#(and being carried like a princess by big strong men)

[fairsweetlonging]

even though shen yuan disdains wife plots, i feel it's because they're often so contrived and the wives are always damsels in distress, and when the system puts him in one it's against his will and he has no control over it, BUT, i think if he makes the choice to put himself in one on purpose and with a plan, he would excel at it, he would play into it so hard to get what he wants, he'd see it as his opportunity to cheat the system (pun intended!) and farm easy points

[androgynealienfemme]

"We go from store to store, trying to things on and inspecting them. I give my opinions on dresses and shoes, blouses and lipstick colors. Sometimes I say things that make the other women look at me, agape, as though my mouth has been possessed by that flighty queen from Queer Eye even while the rest of my body still looks like any other big dumb boy's. I say that I like a skirt but I wish it were bias-cut instead of A-line, or that I am not fond of the fashion for surplice tops, or that the post-WWII idiom in shoes this season is amusing but rarely looks good on actual feet, or that I like the look of a bolero jacket. I know the names of colors, heliotrope and coral and Nile blue, and I can say without hesitation whether a lipstick might look better matte with a bit of powder.

These other women look at me with wonder, their boyfriends and husbands having made a fetish out of refusing to learn such words under any circumstances, as though merely pronouncing the word "periwinkle" or "princess seam" could easily turn a strong man gay as a box of birds. They say to her, "That's your husband?" in voices that loiter between admiring and disgusted, as though they know that there's no force on earth that could make their men or boys take such interest in their clothing and they think they might really prefer that to the spectacle of me, filling an armchair, legs crossed ankle over knee, looking just right until I say "tea length."

The point is that she wants other girls to see what it looks like to have a boy so cracy in love with you, as I am, that he will spend an afternoon talking about capri pants to have a boy so delighted by you that he never calls you by your name, but addresses you always as "beautiful girl," or "my love" or occasionally and with great fondness, "boss." To have a boy who will happily fetch your next-size-down and carry your bags and charm the salesclerks at the register without flirting overmuch and just generally try to make himself as useful as possible, all for the dizzy and undying pleasure of making you happy. And even though I am not a boy, I look like one, and so I can be complicit with her in this kind of wonderful afternoon, part indulgence of her great beauty and style, part guerilla feminist activism.

Later, when we walk through the mall or down the sidewalk, me laden with packages that are clearly hers, I watch the eyes of the people we pass: the women who look at me with a certain longing, wishing they had their own boys to carry the bags. The men who look at her with an unmistakable hunger, wishing that they had the honor of schlepping for a girl like her, and then look at me with a certain edge of disbelief, not quite clear about why I get to squire this marvelous example of femininity around when they are clearly wealthier, more handsome, better hung. I have learned to meet all of these gazes with a calm kind of sweetness. There's no point in defensiveness or sheepishness or challenge. I'm the one holding her bags."

"Being a Shopping Switch” Butch is a Noun essays by S. Bear Bergman (2006)

[seafarersdream]

Cregan x reader where the reader is betrothed to him but he gets close to Alysanne Blackwood and she feels insecure. But he then reassures her that he loves her. Could be fluff or smut, whatever you feel fits

Big Bad Wolf | 18+ (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

Y/N knows exactly why she has been sent to the frigid North: her grandsire, Otto Hightower, intends for her to secure Cregan Stark’s loyalty to the Greens with a proposed betrothal. A union that would bind the North to her family’s cause and strengthen her brother’s claim. She can’t help but wonder what he would sees in her—a willing pawn, a coveted prize, or perhaps, an unexpected adversary?

TW // Strong language and profanities, mild sexual content, mention of injuries and wounds, slow burn romance.

Note: I took a slightly different approach than originally requested to better align with my brainstorming ideas. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! And fair warning—it ended up being around 10k words because I got carried away and so into it😂

The wind howls around her like a beast, its icy fingers clawing at her cloak, desperate to strip her bare. Y/N Targaryen pulls the fur-lined fabric tighter around her shoulders, her silver hair whipping against her face as she stares out into the endless expanse of white that is the North.

The cold is sharp, biting against her skin, a relentless assault unlike anything she has ever felt in King’s Landing. There, the sun always warmed the walls of the Red Keep, the gardens bloomed with vibrant flowers, and the salty sea breeze carried the smell of soils from distant lands. Here, in the North, all of that feels like a distant memory—a dream now buried under layers of snow.

She shivers, and not just from the cold.

Being a Targaryen means something. Being a Targaryen princess means the realm is her oyster. She has always known this. The daughter of the late King Viserys Targaryen and the sister to the current ruler, Y/N has never wanted for anything. Born under the banners of black and red, her birthright is as weighty as it is illustrious. In the courts of King's Landing, her name alone is a force that can command, bend, and break. The Valyrian blood coursing through her veins has bestowed upon her an otherworldly beauty—hair the colour of moonlight, eyes that burn like molten silver. She is used to men and women alike vying for her favor, hanging on her every word, their desires evident in their eyes. She is used to being adored, admired, even envied.

But here, in the North, none of that means a thing.

The North is a different world, an ancient one with a heartbeat of ice and snow. It is a world where the name Targaryen carries little weight, where dragons are the stuff of nightmares, not symbols of power and strength.

For thousands of years, the North stood as its own kingdom, ruled by House Stark of Winterfell—a house older than her own, as old as the First Men themselves. The North submitted to Aegon the Conqueror’s rule, but submission is not the same as surrender. She can feel the weight of that history in every flake of snow, every gust of wind that threatens to unseat her from the back of her horse. The North remembers.

And the North does not care for Targaryen princesses.

The men and women who stare at her from the edges of Winterfell’s courtyard do not see a daughter of kings. They see a southerner, a foreigner, an outsider draped in silk and furs too fine for their taste. They see someone who has never felt the bite of a northern winter, who does not understand the constant struggle for survival that defines their lives. To them, she is the very embodiment of everything they disdain—the soft courtly life, the excesses of the south, the endless games of backstabbing and ambition that mean nothing in the face of a harsh winter. Her beauty, her title, her blood—none of it matters here. She is a stranger in a strange land, and they watch her with eyes that are cold and calculating.

It is a stark contrast to the life she has known. In King’s Landing, courtiers flocked to her side, eager for a smile, a kind word, a glance that might change their fortunes. But here, no one bows or scrapes, no one offers her flattery or fawning attention. Instead, they glance at her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, their expressions as unreadable as the frozen ground beneath her feet. Even the cold here seems to seep into their bones, hardening their faces into masks of stone.

Her gaze shifts to the man standing at the center of it all—the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark. He is as unyielding as the walls of Winterfell, a man carved from the very ice that surrounds them. His dark hair is touched with frost, his grey eyes piercing through the flurries like a direwolf scanning the wood for prey. He regards her with a guarded expression, his features stoic, as though he is measuring the weight of her presence in his hall. There is strength in his stance, a raw, quiet power that seems to ripple beneath his skin like a river beneath ice.

She knows why she is here. Her grandsire, Otto Hightower, has sent her north with a proposal for a betrothal, hoping to secure Cregan Stark's allegiance to the Greens. A marriage alliance that would bind the North to her family, to her brother’s cause. But she also knows that such an alliance is easier proposed than accepted. The Starks are proud, stubborn as the wolves on their banners, and they are not easily swayed by promises or threats. She wonders what Cregan Stark sees when he looks at her—a pawn, a prize, a potential enemy?

Y/N squares her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze with the same intensity. Her breath mists in the cold air between them, mingling with the snowflakes that drift down from the leaden sky. She is a Targaryen, born of fire and blood, and she will not be cowed by the cold.

She takes a step forward, her boots crunching in the snow, and inclines her head with a grace born of years at court. “Lord Stark,” she begins, her voice steady despite the chill that bites at her skin, “I bring greetings from my family and an offer that I hope will interest you.”

For a moment, there is silence, broken only by the distant howl of the wind. The Northmen are watching, waiting for their lord’s response. Cregan Stark’s grey eyes remain locked on hers, his expression unreadable, and she feels the weight of the North pressing down upon her.

“Princess,” Cregan replies at last, his voice a low rumble that echoes across the courtyard. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

And with those words, the game begins.

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Y/N Targaryen has always been more her grandsire’s granddaughter than her mother’s daughter—or her father’s, for that matter. Not that it has been much of a choice. King Viserys had been many things in his life—gentle, soft-hearted, more comfortable with scrolls and histories than with the complexities of ruling—but present, he was not. His love for Rhaenyra, his firstborn, was the love of a man whose affections had been spent long before Y/N was ever born. So, she learned quickly that if she wanted attention, guidance, or even a semblance of familial warmth, she would find none of it in her father.

Instead, she found herself drawn to Otto Hightower. He was a man of purpose, of ambition, of decisive action. With her mother’s soft words and frail smiles failing to shape her in any meaningful way, it was Otto who taught her the art of politics, of maneuvering through a court filled with predators. In him, she saw a mirror of her own aspirations—always looking forward, always plotting the next move. It was from him she learned that power is something you seize, not something you wait for. She knew he would never coddle her, never tell her she was beloved just for being herself; he only valued what was valuable, and that gave her a clarity she found comforting.

Her siblings, however, were a different matter entirely.

Aegon, her eldest brother, was a fool. Self-conscious, always craving their parents' love like a starving child reaching for a morsel of bread. For years, he had hoped to be the shining star in their father’s eyes, only to discover that no matter what he did, he would always be in the shadow of their half-sister, Rhaenyra—the daughter Viserys truly adored. That realization had driven Aegon to the brink. He had spiraled into self-destruction, numbing his pain with Arbor Red, drowning in the company of whores and sycophants who fed his illusions of being liked, respected even. She had watched him become a hollowed-out shell of a prince, playing at being a king among the rats and the vipers of the Red Keep. Aegon was a king now, a ruler in name, but he wore his crown like a noose.

Aemond, on the other hand, was a different creature. Where Aegon sought love, Aemond sought approval, validation—something to make the gods’ cruel joke of his birth order feel less like a curse. He set impossible standards for himself, always striving to outshine his elder brother, to rise above his station as the spare. He immersed himself in philosophy, warfare, Westerosi customs, determined to be the best in every field, the most learned, the most skilled. And yet, no matter how many strategies he mastered or how many books he consumed, he would always be the second son. Aemond may have won the favor of their grandsire, may have been admired by those who valued intellect and ruthlessness, but in the end, Aegon’s incompetence still carried the weight of the gods' favor. And that knowledge gnawed at Aemond like a wolf at a bone.

Helaena and Daeron, bless them, were different. Y/N could say nothing ill of those two. Helaena, with her strange, prophetic dreams and her love for insects, was perhaps the only light in their shadowed family. She lived in a world of her own, a world of strange riddles and hidden truths that no one else could see. Daeron, meanwhile, had been smart enough to remove himself from the poisonous atmosphere of the Red Keep, carving out a life for himself in Oldtown.

As for herself? Y/N had always considered herself a performer, a mirrorball reflecting the light of others, knowing exactly where to place her foot in every dance. She did not crave her parents’ approval or love; she never had. She knew her worth, not in how many times her father called her his precious daughter or how often her mother sighed with the weight of unspoken affection. No, her worth came from the power she had managed to accumulate on her own, the alliances she had forged, the influence she wielded like a blade. She had held her own court, commanded attention, respect, and fear. She had learned to survive, to thrive, to be more than just another pretty Targaryen face.

And now, she had none of it.

Here in this frozen wasteland, she was stripped bare of everything she had built. The North was a godforsaken, heretic country in her eyes—a land of rigid codes and old gods, where men did not bow easily, where words were weighed like precious stones, and secrets were buried beneath layers of ice and snow. She had no court, no power to wield, no influence to peddle.

And then, there was Cregan Stark.

A man whose reputation preceded him like a cold wind. Honorable, they said. A man of principle, a man who lived by his word, who believed in truth and duty as if they were his religion. There was no room for subterfuge in his life, no space for half-truths or hidden motives. His gaze was like steel, unbending and severe. It was almost appalling, really, how saintly he was. Mother above she thought more than once, he would be eaten alive in King’s Landing.

In the South, where smiles masked daggers and every word dripped with double meaning, a man like Cregan Stark would be a lamb led to slaughter. His sense of honor would be his undoing, his truthfulness a weapon turned against him. She had never met a man like him. A man who looked at her not with lust or ambition but with a quiet, steady gaze that seemed to see right through her. He seemed entirely unimpressed by her. It was infuriating and fascinating all at once.

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let her irritation show. She would learn this place, learn its people, and most of all, she would learn Cregan Stark. She would find the crack in his armor, the flaw in his honor, the chink in his unyielding principles. Everyone had one; it was just a matter of knowing where to look, how to press, how to push. She was not here to be swallowed by the North—she was here to conquer it, one way or another.

She knew that the path to Lord Cregan Stark’s cold, cold heart was not a direct one. It was not a road paved with smiles or adorned with sweet words. It was a labyrinth, and the only way through it was by understanding his people.

She had watched him long enough to know this much: Cregan Stark was a man who put his people above all else. The North had a way of making even its leaders humble before it. They were not like the nobles of King’s Landing, always scheming for personal glory or clawing at each other’s throats for favor. Here, in this frozen hell, survival depended on something far simpler, far more primal—on loyalty, on unity, on trust.

So, she began to snake her way into the hearts of his people.

It started small, with gestures they would not expect from a southerner, least of all a Targaryen princess. She knew how they saw her—pampered, delicate, with hair too fair and hands too soft to have ever known true work. She could feel their eyes on her wherever she went, could hear the whispers as she passed by, wrapped in her fine furs, a dragon in the land of wolves.

The courtyard was busy that morning, the ground slick with melting snow and the air thick with the sounds of work—axes splitting wood, the clang of blacksmiths’ hammers against anvils, the shouts of men and women hauling barrels and crates. She approached the group of women gathered near the cookfires, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism in their gazes. Y/N took a deep breath, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and stepped into their midst.

“Is there something I can do?” she asked, her voice clear and carrying over the noise. A few heads turned, eyes narrowing in surprise. She saw a woman in her middle years, broad-shouldered and with arms like tree trunks, squinting at her as if she were a curious animal. The others paused, their hands stilling in their work, glances exchanged.

The woman, who she had come to learn was named Mildred, finally spoke, her tone rough as gravel. “Princess,” she drawled, dragging the word out like it was something distasteful in her mouth. “I don’t think there’s much here a royal lady can handle. Unless you’ve got a mind to ruin that fancy cloak of yours.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ve more cloaks, Mildred. And if it gets ruined, well, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with another one, won’t I?”

A snort came from somewhere in the back of the group, and Y/N’s eyes flicked to the source—a younger woman with a mess of red hair and a skeptical expression. Y/N kept her smile, but she let a hint of a challenge creep into her tone. “Besides, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

The women exchanged glances, weighing her words. Mildred shrugged at last, tossing a hunk of dough onto a wooden board. “Fine then. Let’s see how you fare kneading bread. Got to feed half the damned keep today, and we’re short on hands.”

Y/N stepped forward without hesitation, rolling up her sleeves. The cold bit at her exposed skin, but she ignored it. Her hands, unused to such labor, moved awkwardly at first, pressing into the dough with less confidence than she wanted. Mildred watched her, arms crossed. “Too gentle,” She grunted. “You’re not petting a dragon. Put your weight into it.”

Y/N did as instructed, leaning into the motion, feeling the resistance of the dough against her palms. It was a small thing, this task, but it was a start. She could feel their eyes on her, hear the whispers quieting, turning into something more like curiosity than derision.

Hours passed, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the courtyard. The women began to loosen up around her, laughter breaking out now and then. She let herself laugh with them, leaning into their banter.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N made it her mission to weave herself into the fabric of Winterfell. She found her way to the blacksmith's forge, where the air was thick with smoke and the clang of metal. She watched as the smiths worked, their faces streaked with soot, and asked questions—many, many questions.

“Why do you use that angle with the hammer?” she asked one of the younger smiths, a boy not much older than.

The boy, startled at first, blinked at her, then answered, “To shape the steel, Princess. To make it stronger, to give it an edge that lasts.”

She nodded, watching his hands. “Show me,” she demanded. The boy hesitated, glancing around nervously, but she stepped forward. “Don’t worry. I can hold a hammer.”

He did as she asked, and soon enough, she was holding the hammer herself, mimicking his movements. Her strokes were clumsy, awkward at first, but she learned fast, and with every thud of the hammer, she felt the eyes of the smiths soften just a little more.

In the great hall, she would sit with the lords and their wives, listening to their woes, their concerns, their petty grievances. Y/N had a mind sharpened by the best—her grandsire, Otto, had seen to that. She listened carefully, offering her thoughts, her solutions, often to the surprise of those around her.

“The river’s dammed up, and it’s ruining the fields,” one lord grumbled, a beefy man with a thick beard.

"Then undam it," she replied, her tone smooth. "Divert it, instead of letting it run its course. Build channels to guide it where you want it to go."

The man blinked at her, surprised. “Aye, well… that could work.”

“It will work,” she replied, a small smile playing at her lips.

She advised them on how to better store grain, how to rotate their crops, and how to reinforce their defenses with minimal resources. She made suggestions that saved money, improved efficiency, and most importantly, earned her a grudging respect. To her, these Northerners were like sheep, clueless and slow-witted. But she smiled, she helped, she solved their problems. She was always in the middle of things, her presence a constant in the great hall, the courtyard, the kitchens, the stables.

She even joined the hunts. The Northmen had mocked her at first for daring to ride out with them. “A princess in the snow?” they laughed. “She’ll freeze before we see a single stag.” But she proved them wrong. Her dragon’s blood kept her warm, kept her defiant in the face of the bitter cold, and she was the first to draw her bow, the first to bring down a deer.

“By the gods, she’s got a steady hand,” one of the older men muttered to Cregan as they dragged the deer back to Winterfell.

Cregan’s gaze had flicked over to her, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there had been a flicker of something there. Amusement? Respect? She couldn’t tell, but it was enough.

Bit by bit, she felt the change. The Northmen, these stubborn, superstitious heretics, began to soften, to open up to her. They began to speak to her not with suspicion but with interest, their words less guarded, their gazes less cold. They valued her now, saw her as something more than just a prim and proper southerner.

It was at a feast that she noticed it—how the lords and ladies began to speak of her in hushed, respectful tones, how they sought her out for advice, for a kind word, for counsel. She saw how Cregan watched from across the hall, his grey eyes narrowing, the faintest flicker of something akin to admiration crossing his face.

She caught his gaze, held it across the room. He didn’t look away. Instead, he raised his cup to her, a silent acknowledgment. A challenge, perhaps.

Y/N raised hers in return, a smile playing at her lips. The North had begun to bend, and soon enough, so would he.

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One afternoon, Y/N had just returned from Winter Town, cheeks flushed from the biting wind and the smell of pine and smoke still clinging to her cloak. The snow had begun to fall heavier now, thick flakes drifting down like soft feathers, blanketing the world in a quiet that felt almost sacred. She pushed back her hood as she stepped into the warmth of the great hall, her eyes scanning the room out of habit, looking for something—anything—that could further her cause.

She spotted a cluster of handmaidens seated by the hearth, their heads bent in concentration. They were mending and embroidering clothing, fingers working deftly with needle and thread. Y/N noticed the familiar shapes taking form on the fabric—the direwolves.

She glided toward them, her steps light, her expression warm and inviting. She had perfected this look over years at court—the doe-eyed charm that could disarm even the most hardened of men. “Oh,” she said with a bright smile, her voice a melodic lilt, “working on the Stark sigil, are we?”

The handmaidens looked up, a bit startled at her approach. They were used to her presence by now, but not so much to her sudden interest in their needlework. A girl named Caragh, her brown hair tied back in a braid, nodded. “Aye, milady. Lord Cregan’s cloak was torn on the last hunt, and his tunic needs a new embroidery. Wolves, of course.”

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with interest. “How lovely,” she murmured, kneeling down beside them. “May I see?”

They hesitated for a moment but eventually passed her the cloth, the direwolf stitched in silver-grey thread standing fierce against the dark fabric. She studied it with a discerning eye, her fingers tracing the lines of the stitches. The work was good, but plain—functional, as was the way of the North.

A smile danced on her lips as an idea took shape. “Do you know,” she began, her voice soft and conspiratorial, “I’ve always been rather good with a needle myself. Perhaps I could try my hand at it? Just a little, of course. I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

The women exchanged glances, unsure, but intrigued. “Princess, you’d do that?” asked Caragh, her tone curious. “We’d be honored to see southern stitchings. They’re said to be… well, far more intricate than ours.”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound like a chime in the quiet hall. “Oh, we do have a flair for the elaborate, it’s true,” she agreed. “But I promise, I won’t change it too much. Just add a bit of finesse.” She reached for the thread, selecting a shade of grey that was just a touch darker than the one they had been using. “Here,” she said, threading her needle with practiced ease, “let me show you.”

She set to work, her hands moving with ease. Her stitches were tiny and precise, the needle dancing in and out of the fabric as if it were silk and not the heavy wool of the North. The handmaidens watched her, their eyes wide with fascination as she added delicate touches to the direwolf—tiny knots that gave the illusion of fur, subtle shadows that made the beast look as if it might leap from the cloth at any moment.

“How do you make it look so… alive?” one of the younger handmaidens breathed, her cheeks flushed with awe.

Y/N smiled, enjoying their attention. “It’s all in the details,” she said with a little wink. “You have to see the wolf in your mind first, imagine the way its fur moves, the way its muscles shift beneath the skin. Then, you just… follow the thread.”

The hours passed, and the handmaidens were more than happy to let her work, their questions and chatter filling the space around them. They asked her about King’s Landing, about the fashions of the court, about the kinds of silks and velvets they had only heard of in stories. She answered them with good humor, spinning tales of the South that made their eyes shine with wonder. And all the while, her needle moved, faster and faster, until the direwolf on the fabric seemed to almost snarl, its eyes fierce and intelligent, its body coiled as if ready to pounce.

By the time Cregan Stark returned from a hunt, the hall was warm with the crackle of the fire and the murmur of soft voices. He strode in, snow still dusting his dark hair, his cloak heavy with ice. His boots left wet prints on the stone floor as he shook the cold from his shoulders and glanced around.

He stopped short when he saw her—Y/N, seated among his handmaidens, needle in hand, a small, satisfied smile on her lips as she worked on his clothing. His eyes narrowed, and he made his way over, curious despite himself.

“Princess,” he greeted her, his voice a low rumble, “I see you’ve taken to mending clothes now?”

Y/N looked up, her expression unruffled. “Lord Stark,” she replied, her tone light, teasing almost, “I thought I might be of some use. Your handmaidens were kind enough to let me practice a little of our southern needlework.” She held up the fabric for him to see, the direwolf now a striking, almost lifelike creature that seemed to leap from the fabric with a ferocity that had not been there before.

Cregan’s eyes widened, just slightly, his gaze moving over the stitching, his expression unreadable. “It’s… well done,” he said finally, and she could hear the surprise in his voice, grudging though it was.

She smiled, pleased. “You sound surprised, my lord. Did you think a Targaryen’s hands were only meant for taming dragons or holding goblets of wine?”

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound like gravel grinding together. “Not surprised,” he corrected, his gaze meeting hers, steady and unyielding. “Impressed. You’ve a fine hand.”

Y/N's smile widened. “Why, thank you, Lord Stark. I’m glad my work meets your approval.”

He nodded, his gaze still on the cloth, the direwolf that now seemed to pulse with life. “Aye, it does,” he admitted. “Though I wonder, Princess… are you looking to become a seamstress now?”

She laughed, a bright, ringing sound that filled the hall. “No, my lord. I’ve no desire to take up a needle permanently. But I do find it’s useful, from time to time, to show that a princess’s hands can be skilled in more ways than one.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, a challenge in them. “Is that so?” he asked quietly. “And tell me, Princess, what other skills do your hands possess?”

Y/N’s smile did not waver. “Oh, many things, Lord Stark,” she replied softly. “Many things indeed.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes, before he nodded again. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And with that, he turned away, but not before she caught the slightest curve of a smile on his lips. She watched him go, feeling a thrill of satisfaction course through her veins.

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Her scheme had worked flawlessly. Piece by piece, the North was falling into place just as she’d planned. The people were warming to her, Cregan's gaze was lingering a little longer than before, and Y/N could feel the iciness of Winterfell slowly starting to melt in her favor. Everything was moving toward the outcome she desired.

Well until it wasn't.

The disruption arrived in the form of Alysanne Blackwood—Black Aly, they called her. Y/N watched her ride into Winterfell with a certain swagger, a confidence that bordered on arrogance. A member of House Blackwood, the aunt of young Lord Benjicot Blackwood, Alysanne had come north under some pretense Y/N didn't care to know about. At the time, it had seemed inconsequential. She had dismissed it, too caught up in her own plans to pay attention to this new player on the board.

A mistake. A rare, foolish mistake. Her grandsire would have scolded her for being so pliant, so hasty, so unguarded. Never underestimate a rival, he would have said. Never take your eyes off the board. And Y/N had done just that.

She should not have misconstrued this woman.

Alysanne was everything Y/N was not. Tall and lean, with thick black curls that tumbled past her waist, she had a wildness to her that seemed to embody the very spirit of the North. Her long legs and strong arms marked her as a woman who spent more time in the saddle than at a hearth, more time holding a bow than a needle. She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense—her features were sharp, her smile wide and often mocking—but there was something about her. Something raw and fearless, a fire that seemed to burn just beneath her skin. And that smell…woodsmoke. It clung to her like a second skin, as if she had been born in the midst of a bonfire.

Y/N had heard the whispers—how Black Aly was a legend in the North. An excellent hunter, a horse-breaker, an archer with a keen eye. She was bold and outspoken, with a tongue sharp enough to cut through steel and a wit that could match the sharpest of minds. The Northerners adored her. They loved her for her wildness, for her lack of pretense, for the way she embodied everything they valued: strength, courage, a disregard for the fripperies of southern court life.

She could see it in their faces as Alysanne moved among them, laughing and jesting with the men, sharing bread and soup with the women. Y/N could almost feel the tides shifting, the winds changing, as this woman—this picture-perfect embodiment of Northern virtues—threatened to ruin everything she had worked for.

Cregan Stark took to Alysanne immediately. Of course, he did. Why wouldn’t he? He took her hunting, riding out into the forest with her at dawn while Y/N was left behind to smile and make small talk with his bannermen. He brought her to his war councils, included her in his patrols, took her to meet the northern lords. Wherever he went, Black Aly was at his side, her sharp, barking laughter echoing off the walls of Winterfell.

Y/N could see it in the way he looked at Alysanne—a gleam of admiration, of respect, of something deeper, something raw. He valued her opinions, sought her counsel. And that stung more than Y/N cared to admit. Did it truly come down to this? Y/N Targaryen, a princess of the realm, having to compete with some backwater nobody?

She could feel her temper simmering beneath her skin like a slow-burning fire, the frustration building with each passing day. She thought of confronting Cregan directly, her hands curling into fists as she imagined the scene. She would demand to know why he spent so much time with that woman, why he found her so intriguing, so worthy of his attention. But no—she knew better than that. She couldn’t afford to appear desperate, to show him how much this rankled her. Instead, she kept her face a mask of calm, her smiles as practiced and serene as ever, even as she felt herself cracking.

One evening, as Cregan returned from yet another outing with Alysanne, Y/N was waiting for him in the hall, her posture regal, her eyes gleaming in the dim firelight. “Lord Stark,” she called out, her tone light but firm. “You’ve been busy.”

Cregan paused, glancing at her, his expression unreadable. “There is much to do, Princess,” he replied evenly. “The North doesn’t rest.”

She offered him a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So I see. And it seems you have found quite the companion to help you with your duties.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Alysanne is a trusted friend,” he said. “She knows these lands as well as I do.”

Y/N felt a flicker of irritation but kept her voice smooth. “Of course. She is a fine… huntress. But surely, you don’t need her for every task, my lord. I’m certain there are others who could serve just as well. Perhaps even better.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his grey eyes searching her face. “Are you offering to join me on my next patrol, Princess?” he asked, his tone challenging, with the faintest hint of amusement.

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter, but inside, she felt a surge of frustration. “If you think my skills would be of use,” she replied, matching his tone. “I am, after all, more than just a… court ornament.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her skin prickle. “I’ve never doubted that,” he said softly. “But the North is not a place for games or tricks. It demands strength and a willingness to face the unknown without fear.”

Her smile wavered, just a little. “I am not afraid of the unknown,” she replied, her voice edged with steel. “Nor am I afraid to prove myself.”

Cregan’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, his voice lowering, more intimate. “But Alysanne… she knows this land, these people. She knows how to speak to them, how to move among them. That is not something you can learn in a few weeks.”

Y/N felt the sting of his words, but she masked it with another smile, her eyes flashing. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but I have learned much in a short time. And I am still learning, Lord Stark. Every day.”

Cregan nodded, as if considering her words. “Then learn, Princess,” he said quietly. “But do not think you must compete with Alysanne. She is… unique, yes. But so are you.”

The words were meant to placate, to soothe, but they only made her feel more cornered.

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The doors to the great hall swung open with a loud creak, and a chill wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of snow and iron. Y/N turned, her eyes narrowing as she saw the commotion. Cregan Stark had returned, his presence commanding attention even as he limped slightly, his dark hair damp with sweat, his face streaked with mud and blood. His men flanked him, some of them leaning on one another, their expressions grim, their clothes stained with the same mixture of dirt and crimson.

Her heart lurched at the sight, but she quickly schooled her features into a mask of cool indifference. The skirmishes with the wildlings had been growing more frequent, their raids bolder, and it seemed today had been no different. The maesters were already scrambling, rushing forward with their apprentices and assistants, trying to assess the most grievous injuries, their faces set in strained concentration.

Y/N took in the scene with a practiced eye, her mind already calculating. There were too many injured, too much blood soaking into the stone floor of the hall. She could see that the maesters were stretched thin, their resources and patience fraying at the edges. Cregan, of course, was insisting on helping his men, despite the fact that he was clearly favoring his left leg, a nasty gash visible on his right thigh, and his arm hung a little too limply at his side.

Typical. The man was as stubborn as a mule.

She moved closer, catching sight of the way he clenched his jaw against the pain, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look older, wearier. He was trying to wave off a young apprentice who was attempting to guide him toward a bench.

“I’m fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “See to the others first.”

The apprentice looked helplessly at Cregan, clearly torn between obeying the Warden of the North and following the orders of the maesters. Y/N, sensing an opportunity, pushed through the crowd, her chin tilted upward, her eyes sharp.

“Really, Lord Stark?” she called out, her voice loud enough to carry over the clamor. “You look about as fine as a roast pig on a spit.”

Cregan’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing at her. “Princess,” he said, his voice edged with irritation, “this is no place for jesting.”

She smiled, a sharp, knowing smile. “No, but it is a place for common sense. Something you seem to be sorely lacking at the moment.” She turned to the apprentice and gestured toward the other men. “Go. Help the others. I’ll take care of your lord.”

The apprentice hesitated for a moment, glancing between them, but then scurried off, clearly relieved to be free of Cregan’s stubbornness. Y/N stepped closer, folding her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on the injured lord.

Cregan grunted, his expression darkening. “I don’t need your help, Princess. I’ve had worse than this.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she replied. “But forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment on your own health, seeing as you’re bleeding all over the floor and insisting you’re perfectly fine. Very lordly of you, I’m sure, but also incredibly stupid.”

He scowled at her, a deep line forming between his brows. “I can take care of myself.”

“And yet,” she countered, stepping even closer, “you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you? Sit down, Cregan, before you fall down and make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue further, but then he winced, a flash of pain crossing his face, and Y/N seized the moment. She reached out, gripping his uninjured arm with a strength that belied her slender frame, and guided him toward a nearby bench. “Sit,” she ordered, her voice firm, and to her surprise, he obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

He dropped onto the bench with a huff, glaring up at her. “I don’t need a nursemaid, least of all a princess from the South who’s never seen a real fight.”

She laughed, a sharp, sarcastic sound. “You’re right, I’ve never fought wildlings or raiders. But I have spent plenty of time in the Red Keep watching men bleed out because they were too stubborn to accept help. So, unless you want to be one of those men, shut up and let me work.”

His gaze flickered with something between annoyance and grudging respect. “Fine,” he muttered, “but make it quick. I have men to see to.”

“Quick?” She snorted. “You don’t give orders here, Stark. Not while you’re under my care.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your care? And what makes you think you’re qualified?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she grabbed a nearby cloth, soaked it in a basin of water, and began to clean the wound on his thigh with swift, precise movements. Cregan hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing beneath her hands, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’ve shadowed Grand Maester Orwyle countless times,” she said as she worked, her voice steady. “I know what I’m doing. And more importantly, I’m not about to let you bleed out just because you’re too pigheaded to admit you need help.”

He grunted again but said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. She could see the pain in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened with each touch, but he stayed still, letting her do her work. She carefully cleaned the wound, her hands moving with a skill that surprised even herself, then reached for a needle and thread.

“This will hurt,” she warned, threading the needle with practiced ease.

“I’ve had worse,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Of course you have,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it after I’ve saved your life.”

His lips twitched, almost as if he were fighting a smile. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess.”

“And you’ve a thick skull, Lord Stark,” she shot back. “Now hold still.”

She began to stitch the wound, her needle moving with swift, precise strokes. Cregan watched her, his eyes dark and intense, but she didn’t falter. For once, she was not the southern courtier, the diplomatic princess with honeyed words and gentle smiles. She was herself, sharp and unyielding, meeting his stubbornness with her own.

When she finished, she tied off the thread with a quick, efficient knot and sat back, wiping her hands on the cloth. “There,” she said, satisfaction in her voice. “You’ll live to fight another day.”

He stared at her, a mix of surprise and grudging admiration in his eyes. “You did well,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

She arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Was there ever any doubt?”

He chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. “Plenty,” he admitted.

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Winter is coming.

No, not the Stark words, spoken like a prayer or a warning. Winter is truly coming, and Y/N can feel it deep in her bones, creeping through the stone walls of Winterfell like a living thing.

The air has grown sharper, biting at her cheeks with every gust of wind, and the snow falls thicker now, each flake heavy and deliberate. The trees are bare, their branches skeletal against the grey sky, and the cold seems to press down on her, seeping into her skin with a relentless chill. It is a different kind of cold than she has ever known, a cold that seeps into her lungs and settles there, making each breath feel like an effort.

The North has always been harsh, but now it feels like it is preparing for something more—something darker, more unforgiving. Even the men and women of Winterfell, who have spent their entire lives in the shadow of winter, seem more guarded, more wary. There are murmurs in the great hall, anxious whispers in the corridors. Wildlings have been sighted more frequently, their numbers growing bolder and more desperate as the long night approaches. The skirmishes along the Wall have increased, and the night fires are lit earlier and burn longer.

Y/N pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she crosses the courtyard, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She knows what is coming. She can feel it in the very marrow of her bones. Winter is coming, and with it, something more—a tension that hangs in the air like a drawn bowstring, taut and ready to snap.

That night, as she sits by the fire in her chambers, a raven arrives. The black bird flutters through the window, its wings dusted with snow, a rolled parchment tied to its leg. Y/N takes it with a frown, untying the message with cold fingers, her eyes narrowing as she recognizes the seal. Hightower.

She unfurls the parchment and reads the message, her eyes scanning the words with a growing sense of unease.

Return to King’s Landing at once.

The words are simple, direct, and she can almost hear Otto’s voice behind them, calm but commanding. He has received reports of the incoming long winter, of the increasing sightings of wildlings, and he deems it no longer safe for her to remain in the North. He urges her to leave before the roads become impassable, before the snows deepen and the wildlings grow more desperate.

Y/N exhales slowly, a plume of breath escaping her lips in the cold air of her chamber. She should feel relieved. Glad, even. No longer required to linger in this frozen wasteland, where the people are as hard as the ground they walk on, and her plans have slowly unraveled like thread from a worn tapestry. She should be glad to return to the South, to the warmth and intrigue of King’s Landing, where the games are played on her terms.

But instead, she feels a sharp sting of frustration. She berates herself for failing to secure the North for her family, for not weaving a strong enough web to catch the loyalty of these proud, stubborn people. A true Targaryen, she should have bent them to her will, but the North is as unyielding as its lord, and she has not succeeded in making it hers. It is a bitter pill to swallow.

“Failure,” she murmurs, her voice a low hiss in the dim light of her chamber. “And what would you say to that, Lord Hand? That your granddaughter, for all her cleverness, could not win the North?”

She lets out a soft, mirthless laugh, crumpling the parchment in her hand. “It’s a matter for another day,” she tells herself. She will return to King's Landing, regroup, plot anew. There are always other pieces to play, other moves to make.

Yet, her thoughts drift back to Cregan Stark. The brooding wolf of the North, with his grim expression and unyielding sense of honor. She won’t admit, even to herself, that she is fond of him. Or likes him. Or anything of the sort. No, certainly not. But… there is something about him that lingers in her mind like a half-remembered dream, something she can’t quite shake off.

After being surrounded by the snakes of King’s Landing, the liars and flatterers, the power-hungry and the depraved, she finds something strangely compelling in Cregan Stark’s righteousness. It comes to him as naturally as breathing, as naturally as wielding that massive Valyrian steel sword of his, the one he calls Ice.

She has seen him wield it with ease, watched him cleave through the air with a power that seems almost otherworldly. She has watched him ride out with his men, fearless and unyielding, his face set in determination. There is a strength in him that is not just physical, but something deeper, something that runs to his very core. A strength that does not waver, that does not bend, even under the weight of the North’s endless cold.

And she hates it. She hates how it seems to make everything about him… uncomplicated. How he carries his honor like a shield, how he speaks his truth without hesitation, without guile, as if the very concept of deception is foreign to him. It is infuriating. It is intriguing. And it has left a mark on her, whether she likes it or not.

Y/N folds the letter and tucks it into the folds of her gown, her fingers lingering on the soft fabric for a moment longer than necessary. She knows what she must do; her place is back in the South. But as she rises to her feet, her eyes drift around her room, taking in the rough-hewn walls, the cold stone floor, and the fur pelts draped across her bed. There is a part of her—small, quiet, but undeniably present—that resents leaving this place. Resents leaving him behind.

She sighs, pushing the thought away, and begins to gather what little she had brought with her. No handmaiden to help her, not that she would ask. She has always preferred to do things herself when it comes down to it. She moves about the room with a swift efficiency, her hands quick and sure as she folds her scarves, places them neatly in her travel bag.

She is in the midst of folding a deep green scarf, the color of pine needles, when a knock sounds at her door. She freezes, her fingers still gripping the fabric, and for a moment, she considers ignoring it. But then she rolls her eyes at her own hesitation and strides to the door, swinging it open.

Cregan Stark stands on the other side, looking as rugged and battered as ever. There is a bandage wrapped around his arm, another at his side, but he stands tall, his posture straight, his face unreadable. He looks better than he had when she had tended to him earlier, but not by much. His grey eyes flick to her, and she can’t quite read the expression in them.

“Lord Stark,” she greets, her voice carefully neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He inclines his head slightly. “I came to thank you,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “For earlier. For tending to my wounds.”

She raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh? Didn’t think you’d bother with gratitude.”

He snorts softly. “I’m not so stubborn as to ignore a kindness when it’s given.”

“A kindness?” She smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I think you’ll find I had very little kindness in mind when I forced you to sit down.”

His lips twitch, just slightly. “Perhaps not,” he concedes. “But you did help. I owe you that much.”

Her gaze softens, just for a moment, but before she can reply, his eyes shift past her, taking in the half-packed bags and scattered belongings strewn across the room. His brows knit together in a frown.

“What is this?” he asks, his tone sharper than before.

Y/N shrugs, affecting a nonchalant air. “I’m going home,” she replies, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “A happy bit of news for you, I’d wager.”

He is silent for a moment, his frown deepening, his eyes fixed on hers. “No,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “I take no joy in this news.”

She blinks, momentarily caught off guard. “No? I thought you’d be delighted to see the back of me.”

His expression softens, and he steps further into the room, his gaze never leaving hers. “Believe it or not, Princess, I’ve grown accustomed to your… presence.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you on about?” she demands, her voice sharper now, a hint of frustration creeping in. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a fondness for me, Cregan Stark.”

He hesitates, then, with a sigh, says, “Perhaps. Or maybe I’ve simply developed a soft spot for your relentless stubbornness.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Oh, do spare me,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “The Wolf of the North with a soft spot for a Targaryen? Is that supposed to flatter me?”

He gives a half-smile, his eyes holding hers. “It’s not meant to flatter, just the truth.”

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Right. And I suppose this has nothing to do with your other northern… interests?” She tilts her head, her voice laced with mock sweetness. “Surely, Black Aly is more up your alley?”

His face hardens slightly, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Alysanne is a friend,” he replies, his voice calm. “A trusted one. But you—”

“But me?” she interrupts, stepping closer, her eyes blazing. “But what, Cregan? Do you think I’m going to stay here in this frozen wasteland to be your latest curiosity?”

He shakes his head, his voice rising just a fraction. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?” she snaps. “Because I have no desire to dance around whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

He exhales, frustration lining his features, but there’s something softer there, too. “I meant,” he says slowly, deliberately, “that I have come to respect you, Y/N. To… care for you, in ways I did not expect.”

She laughs, sharp and incredulous. “Care for me? Truly? You’ve a strange way of showing it, taking Black Aly on all your little adventures while I’m stuck here playing house with your bannermen.”

Cregan’s eyes darken, his expression turning serious. “It wasn’t meant to slight you.”

“But it did,” she fires back, her voice lower, more intense. “It did. And now, you stand here, acting like you don’t want me to leave, when all you’ve done is—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he cuts her off, his voice firm, his gaze unyielding. “Not now. Not like this.”

There is a beat of silence, the air between them taut and electric. Y/N feels something twist inside her, something she doesn’t want to name.

“Why?” she finally asks, her voice almost a whisper. “Why, Cregan?”

He takes a step closer, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. “Because,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “for all your southern games and sharp words… you’ve gotten under my skin, Y/N Targaryen.”

She meets his gaze, searching his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of deception, but finds none. She swallows, her throat tight. “And what do you suggest I do about that?” she asks, her tone still edged, but softer now.

He glances around the room at her half-packed bags, and then, with a determined expression, begins to pick up her things, placing them back where they were. “For a start,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind, “you can stop packing.”

She watches, incredulous, as he calmly folds one of her scarves and places it back on the table. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

He looks up at her, his eyes twinkling with a challenge. “Undoing a mistake,” he replies simply.

She shakes her head, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re very difficult, you know that?”

He grins, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “So I’ve been told.”

They stand there, close enough to touch, the tension between them crackling like a fire waiting to ignite. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them is thick, charged with something that neither of them can quite name. She lets out a sigh, breaking the silence that has settled over them.

“My grandsire has called for me,” she says finally, her voice softer than before. “It’s more of a command, really, than a request.”

Cregan’s brow furrows, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. “Is Otto Hightower the King of the Seven Kingdoms now?” he asks, his tone dry, laced with a hint of disdain.

Y/N chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver through him. “He might as well be,” she replies, a faint smile playing on her lips. “He certainly acts like it.”

“Seems he’s got a hold on you too,” Cregan mutters, his gaze never leaving hers.

She shrugs, a half-smirk curving her lips. “I wouldn’t survive a winter here, would I? You said so yourself, Lord Stark. Even Vermithor and Silverwing refused to fly beyond the Wall of their own accord. Those ancient, powerful creatures wouldn’t dare. So whatever lies out there…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It must be damning.”

Cregan’s expression is unreadable, his jaw tightening for a moment. “I can keep you safe,” he says quietly, but there’s a firmness to his voice, an unyielding resolve that makes her chest tighten.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Oh, how kind of you, my big, bad wolf,” she drawls, her tone mocking but playful, her fingers reaching out to brush lightly against his arm. “But how about you start with something simple?”

His eyes narrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Simple?” he repeats.

She steps closer, so close that her breath mingles with his, the warmth of her skin brushing against him. “How about, for starters, you try keeping me warm?” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carries between them like a challenge. “It is awfully freezing here… Can you do that for me, Lord Stark?”

For a moment, Cregan says nothing. His eyes search hers, as if trying to discern whether she’s serious, or just toying with him as she so often does. Y/N isn’t expecting much—she knows the Northerners, with their prudish notions of honor and virtue, probably see this as a surefire way to eternal damnation. She expects him to laugh it off, to turn away with a huff, to remind her, once again, that he is not some Southern lord to be trifled with.

But he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t turn away. Instead, his gaze darkens, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips, the line of her throat. He takes a step closer, his body towering over hers, and she feels the heat radiating from him, the intensity in his stare. Her breath catches in her throat, her heart thundering in her chest as he reaches out, his hand cupping her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sends a thrill down her spine. “For me to keep you warm?”

Y/N swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected the Wolf of the North to respond to her challenge with anything but stern disapproval. “I—” she starts, but the words catch in her throat as his thumb brushes over her lower lip, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

He leans in, his breath warm against her skin, and she feels the heat of his body pressing against hers, the rough fabric of his tunic brushing against the softness of her gown. “Say it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost desperate. “Say what you want, Y/N.”

Her heart pounds, and she feels a rush of something she can’t quite name—fear, desire, defiance—all mingling together in her chest. “I want…” she begins, her voice wavering, but then she catches herself, lifts her chin, her eyes flashing. “I want you to keep me warm, Cregan Stark.”

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile, and before she can draw another breath, his mouth is on her throat, hot and insistent. She gasps, her hands instinctively flying to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tunic as he kisses her skin, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of her collarbone, his teeth grazing against her pulse.

“Gods,” she breathes, a mixture of surprise and pleasure washing over her. She hadn’t expected this—not from him. But he is relentless, his mouth moving against her skin, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, his tongue tracing patterns that make her shiver. He smells of the woods and leather, of smoke and something wilder, something purely him, and it makes her head spin.

She feels a hot rush of sensation flood her body, a fire igniting deep within her belly as he kisses and nibbles at her neck, her collarbones, his hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” she gasps, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging just a bit.

He chuckles against her skin, the sound vibrating through her, and she can feel his grin. “I am good at playing my part too, Princess,” he mutters, his voice rough, raw with hunger.

She arches against him, feeling the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his beard against her skin, and something inside her snaps. She doesn’t care about the cold, or the North, or even the damned wildlings anymore. She only cares about the way his mouth feels on her, the way his hands move against her, the way he’s suddenly, inexplicably, decided to abandon his precious restraint.

“Oh, so you’re not a prude after all?” she teases, her voice a breathless whisper, but there’s a tremor in it she can’t quite control.

He bites down gently on her shoulder, making her gasp, and she feels him smile against her skin. “Careful now,” he growls softly, his lips trailing up to her ear. “You might just find out how much I’m not.”

She laughs, a low, sultry sound that makes his grip tighten. “Well then, Lord Stark,” she murmurs, her voice daring. “Show me.”

And he does. All night long.

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The next morning, chaos erupted in Winterfell. The dawn broke over the snow-covered battlements, but there was no sign of the Lord of Winterfell. Cregan’s chamber was found empty, his bed undisturbed, and his bannermen immediately feared the worst. The cold winds carried whispers of possible attacks, of kidnappings, of wildlings breaching the walls in the dead of night.

“Where is he?” one of the lords muttered, his voice tight with worry. “I saw him head to his chamber last night. He should be there!”

“But he’s not,” another snapped, his face pale. “And there’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing.”

Maids and guards exchanged nervous glances, and the tension in the great hall thickened like smoke. Servants hurried through the corridors, peering into every nook and cranny, while a group of bannermen began to search the grounds, checking the stables, the armory, anywhere he might have gone.

The panic spread quickly, growing like wildfire. Hushed voices turned into frantic shouts, and soon enough, a full search was underway. Every room, every corridor, every shadowed corner was combed through with increasing urgency.

“Maybe he’s gone to the Godswood?” one bannerman suggested, and a group ran in that direction, boots crunching against the snow.

“What if he’s been taken?” another whispered fearfully. “The wildlings—”

“No, he’d never be taken without a fight!” a grizzled old warrior barked, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. “Keep looking!”

And so they did, their desperation growing as each minute passed without a trace of their lord.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the servants hesitantly approached the door to Y/N’s chamber. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle as if unsure whether he should dare to disturb a Targaryen princess. But with his heart pounding and knowing that all of Winterfell was searching, he pushed the door open.

There, in the soft light of dawn that filtered through the small window, they found him.

Cregan Stark lay sprawled across the bed, still deep in sleep, his dark hair tousled, a faint smile playing on his lips. His arm was wrapped tightly around Y/N Targaryen, holding her close against him as if she were the most precious thing in the world. They were entangled in the furs, his body curved protectively around hers, their legs entwined, her head resting on his chest.

For a moment, the servant could only gape, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Then, finding his voice, he croaked out, “Lord Stark!”

Cregan stirred, groaning softly, his eyes blinking open in the dim light. He looked down to see Y/N still nestled against him, her silver hair a soft halo on his chest. For a brief, confused moment, he forgot where he was, why there were voices at the door.

Then he heard the shocked gasp of the servant, and it all came rushing back.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a bannerman’s voice boomed from behind the servant, and within seconds, the doorway filled with faces, wide-eyed and bewildered.

Cregan rubbed his eyes, sitting up slowly, his hand still cradling Y/N. He glanced over at the doorway and saw the crowd of his bannermen and servants, their expressions ranging from horrified to amused to utterly scandalized.

“Well, it seems I’ve been found,” he muttered, a grin spreading across his face as he looked down at her, still half-asleep beside him. “So much for a quiet morning.”

Y/N stirred, blinking up at him, and then she saw the small crowd gathered in the doorway. Her cheeks flushed, but her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Good morrow, gentlemen,” she purred, propping herself up on her elbow. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

The bannermen stood frozen for a moment, then the old warrior who’d been leading the search cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed red. “Lord Stark, we thought… well, we feared the worst.”

Cregan’s smile widened, his hand brushing a strand of silver hair from Y/N’s face. “No need for fear, Wylis,” he replied, his tone far too amused. “As you can see, I’m very much alive. Just… occupied.”

The servant who had found them couldn’t suppress a grin, though he quickly ducked his head to hide it. The bannermen, on the other hand, exchanged awkward glances, shifting their weight, unsure of what to say.

Y/N looked up at Cregan, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems you’ve caused quite the stir, my lord,” she murmured, teasingly. “Should I be worried that your men are so eager to find you?”

Cregan chuckled, pulling her closer, ignoring the gaping faces in the doorway. “Let them talk,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “I have everything I want right here.”

And as the bannermen mumbled and fidgeted, trying to find a way to excuse themselves from the room without causing further embarrassment, Cregan leaned down to kiss her forehead, his smile never fading. “Let them see,” he whispered. “Let them know.”

Y/N laughed softly, rolling her eyes. “As you wish, wolf.”

And with that, he pulled her back into the warm cocoon of furs, ignoring the murmurs from the doorway, perfectly content to remain exactly where he was.

[b00tyliciousbabe]

munch

bisexualbigboybf! x THICC!male reader

summary: manifesting my future husband

notes: THANKS FOR 1k ppl dem! BEEN IN DRAFTS FOR A WHILE. i think there needs to be some more love + appreciation for bi men and big boys so i amalgamated the two. not a fetish y’all, just a preference, they be taking care of my inner princess and for that i will ALWAYS be grateful. a lot of feminisation in this one so tread carefully. it’s a lil messy (jumps in tenses and stuff like that) but i litch couldn’t focus without getting too excited. ENJOY MY HEARTS.

song rec: normani - big boy (feat. starrah)

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your big boy bf didn’t think he had a chance with you at first, nor did he even want one. at first he hated you, watching how all the other men in your life were one flirty conversation away from having a piece of your juicy ass, and how the girls envied and coveted your thick hourglass figure. your sweet personality sickened him ; you made sure to give them your gym routine and your diet, being the beauty guru you were. but what he realised, was not that he hated you, but that he hated not having you. when he realised this, he needed you, more than anything.

you embodied a refreshing style of hyper femininity that made you all the more attractive to your bi man. seeing your body in its thick glory made him love himself more. how your belly added to your voluptuous figure, your plump cheeks, and fleshy muscle surrounding your chest and thighs, he was mesmerised by your form. you were, in his eyes, divine. little did he know that you had fallen first; his broad shoulders, strong biceps and pudgy belly practically had you ovulating. your gigantic teddy bear, standing at a foot taller than you, had a heart of gold and this protective aura around him, enamoured you.

when you debuted your relationship online, you were met with a flurry of mainly positive responses. yeah sure there were the odd few denouncing your femininity and body shaming y’all, but you ignored them because you don’t have to convince the world that you’re THEE baddie b and your man is the sexiest mf to ever exist.

luvagoalz: they are literally the embodiment of the wattpad height difference. I NEED.

user222: y/n getting dicked down DAILY by a giant is so girlboss of him.

sza: bestie got himself a big boy - y/n send me the deets for the wedding.

your bf is a huge gym rat and when you two became exclusive, your already voluptuous figure became all the more defined with his help. you were flawless. you love seeing him in the gym, sweating as the veins in his forearms pop out making him look so attractive. he definitely enjoys your company there, teasingly rubbing his bulge against your ass and face when no one was watching. his exhibitionist kink goes crazy seeing how beautifully your workout clothes hug your butt and cinch your waist. he used to be slightly insecure about his stretch marks but after a cool down session, and you complimenting them like lightning bolts imprinted on his skin, he felt superhuman. you always knew what to say to make him feel better.

he’s so protective of you. always sleeps on the side closest to the door and isn’t afraid to send someone to hospital if they even look at you the wrong way, or in a manner he doesn’t like. in his mind he’s seeded you and you’re literally carrying his kids and thus it’s his responsibility to protect you. it’s almost primal. he isn’t controlling or anything, but finds it incredibly important to remind you that with him you are completely safe.

they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and boy was that the case during your talking stage. it was perfect; you love to cook and so he’s more than happy to try your baked goods. your boyfriend loves his sleep on the weekends and so in true house husband fashion you often prepare breakfast in an apron with your thick cheeks hanging out from behind. one day he woke up to the sweet smell of you making his favourite. groggily stumbling into the kitchen, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, long dick swinging out of his briefs as he advanced towards you.

‘good morning love.’ his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed the words into your neck. he held onto the groove of your hips, caressing your lower back with the tip of his index finger and watched as you writhed beneath him. ‘babe, what are you doing up? you need your sleep, you’ve been working so hard lately.’ you said, breathing haphazardly as he ground himself into you. ‘i missed you. and i want my morning kisses.’ beginning to untie your apron he turned you around, and removed the lace from around your neck. hiking you up on the table top, the heat of your bare ass, that his dick previous massaged into you, was cooled by the granite. you wrapped your legs around him, as your hands stroked his beard. wiping that shit eating grub off of his face, your lips came closer to his own, as you could feel his heartbeat in his throat - this man is so in love with you. the kiss lasted quite a while, precum staining the opening of his boxers and pooling on your thighs. you knew that you were about to be fucked dumb and so you turned of the hob to avoid burning the house down. the fire inside y’all was more than enough to keep you going.

your man doesn’t fully realise his own strength. he was very hesitant to have sex with you for a while and mostly stopped at groping you before his dick got too hard to ignore. so, for your first time, he had to refrain literally ripping your clothes to get to the prize of your nudity. he absolutely loves seeing you (try to) deepthroat. the reason? his size kink goes insane when you attempt to take his gigantic package. this man is LONG and GIRTHY, capable of splitting you in half and abusing all your spots with ease. the veiny sausage he’s packing could do some serious damage but he held back when it came to your first couple times with him.

he always takes time to ensure that your safe and comfortable. initially his size intimidated you, your mannerisms connoting your subtle anxiety. he kissed the fear out of you, reassuringly saying, ‘you know I would never do anything to hurt you.’

your boyfriend is the KING of consent, always ensuring that you want his big cock just as much as he wants to feel the warmth of your boy pussy. one day whilst he was working from home, he noticed you squirming like an omega in heat. he sighed and smirked. ‘d’you want me to fuck you?’ he burst out. already used to his blunt disposition, you nodded. advancing closer towards you, staring down at the desperation in your face, he stroked your hair. ‘use your words y/n, i wanna hear how badly you want it.’ his charisma practically had you high. ‘I need you, please.’ you began to undo the string that held up his joggers, as he removed his tshirt. ‘i can never say no to my baby boy.’ he smiled, pants bunching at his ankles as he slowly railed on the edge of your shared bed.

he encourages you to take him fully each time, praising you because no one else had been able to take him past halfway. ‘i know baby, i know, do it one more time for me.’ he said endearingly, wiping the tears from your face as his dick invaded your throat.‘THERE IT ISSS UGH FUCK! i love your mouth.’ he cooed.

equally, your bf is the only man you’ve been with that’s been able to satisfy you sexually. you steered clear from all the men who were only interested in your body and not your heart and so you had very minimal experience outside of toys and your hands. the few you may or may not have been with were damn near clueless. on the other hand…your man has had plenty of hoe phases. it sly bugged you how he’d been intimate with a greater number you could’ve imagined but all that disappeared when he first made love to you. the best thing about him is that he can handle allat that ass. despite the clear size difference this doesn’t stop you from being a FREAK. He even encourages it. loving your thick globes of ass flesh kiss his lower belly as you push back and twerk all over his dick. his favourite part of your shape are your hips. he wants to breed you full of his children.

whenever he says ‘fuck yeah baby, back that shit up.’ it sends you orbital. it’s well known that the two of you share a huge affinity for doggy. the way you stroke his pudginess while he rails you in that position has become a safety mechanism - one that he has learnt to make the experience all the more enjoyable. with one hand holding you up (realistically struggling to, under the sheer passion of his fucking) and the other one bent behind your back fingering his belly button. his huge dick borderline tears you open and by grabbing onto him makes you feel safe. he usually recognises that it’s getting a bit too much when your moans become screams, and you get tighter. and as much as he loves seeing you overstimulated and fucked out on his cock, he doesn’t wanna break you (completely). so he slows down, soothing your pain with sweet nothings and his large hands massaging your ass cheeks.

for him personally though, he loves to smush you underneath his weight. in prone bone, he has direct access to your ear, whispering words of affirmation but degrading you with the grip of his arms around your neck. his beard hair softly touching your cheek, causing a wave of bliss to hit you, always gets him going. he knows you love hearing him praise you; his grunts are so delectable, a symphony with the percussion of him clapping tf outta your cheeks. as you whine like a lil bitch, they become guttural, like an alpha in his rut. the carnal passion of your heavier and rougher sessions reveal a callous side to his possessive nature. dangerous how much it turns you on.

words can’t really describe how much you love his stomach, happy trail adorning his belly, and riding him offers you the opportunity to see allat that on a platter. his smirk as he tries to contain his excitement that your his and only his.

on the topic of eye contact, you’re favourite mutual position is definitely missionary - your bf adores every inch of you. how your body becomes compliant. your hole crafted to take his big dick. the way it pierces through the walls of your pussy, massaging your gumminess. he sometimes drools from how lost he can be in the experience. ‘take my cock, yhhh baby, fuckkkk.’

slowing down his jack hammering pace, he’d lean forward with his low hanging balls rutting into you agonizingly slow.

‘you like that shit, huh baby? yeah? loving on my dick so well.’ whispering as he begins to mark your collarbone. then moving upwards onto your neck, massaging your previously pummeled throat as you looked up, desperate to kiss him. he exhales into your mouth, breathing life into you that he had taken away with his hard thrusts. his softness escaped as quickly as it arose, thrusting his entire load into you.

‘shit’ you scream as he laughs hoarsely, the rasp in his voice a melting honey.

in the same position, you love his cum face. something about how his eye and nose scrunch as he pants and grunt deeply. his beard ticking your chin. it also allows him to be vulnerable with you. he would hold your head cradling it with an affection rivalled only by how sweetly his tip kisses your prostate with each lengthy thrust. when he first enters, he’s checking to see if your okay, if you want more lube. you say no. legs just above his hips, you bring your hand to stroke his beard as he concentrates on directing his dick in a way that doesn’t make him cum immediately upon re entry.

‘i love you.’ you say getting all emotional from how well he’s treating you. ‘I love you too y/n.’ he leans down for more kisses as your hand now snakes around the back of his head.

he stops, letting you catch your breath, playing with your hair and caressing your face lovingly. your arms drop immediately at the warmth of his touch. he lifts and cradles your head, a delicacy opposing his rough demeanour.

‘I fucking love you,’ your bf grunts, placing forehead kisses, panting, as he starts moving faster. your legs now wrapped tightly around his abdomen like a vice. he plants both hands behind your head, balling his fists at either side of your head to create the perfect foundation to fuck you hard. brings one of his hands to cradle your hair and to bring your head closer to his. your temples meet ensuring that you’re so close and intimate. the man brings his body up, still inside you, collects your legs together, one leg on each shoulder holding onto the thick flesh of your upper thighs, allowing you to adjust, before toppling over onto you again to get deeper inside your pussy. later, moving his hands up to behind your knees, his rugged fingertips grip the flesh of your hamstrings.

your boyfriend brings his fingers up to stroke your cheeks and remove the hair sticking to your face. he’s growling at his need to go ham, but he exercises self-control as a means to take care of you. however, what he doesn’t realise is that his painfully slow strokes transport you to a utopia of bodily ecstasy.

he ABSOLUTELY loves seeing the imprint of his girthy cock in your stomach, pressing down on it to add to your respective pleasures. and when you both reach the top of the mountain, the visual of you being completely fucked out on his huge pole, as it protrudes through your stomach which is now decorated with your own personal release, makes him wanna rail you again. and again. until you pass out or his dick becomes limp. the latter would never happen because wherever you are, that cocks gonna be UP.

aftercare is so underrated with him. in his past relationships, it was usually a hit and quit it situation - his words not mine. thus he didn’t really know what to do at first. he’s so used to hookup culture, that he never bothered. but with you, he knew he had to change; one, because he knew you’d never let him near you again if he didn’t take care of you, but mainly two, because you were his and he had a responsibility to cherish you. considering you literally couldn’t walk and body was limp, your man needed to ensure you were taken care of. though he always reassures you, you make sure to do the same. the first time you spooned him he slept like a baby. BIG BOYS NEED CUDDLES TOO Y’ALL.

he gets really apologetic, constantly asking ‘did I go to rough.’ as he massages the bruises on your hips. sometimes feels guilty that he fucks you too hard. You put his mind at ease telling him that you do like it. your bubble butt and tight hole were made to take his cock.

this still doesn’t stop him from confessing to you; ‘baby, I’m so sorry.’ he kisses your skin. ‘when I see that ass if yours jiggle, it drives me crazy, I just can’t stop.’ it often leads to him overcompensating. as the his cum seeps out of your obliterated cunt. he just wants to make you feel safe. the same safety he feels when he’s with you.

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tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

[recreationalfanfics]

Record of Justice: Wonder Woman! Reader HCs

I am so gay for Diana.

- Brunhilde doesn't HESITAITE to choose you as one of her champions, seeing as you're both demi-gods who come from a warrior race of women, I can see you and her honestly having a lot in common together.

- But yeah, no, Diana's whole thing is that she wants to save the world of man so even of Brunhilde didn't choose her, you would have still chosen to fight because it was your duty.

- So Wonder Woman has multiple origins: Her original one being that she was born from clay by her mother but there are versions she has a dad which kinda switches between Hades and Zeus. Zeus will be your father in this case because I genuinely like the idea of him blowing his fucking gasket when he sees you enter in the side of humanity.

- "YOU KNOW HER, YOU LOVE HER: LADIES AND GENTLEGODS, GIVE IT UP FOR THE AMAZONIAN PRINCESS AND SAVIOR OF MAN: (Y/N)!!!"

- Ares and Wonder Woman have so much beef in the comics so you and him definetly don't see eye to eye now. In fact, Ares would fight you himself if he could but like, you're also kinda scary when you're mad.

- Zeus and Poseidon are literally about to blow a fucking gasket when they see you. Zeus is more subtle as usual as he's all: "Oh, well she's always been the black sheep of the family!" but in reality, he feels deeply betrayed. Poseidon isn't surprised honestly, he genuinely believes you should have grown up with the Olympians instead of on Themyscira because then maybe you'd learn to look down on those pathetic humans instead of protecting them.

- Tbh, Poseidon does have a bit of a soft spot for you as his niece because you're the only one whose ever DARED to back talk him despite knowing his power. He wishes your mother, Hippolyta, wasn't such a stubborn woman. I can totally see moments when you're absolutely destroying Gods and Poseidon just smiling proudly at you but then quickly scowling so no one can see him.

- However the Greek Gods who explicitly still care for you are definetly Hermes, Hercules, and Aphrodite.

- Aphrodite, being your big sister, absolutely adores you even if you two aren't on the same side. She smiles when she sees you and if she can, she will try to catch you in the hallways and pull you into a hug, meanwhile you're kinda suffocating in her bosom. She compliments you on what a strong and beautiful woman you've become, the only reason she isn't upset with you for "betraying" the family is because...well, you've always been like that. It's just nice to see you again♡

-As for Hercules, you both are Demi gods and while you acknowledge humanities faults, you welcomed him with open arms and appreciate his dedication. You two might not be bound by blood but the way you carry each other's ideals and respect and tease each other, its very clear you two have an unbreakable bond.

- Hermes adored you since you were born. Despite Themyscira's laws that men weren't allowed on the island, he was a God, and would happily come and see you to play with you. Taking on a big brother role in your life, he smiles softly as you glare at your father and he thinks you're just as cute as when you were a little toddler struggling to walk on the sandy beach coast of your island.

- As for the human side, they're all in literal wonder of you...which makes sense regarding your hero alias, but when they watched you at work: you impressed everyone while Brunhilde smiled at you and it pissed Zeus off even more when you both shook hands and sent him smug smirks on your faces.

Enemies/People Who Dislike You:

- Ares is a huge hater as I stated before, maybe you humiliated him in the past in front of Zeus, or maybe it was that one time you stole his helmet in a fight and became the New Goddess of War for a while but either way: you and him should never be in the same room together because not even the Gods can predict that disaster.

- Loki thought the rope thing was kinda hot but found out the hard way WHY it was called the Lasso of Truth. Even when he is shaped shifted, he will revert to his normal form if you ever catch him with it AND YOU ALWAYS FUCKING DO. He also can't even try and mislead you by telling you half truths because he just blurts out the truth right away. Everyone absolutely adores you for it, ngl since Loki doesn't even bother pulling tricks when you're around and when he sees you fight for humanity, he throws a huge tantrum...He still finds the rope thing hot tho...

- Zeus. He has conflicted feelings for you, he does love you but he wishes you wouldn't always go against his wishes...though he supposes thats what he gets for having your mother raise you instead of him. You show him respect but you clearly harbour bitter feelings for him betraying your trust and wanting to wipe out humanity and he understands that. It still doesn't give you the right to laugh about him with Brunhilde and he'll be sure to get you back for it.

Allies/Friends Who Trust You:

- Brunhilde is honestly a good friend of yours, I genuinely think she sees you the same way she sees Hercules but she relates to you a little more. (The Valkyries and Amazon's would have martinis on the beaches of Themyscira, fight me on that-)

- Shiva, honestly. He likes that you're strict but you can definetly be fun and silly in your own way. You honestly remind him of Rudra, who he totally tries to set you up with so because you two really have a lot in common!

- Obviously Hercules, Hermes, and Aphrodite but also: Poseidon, surprisingly...sometimes. Again, he does soften a bit when it comes to you and he wonders if you're simply stubborn and brave or stubborn and stupid. You are his favorite niece but also, the one that causes him to roll his eyes the most.

- Honestly, all of the Valkyries. When you heard about Brunhilde and her Völundr's, you knew that it was clever but also: that you couldn't just stand to let your fellow sisters in battle fall, the odds being against them. Also, the will all hug you and tackle you to the ground.

- Sasaki Kojiro is a human you take a liking too, he reminds you of a friend whose clad in all black...except he's more cheerful and happy and might have lost in life, but still: he never gives up. You admire those skills in a human and he gets all shy and flustered when you compliment him but I can totally see the both of you practicing sword fights and even moments where he beats you, which you're proud of him for doing, honestly.

- Adam. He genuinely just is the dad Zeus never was, even though you're not one of his own children, he'll fight like you are. Tbh, the only man that deserves to set foot in Themyscira and the other Amazon's would agree. Eve also gossiping with your Hippolyta in the crowd and complimenting her on raising such a wonderful daughter and they talk about mom things.

Admirers/Characters Who Have a Crush on You:

- Thor, just straight up. Since you're a fellow immortal, you two have somewhat known each other, you didn't really care much for the godly affairs so it wasn't often, but he's had the biggest crush on you. When he saw you fight so fearlessly in the crowd, those feelings came back 10 fold. Definetly wants to fight you because that's his way of flirting. Zeus and Odin 100% want to pair you two together to create an official alliance and while Thor wants you to choose him out of your own volition, he will suggest that it is a good idea.

- Jack the Ripper. HE HAS BISEXUAL PANIC BECAUSE HERCULES WAS ALREADY SOKIND TO HIM BUT YOU?? OH, YOU'RE TRULY DESERVING OF THE TITLE OF GODDESS, your color is so gorgeous; filled with such love and passion. After his battle, after he killed Hercules, he is ashamed to face you. But, amazingly, you do not look at him in disgust or shame. You kneel down and gently hold his face, you are in mourning, but you still kiss his head gently and tell him: "You fought well. Rest." and he just short circuits as you begin to carry him.

- BUDDHA, BABY. He loves how serious you are but also, that you can be pretty goofy honestly. Also loves how you stand up to Zeus constantly. Not to mention he certainly has a thing for strong women. But also, he finds your work inspiring, trying to guide humanity to a better life of enlightment. HIPPOLYTA ALSO TRYING TO SET YOU TWO UP BECAUSE SHE'S A COOL MOM AND SHE'S ALL: "You know, that Buddha has been staring at you~" and you have to be all: "MOTHER!" And he walks over to you and offers you a snack and you take it. Zeus hates him because he thinks Buddha would be a "bad influence" on you.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

A - G (Part 1)

Content : Rengoku X Fem Reader X Uzui. NSFW one shots.

A-Z prompts, part 1~

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Uzui and Rengoku are the best when it comes to aftercare. They know they've put you through it and that your body took quite the pounding since you perfectly satisfied both of them, as you always do. Even their bodies pressing against you, bringing you down from your highs as their weight and heat relaxed you made you groan in content. Rengoku is more active in aftercare, wiping you down with a cloth, getting you a glass of water, making sure you're clean and present, sometimes even bringing you some food if he feels like you're too exhausted. On nights where things get especially messy, he'll draw you a hot bath while Uzui tends to you, dropping in some soothing oils before going back to the bedroom and carrying you to said bath. Both men will get in with you, massaging and bathing you, taking care of you as you fall asleep in the comfort of their arms. Uzui was better at bringing you down to reality emotionally. He'd caress you face, whisper praises and words of affirmation as he kisses you all over. He'll stoke your hair lovingly as he looks down at you with so much adoration in his eyes, you feel like tearing up. He'll tell you how good you were, how lucky they are to have you, how you're the most stunning princess and how you please them so well. He'll lay down and bring you to his chest, big strong arms holding you tightly, the sound of his heartbeat soothing, truly feeling like he'll never let anything hurt you and you'd be right.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Uzui loves your booty. This man can't get enough of it. Whether it's a light tap as he walks by you, or a gentle squeeze as you kiss, or just holding it while he sleeps, or spanking you as he fucks into you from behind- He loves getting his hands on that ass. So plump and juicy- he sometimes uses your butt as a pillow if you happen to be relaxing while lying down on your stomach and other times, he'll just pull your pants down and bite your ass, laughing at your squeal as he leaves his teeth marks behind on your butt. He'll buy you pretty and skimpy underwear just so you can give him a show, cock hardening as he sees the way the fabric shapes your peachy butt. Uzui is very proud of his physique and honestly can't choose which part of his body is his favorite. Whether it's his height, his washboard abs, his bulging muscles, his firm pecs, thick thighs or fat cock- he's worked very hard to get the body he has and is more than thrilled that you like to worship his physique just as much as he does.

On you, Rengoku adores your tummy. Whether you have defines abs, a flat stomach, a bit of chub or a big belly, he loves your tummy. When you're alone with him and the two of you are just relaxing together, you've gotten used to your man sliding his hand underneath your clothes before gently grabbing your stomach, rubbing it sweetly. When you cuddle together, falling asleep in each other's arms, even if you start the night on Rengoku's chest, his arm around you, it will somehow end up with the man's face in your tummy, snuggling into your warmth as he wraps his arms tightly around you. Much like Uzui and your ass, he loves to kiss, bite and mark up your stomach, leaving traces of him behind. On himself he likes his arms. Muscular, defined, strong- he's caught you looking at his arms more than once and even more so when the two of you have sex, your eyes trailing up the veins popping out his skin. His arms are strong enough to vanquish the toughest of demons while also being loving enough to hold you, hugging you tightly against him in a loving embrace as you cuddle, not letting go of you even when asleep.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Both of your men cum like a faucet. Big, fat balls constantly pumping out rope after rope of cum, filling your womb up so much it seeps out. Most of the time, its hot. A few times, it's a bit of a nuisance. Like how after a quickie you don't have time to clean yourself up before you immediately need to leave on a mission so you have to try your best to not let their cum seep out of you and stain your clothes.

Or how your sheets need to be washed after every other session as it is a mess of your juices and their cum. Or if they ever choose to cum on your face in the middle of your fuck sessions you need to take a break and clean it off since there's so much of it and you can't possibly continue like that. Or when one of them cums down your throat and you try your absolute hardest to drink it down but some days it's just too much and you give up, pulling away to cough and collect yourself as the remaining cum splashes on your body- or even - on your uniform which cause quite the predicament for you.

The men would laugh as you complained about these problems but, they were sweet and considerate and tried to make things less inconvenient for you whenever they could. Like how both of them have spare uniforms in your size at their respective houses if you ever need a quick change. Or that one time Rengoku immediately got on his knees and ate his cum out of you in record speed, giving you a nice orgasm in the process, before you had to leave for a mission. Or whenever Uzui plans on making you squirt he'd lay a plastic sheet over the bed to prevent the mattress from getting dirty. They still loved to fill up your womb and your mouth and would forever be addicted to cumming on your body- but atleast they made an effort to make things more comfortable for you and it's the thought that counts.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Rengoku prides himself in being a gentleman. He has traditional values i.e. he wants to be a husband you can rely on, who will provide for you and protect you, who will treat you like the Goddess you are and who will never, ever, hurt you in any way.

But there is a dark part of him that really wants to spank your ass. And not just a playful spank he might do on occasion- he means bending you over and letting you have it.

It shocks him sometimes. All he wants to do is shower you with love, praise, affection and orgasms. He likes being rough with you, both of you enjoying the feeling but the idea of inflicting actual pain on you makes his heart drop to his stomach- but it makes his cock throb. A part of him wants to bend you over his knee, rip off your uniform to expose that pretty ass before raising his hand and spanking you silly, bring his hand down over and over again to turn your beautiful skin to a vibrant shade of red. He wants to feel you squirm beneath his hold- hear you cry out as he smacks your poor butt- tears in your pretty eyes as you beg him to forgive you for whatever naughty thing you did that week. He almost came in his pants when he saw Uzui spank you once, his comrade having no issues bending you over a table and letting you ass have it, growling some of the most nasty, degrading things to you while you sobbed underneath him, words that Rengoku would never say but- but a part of him really wanted to. If you eventually have a talk with Rengoku about how you want him to be more dominating- that you'd like him to spank you and punish you- that it's okay for him to explore this side of him with you- it's over for the both of you.

Uzui will eventually introduce you to his wives of course and while a huge part of him is possessive of you- not wanting anyone but himself and Rengoku to see how delightfully adorable and sexy you are behind closed doors- a small part of him gets turned on by the idea of you and his wives in bed together. I mean, if and when he makes you his wife, you'll have to get along with Suma, Makio and Hinatsuru anyway and what better way to bond that to have your cute, submissive body under the control of three, beautiful women? His cock grows hard at the picture of you with his wives- but his brain feels irritated as he doesn't want to share you with more people- speaking of which, Rengoku might not agree to sharing you with his wives, his opinion is important as well- plus if an orgy like situation breaks out then Uzui wouldn't want Rengoku to see his three wives naked but not having him present would also be unfair-

Ah well- he'll figure things out when the time comes.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Rengoku had one lover before you and it was a relationship that lasted awhile. They had to split ways as they were no longer as happy together as they once were but he now considers that a blessing, despite how sad the breakup made him, as it meant he could freely fall in love with you. Being the second person he's ever been with, Rengoku had to learn a few tricks during his time with you. He always had good stamina and an even better cock but as he only had experience with one other person, it took him a few tries before he really got to understand your body and what you liked and especially, which spots on and inside you got the best reaction and made your pussy gush. He wouldn't admit it but he learnt a lot from watching Uzui fuck you, his companion figuring things out much quicker than he did, and adopted some techniques to make your sex life a lot more enjoyable for the both of you. He isn't a man with a fragile ego, always willing and even eager to hear your thoughts on how he can better please you, and making sure he acts on your remarks next time.

Uzui- I mean come on- the man has three wives and has enough experience in the bedroom than a room full of men combined. He is well versed in the act of lovemaking and knows very well that everyone's body is different and that there are a few tricks to easily figuring out what works for whom. It barely took him a few seconds to find you g-spot when he first fingered you, curling his digits inside you just right and snickering into your skin when he heard your delicious welp and felt you tighten around him, quickly realizing that you were a sensitive little thing and he couldn't wait to play with you. It gave him quite the ego boost when he realized Rengoku was studying his techniques, the flame pillar not as subtle as he hopes he was, as Uzui brought orgasm after orgasm out of your pretty, subby body.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Rengoku's favorite position is the mating press <3 the man loves folding you in half, his biceps bulging as he presses the back of your knees against your chest, cock ramming into your cunt vigorously. He loves everything about it: He has a view of your pretty face, cheeks flushed, lips kissed red and eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cock hits all the perfect spots. Your tits look delectable in that position, squished between your legs, making them look more plump and delicious. It's also a comfortable position to give your sweet ass a spank or two if he so desires. But of course, best of all, it's a great position to drive his cock deep, deep inside you to fill your womb with his cum~

Uzui's favorite is prone bone. With his size kink- loving how huge he is compared to you- he finds it so hot when he gets you to lie flat on the bed with him lying flat on top of you, cock fucking deep into your pussy. With your height difference, your face gets buried into the mattress by his chest, the man literally laughing above you, your head underneath his chin. You're a strong woman and he knows you can take it, but he needs to remind himself to be careful to not crush you even as your perfect velvet pussy milks his cock so wonderfully. He loves having you under his mercy and what better way to do that than by pushing you down with his hulking body? You'd never admit it, but Uzui knows you also get off on the size kink, addicted to his muscular body taking you in every which way.

When they both fuck you simultaneously, their favorite position is to spit roast you, one man down your throat while the other is fucking your pussy. Whether it's throat fucking you in an attempt to cum in your mouth or to simply get cock-warmed while they wait for the other man to finish fucking your pussy- your mouth is just as addicting as your cunt, your jaw always sore by the end of the night from sucking cocks. They have been training your ass slowly to one day take their dicks- gradually increasing the stretch night by night. First it's a finger- then two- then three- then a plug- then a plug they make you wear the whole day and on and on and on. Eventually, when you get to a point where you can take both their cocks at once, one in your pussy and the other in your ass, no doubt, that will become their new favorite position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It's a mix of both but Rengoku is definitely the more serious type. He likes to give you his full, undivided attention and only focus on making love and fucking your brains out. And with his desire to put a baby in you, it makes for a lot of passionate fucking with little room to goof around.

Uzui is a bit less serious, although not one you'd call humorous. He does finds humor in the sex and will sometimes laugh when he makes you cry on his cock, or your expression when your eyes roll to the back of your head when you try to deep throat him or the way you babble and plead, all cock drunk and fucked out when he pulls another orgasm out of you. He just enjoys sex and depending on his mood, he'll either be really into it or he'll put his hands behind his head and relax, challenging you to take the lead once in awhile.

[fluffysucker]

Battered and Bruising.

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

You received a distressing phone call.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Also I'm very bad at describing places. Please forgive me. Hope it's clear to picture.

Main Masterlist

You couldn't sit still. You kept squirming and fuzzing in the taxi's seat. You were sure the driver was giving you dirty looks, afraid you would wear down the material of his vehicle. But you couldn't care. You were close to biting your nails off. You were so worried. Anxiety filling your body like the darkness of the sky at midnight. Tension running through your muscles and veins like water in oceans.

It was supposed to be a normal day. just like any other.

You woke up to the feeling of soft kisses on your neck and strong arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you closer than you were already. Sweet words filling your ears with your boyfriend's sleepy voice.

You lived for mornings like this, which is why you wouldn't be able to recall the last time you woke up alone in bed. It was either your place or his. A drawer in each of your dressers is now officially dedicated to the other's stuff. Pieces of each of you were spread at each other's homes. Because you became each other's home. Bucky was itching to ask you to move in together, but he was waiting for the right time.

After the blissful morning you shared together at Bucky's place with breakfast and your joint getting-ready routine, you left to start the day. It was a big bonus that both of your workplaces were separated by a wall. It gave you both a lot more time to spend together. Not only did you get to arrive and leave together, but you also got the chance to sneak in and see each other whenever you liked. You were lucky.

The minute you stepped in, you had so many things to do. Customers were following your tail as you walked in. Your business was growing, and you could never complain. As the day carried on, you got busier and busier. However, that didn't stop you from checking the time every now and then, so you didn't miss it. You would be sad if you did.

So when it reached five o'clock, you were throwing your apron off and leaving the restaurant. Ten minutes wouldn't hurt anybody.

You opened the gym's door and greeted MJ, who will be taking on the receptionist role since Peter was going with them tonight. You reminded yourself to stop by and drop off some food for her in a couple of hours. Maybe even a dessert.

Once you walked into the main area, your eyes were scanning the place for the person you came for.

"He is the locker room." You turned around as you heard Sam's voice.

"We could have left an hour early, but he refused. I wonder why." The smirk on Sam's face was big. Of course, he knew why Bucky didn't want to leave earlier than he told you.

"Have a good day, Sam." You walked towards the locker room with a smile on your face.

Bucky and the others had their own locker rooms other than the ones for the regular gym attendees. It was the one in the very back. Bucky chose it for privacy reasons. And since you got together, he had been enjoying this choice more and more.

As you were about to knock on the door, it was opened by Steve, who was walking out. A smirk, just like Sam's, found its place on his face as he saw you. Both men enjoyed watching their best friend being so head over heels in love, who was making them all wait for you because he never wanted to see the somber look on your face like he saw it once when he left before you stopped by. Never again. Everything could wait for you.

Steve stepped aside, letting you get in, and closed the door to give you both the time you needed.

Your boyfriend had his back to you as he was zipping up his duffle bag. But your sugary perfume and the smell of hours of cooking made him turn around. He would never miss your unique scent. the one that put him at ease and soothed his being.

"Hey, princess." He started walking towards you, and you met in the middle.

"Hey, you." You wrapped your arms around his neck and reached up to give him a peck on the lips.

"All ready?" You asked, keeping your arms around him.

"Yeah. Did the final training. Had a shower. Got everything I needed. We are ready to go." His arms were around your waist now.

"You are going to be so great. You are always the best." You gave him another peck.

"Just want one last thing." You looked at him, ready to help with whatever he needed.

"My good luck." Bucky easily lifted you up of your feet, kissing you passionately.

This is your routine now. Whenever Bucky had a fight, you would show up and wish him good luck before he left. He hadn't lost one since.

You were happy with this routine. Bucky was still strongly against you ever watching him fight; while you disagreed, you knew it was his choice, and you respected that. So you enjoyed whatever he gave you.

In return, Bucky let you in more. He brought you to some of the team gatherings and hangouts. He wasn't surprised when your sweet self managed to win all his friends over. They loved you. Who could ever meet you and not love you? Bucky certainly wasn't the one to answer this. And you loved them. Your ability and capacity to love everyone didn't exclude the rough people he thought of as family.

While he refused to let you anywhere near the brutality he called a job, Bucky learned to compromise. So he started opening up. He started telling you about his days, fights, and sometimes opponents more. He knew you worried a lot about him and about the stuff he never shared. So he was trying to find common ground. And if wishing him good luck before every fight was going to put your mind in the littlest of ease, Bucky could do that.

And that was the last time you saw him for the day.

Bucky told you pits and pieces about his opponent today, but nothing much. All you knew was that Bucky was training hard, and he spent lots of late nights at the gym. Some nights, you would close your restaurant and then join him and watch as he trained. Any support you could provide him with, you weren't going to hesitate. even as little as keeping his company.

Your worry about his well-being during the fights was growing each time. It grew with your love for him. And you were madly in love with him.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, letting your emotions under control while you went from recipe to recipe and from dish to dish as you waited for Bucky's text.

Another thing Bucky picked up doing to help ease your nerves was texting you right after the fight. Usually, he would tell me that he was fine and what he was doing after. Whether he was staying and going to Nat's bar or coming back to you, You only joined them in the after-fight victory parties a number of times. Usually, only when the fights were easy. Because parties after big fights weren't just for the team. There would be lots of outsiders, other boxers, and teams. You knew Bucky wouldn't be comfortable if you were there.

So you waited for him. He preferred your place after these kinds of days. You would have a meal ready in the fridge for reheating. The bathroom would be filled with soap and water. Clean, silky-smooth sheets would be in place, covering the bed. everything to help him relax. And you checked on everything before you left for his place last night.

The only thing you had to do now was wait for his text.

But it never came. Instead, you received a very distressing phone call.

That was what led you to where you are right now. Your mind racing, your knuckles white around your bag, and your leg bouncing up and down in the backseat of the taxi.

Stark's property was huge. You couldn't miss it, even if you wanted to. It made sense why it would be so deep into the city. It took a very large space that only such locations offered. The street was all dark except for the neon lights with the name Stark above the entrance. Other than that, it was nearly black.

You were able to work out the figure standing under the lights right next to the entrance. He was pacing back and forth on the pavement. You paid the driver once he stopped as you got out of the cab.

"Peter, what is going on?" With quick steps, you were standing right in front of the young man.

"Is he okay?" The slight shake in your voice was obvious. The question had been haunting you ever since Peter called and didn't answer it the first time.

"Yes," Peter replied, already seeing the worry all over your face.

"Physically, at least." Peter continued. Because if Bucky was okay, why were you here?

Before you could ask any more questions, Peter led you in. The bouncers at the door let you in immediately as they saw Peter. The inside of the place was nothing like the outside. It was loud, bright, and full of people. There were small food trucks, side bars, merchandise stations, and everything. You could see different kinds of sports and entertainment exercises scattered all over the place, with people around. However, the main area of the property was occupied by a huge boxing ring. It had the most people around it. There are lots of people.

You couldn't inspect more of the place as Peter was rushing the both of you to the back area. It was very clear since you got in here that you didn't belong at all. Your choice of outfit and aura were making you stand out among the sea of people. Peter put his hand around the small of your back, respectively, to guide you through the place. He was trying to get you inside as fast as possible. He wasn't as intimidating as Bucky or some of the others. And if anything happened to you, even as little as a snarky comment, Peter couldn't imagine the wrath he would have to endure. To say Peter was panicking would be an understatement.

The breath of relief Peter let out as you entered the back area was audible. The back area was similar to the one in the gym but much larger and busier. Peter led you to the one room in the back, which you suspected was the largest in the place. He opened the door for you, and you had to close your eyes for a second from the contrast of the lightning. The back area was dimly lit, while the locker room was bright white. You got used to the lights, then looked around to find everybody in here.

As Peter walked you in, you could feel the high tension in the room. The first thing that caught your eye was bleeding Peter Quill and Thor. You didn't know Peter Quill that well; you only met him when you met the team and never passed the greetings stage, but you were more familiar and friendly with Thor. And the sight of both big men holding their noses to stop the bleeding, with bruises forming on their faces, was troubling. Lots of the others were trying to help them.

Only did you take your eyes away when Peter kept moving further into the room until you noticed the small room separated from the big one with a door. You found Sam and Bruce talking beside the door. Peter came to a stop when you reached both men.

"Thank God you are here." Sam spoke quickly as he laid eyes on you.

"Sam, what is going on?" Up to now, you had no idea why you were here. Peter rushed you in and then brought you here with no explanation. You could feel your nerves starting to burn from anxiety.

Before Sam could say anything, a sound of something breaking coming from behind the door rang through the place. You shared eye contact with Sam for seconds, and you started to form an idea about what was happening.

You stepped towards Sam, indicating that you wanted to get inside. Sam looked at you, and you gave him a nod to assure him, and he nodded back. Sam turned and knocked on the door.

You flinched, from surprise, as your boyfriend's angry voice echoed around, shouting that he didn't want to see anyone.

However, the door was unlocked, and Steve stood in the doorframe. You couldn't read the hard expression on his face. But his eyebrows softened slightly when he saw you.

The shouting from your boyfriend made everyone wince in their places. You stepped forward to take Sam's place and stood in front of Steve, determination in your eyes.

Steve signed before he moved aside to let you in, closing the door with the three of you.

The room was small. You thought maybe it was for medical purposes, if needed. But you didn't have the time or mind to pay any attention to your new surroundings.

Your boyfriend was sitting on a chair, his head in his hands, grabbing his hair tightly between his fingers, and his breath was short and angry. Brokrn stuff and objects were scattered all around the room.

"Bucky." You called for him softly to make your presence known.

His head shot up. His eyes were red, bruises were all over his face, and his breath got angrier.

"You called her?" His voice was quiet, but it was deep, hiding many emotions.

"You called my girl?" He stood up, keeping his eyes on Steve, not looking at you at all.

"You brought my girl here?" His breath was getting shorter, with every word coming out as a growl.

"Bucky.." You tried to speak and find the right words to say so it wouldn't escalate.

"You made her come here all by herself and walk in here?" He started walking towards you and Steve.

"YOU BROUGHT HER HERE TONIGHT." Bucky shouted, his angry voice ringing in the small room.

Out of instinct, Steve stepped forward to stand in front of Bucky, keeping you behind him.

That seemed to snap Bucky out of the spell he was in. His red eyes are now coated with hurt. His breath stopped for a moment. Frozen in his place, he couldn't help but think of it. Did Steve think he would hurt you? Did Steve think he needed to protect you from him? Did Steve think that even in this state, he would cause you any harm?

It felt like a knife driven deep into his heart. Betrayal from his best friend, who brought you here against all his wishes, and then thought you needed a shield to be in the same room with him.

But no, that wasn't why Steve did it. He didn't want you to see Bucky lose his temper like he did numerous times tonight. Steve couldn't remember whose idea it was to call you, but he could remember the collective agreement that approved of the suggestion. All aware of the effect you have on the boxer. So Steve expected, like the others, that once you walked in and his best friend saw you, all the insanity that was tonight would come to an end.

But Steve should have known better. Bringing you in here would only make Bucky madder, and you would get to see a version of your boyfriend that Bucky tried so hard to keep from you. Steve regretted agreeing to bring you here.

The tension in the room got thicker. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the three of you. You weren't able to see the look on Steve's face, but Bucky's expression was crystal clear.

"Steve, can you give us a minute?" You stepped away from behind Steve, so you could be in Bucky's eyesight.

Steve turned to you with an unsure look on his face, and you immediately rubbed his shoulder to assure him you knew what you were doing.

Steve nodded and left the room silently. Now, it was just the two of you.

While Bucky looked anywhere but you, his eyes moving all over the room, you finally got to look at him. He was in a pair of black sweatpants, his chest left bare, making all the bruises and cuts on his upper body exposed to your eyes.

You signed, your heart breaking at the sight of your boyfriend battered like this. But it wasn't his physical pain that you were only worried about.

Bucky's eyes finally moved to look at you as you put your bag on the nearest table and started to move around, looking for something.

Bucky was confused. He wanted to ask you what you were doing, but he couldn't find it in himself to talk to you. Too many emotions are tormenting him.

Your little, quiet squeals told him you found what you wanted. You moved towards him with the first-aid kit in hand.

You grabbed the closest chair and positioned it in front of the chair, which Bucky was previously sitting on, and pulled a small table closer as well, where you put the first aid kit and started to empty its contents.

"You will catch lots of infections if you don't get the wounds clean." You spoke when you noticed that Bucky was standing still in his place.

"And God knows you become a big baby when you get sick." You joked. You tried to lighten the mood. to tell him that you were here to help. You weren't judging him. You would never judge him.

And he heard you. So, he came and sat back in the chair in front of you. This time, he sat with his back straight so you could patch him up.

You sat in silence, but there was so much hanging in the air between you. You didn't want to push him. You knew he would start talking when he felt ready.

"Who called you?" And he did.

"Does it matter?" You didn't look at him, sticking to cleaning his wounds.

"To me, yes." He regretted raising his voice immediately, even when you didn't move.

"You shouldn't be here." He continued when he knew he wouldn't get an answer from you.

"But I am." You looked up at him.

"And I want to." Finally, your eyes have met since you got here.

"Don't you see it? the damage I'm capable of doing. the chaos I can create. the pain I put others through. The mess I am."

Today's game was cruel, to say the least. Bucky's opponent played dirty. So dirty, that wasn't against the rules. Because this was never mentioned in any rule book. Mental hits.

Bucky's opponent not only studied Bucky's style and techniques so well, but he did some research as well. So, he would be able to defeat Bucky's strength. And he did.

The second he knew Bucky was winning, he ran his mouth nonstop. He brought up stuff that should never again be brought into the ring. Family stuff. Bucky's life before boxing, the team and their families.

It was shocking. Bucky almost lost his footing once or twice. Was this allowed? Well, it wasn't prohibited. Bucky tried to keep his head straight and not focus on the words coming from the man in front of him. However, it was getting harder and harder as the man kept getting more personal.

Until his opponent mentioned your restaurant's name, Every little drop of blood in Bucky's body ran cold. The noise around him became an annoying ring in his ears. And the opponent took his chance and started landing his punches.

Bucky was trying to regain his composure, but the man's words and punches didn't stop. He was talking nonsense about your restaurant, but he made a mistake that he never estimated.

"I heard you got soft because of that place and wanted to know why. I will tell you what. I would go soft for an adorable thing like her. What a shame that you are the only one who gets to ruin her."

That was the nail in the man's coffin.

Bucky was unstoppable. A monster. a beast with no restraints. You weren't a subject to bring into such a rotten place, and that man was going to pay for even thinking you could be involved in this circus.

Bucky only stopped when he heard the whistle and the referee breaking them apart. Bucky knew that if he didn't stop, he would have to face a penalty of sorts. So he did. But the mental troll has already happened.

The team was taken aback by Bucky's actions once they got out of the lights. They saw him angry after fights before. But this was different. He had lost his mind, and he wasn't willing to talk or tell anybody what happened. And he was getting worse by the second that they had to lock him in the medical room so nobody more would get hurt. They had no clue what to do.

And desperate times call for desperate measures.

So here he was, shame and guilt eating him as you were, once again, showing him kindness he had never encountered before.

"I never wanted you to see that."

"I didn't want you to think that I could hurt you."

"Bucky.."

"I would never hurt you, I swear."

His voice got smaller with each word. It was why he never wanted you anywhere near this. so you wouldn't get scared and run away. So you wouldn't see what he looked like when he lost control. And today, he did, and you saw it.

The opponent's voice is still ringing in his ears. He was ruining you. Everyone could see it. You being here just proved it. Because if it hadn't been for him, you would have never stepped a foot in here. Maybe he was already hurting you.

"Bucky." Tears were starting to form in your eyes. You put the stuff down and put your hand on his cheek.

"You can never hurt me. Never."

It was painful to hear the person who became your source of safety and security, the one you relied on the most, think like this.

"The only person you are hurting is yourself, and I can't stand by and watch." It was time you told him the truth.

"You need to stop living these two versions of yourself. You need to stop hiding from me."

"I love you, Bucky. I love you more than I have loved anything in my life. I knew who you were when we met, and it didn't change anything. I still got to fall in love with you."

"Nothing you do is going to change that. I know you think that I won't be able to handle it, but I will, and I want to know. all of it. Everything."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide parts of yourself from me. like you have to be someone else. I love everything about you and everything that made you."

"I want you to be able to share stuff and talk about your day freely without thinking too much about it, without keeping parts that you think I won't like."

"I want to sit in the front row and cheer for my boyfriend as he beats people up. I want to get to brag about my strong man." That brought a small laugh from the both of you.

"Nothing is ever going to make me leave or hate you. Nothing. So whatever you think is going to drive me away, it won't. Never."

You meant every word you said. You didn't want to be in a one-sided relationship where Bucky felt like he couldn't be himself. No, you wanted to be his safe place. You wanted to be the person he came to, and poured his heart out. You wanted to take care of him. You wanted him to let you love him. all of him.

"I love you so much that I won't care if you turn out to be a secret assassin."

"You won't?"

"I will bring you the knives in the kitchens."

Bucky thought he couldn't fall in love with you more than he already was. But he was wrong.

Bucky could feel his eyes getting glassy. All his fears weren't real. You weren't going to run away and leave him. You wanted to do the thing he believed he could never have. You wanted to share his life with him. You were giving him something nobody ever allowed him. to be himself openly.

Bucky never thought he had good luck. It turned out he had all the good luck in you. And he couldn't be happier.

Bucky was glad they called you.

[hangeswif3]

PLEASE PART 2 OF RINDOS PREGNANT WIFE 🙏

Nerve wreck

Pairing: Rindou Haitani x pregnant!reader

Warning: pregnancy, strong language, the Haitani brothers are a warning by themselves.

Note: a bit more lore into pregnant!reader and Rin. My bf and I just broke up so this might be either good or bad.

U know the drill, English is not my first language so pls be nice. I love u all and thank u for reading, x.

You were walking around the house, cleaning a little bit. Trying to stay active was kinda difficult when every time you did something Rindou insisted on you resting. You didn’t complain though, you were being so spoiled that every time you wanted something he would run and get it for you.

It had been 3 weeks since the incident with his “co-workers.” You had had a big conversation about that, but ultimately you weren’t opposed to meet the people he spends most of his time with, you knew they were dangerous but so was your boyfriend, and he could keep you safe. Now he was out again, it was already nighttime but you couldn’t sleep so you got up and started to clean a little and move stuff around.

You were carrying a lamp around trying to figure out were to put it when you felt an excruciating pain in your belly, it was so strong that made you drop the lamp and cause it to shatter on the floor. You grabbed your belly and sat down, trying to breathe. 10 minutes passed when you felt the pain again, something wasn’t right.

You reached for your phone as you could and try to dial your boyfriend’s number. The pain was so strong that was causing you to have trouble breathing.

-

Rindou was in the car with Sanzu and Ran, Mikey had instructed them to follow around some gang members all day, to try and get some more information on their plans.

“Man, this idiots are dumb as fuck if they don’t know by now they’re being followed.” Said Sanzu, clearly annoyed by the task. “It’s not like we’re the most discreet fucking people.”

It was true though, they weren’t even trying to be discreet. They just wanted an excuse to kill them and get this over with.

But to be fair, the men were pretty stupid.

Ran was telling Sanzu how it would be better if he didn’t have bright pink hair, but Rindou just zoned out for a moment, his phone was vibrating in his pocket and he really had no idea who might be. The only people that called him to his personal phone were you and Ran, and half of those people were with him right now.

He couldn’t help the weird feeling in his chest when he saw your name on the screen, you never called him when he was working. So it had to be an emergency.

Without a second thought he responded.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he said, earning Ran’s attention, who shushed Sanzu and stared at his brother to try and understand what was going on.

“No, I… agh… the baby…” you said, barely able to talk. “There’s something wrong, Rin.”

“I…it’s okay… I’ll be there” Rindou wasn’t finding his words. He was feeling the most scared he had ever felt in his life. “We’ll be there.”

He looked at his brother, and his look of utter panic made him realize what was happening.

It was you.

“Stop the car.” Ran said, and Sanzu did it without a word, sensing the tension.

“Rindou, I’m scared.” You said almost crying.

“I-I’ll be there.” Stuttered Rindou, he could feel his heart pounding and his voice shaking.

Ran was noticing how scared his brother was, he was listening to the conversation so he grabbed the phone.

“Hey princess, it’s me.” He said with the calmest voice he could find.

“R-Ran?”

“The one and only” he said smiling “now, I know you’re scared but everything’s gonna be okay, alright? I need you to breathe for me and be ready at the front door okay? We’ll be there in 5.”

“O-okay, in 5” you repeated, trying to breathe.

“Yes, good girl. See you in a bit” was all he said before hanging up.

Ran turned to his brother.

“Man, you have to calm down.” He said serious.

“We have to go, I’ll drive.” Rindou said, trying to get out of the car.

“Hell no, you’re gonna kill us all.” Sanzu said from the drivers seat. “I’ll drive.”

He looked at Ran from the mirror and he only nodded, signaling Sanzu to start driving.

Sanzu remembered very well the was to Rindou’s girl’s house. He was driving as fast as he could (which was very fast for Sanzu), ignoring all the traffic signs and earning a bunch of honks and insults from other drivers. He was a surprisingly good driver.

The arrived at the house in a time record. Rindou got out of the car immediately and went to get you.

You were waiting at the front door, like Ran said. You were sitting on the floor holding your belly. You were crying but trying to appear brave.

Rindou tried his best to look calm for you. He helped you get up carefully and led you to the car.

“Are you okay?” He asked, once you were sitting by Ran.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” You said, wincing from the pain.

“Let’s go” Rindou said and Sanzu started to drive as fast as he could but trying to be more careful.

Sanzu looked concentrated, for once, he wasn’t playing around.

The whole way to the hospital Rindou was trying to calm you down (and calm himself down as well) by giving you words of affirmation and rubbing your belly.

You arrived at the hospital and Ran was the first to get out, running to get a wheelchair. Rindou helped you get out of the car and get inside.

“She’s almost seven months pregnant, and is in a lot pf pain.” Rindou said hurriedly to the lady at the front desk.

A nurse quickly got you into a room to get checked out. Rindou was with you the whole time, holding your hand. By now you were fully crying, you were so scared.

“Well, let’s listen to the heart.” The doctor said, placing the medical instrument in your belly and listening carefully. “Sounds like everything’s okay here.” He said.

He ran some tests and finally got the ultrasound machine to take a look of the baby.

You were still holding Rindou’s hand, you were calmer now, but still nervous.

“Looks like everything’s okay with your baby.” He said.

Both you and Rindou seemed to be able to breathe once again. He smiled and kissed your forehead.

“So, everything’s okay?” Rindou asked.

“Yes, the pain she was experiencing are regular cramps. Many pregnant woman feel them through their pregnancies, but looks like your little girl is nice and healthy.” The doctor said.

“Girl?” You asked.

“Oh, you didn’t know?”

“We decided to wait but, you’re telling us we’re having a girl?” You said, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Im so sorry” said the doctor “but congratulations. I’ll leave you too alone now”

When the doctor left you and Rindou looked at each other.

“I guess we’re having a girl.” He said.

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

He smiled and kissed you.

Rindou left you in the room so you could change and he could tell Ran that everything was okay.

“Im having a girl.” Was the first thing he said to him.

Ran immediately knew that everything was fine.

“Hell yeah, I knew it!” He said before Rindou started explaining everything that happened.

Sanzu, who had been sitting by himself in the waiting room, finally decided to approach them.

“So, is she okay?” He said, trying to look like he wasn’t worried.

Rindou looked at him, surprised.

“Yeah, she’s okay.” He said, and Sanzu nodded. “Thank you for the, uh, ride.”

“Yeah, don’t even mention it.”

Both men stayed quiet for a while. Until you came out of the room, going directly to Sanzu.

“Thank you for everything, mister Haruchiyo.” You said, placing a small kiss on his cheek.

Sanzu stayed still, his face turning pink. Ran laughed at him while Rindou rolled his eyes, you took your boyfriends hand and walked to the front door.

“Our girl’s gonna have an amazing family.” You said, smiling.

[thedreamlessnights]

Ranking the BG3 Companions

Recently finished the epilogue and wanted to give my final opinions ❤️

#1.) Astarion: A murder-hungry vampire out for revenge; a constant mask of seduction covering a traumatic past. Someone who slowly grows to trust you over time, and opens up to you. Is it any surprise I love him? He’s complex, layered, and has so much growth if given the chance. I love him.

#1.) Gale: What can I say? Men with brown hair and big brown eyes are my weakness. Gale is socially-awkward but so charming, full of dry humor, and ridiculously endearing. I mean, he cooks for you. He has a pet tressym and writes poetry. He has the most over-complicated revival I’ve ever seen. I can and will kill Mystra for him. I love him.

#1.) Halsin: My dream man. He’s incredibly respectful, extremely communicative, and kind. He whittles ducks, for god’s sake - and can transform into a giant bear to cuddle with. He’s passionate, very unsubtle about his feelings, and wants to make the world a better place. I love him.

#1.) Jaheira: First of all, she’s a MILF. Second of all, she has the greatest sense of humor. I’ve called her old so many times because she genuinely finds it hilarious. She even gives approvals for that! She may hate being wrong, but if you’re honest with her, she will admit and amend her mistakes. I love her.

#1.) Karlach: Of course she’s #1. Have you seen her? She’s a tiefling golden retriever, and she’s so much more than that. She is fierce, strong, and kind, even in the shittiest of scenarios. She hardened herself to survive what she went through, but she still seeks out joy. She could lift me over her shoulder and carry me to safety <3 I would give her the world. I love her.

#1.) Lae’zel: So many people misunderstand Lae’zel because they never put in any effort to get to know her, and it breaks my heart. She starts off the game terrified. She tries with all her might to get you and the camp to the only cure she knows. She is smart, well-disciplined, and grows so much if you just give her a chance. I love her.

#1.) Minsc: Minsc is perfect. He’s always trying his best. He has a miniature giant space hamster that he always carries around and both trusts and respects like no other. He’s thoughtful, brave, and an excellent fighter. Look in the dictionary for the word ‘himbo,’ it’ll be a picture of Minsc. I love him.

#1.) Shadowheart: Shadowheart is so good to her core that Shar had to essentially put an ‘only evil thoughts’ shock collar on her. She’s incredibly sweet, loves animals, and hates needless cruelty even after all that brainwashing. She’s god’s favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. I can and will kill Shar for her. I love her.

#1.) Wyll: Not only does he have the best entrance in the game, but he’s the pure definition of a charming hero. Wyll is passionate and constantly determined despite the odds and despite the circumstances. He has a cheesy pose he does every time he says his hero name. He’s unexpectedly snarky. He’s a true romantic, and even dances with you. I can and will kill Mizora for him. I love him.

[juppl]

𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

A Silver x F!Reader Tale (High Fantasy AU) |Prologue| |Part 1| |Part 2|

Prologue

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Another hot summer’s night graced the Queendom of Roses as a bustling street of music and laughter filled the air in celebration of a wealthy merchant’s return. A loud booming laugh rung through the tavern walls as men and women clinked glasses after just finishing another round of booze. “A good haul—best haul if I do say so myself!” A drunken man cheered as I he wrapped his arm around a tavern girl’s waist. “Aye! How could you call it that, this is an absolute blessing. After this trade, our descendants will be knee deep in our own riches to come!” A rowdy woman chimed in as she playfully nudged the man.

“Exactly! That’s why we can’t just stop here, we’ll travel even further! To the Shaftlands even!” A large bearded man exclaimed as he excitedly pointed to his map that had been laid crossed the table. The group of merchants and townsfolk cheered happily at the thought of even more possible wealth to come their way.

“YEAH!!”

“Yeah..!” A small shout interrupted their celebration causing them to glance around for the source. “Think of all the treasure we could find at the Coral Sea too—!” The childlike voice chimed again, small hands desperately reaching towards the top of the table to help the young girl up, this drawing the attention of the now surprised drunken folk. “(Y-Y/n)?!” The bearded man yelped before hastily scooping the little girl up and away from any drops of alcohol.

“Hey! I wanna look too!” You fussed as you began to repetitively beat at the old man’s arms and chest. A string of groans and laughs could be heard from behind as you were carried away up the tavern stairs. “Learn to keep her away from the adults.” “Be a better father why don’t’ya and keep a better eye on her!” They laughed and teased before returning back to their drinking and crude activities.

“Damn it (Y/n) what did I tell you about leaving your room past your bedtime—why aren’t you sleeping at your bedtime?!”

“I wanna be a pirate just like you! Argh Argh Argh!” You laughed maniacally as you jumped onto your bed while throwing your pillow at your father. He only sighed tiredly in response as he shoved the pillow back your way, knocking your small frame down easily. “I’m not a pirate I told you. I’m a merchant, they’re two different things little one.” “Nope!” You bounced back up again. “Daddy! I wanna go travel with you and get rich too! I wanna see the worldddd with you daddy!” You outstretched your arms to exaggerate the subject, causing you to fall back onto the bed.

The large man could only laugh at your antics, scooping you back up to toss you in the air. “Is that right? My strong little girl wants to become a merchant just like her father!” He happily shouted as he brought you back down to hug tightly. “But being a merchant is hard work, why not stay here at the tavern and help your mother. She needs her little knight to protect her from all the bad men when I’m gone for work.” He sighed as he began to tuck you in for bed for the second time tonight. But to his dismay, you jumped up again, banging your head against his in annoyance. “Oof—!!”

“I don’t wanna be a knight!! I’m not a boy! I wanna be a rich princess in a big castle with lots of food!” You exclaimed as your hands shot up assertively. Your father only hissed in pain, before trying to calm your restless attitude once again. “Not all knights are men you know, some are really strong women as well—“ “But I want to be a princess!” You shot back angrily before being forcefully tucked back into bed… again. “Yes yes, a princess. My strong, beautiful, princess. But to be a strong and beautiful princess, you’ll need all of your energy for the days to come. So, why don’t you head to bed so you can wake up in time for your mother’s big breakfast okay?” You simply nodded, growing a bit more tired as your eyes were feeling heavier with each passing second that went by.

This was alright, you’d get to see that pretty girl in your dreams anyways so it was a win-win in your opinion. Going to bed to see your best friend then waking up to be a rich princess was all you could ask for. Soon, you allowed your consciousness to drift away into your familiar dreamland. “Goodnight little one.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

“Princess!” You shouted as you ran towards the young (girl?) inside your dreams. Your small hands took hers in their own. “I missed you! Today my daddy got a lot of money from his work so now we’re gonna be rich!” You exclaimed as you basically bounced in joy. The other little child could only smile awkwardly at your rather eccentric behavior. “Um, that’s nice I suppose. B-But why am I princess?” They asked in a soft tone that seemed a bit shy. You only blinked in response momentarily before clasping their hands tightly.

“Because you’re as pretty as one! And all girls should be princesses because they all deserve to be happy and rich. Especially you, because you’re my best friend!” You happily shouted as you danced with their hands in your own still. A small rosy tint enveloped their cheeks at your explanation as they tried to keep up with your movements. “I-I’m not a girl though…” They whimpered out shyly almost seeming to be embarrassed by admitting the fact of their gender. This leaving you stunned and absolutely shell shocked.

“You’re not a girl!? B-But you’re so pretty! Look at your pretty long silver hair! And your pretty eyes! And you’re shorter than me too!” You frantically tried to make reason of the situation, mostly to yourself. Now knowing that your dream friend that you’ve been seeing for a while was in fact NOT another little girl left you embarrassed yourself. The little boy huffed at your reasonings and swatted your hands away, “my hair isn’t that much longer than yours, a-and my father says that I’ll grow up to be a strong young man that’ll be taller than him!” You scoffed at his claims, thinking it impossible on how this short boy could ever surpass your own height now. “Yeah right! You’re as dainty as a girl, calling you princess wouldn’t be a stretch even if you are a boy.” You teased which cause him to flare his cheeks up a bit. “Yeah well at least I’m closer to being one than you! You look and act even more like a boy than me! No way you could be a princess.” He huffed in response, little to his knowledge this shattered your world and sent you into a downwards spiral…

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

“(Y/n)!! Come down and help me, stop hiding away in your room so late in the morning!” Your mother called out for you as she tried to handle the busy tavern’s morning rush. You begrudgingly dragged your feet down the steps, earning a few laughs and teasing comments at your drowsy state. “If it isn’t sleeping beauty, or might I say sleeping burly with how much of a man you’re looking today.” Your older aunt Rosemary cackled at her own joke, as if finding herself the most amusing thing around here. “Leave her be, you’re just going to upset her already tired mood.” Your mother frowned as she bumped her sister with her hip while she passed by. “Yeah when are you going to stop with the man jokes, don’t you know they get old after the first three times?” You grumbled back as you grabbed at any random booze you spotted first.

“Really?! Drinking this early? You haven’t even eaten anything yet!” Your mother howled in disbelief, clutching her heart as if she were in pain. She was always one for the dramatics, but caring nonetheless. “It’s fine, I’m just a little hot. Need something to cool me off.” But to your dismay, the bottle was snatched right from your fingertips leading to a long sigh. “Alright alright, I’m eating see. Bread, in my hands.” You said tiredly as you grabbed at a slice of toast from your aunt’s plate. “Good, then help me take some orders. Customers are coming in by the minute.” You responded with a hum as you took more off of your aunt’s plate, not as if it mattered to how she paid more attention to her mug of booze. “Best get to cleaning too, I’ve seen that one hogging that table as a bed for quite some time.” Aunt Rose gestured towards a small table that was surprisingly occupied by only one man. Poor thing probably already got robbed by now.

After scarfing down one last egg, you tied your apron tighter around your waist before making your way towards him. “Hey we don’t give naps for free, you want a bed you gotta pay for one.” You scoffed as you nudged him with the end of a broom. To no avail did he seem to wake up or stir though, weird, was he dead? Curious, you gently rolled him to the side a bit before jumping back from a startled yelp. The cloaked man that was once sleeping jolted violently from his slumber and yelped in surprise from being moved so suddenly. His shocked aurora eyes meeting yours in the process. You thought they were… pretty?

[justmeinadaze]

Thinkin bout that sure, strong Steve with the baseball bat rn.

What if reader had a scary encounter on her way home and big strong Steve came to the rescue 👀

I changed this around a bit. I hope that ok. Stevie is still being protective with his bat though <3.

Watch A Few Movies, Take A Few Notes

Warnings: Reader gets hurt and Steve saves the day; they are shooting a Scream-esc scene so there's that

Word Count: 1965

Followup to this request

“C-Carter?”, you squeak as you step out of the bedroom and look down the hallway. Everything in the house is silent. “Carter!”

“Nina?”, James asks groggily before seeing your worried face and throwing off the blanket to come check on you. “What’s wrong?”

“Carter heard a noise and went to check it out. H-H-He hasn’t come back, James.”

As you cry he wraps his arms around you and holds you to his chest. 

“Fucking idiot. Always has to play hero. You were right you know? Sometimes that man leads dick first before using his fucking brain.”

You stiffen in his hold before taking a step back as your wide eyes meet his.

“What?”

“I never told you that. I said it to Rose when we were hanging out before she…”

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a heavy exhale. 

“Fuck. I was really hoping you’d be the one to make it through this.”

As the metalhead lunges forward, you hastily slide out of his way and run down the stairs as fast as your feet can carry you. 

“Carter! Carter, please! Where are you!?”

Your back hit something hard and you abruptly turned coming face to face with the clown mask that had been haunting your nightmares. You screamed trying to run but barreled straight into James’s chest as his arms trapped you tightly to him holding you in place. 

“Where are you going, sweetheart? The fun’s just beginning.”

Tears run down your face as the man in front of you removes his mask and you heart breaks as Carter’s angry, manic eyes find your own. 

“Cut! Good job, guys.”, the director compliments as Eddie releases his hold around you and you watch as Steve’s eyes immediately soften to the regular kindness you’re used to seeing within them. “Why don’t you guys take a break and we’ll come back in twenty after we have everything set up.”

Both boys nod as they walk ahead of you towards the catering cart as you trail behind. Since your evening with them they hadn’t really interacted with you outside of set and you knew that was your fault. They had invited you over a few times since, asked you to dinner, and asked you on so many different dates but each time you declined. Truth of the matter was you were scared. You liked them very much, wanting to spend more time with them off set and outside of the bedroom but this was new territory for you. 

“I miss you guys.”, you mumble as you fiddle with some of the snacks in front of you. 

“Hm. Not very much since you either don’t return our calls or tell us you’re busy when we invite you somewhere.”, Steve sighs as his eyes remain downcast. 

“And your still with Captain Asshole.”, Eddie adds with a tone filled with disgust. 

“He’s my boyfriend—”

“Didn’t seem to bother you when you came over, princess.”

Finally turning to face you, Steve tosses what he grabbed back onto the table. 

“Look, if you wanted what happened to be a onetime thing, that’s fine. We’re big boys, Y/N, we can handle that. That’s all most women want from us anyway; together or separate.”

“Steve…”

“But you just disappearing and ignoring us like you did. Now WE feel like the disgusting whores.”

“Steve, Eddie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…I just…I’m so confused and…”

Nodding, he cut you off by walking away from you as his friend followed. 

****

20min Later

“Y/N, are you alright?”, the director asks as you fly onto the set with tears in your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just ready to do these scenes.”

“Babe—”

“I’M FINE, ALEX! L-Let’s just do this, ok.”

Both men’s stares penetrate your body as you place yourself in front of Eddie who wraps his arms lightly around you. 

“Are you ok? You’re shaking.”, the metalhead asks with genuine concern. 

“Yeah because two serial killers are about to threaten me. I’m in the right headspace. Just do your fucking jobs and scare the hell out of me.”

“Did something happen, honey?”

“Oh, I’m honey again, Steven? I thought I was the bitch that used you and made you feel like a whore.”

Even though only they could hear you, everyone on set could feel the intense energy radiating from the three of you as you glared at the man in front of you.

“A-Action.”

Amber hues search your face as his lips form into a thin line before a creepy smile spread across his face. 

“Surprised, Nina? I thought we’d be married with six kids before you finally figured it out. James is more of a pessimist than I am. He thought you never would.”, Carter laughed, tossing the mask to the side.

“W-Why?”

“Why?”, he mocks making you angry. Reaching for your jaw, you glare up at him as he tilts your face till your almost nose to nose. “Control that attitude, little girl.”

Moving his fingers to your hair, he yanks you further into the living room and pushes you against the wall making you wince. 

“I’ve been your best friend for years, Nina. I loved you since the moment I saw you.” You jumped as he slammed his hand into the space beside your head. 

“That hard, Harrington? He’s trying to control himself from not just pounding into you. Your little pussy is driving him crazy.”

Your eye lids flutter as you shrink under his stare. 

“But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough right? JESUS! I would have worshipped the fucking ground you walked on! All of this, Nina, is your fault! It took us killing all your friends and that stupid fucking asshole from the diner who tried to take what was MINE! YOU’RE MINE!”

“I’m sorry…”

James came up to your other side and rest his forearm inches from your head. 

“I bet you are. Bet now you’d do anything for him, huh? Pfft, I told you just let her go, Carter. We can scare up something better especially once we’re famous, dude.”

“James, why did YOU do this? You were my friend! One of my closest!”

“Really? One of your closest? FUCK. OFF!”, he growled in your ear. “I was just someone for you and your friends to laugh at. Carter here is my only true friend. He knows what I’ve been through. You could have been a part of that! But no…all that matters is image right?”

“No! No, I swear. I don’t care about that! You two mean the world to me!” His palm against your chest pushes you back against the wall. “There is some part of you both that understands! James, I never laughed at you. I laughed with you. You’re so funny and I love talking to you about music and-and I don’t know fucking everything! And Carter, you’re so sweet and protective. I always cared about you! I didn’t want to lose you!”

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart, and you’re definitely not a whore. You’re special. You deserve so much better.”

Carter’s eyes blink back frustrated tears as his hand reaches out to caress your face. 

You wince and they notice. Steve’s fingers extended out to take a look but you bobbed your head out of his reach. Eddie gripped your jaw as both men stood up straighter and the other boy licked his thumb before trying to wipe the makeup from your cheek. 

“Gentlemen? What’s going on?”, the director called. 

Along your cheek bone, a bruise was starting to form slightly above the redness that circled it. Their eyes softened as they let you go but remained huddled around you. 

“I told him I wanted to break up…”

That was all you needed to say before their faces hardened and Steve turned silently walking past the director who kept calling his name as you and Eddie trailed after him.

***

“Steve, wait.”

He didn’t hear you; he was a man on a mission. Knocking on the dressing room door with the bat in his hand, he waited. 

“I’m busy! I still have 30 minutes till I need to be fucking anywhere!”

As Steve stepped back, Eddie gripped your shoulders and pulled you to the side out of the way. You jumped when his shoe connected with the door and it flew open. 

“What the fuck?!”, Ryan shouted as he got to his feet. 

“That’s a good question. What the fuck? What the fuck kind of asshole hits his girlfriend?”

“Ex, Harrington.”

“Oh, my fault. That’s right, Eddie, thank you.”

“Fuck you both. That bitch wants to leave, she can!”

Steve swings the bat into the mirror inches from Ryan causing it to shatter as your ex jumps back. 

“Call her a name again.”

“L-Look, what do you guys want?”, he stutters. “You want her? Fuck, you can have her. I-I-I don’t care. Money? Drugs?”

“We had her already, Ryan, and we’d like to stay with her if she’ll have us.” Your ex’s eyes widen as he glances your way. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?”

“She said she loved someone else. She didn’t say who.”, he growled. “Or how many, you fucking whore.”

The bat in Steve’s hand hits a framed poster behind the man as he swings again. Eddie leans forward and grabs his collar shoving the man against the wall. 

“What we want, Ryan, is an apology.”

“Fuck you.”

He cowers as the bat comes within inches of his face into the wall beside him making him scream. 

“Not for us, you idiot. Y/N.”, Eddie sighed in frustration as he rolled his eyes. 

Ryan’s own eyes glance towards you but when he doesn’t say anything the metalhead slaps him hard. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N! God damn it!”

“Sorry for what?”, Steve encourages. 

“For hitting you.”

He grunts as ringed fingers slap him again.

“Louder!”

“I’m sorry for slapping the shit out of you, Y/N! I’m so fucking sorry!”

Steve steps towards him placing the bat against his chest.

“If you come near her again…this bat won’t just be breaking your furniture. Do you understand me?”

Ryan nods as both boys grin, Steve reaching for your hand and heading out the door as Eddie follows. 

***

Eddie plopped down beside you on their couch making you flinch when he placed the icepack on your face.

“Oh, you’re fine.”, he teases.

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Take care of wounds on your face? Well shit, baby, I mastered in it. It’s really easy, you just—”

“No, you dork.”, you giggle. “I’ve never… been in a shared relationship but…I want to be. I want to be with you two. I—”

“He said you said you loved someone else. Is that true? Do you love us?”, Steve cut you off, smirking when you nod. “Good because we love you to.”

Raising your eyebrows, you glance towards Eddie whose smile widens. 

“I’m sorry I made you guys feel the way you felt. I didn’t mean to but I swear when I came over here it wasn’t to use you to feel better or for it to be a one-time thing. I’ve always felt safe with you both.”

“Mmmhmm. Is that why you got all hot and bothered during our scene today?”

Your jaw drops in faux shock and the metalhead mimics your reaction mockingly. 

“I was not!”

“Suuuuure. Come on, honey. That’s the best part about shooting scenes like that. Playing the role of someone you’re not in a situation that you would never be in…”

“But if you were, you’d rather it be with someone you trust who has your best interest in mind.”, Eddie adds as they both grin wickedly your way. 

“What do you think, honey? Wanna do that scene again but with a spin?”

[sharararararara]

Yandere Aemond Targaryen x Older sister reader

WARNING: MENTIONS OF RAPE(not to the reader but to an oc of mine), AEGON BEING WEIRD, Mentions of children getting married, angst( a little?)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SORRY FOR TAKING THIS LONG TO MAKE THIS, AND I'M SORRY FOR NOT PUTTING THAT MUCH YANDERE AEMOND, BUT I PROMISE YOU THERE WILL BE MORE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

CHAPTER 3

Helaena there you are! Helaena looked at you as you ran toward her, you sat beside your sister who was looking at a bug she had just found.

I don't think it can see... Said Helaena, Why? You asked, slowly getting more curious about the bug she was holding, she did not answer your question, just simply staring at you.

I- um... I mean if you don't want to tell me then it's fine. You spoke, you never really understood why Helaena never talked clearly, She liked to speak in riddles, never giving the real meaning behind them. You never really cared, you sometimes have fun trying to find out what her riddle meant, it was like a game to you.

You just kept quiet and continued to observe the insect, you loved the time you spent with your sister, even though she never really talked, it was still calming. Aegon did not deserve Helaena, you knew what Aegon does with the maids, and you felt disgusted by him. You don't even want to think what he might do to your sister. Sometimes you wish that it was Jace instead of Aegon, sure Jace can be a bully sometimes, like what he does to Aemond, but you still think he would treat Helaena better than Aegon.

Suddenly a maid ran towards you and Heleana, Princess Helaena your Mother is calling you, said the maid in a hurry.

Helaena sighed, not wanting to go, yet she did not have a choice. She stood up and went to the maid, both of them leaving you behind.

A frown was on your face as you watched them walk away, you were alone again, and you did not have anyone to talk to, and surely you did not want to talk to Aegon, he would be probably drunk or harassing the maids again, and you could not really talk to Aemond since you did not really know where he is, so it's only you and yourself.

You sighed as you stood up, dusting off the dust from your dress. Why not a walk around the halls? you said to yourself as you started to walk.

You had a dragon, named Larix, but you were not allowed to fly on him yet since he is a big dragon, and you might get hurt or worse die, you think that was a stupid rule that your parents made for you since you already flew on him once when you claimed him, but I guess you did not have a choice, it's either waiting until your old enough or will never ride him.

Your parents were protective of you, when they found out that you claimed a dragon they went ballistic, they complained that the dragon was too dangerous for a little child like you, yet they still arranged a marriage between their daughter to their son, even though they are still children, funny right? And sooner or later Aegon will bed Heleana, which is disgusting because they are still children. You felt bad for Helaena and Aegon, even after what Aegon did, you still felt bad for him being forced to marry his sister.

But what can you do? They are Targaryen, it's normal for their house, yet it still is messed up.

Sooner or later, you will get betrothed to some man, you do not really want to get married yet, but what can you do?

You pray to the Gods that the man your parents will betrothed you to someone nice and respectful, and not some old lord who only wants to bed little girls and carry his heirs.

Sometimes you wish that women get the same respect as men in this world, women in this are known as "weak" or "fragile" and only used for pleasure and to carry heirs. They say "women can't rule a kingdom", saying that only a man can, since they are "strong" or "powerful".

When a woman sleeps with a man, they call her a whore, but when a man sleeps with a thousand people, no one blinks an eye.

You had a friend before, from a wealthy house, her name was Esther, she was 14 years old when her father betrothed her to some lord.

At first, she thought that he was nice, but on their wedding night, that lord raped her, she pleaded for him to stop, yet he did not listen.

She died from giving birth to her son, her husband did not care, only remarrying someone else.

You missed Esther, she was your only friend. The last time you saw her was when she visited you, she was 6 months pregnant, she had a fake smile on, hiding her true emotions.

You remembered when you and her were alone in your chamber, she cried in your arms, telling you about how her husband beat her every day when she didn't follow his orders. You were in rage when she told you that, you wanted to speak to her husband, but she pleaded you not to, saying she would only get beat up more.

You remembered how much you cried when you received the letter from her mother, telling you that Esther, your friend, died last night while giving birth to her son.

You never forgot her, and you will never will. She was a good friend, and you wish you could get revenge on her husband for what he did.

You wanted to shout at her father, for making her marry that piece of shit, and for not believing her when she told him about what he was doing to her.

[unohanabbygirl]

Hiding in plain sight pt 2

So I’ve decided to continue this drabble and turn it into a complete fic. In the meantime while I plan the long version please enjoy this sneak peek.

Warnings: mention of past non con

- - -

The knights give Luke a choice, come with them of his own volition or be taken by force. Everything in Luke is screaming at him to fight back, to rage that this was all a big mistake. However, as he felt Osferth tremble in his arms like a leaf, unconsciously letting out the scent of frightened omega he knew what choice he had to make.

As the men escort them out Luke keeps a tight hold on his son, making sure to assure him that everything will be fine in the end. Humming a soft melody that his own mother once sang to him whenever he awoke from one of his many childhood nightmares.

Luke doesn’t know if his words are meant to comfort Osferth or himself at this point. All he knows is that his pup calms down considerably, letting out little whimpers as he buries his face in Luke’s neck as if trying to hide from the strange men.

They make it to a small carriage and are pushed inside. Luke hisses at one of the knights as they hold onto Osferth’s hip on the guise of ‘helping him’

Osferth goes still at the touch and his scent rottens, letting out a smell similar to spoiled meat. He’s a newly flowered omega, a late bloomer whose only interaction with an alpha since his presentation has been his great grandsire during his short visits. Corlys is much older and not as strong as he once was, his scent is no where near as powerful as it was a decade ago.

The man laughs at the protective stance Luke takes, calling him a weak bitch and slamming the carriage door in his face, almost getting his fingers caught in the door.

The omegas can hear the mocking laughter and quips about weak whoring omegas from the men as they prepare to take off.

Luke hugs his son, still shook by the Knights unwanted touch. Osferth was scared and Overwhelmed and confused. Luke never felt like such a failure as his precious pup began to sob.

He always tried his best to educate Osferth, making sure to never shy away from the topic of dynamics, especially what’s its like to live as an omega. The uncomfortable heats, enhanced sense of smell, and physical changes in your body as it now sees you a vessel to carry children were all things he was open and honest about.

His son hadn’t presented until the year before at sixteen, even later than his mother as it was normal for presentation to occur around twelve or thirteen.

Luke always saw the signs though, the way Osferth never liked to roughhouse with the other pups in their old village, his sensitive and emotionally vulnerable nature, how he’d rather cuddle and chat with Luke instead of going out and being adventurous.

He hated any and all things violent no matter what they were. Corlys would often bring storybooks as gifts during his visits as Osferth greatly enjoyed reading. He usually brung tales of brave knights and bloody battles, yet his great grandson shed away from the frightening fables.

On a random visit one day mid spring Corlys came with five books in tow once again. But this time the tales were of fae like creatures and beautiful princesses. Osferth enjoyed them greatly, face lighting up as he read the words aloud while Corlys listened happily and Luke prepared dinner.

All omegas weren’t like that. Some did prefer fighting and dreamed of being war heroes, but it was most common for them to be softer and less inclined to harsh lifestyles.

Luke himself had been that way, shy and soft, despising the heavy weight of a sword no matter if it was wooden or steel. The only time he had physically hurt another was that night in Driftmark.

The only reason no one ever took note of his lack of alpha characteristics was because his mother and father were alphas just as both their parents before them. However, his true father Ser Harwin had been a beta with an omega mother. A fact no one took into consideration when thinking of Luke’s second gender, sweeping the truth under the rug as if that would make it go away.

Had his mother acknowledged his true sire and see his actions for what they truly were rather than lying to herself perhaps things would’ve worked out differently. Perhaps she would’ve thought harder before agreeing to send him to Lord Borros shitty castle.

“You will be welcomed, you have Baratheon blood from your grandmother Rhaenys.” She said softly, the look in her eyes betraying her own words.

He would’ve never been held down as Aemond forced his knot inside of him. Grunting in his ear like a crazed animal as he used the blood from Luke’s stolen maiden head as lube.

Luke’s jaw clenched as his fists curled up in anger. After all these years he felt nothing but hatred for Aemond. Doing what he did to him then leaving without a second glance like Luke was a worthless whore.

Sometimes he wondered how he could look at his son, the spitting image of his cruel sire yet have his chest fill with warmth. He met other omegas in the past years who were in similar situations to himself, raped and left with a child. They all loved their children dearly, but couldn’t stand look at them as they served as a permanent reminder.

Luke gently touched Osferth’s cheek, patting it lovingly as he whispered that everything would be just fine and they would return home as soon as possible.

The carriage took off with Osferth shedding a single tear as the view of the home he lived in for most of his life and housed so many happy memories disappeared into the distance.

“Mother, please tell me what’s going on. What do these men want with us?” Osferth cried.

Luke bit his trembling lip, knowing that he could no long lie to his babe. He stupidly thought he could hide Osferth from the truth forever, allow for him to live a normal peaceful life without the judgmental stares and inhumane treatment of those deemed to be bastards.

The blanket of legitimacy Corlys placed over him would mean nothing to a court of vipers, regardless of it was his mothers court now.

“There is much I have never told you my love. You may be upset now, but please remember that my intentions have always been protect you.” Luke confessed as he held Osferth’s hand to his beating heart.

All he could do was hope his love didn’t resent him after.

[pacifymebby]

i fucking love all ur peaky blinders writings you do them so well!! i was wondering if u could write one of about the peaky blinders n a reader that’s involved in a mafia, yk she has power, she’s strong, not intimidating by men, doesn’t hesitate to point a gun at someone’s head

Aw lovely thank u i am v happy u enjoy my work its so lovely to here!! Im so new to writing peaky boys stuff so its cool to see people enjoying it <3 <3

Hope you like these x some of them are long, i guess i got carried away haha

Tommy

🌿He can tell there's something different about you, something dangerous, a different kind of higher class, the second he sees you..

🌿And when he learns who you are - a mafia princess - his mind is set.

🌿He has to have you... Not just once, but for keeps.

🌿It wouldn't just be startegically a perfect move, ot would also bolster his ego. This is a man who wants the whole world and to wed mafia royalty... That would be a pretty big chunk of the world.

🌿But it would be scandalous in many ways... Hes a politician, a sitting MP... And its no secret the corruption, violence and murderous tendencies of your infamous family. There would be no feigning innocence anymore.

🌿If he's going to be with you he'll have to do it with his whole chest, openly admit to his own corruption and wrong doing, he'd have to be the bad guy in the open...

🌿 And he'd have to play his cards right, he couldn't be playing games with you... He's fairly certain playing games will end with one of your bullets in his brain.

🌿 You're already used to the finer things in life so his wining and dining and usual tactics won't work on you. "Is all this supposed to impress me Mr Shelby?"

🌿Your family probably have tigers roaming the villa grounds you grew up in. You probably grew up alongside wild animals...

🌿 And youre supposed to be impressed by a country estate and race horses...

🌿 Actually the things that really attract you to tommy are these:

🌿🌿He's troubled, he fought in a war, one which your family watched and ignored... You secretly don't believe that the men in your family, know what its really like to be a man, fighting to protect the family... Though they tell you that's what they're doing all the time.

🌿🌿His roots, theres somrthing mysterious about it, the fact that he talks to his horses, the fact you've heard theres a gypsy curse on his head. It's more interesting to you than anything you've heard back in New York

🌿🌿 The fact that there was a time in his life when he had nothing, he actually clawed his way out of poverty...you were born into your riches, you've never really had to work for anything in your life, so youre in awe of the things hes won for himself.

🌿🌿 You also love the way he takes whatever he wants from the world, just snatches it up regardless of whether he deserves it or not. Youre hoping thats what he'll do to you. Steal you away from your family. Claim you as his own.

🌿But you wont admit any of these things to him, you play the princess personality up for all its worth because you like the idea of being the one thing tommy shelby can't have

🌿Tommys brothers think hes daft for even trying... They've seen you, heard rumours about you, they think hes way out of his depth... But tommy is determined

🌿 And one day when you finally give into the charm youd been resisting, you become the most feared couple... The mafia are secretly scared of your gypsy husband, they dont trust that he wont put a curse on them... And tommys family are terrified of you, the unpredictable, spoilt princess who will not hesitate to shoot someone dead just for looking at her funny.

🌿He can't tame you though and it concerns him, you probably make more trouble than its worth... You don't have the manners of the english and you refuse to learn them. Not even Tommy can teach you.

🌿 Calls you princess to patronise you, enjoys talking down to you and trying to put you in your place even if it hardly ever works. Showers you with gifts, and when he realises how drawn to his gypsy roots you are, he starts showering you with gypsy gifts, little trinkets hes carved for you himself, jewels with fine tales behind them, mysterious histories which capture your imagination.

🌿He likes to take you out on horseback to the middle of nowhere, lie down with you under the shade of a tree or on the bank if a river and tell you as many stories as he can, either from his childhood or gypsy tales you tell little children. Its his only way of getting you to calm down or behave yourself, of getting you to stop putting on that "fearless and fearsome mafia wife" personality.

Alfie

🐻Can't imagine you'd get on very well at first... If he realised his attraction to you he'd be angry with himself for thinking that way about a "wop"

🐻 He'd definitely try to ignore it... Which would be difficult because every time you were in a room with him you'd be little miss provocative, trying to get under his skin.

🐻 Youre not sure if thats because youre so used to all men falling at your feet that youre actively pissed off that this man wont... Or if its because you can see that he is attracted to you, but isnt acting on it (which would piss you off even more than the former) OR (and this is unlikely right, you would never!) perhaps you find him attractive. This slightly mad, older man who behaves as close to any mafia man youve ever met only rougher, not so well groomed. Hes a little gruff, theres something a little dirty about him...

🐻 Also youre a mafia woman... Youve been spoilt rotten your whole life by your father and brothers but youve never really felt the love of any of them... Youve only ever been treated like a possession by them... Which is a sure fire recipe for DaddyIssues™️

🐻 This gruff and slightly insane older man then, might be the only person who could ever be everything you ever needed...

🐻 But that discovery probably pisses you off even more, so its likely that in the moment went you realise what you really want from him, you raise your gun to his head, make him look down the end of it.

🐻 He's probably the only one of the peaky men who isn't actually scared of you, not because he doesnt think youre unpredictable and dangerous, but because hes not scared of death, hes looked it in the eyes one too many times to be scared of a "little girl" with a gun.

🐻 "Alright alright so youve got yourself a gun and youre not afraid to use it... You've come in here... To my humble bakery what i built up from absolutely fuck all... And you're waving that thing in my face like its fuckin christmas day and you just plucked it out of Santas fuckin sack..." "Did you get it for Christmas y/n? Did santa make it for you in the North fucken Pole?"

🐻 "You can pretend to be a mad old man all you like Mr Solomons but I'm not scared of old men..."

🐻 "Ohh well, thats alright then, thats good very good actually, cause see somet you might not know about me right? Im not afraid of little girls... Yeah?"

🐻 The remark would shock you a little, not much but enough to make you hesitate, and in that second of hesitation he could disarm you. Not that you'll ever make the same mistake again.

🐻 But this time he disarms you and pushes you back down onto his desk, takes your chin between his thumb and index finger so that you have to look him in the eyes. He can see how angry you are but he isnt deterred because he has control now and he knows he won't get that opportunity again for awhile...

🐻 "Looks like your daddy didn't teach you how to properly handle your weapons... Wouldnt make that mistake me... No, i, would, not." "And anyway, right... Somethin else i wanna know yeah... What kind of father yeah, what kind of fuckin father sends his little girl to the arse end of Camden Town to deal with his fuckin problems?" "You want my advice little girl, if i were you I'd stay right here, with this here mad old man... Cause i reckon he would know how to take care of you properly..."

🐻 So you have a choice, give into the feelings and desires which have been plaguing you since you first met him, or spit in his face and tell him you'd rather die... And this is a man who just might offer you deal or death, thats how much he's his heart and mind set on you.

🐻 "Oh and Tommy, Tommy my old mate, did i tell you, just a little warning yeah, and i know you wouldnt ever think about crossing your dear old friend right but... If that thought ever does come flittering and fluttering into your whimsical gypsy boy brain... Just remember, ive got Mafia connections these days right... So i wouldnt if i were you... "

Arthur

🍂 Shits himself when he sees you pull a gun on a man in one of the Shelby bars in London.

🍂 Arthurs been sent to keep control of them and here you are, a fucking woman... With your gun raised to the eyes of one of his patrons.

🍂 When he steps in "alright alright is someone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on here?" and you answer him cold and simple "This english pig called me a very unpleasant slur and that... Mr Shelby, i won't tolerate..."

🍂 You shoot the man in the head right there in front of everyone. Screaming errupts and chaos and panic set in but you just stand there, strong arm still outstretched. Finger still on the trigger.

🍂 Arthur just gapes at you in shock, hes never seen a woman shoot someone, the fact that youre so glamourous looking too... From afar hed have mistaken you for one of the toffee nosed london elites who usually come to dance and drink in his bars because theyve heard they are dangerous and riddled with gangsters.

🍂 But now it seems, he recognises that accent of yours, turns out youre the gangster.

🍂 "Sorry about the mess Mr Shelby," you give him a quick smile and knock the body on the floor with your foot and turn to leave.

🍂 "Well, hang on a minute love hang on a minute you can't just..." "let me stop you there Mr Shelby..." hes not heard that slanted italian american accent on a woman before but he likes it, "i ain't your love... And i can actually... The evidence is soaking blood into your beautifully varnished floor..."

🍂 He gets into a lot of trouble with Tommy for letting you slip off unpunished, for letting the whole thing happen in the first place...but arthur doesnt see how he could have done anything different.

🍂"You weren't fuckin there Tommy, you didnt fuckin see her..."

🍂 He spends a lot of time tormented with daydreams of you, wants to see you again because hes got it bad for you... Even has a particularly steamy dream about fucking you whilst you hold your gun to his head.

🍂 So when you come back to his bar not a week later with a little white flag you made yourself, hes stunned and speechless and he doesnt know what to say. You say youve come to offer him a peace offering, just between you and him.

Its a little white flag and a little vile of white powder which is his on the condition that he shares it with you.

🍂 So you end up getting high together and fucking, and recreating that hot and heavy dream of his.

John

🌼 Deeply suspicious of you, doesn't trust the italians. You aren't pleasant to eachother to begin with at all.

🌼 You refuse to call eachother by name, hes a "pikey" you're a "wop" and thats that. You resent eachother.

🌼 Which is a shame because Tommy only introduced you before the wedding as an act of mercy to his little brother...

🌼 When you walk down the aisle dressed in white, veil covering your scowl John feels his heart freeze.

🌼 Of course he can't be too unhappy, you are fucking stunning... Your olive skin, your long dark hair, theres something almost virgin Mary about you, especially when youre all in white and pure...

🌼 And you would be lying if you tried to pretend you didnt find the gypsy boy to be good looking. His freckles are cute. He's strong, bulkier than any of those italian boys that have been sucking up to your father hoping for your hand all these years. John looks like a man who might be able to handle you

🌼 But hes still a pikey and youre still a wop and you refuse to say a word to him the whole day of your wedding. You fucking hate your father and you fucking hate tommy shelby

🌼 And in the end thats what draws you and John together. Mutual resentment for the men who forced you together.

🌼 Consumating the marriage is intense... When youre alone together youre both pretty much pretending you don't want it, spitting insults at eachother, hate in your eyes as he backs you up against the wall and you tell him youd sooner die than let a fucking pikey get his hands on you.

🌼 Pisses him off "That can be arranged love don't you fuckin worry," the two of you reaching for your guns at the same time. Challenging eachother, neither one of you backing down, eyes locked, fingers on triggers.

🌼Until something overwhelms you both at once and you can't resist anymore. When you come together its violent and explosive. John enjoys the thought hes tarnishing you, taking your purity, vandalising your virginal self... And you enjoy being fucked against the wall, your hands squeezing his throat, choking him.

🌼 After this the dust begins to settle on your hatred for one another... Youre more united against Tommy and your father than you are against eachother. But you like to keep up the pretence. Its like a fun game you have, pretending to hate eachother then having intense the most intense sex when youre alone. Youre always trying to push the boundaries, testing eachother.

🌼 You still affectionately refer to eachother by your respective slurs but see if anyone else ever tried it... If anyone ever called you a wop, john would put a bullet in them quicker than lightnight, and if anyone ever insulted him for his blood, youd be the one firing your gun.

🌼 John enjoys the way people fear you, he likes having a dangerous wife by his side.

🌼 You like having a dangerous man by your side, one who isn't so sleezy and american and preocupied with their looks... You think hes a real man.

Bonnie

🍀 Poor sweet innocent boy has no idea who you are when he first meets you... And thats partly your fault because you do lie to him.

🍀Youre actually sick of people being so scared of you, you dont think they are really scared of you, you think they are scared of your father... Which isnt fair... Its making it impossible to find a man and pretty soon youre certain your fathers going to arrange your marriage to some sleeze in another mafia family for the good of the lineage anyway

🍀 When you meet Bonnie Gold after one of his fights which Ada Shelby snuck you into, he has no idea about your family, but you know everything about his... And you see one thing in him...

🍀 Escape. You don't want to be a mafia princess anymore. Like Ada you want to shed your family name and be your own person.

🍀 So when you're introduced after the fight you beg him to take you away, to help you dissappear. And him being naive and you being very fucking pretty, he's more than happy to oblige.

🍀 After his fight the two of you disappear together for several weeks, hes no idea of the trouble hes getting himself into, and youre naively trying to pretend this can last forever

🍀You love the nomadic life style, the not knowing where you'll be tomorrow or a week from now, the knowing that nobody can find you, that no one you meet knows a single thing about you. And you like the simplicity too...

🍀Bonnie can tell that youre hiding something from him but he isnt sure what and he trusts that youll tell him eventually... For you to be friends with Ada Shelby, for you to have been so desperate to get away from London... He knows that you have a darkness inside you... But like i said he trusts you... And he's seen a soft and innocent side to you.

🍀Over the weeks you spend travelling together you grow closer and closer. At night you sleep under the stars, wrapped up together in his big coat with a blanket over you both. In the morning you awake with the birds and he teaches you to hunt and to cook wild rabbit. You fall for eachother slowly. When you share your first kiss you feel guilty, you almost cry and he can tell youre upset.

🍀 "Don't be sad little dove, i know you're keeping secrets, i don't mind... You can tell me all your secrets when you're ready,"

🍀 When you return he takes you to meet his father, to tell him you want to be married, that youre in love which makes Aberama laugh. He thinks it hilarious because he can tell that his son still has no idea who you are.

🍀"Well miss youve certainly caused a lot of trouble without trying haven't you..." it turns out your father didnt take kindly to your disappearence.. The italians have been threatening the whole country trying to find you...

🍀 Bonnie is surprised, but quietly pleased... Not just with himself for having a mafia princess fall in love with him, but also because hes in awe of your defiance, this trick youve played on everyone including him... He thought you were sweet and innocent but here you are, a mafia princess whos brought the whole underground crime scene in britain to a grinding halt.

🍀 "Do you hate me Bon? I lied to you... Could get you fuckin killed? I understand if you never want to..." "Don't finish that sentence little dove," him hushing you, hand holding your cheek, thumb to your lips, "Don't need to finish that sentence," kissing you softly is the only answer you need.

🍀The first time he sees you pull a gun on anyone the man in question is your own father. Hes come to bring you home but you wont go... Bonnie is there as a peaky boy, standing with Michael and Isaiah watching and keeping his mouth shut. He knows hes dead if anyone clocks who he is. Your father threatens to kill every gypsy boy he meets until he finds the one whose stolen you... But you stand your ground.

🍀 "i wont lose my daughter to a fucking pikey..." "Then tell people I'm dead," you turn the gun on yourself your eyes locked with your father, your burning with defiance, a truly formidable lass, "I'd sooner blow my own brains out than continue to call you my fucking father..."

🍀 And its the fact he cant tell if youre bluffing that makes him back down. He gives in but tells you that theres no backing out, he'll tell the whole world youre dead, but you are dead, to him, theres no coming back. But you don't back down.

🍀"Your girls a fuckin terror Bonnie lad, hope youre going to tame her," Isaiah laughing eith Michael after the whole affair. "I fucken won't," Bonnies pretty much stubborn about that, he loves your defiance and hes proud cause he knows Isaiah and Michael are secretly terrified of you. Women who don't fear death are the most formidable creatures.

🍀 "You're incredible dove, that was incredible..." "but... You promise me now, you'll never point one of these things at that pretty little head of yours ever again..."

Isaiah

🐀Definitely bitten off more than he can chew. He's in love with you before he even realises whats happened to him.

🐀Doesn't know what to do with himself because for all his arrogance and confidence, he knows a girl of mafia blood is so far out of his league.

🐀Youre in London because your father has business with Tommy Shelby, and your father refuses to travel to the shithole which is Birmigham

🐀You came along for the legal drinking, the shopping and to see what all the fuss about "English" men was...

🐀And you don't think much of any of them at first... Most have them are a little ugly, badly dressed, dirty, with funny accents... And Isaiah has a funny accent but, he's good looking, and he has the cocky nature of any american boy youve ever met.

🐀He gets tasked with chaperoning you much to your delight... Less to your delight you know that one of your fathers men is trailing you too, just to make sure nothing bad happens, that this Peaky Boy doesnt try anything funny with you.

🐀You find it all bitterly amusing, youre a woman, not a mouse. If this Peaky Boy wants to try anything funny with you, just let him try, its you who will see to it he doesn't get very far...

🐀Although the idea of getting up to no good with an english gangster, one your father hates... Well its appealing to say the least. You're a bit of a brat, used to getting your own way, used to doing as you please and facing little consequences later...

🐀So you suggest to your new peaky boy that you both lose your dads man, you ask him to take you through the back streets until your fathers men can't find you... And isaiah knows he shouldnt but hes sensed the mood youre in and he cant pass up the opportunity to go too far with you. He wants to get into trouble with you... He has a feeling that Mafia girls fuck harder, more dangerously.

🐀"You wanna get into trouble Peaky Boy? My father will kill you for this? Aren't you scared?" "Not fuckin scared of anyone me sweetheart," "Fine, do your worst Peaky Boy..."

🐀It doesnt last too long because you don't have much time but its hot and heavy and rough... And its the best you've ever had, maybe thats just the adrenaline of knowing youre up to know good, the adrenaline of risking someone elses life for your own pleasure...

🐀And you do get caught, you suppose if you were being honest with yourself then you'd always known you would be.

🐀You get caught with Isaiahs cock still inside you, he's fucking you against the wall and youre not even being that quiet about it... your fathers man goes to shoot at Isaiah but you get there first, your shot killing your fathers man in a second...

🐀Isaiah is stunned, almost drops you but he doesnt want to dissapoint you so he tightens his grip, hes scared too, youre in so much fucking trouble and if anyone finds out what just happened Tommy will kill him before your father does...

🐀"Don't go soft on me Peaky Boy I'm only just getting started..." you practically growl, grinding your hips into his, and Isaiah isnt about to let you go, so he channels is fear and his amazement into fucking you twice as hard, growling to you about how much trouble youre going to get him into.

🐀But obviously its fucking worth it.

🐀You make him take you shopping afterwards and you return to your father with so many pretty dresses and shoes. A new red lipstick too.

🐀He obviously wants to know what happened, why his man hasn't returned with you and you speak before Isaiah can...

🐀"oh did you have someone following me daddy? We didn't notice anyone? Did you Isaiah?" the boy cant believe what hes hearing right now, youre asking him to lie not just to your father, but his own boss too... Still he does, after that day hes sure hed do anything you asked him to.

🐀You also make up a little story of your own, about how you were threatened by a man, someone tried to disresepct your dignity, you tell him Isaiah took his eyes for the insult and your father is quite satisfied that Tommys boy can keep you safe... So next time you want to go out, your father makes the condition that Isaiah has to go with you.

🐀Which you're quite happy with.

🐀"Youre gonna be the death of me love,"

🐀 So much of the time youre the one causing problems, getting yourself into scraps, because youre used to being a mafia princess, no one back home would dare say a word to you but over here so many of the men don't understand who you are... You wont stand for their shit

🐀So Isaiah does end up taking peoples eyes for you... Most of the time however its you that does the killing. Youre a real violent little brat it doesnt take much for you to decide to pull that trigger...

🐀Isaiah hasnt told any of his mates about what the two of you get up to when you get eachother alone... Its difficult for him to keep this to himself, usually he'd be bragging to high heaven about laying a woman like you... But he's keeping quiet because he knows it'll be you who kills him if he speaks.

Michael

☘️Meets you in America when hes been sent away by tommy... Hes harbouring that bitterness towards his cousin when he finds himself in dealings with the mafia on his brothers behalf.

☘️His life in America is good... He might not be there of his own free will, he might not be allowed to come back, but hes making it work, hes a feared gangster, a powerful and dangerous man

☘️And hes starting to get ideas above his station... Hes met you several times, youre always in his speakeasies drinking, getting snowed up and demanding Shelby gin on the house, your name affords you everything you want after all

☘️And he thinks you're another one of those pretty, espensive things he'd like to add to his collection.

☘️Youd be a real status changer for him, he could use you to win his feud with Tommy, finally be more powerful than his cousin...

☘️ And you're attracted to the brooding English man who runs this part of the city... He does dealings with your father so you know hes a real player in this game, hes dangerous too... And perhaps the only man arrogant enough not to fear the barrel of your fathers gun.

☘️Youve been going to Michaels bars and acting out, getting too drunk and causing fights because you want to get his attention. Its a childish way to attract a man but you know men like Michael Gray, you know that what they want is a possession, something they can tame, put in its place. Teach to be obedient. They like the challenge and secretly they like it when a woman threatens their ego and misbehaves.

☘️And you're right, youve read him like a book... He approaches you one evening at the bar and well, hes stern, hes aggressive, hes almost... Almost fucking rude to you...

☘️ "Miss y/l/n I'd like a word..." "Take your pick Mr Gray, how about two, fuck... Off..." "Don't test me love... You're going to come back to my office with me now, youre going to come quietly and then we're going to talk... And we can talk nicely or you can keep up with whatever this childish little act is alright? But you're going to come with me and we're going to have a little chat alright about the kind of behaviour which is and isnt acceptable in my establishment... "

☘️"Who the fuck do you think you are Mr Gray... Do you have any idea who i am?" "I know youre a little mafia brat with no manners... Anything else?"

☘️ Drags you by the wrist into his office where he practically pushes you down into a chair.

☘️ Stands before you and actually lectures you about your behaviour... About how he isnt going to stand for it anymore...

☘️" So whatre you going to do about it Mr Gray?" youre so cheeky, a real brat, but youre being provocative too... You know what you want from him and as you speak you open your legs just enough to catch his attention.

☘️ "So youre a whore as well as a brat are you?" this actually shocks you, you flush a little but youre idignant and you hold your ground. "Is that what you'd like me to be Mr Gray?"

☘️ He's going to teach you to behave, one way or another... And the only way he manages to is by fucking you into submission... Thats the only way he can get you to behave yourself for him, the only way he can make you beg his forgiveness...

☘️ Outside of the bedroom though youre still a spoilt brat and he doesnt help the fact, he buys you gifts, courts you properly, makes all the right moves on both you and your father

☘️Until eventually your father is convincrd that marrying you off to Michael Gray is the best business move he could possibly make.

☘️ So youre handed over to him on a silver fucking platter and though you pretend to remain defiant "Dont think this means I'm going to behabe myself Mr Gray..." secretly youre thrilled, this is exactly what you wanted.

☘️You want him to take you back to england with him, you want to meet the infamous Tommy Shelby... And when he finally takes you "home" dont be surprised hes showing you off like a pretty piece of jewellery...

☘️And should he really be surprised when Tommy catches your eye, when you realise that there are men more rich, more powerful and more dangerous than Michael Gray for you to persue.

☘️Threatens you, "you fuckin touch my cousin you little brat, I'll kill you..." but this jealousy, this new passion in him turns you on and so you find yourself caught trying to balance two men. Youre being selfish, youre taking everything you want, no matter who gets hurt.

Hope you liked them lovely ❤️❤️

[liliansun]

how to piss the boys off so they fuck me dumb 🥴

i’ll start first w suggestions 😛🥴 (minors dni!!!)

mark : embarrass him. and i don’t mean like say he shit himself last week or that he accidentally put on your thong half asleep after practice one night. i mean like get drunk,, be around his friends,, when they start talking about their sizes (bc they too are drunk) flirt w them passively. say you bet jeno is probably the biggest in the room. talk about the other men you’ve been ‘with’ even if you know none of them compare to mark and he’ll get pissed and he’ll drag you off when you’re alone and fuck all those lil silly thoughts out of your head. ‘you really want to tell me you think jeno can fuck you like this? you really got some sense of humor. bet he can’t make you cum the way i can.’

renjun : irritate him. sexually frustrate him. piss him off and blue ball him. tell him he’s not getting any because haechan is in the room and you don’t wanna wake poor hyuckie up and he’ll loose all restraint. ‘who gives a fuck what haechan does or doesn’t hear, he’s a perv anyway, he’ll probably enjoy hearing how wet you get for me. why don’t we give him a show, hm? i’m not asking, i’m giving you a warning.’

jeno : flirt with the boys in front of him. i read something like this (shout out to the angel who wrote it bc i can’t think of who it was or the title was but it was jeno getting pissed bc oc spilled water on jaem’s lap and offered to clean him up. IF YALL READ IT YALL KNOW.) esp jaem,, ask jaem to flex his big strong arms,, talk about how buff he’s been getting and complement him on his work in the gym. jeno will embody silent anger. he’ll wait till you’re unaware of your guard being down to make his claim over you. fucking you with no care of who is hearing. ‘you think he’s so fucking strong, huh? do you think he can fuck you like i can? he can’t fuck you while holding your pathetic ass up against the wall. he won’t make you make a mess on his cock like i can.’ (he’ll be a lil mouthy and a bit degrading..but that’s the fun part.)

haechan : game with him and be the stereotypical hot gamer girl every boy has wet dreams for. unknowingly (knowingly) flirt w the boys on the mic and tease them and he’ll get fed up. he knows boys like them,, he was once a boy like them till he met you. and he’ll waste no time to hop offline to fuck you over the desk while forcing you to continue to play the game with the headset on. ‘you want to be a lil gamer slut? go ahead and continue playing with your audience while i make sure to remind you who you belong to, pretty girl. they’ll never touch you like i do,, they’ll never fuck you like i can.’

jaemin : he’s rarely the one to get mad,, especially at you. but when one of his superiors makes a pass at you and you do nothing but laugh it off? yeah, he’s pissed. pissed they think they can even pull a girl like you and pissed you let them think they had a chance. he’s pushing your panties aside with you bent over the sink in the bathroom, scissoring you without a care in the world as he watches you drip down to his wrist. ‘such a shame they think they’ll ever get to see you like this, but you don’t mind letting them think that, do you princess?’ just before he’s plowing his cock into you while making you watch him fuck you from behind in the foggy bathroom mirror.

(perhaps i got carried away.)

[biblioklept-writes]

The Foreign Queen (Aemond Targaryen x Desi!Fem!Reader)

Summary: There is a new ship in the land, carrying riches Westeros has never seen before. The people are interesting, sharing some common and other completely different ideas. Aemond decides to deal with one claiming to be their Princess, the beautiful Y/N, and something clicks in place.

Content Warning: canon divergence (duh), i have only watched the show, might contain some spoilers, reader has black hair and brown eyes (typical of most desis) and wear kajal (kohl), reader will be good at maths and physics (i had too i need the representation), reader is hindu and will talk of hinduism, there will be “strong” jokes, I invented a whole new continent in the hotd universe, okay? Explicit language to be expected, other than that we are good i guess? No other physical description of the reader is involved

Ps: will use hindi, sanskrit and odia (translations in parentheses). Currently this is just an idea, i will write further if the motivation and plot strikes. 

Series Masterlist

It had been a rather dull autumn afternoon, the only highlight yet being the morning flight Aemond had gotten with Vhagar. Business in the council was proceeding as usual, with Aegon missing and their grandsire, Otto Hightower acting as the King Reagent in his stead while their mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Targaryen sat at the head. The lords had been discussing an upcoming tourney when a messenger came in with a flushed face, looking as though he ran from port to the Red Keep. He barely caught his breath before he started speaking.

“There is a large ship being docked in the port, Your Grace, My Lord Hand,” He breathlessly said. “Their messengers speak mostly in a foreign tongue, but they claim to be here for trade. They say their princess is with them, those strange people. They are asking for permission to enter King’s Landing.”

“Where are these people from?” Otto Hightower asked. “Did they say?”

“They said… Bharat.” The messenger added, still struggling to catch his breath. “Your Grace, My Lord Hand, you must send your word with me back, the matter requires your urgent attention. They wish to speak with His Majesty in his court.”

“I don’t think a message would be apt for this situation,” Alicent calmly said. “It is better if we send a representative of ours with you, Ser.” Her big brown eyes scanned the room once, and said, “Ser Cole, I would like you to go to the docks as Aegon’s representative, make sure that these people are not of ill intentions.”

“It would be better to send a royal to accompany Ser Cole, Your Grace.” Ser Willis Fell said, earning agreeing nods from the other lords in the council. “For if this Princess' claim is true, it wouldn't be… appropriate for a Knight to meet a lady of such stature. If My Lord Hand could go-”

“I will accompany Ser Cole,” Aemond said. He agreed, if it were indeed a princess of a foreign land, sending a non-royal to speak with her would reflect poorly on them. A foreign land meant more resources and soldiers, and they needed both of them in abundance as the war threatened to bloom in Westeros and Essos. A strong alliance for them meant a weakness for their opponent.

“Aemond-” Alicent started, but he interrupted her.

“I’ll be fine, Mother.” He said. “I really wish to see these strange people claiming to be traders.” Aemond’s gaze fixed on the messenger, who seemed to cower under his calculating stare. Of course, the eyepatch must have been a contributing factor with the reputation that he had built for himself.

Vhagar was simply too big to fly to the dock, so Aemond had to take a horse along with Ser Cole, unfortunately. It took them a bit over an hour but they managed to make it to the dock before sunset, and there he saw it: a ship in the horizon, larger than anything he had ever seen before, gleaming like liquid gold in the late afternoon sun. A red and white striped flag with a yellow swastik flew high in the oceanic winds.

Two men adorning mustard colored tunics and some white pants with black hair, white turbans and twining moustaches signalled at the ship upon his arrival, and a small boat moved toward the coastline. They were still too far away to make out clearly, but once the boat got closer, he noticed the woman sitting in the front, majestic on the waves. The man and the woman behind her rowed her quickly to the shore.

He thought her claim must be true then, for she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on with her hair blacker than midnight and her brown eyes stern yet deep. Her presence commanded attention, and she carried herself with the poise of a queen.

She was dressed in a lavender and white garment he had never seen before, her dark mane complimenting her brown, kohl-lined eyes. Her body held a certain feline grace - her steps quiet and calculated, her gaze confident and conniving. 

Aemond got off his horse as she stepped off the dock and towards the port, the messenger escorting her to him and Ser Criston, who stood behind him with his hand ready to raise his sword. “This is Princess Y/N of the Bharat,” the messenger said, unable to take his eyes off you. Everyone present on the dock stared eagerly, trying to soak up the gossip.

“And I assume you must be Prince Aemond,” She said, her voice firm but sweet. Her pronunciation held an accent, but it was fairly accurate. He was more surprised to find that she actually knew him by name and recognised him this quickly. “I hear you have a reputation for brutality,”

“Only to the people that pester my family and my brother’s kingdom.” He replied in his usual monotone voice. “I hope you aren’t here to threaten my brother’s kingdom, for I’d hate to put a blade through you.”

“Bharat reaches to you in good hopes, Prince,” She said. “We are merely here to offer trade: we have skilled workers manufacturing weapons, chariots, even defences of all sorts. We have great food and spices. You ought to give us a chance to present our goods before disregarding us.”

“Would these weapons fight against dragons, Princess?” Aemond asked.

“There’s only one way to find that out,” she said. “I hope to be able to get an audience with the King, we will do as he sees fit -  we shall leave in peace if he demands that, my Prince.”

“Mhm,” Aemond glanced over at her and her people once more. They all had a curved knife strapped to their hips, and the princess carried a two-foot long blade in a bejewelled holster, the hilt seemingly made of gold with a leather grip. He noted the big gold hoops that gleamed in her ears and the three large rings that occupied her right hands’ fingers. “Only you and one more person will be granted permission to meet the King,” He carefully said. “And… you must leave your weapons behind.”

“Going into a foriegn land with no people and no weapons seems like a fools’ errand, my Prince,” She countered. “Are your swordsmen and fighters so incapable that you are afraid of being attacked in your own palace by two foreigners?”

Aemond slowly blinked, a devious grin forming at her words. “Very well then,” he said, voice decisive. “You and your companion must be accompanied by a knight or me at all times, for we have no intent of trusting someone… unfamiliar with our home. Times like these demand such action,”

“I hope we wouldn’t bore you with our dull company,” She said, brown eyes glinting with amusement, and something dark, something he pictured in his own gaze.

“I can tell that your company will be anything but dull, Princess.” He said. “Ser Criston, please get two mighty steeds for our companions from Bharat.”

Presently, they stand in the King’s Court, the drunkard King sober for a change. Aemond supposed the foreign Princess’ commanding presence was a contributing factor to his brother’s sobriety, but he knew it was her enticing allure, her charming voice and her regal poise that appealed to him. The princess reminded him of wildflowers - magnificent, all consuming in their scent and most of the time, deadly. 

His keen eye had not missed the way the knights of the Kingsguard and the lords at the court had eyed the bejewelled sheath of her blade up and down, as if trying to see through the sheath and capture the blade.

“You talk of trade, yet you carry weapons deadly enough to cut a man,” Aegon noted, gaze eagerly fixed on the woman in front of him. The whole court was silent save for his words, all eyes and ears focused on the stunning princess. “What sort of trade requires that, pray tell me,”

“Your Majesty, the blades are to defend the supplies,” She said, voice neutral. “And to hunt animals for meat. The blades only cut through those who threaten our peace, honour and survival.”

Aegon scratched his chin, leaning forward. “What did you say your trade in?”

“Spices, fabrics, weapons, gold, skilled labourers,” She said, seemingly holding everyone’s gaze at once. “Silver, bronze, blacksmiths who can build chariots, soldiers who would kill for your cause.”

The silence that followed was ringing, one could hear everyone’s breath.

“Why do you need this trade?” Otto Hightower asked.

“My Lord Hand,” Princess Y/N started with a respectful bow. “Why do merchants sell? Why does a servant work? All of the work that we do comes down to one thing - money and power. We have skilled labourers, we have gold, we have silver, we have copper. But even gold becomes worthless when it is in excess, and the flow of trade would make both of us more powerful.”

“What would we get in exchange for our money?” Dowager Queen Alicent asked. Aemond knew from the gleam in her big brown eyes that she was curious, at least, about the goods the princess promised.

“Allow me to present to you a small gift, Your Grace,” The Princess bowed again. From the bags, her moustached companion fetched the finest of the silk Aemond had ever seen - his fingers involuntarily twitched at the sight of the sage-green fabric. A servant brought the fabric from the foreign man to his mother, who was visibly impressed by the silk. “It is the finest silk in the known land, Your Grace,”

Another sample was a thick gold chain with a tiny hourglass pendant, given to his Grandsire Otto Hightower. “My Lord Hand, this hour glass turns over itself in a period of five and forty minutes,” She said. “It is made of the most intricate designs and is sturdy enough to be worn daily.”

“For His Majesty,” The Princess said as her companion fetched a foot long box wrapped in a silver-grey cloth. “We present the blade forged by our best swordsmiths, we present a gauntlet sword - Dandpatta - made in silver reinforced with the best steel we make.”

Aegon eagerly opened his present, the silver blade almost blinding in its shine. He stood up and tested the blade, and commented, “It has great balance, Princess.”

“I am glad to impress Your Majesty,” She said. Her companion fetched another box wrapped in silver-grey cloth, this time the servant handing the box to Aemond. He opened the box, normally, as the Princess’ sweet voice said, “For those who prefer sleath over pomp, for the one known to be quiet, I present to you, Ratri, the blade of the night. It is made of the highest quality of wootz steel, and can cut silently even through the toughest of barks and scales.”

It was a wicked blade, curved slightly like a scythe, but much smaller and easily concealable. When did the princess get to study each of them? Has someone been ratting them out to people they didn’t even know existed? For such precision in giving gifts was impossible without proper prior knowledge of the receiver.

The Princess turned to Haelena and curtseyed for the first time. “For Her Majesty, I present a jewellery set fit for a Queen of her stature, it is all in steel reinforced gold - can be used as a weapon lest someone corner the beautiful Queen.” 

“Quite thoughtful of you, presenting these gifts,” Aegon said, clearly impressed by the sword he received. “I will let you trade with us, Princess.” 

Perhaps you had impressed his brother with the presents you had so thoughtfully brought, but you had imprinted yourself in his head with all the inside information you must have known to think of such gifts. Either that or you and your companions were quick judges of character, but that seemed a bit of a stretch. Your face was one he could never forget, with the intense kohl and the gleaming brown eyes and hair darker than the night, you were a sight meant to be remembered.

The only logical explanation seemed that you had spies in the Red Keep, getting updates about everyone from that source. He had to find that source, pull it off the roots, for you knew the royal family a little too well.

The court was dismissed and you were sent back to let your ship dock at the port and your people had been granted an empty warehouse to store the goods along with a clear plot of land to build the temporary housing facilities your people would need.

Alicent had generously offered you to stay in the castle walls, but you had politely declined, saying that your heart and duty lies with your people and travelling companions. Aemond respected that, his respect for you growing tenfold on learning that you spoke in four tongues and were learning a fifth. But he had so much to learn from you, and from your manners in court today, he knew it would be a big challenge for him - you had earned his respect, but he had to know how you spied on his family without them being aware of you and your peoples’ existence.

How was it that the mighty Targaryens with their dragons had never explored the unknown? How was it that a fleet of ships managed to survive the unresting sea from lands so far away that the dragonriders didn’t spot it? It was this primal hunger for answers that urged him to get closer to you, to dig out the answers he needed to sate his curiosity. Why were you promising them your soldiers? Were you one of his half-sister’s ploys to usurp the throne that was rightfully Aegon’s? Were you sent on a mission, falsely pretending to be a princess sent by Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen to wipe his family clean and leave the Iron Throne vulnerable and up for them to do as they please?

There were so many questions, but no answers in sight. Aemond doubted you were from Driftmark - you and your people were too different, with skin that glowed like gold under the sunlight and new languages he hadn’t even heard of before. Self-appointing himself as your contact person to the King’s council, he frequented your camp, not seeing any ill intent - at least for now.

But he didn’t know what to make of the Bharatiyas either. The people were welcoming and nice enough, even treated him to delicacies he never could have imagined. There were some names he was struggling to speak, but Aemond was nothing if not determined. With the eyes of a hawk and the hearing of a wolf, the dragon carefully observed the foreigners and slowly picked on your languages. 

One of them - Hindi - was simpler than the other tongues that people used. It seemed there were as many dialects as there were people, and Aemond found himself terribly lost as he tried to keep up with them. But he had vowed to himself that he would learn to understand your languages, at least. Yet, he was drawn in by the complexities and fun of their culture, how they worshipped their Gods and Goddesses; how each member of the camp contributed to the working; how the few kids there were allowed to be exposed to the Westeros languages and culture (lack thereof, he thought later).

Aemond had never expected to enjoy someone else’s customs this much. He had appointed himself on a mission, and he wouldn’t let himself be distracted. He swore that he will abstain from gazing at your intense eyes and glowing skin, from the confidence you exude and the power you command.

But each second he spent in your presence, he found himself more enraptured by you - your kohl lined eyes, your pretty mouth, your heavy gold jewellery and the delight with which you spoke. He would be damned to the seven hells and beyond with all the teasing he would get if Aegon or Daeron ever read his mind, full of thought with admiration for you.

Here it is! for all the desi!readers out there like me, I hope you enjoy this. This part mainly describes their entrance and welcome, and I will try to include more political intrigue as I write further. Do drop by some scene ideas that i can include so all the desis feel represented. It is currently 2 am for me but today is Halloween and my birthday so I am posting this as a treat for myself (yes this is another treat for me hehe) Lets hope that i can get around to finish this one. Also, if you are a team black stan who would rather stay off some anti-sort remarks, i am sorry loves but this one is not for you. Better if you scroll past than start an argument.