aiyaiy

[aiyaiy]

All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

“A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[aiyaiy]

The Rogue’s Flower

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Betrothed to the fiery and unpredictable Daemon Targaryen, you navigate the jealousy of Rhaenyra and the scrutiny of the court, emerging as the only one who can match Daemon’s fire with unwavering grace, solidifying a love and union that even the Rogue Prince vows to protect at any cost.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The halls of the Red Keep buzzed with whispers, and you were at their center. Wherever you walked, the courtiers turned to watch, their gazes following you with awe, envy, and curiosity. They called you Westeros’ Flower, the most beautiful woman in the realm, a title that seemed almost too small to contain the presence you carried. But it wasn’t just your beauty that captivated the court—it was your grace, your strength, and your betrothal to none other than Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince.

Daemon had always been a man who bent the world to his will, a force of nature who answered to no one. His engagement to you had shocked many, for he was a man of fire and fury, and you were the embodiment of serenity and elegance. Yet beneath your composed exterior lay a spirit as unyielding as the man you were to marry. It was this balance that had drawn Daemon to you, though not everyone saw it so clearly.

No one struggled more with your presence than Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her bond with Daemon had always been close, their shared dragonfire a connection few could rival. But your arrival had shifted the dynamics, and Rhaenyra found herself watching from the sidelines as Daemon’s attention, once hers to command, was entirely consumed by you.

Rhaenyra’s jealousy simmered quietly, though it was impossible for her to fully mask. At a feast held in your honor, she approached you with a wine cup in hand, her expression poised but her violet eyes betraying the storm beneath. “You must find this overwhelming,” she said, her tone polite yet laced with an undercurrent of challenge. “The court, the whispers… my uncle’s affections.”

You tilted your head, meeting her gaze with a calm that belied the tension in the air. “Overwhelming?” you repeated, your voice soft yet unshakable. “No, Your Grace. I have always understood the weight of responsibility.”

Her smile tightened. “And my uncle’s… reputation? Does that not concern you?”

You held her gaze, unflinching. “It does not. Daemon may be many things, but above all, he is loyal. When he loves, he does so fiercely. I trust him.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Daemon’s voice cut through the tension. “Rhaenyra.” His tone was firm but not unkind, though his focus was entirely on you. He moved to your side, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back. “I trust you’re making my betrothed feel welcome?”

Rhaenyra faltered, the fire in her gaze dimming as she realized she could not compete with the unwavering way Daemon looked at you. “Of course, Uncle,” she said, her voice clipped. “It was only a friendly conversation.”

Daemon’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “Good,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Because she is my future.”

Rhaenyra excused herself soon after, and the air felt lighter without the weight of her envy. Daemon turned to you, his violet eyes softening as he reached for your hand. “She’ll come to accept it in time,” he murmured. “But I don’t care if she doesn’t. My heart belongs to you, not her.”

His words sent warmth blooming in your chest, and you squeezed his hand gently. “Let her think what she will,” you said. “As long as you are mine, nothing else matters.”

Daemon’s devotion to you was not hidden—it was as fiery and open as the dragons that soared above the Red Keep. He spoke your name with reverence, defended you fiercely in court, and looked at you as though you were the only thing worth conquering. His reputation as a rogue melted away in your presence, leaving behind a man who was utterly and unapologetically yours.

One evening, as you walked together through the gardens of the Red Keep, he pulled you aside, away from the prying eyes of courtiers. The moonlight bathed the world in silver, and the faint scent of blooming roses lingered in the air. Daemon cupped your face in his hands, his gaze intense yet tender. “Do you know why I chose you?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Perhaps for the alliance,” you teased lightly, though your heart raced at the sincerity in his tone.

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “No. The alliance was a convenience. I chose you because you are the only person who sees me as I am and does not flinch. You do not fear the fire in me. Instead, you stoke it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded. “And you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, “are the only one who makes me feel as though I am more than just beauty. You see the woman behind the title.”

He kissed you then, his lips fierce and unrelenting, as though he was claiming you all over again. When he pulled back, his smirk returned, tinged with mischief. “The court can call you Westeros’ Flower,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you are my queen, and that is all that matters.”

The day of your wedding arrived with the sound of dragons roaring overhead, their cries echoing through the Red Keep. The Great Hall was transformed into a spectacle of splendor, the air thick with the scent of flowers and dragonfire. As you walked down the aisle, every eye was on you, but yours were fixed solely on Daemon. He stood at the altar, resplendent in black and red, his silver hair gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. His gaze was unyielding, drinking in the sight of you as though nothing else in the world existed.

“You are mine,” he said softly, his voice meant only for you. “And I am yours. Forever.”

As the High Septon performed the rites, Daemon’s eyes never left yours. When the ceremony was complete, and the court erupted into cheers, he kissed you with a fervor that left no doubt in anyone’s mind where his heart lay. The feast that followed was filled with songs of your beauty and your union, but it was the way Daemon never left your side that spoke volumes. He danced with you, toasted to your happiness, and defended you from even the faintest whisper of doubt.

Rhaenyra watched from her seat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as the reality of your bond with Daemon became undeniable. For all her fire and ambition, she knew she could never rival the love he bore for you. You were not just the most beautiful woman in Westeros—you were the woman who had tamed the Rogue Prince without ever needing to clip his wings.

As the night wore on and the court began to fade into the background, Daemon pulled you close, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. “Let them whisper, let them envy,” he said. “You are mine, my flower, and I will burn the world for you if I must.”

And in that moment, you knew there was no force in the realm—no jealousy, no ambition, no fire—that could ever come between you. Bound by love, fire, and blood, you and Daemon were unbreakable.

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[aiyaiy]

Jacaerys Velaryon - A Taste of Sweetness

Summary - Amid a sunlit berry field, they share playful banter that deepens into a moment of heartfelt desire. Their closeness turns the simple act of berry-picking into a quiet celebration of their bond. Together, they savour the fleeting magic of the day, lost in each other.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2381

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Jace, look at this one!" I exclaimed, cradling a tiny berry delicately between my fingers. Its vibrant red hue glistened in the sunlight, a jewel hidden beneath its glossy sheen. 

The berry was almost comically small, barely the size of a raindrop, but to me, it was a treasure in this endless sun-kissed field.

He turned, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile that always seemed to carry warmth like the summer sun itself. 

Adjusting his grip on the woven basket brimming with berries, he studied my find, his eyes soft with affection. 

"It's just not finished growing yet," he said, his voice gentle and laced with that tender amusement that I had come to know as a hallmark of his love.

I shook my head, resolute. "No, it's just small," I insisted, placing the delicate fruit atop the pile already nestled in the basket. 

As I did so, the wind teased a strand of Jace's hair, sending it dancing across his face. I tucked it back behind his ear, my fingers lingering on the strawberry blossom I had playfully tucked into his hair earlier. 

The white petals glowed against the dark waves, creating a whimsical, almost regal crown that suited him more than he'd admit.

He chuckled, his laugh a deep, rich sound that mingled with the rustling grass and carried across the open field. "Whatever you say," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief and fondness.

Feigning an air of wounded dignity, I crossed my arms and leaned back. "You're humouring me," I accused, though a smile played at my lips.

He bowed with exaggerated flourish, his movements comically grand. 

"As is my sworn duty," he declared, a glint of playfulness dancing in his gaze. "Although I must say, I expected dragon-riders to have better things to do than argue over fruit."

"Perhaps," I conceded, a small smile curving my lips as I plucked another berry from the basket. "But where's the thrill in that?" I pressed the berry softly to his lips, watching as his eyes held mine, their warmth unwavering. 

He took a slow bite, savouring it before a teasing glint sparked anew.

"Not bad," he murmured, a hint of mock seriousness in his tone. "But perhaps you're right. Some are meant to be small."

"See?" I retorted triumphantly, reaching for another, intentionally avoiding the largest berries. "Even in matters as small as berries, I am rarely wrong."

He shook his head, laughing in that rich, unmistakable way that seemed to resonate through me. He leaned closer, his breath a whisper of warmth against my skin. 

"You are often insufferable," he whispered, his words wrapped in the intimacy of a shared joke, "but never dull."

I swallowed back a laugh, letting the moment, savouring the golden warmth of the sun on my skin and the nearness of him—the one who understood every nuance of my words, every fleeting glance and unspoken thought. 

"Insufferable, am I?" I leaned back slightly, arching an eyebrow with mock severity, the air between us charged with playful defiance. "You'll rue the day when your basket lies empty."

His lips curved into a soft, affectionate smile as he lifted the basket, brimming with a vibrant mosaic of berries, their crimson and deep purple hues shimmering under the sun's gaze. 

For a moment, he grew quiet, his expression softening with a kind of reverence as if capturing and holding the essence of this fleeting afternoon. 

"I regret nothing," he said, the words low and imbued with a sincerity that lingered like a promise borne on the wind.

I reached into the basket, selecting a berry perched at the very top, its skin plump and glistening with sunlit sweetness. I brought it to my lips, savouring its taste before my eyes met his beneath lowered lashes. 

"Come taste," I whispered, my voice a soft, inviting breeze.

He needed no further urging. In a heartbeat, he closed the space between us, his movements swift but somehow achingly tender. 

He leaned in, his lips capturing the other half of the berry, biting down just as our mouths met. 

The sweetness of the fruit burst between us, a mingling of flavours that danced over my tongue as he kissed me with a fervent intensity. 

The world around us melted away, leaving only the taste of berries, the warmth of his lips, and the electric touch of his breath mingling with mine.

His tongue traced mine, carrying with it the lingering flavour of the berry, a dance that was as sensual as it was intoxicating. 

My fingers found their way around his shoulders, drawing him closer as if the distance between us could never be too small. 

He clung to me with a sudden urgency, his hands at once gentle and commanding. 

The basket he had so carefully balanced slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the ground in a cascade of berries, a forgotten relic of the moment as it rolled lazily away.

He lowered me gently onto the lush grass, the blades soft and cool beneath my back. The world seemed to hold its breath, the whispering wind and rustling leaves conspiring to give us this stolen moment, suspended in time. 

His lips left mine only to trace a path along my jaw, down the curve of my neck, as if committing every inch of me to memory. 

Each touch was fire and softness, a contradiction that left me breathless, craving more.

The sun's rays filtered through the canopy above, dappling his dark hair with specks of light, and for an instant, he looked like a creature of myth—a fae king or a wayward knight, utterly mine in this field of berries and sunlight. 

My fingers tangled in his hair, brushing the white petals of the blossom I had placed there earlier. It felt like a fragile promise—a symbol of everything wild and delicate that existed between us.

"You are insufferable," he murmured, his voice low and rough with a mixture of amusement and desire. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, catching his breath, his eyes searching mine with a vulnerability that made my heart ache. "But I'll never stop loving you for it."

I laughed softly, the sound a mix of joy and disbelief at the strength of our connection. 

"Good," I replied, my hands cupping his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. "Because I have every intention of making you suffer more."

"Suffer?" he echoed, his voice laced with gentle disbelief. I nodded, my eyes locked on his, steady and unwavering. His lips curled into a soft smile, full of affection. 

"If it means I get to spend my days with you, then suffering will be all I wish for," he whispered, each word a vow that lingered between us, deeper than anything spoken aloud.

The sun bathed the field in golden warmth, a soft breeze whispering through the tall grass around us. 

His hands moved with reverence, tracing the curve of my spine, exploring the warmth of my skin as though savouring the very essence of me. I responded in kind, my fingers trailing up his strong arms, memorizing the feel of him beneath my touch. 

Slowly, we unravelled the layers that separated us, removing each piece of clothing with the careful precision of two people who had learned the art of patience and desire.

As his lips captured mine once more, the kiss was not hurried but tender, as if savouring a sweetness that could only exist in this moment. 

I curled my legs around his waist, drawing him closer, feeling the press of his body against mine. 

Our breaths came faster, mingling between us, and I felt the flush of heat rise between us like a living thing.

His thumb brushed across my swollen lips, tracing the berry juice that had dripped down my cheek. 

"Eager, are we?" he teased softly, his voice filled with affection as he studied me, his gaze soft but filled with an undeniable hunger.

"For you, my beautiful, devoted husband?" I whispered, my voice a caress. "Always."

The flush on his cheeks deepened, but there was no shame in it, only a quiet adoration. He shifted, his hands gentle but firm as he positioned himself before me, entering me with a slow, deliberate motion that made my breath catch in my throat.

A soft moan escaped me as I clutched at the grass, grounding myself as the familiar yet overwhelming sensation of him inside me unfurled a longing deep within. 

The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of us, lost in the rhythm of our shared breath and the soft, sensual whispers of the earth beneath us.

As he moved within me, a deep groan escaped his lips, a sound that sent a ripple of pleasure through me. 

His hands were firm at my waist, guiding me as we moved together, a slow, almost reverent pace. 

The air between us thickened, heavy with the warmth of our connection, and yet, he still found the room to be tender in his touch.

Suddenly, he pulled back just enough to look down at me, his eyes glinting with something playful and affectionate. 

He reached for a handful of ripe, sun-warmed berries that lay scattered across the grass beside us, their rich colour a stark contrast to the pale blue sky above.

"Let me feed you," he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper as he brought the berries to my lips. 

I opened my mouth obediently, tasting the sweetness of the fruit on his fingertips as he pressed them gently against my lips. 

His thumb brushed over the curve of my mouth, wiping away the juice that lingered there before leaning down to kiss me again, savouring the taste of berries mixed with the warmth of my kiss.

His hands continued to explore, moving down to the valley of my chest, tracing the delicate lines of my body, until he placed more berries just below my collarbone, their juice staining my skin a rich red. 

Without hesitation, he lowered his mouth to me, his lips soft against the curve of my neck as he licked the fruit from my skin with a slow, deliberate movement. 

The feeling of his tongue tracing the sweetness left me shivering, the pleasure heightened by the delicate intimacy of the act.

I gasped, my body responding to the way he lavished me with attention, each touch, each kiss sending waves of sensation coursing through me. 

He took his time, savouring me, the berries, the moment—nothing was rushed. 

The act was not just about passion but about the intimacy of sharing something so simple, so sweet, in the quiet of a sunlit field.

He pulled back for a moment, his gaze locking onto mine, filled with an intensity that left me breathless.

And then, with a low groan, he returned to the rhythm we had created, his hands gripping my waist as he moved deeper, our bodies now a seamless, undulating motion. 

I moaned softly as we moved in unison, the warmth of his skin, the sweetness of the berries, and the unspoken love between us becoming the only truths that mattered.

The rhythm between us deepened until there was nothing left but the two of us—sweating, breathless, tangled in the warmth of the sun and the passion we shared. 

His hands were firm on my waist, guiding me in a dance that was both slow and frantic, a meeting of need and tenderness. 

Each thrust, each shift of his body against mine, sent waves of pleasure crashing through me, each sensation lingering, stretching out the moment.

The berries, now half-mashed into the grass, had left their mark on both of us. I could feel the sticky sweetness on my skin, a trail of berry juice tracing the path of his lips across my neck and shoulders. 

His hands, still tracing the soft curve of my body, were stained with the juice, and I could see the faint pink of berries smeared across his lips when he kissed me again. 

I moaned into his mouth, the taste of him, the berries, and the mingling heat of our bodies filling every part of me.

"You taste like heaven," he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with desire.

I smiled against his lips, my fingers threading through his hair as I pulled him closer. "As do you," I whispered back, feeling my body quiver as he adjusted his position, pushing deeper with a groan that echoed in my chest.

The air around us was thick, the smell of fresh fruit and earth mixing with the heady scent of our sweat. It was all-consuming, intoxicating. 

His lips found the delicate hollow of my throat again, and with each pass of his mouth over my skin, I felt the slow burn build inside me, winding tighter and tighter until I couldn't hold back any longer.

His name fell from my lips like a prayer, a final surrender. 

He groaned, his movements growing more urgent as he answered my cry with one of his own, pushing into me, harder now, each thrust deep and steady as we reached the pinnacle together. 

My body clenched around him as I trembled, the world spinning, the sensation of him inside me overwhelming.

He stiffened above me, his hands grasping at my hips as he came with a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with the force of his release. 

I held onto him tightly, feeling every ripple of his pleasure as he collapsed into me, our bodies still connected, sharing the final moments of the crescendo.

For a long, quiet moment, we stayed there, the two of us tangled in the soft, sun-warmed grass, flushed and breathless. The silence felt sacred as if the world outside us had ceased to exist.

"Look at us," he finally whispered, his voice hushed, but filled with awe. He lifted a hand, touching my cheek gently, tracing the berry stain still lingering there.

I smiled, a soft, satisfied laugh escaping me. 

"Berry-stained and blissfully in love," I whispered back, my voice a quiet echo of his. 

I turned my head to kiss him, slow and sweet, savouring the taste of him, the sweetness of the berries, and the satisfaction of being so completely entwined with him, body and soul.

As we lay there, the sun dipping lower in the sky, we knew that this moment—this simple, beautiful moment—was ours. 

A quiet, timeless memory we'd carry with us, berry-stained, flushed, and utterly, completely satisfied.

A/n - Twisted Love if ykyk

[aiyaiy]

Barely Even Friends

Summary: A marriage that wasn't even supposed to be the solution became the only solution to remedy the Wretched Hightower. Characters: Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader!Hightower. Otto Hightower. Alicent Hightower. Word Count: 1,775 Chapter Warnings: Not Edited. Otto being father of the year. Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prince Daemon Targaryen was an enigma that you wish never to be associated with since your return to King’s Landing, and yet here you were. Preparing for a marriage that you did not want nor did you even need. But your atrocities and your father’s conniving nature could not bend the King’s will as he was all the more convinced that the union between yourself and his brother would benefit the realm.

Two Hightower sisters wedded to the two Targaryen brothers. How pathetic of a house could they be to stoop so low for the sake of power.

“I’m sure it will not be as bad as you think it will be.” Alicent, as much as you had grown to resent her for choosing to accept the fate forced upon her by your father, there was still the worry of an older sister towards your baby sister.

“You are married to a King, Alicent. I am bound to a Prince that has no self-control and a reputation that precedes him.”

“No different from you, Sister.” Alicent pointed with a smile that immediately fell upon the sight of your pointed glare towards her.

“Do you truly believe that what our father wants is for our sake or of his own?” You inquired to your sister as you peered around the chamber that was your sister’s own since her marriage to the King, the former Queen’s bedroom to be more specific. “To live under the control of yet another man, giving him children upon children until you experience the same fate as the Late Queen?”

Silence lingered in the chamber. The frown deepens on your younger sister’s lips at the words you knew as her fears come to life. There was no escaping such a fact, not even a Queen could escape such a fate if the Gods were cruel enough to grant it to her.

“Everyone dies, Sister.”

“But not everyone tries to meet with the Stranger more than she needs to.” You quipped right back looking at her evident bump. “You’ve given him an heir as what was required out of you, is it duty anymore or just ignorance?”

You know well enough you’ve offended her. A momentary guilt spreads through your core at the sight of the little girl you had vowed to your mother you would protect with all of your life, from the cruelty of your father and of the world–yet somehow here you were, being the main source of the pain.

“I think it is best for you to rest for the night, Sister.” She dismissed you and it was enough to end the conversation you had.

You sighed and nodded.

“As you wish, your Grace.” You spoke before turning your way and leaving her chambers.

A sigh had escaped your lips at the sight of a handful of guards on watch–more for you than for the Queen herself. They were making sure you did not leave, not this time especially with the apparent betrothal to the Rogue Prince himself. Everyone knew you would escape–it was expected out of you at this point, but you were tired.

If it wasn’t one thing, it would be another. With the guards following her closely as she made her way to her chambers, the fury and annoyance growing ever more prominent in her skin with the three guards that followed just behind you. You could escape them if you wanted to–maybe you would just to spite everyone involved in this idiocy.

“Leave us.”

The hair at the back of your head stood at the familiar voice. Oh how you loathe the voice of the man that you now had the misfortune of calling your betrothed.

“You know it is frowned upon to have the two of us in private, Your Grace.” You quipped but the two of you knew you could care less about your reputation, but you did not want to be in his presence at the moment.

“And I am certain neither of us care of such a reputation, Lady Hightower.”

“But neither of us want to deal with our respective family at this time.”

Turning you were met with the smug smirk of the Prince. Your hand was aching to slap the smirk off of his face, but held yourself back especially with the guards that have yet to move from their position in front of you. The conflict of their duty to her and the position of the man in front of them all.

“I am in no mood to deal with you, Daemon.” You spoke frankly, no longer having the energy for his games. “You’ve done too much damage to what little grasp of freedom I still had in these seven hells you call the Keep.”

The smirk on his face disappeared at your words, his eyes turned once again to the guards that were here to control you instead of protecting you.

“Do not make me tell you twice, no one will like the blood I am willing to spill this evening.” His voice growing a tinge louder that physically had you taking a step back because of it.

It was enough to have the guards leaving you in the mercy of the man that you would be marrying in the following moon–whether you like it or not. You sighed seeing you were now alone in the hallway with the man that demanded a fate you would never give to your worst of enemies.

“Do you think so little of me?”

You stared at him, daring him to think about his words. Of the reality he forcefully bestowed upon you. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to be in King’s Landing, they should have stripped you of what little nobility you still had and left you to fend for yourself–it was better than the situation you had now.

“I would ask the same thing since you forced yourself into a marriage I did not want nor did I even need, Your Grace.” You spoke frankly. “But what I want does not matter, it is your will and I am bound to follow it whether I like it or not.”

Without another word, you turned and made your way to your chambers, refusing to wait for a response from your future husband and the fate he will place upon you.

“You truly can’t do anything to save me from such a fate?” You had asked your father as you finally readied yourself for your marriage to a Prince and Otto was to walk you down the aisle to your future husband.

It was not a happy affair, the skies were bleak and dark as your own mood. Marriage should be a happy affair, but it never was for you. It was a death sentence for a life that will never truly be your own.

“It is the will of the King and of your future husband.”

You snorted, refusing to look him in the eye anymore as your servant has finished with your dress. You chose to dress in your family’s colors of green, instead of the red and black of your future husband’s own. Even in the last moments of your future, you wanted to grasp into a small piece of hope of this not pushing through.

“Until the very end, you continue to be a lapdog for the Targaryen and their whims.” You spoke frankly. “I had thought you would be satisfied with pleasing the King with my younger sister, but for the life of me I cannot believe that for all the loathe and gripe you had for Daemon, you would use me as another one of your tools.”

Your father said nothing towards you, instead focused on the servants leaving the room and not hearing anymore of the words that would certainly land in your demise at the hand of the King’s Justice, a fate better than was already placed upon you.

“You placed me upon a family that I did not want to be a part of. And now you will pay for the consequence of it when the time comes that much I can promise you, Father.”

“What do you wish for me to have done instead?” He finally acknowledged you, eyes burning with anger and an emotion that you had never truly seen in your father–fear.

“You should have been a father to me,” You admit. “You should have kept your promise to Mother before she passed.”

He said nothing as you were both signaled to head towards the sept for the ceremony. You did not hold his arm even if he presented it to you. You couldn’t. You did not want to hold him as he fed you to the dragon. You did not want to give him the right to do so anymore.

“There will be a time that Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne will come, and I can assure you that I will make sure that all of your plans do not come to fruition. No one in our family or our bloodline will ever sit on the Iron Throne.”

As you both continued on to walk, the echoes of your shared footsteps muting the sound of your beating heart.

“When the time comes, I will ensure that my future husband will erase you and our name from the history books for what you had made me do today, Otto.”

It was a promise that you were certain you will keep, whether anyone likes it or not. Nothing fuels a resentful daughter more than spite.

You ignored your father’s gentle whisper of your name, as the doors to the sept opened and you were met with the sight of a handful of nobles present to the union that you never wanted.

Once again, your father offered his arms but instead you walked with him quick to follow the pace you made. Staring at the man by the altar with the septon. The smirk on his lips ever growing bigger, and in that moment the first line of tear fell from your cheeks.

As soon as you stood besides the man that will now be your husband, your world stills as the tears continued to fall from your eyes and the smirk on his face disappeared at the sight of you.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Even as the words escaped the Septon’s lips, there was no protection that would ever reassure you of the betrayal of your father and what he chose not to do for you and for the sake of what little control you still had in your life.

[aiyaiy]

Tale As Old as Time

Summary: Prince Daemon Targaryen hated everyone and anyone that has the name Hightower in it. But there was an exception to it, the oldest sister of Alicent and Gwayne Hightower, the Wretched Hightower as she was infamously known for. But Daemon was on a mission to ensure she will be called by any other name–even if it means putting his own as a result. Characters: Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader!Hightower. Otto Hightower. Alicent Hightower. Viserys Targaryen. Word Count: 1,360 Chapter Warnings: Not Edited. Slight Profanities. Otto being Otto. Author's Note: Enemies to Lovers anyone?

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prince Daemon Targaryen knew how much of a cunt Otto Hightower was. It goes for Alicent and Gwayne too. But somehow, such disdain and loathing cannot be said about you. His exception as he fondly calls you.

You were known as the Wretched Hightower that did not stay long in Oldtown for causing far too much destruction and the only way for your father to ever control you was if you were close to him–or rather have the Kingsguard and even the City Watch constantly under surveillance of you.

Hence, this was the very reason why Daemon was so fond of you. How even his most skilled City Watch or even the Kingsguard themselves was no match to your resourcefulness and how easy it was to evade each and every single one of them at night as you spent your nights in Fleabottom, away from the constant control of the Keep.

“Here you are again, it seems.”

Daemon looked at you, defiance all too evident in your eyes as you looked right at him. One too many run-ins with each other, the surprise has finally worn off your face every single time he catches you strolling around. But never once did the dagger in your grasp ease away in the numerous instances of seeing you.

“I’m sure at this point you are just following me, Your Grace.” You spoke, no sense of decorum or politeness unlike your sister. You were very much a woman with a mind of your own not controlled by your father.

“I am simply doing my job. Somehow, my patrolling the safety of King’s Landing also has an additional responsibility of making sure the Wretched Hightower does not cause a scene.”

At the mention of the moniker, your eyes darken and your knuckles turned white as your grip on your dagger tightened. If he pushes you further, there might even be a chance you might make use of it–on him more specifically.

“I apologize for adding to your responsibilities, Lord of Flea Bottom.” You curtsied mockingly in front of him to earn a huge grin on his mouth. He loved this, you play as hard as he does, every single time, you will not let anyone else win if you had a chance. Never one to allow anyone else to have the last word.

But the Rogue Prince wasn’t known for his patience, more known for his pettiness.

With a nod, he moved quicker than you anticipated and you were lifted into his arms before moving until you were now on his shoulder. An annoyed scream escaped your lips, your dagger was taken before you could make use of it.

“Let go of me you stupid fucking lizard!”

“My, does your father not teach you manners, or respect?” He teased as he began his journey back to the Keep, anticipating what that Cunt Otto would do now. “I could even cite you for attempted regicide.”

“I don’t give a damn about your laws, Targaryen! Let go of me!” You continued to scream, your fist hitting his armored back. He was genuinely surprised by how unmoved you were by the metal he wore–but then again anger and spite was the best remedy for pain but he was all the more certain you will be feeling the damage was all was said and done.

“I’m sure your father would love to hear you and your opinions of the law in the Seven realms.” He chuckled, ignoring the eyes that had now come glued to all of them.

He ensured even in your already embarrassing state, you were decent. The hand holding onto your dagger also ensured your skirt did not show more than you intended to.

“Make sure you rest well, the next time I see you I’ll make sure to slit your throat and bathe in your blood.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Daemon continued to point out with a wicked grin as he walked further away from the chaos of Fleabottom. “I can only hope you still have that fire when we return to the Keep, Lady Hightower.”

Daemon only knew what your father would think of this situation, more so when he was once again responsible for taking you back without harm on a single hair on your pretty little head.

“You continue to bring shame upon the family name, you insolent brat!”

You have been so used to your father’s scolding, but the only difference with this time was the fact that he wasn’t alone. Daemon Targaryen had made a spectacle out of you, bringing you into the throne room in front where your father, the King’s Hand stood, arms crossed and veins on the brink of popping.

In the throne room also resided a few key figures in the parading embarrassment that was Daemon’s own making.

The King himself, amused as much as he was tired of your antics sat on the throne, the grin openly evident on his face but no one was to question him for his emotions for he was afterall the King.

Your younger sister and the King’s wife, Alicent, was also present. Ever the lapdog of your father was also disappointed in you as you strived for your own freedom–something she did not have since agreeing to marry the King.

Then there was the man that was responsible for your predicament. Prince Daemon Targaryen. A smirk all the more evident on his face, victorious for one upping you in this imaginary war you somehow waged with the Rogue Prince since your nightly escape.

“Are you done, father?” You inquired.

“This is the reason why I should have married you to that Lord in the south!” Otto continued, voice growing louder now.  “I can’t control you, your Uncle could not control you, your husband might control you as he should!”

You scoffed. You knew as much as he did that there was no Lord in the south. His first plan of many was for you to marry the King the first moment that the late Queen was burned in the Hill of Rhaenys. But as Wretched as you were known in the realm, you still had common decency. You will never marry a mourning man who lost his wife and child for the sake of a better standing for the family. The same could not be said about your younger sister, now married and now carrying her second child with the King.

“I’d rather be a Septa than marry a man that will never keep up with me, Lord Hand.” You spat.

You glared at the chuckle that escaped the Rogue Prince’s lips.

“I think there will be a much better way to handle this dispute, Lord Hand.” King Viserys pointed out, the fun of the situation now gone and it left nothing more than a family dispute that he should not be a part of.

“Nothing could control her, no Kingsguard nor City Watch can tame her, and I am having second thoughts of throwing her into sept instead.”

You rolled your eyes. He never truly cared about you, your brother, or your sister. It was always like this with him. If he finds no use out of you, he will throw you out like a used toy. It was a cycle that you were all the more familiar with. Lived through it for years, long before either Alicent or Gwayne was born.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.” Daemon began.

All heads turned to the man, your heart lurched from your chest as if already having an idea of what he had in mind. The games this bastard was playing.

“I am in need of a new wife…as you may all know Lady Rhea Royce has recently passed and our union did not bless us with any children.” He continued as the grin on his lips grew wider, all the more seeing his brother, the King convinced with the idea.

“No!” For once you and your father was in agreement with something, who would have ever thought it would be to oppose a man you had both equally despised–but for reasons far different from one another. 

[aiyaiy]

Spoiled rotten

Being greywinds favourite

Warnings: everything’s fine AU

A/N: a lot of these scenarios are inspired by my dog

Robb was being replaced

He knew it plain and simple. He first started to notice it when he’d saunter into your shared chambers, eager to strip himself of his leathers and nestle under the furs with you while the fire crackled something fierce.

He had been thinking about it all day in fact. The only thing keeping him motivated while he pushed through seemingly endless council meetings and letter responses alike.

Yet when the time had finally come and he pulled the covers back he was not greeted with the empty space reserved just for him, instead a great big direwolf was cuddled into the space with your arms wrapped around him.

He swears he could even see him smirking as if taunting him.

To rub salt on the wound you even giggled at him as you told him “I have a new cuddling companion now” it’s like you wanted him dead.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After weeks of carefully planning greywinds mealtimes so that he’d be able to sneak under the covers before the wolf padded into your quarters as if he owned the place, Robb though that would be the end of the business.

How wrong he was.

The chances he was granted to be able to come visit you during the day were slim but not impossible, most days he was able to slip away and sit beside you while you read.

You would chat to him about anything; the topic of your book, the dream you had that night, what you had for lunch. Anything.

But after walking into the library and seeing greywind pressed at your back like a sentinel pillow, his victory was lost yet again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When night fell and the castle fell silent, the winds blowing strong outside. You could always count on Robb to keep you warm at night, aswell as the thick furs that sat heavy on the bed.

Yet when a chill started to curls round his shoulders and he tried to pull the covers up to shield himself from the cool air, the fur wouldn’t move.

No matter how much he yanked and tugged, the fur refused to move.

As he looked down to try and identify the source, he was greeted with the happily snoozing face of his canine companion, sprawled over your legs with his head happily resting in the dip of your waist.

That morning Robb woke up with a stiff neck as he gave in and shuffled down the bed in order to completely cover himself, neglecting his posture as his head was denied the privilege of resting on a pillow.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The evening air was crisp and cool, with the gentle crackle of the fire filling the room with warmth. You sat on a plush fur rug in front of the hearth, wrapped in a soft blanket, feeling the flickering flames dance across your skin. The atmosphere in the great hall of Winterfell was cozy, a welcome contrast to the chill outside.

Robb entered, shaking off the cold as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. His cheeks were flushed from the brisk air, and a smile broke across his face when he spotted you. “I thought I might find y’ here” he said, his voice warm and inviting thick with his Northern accent.

You smiled back, patting the space beside you.

Without hesitation, Robb settled down next to you, the soft fabric of his cloak brushing against your side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The heat radiating from the fire mixed with the warmth of his body, creating a perfect cocoon of comfort. resting his chin atop your head. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, soothing and strong.

As you nestled into his side, Grey Wind padded into the room, his fur a dark shadow against the flickering light. He sniffed the air for a moment before making his way over, his golden eyes bright with affection. With a soft whine, he settled down beside you, leaning against Robb's leg.

Robb had to resist rolling his eyes as your hand came down to scratch greywinds ears, running your fingers through his thick fur. “He always knows when we’re havin’ a moment.” He groans.

You sent Robb an incredulous look before giggling at the ridiculousness of the situation. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you settled deeper into his comforting hold, feeling safe and cherished. As you gazed up into his eyes, a playful spark ignited between you. You nudged your nose against his, a silent invitation that led to a soft, lingering kiss. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside Winterfell faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and affection.

But even that blissful moment was gently interrupted by Grey Wind’s piercing whine, a sound that sliced through the tranquility like a sudden gust of wind. You pulled away from Robb, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all.

“Alright, alright,” you coo , shaking your head as you leaned down to meet Grey Wind’s expectant gaze. His dark eyes shimmered with a mix of longing and playful annoyance, and you couldn’t help but smile. You pressed a kiss to his wet nose, the familiar gesture eliciting a soft huff from him, as if he were grumbling about being neglected.

With the fire crackling and Grey Wind’s soft breathing filling the room, you felt utterly content. The warmth of the hearth, the closeness of Robb, and the gentle presence of Grey Wind created a serene atmosphere. It was a simple moment, but in that cozy space, surrounded by the two beings you cherished most, Even Robb had to admit he wouldn’t actually mind being replaced.

[aiyaiy]

Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

The daughter of Prince Qoren Martell and the second son of King Viserys—a union forged from political ambition to bind two great houses. Fierce and unyielding, she despises him and everything his bloodline represents. Yet he is utterly captivated, enchanted by her fiery spirit that defies his every expectation—the one force he cannot control.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x Martell reader

Contents →

Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Epilogue.

A/n - Aside from one brief mention in the prologue, there's no use of "Y/N" throughout the story. I’ve also avoided any physical descriptions of the reader, including the mention of a mother, so you can truly imagine the reader however you like – any race, hair colour, eye colour, etc. Feel free to immerse yourself! Enjoy!

You can also find this story on my Wattpad @unofficalavenger3000 🤍

A/n cont - Any images used for anything throughout the story are for aesthetic purposes only, they are not meant to represent the reader or what they look like!!

[aiyaiy]

Snow Angels // modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Aemond is too engrossed in his book to come out into the snow so you come up with a plan.

Warnings: smut

Looking out the window, soft flurries of snow drifted down from the sky. You smiled brightly; snow always made you happy. Pressing a hand against the cold window, you leaned forward as though you would dissolve through the window and to the outside world.

Your boyfriend’s apartment was cozy. The heater was on and he made hot chocolate for the both of you. Drinking it made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Aemond, let's go outside,” you suggested to your boyfriend.

Aemond was lounging on the couch, a book in his hand. He was engrossed in A Christmas Carol. It's the book he reads every winter. He says it gets him in the Christmas spirit.

“One more chapter and then we can go out, I promise,” he said without looking up.

“Aaaeemond,” you whined. “I wanna make snow angels and snowmen.”

“You can always go without me.” He turned a page.

“But it's not fun without youuu.” You crawled over to him and took his book out of his hand. “Let's see where you are.” You cleared your throat dramatically. “‘I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.’” You marked the page before shutting it. “See! You're almost done! You can finish it off later. Let's go!”

Aemond tried to grab the book from you but you were quick to run away from him. Already dressed in cozy clothes, you quickly slipped on your shoes as you held onto the book and ran out the front door.

Snowflakes drifted down and landed in your hair and on your eyelashes, dusting you. Aemond followed you out the apartment dressed in his sweater and sweatpants. He rushed to put his shoes on so they were still untied.

“Babe, really?” He said exasperatedly.

“You're basically done with your book. If you want it you're gonna have to come and catch me!” You laughed as you ran away, putting the book under your jacket to protect it from the snow.

Sprinting off the best you could, you ran around the front of the apartment, relishing in the chase. After a few minutes of staying away from Aemond, you finally stood still and let yourself be caught.

Aemond, not expecting you to stop running, tumbled into you. Both of you fell to the ground, the book still protected by your jacket.

“Hey, baby,” you giggled.

“You got me outside, are you happy now?” Aemond didn't move to get off of you but pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Yes, yes I am.” You flashed him a giant smile and gasped. “Now we can make snowmen and snow angels!”

“Um, you haven't returned my book.” He gave you an accusatory look.

“Make one snow angel with me, please,” you drew out the last word.

Aemond sighed, “Fine, but you have to promise to return my book first.” Once he got up he offered a hand and helped you up.

Snow covered both of your backs. The cold seeped through but you welcomed the feeling. It was winter, after all. Still holding the book under your jacket, you enveloped Aemond in a hug as best as you could.

“I love you, you know that?” You asked him.

“Yes, I do.” He smiled and kissed the top of your head.

You handed him his book before letting yourself fall back on the snow covered grass. Laughing, you moved you arms and legs to make the perfect snow angel. Aemond placed his book in front of the door where there was a small roof to protect it. Instead of flopping down on the ground like you, he carefully lowered himself, laid down, and spread his limbs to make his own snow angel.

After a few minutes, you stopped moving and just laid there staring up at the snow flurries. This was perfect; you and Aemond in the snow.

Aemond rolled over to you. “Are you happy now? I made a snow angel.”

“Yes, I am. And your snow angel is perfect, just like you,” you giggled. Carefully, you got up to admire your work.

Aemond's angel was just as you said, perfect, even though one wing was flattened out because he rolled over to you. He laughed as he got up, looking at both angels.

“Let's go inside now, I'm freezing.” Aemond wrapped his arms around you.

Nuzzling into him, you murmured your agreement. You looped your arm through his after he picked his book up off the ground. When you enter the apartment you expected him to let go and go back to his book. Instead, Aemond tossed his book on a loveseat and pushed you onto the couch.

He pinned your arms above your head. “Were you thinking you could get away with stealing my book without a punishment?” He was a breath away from your lips.

You smiled. “Maybe.” You moved to capture his lips with your but he moved away.

“No kisses for naughty girls.” He ran his nose up the length of your neck before kissing that spot right under your ear. “You'll take what I give you.”

“Fuck, Aemond,” you breathed out.

Slowly, Aemond released your arms and began to strip you of your clothes. He was in no rush; he took his sweet time. Lazily, he unzipped your jacket. He helped you sit up so he could take off your two layers of long sleeved shirts. When you were left topless, except for your bra, he kissed his way up your arm.

“Beautiful,” Aemond whispered. “Stand up and take those pants off. I need to see that ass.”

Following Aemond’s lead, you took your time getting up and taking off your bottom layers. Swiveling your hips, you danced to the music in your head to give him a show. As you pulled the layers down, you turned around so he could have a perfect view of your ass.

Aemond's hands immediately went to your ass, cupping it and squeezing it. With a quick motion, he slapped it with a crack then quickly pressed kisses to soothe it.

Biting your lip, you groaned and shook your ass in his face, wanting more.

“Patience, my dear.” He slapped it again. Aemond pulled you by the waist so you landed in his lap. Peeling off your panties, he circled your clit with his thumb. You ground against him.

“So eager, are we?” he taunted you.

You nodded.

“I need you to use your words.”

“Yes, Aemond,” you said breathlessly.

“Good girl,” he praised before sinking a finger into you. “So fucking wet for me and I've barely touched you.” He slowly pumped in and out, bringing his other hand around your waist to rub your clit, making it easier for him.

When he added a second finger you moaned and rocked against his hand. You reached around to pull him down to you so you could kiss him but he moved out of the way.

“You'll take what I give,” he reminded you. He pressed a teasing kiss to your cheek.

“Yes, Aemond.”

When he took his fingers out of you, you whimpered but he quickly silenced you by pushing you lips open with them. “Suck, baby. Taste yourself.”

You moaned around his fingers, loving the taste of yourself on him. Releasing his fingers with an obscene pop, he moved you from his lap to the couch. You watched Aemond with wide eyes as he undressed himself. His cock was already hard and sprang up against him when he pulled his clothes down. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. Gingerly, you leaned forward and took his cock in your mouth.

Aemond groaned and threw his head back as you took as much of him in as possible. “That's it, baby. Such a good girl.” His hand went to your hair to keep it out of your face.

You bobbed your head back and forth, greedily taking him all in. Releasing him, you spit on his cock to make it easier to slide him in and out. You brought your hand up to help work all of him. His precum danced on your tongue and you lapped it up. You loved making him feel this way, having him at your mercy.

Before he could come, he pulled you off of him and pushed you back on the couch. “Spread your legs, baby, it's my turn to eat.” Aemond delved straight between your legs and licked the length of your pussy. “Fuck, I love how you taste.”

All you could do was nod your head. You were in bliss as his tongue danced all around your pussy. He always knew the best way to make you come.

Aemond moved his mouth to your clit and began sucking. Bucking up your hips, you silently begged for more. You could feel smirk as he held your legs down. Soon, he plunged in three fingers without any warning.

You screamed in pleasure. “Aemond, I'm gonna come!”

That only made him move faster.

Pleasure built up in your stomach and soon you hit that beautiful bliss at the top. Stars danced in front of your eyes as Aemond continued to finger fuck you through your orgasm. When he pulled out he allowed you to pull him into a bruising kiss.

“I need you in me,” you whispered against him.

Aemond, no longer able to keep up his facade, quickly followed your directions and buried himself in you. One quick thrust was all it took and you were together.

Both of you sighed when he entered. You loved the stretch that occurred whenever he first entered you. It was pure ecstasy.

Aemond soon began thrusting in and out of you. Wanting to feel you pulse around him. “Can't wait to feel you come around my cock. Can't wait to fill you up with my come,” he said between breaths.

“Mmhm,” was all you could say. You held him close as he fucked you and captured his lips in another kiss.

You devoured each other, not being able to get enough. There was no way to get closer but you wanted - needed - to be closer.

“I love you, I love you,” you said as he picked up the pace.

“I love you too,” he replied. “Fuck, please come. I can feel you pulsing around me.”

He was right. Your core was tightening and you were close. Aemond thrust harder and hit that perfect spot inside of you. You came hard and fast in his cock.

“Aemond!”

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna come.” He thrust quick and hard, searching for his own release. He soon found it and spent himself inside of you.

Collapsing, you both fell back on the couch and refused to get up. You wanted him inside you as long as possible.

“Don't leave me, you're warm,” you told him.

“You're warm, too,” Aemond said.

After a few peaceful moments, Aemond slowly pulled out. He picked you up to carry you to the shower where he cleaned up both you and himself. When you were done he carried you again back to the bed.

“We'll clean up the couch later,” he joked.

“Okay, baby,” you yawned.

Aemond pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, baby.”

He wrapped his arms around you and you fell asleep in love more than anything.

[aiyaiy]

Never leave you

Scenarios 1/?

aemond x reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis: he is being distant, she wonders why.

warnings: pregnant reader, ANGST and a lil fluff(?

word count: 475

"I had a feeling I'd find you here," her voice broke the silence of the large hall.

She had successfully made her way through the keep without being noticed by the maids—in her condition, they wouldn't even let her lift a finger unattended. But she wasn't going to get any sleep until she knew where he was.

Slowly he turned, admiring her as she carefully stepped closer, holding onto her swollen belly.

"You shouldn't be fantasizing about that chair as much as you do, it could bring you trouble..." She let her words linger, but he knew exactly what she was referring to. "What makes you think I do such a thing?" he questioned, playing along.

A soft smirk appeared on her face but quickly disappeared. "Because you admire that thing more than anything...or anyone," she said as she eyed the rusty throne above them before returning her gaze to him.

"Mhm," he simply hummed, his hands still behind his back.

She softly sighed and stood in silence for a moment before turning to fully face him. It seemed that changing the subject was her only option. "Why haven't you come to bed yet?"

She impatiently fidgeted with her pendant, a habit she had never noticed until he remarked upon it a few nights ago.

"There's no need for you to worry about me, sweet wife," he said as he drew his gaze back to the throne, avoiding her in hopes that she might leave.

"But still, I do," she rushed to his side, growing irritated with his distant behavior.

"Aemond," she called out, her voice tinged with an unfamiliar desperation—this wasn't like her, but then again, he wasn't being himself either.

In a last attempt to get some reaction from the man, she cupped the sides of his face, stroking his cheek sweetly. "What's wrong?"

He held onto her wrists and sighed. He looked worn out, but it wasn't because of the war—no, she already knew that it didn't take such a toll on him.

Knowing Aemond and his pride, she knew how hard it was for him to open up, to bare his thoughts to her, to trust her completely.

"I do not wish to lose you to childbirth."

Her heart shattered at his words. "Why would you think such things?" she looked into his eye, only to find a broken man. "You have nothing to worry about—I promise you I'll be unharmed."

He avoided her gaze. “Aemond,” she persisted, “nothing will happen to me.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to his full lips, then rested her forehead against his. With eyes closed, she fought back the tears that threatened to fall. "I will never leave you, my love."

[aiyaiy]

A Night to Remember – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You return home after a long day at work. It's your anniversary and you find that Daemon has transformed your house into a landscape of candlelight. You know that a night of passion and tenderness will follow.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Lap sitting

Author’s note:

My first smuff Daemon story of the year! I'll start easy, so no real smut, just a fluff story with a little heat to get things started.

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.1 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The rhythmic hum of your car engine fades as you pull into the driveway of your home. The modern architecture gleams under the moonlight, a blend of glass and steel softened by warm wooden accents and the lush garden surrounding it. You step out, heels clicking on the cobblestones as you approach the door, anticipation fluttering in your chest. It is your anniversary—a day that always held an air of mystery when it came to Daemon.

Unlocking the door, you step inside and are immediately enveloped in a tranquil hush. The house is dark, save for the soft glow of scattered candles casting playful shadows on the pristine walls. A faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and amber lingered in the air.

“Daemon?” you call out, your voice echoing softly in the vast space. But there is none, only the quiet crackle of a candle’s flame.

The trail of candles guides you past the grand staircase and into the open living space, their flickering light leading you toward a doorway partially veiled by a sheer curtain.

Pushing it aside, you enter a softly lit room. The large windows are draped, and the room feels intimate, bathed in the golden glow of more candles arranged artfully around the space. And there he is.

Daemon stands near the center, his lean figure framed by the warm light. He wears a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the top few buttons undone to reveal the silver chain resting against his collarbone. His silver-gold hair falls in soft waves, untamed as always, and his violet eyes glint with mischief when they meet yours.

A glass of wine shimmers ruby in his hand as he steps closer. “You’re home,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying the faintest hint of a smile.

Your lips curve as you walk toward him, your fatigue melting away with each step, “I see you’ve been busy.”

“I couldn’t let our anniversary pass without something special.” He extends the glass to you, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

You sip the wine, savoring its bold flavor, your gaze never leaving his. Daemon reachs out, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you gently closer. His lips find your neck, pressing a warm, lingering kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into the moment.

Then, you feel the cool touch of something against your skin. Your eyes flutter open as Daemon steps behind you, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. He holds up a delicate collar—soft black leather with a single silver charm dangling from it. It is understated, elegant, and undeniably Daemon.

“I saw this and thought of you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His hand brushes your hair aside, and you feel the collar encircle your neck, his fingers deftly fastening it. “Perfect,” he whispers, his hand sliding to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing your skin.

Your breath hitches as he presses his lips to your earlobe, his teeth grazing it lightly. A soft moan escaped you, and you lean into him, your heart racing.

“Daemon…” you begin, but words fail you when his hands roam down your sides, grounding you in his presence. His lips trail down your neck before he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

He smiles then, a rare, genuine smile that makes your chest ache with love.

Daemon takes your hand and leads you to a low seating area by the window where a plush blanket and cushions await you. He sinks down first, pulling you to straddle his lap. Setting your wine glass aside, you rest your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt.

The evening unfolds in perfect harmony. Daemon brought out a tray with an assortment of their favorite treats.

The tray is a masterpiece of indulgence, a testament to Daemon’s thoughtfulness. A selection of rich, dark chocolates, their glossy surfaces catching the flicker of the candlelight, nestled among plump, glistening berries.

His eyes lingers on you as you bring a berry to your lips, your teeth sinking into its ripe flesh. A bead of juice escapes, and before you could react, Daemon leans in and brushes it away with his thumb, his gaze never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture sends a flush up your neck.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you tease, reaching for a piece of chocolate for yourself. But Daemon is quicker. He snatches it from your hand, his laughter low and full of mischief. Before you could protest, he bites into it, then leans forward to kiss you, letting you taste the chocolate on his lips.

Your laugh dissolves into a soft moan as he deepenes the kiss, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the warmth of his mouth. When he pulls away, your eyes flutter open, your breath coming quicker than before.

“You make everything taste better,” he says, his voice roughened by desire.

He traces the edge of your lower lip with his thumb, his fingers lingering on your chin. You don't hesitate and enclose his thumb with your lips, sucking on it gently.

“Careful,” he said, his voice a husky warning, without breaking eye contact. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re the one holding the matches,” you shoot back, after you release his thumb from your mouth with a slight plop, emboldened by his reaction.

His laughter rolls through the room, warm and genuine, as he leans back against the cushions. His hands settles on your waist, steadying you as you adjusted to the position, leaning closer. Your faces are inches apart, your shared smiles giving way to something deeper as your breaths mingle.

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to the curve of your jaw.

Daemon’s fingers play with the hem of your blouse, your skin tingles where his fingertips linger, his touch deliberate yet teasing.

His fingers trace the line of your arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. But you can't answer when he pulls you closer to him and you feel the beginning of his arousal pressing against your core. A slight whimper escapes your lips.

Your heart skips a beat as his lips brush your jaw, trailing down to the hollow of your throat. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as he works his particular brand of magic.

“Daemon,” you say, your voice a breathless whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he leans back, just enough to meet your gaze. His violet eyes glint with mischief, daring you to look away. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you breath.

“And yet,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with a single finger, “you’re still here,” he counters.

Your lips part to reply, but before you could, he captures your mouth in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It is consuming, a clash of desire and devotion that leaves you breathless. You melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a low growl from him.

Daemon's hands wrapped around your hips, his touch firm but never intrusive as he guides your movements, letting you grind against his now obvious hardness, which makes you whimper again. The line between teasing and surrender blurs as the air around you thickens, charged with unspoken promises. His lips find your neck again, lingering just below your ear, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you.

“You’re trembling,” he whispers, his tone equal parts observation and satisfaction.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you quip, though your voice betrays you as it wavered.

“Too late,” he says, his laughter warm against your skin.

Daemon’s hand slide up your back, his touch deliberate as his fingers trace the delicate line of the collar he’d fastened earlier. The smooth leather feels cool against your warm skin, and the weight of it is just enough to keep you acutely aware of its presence.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive rasp, “how stunning you look wearing this?”

Your breath catches as his hand lingered at the nape of your neck, the silver charm resting against your skin cold under his warm fingers. It is a simple thing—elegant and unassuming—but in his hands, it feels like a crown, a declaration of something deeply intimate.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” he admits. His thumb brushes over the clasp at the back. “But seeing it on you now…” He lets out a low, appreciative hum, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “It suits you.”

Your cheeks flush under his gaze, your voice unsteady but teasing. “You have a thing for collars, do you?”

“For this collar, on you? Absolutely,” he replys. His hand shifts, sliding forward to rest at the base of your throat, the collar snug beneath his palm. His grip is light, more a suggestion of power than a claim of it, but it steals your breath all the same.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, your words faltering as his thumb traces a slow circle against your pulse.

He tilts his head, his smirk softening into something more primal. “And you’re not?” His voice drops lower, the challenge in his words evident.

Your lips parted, but the reply catches in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly—a mere whisper of pressure, just enough to make your heartbeat race beneath his touch. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lean into him, your body instinctively responding to the heat between you. He guids your movements again – his hand on your hip encouraging you to take what you need. You feel the throbbing, you need more. His hardness twitches as you grind against it, a slight growl leaves his lips.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet against your ear. His thumb grazes your jawline, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. When your eyes open, the intensity in his violet stare left you utterly undone.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was maddeningly slow, his hand never leaving your neck. The collar, the candlelight, the feel of him – all of it combined into a symphony of sensations that leaves you dizzy.

When he pulls away, his hand lingers his fingers gliding along the curve of your neck, savoring every inch of skin beneath the leather. “Do you know why I chose this for you?” he asks, his tone contemplative, though his eyes still burns with unspoken promises.

You shake your head slightly.

“Because it’s beautiful, bold, and it commands attention,” he says, his hand slipping down to rest at your collarbone, his thumb stroking idly. “Just like you.”

Your cheeks flush, and for a moment, you was grateful for the dim lighting, though you suspect he could still see the way you react to his words. “Daemon—”

He silences you with another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier, his teeth catching your lower lip as if he couldn’t get enough. When he finally pulls back, you are breathless, your thoughts spinning.

“Wear it for me tonight,” he whispers against your lips, his hand tightening briefly on the collar before sliding away. “Let me show you just how much I adore you in it.”

You smile and bite your lip slightly, before your hands find their way beneath his shirt, palms gliding over his toned chest as his muscles tense beneath your touch. The simple act makes you feel powerful, like you hold some measure of control in this exquisite game. But Daemon is nothing if not a master of turning the tables.

Before you could press your advantage, he shifts, laying you back against the cushions and pinning you there with his body. His weight is a comfort, his presence an anchor as his hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

You pull him down into a kiss, your lips moving against his in a way that tells him everything he needs to know. His control frays, but he hold the line, teasing you with just enough to make you crave more.

And then, as if sensing the perfect moment to leave you wanting, Daemon pulls back. His smirk is infuriating, his hair disheveled, and his breathing uneven. He looks like chaos incarnate, and you hate how much you love it.

“Daemon,” you protest, reaching for him, but he is already standing, his hand extended to you.

“Patience, my love,” he says, helping you to your feet. “The night is young.” He leads you toward the grand staircase, the candlelight flickering as they passed. His hand lingers on your back, guiding your step by step, his promise unspoken but unmistakable.

[aiyaiy]

The Misus said so | T. Owens

Tyler Owens x wife!reader

A/N: so I’m obsessed with Glen Powell and of course I had to do a little something with Tyler Owens because Glen looked so good in that movie. Hope you enjoy!

SUMMARY : After chasing a tornado, Tyler suggests the team take a break in his hometown—a place none of them have ever visited, except Boone. To their surprise, they discover that Tyler shares his home with a pregnant woman he refers to as his wife and a young boy he calls his son.

WARNINGS : fluff, Tyler being head over heels for his wife, cuteness, some inaccuracies regarding tornadoes

3.4k words

The sun was just beginning to set as the red truck and van rumbled down the dusty back roads of the Arkansas countryside. Tyler Owens was behind the wheel, relaxed but focused, his hands steady as he navigated the familiar terrain. In the passenger seat, Boone sat with an easy grin, the kind only a best friend could wear, fully at home in the quiet camaraderie of the ride. He occasionally glanced at Tyler, clearly anticipating something more than just a pit stop.

In the back seat, Lily was hunched over her tablet, reviewing footage from Cairo, her drone. “The inflow jets were insane,” she murmured. Boone snorted, swivelling to glance at her.

Boon leaning towards Tyler with a raised eyebrow whispered so only Tyler could hear him. “So, when are you gonna drop the act? I know where we’re headed.”

Tyler chuckled, but his eyes stayed on the road. “Guess it was hard to slip one past you, huh?”

“You think?” Boone replied with a smirk. “What gave it away—oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’m Jake’s godfather?”

Tyler shushed him, not wanting Boone to spoil the surprise. Of course Boone knew about your existence and of your son. Boone had been Tyler’s best friend for years, even before they started YouTube. He had been there when you guys met, started a relationship, got married, had your son and the last time he was there was for your gender reveal.

Lily leaned forward and turned toward Tyler, a crooked grin plastered across her face. “Alright, Ty, spill it. Where the hell are we going? You’ve been suspiciously quiet since we left the highway. And now you’ve got Boone whispering stuff into your ear. When has he ever been this quiet?”

Tyler chuckled but kept his eyes on the road. “Relax, lily. I told you, we’re heading to my hometown. Figured we could all use a real bed and a home-cooked meal for a change. Motel breakfasts are starting to taste like cardboard.”

Dani, who talked from the radio given that she was behind in the Van, raised an eyebrow. “Your hometown? Tyler you’ve only ever talked about it once, what is there to do here really? Is there some sort of catch?”

“No catch,” Tyler replied smoothly. “Just thought you guys deserve something better. And I figured it’s finally time you meet someone really important to me.”

The rest of the team stayed curious and said nothing more. They trusted Tyler—he had proven himself time and again in the chaos of the storm-chasing world. If he said they were in for a treat, they believed him.

After another twenty minutes of winding roads and open fields, Tyler turned onto a long gravel driveway lined with vibrant green grass. The farmhouse at the end of the drive came into view, its white paint glowing softly in the golden light of the setting sun. Animals roamed nearby, adding life to the picturesque scene.

The team climbed out of the Truck and Van, stretching their legs and taking in their surroundings. The farmhouse was surrounded by rolling fields, with a red barn off to one side and a small garden near the porch. The air was warm and smelled faintly of wildflowers and fresh hay. There was a small lake in front of the farmhouse surrounded by fences.

“Wow,” said Dexter, the least chaotic team member. “It’s… peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said softly, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “It is. Home sweet home,” Tyler said as he approached the house more.

Boone followed his pace, grinning. “Ah, the Owens family ranch. Been too long since I’ve been here.”

“You’ve been here before?” Lily asked, surprised.

“Sure have,” Boone replied. “I’m practically family.”

The front door creaked open, and you stepped onto the porch, wearing a white top stretched slightly over your rounded belly and a pair of jeans. Tyler’s cowboy hat sat snugly on your head, the one he hadn’t worn in years. Your face lit up the moment you saw him, a smile breaking across your lips.

“There’s my troublemaker,” you said warmly, your accent as sweet as honey.

Tyler’s grin widened as he climbed the steps, pulling you into a gentle hug careful not to press too hard against your belly. “Hey, darlin’. You look beautiful.”

Boone didn’t hesitate. “Y/N! Look at you, glowing as always. How’s my niece?,” he said, bounding up the steps to greet you. He hugged you warmly, then ruffled your hair affectionately. “And still stealing hats, I see.”

You laughed. “Good to see you too, Boone. Baby’s fine. And yes, it’s mine now.” You turned back to your husband and hugged him once again. The hug felt like home. After days worrying for your husband he was finally back home and in your arms.

The team hung back awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Dexter was the first to break the silence. “Uh, hi. I’m so confused right now.”

You laughed loudly, your eyes twinkling. You knew the team must be confused, as Tyler had never spoken about you unless it was with Boone. “Y’all must be Tyler’s team. I’m Y/N. The wife.”

Upon the reveal, the team let their mouths hang open in shock. They never imagined Tyler out of all people would be married with a kid on the way. He was always the reckless one, the first to jump into danger. Nobody ever really thought about him potentially having a family, with the way he was. They also didn't expect Boone to have known and let this a secret for so long. That man can never shut his mouth.

Tyler turned back to his team, gesturing for them to come closer. “Everyone, this is Y/N—my wife. Y/N, meet the crew: Boone you already know, This is Dexter, Dani, and Lily.”

You smiled warmly and waved them inside. “Y’all must be starving. Tyler called ahead, so I made enough food to feed an army. Come on in and make yourselves at home.”

As the group filed into the house, Lily glanced at Tyler, her eyes wide with surprise. “You’re married? And… you’re going to be a dad?”

Tyler grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I never mentioned that, huh? Meet the real reason I get back in one piece after every chase.”

The house was cosy, filled with the comforting smells of roast chicken, fresh bread, and apple pie. The dining table was already set, you had clearly gone out of your way to make the team feel welcome.

“This is incredible,” Lily said, taking a seat at the table. “You really didn’t have to go all out for us.”

You waved her off with a laugh. “Oh, please. Tyler told me how hard you’ve all been working. Besides, I saw the live stream of that last tornado. Y’all are insane, by the way. I thought I’d reward your bravery or, well, craziness with a good meal.”

Boone leaned back in his chair, grinning, finally happy to be home. “It’s both, Y/N. And that tornado was a beauty, wasn’t it?”

“Did you see the way the funnel shifted when it hit that open field? Classic EF-3 behaviour.” Tyler suddenly asked as he turned to you. You smiled at the excitement in your husband's voice, nodding towards him. Despite dropping out and never finishing his career in meteorology he was quite well educated in the field of tornadoes.

Dexter nodded, his voice animated. “And the inflow jets—did you catch those? Perfect conditions for a multi-vortex system.”

You chuckled as you started serving the food. “I don’t understand half of what you’re saying, but I could tell y’all were thrilled. It was like watching kids on Christmas morning.”

As the conversation flowed between all of you, a soft noise interrupted. From the staircase next to the dining room came the sound of small, hesitant footsteps.

Everyone turned to see a little boy, about three years old, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was rubbing his sleepy eyes with one hand, clutching a worn stuffed bear in the other. His curls were tousled from sleep, and he blinked at the group with a mixture of curiosity and shyness.

“Daddy?” the boy said softly, his voice thick with sleep.

Tyler’s expression melted. “Hey, bud,” he said, getting up from his chair. He crossed the room in a few strides and knelt down to scoop the boy into his arms. “What are you doing up? Thought your momma put you to sleep for the afternoon.”

The boy rested his head on Tyler’s shoulder and mumbled, “I Had a dream.”

Tyler kissed the top of his son’s head and held him close. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy 's here.”

Boone chuckled, leaning back in his chair at the sight of the small kid. “There 's my boy. Come here, kiddo.”

Jake squirmed out of Tyler’s arms and ran to Boone, climbing onto his lap. Boone greeted him with a fist bump. “What’d I tell you about staying up past your bedtime, huh?”

Jake giggled. “Uncle Boone!”

The rest of the team stared, dumbfounded. Dani finally blurted out, “Wait you knew about this?!”

Boone shrugged. “Of course. I’m his godfather and uncle. Perks of being Tyler’s actual best friend.”

“Everyone,” Tyler said, turning back to the group, “this is Jake, our little man.”

Jake lifted his head from Boone's shoulder and looked at the team, his big brown eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces. “Hi,” he said shyly.

Lily smiled warmly. “Hi, Jake. I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”

You walked over and gently ruffled your son's curls. “Jake, these are Daddy’s other friends. They’re going to stay with us tonight.”

Jake’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yep,” Tyler said, bouncing him lightly. “And you know what? I think they might even make pretty good aunts and uncles, don’t you?”

Jake giggled, his earlier sleepiness forgotten. “Yeah! Now I have more people to play with!”

“That’s right buddy.” Boone smiled, hugging the kid one last time before he jumped out of his lap and went back to his fathers embrace.

The meal progressed with a light-hearted warmth that settled over everyone like a blanket. Boone and Dexter were animatedly recounting their most chaotic storm-chasing moments, while Dani and Lily chimed in with their own tales. Jake sat on Tyler’s lap, happily munching on a slice of buttered bread, his small hands gripping the edges of the plate to keep it steady.

You observed the scene with a soft smile, your hand resting on your growing belly. Tyler caught your gaze as he let his free hand rest on top of the one holding your belly. He smiled down at you. He was happy to be home.

“You’ve done good, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low but full of admiration.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Ty.”

The team exchanged subtle glances, sensing the affection radiating between the two. Lily, unable to resist, leaned over to you. “You two are adorable. What’s your secret?”

That caused a laugh out of you. “Oh, it’s no secret. Just a lot of patience and knowing when to call him out on his nonsense.” You shot Tyler a teasing look, and he feigned innocence.

“Hey now,” Tyler said, grinning. “I’m a perfect angel.”

Jake looked up from his plate, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Daddy’s silly!”

The table erupted into laughter, and Tyler tickled Jake’s sides, eliciting a burst of giggles from the little boy. “Come on Bug, eat all your food. Don’t want you to be hungry later.” You looked at your son as you gently grabbed his bread and gave it to him. Gently caressing his forehead and kissing his cheek lovingly. All while Tyler stared at you with adoration in his eyes.

As the evening wore on, You excused yourself briefly to check on the dessert. Tyler took the opportunity to follow you into the kitchen, leaving Jake to sit back on Boone lap and be entertained by the team.

The kitchen was warm and cosy, filled with the comforting aroma of apples and cinnamon as you carefully pulled the steaming pie from the oven. You moved with practiced ease, placing it on a cooling rack, when suddenly you felt a familiar presence behind you.

“Now, what do I have to do to get my hands on a slice of that?” Tyler’s voice was low and teasing, the grin audible in his tone.

You smirked, not bothering to turn around. “Depends. Are you talking about the pie or me?”

Tyler laughed softly and stepped closer, slipping his arms around your waist, his front pressed against your back. “Both, but let’s start with you.” He leaned in, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck.

“Ty,” you said, your voice half a warning, half a giggle. “We have company, remember? We don’t want Boone to catch us again do we?”

“They’re busy stuffing their faces and trying to keep Jake from giving Boone another black eye,” he murmured, his lips trailing to your ear. “Besides, I don’t get moments like this nearly enough.”

You sighed, leaning back into his embrace. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re gorgeous,” he countered without missing a beat, his hands sliding up to rest gently over your growing belly. “And carrying my baby girl? That makes you even more irresistible.”

You carefully turned in his arms, bow facing each other as you rested your hands on his chest. “You’ve got a silver tongue, Mr. Owens. Has it ever gotten you into trouble?”

He grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Only when I’m not careful. Lucky for me, I married a woman who keeps me in line.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re not so cocky now, are you?”

“Only with you,” he said, leaning down until your foreheads touched. “Well, and maybe with Jake when he gives me that little puppy-dog look. Kid’s got my heart wrapped around his finger. Can never say no to him.”

You laughed softly, holding his figure even more, not wanting to let go. You leaned your head on his chest, looking sideways outside the window to the sun that illuminated your home.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured as his chin rested upon your head.

“And you’re a shameless flirt.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But seriously, I just wanted to thank you for this. For all of it. I know it’s not easy having me running around the country chasing storms.”

You turned in his arms, eyes meeting his. “Ty, I knew what I was signing up for when I married you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, you always come back to us. That’s what matters.”

His expression softened, and he placed a hand gently on your belly again. “And soon, there’s going to be even more reason to keep coming back.”

You placed your hand over his, your smile tender. “She’s going to love you just as much as Jake does. Maybe even more if she inherits your stubbornness.”

He chuckled. “Let’s hope she gets your patience instead.”.

Your expression softened as you traced a finger along his jawline. “You’re a good dad, Tyler. I see it every day in how Jake lights up around you. And I know you’re going to be just as amazing with our daughter.”

He kissed you softly, a lingering tenderness in the way he held you close. “That’s the plan, sweetheart. Keep coming back to you, Jake, and this little one. Always.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud crash from the dining room.

“Jake!” Boone’s voice carried through the house. “Why am I always the bad guy?”

“It wasn’t me!” Jake shouted back, his voice ringing with childlike defiance.

You groaned, pulling away with a reluctant smile. “Guess I’d better rescue Boone before Jake recruits the others against him.”

Tyler laughed, giving you a playful smack on the ass as you walked away. “Don’t take too long, baby. I’m still waiting on that pie—and you.”

You threw him a teasing look over her shoulder. “Behave, Ty.”

When you stepped back into the dining room, Jake was perched on Dexter’s lap, gleefully recounting how Boone had “knocked the chair over all by himself.” Boone stood nearby, arms crossed and feigning offence.

“For the record,” Boone declared, “this kid’s already mastered the fine art of scapegoating.”

“I learned it from Daddy!” Jake said with a giggle, earning a roar of laughter from the table.

You sighed, shaking your head as you started slicing the pie. “I see Jake’s picking up all your best habits, Ty.”

Tyler grinned shamelessly, taking a seat next to you. “Can’t blame the kid for wanting to be like his old man.” He reached over to ruffle Jake’s curls, then turned to you. “But if you want to keep us in line, you’d better bring that pie over here before we all riot.”

You rolled your eyes, setting the pie on the table with a grin. “You’re lucky I love you, Tyler Owens.”

He leaned back in his chair, giving you a wink. “Lucky’s an understatement, baby. I hit the jackpot.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As the last bite of pie was finished and the laughter around the table quieted, you leaned back in your chair, feeling satisfied but a little tired. Tyler’s gaze met yours across the table, his expression softening with concern as he stood up, stretching his back.

“We need to clean up.” You muttered under your breath, ready to stand up until Tyler pushed you gently back down to sit.

“Alright, everyone,” Tyler said, his voice carrying the gentle authority that always seemed to get things done. “You’ve all eaten, now it’s time to let my wife take a break. She’s been working hard today.”

Jake, who had been leaning back in his chair, looked confused. “Why do we need to clean up?”

“Because the Missus said so,” Tyler interrupted with a wink, his playful grin lighting up his face. “And trust me, when the Missus speaks, everyone listens.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the playful banter between them, but you appreciated how Tyler always made sure you weren’t overburdened. It was his way of showing care, in everything from big gestures to little moments like this.

One by one, the team began to rise from the table, and soon enough, the dishes were being cleared away. Boone and Dexter were the first to take charge of the plates, laughing as they competed to see who could load the dishwasher faster. Lily helped wipe down the table, while Jake, who still looked a little reluctant, finally took the trash bag outside with Boone’s encouragement.

It didn’t take long before the kitchen was tidied up, and the team filed out to check on the horses. You watched them from the window as they made their way to the stables, chatting with Jake in tow, all smiles and laughter. You felt a contentment settle over you, watching the scene from your peaceful spot inside.

Tyler, noticing that you hadn’t moved from your seat, stepped toward you and held out his hand. “You need a break, too,” he said softly, as if reading your thoughts. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

You stood, taking his hand, and together you walked outside to the front porch. The soft evening light bathed the world in golden hues as you made your way to the rocking chair. Tyler sat first, patting the seat next to him, and you sank into the chair beside him, leaning back with a sigh of relief.

Tyler settled beside you, his hand resting gently on your baby bump. His thumb traced slow circles, a tender gesture that made your heart swell. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the gentle rocking of the chair soothe your tired muscles. The sound of the team’s voices echoed from the stables, a distant hum of joy and energy, but it felt far away from the calm you found in this quiet moment.

You rested your head on Tyler’s shoulder, your fingers resting over his hand on your belly. “Tired?” He asked you, noticing your calmness and weight on his shoulder.

“No. I’m just thinking about how much I missed you.”

He kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arm tighter around you. “Missed you more. And I mean it, Y/N. Everything we’ve built here… it’s the reason I keep going. The reason I come back.”

Your eyes glistened as you looked up at him. “You’re the reason this feels like home, Ty.”

He smiled, tilting your chin up so he could kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Then I guess we’re even, Baby.”

[aiyaiy]

A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter Five

Chapter Summary: Genuine kindness is rare in the Red Keep, and when Prince Aemond had a taste of it, he wouldn’t think it possible for him to ever bestow cruelty on the one who had shown that to him. Word Count: 5,704 Warnings: Realizations, Lady Elinora and Prince Aemond (somewhat) Getting Along, Concerned Elinora, Daeron Playing Match Maker

It’s impossible! The probability of it was slim to none, yet Aemond was kept up all night entertaining the possibility of him having any emotion other than loathing for Lady Elinora. He was greatly upset with himself as he even thought as such. Why was he even thinking as such? Of course, he held no attraction for the girl. And if he did, he surely would come to know immediately, yes? 

However, as Aemond thought of attraction, he had no words to describe it. Had he ever felt attraction before? He tossed in his bed as he thought about such questions. Surely, attraction was not the same as lust— what he felt at the moment was not of urges or bodily whims. If not lust, what then? He refused to believe that it was a fondness he felt, it could not be. He could not definitely say it was affection because he had no idea what that felt like, leading the prince to grow restless the entire night. 

Aemond looked upon the ceiling with a deep scowl, the first sun rays of the day began to shine upon his room. He only rests for a few hours, and to have the limited time of his respite be taken and consumed by a girl, he convinced himself he felt indifferent. He sat up and wore his eye patch, the deep scowl between his brows never disappearing as he readied himself for the day. 

As per his custom, Aemond began his day by walking along the keep. Simply inspecting his home, seeing if the servants did their duties and if everything was in order. But in truth, he is simply killing time as Ser Cole is still to wake so they can begin their sparring session. Aemond passed the godswood, the amber leaves alight with a golden hue, and naught a soul was to be accounted in the area. He then went on to the great hall, maids bustling around as they dusted and swept the room to tidy it from last night’s feast. “Good morrow, Your Highness,” he would hear the servants greet as he passed, and not once did he spare them a second glance. 

Aemond then ventured towards the library, the only time it was somewhat busy was in the morning when maesters searched for specific books needed for their study. The prince then walked past the guest wing, lord and ladies soundly asleep in their chambers. He was almost nearing the end of his routine when he turned to his left and saw the hall leading to the royal wing. Where the chamber of the girl who had haunted his mind lodged. 

Aemond paused in the halls for a moment. A voice in him was telling him to go about the wing, but his stubbornness told him to walk onward. But before the prince could decide for himself, he watched as a door slowly opened, and the girl he had been thinking about sneaking out of her chambers. Making quiet yet hastened steps to the staircase that was situated at the end of the royal wing. Aemond raised a brow, intrigued. Surely, she was up to no good. Aemond had naught a choice but to trail her. He followed the girl, hiding himself behind pillars and walls so she would not suspect that she was being trailed. 

Aemond was led to the gardens, no surprise to him, however, Elinora would usually venture to the gardens at a later time of the day, a fact that the prince was surprised to realize that he knew. Aemond would think she would go to the flowers, just as her usual custom, but the girl continued to walk onward towards the pond where she mourned the fallen butterfly. Aemond had hidden himself behind a bush as he watched the girl crouch at the edge of the pond and take a pouch from her pocket. 

Aemond decided to trail closer to see what Elinora was doing. When he was a few yards away from the girl, he realized that swans and ducks that inhabited the pond began to swim near her as if they already knew Elinora. The prince then realized what the girl was doing, she woke at first light and sneaked her way through the keep just to feed the ducks! Ridiculous. Or… endearing? Aemond scowled at himself at the thought. 

The prince quietly walked his way to the girl’s side, “What are you doing?” He asked the obvious. His voice and the sudden appearance of his reflection upon the water that the girl stared upon shocked Elinora. The girl let out a startled scream and almost fell into the water due to her shock, luckily, the prince was quick to act as he bent down and took hold of her waist to steady her. “By gods! Would you be quiet? The castle is still asleep,” He chastised as Elinora stood, but he never removed his hold on her. Quite odd since Aemond had never been fond of touching or being touched by another. 

“I’m sorry… you frigh— you caught me by surprise,” Elinora explained as she caught her breath. Quickly changing one word to another, she feared that if she said ‘frightened,’ it might offend the prince, however true the statement may be. Aemond pursed his lips as Elinora finally raised her gaze, and her jade eyes were met with his. “What were you doing?” The prince asked once more, unable to think of another point of conversation with the girl. Aemond frowned at himself at the thought. Before, he relished in the silence. However, now, why could he not control himself from speaking to a girl he convinced himself he felt indifferent towards? 

“Feeding them,” Elinora said, her eyes glancing towards the creatures that expectedly waited for her to return to her custom, but the prince hindered him from doing so. That is when Elinora realized that the prince still had a hold on her waist. “Uh… if you would excuse me, my prince, I think they’re quite hungry,” She said and tried to pry away the prince’s hands from her waist. Letting their skin touch and feeling the coldness of Prince Aemond’s hands. 

“They could feed themselves,” Aemond spoke, his hands savoring the touch of warmth that Elinora presented. “I know,” Elinora answered as a swan paddled itself closer to her hand where crumbs of bread were placed. “Why then do you do it?” Aemond asked as he, too, squatted next to Elinora, who attracted all the creatures. “Well, it’s quite peaceful here most days,” She began as she turned to the prince with the pouch of bread crumbs and implored him to feed the birds as well. 

Aemond’s first instinct was to frown and roll his eye at the girl, which is why it was surprising as he did as she silently said without question or mean reactions. “And I noticed the other days that they would fight each other for just a morsel of food,” Elinora finished her thought as Aemond threw the crumbs into the pond, a bread crust hitting a duckling. “Oh,” the girl said as she witnessed the scene, and the duckling quickly swam its way to her as if protecting herself from the prince. “Best not to harm them as you feed them, my prince,” Elinora said as she leaned forward and brushed the duckling’s head with her finger, smoothing its feathers. 

Aemond let out a quiet scoff, but he still did what the girl said—gently sprinkled the bread crumbs onto the water. “That is simply nature, my lady; it’s natural selection. The weaker will yield, and the strong will be triumphant,” Aemond remarked and turned to the girl, her small smile as she tended towards the creatures lessening as she registered his words. “Even so, it could be avoided for now.” She answered.

“You’re coddling them. Each day you do this, you make them dependent instead of them learning how to fend for themselves. Why would they search for food now when they know a lady would come and feed them and turn them fat?” Elinora frowned at the prince’s words, a pout coming to her lips as what she thought was a kind gesture was being criticized by the prince. 

Aemond heard no reply from the girl, only watched as she fiddled with a lock of her hair as she processed his words. No noise was to be heard except for the distinct chirp of birds and the silent slosh of water. Aemond sighed, perhaps that was not the right thing to say, he thought. He never second-guessed what he uttered before. He called it as he saw it. 

The prince tried to reach towards the pouch of bread crumbs again, but their fingers brushed as she took the pouch in her hands and abruptly stood, surprising Aemond. “Good day, your Highness,” Elinora muttered and quickly curtsied before hastily walking away from his presence. Aemond stayed there, comprehending what had happened and how quick she was to depart. 

He recalled what he said and sighed, the swans and ducks looking at him expectantly as if asking if Elinora would return. Aemond shook his head and dusted off his hands, walking off as the day was still fresh, yet he had already offended the girl. 

Elinora wandered about the castle, face flushed in annoyance and embarrassment. She was inside her head as she tried to erase all the prince had said, but it seemed to quickly etch itself in her head. The girl was not paying attention to where she walked and managed to collide with another. “Elinora? Why are you already awake?” Ser Gwayne questioned as he held the girl by her arms to steady herself. Elinora was brought out of her reprieve as she was met with the knight’s blue-green eyes. “I…I—” She stuttered, fearing if she told Ser Gwayne where she came from, he too would frown at her actions just as his nephew had done. 

Gwayne passed his gaze at the girl, a velvet pouch in her hands with a few specs of crumbs and a part of her dress damp and muddied. “You were feeding ducks, weren’t you?” Gwayne smiled, but it was not a cruel smile. “Yes,” She said quietly, making the knight smile fondly. “Well, I’m glad to learn that your stay in the capitol had not disrupted your customs back home,” the knight smiled. 

Aemond had managed to follow the girl again, a few meters away, as he eavesdropped upon her and his uncle’s conversation. 

“I’m certain you have entrusted the ducks and swan’s feeding to the groundskeeper?” Ser Gwayned questioned as he linked his arm with the girl’s. “I have. And Gerald had just written to inform me that the baby ducklings hatched!” She said, her mind now forgetting about her encounter with Prince Aemond. “Though it’s a shame I wasn’t able to witness them hatching,” She muttered as her shadow followed her. 

“You miss home, don’t you?” Ser Gwayne observed, seeing melancholy in her eyes. “I do,” she said. That little pond and the gardens in the Red Keep were the only speck of Highgarden she could cling to. 

Aemond felt an odd twisting in his stomach as he realized why the girl was feeding the ducks and swans. She only wished to recreate a version of Highgarden in the Red Keep, but the prince was too calloused to realize it and only shamed her for her actions. 

He trailed Elinora and his uncle further. Watching how effortlessly it was for his uncle to converse with the girl. Why couldn’t he hold a conversation without offending her? Or anyone, for that matter? Aemond froze as he locked eyes with his uncle, a curious look on his face as he glanced at his nephew. Ser Gwayne did not miss the peck of white upon the prince’s black trousers, bread crumbs clinging to the fabric, and the speck of mud on his knee. Aemond gritted his jaw as he was assessed and forced himself to cease trailing the two and finally return to his custom. 

“You’re frustrated,” Ser Criston remarked as the prince grunted when he missed to hit the knight. “I am not,” Aemond gritted as he once again returned to his attack position, but the knight shook his head, manner lax. “You clearly are— now tell me why or not, just as long as you do better in combat.” The knight suggested as he wielded his weapon in his hands. Aemond charged once more, but his technique was sloppy, and the knight was quick to dodge any of his attacks. 

“Ready to talk now?” The knight teased as Aemond had fallen onto the gravel-covered ground, causing a bloodied bruise to form on his chin; he simply ignored it. “I had told you it is nothing!” Aemond insisted and wiped away the blood on his chin with his sleeve, but Ser Criston only shook his head. “That shall suffice for now. You may leave and only return when you are truly ready to fight,” The knight dismissed his pupil, and Aemond no longer argued as he, too, had grown tired of being bested. 

Aemond walked about the keep again, trying to calm down his frustrations that he could not precisely articulate the cause of. He would like to blame Lady Elinora, but even he knew the girl was not to blame for his state. It was an internal struggle that he inflicted upon himself. 

Aemond passed the pond once more, seeing as Elinora sneaked her way to the edge of the pond to feed the ducklings once again. Aemond sighed, trying to go onward, but as always, his feet carried him toward the girl’s direction. Aemond once again announced his presence by making his reflection known, and just like hours before, the girl screamed, startled. Aemond sighed as he took hold of Elinora again, preventing her from falling into the water. 

“Would you please stop doing that!” She cried as she clutched her chest, never loving being startled. Her brother often did that to her when they were growing up. Waiting for her by the halls or her room, hiding and making his presence known with a loud, bellowing scream just to frighten her. Before Aemond could speak, Elinora removed his hold. “I know! I’m feeding the ducks again, and quite frankly, my prince, I do not care if I am making them dependent and… and fat, as you say. It is cruel to let them attack one another just for food when I can simply give them what they need!” Elinora burst out, her face and neck growing a bit red at the end of her outburst, and Aemond bit his tongue as he found a speck of amusement as it would seem he had agitated the girl. 

Aemond let out a quiet, amused breath as he parted his lips to speak once more, but Elinora spoke first. “You’re bleeding,” She said, eyes widening in concern, which Aemond was taken back. “It is just a cut. It’s no—“ Aemond ceased speaking as the girl quickly retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and stood to her toes to gently place it on his wound. “You’ll need gauze, Your Highness— it must be disinfected,” Elinora fretted as she had always tended to her wounds as well as her brother’s because if her parents came to know of it, they surely would be chastised. 

“It’s just a scrape, my lady,” Aemond explained, but Elinora ignored his words as she was quick to take hold of his arm and drag him inside the castle. The small cut on the prince’s wound seemed to make Elinora forget all the frustrations she had harbored for him the past few weeks. “I am fine, Elinora; it is just a scrap— you are overreacting.” The prince grunted as his eye glanced toward the girl’s hand that was firmly clasped around his arm, which he then removed and switched her hold to his hand. 

“It may be just a scrap, my prince, but it could still get infected! Believe me, you would not want that.” She muttered as she led him to the maester’s tower. Aemond frowned as he noticed that the maesters that usually littered the tower were nowhere to be seen. Aemond felt the girl let go of his hand and made him sit on a chair. Aemond looked around the room, not entirely certain what was happening. Just a brief moment ago, Elinora was frustrated with him, and now she was searching cupboards and cabinets to find the necessary items to tend to his wound. He truly did not understand her. 

“The gauze is there,” Aemond pointed up to the cupboard, and Elinora was quick to retrieve the gauze needed along with vinegar to disinfect the wound and honey to soothe it. “You have done this before, haven’t you?” the prince observed as he lowered his hand, which was clutching the girl’s handkerchief to his wound. “My brother often gets into scrapes whilst he trains… or when he ventures into town,” Elinora explained. As she was locked inside the castle walls, Edward was permitted to go galivanting around the town, even at the darkest point of the night. Something that Elinora was completely jealous of, but as he explained to her, the only reason he was allowed to do such a thing was because he was a man; a bit unfair in Elinora’s eyes. 

“What had caused your wound, if I may ask, my prince?” Elinora inquired as she dabbed honey upon it, her nose in a scrunch as she never grew accustomed to seeing a wound up close. She hated blood and violence. Aemond blinked, quickly thinking up a story that would not disparage him. “I…I was training, and it would seem my sparing partner had grown frustrated at me and aimed to strike me while my back was turned— luckily, I was agile enough to act and only leave with just a small scrape.” Aemond lied, but he was relieved as the girl quickly believed his words. 

“That’s quite… cowardly,” She muttered as she cut to size the gauze. “Yes, quite,” Aemond agreed and stilled as he felt her touch on his chin, moving his head to look up as she positioned the gauze. Aemond met her eyes, the same warmness he felt the night before spreading in his chest. She was closer than she had been before, her scent now more pronounced, and Aemond could see a few specks of gold in her jade eyes. The prince was overwhelmed and quickly turned away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Elinora fretted as the prince bucked away from her. Aemond gulped, “Yes, best be careful,” He said, forcing his voice to be stoic. “I apologize, my prince… but I’m almost finished,” Elinora said, quickly bandaging his wound. When she had, she stepped away, wary about the proximity they had. With her situated between the parted legs of the prince as she tended to his wound. 

“I’ll advise you to change the gauze before you go to bed, my prince, and perhaps dab honey upon it so it would heal faster,” Elinora suggested, and Aemond could not return his gaze to the girl as he felt the warming in his chest odd. His hand fisted the handkerchief she gave him, and the prince forced himself to nod.

 Elinora chewed on her lips and let out a breath, “Good day, my prince,” she curtsied and left, no longer waiting for his thanks, for it was ridiculous for her to expect such gratitude from the prince. Aemond finally raised his gaze just to witness the girl practically float out of the room. 

Aemond rested his back on the chair. A bit dazed at what had happened. How could she be so kind? Tend to his wound so much gentleness and attention even though he had scorned her just earlier that day. Aemond turned his gaze to the handkerchief that was still in his hands. The soft white cloth with the delicate embroidery of her first name’s initial and a blue butterfly now stained with specks of his blood. Aemond’s hand slowly brought it closer to his face, smelling her scent once more. He wanted to take another whiff, but as he realized what he was doing, how he was savoring her scent, his eyes widened, and he quickly tucked the cloth in his pocket to prevent him from doing such a thing again. 

“The duck’s eggs in grandmother’s lake have hatched,” Elinora remarked as there was silence in their familial supper. She hoped that the small information that was written to her by their ground’s keeper that had brought her joy would at least remove the tenseness in the air of their supper. “That’s nice,” Her father remarked with a small smile, and Elinora beamed upon him, hoping it would remove the edge that all the members of her family harbored. 

“Is… Is anything the matter?” She dared to ask, trying to capture the gaze of her brother, who had been staring at the peas for the majority of the hour. She watched as her family exchanged glances. “Your brother had seen you with Prince Aemond, alone, unescorted.” Her mother informed, making her brows raise as her brother bestowed upon her a stony expression. 

“Oh,” She said, as it would seem her brother had shared his concern with their parents. “I was feeding the ducks and swans in the keep’s pond, and the prince suddenly came. It’s not as if I invited him to join me there,” She explained as her fingers fiddled with the ends of her hair in nervousness.  “I saw you two running down the halls, hand in hand!” Elinora’s brother then burst out, shocking her with his accusatory tone. “Calm down, Edward, your sister is not on trial,” Their father warned. Elinora felt tears coming into her eyes as she was surprised that her brother would grow cross with her. Never once had Edward raised his voice when addressing Elinora, and now that he did, she felt a pit in her stomach. 

“I… I just had noticed that— that the prince was bleeding. I had just urged him to have it disinfected because he had no care… but it might get infected. I meant no harm, brother… I just thought it was the right thing to do,” Elinora muttered as her father held her hand from whom she sat next to. “See, Edward, nothing like you were insinuating was afoot, my son.” Their mother remarked. “Elinora knows what is wrong and right, do you not, my darling? We must trust her.” 

“I do trust her! It is these men! We do not know their true nature— they might take advantage of her!” Edward insisted and watched as their parents changed looks once more and as his sister only stared upon her lap, willing her tears not to shed. “You have a point, Edward… but you cannot accuse these men of something that has not yet happened.” 

“So you will wait until it does?!” Edward bellowed, but he was quickly challenged by Lord Tyrell. “Enough! We appreciate your concern for your sister, but you shall not raise your voice against us! Elinora will be fine, and she would tell us if any of the lords or princes, as you insist, would act untoward upon her!” Edward huffed and stomped away as he realized their once over-protective parents could no longer see reason. 

“I apologize for your brother, my darling,” Her father sighed and petted her hair. “I truly did not mean to upset him… and I did try to do as he told and avoid the men of court but—but the prince was bleeding and—“ Her mother hushed her as she stood from her chair and cupped her daughter’s cheeks. “We know, Elinora… and we do trust you. We know that you know what is wrong and right. You are cautious and calculated, that is all we could ask for,” Your mother said softly. “Now, go on, finish your meal so you can rest for the night.” 

Edward walked the keep halls, trying to be absolved of his ire. He held no ill will for his sister but rather the serpents surrounding her. “Good evening, Lord Edward,” Prince Aemond then appeared as he passed through the guest halls on his way to his own chambers. Edward gritted his jaw and saw the wound of the prince, carefully bandaged by his sister. “My prince,” He greeted bitterly. And Aemond frowned to himself at the tone of the lord but carried on to his way to the royal wing. 

Just as he stepped foot in the royal wing’s hall, he caught sight of Elinora on her way to her chambers. They locked eyes, and Aemond moved to speak with her, but she scurried her way into her chambers, leaving the prince alone in the halls. 

Something was off that evening, the prince thought. The usually cheery and well-mannered children of House Tyrell seemed to be sullen and dismissive. “Hello, brother,” Aemond suddenly at Daeron’s voice, the prince having been preoccupied the whole day as he went hunting in the woods with their eldest brother. “Where’s Aegon?” Aemond asked, glancing towards where the girl once stood before fully turning to meet the eye of his brother. 

“Well… I think you would know where,” Daeron said sheepishly. “Hm,” Aemond hummed in disapproval. “You have a wound,” Daeorn remarked as he stepped closer to his brother to inspect the bandage, but Ameond backed away, not used to having anyone in his personal space. “Did Elinora bandage that?” Daeron asked, his brother quickly frowning at his question. How would he know? 

“What?” Aemond bit as Daeron tried to inspect his bandages once more, but Aemond shielded it away from his gaze. “Did Elinora bandage your wound?” Daeron asked once more. “She always has a distinct cut when she bandages— there's somewhat of a heart shape in the gauze,” Daeron muttered as he followed wherever his brother turned his head. “Best dab that with honey, it’ll heal faster— or better yet, ask her for that honey with tea tree oil. It healed a nasty wound of mine in less than a fortnight.” Daeron informed, and Aemond frowned as his brother walked onward. “Well, come on now, lest you want that wound to fester,” Daeron remarked, and Aemond followed him as he knocked upon Elinora’s door. 

“I am fine; it’ll be gone by the next day.” Aemond gritted as they waited for the girl. “Nonsense, brother, I heard from Ser Cole how you… what do they say now? Ate dust in the tiltyard.” Daeron smiled, and before Aemond could reply, the door opened and revealed Elinora in her robe, her hair already undone. “Good evening, my princes,” She uttered in surprise. “Good evening, Eli,” Daeron smiled. Eli? The prince frowned at the way his brother addressed her. 

“Might I help you with something?” She asked, quickly glancing at Prince Aemond, who had a scowl on his face. “Yes, well… I see you had tended to my brother’s wound— very kind of you, but would you please give him that tea-tree-infused honey you have? We would be most grateful… wouldn’t we, brother?” Daeron said and nudged Aemond’s side. “Yes, quite so,” He gritted out, and Elinora was surprised as the prince actually agreed. 

“Well, of course,” Elinora said and expected the princes to wait by the hall as she retrieved what they asked for, but just as old habits began to shine through, Daeron welcomed himself in the girl’s chambers. Aemond tried to take hold of his brother’s collar, but Daeron quickly moved away from his brother’s hold. “You certainly bestowed your touch upon this chamber,” Daeron remarked as he looked about the room while Elinora looked through her vanity for a particular crystal jar. 

Aemond ran his gaze through the room, the once bleak spear chambers now had a warmness in them as Elinora lodged within them. “Oh, you brought Catherine the Caterpillar!” Daeron exclaimed as he took hold of a pillow in the girl’s feathered bed. It was just a regular decorative pillow, but it was tattered and had black beads sown into it to mimic eyes as well as two antennas. “Remember when your brother convinced you he could turn this into a butterfly if you gave him your desserts,” Daeron mussed, Aemond turning to Elinora to witness red creep to her cheeks through the mirror. 

“I did not eat sweets for two moons,” She remarked and finally turned with a crystal jar in her hands. “Here you are, my prince,” She smiled and handed the jar to Aemond, who swallowed thickly as their fingers brushed once more. He had never seen her with her hair down. Her dark, auburn locks were always neatly braided, and now a few locks perfectly framed her face, the curls now looser and a bit disheveled. 

Elinora chewed on her cheeks as the prince only stared at her, feeling warmness further in her cheeks as she felt him stare at her state. Her hair was yet to be brushed, and the only thing between her and her shift was a robe. “What do we say when one helps us, brother?” Daeron then interjected as his brother only remained silent. Aemond turned to his brother, a glare in his eye. “Thank you,” he gritted out, but his eye was pointed at Daeron, a warning in his tone. 

“That’s correct! But do not thank me, brother, I am not the one who bandaged you.” Daeron grinned as Aemond’s hold on the jar tightened to a point he thought it might crack. “You’re welcome, my prince,” Elinora quickly said, saving Aemond from further doing something he did not wish. As the words left her lips, two silver princes turned to her. “But if you would… I must be getting to bed,” She smiled, and Aemond quickly took hold of his brother so they could exit the girl’s chambers. 

“Good night, your highnesses,” Elinora curtsied, and Daeron bid her ‘good night,’ and Prince Aemond gave a nod. 

When the door closed, Aemond turned to his brother, who still had a teasing grin on his lips. “What are you doing!? You do not barge into and welcome yourself inside a lady’s chambers!” Aemond scolded, “Calm down, it’s only Elinora. I often do that in Highgarden; no one seems to mind,” Daeron laughed as his brother’s stoic facade was broken. “Even so! You offer her to scandal!” 

“Scandal? Nonsense! Everyone knows how virtuous Elinora is… and besides, however pretty she is, she is just simply not my kind of woman— do not get me wrong, I love her, but it’s the love of a brother rather than a man,”  Aemond grew confused at his brother’s words, until now, he was certain that Daeron harbored some attraction for the girl. 

“So you mean to tell me that you are not attracted to her… at all?” Aemond questioned, and Daeron nodded. “Gods, no! I see her as a sibling— and not the way our houses sees siblings.” Daeron clarified, and Aemond nodded in understanding. “You, however… I do nothing think you could say the same.” Daeron grinned, watching as his brother paused in the halls, taken aback by his words. “What do you mean by that?” Aemond gritted out, ready to deny whatever his brother would utter. 

Daeron sighed and smiled, “Brother, I grew up with Elinora— had to fend off men who vied for attention, and all of them always had the same look in their eyes when they looked upon her… and another look when she would smile upon them— you have the same look, Aemond. Hide it and repress it as you would; I can see it plainly. You like her.” 

“I do not! I…I— What you speak of is ridiculous! How da—“ Daeron was left amused as his brother ranted out his defense. “Your reaction is only proving me right, Aemond.” Daeron shook his head; Aemond stared at his brother, his eye twitching in irritation. “Do not fret, brother… you may have the same reactions as the others, but I have never seen Elinora interact with you as she had with the others,” Daeron consoled, and as if immediately, the rage on Aemond’s face turned to curiosity.     “What?” 

Daeron laughed at how quickly his brother’s mood turned. “Though men had always been vying for her attention, she never gave them a sparing glance— would not even converse with them with small talk unless she was quite literally forced to. But with you… I do not think I can say the same. Which is why I forced you two to dance the other night— Elinora never dances with anyone but me, Edward, or uncle, yet she still danced with you without being forced.” 

“What are you saying, Daeron, say it plainly.” Aemond urged, but his brother only let out an amused breath. “But where’s the fun in that? And I think you already know what I’m saying… come now, brother— they say you are the scholar of us siblings, surely you can figure out what is plain to our eyes.” Aemond only stared at his brother, the words resting on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to utter them. 

Daeron sighed, “You like her.” He stated. “And do not hold me to it, but I’m pretty certain that she likes you too, at least to some degree— you know what, I’m not actually certain. You have been a point of irritation for her.” Daeron laughed. “But on a more positive note, no one has actually irritated Elinora in the way you have, so… congratulations, brother.” Daeron smiled and finally left his brother in the halls with Aemond standing alone as another confirmed what he suspected and quite frankly feared. 

He liked Elinora… a girl whose hand was already promised to another. And Elinora liked him, they think. No one was actually certain, but the first revelation was enough to confound the ever-certain and stoic One-Eyed Prince. 

Tag List: @sapphirevhagar @dahlias-and-marigolds @shygardengalaxy-blog @m-riaa @summerposie

[aiyaiy]

Aemond Targaryen x Artist! Reader

Part one? Maybe a smutty part two

Synopsis: Aemond is embarrassed by Aegon. His brother laughing at him for continuing his intimacies with Sylvi. He finds comfort in a little corner of the brothel, where a girl and her drawings seem to capture his affections.

Warnings/tags: Not much to say ngl, sexual themes, suggestive, dude is naked the whole time, it's a brothel yall, Aemond is kind of a jerk at first, soft Aemond at the end tho hehehe, reader is a cutie patootie, cursing and mature language

___

Paper, much less sketchbooks, were difficult to come by through the smallfolk of Westeros. A luxury; coveted by skillful artisans and noble families emptying their pockets for masterful art to be made of their loved ones. You were unfortunately deprived of those luxuries, being born a common girl with no household to claim. Therefore you learned to steal and barter; a skill that has served you faithfully into your adulthood.

It was not an honorable hobby of yours, you could admit, stealing low quality paper from struggling vendors. But when you would return home (and by home you really meant a small room in the back of a brothel. Paid for by your labor in cleaning, cooking, and fetching for the women and mistress) and look at the beige, tawny sheets on your walls, you were proud.

The city was overpopulated, and the people that spent their time out and about at night tended to be delinquents or drunkards. Occasionally, you could swear some of the sleeping drunks were dead. Though you would never check. Lest you wanted an angry fellow to attack you for your coin and body. The moon at its fullest always seemed to cast an odd glow on the faces of these men. You had often wished to recreate it in a drawing if only you could kneel next to them and do so.

It was always easy to slip through the walls, the darkness cloaking you from the wandering eyes of people and into the shacks that held the art materials. And once you would return to the brothel you would have an abundance of not only new supplies, but new muses to illustrate.

Brothels were a goldmine for artists who, like you, enjoy drawing the human body. The anatomy of a man and woman, the way their bodies contort and the plushness of their skin, the markings and scars that often littered their body, disheveled hair and drunken smiles; it was all so beautifully human to you. You had been invited on a number of occasions to join, perhaps earn a little more than just a small space that could barely fit yourself. But you would refuse.

You had kept your maidenhood, if not for anything else but the romanticism that artists always seem to cling faithfully to.

You wanted a lover, not a visitor.

So, you would sit hidden in the corner of the brothel, watching and sketching beneath your cloak merrily. A contentment that only a poor girl in a brothel could enjoy.

"My prince," Sylvi greeted, a smile dancing across her lips as she took the young prince's hand.

Following behind the brothel owner was Aemond Targaryen, a man who by all rights demanded power and authority. Zealous in his endeavors to usurp the throne from his brother Aegon. You knew of the gossip, the smallfolk regurgitating rumors heard through the grapevine and around some.

You had always, always, wanted to draw him properly.

But Sylvi accommodated the prince's needs impartially. Reserving a grander room covered in silks and fabrics befitting the district was her way of comforting him, you had noticed. He only ever came to see the older woman, clad in darkened clothes and hidden away from the other whores, as patrons liked to call them.

Once had you caught a view of his face, proper and thorough. It was just long enough to engrave his features in your memory; though like wood, chips away as time passes. Two attempts were made to sketch him from memory, both looking rather peculiar, different and not at all how your brain wished to remember him so. You hung the sketches up as a way of keeping his face in your memory. He was beautiful, that was all you could remember properly.

You flinched at the sound of bellowing laughs erupting from the pretty room of silk, a small group of men encircling the entrance. A tuft of messy white hair was all you saw before the men obscured your vision momentarily. He seemed to cradle himself, arms crossed overtop his knees as he looked away from his elder brother, shame rising within himself.

WOOF WOOF WOOF

Was one of them... barking?

You could not hear with the sounds of men and women moaning, skin slapping and idle chatter. But suddenly the young prince revealed himself, no cloak to hide his features nor his nude body. Despite the open wound on his face, his body was barren of any imperfection. Milky skin adorning broad shoulders and a lean figure. Aemond carried himself as a ruler, his strides confident and unwilling to cower despite the situation.

"...There are plenty of other whores," was all that escaped the man's lips audibly before he turned the corner towards your little nook in the hall.

Panicked, you backed into your small room, tripping over the sheets on the floor (which was your bed if you were to be specific). Only a few candles lit your room, an easy to miss area that if you continued walking straight would almost look like a compact storage space. It was a generous space for the work you offered, and often times you found yourself rather grateful. Most smallfolk without a bloodline to care for them slept on the streets, or in the beds of men and their sexual whims. This nook of old wood and even older fabrics was entirely yours.

Unfortunately for you, however, it seems the prince might have found comfort in the small space, deciding to turn towards it; only to be met with a girl on the floor, a sketchbook in hand and jostled (h/c) hair covering her, clothed he noted, body.

You were pretty, he pondered for only a moment. Your (s/c) skin was glowing against the wax candles’ light, the flames and brown of the wood around you seeming to cast a glow atop your cheeks and shoulders. You were certainly a stark difference to the white haired and unenchantingly pale family members of the Red Keep. Your clothes were hidden beneath a tattered cloak, small as the fabric seemed to dwindle against your head from what is likely to be many years of use.

And that was when he took notice of the walls, shrouded in ornate and tawny scraps of paper. Charcoals and ink covered them beautifully. The curves and figures replicated on the pages as though he were staring at real people, if not for the lack of color confirming otherwise. His eyes scrutinized every single piece before falling upon the two stuck to the wall beside you, low enough that he could not see the intricacies.

They were of him, he was certain. The familiar scar on full display; and you had decided to depict such in your work as though it were not a foul thing. As if he were not crippled and unworthy of being made into art.

Immediately you moved onto your knees, arms stretching to cover the drawings of him. "My prince, please don't look!" You whisper-shouted, rather embarrassed.

He's gonna behead me for drawing him! He's gonna be so offended, they're such horrible depictions of him! This is the end-

Your thoughts were cut off by his movement towards you, almost saccharine despite the threatening layer he carried in his being. He plucked the pages off your wall easily, the dried sap you had used to place it leaving a residue behind. He was knelt beside you now as his breathing was ragged and heavy, yet his eye softer. It was clear he was still angry so you stayed immobile, opting to quietly allow the prince the respite of looking at your, as you believed to be, shitty drawings.

"How did a lowborn whore get access to all this?" Aemond questioned, almost accusatory though not quite as menacing.

"I'm not a whore, my prince," you corrected rather brashly, "And I bought it."

"You bought it?" He repeated, turning to you.

Gods, that face of his was truly a work of art. You had never seen something sculpted so faire and enchanting. "Yes, I work here. As a cleaner and cook. Among other things." You muttered the last bit. Perhaps being titled ‘thief’ would not sit well with the prince, or any noble for that matter.

"Do you think me stupid? The most fucked whores here could not nearly afford this much paper." He eyed you up and down, causing insecurity to slowly creep up your spine. "Yet the cook can?"

You gulped, fingers shaking as you set the sketchbook down and began kneeling entirely, head pointed downward. "Please, my prince," you begged, "It is something I enjoy."

For some strange, insignificant reason, Aemond found himself enjoying this power he held over you. He could take away this passion of yours, take his frustrations of what had occurred only moments ago out on you; the helpless little brothel servant. He and Sylvi had a certain dynamic that bordered on motherly in its own twisted way. She had taken his virginity at the age of 13, she being well and along into her adult years and well past the taking of her own maidenhood.

And his brother, politically speaking, was mightier and thus rendered Aemond helpless against him. He could saunter into the brothel and laugh at him as he pleased. Even his own mother did not truly care for him as she did his siblings, and his father's weak resolutions were only fitted towards his bastard carrying half-sister. And yet you looked up at him from your knelt position, eyes big and (e/c) and watery. Your dress was ragged but not entirely ugly, or perhaps it was your face; flushed and puffed out that compensated. There was fear present, but not entirely of Aemond himself.

Certainly not of his eye, the disgusting scar that was on full display due to his elder brother's and cousin’s cruelty had not made you avert your gaze entirely. You did not even seem to notice it, staring impartially at the prince as though the ugly thing were not present.

All you cared about was some low quality paper.

"Why did you choose me? To illustrate, I mean." This time his voice exuded authority, the white strands falling against his face as he stared idly at your sketch. "Speak now."

You had been given the opportunity to admire his features more carefully, focusing on the prominence of his nose and thinness of his lips, his working eye soft and welcoming whilst the other was pointed and jeweled. The scar that aligned his cheek, across the sapphire and ending above his eyebrow was healed enough, a wound forever carved into his features.

"You're beautiful," you mindlessly said, soft enough that Aemond almost had not heard it. You caught yourself almost immediately, straightening your back and creating a distance between you two. "I-I'm so sorry! That was rude of me!"

You weren't sure if drooling over a prince could be considered treason or criminal, and you honestly had no desire to find out.

"You find the cripple beautiful?" He laughed out.

Self deprecation was something he had never truly let anybody see, opting for an authoritative approach. All the people of Westeros saw when looking at him was a crippled boy, one unfit to rule a kingdom despite the training and studying he endured, well beyond the abilities of his brother, who did not even seem to enjoy the thought of ruling. If he pretended to be confident for long enough then surely others would believe it too. Power is power, a loss of an eye nor sleeping with a whore could take that away from him. Aemond was chosen by Vhagar, one of the largest dragons who had only recently lost its companion. He was chosen. A privilege not so easily befitted to others.

And yet here he knelt; naked, angry, and oddly frustrated with the girl in front of him.

"Do you take me for some kind of joke?" He was a looming presence, like a gargoyle. A beautiful statue bearing intricacies and underlying dread.

"I only draw things I find beautiful," your trembling hands reached for your notebook to show him, ripped papers sliding between your fingers as you turned the pages deliberately. "Mostly people, mostly those in the brothel." You admitted.

"And I?"

Aemond sounded almost defeated, like the world was weighing on him and the compliment from a pretty little brothel worker was the final push.

"Yes, and you, my prince."

A silence enveloped you both. The lewd sounds outside of your little nook in the corner of the brothel seemed to wane within your ears, the both of you rather present and yet distant at the same time. You pondered if he needed comfort, the abrupt entrance of his brother weighing heavily within you both. You would have preferred to see him again from a distance and not entangle yourself with the affairs of a highborn who could, by all accounts, harm you. You wondered what led the prince to grow up so ashamed of himself. Aemond who felt frustrated and embarrassed, weak even, and you who felt pity and shyness. A need to comfort the insecure prince overwhelming you.

"If you'd like..." You began unsurely, "I will not lay with you, um, intimately. But if I may offer you comfort?"

The sketchbook in your lap held one of the drawings of Aemond atop the pages. It sat gingerly, the ornate paper crinkled slightly from the prince's touch. You were about to remove it to allow the prince to rest his head atop your lap before he stopped you abruptly, his hand overtop yours and stilled. His thumb brushed over yours for a moment, a ghost of a feeling that you were unsure it had occurred at all.

"Leave it." He commanded.

And so you did.

You lifted your hands while Aemond shifted his body weight, laying on the sheets that were scattered against the floor with his head gingerly placed atop the sketchbook as your hands delicately traced along his hair, neck, and shoulder. His legs found themselves beneath the sheets, his arms curled forward to hold onto your thighs. The feeling of your skin against his hand only served to soothe him, fingers rubbing circles harsh enough that it almost hurt, the fat and muscle in your legs massaged into a redness.

Your fingers were soft to the touch, a chill reverberating against himself as he inhaled the mix of your scent and the paper; wood, sap, and the slight fragrance of the rose oils you bathed with. It was different to the stench of the common areas within the brothel, and the intense perfumes that the castle halls were brimming with. Your maidenhood was intact, you had not lied. His hands trailed upward, speculating your morals as he found himself reaching within your cloak and holding onto the side of your waist.

Although you made no move to stop him, the stiffness in your body and the way your breath hitched in your throat gave him an idea of your discomfort. When his hand returned to its original position atop your thighs your body relaxed and you continued kneading at his skin. He thought of you almost like a kitten; only allowing the touch that you wished to receive whilst being tucked away from the peering eyes of others.

"I will return," he spoke matter of factly, "And you will accept me."

"Yes, my prince."

"Aemond," he corrected. "When we are here, you will address me as Aemond."

"Yes, Aemond."

This was a little nook in the corner of the world, untouched by sex and politics.

Just a pretty little girl and her drawings, taking care of the insecure prince who reveled in her touch, art and soft manner of speech.

[aiyaiy]

In My Heart is a Christmas Tree Farm

SUMMARY: It’s the first Christmas together for you and Tyler, and after moving into his farmhouse, you’re excited to start new traditions with him—like picking out the perfect tree. But what starts as a charming trip to the Christmas Tree Farm quickly turns into a hilarious and heartwarming adventure, from getting the tree home to figuring out how to fit it through the front door. As the holiday chaos unfolds, the two of you share quiet moments decorating the tree, with laughter, playful banter, and unspoken love filling the air.

A/N: This is the first of a few holiday fics that I have planned or in the works! Please let me know what you guys think with hearts, reblogs, and comments! I love getting feedback from you guys!

WARNINGS: None. Just fluff.

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

The truck rumbled to a stop on the gravel drive of the Christmas tree farm, the engine cutting out with a low growl. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked out at the rows of evergreens stretching into the horizon. This was your first Christmas living with Tyler, and picking out a real tree together felt like the start of something special—a new tradition, just the two of you.

The crisp December air hit you as soon as you stepped out of the truck, making you pull your coat a little tighter around yourself. The smell of pine was already thick in the air, and your boots crunched softly against the ground as you moved closer to the truck bed.

Tyler slid out of the driver’s seat with an easy grace, tugging the brim of his cap a little lower against the cold. His Carhartt jacket hugged his frame, the earthy tan color a perfect match for his ruggedness. He turned toward you, a teasing glint in his eye, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but admire him. He just had that effortless charm about him—completely unbothered and completely Tyler.

“So,” he drawled, his breath visible in the chilly air as he closed the truck door behind him. “Have you decided what kinda tree you’re lookin’ for yet, darlin’?”

You grinned, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “Something big and full. You know, a real showstopper.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, clearly already bracing himself for what this would mean for his part of the job. 

“Figures. You’d pick somethin’ that makes me work for it.” His grin softened the words, though, and you nudged his arm as the two of you started walking toward the trees.

The farm was lively with families and couples all bundled up, laughter and chatter floating through the brisk air. The two of you wandered along the rows of trees, the crunch of your boots and the faint sound of Christmas music playing over the farm’s speakers filling the silence.

Tyler stopped in front of a smaller tree, one that barely came up to his shoulder. He gestured toward it with a tilt of his head. “What about this one? Nice and easy to haul back.”

You gave him a flat look, one hand resting on your hip. “That’s not even a Christmas tree; it’s a glorified shrub.”

You wandered a little further ahead, scanning the trees until your eyes landed on one that seemed perfect. It was tall and full, its dark green needles catching the faint sunlight peeking through the clouds. You pointed at it with excitement. “What about that one?”

Tyler followed your gaze and tilted his head, his lips twisting as he studied it. “Hmm.”

“‘Hmm?’” you echoed, crossing your arms.

“It’s a little…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Lopsided. Look at that lean.”

You squinted at the tree, trying to see what he saw. Sure, it wasn’t perfectly symmetrical, but there was something charming about its imperfection.

“It gives it character,” you argued, planting your hands on your hips.

“Character, huh?” Tyler smirked, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Alright, sweetheart. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya when that ‘character’ makes it fall over in the living room.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. This was exactly what you’d imagined when you thought about this day—playful bickering, shared smiles, and the simple joy of doing something together.

Tyler tilted his head, studying the tree with that same skeptical expression. You could tell he wasn’t sold, but you didn’t care. There was something about this one—it wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at it, already picturing it in the corner of your living room, lit up with strings of warm white lights and covered in ornaments you’d carefully unpacked together.

When you glanced back at Tyler, he was already watching you. His green eyes softened as he took in the look on your face, the way you were gazing at the tree like it was the only one on the entire farm. He let out a long-suffering sigh, one that was more for show than anything else, and shook his head with a small smile.

“This the one you really want?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his tone gentler.

You nodded eagerly. “This is the one.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer, his expression softening even more. “Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

Before you could even respond, Tyler squatted down by the base of the tree and pulled out the hand saw he’d brought along. He glanced back at you with a teasing smirk as he gripped the saw handle. 

“You better not make me do this every year, though. Gonna end up with sawdust in places sawdust shouldn’t be.”

You laughed, crossing your arms as you watched him start sawing through the trunk with practiced movements. “Oh, come on. You’re just showing off now.”

“Damn right,” he shot back, his voice a little strained from the effort. “Gotta prove I’m still worth keepin’ around.”

The sight of him—focused, rugged, and doing this for you—made your heart squeeze in your chest. He worked efficiently, the blade gliding back and forth through the trunk as tiny flecks of wood started to fall onto the frosty ground. After a few minutes, there was a satisfying crack, and the tree shifted slightly.

Tyler straightened up, brushing sawdust off his jeans before turning to you with a grin. “Alright, darlin’. Now comes the fun part—haulin’ this thing back to the truck without pokin’ an eye out.”

As Tyler dusted off his hands, you moved to grab the tree, wanting to help. Before you could get a proper grip, he reached out, stopping you with a firm hand on your wrist.

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head with a smirk. “I’m not lettin’ you carry this thing. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Tyler, it’s not that heavy,” you argued, but he was already crouching down, grabbing hold of the trunk with one hand and lifting it with surprising ease.

“You just stay right there and admire the view,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder at you with a wink before he began dragging the tree toward the front of the farm. The tree scraped along the ground, leaving a trail in the thin layer of frost, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the branches caught on a few tufts of grass.

A little ways ahead, you spotted a wooden wagon parked near the rows of trees—a small, rustic cart clearly meant to help customers haul their finds. 

You pointed to it, your eyes lighting up. “Look, there’s a wagon we can use!”

Tyler stopped in his tracks, turning to glance at the cart before shooting you a look that was equal parts amused and stubborn. “A wagon? Darlin’, I don’t need a wagon. I’ve got this.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you watched him reposition his grip on the tree like he was about to hoist it up. Before he could, you were already walking off toward the cart.

“Where’re you goin’?” he called after you, the exasperation in his voice tinged with humor.

“Getting the wagon,” you called back without turning around.

When you returned, rolling the cart behind you with a triumphant smile, Tyler sighed, shaking his head like you’d just gone and complicated things for no reason. 

“I told you I could carry it,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, grinning as you gestured toward the wagon. “But why carry it when you can make your life easier?”

He muttered something under his breath—something about being perfectly capable—but he bent down and lifted the tree anyway, settling it into the wagon with a huff. You gave him a pleased smile, your hands on your hips like you’d just solved the world’s biggest problem.

Tyler shook his head again, a small grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed the wagon handle. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he teased, his tone warm and playful.

“Lucky?” you echoed, falling into step beside him. “I just saved you from throwing your back out.”

“Darlin’, I think I’ve got a few good years left before that happens.” He shot you a sidelong glance as he started pulling the wagon, his free hand reaching for yours. The roughness of his palm was a stark contrast to the cool metal of the wagon handle in his other hand, and you couldn’t help but squeeze his hand as your fingers laced together.

The two of you walked hand in hand toward the gate, the tree wobbling slightly in the wagon behind you. The crisp air smelled faintly of pine and woodsmoke, and the sound of distant laughter from other families echoed through the farm. It felt perfect.

The two of you reached the payment booth near the front of the farm, where a cheerful older man in a Santa hat rang you up. Tyler handed over the cash, adding a quick “Merry Christmas” as the man nodded and tipped his hat.

Tree secured for the season, you made your way back to Tyler’s truck, the wagon wheels crunching softly over the frosted ground. The cold seemed sharper now, nipping at your face and hands, and you pulled your coat tighter as you walked.

Tyler parked the wagon near the tailgate and looked over at you, tilting his head toward the cab of the truck. “Alright, darlin’, hop in and start warmin’ up. I’ll handle the rest.”

You shook your head with a determined smile. “I’m not letting you do this alone. It’s our tree, after all.”

Tyler huffed, planting his hands on his hips as he gave you a pointed look. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” But he didn’t argue further, instead moving to lift the tree out of the wagon.

As he hefted the trunk up toward the bed of the truck, the tree wobbled slightly, its uneven weight threatening to throw off his balance. 

“Lopsided thing,” he muttered under his breath, as if to prove his earlier point.

You quickly stepped in, grabbing the top of the tree to steady it. “I’ve got it!” you said, keeping the branches from tilting too far.

Tyler glanced back at you, a flicker of exasperation in his eyes. “I had it,” he drawled, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you replied cheekily. “And now we’ve both got it.”

Together, you guided the tree into the truck bed, the branches brushing against the sides before settling into place. Tyler stepped back to inspect it, nodding to himself before turning to the backseat of the truck and grabbing a length of rope.

As he began tying down one end of the tree, he glanced over his shoulder. “Now will you get in the truck and warm up, sweetheart?”

You ignored him, instead grabbing the other end of the rope. “I’ll help you tie it down. Two sets of hands are faster than one.”

Tyler let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he worked on securing the trunk. “You’re about the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“And you love it,” you quipped, looping the rope around the branches with practiced ease.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a grin, pulling his end taut before tying it off with a secure knot. “But don’t think I didn’t see you shiverin’ just now. Soon as this is done, you’re gettin’ in that truck, no arguments..”

“Deal,” you replied, stepping back to admire your work as Tyler gave the ropes one final tug.

With the tree finally secured, Tyler tossed the remaining rope into the truck bed and turned to you, brushing a stray pine needle from your coat. “There. Now, let’s get you warmed up before you turn into an icicle.”

He reached for your hand again, his calloused fingers warm against your cold ones, and led you to the passenger side of the truck. As you climbed in, the cab was already beginning to fill with heat, and the faint smell of pine lingered in the air.

The drive back to the farmhouse was quiet and peaceful, the radio softly playing Christmas tunes as you rested your head against the window. The familiar gravel crunch of Tyler’s driveway made you smile. Moving into his farmhouse had felt so natural—like the two of you had carved out your own little piece of the world, just far enough from town to feel like your own private retreat.

As Tyler parked the truck, he hopped out with his usual energy, leaving you to grab your coat and follow. By the time you rounded the back of the truck, he had already unhooked the ropes and was hauling the tree out of the bed with a grunt.

“You good?” you asked, stifling a laugh as he adjusted his grip.

“’Course I’m good,” he replied, shifting the weight of the tree onto one shoulder like it was nothing. “This ain’t my first rodeo, darlin’.”

You trailed after him, arms crossed, as he approached the front porch. The air smelled like fresh pine now from the tree and the crisp bite of winter, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of decorating the tree together later.

That excitement only grew as Tyler maneuvered the tree toward the door—until he reached the threshold and froze.

“Uh…” he muttered, tilting his head as he eyed the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, a knowing smirk creeping onto your face.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, attempting to angle the tree to fit through the frame. The branches scraped against the sides of the door, and needles started raining down in a messy trail.

“You sure about that?” you teased, leaning against the porch railing.

Tyler grunted, twisting the trunk this way and that. “Just…gotta…angle it…a little more…”

The tree, stubborn as ever, refused to cooperate. Instead, it wedged itself firmly in the doorway, the bottom half stuck outside while the top half was inside.

“Well,” you said, your voice laced with amusement, “this is going great.”

“Don’t start,” Tyler muttered under his breath, taking a step back to assess the situation. His hands planted on his hips, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Need some help?” you offered sweetly, already knowing what his answer would be.

“Nope. I’ve got it,” he insisted, stepping forward to try again. This time, he gave the tree a solid shove, which only made it stick tighter.

Needles flew everywhere, a few landing in his hair and on his jacket. You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing.

He turned to you, his exasperated expression tinged with reluctant humor. “Glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself over there.”

“Immensely,” you replied with a grin.

Finally, Tyler threw his hands up in defeat and looked at you. “Alright, fine. I could use an extra set of hands. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you said, stepping forward. As you grabbed the top of the tree to help guide it, you couldn’t resist adding, “I thought you didn’t need my help?”

He shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead focusing on angling the tree just right. Together, the two of you managed to wiggle it free, and with one last push, it finally made it through the doorway.

Once inside, Tyler carried the tree to the living room, pausing in the center. “Alright, darlin’. Where do you want it?”

You pointed to a cozy corner by the front window, already imagining how the lights would glow against the glass at night. “Over there.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think it’d look better on this side?” He gestured to the opposite corner.

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he held your gaze for a long moment before sighing. “Yeah, alright. Your spot it is.”

“You’re learning,” you teased, patting his arm as he set the tree down in your chosen spot.

With the tree finally in place, Tyler brushed his hands off on his jeans and gave you a lopsided grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute, sweetheart.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you quipped, stepping back to admire the tree in its new home.

With the tree finally in place, you stepped back, hands on your hips, and admired it—or at least tried to. Something about the spot you had chosen didn’t sit right anymore. It didn’t look as magical as you’d imagined. You tilted your head, your eyes drifting toward the corner Tyler had suggested earlier.

You stood there, picturing the tree nestled in that spot instead. The idea started to grow on you. The light from the front window would catch the ornaments perfectly, and it wouldn’t feel so cramped against the wall.

“Alright,” Tyler said, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Tree’s up, and it’s right where you wanted it. You happy now, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer right away, still staring at the other corner with a pensive expression.

“Uh-oh,” Tyler muttered, catching the look on your face. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, then glanced at him sheepishly. “I don’t like it here.”

Tyler blinked at you, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling. “I think…it would look better over there.” You pointed to the corner he had suggested earlier, the one you’d dismissed outright.

Tyler tilted his head back and let out a dramatic groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “You mean the spot I told you it should go in from the start?”

“Well,” you said with a shrug, trying to suppress a laugh, “you might’ve had a point.”

He stared at you for a long moment, then shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “unbelievable.”

“Tyler,” you said sweetly, clasping your hands together, “please?”

“Darlin’, you’re lucky I like you,” he said, shooting you a playful glare before walking over to the tree. “You’re gonna owe me for this one.”

“Oh, definitely,” you teased, watching as he bent down to grip the trunk.

With a huff, he hoisted the tree off the ground and carried it across the room, muttering something about “indecisive women” as needles scattered everywhere again. You couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the show.

Once he’d set the tree down in its new spot, he straightened up and planted his hands on his hips, looking at you expectantly. “There. Happy now?”

You took a step back, tilting your head as you studied it. The glow from the window hit the branches just right, and you smiled. “Perfect.”

“Perfect, huh?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Glad we could get it right on the second try.”

“Third time’s the charm if you count the doorway,” you quipped, earning yourself a look.

Tyler stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. “If you change your mind again, I’m puttin’ it outside,” he warned, but the smirk on his face told you he was kidding.

You grinned, leaning into him. “Don’t worry, it’s staying right there.”

“For your sake, I hope so,” he said, dropping a quick kiss to the top of your head before glancing down at the floor. “Now, how about you grab the broom while I start cleaning up this forest you had me drag inside?”

The chaos of getting the tree inside was finally behind you, and the living room had settled into a warm, quiet calm. The scent of pine filled the air, mingling with the faint notes of cinnamon from the candle you’d lit on the coffee table. You fiddled with the Bluetooth speaker, scrolling through your playlist until the opening notes of a soft Christmas song floated through the room.

“Alright,” you said with a grin, turning to Tyler, “time to make this tree look like it belongs in one of those Christmas magazines.”

Tyler chuckled from where he stood by the boxes of ornaments. “As long as it doesn’t involve more rearranging, I’m game.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you grabbed the string of lights and began weaving them around the tree. Tyler joined you, holding up branches and handing you more lights as needed. Every now and then, his fingers brushed against yours, and you felt his warmth even through the chill lingering on your hands from being outside.

Once the lights were set, you pulled out the tinsel. The silver strands glinted in the soft glow of the bulbs, and you began to toss handfuls of it onto the branches. Tyler, ever the perfectionist, stepped in behind you, adjusting a few pieces and earning a playful glare from you.

“Hey, it’s supposed to look natural,” you teased, tossing a strand in his direction.

“Yeah? Pretty sure ‘natural’ doesn’t mean ‘thrown like confetti,’” he quipped back, laughing when you stuck your tongue out at him.

Then came the ornaments. You opened the first box, pulling out a mix of baubles, snowflakes, and sentimental pieces collected over the years. You cradled a delicate glass ornament shaped like a snowman, humming along to the music as you walked around the tree, searching for the perfect branch.

“Hmm,” you murmured to yourself, holding the ornament up and tilting your head. “Too low. Too high. Maybe…”

You trailed off, still lost in thought as you tested a few spots. The sound of Tyler’s soft laugh caught your attention, and you turned to see him leaning against the arm of the couch, watching you with a lovestruck smile.

“What?” you asked, your voice light with curiosity as you clutched the snowman ornament to your chest.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Just… you’re cute when you’re trying to decide something.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, and you smiled, trying to play it cool. “You’re just saying that.”

He pushed off the couch and walked over to you, taking the ornament gently from your hand. “I’m saying it because it’s true,” he said, his voice soft as he reached up and placed the snowman on a branch that was, admittedly, a perfect spot.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, admiring the tree. The glow of the lights reflected in his eyes, and the soft music wrapped around you like a blanket.

“You gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna help me finish this tree?” you teased, breaking the quiet moment.

Tyler chuckled, pulling another ornament from the box. “Well, if I’m not mistaken, someone here’s already got the whole magazine-worthy vision in their head. So I’m just following orders, sweetheart.”

You grinned, grabbing another ornament as you started swaying to the music. Without even thinking, you began humming along, your movements light and carefree. Tyler glanced over, his smirk softening into that same adoring smile as he watched you.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start dancing now,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

“Why not?” you shot back, twirling once before holding up another ornament. “It’s Christmas, Tyler. You’ve got to feel the spirit!”

He shook his head, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as he reached for another ornament. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a playful wink as you placed a bright red bauble on the tree. “But you love it.”

“That I do,” he murmured under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear, making your heart flutter as the two of you continued decorating your first Christmas tree together.

The room was warm, filled with the soft glow of the Christmas lights, and the tree—finally perfect—stood proudly in the corner of the living room. Its needles shimmered in the light, the tinsel sparkling and the ornaments dancing slightly with the hum of the air. You took a step back, your eyes gliding over the branches, taking in every detail with a content smile on your face.

Tyler, standing beside you, couldn’t help but mirror your expression. He gave the tree a satisfied glance before turning his attention to you, his lips curling into that quiet, affectionate smile he reserved for moments like this.

“It turned out good, didn’t it?” you murmured, still looking at the tree, but feeling his gaze on you now.

“Perfect,” Tyler agreed softly, his voice low and warm as he stepped closer to you. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You leaned into him, your head resting against his solid frame as he kissed your cheek tenderly, a soft brush of his lips that made you feel safe and cherished.

He didn’t pull away right away. Instead, Tyler rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as you both stood there, quietly admiring the work you’d done together.

There was a peacefulness in the moment, one that felt like it stretched on forever, the world outside slowing to a halt. Just the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of this new beginning—the first Christmas together, the first tree.

For a long beat, neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to.

“I can’t believe this is our first Christmas here,” you whispered, a quiet amazement in your voice.

Tyler chuckled softly. “Well, I’m not complainin’,” he said, his voice still carrying that warmth, the sincerity of someone who didn’t need anything more than this. “I’d say this is about as perfect as it gets.”

You turned your face slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, and there, in the gentle glow of the lights, you could see it—how much he truly meant it. How much he meant to you.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice thick with the weight of your feelings.

Tyler’s hands tightened around you, pulling you closer as he rested his forehead against yours, your hearts beating in the same steady rhythm.

The tree sparkled behind you, the ornaments glimmering in the soft light. But in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be as perfect as this—Tyler’s arms around you, the love between you both, and the feeling of belonging you’d found in each other.

“Happy Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

“Happy Christmas,” you echoed, your heart full as you let the moment carry you both into the quiet night.

[aiyaiy]

Santa Baby | S. R.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Themes: Christmas FLUFF, a bit of jealousy from Steve. Summary: At the annual Christmas gala, your flirty performance of Santa Baby leaves Steve Rogers captivated and a little jealous of the attention you're drawing. Later, under the falling snow on the balcony, Steve finally proposes, turning the festive night into a moment you'll cherish forever. A/N: Can be connected to "Secret Santa" if you want to connect it to each other haha. This oneshot is a part of my 4K follower Christmas Celebration. Also this one will be connected to Santa Baby that will be released next week. dividers by @saradika-graphics

The annual Christmas gala was in full swing—twinkling fairy lights, glittering ornaments, and the comforting hum of laughter set the perfect holiday mood. You had been assigned to entertain the crowd, your role as the night’s singer solidified when Tony loudly declared, “Y/N’s got the voice of an angel! She’s doing it, no arguments!”

You stood at the microphone in your long, sultry red gown, the epitome of old-Hollywood glamour. The satin hugged your figure, the thigh-high slit adding an edge of daring sophistication. The room quieted as the band started playing, the familiar playful melody of Santa Baby filling the air.

And that’s when you saw him.

Steve Rogers, sitting at a corner table, a glass of eggnog in his hand and a faint pink flush already warming his cheeks. Perfect target.

With a coy smile, you launched into the song, every word dripping with playful flirtation.

“Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree... for me...” you sang, letting your voice take on a velvety quality as you held Steve’s gaze. His eyes widened slightly, and you swore his grip on the eggnog tightened.

You strolled closer to the crowd, letting your hips sway naturally to the beat. The teasing smile never left your lips as you zeroed in on Steve, directing every lyric his way.

“Been an awful good girl... Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Steve’s blush deepened as you approached. He squirmed a little in his chair, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. But as your performance continued, you noticed the looks from the other men in the room. Some were outright gawking, and a few whispered to each other, their eyes locked on your gown.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve’s expression darken, his jaw tightening as he followed their gazes. Sam, seated beside him, smirked and leaned over. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but Steve’s curt shake of his head and the glare he shot Sam made you giggle internally.

Still, you couldn’t resist turning the heat up a notch.

“Think of all the fun I’ve missed...” You winked directly at Steve. “Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.”

Sam burst into laughter, giving Steve an exaggerated nudge. Poor Steve looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, his ears bright red now, but his sharp glare shifted back to anyone in the room staring too long at you. His possessiveness was adorable—and obvious.

By the time you hit the final note, Steve was practically a Christmas decoration himself—his cheeks a matching shade to your dress. The crowd erupted into applause, but you were only looking at him, grinning mischievously as you gave a little bow.

× × × ×

Not long after, you were walking through the festive crowd when a strong, familiar hand gently grabbed your elbow. You turned, meeting Steve’s sheepish yet determined expression.

“Mind stepping outside with me for a second?”

You nodded, letting him guide you to the balcony. As you approached the doors, Steve paused and slid his coat off, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric and the subtle hint of his cologne made your cheeks heat.

“It’s cold out,” he said simply, his voice softer now.

Your heart fluttered as you adjusted the coat and followed him onto the balcony. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine. Twinkling lights illuminated his face, and you noticed how serious he seemed, his usual shy demeanor replaced by something more intense.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he finally asked, his tone caught somewhere between teasing and genuinely flustered.

“What?” you replied innocently, feigning surprise. “It’s a Christmas classic! Everyone loves Santa Baby.”

“Yeah, well, everyone wasn’t being serenaded like that,” he muttered, his jaw tightening again. “And… not everyone was staring at you like that, either.”

You blinked in surprise, your lips curving into a slow grin. “Steve Rogers, are you jealous?”

His blush returned full force, but he held your gaze. 

“Maybe I am. Can you blame me? You look…” He gestured helplessly at you, searching for words. “You look like a dream tonight, Y/N. And I don’t want to share that dream with anyone else.”

Your heart melted on the spot, but you decided to push him just a little further. “Well, good thing it was just a performance. You know, for everyone.”

“Y/N,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I need to say something. And… I can’t wait anymore.”

You tilted your head, your playful expression faltering as you noticed the sincerity in his eyes. Before you could speak, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Steve…” you whispered, your breath catching.

“I’ve had this for months,” Steve admitted, his voice low but steady, the faintest tremor betraying his nerves. “I kept telling myself I’d wait for the perfect moment. Then you walked out tonight, looking like that, singing to me like that, and I realized… every moment with you is perfect. What am I waiting for?”

Your breath caught as he knelt down on one knee, his strong hand still holding yours as if grounding himself in you. The soft glow of the lights around you reflected in his blue eyes, filled with a mixture of nervousness and unwavering love.

“You, Y/N,” he began, his voice growing quieter, more tender. “You’re the brightest part of my life. You make me laugh, keep me on my toes, and remind me every day what it means to live fully. I don’t want to go another second without knowing you’ll always be by my side.”

His lips curved into a small, vulnerable smile as he revealed the vintage-style diamond ring nestled in the box. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blurred your vision as his words sank in, wrapping around your heart like the warmest embrace. “Steve…” you whispered, your voice catching, but the joy in your chest pushed through. “Yes. Yes, Steve. Of course!”

He stood slowly, slipping the ring onto your finger with such care it felt ceremonial, almost sacred. For a moment, you both just stared at the ring, the weight of the moment filling your heart with a radiant warmth.

And then his arms were around you, pulling you into a deep embrace. His lips found yours in a kiss so soft, so filled with emotion, it made the world around you disappear.

But Steve wasn’t done. As if overcome with the pure joy of your “yes,” he suddenly lifted you off your feet, your gasp turning into laughter against his mouth. He spun you around effortlessly, his hold on you as steady as his love, while snowflakes fell softly around you, dusting his shoulders and catching in your hair. The kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing against yours with a certainty that made your heart soar.

When he finally set you back down, the world felt quieter, the snow falling like a gentle curtain between you and everything else. You stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as your breaths mingled in the chilly night air.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice steady and sure, his gaze locking onto yours.

A smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I love you too, Steve,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy.

His hands trailed down to your waist, holding you firmly but tenderly, as if grounding himself in the reality of the moment. His gaze softened further, filled with a quiet awe that mirrored your own.

For a long while, you simply stayed there, wrapped in his arms as the snow fell around you, the soft hum of music and laughter from the party barely audible in the background. This wasn’t just a memory—it was the start of something extraordinary.

Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u @rogersbarber @veronicapaula

@fynnwolff @bmyva1entine @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @awaywithtime

[aiyaiy]

Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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[aiyaiy]

(Im)Patiently Waiting

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: Bucky is trying to patiently wait for your call.

Word Count: Over 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and already whipped, okay?)

A/N: Continuing with Moving in Slow Motion and Heart and Home, the phone call! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky looked down at the phone in his hand. He was never the kind of guy to constantly check his device, but he hadn’t stopped looking at it since he met you. Hell, he checked it while he was still at the museum, hoping for a text or something so he’d have your number, too. He didn’t think it was possible to become whipped so fast, but life still surprised him.

He sighed when the screen went dark. Why hadn’t you called yet? Maybe he came on too strong? He didn’t think he had. Were you just busy? Probably. You had an adorable daughter who needed you love and attention and-

“Bucky!”

His head snapped up to find Steve, his best friend and second-in-command, staring at him. He didn’t look impressed and pursued his lips more when Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t hear a damn word I said, did you?”

“No,” he replied, not bothering to lie. “Was I supposed to be listening, punk?”

“Yeah, you were, jerk.” Steve ran a hand through his golden hair, plopping down in his chair. “Still hasn’t called yet?”

“Not yet,” he said, setting the phone on the desk in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky sighed again, staring off at the books that lined one of the walls of his office. He didn’t divulge much of his personal life to others. It was safer that way, to both protect himself and the people he cared about. But meeting you and your daughter, he told Steve and their small circle all about it. How Sweet Pea bumped into him and his heart melted. How seeing you set his heart on fire.

They were stunned to say the least and were naturally curious about you since you caught his attention. Each of them offered in some way to do their research on you and make sure there was nothing suspicious or dangerous about you, but he refused. His gut instinct told him all he needed to know.

“You know,” Steve began, pulling his attention back. “We can get you her number if-”

He cut him off with a glare. “I already said no,” he growled, taking a breath. He wasn’t going to snap at his best friend. “I’m doing this the right way.”

Bucky was powerful, extremely powerful, but he wouldn’t use his influence over you. It wouldn’t be right. His hands were dirty as it was, and this could be his chance to have something pure.

With his hands up in surrender, Steve nodded. “Sorry. I just… I haven’t seen you like this before and you haven’t even gone on a date with her yet,” he smiled a little. “She must be something special.”

Bucky smiled a little, too. “She is,” he whispered. Things that didn’t make sense before did after he looked in your eyes.

“Yelena will be the judge of that,” the blonde winked.

“Yelena will take one look at Sweet Pea and declare that she’s her aunt,” Bucky teased, both of them chuckling.

If Bucky’s group taught him anything, it was that blood wasn’t always thicker than water. Friends were the family he got to choose. He would defend and protect them with his life. He imagined you were like that with your daughter, perhaps even more.

Who defended and protected you?

A ring echoed in the office and Bucky stared at the device as it lit up. He held his breath when a phone number popped up with no name. His gaze flickered to Steve as it kept ringing. Was it you?

Steve stared back at him like he had grown two heads. “What the hell are you waiting for? Answer it!”

Clearing his throat, he waved for his friend to go, who did so quickly. If it was you, he didn’t want anyone eavesdropping. If it wasn’t you, he didn’t want any witnesses when his face fell.

Releasing his breath, he finally quietly answered, “This is Bucky.”

“Hi, Bucky,” you spoke on the other end, stating your name as well. He slumped in his chair at the sound of your voice, his heart skipping a beat. It was really you. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at the science museum.”

“Of course, I remember you. You and Sweet Pea.” He couldn’t forget either of you if he tried and he didn’t want to. Did you think of him as much as he thought of you? “How are you two doing? Did she win the contest?”

“We’re doing just fine. She keeps talking about the museum and wants to go back, but no word if she won the contest or not.” He could hear the smile in your voice and it put a smile on his face, too. “How are you?”

“I’m doing just fine,” he replied, getting up and heading to the sofa so he could relax a bit more. He was better than fine since he was talking to you.

“Sorry it took me a bit to call you.”

Should he admit that he kept checking his phone in anticipation? “No, no. You don’t need to apologize,” he said. You didn’t owe him an explanation either. Whether you were busy with Sweet Pea or you didn’t want to call right away, that was your business. “I’m just glad you called.”

“I am, too.” There was silence on the other end. “So, I, um…” Your nervous giggle was beautifully endearing. “God, I’m really out of practice with this.”

“Practice with what exactly?” he smiled, laying back and looking at the ceiling. He wondered if you were sitting on a sofa, too. Or maybe you were in bed, comfortable, unwinding.

“Talking, I guess. At least with someone outside of work or parenting.” There was that giggle again. He wanted that sound on a loop. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Why don’t you start with what you did today?” he suggested.

“That might bore you.”

“I don’t think anything you could say could possibly bore me,” he sincerely said. If you decided to pick up a phone book and read it to him, he’d listen. But he was genuinely interested in your day. The little things would help him get to know you better and build more of that connection, both with who you were as a mother and as a person.

“Okay, but only if you tell me about your day, too,” you said.

“Now my day might bore you,” he chuckled. He wouldn’t start anything with you built on a lie about what he did, but he had to be careful with the truth.

“Mmm. I don’t know. You don’t strike me as a boring kind of guy.”

“Oh, I’m not boring,” he smirked. He would love to show you just how thrilling he could be some time. “But my day might be.”

“Try me,” you smiled.

“Can I ask you something before we talk about our ‘boring’ days?”

“Yeah, anything,” you answered.

Butterflies filled his stomach. Jesus, he was nervous. When was the last time anything made him feel nervous? “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

The pause on your end didn’t soothe his nerves. “A drink?” you repeated, your voice smaller than before. He detected uncertainty, like when he offered you his number.

“Yeah. Coffee at a cafe or wine at a nice restaurant, whatever you want,” he replied, exhaling slowly. He didn’t want to mess up your schedule or over complicate anything for you. “What do you say?”

Bucky stared down the barrel of a gun more than once in his life. He experienced torture. Had come close to death. Waiting for your answer was a different kind of torment. It would either be a killing blow or his saving grace.

“I’d love to get a coffee with you,” you stated, allowing him to properly breathe again. He wanted to pump his fist in the air. “Tomorrow, maybe? Unless that’s too soon. Is it too soon?”

“No, no, that’s great,” he smiled. He couldn’t stop smiling. Even if wasn’t free tomorrow, he’d clear his schedule. “Give me the time and place and I’ll be there.”

“Great.” The uncertainty was long gone. “There’s a cafe not too far from me. I can text you the place and time.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, and he wouldn’t be late. “Now… tell me about your day.”

He was going to soak up every single word until he saw you in the morning.

You called! He's whipped! You have a date! I still need to name this AU. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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