honeeybee3

[honeeybee3]

Of Lions and Dragons

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister! reader Summary: Aemond Targaryen, known for his stoic nature and unwavering focus on the realm, is softened by his Lannister wife’s pregnancy. He finds himself drawn to her like a moth to flame, discovering a love that transcends duty and politics. Tonight, he comes home to her, needing her more than he ever thought possible. __________________ The halls of the Red Keep were quiet at this hour, the cold stone walls illuminated by the flickering glow of torchlight. Aemond Targaryen moved silently through the castle, his long strides purposeful as he made his way to his chambers. He’d spent most of his day dealing with Council matters, overseeing reports on the growing tensions in the Riverlands, and managing the ever-increasing burden of his family’s legacy. It was exhausting work, and it left little time for anything else. But tonight, his thoughts were solely on her.

He slowed his pace as he approached their chambers, his chest tightening with anticipation. He always felt this way when he came home to her—the only place in the entire world where he could let his guard down. The only person who saw him as more than just the stern, one-eyed prince of House Targaryen.

His Lannister lioness. His wife. The mother of his child.

He pushed open the heavy door quietly, stepping inside. The sight that greeted him made his heart stutter. She was seated by the fire, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders, her delicate hands resting protectively over the gentle swell of her belly. She looked up as he entered, her amber eyes softening with warmth and affection.

“Aemond,” she murmured, a smile curving her lips. “You’re home.”

He let out a slow breath, as if he’d been holding it in all day. “I am.”

Moving closer, he took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. The simple touch, the feel of her skin against his, brought him a sense of calm he could never find anywhere else.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his gaze dropping to her belly. “And how is our little one?”

She chuckled, a sound like bells ringing on a summer’s morning. “We’re both fine, Aemond. A little tired, but that’s to be expected.”

He frowned slightly, his brows drawing together in concern. “You’ve been resting, haven’t you? You know what the Maester said—”

“Aemond,” she interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “I’ve been resting. I promise. I’ve spent most of the day embroidering the new blankets for the baby and catching up on some reading.”

His frown eased, though he still looked at her with that intense, almost overprotective gaze. He knew he could be overbearing at times, but he couldn’t help it. Not when it came to her. Not when it came to their unborn child.

“You know I worry,” he muttered, lowering himself to sit beside her. He reached out, his hand coming to rest on her belly. His palm was warm and steady, a stark contrast to the fluttering movements beneath her skin.

She covered his hand with hers, intertwining their fingers over the place where their child rested. “I know. But you don’t need to. I’m strong, Aemond. Our child will be strong, too. A lion and a dragon.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, a lion and a dragon. A formidable combination.”

They stayed like that for a while, sitting in comfortable silence. Aemond’s gaze was focused entirely on her, taking in every detail—the soft curve of her cheek, the way her eyelashes brushed against her skin, the subtle swell of her belly that held their future.

“How is your family?” he asked after a moment, his voice low and careful. He always tread cautiously when speaking of House Lannister. The alliance between the lions and the dragons was still delicate, despite their marriage.

Her smile faltered just slightly, but she kept her voice even. “They are… as they always are. My brother wrote to me today. He sends his regards and wishes us well.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, a familiar flicker of tension passing through him. He’d never gotten along with her brothers—the proud lions of Casterly Rock. They’d made no secret of their skepticism when she’d been betrothed to him, questioning if a match with a second-born Targaryen prince was worthy of their sister. It was a slight Aemond hadn’t forgotten, and likely never would.

But he’d proven them wrong, hadn’t he? He was no mere second son. He was a warrior, a rider of the largest living dragon, and a key figure in the politics of Westeros. And more importantly, he was her husband. The father of her child.

“They will see, in time, what I already know,” she murmured softly, sensing the shift in his mood. “That you are the best man I could have ever chosen.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. She spoke with such quiet conviction, her gaze unwavering. It still astonished him sometimes—how she could make him feel so understood, so accepted. So loved.

“I never deserved you,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

She shook her head, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Don’t say that, Aemond. You are everything I could have hoped for. And more.”

He closed his eye, leaning into her touch. Her hand was soft and cool against his skin, grounding him in a way nothing else could. He turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against her palm.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They were raw, unguarded, but he didn’t regret saying them. Not to her.

“You’ll never have to find out,” she whispered, shifting closer so she could rest her head against his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. Aemond could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath, the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat against his arm.

After a while, she shifted slightly, glancing up at him with a mischievous smile. “I have something for you.”

His brow arched in curiosity. “Oh?”

She nodded, reaching over to the small table beside her chair. From a delicate wooden box, she pulled out a small, embroidered blanket. The fabric was soft and fine, the stitching intricate and beautiful. A lion and a dragon were woven together in a dance of gold and red thread.

“It’s for the baby,” she explained, her smile widening as she watched his reaction. “I wanted something that would remind them of both their houses. Something that symbolizes both parts of their heritage.”

Aemond stared at the blanket, his throat tightening. The design was perfect—a blend of Targaryen and Lannister sigils, unified in a way that felt both powerful and meaningful. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over the embroidery.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “You did this yourself?”

She nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “It took me a while, but I wanted it to be just right.”

“It’s more than just right,” he said softly, turning to look at her. There was a fierce, almost reverent look in his eye. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

Her blush deepened, but she held his gaze, her eyes shining with love. “I wanted our child to know that they are loved and cherished by both of us. That they are a part of something bigger.”

Aemond swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “Thank you,” he finally whispered. “Thank you for… everything. For loving me. For giving me this family.”

She leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, Aemond. For you. Always for you.”

His hand came up to cup the back of her head, holding her close as he deepened the kiss. It was a slow, tender meeting of lips—a silent promise that spoke of all the things he couldn’t put into words.

When they finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

“And I love you,” she whispered back, her fingers threading through his hair. “Forever and always.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. Outside, the world was filled with turmoil and uncertainty, but here, in this small, quiet moment, they were at peace. It was a fleeting reprieve, a rare glimpse of happiness amidst the chaos of their lives.

But it was enough. Because no matter what happened, no matter what challenges they faced, they had each other. And together, they were stronger than any storm.

The lion and the dragon. Bound by love. Bound by fire.

And soon, they would welcome the next chapter of their story—a new life that would carry on their legacy. A child born of two great houses. A child who would be loved, cherished, and protected.

Aemond glanced down at her belly once more, his heart swelling with a fierce, protective love. He would do anything for her. For their child. For their family.

He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her belly. “I can’t wait to meet you, little one,” he whispered softly. “And I promise—I will always be there for you. Just as I am for your mother.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked down at him, her heart overflowing with love. “I know you will, Aemond. I know you will.”

And in that moment, with his wife’s hand in his and the future cradled between them, Aemond Targaryen felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

And it was beautiful.

[honeeybee3]

Home Is Where You Are

Miguel x reader Summary: After a long day at the Spider Society, Miguel returns home to his pregnant wife. The mundane reality of domestic life is what keeps him grounded, and today, coming home to her is exactly what he needs.

___________________

Miguel’s muscles ached, and his head felt heavy with the weight of a thousand thoughts. Another day of wrangling Spider-People, managing interdimensional crises, and keeping the multiverse from collapsing into itself had left him weary to the bone. But the thought of home, and more importantly, the person waiting for him there, was the only thing that kept him going.

He punched in the coordinates and opened the portal, stepping through with a sigh of relief. He never thought he’d appreciate the mundane tranquility of his own apartment so much, but life had a way of surprising him. And lately, everything seemed brighter, more meaningful because of her.

The door to their apartment creaked softly as he stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. Instantly, the familiar, soothing scent of home surrounded him: a mixture of vanilla, freshly baked cookies, and the faintest hint of her favorite lavender soap. He could hear soft music playing in the background—a playlist they’d made together a few months ago, featuring all the songs they’d slow danced to late at night in the kitchen.

“Cariño, I’m home,” he called out, his deep voice echoing through the quiet hallway. He set down his bag and peeled off his shoes, sighing at the immediate release of tension. He felt like a different man just by being here, in their shared space. The Miguel who was exhausted and irritable, weighed down by the universe’s problems, was slowly replaced by the Miguel who was simply a husband. Her husband.

A soft rustling came from the living room, and then she appeared, glowing and beautiful as ever, even in her oversized pajamas. His gaze instinctively dropped to the gentle curve of her belly, the small yet precious life growing inside of her.

“Hey, you,” she murmured with a warm smile, leaning against the doorway. “Rough day?”

“Long day,” he corrected, crossing the room in a few strides to wrap his arms around her. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead, and then, without hesitation, dropped to his knees, placing both hands on either side of her belly. “And how are my girls doing?”

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “We’re fine, but I think one of your girls missed you more than the other.”

“Is that right, princesa?” He whispered softly, rubbing his thumb gently over the spot where he knew the baby liked to kick the most. “Did you give mamá a hard time today?”

“Not too much,” she replied, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. It was a comforting gesture, one she knew he loved. “Just a few kicks here and there. She’s definitely your daughter—she only seems to calm down when she hears your voice.”

“Smart girl,” he murmured with a smirk, planting a few more kisses on her belly before standing back up. “Just like her mamá.”

Miguel’s eyes softened as he took in her face. She looked a little tired, but there was a serene happiness in her gaze that never failed to touch something deep inside him. The kind of happiness that came from being loved and cared for—and, in turn, loving and caring for someone else.

“Did you eat yet?” he asked, guiding her gently back towards the couch. “I can make something if you haven’t.”

“You spoil me,” she teased, but let him fuss over her, knowing it brought him as much comfort as it did her. “I had a little snack, but I wanted to wait for you. How about we cook together?”

He hesitated. He wanted her to sit and relax, put her feet up and let him do everything, but he also knew she hated feeling like she couldn’t contribute. So, with a small nod, he agreed. “Okay, but you’re on chopping duty only. No heavy lifting.”

“Bossy as always,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “But I suppose I can let you play chef tonight.”

They made their way to the kitchen, and Miguel pulled out the ingredients for a simple pasta dish—something they could whip up quickly but still enjoy together. He set her up with a cutting board and a pile of vegetables while he started on the sauce.

For a while, they worked in companionable silence, the only sounds being the gentle chopping of the knife and the simmering of tomatoes and garlic in the pan. Every now and then, she’d glance up at him and catch him already looking at her with an affectionate smile.

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she tossed the diced bell peppers into the bowl.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, turning back to stir the sauce. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Hmm, are you now?” She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, letting her lips linger for a second longer than usual. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“Debatable,” he murmured, but his smile widened.

They moved around the kitchen with the ease of people who were completely in sync. There was no rush, no urgency—just the simple joy of being together. Miguel handed her a spoonful of sauce to taste, watching as she closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation.

“Perfect,” she declared, giving him a thumbs up. “As usual.”

He let out a small chuckle, feeling a sense of pride swell in his chest. “Glad you think so, querida.”

Dinner was served soon after, and they settled down at the table, their knees brushing under the surface. It was moments like these—sharing a quiet meal, exchanging stories about their day, and occasionally feeding each other bites of food—that made him forget about the chaos outside these walls. Here, it was just the two of them—and their unborn child, of course. A tiny world within a world that was untouched by danger and responsibility.

“So, what did you get up to today?” Miguel asked between bites, his gaze never straying far from her face.

“I worked on a few nursery designs,” she said excitedly. “I’m thinking something neutral, maybe a soft yellow. What do you think?”

He paused, picturing their future daughter’s room painted in those colors, filled with tiny clothes and toys. The image made his heart swell.

“I think that sounds perfect,” he murmured. “You always have the best ideas.”

Her smile lit up her entire face, and for a moment, he felt like the luckiest man in every universe combined.

After dinner, they migrated to the living room, where she insisted on massaging his shoulders, claiming he looked tense. He tried to protest, but one firm look from her had him sitting obediently on the couch while she worked her magic.

“Better?” she asked softly, her fingers working out the knots in his muscles.

“Mmm,” he rumbled in satisfaction. “Much better. But I think I should be the one doing this for you.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You take care of me so much, Miguel. Let me do something for you too.”

He sighed, reaching up to grab her hand and intertwining their fingers. “I just… I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” she whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “Because of you.”

They sat like that for a long time, her arms wrapped around him from behind while he held onto her hand, drawing strength from her presence. The soft hum of the music and the warmth of her body against his back were more soothing than any remedy.

Eventually, they shifted, settling into their usual cuddling position on the couch. She nestled into his side, her head resting on his chest while he draped an arm protectively around her shoulders. His other hand found its way to her belly again, tracing gentle circles over the fabric of her pajamas.

“Can you believe it?” she murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. “We’re going to be parents soon.”

“I know,” he whispered, a hint of awe in his voice. “I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes shining with love. “You’re going to be such a good dad, Miguel.”

He swallowed hard, emotions swirling within him. The thought of fatherhood had scared him at first—terrified him, even. But with her by his side, those fears seemed smaller, more manageable. Because he knew they’d face it together.

“I hope so,” he said softly. “I just want to give her everything. Everything I never had.”

“You will,” she promised, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You already do, just by being you.”

He leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I love you,” he murmured, the words holding a depth of emotion that he could never fully express.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, leaning up to capture his lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until the sky outside their window darkened and the soft sounds of the city filtered in. Slowly, the day’s exhaustion began to catch up with them, and she let out a sleepy yawn, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Time for bed, cariño,” Miguel murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled, but made no move to get up.

With a fond chuckle, Miguel scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to their bedroom. She let out a content sigh, her head resting against his shoulder as he gently laid her down on their bed. He slid in beside her, wrapping his arms around her once more.

“Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight, Miguel,” she murmured, already drifting off to sleep.

As he lay there, watching her breathe softly beside him, his hand still resting on the gentle swell of her belly, Miguel felt a profound sense of peace settle over him. No matter what challenges awaited him at the Spider Society tomorrow, he knew that he had a safe haven to return to. A place where love and hope bloomed, filling every corner with warmth.

Home wasn’t just a place—it was her. It was them. And as long as they were together, everything else would fall into place.

With one last, loving glance, Miguel closed his eyes and let sleep take him, his heart full and his soul content.

[honeeybee3]

Tangled in Webs

Miguel O'hara x reader

You had always known that loving Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man of 2099, was like dancing with fire. His presence was a whirlwind—both intoxicating and terrifying. The jagged edges of his existence were carved from loss, guilt, and unshakable responsibility. And you? You were the soft touch, the counterbalance to the shadows that plagued him. Or so you had believed.

It wasn’t enough.

You should have known the end was coming. There were signs—small cracks in the dam, glances that lasted a fraction too long, clenched jaws when you tried to reach him. His words became clipped, his touch fleeting. Where once you felt like the tether to reality he so desperately needed, now you were nothing more than a distant echo.

But you held on.

One night, the sky over Nueva York was heavy with rain. Thunder rumbled, vibrating through the steel and glass landscape of the futuristic city. You sat on the edge of Miguel’s apartment, watching droplets race down the windows. The air was thick with the storm, much like the tension between you. He hadn’t come home yet—again.

And your heart clenched with every passing minute.

This wasn’t unusual. He was always out there, swinging through the city, battling anomalies, and trying to hold the fragile fabric of the multiverse together. You admired him for it, loved him for the strength and dedication that defined his very being. But lately, it felt like he was slipping through your fingers, like the silk threads of a web dissolving in your hands.

Finally, you heard the door slide open. His familiar, heavy footsteps echoed against the polished floor. You didn’t move, afraid that if you turned to face him, you’d see the truth written across his expression—his distance, his coldness. You weren’t ready to confront it. Not yet.

“(Y/N).”

Your name on his lips was low, almost strained. It carried the weight of a man who bore the weight of a thousand worlds, and suddenly, you were terrified of what was coming. You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you turned toward him.

There he stood, soaked to the bone, his dark hair clinging to his forehead. His suit, that familiar, daunting black and red, clung to his powerful frame. But what shattered you wasn’t his appearance; it was the look in his eyes.

Empty. Hollow.

“Miguel,” you whispered, standing. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he moved closer, his presence both magnetic and suffocating. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick, gravelly. “We need to talk.”

Your heart dropped.

“I—” He paused, running a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching tight. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The world beneath you tilted. You blinked, trying to process his words. “What are you talking about?”

His amber eyes, usually filled with fierce determination, now looked haunted. “Us. This… thing between us. I can’t keep doing this, (Y/N).”

It felt like your breath had been stolen from your lungs. A painful silence hung between you. “Why?” It was all you could manage, your voice breaking.

“Because it’s too dangerous,” he growled, fists clenched at his sides. “Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of everything I could lose. Every time I care, it makes me weak. I can’t afford to be weak. Not with the multiverse on the line. Not when every anomaly could destroy everything.”

You took a step back, the distance between you growing like a chasm. His words sliced through you, leaving invisible wounds in their wake. “So, what? You’re just going to walk away? Push me aside like none of this mattered?”

“I don’t have a choice,” he spat, though his tone wasn’t filled with malice—it was laced with frustration, with grief. “I can’t afford distractions, (Y/N). You of all people should understand that.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not a distraction, Miguel. I’m here because I love you. Because I believe in you. I thought we were in this together.”

He flinched at your words, the harsh reality of what he was doing beginning to set in. But his expression hardened. “That’s exactly why I have to do this. If something happened to you because of me, I wouldn’t survive it.”

“And what about me?” you shot back, voice rising in desperation. “You think walking away is going to protect me? Miguel, I’m already part of your world. I’ve been part of your life. You can’t just shut me out like I’m nothing.”

He exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’ve already lost too many people,” he muttered. “I won’t lose you too. Not because of my mistakes.”

Your heart shattered, splintering into pieces that were too sharp to hold onto. “You think this is for me, but it’s not. This is for you. You’re afraid, Miguel. You’re terrified of letting someone in, of loving someone and having to face the possibility of losing them again. But that’s not living. That’s just running away.”

He didn’t deny it.

The storm outside raged on, matching the tumult of emotions swirling between you. Miguel took a step forward, his eyes locking with yours for what felt like the last time. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

And that’s when you realized it wasn’t just an apology. It was a farewell.

You felt the tears slip down your cheeks, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. “Please don’t do this, Miguel,” you begged, hating the way your voice cracked. “We can figure this out. We always do.”

He shook his head, his expression tortured. “Not this time.”

Before you could respond, before you could even reach out to him, Miguel turned and disappeared into the night. The door slid shut behind him, the sound echoing in the hollow space he left behind.

And just like that, he was gone.

You collapsed to the floor, knees hitting the cold surface as sobs wracked your body. The rain outside blurred against the window, matching the tears that refused to stop. You had always known that loving Miguel O’Hara was like dancing with fire. You just hadn’t realized that you’d be the one left burned.