needed to be kissed.

She stuck her tongue in his mouth when it started to get a little heated. Whines left her lips between the smacking of their lips. She got a little more eager, swinging her leg over his torso to hover over him, hands cupping his cheeks as she licked into his mouth.

He knew what she wanted even before she started rutting against him. His hands automatically came up to rest on her waist, following her movements above him.

“I’m so wet Tommy– please, need you to fuck me” she pleaded into his mouth between kisses.

Her hand travelled from his cheeks and down his body to slip between her legs. Dipping her finger under the elastic waistband of his boxers she cupped his cock. She pulled away from his lips with furrowed brows.

“You okay?” she asked, her hand running over his soft cock.

Squeezing his eyes together he let his hands fall from her waist, hitting the mattress with a bounce.

“I’m just tired” he excused, “I’ve had a long day”.

He grabbed her wrist to pull her hand off his cock before he’s shifting her off him. Bewildered, she looks at him.

“I’m sorry…” Tom doesn’t know why he’s apologizing.

“No…” she trailed off, grabbing the duvet to wrap around herself, “Don’t worry”.

She turned her back to him as she laid down, and Tom doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. So, he doesn’t do anything. It’s not like he can tell his fiancé that he can’t have sex with her without thinking about somebody else to get hard. He doesn’t think that’s a good way to start a marriage.

“G’night” he uttered.

“G’night” she answered.

The St. Paul's Cathedral was filled to the brim, and Tom felt like his cup was about to spill. Walking towards the altar, with his brothers’ supportive steps behind him, he’d wondered if he was gonna pass out.

His uniform felt too tight. The church lights somehow too bright. The volume of the guest drowning out any and every thought in his head. Everything was just wrong.

He wasn’t just nervous – he was making a mistake. He’d known it from the day he’d first laid his eyes on you in that auditorium, and he knew it now. You’d done your stupidly cute curtsy and he’d fallen in love with you right then and there. It was his biggest regret, and also the best thing that had ever happened to him. It should be you in that beautiful white dress walking towards him. But it’s not, and he doesn’t know if he can bear it.

He’d searched for you in the crowd. Desperate to meet your eyes. To drown in the safety of them. To calm his heart in the familiarity of you. John had told him he’d personally delivered your invitation, practically begged you to be here for him.

He knew it was cruel of him. Tom was being cruel to you, the love of his life. How could he be so cruel, inviting you to watch him get married to another woman. He’d dug your doomed relationship a grave, and now invited you to bury it. He didn’t blame you if you didn’t come. He can’t even think about the fact that someday you’ll do the same to him – you’ll marry someone else.

He tore his eyes from the endless rows of guests, forcing himself to watch Lady Genevieve, soon to be Queen Genevieve, walk down the aisle. The walk felt endless, but he doesn’t dare look away, very aware of the cameras broadcasting this worldwide. He had to look happy, not like he’s about to shit his pants.

With a forced smile he watched as Lady Genevieve ascended the stairs to the altar. The train on her dress covered the whole staircase and her veil looked heavy, held in place by a diadem. She’s clutched her father’s hand, leaning on him for reassurance. Beside him, he felt Harry’s hand briefly on his shoulder to give it a squeeze.

“Dearly beloved,” the Dean of the Cathedral started, “we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God himself signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace...”.

The church is quiet.

A dream Tom’s had every night this week pushed forward from the back of his brain. It’s like déjà vu. In his dream he’s standing at the altar, just like he is now, the Dean of the Cathedral say those exact words, but in his dream the church isn’t quiet. In his dream he hears your voice. You tell him you love him, and that he can’t get married if it’s not to you, and his knees almost buckle. He can’t do anything other than run to you. To hug you tight. To kiss you silly.

But the church is quiet. He doesn’t hear your voice.

The Archbishop step forward, “I require and charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why you may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, you do now confess it”.

The words burn at the back of Tom’s throat. Now’s his chance. He’s the King for god’s sake. He’s supposed to be able to do whatever he wants. But he can’t. He’s imprisoned by his legacy, and by his duty.

Tom doesn’t say anything. He’s quiet and he’ll regret it for the rest of his life – Tom knows it in his bones.

The Archbishop continued, “Thomas Stanley of House Holland wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

A knife twists in his stomach as he says it, gouging the hole inside him,

“I will”.

With his back turned he misses the way you get up from your seat. Inconveniencing everyone on the church pew, you slip past them and flee the church. You’re clutching a handkerchief to your cheeks, drying what can be mistaken for happy tears.

previous: three years later | next: the reunion

tags (tagging the i want to forget taglist and a few other people that have shown interest after it was finished): @justapurrcat, @lnmp89, @petrspideyparker, @hollandweather, @userholland, @imawhoreforu, @onepieceya, @sparklingsin, @annathesillyfriend, @mayal0pez, @transparentpsychicempathkid, @fic-rewind, @peterparkerfilms, @the-unknown-fan-girl, @mannien, @moonlightdotmp3, @padlockedhearts, @moniffazictress11, @all4koo, @angelayse, @svechnibrock, @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx, @xxtomspideyxx, @i83andrew, @clockblobber, @fangirlinggalore, @luciwritesstuff, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @lol-just-kidding002, @allywthsr, @captainsbestgal, @readheadwriter, @parkersdahlia, @cosmicryuz​, @tomxxxhollandxxx, @the-not-so-silent-back-up​, @rebloggingtheficsilove, @peterdarlingg​, @obsessedprincess​,

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #prince!tom holland #uni au #college au #royal au #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader

[trinittyy]

fic recs

just a little assortment of my favorite works to keep track of them and also show love to the respective writers.

note - a majority, if not all, of the following works contain dark content that some could find triggering. tread carefully.

divider by @firefly-graphics

toxic affection - @love-toxin

warnings: harassment, bullying, some violence, forced relationship

pairing: yandere!bakugou x reader

literally unashamed to say that BNHA fanfiction is what brought me to Tumblr

but this was one of the first I found and it's epic

what's your escape - @gotnofucks

warnings: obsession, possessive behavior, non-con

pairing: dark!sherlock holmes x reader

the man is disastrously down bad for the poor reader

she was so witty and clever but in the end, he got what he wanted in the most satisfying way

infatuation - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor - masterlist

warnings: mentions of stalking, obsession, non-con

pairing: dark!clark kent x reader

poor girl didn't have a clue or a chance in the world to escape this man

sidenote: I can't add Roo to the recs without mentioning just how talented she is. She was the first proper introduction to dark fics in the Marvel fandom and I've been hooked ever since. The amount of detail and dedication that goes into her work is noticeable and she's a talent that deserves recognition. It's one thing to make me like a fic or two of my favorite Marvel men but another to have me thirst over shit I didn't think I'd like.

naughty ransom holiday tales - @jtargaryen18

warnings: kidnapping, non-con, dub-con

pairing: dark!ransom drysdale x reader

guilty pleasure series

hate to love ransom but I can't help it

what the king has - @sincerelythedarkside

warnings: dub-con, character death

pairing: soft!dark steve rogers x reader

royal au

love me a good jealous steve

plot twist shocked the shit outta me

smut was out of this fucking world

love bites - @cherienymphe - masterlist

warnings: character death, jealousy, non-con

pairing: dark!steve rogers x reader, peter parker x reader

modern vampire au (what's not to love there)

this actually made me cry like a bitch

ongoing series

sidenote: Seeing as Cherie will be on this list many times, I have to say it's difficult not to add every piece of work on this list because while some writers have a magnum opus, everything she writes is a work of art. Her range and the backstory she puts in her characters make each story feel like a movie I just can't get enough of. Will forever love her writing.

kryptonite - @cherienymphe

warnings: non-con, obsession

pairing: dark!bruce wayne x reader

the build-up and tension gave me actual chills

trailer park babydoll - @mypoisonedvine

warnings: dub-con, infidelity, age gap

pairing: wayne munson x reader

guilty pleasure fic

absolute filthy smut

wrath of the dragon - @straywords

warnings: non-con, chasing

pairing: dark!daemon targaryen x reader

yet another down bad man

overdue - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

warnings: creepy curtis, non-con, obsessive behavior

pairing: dark!curtis everett x reader

there's little to nothing i love more than a good ole broody man with attachment issues

anxious - @syntheticavenger

warnings: stalking, kidnapping

pairing: dark!peter parker x reader

tasm peter

cutest in a way lol little fic

the dream that got away - @dotieeee

there's not nearly enough dark fics ft my fave peter so I love this one

warnings: dub-con, non-con, manipulation, controlling behavior, obsession

pairing: dark!morpheus x oc!mera

probably the first dark fic about morpheus

each chapter was a masterpiece

and i still haven't seen the show lol

thanks for the invite - @syntheticavenger

warnings: non-con, bitchy friend behavior, implied drugging (i think), oral (f receiving), slight bondage

pairing: dark!lloyd hansen x reader

a funny little unhinged lloyd fic

rsvp - @syntheticavenger

warnings: dub-con, hide and seek, exasperated bodyguard, exhibitionism (a bit)

sequel to the fic listed above

lloyd is still unhinged and reader is still suffering

#fic rec #dark fic #dark!clark kent #dark!peter parker #dark!steve rogers #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!morpheus #dark!curtis everett #dark!sherlock holmes #dark!daemon targaryen #dark!bruce wayne #dark!bakugou #dark!ransom drysdale #x reader

[moonstruckme]

well deserved 1k!!! i got inspired by the ones you posted yesterday

bodyguard!tasm!peter x reader (can be royal au or not)

i just love the use of spidey senses in fics, especially when being around reader fucks with peter's ability to focus 🥰

Thanks sweetness <3

join the party

bodyguard!(tasm)Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 845 words

Peter doesn’t like to think of himself as being for hire. But, well, he does think of himself as a sort of civic employee. And money is tight. So if the mayor wants to pay Spiderman to keep an eye on his daughter after he’s gotten a few threats, it’s really his civic duty and a good business opportunity. 

Still, he’d been expecting some bratty, snot-covered kid, not you, kind and his age and tongue-twistingly beautiful. 

“Is this really the safest place for us to be?” you ask nervously. 

“I, um, I think so,” Peter stammers, caught off-guard by how cinematic your hair looks blowing around in the wind (like, it’s fucking ridiculous). God, what is he doing? He doesn’t think so, he knows so. He’s supposed to be competent, in-charge, not some moony-eyed dunce. “Not many people can get this high other than me, so I figure if anyone’s trying to get to you, we may as well make it difficult for them.” 

You hum your understanding, but you don’t relax. Peter doesn’t blame you; it’s easy for him to forget how scary heights were before he had the security of his web shooters, but he knows this drop must look terrifying. You’re perched at the top of a tower across the street from where your dad is giving a speech. For reasons he hadn’t seen fit to tell Peter (or Spiderman, whatever), the mayor seems to think that this would be a prime time for his political enemies to make a grab for you. Peter hopes it’s not because your dad’s about to say something stupid in front of this giant crowd and on live TV. He’d only mentioned that he’d been getting a few more death threats than usual lately, and wanted to be extra sure you were safe.

Your shoe slips an inch, and you whimper, though you’re still feet away from the edge of the roof. 

“You’re okay,” Peter says quickly, moving closer to you. “Listen, the last thing I’m gonna do is let you fall. It’d make me a pretty bad bodyguard, you know?” 

“I know,” you say, but you’re nearly panting, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as you try to keep your panic under control. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s a hard instinct to ignore.” 

“I get that,” he says sympathetically. You’re all but sitting down against the sloped roof, fingers pressed to the metal as if you can dig your nails in to save yourself. Fuck, he’s gonna regret this. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I could hold onto you if you want.” 

You don’t even hesitate, nodding quickly. “That would make me much more comfortable, actually.” 

Peter doesn’t waste any time, breaching the gap between you and wrapping his arm securely around your waist. You’re tense all over, and your nails bite into his shoulder as you grip it like a lifeline. Which, he supposes, you probably think it is. He feels his face grow warm under his mask as you press yourself up against him, but the proximity doesn’t seem to phase you, all your concern still focussed on the hundred foot drop beneath you. You’re shaking a little, and Peter feels guilty for not relieving you sooner, bringing his other arm around you to rub at the goosebumps on your upper arm hesitantly. 

“Thanks,” you murmur breathlessly, seeming to relax more now that he’s got both arms around you. 

“No problem.” Just doing my job, he thinks sarcastically. Feeling up a pretty girl. 

He looks back at the podium across the street to realize the crowd has nearly doubled in size without him noticing. If you were distracting before, he doesn’t even know what to call you now. He can’t tell if his spidey sense is going haywire or if that’s just his nerves, all fired-up from your proximity. How’s he supposed to protect you if he can’t think of anything but how good you smell?

“I really appreciate your help,” you say, voice sweeter now that it’s lost some of its panicked edge, “even if I don’t wholly approve of your methods.” Is that a teasing note he detects? He definitely won’t be able to split his focus if you start flirting with him. “My dad doesn’t let me in the loop on much, do you know if this is just a one-time thing? Or will I be seeing more of you?” 

Okay, fuck professionalism. “I’m not really sure,” Peter answers honestly, “but your dad seems like a smart guy, and I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be vulnerable. I mean, you’re already a target because you’re the mayor’s daughter, but a pretty thing like you? You should probably be under full-time protection.” 

You really do slip then, gasping as your feet slide out from under you. Peter tugs you close to his side, not letting you move forward more than an inch. “Easy, easy,” he says as you clutch at him, trying to stabilize yourself. Now there’s a little pink coloring your cheeks, too. “I gotcha.” 

#moonstruckme 1k celebration #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #bodyguard!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x self insert #tasm!peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter parker scenario #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #the amazing spiderman

[sadisticsongbird]

divided by the crown ~ peter parker

a/n: I know, I know. it's out a day late. the story was just getting so long so I decided to make it a mini series! it will probably be three parts, but you can find everything here, updates and all!

summary: one a prince, the other a maid. when peter’s parents tragically die at sea, he is tasked with getting ready to lead the kingdom. when the law and other royalty get in the way, he meets (or re-meets) a maid that will end up changing his life. 

warnings: language, smut, fluff, angst, LOTS of typos

PART ONE

word count: 12.6k   

PART TWO

word count: 8.5k

PART THREE

word count: 9.5k

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #prince peter parker #prince au #royal peter parker #royal au

[wintersoldierslover]

my fic recs masterlist

---

Bucky Barnes:

all bucky barnes

headcanon  -  blurb  -  one-shot  -  series

dbf!bucky  -  brothers bff  -  bff’s brother

neighbour  -  housewife reader

lumberjack  -  firefighter  -  bodyguard

priest bucky  -  college

football player  -  hockey player  -  boxer

professor  -  teacher  -  librarian/bookshop

coffee shop  -  soulmate  -  royal

other AUs  -  taboo

---

Stranger Things characters:

all eddie munson - all steve harrington

eddie and steve (x reader)

billy hargrove - jason carver - mike wheeler

dmitri enzo antonov - jim hopper

robin buckley - nancy wheeler

---

Outer Banks Characters:

all Rafe Cameron

all JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron and JJ Maybank (x reader)

Pope Heyward - Topper Thorton

John B. - Sarah Cameron

Kiara Carrera

---

Marvel characters:

Wanda Maximoff  -   Kate Bishop

Natasha Romanoff  -  Yelena Belova

Peter Parker  -  Pietro Maximoff

Steve Rogers  -  Stephen Strange

Frank Castle  -  Matt Murdock 

Moon knight  -  Steven Grant

Joaqín Torres - Clint Barton

Loki Laufeyson - Druig

Eddie Brock - Miles Morales

Miguel O’hara - Hobie Brown

---

Harry Potter characters:

Sirius Black - Remus Lupin 

James Potter - Poly!Marauders

Lily potter -  Cedric Diggory

George Weasley - Fred Weasley

Severus Snape - Tom Riddle

Draco Malfoy

---

Avatar (James Cameron) charachters:

neteyam - aonung - lo’ak

rotxo - kiri - spider

jake sully - neytiri - tsu’tey

tonowari - ronal - colonel quaritch

---

Top Gun chracters:

Fanboy  -  Hangman  -  Rooster - Bob

Iceman

---

Wednesday characters:

Xavier Thorpe - Ajax Petropolus

Wednesday Addams - Divina

---

Bridgerton characters:

Anthony Bridgerton -  Benedict Bridgerton

Colin Bridgerton

---

Criminal Minds characters:

Spencer Reid  -  Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

---

The Last of Us characters:

Joel Miller - Ellie Williams

Abby Anderson

---

The Devil All The Time characters:

Tommy Matson - Lee Bodecker

---

Uncharted characters:

Nate Drake - Sam Drake

---

Euphoria characters:

Elliot (Euphoria) - Fezco

---

On My Block characters:

Mario Martinez - Oscar Diaz

---

Modern Family characters:

Luke Dunphy - Alex Dunphy

---

Ted Lasso:

Roy Kent - Jamie Tartt

---

NHL players:

Matthew Ktachuk - Trevor Zegras

Nolan Patrick - Tyler Seguin

---

Actors:

Sebastian Stan - Joseph Quinn

Jamie Campbell Bower - Danny Ramirez

Drew Starkey - Rudy Pankow

Ben Hardy - Bella Ramsey

Jenna Ortega

---

Miscellaneous characters:

Eli ‘Hawk’ Moskowitz  -   Marcus Baker

Rodrick Heffley -  Hunter Sylvester

Lloyd Hansen - Ari Levinson

Nick Fowler -  Tangerine

Rhett Abbott - Hayden ‘Harvard Hottie’

Colin (Not Okay) -   Min Ho (Xo, Kitty)

Ash (No Exit) -  James Maguire (Derby Girls)

Jake Peralta - Nick Miller  - Brian O’conner

Anakin Skywalker - Bruno Madrigal

Tadashi Hamada - Kakashi Hatake

---

Miscellaneous real people:

Billie Eilish - AEW Hook

---

*Updated whenever there’s a new character <3

#wintersoldierslover #fic recs #fanfiction #fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington #billy hargrove x reader #jason carver x reader #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #rafe cameron x smut #jj mabank x reader #jj maybank x reader x rafe cameron #wanda maximoff x reader #kate bishop x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova x reader #peter parker x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #stephen strange x reader #frank castle x reader #matt murdock x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #joaquin torres x reader