#stony x daughter!reader

[side-shawty]

Family Line

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Type: sequel

Prompt/Summary: Part two of the fic based on Saint Bernard by Lincoln. This one was inspired by Family Line by Conan Gray.

Pairing(s): Tony Stark x Steve Rogers, Stony x daughter!reader

Requested? Not even a little bit

PART ONE

The drive from the compound was silent. You’d left your Stark phone in your bedroom in exchange for the one you’d made yourself. But this one didn't have the playlist and songs you’d spent hours putting together and no the silence was deafening.

Racing down the empty upstate roads towards Manhattan was easy until a single raindrop on your windshield turned into an all-out storm. 

You had no idea where you would end up but you knew at that moment that anywhere would be better than where you were now. 

——

When you drove away, Red walked through the halls for several minutes before he found anyone. Once he found Tony, he almost walked in until he heard the yelling. It scared him enough to make him turn around and walk to your room instead. He nosed his way in and let the door shut softly behind him. 

He placed the package you had given him onto his bed right at the foot of your own and laid on top of it. It stayed there for almost two weeks. 

That was when your dads had gotten back from Germany, tearing through the compound with fervor once they realized neither of them had seen you since the day before your departure. 

——

Two Days Ago: Germany

“End of the line Rogers! Stand down, hand Barnes over, and let's go home!” Tony shouted to his husband, glaring at him.

“You know I can’t do that! He’s family!” Steve yelled back and Tony visibly flinched at his words. Tears stung at his eyes and a single one slipped before he let his faceplate shut.

“So was I,” Tony said and the two teams began to run at each other.

Tony and Steve went head to head, attacking with broken hearts and shattered dreams.

“Why are you doing this?!” Tony asked.

“It’s the only way,” Steve responded, taking a swing with his shield that Tony narrowly dodged.

Tony moved back and let a blast hit Cap’s shield, “It’s not and you know it. You always swing first! There are other ways.”

“Not this time,” Steve spoke and dodged as Tony threw a punch, catching his wrist and looking him in the eye as he held it between them.

Tony let his helmet retract into his suit to look into the blue eyes that he still loved so deeply. The two of them were frozen, just staring at one another nearly forgetting about all of the fighting happening around them. 

Tony spoke first, “If you’re going to leave me, at least let me say goodbye to my daughter.”

Another tear slipped down Tony’s cheek and it took everything in Steve not to drop his shield and wipe it away. When Tony’s words finally registered, Steve’s face became riddled with confusion.

“What?” Steve asked, brows furrowing together. “Y/N isn’t with me. I didn’t even tell her I was leaving,” he told the other man.

“Bullshit. I haven’t seen her since you packed up and ran away with your boy toy,” Tony argued, trying to hide how the hurt tore him in two.

This time, Steve did drop his shield along with Tony’s wrist. He moved both of his hands onto the cool metal of his shoulders and Tony averted his gaze.

“Tony. Look at me,” Steve pleaded.

Tony reluctantly looked back at the older man, there was both sincerity and fear in his eyes.

“Oh god, she’s really not with you,” Tony said softly and his heart plummeted as his blood ran cold. He suddenly remembered the last time he saw you, looking solemn as the two of you had pizza for dinner in silence. He knew something was wrong but he couldn’t risk fighting with both you and Steve at the time.

Tony put his helmet back on and spoke quickly, “Friday, what’s Y/N’s current location?” 

A map of the globe popped up in front of him and Friday scanned it quickly then beeped twice, “No location found for Y/N Stark-Rogers.”

Tony’s breathing began to quicken as his panic began to take over. Steve knew the signs and found the emergency release near his left ear. It scanned his fingerprint and the helmet retracted again.

“Friday can’t find her,” he said, almost breathless.

Tony tried to push Steve away as his knees gave way under him. The super soldier wouldn’t let him, taking a knee with his husband as he pushed Tony’s forehead against his own, placing one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder. 

Steve began to count softly and it wasn’t until the fifth round of tens that Tony was grounded enough to breathe again. He pushed Steve’s hands off of him and stood. 

“Thank you,” Tony said quietly and Steve only nodded before joining him on his feet.

It was then that they both realized that the fighting around them had stopped. Though there was a distinct line between the two groups, it was clear that they were all concerned for the two men.

Tony stepped forward first. 

“We’re going back. Rhodey, Romanoff, Vision, Kid get the jet,” Tony was right in front of them now. None of them moved as he stood in front of T’Challa.

Tony tried his best not to break down as he spoke. “King T’Challa, I know you’re here because you want to bring Barnes into custody but I’m afraid I can’t help you anymore. My daughter has gone missing.” 

The tension in the air became fearful as he spoke. T’Challa let his helmet retract into his suit and placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders.

“I understand. But this will not be the end,” He let his hands drop and turned to look at Cap’s team, where Steve was now beside Bucky. “I won’t stop until he’s in Wakanda’s custody.” He looked back to Tony once more before continuing, “For now, I will help you find your daughter.”

Tony looked at him with grateful eyes, “Thank you.”

Steve took a hesitant step forward, “Tony—“

“Stop. I’m going back to the compound to find Y/N. You have your hands full with your fugitive,” Tony’s voice was cold as he spoke. He didn’t spare Steve a glance as the auto-piloted quintet touched down in front of them and Tony’s team entered before flying off.

Before the jet was even out of their sight, Steve fell to his knees and cried, having no idea Tony was doing the same just a few thousand feet over his head.

——

When Tony and his team arrived at the compound without Wakanda’s King, Steve and his were already there. Tony had made sure they didn’t have access and was glad to see it worked.

The man made no more to acknowledge them, just past by with his team in silence as he rushed into the compound's living area. 

“Y/N!” Tony yelled but was only greeted with silence. He glanced at the others, “Split up, see if you can find anything. I’ll check her room,” they all nodded and headed in different directions. 

Tony sprinted to your room, ignoring Steve’s presence as he followed him in. They were met with a very sad-looking Red on your bed, barely perking up at the sight of the two men. Tony knelt and opened his arms.

“Hey buddy,” the dog hopped off the bed without much grandeur and sat directly in front of Tony, head on his shoulder as his tail wagged weakly and he cried softly. Tony looked around the room and saw that his automatic feeding bowl was full and some of your things were gone. 

“Oh Red, buddy. Where’s Y/N? Is she home?” Tony questioned. 

Red barked and stood up, walking to his bed and picking up the package you have him so long ago. He brought it to Tony and the man took it, giving the dog a pat on the head and standing up.

He flipped it over and saw in your handwriting, ‘To Dad and Pops’ and it filled him with relief. This at least you left on your own accord and weren’t taken. 

Tony opened the package with shaking hands, still hyperaware of the super soldier at his side. It was your hero mask, there was a blinking red light indicating an awaiting message. 

Tony pressed it and they watched with desolate hearts as you told them you were leaving.

___

It had been three weeks since you left. You didn’t bring anything with you that could be tracked and had even swapped cars miles from where you ended up.

So when a knock came at your door of your apartment on the outskirts of Ontario, you armed yourself with the kitchen knife you were using to chop onions.

My father never talked a lot. 

He just took a walk around the block. 

You approached your door with all the silence of an assassin trained by Natasha Romanoff herself. When you were almost at the door a voice rang through it.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there,” they spoke and knocked once more before speaking again, “Open up, please.”

The tinge of pain in the words was breaking you as your grip loosened on the knife, almost dropping it. Your weight shifted a bit and one of the floorboards creaked under you.

You flinched at the sound.

“Y/N,” a different voice this time, “Honey, please.”

You could hear the tears like they had been at this for years and not weeks.

My mother never cried a lot.

She took the punches but she never fought.

Finally, you let yourself reach the door, swapping the knife to your left hand as you pressed your right against it, holding your weight. When you caught sight of the two men bruised and drained on the other side, it took everything in you not to open it and leap into their arms. 

But you held back. They couldn’t just show up after probably not even noticing your absence. So, you donned an accent and spoke in French.

I say, ‘They’re just the ones who gave me life.’

But I truly am my parent’s child.

“Pas de Y/N ici, tu t'es trompé d'appartement,” you spoke and you heard a deep sigh on the other side. (No Y/N here, you have the wrong apartment.)

“Êtes-vous sûr? Il y a un chien ici avec son nom sur l'étiquette,” Tony spoke in perfect French. It only made you want to cry again. 

(Are you sure? There's a dog here with her name on the tag.)

You clamped a hand over your mouth to hold back a sob that threatened to spill over. You cleared your throat before you spoke again, “Je suis sûr. J'espère que vous trouverez qui vous cherchez,” you turned your back on the door and moved to sit on the couch, placing the knife on the coffee table.

(I'm sure. Hope you find who you're looking for.)

“What now?” You heard Steve ask, quietly as you stared intently at the door. You heard Red give an enthusiastic bark and a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Now we be parents,” Tony replied and you heard a series of mechanical clicks.

Then silence.

Scattered ‘cross my family line.

I’m so good at telling lies.

And finally, a quiet ‘boom’ as your door handle was blown off in one clean circle.

You stared at the door as it began to creak open. Before either of your fathers could push it, Red came barreling through and straight onto you. You held him tightly and buried your face into his fur as he wiggled energetically in your arms.

“Hi Red,” you whispered into his warmth as you heard a pair of footsteps walk inside and attempt to shut the door.

You didn’t want to look at them but you couldn’t ignore them as they spoke.

“I could have just pushed it open, Tony,” your Pops spoke as they made their way further in.

“I took care of it, Rogers,” he replied, a chill to his words as they both sat on the opposite ends of the couch across from you.

That came from my mother’s side.

Told a million to survive.

They sat in silence as Red began to calm down and you were forced to look at them when he decided to lay on your lap.

You look to your Dad first, there was a healing bruise on his eye and his entire form was tense. Your Pop was about the same, sans bruise but looking uncharacteristically disheveled. 

You decided to speak first.

“How did you find me?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Your Dad clearly wanted to roll his eyes, “I’ve got 10 satellites in orbit, I could find a needle in a haystack.”

“Tony,” you Pops said as if warning him that he was becoming too harsh.

Tony sighed, “Why’d you leave?”

You actually did roll your eyes, “Maybe because my parents are getting a divorce and our house was turning into a civil war,” you could feel yourself getting worked up as you spoke, your powers beginning to bubble up to the surface. 

You took a deep breath and regrouped.

“Why didn’t you take Red?” Your Pops asked.

I can’t forget, I can’t forgive you.

‘Cause now I’m scared that everyone I love will leave me.

You looked down at the lovable pile of fur on your lap and gently stroked his head, “He’s too easy to track. I needed to be on my own for a while.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to us?” Tony’s voice was edging on desperation, he had moved up on the couch, now almost on the edge of his seat as he rested his elbows on his knees. 

“How could I?!” You spoke loudly as tears stung your eyes and your body began to shake as you tried desperately to hold yourself back. 

“When I tried to ask you,” you pointed at your Dad and the sudden made Red jump off of the couch in favor of sitting at your feet, “you’d just play it off like I was some little kid. And you,” you dropped your hand and looked sadly at your Pop, “you were ready to leave us the second you found out Bucky was alive.”

This time you couldn’t help it as the tears fell. You gave yourself a second of sadness before pushing yourself up and standing, wiping at your eyes. They stood with you.

“You’re still young Y/N/N. I didn’t want you involved in any of this,” Tony said, as his own tears shone in his eyes. 

You gave a dry laugh, “Please, I’ve been involved since the day I was born. I was a kid I wasn’t clueless!”

Both of your fathers flinched at that.

“All that I did I tried to undo it by pushing you both aside to help Bucky, and that wasn’t fair,” Steve began.

“Please, we did what we had to do to protect you,” He continued looking just as desperate as you felt. 

“Protect me from the two of you!? Do you know how insane that sounds!? All of my pain and all your excuses we’ve been hearing since the day he showed up aren’t going anywhere! You thought he was dead for decades!” You were yelling now but you didn’t care, they needed to hear it all. You could feel yourself begin to heat up from within as you fought your power down.

They were both inching closer to you now, less than an arm's length away on either side of you when they rounded the coffee table.

“We did it because we had to. Because we love you!” Tony tried but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Someone who loves me wouldn’t do this!” You cried, falling to your knees as your power came out in a shimmering wave, pushing your parents flat on their backs, making every lightbulb in the vicinity pop and shatter.

You were nothing but tired now, as you wept. Red, who had crawled beneath the couch had inched out at the sound go your cries. You hugged him against your chest as your parents sat up with a groan. 

They both came toward you and wrapped their arms around you. You only cried harder as they whispered apologies and let their own tears fall silently.

Everything was far from perfect, but it would be better.

I can run but I can’t hide.

From my family line.

#tony stark daughter #steve rogers daughter #stony daughter tony #stark x daughter!reader #steve rogers x daughter!reader #avengers x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel angst #stony x daughter!reader #marvel two shot #stony x black!daughter!reader #tony stark x black!daughter!reader #steve rogers x black!daughter!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #tony stark x black!reader #avengers x black!reader

[inlovewhithafairytale]

POV: Y/N Stark...

#tony stark #tony stank #yn x avengers #x yn #badass yn #marvel #the avengers #avengers x y/n #avenger x reader #avengers x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x steve rogers #stony #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x mobius #loki x sylvie #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #yn x bucky barnes

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

a/n: oh wow, i have no idea how to introduce this beast of a story except to say hi, hello, welcome! i really hope you enjoy this story, as well as the rest of the trilogy, idk if i've ever gone as in depth and all out with any story as i have with these.

summary: “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, abusive father (like super bad. he is a garbage person), wedding, blood, injury

word count: 4813

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“Your majesty, I must warn you, if, gods forbid, our people come to discover the great lengths you’ve been willing to go in this disagreement over the past two decades, they might start an uprising. And if you keep going, then it’ll turn into a full-blown war and you know our kingdom wouldn’t be able to survive that, not with them. Our city’s walls may be high, high enough to keep out any beasts that may wander this far south, but it wouldn’t keep them out. You know better than most how people from Eflorr are. If you don’t wanna lose your crown, one way or another, then I’d strongly advise that we come up with some peace treaty.”

“I know, I know…” King Ivan leaned back in his gilded throne with a huff, the quality of his voice was as thin as his towering frame, “a trade I think should suffice.”

A different advisor then timidly pipped up, “but our mines ran cold ages ago, what could we possibly offer that would be satisfactory?”

Not lifting his cold gaze, the king stared at a fixed spot on the marble floor as he said, “I know one thing the king lacks that we may be able to provide for him… a wife.”

“A wife–,” both of the men’s eyes grew wide, “but do you mean–, your majesty, she is your only daughter, are you certain this is the fate you want her to have? Those people are barbaric! If one of the dangers that rule the north doesn’t get to her first, one of their citizens surely will. Sire, what if history repeats itself?”

“Then let it do so. In fact, perhaps this could have been her purpose all along and I just didn’t realise it. Couldn’t see past my own rage to grasp how useful she actually could be…”

Sharing a nervous glance, one of the advisors asked, “should we send for her? See if she agrees with the plans?”

“No, I’ll tell her when the time is right. Wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing she could ever provide,” finally lifting his stony gaze, the king commanded, “make the arrangements, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t ruin it.” 

Deep within the opulent halls of the gilded palace, standing grand and safe behind Ingorn’s tall city walls, twisting up towards the clouds, up in a window in the western tower, there you sat. 

Book in your lap, you leaned back against the small pillow you’d propped behind you to make the wide windowsill more comfortable. Small paper butterflies hung from strings above and some dangled so low that the childhood craft that still decorated your window trickled the crown of your head. Flipping the page, your fingertips brushed down over the illustration that appeared in the agricultural tome you’d found in one of your brothers’ rooms. 

As long as you put it back before Angus returned then you’d probably be good. And if he were to somehow notice, then as long as he didn’t rat you out to your father then it would be alright. Both Angus and a few of the others that were closer to your age, Oliver and Francis respectively, were always a bit of a gamble whether or not they would do such a thing. They didn’t always have the same spirit as the eldest pair of your older brothers, Xavier and Callum. 

You missed them so much your heart ached. The older they got, the longer their diplomatic missions seemed to stretch out, making the quiet palace that much more lonely in your solitude. 

A knock then suddenly boomed at your door, causing you to jump edgily in your seat before you slammed the book shut and nervously stuffed it behind the firm pillow. 

“Come in!” you called out, swiftly straightening out your dress that had crumbled around your legs at the comfortable seat. As the door to your room slammed open, the figure that stood in it caught you by surprise, “Father–, oh, hello,” you straightened your posture that much further at his arrival. 

Skipping over any niceties, King Ivan simply stated, “you need to pack up your stuff.”

Your brows knitted into a fierce furrow, “what?”

“Not everything, of course,” he cast a cold glance around the room though didn’t take a step to enter it, “just the things you are particularly attached to.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” your head lightly shook from side to side, “where am I going?”

When his eyes finally gave you the time of day, it swiftly dropped to the floor as a heavy sigh flowed from his lips, “why do you have to be the spitting image of her…” the muttering was unfortunately just loud enough for your ears to catch. His disappointment was always just loud enough for your ears to catch. When he entered the room and you moved to get up, he swiftly said, “stay seated, Y/n,” before he planted himself next to you on the wide windowsill, “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

“To Eflorr?” your gaze grew wide, “you wish for me to marry someone there?”

“Not just someone, you are to marry their king.”

“I–… I–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your rosy dress, “but father, you can’t–, I can’t go live with the people who killed mom.”

“We don’t know if they actually murdered her. But I do know that you did,” his glare locked upon you as he let himself seethe, “if you hadn’t been born then she’d still be alive,” the fact that the only thing he blamed more for his late wife’s untimely demise then the kingdom she’d perished in was you, remained a point that the sovereign had never been shy about sharing with you for as long as you could recall, “your duty is to protect and serve this land, this crown,” your eyes naturally fluttered up to gaze at the twisted gold balanced upon his head, “if you don’t go through with this, then those savages will come pillage and ruin your home. You are, regrettably, the very last hope this kingdom has of survival. You have no choice, Y/n. This marriage is the only thing that can stop a war we would never survive,” exhaling slowly, he then dominantly nodded in a concluding fashion, “pack your stuff, you have an hour.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “an hour? But–, can’t we wait at least a few days before I leave? Can’t I get a chance to say goodbye to at least one of my brothers? None of them are home yet.”

Regret instantly washed over you as your father’s nostrils flared angrily. Seizing your arm in a bruising grip, he yanked you close as he hissed, “you listen, and you listen carefully, you little brat. You have been the bane of my existence ever since you took your first breath. You took away the love of my life. You don’t deserve a goodbye, you don’t deserve anything. Do you think I got a goodbye when your mother suddenly went into labour on that diplomatic mission? No. All I got was you. Not another son, but a living, breathing reminder of what I lost that day,” your eyes squeezed shut as your cheek tingled at the memory of his strikes, “now, be a good girl and go wet his prick, give him a few babies, do anything he’d fucking please, so that him and his barbaric army doesn’t come here and slaughter everything you know and love.”

“Your highness, are you cold?” the high-ranking warden sitting across from you in the carriage noticed the shiver that your body couldn’t seem to shake. 

Tearing your eyes off of the scenery along The Emerald Path that the narrow window granted you a view of, you glanced back at the warrior. The brown hair he had practically tied off at the base of his neck blossomed into a dark beard. A bare palm clasped over an inked one in his lap as you met his gaze and said, “no, I’m–…” in truth, you were scared, so scared that you were trembling like a leaf, but you couldn’t tell the foreign king’s advisor that, too much weighted on your shoulders, you couldn’t screw this up, “no,” glancing back out of the window, you only stared a moment at the sparse cottages that slowly came into view on the rolling hills before you turned your head again and let the nauseating nerves control your words, “pardon me, Barnes, is it?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, how much further till we get there?” your quiet voice echoed within the carriage, “it’s just–, it’s been days.”

“Oh, not long at all,” he shook his head lightly, “actually,” the knight leaned forward in his seat and cast his glance outside, “if you look out the window now, right there,” a small smile tugged at his lips as his finger shot up to point, “that river, that means we’re getting close to Borün city.”

As the river then suddenly curved before the dirt road, the clomping hooves of the horses that hauled the coach resonated as they trotted over a stone bridge. 

Twisting your head, you glanced out to your right and spotted farmlands curve over the rolling hills that swiftly blossomed into thickets and towering flora you’d only assume was the southern perimeter of The Noll Woods. Books about this kingdom had been banned in your homeland for as long as you could remember, but even though you were essentially going in blind, you still weren’t completely ignorant when it came to the dangers that called that sprawling forest its home, not that you were an expert in the slightest, but your brothers had from time to time told you tales of the monsters who dominated in this part. From giant and twisted insect-like creatures, to mischievous pixies, to even the rare dragon, those stories had always been your favourite. Apart from the rare occasion where Callum would share stories with you about your mother. Being the eldest, he was the only one who truly remembered her. 

Instinctively, your fingers fluttered up to fiddle with the opalescent stone that hung from a chain around your neck. In the middle of the milky jewel was a small rune engraved into it. You had no idea what it meant, but your fingers had still traced the carving countless of times before as it had hung from your neck for as long as you could recall. It hadn’t been till you were a ways into your teens that you’d come to discover that it had belonged to your mother. 

Casting your glance out the other side as you passed a tall watchtower, behind the wide city stables unfolded a port town so quaint that it surprised you. Over the small valley of gabled roofs towered a central tree, and beyond all of that, the sparkle of the sea caught your eye, a sight you’d never beheld before, haven not only stemmed from a landlocked metropolis, but also not haven been permitted to leave your room as much as your heart had desired. 

“This is Eflorr?” you asked as the carriage began to roll up the winding path to the stone castle that loomed on the cliff, granting you a new view of how the river that you’d crossed slid through the city and spilt into the ocean.

“This is Eflorr, your highness,” the corners of his lips twitched at the sight of how wide your curious eyes were. 

“It’s–… it’s–…” your stare danced over the lush ivy that climbed the solid towers, “not what I expected…”

“What did you expect?”

Tearing your gaze away from the window, you blinked, “oh, I didn’t mean–,” suddenly worried that your shock had come out sounding rude, “I just–… I don’t know a lot about this land,” in the few tales you’d heard about this place, there had been a running gag that the people of Eflorr had lived so close to the dangerous beasts that called this part of the continent their home that they too had turned into monsters, “it’s just different than I imagined.” 

Ascending the jagged hill and passing through the front gate, it opened up into a wide courtyard before you felt the carriage finally roll to a stop. 

The wagon creaked gently as Barnes stepped out first, though when his boots were firmly on the cobblestone, his frame twisted as he reached an outstretched hand back for you to grasp in support of your own exit. Ever so apprehensively, you slid your own palm into his as your other twisted in your long skirts before you slipped out of the carriage. 

Letting go of his gasp, the soldier's low timbre washed over you as your head tilted back to take in the vast stronghold, “his majesty, unfortunately, couldn’t be here for your arrival as there was a bit of a dryad problem further up north he had to take care of,” you gaze tore away from the fort and fell upon him, “but I assure you he should be back in time for the wedding.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, unsure if that fact made you feel better or worse about the entire predicament.

“If you’d like, I can give you a brief tour of the castle,” he offered as he led you towards the main entrance into the castle proper, “or if you’re exhausted after the journey, then I can just show you directly up to your chambers.”

Offering him a polite smile, you nodded, “a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

He only briefly went over the buildings surrounding the courtyard you’d entered into, as they were mainly designed as barracks and various other facilities for the local wardens, though the horses that stuck their heads out of the royal stalls in the corner did catch your eye before you moved on inside. 

Barnes’ voice echoed in most of the chambers he showed you in the castle’s western wing. The vast stained-glass windows that were in the ballroom for instance took your breath away as you saw how the light streamed through them and warmed up the room with glittering little rays of colour. 

Behind the great halls, squeezed in between and connecting the two major parts of the fort, there you crossed through a much more quiet and lush courtyard. The pebble paths that curved around the central fountain too curled around various topiary bushes that were trimmed to perfection like living sculptures. 

Though as your guide showed you the eastern wing that crested over the foaming sea below, your curiosity got the better of you. 

“Hey, Barnes?”

Slowing his leisurely stride, he tilted his head slightly, “yes, your highness?”

“What are dryads?” your brows knit lightly together, “you mentioned there was a problem with them, but what are they?”

“You don’t know?” he glanced over at you, clearly trying to mask his surprise as you shook your head, “oh, well, they are forest spirits, nymphs,” he explained as you roamed deeper down a broad hallway on the second floor, passing many private chambers both to your right and your left, “it’s not uncommon for them to wander and bother the folks who live further up the coast. Have you never encountered one? They are not as uncommon in Obelón as most of the other creatures that thrive this far north.”

“No, I’ve never seen one…” you shook your head as a low sigh flowed from your lips, “never really seen anything…”

“Not much of an outdoorsy person?” he guessed in a light-hearted tone. 

Forcing a smile, you replied, “you could say that…” as you hadn’t been allowed to be one even if you wanted to. Passing a set of double doors that stood wide open, the sight inside made you halt your steps, “is this the library?”

Shadowing you as your feet crossed the threshold, he nodded, “yes, it is,” then pointed back over his shoulder, “and your quarters are right down that hall.”

Numerous grand bookcases stood lined up all the way down to where a tall window allowed the sunlight in and let it stream through the rows. 

“Can I–… would it be alright if I read some of them?” 

“Of course, your highness.” 

“Would you mind showing me which ones I’m allowed to read?” you briefly peeked back at him as a bubble of anxiety fluttered in your belly, “I don’t wanna accidentally read something that I’m not allowed to.”

Barnes then blinked back at you a moment before he uttered, “your highness, you can read each and every one of them if you’d like. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to read whatever you wish? They are yours after all, or will be after the wedding,” the corners of your lips twitched upwards as he then asked, “would you like to peruse the titles now or do you want to see your chambers?”

“Oh, uhm,” you tore your gaze away from the tomes and turned back, “I’ll look later.”

“Alright,” he nodded, extending his inked arm to show you the way. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open to the room at the very end of the hall, his voice rang out once more, “this is the peacock suite,” following him inside, he settled to a stop near the exit for you to explore the space on your own, “you can, of course, change anything you’d like for it to match your taste.”

“Thank you,” you breathed as you slowly made your way deeper into the chamber. It was gently divided with a more formal area towards the front where both tufted couches and a crackling fireplace stood, as well as a set of doors that opened up to a quaint balcony. Towards the left, under a swirling archway, twisted a broad canopy bed up towards the tall ceilings, warm with blankets and furs, and in the corner, by a breezy partition, stood a deep cobber bathtub.

Haven not noticed that he’d moved, you then heard as Barnes creaked the doors to a close, “if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

With a loud creak, the heavy double doors opened before you and revealed the grand hall. As soft music gushed out, you nearly didn’t recognise the space from your tour the other day as it was now decorated with vibrant flowers and flowing banners that dropped down from the high ceilings above, as well as being completely packed with a swarm of people. A thin path parted the giddy crowd right down the middle towards the opposing grand door that guards opened simultaneously to yours. 

A shaky breath filled your lungs as you stared at the man crossing over the threshold. The flickering candlelight caught the honeyed shine of the locks that came down to tickle the nape of his neck. A bit darker, his short beard was full and warmed up the bottom half of his gruff features. He sure looked like a man who could slay a kraken with his bare fists, as the soft fur cloak that draped over his shoulders did not conceal his bulky physic one bit. The neckline of his indigo tunic stretched low enough for you to see the concave of his fuzzy chest and the impressive battle scars that broke up the rippling flesh. 

You’d seen the portrait of the king that hung in the hallway that stretched up towards the throne room, but to see him before your very eyes, in flesh and blood and not precise paint, was something else entirely. 

The long and embroidered train of the blue silk kirtle you wore dragged across the store floor behind you as both you and the monarch slowly stepped into the chamber to join in the very middle. 

The enchanting music stopped as you reached one another and the parted paths to either exit slowly closed as the crowd gathered and enclosed around the sacred vow that was about to ensue. 

Parting the sea of people like a divine force, an elderly woman, with a braided grey mane so long that it hit the floor, stepped up beside the both of you. 

“People of Eflorr,” the crone’s calm voice boomed, “today marks a day of unity, a day of peace, and most of all a day of love. Like a seed planted in the soil, tonight we will all witness this relationship blossom and go on the journey of growing into a magnificent tree, with roots strong enough to endure any storm, to propagate new seedlings that will watch over and shade our kingdom when yours have fallen.” 

Looking to the king, she handed him a small dagger from her belt and spoke, “blade across skin,” and he reached out for your right hand, “strike out your seedling’s love line,” your breath hitched as you felt him slice the top of your palm. Crimson blood trickled down onto his own hand as yours rested atop it, “and claim it as your own,” he flipped the blade around and handed it to you, before presenting you his own palm, open in yours. He didn’t even blink as you hesitantly pierced the calloused skin and traced the line already adoring his broad palm, “weave your lines together, so they become the same,” he then moved to clasp your hands together, his wide grip engulfed yours completely. Your teeth sank into just the faintest bit of your bottom lip at the fresh sting of your wound as it bled into his, “and may this scar serve you as a reminder, of the vow you made on this momentous day.” 

And as the last of the matron's words flowed from her lips so did the roar of celebration that erupted throughout the crowd as the festivities of the night bloomed at an instant.

The feast had been nothing short of immaculate. Countless of dishes had been spread out on the crowded banquet tables ranging from the savoury braised legumes to the sweet and shiny pies. It was an impossible task to try and taste every one of them, but an excuse you still used to stay glued to your seat and not get up and mingle with the boisterous gathering of strangers. 

As a stark contrast, you thought you only noticed the king take two bites before he rose to greet some latecomers who had arrived. Laughing and chatting with the sea of people, he hadn’t offered you a single word, barely even a brief glance the whole night. Though your gaze still followed him from your seat up at the high table as he moved through the crowd like they were all his dearest friends. 

When the moon had floated up to be high in the sky, clearly visible on the other side of the stained glass, your head had dropped down into a propped-up palm as a deep yawn forced its way out of your frame. 

“Are you tired, your majesty?” a deep timbre suddenly found your ears, a specific tone that caused your spine to straighten out at once. 

Whipping your head to your right, your weary eyes grew wide as you saw the king again at his seat, “no, I’m alright,” you hastily coughed out, “I’m so sorry for behaving like that in your presence. This party is exquisite.” 

“It’s alright, you can yawn,” you suddenly felt the need to look away now that his ocean stare was finally fixed upon you, “it’s late, I was about to retire for the night as well, so I can only imagine how you must feel. If you’d like, I could escort you back to your chambers. I’m not sure how familiar you’ve become with the castle since you’ve arrived, but even I can still get lost when the corridors are this dark and I’ve indulged in perhaps one too many goblets of wine.”

A flutter of nauseating nerves rushed within your belly, but even so, you still pushed through and forced a smile, “if that’s what the king desires, then sure, you can escort me.”

It was your wedding night. You knew what was about to happen. 

Or, actually, you didn’t quite know what the marital act entailed, but you were sure a man such as Steve had enough of an understanding to take charge. All you knew was what little you’d been told. To strip down naked, not whine or scream, and do as he tells you. 

The soaring butterflies within you only grew more ferocious as you followed his long stride throughout the castle. Out of the ballroom and through a cold stone hallway, when you crossed the bridge that linked the two wings over a part of the cliff that descended dramatically, you nearly doubled over the parapet to empty your stomach over the town of Borün that blossomed below. 

But with a shaky intake of breath, your fist closed around the silk of your skirt as you settled yourself and forced your feet to keep moving. Even as you passed the threshold into the eastern part of the castle, you still shadowed the monarch up the many steps until his broad palm held the door to your chambers open for you to enter. 

The fire had been lit while you were gone, and the room was encased in the warm glow. 

“Did, uh…” you heard the door close behind you as the king attempted a bit of small talk, “did you have a nice time tonight?” 

“I did, your majesty,” you kept your answer brief out of fear that he’d hear the tremble to your tone. 

Slowly turning his back to you, his gaze washed over the room, “are you pleased with your bed chambers?” he settled to face the balcony, the door slightly ajar to let the night breeze seep through and rustle the sheer curtains, “because if you don’t like it, if you’d rather have a view of the town then the sea, then that’s an easy problem to fix.” 

“I think the view is just fine from here, but thank you,” you answered politely as you gathered up the last bit of your courage and reached back to undo the long row of buttons that went down the spine of the light blue dress. 

When the silky garment dropped to the floor, the quiet rustle was enough to draw the king’s attention.

First offering you just a quick glance over his shoulder, he then swiftly whirled around completely, “what are you doing?”

Weaving your fingers in the thin material of your chemise, you blinked back at his stunned features, “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?” sure that he could already see everything through the sheer, white fabric. 

His feet didn’t move as he asked, “what are trying to do?” before he averted his gaze to the stone floor. 

“Well,” you uttered quietly, “it’s our wedding night.”

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

“To be transparent, I’m actually not quite sure what’s to happen, but I do know it’s something,” reaching up, you took the gold and twisted circlet, that crowned your head, off and carefully sat it down on the side table to your left, “I don’t know the details, I just know that I should strip down. Do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, “yes I do, but, your majesty, please, keep your clothes on,” his gaze flickered back to you as you slowly began to hike up the last layer. 

“Why?” your fingers froze, “isn’t it a tradition here for us to–”

“Well, yes, but–…” he let out a strained sigh before slowly stating, “I’m gonna go.” 

A chill crawled up your skin, “…oh, I see…” you uttered quietly as he crossed the room, “did I do something wrong?”

Halting in the doorway as he ripped it open, “no, you–…” but the rest of his words crumbled as his gaze settled upon you one last time, instead letting a low sigh flow from his lungs, “sleep well,” and added nearly subconsciously just before the door slammed shut, “goodnight, dove.”

Even though a wave of relief washed over you, a sting of hurt also followed suit as the king left. 

Had you done something wrong, or did he just find you that repellent, that hideous, that he refused to perform his marital duties?

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers series #king!steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader

[tarjapearce]

Crimson Crown (Pt. 6)

Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Thanks to @pinkiemme for the amazing cover ✨

Summary: You beat Miguel to take the first step.

A/N: Thanks for the patience 🥹❤️. Hope you enjoy ~

The heavy footsteps echoed through the dark alleys of the city, lost into the forever echo of Arachne's capital. Stony roads lead to different places, but the cloaked figure's path lead to a tavern. More to the underground facade of the place, to a secluded and exclusive area.

The oak door was knocked with a characteristical bang, A little slot within was slid open, just to reveal a pair of beady eyes. The cloaked figure smirked upon hearing the locks turn and pull until the hefty door was open, allowing them in.

"You're alone."

"Yeah" the cloaked man removed his disguise and downed a pint of beer before reuniting with the others, that like him, were awaiting for his presence to start their clandestine reunion. Dressed up to mingle with the shadows.

"The king has increased the security in the east prison."

"That's a problem if we want our mercenaries out."

"What about Fisk? Tell him to send some of his men undercover to scout the area."

Another man grunted in response.

"He also is a king with responsibilities. Getting an audience with him alone takes time."

"Then what the fuck are you waiting for?"

The other man scowled as he pulled a knife out of the many pockets his suit allowed him to carry. And that unleashed a domino effect as the rest either pulled guns or more knives.

The dark and makeshift reunion was made with five men and a young boy, that didn't pass his sixteens.

"Hey! If you wanna fight someone, save those energies for the king-"

"The king has been too busy to care. His new toy has him quite preoccupied."

A brow was quirked, "New toy?"

"A princess."

"Well, ain't that wonderful?"

"Great. Now we have to remake our plan."

"No, no. What are you talking about? If we don't attack now, our chance will be for naught."

"You truly want to go ahead with a plan when we're missing our most important associates? I'd love to see you try to take on the king yourself."

The jeering words flew constantly between some members of the little gathering.

"Seems like you forget why he is called The Red King."

A roll of eyes and a dismissive gesture made the man to keep interrogating.

"So what about the princess?"

"We need more information about her."

The youngest cleared his throat and spoke.

"She's a Thelerian."

There was a collective round of not so surprised and bored 'ahs' from the men.

"No wonder why there is Arachne's soldiers in the West Passage and the borders."

"Borders? Through the city. Even within the castle!."

"Guess the old trick of 'I sell my daughter to you for protection' always works."

"She wasn't sold. Their wedding is a month and a half away."

"This is bad."

There was another pregnant silence before the teen spoke again.

"She's a doctor."

"Of course she is. Damned Thelerians. Always meddling with our affairs one way or another."

"They're strangers."

"Oh?"

The boy spoke as everyone's eyes settled on him.

"What do you mean strangers, boy?"

"They don't get that much along. King just talks to her when necessary."

The interest shone in the many pair of eyes. One face contorted into a smirk.

"Of course he does. I'd be surprised if he'd still get his cock functioning after being so inactive."

There was a combined titter and malicious giggles from them as the joke was told.

"There will be a meeting soon. With the council. I'll take my guess that he's introducing her to it."

"Told you this boy would be useful."

"Of course, it was my idea."

"Hey, you filthy rats... stop playing and listen. Is there anything else you can tell us about this princess?"

The boy shrugged.

"What do I get in return?"

"What did you just say, boy?"

The eldest man mumbled, clearly vexed by the plucky and defying attitude of the boy.

"I said, what do I get in return? All of you have something to win over this plan. And so far I've been used as a spy. I think it's fair if I get something back."

"And what would you possibly want?"

"I'll take it when I see it."

"Right."

"Anyways, Let Fisk know we need him. We gotta get that big brawn twerp before The King gets to him first."

"Oh god, not Rhino."

"Shut up. As much as I hate him too, he's useful. We need him."

"Stay in the castle. Find out where he was last seen."

The man spoke to the boy, that only stared back with a piercing gaze.

"Even though the princess is a new addition to the plan, it only gives us a new advantage. Political marriages are a thing, so we gotta make the most out of it."

"She recently visited her parents. Apparently the king fell ill after his mistress tried to poison him."

Another laugh.

"See? This is why exactly I've been telling you that Theleria will fall by it's own king's hand. We don't even need to meddle with them."

"True that."

"What about Prince Gabriel?"

A solemn silence fell on the stony and secluded room.

"Keep that fool busy. If we can make he gets sent away even better. Less to worry about."

"And the princess?"

"Keep an eye on her."

-------

Nervous and anxious was an underestimation on how you really felt. You were sure the insides of your cheeks were nearly chewed raw as you waited outside the grand wooden doors, just as Peter had instructed a few moments ago. Your knees trembled underneath the layers of your dress, palms became sweaty and your breaths a bit more shallow.

The day to finally meet the council, had arrived. The past two days were spent solely on your studies about Arachne and the current situations surrounding the kingdom. You tried to cram up as much info as possible, but what truly would be judged was your criterion on things and how well you could adapt to the situations.

Royalty expected so much, and hopefully you'd pass this evaluation. It was unavoidable to not feel curious as to why councils held almost the same amount of power as The king himself. Back in her kingdom, councils remained as an extra help, and as much as a mistress indulging your father, King Blanchard was, he took his ruling seriously.

Councils were summoned when your parents needed to keep updated in the things that needed to be done. But again, different kingdoms, different customs.

The doors slid open to reveal none other than Miguel himself, motioning for you to come in. The room was large and so was the war table, as people gathered around it. A total of six, you and Miguel made eight in total.

There had never been another chair at the top of the table, cause there was no need for another one. Until now. You sit next to Miguel. Eyes settled on you.

Some with hardened expressions you couldn't quite pinpoint as to why of their sudden and implicit hostility, others regarded you curiously.

Jessica, Ben and Peter joined not long after.

"Now, that we're all in, let us begin."

"Your majesty."

Everyone bowed to Miguel and soon an elder lady spoke.

"As you may know, the nether lands are asking for an audience with you ever since some months ago. They will not stop until you've listened to them, apparently."

Her tone was tired, a little annoyed but respectful nonetheless.

"What is it what they want anyways, May?"

"For you to lower their taxes on seasonal products."

"Can't do if they charge as twice for imports that are brought out of time. And recreating their things is proven to be even more expensive."

Miguel sighed while resting his cheek on his knuckles.

"Lower them a two percent."

"But, my lord! You lowered them already last month!"

Another man spoke, pointing at the outside lands out of Enethor. Your eyes frowned upon seeing the distance to travel and import. Miguel looked at you from the corner of his eyes.

"What do you think, Princesa?"

"W-Well, taxes are quite important for the kingdom, and so are the seasonal products the merchants offer, naturally, they'd ask to lower the taxes"

Some scoffed at the obvious information, but you kept talking.

"Why don't lower the taxes in the plot of lands they use?"

"Care to explain that?"

"Look at it this way, the cheaper the land, more opportunities they have to create more jobs"

"So basically making the rich, richer."

You frowned at the tempting words from another man.

"No. A mutual help, sir. By lowering the prices, there will be no need for them to travel such great distances, and subsequently they won't raise their prices on the market. Because they'll produce what they can here."

May seemed to consider your words as the rest discussed.

"Do you use this in your kingdom, your highness?"

Another man, Ben Parker spoke with genuine curiosity.

"We do. Since Theleria produces medicines, we cannot be picky when it comes to import the finest materials for it. We want to help others. Not monopolise health."

"How... benevolent of you. Though I'm quite surprised you allow such thing, when your kingdom is the tiniest among the continent."

Another man, Darko D'Angelo spoke.

"Yet, with all due respect, none has taken our place as the main supplier of medicines in the continent, sir."

Miguel smirked as you took a discreet deep inhale. It was unavoidable to feel angered when someone tried to belittle Theleria.

"Now, now, let's get our attention focused on what truly needs to be discussed."

The council expanded on various topics, even though the start was a bit rocky, there were times where you actually felt included and taken in consideration. May Parker seemed on a neutral line. And so was Ben Parker. Another amusing thing, was to know that there were so many Parkers and Ben's within the ranks.

They all seemed connected to the need to fight for what was good, and Miguel slead them all on. It made your heart to leap a bit in your chest as your eyes settled on him, discreetly.

For a dark king everyone assumed him to be, he had been one of the kindest, wisest and considerate man with a deep love for his kingdom you've ever met.

Jessica couldn't help but elbow Peter to witness the look you were giving him. An absolutely fascinated one. That turned into a blushing stare the more he spoke about the revamps he wanted to do into the esthetics ways of Arachne.

The council had discussed many things he had neglected, like arts and other needs revolving around them. You were so temped into taking his hand and ask him personally to let you handle it. That you would help him and not disappoint him.

But the same man from before changed the mood and the conversation's route so quickly fast it had cut you short to prepare yours and the rest's replies.

"I think your highness should focus in producing heirs, instead of feeding the needs of a little bunch that hold no productivity besides entertaining momentarily the rest."

"Ser Darko."

May warned but another man spoke.

"Baron D'Angelo is right. You see, we are at the verge of war-"

"Against who, my lord?"

You questioned and if the men could kill with their looks, you'd be a cold body by now. Their subtle and not so discreet disdain over your ideas an opinions hadn't go unnoticed, specially by Baron D'Angelo, who seemed fixated into getting any sort of negative reaction from you.

"Against who?! How preposterous of you to believe we are in times of peace, when outside the continent there is so many enemies that want to invade us, princess."

If it wasn't for the warning glare Miguel shot him, he could've kept rambling about how naive you were.

"My apologies, ser. Has anything been done to appease their intentions?"

"It's not something you can't just fix by talking to them, princess. That it has worked for you and your people means it will work for us."

"But have you tried dialogue? Know the cause of their-"

"Again, we've tried anything.-"

"Not to sound disrespectful, ser. It's clear I need to know more of Arachne,-"

"Indeed."

Your brow quirked at what he had just said

"And I know that some kingdoms reject dialogue or any peaceful solution before it's has been offered," You took a breath, testing carefully your words., "But it does seems odd their stance of attacking, remains after the supposed peace offerings."

"We've known these realms for so long that a pacific solution has been discarded eons ago."

You blinked, but it was a good chance to put the spotlight on the both. It was clear that they loved to engage in war. Which concerned you.

"So, you're assuming they want war, and you're ready to engage without giving a chance for real words to be treated?"

"With all due respect, princess. Thelerian pacifist and foreign outlooks towards Arachne's belic conflicts are everything but helpful."

Miguel's jaw clenched, and so did Peter's. Tension in the room was heavier and denser than a black hole. He was set to make you angry, and it was hard to not bait into his game, but like your mother, you kept it calm and composed, even though you wanted to put a little datura into his drink.

"Quite ironic how roles invert here, ser D'Angelo."

"Beg your pardon?"

His voice came a bit louder and annoyed than he had intended to.

"Even though I do agree that I must know more about Arachne, I believe you must expand your knowledge in Theleria. Not the one you all now know. But the one before being The Fallen Kingdom."

Darko scowled but remained quiet, letting his haughty look to speak for him.

" What about it?"

"Theleria has been one of the most ancient lands of this continent, ser. And the one that has the most antique monarchy lines through Enethor."

"So?"

"It happens that we turned into a fallen kingdom by being exactly as you voice your opinion."

"And how is that?"

"Closed to any other option that wasn't war. And look at us now, ser. May the creator above forbid this land to fall under the same curse we have."

"That's... That's not gonna happen."

"It might happen if you keep refusing what you have overlooked so far."

"Are you threatening Arachne, your majesty?"

"I am not. I have no power to stand against your armies, ser. But only a fool would take a fair epitome of what happens when acting recklessly, as a threat."

Baron Darko's mouth gaped as his eyes widened in disbelief. How dared you to play him like that? Even worst in his own game.

"Or so is what my mother always says."

The other man that had initially been with him had kept quiet in the whole exchange. Watching and listening to the verbal spar where you had gotten by a few inches the upper hand.

"I am not opposed to war, gentlemen. But, like I said to the king once, if I am able to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, I will."

There wasn't much said after that, little pleasantries and polite goodbyes from your end, made you exit your room. Head high, even if the whole meeting was a fiasco, you would've still held your head high. Your legs shook as Peter followed you. A subtle yet knowing smile plastered on his lips.

In the room, however things weren't done. Not when Baron D'Angelo and Lady May approached.

"You still refuse to give us an answer when it comes to have heirs, your majesty."

"They'll come when the time is right."

Miguel didn't want to dwell into the subject. Children sure were in his list, but responsibilities had taken so much away from him already, that he forgot about them. He was past his thirties, and he could die in battle, leaving no heirs to follow his legacy.

"I guess the time is approaching sooner than we think, your majesty. What if the future queen is unable to conceive?"

His eyes narrowed at Darko's words. Even though his yapping was irksome, he had a fair point.

"As much as I differ with Baron Darko, you know the rules of this game, your majesty."

Lady May spoke with the same tired tone in her voice from before.

"The princess will bear the future heir of Arachne."

Miguel's words made Darko to tense and frown.

"But she knows so little about us! We don't know if her kingdom will remain loyal to us in a future if trouble arises, my lord."

He rubbed his hands nervously as Miguel  sheathed his sword on his hip.

"Please, consider your other options, in case the princess is unable to-"

A hand dressed in the obsidian claw made the sharp fingertips to hold on Darko's chin, tips softly prickling at his skin.

"She will. Not your daughter. Am I clear?"

The Baron could only nod with a difficult gulp.

----

Miguel had taken a small break from all that just happened, Jessica had the most shit eating smile one could muster.

"She will, huh?"

"Aren't those the rules?"

"You seem a bit too enthusiastic about following those certain rules."

"I'm getting old, and they keep pestering me."

Miguel mumbled before removing his armor and plop on his ever trusting chair.

"You have to do something regarding Dana first."

"I know."

"Or else-"

"Jessica... I know."

His commander and right hand sighed, but preferred to change topics.

"Guess she has a temper after all."

A faint chuckle escaped Jessica's lips.

"Why did you assume she didn't?"

"She's not precisely someone that strikes me as vindictive, or demand her father's mistress death."

Miguel huffed an airy laugh while slicking his hair back, pensive.

"Peter explained why she... got so upset regarding that situation. Makes sense."

"So, you're knowing eachother more?"

"Apparently."

Jessica rolled her eyes with an exasperated grunt.

"She seems a little too fascinated with you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Back in the council. She was giving you these dreamy puppy eyes."

Miguel's lips twitched in a little smile.

"So you better make a move, before someone else fool but brave enough does."

Bushy eyebrows furrowed. And only deepened when Jessica tossed a little envelope, smelling like roses and other pleasant herbs before going away.

For my muse.

The scribbled words were almost as stylish and perfect as yours, definitely another Thelerian.

Who dared to be foolish enough to pursue something out of his reach? He gave a quick reading to the letter and scoffed at the maudlin words. Not that he blamed the man for feeling so intensely.

After what transpired today, it felt like a little switch was turned on in him. It wasn't an outcome he had expected, but the balance had been tipped in your favor. Not entirely, but had enough member's approval to reaffirm his choice.

And he had to thank you for leaving those harrying members that demanded from him a heir, behind with their mouth shut for long enough.

Darko however always seemed to favor Dana. At first, they all agreed that the main mistress should occupy the throne.  But Miguel never really regarded such things. Too busy fighting enemies in allied countries and waging political wars to actually have a pause and produce the next line of descendants.

He didn't know it if was coincidence or something greater than him that put that passageway in his path, and now not only had a true reason to get married, but someone that shared his convictions and dreams for his country.

And, he was sure his future heirs would be beautiful.

Just like you.

The letter had annoyed him, but also amused him. A man that had only saw you and spoke to you twice, put all his feelings in the letter that was turned into ashes by now.

But he had to give that fool some credit. Unlike him, he knew how to express and convey his feelings without any apparent issue, yet he wasn't able to talk about something else that wasn't work and duties related.

With a sigh, he changed into a more casual attire and picked his sword. Then, ventured in his palace, looking for you.

----

You were about to leave for the gardens to take the afternoon tea with Margo and Gwen when Miguel's shadow loomed over from your bedroom's doorframe. A little jolt buzzed through your body, startling you.

"My lord, not to be... disrespectful but, I think it's time for you to knock on my door."

Miguel chuckled and motioned for you to come closer.

"Come. Follow me."

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you obeyed and followed him. Long legs took him further as you tried your utter best to keep up with him. Miguel's ears perked at the sound of your steps hastily following him. A pleased smile was etched in his face to then suddenly stop before a room.

With a deep sigh and a bit of pantings, you also stopped.

"Close your eyes, Princesa."

"W-What?"

"Close your eyes. Please."

The confused look in your face made his eyes soften and a smile to stretch wider as you obeyed him once more.

Quite compliant

And oh so pretty. His eyes stared at your face for what seemed forever, time had stopped specially when his deep ruby eyes stared at your lips, and then trailed themselves down to the collarbone. Before his eyes could rake you over, his throat was cleared and he opened the doors for you.

He then gave your lower back a gentle push for you to move forward. He took your hand and guided you inside. Warm fingers curling softly on his big and weathered hands.

He took you further into the room, the scent of the ever familiar herbs and flowers filled in your lungs, subduing your rising nervousness.

"Open them."

You did, and your heart beat with such strenght you had to clutch harder on his hand at the sight. It was a much more advanced laboratory from what you had back at Theleria.

In one side, you had the many and an endless looking supply of herbs and other medicinal things. And in the other side, you had the tools. Canisters filled in with strange liquids that boiled, glass containers, a oak table sturdy enough to bring and attend anyone in need of a surgery, and of course, many books related Arachne's medical story.

"This..."

"Is yours."

His words and gentle smile had your eyes glossy while a shivering laugh escaped your lips.

"Mine? All Mine?"

"All yours."

He nodded while enveloping your hands with his.

"This is-... Oh by the heavens. My lord. This is... too much for me, I-"

"Princesa."

Your eyes settled on his warm expression.

"I know you will make a good use of it."

"Your highness"

You mumbled while squeezing his hands a bit tighter.

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"A 'thank you, my king' would suffice"

A little laugh and his heart skipped a beat.

"You are part now of the medical staff. Their leader, you'll be a great mentor to them."

"Will you visit me, my lord?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Of course. Seeing you is always good. Though I must ask. Do... you fear me? Or feel something strongly negative towards me?"

"I'm afraid the question confuses me, Princesa."

"Let me rephrase that question. Do you feel averted towards me or repulsed?"

All the opposite.

"It is not personal if I don't approach, Princesa. I've been busy. I'm always busy-"

"I... I know that, ser. But, you're always seeming to avoid me until something that requires me appears."

Miguel's brow twitched at the lack of reply, instead you spoke again.

"Political or not... I wouldn't like to marry an acquaintance, much less a stranger."

A soft blush crept on your cheek and you inhaled deeply before mumbling.

"That's why... I... I'd like to know my future husband better. If its not too much to ask."

Going from acquaintances to be called future husband surely made his brain a puddle and his heart to accelerate in a way that for once didn't concerned him.

"Would you... join me tomorrow at a lunch in the meadows?"

You gulped, and casted your eyes down, a bit too embarrassed to meet his bewildered stare.

"Its alright if you can't go, we can know eachother-"

"I'll be there."

Words came so soft and like butter from his mouth that you stared at him with round eyes in surprise.

"We have a lot to discuss anyway. I think it's time for us to properly address our wedding, your highness."

"As you wish, my lord."

The sweet smile on your face made him want to forever have it tattooed in his mind.

The way he looked at you didn't sit right in the spying and vindictive blue eyes that followed you almost everywhere.

Her heart broke upon seeing the kind of look Miguel threw your way. All different from hers, full of annoyance and cold hearted, nearly in despise. But you, had managed to fulfil one of her dreams with such easiness it made his own heart to crash and burn in anger.

This wasn't over. It would be when Dana said it was. With a new target in mind, the main mistress disappeared in the shadows. Unable to widstand the momentarily defeat. She came first, she had the right to that crown, his heirs and him. Dana would have him, either the good or the bad way.

And Miguel always seemed to learn the bad way.

---

Taglist:

@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 @death-moth-art @smookycloyd @somehopeatlast @jadinwitch @bunnibitez

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #king miguel #miguel o'hara x y/n #princess reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

[wilbursprincess]

Arranged Marriage With Princebur

Princebur x Reader

Warnings: Sex, mentions of sex, angsty towards the end :D

Hi Tumblr. I wrote this as a ‘crack fic’ (mostly just self indulgent) but was so proud I figured you all deserved it too :) If you’ve read parts 1-4 of my Princebur headcannons, then this is familiar, but if not, you’re in for a treat! This is very loosely inspired from one of my favorite books of all time, ‘The Giver Of Stars’ by Jojo Moyes.

Fic below cut!

When my parents sat me down one day, I knew the news couldn’t be good.

The king and queen of my country were getting older, and all the newspapers were talking about their son, Wilbur, soon to take over the throne, wondering who would be his bride. I’d seen him, a black-and-white photo adorning these articles, and secretly felt sorry for whoever he’d be forced to marry. The royal family was big on arranged marriages. How else would they get more heirs to the throne?

“We’re going to the castle for tea,” my mother explained briskly. “The queen was aware you’re her son’s age, and-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt, gaining a sharp glare from my father. “You want to marry me off to a prince?”

My father smiles, though it’s far from warm. “Well, hopefully, if they take liking to you.”

“Have you considered I don’t want to be forced into a loveless marriage, just to be a vessel for heirs to the throne?” I say, both my parents’ gazes turning stony.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother snapped. “It’s a great honor to marry into the royal family. Wilbur’s a good man. Handsome, even.”

Sure. Wilbur’s handsome, if you like the snobby prince look.

“Go get ready,” my father adds, getting up from the table. “Wear your nicest dress, and try and do something with your hair. It looks like you rolled around in a barn.”

~

“It’s so lovely to meet you,” the queen simpered, giving me a watery smile. “You look lovely. Just like a future princess should.”

Lovely?

The corset my mother cinched me into was so tight, I couldn’t take a deep breath in, a trickle of sweat running down my back. My best shoes hadn’t been worn in over a year, and they were slightly too small, with a blister already forming on my heel. The heavy makeup caked on my cheeks and eyelashes felt thick. Maybe this was why all the royals looked miserable all the time.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, forcing a smile when my mother nudges me under the table. “These cakes are delicious.” That wasn’t a lie, however, my father had stopped me from taking more than one. Probably on the grounds that it wasn’t ‘ladylike’.

The queen forces another smile. “Our cooks here are very talented, dear. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger when you marry Wilbur. They’ll wait on you hand and foot.”

I force my face into what I hope is an impressed expression.

I might complain about the chores at home, but I’d be bored silly without them. What would I do, just sit around all day? And wait, wait, did she say ‘when’?

“Did you say, ‘when’ she marries Wilbur?” My father says, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

The king nods. “We did. Your daughter is exactly what we’re looking for in a bride for our son. She has lovely composure, perfect manners, and we can tell Wilbur’s already taken a liking to her.”

I sneak a glance over at Wilbur, who gives me the tiniest smile. Begrudgingly, I had to admit he was vaguely handsome. Sharp jawline, refined features, slightly messy brunette curls, and sparkling deep brown eyes.

Maybe this won’t be too bad.

“They’ll make such perfect babies,” my mother adds, the queen nodding her agreement. Snatching my eyes away from Wilbur, I pick up my now-lukewarm tea to hide my embarrassment.

Nevermind.

“So it’s agreed?” My father asks.

The king smiles. “It’s agreed. We’ll get to wedding planning right away. Everyone loves a good royal wedding. It’ll bring the country together.”

~

I’d never seen such a ridiculous waste of money before. The newspapers were eating up any tidbit they could about the wedding, and all the headlines made me groan.

‘Wilbur’s bride-to-be rumored to walk down the aisle in a pure silk gown!’

‘The royal family reported to be buying the future princess an entire wardrobe of velvet and silk, complete with jewlery to match!’

‘Royal wedding to be decorated with thousands of roses!’

I did my best to avoid looking at the bold headlines on the papers that piled up on my kitchen table.

My parents were over the moon, helping me pack up my belongings in preparation for moving into the castle. Or, rather, they were deciding which of my belongings belonged in the castle.

“Why would you bring such an old dress? They’ll just buy you a new one.”

“Those shoes are dreadful. A princess should only be seen in heels!”

In the end, I ended up with just a suitcase of clothes, shoes, and the occasional personal belonging my parents let slide.

My mother decided to teach me all about how to raise children, complete with handing me a satchel of all my old baby clothes and teaching me how to pin a cloth diaper on an old teddy bear. She also had to give me ‘the talk’ about how I’d go about having these babies, which left me horrified.

“Don’t give me that look,” she snapped. “It’s natural. It’s how you were made.”

My father took it as his responsibility to teach me about royal etiquette. He’d once worked as a servant, and had decided it was up to him to drill everything into my head.

“No! Head up, shoulders back, heel-toe walking.”

“You sip tea with your pinky finger out! And stop slouching!’

Honestly, if they were sending me off to work on a farm, I’d be more excited.

~

“You may now kiss the bride!”

I force myself to stay calm as Wilbur’s rough lips brush mine, and the entire church errupts in cheers and applause. It was sealed. I was now a princess.

Wilbur offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead us back down the velvet-covered aisle. I force myself to relax and smile, waving elegantly to the people in the pews, just as my mother drilled into me.

He helps me into the shiny new carriage, drawn by two shiny white horses, flicking their braided tails. More velvet on the inside of the carriage, all the metal features pure gold.

“Is ‘congratulations’ appropriate?” Wilbur says, breaking the very tense silence.

I shift against the seat uncomfortably, the lace edges of my gloves chafing my skin. “I think so.”

“Well, then, congratulations,” he adds, slightly awkwardly. “And sorry.”

He’s sorry?

“What are you sorry for?” I ask, finally looking him in the eyes.

Wilbur sighs. “You didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did, actually, but you especially.”

The heavy silence is even worse when the entire country seems to be cheering us on.

“I promise I’m not that bad,” I offer, and Wilbur cracks a smile.

Neither of us speak for the rest of the ride, and when we arrive at the castle, two men dressed to the nines open the doors. I go to hop out, but Wilbur gently stops me.

“I’m supposed to help you,” he whispers softly.

Luckily, the photographers didn’t seem to catch my slip up, and I accept Wilbur’s hand to step out onto the grounds of my new home. My heels are hurting my feet, and I’m exhausted, but I fix a smile on my face and walk through the grand front doors.

~

“Well, happy wedding night, darling,” the queen says, kissing both my cheeks with a flourish and handing me a paper-wrapped package. “Just something to make tonight better for you both.”

I accept with a smile, trying not to think about what the package is, before turning and heading up the main staircase to Wilbur and I’s new bedroom.

Wilbur’s not in the room when I walk in, so I flop into the middle of the bed and cautiously unwrap the package. Something small and silky slips onto the sheets, and I unfurl the bundle to see a baby-pink, silk nightgown, the deep neckline and hem lined with lace. I hold it up to my body, seeing it barely reaches my knees.

The door opens, and I drop the nightgown, turning around to see Wilbur carrying in a massive amount of packages.

“Wedding gifts,” he explains, setting them down next to another huge pile I didn’t notice earlier. “Mother wants us to open them before we go to bed. And I have a suspicion-” he indicates a lot of tiny parcels. “-that I know what these are.”

Wilbur tosses them all to me, grabbing several himself before joining me on the bed to unwrap them.

“It’s shoes for you,” he says, handing me a pair of dainty red heels. “What’s in that one?”

I rip open the package and sigh. “A hat for a baby.”

He nods, opening the next one. “Some jewelery for you.”

“Baby shoes and socks.”

“An evening gown.”

“A baby blanket.”

“Some cufflinks.”

“Baby clothes.”

Wilbur gently stops me before I reach for the next one. “I’m detecting a theme.”

“Me too,” I sigh, showing him the nightgown. “Your mother gave me this.”

His dark eyes widen. “Thats…” he trails off, swallowing. “A nightgown.”

“Uh, yea,” I reply. “It’s a nightgown.”

Another awkward silence.

“Look,” Wilbur says, starting to gather up the gifts. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve still got something to do before we can get some sleep. I’ll clean up here, you go get ready, ok?”

Something to d- oh. That.

I nod, grabbing the nightgown and scrambling for our bathroom.

~

The nightgown is certainly… something.

It seemed far too inappropriate a gift from my now-mother-in-law, as I look at myself in the mirror. Everything is covered, sure. Just barely.

The lace scoops dangerously low in the front, raising dangerously high at the back, and is so thin, it leaves nothing to the imagination.

Now I see what she meant.

There’s a sharp tap on the door. “You ok in there?” Wilbur asks. “You, uh, ready for bed?”

“Yea, I’m good,” I lie. “Just, uh, putting on the nightgown.”

A solid 5 seconds of silence.

“Can I see?” Wilbur’s voice comes out a lot more desperate than either of us was expecting. “I mean, if it’s ok with you-”

When I open the door, his eyes widen, taking in every single inch of silk, lace, and skin. “You…” Wilbur trails off, eyes everwhere but my face. “It’s definitely a nightgown.”

My face burns. “It is.”

“You go get comfortable, and I’ll, uh, get ready.” He says, trying to sound casual.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and I get into our new bed. The only upside is that our bed is massive, so it’s not like I’ll be spooning the guy every night.

I blink open my eyes as the bathroom door opens, and my new husband walks out in nothing but a pair of striped silk pajama pants, sitting low on his hips. He gets into bed next to me, hesitantly setting a hand on my thigh.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Wilbur murmurs, a caring note in his voice I hadn’t heard before. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

I feel a new but welcome warmth blooming in my chest, both from the pet name and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. “I’m ready.”

~

Imagining what would happen on the wedding night, and actually doing it, were two different things. Two very different things.

I expected him to do what he needed to do pretty quickly, roll over, and we’d both go to sleep. Something I’d just lie there through.

Oh God, was I wrong.

There was something otherworldly about our two bodies becoming one, so strange, but so welcomed. It made heat pool between my thighs, pleasure bubbling up between our entwined bodies.

I couldn’t tell if Wilbur was enjoying it, but the noises he was making… soft groans and whines. They were like music to my ears, adding to the tightening in my core, something I’d never felt before, but I never wanted it to end.

The spiral low in my stomach kept tightening, ecstasy running over my body as he kept rutting into me, tightening until it snapped. And when it snapped, radiating out from the apex of my thighs, it was like I was on cloud nine, floating in the clouds, far above the castle, the country, and the planet.

I’d barely recovered from the wave of pleasure that slammed into me when Wilbur lets out a loud moan, burying his face in my shoulder as I felt my inner thighs suddenly wet. The only sounds in the room were mine and Wilbur’s shaky breaths, trying to collect our composure once more.

“If that didn’t work,” Wilbur murmurs, panting. “Could we, uh, do it again?”

~

I’ve been living in the castle, married to my husband, and a princess for a month now. I still wasn’t quite used to it. Gone were the days I pitched in around the house and could come and go when I pleased. Now, I sat around in a castle, wearing lace, silk, and velvet dresses that made me feel frumpy. All there was to do was sit in the library and read. I’d loose myself in leather-bound tales, about far-off and imaginary lands, trying to wish myself to live between the worn pages instead of here.

“I’ve washed your nightgown for you, ma’am,” one of our housekeepers says to me, dropping off a loud of laundry in our room, thankfully interrupting the conversation the queen was trying to have with Wilbur and I. “I couldn’t quite get the menstrual blood out of it, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no issue,” I reply, face burning as I take the neatly folded pile, avoiding the gaze I’m sure the queen was giving me. “Thank you.”

The queen shakes her head, continuing knitting something that looked, suspiciously like a hat for a baby. “It’s ok, dear,” she says, forcing kindness into her voice. “Maybe next month Wilbur will do his job.”

Wilbur snorts into his tea, making his mother give him a very stern look. We make eye contact over the rim of the mug, warmth blooming in my chest.

He’s on my side.

“That hat looks nice,” I say to hopefully break the awkward silence.

The queen grimaces. “It’s a sweater for a newborn,” she says briskly, making Wilbur hide his laughter with a pretend coughing fit. “Wilbur, are you ill? Why are you coughing.”

“I’m fine, mother,” he lies, gulping down the rest of his tea. “Why don’t you head down to the sitting room and let me and my wife spend some time together?”

She immediately brightens up. “Oh, yes, of course,” she says, packing up her knitting and giving me a wink. “Good luck, you two.”

The second the door shuts behind her, Wilbur groans, burying his face in his hands. “Does she only care about you as some sort of baby-vessel?”

I sigh, wringing one of my carefully-folded dresses in my hands. “I think so.”

Awkwardly, Wilbur leans over, carefully putting a loose arm around my shoulders. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think of you like that.”

Blinking up at him, I feel a heat spread through my face. “Thank you, Wilbur.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “So the… blood, it means you’re not pregnant, right?”

I nod. Wilbur’s face, inexplicably, breaks out in a grin.

“That’s good news?” I question, and he nods. “But, your parents-”

He shrugs dismissively. “Look, I had about as much of a choice as you did. Just because I have royalty in my blood, it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You don’t like being a prince?” I reply, shocked. “Whenever I see you in the papers, you seem to like this life.”

Wilbur laughs, shaking his head. “That’s called ‘acting’, darling.” The pet name makes my face flush, though it’s not unwelcomed. “And now I’ve somehow dragged you into this mess.”

“At least we’re both equally unhappy?” I offer. “I promise I won’t mention this to anyone else. We can get through this.” I hesitate before adding the last word. “Together.”

Nodding, Wilbur brushes his lips against my cheek. “Together.”

~

“Wilbur, are you alright?” I ask, walking into our room a few nights later to see my husband sitting on the edge of our bed, looking pensive. “What happened?”

He sighs, patting the blanket as an invite for me to sit. “Mother’s been complaining to the staff about not getting her grandchildren yet. Apparently, she got pregnant with me the night she married my father, and saying I’m not living up to the family legacy.”

“Oh.” As much as I hate myself for it, my core tightens deliciously at the thought of Wilbur and I’s wedding night. “I’m sorry. I… parents.” I awkwardly finish.

“Parents,” he agrees. “So, uh, if you’re down, do you want to, y’know, try again?”

I nod immediately, a little embarrassed by how eager I look. “Sure.”

Wilbur awkwardly chews on his lower lip. “Did you… enjoy it? Last time?”

“I did.” I whisper. “Did you?”

He kicks his toe against the plush rug our bed sits on. “More than I should admit,” he murmurs. “I’ve read a lot of books in my years in this castle, so naturally, I’ve read about… that. If my parents knew I found those books, they’d be horrified.”

Surprisingly, I hear myself giggle. “Why would they be horrified about you reading about how to give them grandchildren?”

“Because those books don’t exactly see it as something for having babies. They see it as something to bring you closer to your partner, something that feels good.”

We’re both silent for a few moments.

“So, since you want to do it again…” Wilbur continues. “I know how to make it better for you. Do you still want to?”

I find myself nodding before the words even leave his mouth, reaching down to pull off my top. I’m left just in my bra and skirt, Wilbur’s eyes running all over my exposed skin.

“Can I take your bra off?” He whispers, cupping my breasts through the fabric. Even the hint of his touch makes my stomach tighten, and I nod.

His hand reaches around to my back, struggling with the clasp for a good few seconds before it pops open. Eyes wider than dinner plates, Wilbur rubs a thumb over my nipple until I groan.

“That’s good, right?” He asks anxiously.

“It’s good,” I reply, shimmying my skirt and tights down my thighs. “Do you want me to lie down, or-“

Wilbur nods, pulling off his shirt and reaching for the zipper on his pants. Just the motion of unzipping his pants makes the apex of my thighs throb.

When I look up again from taking off the rest of my clothes, he’s fully naked, chest heaving. I’d never seen him like this, and it’s not unwelcome.

“Tell me if this hurts, ok?” Wilbur whispers, tracing up my thigh and fumbling around a little before finding a spot that makes me gasp. His long fingers circle around and rub the little nub, the pleasure so intense my legs go weak.

“Oh my,” I manage to gasp out, that lovely tightening in my core getting stronger. “Please… don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, speeding up his touches and looking slightly smug at my blissed-out expression.

My hand grasps at his wrist so I can rub against his fingers, the ever-tightening spiral threatening to snap…

…And it snaps.

I close my eyes tight as I let out a long, low moan, hips bucking up against Wilbur’s hand as I ride it out, floating up in the clouds again.

“Safe to say that felt good?” Wilbur’s voice brings me back down to earth, and I’m disappointed when he pulls his hand back. “It’s going to get even better, I promise.”

While I’m still wondering how on earth he managed to do that to me with just his fingers, I feel him pushing himself inside me, everything so much more sensitive this time, and it’s wonderful. We groan in unison, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Can I move now?” Wilbur asks.

“Please,” I reply, wrapping my legs around his waist to steady myself. This lets him push in even deeper, putting pressure on the spot he’d been touching earlier.

Wilbur’s a lot less gentle this time, and a lot more vocal. A lot. Our hips snap together, and I let myself move with him instead of laying still.

“So good,” he murmurs in my ear, breath hitching. “So good, sweetheart.”

I wasn’t expecting another moment on cloud 9 for the second time in one night, but when the familiar feeling builds up again, I practically feel like I’m floating. It’s different than earlier, deeper and more intense, but just as welcome.

The second high is just as intense as the first, my back arching as I ride it out. Wilbur’s not far behind me, sighing as I feel my bare stomach suddenly wet.

“Sorry, I kind of…” he trails off awkwardly, grabbing his shirt off the mattress and wiping up the mess. “This is awkward.”

“You’re good,” I murmur sleepily, absolutely exhausted from the night’s activities.

Surprisingly, Wilbur cleans both of us up, climbing into bed and pulling me into his chest to cuddle.

“This ok?” He asks, and I sleepily nod.

He drifts off to sleep, but I stay awake, wondering why exactly my arranged husband could make me feel things like this.

~

Life keeps dragging along. Wilbur seems more distant and secretive, hiding envelopes in his pillowcase and burning letters before anyone else can see them. My mother-in-law keeps insisting I join her for tea every afternoon, which essentially means being extremely nosy and overbearing for an hour or two, drilling me on everything from how I carry myself in public to her ever-lack of grandchildren. My dresses keep disappearing after I hand them to the staff to wash, Wilbur blaming it on his mother.

One evening, I walk into our bedroom to see Wilbur in his warmest coat, a suitcase open on the bed, and two envelopes sitting next to it on the bedspread.

“I’m getting you out,” Wilbur says, smiling at me with indifferent eyes. “I’ve packed you some casual dresses and shoes, stuff nobody will notice missing. There’s money in that envelope, and a letter to my friend. He lives over the border on a farm, and he’ll find a place for you.”

I expect to feel a wash of relief, getting my life back, but no. All I feel is a tugging at my heart, a pang of sadness.

“You’ve got 10 minutes. Grab anything else you need, and I’ll take you as far as the border,” Wilbur continues, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll sneak downstairs and wrap up some food for you.”

While he’s gone, I quickly glance around, slipping the books on my nightstand into the suitcase. Wilbur’s done a good job packing my things, leaving behind the gaudy dresses and tasteless jewlery, slipping in my most-worn dresses and comfiest shoes. I change out of my nightgown and slippers, packing them and slipping on a warm dress, boots, and my heaviest coat. Fat snowflakes were falling from the sky, a chilling wind rattling the windows of the castle. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“Here,” Wilbur whispers, making me jump and turn around. “I couldn’t get much, but there’s some bread and apples. It’s better than nothing.”

He closes the suitcase, grabbing the woolen cap off his head and pulling it over mine. “Wrap this around your shoulders,” he tells me, handing me the thick blanket off our bed. “If we leave now, you’ll be out of the country by daybreak.”

I do as he tells me, nestling into the blanket as he wraps a heavy scarf around my face. “Grab your suitcase, and we’re leaving.”

I watch, dumbfounded, as Wilbur pulls open the window and leaps onto the steep shingled roof. “I’ll help you,” he promises, taking my suitcase and my hand so I can climb out. I lean up to shut the window.

There’s no going back now.

~

We walk all night in the frigid, unrelenting wind. My face, hands, and feet are numb, and I can’t recall ever being this cold before.

His friend hasn’t arrived at the meeting spot yet, so we settle into the shelter of a massive holly bush to try and rest our weary legs. Wilbur takes off his coat, placing it over my lap, and wraps me in his arms. Finally, I let myself cry, the hot, salty tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re ok,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on me. “Once you leave the country and forget about the past months, you’ll be ok. Your life is just beginning.”

All I can do is nod, continuing to sob into his chest. I couldn’t even begin to verbalise that the tears weren’t for our country or my old life, they were for him.

The time we spend in the shelter of the holly bush feels like an eternity. Just as the sun gives hints at appearing over the horizon, we hear the bumping of a cart, the snorting of a horse, and I know it’s time to go.

Wilbur loads my suitcase onto the cart, settling me down in the scratchy hay and nestling blankets around me. “I’ll be back,” he whispers.

I hear him and his friend exchanging a few words, the envelope being handed over, and Wilbur’s footsteps coming back towards me. To say goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Wilbur, ok?” I say, trying to hold back the tears running down my cheeks. “What wil your parents say?”

“That doesn’t matter. Please, forgive me,” he begs. “Forget everything we did, forget the past months. I’m giving you your life back.”

He wipes away the endless flood of tears, kisses me on the cheek, and steps off the wagon. His jacket is still over my lap, and I press my face into it, his familiar smell washing over me.

The reins snap, the horse and cart rattling down the cobbled road, heading away. Away from my home, away from the castle, and away from Wilbur. Ahead? Whatever lay over the border. I had food in my suitcase and more money than I’d seen in my life. I’d find a way.

My eyes close, Wilbur’s face swimming over my closed lids, and I force the image away.

~

“Wait!”

I snap my head up as the cart rattles to a halt.

“Please, wait!”

It was Wilbur’s voice.

Dumbfounded, I watch as he comes running up the road, not slowing down until he reaches the cart, practically leaping into the hay and wrapping his arms around me.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he sobs. “Please let me come with you. I’ll leave my country, leave my chance at the throne, whatever it takes to stay with you. I love you.” His face is pressed against mine, slick with both our tears.

“Don’t leave me again,” I manage to say through my tears. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I never will,” Wilbur promises. “I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

The cart continues to make its way down the road, every step taking us closer to our new life. Our new home.

~

Wilbur and I’s new life is everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Once we made it across the border, we moved into a tiny cottage in the middle of the woods on a couple acres of farmland. Wilbur ended up sneaking my most valuable jewels into the bottom of my suitcase, which we promptly sold to afford some things for our house.

Coming from a life of luxury, being waited on hand and foot, to living on our own in a one-room cottage was a shock, to say the least. Wilbur really stepped up, teaching himself to cook and clean so the housework wouldn’t all fall on me. With the money from the jewelry, we bought a bed, kitchen table, two chairs, and some linens. It was all we had, and all we needed.

I taught myself to farm fruit and vegetables, as well as bake bread and make jams out of our harvests. Wilbur bought a cow, thinking we could get a decent amount of meat from her, but got too attached and ended up naming her Daisy.

“It’s a real farm now,” he said proudly, stroking Daisy’s forehead. “But doesn’t she look a little lonely?”

The next addition to our farm was a chicken coop, laying us plenty of eggs for breakfast. At Wilbur’s suggestion, I bought some flour and sugar, and used some of the butter I made from Daisy’s milk and eggs from the coop to start baking bread and cakes.

I went to the market every week, selling my homemade bread, cakes, and jam, which brought in a significant amount of money. For now, our family was complete…

…Until Wilbur showed up one morning with a skinny stray dog, looking very proud of himself.

“She can guard the farm for us,” he announced, scratching her behind the ears. “She can eat scraps, too.”

Princess, as she came to be known, did not end up guarding the farm or eating scraps. She slept in Wilbur and I’s bed each night, licking the pan clean from dinner or chowing down on scrambled eggs that Wilbur made for her.

“This certainly beats the castle,” I murmured to Wilbur one night as we lay in bed, Princess fast asleep between us as the fireplace crackles.

He leans in to kiss my forehead. “It does. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

#princesswrites #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur x you #princebur #wilbur angst #wilbur soot smut #bursona smut #wilbur smut #dsmp smut #mcyt angst #wilbur mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut #princessfics

[ichorai]

amsterdam ; jacaerys velaryon. (m)

track two of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x arryn!f!reader

synopsis ; prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

words ; 4.7k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), jace is very much infatuated with you (expect lots of praise !!), reader is the only child of jeyne arryn of the vale, mentions of daemon and rhaenyra, in this fic jace is over eighteen when he goes to the eyrie !! cursing, mentions of death, vermax is grumpy bcs he has to sit outside in the cold someone save him

main masterlist.

The Eyrie stood tall and proud on the very top of rocky mountains—so high that white wisps of clouds could be seen far below where the castle was situated. Jacaerys unmounted his dragon, placing a reassuring hand on the large, olive-green scales of his snout. 

“Kesan sagon arlī. Umbagon,” he murmured to Vermax, who huffed out a plume of warm smoke and settled back on his haunches, clearly unhappy with the prospect of waiting around in the cold. I will be back. Stay.

Blowing out a nervous exhale, Jace squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, making his way into the white-stone castle. 

Blue-cloaked guards stood in his way of the wooden entrance, faces stony and hands resting on the hilts of their swords, at the ready. 

“I am Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I’ve come to urgently speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn to secure aid for my mother’s cause.” His voice rang clear and true, confident despite his inner turmoil.

The guards glanced at each other, before stepping aside, letting him walk through. 

“This way, my Prince,” one of them said, guiding him through winding corridors and eventually, down a long hall. The blue-veined, marble walls shone with polish—so much so that Jacaerys could see his own warped reflection looking back at him. 

And at the end of the hall, laid two thrones of weirwood—nothing compared to the hunkering mass that was the iron throne, but still grand nonetheless. Seated on one was the Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, with a head of dark locks like his, and soft features that contrasted starkly with the scowl pulling at her lips. 

The lady was facing her side, where she was speaking in hushed whispers to her only daughter—Y/N Arryn, the infamous Jewel of the Eyrie. 

Jace could feel his heart stumble upon itself when he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, your name made sense. Sure, he had heard tales of your regaling beauty and your kind nature, but words alone were not enough to fully encapsulate just how breathtaking you really were. 

The sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows bathed you in a warm glow, casting long, sloping shadows over your skin. Draped over your form was a dress of cerulean hue, cascading down your hips as if it were water. Jace considered himself a gentleman—he had to take care not to let his eyes wander to the low-hanging cut of your neckline, where the very beginnings of your cleavage were exposed, and a glinting pearl necklace hung just above your clavicle. Your hair was cut rather short, nearly as short as his, but framed your face just perfectly. Your lips were moving hurriedly as you spoke to your mother, eyes alight with a certain fire, but Jace couldn’t quite catch what you were saying. The stories not only told of your enchanting beauty, but of your strongly overprotective mother, who always turned away any and all suitors for you. And proposals were never short, from what he heard. Jacaerys felt a strange flame of jealousy brew within his stomach. 

“Apologies for the interruption, my lady,” announced the guard. “Jacaerys Velaryon, here to speak with you.”

Upon the abrupt announcement, you promptly clamped your mouth shut, looking over to Jace with a scrutinizing, yet curious gaze, meeting the Prince’s own intrigued eyes. 

His throat was suddenly dry. It took everything within him to tear his attention away from you, and look towards your mother.

“My lady,” greeted Jacaerys, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. “I’ve come on behalf of my mother, the Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She kindly asks you to remember that she is part Arryn herself, as you are half-siblings with the late Queen Aemma, and hopes you will support your cousin’s claim to the throne.”

Recognition sparked within the Lady’s eyes, remembering her half-sister, Aemma. From beside her, you subconsciously straightened yourself as he spoke, lips parting out of interest. This was Prince Jacaerys himself—heir to the throne. Jace gradually shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling your gaze practically burn holes straight through him. You couldn’t help but notice that he was quite the handsome young man, with a head of thick, dark hair, and hard-set, determined eyes. He spoke evenly and calmly, voice soaked with honey and smoked cedar and ocean salt. The Prince looked to be around the same age as you, give or take a few moons. And as Jacaerys had heard much about you, you knew just as much about him—and now that you were seeing him in person… the stories seemed to prove themself true. He didn’t look one bit Targaryen or Valeryon, but rather resembled the bold, physical characteristics of a Strong. 

Either way, bastard or not, Jacaerys Velaryon intrigued you.

The argument you’d just had with your mother about traveling to King’s Landing and seeing the world for yourself was still fresh on your mind, and seeing Jace right here in front of you felt like much more than a coincidence.

“Yes,” your mother said, standing up from the throne to step closer to the Prince. “I do remember the rather twisted history of our families. In fact, I seem to recall your great-uncle Daemon was married to Rhea Royce until her… untimely death.”

The Lady of the Eyrie was plainly hinting at the fact that his stepfather murdered his first wife. Jace steeled himself by blowing out a small breath. 

“It was truly unfortunate,” said Jace diplomatically. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, eerily similar to your expression. “Despite my contempt for your great-uncle, it would be hypocritical of me to say Targaryen men are the root of the problem. Mine own kin have sought to replace me as Ruler of the Vale thrice by now. My cousin, Ser Arnold, oft claims women are too soft to rule. He is currently in one of my sky cells, if you would like to see.”

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard little of the sky cells—only that the room bore three walls instead of four, leaving an open gap for anybody to plummet to their grueling death. And knowing how high up the castles were built, there would be no chance for survival. The grounds were sloped and it was not uncommon for prisoners to roll off the edge during their sleep. 

“Mother,” you spoke for the first time, making his head snap to you. You watched him sympathetically, an apologetic glint to your eyes, voice smoothly soft but tone firm. “I am sure the Prince has much more important matters to attend to than my bumbling fool of an uncle.”

Jeyne nodded at your words. “Yes… of course. We’ll help you fight your war, Prince Jacaerys. Send word to your mother that we support her cause and will supply her with as many soldiers as she needs—in this world of men, we women must band together.”

Relief flooded through Jace’s veins. Momentarily, he caught your eye and dipped his head in gratitude. 

“On one condition,” said the Lady of the Eyrie, holding up a hand. “We will send you support if and only if you swear to protect the Vale from the Greens with dragonriders.”

Irrational hope flared within Jacaerys’ chest—the thought of being able to spend more time in the Vale just to see you a bit more made him rather excited. Though, knowing his mother, he would most likely be stuck by her side as heir to the throne than up North protecting the Vale. 

“That can be arranged,” agreed Jacaerys. “We swear to protect the Vale and the people within it.”

“Then our deal is done,” said your mother, before lowering herself slightly, as an act of bending the knee to the Prince. You followed suit, meeting his gaze once again, this time with a subtle, radiant smile cinching the corners of your eyes. The guards flanking the hall were the last to mirror your actions, all bending the knee to the heir of the iron throne.

Jacaerys was making his way out of the hall, surprised when you bid your mother adieu and rushed after the Prince, much to her overprotective dismay, offering to walk with him to his dragon. You waved the guards away, but they still hovered over the pair of you with uncertain expressions.

“It’s just a brief walk,” you reasoned. “I’ll be fine.”

Relenting, the guards backed off and left you alone with the Prince. 

“Come along, my Prince, I can show you the way out,” you gently laid your hand on his forearm, tugging him with you further down the hall. The young man could feel his heart slamming against his chest, a thundering pulse in his ears nearly deafening him. 

Now that you were so much closer to him—mere inches—Jace could see finer details about you, and impossibly, you somehow became all the more beautiful. The blue fabric of your dress grazed his more coarse tunic. 

“There is much I have heard of you, my Prince,” you began, a kind smile illuminating your features. “I must say, I admire your Queen mother greatly.”

“Jace,” he softly said.

You blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Tripping over his words, Jace quickly backtracked, “I, uh, you don’t have to call me your Prince. Jace is just fine.” A bit more hesitantly, he tacked on, “I’m not quite used to the title just yet. It feels strange.”

A part of him was worried you’d be appalled at the impropriety of calling him by a nickname, but you merely grinned, all wide and sweet. 

“Alright then, Jace. Have you anywhere urgent to be? The hour is growing late—perhaps you can stay for supper. You cannot possibly run more errands on an empty stomach.”

You leaned closer and he caught a whiff of saccharine fruits and jasmine oil wafting from your hair, a smell that he yearned to drown himself into. It also didn’t slip past his notice that your chest was pressed up against his bicep. Good heavens, Jacaerys needed to get a grip of himself. 

Ever the responsible son, Jacaerys knew he had to be on his way to the Three Sisters, a small cluster of islands up North, to gain their support for his mother, as well. But he was ahead of schedule, and he deserved something of a rest after hours on dragonback. After all, he’d packed little else than fruit and bread and dried meat rations—the idea of a warm meal was more than appealing. 

Perhaps those were all just excuses. The true reason he wanted to stay was because he wanted to spend more time with you. 

“Wouldn’t your mother mind?” he asked, a little apprehensive, not wanting to get in between you and the overprotective Lady of the Eyrie. She already had a distaste for Targaryen men, thanks to his stepfather Daemon, and he wasn’t too keen on being added to the roster.

Expression faltering just a smidge, you shook your head. “No, she’s so very busy running the Vale—warding off her cousins who are fighting for their claim to inherit the Eyrie. It’s a whole lot of political nonsense, if you ask me.”

Hesitantly convinced, Jace allowed himself to smile in hopes of seeing your own once more. “If you insist, my lady. Supper sounds wonderful.”

To his delight, you beamed, and led him to a winding marble staircase, flourished with blue carpets that matched your dress. “Great! The morning hall is right up here—it’s rather quiet around this time, since it’s a bit early for supper.”

“Perfect,” mumbled Jace, the idea of being alone with you setting his cheeks aflame. 

Once in the hall, you kindly requested one of the servants to fetch a bowl of lamb stew and some cider for the Prince, gesturing for him to sit on one of the narrow, long tables that stretched nearly the entire length of the room. 

You engaged Jace in amicable chatter, which he seldom got to do with anybody that wasn’t his family—everyone either hated him because of his uncanny resemblance to Harwin Strong, or they were intimidated by his status as heir to the throne. It was refreshing, and frankly, made Jacaerys a little envious of those without the burden of responsibility on their shoulders.

The stew arrived not too shortly after, along with a silver chalice full of spiced apple cider that burned his tongue in all the right ways. You sipped on your own cup, nearly choking with laughter when he began recounting a story about his younger brother, Lucerys, nearly falling off his dragon during his first ride. Jace thought you had the most mellifluous laugh, practically music to his ears. He itched to hear the sweet sound over and over again.

“I wish I had siblings sometimes,” you wistfully said, placing your chalice down on the table and resting your face on your palm, propped up by your elbow. “It gets awfully lonely here. My mother, I love her, I do, but she never really lets me go out of the Vale. The only times were when I was a small child, and even then I was accompanied by half a dozen guards.”

Jace hummed sympathetically, spooning more of the peppery stew in his mouth. “So it’s true, then? Your mother constantly rejecting all the suitors and proposals lined up on your doorstep?”

“Yeah,” you fixed him with a warm smile. “Though, I suppose it’s not that much of a loss. Most of the men asking for my hand were more than twice my age and always looked upon me in a… lewd manner. It’s no wonder my mother turned all of them down.”

Without thinking, Jace blurted out, “You deserve to wed someone you love. A man who loves you doubly so.”

You fell silent, regarding him curiously. Maybe Jace didn’t know any better, but you appeared to be flustered. Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, my pr—Jace. Besides, the proposals aren’t really what bother me. It’s the fact that I stand to inherit the Eyrie and I have yet to explore the rest of the world. I’m afraid that once I am Lady of the Vale, I won't have any time for myself.”

“I have a dragon,” said Jace, in a half-joking, half-serious manner. “I can take you flying around Westeros one day, when the war is over.”

“You mean it?” you whispered, a genuine glimmer of excitement laced behind your words. Jace nodded, his heart leaping into his throat with the motion. “That would mean the world to me, it really would.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. You downed the rest of your cider and he mopped up the remaining bits of his stew with a steaming loaf of bread. 

“I have yet to find a suitor to my liking,” you said, pursing your lips hesitantly. Jace gestured for you to keep talking, drinking some of the cider to wash down his meal. “And I’ve heard you’re betrothed now, yes?”

At the mention of his betrothal to his cousin Baela, Jacaerys stiffened. 

He leaned forward. “Can I be completely honest with you? And you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”

You nodded, eyes wide. 

“I do not wish to marry Baela,” he whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. Your lips parted, as if you wanted to say something, but you kept quiet, allowing for him to continue. “The romantic love I harbor for her is scant—she is more of my sister than anything. I cannot see myself ever… consummating our marriage.” Heat seeped into his cheeks, and a part of him instantly regretted admitting that to you. 

“Perhaps you need not marry her, then,” you responded without a second’s pause, before freezing at your words, as if they had slipped from your mouth out of your own volition. “I’m terribly sorry, my Prince, I shouldn’t have…” 

Whatever you were beginning to say died on your tongue when Jace moved his hand across the table to settle gently on top of yours. 

The atmosphere between the two of you seemed to shift. 

Jace studied your features with a keen eye, noticing the bright glint to your molten irises, the gentle curvature of your nose, the small birthmark on the left side of your jaw. And, not at all discreetly, his gaze fell to your lips, where your teeth were worrying into the supple flesh. His own expression melded into one of raw longing—nearing desperation, even.

And you could see it all on his face, plain and clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was enraptured by you. 

It was not at all like how the suitors asked for your hand—they looked upon you like a direwolf would a slab of meat, as if you were merely an object for their carnal desires, as if you were to warm their bed and nothing else. 

Jacaerys, however, looked upon you like you had scattered the very stars in the sky with your bare hands. And you had no doubt you mirrored his yearning countenance.

“Come with me,” you whispered, standing up and lacing your fingers with his, tugging him away from the table, and out of the morning hall. 

With a dazed look on his face, Jace followed along, allowing you to pull him towards more stairs. Up, up, and further up, the two of you went.

Until he stood in front of a large oaken door, your free hand pushing it open and the other ushering him inside the spacious room. The waning, clementine light of the setting sun shone through the diamond-shaped windows, framed by blue velvet curtains, bathing you in a regal, aureate luminescence as you softly shut the door behind you and leaned against the wood, fixing him with a burning stare. Your lips were parted, and your chest was rising and falling in a tantalizing manner. 

The cold realization that he was in your chambers suddenly dawned upon him. Seven hells, this was… beyond improper. Reality slapped Jacaerys out of his lustful stupor, and he struggled to formulate a coherent sentence.

“My lady,” he began, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This is… we shouldn’t—”

His words dwindled away when you reached behind yourself and began undoing the laces of your dress. Despite his protests, Jace made no move to leave. He could feel his breeches growing uncomfortably tight. It felt like there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.

“I… I should probably get going, Vermax—my dragon loathes the cold, you see…” he tried once more, to no avail.

The blue material fell from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooled onto the ground in one seamless motion, leaving only a thin pale shift between him and your naked body. He fell deathly silent. 

You were the most beautiful person Jacaerys had ever laid his eyes on. No woman, no man, nobody in all of Westeros, could ever compare to the likes of you.

Throwing all caution to the wind, the Prince surged forward in two large strides, sealing the distance between you. One of his hands carefully cradled your face as if you were hewn from porcelain, and the other clutched your waist, thumb grazing over the sides of your ribs, dangerously close to your breasts.

And his lips met yours in a heated frenzy, your noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor.

“Should you wish to stop, just say the word, my lady,” he murmured against you, tugging you away from the door and walking you backwards to the large bed. 

Your knees buckled against the mattress and you fell back, eyes darkened with wanton need. Your fingers began hurriedly undoing the buttons at the top of his tunic. “Don’t stop, please,” you breathed out just as he began languidly kissing you once again. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A newfound confidence fueled his movements with your affirmation, and he rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him, along with his straining breeches and undergarments. You let your eyes roam over his toned chest, lids half-hooded.

“You’re so beautiful,” you told him, following suit and shirking your thin shift off, leaving you completely nude in front of the Prince, save for the opalescent pearls hanging around your neck. 

His breath hitched at your praise. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he muttered hotly against your flushed skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, roaming over the slope of your neck, your shoulders, your chest. “Beautiful,” he said, echoing himself with every kiss. You fisted the sheets beneath you, desperate for him to touch you where it ached the most.

A wave of arousal danced over you when he came face to face with your breasts, his tongue slipping out to drag along one of your pebbled nipples, his hand lifting to tweak the other between his fingers. His lips enveloped one of the pert buds, and he glanced up to see you with your head thrown back, a sigh of pleasure falling from your throat.

“Jacaerys, please…” you moaned, breathing stilted. 

Eager to please, Jace pulled away from your breast, trailing wet kisses down your stomach, along your hips, and to the insides of your thighs. His hands held your legs apart, which trembled with anticipation and need. 

His cock twitched against the bed upon seeing your slickened cunt, soaked with your essence.

“All this for me?” he hummed, laving his tongue mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“All for you,” you said, a low groan tumbling from your lungs when he finally surged forward and buried his face into your cunt, licking into your warm hole, the crook of his nose pressing repeatedly into your spasming clit. 

Embarrassed by your volume, you slapped your hands over your mouth, muffling your breathless whines.

Obviously not pleased with this, Jacaerys looked up at you with a stern look, halting his ministrations. “Let me hear you, my lady. I want to hear you.”

Hands quaking, you let them fall away from your lips, clenching into fists by your sides. Jacaerys smiled at you, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. Then, he lowered himself back down and abruptly attached his lips to your sensitive clit, making your hips jolt upwards with the sudden rush of pleasure. 

“Jace!” you wailed, grinding your cunt against his mouth. He hummed in approval, clearly getting off on your own pleasure. Two of his fingers circled your entrance, and he slowly pushed them into you, cracking one of his eyes open to observe your breathless, writhing figure. 

He continued his ministrations, fucking you with his fingers and sucking relentlessly on your clit until you seized up beneath him, a litany of pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. 

“That’s it, cum for me. My good girl,” he praised, moaning into your cunt as you did what you were told, grinding against his face as you came down from your high, until you began to flinch away with overstimulation. Jace wished to have you ride his face, use him as the dragon he was, be completely at your mercy… but he was desperate to feel your cunt around him.

Jacaerys made his way back up your body, kissing you once more. You could taste yourself on him, which made you dizzy with delight.

“I need you, Jace,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs over his waist, your hot, soaked pussy pressed against his abdomen. “I need you inside me.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he whispered with one final kiss, ever the gentleman. “Tell me if it’s too much. I wish not to hurt you.” 

Lining himself with your still-sensitive entrance, he began to slowly ease his way in, keenly watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t paining you in any way.

“So good,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Feels so good, Jace.”

“Beautiful girl,” the Prince groaned once he bottomed out inside your warmth, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the overwhelming sensation of your sopping cunt fluttering around his cock. 

He started off gentle, slowly rocking into you, eyes darting between your blissful features, and your breasts bouncing with every thrust. 

You began to move in tandem with him, wanton moans echoing throughout your chambers when he reached down to rub slow circles on your clit. 

The slapping of his skin on yours made a flustered expression burrow itself permanently on his face, dusting his skin with faint rouge. You felt so fucking good, nearly too good to be true, and Jacaerys wouldn’t at all be surprised if he woke up and you turned out to be a dream. 

Your name tumbled from his lips in rapid repetition as he could feel his orgasm approaching, rhythm faltering when you clenched viciously around him. He met your eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow. “Can you cum for me again, sweet girl?” he murmured, a satisfied growl thundering in the back of his throat.

Shivering, one of your hands raked down his back desperately, on the very precipice of your climax. You came with a shout of his name, stars blotting out your vision, clenching so tightly around him that Jace had a hard time moving, which had him moaning a breathy string of curses. 

He showered you with more praises, thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, before his voice tapered off into a groan, hurriedly pulling out of your throbbing cunt to cum all over your stomach, both your chests glistening with sweat.

Panting, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed beside you, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your temple. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured, making your heart swell with pride and adoration.

You turned to slot your lips just beside his nose bridge, rubbing your thighs together contentedly. “My handsome, gentle Prince,” you responded, voice hoarse and exhaust weighing down your eyelids. 

“You did so well for me. You can sleep now, my lady.” he reassured, expression softening as he pushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. “I’ll clean you up.”

You could only tiredly smile at him, allowing your eyes to fully slip shut, chest rising and falling evenly as slumber took over your form. Jace could only watch fondly, pressing one last kiss to your temple, before making his way off the bed.

The next morning rolled by far too soon. The sun glared through your windows, straight into your eyes, and you tried waving it away with a huff of annoyance, to no avail. Finally, you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Once you came to, you noticed that you were neatly tucked into the center of your expansive bed, and you lifted the thick blue blanket to look down, mildly surprised to find any and all stickiness between your thighs and on your stomach was gone. 

Did you dream of what transpired last night? Was Prince Jacaerys only but a figment of your hyperactive imagination?

Feeling a bit dejected, you fell back against your feather-stuffed pillows, rolling onto your side. It couldn’t have been a dream, though—it certainly felt real. Heat spidered across your skin at the lewd memories of the night before. 

Your suspicion was only confirmed when you caught sight of a small, folded piece of paper on your bedside table. With nimble fingers, you plucked it off the surface and unfurled the sheet, a small smile dancing at the corner of your mouth. You found it endearing that Jacaerys’ handwriting was a nearly illegible, messy scrawl of ink across the parchment.

My dearest lady, As much as it pains me to leave you, I have urgent matters to attend to for my mother. I will be heading North to the Three Sisters in hopes of gaining their favor. I will never forget this night with you, nor will I forget my promise to take you flying across Westeros after the war ends. You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing to have happened to me. I still wonder if I am dreaming, because a beauty such as yours cannot possibly exist. I will come back for you, sweet girl. I swear it by the Seven.  Yours, Jace

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys smut #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon fluff #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #jace velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut

[eunoiaastralwings]

Blue

featuring Winter Soldier!Bucky x reader

fandom mcu- pre catws

a/n based on my idea here - here the beginning to set the idea.

warnings attempted physical assault (not from bucky), brooding winter soldier xD - idk if there was anything else tell me otherwise

When you entered your apartment - you could already sense an uneasy presence within the atmosphere.

He had found you again. . .

The tension felt high and the air seemed thicker than usual. Of course, the shadow of the man in your kitchen could not go unnoticed. You felt yourself gulp as you walked into the kitchen quietly - the Winter Soldier was seated. He was as still as a statue. “Sit.”

He said - motioning towards the chair opposite him.

You were - Y/N Pierce, Alexander Pierce’s daughter - but unlike your father you didn't want to be part of Hydra - but you were forced to know Hydra. As the Winter Soldier - he was always told to watch over you and made sure you didn't escape like you tried countless times already.

Now once again, the Winter Soldier found her. . . he always found her. . .

“So, what now? You gonna drag me back kicking and screaming again?” You asked - a little irritation in your voice. The Winter Soldier remained silent - studying her from a distance. His expression was neutral - but his gaze was fierce and intense.

He looked her over once again - his eyes scouring over your appearance. He was seemingly looking for something - but it was hard to tell what.

He took a step forward - his stride confident and measured.

"Sit."

He only repeated.

“What are you going to do, Blue?”

You ask him with a sigh. You had hated always calling him Soldat or the Winter Soldier, like your father and Hydra did - so you always stuck with calling him Blue, because of his blue eyes. He didn’t remember his own name - and no one would tell him or you either. . .and you wanted to make him feel just a little human. . .

He cocked his head slightly at the nickname - considering it for a few moments before deciding to allow it. You sighed realizing they had wiped his mind clean yet again - as he had seemingly forgotten the name.

“I intend to take you back to base” He said calmly - “Do cooperate..”

“. . .So what actually happens if I don’t cooperate?” You asked.

“I will be forced to use physical force to restrain you and transport you to our base” He answered.

The Winter Soldier’s voice was cool and detached - but he was still assessing you, as if weighing his options.

“What if I don’t want to return?!”

You crossed your arms.

He glanced at you sharply - eyes narrowing.

“You will  obey your father.”

He said forcefully.

“I can have a life here, Blue. I don’t want to go back to my father!" 

You glared.

“He is still your father, Y/N!” He said coldly - and you realize this is probably the most he has ever spoken to you. “And it is your duty to do as he says. You may think you have a life here, but that life is not yours. You belong to your father. You belong to HYDRA.” He continued.

“I don’t belong to anyone! I want nothing to do with my father, or Hydra!" 

You snap - holding your ground, knowing he wouldn’t hurt you unless deemed necessary.

His face was stony and his expression still, but you could hear the ice and frost beneath his words. 

“I am afraid, Y/N - your opinion does not matter. Your father is a high-ranking HYDRA official and he expects you back at his side. Your life belongs to HYDRA, whether you like it or not.” “I’m not coming!”

You said - glaring and balling your hands into fists. “Then I will bring you back by force!” 

He said, standing up from his seat.

He looked straight at you, eyes like ice -  “And I suggest you do not try to resist me, you have no chance of winning.” You glare before turning back and running. The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed as he watched you run away. He stood up straight and ran after her - gaining ground quickly.

He wasn’t going to let her escape - you belonged to HYDRA and he was going to make sure you got back to where you belonged. You ran down the stairs of the apartment building trying to get away from him.

He continued chasing her, his steps getting closer and closer. He was gaining ground quickly, his speed was unparalleled.

He didn't know how much longer till he caught you - but he wasn't going to let up. You quickly run out the emergency exit and shut the door on him - locking it back in - momentarily forgetting he was a super soldier with a metal arm. The door was shut to his face - leaving him standing on the other side. He let out a low growl - angry at her.

Swiftly using the metal arm he began pounding on the door. His metal fist was louder than any knock you had ever heard, echoing through the building. The door couldn't hold out for long.

You kept running down the back alleyways.

The Winter Soldier continued pounding on the door - his knuckles leaving small dents in the metal hinges. He let out a low growl in his throat - annoyed that he was having to chase after you.

Once the door finally gave way - he stepped through the doorway and looked around, scanning the alleyways for you. You curse at your damn luck as you managed to run right into drunkards and shady men high on drugs.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes narrowed and he took notice of his surroundings.

There was a group of drunk men sitting around in the alleyway - obviously waiting to ambush someone.

He paused - deciding whether or not to attack the men to get you out of the alleyway, or letting you deal with the situation yourself.

“Why, hello there, gorgeous. . .”

One of them slurs - stepping towards you and you immediately stepped back.

The Winter Soldier saw one of the men approach you - and it didn't take much to figure out what his intentions were.

The man was eyeing her up like a wolf eyes its prey - his eyes roaming all over your body.

The Winter Soldier had half a mind to kill him on the spot - but he held back, for now.

“Awe, it’s ok - you look like you could use a little fun!”

He laughs -  the other men laughing too as he steps closer and closer to you.

You grit your teeth balling your fists.

The Winter Soldier felt his blood boil inside of him as the men surrounded you.

All laughing and joking - their comments getting more depraved and vile with every passing moment.

He took a deep breath -  trying to stay calm and level headed. But he was getting closer and closer to losing his temper.

The moment the drunkard tried to grab you - you immediately reacted and knocked him off balance, using the skills you were taught and trained with.

The drunken man stumbled back - dropping a glass bottle that shattered on the ground.

The other men laughed at their friend’s expense - but he quickly got back to his feet and they began to surround you again.

You glare as they surround you. You were no super soldier, you couldn’t take them all at once - but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try. The men surrounded her, their laughs turning cruel and menacing. 

They began to circle around you - their eyes leering at you.

They didn’t care if you were  innocent or not - all they wanted was to have their way.

Their eyes were cold and hungry - like wolves salivating over their prey. Instantly you tried to fight them off trying to watch your sides with every kick and punch.

But what you hadn’t excepted - was for one of them to grab your hair from behind and try to knock a punch to your face.

The moment they tried take her at once - and the man raised his first for a punch, you scream for the Winter Soldier

“BLUE!”

The Winter Soldier’s face immediately changed when you cried out the nickname. 

He instantly appeared by your side - punching one man in the face and knocking him to the ground.

The other men backed off - shocked after the sudden appearance of the man out of nowhere.

He stood before you now - his back toward you - shielding you from the drunkards who had been attempting to grab you. The men were now wary of him - seeing the extent of his strength and skills - the metal arm included.

You gulped watching the Winter Soldier protect you and just hid behind him - tired and out of breath from your own fight.

The Winter Soldier stood still - his face stoic and emotionless as he stared down the drunkards.

His intimidating presence was enough to have run out the alleyway. With a final glare at you - the men backed away and ran.

You watched as they immediately scrambled away.

The last drunken man disappeared down the alleyway, leaving only the two of them there.

The Winter Soldier waited for a moment - his eyes scanning the alleyway, watching for any sudden movement. After a while - he turned towards you and looked down at you with his expression unchanged.

“Are you hurt?” 

He asked - his voice still cold and detached.

You blinked - that was the first time he asked you that and you shake you head - slightly surprised.

“Thanks . . .”

You said.

“. . .but you’re still gonna take me back to my father aren’t you?”

You then asked - after a moment passed of them just staring at you.

He remained silent for a moment - as if contemplating your question.

“Yes”

He said finally, his voice still cold and detached.

His eyes were still set upon you -  but his voice had changed. You could almost felt like you could see his inner conflict.

“I don’t wanna go back, Blue!”

You said - almost begging.

“Your choices are either to come with me voluntarily. . .or you risk being dragged back by force.*”

His voice - becoming cold and emotionless again 

“I don't wish to harm you but if you continue with your insubordination -  I’ll be forced to use force to get you to comply. Это понятно?”

He asks - if you understood in Russian.

“No!” You glared.

The Winter Soldier only remained still and stared straight at her with that cold gaze. His tone was still emotionless. 

“You’re still refusing orders I see. Now - you leave me no choice.”

The Winter Soldier leaned forward - and his voice dropped a small level below the monotone and emotionlessness it had before.

“Do you need to be dragged back by force? Is this the route you are choosing?”

He asks - low and dangerous.

You tried to run again - but your attempt to get away was stopped this time when he grabbed your wrist in a tight grip. His grip was incredibly powerful from the super strength he was granted from the serum that was injected into him.

He looked her in the eye and said nothing - instead, letting his icy blue eyes do the talking for him.

“You won't wanna do this!”

You said - struggling against his grip.

“You’re being rather stubborn - you’re my mission and I must return you!”

His grip tightened around your wrist - he was now gripping harder, showing you his power.

“So I will ask yet again. Are you going with me voluntarily?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Blue, please. . .look they are only gonna wipe your mind again!”

You said - trying to see if there was any hope to connect with the man underneath the brainwashing and mind control.

He stayed still and silent as you tried to talk to him. 

His grip on you held tight - he didn’t  even blink once as he listened to you.

But still - his blue eyes remained cold, devoid of any emotion - and his voice remained as emotionless and monotone as it could ever get. 

“Your attempts at swaying me will fail.” 

He said bluntly.

You sigh - eventually accepting your fate and stopping fighting him.

”I’m glad you’ve realized that I’m not one to be swayed by your words. Now - you’re going to come with me -and I will finish my mission.” 

The Winter Soldier slowly turns slowly - his grip on your wrist; keeping hold of you.

He began to drag you back.

“I really don’t like you right now, Blue. . .”

You grumble as you were forced to follow him.

“Your opinions of me are of no concern to me. My sole purpose and mission is to retrieve you and bring you back.”

His grip around your wrist didn’t tighten as he dragged you towards the transport vehicles where Hydra personnel were waiting. 

This wasn't the first time he had returned her back to Hydra. And - it probably wasn't the last time either.

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[when-pigsfly]

WITCHING HOUR, CH. 1/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: most people in the area had issues with coyotes. yours wore a cowboy hat, but you let him in anyways. tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but also not kinda), referred to as lady/ma’am/etc, arthur doesn’t know how chickens work, i really don’t know my farm lore

word count: 5.5k

a/n: setting this pre-chapter 2 ish and post chapter 1, except it’s winter for realsies, Because I Can. and please no questions about chicken logistics or I Will Cry.

you can find a link to the playlist here!

The fictitious “stranger,” by all accounts, was possessed. 

Possessed by an air so overwhelming, so sure, that it incited perversity in even the most upright.

He was an outlaw, by the cut of the whispers. The story went that he’d rolled in like a heavy fog, altogether quiet and unassuming, though still carrying the foreboding quality that preceded the raising of hackles. Mothers kept watchful eyes over their daughters, and more notably, the fathers brandished their guns. 

And yet—that maddening yet—the mothers seemed to care little for their own warnings, and even the fathers were envious of a man dripping with exploits they didn’t have the luxury of entertaining.

Luxuries and lack thereof aside, the fickleness of those who spoke of him had not gone entirely unnoticed; it lent no plausibility, no substance to the dream-like tales they’d crafted in their drunken stupors. The most substance you’d seen had been spewed into the shadowy corners of Valentine, pissed into not-quite pristine patches of snow, foul stench leaking out onto already foul streets before it followed you back to the farm.

It stunk. 

It stunk, and it loitered, and it’d been stealing from you.

Which is exactly why—when he shows up on your rickety porch just as winter has begun to bleed out into spring—you take up the mantle of digging your loaded barrel right into his sternum. 

—

The front door tremors behind you.

The stranger shifts on his feet. 

You shift with him, and gloved hands inch toward the stars in surrender not long after. 

Amorphous mass comes to your mind first, rather than man. You can only discern the more essential points of his appearance: the gloves, the satchel, the rifle slung over his back. Knives are stashed somewhere you can’t see—if he’s worth his salt—but everything else blends into the dark line of trees behind him. You swallow a rather painful yawn.

His hat, evidently beaten to hell and back several times over, sits low enough on his forehead to cast shadows over his features—though not low enough to completely obscure the faint outline of a face from your view. The rest of him only falls into place once you crane your head to find his eyes. 

As is customary in situations concerning your immediate safety, your throat constricts, and the second yawn you feel crawling up your throat nearly succeeds in asphyxiating you. 

Petty crimes would have granted him a slighter frame, but no petty crime you can think of could have afforded him the sturdy chest, the buckling of the air around him, the crooked line of his nose, clearly less cared for than his battered clothing. He’s still a little blurred—largely from a lack of sleep on your end, and the protection of his hat on his. Even so, the hard set of his gaze offers nothing other than the tale of cruelty lived and the promise of cruelty to come. 

There was no doubt. This had to be him.

(You might think him handsome, if not for the fact that it’s a quarter past three in the morning.)

The first breach in his stony composure that you catch is paper thin. Fleeting. And he’s quick to recover; any indication of surprise is sequestered with a blink. The second is an awkward shifting of his stubble-shrouded jaw, and you note with a squint that his bandana still hangs feebly off the jut of his chin. 

He admits defeat after a few clumsy seconds. Cracks a wicked smile, bright as the moon peeking out from behind the crown of his hat. But it falls away quickly. Somewhere in the distance a tree branch creaks, tiny shards of ice scattering to the ground and tinkling like bells.

He was calm. Entirely too calm, considering where he stood. His hands haven’t budged, and nothing in his stance hints at an intent to attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks more annoyed by your presence than you are by his. 

You try not to think about his eyes. There’s something else in there, too. Apart from the agitation that radiates from them, that is. It lurks deep beneath the blue and wades through the slight dilation of his pupils; it urges him closer—or, is it you?—like the distance between the two of you isn’t sustained by the twitchy arms of a jittery woman holding a rifle.

But there’s an abrupt wind that fiddles with the cotton threads of your chemise, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that no, your hunting rifle isn’t loaded, and in your haste to confront him you’d forgotten your boots and shawl. 

The nighttime chill, ever the tyrant, lodges itself where the wooden boards scratch eagerly at your bare feet. You were cold, so cold that it ached, and you were tired. But it’d do you no good to show your hand this early. So like the hiss of a rattlesnake, you keep your voice low, and you keep it lethal. 

The stranger is named by the venom falling from your tongue.

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to unload this lead into your chest, Morgan.” You track the added prod of the gun to ground yourself, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

It doesn’t do much, as far as threats go. Morgan’s ever steady breathing still accents the now stagnant winter wind, a stark contrast to the throb of your heart striking your ribs. But a small scar, carved into the flesh of his right cheek, has made an almost imperceptible shift. The rest of his features take far more liberties with their movement—

—and he’s scowling.

Your heart strikes louder.

God, the shit you would shovel to be able to read minds. Animals have always been more your speed; people were a hassle—far too unpredictable, and they tended to reap fewer rewards. 

In your mind's eye, Arthur lies silently amongst the fallen snow, red unfurling behind him like wings. You’d hate to have to kill him, you really would. But there was nothing more dangerous than indecisiveness: it killed, and often relentlessly.

Only, you’ve been staring too long. It’s long enough to rouse Morgan from whatever state he’d been in before you’d spoken. He’s smart enough to keep his palms facing you, and he dips his head with the same mildness that one might use to soothe a startled mare. The scowl is tamped down, smile returning to him like water running through a scraggly creek. 

“Evenin’, Miss.” He drawls.

And it works. You hate that it works. There’s a dull heat that seizes your lungs at the low timbre of his voice, something akin to fire. 

No. No, nothing like it. It was more like the cheap whiskey you’d downed that first night working as a farmhand, all those months ago. It’d numbed your tongue, tumbled down your throat like sun-warmed stone, and simmered in your stomach. You hadn’t dared take another swig after that. Too dangerous. But it’s easy enough, passing your shudder off as a trick of the cold and cocking your head incredulously. 

“Showing up uninvited, and you can’t do me the courtesy of knowing my name?” One push of the rifle sends him back with surprising ease—away from the cabin, and away from that damned moonlight. “Ma’am will do you just fine,” you spit.

His smile fractures. Not enough to truly frighten, but enough to make your fingers clench. “You talk to all your guests like that, Ma’am?” 

You steel yourself. “Only the sneaks.”

At this, Morgan stills. Shuts his eyes. 

Did he really think you wouldn’t notice?

The farm had more issues with coyotes than crooks; that’s what you’d been hired to take care of, more or less. Your employers—the Campbells—were getting on in their years, and were in desperate need of someone to help keep watch during the nights. So imagine the surprise when you’d found not a coyote, but a wanted man sliding through the shadows. 

It’d angered you, that first time he’d gotten away. You’d only recognized him long after he’d left. But after that night, you’d made a show of firing off rounds into the nearby woods and roaming the perimeter of the grounds under the guise of a late-night hunt. 

From what you knew, he hadn’t come back to steal, but you knew you’d seen him lingering. Felt him watching. Waiting for something—but you’d made sure that every pop of your rifle drove him further and further from whatever it was that he’d been aiming for. And now Arthur Morgan is here.

He furrows his eyebrows, purses his lips, and they disappear for a moment when he goes to wet them before he speaks again, a little less amused. “Now you know I mean no offense—”

“No offense? Well, I’d kill to see what you and your ilk consider offensive.” 

The wind slams the front door shut. 

“My ilk?”

You wonder if it’d been your goal all along, trying to rile him up like this. Accusations slide out of your mouth and into the night air far too easily for it not to be. But the thought of anything other than catching him red-handed occupying your head unnerves you, sending you another two steps forward and into the powdery snow.

“Jesus, woman! Alright, alright.” Morgan’s eyes finally leave you, darting between where your feet dig into the cold ground and the muzzle of the gun pressed to his chest. He slumps his shoulders and looks up to the sky, still an ugly grey-black from the thin dusting of snow the night before. 

“Look,” he starts, hands fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I don’t mean no harm. I swear it. I’m—just give me a minute to explain, will you? One minute, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

There’s a please somewhere in there, left unsaid yet still ever so loud. You think it might have left him in the puff of breath that still hangs above your heads; hot and heavy in his mouth, but turned to nothing but vapors once it misses its chance to solidify.

You eye him warily. This could be over and done with in a matter of seconds, and you might be able to knock that godawful mustache clean off of Sheriff Malloy’s face. You kill him—or turn him in so long as he didn’t bleed out, whichever came first—and get whatever bounty was nailed to his head. Use the money to get out. Get your freedom. Stop biding your time, and get revenge. 

And yet.

And yet.

“…You lying to me, Morgan?”

His shoulders straighten out, suddenly very tense. “‘Course not. You think me the lyin’ sort?”

Your voice flattens. “I figured that much was obvious.”

“Ouch, lady. Not willing to pull your punches for little old me?”

“You’d rather the lady use the gun?”

“Neither, thank you. And, speaking of which–” His chest deflates a bit, putting space between the two of you without having to step back. “—quit swingin’ that thing around. You’ll take someone’s eye out.”

Exhaustion mounting, you lower your rifle slowly. You keep your eyes trained on a pebble that’s escaped the snowfall relatively unscathed, not trusting yourself to look anywhere else. Conceding with a sniff, you toss your head toward the front door. It’s quiet, now. 

“Get in, before I change my mind—and no funny business, neither. Guns, knives, whatever else you’re hiding, drop ‘em. Right here.”

Too groggy to note the stalling of movement, you wait for the clinking of metal to stop. His boots retreat from your peripheral far more reluctantly than you expect. There’s a telltale groaning of wood, and you turn to find Morgan gazing down at you with an outstretched hand from where he’s hopped onto the porch. He murmurs with a reverence that you’re sure is misplaced, so quiet that you have to watch his lips to catch even a smidgen of what he says. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was a game to him. You knew games. And so when you go to place your hand in his it’s to eye him down, back him into whatever corner would hold him and keep him there till you knew why he’d spent the last month haunting your lodgings like a ghost.

Calloused fingers wrap around your hand like a vice, and when he’s guiding you and your icy feet up the stairs it strikes you that maybe—just maybe—your assessment of your situation had been far too impetuous. Arthur’s touch is surprisingly clinical, but even through the leather of his gloves, it was warm. Too warm. 

Ghosts weren’t warm. Or, at least you didn’t think they were. And Morgan, looking like the very paragon of the West, all bright eyes and honeyed words, had given you a glimpse of something far too beguiling not to investigate. It’s when he presses the back of his free hand to your wind-bitten cheeks that you wonder what your father might think.

“Chilled, right to the bone.” It isn’t so much a mutter as it is a rumble, reverberating somewhere deep in his throat and traveling up to where the two of you have made contact. You’re avoiding his eyes again, but you’re close enough now to be able to see his muscles working his neck. 

His smell overtakes you much like the cold has. The freshness of the pine needles still stuck to his coat makes up most of what you’re able to distinguish. A little bit of horse, too—he’d ridden here. Where exactly he’d hitched his horse was a mystery. But with the proximity of his sleeve to your nose, you can make out the faintest hints of a potent musk. It’s everywhere: in your nose, your mouth, under your skin. Every inhale turns your muscles into piteous liquid. There’s no hiding your shudder, this time.

Morgan suddenly yanks his hand back as if scorched, and schools whatever expression he’d been wearing prior into one of indifference. He hums. Frowns. 

“Let’s…uh, get you inside.”

You offer a tight nod and turn away, but Morgan is quick to the draw; he whispers a quick “pardon me,” and goes to retrieve the weapons he’d dropped in your stead. 

Oh. You’d forgotten. It seems he’d forgotten too, brushing the mixture of dirt and snow away and mumbling something about keeping his guns warm. You’re left standing dazed on the porch, skin still blistering from where his fingers had met your skin.

Morgan has the decency to look at least a little troubled when he returns. He places what he’s collected into your arms before opening the front door, and gestures for you to enter. You offer one last look to the moon before following him inside.

__

Your judgment on Morgan—Arthur, now—was still up for debate. But your punishment for rushing to catch him had been doled out almost immediately. 

For your feet, a numbness that the fireplace had been bullied into chipping away at. Your hands are still tight from the cold, and they sit tucked underneath your thighs with the added protection of a few blankets that’d been placed over your shoulders. Your eyes flick over from the fire to Arthur, and your chest tightens. 

He’s found his seat across from you: coat and satchel on the back of a chair he’s pulled from the dining table, big hands tapping away absentmindedly at his knees. With the coat set aside, there’s nothing to hide the first few buttons of his shirt that hang open, pitch black and rolled up to his forearms to account for the warmth of the fireplace. His hat remains, hair still tucked away and settled at the nape of his neck.

You’d both been sitting in silence for the last half hour, despite Arthur’s insistence on “one minute,” letting the cold of the outdoors thaw out before saying anything that might get the rifle pulled again. You did gain a bit of satisfaction at the slight tinge of red in Arthur’s ears; it seemed the cold had gotten to him, too.

You watch as his eyes wander over the furnishings of your cabin. Thankfully, the door to your bedroom is only slightly ajar, and the knot in your chest lessens. It wasn’t often (or ever) that you had visitors over, which meant that most of your things were tucked haphazardly into corners or set on kitchen counters.

The Campbells—generous as they already were—had insisted you take up residence in a cabin on their property that once belonged to a daughter of theirs. She’d long since moved out, but the light in their eyes at the thought of it being occupied again was undeniable. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. And Arthur was seeing all of it.  

“Don’t get too comfy.” You frown. “…Arthur.” He beams, and suddenly there’s something incredibly interesting lingering right by your foot. 

His name still feels foreign when it leaves you. At first, you’d taken it as a show of good faith; he’d sworn to keep his mud-caked boots off of your rug in exchange for keeping his feet from becoming bullet-ridden by the time the sun came up. Arthur, feeling like he’d gotten the shitty end of the stick, had joked that you may as well call him by his first name. The last person with the guts to threaten him with a shotgun had, so what was one more?

It was a weak threat, if one at all. You knew, and he knew, that you were just about the only person this side of the Grizzlies who was vaguely aware of who he was. You’d seen it in his face when you’d called him by name. It’d be an insult to call it fear; an expectation of an inconvenience would be more accurate.

Luckily for him, you didn’t care. Not right now, at least. Imposing as he was, you refused to be cowed into going along with whatever it was that he'd planned. 

Your heel messes with the leg of your chair. “Don’t you go forgetting why I brought you here in the first place.”

“Not quite sure if I’d use that wording—“

“Can it, Morgan.”

His jaw clicks shut this time, but he’s still got that goofy grin smeared onto his face when you chance a peek at him. You’ll let it slide, for now. You’ve stalled long enough.

“So. My eggs. You gonna tell me, or do I need to start pulling teeth?”

“No need,” Arthur assures, “shouldn’t be stickin’ your pretty little fingers in just anybody’s mouth, Ma’am.”

An outlaw and a flirt, to boot. Wonderful. You’re wondering how long it might take to chuck the nearest inanimate object at him when he pipes up again.

“You piss in somebody’s cigarette box, lady?”

“Did I piss—Morgan, quit it!”

This seems to reign him in a bit, and his smile dips.

“I’ll be frank, since you asked so kindly.” Arthur leans back in his chair, flexes his palms. “You had people tailin’ you.” 

You quirk a brow. Ah, that’s right. He didn’t know, couldn’t have. But just as you attempt to explain, Arthur holds out a hand to stop you and shakes his head.

“Killers.”

The hand fussing with the material of your blanket falters.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Hired guns, Ma’am. Out for you. You’re real…fortunate, I’d been passing by when I was.” A rueful look clouds his face. “Not much to hire once I was through with ‘em, though.”

The quiet that follows isn’t entirely unfamiliar. He’s an outlaw, you muse. Things like this are to be expected. But it doesn’t occur to you to ask who they were, what they looked like, what they wanted. Because Arthur didn’t know, didn’t need to know, and you aren’t sure if you want him here when you wrap your mind around the sobering fact that your long-held suspicions now bear fruit. So, you settle for the obvious.

“You kill ‘em?”

His jaw twitches. “Nothin’ gets past you, Ma’am.”

“...‘Suppose I should be thanking you, then.”

“Got my thanks when I checked their pockets.”

“But—”

Arthur gives a grunt of protest. 

Jackass.

Though your concerns about theft were long gone, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about this any more than you do, so you do your best to set the conversation back on track.

“Well, uh…the eggs, then?”

The tension in his jaw lessens. Arthur unfurls a long leg, digs the heel of his boot out in front of him, and rocks his foot back and forth.

“You know these winters. I can tell you do—despite all the…” he trails off, nods the brim of his hat toward your newly cultivated relationship with the fireplace, and you flush. “So, I uh, started out sneaking a few off, along with some other things for my people back at camp. Snagged some extra rations. Kept an eye on you. Two birds, one stone.” 

“So it wasn’t just the eggs you’d been stealing, then?”

“It’d behoove me to tell the truth and shame the devil, Ma’am. Not that he and I are unacquainted.”

So that was a yes. 

The part about “keeping an eye” on you is tacked on rather reluctantly, but at the mention of camp, your brows raise. It was true, then. The tales you’d heard during your trips to Valentine, the new faces you’d noticed in corners and back alleys, they were all real.

There was a time when you thought you might be able to find your place sleeping under the stars, free to do as you wished and go where you pleased, so long as the law kept their greasy mitts to themselves. But circumstances had seen to it that your dream went unfulfilled. 

You muster up what you hope is a sympathetic smile, and Arthur takes it stiffly.

Even so, something else with his phrasing catches your attention.

“Hold on now, you said ‘started.’ There something else you’re not telling me?”

A hand, previously settled on his knee, finds its way to the back of his neck and rubs. 

“Uh, y’see,” he starts, looking damn near ready to wring his own neck, and you have to laugh, because what on God’s green earth could have Arthur Morgan this bothered? But instead of finishing his sentence, he turns his gaze toward the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains and poses a question:

“You know anything about chickens?”

You blink.

“Arthur Morgan,” your eyes shut, and your mouth hangs open. “I work on a farm.“

“That you do.”

“And you’re asking me if I know about chickens?”

“That I am.”

He’s looking mighty sheepish; his hands return to their places on his knees and begin to tap again, with the added scrunch of a nose. You stifle a snort and oblige him.

“Yes, I’m well versed in chickens. Now tell me what the hell is up.”

And tell he did. Turns out, one of the eggs he’d snatched had somehow been fertilized, and hatched. Arthur, of all people, had been far too mortified to go and ask one of his own for help, so he’d spent the last two months slinking around to find out if his luck might earn him another to keep the one he already had some company. 

He’d named it and everything, so eating it (Marlene, he corrects gruffly) was completely off the table. By the time he’s finished his story, you’ve spent an exorbitant amount of energy fighting off several fits of laughter, and you’re fighting off your ninth when Arthur interrupts.

He leans forward, as if to confirm something, then settles himself back into his chair once he finds what he’s looking for. “You ain’t from around here, are you.” It’s a statement when it leaves Arthur’s mouth, not a question.

Observant. Observant, and deflective.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you pocket the uneasy feeling in your chest for later.

“Long story,” you offer. And a difficult one, at that. It wasn’t one you liked to revisit.

Arthur replies almost instantly. “Shoot.” For a moment his face pinches, like he’s dropped his last cent down a splinter-ridden nook he can’t reach. He deliberates, for a bit. But the money is long gone now. “Got a full audience right here,” he continues, a tad slower. “I’ve got…time. Why the hell not?”

There’s no smile, but there’s a genuine curiosity that creeps into his voice. It wafts over the crackling of the fire, blows fresh wind underneath wings long forgotten. 

This wasn’t good. Not one bit.

You cast a skeptical glance toward the bottle of whiskey on the table. It’d been set out on instinct when you’d let him in, a habit formed from a time long gone. Would Arthur want some, maybe? He seemed like the type. And you weren’t too pissed about the eggs now, anyways. So you wrap a blanket around yourself, stand, and turn to the cupboards to find a glass. But something stops you from making it over, and you instead choose to wrap a hand around the bottle and offer it to him.

If Arthur is as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. He mutters a word of thanks as he takes the proffered bottle. But you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your bare legs like hot coals. Or the slight twitch of his fingers—now free of their gloves—at the light brushing of your hand over his as you pass the bottle to him. 

You follow the bobbing of his throat for what feels like a lifetime as he takes down gulp after gulp. Amber liquid slips from the corner of his mouth; it catches the firelight on its trek down, and steals your air along with it when Arthur moves to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

It startles you, how quickly you’ve become accustomed to cataloging his movements. You’ve met him before, you’re almost certain of it now. If not in the fields here, then maybe somewhere in Valentine, or the woods. But somewhere. He felt too familiar to be new, too invigorating. A part of you wants to pinch yourself for giving in so easily. Maybe…maybe the folks in town had been right? Maybe Arthur Morgan was possessed? It was either that, or you were an idiot. You sincerely hoped it was the former.

The sound of the glass bottle hitting the table is what snaps you out of your trance. Blinking rapidly, you chance a peek at his eyes again, only to find them peeking right back. You do your best not to turn away. That thing you’d seen lurking out on the front porch is still there, submerged in the depths of his pupils. Still waiting.

You pull the top off of the bottle, take a quick swig, and return to your chair with an inhale and newfound resolve in tow.

Blabbering seems to come unfortunately easy with Arthur. He sits, silent and attentive throughout the entire retelling—save for the occasional grunt of approval, disapproval, whichever was appropriate. You tell him of your mother, young and hungry, and how she’d made herself available to the highest bidder—your father. Some wealthy businessman from God knows where. Twenty years your mother’s senior, it’d been no secret what exactly he’d gotten out of their short-lived union: a wild young thing to look after his progeny and keep his bed warm.

He was nice enough, for a time. Or at least nice enough for your mother to be able to tolerate. But something had sent her fleeing from that big, big house. She’d kept you in her arms and her heart till you’d found somewhat of a safe haven in the Grizzly Mountains.

“Safe” had been a bit of a stretch, though. Anyone with half a brain knew exactly what the Grizzlies were like. Arthur agreed. But your mother had been raised there, just as you would be, if only for a little while. You’re only able to remember a short split of time—just before your mother passed, and before your father had come to take you away from her. 

By then your mother had already taught you most of what you’d needed to survive: reading, writing, hunting, flattery, the works. The only thing she’d left out was how to survive without her. 

Your father had come to find you only a few days after, bearing news of his intentions to turn you into a “proper lady.” He made no mention of your mother or where she’d been buried. 

Polite society hadn’t taken too kindly to a daughter hailing from unsavory origins, and it was safe to say that you hadn’t taken too kindly to polite society either. So, you’d spent the last decade or so making your father’s life a living hell and warding off any potential suitors.

But it became clear stunt after outrageous stunt that he had no intention of cutting ties. Rather than cutting you off, he’d settled for the next best thing: manual labor. Your father was old friends (though “friends” was a bit dubious) with the Campbells, and deemed it an appropriate enough punishment for your wrongdoings. He’d relied on your aptitude for hunting to pawn you off on them, and with the help of some expertly feigned resistance, you’d gotten him to plant you exactly where you’d wanted to be. 

Away, and alone.

“Threw a wrench in my plans, but…life here has been peaceful, I reckon.” You pick at the beds of your fingernails, head bowed. 

Peaceful. 

Peaceful and quiet, save for the occasional moo. 

Though, now that you thought about it, you’d have to tally it up to several wrenches if you counted the hitmen. But you could open that barrel of horse shit later.

The creaking of wood alerts you to a shift in Arthur’s positioning, and his voice barrels down at you from the ceiling; he must be looking up. 

“You don’t seem all too ‘at peace,’ if you ask me.”

“I ain’t ask you.”

“Tuh.”

The two of you fall into yet another bubble of silence. It’s comfortable enough, though still laced with the slightest bit of awkwardness. 

You couldn’t get a read on Arthur. Just about every decision he’d made tonight—or told you he’d made—had been a contradiction. It didn’t make a lick of sense. But now that you’ve had more time to ruminate, it didn’t seem like it made much sense to him, either. His body language divulges as much. 

The quiet agitates you, now. Itches. You need to know more. Understand more. But you can’t do that without retracting your fangs and reigning in your apprehension. Finger beds picked raw, you test the waters.

“Not at peace, hm?” You mutter. “…How you figure?”

You hear him shrug. “Dunno.”

Silence.

You wait for him to continue, but it’s not until you look up at him that you realize he’s been waiting for you to look back. Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence once you can meet his eyes without squirming.

“Met enough people to know who’s livin’, and who ain’t.” He crosses an ankle over his knee, and gives an exhale when he puts his hands behind his head. “I’m in no place to be dealing out life advice, but you seem awfully dead, Miss.” 

“Ma’am,” you correct. 

Arthur makes a face, and you bark out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Some stranger he was, telling you off like this.

Your eyes crinkle, smile working its way from the inside out. “Takes one to know one, I assume?”

He blinks at you. “Yeah. Yeah, somethin’ like that, I suppose.”

More silence. 

“Do you think—”

“I ought to be heading out, now.” The dream is cut short. Arthur is standing suddenly, intercepting before you have the chance to say something incredibly, incredibly stupid. He tugs on his coat, fingers closing the buttons with frightening efficiency before he gathers up his gun and whatever else he’s brought with him and heads for the door.  

You're scrambling up out of your chair before your brain has a chance to process.“Arthur,” you say, half to him and half to the floor, “Arthur, wait a damn minute!” 

The spurs on his boots cease in their clinking. He’s got one hand wrapped around the doorknob, squeaky and now half-turned.

“…Got business to take care of.”

“At three in the morning?”

He glances at the small pocket watch you’d left open on the table. “Half past four, actually.”

“Didn’t realize you could tell time.”

He hums.

And Arthur stares at you for a moment, unabashedly. It’s unreadable at first. But then scars are shifting, and he’s leveling you with a look so bitter that it nearly has you reaching for your rifle again.

“Goodbye, Ma’am.” Arthur waves a noncommittal hand at your feet as he turns the knob. “And…go and see about those feet of yours, will you?”

He sweeps out the door.

He’s left it open.

It’s only after the faint sound of hoofbeats is nothing more than a whisper that you realize he isn’t in the cabin anymore. But somewhere between the shutting of the door and the hanging of your rifle, the faint impression of his parting words is pressed into your palm.

You look down, a bright sting and the sight of red specks on the floorboards making themselves known rather insistently. 

“Oh.”

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #I literally put off two essays to write this #plz be kind this wasn’t supposed to be this long #witching hour

[cambion-companion]

alicent gets SO much hate from the fandom even from aemond writers 😔 i trust you and your good taste that you don’t hate her and write something where aemond’s wife and alicent absolutely ADORE each other and aemond loves to see it and is so happy about his two favourite people in the world being so close

Yes, the more I watched the show the more I grew to like Alicent until her line "Hesitance to murder is not a weakness", then I was like "yep I love this woman."

The Driftmark scene is such a powerful one, I included some of the dialogue. Alicent's reaction was justified, no one was backing her up, or taking responsibility for MAIMING her son, so she felt the need to escalate the situation. And good for her.

Word count: 1366

Aemond x reader | fluff | Pro Alicent Hightower | Sweet drabble

The shouting is what had alerted you to something being amiss in the castle, raised voices echoing up the empty stone corridors as you poked a curious head out your bedroom door.

You had been sent to be princess Helaena's handmaiden at the age of thirteen, finding the Red Keep to be suffocating most of the time, thankful for this chance to travel elsewhere. Driftmark had proven to be lovely, even if the reason for your journey was not at all a happy one.

Pulling on your heavy nightrobe, you made your way hastily toward the sound of shouting coming from a firelit room at the end of the hallway. You peeked in, seeing that it was indeed very crowded, children clinging to their parents as Viserys and Alicent argued. You spotted Helaena over by the large fireplace standing beside her brother, Aegon. Next to them, sitting on the sofa, blood covering his swollen face...you gasped audibly, drawing the attention of those standing nearest to the entrance.

Aemond clearly very injured, the boy you'd become close friends with had stitches running down the left side of his face, his eye...you blinked back a sting of sudden tears, his eye had been slashed out. Not caring what gossip arose from your actions, you hastened to Aemond's side. He looked up at you in mild surprise at your sudden appearance, his expression turning stony as he tried to turn the injured side of his face away from your probing gaze.

You touched his hand that clutched at the cushions, opening your mouth to say something, but a scuffle of movement behind you caught your attention as Alicent went for Viserys' knife and turned toward Rhaenyra and her children.

Rhaenyra intercepted her, the two women locked in a standoff with the other, Alicent gripping the blade tightly in her shaking hand.

"You've gone too far." Rhaenyra said emphatically, still holding tight to her once-friend's arms.

"I?" Tears streaked down Alicent's face as she continued struggling. "What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law while you flout it all to do as you please!"

"Alicent, let her go!" King Viserys, old as he was, looked livid as he yelled at his wife.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" She continued, taking no heed to the king. "It is trampled under your pretty foot again."

"Release the blade, Alicent." Otto's measured voice this time, trying to reason with his daughter.

She continued staring at Rhaenyra, refusing to drop the knife, her expression morphing from desperation to a look of betrayal. "And now you take my son's eye, and to even that you feel entitled."

"Exhausting, wasn't it?" Rhaenyra at last responded. "Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are."

With a sharp cry, Alicent broke away from her grasp, bringing the dagger down, cutting deep into Rhaenyra's arm. The room fell deathly silent, each person present sensing the gravity of what had just occured. The dagger fell from Alicent's open palm, clattering on the stone floor.

The heavy air was broken as Aemond spoke, drawing your attention back to him as he approached Alicent. "Do not mourn me, mother." His voice was soft, tired. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

You knew his words were more to draw attention away from what had just occurred, his mother injuring the heir to the Iron Throne. Though young, Aemond was no fool, and neither were you. You were aware of his abiding love for his mother, watching as he took her hand in both of his, laying his injured head against her chest.

The scene cleared quickly after that, parents ushering their frightened children back to bed. You lingered in the hall, wanting to stay by your friend's side. Helaena touched your shoulder, smiling at you weakly before departing the room as well.

After several long moments, the room was empty save for you, Aemond and Alicent. It took minutes more for Alicent to come back to herself, taking a deep breath and looking down at her son. "Come, Aemond, you need to rest in order to heal."

Her gaze lifted to you, seeming surprised to see you standing still by the fire. "Y/N, the hour is late. You should also be in bed."

You noticed Aemond didn't look at you, standing motionless, gripping his mother's hand loosely.

"Can I be of any help at all, your grace?" You weren't sure why, but the question you posed, and the earnestness behind it, had an effect on the queen. Her expression softened, lip trembling slightly. "I will call on you in the morning, Y/N. For now, get some sleep."

Call on you she did, and for many weeks following it was Alicent and Aemond you spent the majority of your time with. Helaena didn't seem to mind, in fact she would accompany you often, helping where she could, fetching hot water and healing ointments for her younger brother.

Aemond's demeanor at your presence, at first tense and cold, eased as time passed. He looked at you more, allowing you to change his bandages and read to him at night.

Alicent was warm toward you, quickly becoming someone you looked to as a maternal figure, filling an ache in your heart you'd been unaware was there. Her gratitude for your help and care was obvious, it grew apparent not many others in the castle shared your sympathies for the prince. You heard many unkind whispers spreading throughout the Keep, doing your best to pay them no attention.

One day, Aemond almost fully healed, you were packing up the many salves and ointments the maesters had provided. Alicent approached you, touching a warm hand to your shoulder as she often did. "Y/N, you have gone above and beyond any expectations I had of you in helping my son. You are the handmaiden of my daughter, I know you are friends but why do you care so for Aemond's wellbeing?"

You looked up into her face, smiling slightly. "I heard what happened, I saw how alone you were that night. No one else helped, and I don't think that's fair."

"Oh child." Alicent's eyes grew bright with unshed tears as she pulled you against her in a tight hug. "You are a balm sent from the Mother Herself." She lowered herself to crouch at your level, cupping your chin with her hand. "If you ever find yourself in need of anything, you come to me."

She placed a brief kiss to your forehead before sending you out of the room, back to your normal duties.

From then on, the two of you became close as though she were your actual mother and you, her daughter. Many years passed; she was the one you went to when you had questions about growing into womanhood, about all troubles that weighed upon your mind. Your bond with Aemond only strengthened as well, he sought you out often in your reading nook of the library. You would stay up late nights with the prince discussing all interesting things from the history of dragon riding to the customs of Ancient Valyria.

When you were sixteen and he thirteen, Aemond began teaching you some Old Valyrian, at your request. He saw how much Alicent adored you, her face brightening into a fond smile whenever you walked into a room. He loved you for it. There was precious little that brought true happiness to Alicent, her affection for you soothed her troubled heart.

Aemond observed your interactions often with a soft smile upon his face, his feelings for you slowly growing from friendship to something more. He couldn't name what it was that had changed, there were precious few in his life whom he could say he genuinely loved. His mother was top of that short list, his one defender, the woman who had vouched for him when no one else did. Your evident devotion to her, the time you spent talking to her, leaning your head on her shoulder, had left a warm impression upon Aemond's heart. He wouldn't forget the peace you brought those he cared for most, and he intended to make sure you stayed in their lives.

#aemond x reader #aemond fluff #alicent hightower #aemond x oc #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfic #prince aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond oneshot #aemond drabble #aemond hotd

[solomons-finest-rum]

“As The Crow Flies” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — PART 2

SUMMARY — By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you to everyone for words of encouragement and for waiting for the update 💗💗💗💗💗 Goodness, that was one hefty break. I hope the next part won't take me as much, but I can't exactly promise it will be fast, sorry about that. I think this is a part 2 out of 3 and then I'll do an epilogue, but that is still more of a draft than a plan.

WORD COUNT — 2,708

Masterlist

Tommy sat beside Polly in utter silence, watching the cigarette slowly burn between her fingers to the point where the heat nearly touched the skin. Tommy observed it with morbid fascination because it was something other to do than to stay with his own thoughts. And he would not dare to speak to Polly first—not after the news he had brought her this evening.

The clock chiming in the hall let them know it was nearly three o’clock in the morning, but still neither of them moved. The fire went out long ago and Tommy wondered in his solemn silence if Polly would accept a blanket.

“How could you tell me she was dead?” Polly suddenly asked the question Tommy had been dreading for the past hour and then she flicked the cigarette butt straight on the carpet. 

Tommy dared to look her in the eye then and immediately regretted that decision when he was met with nothing but hurt and steel-like anger.

“They told me she was, Pol. I went to the parish myself, saw the documents myself,” Tommy replied calmly.

That signature state of calm didn’t come to him as quickly as it used to, he noticed. These days it required more and more effort; or perhaps the things he chose to do got worse with time.

“Fucking nuns,” Polly hissed and shook her head. “You should have pressed them harder! Should’ve made them talk!”

“Then what, hm? Threaten them? Put a gun to their head, eh? There was nothing else they would have told me, Pol, they didn’t know.”

“I don’t care what! We shouldn’t have just abandoned her like that. Now look what happened, she’s a hostage with another fucking monster, just ready to put his paws on her whenever he pleases!” Polly stood up abruptly and Tommy wondered for a moment if perhaps he shouldn’t slip some laudanum in her drink. She looked frenzied, her hair in disarray and eyes bloodshot. The way Tommy saw it, she was half-ready to walk to Margate on foot and kill Alfie herself.

“Polly,” Tommy moved to stand in front of her just in case she had any ideas. He put both hands on her shoulders to reassure her. “Polly, look at me. Alfie Solomons, yeah? Alfie Solomons is just about the last man you’d find putting his hands on anybody that didn’t ask for it, all right? I swear this much.”

“Jesus, I don’t care what you swear anymore, Tommy!” Polly scoffed and tore herself away. “The man is insane, you said so yourself—many times in fact! We all remember what he did to Arthur! Or have you forgotten?!”

“No,” Tommy replied stiffly. “Perhaps he’s insane, but he’s not cruel to women, Polly, never has been. He doesn’t have the reputation.”

“Well, neither do you, that doesn’t mean one wife’s not buried, the other’s escaped!”

Though Tommy would never admit it, that hurt immensely. That was the problem with people who loved him, he supposed. They knew exactly where to hit to draw the most blood. He willed his face to return to the stony mask it was before.

“But your daughter is not buried and she isn’t gone,” he said. “She’s alive, Pol, I saw her with my own two eyes. She’s alive and we can get her back.”

“Well, that’s not exactly possible now, is it?” she scoffed and turned her gaze back to the fireplace as if some ghostly apparition beckoned her to it. “You said she didn’t know you, I bet that fucking animal has her caged.”

“That’s not true. I saw her, Pol, she looked well.” Tommy felt like stressing that might help. “She has your eyes and your wit and I swear she cooks somethin’ awful, but she’s no prisoner. Alfie is…” He hesitated then, because it wasn’t exactly a comfortable thought to consider. “She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, Pol. You can’t say no to her, eh? Just like I can’t exactly argue with you neither.”

That brought Polly back, even if just to glare at her nephew with fury.

“Pol, I swore to you once I’d bring your children home and I haven’t changed my mind.” Tommy took her hand in his and to his relief this time Polly didn’t pull away. 

“I don’t think Alfie harmed her,” he insisted. “I don’t think she’d let him. Polly, she looked tough. Hardened by life. She’s a woman grown, Pol, and I know she can take care of herself. You said so yourself, eh? It’s grandfather’s gift, reading people. Well, I read her tonight and I know Alfie, too. Something happened to her, that much’s clear, but there’s nothin’ evil happenin’ to her in that house.”

That seemed to satisfy his aunt because she finally took a deep breath that actually made Tommy feel like he could breath himself.

“Why would he tell you to lie to me, Tommy?”

“How do you mean?”

“Why would he think you wouldn’t tell me? That you’d play his game.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But I know what he wants in return and to be honest his plan wasn’t as delirious as I’d take him for.”

“I don’t care what you discussed with that man, that’s of little consequence,” Polly scoffed. “We are going to get her and we are going to get rid of him once and for all, Thomas, because no one fucks with the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders and no one fucks with the family! Do you hear me?!”

“I hear you.”

“Good. Now get up!”

“So we’re goin’ today?”

“Today!”

Tommy nodded and gently navigated her back into the armchair. He rang the bell for the maid. In the agitated state Polly’s house was currently in, Tommy was sure the servants weren’t really sleeping.

“And get Michael,” she ordered. “I don’t care what that peroxide tramp says about it, he’s coming with us.”

Alfie stood on the porch and smoked his pipe. He let you squeeze his arm in anger while trying to sneak concerned glances in your general direction. Tired of being treated like a spooked horse, you glared at him until he stopped with all the concern. You were tougher than you looked and you would very much appreciate it if Alfie finally admitted it.

“You alright?” Alfie asked you for what must have been the twentieth time and you nodded stiffly instead of a reply.

“Darlin’, I mean it, all right, ‘cause if you ain’t tryin’ to make me bloody worried then you’re doin’ a splendid job regardless, yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Right, that’s just fuckin’ uncalled for, that…”

“No. Someone’s coming.”

You pointed then to the faint shapes on the horizon, which, judging by the noise, must have been the Shelby Bentleys.

“Get the binoculars, Alfie.” 

“I’ll get the fuckin’ shotgun is what I’ll get.”

“Alfie.”

“I’ll do as I damn well please in my own house, woman!”

“So your brilliant means of operation is just bullets, is that it? What the hell did you expect, that Tommy would just listen to you?”

There was a clear measure of challenge in your words and all you two did then was just size each other up, trying to see who would call the bluff first. Finally, your husband grumbled his best catalogue of swear words and brought you the binoculars you asked for. 

“It’s the Shelbys,” you confirmed.

“Like clockwork, that lot,” Alfie scoffed. “You tell them one thing, they go the opposite fuckin’ direction.”

“Some clock that’d be,” you chuckled. “We knew they’d come. That’s why we’re here.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

The pipe now abandoned, Alfie checked the barrel of his favourite handgun and reassured himself with the number. The only problem was the Shelby threat looming on the horizon and what looked like three cars, no doubt packed to the brim with Tommy’s henchmen.

“And you’re certain he will help us?” you asked.

“‘Course. Like I said before, right, Tommy’s nothin’ if not reliable.”

“That’s quite generous coming from you.”

“Just ‘cause he shot me doesn’t mean we ain’t kin now.”

“I am many things, dearest, but a Shelby isn’t one of them.”

“Ah, well, too bad. And too late to call the cavalry off, I reckon. If ya changed your mind…”

“That’s not what I meant.” It was your time to scoff. “These people are not my family. You are.”

On a rare occasion when Alfie Solomons found himself something close to emotional, three black Bentleys finally arrived at the quaint Margate cottage. You instinctively grabbed your husband’s arm again. He didn’t flinch, not even when you dug your nails into the skin, hard enough to draw blood.

“Right, gentlemen! And lady. What a lovely surprise, innit.” Alfie beckoned with his other hand, waving the gun about and leaving very little doubt as to the quickness of change in his intentions were the Shelbys not to play along. “Let me simply say: shalom… All right. Welcome. Yeah, that is the message for today, or so one might hope.”

What would undoubtedly be another inspired monologue had to wait, however. As soon as Tommy escorted Polly out of the car and her eyes met her daughter’s, Polly’s knees gave out. Tommy and Arthur caught her just in time and held her up on both sides.

“Anna!” Polly cried. “Oh dear God, it’s really you! Anna!”

You stood still like a statue, at which point even your husband turned to look at you with a mix of concern and fascination. You let go of his arm and focused on Tommy.

“Mr. Shelby. You brought an army this time. Am I to expect a shootout?”

As cold and unmoved as Tommy tried to be, it proved to be hard with a sobbing woman on his arm.

“Or am I to understand you’re here to kidnap me?” you pressed. “Please don’t say my chicken was that spectacular, I won’t believe it.”

“Anna.” Polly squeezed Tommy’s arm and took a step forward. Alfie uncocked his gun. You sighed and wished he hadn’t, since the entire Shelby ensemble now followed with the same.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, you fools! Put the bloody guns down!” Polly seethed and marched towards the house with a newfound purpose in her step. “Anna. Come down from there. You’re coming home with us.”

You looked at the woman you knew was your mother, though now only by name. Your heart didn’t know her and your head was too preoccupied to care.

“That might pose an issue,” you answered. “Because I am home.”

The next person that got out of the car, however, seemed to finally make you shake off your stony demeanour. You couldn’t quite help it, because his face was the first you could actually say was known to you.

“Michael!” you whispered and then rushed down from the porch before anyone could stop you. “Oh dear God, you’re alive!”

You fell into your brother’s steady embrace and though the force of it nearly made him stumble, he held you firmly and wouldn’t let go—not even if the devil himself tried to claim you both again. 

The tearful reunion was so quiet that no one apart from you and Michael could know what words were exchanged. While the Shelbys weren’t exactly the type to interrupt, you could tell that Alfie was out of patience. 

“Are we just about finished, then?” he inquired. “Forgive the interruption, yeah, but it’s gettin’ li’l too chilly for my taste.”

Polly took that opportunity to point her gun directly at Alfie’s head.

“Now then, madam,” Alfie chuckled and stood his ground, though he didn’t raise the gun he was holding. “I’d only ask ya to aim better than your nephew, all right, ‘cause I can’t exactly take no more of this.” He pointed to the injured side of his face. “Once was enough, yeah, so if you’re certain that’s what ya wanna do, I won’t stop ya.”

“Shut your mouth,” Polly hissed. “You shut your mouth!”

“Polly.” Tommy took a step towards them. His voice was full of warning and he ordered his men to stand down with a single wave of his hand. “Polly, think about what we’re doin’ here, all right? We came to get your daughter,” he turned to point at you, who now looked toward her husband with a horrified expression. “She’s safe now, Polly, we can take her home. There’s no need for violence, Pol, not today.”

“Like hell you will!” you protested. “Can you stop talking about me like I’m not even here?! No one’s taking me anywhere.”

“Now then, Tommy,” Alfie sighed. “There I was, mate, thinkin’ we had an understandin’, you an’ I. After all these years of friendship, right, you come to my house, guns blazin’, and with your lovely aunt no less, all in pursuit of justice I can’t exactly give, mate, ‘cause I ain’t the one who took Anna away in the first place. So…”

To everyone’s surprise Alfie turned his back to Polly and opened the front door as casually as one might when having a gun pointed at you turns into something of a daily occurrence. 

“Might I offer you a drink then, uh, Polly, is it? Right, lemme just say that, yeah, I ain’t exactly one for close family ties, you see, that’s just not somethin’ I was brought up with…”

Alfie’s voice disappeared somewhat as he walked further into the house, completely ignoring the chaos on the porch. You tried to rush back towards the house and stomped on Michael’s foot with all your might when he wouldn’t let you go. Michael roared with pain and you took your chance to run, but this time it was Arthur who stopped you and who, all things considered, presented a much sturdier guard than your brother.

“You let me through,” you hissed. 

“Nah, I don’t think so, luv. You’re comin’ with us.”

“Like hell I am!”

Polly, still stunned, turned towards her children and lowered her gun, creating an opportunity for Tommy to catch up with her and take it out of her hands.

“Not today,” he repeated softly. “There’ll be time for vengeance and there’ll be time for justice. But not here, Pol, not now. Arthur, let Anna pass.”

Polly shook her head and spat on the bluish tiles of the porch, thoroughly worn out and bleached by the seaside air. Only then did she notice the curious mosaic right before the front door and the gentle arch forming the words “lethe”. 

“I’m not leaving without her, Tommy,” she warned.

“I know you’re not.”

Out of options and out of bullets, Polly crossed the threshold and she hoped the choice would truly erase the anguish from her memory—if only for a moment.

Alfie’s gambit must have been exactly that from the start, Tommy mused, because as soon as the rest of the Shelby clan entered the house, they were welcomed by the maid with a tea tray. Alfie, now comfortable in his usual armchair, gestured for his guests to sit. 

Judging by his calm and calculated demeanour, Tommy doubted him and his family had been so unexpected. In fact, he just about acknowledged he had let himself be manipulated not once but twice in what was perhaps the strangest forty-eight hours in a long time.

“Right, now, we don’t know each other well so I don’t know exactly what everyone drinks…” Alfie waved at the maid dismissively and she started to serve the tea as if it was any other ordinary occasion. “Feel free to peruse the bar if you so prefer, Tommy, right, but not you.” Alfie settled his only seeing eye on Arthur, though the elder Shelby brother didn’t seem as prone to anger as Alfie remembered. That was almost disappointing. 

You entered the house last, holding your brother’s hand. Michael smiled down at you fondly as if you hadn’t just caused him severe bodily harm. Tommy and Alfie both noted the scene, though neither exactly for the same reasons. Alfie looked just about done tolerating all that whispering between you and your brother and it seemed so was Tommy.

Though neither, exactly, for the same reasons.

“Right then,” Alfie announced. “Should we discuss the terms?”

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy x reader

[side-shawty]

Family Line (Teaser)

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Type: sequel

Prompt/Summary: Part two of the fic based on Saint Bernard by Lincoln. This one was inspired by Family Line by Conan Gray.

Pairing(s): Tony Stark x Steve Rogers, Stony x daughter!reader

Requested? Not even a little bit

The drive from the compound was silent. You’d left your Stark phone in your bedroom in exchange for one you’d made yourself. But this one didnt have the playlist and songs you’d spent hours putting together and no the silence was deafening.

Racing down the empty upstate roads towards Manhattan was easy until a single raindrop on your windshield turned into an all out storm. 

You had no idea where you would end up but you knew in that moment that anywhere would be better than where you were now. 

——

When you drove away, Red walked through the halls for several minutes before he found anyone. Once he found Tony, he almost walked in until he heard the yelling. It scared him enough to make him turn around and walk to your room instead. He nosed his way in and let the door shut softly behind him. 

He placed the package you had given him onto his bed right at the foot of your own and laid on top of it. It stayed there for almost two weeks. 

That was when your dads had gotten back from Germany, tearing through the compound with fervor once they realized neither of them had seen you since the day before your departure. 

——

Two Days Ago: Germany

The full fic will be out in the next two days!

#tony stark x daughter!reader #steve rogers x daughter!reader #stony x daughter!reader #stony x black!daughter!reader #stony daughter #marvel #tony stark #iron man #steve rogers #captain america #iron man x daughter!reader

[queers-gambit]

Split in Two

prompt: the Targaryen Curse prevails.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: (another shorty at) 2.8k+

note: this is another STAND ALONE! and NOT part of any series!!

warnings: probably definitely cursing, bloody Targaryen birth, angst, author doesn't have kids so short description, and comfort ending 'cause i said so.

Daemon was taught to restrain his emotion, to hold back. Never to show weakness, or fear - to always wear a mask of indifference, or anger. Daemon Targaryen was the second son, and convinced himself that the only was to warrant respect was to demand it - to take it - and never faltered in his chaotic path through life.

Sure, he was banished by his brother a few times but he always felt like he had earned his place back at his side - and then, he met her. It was just after his first wife, the Lady Rhea Royce, suddenly and tragically passed; leaving him steel-jawed at his niece's wedding. He had caught the Lady Laena Valyeron's eye, and yes, they even shared a dance, but it was during that dance that he first laid eyes on her.

She was a young thing from the North, and her hair looked like it was set ablaze; her eyes a crystal color that cut through him, even at a distance. The young Lady Valyeron had noticed his attention shift and easily turned from him, another handsome knight ready to take the Prince's place.

But the Prince of the City had his eyes set, his heart and mind made-up, despite the former demanding to be locked away. He made the promise to simply seduce the pretty Lady into a marriage, and then drop all act - but this was no simple task.

The Lady was of House Tully, and she eyed the approaching Prince with distain - much to his amusement. When he introduced himself, she rolled her crystal eyes and shifted slightly away from him; glaring at her Lord Father when he introduced the two.

And when he asked for her hand to dance, he swore her snarl could've ripped him in two out of sheer ferocity. Daemon loved a challenge, and the young Lady was everything he craved: mystery, beauty, intelligence, allure.

She was stiff upon their first dance, and slowly loosened up as he refused to step away from her to welcome other suitors; and when she realized she was not being paraded like a show-pony, slowly eased herself in his arms with relief. Daemon spent three straight dances with her, offering a flute of something alcoholic, and speaking lowly in her ear.

Not two feet from them, a sudden fight broke out, and Daemon wasted no time in hoisting the Lady Tully into his arm; the other used to push patrons from his way.

Her father gasped her name when they broke through the crowd and Daemon set her to her feet. "Wait," she breathed when he turned to leave, her eyes glancing nervously to the fray, "surely someone else can handle that?"

"I will be fine, Lady - "

"Perhaps it's them I fear for," she eased, nodding towards the feud. But he noticed then that her hand still held his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze before stepping closer.

"All right," he breathed, never truly understanding why he decided to back off and remain at her side; but the feeling of her arm sliding around his waist to keep him anchored, actually anchored his heart to her. As the fighting turned more violent, Daemon was easing the family back and keeping a sharp eye out - just making out the sight of Ser Harwin Strong carrying the Princess Rhaenyra from the crowd.

Though she hated to admit it, for the following week, she spent every bloody day with the Prince. It wasn't easy for him, but he was slowly chipping away at her stony exterior. Upon the last day of the Royal Wedding festivities, the Lord Tully approached Prince Daemon and requested his private audience.

"Lord?" Daemon wondered, perking a brow.

"My Prince," Lord Tully sighed, "I come on behalf of my daughter."

"Is that right?"

"Well, in truth, she does not know," Tully admitted. "I come on my own vocation, but out of worry for my favorite daughter. My eldest child."

Daemon nodded, "What might that worry be, Lord Tully?"

"That she will be her own demise," Tully admitted. "She is set to inherit my lands when I pass, but refuses to entertain the idea of a husband, let alone courting. Yet, we come here, and you have all but bewitched her. I worry her heart might break when we depart on the morrow."

"And what would you have done, my Lord?" Daemon sighed.

"I would like to offer my daughter's hand," he spoke with conviction. "Though, I would like it to come from you - "

"Have no doubt, my Lord, your daughter intrigues me greatly, and I'd be honored to take her hand... Though she seems adamant on keeping me at arm's length. I do not think a prearranged marriage would sway her."

Your father nodded. "Then might she remain for a time? To be courted?"

"You'd give her leave?"

"I would."

Daemon nodded slowly, "I am on my way to collect her... I can ask if she'd like to remain for a time."

Well, needless to say, you had accepted, and within six months, you were standing in the throne room with your hands clasped in Daemon's as you both recited your vows. His lips had claimed yours hungrily, and within days of your official marriage, he had offered you something that was impossible to pass up -

"Love," Daemon sighed in your ear, "you are not sleeping through the nights."

"You're not either," you mumbled, exhaustion coating your bones. You were trying to aid that misery with a mid-day nap.

"Perhaps some fresh air would be good..."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Pentos," he whispered, kissing your neck after. "Just us, my love. Where you might bring our child into this world," he grinned and pet over your still-flat stomach.

"Hmm," you considered, "tempting, my love. But I cannot - "

"What if your Prince commands it?"

"Then how might I say no?"

Only days after that, you were landing in Pentos - and my Gods, was it an incredible experience for a few years. Until today - where Daemon realized that all of his training as a knight could not prepare him for what he listened to now. His feet paced the empty, dark halls; your screams echoing around the hollow home. His fear was tangible and throat thick with emotion as your pain was clear as day, and he hated himself for condemning you to 'the Targaryen Curse'.

He understood his lineage did not come with easy births, which is why it was considered such a privilege to brith a white-haired babe. Though in that moment, Daemon hated himself more than ever before. Twice you'd done this, and twice before, Daemon had paced this hall - and waited, listening...

Praying that you would not be taken from him.

"My Prince?" The Maester called gently, finding him right outside the door.

"What is it?" Daemon demanded, meeting the man - but one glance into the room, and he was surging inward. "My love," He rushed to his wife's side, taking her sweaty hand in his own; trying to smooth her hair back. "Fuck - what can I do?"

"Get your child out," your teeth grit and tears dripped down your cheeks. "Daemon!" You groaned, his hand nearly cracking from how hard you held it.

"What can be done?" Daemon demanded, looking to the midwives, but none would meet his gaze. "Well!?" He roared.

"My Prince," the Maester called again; eyes portraying more emotion than Daemon wanted to see in that moment.

"A moment, my love," Daemon whispered, kissing your hand, and forcing himself to stand. The Maester crowded him towards the door. "Well?"

"The babe is... The babe is stuck, my Prince, and I fear they are tangled."

"W-What does that mean?"

"That the babe will not come naturally... There is a procedure we can try, but it would only potentially save the babe..."

"And the mother?"

"Would not survive it..."

"Daemon!" His head snapped over to catch sight of you sliding from the bed and shoving the midwives away. "Please! Please! Someone find my husband! Daemon!"

"You're not touching her," Daemon sneered to the Maester before turning to push past everyone. "Hey, hey, I'm here," he told you, taking your hand.

"Daemon," you begged, sobbing through your sweat as you grunted. "Help me, please."

"My love, I don't - "

"Here, hold me like this, please, please," you directed, feet planted flat on the ground to squat; bed against your back, and husband helping keep you stable. You sobbed harder, "I-I am so sorry, my husband, I did not mean for this."

"No," he rushed, readjusting you in his arms. "It's my fault... This is the Curse, my love, I did not know - "

A crushing, strangled cry escaped you, making him wince. "Please," you whimpered, "Daemon, please - I cannot!"

"You can," he spoke with conviction. "Because you must, my love. Please - if you give up, I will lose you, and I will not risk that! Now, fight, my love, please, we need you, we cannot be without you," he encouraged, snatching a cold, bloody rag from the basin to run over your forehead. "I am here with you, I will never be from your side, and you will never endure this again - I swear it, my sweet, strong wife. Hear me? You do this, pet, and you will never know this pain again."

You sobbed into his neck, skirts hiked up to let you feel for the babe. You whimpered and screamed as contractions tore through you, nearly splitting you in two - or so it felt. Daemon was there, speaking with encouragement, hands bloodied from your cunt but feigning that it didn't affect him.

"I feel the head!" A midwife informed, only one left in the room with you two as she dropped to a knee in front of you. "This is it, my Lady. This is it - you need to push, now! Now, Lady, push, push, push!"

The screams were terrible; teeth bared and gnashing at air; lungs straining to keep you conscious as you were coached through the birth. Your feet slipped a few times from the pooling blood, and Daemon held you against his soiled body. "PLEASE!" You begged the Gods, screaming with abandon - until you felt suddenly ill. Empty. Hollow... Something didn't feel right...

"No, no, sh-she's hemorrhaging!" The midwife screamed, Daemon desperately catching your weakening body.

"The babe!"

"I've got it in my hands!" The midwife informed, moving with your failing body. "One more push, my Lady! Please! Please!"

"Sweetheart," Daemon begged as your face paled, and your eyes slowly blinked.

"Daddy?"

Daemon's head snapped up at the sounds of your first two daughters, finding them both in the open doorway. "Mommy!" They sobbed, only a three-year-age difference between them all.

"My Prince!"

"Help her!" Daemon snapped, letting another midwife take his place.

"I've the babe! I need blankets!"

"Daemon," you whispered in delirium, his ears never hearing it as he rushed for your two daughters.

"Hey, hey," he ushered them outside, slamming the door after.

"What's wrong with Mommy!?"

"No, hey," Daemon sighed, "Mommy's okay, s-she's just," he cleared his throat. "She's trying to bring your baby sister into the world, okay? She's okay - "

"Prince Daemon!" He heard from inside the room.

"Just stay out here - stay together, I'll be right back," Daemon promised, pointing the girls towards a bench, and moving back for the room. When the doors shut again, he demanded, "What did you do!?"

"The babe was tangled," The Maester panted, trying to staunch the bleeding. "We had to - "

"I told you not to touch her," Daemon snapped, pushing the man away, and taking the rags to press against your bleeding cunt. "Fuck," he worried, the blood seemingly never ceasing.

"Daemon," your voice wheezed, eyes shut; spread across the bed on soiled sheets.

"I'm here, my love," he assured, heart in his throat. "I-I don't know what to do right now, sweetheart," he whispered, sniffling his emotion.

"Save the babe," you mumbled.

"Babe's out, my love," he informed, your eyes twirling under your lids. "Y-You're bleeding a lot."

"Cauterize it..."

Daemon wasn't allowed to be present for the procedure, and instead, held his newborn daughter in his arms on the same bench his other two daughters sat on. They both leaned into his sides, peering at their new sister, and listening to their mother scream in searing pain.

3 hours after his daughter was born, Daemon was invited back into his wife's birthing chambers. The babe was left securely in his eldest daughter's arms, promising to bring them in to see Mommy if she was okay, then turning for the room.

"Love," you whispered, hand out for him.

"Oh, thank the Gods," he breathed, rushing for your side. His hand clamped yours, bringing it to his lips. "I thought I lost you, my sweet wife," he told you with a broken whimper.

"You cannot be rid of me so easy," you whispered, obviously drained of strength. "Would you stay with me?"

"Of course," he promised. "But the girls... The girls saw..."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know they were there," he rushed, tears springing to both of your eyes. "But they want to see you, my love."

"Oh, please," you nodded, a tear trickling down your cheek.

"A moment," he sighed and rushed around the room to find a few new blankets. He tossed one to a midwife and scooped you into his arms; letting the blanket be laid and tucked over the bloodied sheets, then, he laid you down again. "Did I hurt you?" he worried, tucking another blanket around you.

"No," you assured, petting over his wrist. "Thank you... F-For not making that decision."

Daemon paused his tucking to turn and slowly lower to sit on the side of your bed. "I meant what I said," he told you sincerely, "that we need you, and I cannot be without you. I would not make that decision, my love, because I am not willing to be without you. But..."

"But what, husband?"

Daemon sighed and leaned in some, "The Maester had to cauterize the wound, and... It means you will not bare more children."

You nodded slowly, "A small price to pay."

"Considering the alternate is losing you, I'd say it's fair," he frowned, kissing your hand again. "This is my doing..."

"No - "

"The Targaryen Curse is real, pet," he shook his head. "'S claimed more women in our family than war has men. And I did this - "

"I would bare your children again, even when I know the outcome," you refused his words. "Being your wife is the greatest pleasure of my life, Daemon, but being mother to your children is indescribable."

He nodded with a soft smile, "What gorgeous girls they are."

"All girls?"

Daemon beamed, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "All beautiful, healthy girls, my sweet wife. You have blessed me beyond words."

"Good," you whispered, nodding stiffly. "It will be a time before I am on my feet."

"Worry not," he assured, "and only focus on healing. Now," he smirked lightly, "would you like to meet our daughter?"

"Yes please," you whispered. "What did you name her?"

"She has no name yet," he nodded. "We will name her together."

You nodded and watched Daemon stand, his hand squeezing yours, and then as he turned to the door. He called for the girls, and within moments, the two white-haired beauties were entering, with one carrying a wriggling bundle.

"Mommy!" Your youngest shouted, darting forward to your side.

"Oh, my sweet girl," you smiled, reaching for her, but pausing as Daemon caught her and placed her to the bed with you. "Hi, hi, hi," you kissed her cheek rapidly.

"Are you okay, Mommy?" She worried.

"I am now, poppet," you breathed, kissing her forehead. "And you, my pretty girl," you smiled, reaching for your eldest.

"Here," Daemon sighed lightly, pulling up a chair to your bedside and dropping into it; pulling your daughter to his lap, as she kept hold of your newborn. "Hey? What do we think, girls?"

"She doesn't cry," your eldest mentioned, staring lovingly at your bundle of joy. "Is that normal?"

"Can be," Daemon spoke softly. "Do you want to let Mommy hold her?"

"In a moment," you spoke, "I'd like to hold all my girls first. C'mere," you waved your daughter to you, watching Daemon take your newborn, and let her slip from his lap.

You sighed in relief and held your two daughters tightly, kissing their foreheads. Exhaustion tugged on your eyes, but you were content to hold your girls safely as Daemon rocked your wriggling babe. In fact, by morning, a maid entered your room to check on the new mother, but paused and backed out of the room with a grin.

The sight before her?

You and Daemon laid together, newborn baby laid between both your chests as your eldest daughter was curled against Daemon, and your middle girl, snug in your embrace. She didn't want to disturb you all, and seeing how peaceful you all were, figured she would check back in soon - and left you all to rest.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon hotd #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 6

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 3,308

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm getting excited to finish up the series. Four chapter left and so far it seems like the story is staying on track, and it shouldn't go over. (But you never know! 😁) Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N felt her heart beat triple time as she watched Dean’s face return to the stony granite it had been when she’d first come to camp. Over the last couple of months she'd begun to see him soften slightly; there were even a few moments where he’d seemed on the verge of smiling. His eyes had eventually lost their frosty hardness, and their look of perpetual suspicion.

But both were back with a vengeance now.

She shook her head at him again and tried to understand what he was talking about. “What kind of psychic am I?” She asked, the question conjuring up an urge to laugh. The idea of her having psychic abilities was laughable to her. But she didn’t think Dean would appreciate the humor around it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean. I haven’t done anything, and I certainly have no psychic powers.”

Dean said nothing, just shuffled sideways towards the door without  taking his eyes off of her. Y/N took a few steps towards him, but froze when his hand dropped to the pistol on his thigh and he hissed at her. “Stay back.”

She felt Emma come up and hide behind her leg and her daughter's renewed fear made anger start to burn in Y/N’s chest. In the last few weeks that Dean had been coming to dinner, Emma had been gradually losing her fear of him, offering him shy smiles and even bringing him one of her books and asking him to read to her. 

But now Y/N could feel her tremble slightly and frustration flared in her. What was Dean doing? And why? Because her mother had died in a fire when she was a baby? What kind of logic was that? Where was all this insanity coming from?

Dean walked to the entrance of the cabin and called to Patrick. When the soldier appeared in the doorway Dean spoke to him brusquely.

“Go get Castiel.”

Patrick looked back and forth between Dean and Y/N and frowned at the obvious tension. “Sir?” He questioned.

“Now.” Dean said with finality. As the man turned to leave Dean spoke again. “And send Risa in here.”

Dean continued to stare at Y/N, keeping his attention intensely fixated on her, the way he’d done during those first few days she’d been there. When Risa came into the cabin she frowned; like Patrick, she could clearly sense the hostility in the room.

When Dean saw her he nodded towards Emma. “Take the kid.”

Panic suffused Y/N and she began shaking her head. Emma clutched tightly to her leg and began crying and whimpering softly. She shook her head and buried her face in Y/N’s hip. “No, mommy.” She hiccuped softly.

“Take her.” Dean said quietly but firmly. There was a pause for a moment as Risa’s eyes lingered on Emma and Y/N before she shook her head.

“No.”

Dean turned his head slowly to look at his soldier, his expression incredulous and furious at the same time. 

“Excuse me?” He said softly, and Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. 

Risa looked away for a moment, clearly intimidated by Dean's anger. But when she looked back at him, her brow was crinkled and she still questioned his demand. 

“Why?” She asked.

“Because I gave you an order, soldier.” was Dean's softly spoken reply.

Risa stared at Dean a moment longer before she took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly and forcefully, turning and walking towards Y/N and Emma.

Emma started crying in earnest and Y/N knew that no matter what, she had to try and ease her daughter’s fear. She got down on her haunches and smoothed back Emma’s fly away hair. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” She smiled brightly at her, desperately trying to erase all her own fear and anxiety about what was happening.

“Dean and I are just gonna be here for a little while trying to figure out some boring grown up stuff.” Y/N’s happy smile seemed to be fooling Emma slightly because her tears were slowing and she sniffled.

Y/N kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you let Risa take you to see Keisha and Julianne. It will be so much more fun to play with them for a while, rather than staying here and listening to boring grownups talking. And I’ll come pick you up later, okay? I promise.”

She felt awful making a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, but she wanted to believe she would be picking her up later, and she wanted Emma to lose the look of panic in her eyes. 

She nodded towards Risa. “Go on now, and have fun playing. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed her forehead and gave her another bright smile. 

Emma nodded, still obviously unsure, but willing to believe what Y/N was telling her.

Y/N kept her happy smile in place until Emma was out the door and then her mask dropped and she looked at Dean, her eyes accusing.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked quietly.

Before he could answer, Castiel walked through the door. Like the others, he seemed to notice the tension immediately and questioned it. 

“Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean motioned for Y/N to move backwards. “Sit down.” He said, with a gesture towards the folding chair she’d been sitting on to read the story. When she did, Dean turned his head towards Castiel, but never took his eyes off of her. 

“I know why she’s immune.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch. “You do?” She asked, some of her anger burning away from pure shock. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Though she still had no idea what this had to do with her mother’s death.

But evidently it was connected, because the angel’s eyes widened in disbelief as Dean continued. “Her mother died in a fire when she was a baby.”

It was to her that Castiel looked for an answer. “Is that true, Y/N?” She nodded. “My God.” 

“Will someone please explain what my mother dying has to do with anything?” Y/N asked with immense frustration.

But the men ignored her for the moment. Dean was finally looking at the angel properly and he nodded at the questions in his blue eyes. 

“Yeah, she’s a psychic kid. She’s immune, just like Sam was.”

“Who is Sam?” Y/N asked, but was ignored again.

Castiel was shaking his head. “Maybe…” He looked back towards her briefly. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” 

Dean scoffed. “Come on Cas! This is way too big a coincidence to be…coincidental.”

Cas nodded reluctantly and then frowned. “But, if she's psychic...then what’s her gift?”

Both men turned to stare at her, and Dean spoke softly. “That’s a real good question. Because she could be doing anything to us, mind controlling us, or manipulating us to only see what she wants us to.”

Y/N finally did let out a bark of laughter. “Are you insane? You think I’m mind controlling you? If I had the power of mind control, I’d definitely make you be nicer, or I’d make you let me go, because this whole thing is ridiculous! And you still haven’t explained why on earth you think I’m psychic and why my mother’s death is involved.”

Dean stared at her for a long time, and Cas just watched him. Finally Dean spoke and his voice was calm and even, as though he was just telling her a story while they sat around her table eating dinner.

“Ten years before you were born, your mother or father made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. They got something they desperately wanted and he got permission to enter their house. When you were six months old he came into your room, slit himself open and bled into your mouth. Your mother likely interrupted him somehow, and he killed her and burnt the place down around her.”

Y/N felt her stomach turn at Dean’s words. He had to be insane, there was no way it could be true. Demon blood? A demon killed her mother? She shook her head.

“How on earth could you possibly know any of this?”

“Because it’s exactly what happened to my mom, and my brother. The demon fed him his blood, killed my mom, and when Sam turned 22 he started having psychic visions. And he wasn’t the only psychic kid. There were a bunch of them, and without fail every single one of them had powers and every single one of them went bad.”

His jaw clenched and he folded his arms over his chest. “So, if you’re gonna sit there and try and tell me that you’re the only one that never had the blood take hold, the only one who managed to avoid being triggered when you turned 22? Well, then I know you’re lying. So, I’ll ask you one more time.”

His eyes were chips of ice once again. “What can you do? And what have you done already?”

Y/N blew out a puff of exasperation. “I can’t do anything, do you hear me? I am not psychic! I have no powers!”

Cas stepped forward, putting himself between the two of them. “Okay, Y/N, have you ever felt something, something that made you different from other people? Like,” he snapped his fingers, “the ability to connect easily with people maybe? You seem to make friends quickly, people respond to you.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “So being a nice person makes me a psychic now?”

Cas shook his head. “No, but maybe it’s more than you being nice, maybe people can’t help but like you. It could be involuntary on both their part and yours. Like some sort of psychic charisma”

Cas seemed to like his idea, his expression saying that he thought he’d figured it out.

But Y/N was again shaking her head. “No, look, that’s not true. I’ve had lots of people not like me, I’ve had people try to kill me in my sleep just to steal my blanket, I’ve had men attack me just for…well, for being a woman. And I can promise you I didn’t get away from those people by smiling at them and asking nicely.”

Y/N felt the old fears rise in her as she remembered the panic and terror of those moments and so many more like them. To think that she had some kind of mind control or psychic abilities and hadn’t used them then, was laughable.

Cas looked slightly defeated and Dean pushed him aside. “The fact is though, that you could be lying through your teeth, you could be saying anything to knock us off your scent.”

Y/N scowled at him and then stood up. Dean stepped back, and yanked Cas back by his shoulder. “Sit down.” He ordered her but she shook her head.

“This is ridiculous, Dean. You have to know it is.” She took a step towards him. “What about our…our friendship? What about what happened last night?”

Dean’s eyes just got colder and his voice was deep and demanding. “I said, sit down. Now!”

“Dean.” Y/N began and stepped closer again, reaching out to him. But she stopped dead and dropped her hands to her sides as Dean pulled his gun from its holster in the span of a breath. 

“I said get back, and sit down.” He said, slow and deliberate.

Y/N looked at the gun pointed at her, looked at Dean holding it, his hand not wavering an inch, and she was suddenly, unbearably sad. She stared at him and knew her heartbreak was plastered on her face, she was bad at concealing emotions. 

She nodded slowly and moved back to sit in the chair. She had lied to Emma; she wouldn’t be picking her up tonight.

***

The night passed just as her first night in camp had; with her sleeping lightly, troubled by disturbing dreams and waking to find Dean watching her almost unblinkingly. He took her to the outhouses on his own this time, and she wasn’t in chains so, that much had changed. But his hand hovering over his gun the whole way there and back definitely felt binding, and kept her locked in place just ahead of him.

When they got back to the cabin Dean walked over to the door and said something quietly to whoever was just outside. A few minutes later Theresa arrived with breakfast. She looked at Y/N back in her spot on the floor by the table leg and her young face creased in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” She asked Y/N with a look thrown at Dean.

Y/N tried to smile and put her student’s mind at ease. “Nothing, sweetie. Just trying to sort something out. Tell your mom thank you for the breakfast, but I’m not hungry. You should take that back to her so it doesn’t go to waste.”

“Eat it.” Dean’s voice rang out with authority and Theresa took a step closer to Y/N.

Y/N didn’t bother looking at him. Instead she gave Theresa a reassuring nod and the girl bent to set the tray on the ground. “It’s okay, thank you. I’ll probably be hungry later.”

But she wasn’t. She felt guilty enough about wasting food to try and swallow some down, but it just stuck in her throat and she gagged on it and spit it out. At lunch Brandy brought the food tray and she was slightly more vocal with her questions than her daughter was. 

“What the hell is going on here?” She asked Dean. “All the parents are confused and worried. They said you ordered them out of here yesterday and no one has seen Y/N since; Emma’s back with Monique.” 

She set the lunch tray on the table Y/N leaned against and bent to pick up the uneaten breakfast tray. She was looking at Y/N, but still addressing Dean when she spoke. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” Dean answered brusquely.

Brandy stood to her full height and her large chest rose and fell with indignation. “Since when do you keep me out of the loop?”

Dean frowned at her and his voice was laced with annoyance and anger. “Since this isn’t something that requires your attention. And I’d like to know, exactly when did everyone start questioning my orders?”

Brandy shrugged, seemingly unfazed by his foreboding tone. “I guess when your orders started to seem stupid.”

Y/N’s eyes grew round, beyond impressed at the woman’s boldness and nerve. Dean seemed much less impressed by it though, staring the woman down with a furious expression. But Brandy kept his gaze and never wavered. Finally Dean spoke through gritted teeth.

“Take away the tray, and send someone else with the supper tray.”

Brandy stayed still until Dean took a step towards her and yelled, “That is an order!”

Brandy shook her head, but turned towards the door as she answered. “Don’t forget, boss, not all of us are your soldiers. Some of us follow you because you’ve been a good leader.” She paused at the door and looked back at him. “Don’t fuck that up.”

She walked out, leaving behind an electric buzz of tension in the air. Dean turned back to her and the muscle in his jaw was still jumping. 

“Eat.”

But Y/N shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit!” Dean said bitingly. “You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. You have to be hungry. I don’t know what kind of hunger strike, sympathy ploy you’re going for here, but it’s not gonna work. Now, eat!” He ended on a shout and something snapped inside Y/N. 

She jumped to her feet and yelled back. “This isn’t a sympathy ploy, you bloody dumbass! I can’t eat the food because it tastes disgusting to me and it chokes me. My stomach is in knots and I feel sick! And do you know why that is? Because you keep threatening to kill me!”

Dean thundered towards her, stopping barely two feet from her. “Yeah, and I’m not gonna have you starve to death before I get the chance! Now eat!”

Y/N threw her arms wide. “What the hell do you care if I starve! It’ll just save you a bullet!” 

She took a deep breath, feeling herself unraveling but unable to stop. “You have me locked up in this place, again! You think I’m some kind of horrible monster. Again!” Her voice broke. “You have taken my child away from me! Again! So don’t pretend to give a shit about my fucking health and wellbeing!” She reached out to furiously smash the food tray to the ground. 

Silence descended and Y/N breathed hard and heavy through her nose, her anger carrying her through a little longer before she turned away from him and buried her face in her hands, quiet, uncontrollable sobs shaking her. 

By the time she managed to get herself under some kind of control, she turned around to see that Dean was gone. She looked around the room as though he might be hiding in plain sight, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Y/N walked over and fell down onto the chair he'd sat in all night. She felt exhausted and deflated. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but it felt like ages before Cas walked through the door. He looked solemn and he nodded at her. 

“Dean says that you should go.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “He’s kicking us out?”

Cas held up a hand. “Oh, no! Not…he didn’t say for you to go from camp. I mean that he said for you to go from here. Go get your daughter, go back to your tent. That kind of go.”

Y/N shook her head, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. Now, suddenly he doesn’t think I’m some kind of psychic menace?”

Cas shrugged. “Psychic yes, but menace no. He said, and I quote, ‘She was pissed enough to take off my head if she could have, and she didn’t, so she can’t.’” He shook his head. “Occasionally his thought process is hard to follow.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

She didn’t waste anymore time right then, though, contemplating Dean’s bizarre behavior; she was free to go and she ran to get Emma, apologizing for taking longer than she said she would to come get her.

Emma forgave her easily for not keeping her promise, relief clear in her big, deep cerulean eyes. They spent the evening cuddling in the tent; Y/N read her a dozen books and played clapping games with her until Emma’s eyes were shining again, and no more fear or worry clouded them.

At bedtime she sang her a song and Emma drifted off to sleep happily; Y/N found no such easy reprieve. She laid awake for hours trying to understand Dean and the way he thought. He’d been so angry, so sure of her wickedness and evil. And then, just like that, because she’d exploded in anger, he let her go?

How did that man’s mind work? And how did he see her now? Harmless psychic freak? Or someone he’d still have to keep a close eye on? 

She shook her head. It didn’t matter, he’d made himself perfectly clear on one thing, the relationship she’d thought they had, the friendship that she’d hoped would grow into more had meant nothing to him. The kiss they’d shared had meant nothing. 

She meant nothing. He couldn't  have acted the way he did if he cared about her at all.

She needed to remember that going forward and not let her heart get entangled so easily.

From now on, she needed to keep her distance.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @hobby27

#dean winchester #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #endverse!dean x y/n #endverse #endverse!dean series #dean winchester fan fic #the dangers of hope

[rheasesposts]

stoic

neteyam sully x tsu’tey!daughter!reader

summary : Neteyam doesn’t know if Y/N feels the same.

——————————————————————————

Neteyam and Y/N sat side by side on the hard and cold rock with thighs touching and arms brushing each other’s. Y/N was silent, as usual, as she sharpened her knife that was gifted to her by Mo’at, the Tsahik and Neteyam’s grandmother.

Neteyam gazed at her as she did her own thing and admired the fall of her hair on her shoulder and the fierceness in her face that was never gone. Neteyam has had a crush on her since they were babies basically. The two had been inseparable before and even after Tsu’tey, her adoptive father, died, and Y/N became almost mute, only speaking when needed. Y/N was a stony and lonely warrior, taking after her late father. Neteyam held a special place in her heart since he understood why she wouldn’t talk and especially didn’t force her to.

The duo were also enemies when it came to learning anything, from taming an Ikran to peeling a fruit. Always trying to playfully one up each other for entertainment purposes. If Neteyam was truthful, Y/N won at almost everything the two competed in. Her skill unmatched by any warrior.

Neteyam didn’t know of her feelings, and he knew he certainly would never tell her of his, despite them already acting like a mated couple. So, all Neteyam did was study and watch Y/N as she did everything with flawless precision and a sneering face. From afar, that’s where he stands with her. Abruptly, the two witness Jake come out of his family’s tent and search for someone. His eyes find the two teenagers, and he points to in front of him.

“Y/N! Fall in!” Jake shouted to the young warrior in the mountain cavern. “Neteyam!” The two friendly rivals quickly stood in the Olo’eyktan’s sight with their hands behind their back and heads high. “You two, I need you to scout some Avatars Lo’ak saw about two miles east from here. Watch them, give me intel, but do not attack. Do not.”

“Yes, sir.” Neteyam replied and hoisted his bow onto his Ikran with Y/N doing a similar thing on her own Ikran.

“I trust you two to not be reckless.” Jake frowned, and before Neteyam flew off, Jake pulled Neteyam in for a brief hug. “Be safe, please. Keep an eye on her.”

“I will.” Neteyam promised his father, and his Ikran caught up to Y/N in a minute’s time. Jake stared as his son and the girl he told his dying friend, Tsu’tey, he would keep safe and look after as they became specks in the sky.

“Be quiet.” Y/N mouthed to Neteyam as he accidentally stepped on a branch that crunched too hard for Y/N’s liking. Neteyam nodded and put a hand to Y/N’s lower back as she peered at the 3 Avatars plucking at leaves and laughing. Y/N met Neteyam’s confused stare and shrugged slightly. Unfortunately, one of the Avatars became suspicious of the sound Neteyam’s foot made a few moments before and whipped his head to look for the source.

“It’s probably an animal.” The only girl Avatar spoke and nudged the man with her gun. And the man believed her until he glanced to the tree Y/N and Neteyam sat behind and noticed a blue foot poking out the foliage. Y/N could feel the shift in the atmosphere and sucked in a large breath. She took hold of Neteyam and softly shoved him towards the Ikrans. He got her intention and snuck to their Ikrans as quiet as we could. Y/N followed closely while keeping a watchful eye on the Avatar getting near the tree they had been hiding at.

“Stop worrying, bro.” The other Avatar said and in a moment the Avatar that had suspected something Na’vi was around spotted a dull blue band on a foot escaping the area.

“There!” He yelled and ran to catch the supposed Na’vi to take back to Home Base. Y/N simply picked up speed and attached her queue to her Ikran’s before taking off and readying hee bow, arrow notched tight in the string.

“No, do not attack.” Neteyam huffed out to Y/N, but she didn’t ease the tension of the bow. Only held it in her grip. “We should go.” They didn’t get the chance, the man broke through the clearing and began shooting at her and Neteyam. “Fly!”

Y/N snarled and instructed her Ikran to fly away from the scene hurriedly. Shots rang fast and many were near her head. She heard Neteyam let out a loud grunt, and she whirled to see him being targeted by the other Avatars. Y/N didn’t care for Jake’s orders anymore, this was Neteyam’s life on the line. Her first arrow barreled into the female Avatar, and she dropped dead.

“Bitch!” The man roared and reloaded his gun, but he wasn’t fast enough, Y/N had already marked him for death, an arrow to his chest. The last Avatar redeemed his friends by shooting at Y/N’s Ikran, and the Ikran was hit in the wing causing it to spiral with Y/N remaining calm. Neteyam on the other hand was losing his mind. Her Ikran hit the forest floor with a thud, and Y/N was knocked off, and the Avatar banged his gun to her head, making her fall unconscious. Neteyam landed his Ikran somewhere the last Avatar wouldn’t see and loaded his bow. The man tied Y/N’s hands and legs together. “A pretty thing, huh?”

Neteyam became disgusted and crept around the clearing, trying to find a good spot to shoot this demon. Y/N’s Ikran made calls and groans as it realized its rider was in pain as was itself. Neteyam didn’t see before because he was in the sky, but a bullet was lodged in Y/N’s foot. Probably from her descent.

“Come out, savage!” The Avatar was scared of the other one popping out. Neteyam cursed as he gathered the courage to expose himself to the Avatar. With a war cry, he jumped in the air and shot the Avatar through the heart with his blue and green arrow. The man crumpled, and Neteyam sprinted to Y/N’s fallen body.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?” Neteyam placed his hand on her face. “Y/N.” Her yellow eyes snapped open, and she immediately became feral, thrashing to get of the unknown person’s grip. “Y/N, it’s Neteyam.” She halted her movements and in relief, shut her eyes tight. “Hey, it’s ok. You’re alright.” Y/N began shaking her head as Neteyam cut her restraints. “What is wrong?” He knew about the bullet.

“Help me up.” Y/N muttered faintly. Neteyam hauled Y/N to her one foot and kept an arm around her waist. “Call Jake.”

Neteyam complied and tapped his comm button, “Devil Dog, come in.”

“Yes. Here, what is it? Over.” Jake’s voice imputed into Neteyam’s ear. Y/N gripped Neteyam harder as her foot throbbed painfully.

“Y/N and her Ikran were hit. I need back up, over.” Neteyam noted Y/N’s consistently falling head, most likely from blood loss. “Hey, stay with me, Y/N.”

“We’re on our way. Over.” Jake said, and Neteyam turned off his device to pay all his attention to Y/N.

“They’re coming.” Neteyam sweetly told the girl who was almost limp in his arms. Y/N looked at him with a strange expression he couldn’t explain.

“You are such a baby.” Y/N lightly teased after she recalled Neteyam shrieking once the Avatars shot at him. Neteyam pulled an offended face.

“I was following orders, skxawng.” He pinched her side, and she barely smirked at him.

“What a good little soldier.” Y/N sneered comically, and Neteyam scoffed and held her tighter. Usually Neteyam would hate someone calling him that, but from her, it was acceptable. “You are suffocating me.”

“Good.” Neteyam hummed, and Y/N humorously and delicately bit his shoulder. “You are a tiny demon.”

Y/N kissed it right after and Neteyam felt butterflies at the sensation of her lips on his skin. “Really?” She peered up at him through her eyelashes, and Neteyam blushed at her unmoving stare.

“Yes.” He stuttered out. This stoic warrior is making him flustered so easily. Suddenly, an Ikran swooped down to the two of them, and Neteyam found it was his Father with his mother on the ground a second later. Jake glanced at the dead bodies and grimaced. “Sorry, sir. We broke protocol.”

Jake shook his head and arrived at Y/N’s side and propped up her feet on his knee. “What happened?” Neytiri handed Jake the antiseptic and bandage then walked to Y/N’s Ikran to patch it up as well.

“They started shooting at us.” Neteyam explained, and he observed Y/N digging her nails into her palm as Jake poured alcohol in her wound. “Y/N killed two of them before the last one shot her Ikran.” Neteyam brushed Y/N’s back in comfort as his father wrapped Y/N’s foot.

“Are you hurt?” Neytiri bellowed to her son.

“No, mother.” Neteyam called back.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Jake tied the bandage off and it tugged at the sensitive skin. “Let’s get you home.” Jake patted Y/N’s head warmly, and Neteyam led her to his Ikran. Neteyam mounted the Ikran before Jake helped Y/N onto the beast, in front of Neteyam. Neytiri and Jake were going to lead Y/N’s Ikran back. “See you at Camp.”

Y/N’s body weight was on Neteyam’s chest, but he didn’t mind. He loved when she let her guard down and showed minimal affection. One of his arms was holding her to him and the other was holding the saddle/reigns of his Ikran.

“How are you feeling?” Neteyam asked the girl who curled up into his arms to fall asleep after they visited Mo’at to check her wound, and has now awoken. Y/N just snuggled her face into his neck. “Y/N, come on.”

“I am fine, Neteyam.”

“Thank you.” Neteyam sighed, and Y/N sat up abruptly to hang over him. “Hm?”

Y/N didn’t respond to his suggestive hum, and took his face into her hands. Neteyam’s heart stopped, and he didn’t breathe. What was she doing? Y/N proceeded to straddle his torso and rest her legs on either side of his hips. A finger traced his jawline, and he didn’t dare move.

“Why does your heart beat so fast?”

“I am, uh, embarrassed.” Neteyam questioningly offered. Y/N’s fangs popped out as she beamed and ran her hands to settle on his chest.

“Why? Huh?” Y/N tilted her head, and Neteyam thought she was too pretty.

“Because you’re gorgeous.” He admitted gently, and she flickered her gaze to his agape lips before leaning down and kissing his cheek. Then his other one. Neteyam groaned in anticipation, “Just kiss me.”

“Is the great Neteyam begging?” Y/N tutted against his cheek, and Neteyam could feel her words fan over his face. Her lips hovered over his before she crashed them down into his. Neteyam’s hands were instantly on her waist and squeezing as she worked their mouths in sync. Y/N slipped her hands up to his neck.

A clear of the throat caused the two to separate lips and look like deer in headlights as Jake stood at the entrance with an awkward look.

“So, how long?” Jake pointed at them.

“Just now.” Neteyam assured quickly, and Y/N stayed in her place on top of him, not at all ashamed.

“Your father is glaring at me, I can tell.” Jake huffed, and Y/N gave him a tiny smile and cocooned back into Neteyam. “Don’t make any babies.” Jake whistled before legging out.

“Dad!” Neteyam shouted as Y/N silently chuckled and peppered his chest with kisses.

#jake sully #neteyam #neytiri #avatar #avatar x reader #kiri sully #loak sully #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #sully family #tuk sully #jake sully x y/n #neytiri x reader #sully family x reader

[tatesdiary]

No more

Summary Tate comes up to see you after your dad told him he couldn't be his psychiatrist anymore.

tags you know everything about Tate etc., cursing, you're Bens & Vivien's daughter

word count 675

Tate Langdon x f!reader

"I don't understand him, you know? Like, I finally got a friend - which they've been pushing me to do - and then he wants to get rid of you?" Huffing you fall back against your pillows, angered at your dad's lack of understanding.

"I mean I kinda brought this onto myself," Tate mumbles, his eyes still a little red from his crying earlier. "No," he flinches at your loud tone and you get up from the bed, instead standing between his legs.

"Just because he couldn't handle that we're in a relationship he's being unprofessional. Wow, you definitely brought that on yourself," the sarcasm in your voice is palpable.

He sighs and leans forward, his head resting on your chest and his arms looping around your waist. You bury a hand in his soft hair, playing with it the way he loves.

"I don't know why you stick with me. You know all the things I did, how can you not hate me?" His voice is shaky and you almost crumble when he looks up with his big doe eyes.

"I don't think it's okay what you did. I told you before. But you have to stop thinking it's all your fault, when this house and the other ghosts had a huge part in it. And you've gotten better, too," he smiles a little and you melt - letting go of him and laying back down. "Come cuddle me. Also, I'll talk to my Dad later."

He nods and kicks his shoes off. When he lays down you take him in your arms, knowing he loves being the little spoon (when you first found out you couldn't hold back cooing at him).

He sniffles a little before his breathing evens out, holding your hand tightly to his chest while sleeping.

When you're sure he's in deep sleep you loosen yourself from him, closing the door and searching for your dad.

You find him still sitting in the chair, seemingly saying goodbye to another patient.

When she's left you speak up, "We have to talk." Is all you say and sit down in the place of one of his patients. He looks surprised but nods and sits down in his leather seat, "What's up?"

"Why'd you send Tate away? He told you a million times he doesn't want to be treated by anyone else and he's obviously been through a lot. Why the fuck would you tell him to leave?"

His expression turns stony and he sighs, "(y/n), you know he's dangerous, he can't stay here. And he talks about you in a way I'm not comfortable with."

You laugh humorlessly, "Oh, so you can't deal with him? A teenager? Isn't that, like, your job? Get your shit together, ever since you cheated on mom and got that girl pregnant you've been letting it out on everyone but yourself." Rolling your eyes you get up, ready to leave. You knew that's not the way to talk to your parent, but he behaved like everything was resolved around him and like his actions didn't hurt anyone.

"Stop believing everything's gonna turn out great. You ruined this family. It's your fault, get it in your head, Jesus. And start treating Tate again, you can't stop me from seeing him anyway."

Sending him a last glare you push yourself up and leave, seeing the very boy you just talked about sheepishly leaning against the railing. With an embarrassed grin you walk over and lean against him, his arms going around your waist.

"It's so sexy when you're mean," he says and you gasp before laughing, hitting his chest weakly. As you're about to answer the door from the living room opens and your dad comes out, stilling when he sees you both.

Before he can start scolding you again you take Tate's hand and pull him back to your room.

#tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #evan peters x reader #american horror story #evan peters

[flowerandblood]

A Winter Beauty (3)

[Aemond Targaryen x fem!Stark reader]

[warnings: kissing, fluff and physical violence]

[description: Aemond and his family arrive at Winterfell for Rickon Stark's Name Day. There, Aemond meets his daughter, who arouses his desire. I changed some names and facts for the sake of the plot. Viserys is also slightly younger in this version.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

_____

Even though Aemond told her to look away, she didn't. Young Lady Stark stared with blank, terrified eyes, all pale at what was happening in the arena. Mormont punched the boy in the stomach, and he spat blood again. Y/N flinched as if someone had hit her as well.

"Beg your Lady for help, pup." Mormont said loudly to young Reed. Aemond heard her breath catch in her throat at the words, her lips quivering, remaining slightly ajar.

"Beg!" He screamed low and kicked him again. Aemond saw tears streaming down her face, but her expression didn't change an inch. She didn't even blink. She seemed to be in shock. After a while, Lord Stark himself stood up.

"What's that supposed to mean? Is it proper for an adult husband to humiliate youngster who is only seeing his first tournament? Are you going to pierce his heart and prove that you can kill children, my Lord?" He asked in a raised tone, anger in his voice. Y/N didn't look at her father, she was breathing deeply, her face pale and stony, only her nostrils flaring uneasily with each inhalation.

The young Mormont spat at his opponent in rage and threw his sword to the ground, walking away. Only then did the young Lady Stark, as if she had come back to life, take a deep, broken breath, as if she had emerged from the water. Aemond, seeing it out of the corner of his eye, fought the urge to touch her hand. Instead, he just cleared his throat, looking straight ahead.

"Calm down, my lady. He will survive." He said calmly. Lady Stark looked at him wide-eyed, her cheeks still wet. He felt a dryness in his throat and a tightness in the pit of his stomach. He looked away, trying to control himself.

As the tournament continued, the tense atmosphere slowly relaxed. Aemond moved his fingers involuntarily, resting on his armrest. Each time he did, he touched her freely outstretched hand. He had the impression that she had specially arranged it in such a way that he could easily rub her.

Every time he did, he felt a slight shiver run through her. This innocent, almost imperceptible touch turned him on. By the time the tournament was coming to an end, their hands were pressed against each other by the sides. They didn't move even an inch. The thought of him touching her in public sent shivers down his spine.

Even though he had vowed to stay away from her, all he could think of now was the feel of her soft, delicate skin against his. About how wonderful it would be to feel her hand on his face, chest, shoulders and below. He swallowed softly at the thought. He sat cross-legged, trying to hide his growing excitement. His face was stone.

He felt the pressure of disappointment and anger as the tournament ended and they both had to get up from their seats. He left behind his father king, mother queen and siblings, young Lady Stark headed the other way, after her parents. They didn't look at each other.

They didn't meet again until dinner. Aemond spoke to Aegon, admonishing him to finally leave Helaena's maid alone. Aegon had already managed to drink one cup of wine and only waved his hand, showing as usual a complete lack of interest in what his younger brother had to say to him. Aemond glanced at the entrance once in a while, feeling a strange tension and excitement.

Finally, the young Lady Stark and her brother entered the hall together, talking to each other. Y/N was wearing the same dress as at the tournament. As she walked, gown accentuated her slim figure even better.

Aemond thought with amusement that the daughters of Borros Baratheon would despair if someone told them they couldn't change clothes at least a couple of times a day. At least in his presence, they did it all the time. Their eyes met for a moment, but then they turned away.

They sat at the table only when the king entered the room. This time the feast was modest and private, only their families ate together, so they sat around a large oak table. On one edge sat his father the king, on his right sat his wife the queen, on the left sat Lord Stark and his wife. Cregan sat next to them.

Aemond sat on the edge of the table on the other side. He inhaled imperceptibly, as he saw out of the corner of his eye, that the young Lady Stark sat next to him, across from her brother. Helaena and Aegon sat next to her.

The king rose to make a toast.

"I would like to warmly propose a toast to our host, Lord Stark. Your hospitality is immeasurable and admirable. I am very happy that we will be able to spend some more time here. Congratulations to you wonderful children. Your son and heir is a great warrior and your daughter has a big heart. Her gesture towards this young boy honestly and deeply touched me."

Young Lady Stark was embarrassed by this unexpected compliment. Everyone raised their glasses and drank some wine. Aemond's and Y/N's eyes met as they both touched their mouths to their goblet and immediately turned away. Aemond felt the tension between them palpable.

The thought that she was reciprocating his affection and weakness in any way was pleasing to his ego. He felt that whenever she was around, his resolve to improve and control himself melted like ice.

Cregan approached him, asking what he thought about the tournament and his fight with Criston. Aemond answered honestly that the fight was very even and that it was the highest level of the entire tournament. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Y/N was listening intently.

She looked away as soon as he looked at her, returning to her conversation with his sister. It seemed to him that literally after a couple of minutes, they immediately established a great contact. They were talking to each other, leaning into each other's ears and laughing, her smile finally returning to her face.

Aemond couldn't take his attention away from her mouth. He still vividly remembered their sweet taste, their softness and moisture, his joy when she parted her lips for him. He knew there was more fire and lust in their kisses than some marriages had in all their years.

The thought of it drove him mad, for he had only exchanged a few words with her. He was thinking more and more about simply paying his father a visit and asking him to make her his wife.

He shivered as he heard her soft voice directed at him. She looked at him calmly, warmly.

"Will you take part in the hunt tomorrow, my prince?" She asked, a note of genuine curiosity in her voice. Aemond tried to meet her eyes, but his gaze kept falling to her bare shoulders.

"Yes, my Lady." He answered more brusquely than he would have liked. But that didn't discourage her. She clearly understood now that the tone of his voice often did not reflect his real thoughts and emotions. She turned in her chair, holding her cup in her hand. Her brother spoke up.

“My sister is great at long-range archery. I'm afraid she'll hunt more wild animals tomorrow than all of us put together." He said with amusement, and his sister laughed heartily at his words. Helaena looked at her surprised and excited.

"Do you shoot a bow? Who taught you that?" She asked curiously, slapping her hands lightly as if to applaud her.

"My father. I was very jealous when Cregan started practicing sword fighting and I couldn't join him. My father suggested that archery was more ladylike and taught me himself." She said, smiling thoughtfully, apparently deeply absorbed in the memories. "If the king and queen don't mind, I can show you how it's done, princess." She said gently. Helaena was delighted with the idea.

"Yes! I'd love to try it. I just wouldn't want to kill any living thing." She said right away. Young Lady Stark laughed lightly.

“First, we will try to hit the center of the target. You can practice archery and not kill anyone all your life." She said warmly, clearly overjoyed that the princess herself wanted to practice with her.

Aemond had seen what she could do in the castle courtyard. She was practically always right when she shot. Her brother was right when he said she needed a bigger challenge for herself.

It intrigued him that no one was surprised to see her there. The men watched her, some with curiosity, some with lust, but her presence there seemed to be known and accepted by all. He asked her a question before he could think, what he was saying.

"Have you ever tried sword fighting, my Lady?" He asked, taking a sip of his wine, surprised by what he might call daring in his case. Lady Stark looked at him surprised that he was addressing her directly.

"No. As I said, my father did not think that skill was necessary or welcome for a lady, my prince." She said calmly, slightly embarrassed. You'd think there was a note of regret in her voice. Aemond looked at her expectantly.

"Would you like to try?" He asked shamelessly. Cregan looked at him in surprise. Y/N looked like she didn't know what to say. Her cheeks flushed red, but it wasn't just the wine. She blinked and swallowed softly. She looked at her brother, who raised his eyebrows.

"I don't want to upset my father, my prince." She finally said quietly, uncertainly, looking at him fearfully, as if she was afraid that her answer would upset or offend him. Aemond looked at her intensely.

"Join me and your brother tomorrow. We will practice early in the morning, at sunrise. Everyone will then be busy preparing for the hunt. Tell your father you couldn't refuse." He spoke calmly and low. Lady Stark swallowed silently, but her eyes lit up suddenly. His heart beat faster as he saw her smiling widely, looking at him gratefully. He thought he wanted her. He wanted her for himself.

The rest of dinner passed quietly. He talked with Cregan for a while longer, and though it was not a lively conversation, he became convinced that the young Lord Stark was a well-read and intelligent man. It seemed to him that Cregan saw that the sight of his sister pleased his eye. However, he made no comment on the matter. He said something else instead.

"I heard you and your brother are getting married soon, my prince." He said in a light tone that suggested congratulations. Aemond's jaw clenched at the remark. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw young Lady Stark look down at her plate.

"My marriage plans are not yet certain, my lord." He explained coldly, Cregan hearing his tone didn't dare ask anything more. Aemond glanced at Y/N, but to his despair, she didn't look at him again for the rest of the evening.

The king and queen were the first to leave the hall, his father was already tired and had a difficult day ahead of him. Lord and Lady Stark also thanked and went to their chambers.

After a few minutes, Y/N finished the rest of the wine that was left in her goblet and rose, thanking everyone for the pleasant feast, and headed towards the exit. Aemond felt an unfamiliar feeling of disappointment that she hadn't even given him one look.

He pursed his lips, finished the wine he had in his goblet in one gulp, and stood up tensely, leaving, much to the surprise of those gathered.

He caught up with her easily. She glanced behind her and stared at him in surprise and fear, her mouth parted as if to say something, but the words stuck in her throat.

He grabbed her face with his hand and pulled her brutally against him, his mouth digging into her lips with hunger. She moaned into his mouth and pushed him away. Both of them were breathing heavily, looking at each other with furrowed brows.

"I am not a thing, my prince, that you can take whenever you want." She said angry. Her remark annoyed him.

"Neither do I, my Lady." He said equally frustrated. His answer caught her off guard and surprised her. She swallowed silently.

"It's not fair to Lord Baratheon's daughters." She said finally, looking at him with pain and regret. Aemond pursed his lips.

"I'm not officially engaged to either of them." He replied dryly. Lady Stark shivered, looking uncertainly around the corridor to see if anyone had overheard their conversation. She looked at him, her gaze softening. They both calmed down.

Aemond approached her slowly, took her face in his hand again, but this time gently, sensitively. She didn't pull away, just took a deep breath, looking at him uncertainly. Aemond tried to remember the sight - her long, black lashes, framing her pale eyes, her long, slightly rounded nose, her full, warm lips that he could still taste.

He leaned over her and this time they both kissed, their lips sticky and warm, their movements slow, prolonging the moment. Aemond wanted to remember the taste of her lips, their softness, their suppleness, their wonderful warmth.

They broke apart suddenly, terrified, when they heard her brother's voice from behind them, who was standing a few meters away, watching them intently. Y/N looked at him pleadingly, opened her mouth to say something in her defense. But he didn't let her say anything.

“Dear sister, leave me and the prince alone for a while. I'd like to have a word with him."

_____

If you want to be tagged in the next parts, let me know. ~

@zenka69 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @namoreno @dreamlandcreations

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