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lizzyiii · 4 months ago

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His Lady Love (6)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC word count | 6.3k words summary | all I'm gonna say is blood and cheese. tags | death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, blood (lots and lots of blood), trauma? aemond and reader can't keep their hands off each other, reader don't play when it comes to helaena, canon divergence note | i still haven't gotten over blood and cheese and phia saban's phenomenal acting in that episode. why is there so many oc fics in the aemond x reader tag (no hate). also contemplating writing for loki and oswald cobblepot (penguin in gotham)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

“I am happy that my mother has let you become my lady-in-waiting,” Helaena murmured, her voice lilting like a gentle breeze.

“As am I, Princess-” you paused before correcting yourself, “My Queen—the presence of the children brings me much comfort.”

“They eagerly anticipate your visits each day,” Helaena replied with a softness in her gaze that seemed to light the room.

Seated beside the young prince Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, whose precocious spirit was beginning to shine, you cast a fond glance at Jaehaerys, who was determinedly practicing his High Valyrian. Leaning closer, you offered him an encouraging smile, “What does this mean, Jaehaerys?”

It had taken some time for your bond with the young prince to flourish. Unlike his sister, who was as lively and eager as a summer’s day, Jaehaerys was quieter, more contemplative. Yet, you noticed that now whenever you attended to your duties for Helaena, while Jaehaera would chatter your ear off cheerfully, her twin would subtly gravitate toward you, seeking comfort as you played delicately with his soft, silver hair.

“Per—perzis ano...anogor?” he stammered, his timid voice breaking the air with a hint of uncertainty.

You couldn’t help but inwardly smile at his effort; the correct pronunciation was “Perzys Anogar.” After five years spent in the sun-kissed lands of Essos, you had perfected the various dialects of High Valyrian to perfection. Yet, your encouragement for the young prince remained unwavering. At just four years old, his intelligence astounded you. “Very good, my sweet prince. And what does it mean?”

“Fire and blood!” Jaehaera exclaimed with unrestrained enthusiasm, hastening to answer before her brother could. Her eyes sparkled with delight, clearly eager to capture your full attention. Jaehaerys shot her a sidelong glance, his lips pressed together in a playful pout, while you directed your gaze to Jaehaera with admiration. “Well done, dear princess.”

"My Queen," came a maid's voice, cutting through the tranquil atmosphere of Helaena's solar. Both you and Helaena shifted your gaze, "Prince Jaehaerys is summoned for his lesson with the Maester."

Helaena, who sat gracefully upon a pile of richly embroidered cushions, her needlework perched delicately in her lap, regarded her son with a tender smile, her serene demeanor offering him encouragement. "Off you go, Jaehaerys," she urged softly.

The small prince nodded earnestly. Before following the maid through the heavy wooden doors he turned to offer you a shy wave, a glimpse of the warmth that sparked beneath his young exterior. As the sound of his footsteps faded into silence, you turned your focus back to Princess Jaehaera, who was nestled in a nearby chair, fixated on the pages of a book filled with tales of dragons and valor, Jaehaerys had been reading. After awhile, your attention shifted as the sound of eager footsteps resonated through Helaena’s solar. You turned to see Aegon striding purposefully toward you and Jaehaera.

"Lady Mikaelson," he acknowledged with a courteous nod, his gaze lingering upon you for an unsettling moment, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine before he redirected his focus to Jaehaera.

“Where is Jaehaerys?” Aegon inquired, a frown settling deeply between his brows, betraying his impatience.

Helaena’s voice was soft as a whisper, yet it held a steady resolve. “Attending his lessons.”

“And those are where?” Aegon pressed, a hint of mockery threading through his tone, forcing back the urge to scoff at his impatience.

Helaena sighed, a delicate sound that barely pierced the air. “What do you need of him?”

Aegon’s lips thinned, “Taking him to the small council,” he announced, straightening his back with lots of fervor, “He'll be king one day, he must begin his instruction.”

With an eye roll barely concealed, you turned to braid Jaehaera's sweet, silver locks, weaving strands as your thoughts tangled around Aegon’s words. Helaena’s brow furrowed slightly, and you caught the hesitation in her voice. “What if he does not wish to be king?”

Aegon’s huff echoed in the chamber, annoyed, as he leaned closer, palms pressing against his knees. “Where is he?”

“In the library,” Helaena replied, her tone tinged with reluctance. “But you must not disturb his custom.”

Aegon, ever dismissive, shrugged off her words and stepped toward the door. Yet he halted when Helaena's voice pierced the silence once more, "I am afraid."

He pivoted on his heel, regarding her with feigned nonchalance. "Don't be. They'd be fools to come with Vhagar protecting the city."

"Not the dragons," Helaena murmured, her gaze dropping to the cold stone floor. "The rats."

Aegon, along with the attendants, followed her gaze, their eyes scanning for any signs of the vermin that might lurk in the shadows.

"The queen is an enduring mystery," Aegon declared, casting a mocking glance at Helaena. "Is she not?"

With that, he departed, leaving a chill in the air. As soon as he crossed the threshold, you rose from your seat and moved to Helaena’s side, offering her a warm smile. "You need not fear the rats; the castle is filled with rat catchers."

Helaena’s frown deepened, her troubled lilac eyes meeting yours as she whispered with conviction, "That is what terrifies me."

Words escaped you, for you understood that Helaena possessed knowledge beyond the grasp of ordinary folk—truths unacknowledged and often dismissed. Instead of voicing your confusion and uncertainty, you simply clasped her hand in yours, offering the silent comfort.

Your gaze shifted, drawn by the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps as they echoed through the confines of Helaena's solar. As you looked up, your heart raced, a rhythmic thudding that quickened with warmth flooding your cheeks and fluttering butterflies stirring restlessly in your stomach. Aemond strode through the door, an unmistakable presence that demanded attention.

It was true what you'd confided to him: you were still a maiden. A maiden, after five centuries of vampiric existence, because how could you interact with any man when Nikaus, Elijah, and Kol perpetually cast watchful shadows over your every move. You recalled a particular moment in 1001 AD, when a reckless infatuation with Tristan de Martel had nearly led you to surrender your maidenhood, only to be halted by Finn’s stern intervention—a chastisement you still felt the sting of.

But Aemond was different. His presence was a siren's call, compelling and irresistible. You had lost yourself in the depths of his gaze, willingly surrendering to the passion that enveloped you, and you never wished to escape the intoxicating spell he wove around you. The ecstasy of your lovemaking had been a revelation, a visceral experience you had never dreamed possible. Despite your initial attempts to keep a distance, Aemond's determination had eroded every barrier you'd erected, and then, as you laid in the warm afterglow of those stolen moments, regret was a distant memory.

In that act, surrounded by pleasure, Aemond had awakened a sense of aliveness within you that you had not felt since you had died. His touch and words made you feel cherished, loved—deep down, you had longed for this connection. Mere days had passed since you had shared that intimate bond, yet every time your eyes met his, unbidden warmth flushed your cheeks anew.

He lingered his gaze on you for what felt like an eternity, an unspoken connection hanging heavily in the air, before directing his attention to Helaena. "Sister," he began, his tone both respectful and confident, "might I steal a moment of Lady Mikaelson's time?"

Helaena glanced between you and Aemond, a subtle spark of understanding dancing in her eyes as she nodded, a gentle smile touching her lips. "Of course, brother."

Rising slowly from your seat, you were acutely aware of the curious gazes from the other ladies in the room. Yet, before you could fully separate yourself from Helaena's side, her hand shot out, delicately grasping your wrist. "Will you come to bid Jaehaerys goodnight before you retire?" Helaena's voice slipped through the air like a delicate melody, inviting yet tinged with uncertainty.

You offered a reassuring nod, your voice soft and warm. "Of course, My Queen."

With that, you turned to Aemond, his patience evident as he awaited your move. As you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the sound of his footsteps fell steadily in rhythm with yours. Once you had retreated far enough from the safety of Helaena's chambers, you paused and turned to him, your voice laced with curiosity, “What did you wish to—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Aemond's hands cradled your face, pulling you into an unexpected kiss. Surprise rippled through you, manifesting in a soft gasp, but you quickly surrendered to the moment, your lips responding to his with eager warmth. An exhilarating pulse of intimacy washed over you as you opened your mouth, inviting the dance of his tongue with yours, a sweet entanglement that momentarily erased the world around you.

When at last Aemond broke the kiss, his breath came heavy and laden with unspoken emotions, and he pressed his forehead against yours, that mischievous violet eye glinting with resolve. "I plan to go to the small council to announce our betrothal."

Your breath caught in surprise as you took a small step back, trying to comprehend his words. “Betrothal?” The weight of his intentions settled heavily on your heart.

A marriage with him would be folly; he was a prince, destined for heirs and an aging legacy, while you—a vampire—would remain eternally youthfully beautiful, bound to a dead womb. Yet his audacity ignited a spark of indignation in you, prompting a petulant response, “Aemond, you didn’t even ask me.”

A small, infuriating smirk played upon his lips, a faint acknowledgment of your protest. “Will you marry me then?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “How very romantic of you.” The gravity of the moment drew your expression into something more serious as you continued, “Aemond, we are bracing ourselves for war—planning a wedding now would be utterly misplaced.”

“It will be a beacon of hope for the smallfolk,” he argued earnestly, the conviction in his voice palpable.

"At the cost of the kingdom’s coin," you countered sharply, your voice laden with reality.

He dismissed your worries with a wave of his hand, as though to sweep away the logic. “Then we’ll have something modest—”

“Aemond,” you chided softly, lifting your hands to cradle his chiseled face. At your delicate touch, he fell silent, his fierce demeanor momentarily quelled. Deep down, you were acutely aware that his determination to wed you would remain unyielding. In a bid to find common ground you decided to offer an empty concession, “Let us marry after the war.”

His solitary violet eye bore into yours, piercing deeper as if seeking to unravel the very essence of your soul. "You swear it," he demanded, his voice a low thrum of intensity.

Inside, a tumult stirred; 'No,' your thoughts whispered, for you could not predict the war's course. The Iron Throne rightfully belonged to Rhaenyra, and the Blacks appeared poised to triumph. Yet, your heart was tethered to the Greens, bound by an affection that defied reason. The weight of it all threatened to crush you, leading you to contemplate escape back to your world, to your family—a choice that would certainly bring Niklaus's wrath upon you.

But with a deep breath, you embraced the moment, nodding serenely as you wove your words into a gentle lie. "I swear it."

Aemond's gaze lingered in your eyes, a moment stretched between you like the fragile threads of fate. As he nodded, a wave of relief washed over you, warm and undeniable. Yet, as if sealing your pact, his lips found yours once more, igniting a tempest within your heart. The weight of your deception pressed heavily upon you, yet you surrendered to the solace of his kiss, seeking refuge in its intoxication.

The kiss deepened, evolving into something more fervent, as Aemond gently ushered you backward until your back met the cold stone wall. His tongue danced with yours, a fierce desire eclipsing the trepidation that lingered in your mind, as if he sought to claim not merely your lips but your very essence.

A sudden noise pricked at your senses, the swift approach of footsteps echoing through the hallway. In a flurry of instinct, you pushed Aemond away just as a servant passed by. The servant’s gaze flicked towards you, then promptly fell to the ground, yet you could almost feel the unspoken thoughts swirling in their mind. A shiver of apprehension ran through you; you knew whispers would soon scatter among the servants like leaves in the wind.

As the footsteps faded into the distance, Aemond clasped your hands, his grip a mix of desperation and longing. "I yearn to be with you again," he mused, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within your core.

"I feel the same," you replied softly, bringing his hands to your lips in a tender gesture, savoring the skin you coveted.

Alas, the moment was fleeting, as the sound of hurried footfalls approached again prompting the two of you to separate once more. Aemond exhaled, a hint of irritation lacing his tone. "And yet, in this castle, we are forever denied our privacy."

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. "What do you propose?"

He paused, a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, before his lips parted to reveal his audacious suggestion. "The Street of Silk."

"Aemond—" you interjected, surprise and concern overtaking your thoughts.

"Calm yourself," he urged, his hands finding their way to your waist, drawing you closer, the warmth of his body burning away your reservations. "We would seek only a room, nothing more. A night enveloped in our own secret, away from prying eyes."

A hesitant sigh escaped your lips, your heart fluttering at the prospect yet tethered by caution. "Aemond."

In a tender gesture, he kissed your forehead, followed by soft pecks on your cheeks, then lingered with his lips brushing against yours. It was pathetic how quickly you melted under his affection, yearning for the contact that ignited a fire within you. His voice, barely above a whisper, danced against your lips, "Tonight?"

With a surrender that surprised even yourself, you acquiesced. "Alright." His eye sparkled with triumph as he finally pressed his lips against yours, granting you the sweetness you craved.

Yet, he broke away, his breath mingling with yours. "I shall meet you at your chambers—"

"No," you countered softly, concern lacing your words. "It would be dangerous for us to be seen leaving the castle together."

He regarded you with a stern expression, a protective glimmer in his eye as he shook his head. "Fleabottom is no place for a lady to wander alone."

You smiled gently at his earnestness, reassured him with conviction, "I’ll be fine, Aemond. I promise."

With a resigned sigh from you, he leaned in to steal another kiss, the taste of his resolve lingering. "Then it is settled. Meet me at the Blue Pearl tonight."

“I will,” you vowed, your mind clouded by the intoxicating pull of his presence, rational thought slipping away like sand through fingers.

The Keep lay shrouded in an eerie silence as you stepped into the dimly lit corridor from your chambers. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, as if the very walls held their breath, rendering the castle a hollow shell. With purpose, you made your way toward the Queen’s chambers, determined to fulfill your promise to Helaena and bid the twins a gentle goodnight.

You wrapped your cloak tightly around your shoulders, bracing against the biting winds that swept through the stone hallways. A sense of foreboding clawed at your thoughts, quickening your steps as you approached Helaena's solar.

As you neared her chambers, the quiet was shattered by a pained whimper—a sound that sent a chill racing down your spine. Without hesitation, you pushed through the door, only to freeze in shock at the scene before you. A filthy man loomed over Helaena, his grip merciless as he held a knife to her delicate throat. The metallic scent of her blood hung heavy in the air, as you noticed a small nick on her neck.

Your instincts flared to life, propelling you forward to confront the intruder. But before you could move, strong arms encircled you, halting your advance. "Who the fuck is she?" the brute growled, his gaze locked onto the man who held Helaena captive.

“She’s the queen she is,” the crazed man replied, a sickly laugh escaping his lips, his gaze dancing between you and Helaena, relishing the chaos.

“A son for a son, he said,” came the rough retort of the man holding you, his grip tightening like a vice. “Does she look like a fucking son to you?”

The realization struck you like a bolt of lightning—revenge. These madmen had been sent by the Blacks, likely by Daemon himself, to claim a son in return for Lucerys Valaryon.

Pointing with a blood-stained finger, the deranged man holding Helaena, gestured to the cribs across the room, where Jaehaerys and Jaehaera lay asleep, vulnerable to the whims of fate. “Over there,” he sneered, a glint of madness flashing across his eyes.

A chilling wave of nausea washed over you as dread seeped into your heart, realizing the intent behind his actions. Yet, even with the unfathomable power you possessed, you hesitated. You could kill these men in mere moments, reduce them to shredded pieces, but the fear in Helaena’s wide eyes anchored you. You could not afford to frighten her further.

“Release her,” you commanded, your tone a blend of authority and menace, ever mindful of the trembling figure of the queen. “You do not know the darkness you invite with your intentions”

The grip of the man holding you tightened, his fingers like iron shackles, deaf to your words. Instead, the madman holding Helaena chortled, an unsettling sound that grated against your nerves. "We need to get our head and get out."

A simmering rage ignited within you at his vile insinuation, your voice turning low and menacing as you retorted, "If you dare imply what I think, know that your life shall end before you can ever look upon the prince."

The large brute, his bulk a grotesque parody of strength, pressed his clammy hand against your throat, constricting it as he growled, "Shut your fucking mouth, woman."

In that chilling moment, Helaena found her voice, her eyes wide with terror as they darted between you and the man’s tightening grasp. "I have a necklace," she stammered, her heart echoing her fear, "It's of great value."

The man holding you scoffed, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "That’s not a son."

His grip tightened further, but to you, it was nothing more than the grasp of a mere mortal, a fleeting nuisance. With an air of fatalistic calm, you shrugged, “I’ve warned you, and now you shall reap the consequences.”

As the darkness of your true nature surged, crimson flames ignited in your gaze. Veins suffused with blood snaked under your skin and the sharp glint of fangs elongated in exquisite hunger. The man holding Helaena faltered, the smile that once adorned his lips vanished, replaced by a primal terror as he regarded you. “What’s—what’s happening to your face?!”

Confusion roiled in the eyes of the man who had once held your throat captive. Before he could fully comprehend the depths of his error, you moved with the swiftness of a striking snake, your head whipping around as you buried your fangs deep into his pallid flesh. His scream reverberated like a death knell against the stone.

With one fierce tug, you tore into him—a vicious rip that sent a warm spray of blood cascading over your face, painting your features in hues of crimson. The brute’s body slackened, his grip fading as life bled from him like the night fleeing before dawn. He crumpled to the ground dead.

Your attention shifted, a predatory glare now focused on the other man, who quivered holding Helaena securely but fearfully at knifepoint. His confidence wavered as your fury ignited the air around you, and he stepped back, terror threading his voice, “If you come any closer, I swear I’ll kill her—”

In a heartbeat, you were before him. Your eyes cooled to an earthly hue, compelling yet cold, as your voice held the weight of your compulsion. “Step away from the queen."

The resolve in his eyes shattered, obedience taking root as he released Helaena, fear transforming into a savage obedience. But that was not enough; oh no, they would pay dearly for their actions. You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a whisper laced with venom. “Now… stick your knife in your throat.”

Tears cascaded down his cheeks, streaming with unspoken horror as he felt the weight of your will. Whimpering like a child at the mercy of a storm, he struggled against the compulsion, but your magic throbbed through the air, binding him tighter within your grasp. The dagger trembled in his hand before the metal found flesh, cutting deeply as crimson blessing spilled forth. He gasped, choking as despair overwhelmed him, stabbing again and again until his last breath escaped into the silence of the room, and dropped to the ground.

In the wake of such violence, as blood pooled and splattered across the cold floor, your features softened, the fierce gleam fading from your visage. Your fangs retracted, and your eyes reverted to their natural colour, the monstrous visage slipping away like a shadow at dawn.

A tumult of emotions swirled within you—fear, regret—until your gaze flicked to Helaena, ready to face the disgust you expected. Yet, as her eyes met yours, confusion twisted within you; there was no horror, no disgust in her gaze—only a profound relief.

You took a hesitant step back, bewildered by her calm demeanor. "Are you not afraid of me?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion as she softly said, “You saved us."

You realized she might be still grappling with the shock, as she drifted across the room, her movements fluid and deliberate. She bypassed the gruesome scene left in your wake, retrieving a handkerchief with an unsettling nonchalance. Approaching you with a tender resolve, she reached forth, seeking to wipe the blood from your face. Her touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the brutality that had just unfolded.

Yet, as the fabric of her care swept across your skin, your brow furrowed at the sight of tears beginning to brim in Helaena's eyes. “Helaena—what's wrong?” you implored, clasping her trembling hands firmly within yours. “You need not fear; all is well now, you are safe.”

Her tears continued to spill softly, tracing delicate paths down her pale cheeks, as she whispered in a voice that seemed to drift like a dream, “I thought I was lost in one of my dreams. I did not realize it was the truth laid bare before me.”

“It was,” you replied gently, your voice a quiet promise. “But it is over now.”

“If you had not been here, Jaehaerys would be—” she faltered, her composure cracking as a choked sob escaped her lips.

You could only watch her, sorrow etched upon your face, as she turned away from you and hurried to the crib where Jaehaerys slept, oblivious to the tempest that had transpired around him and his sister. Slowly, she lifted the sleeping boy into her arms, his silver hair catching the light like stars against the night sky. She cradled him tightly, swaying gently as if to soothe not just him, but the remnants of her own grief.

“They almost took my boy,” Helaena murmured, her voice a soft lament, entwined within the strands of Jaehaerys’ hair, as if she sought comfort in his very existence.

Aemond exhaled sharply as he finally approached the entrance of the Blue Pearl, its facade gleaming with a deceptive allure. He paused for a moment, memories swirling like smoke from the incense within—each recollection a weight pressing down upon him, reminding him of the last time he had stepped through these doors.

As he crossed the threshold into the brothel, the atmosphere assaulted his senses: the heady scent of incense mingled with the intoxicating sounds of fervent moans and whispered promises that echoed through the dimly lit chambers. The air was thick with a palpable energy, a collision of desire and desperation.

Maintaining a cold and stoic demeanor, Aemond navigated the labyrinth of shadowy corners and silken drapes, his singular focus on securing a room where you both could retreat from the burdens of the outside world, if only for a fleeting night. Under the enveloping darkness of his hooded cloak, he radiated an aura of menace; others instinctively parted before him, quaking under the weight of his dangerous glare.

However, his composure faltered for just a moment when he felt a delicate hand brush against his arm. A surge of indignation coursed through him, instincts honed to ready his strike against anyone who dared encroach upon his space—anyone, that is, who was not you.

Yet, upon turning, he found himself face to face with the last person he wished to encounter. Madam Sylvi, the proprietor of this establishment, stood before him, her presence a haunting reminder of a past he had sought to forget. She was the first woman to lay claim to him, a forced initiation into a world of shadows that had snatched away his boyhood, all at the insidious urging of his brother. Aemond's heart raced, caught between the clutches of anger and the bitter taste of old wounds that threatened to resurface.

"My Prince," she began, her lips curving into what she believed to be a beguiling smile. To Aemond, however, it appeared more akin to a grimace painted upon her features. "What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you once again in these halls."

Feeling a tide of shame wash over him, he averted his gaze, staring intently at the carved wooden floor beneath his feet. “All I seek is a room,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"And which girl shall I send to warm your bed?" she teased, her tone dripping with seduction. Then, with a coy pause, she added, "Or perhaps you are in need of a woman instead?"

He clenched his jaw, his frustration rising. “Just a room,” he insisted, his voice firm, yet faltering.

She let out a soft, lilting hum, feigning disappointment. “A shame,” she purred, her fingers trailing along his arm—a gesture that made his skin crawl. “But know that my arms are always open, especially for you.”

The urge to retaliate surged within him; he imagined the swift, savage justice he could enact. Yet, he found himself rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the memory of their past encounters—memories that danced like shadows in his mind, haunting him still.

Clearing his throat, he risked a glance in her direction, his resolve strengthening. “A Lady will come through your doors. Instruct her where to find me.”

With that, he turned on his heel, striding away before she could utter another word.

Not long after, five figures had made their way into Helaena's solar, their presence a stark contrast to the brutality that had enveloped the chamber moments before. A maid, having spotted one of the trespassers who had slipped into the shadows, acted on her apprehension and sought out a guard.

This led to Lord Otto Hightower being summoned, and he, it seemed, was the sole soul present who maintained the decorum expected of his station. He had seized Aegon with the kind of authoritative grip one might use on a mischievous pup caught reveling in intoxication on the Iron Throne, before promptly calling for Lord Larys.

In due course, Queen Alicent and Ser Criston appeared, ostensibly by chance, though you with your keen senses could detect the unmistakable scent of their shared intimacy lingering upon them, a confirmation of their clandestine liaison.

You sat beside Helaena, who cradled Jaehaerys to her chest as if to shield him from the undercurrents of chaos swirling around them. In your arms, you held Jaehaera, both twins blissfully unaware, lost in the serenity of slumber.

“Who dared to do this? I demand to know! Who is responsible?” Aegon's voice erupted, slicing through the stillness with an edge of fury. News of the attempted assassination against his son had ignited the embers of his inebriated stupor into a roaring blaze of rage. You cast him a disapproving glare, a silent rebuke for his outburst, mindful of the slumbering children.

“The man uttered, ‘a son for a son, he said,’ I suspect he was referring to Prince Daemon, Your Grace,” you interjected softly, your voice a steady balm amidst the tumult.

Alicent, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, approached Helaena, settling beside her. She reached out tenderly, her fingers brushing against the peaceful features of sleeping Jaehaerys, you could see how guilt was feasting upon her soul.

"These villains, these traitors," Aegon spat, his words laced with venom. The anguish of nearly losing his heir carved lines of distress into his face, revealing that beneath the hardened exterior, perhaps Aegon did possess a heart capable of love. "My son is my legacy. My son is heir to the iron throne!”

His gaze then turned, sharp and accusatory, to Ser Criston, whose presence loomed in the doorway. "And where were you, Ser Criston? The Lord Commander of my King's Guard slumbers while my blood is threatened?"

You noted how Alicent’s expression tightened with concern as she cast a furtive glance toward Criston, who stared resolutely at the stone floor, his shame palpable. "I was abed, Your Grace, having dispatched orders to the Night's Watch," he replied.

"Abed?" Aegon echoed, incredulity lacing his words. "While your post was to safeguard the sanctity of my family?"

The Hand let out a weary sigh from his position at the periphery of the room. "Calm yourself, Aegon. The prince still lives," he interjected, attempting to quell the rising tide of tension.

"Yes," Aegon yelled, his attention shifting to you, "only because of Lady Mikaelson. A woman! All of you should hang your heads in shame."

You inhaled sharply at Aegon's jab, which he unknowingly let out. Lord Larys, his gaze insidious and lingering, leaned forward with a slithering curiosity. "What I truly wish to understand is how you managed to subdue two fully grown men, my lady."

The weight of every gaze in the room now turned to you, even Aegon momentarily relinquished his tirade to await your reply. You spoke with steady conviction, "I grew up among five brothers, My Lord. The dance of a blade is not foreign to me." Your voice joined the whispers of the past, your eyes glancing at the first man you had killed. "The first was a brute, slow in his approach. The second, however, was a madman, blinded by insanity."

"It matters not how she accomplished it," Aegon interjected, his impatience barely concealed, "The only thing that matters is she saved Jaehaerys' life."

A wave of relief washed over you as the next figure entered Helaena's solar, a dim light spilling in from the hallway. Aemond's gaze instantly locked onto the grim scene before him, his single eye widening as it fell upon the two lifeless bodies, bloodied and sprawled across the elegant stone floor. “What has happened here?” he demanded.

Aegon's temper flared like wildfire at the sight, stepping forward to confront Aemond, but the latter remained unruffled, his expression a picture of cool composure amidst the turmoil. “And where were you, while my son lay nearly murdered in his own bed?”

“On patrol, brother,” Aemond replied, his tone smooth and casual, though the lie dripped with an unsettling ease. His eyes then landed on you, his brow furrowing as concern flickered across his striking features. Ignoring Aegon entirely, he approached you, noting the streaks of crimson marring your skin. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice softening.

As his hand reached towards your face, you instinctively recoiled, acutely aware of the watchful eyes surrounding you both. “It is not my blood, Your Highness,” you assured him.

Aegon's voice roared again, filling the solar like a tempest. “What course shall we take now? How do we retaliate?” His frustration echoed off the walls.

You could hear Otto Hightower’s resigned sigh. “This is not a moment for rash vengeance, Aegon. Perhaps there is some good may yet come of this.”

“I will not be seen as weak,” Aegon ground out, determination hardening his features.

“You’re already seen as weak, Aegon,” Otto replied with cold clarity, counting off each grim incident, “A hasty coronation, a dragon escaping the pit. The people see an omen. They whisper in the streets. They say, perhaps Rhaenyra should be queen.”

"Let us thus feign that the deed is done, that her assassination was successful." He paused, his keen gaze settling upon the slumbering form of little Jaehaerys. “You would name her: monster. Slayer of infants. I would do more than that—a funeral procession. We shall construct a small casket for Jaehaerys and let the realm gaze upon the handiwork of this pretender who seeks the crown.”

“Your grand design has a singular flaw, Grandsire,” Aegon spat, stepping protectively in front of Helaena and the sleeping child, his posture defiant. “Jaehaerys lives. His existence cannot be kept hidden within these stone walls; word of his survival will soon seep through the cracks.”

“Not if we send him away—this very night,” Otto replied, his voice resolute, a calculated glint igniting his gaze.

“No,” Helaena murmured, instinctively tightening her embrace around Jaehaerys, as if her warmth alone could shield him from danger.

“No!” Aegon echoed, his tone thunderous compared to Helaena’s whisper. “It is far too dangerous for him beyond these castle walls.”

“And yet,” Lord Hightower replied, his tone sharp as a dagger, “he came dangerously close to death even within them.”

“Then where shall he go?” Alicent broke her silence, her voice carrying the weight of desperation.

The Lord Hand fell silent, his brow furrowed in contemplation, before his keen gaze shifted toward you. “Lady Mikaelson,” he began, a shrewd glint of ambition glimmering in his eyes, “your family resides in the Reach, do they not?”

"Indeed, Lord Hand," you replied smoothly, a lie slipping from your lips with practiced ease. You anticipated his intentions even before he continued. "We lie just beyond Golden Grove."

“Ah, that lies near Highgarden,” Otto mused, his mind racing with possibilities before breaking the stillness of the room, “The Tyrells have pledged neutrality, rendering it one of the scant havens in all of Westeros. Thus, it is decided: Jaehaerys shall journey there with Lady Mikaelson tonight. She has protected Jaehaerys once and now she will do so again.”

Aegon, his fingers brushing through Jaehaerys's soft curls as he rested, sighed in reluctant agreement. "Very well, but I demand that half of the White Cloaks accompany them."

Otto scoffed derisively, shaking his head. "No, such a show of force would raise too many suspicions. We can spare only two, perhaps four at the most."

"It would be swifter and safer by dragonback," Aemond interjected, his voice threading through the tension in the room. You turned to meet his gaze, which seemed to be focused only on you, "I can take Lady Mikaelson and Jaehaerys upon Vhagar."

Otto Hightower’s brow furrowed in disapproval. "That would be far too conspicuous."

“Then I shall accompany them,” Aemond asserted, his determination hardening like steel.

"No," Aegon countered firmly, his tone brooking no dissent. "We need you here."

Before Aemond could mount another argument, you rose from your seat, gently moving the sleeping Jaehaera into Alicent's waiting arms. Your voice rang out, steady and resolute amidst the rising tempests of conflict. “It is alright," you spoke clearly, “I will go.”

If Aemond ever met the Mikaelsons...

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @anyisaravia2001 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @ln8118 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #aemond x you #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #the originals #mikaelson #ewan mitchell #vampire!reader

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 6 months ago

Text

Fighting the bear

A/N: Benedict and Anthony are jealous of the time their wives, you and Kate, spend together. They come up with a (not so) glorious plan to get your attention. Based on a prompt I received.

When Anthony entered the living space, he‘d certainly not expected to stumble upon Benedict peeking out one of the large windows with the curtain hiding most of his face. He furrowed his brows, waiting to be noticed, but realized after about ten seconds that it was in vain.

He held on to his arm behind his back and shifted slightly on his feet, amusement slowly trickling down his face as he decided to speak. „Brother?“

Benedict almost ripped down the tender fabric, turning around like a rabbit who heard a dog bark, the curtain swishing almost weightlessly over his head.

„Erm… brother!“ He answered in greeting, imitating Anthony‘s pose, hands behind back and chest jutted out, while nervously weighing up and down on his feet. His mind seemed to be galloping at high speed to come up with something to say. „What nice weather we have today, do we not? Nice indeed!“

Anthony hummed shortly in agreement, his amused eyes searching his brother‘s face to assess the situation. He walked over to the table with the afternoon biscuits to hide his smile and pour himself a cup of tea. Benedict had always been an open book. Whenever one of the brothers had played a prank in their youth, one look at Benedict‘s face had sufficed to give everything away: who had done it, when they had done it and sometimes even what they had done.

Now was no different.

„Tell me,“ Anthony slurred, turning around with a lazy smile, „is whatever you have been spying on, something I should rather not be telling your wife?“

Benedict stiffened with indignation. „Of course not!!“ His angry glance was burning into Anthony’s until it changed into a pensive one, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling.

„Though it is true that you should rather not tell her… but not for any such reason you might be suggesting!“

Anthony hummed again, the little silver spoon clinking in his tea cup. He took a long sip and made an extra loud smacking noise after he finished. Benedict‘s eyes grew narrower and narrower. The tension in the air would have been visible to anyone, like a floating purple cloud. Anthony put his tea cup back down and smiled at his brother. And then he was already dashing to the window.

„No, Anthony!!!“

Benedict cursed, when his brother took a turn about the sofa to confuse him and it actually worked, the younger Bridgerton losing the chase to his former spying position at the window.

„Well, look at that,“ the elder brother exclaimed teasingly, „our two wives conversing in the shade of the trees.“

Then his smirk fell and his brows grew closer together. „Our two wives conversing in the shade of the trees…“ he repeated, now with no remaining trace of amusement.

Benedict lifted his brows and nodded. He certainly had not expected his brother to look just as disgruntled as he felt. „Again!“ He added to Anthony‘s phrase, extending his hand and stepping to the window as well, ending up shoulder to shoulder with his brother. „What is it they keep talking about? Don‘t they ever grow tired of their conversation?“

Anthony hummed, now in a much more serious manner, his hand moving to his chin to touch it cluelessly. „They spend an awful lot of time together. I wonder if they are talking about us…“

Benedict‘s eyes grew in terror. „What would they be saying?“

„How am I supposed to know?“ Anthony hissed in distress, one hand wandering to his neck tie to loosen it a little. „Is there something you did?“

„Something I did??“ Benedict fired back, his voice uncharacteristically high from a strong feeling of disbelief. „What do you suppose I should have done?? Is there something that you did??“

„Of course not!“ Anthony‘s eyes were burning coals, when he turned his head around. They were staring at each other with their uncomfortable, helpless fear of having disgruntled their wives, covering it up with a good portion of self-defending anger. Until Benedict moved up his eyebrows and allowed a small huff of laughter to escape his lips. He dropped his forehead on Anthony‘s shoulder and groaned.

„What are we doing? Why are we fighting? I don‘t even know what‘s going on.“

Anthony‘s face relaxed at Benedict‘s words and he as well was shaken by a small sound of amusement considering their behaviour. He patted Benedict‘s head on his shoulder and looked back down at their wives who were currently laughing at something.

„We are acting like children,“ he concluded, giving Benedict a self-deprecating glance when he moved his head up again. „Did we really get this dependant on our wives since we married? Can we seriously not bear it to see them be content without us?“

Benedict winced at his brother‘s words. „It‘s come to this. I am jealous of your wife. Now that is a phrase, I never thought I‘d utter.“

Anthony chuckled quietly and bumped his shoulder against his brother’s affectionately. „If it‘s any consolation, I believe I am subject to the same affliction.“

Benedict grinned at him and Anthony realized that he hadn‘t been spending an awful lot of time with his younger brother recently. He looked at him with fondness and placed a hand on his shoulder.

„You know, I don‘t think I‘ve ever truly said this to you. But you‘ve grown into quite the man.“

Benedict‘s eyes grew large for a second, his surprise moving his features like a curtain, revealing an unexpected fragility. Then it rushed close again, avoiding the showcase of little boy emotions and replacing them with a teasing smirk - it was the Bridgerton way to deal with emotions and Anthony could not blame him for it. „Sorry,“ Benedict snickered, holding up his left hand with the wedding ring, „I am already taken.“

Anthony groaned in a good-natured manner, before grabbing his brother and putting him in a headlock, making him break out into boyish giggles that he certainly hadn‘t heard in a while.

They stumbled around the room for a while, before Benedict managed to break free, bringing the sofa between them. The jealousy of their respective wives was quite healed as they looked at each other with big grins, both gasping slightly from the effort of their rough-housing.

„Look at that,“ Anthony laughed, putting his hands on the backrest of the silky piece of furniture between them. „We can still have fun on our own, when it‘s just the two of us.“

„You mean,“ Benedict clarified with a grin, „that you can still have fun by means of torturing me!“

Anthony clicked his tongue and shook his head at him. „Come now! I didn‘t even tickle you!“

Narrowing his eyes to slim slits, Benedict took on a more defensive posture. „Don‘t even think about it. I am not the least bit ticklish anymore.“

Anthony barked out a taunting laugh. „Oh, sure. Care to put that to the test?“

Benedict stood up tall and held up an index finger. „I have a way better idea.“

Anthony was curious enough to lend him his ear.

——————

You liked Kate. You liked her very much. And you were over the moon that the two of you had married a Bridgerton and were now practically family.

She was well-read and funny and liked to make fun of her husband as much as you did of your own. Sometimes, all it took to settle an argument you‘ve been having with your respective other (not forcibly better) halves was a chat with a good friend. And Kate was one of the best.

You‘d been enjoying the afternoon together, chatting about this and that and taking a few breaks within the house to drink a cup of tea and fetch some of the books you wanted to talk about. When, quite rudely, your peaceful conversation was interrupted.

Wailing sounds were the first you‘d heard of them, before the pair of your husbands came into sight. Benedict was practically hanging from Anthony‘s shoulder, the older brother carrying him around the rose bushes in your direction. Red stains on both of their white shirts added up to the fright their sight installed in you.

Kate jumped to her feet, when you were still too stunned from the horrible sounds of pain Benedict was producing to move an inch.

„What happened?“ Kate shouted, running closer to them to meet them halfway. Your wobbly legs barely allowed you to get into a standing position. In your mind you were moving through water, as you approached them.

Anthony was sweating slightly from the effort of hoisting your groaning husband through the garden.

„We were attacked.“ He rasped out, trying to position Benedict in a slightly more comfortable position with his free arm.

„Attacked?“ Kate asked in disbelief. „By what??“

„A dog.“ „A bear.“ The brothers responded at the same time. Anthony shot his head around to glare at Benedict who was biting his lip through his rather dramatic groaning. Quickly, the elder Bridgerton recovered from the moment of surprise.

„He‘s hallucinating!“ He quickly shot out in an attempt to explain their differing answers.

Kate took a step back and eyed them both suspiciously, but the concern was still visible on both your faces. „Where did this happen?“ She asked, as you tried to lift Benedict‘s head with your hands to be able to look at him directly.

His cheeks were surprisingly cold to the touch and you did not manage to find the wound that had caused the red stains on their clothes.

„Does it matter?“ Anthony hissed at her. „I am glad I was there to save him. The animal was big enough to resemble a small bear indeed!“

„You didn‘t save me,“ Benedict hissed, his stance changing slightly as did his voice. „I chased it away all by myself, you merely found me.“

With narrowed eyes you watched as Benedict sent a quick glance in your direction. Too quick for your taste. Raising a brow in Kate‘s direction you suddenly found it hard not to smirk. Kate who had already crossed her arms in front of her chest and was looking at Anthony with a rather unimpressed expression.

„Whatever you say, Benedict,“ Anthony huffed, looking at both of you as if to say that his brother had lost a marble or two. „I‘d think it best we bring you to your room to allow you to recover.“

„Not before you get the story straight!“ Benedict insisted, the hand that had been holding on to Anthony‘s shoulder grabbing him by his nape now. Anthony hissed in pain and loosened his grip on his brother sufficiently to make him slide down Anthony‘s side. Benedict cursed and wrapped both arms around his brother‘s neck to keep from slipping.

You and Kate were watching the spectacle with growing interest and lessening worry. Whatever was going on, you could not say. But you did know that your beloved husbands were acting out an embarrassing scene in front of you, one, they had apparently memorized so badly that they forgot to act altogether.

„You are clearly not in your right mind right now,“ Anthony grumbled, wrapping his arms around his brother‘s waist to hoist him up again. „You‘re bleeding and… and the blood loss is making you foolish.“

„Foolish??“ Benedict gasped, his feet searching for solid ground in his outrage. „Who is foolish?“

„Both of you quite clearly are.“ You testified lazily, bumping your shoulder against Kate‘s. „I did not expect to ever see them ridicule themselves to such extents.“

„Neither did I, to be honest,“ she mumbled, looking on with a growing interest. „It is rather entertaining.“

„I agree,“ you responded, when Benedict‘s stained arm flung in Anthony‘s face and left a big red mark on his nose. „What do you think they used for the blood? Marmalade?“

„Oh yes, it appears so.“

„You ruined it all,“ Anthony rasped furiously, trying to free himself from Benedict‘s grip and simultaneously wiping at his face.

„I did??“ Benedict growled, keeping Anthony in half a headlock himself by this point. „You had to go off about being the hero of the day! You made me look weak!“

„Ohh, you want to look weak??“

You raised your brows in amusement, when Anthony‘s fingers started digging into your husband‘s ribs, making the younger Bridgerton gasp, before he practically started howling with laughter.

„NO DON‘T!!“

Retrieving his arms from around Anthony‘s neck, he tried to brush the other‘s hands off his middle, but was twitching and cackling too hard to manage any coordinated movement.

„ANTHONY NO!!“ He wheezed with laughter, as his brother managed to force him to the ground, the unfortunate position leaving him exposed to Anthony’s mercy.

„I thought you said you weren‘t ticklish anymore!“ The elder Bridgerton teased with a mischievous smirk, dwelling in the raucous laughter of his younger brother.

„That is clearly not the case.“ You chuckled, raising your shoulders cluelessly when Kate sent you a look that basically asked what on earth was happening.

„I suppose these two needed some time alone.“ You concluded, warmth filling your chest at the thought of the brothers spending some quality time together - without their wives.

„(Y/N)!!!“ Benedict got out between breathless giggles, „HELP ME!!! PLEASE!!“

You chuckled, all anger at the shock the brothers had installed within you wiped away in a single blow.

„Am I to save you from the bear now?“

Kate laughed at your words and waggled her brows. „I think I can be of bigger support in this situation.“

Anthony shot his head around at his wife’s words and suddenly jumped off his brother like a cat that got in contact with water, when Kate stalked towards them.

„NO!“ He simply yelled, before taking off, practically running away from his wife, who - never one to shy away from a challenge - chased right after him.

Benedict remained gasping on the ground, his cheeks reddened from laughter and his eyes reflecting the glow that came with the tears mirth could bring about.

You bit down on your lip to keep from smiling and quickly walked over to drop down on top of him, chuckling when he held up his arms defensively. „No more, please!! No more!“

Grinning from ear to ear, you took his hands to interlock your fingers. „I think you‘ve suffered quite enough revenge for your little prank.“

Sheepishly your husband groaned at your words, closing his eyes and tilting back his head. „It sounded like the perfect plan to get your attention, back when we came up with it.“

„That‘s because you turn into a ninnyhead, when you and your brother are together.“

With a grin you took in your husband‘s indignation.

„Did you just call me a ninnyhead?“

„The loveliest ninnyhead of all!“

Benedict squinted his eyes at you and tried to come up with a retort. Quickly he realized that he had none and instead broke out into soft chuckles. He removed his hands from your grasp and brought them to your hips to pull you even closer to him, your fingers moving to his face to caress his cheeks. „Is it a crime that I was dying to get your attention?“

„Not at all. It was simply ridiculous. Especially the part with the marmalade!“

Benedict shook his head at himself and even blushed a little. „I suppose love makes you do silly things.“

You smiled at him, bending down to join your lips together. „Love does. Your love for me surely. But apparently brotherly love is not to be excluded.“

Benedict snorted, but his eyes revealed the truth of your words. He would always be Anthony‘s little brother. And that bond was no less important than the one you two shared.

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #ticklish!benedict #bridgerton tickling #anthony and benedict #sibling dynamics #benedict bridgerton wife reader #bridgerton reader insert #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton siblings #kate sharma #kate and reader

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dark-and-kawaii · 2 months ago

Note

What do you think of cockwarming the tieflings? Just thinking of teasing them as you cockwarm them

‎‧₊˚✧ [ Warmth ] ✧˚₊‧

୨୧ — Pairings: Zevlor - Rolan - Dammon x F!Tav/Reader (Separately)

୨୧ — Content: NSFW - Cockwarming - Fat Cocks - Being A Good Cocksleeve~

୨୧ — Notes: Mmmm I think that it’s mighty delicious and I’d happily warm their cocks for as long as they asked ♡ ♡

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Zevlor:

Cockwarming him is a tender act of intimacy, a soothing embrace rather than just physical pleasure.

He’s a Hellrider… A soldier, it’s in his blood to protect and fight for those he cherishes. So there’s always the possibly of him facing death in each battle he fights. As he returns home to you, battered and bloodied, all he craves is the solace of your arms, the warmth only you can provide. While you help him strip his armor he places small kisses to your shoulder, whispering the tenderest of “I love yous.”

You know what he craves, but you hesitate for a moment, fearing that adding your weight to him may open his wounds… But then you feel how his much large hand reaches for yours, bringing it to his face to press a kiss into your palm, “You have nothing to fear my dear.”

As you slide down onto his cock, he lets out a strained groan from deep within his throat, seeking refuge in not only the warmth of your arms, but also the warmth of your cunt.

Once fully seated inside of you, the two of you simply lay in silence for a moment. The heat of your cunt soothes his aching muscles and the steady thrum of his heart against your very own makes you feel safe and protected. You sigh as you relax against his chest, “my Zevy~”

As the minutes go by, the tension in his muscles slowly dissolves. His arms encircle your waist, his hand rubbing up and down your back, while his other arm slides beneath your neck, holding you close.

The feeling of your weight atop him, the softness of your body, the scent of your hair, and the way you sigh as his hands roam over your body is the medicine he needs to heal his mind, body, and soul

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Rolan:

Cockwarming him is about teasing, he’s been so preoccupied with his work that he’s forgotten to give your needy little cunt attention…

He’s so engrossed in that damn spell book that he doesn’t even notice your presence, not until you slowly caress his horns, “Roooolan~” with a mischievous smile you slowly lower yourself onto that warm lap of his, feel that growing bulge you’re so addicted to.

Rolan tries to protest, to remind you of his work, “must you always be so needy and greedy for my tim-?” He attempts to finish his sentence with the deepest blush while looking you dead on, but you silence him with a finger to his lips.

You start off slow, grinding your hips against his clothed cock until it’s fully hard to your liking~ Dipping your hands into his trouser to spring him free~

It’s so adorable how Rolan’s eyes widen in surprise, he should know better by now. Dropping his quill he instinctively reaches to grip your hips as you guide his throbbing cock inside you- feeling the delicious sensation of him filling you up as you slowly rock against him till he’s fully sheathed within you.

“Don’t forget about me, Rolan~” you whisper, “I need your attention too~” your arms snake around his neck as you get comfortable, cockwarming him so nicely as he works~

His breath hitches as he struggles to maintain his composure, and you know that this teasing will have him begging for more once he's finally free to fully indulge in you.

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Dammon:

Cockwarming this tiefling is a means of punishment.

With shaky legs you climb onto his lap and position yourself over his veiny cock, “That’s my good girl.” Undoing his heavy apron with trembling hands before you’re allowed to sit on him.

Just as you remove his worn apron from him, Dammon's tail smacks your ass, causing you to bite your lip, “no noises, that will only prolong me from giving you what you want.”

The thick tip of his cock presses into your opening and you slowly ease down onto him, allowing him to stretch and fill you, but his rough hands grab your hips and push you down all the way to the hilt. The pain of his cock hitting your cervix makes your eyes water and you try to hold back a cry of pleasure.

His head falls back onto the couch completely ignoring you and just absorbing how good you feel, the perfect little cock sleeve.

You begin to rock your hips, grinding down on him, trying to find that friction you so desperately need.

“You're making it very difficult for me to enjoy this, my love. If you don't stop, I'll have to leave and find somewhere else to relax.” Dammon warns.

Whimpering, you still yourself and try to relax. Your pussy clenches around his cock and he inhales deeply, his fingers grip your thighs tighter.

It was quiet until his tail came down on your ass again, you bit your lip harder trying to keep your moans in. Dammon's mouth is parted slightly as he breathes in and out heavily, he's trying not to moan. He wants to give into the warmth of your walls but this is also your punishment, “Move, and I’ll leave you here on the couch, dripping wet, and I won't come back tonight. You'll go to bed alone, without a single kiss. Now be a good little thing and warm my cock.”

He smacks your ass, harder this time. The pain is more intense and the sting feels wonderful. He spanks you a couple more times, each one getting progressively harder, until you’re sobbing and begging him to fuck you... Your hips never once moving just like he ordered…

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate #zevlor #Rolan #Dammon #bg3 smut #zevlor x reader #rolan x reader #dammon x reader #zevlor bg3 #rolan bg3 #dammon bg3 #monster smut #monster fucking #monster fucker

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prettybouquets · 13 days ago

Text

𝓑rushstrokes of 𝓐ffection ᯓᡣ𐭩˚ ༘

fem!reader x viktor

𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽; none

word count; 1.2k

context; established relationship, reader is a expressionism artist

cw; kissing

The workshop always hummed with the sound of Viktor’s inventions—a faint whirring of gears, the occasional hiss of steam, and the rhythmic scratch of pencil against paper. Tonight, it was no different. You stood at your easel, positioned by the wide window of his lab, where moonlight streamed through and mixed with the flicker of arcane light.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of him hunched over his workbench, golden eyes focused intently on the mechanical pieces in front of him. His cane rested against the table, and his brow was furrowed in that familiar way you’d grown to love.

“Taking a break anytime soon?” you asked, swirling deep red paint on your palette.

“I could ask you the same,” he replied without looking up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve been staring at that canvas for over an hour.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I’m waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“Perhaps you should start by capturing your muse,” he teased, finally glancing up from his work. His gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “You always say you need him nearby, no?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but felt warmth bloom in your chest. “If my muse ever sat still long enough, maybe I could.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and turned back to his project. Despite his reply, you noticed how his posture shifted, the lines of his shoulders relaxing just a touch. Viktor wasn’t one to admit it often, but he liked having you here, your presence bringing a quiet balance to the chaos of his inventions.

With a deep breath, you began moving your brush across the canvas. Broad strokes of crimson and violet danced under your hand, meeting sharp streaks of black. Your art was always vivid and emotional, your expressionism capturing feelings in a way words never could. Tonight, your work was inspired by him—the brilliance of his mind, the quiet strength of his presence, and the warmth he showed you in the little moments.

“What are you working on?” Viktor’s voice broke the silence.

You didn’t answer immediately, biting your lip as you added a streak of gold to the chaos of color. “Something complicated,” you finally said.

“Sounds like you’ve taken a page from my book,” he replied, standing with a slight wince before crossing the room to stand beside you.

You looked up at him as he leaned on his cane, his golden eyes studying your work. His proximity was enough to make your pulse quicken, even after months of being together.

“It’s... expressive,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “I see motion, strength—chaos, even. And yet, there’s harmony beneath it.”

You smiled, dipping your brush into a shade of deep blue. “Maybe I’m painting the way you make me feel. You’re a bit chaotic, but there’s always a sense of purpose in what you do.”

His gaze softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. “And you think I’m the muse here?”

“You’re always the muse,” you replied, your voice quieter now. “You’ve brought so much color into my life, Viktor. I think I’m just trying to capture a fraction of that.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on you. Then, with a rare tenderness, he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “And you bring light to mine, moje slunce.”

Your heart swelled at the endearment, a term he rarely used except in moments like this. You leaned into his touch, your brush forgotten as you reached up to rest your hand over his.

“Stay still for a moment,” you said suddenly, stepping back from his touch.

Viktor frowned slightly, confused, as you grabbed a clean brush and dipped it into the gold paint. Before he could protest, you dabbed the tiniest streak of gold onto his cheek, laughing at his bewildered expression.

“What are you doing?” he asked, though there was no real irritation in his voice.

“Adding a little sparkle,” you teased, grinning as you stepped back to admire your handiwork. “You wear brilliance so well, after all.”

He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but his eyes were warm, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You reached for a rag to clean his cheek, but he caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “Leave it,” he said softly. “If it makes you happy, I’ll wear it.”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his tone, your chest tightening with affection. Viktor wasn’t one for grand gestures, but his quiet acts of love spoke volumes.

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging you gently toward him.

You obeyed, your hands resting lightly on his chest as he leaned down. His lips met yours, warm and soft, the kiss slow and deliberate. Viktor wasn’t often one for public affection, even in the privacy of his lab, but moments like this were precious—filled with a quiet intensity that left you breathless.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. “You are the most extraordinary thing in my world,” he whispered.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you smiled, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek. “And you are the reason my world feels full of life.”

For a while, the two of you stood there, the hum of the lab fading into the background. The air between you was warm and steady, a quiet promise of love unspoken but deeply felt.

When you finally returned to your easel, Viktor settled back at his workbench, though he kept glancing your way. The streak of gold still marked his cheek, catching the light whenever he turned his head.

You smiled to yourself, dipping your brush into a fresh pool of paint. Tonight, your masterpiece wasn’t just the canvas in front of you—it was the life you and Viktor had built together, full of quiet moments, stolen kisses, and endless inspiration.

#arcane s2 #arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane x reader #afab reader #arcane netflix #arcane show #gn reader #viktor x you #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor my beloved #viktor x y/n

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itstheghostofmypast · 1 year ago

Text

His Honeybee

Draco Malfoy x (f)Reader

Summary: She was as sweet as honey, as warm as the sun, and as bright as the colour yellow, that would always have his legs turn to jello. Her love for him was as vast as the sea, she was his honeybee.

Genre: Fluff (a tinge of angst)

Warnings: None

A/N: I swear I'm still try na catch up with my requests but please bear with me, I need to get this stuff out of my system from time to time to relax. Please remember to show some love by ❤️ and reblogs.

With a small huff, he dropped his bag, eyes as clear as the lake before him, watching it glimmer under the rising sun. The mist around them had settled to a low veil, only adding to the chilly sensation, nipping at the tip of his ears.

Slowly, he settled down beside a warmer body, moving closer to welcome the furnace-like warmth, earning a small chuckle from the person beside him, his hand reaching to grab onto its counterpart, another half, to complete the puzzle, her hand.

"Didn't I tell you to wear a cap?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, eyes never leaving the book, colouring book? It was at this point that his gaze moved from her alluring side profile to her lap, noticing the coloured pencils and markers on the other side in an unzipped pouch, then the book in her lap, watching her colour an abnormally large, unrealistic, geometric flower.

"Didn't I tell you it'll mess up my hair." his words came out a bit colder than he had intended to, the irritation in his tone was evident, but it was not because of her, never because of her. It was just the cold and the lack of attention he was being provided, but he didn't want her to think it was her fault, he had always tried to be gentle with her, and a tender undertone would resurface from within him around her.

"Even the one I knitted for you?" she pouted turning to look at him properly, a small gasp escaping her lips as she noticed the little kisses and nips left by Lady Winter herself, all across his face, the pink tips of his ears to the way his cheeks were splattered with pink and the tip his nose of a cute little rosy colour. "You look like you're freezing." she huffed letting go of his hand, much to his disapproval, turning to fish for something in her bag.

"You didn't knit me any....thing" his words slowly died off when she pulled out a woollen cap, with two strings on each side, it was by far the ugliest thing he had ever seen. It was by no means extraordinary, it was in no way a fashion statement or elegant, it was a simple, peasant-like - border line muggle-like- woollen cap.

"Tada! I did, " she gleamed before showing him another one, "For both of us." it was only then that he noticed the finer details about the caps, each had a customised trait. One of the caps was completely green, and in the centre was a woollen heart in yellow, while the other had a yellow base and a green heart in the centre- same design, inverted colours.

"Oh" his insult stopped before it could pour out, luckily the gears in his head had worked fast enough for it to click, their house colours and if he knew her like the back of his hand, which he did, she was going to give him the ghastly yellow one with the green heart and keep the green one with the yellow heart for herself.

"This one" Turning her upper body towards him, her hand reached up to his hair, fingers running through his hair, his eyes instinctively closing at the tender action, letting her touch and mess about his neatly styled hair, anyone else would've been burnt to death, but she wasn't just anyone. He hummed at her little comment about liking his new haircut, his bangs adding a nice flair to his aura, whatever that meant. A few minutes in and he had forgotten why she had begun to gently comb through his hair, basking in the oh-so-needed attention he had woken up early in the morning in the first place for, the need of attention that had him trudging through the damp, cold forest all the way to her, in their little corner, their little lake, just to be with her. An affectionate sensation faded away when he felt something warm sit atop his head, covering his ears, though the slightly itchy sensation forced him to snap his eyes open.

"There." tying up the two strings attached to each end of the earpiece, into a pretty bow she moved back to admire her work. His face had turned warmer, not because of the itchy woollen cap, but her little gesture, her look of admiration as if he were the prettiest thing in the world.

"Why...is it...yellow?" looking at anything but her face he mumbled out a question, he knew which one was his before she had even worded it out, but he couldn't figure out the ideology.

"Well" putting on her cap, leaving the strings undone, she smiled at him, "Because my heart is surrounded by you, everywhere I look, I see things that remind me of you like take this place, it's quiet and peaceful, and it's ours, I found this place because it reminded me of you, how you like quiet places, places where you are free from prying eyes, everywhere I go, I see you, like this lake, it's like I'm looking into your eyes, the way it sparkles under the sun reminds me of how your eyes twinkle in potions class when we learn something new, or how when we go to the library, the section way at the back, with the books no one touches, reminds me of the ample knowledge you have on topics I couldn't even think of, how you're so much smarter than everyone, yet, no one approaches you for help out of hesitance, just how no one goes at the back old isle." her eyes caught how a small smile had made its way on his face, how he was now holding onto her hand again, "That's why my heart is surrounded by you. I hope...yours is surrounded by me." peaking up at him, as he turned his face around, hiding his expressions from her, a part of her wanted to tease him for being shy, but perhaps that was for another time. Instead, she settled back down after hearing a faint whisper, "Of course, mine too, is surrounded by you, silly girl."

"Good." with that she let go of his hand and went back to colouring, letting a comfortable silence settle between the two.

It took him a good ten minutes to calm down, her little confession had his chest hammering against the walls of his chest, demanding to be set free so it could nestle in the warm, tender palm of hers, all pretty and all hers. He knew his palm was sweaty against hers, and he prayed to God that she wouldn't continue with her teasing, knowing fully well he'd either snap in retaliation or just run away to cry in joy somewhere in a corner. The noise of his pesky, beating heart rang in his ears, constantly reminding him of his undying love for her. After the ringing dyed out his attention turned towards the scratching sound, noticing the bold choice of colours she was using to colour the unrealistic flower, his curiosity no longer being confined by his sense of logic as it slipped out,

"Why are you colouring?"

"It's therapeutic."

"Colouring like a child ?"

"Hmm, it's designed for an older audience."

"So colouring is a nice way to relax?"

"Mhmmm..." Pulling out another colour she glanced at him, "What do you do to relax?"

What did he do to relax? Most of the time he'd be too frustrated with his father and grades to even care to relax. If he did ever get a moment of peace, it was with her. As she had mentioned before, he was surrounded by her, his senses were flooded with her presence, he'd be thinking about her more often these days, perhaps because winter break was upon them. Winterbreak meant that the two would have to part, he'd go back home to his cold mansion and she'd go back to her loving parents. Parents who knew he existed, unlike his own, who had no idea who she was or if she existed, perhaps if he could build the courage this time, he might tell them, he was after all in his 6th year.

"Draco?"

"I sketch." the words left him sooner than he expected, it wasn't his fault though, he was too distracted by her curious eyes, her inviting scent, her warm and tender aura, his brain would often short-circuit around her, and this was one of those times.

"Ah...that's nice, I've never seen any of your sketches before." she giggled, once again letting go of his hand to turn to her bag, missing the way he shrugged with a "Burn them afterwards."

"Well" turning to him she handed him her sketchbook and pencils, "Don't burn this one, I wanna keep it safe and close to me." she smiled at his surprised eyes, adding in a little "Please" Much to his pleasure, for she knew that would make him all putty and it did.

A few beats of silence later, all that could be heard was the gentle sounds of nature waking up around them, the sun ever so slowly waltzing up higher into the sky, trying to own the cold floor with its glow and warmth within the winter sky. The birds would often change the tune around them, from a soft melody to a high-pitched orchestra of chirps, much to their pleasure, this was what he loved most about spending time with her, everything would be so pleasant, so calming and so warm, caressing his soul with such a tender delicate touch, allowing him to bask in her presence, a feeling he wanted to lounge in for almost all of eternity if it were possible.

Ever so often she'd notice him glance at her, then look ahead, unsure of whether he wanted to ask her something, or tell her. Truth be told, she had been meaning to ask him something, something about them, but perhaps she was too afraid to do so, afraid that it would scare him away. It took so long for him to open up to her, even after they had become an official couple, at least official enough for their close friends to know, but she knew his parents were not aware of her presence. She never brought it up, even after she had introduced him to hers, admiring how he was able to hold up a conversation with her father, gushing over the way he was being forced to eat more by her mother after he had complimented her cooking. She thanked him with her whole being when he had told her how he felt about her home that night, when he lay next to her, snuggled under the covers with her on her cramped single bed in matching pyjamas, "It isn't special, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world...it's warm...and nice...mine is...cold. I like it here, I like being here with you."

A part of her wanted to ask him if he'd ever want to be with her outside of school, or what would happen to them after their school years came to an end. Would their relationship cease to exist? Would their love turn into a bundle of memories they'd turn to in their darkest times? Would she just be his secret lover he was destined to leave? Perhaps she felt this way due to the upcoming winter break, all these questions finally bottling up to the max, ready to spill over. But she couldn't, she had to be careful, for she knew no matter how cold or tough he would act, he was but a fragile soul, always yearning for the approval of his parents, for their love and admiration, especially his father's, one he barely received. So, she had to be careful and phrase it properly, because even if he feared his father, she was terrified of the man, she had seen him only a handful of times at school and if there was one thing she was sure about was that other than muggles, he hated Hufflepuffs as well. Maybe their love was short-lived, maybe she should prepare herself for the day he'd let her go, because in this situation it was not the "It's not you it's me", since it wasn't him, he was perfect in all and every sense, but it was her if she wasn't sorted in Hufflepuff, she was from a more prominent family if she was...perfect like him, maybe, then just maybe, their fates could have intertwined till eternity, if only the stars had, for once, listened to her and not decided for her, it only.

"Oh" his gasp broke her train of thought, "I'm late for practice!" he shot up, looking down at her, who was staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights, face flushed, her cap now covering her forehead, as she blinked up at him. Letting out a chuckle he bent down to brush his slightly chapped lips against hers, fingers gently gripping her chin, tilting her head to look up at him, "I've made up my mind, my honeybee, come with me this winter break, I...I don't know what to expect, but I know for sure I want you in my life, whether anyone likes it or not." With that, he knelt one last time to give her a proper kiss, "Finish your colouring, you've been on the same petal for an hour."

"Draco! Wait!" she called out, only for him to turn his head and give her that heart-stopping smile, winking at her before running off to the schoolyards, not waiting for her to speak.

"You're still wearing the....cap." she sighed before letting out a nervous chuckle, well then, at least one thing was clear, his parents may not need to wait till winter break to find out about their boy's heart belonging to a Hufflepuff, especially when his entire Quidditch team would see him in his woollen cap. Shaking her head, she turned to grab the sketchbook flipping it over to look at what he had been sketching, a soft gasp leaving her lips, as her fingers dug into the paper, eyes turning glossy at the sight. For more than an hour, he had sat there, sketching her, from every dimple to strand of hair, the details added in just made her wonder who he had sketched, for this ethereal being could not have been her. That is until she read the little sign off underneath, "My precious honeybee."

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merbear25 · 10 months ago

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Enjoying the little things

There's never a dull moment when you're with him even on days that are calmer than others. On days like these, small flickers of his inner thoughts give you a deeper understanding of him.

Zoro, Mihawk, Sanji, Law

CW: SFW, gn!reader, established relationship, headcanons + drabbles.

Zoro: training in the early morning, the brisk breeze, a chill in the air. He enjoys waking up and being productive when the rest are still sound asleep. It gives him the feeling of having the upper hand. When there's a chill in the air, it hitches his breath, reminding him to maintain his breath control. The brisk breeze feels nice against his skin as he's training, acting like a natural cooling system.

You asked to accompany him on one of his early training sesssions, of course, already knowing you'd have to wake up before the crack of dawn. He agreed to let you tag along but added that he didn't want to hear any complaining about how early it'd be or tired you'd feel. Crossing your heart, you gave him your word that you'd be on your best behavior.

Waking up the next day was showing to be difficult though, while you weren't, and would never be, a morning person. Despite your sluggish steps getting out of bed, you put on a good face when you noticed Zoro, who was already geared up to set out for the day.

Taking a double take, your body language was hinting to him that you were probably going to be a thorn in his side this morning. Paying it no mind, he gestured for you to come to the upper deck of the Sunny. You simply nodded while trying to hide the regret on your face.

However, you would have never guessd how grateful you would be to see him with the soft glow of the morning sun speckling his sunkissed body. After each set, his usually furrowed brow was instead eased, and his walls appeared to lower to the gentle breeze of the ocean air.

"You're staring at me," his even tone broke the silence of the new day. "Why?" You didn't have much of a response so blurted out the first thing that came to mind that being that he looked unbelievably handsome. In saying this, you couldn't have predicted any other reaction out of him—he went rimson. Averting his eyes from the sudden shock of your blaten honesty, he could barely utter a 'thanks' before continuing his regime.

Mihawk: the crackling of a fire, sunsets, clear nights. He likes being under the stars and how they, as well as the moon light his way. Sunsets bring a peaceful end to the day, covering the sky and illuminating rooms with its soft color. The fire supplies warmth, not just with heat, but also in atmosphere. The crackling brings a sense of liveliness to the cold interior of the castle.

Sitting in the study together was one of your favorite ways to spend time with him. It was almost routine at this point to end the day by joining him infront of the fireplace, each of you curled up with your own book. Even though the castle was built from cold bricks and stone, the fireplaces throughout it gifted the both of you with comfort.

The natural light of the day was dimming to pinks and oranges, letting the fire become more prominent within the room. Embers from tonight's flames were rather lively: the wood splintered and cracked. Feeling the roasted firewood on your person, you affectionately shifted your gaze to him.

His intense stare had been softened by its brilliancy; exhailing, the moon's illuminating beams entranced him next. He must have known you were watching him, though he refrained from calling attention to it. While your eyes kept on him, you saw slight alterations in his stoic stature: his lips twitched at the corners, his eyelids lifted and lowered more slowly, and his chest rose and fell at a much steadier pace, as if he was admiring something in the distance, just outside the window.

When he finally decided to acknowledge your gaze, you didn't shy away from it, and he didn't ask why you were watching him. Instead, you let the tender love you had for him be expressed through a knowing smile. The corners of his mouth were faintly tugged, almost resembling one in return.

Sanji: sunrises, the smell of coffee and tea, sharing a meal. The shades of orange, pink, and purple remind him of the love and passion he has always had for his friends and dreams. The smell of coffee and tea awaken his senses, sharing a meal gives him a sense of gratitude that he has people to eat around the table with.

Sanji was one of the first of the crew to wake up, afterall, he was in charge of feeding everyone. However, you were there to greet him in the kitchen this morning. Having already started the coffee, you thoughtfully asked how he'd like it. Seeing you this early was a lovely surprise.

He'd tried insisting on you letting him prepare the drinks, but you reassured him that you could manage making the coffee just fine. Upon joining him at the table, you noticed a sincerity to him that you hadn't come across before. With the warmth of dawn peaking in through the window, you wondered if he'd always had this side to him that perhaps you overlooked. Either way, you couldn't help returning his peaceful gaze.

Reaching out to hold your hand, he made sure to thank you. To you the gesture of making coffee was so minute, although it seemed from his appreciation, that it really is the thought that counts. Returning his love with a light squeeze of his hand, he scanned the slight waves of the sea. The tones of pink and orange were now mixing into purple.

"Aren't sunrises beautiful?" he asked in a rosey tone. Before agreeing with him, you admired the man, his eyes being filled with hope and joy. You added that they're much more beautiful when enjoying them with someone you care about. Turning to you, he was grateful for having shared this morning with you.

Law: the creaking of branches, rustling of leaves, crickets chirping. These serve as a reminder of the different forms of life that make up our world. Nature is a majestic force, and although it can be frightening at times, it means he's never truely alone. There is a sort of comfort in knowing this.

The day had shown to be a taxing one. Having accomplished far less than he'd wanted to, he excused himself to his study to reevaluate his approach. The Polar Tang was to stay docked at the island's port until the crew was able to gather the necessary items and information they'd originally set out for, which meant being tied to an island as breathtaking as this one until further notice.

There was a steady wind that night: the branches of the surrounding trees were swaying, their leaves accompanying them in rustling. Peace and tranquilty were gradually replacing the qualms of the disappointing day. Looking around, you just came to the realization that you hadn't seen Law since reboarding the submarine.

Taking it upon yourself to check up on the most likely sulking captain, you began making your way to where he said he'd be. Upon reaching it, however, you were met with a vacant room. Running through all of the other locations he could be, you settled on checking on deck again.

Low and behold, there he was, seemingly brooding against the railing. When you approached him, you noticed that his eyes were shut, and although his eye brows weren't eased, his breaths were drawn out in an unagitated manner. It was then that your ears caught on to the distant sound of chirping from crickets. Even with the rustling of the leaves and creaking of the branches, the song of those insects could still be heard.

He opened one eye to measure you up, but closed it again when you placed your hands on the railing, looking out dreamily at the darkened forest. The energy being released from Law was the exact opposite of earlier. Without having to say anything, you understood that there was a comfort he found in nature. You didn't want to ruin his rarely peaceful demeanour, so you just let yourself enjoy the scenery with him in silence.

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frost-queen · 1 year ago

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Bodyguarded // part 2 (Reader!Grimes x Daryl Dixon)

Requested by: @deansapplepie, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @strangerthingslover69, @ankhmutes, @yoowhatthefuck, @sseleniaa

Summary: Daryl and you bond more, but Shane can't seem to stop bothering you. His power act over your playing out. With your brother haven risen from the dead will Shane take a step back? [series]

“Keep your hand steady.” – Daryl said as his fingers trailed over yours. You were looking at him as he noticed it. With a gentle nudge against your chin, he turned your head. – “Eyes forwards.” – he stated. You nodded willingly trying to supress a smile. You kept your focus to the front as Daryl’s hand went under yours, supporting the gun in your hand.

He neared as you felt his body close in on you. His cheek close to yours. He moved his hand to the top of the gun. – “Try looking for a steady aim.” – he informed you. His hand let go of the gun, pointing at the overly big target up ahead. Seeing how it had set it up made you snort loud. – “What?” – Daryl asked confused with furrowed brows.

You lowered the gun, turning more towards him as you had to break it to him. – “Oh Daryl.” – you began with a breathless laugh. – “What?” – Daryl repeated. You swayed your arm over his shoulder pulling him closer to you. – “My brother is a cop. I know how to shoot sweetheart.” – you confessed with a dazzling smile. – “I mean was…” – you corrected yourself letting your arm fall from around him. – “How come you don’t have a gun?” – Daryl questioned loudly. Finding it very odd. You could’ve easily been an asset in keeping walkers at bay.

You took a deep sigh. – “Well you know Shane. He doesn’t like me holding a gun.” – you told him. Daryl took a deep annoyed sigh. – “But you can always teach me if you like?” – you proposed having rested your hand on his chest. – “It’s no fun now.” – Daryl answered bothered. You grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him nose to nose with you. – “We can always make it fun.” – you replied teasingly. Daryl grabbed your face, pushing your head a bit back.

“Why don’t you show me how you shoot. Sweetheart.” – he added teasingly. Before you could utter another word he spun you around. Pushing you a bit forwards by a push on your bottom. Looking over your shoulder, you gave him a soft glare. Daryl leaned back, chuckling. – “I need to know you’ve got my back.” – he said jokingly. You turned back raising the gun. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three shots were fired in the bag.

You stepped aside to show Daryl. Daryl looked surprised seeing how you had shot the three bullets in a way they looked like a triangle shape was matched in the bag. – “Do I get a reward now?” – you questioned. – “Not bad.” – Daryl responded nearing you. Playfully you shoved Daryl away acting as if it annoyed you. Daryl chuckled grabbing you from behind. Wrapping his arms around you.

His body pressed against your back as his head rested on your shoulder. – “I expect a higher praise from you.” – you said chuckling. Daryl left a tender kiss on your shoulder. – “Or you could continue that.” – you said making Daryl lift his head up with a smirk. He left another tender kiss on your shoulder. Following on to kiss your neck tenderly. Kissing his way up as you tilted your head to the side.

You turned around tapping your lips invitingly. Daryl quirked his eyebrow up. – “Now you are over-doing it Y/n.” – he said turning his head away. You could only stare at him shockingly. Daryl’s lips curled up into a smile as he grabbed a hold of you, kissing you full on the lips.

Daryl and you parted as he nudged you to walk. The two of you made you way back to the others. – “What’s Shane’s deal with you anyways?” – he asked. – “You tell me! I have no idea why he is being such an ass towards me.” – you explained half shouting out the words. – “I hate how he acts towards Carl.” – you continued. – “Like he never had a dad? Honestly Shane is a mystery to me. It’s not like I knew him very well before all this, but now… it seems like he is meddling a bit too much in my family’s life.” – you told Daryl who was listening tentatively.

You sighed loud. Daryl and you emerged from the woods coming back to camp. Dale stood on the caravan, waving at Daryl. – “Duty calls.” – Daryl said to you. You watched him go all smiling. Then you gasped loud feeling the gun being pulled aggressively out of your hands.

“Where did you steal this?” – Shane called out holding the gun up. You had turned around in shock, startled by his sudden closeness to you. – “I didn’t…” – you answered still half in shock. – “Don’t lie to me! You stole this bloody gun. Do you think you are brave enough to shoot it?” – he mocked causing a scene. Noticing how everyone at camp was looking your way. – “You think this is a kid’s toy?” – Shane called out waving the gun around. - “Shane!” – Lori snapped at him, eyeing the curious eyes around him and you.

Shane looked all smug. – “If you want to play guns, we’ll play guns Y/n!” – he grabbed you by the back of your neck, pushing your head down. – “Auntie Y/n!” – Carl shouted out as Lori held him back. – “No Carl! She needs to taught a lesson.” – Shane shouted at him. – “Shane!” – you cried out in agony trying to get his grip off you. Shane saw Daryl storm over, making him aim the gun at him.

“No more protecting her.” – he told him clear. Daryl stopped with a glare. – “I didn’t steal it!” – you called out trying to reason with him. – “Liar!” – Shane yelled at you, pulling a bit at your hair. – “Shane let her go.” – Carol said calmly. – “Shane… Shane…” – Carol kept trying to ask for his attention wanting to tone his temper down.

“Look at Carl.” – she said gesturing at Carl. Shane turned his head seeing how Lori held Carl tight. His cheeks stained with tears. His lips pouting as it hurt his little heart to see Shane hurt you like that. – “Please…” – Carol begged. Shane inhaled deeply through his nose. Suddenly aiming the gun at your head. – “No!” – Carl cried out leaping forwards as Lori had to hold him tighter. Daryl wanted to rush over as Shane stopped him.

“I’ll fire if you come near Dixon!” – he shouted making Daryl stop mid-track. – “Shane put the gun down!” – Lori said loudly hoping she could talk him out of it. You were panting, feeling the tip of the gun press against the back of your head. Bend over you felt your blood go for your head. Shane’s hand still on your neck. – “Not so talkative are we now?” – Shane said to you. Carl was crying his eyes out.

“Are… are you really going to shoot me in front of Carl?” – you breathed out. Daryl tried taking a step closer but Shane was on to him. It made Daryl clench his jaw. – “Shane!” – Lori snapped at him. Shane looked up to her seeing how angry she was looking at him. He started to chuckle slowly removing the gun from against your head. – “I was just playing.” – he said holding the gun up.

The moment you didn’t feel his grip on you anymore, you ran off. Tears in your eyes as this was too much. Shane had crossed a line. Hard. – “Y/n!” – Daryl called out running after you. Lori let go of Carl walking over to Shane. – “It was just a joke.” – he told her chuckling. Lori slapped him across the face. – “A damn cruel one!” – she answered angry. You kept running tears running down your cheek. Never did you think Shane was capable of actually holding a gun up to your head.

The seriousness in his voice frightened you. For a moment you really did think he was going to shoot you in front of everyone. – “Y/n!” – Daryl panted out having come after you. He had followed you into the woods. You weren’t listening to him, wondering off too far. – “Y/n!” – Daryl repeated loud quickening up his pace. The tears were running down your face making you sob breathlessly. You called it out when two arms wrapped around you.

Stopping your mindless running. – “Y/n! Y/n stop.” – Daryl said holding you tight as you tried freeing yourself from him. Sobbing loud you eased down feeling worn out. The energy left your body making you sunk through your knees. Daryl went down with you, keeping you in his arms. Turning your face a bit, you pressed it against his arm, crying your eyes out.

He comforted you, remaining silent as he knew cursing at Shane wouldn’t do you any good now. It took you a lot of effort to get back to camp. You didn’t want to be there knowing Shane was there. Also the fact that everyone had seen it made it even more uncomfortable. You decided to go to the lake sitting by the water.

“Auntie Y/n!” – Carl cried out making you turn your head. He came running over as you got up. His body slammed against yours, arms going round you. He was sobbing loud as you soothed him. – “I’m okay Carl.” – you told him, knowing how frightened he must have been. Carl hugged you tighter, pressing his cheek against your stomach. That night slept Carl in your tent. Partly because you didn’t want to be alone and because he wanted to protect you.

The next morning you all got startled at Glenn honking loud. He had been out for a run, only having returned now. Glenn got out of the car all happy and relieved. Everyone made their way over to him to greet him as it had been a few days since they saw him. You kept your distance a bit, gulping when you noticed Shane coming to stand beside you. – “One day there will be no one around to protect you.” – he said to you. It made you swallow frightened. – “What is your deal against me Shane?” – you asked boldly having enough of his power plays.

He turned his posture more to you taking a deep breath. – “Your attitude!” – he made clear. – “My attitude?” – you repeated confused. You turned more to Shane as well, standing in front of him. You stared at him feeling there was more to it. – “Do… do you feel threatened by me?” – you asked him. Shane laughed mockingly. – “You are NOTHING to me!” – he made clear with a deadly stare. Agitated you wanted to shove him. Shane grabbed a hold of your wrist, twisting it to the side.

“Shane?” – both of you heard clear. It made the two of you look to the side. Your eyes widening. – “Rick?” – you gasped out in shock. Carl was clinging onto him. His other arm around Lori. – “Y/n!” – Rick said relieved as he removed himself from Lori and Carl. Shane let go of your arm aggressively. Rick had seen it making him go up to Shane. – “Why were your hands on my sister?” – he asked calmly but with a soft glare.

Shane puffed loud walking off. Rick stood stunned and baffled at Shane’s behaviour. – “Rick?” – you said again touching his shoulder. Touching him made it all real. Rick turned to you with a relieved smile. The two of you embraced strongly. – “I thought you were dead.” – you told him. – “So did I.” – he answered.

He pulled away touching your face. – “How I am glad to see you alive and well sister.” – he told you making you smile between your tears. A surprise touch made you squeal soft. Carl having wrapped his arms around the both of you. – “Now we are a family again.” – he said happily. – “Yeah we are.” – Rick answered rubbing his hand through his hair. Lori glanced over to Shane seeing how jealous he looked. He brushed it off by walking off the minute he saw the meaning of Lori’s eyes.

-------------------------------------------------

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chinolondoner · 6 months ago

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Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

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newspaper-advertisement · 1 year ago

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Book tender notice ads and get the best contractors for your business projects!

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 6 months ago

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Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. With stop being so pretty/handsome.” “You stop being so pretty/handsome!” Thanks!! :))

beautiful

benedict bridgerton x fem wife reader

Benedict Bridgerton was in the drawing room, a mess of papers scattered across the mahogany table. His easel stood nearby, a canvas half covered in the beginnings of a vibrant landscape. He had been at it for hours, completely absorbed in his art, when the door creaked open and Y/N stepped in, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

"You’ve been in here all morning," Y/N chided gently, setting the tray down on a clear corner of the table. "You must be famished."

Benedict looked up, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of his wife. "I hadn't realized the time," he admitted, rising from his chair and stretching his stiff limbs. "But now that you mention it, I am quite hungry."

As he approached, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. His dark curls were tousled, and there was a smudge of paint on his cheek, adding to his roguish charm. She felt her heart skip a beat, as it often did when she looked at him.

"You have paint on your face," she said, reaching up to wipe it away with her thumb. "And you still manage to look devastatingly handsome."

Benedict caught her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers. "You stop being so pretty," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "It's terribly distracting."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and musical. "You stop being so handsome," she retorted. "It's not fair."

They stood there for a moment, simply enjoying each other's presence. Benedict's thumb brushed over her knuckles, his touch warm and reassuring. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I suppose we're both cursed, then," he whispered.

"Cursed with beauty," Y/N agreed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "What a dreadful fate."

Benedict chuckled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Indeed. Now, tell me about your morning. What mischief have you been up to while I’ve been locked away with my paints?"

"Oh, the usual," Y/N said airily, resting her head against his chest. "A bit of reading, a walk in the garden. I did have an interesting conversation with Eloise about her latest literary endeavor."

"Ah, Eloise and her books," Benedict mused. "She’s always up to something, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she is," Y/N said fondly. "But enough about my morning. I want to hear about your painting. Show me what you’ve been working on."

Benedict led her to the easel, where the canvas stood proudly displaying the beginnings of a lush countryside scene. The colors were vibrant, the strokes confident and expressive. Y/N marveled at the way he captured the essence of nature with such skill.

"It’s beautiful," she breathed. "You have such a talent, Benedict."

He shrugged modestly, though her praise clearly pleased him. "It’s still a work in progress. But I’m glad you like it."

"I love it," she corrected, her eyes meeting his. "Just as I love you."

Benedict’s expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. "And I love you, Y/N. More than words can say."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, the world around them fading away. In that moment, there was only the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of their love and the promise of countless beautiful moments yet to come.

When they finally pulled apart, Benedict pressed his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers. "Stay with me," he murmured. "Let’s enjoy this day together."

"Of course," Y/N whispered, her heart full. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."

And so they spent the rest of the day side by side, painting, talking, and simply being together. The hours slipped by unnoticed, filled with laughter and light. In the comfort of each other's presence, they found a joy that was as boundless as their love, and the world outside seemed a little brighter, a little more beautiful.

As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow through the windows, they decided to take a break and stroll through the garden. The summer flowers were in full bloom, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. Benedict held Y/N’s hand as they walked, his thumb gently stroking her palm.

"Do you remember our first walk in this garden?" Y/N asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

"How could I forget?" Benedict replied. "I was utterly captivated by you. Still am, in fact."

"You were so nervous," Y/N teased. "You could barely string a sentence together."

"Well, you were and still are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen," Benedict said earnestly. "It was quite overwhelming."

Y/N laughed, the sound like music to Benedict’s ears. "And now look at us," she said. "Walking hand in hand, perfectly at ease."

"Perfectly in love," Benedict added, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

They continued their stroll, enjoying the serenity of the garden and the simple pleasure of each other's company. As they rounded a corner, they came upon a secluded bench beneath a large oak tree. Benedict led Y/N to it, and they sat down, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above them.

"You’ve always been my muse, you know," Benedict said softly, gazing at Y/N. "Every brushstroke, every color, every canvas it’s all inspired by you."

"That’s a lot of pressure," Y/N joked, but her eyes were shining with affection.

"Not at all," Benedict said. "You make it effortless. You bring so much joy and light into my life. I couldn’t imagine my art, or my life, without you."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat at his words. She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. "And you, Benedict, have filled my life with such beauty and love. Every day with you is a blessing."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of love, of commitment, and of the future they would continue to build together.

As the day turned to dusk, they made their way back to the house, hand in hand. The drawing room, once filled with the solitary pursuit of art, now felt warmer, more alive. They settled on the settee, sharing the tea and biscuits Y/N had brought earlier.

"Shall we make this a tradition?" Y/N suggested. "A day dedicated to us, to spending time together, no matter what."

"I’d like that very much," Benedict agreed. "A day just for us, every week."

"Good," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Because I love our moments together. They’re my favorite part of every day."

"And mine," Benedict said, wrapping his arm around her. "Always and forever, Y/N."

They sat there in comfortable silence, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. Their hearts were full, their spirits content. In each other, they had found a love that was not only beautiful but also enduring a love that would see them through all of life’s challenges and triumphs.

And as they drifted off to sleep that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that they were not just blessed with beauty, but with something far more precious: a deep, abiding love that would last a lifetime

#benedict bridgerton x wife reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benidict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton benedict #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

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queenshelby · 3 months ago

Text

Daughter Dearest (Part Six)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Tag List will be updated soon! Please comment and engage!

As the day progressed, some more wild weather had settled in, but that did not prevent Cillian from going out and picking up a delivery for you, namely some photographs you had developed externally from your recent travels.

Usually, you liked to do these things yourself, in a studio of your own, at least when utilising analog films, but this was not an option right now. Cillian arrived home earlier than expected, his face still damp from the rain. The wind had picked up outside and the shutters beat against the brickwork of the house as he entered.

"Y/N," he called out, but you didn't answer. You had headphones on and was buried in one of your books.

He set the package down on the kitchen table and walked over to you, gently touching your shoulder. You looked up at him in surprise.

"I got your pictures," he said, pointing towards the table.

Your eyes lit up as you realized what he was referring to.

You pulled off your headphones and placed them next to you.

"Thank you so much for picking them up. You didn't have to," you exclaimed, beaming up at him, genuinely grateful.

"No problem," he replied with a soft smile.

You jumped up from the couch, making your way over to the kitchen table. You noticed that the package was slightly damp from the rain.

Carefully, you unwrapped the package, revealing an envelope full of developed photographs while Cillian stood behind you expectadly.

"Would you like to see them?" you asked, glancing back at him.

Cillian's gaze shifted between you and the envelope in your hands. He was curious, but he also didn't want to overstep any boundaries.

"Sure," he said finally, nodding his head. "I mean, unless they are too personal for you to share," he added quickly, remembering that you might not want him to see them.

You smiled at him, understanding what he meant. "I would love for you to see them," you told him, seeing how they weren't just random snaps. These photographs were part of your art and everything you photographed, especially during your last trip to Kenya, had a meaning. They showed a snapshot of life there, its beauty, its harshness, and everything in between.

You opened the envelope, carefully taking out each photograph, placing them on the counter. The room was silent, the sound of the shutters beating against the brickwork still echoing. It made the whole scenario more magical, making you feel as if you were back in Africa, immersed in all its vastness and incredible beauty.

You picked up the first photograph, a black and white image of a woman carrying a baby on her back. Her face was etched with lines that showed the passing of time, but her eyes held a spark of life and strength.

Cillian leaned over your shoulder to get a better look.

"She's beautiful," he murmured, taking in the woman's stoic expression and the way she was cradling her child with such tenderness.

You smiled, glad that he could appreciate the photo's beauty.

"Yes, I took that picture when I visited a Maasai village," you said, feeling a sense of pride bubbling up inside you.

"Their way of life is so different from ours, but there's so much beauty in their simplicity."

Cillian nodded in agreement, completely captivated by the raw emotion conveyed in the photograph. He pointed to the next picture, which showed a group of children playing in a dirt field with a makeshift soccer ball. "These kids look so happy," he observed, admiration in his voice.

"They were! I spent an entire afternoon with them," you replied, feeling a fondness for those kids coming back.

"They don't have much, but they truly know how to enjoy the simple pleasures. It's quite inspiring."

Your voice trailed off as you went through more pictures, showing mostly people and their raw emotions. Each face told a story, and this was obvious to Cillian who watched you, mesmerized by your passion for photography. It was clear to him that this wasn't just a hobby for you, but a calling. He couldn't help but be impressed by your ability to capture moments, feelings, and the spirit of the places and people you've encountered.

You turned around to look at Cillian, noticing how he seemed lost in thought. " What's on your mind?" you asked him gently, your hand reaching out to touch his arm.

Cillian started and looked at you, his gaze softening as he saw the concern etched on your face. "Nothing, I am just...," he stammered, unable to put his feelings into words just yet.

"Just what?" you pressed, sensing that something was bothering him.

He licked his lips nervously, indecision etched on his face. "I think that you have a true gift Y/N. These photographs are incredible," Cillian finally managed to say, his voice tinged with admiration.

You smiled, warmth spreading through you at the compliment, grateful for his acceptance and encouragement.

As the day went on, you, Cillian and you spent some more time together after, due to the bad weather, he had postponed his plan to catch up with his mate Dermont. You noticed the easy way Cillian interacted with you and the way he listened intently as you spoke about your photography, understanding and appreciating the way it moved you. He even shared some of his stories from his early filming days, for a bit of nostalgia.

Yet, despite this familiarity, there still lingered a sense of unspoken tension between the two of you. A pull that neither of you could explain or understand. It was an awkward dance of avoidance and stolen glances every so often.

The day after though, the weather cleared and Cillian went to see his best friend, meeting up with him for pint of Guiness downtown while you stayed at home.

You were still under house arrest and were only permitted to leave the property for an hour each day, during which you had to remain within a five-kilometer radius of where you lived. This was to permit you to exercise and attend to important matters, like shopping for essentials.

These restrictions were frustrating, and the monitor had caused a rash to appear on your ankle, but you tried to stay positive. At least you weren't in jail.

While Cillian was out, you took the opportunity to call Nadine, asking her to come over but, unfortunately for you, she declined. She had an interview for a new job that day and really couldn't miss it.

As you spoke to Nadine, who appeared somewhat reserved over the phone and when you asked her about what was wrong, she revealed to you that she had heard rumors concerning your arrest.

"I ran into Kevin at the hostel bar last night and I think it may have been Lucy who got the drugs into your bag," Nadine explained.

You frowned, feeling a surge of anger well up inside you. "But why would she do something like that?" you asked, incredulously.

Nadine sighed. "Well, apparently she was pretty pissed about you and Kevin having hooked up," Nadine explained, not condoning your mutual's friend's actions but clearly trying to explain the circumstances.

You scowled, frustration building up inside you at Lucy's pettiness. "But I haven't hooked up with Kevin at all," you hissed, your voice barely controlled. "In fact, most guys repulse me and that most certainly includes him," you added with a shiver of disgust.

Nadine remained silent for a minute, as if contemplating her next words carefully. "I know you didn't, but Lucy is pretty impulsive," she finally said, sympathetic. "Not that it makes it right though," she quickly added.

"But what am I supposed to do now?" you asked, frustrated. "I almost went to fucking jail because of her," you went on to say.

Nadine sighed heavily. "Look, Y/N, I don't know, but I should really go now. I have that interview in half an hour," Nadine said, her voice gentle and concerned.

"I know, I am sorry," you said, feeling a pang of regret. "I shouldn't be ranting," you went on to say.

"No, don't be silly. I'm always here for you, that's what friends are for," Nadine replied warmly. "But promise me that you won't do anything stupid," she added , feeling a sense of responsibility towards you.

You sighed heavily. "I won't," you answered, although this was far from the truth seeing how, as soon as Nadine hung up, you checked out Lucy's social media to see where she was at.

According to Instagram, she was still in town and you knew that you had to confront her. You wanted to get your name cleared and you wanted to tell her exactly what you thought of her. You were angry and you wanted her to know that you weren't someone to be messed with.

Thus, you quickly threw on a jacket, grabbed your sister's car keys, and headed out the door. The cold wind hit your face as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed. You were too focused on the task at hand.

As you drove towards the hostel, which was about nine kilometers away, your heart raced with anger. You couldn't believe that she had done something like this to you. You had never done anything to her, yet she had still decided to frame you.

The audacity of it all infuriated you, but you pushed past your rage and focused on the task at hand.

The hostel was crowded with young travelers, but you spotted her easily. She was sitting in the courtyard, sipping on an iced coffee and chatting with a tall blonde girl.

You approached her, feeling a surge of anger building up inside you. "Lucy," you said, your voice cool and controlled.

She looked at you, surprise flashing across her face. "Y/N?

What are you doing here?" she said, looking around nervously.

You ignored her question and cut to the chase. "Why did you plant drugs in my bag?" you demanded, anger tingeing your voice.

Lucy's eyes widened, and she looked at you in shock. "What? No, I didn't," she stammered, trying to deny it.

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on your face. "Don't lie to me, Lucy. I know it was you," you told her sternly , your voice firm and unyielding.

She fidgeted, looking guilty as charged. "Fine. I did it. But I didn't mean for it to go this far," she whispered, finally admitting her wrongdoing.

"What do you mean you didn't mean for it to go this far?" You asked incredulously, not understanding why she would do something like this in the first place.

"I was drunk, and I heard about you hooking up with Kevin earlier that night. It made me jealous, and in the heat of the moment, wanted you to get in trouble," Lucy confessed, tears streaming down her face.

You stared at her, shocked and angry. "You must be joking! How could you do something so stupid? I could have ended up in jail just because of your drunken fit of jealousy!" you shouted, your voice incredulous.

"I am so sorry Y/N. I even went to see you the morning after, just before you left, but you had already gone. I wanted to warn you and make it all right. I promise," Lucy said, sniffling and rubbing her eyes just as, suddenly, you watched as a police car pulled up into the hostel parking lot, and it was then when you looked down at your ankle, seeing a red light flashing on it.

"Oh fuck," you hissed, realisation dawning on you and, before you had time to act, Lucy got up and ran off while the officers were approaching you.

You stood there, frozen on the spot, with your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe what was happening.

"Miss Y/N Y/LN?" one of the officers called out, approaching you cautiously.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your shaking hands as the figure in uniform stepped closer.

"You are in breach of your house arrest, Miss," the officer stated calmly, but with an underlying tone of authority.

You nodded dumbly, looking down at the monitor on your ankle. The red light blinked menacingly, betraying your location to the people who held your freedom in their hands.

"I'm sorry, I can explain," you stammered, attempting to reason with the officers in front of you. "I know who did what I got in trouble for and I came here to confront her," you said, quickly reaching for the device on your ankle, scratching your skin beneath.

"Well, ma'am, we will have to take you down to the station and you can call your next of kin and your solicitor when we get there," the second officer said, his tone stern but not unkind.

He and the first officer took hold of your arms, guiding you gently but firmly towards the patrol car parked outside the hostel.

As they led you away, you couldn't help but feel a wave of embarrassment sweep over you. What had you gotten yourself into? It was like a bad dream from which you couldn't wake up and, if they actually called your mother while she was on vacation, you knew you would never hear the end of it.

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