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targaryenrealnessdarling · 24 days ago

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A Husband's Duty

Summary: The day Aemond Targaryen wields power over the Realm has finally arrived | Word Count: 2.4k~ | Warnings: semi-public sex, oral sex (m recieving), rough sex, degradation

She knew the moment Lord Wylde and Lord Lannister filed out of the Small Council Chambers, chest puffed out like prize pigeons and an inflated sense of male ego what had transpired. She was no fool to the endless politicking her husband had been involved in of late. And such that he was embroiled with his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent.

Maester Orwyle merely followed, head lowered as if he were tired of listening to such ruinous plans for the Realm. Endless murmurs swirled, all with her husband's name on their lips.

Her mother by marriage did not even raise her eyes to her when she passed. At least Ser Criston had the decency to lower his head in greeting, but it mattered naught to her. She herself did not pass a single glance to Lord Larys, despite feeling his gaze on her as he limped away.

No. She was here to see what her husband had always felt destined to become.

The air crackled with tension once the door was closed behind her, leaving them both alone in the vast space where her husband would now command. He stood proud, and no crown adorned his brow, but he appeared as if he had one. Envisioning hin in the Conqueror’s Crown, Targaryen locks falling around his shoulders, was enough for her lips to quirk up.

Seeing him poised for power made her heart race with excitement. His single eye glinted with satisfaction, but she saw the restrained hunger she knew well beneath even that. She had always adored the way his gaze would rake over her, with that alone, he possessed more power of intimacy over her than some married couples saw in a lifetime.

“You wear it well, my love,” she mused, rounding the table to step closer to him, her fingers trailing over the fine embroidery of his tunic. “The weight of the Realm suits you.”

The sharpness in his usual expression softened for her. “Does it now?” he murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stepped toward her, his tall, imposing frame did not shadow her confidence. “The Realm bends to me. As it should.”

“And it pleases me beyond words,” she whispers, carrying a teasing lilt, “I wish to show you how much.”

Her words were a promise, and Aemond's pulse quickened. She had always admired his strength, his cunning, his ability to wield both sword and strategy. But now, as Prince Regent, she was more than willing to worship him in a way only she could.

“You were made for this, Aemond,” she whispered, her lips now at his throat, kissing a trail of heat against his skin. He was warm, his scent curling around her pleasantly, feeling the familiar thrum of his pulse. “The crown. The throne. And me.”

Gently, but with purpose, she guided him down to his seat once more with a firm hand on his chest. The air between them crackled with anticipation as she knelt before him, her fingers deftly working at the laces of his trousers. His breath hitched, his hands tangling in her hair as she sank to her knees before him. She looked up at him, eyes full of devotion and raw hunger.

"Let me honour you as my Prince. My King."

He felt the rush of power and pleasure mingling in his veins as he looked down at her, his queen in all but title. He felt the very ground fall beneath him as her velvety hand took his length into her palm and worked him to arousal. Aemond hissed through his teeth, jaw tense, even before her at this moment, he had no desire to fall completely to her mercy. At least not yet. There was something in her tone, a hint of playful challenge. He could feel it, the way she always liked to push him, even here, even now.

“You speak of honour,” he murmured, his voice low, edged with warning and yet noticeably shaken by the way her small hands worked him to hardness. “And yet you toy with me.”

Her smile widened, her fingers brushing lightly over the tip, watching the way his brow twitched. “And what if I crave to see you undone?”

His grip in her hair tightened, and she gasped softly, though her teasing look didn’t falter. His eye blazed down at her, the pleasure mixed with the irritation she stirred in him. "You are bold tonight. Perhaps too bold for your own good."

As if by way of confirming, Aemond watched her tongue slide between her lips, painting a soft, and entirely too gentle line from the base of him to the very tip. She did not miss the way his hands tightened around the arms of his seat, the tension in the muscles of his thighs.

Her lips quirked upward, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Bold enough to know that you do not wish for me to stop.”

Any smart reply Aemond had was quickly swallowed by the heat of her mouth on him. His breath left him in a sharp exhale, his head tilting back as she worked him with slow, deliberate care. With a slow, careful rhythm, her lips wrapped around him, tongue pressed to the underside of his length, feeling his pulse throb with arousal beneath it. The musky, pleasant scent of his wanting skin wrapping around her.

Her hand remained, stroking what she could not fit into her mouth. And even with his cock, hot and heavy on her tongue, her eyes briefly flicked up to meet his gaze as she dragged her lips along him, humming contently and sending white hot pleasure right up his spine.

“You test me,” he finally rasped, his voice rough, though the authority in it wavered.

She pulled off him purposefully slowly with a soft pop, stroking her palm over his achingly hard length with a sense of both amusement and pride, just enough to murmur, her breath ghosting over his skin. “What is a King if he is not tested?”

His lips parted as if to scold her, but the words caught in his throat when she resumed, her mouth working him with a fiery intensity that sent a tremor through him. A low, almost involuntary groan escaped him, and she knew then that any protest he had was slipping from his grasp. The hard line of his jaw flexed as he fought to maintain some semblance of control, but his body’s response betrayed him, the tension in him giving way to desire. His breathing quickened, rough and uneven, and she smiled inwardly, knowing she had him exactly where she wanted him, her other hand seeking to cup his stones, her desire to send him hurtling over the edge outweighing any consequences.

“Damn you,” he growled, his voice thick with both frustration and pleasure, punishing her with his fingers tightening at the roots of her hair, pushing her mouth down onto him as far as she would go. Her whimper made his cock ache in her mouth, his hips jutting up to hit the back of her throat, his lips parting at the way she tried to suck in air around him.

For a moment, she yielded, letting him guide her, knowing how much it pleased him to feel like he had the upper hand. But she wasn’t done yet. She wasn’t one to be so easily subdued. With a quick, daring flick of her tongue, she made him shudder, a brief tremor running through his body, and she could feel it, the edge he was teetering on.

She pushed back against his hand, trying to slow her movements, taking her time, her lips working him expertly as she attempted to unravel him. His grip in her hair faltered, just slightly, and she smiled inwardly, sensing his undoing was near. His breaths had become ragged, uneven, and she knew if she just kept going, just a little longer, she could make him fall apart completely.

But Aemond wasn’t so easily conquered.

With a rough, guttural sound, he yanked her back, pulling her mouth from him. Her lips were glossy, swollen, and bruised from her efforts, but she didn’t miss the way his chest heaved, or the flash of raw need in his eye. He had been close. So close.

“Enough,” he rasped, his breath heavy but resolute, his hand still fisted in her hair. He forced her up, and before she could catch her breath, he spun her around, pushing her forward. Her hands braced against the cool surface of the Small Council table, the polished wood smooth under her palms as her body pressed against it.

She gasped softly, a thrill of excitement racing through her as his hand pushed down on the small of her back, bending her further over the table. His fingers slid along her waist, possessive, commanding, as he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“You forget yourself,” he growled, his hand moving down to bunch up the fabric of her skirts, hiking them up with a sharp, decisive tug.

She tried to glance back, her lips still tingling from where they had been on him, but his hand on her back kept her pinned in place. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of her neck as he whispered against her skin. “Allow me to remind you, wife.”

The sharp, initial pain she felt was nothing. Nothing compared to the way Aemond felt her soft, silky walls yield to him. Pushing himself into her as far as he would go would rival the Seven Heavens, he would wager, her soft, delicate skin pressed to him, all bent over and willing to his needs in the Small Council Chambers of all places. And all she could do was choke out a quiet, almost swallowed moan as she felt him fill her, his thrusts immediately hard and unrelenting. A reminder perhaps, that no matter how much she tested him, that he would always crave control.

Each thrust was deliberate, claiming, his hips snapping against her with the raw force of a man who refused to be tested. The sound of their bodies meeting echoed through the otherwise silent chamber, in a place usually quiet with authority, there was a thrill knowing that their acts were debasing the very purpose of the room.

She whimpered as his hand tightened on the inside of her thigh, pushing the supple flesh aside as if to glimpse upon the way he drove forcefully into her. She struggled somewhat to keep her head from falling upon the varnished table, instead her breasts bloomed from the top of her dress, sensitive against the smooth furniture.

"Do you understand now?" Aemond growled lowly, his voice a dangerous rasp against the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her back onto him with each thrust.

She couldn’t respond, at least not with words. Her body, trembling beneath him, spoke for her. Every sharp intake of breath, every involuntary shudder as he filled her, was an admission. But even in her submission, there was something in her that refused to completely yield. Her walls clenched around him, the warmth of her body trying to coax him deeper still.

And Aemond felt it, and his grip tightened, feeling her resist. “You still think you can fight me, don’t you?”

Without warning, he pulled her upright, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pressed her back against his chest, bringing her knee to rest against the table, her legs wide and eager for him to continue. The new angle sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through her, and she gasped, her legs trembling beneath her.

He thrust into her again, harder this time, and she couldn’t hold back the moan that tore from her lips. Her hands reached back, grasping at his forearm, trying to ground herself in the overwhelming pleasure and pain that blurred together into one intoxicating sensation. Aemond chuckled darkly at her helplessness, his grip never loosening, his pace never faltering.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with lust and command. His arm snaked up, between her breasts for his hand to hold her neck. "Say who you belong to."

Her breath hitched, her mind clouded by the rush of pleasure. "You," she managed to gasp, her voice barely a whisper.

He gave a harsh thrust, making her cry out this time. "Louder."

Her body buckled under him, her breath ragged as she finally choked out the words he wanted to hear. "I belong to you, Aemond."

The raw pleasure tore through her, and her entire body trembled, collapsing against him as she cried out his name. He groaned low in his throat, the sound primal as he released into her, his forehead resting against the curve of her shoulder as he let himself come undone.

Aemond's pulse thrummed against her skin, his breath warm as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She remained still for a moment, her mind catching up to the rush of sensation. Her body hummed with the aftershock of what had just transpired, her skin flushed and damp. But secretly, she felt victorious.

He slowly pulled himself from her trembling walls, his touch lingering on her skin as he helped her stand, righting their clothes to decency once more and turning her in his arms so that they were face to face. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gently brushing over her bruised lips, swollen from the force of their passion. She could not help herself but smile at his insatiable nature. And hers as well.

“I am as much yours as you are mine,” Aemond uttered, his fingers threaded through her hair, smoothing it where he had earlier tugged so fiercely. His gaze lingered on her face, drinking in the sight of her, flushed and breathless.

“Come,” Aemond said softly, his voice attempting that familiar coolness, though his hand remained firm at the small of her back. “We’ve lingered long enough. They’ll be wondering where their Prince Regent is.”

“I’m sure they’d be scandalised to know how you’ve spent your first moments as Regent.”

Aemond’s smirk mirrored hers as he adjusted his tunic, his eye gleaming with amusement. “Let them wonder,” he replied, his tone dripping with satisfaction. He bent down, kissing her temple with a possessive finality before pulling her toward the door. “T’was merely a husband fulfilling his duty.”

...

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goddessofvalyria · 2 months ago

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My sweet sister | Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: After the battle at Rook's Rest Aemond came home to his pregnant wife. Aegon is injured, and Aemond is now the prince regent. His sister-wife needs him but he's concentrate about the war. She feels unwanted so one night she decides to seduce him.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, SMUT, She/Her pronouns, pregnant sister-wife, face sitting, oral (f), fingering, sex.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 2,7K

The night is still and quiet in King's Landing, but inside the Red Keep, tensions run as high as they ever have.

The aftermath of the battle at Rook's Rest has left the realm in disarray, the death of Rhaenys Targaryen echoing through the halls of the capital. Aegon lies grievously injured, barely clinging to life, leaving Aemond to take up the mantle of prince regent.

For days now, Aemond has been consumed by matters of war - the constant strategy meetings, messengers flooding in with reports, and the looming threat of more rebellion. His mind is singularly focused on the task of holding the Seven Kingdoms together. Though he returns to his chambers every night, he seems distant, emotionally unavailable, his sharp focus entirely elsewhere.

His sister-wife watches him from across their shared chambers, her delicate hand resting on her swollen belly. She is with child, yet her husband's thoughts remain miles away. She feels neglected, forgotten, as if the man who once cherished her has faded into nothing but a ghost. He barely touches her now, speaks to her only in curt tones about the war or their children, the cold mask of duty draped over him like a shroud.

Aemond sits near the fire, pouring over maps with a furrowed brow, his long silver hair falling into his face.

The firelight flickers, casting shadows across the sharp planes of his features, making him look even more unapproachable.

"Aemond" she begins softly, but he doesn't raise his head. She bites her lip, summoning her courage. Her voice trembles as she speaks again, louder this time.

"Aemond."

He finally looks up, his single violet eye flicking toward her. "What is it, my love? Is something wrong?" His tone is cool, though not unkind. It's simply detached, distant.

She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head, her silvery blonde curls catching the light. "No, nothing's wrong" she says, though the knot of loneliness inside her tightens. She takes a step closer to him, her bare feet soundless on the cold stone floor.

Aemond sighs, his eye drifting back to his maps.

"Good. There is much to discuss, and I cannot afford any distractions."

The word cuts deeper than he realizes. She clenches her fists at her sides, feeling the sting of rejection. She knows he is under immense pressure, but his indifference toward her is unbearable. She is his wife — his sister, his lover, the mother of his children. Yet, he treats her as though she is no more than another obligation.

The princess makes a decision then, one that feels reckless, even scandalous. But she cannot bear this icy distance any longer. She needs her husband back, needs to remind him of what they once shared. Slowly, she begins to undo the ties of her gown, the pale green fabric slipping from her shoulders. Aemond doesn't notice at first, still focused on the maps, the war, the chaos that surrounds them.

When she lets the gown pool at her feet, leaving her in nothing but the thin shift beneath, she takes a breath, her heart racing. Her hands move to untie the last layer, and she steps closer to him.

"Aemond" she whispers, her voice husky with something unfamiliar to even herself.

He glances up again, his expression unreadable. His eye briefly flickers down to her form, though it seems to take him a moment to register what she's doing.

When it finally does, his brows furrow in confusion.

""My love...?" His voice trails off as she takes another step forward, the shift sliding from her body.

The firelight dances over her skin, casting a golden glow across her soft curves. She stands before him now, completely bare, unashamed, though her heart thunders in her chest. Aemond stares at her, his usual control faltering for the first time in days.

"What are you doing?" His voice is low, but there's a note of tension beneath it, a crack in his stoic demeanor.

She moves closer, her hips swaying with a deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his. "I've missed you" she murmurs, her hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, to feel the warmth of him beneath her fingertips. "You've been away, even when you're here. I need you, Aemond. I need my husband."

He inhales sharply as her hands glide over his chest, her touch light yet insistent. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he truly sees her not as the pregnant sister-wife waiting patiently in the shadows, but as the woman he once desired fiercely, the woman he loved.

His eye darkens with something more primal as she slides onto his lap, straddling him, her hands moving to cradle his face. "I know you've been consumed by war" she whispers, her lips brushing against his ear. "But I'm still here. I need you, and I think you need me too."

He exhales a ragged breath, his hand coming up to grip her waist almost unconsciously. The maps scatter to the floor as she presses closer, her body warm and inviting against his. His restraint, the careful mask he wears so well, begins to crumble as he feels her softness against him.

"My love, my sweet sister..." His voice is strained, thick with the battle between duty and desire. "This isn't... you shouldn't..."

She silences him with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against his. It's not a timid kiss; it's full of yearning, of need, of everything she's kept bottled up for weeks.

Aemond groans against her mouth, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten as he pulls her closer, his hands roaming over her back, her hips.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathless. Aemond's eye searches hers, as though trying to find his bearings.

"You're right" he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

"I've been away for too long." He tightens his grip on her, his fingers digging into her skin. "But not tonight."

She smiles, her eyes shining with triumph and affection. She leans in to kiss him again, and this time, there is no hesitation from him. Aemond surrenders completely, his war forgotten for the night. He's no longer a prince regent or a soldier in the endless battle for the throne. For this moment, he is simply a man, lost in the arms of the woman he loves.

Aemond's eye darkens with raw desire as he pulls her closer, his lips brushing against hers, yet his control, once unshakable, has utterly crumbled in the face of her need and his own long-repressed hunger. He leans back, his hands gripping her hips firmly, guiding her as she straddles him. Their kiss deepens, his fingers moving over her skin with a new urgency, tracing the curve of her spine and thighs.

Aemond’s hand slides down between her thighs, finding her soaked pussy. "You're wet, sweet sister" he whispers, kissing her neck as she wrestles with his clothes and tears his shirt off. "Shh" Aemond whispers calmly, sliding two fingers into her soaking slit.

She begins to ride his fingers, her juices dripping from her pussy, wetting his pants and forming a stain on them. She clings to him, moving her hips eager for his fingers, but Aemond has other plans for her.

When she pulls back to catch her breath, he's already leaning forward again, trailing kisses down her neck, murmuring against her skin, "I've missed this... missed you."

Her breathing quickens as his lips move lower, his hands now exploring her body with purpose. He gently pushes her back onto the bed, his violet eye burning with something untamed, his restraint lost entirely to the desire that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. His gaze rakes over her, admiring her, but it's more than that. It's worship.

"You've been so patient with me" Aemond murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "But tonight, it's only us. I want to make you feel... everything."

His sister-wife's breath catches as his words sink in, and she feels a shiver of anticipation course through her. She's never seen him like this, so unguarded, so intent on her pleasure. When he presses a kiss just below her navel, she gasps, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly as his lips continue their descendant.

"Aemond..." she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

He looks up at her, his eye locking onto hers with a predatory glint. "I want you to sit on my face" he says quietly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

She hesitates for only a second, unsure of what he means, but then his hands are guiding her, urging her gently to straddle his face. Her heart races at the unspoken promise in his gaze, and she lets herself give in, positioning herself above him.

Aemond's hands grip her hips, steadying her as he looks up at her, his expression fierce with desire. "Let go, my sweet sister" he whispers, and then his mouth is on her, his tongue moving with practiced precision against her most sensitive spot.

She cries out, her hands clutching the bed sheets as a wave of pleasure crashes over her. Aemond's tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and tasting, drawing out every moan, every gasp, his grip tightening on her hips as he pulls her closer. Helena feels her thighs trembling, her whole body alight with sensation, her head spinning as he lavishes attention on her.

"Oh, gods" she moans, her voice a breathless whimper, barely able to form coherent words. Her hips begin to move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, and Aemond groans in response, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through her.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, his tongue moving faster now, more insistent, as one of his hands slides up her thigh. She gasps again when she feels his fingers slide inside her, slow at first, then curling upward, finding the perfect rhythm with his tongue. The combination of his mouth, his nose pressing on her clit and his fingers overwhelms her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Aemond-" Her voice is breathless, trembling, and she can't hold on any longer. She feels the tension in her core snap, her body trembling as she comes undone above him, her cries echoing through the chamber.

Aemond doesn't let up, continuing his ministrations until her body is spent, shaking in the aftermath of her release.

He gently lowers her back onto the bed, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches her try to catch her breath.

"Was that good, my love?" he asks, his voice a deep, satisfied rumble.

Sh still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, nods weakly, her body still trembling.

"Gods, Aemond... yes."

But he isn't done yet.

He moves over her again, his hands sliding up her body as he kisses her deeply, and she tastes herself on his lips. There's an urgency in his kiss now, his need for her as strong as ever. His hard length presses against her thigh, and she feels a new wave of heat build within her.

"Aemond, please" she breathes against his lips, her voice heavy with longing. "I need you."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Aemond slips off his trousers and pants, leaving him naked with a throbbing, wet, long, painful erection between his legs.

He positions himself between her legs, his eye locking onto hers as he slowly pushes into her. The feeling of him inside her, stretching her sweet, wet and soaked pussy, filling her, draws a soft moan from her lips. He moves slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feeling, but soon his pace quickens, his need for her overtaking him.

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her fingers digging into his back as their bodies move together. Each thrust sends a surge of pleasure through her, and she feels herself spiraling toward the edge once again.

"Look at me" Aemond growls, his voice thick with lust.

His gaze burns into hers, intense, unrelenting. "I want to see you when you fall apart."

She holds his gaze, her breath coming in short gasps as she feels the pressure building again, higher and higher, until it finally shatters. She cries out his name as she tumbles over the edge, her body clenching around him, pulling him even deeper.

Aemond groans loudly, his pace faltering as he finds his own release, spilling into her with one final thrust.

He collapses onto her, his forehead resting against hers as they both struggle to catch their breath.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of their breathing, their bodies still entangled. Aemond presses a soft kiss to her lips, his earlier intensity replaced by something gentler, more tender.

"I've missed you" he murmurs, his voice low but filled with affection.

She smiles, her hand sliding into his hair. "I've missed you too." She pauses, then adds softly,

"Promise me you won't leave me again."

Aemond looks down at her, his expression serious. "I swear it," he says, his hand cupping her face. "No more distance. I'll be here. Always."

Aemond lies beside her sister-wife, his body still pressed close to hers, both of them basking in the quiet aftersex of their reunion. Their breathing has slowed, the firelight casting a soft glow over the room, but the air between them now feels different - warmer, intimate in a way it hasn't been for months.

His hand moves tenderly to her belly, gently resting on the curve where their child grows, and for a moment, he is no longer the prince regent, no longer the warrior consumed by war and bloodshed. Here, he is only a husband and a father. He leans down slowly, his lips brushing the soft skin of her belly. The gesture is tender, reverent, as though he's touching something sacred. She watches him with a soft smile, her fingers running through his silver hair, and she feels her heart swell with affection for this man - the man who, despite everything, is hers.

Aemond kisses her belly again, more firmly this time, his eye softening as he presses his lips against the place where their child stirs within her. He lingers there, his breath warm against her skin, before speaking in a low, gentle voice, a voice he uses with no one else but her.

"My little dragon" he murmurs softly, his hand caressing her rounded stomach. "Your father is here, and I will protect you... both of you."

Her violet eyes glisten as she watches him, her heart full. There's a vulnerability in him now, something he doesn't show to anyone else, but with her, he lets the mask fall. He presses another kiss to her belly, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles.

"You will be strong" he continues, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Born into a world of fire and blood, but you will never want for love." He looks up at her sweet sister-wife, his gaze soft but unwavering. "I will make sure of it."

She smiles, her hand still cradling his head, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "Our little dragon is lucky to have you" she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Aemond closes his eye for a moment, letting himself feel the warmth of her words. Then, he kisses her belly once more, lingering there as if speaking directly to the life growing within her.

Her heart swells as she watches him, her hand still resting on his head, feeling the weight of his love for both her and their unborn child. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, leaving only the three of them - their small family, bound together in love and shared destiny.

Aemond looks up at her again, his expression softened by the love he can never fully express with words alone.

"'ll protect you both," he vows once more, his voice firm yet tender. "No matter what."

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r0ugesun · 4 months ago

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Hello! I have a little request for writing: Aemond's gotten into am arranged marriage for politics, for the Dance of the Dragon's War. I'd love to read his reaction when his bethrothed arrives in a carriage to King's Landing and when she descends and is introduced to him he finds out she is chubby or curvy, at least curvier than most of ladies of court.

I hope you get inspired from my request or from other and I get to read a lot from you. Go writers!!!

YEAHH BUDDYY !! During the medieval period more ample figures were seen as a symbol of prosperity and health, fertility and femininity :)) so I have no doubt he would be drooling over a chubby reader!

I made it short and sweet hope that’s okay! ^-^

Aemond Targaryen x chubby!Reader

“She’s late” aemond thought annoyed, it was one thing for his mother to betroth him to house (surname) behind his back, it was another to make him greet you personally, he needed to be planning strategies, training, not dallying with some women that would surely be less than thrilled to be bound to the one eyed prince.

He stood rigidly at the gates of the Red Keep, his single eye scanning the horizon with impatience. He let out a frustrated sigh, the arranged marriage was a political necessity, a means to an end the union designed to solidify alliances in the brewing storm of civil war. He had steeled himself for this encounter, determined to approach it with his usual cold detachment of duty.

The clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels on the cobblestone announced the arrival of Lady y/n’s carriage. The procession came to a halt, and the door of the vehicle swung open. Aemond narrowed his eye, his gaze fixed on the opening.

A delicate ornate foot appeared first, followed by the hem of a beautifully embroidered gown. You descended gracefully, and as you came into view fully, Aemond’s breath caught in his throat. You were….voluptuous, your form fuller than he had expected, there was an undeniable elegance and beauty to you.

Your eyes met his shyly, and you smiled, a soft and inviting expression that made Aemond's heart skip a beat. You stepped forward, and the formal introductions were made, but Aemond scarcely heard them. His eye roamed your face, taking in the curves of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips, and the warmth in your eyes.

He found himself entranced, not just of your beauty, but of the poise with which you carried yourself. There was a sparkle in your eye that intrigued him.

As you curtsied before him, Aemond took your hand, soft and round, a stark contrast to his calloused and lithe hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently, holding it there a little longer than necessary. "My lady," he said, his voice softer than he intended.

“Welcome to kings landing”

You smiled, you looked up at him through your long lashes with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

“Thank you my prince, it’s an honor to be here”

Aemond nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of what this marriage could mean, not just for the war to come, but for himself. A great beauty such as yourself deserved to be ravished every night, he thought, and he couldn’t wait to see the full extent of your curves on your wedding night.

#my writing #aemond targaryen #aemond oneshot #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #aemond #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye

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no-144444 · 24 days ago

Text

persistent perstering- c.leclerc

Day 13 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Ferrari drivers are persistent. You’re not looking for love. Too bad he is.

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You liked your job. Ferrari was a good place to work. You’d befriended many of your colleagues, you enjoyed the travel, and though your work was challenging, you felt good. You were the assistant strategist who, granted, usually had better strategies than your boss, but you bite your tongue to keep his massive ego alive. If you could slap him in his dumb fucking face, you would. You liked being in the garage, well, you would if it weren’t for one thing.

Charles LeClerc.

Ferrari’s number one, Prince of Monaco, il Predestinato, King of Monza, the Ferrari driver.

He was a pain in the ass. He followed you around like a love-sick puppy, he hung on every word you said, laughed too hard at all your jokes, talked too much, and he wasn’t exactly your type.

Well, no one at that moment was. You’d imposed an iron-clad dating ban on yourself when your last relationship ended badly. You weren’t interested in the Monaco dating scene, and even if you were, you wouldn’t start up again with Charles LeClerc.

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“Morning!” You called out to Carlos. The humid air made every piece of clothing you owned too warm, so you were in a vintage Ferrari cropped-tank. You loved your team, even before working there. Behind Carlos, was Charles, not that you knew that. Carlos smiled, coming over to you.

“How are you doing?” He asked with a smile.

“Fucking hot,” you chuckled. He nodded. “It's mad weather.”

“I know what you mean,” he nodded. “Charles’ here could barely stand getting out of bed.”

Charles stepped out from behind him with a bright smile. You smiled back politely, and somehow didn’t notice the way his jaw dropped when he saw you.

“Ready for tonight?” you asked them both.

“Ready,” Carlos nodded. “And hoping that you’re doing my strategy.”

You chuckled and followed him into the paddock, Charles tagging behind you both. “Sadly no, but I will be on stand-by for drinks afterwards, first round on me if things go wrong?”

“First round on me if things go right,” Carlos nodded.

“Well, good luck today,” you smiled. “Can’t wait for the sprint!”

“Thank you,” Carlos smiled and left to go to his side of the garage.

“Feeling ready for today?” you asked Charles, trying to be polite.

He nodded. “How bad can it be?”

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Very, very bad. Extremely bad. Awful.

Sprint went like this;

Lap 2: Charles Engine failure into the pits for a 20 second stop.

Lap 8: Carlos crashes with Norris

Lap 16: Charles into the barriers.

Double DNF with the feature race tomorrow and quali tonight? Yeah, you’d all be getting fined for staying late.

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You sat at your desk, looking over the strategy for tomorrow, disheartened at your prospects. Quali had ended 2 hours ago and Charles and Carlos were starting at the bottom of the grid, and it was your job to get them back up into at least the top 10, if not the top 5. Finally, the ball was in your hands in terms of strategy and no matter what, they were going to listen to your calls. The team had all left 30 minutes ago, the cars were fixed with no upgrades and some understeer, but they were drivable.

“Heading home soon?” Charles’ voice rang out through the empty garage.

“Nope,” you sighed.

“You’ll work yourself to death,” he sighed. “What are you looking at?”

“Strategy is in my hands tomorrow,” you blurted out. “And I’m fucking freaking out,” You let out a sad chuckle as you felt all of the pressure on your shoulders get heavier and heavier. “I don’t know what to do now. Austin is always a fucking ordeal, and with teh Sprint and you tow trashing the cars we’re so fucked, and they’re finally giving me the chance I’ve been asking for and if I fuck it up they’ll never promote me, even though they know it’s less than ideal circumstances.”

You took a deep breath as your eyes watered. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “You can cry.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I don’t want to cry.”

He chuckled softly. “I think you might need to.”

You shook your head, taking deep breaths and wiping your eyes. “No, I-I’m alright.”

Your breathing quickened. Your heart raced. Your mind clouded. Your ears rang.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This couldn’t be happening, not in front of your colleague, not in your workplace not-

And then his lips were on yours? His hands in your hair as you sat there stoic and frozen with anxiety, he fucking kissed you.

WHAT A CUNT.

You hastily pushed him off and gathered your things, hoping he would just leave you alone. He rushed out apology after apology until you finally turned to him and screamed. “Leave me the fuck alone Charles! Not everyone is in love with you, alright? I’m Carlos’ friend, not yours! I tolerate you, because I fucking have to, because it’s my job, and because I’m a fucking professional! If you cannot extend those same respectful luxuries, don’t come near me Charles. Just leave me alone!”

He stood there, shocked, as you stormed off to your hotel room.

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You walked into the paddock the next morning with your head held high and a plan for the strategy. You knew what you were doing, and the only time you’d have to see Charles today would be on your screen in a car driving more than 300 kilometres an hour. Perfect.

When you got to your desk, there was a small note on it with a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

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Dear Y/n,

I am so sorry about my behaviour last night, it was unacceptable. I panicked and I wasn’t sure what to do, but I know now that was not the way to go about it. I am so incredibly sorry, and I promise to leave you be from now on. Sorry again, Charles.

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A part of you felt bad, another didn’t. I mean, working with F1 drivers, you were used to tall egos on shorter men, with very little to back them up other than their money. You were sick of it, and to be honest, Charles just got the brunt of your anger because he was close to you, and he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And I mean, it was a pretty good kiss. But no, he’s a dickhead, right?

You huffed at your own stupidity. No way you were letting a man get you this confused about what you wanted. You didn’t want…? You wanted…? Fuck, what did you want?

“Hi,” Charles’ sheepish voice came from beside you. You whipped your head around to meet his eyes. “I just wanted to apologise in person as well. I am truly very sorry about last night, I put my own feelings above yours and took advantage, and I am deeply ashamed. I promise-”

And then your lips were on his?

How the tables turn.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

#f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula racing #ferrari #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc

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furuu · 13 days ago

Note

I live for your wiring everyday😭💖 Could I please request a Heian-Era Sukuna and reader in an arranged marriage scenario? Something like she wants to give him a kiss but feels shy 👉🏻👈🏻

𐔌 . ⋮ The room was dimly lit, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows against the ancient stone walls of Sukuna’s grand estate. You sat at the edge of a low table, nervously smoothing out the fabric of your elegant robes, heart racing as you glanced at the towering figure seated across from you. The King of Curses himself—your husband.

You hadn’t asked for this marriage, but it was necessary. A union forged in power and strategy, a way to keep peace between your clan and his immense, fearsome influence. Sukuna, in all his terrifying glory, had agreed to the arrangement without much thought. It wasn’t like him to care about human matters.

But here you were. Bound to him by ceremony, with little idea of how to act around him. Every time you looked at him, your heart fluttered in your chest—not from fear, but from something you hadn’t anticipated.

There was something undeniably captivating about him, despite his fierce appearance. His four muscular arms rested lazily at his sides, his crimson eyes glinting with something unreadable as he sat back on his throne-like seat, watching you closely.

He hadn’t spoken much since the marriage. You’d exchanged only brief conversations, and while Sukuna wasn’t exactly the talkative type, there was a certain tension in the air that you couldn’t ignore. It was like he was waiting for something. Watching you.

And right now, all you wanted to do was give him a kiss.

But the very thought of it made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. How were you supposed to be so bold? You weren’t used to this—weren’t used to him. And yet, every time you looked at his lips, the urge grew stronger.

Sukuna shifted in his seat, and you noticed the way his gaze sharpened, like he could sense your inner turmoil. He was good at that—picking up on the smallest of details, even though you tried your best to remain composed.

“What is it, woman?” His voice rumbled, low and commanding. “You’ve been sitting there for ages, staring at me like you’ve lost your tongue.”

You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your robe. “It’s nothing,” you said quickly, though your voice betrayed you—soft, hesitant.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. His four arms uncrossed, and he leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Lying to me, are you?” he murmured, his tone dark, but with a hint of amusement.

Your cheeks burned hotter, and you averted your gaze, heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, could you? That you were dying to kiss him? The thought seemed ridiculous—he was Sukuna, the King of Curses. What kind of human bride just leaned over and kissed him?

But your silence was all the answer he needed.

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, a sound that made your stomach twist in knots. “So, you do want something,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “Out with it, then.”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to even begin to explain. The silence stretched, heavy and filled with tension, until finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood up abruptly, your legs feeling wobbly as you stepped closer to him, your eyes glued to the floor.

“I… I wanted to…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “give you a kiss.”

The words hung in the air, and you braced yourself for some kind of mocking response, expecting Sukuna to laugh at your sudden burst of courage.

But instead, there was a pause. A long, tense pause that made your heart race even faster.

When you finally gathered the courage to look up at him, you saw something unexpected. His crimson eyes were focused on you, but not with the disdain you thought you’d see. Instead, there was a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps? Amusement? He remained still, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was piercing.

Sukuna leaned back slightly, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smirk. “A kiss, hm?” he mused, his voice deep and rich with amusement. “And here I thought you were too shy to ask.”

You felt your face flush even more, heat crawling up your neck as his teasing words washed over you. “I just…” You trailed off, suddenly too embarrassed to continue.

But Sukuna wasn’t one to let you squirm for long. He leaned forward again, his four arms moving in a languid, graceful motion as he reached out to you. His large hands—strong and warm—gently grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him, lifting you effortlessly until you were perched on his lap.

Your breath hitched as you found yourself face-to-face with him, his towering form making you feel small in comparison. His smirk widened, and you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked down at you, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Well?” he said, his voice low and almost… playful. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Your heart leapt in your chest, and for a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to respond. But then, with a surge of courage, you leaned forward, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to his lips.

His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, and for a second, Sukuna didn’t move. But then, his arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer as he returned the kiss—slow, deliberate, with an intensity that made your head spin. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but it was powerful, like everything Sukuna did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and a little dazed, Sukuna let out a low chuckle. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he tilted his head slightly, watching you with an almost predatory gaze.

“Not bad for a shy little wife,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “But next time, don’t make me wait so long.”

You blushed furiously, burying your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment. Sukuna just laughed softly, his arms holding you close as he nuzzled into your hair, his voice a soft rumble against your skin.

“Don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you,” he teased, his tone both playful and dangerous. “But I suppose I can tolerate these kisses.”

Despite the teasing, there was something warm and protective in the way he held you, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe this marriage wasn’t so terrifying after all .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

#𐔌 ຼ ͡ ৯ 𝒻𝓁𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ໒꒱#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #anime x female!reader #anime x chubby!reader #𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃 :¨ ·.· ¨: ..#. . ˚˖𓍢ִ

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livefastdriveyoung · 7 months ago

Text

Every team has a first and second driver. It is just that not every driver fulfills the role in the same way.

At Aston Martin we know Fernando is driver one. He is the more experienced driver, and right from the mouth of Lawrence Stroll himself, was brought in to make Lance a better driver so he could one day be the first driver. He does media, he's funny, and he also clearly has a mentor/mentee relationship with Lance.

I call this the mentor/mentee set up

At Mercedes, we know that Lewis is Driver one. Based on titles certainly, age almost definitely, and also because he is Lewis Hamilton. Until February, and even after, when you think Mercedes, you think Lewis. He is their better driver. He won six championships with them. He's stayed longer than most drivers stay on the whole grid. It is his through blood, sweat, and tears. George is the prince, he's set to inherit, potentially (BTW TORGER, I would like a word), and has a lot to live up to. Comparisons are hard, especially when the first driver is Lewis. I think that it's a forced proximity set-up, but they are friendly. Mostly off the track because on track they do not have their greatest moments.

I call this the King/Heir Apparent set up

At Red Bull, we know that Max is Driver one. Aside from the championships, he is just too fast. Every time one of the other drivers who drove alongside him was brought up to Horner or Helmut (YIKES to both), they would compare where they raced to Max. It is unattainable, and isolating. Until Checo. Checo didn't think he was going to be able to drive after BWT. He didn't have a contract, he was a middle of the pack driver, Mexico's son, and his story was supposed to end there. The Red Bull contract was a dream, but for all of the weird behavior some of y'all have with him (again, he's had his problems but the racism and idiot syndrome some apply to him is also NOT OK) he's not an idiot. He knows he's on a limited contract, he knows he's no spring chicken. Hearing him talk about next year, he knows he's very likely out of a contract. But he doesn't let any of this impact his relationship with Max. They are teammates, Checo will do what is best for the team. Max's whole world is predominantly driving. Checo has more of a balance, and in some ways, allows Max to be young.

I call this the Sibling set up.

At Ferrari, Charles LeClerc is Driver one. He is il Predestinato, the second coming, Monaco's prince. He can do no wrong. Carlos Sainz is the second driver. In spite of the fact that he got dropped from the team, in spite of the fact that he has won them two races, he is the one that is being pushed out. But he and Charles are friends, and teammates. They've driven together for several years now. Ultimately, while Carlos has done most of the heavy lifting on his side of the garage in terms of strategy and driving, he is also the one who knows when to walk away from the fight, when to stop letting yourself get hurt by the team that should be defending you. For Charles, Ferrari is a promise to Jules, to his father, to himself. He cannot walk away. In some way, Carlos can. That's why he makes the good second driver. The second in command is the one that sees the whole picture, including the first in command, because they never look at themselves.

I call this the friends/us against the world set up.

At Mclaren, driver one is Lando Norris. An indefinite contract, the sponsors, the adoration, Lando is the golden child. But Oscar is too, sort of. They're both young, both incredibly talented. But they're young. They're doing this together. McLaren went from disaster to top of the pack last season, and they're both on this ride together. I think McLaren is going to do whatever it takes to get Lando his win, but then I think they'll split 50/50. What will happen then, I don't know.

I call this the to soon to tell set up

At Williams, Alex Albon is so clearly driver one. Last year, he scored the majority of the points, they signed him for an extended contract, and they're desperate to keep him for 2026, when the car is supposedly going to be insane. Logan is the second driver. Alex wants to be the mentor, and to some degree he is. But Logan's narrative from last season to this season has shifted dramatically. Less and less people want to see him gone, they like the American. Williams renewed him. Whether because of sponsorship or genuine interest in his improvement, I don't know. But, in the last two races, they have managed to tank Alex's reputation, and boost Logan's. You don't publicly destroy your second driver's confidence, and career potential so publicly and walk away clean. We've seen it with Red Bull and Pierre, and Alex. Both times, those two drivers walked away with insane support. Logan is now receiving the same, but I wonder if it is going to make a difference. I think that Logan talking about what is best for the team is what is keeping him going, but if you watched the newest Team Torque, you can see fatigue and some tension between him and Alex. I don't know if it is jet lag, or work, or stress, or damage to the relationship. But this is a driver relationship on a razor wire.

I call this the Icarus set up

At Alpine, it is Pierre. He gets away with murder, at least by the team. Esteban has certainly mellowed a little, but he calls Pierre out still. However, they are both miserable with the car this year, so I think they are probably commiserating. The fact they can work together after years of rivalry and blatant hurt between the two is interesting. I think that both of these men have racing above all on their heart, and they will do whatever it takes to stay there. So for now, they suffer in the car, and they are colleagues.

I call this the "there's no other choice" set up (aka forced proximity)l

At Visa CashApp, there's currently a power struggle. Daniel is Daniel. He's been second driver for a few years, he's been third driver. He's got the popularity, though it is waning, and more importantly, he's got Christian Horner's support. That, plus the fact that the team talks about Daniel's presence being about helping them improve, makes him sound like first driver. Except, Yuki has been First driver for years. He's the one who stayed through the revolving door of drivers. This is his team. Honda pays the majority of his salary. So when you bring someone in, someone who doesn't even want the seat as much as he wants the Red Bull seat, the seat that should be yours, you're not going to go down without a fight. It creates this weird tension, but then Daniel is like "I know how lucky I am to be here, I'm focused on driving here," and is already being threatened with losing the seat like Nyck was, and Yuki realizes he might never get the Red Bull seat. So you have these two guys who are fighting for the same thing, that doesn't want them.

I call this the Alone Together set up

At Sauber, it is Valtteri. He has won gps, he's former Mercedes, who used to come second usually only to Lewis. He's funny, older, a weirdo that people love and feel they know. Zhou is younger, he's dealing with the pressure of being China's only son, and the higher expectations of him. Valtteri helps keep him young and focused. He's been through the wringer, and he's teaching Zhou that it is not going to be what breaks you.

Also Mentor/Mentee except the mentors are nuts in a different way

I don't know what the hell is going on at Haas.

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arkhammaid · 8 months ago

Text

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE LIGHTNING ON TRACK | THE STRATEGY CALL

fandom. formula one & mcu

about. in which the stark racing f1 team talks about the 2025 strategy and beyond

content warnings. written in 3rd person

word count. 1.4k words

notes. with this chapter i wanted to involve a bit of politics and 'realistically' explain why stark racing won't immediately win a wdc (because with the whole set up, it would be possible). f1 are politics and no matter how many drivers say cash is king, connections have sometimes more worth

"welcome, everyone. thank you for tuning in", greets tony with a big smile on his face, spreading his arms as if going in for a hug.

"as you can see, i'm not currently with any departement, i'm doing the finishing touches in my own lab back in new york... since i don't want to drag anyone here to the US for meetings, we will proceed like this until january next year."

"now, i know it will be annoying with dragging your equipement with you and it's also unsafe, since you know... data secrets bla bla- so, in the next few days, each stark racing employee will receive the so called 'tactical intelligence glasses', which you can see me wearing. it's voice activated and can only be used by the one who sets it up, which will be you!" while speaking, tony fiddles with a pencil in his hand and starts walking around in his lab, showcasting it to every viewer.

"to cut things short, you'll receive a tutorial on how to use these glasses and set them up once you receive them. if you ever lose them, don't worry, we can track them. destroying them is pretty hard, but please don't try to make it a challange... our plan is to use them not only during meetings but also during the race, to keep our data from the cameras. with netflix, paparazzi and other cameras from the news, it's easy to steal data that shouldn't be accessible."

"alright then", he ends his ramblings with a clap, "we're going over the interesting part now. let's talk strategy..."

y/n let's her father's voice wash over her, her own glasses perched on her nose and feeding her constant information. in front of her are two holograms, projected by the hologram table in the meeting room she's currently in. the standing figure of her father and the presentation he's currently rattling off, all of it in a glowing blue.

next to her sits kevin, her future teammate, exhausted from the long 24 season but still paying attention. the rest of the room is filled with their team, the race engineers and trainers- each of them having their own glasses on.

to outsiders it looks like they're clowns, but it's a common sight in stark industries. decades ahead of the general public, stark stands for the future. of course they're trying to push it to the outer world, selling hologrammic equipement to both the industry but also private customers, but it's a slow progress.

the marketing team of SI hopes with their public use of the glasses and other devices they'll attract more customers, leaving the age of apple and samsung behind and instead welcoming the age of holograms. powered by starkanium, the production of phones, tablets, computers- anything really, is much cheaper and enviroment friendly than what's currently dominating the market.

shaking her head, y/n focuses on the presentation again. of course she knows it by heart already, she helped writing it, brooding over the strategy with the team ever since the team got announced.

"... the plan is to finish between 5th-3rd on the construction championship. not higher, not lower. we don't want to place higher, because this is our testing season. we will be practically sandbagging from the beginning, not revealing our true power for 2026."

yes... the construction championship. it will bring in money, not that they would need it, but it will justify the expenses they're going to make during the season to prepare for their second one. y/n is under no illusion, if they want, they could go all out and snag at least p2, if not p1. maybe she would even get her world championship- only then for everyone to say she won because she's driving a stark machine and not because of her own skill.

it sounds arrogant, she knows. but y/n believes, no, she doesn't only believe, she knows, she is one of the best in the whole world. if she can go against her father in an iron man suit, who can be only piloted by less than ten people in the world... winning in an f1 car is nothing.

but they've already made enemies for not waiting until 2026 like audi, 'enemies', who have much more pull within the motorsport world than them, simply because they're already established. christian horner is one, followed by toto wolff, the iconic red racing team not far behind.

with they're entry, they didn't make friends on the paddock, so for their first season... they can't be too good. or else their future seasons will be ruined.

it's stupid, to think like this, to think so far ahead, to think of others, in a sport where winning is everything. but it's not. cash and connections influence everything you do, how far you succeed. they have plenty of money, but are practically poor in connections. heck, even haas is better established than them.

they won't be, not after they're done after their first season. they will show the world, what stark racing is truly made of. and y/n will prove, that a woman can win.

"-bought data packs from previous seasons, dating back a whole decade, from mercedes and aston martin. cost a pretty penny, but data is everything. not to mention, after the big leak that happend in the middle of the season, we managed to grab enough data on all teams to calculate 3523 outcomes to this season. points, standings, anything." kevin wheezes at the number, which is followed by several data sheets. he gapes at the calculations, which predict another world championship for max 2064 times. all from the data they managed to collect.

"insane, right?", y/n whispers to kevin, who turns his head to her. his wide eyes make her snicker.

"welcome to stark racing, mate. just you wait until JARVIS and FRIDAY start feeding in new numbers and information." a muttered 'holy shit' is the only answer she gets and y/n has to snicker again. toto wolff once said something about formula one being war planning... well, he should know that stark industries and it's most brilliant minds know everything about war. be it on the market, by income or an actual alien invasion.

"we want to achieve at least one win, be it in a proper race or sprint, three podiums per driver and at least two fastest laps. and it will be possible", her father continues, pointing at a hologram of their car. it spins lazily in a circle, showing off it's aeorodynamic curves.

"this car is faster than the rb19, goes on par with the rb20. we don't know the upgrades from red bull, but another year and we can pretty much predict their stats for 2026. newey is predictable, all his upgrades point towards the perfection of the car, he focuses on what to make better and not invent something completely new. and if he does, he takes ages to prove it's better than what they had before. newey is brilliant, but he's no stark." there it is again, the facts of their rivals, taken apart and put back together to summerize their data in a few simple words.

"so, our motto for this season is testing, collecting data and improving for the next season. we're sandbagging, we're restricting ourselves. so if we ever do bad... we all know we could do much better. the engineering team will send first comparisons between the SR-1 and SR-2 out next week, y/n has already tested both cars in the sim, so we will have some data to read off."

"so, with that, we're pretty much done. thank you everyone for listening, i know for some it's very early right now, so if you have to read over the spark notes- JARVIS has put a summary of the most important information together, you'll receive the mail right after this converence. thank you again and welcome to stark racing, everyone!" claps fill the room and y/n takes off her glasses. it's exhausting to play mindgames like this, to calculate the desired outcome, but it will all come together.

hopefully, with her as a world champion, with the bold stark name on her back.

taglist. @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @akiraquote , @kiiyoooo , @nichmeddar , @nothingfuninthislife , @minkyungseokie , @fionaschicken , @lyrasconstellation , @spideybv28 , @keii134 , @starssfall , @tpwkstiles, @fangirl-dot-com , @nichmeddar , @lady-laura-speaks , @nikfigueiredo , @hinamesgigantica , @brakingboundaries , @almostjollypizza , @yoremins , @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @celesteblack08 , @watermelon-sugars-things , @lighttsoutlewis , @radiantdanvers , @vellicora, @sterredem , @hiireadstuff , @jolixtreesunn , @mypage-myfandoms , @nelly187 @greeneyesandsunshine , @fulla02 , @welovediaaxx , @whyamireadingthis , @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @blueberry64857959 , @winchesterwife27 , @six-call , @skywalker1dream , @mellowarcadefun , @cherry-piee , @peterholland04 , @motorsportloverf1 , @renarots , @msbyjackal , @woozarts , @leclucklerc , @yl90

crossed off tags mean i can't tag you!

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE SERIES TAGLIST? please leave a comment on this post or send a non anonymous ask!

ARKHAM MAID 2024

#f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 female driver #fem!driver #female driver #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #kevin magnussen x reader #tony stark x reader #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ lightning on track #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations

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cutielando · 11 months ago

Text

world champion | m.v.

synopsis: in which he finally achieves his dream

my masterlist

Ever since he started in Formula 1, the biggest dream Max had was becoming a World Champion. Signing with Red Bull was the first step towards making his dream come true.

Having you by his side was the second thing he needed.

His family couldn't come at every single race that he had, having their own lives and work prevented them from being able to fly out to the numerous countries that he found himself in every week.

But you had a very flexible job, you had your own little business and could essentially work from your laptop from anywhere you were, which was why you had never missed a race since Max started in F1.

He always joked with Christian in calling you his lucky charm.

The season had been going well for him, he'd won numerous races and was now tied with Charles Leclerc in the Championship standings. But you knew he could do it, you could feel the win coming.

"I'm going crazy" he told you the night before the race that would essentially decide who the champion is.

The famous Yas Marina circuit in Abu Dhabi.

"Stop stressing, you're going to give yourself wrinkles if you stress so much" you called out from the hotel bathroom where you were doing your skincare routine before bed.

"How can I not be stressed? My career is essentially on the line. Everything relies on what happens tomorrow, I can't let everyone down and not win" he said, his voice quiet and somber.

You finished doing your skincare routine and exited the bathroom, joining him on the king sized bed and wrapping your arms around him.

He buried his face in your chest and held onto you tightly, your arms being the only comfort for his nerves before every single race.

"Nobody is going to hate you or judge you if you don't win. Everybody is going to be proud of you for being able to be at the top for the entire season. I'm proud of you, Max, and I'll be proud of you regardless if you finish in first or last place. Don't beat yourself up if things don't go your way tomorrow, there is always next year and we're all going to be there for you, no matter what" you explained, kissing the top of his head as a confirmation that you were there and will always be by his side, no matter the results.

"You really mean that?" his voice was timid, but you could feel his muscles starting to relax under your touch.

"Of course I do. You don't have to put this kind of pressure on yourself. You're not doing this for the fans or for your family or for me, you're only doing this for yourself. Just go out there and drive your best and let the results come to you if it's meant to be"

He nodded and squeezed you tighter.

"I love you, so damn much" he mumbled, kissing your clothes chest and settling back down against you.

"I love you too, baby" you whispered and started running your hand up and down his back, knowing it was one of his favorite things.

As minutes went by, his breath started to slow down, indicating that he had fallen asleep. You smiled and placed a final kiss on his forehead before getting comfortable to go to sleep yourself, excited for what tomorrow would bring.

♡♡♡♡♡

The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage was exhilarating. For Christian and all the engineers, Max was already the World Champion.

Nothing could ruin their mood that morning, and the same could be said about you.

"How are you feeling?" you asked your boyfriend as he started getting ready to go in the car.

"Still nervous, but not as much as before. What happens, happens. I'll give it my best and we'll see" he said and gave you a sincere smile, reassuring you that he was okay.

"Good luck, baby. I love you, please be safe" you said and leaned up to kiss his lips before he'd have to put on his balaclava and helmet.

"I will. I love you too"

He departed after that, going over last-minute strategies with his engineers and making sure the car was ready for battle.

Once the mechanics rolled him out of the garage and onto the track, you took a seat next to his race engineer, who immediately gave you a pair of headphones.

"How's our boy?" he asked you, a warm smile on his face.

You and Gianpiero had a close relationship ever since he started working with Max, frequently exchanging thoughts and opinions before and after every race.

Sure, you didn't have the whole technical knowledge perfected yet, but you knew your way around the sport and strategies and everything after being with Max for so many years.

"He's nervous, but I know he's going to give it his all. I told him to drive his best and see what happens. Didn't feel like putting more pressure on him than necessary" you explained, earning a nod from the engineer.

"He'll win, I can feel it"

♡♡♡♡♡

And right he was.

Seeing him cross that finish line and checkered flag long before anyone else was like a breath of fresh air. You and Gianpiero jumped up from your seats and hugged each other, your cheeks already full of the tears that were flowing down.

You took your headphones off and make your way out of the garage, impatiently waiting for Max to pull up and get out of the car.

Once you saw his car approaching, you started jumping up and down, feeling happier than you had ever been.

"You did it!!" you screamed once Max got out of the car and enveloped you in his arms.

You didn't even care that he was sweaty and tired, all you could focus on was the fact that he had finally achieved his childhood dream.

"I did it" he sobbed into your shoulder, his arms holding you tightly against his body.

As you stood embraced in the middle of the paddock in your own little bubble, you knew that all of the sleepless nights, the hundred hours of training, the dozens races he's done, his entire hard work has finally paid off.

He was World Champion.

But more importantly, he was your champion.

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pickingupmymercedes · 3 months ago

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It still is - Lewis Hamilton 2/3

An Invisible String Theory Story - It was always them (pt.1). It still is (pt.2). It will always be (pt.3).

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: bits of angst but mainly fluff.

wordcount: +1K

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The weight of the world seemed to rest on Lewis's chest as he tossed and turned in the king-sized bed, the cover tangled around him. The once familiar expanse of the mattress now felt like an icy stone, devoid of warmth and comfort.

He glanced at the clock, the luminous green numbers mocking him with their clarity: 3:17 AM.

Sleep was a distant, elusive concept.

The echo of their argument reverberated in his ears, a haunting echo of accusations. Her words, sharp and cutting, replayed on an endless loop, each syllable a fresh wound.

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d fought this viciously. Words had become weapons, each one a sharp blow.

His mind replayed the argument like a broken record, isolating every cruel remark he’d made. He had never imagined a silly disagreement could escalate. A fight, yes, they'd had their share. Heated arguments, misunderstandings blown out of proportion. But this... this one felt different.

It had started with a dinner reservation being cancelled. And it hadn’t bothered him at all. Until she joked nothing seemed to bother him about their relationship lately.

He’d then accused her of taking him for granted, of prioritizing her career over their relationship. It was a cruel and unfair accusation, and he knew it. She had always balanced her career with their relationship. It was he who had been neglecting her, lost in the whirlwind of his own world.

"You're always about you," she had said, her voice laced with venom. "It's always been about your career, your image. I'm just an accessory to your perfect life."

The accusation had struck him like a physical blow. It was unfair, untrue, but the hurt in her voice was real. The argument had escalated from there, a vicious cycle of blame and resentment.

He’d said things he didn’t mean, things that had sliced through her like a knife. The memory of her face, pale and drawn, haunted him. He could still hear the hurt in her voice when she’d said, “I need space, Lewis.”

He remembered the way her eyes had filled with tears as she’d grabbed her purse and looked back at him. She looked like she wanted to say something but decided against it, and he’d wanted to reach out, to pull her back into his arms, but pride had held him back.

Now, alone in the quiet of the night, he was left to grapple with the aftermath. Replaying the conversation in his mind, searching for a way to undo the damage. But the more he thought about it, the more trapped he felt.

He had fell for her even before he had even met her. Like he had been going after the crumbs she left in his world.

She was everything he always thought he wouldn’t want: spontaneous, expansive, fearless and unapologetically herself. She’d been a breath of fresh air, a striking contrast to what he had in his life. And he'd been instantly drawn to her, a magnetic pull he couldn’t explain.

Together, they had built a life filled with an unforeseeable love and shared hunger to build on their dreams. But now, that foundation seemed to be shaking beneath them.

He tried to focus on something else, anything to distract himself. He thought about the upcoming race, about the car setup, about the strategies. But his mind kept wandering back. He missed her touch, her laughter, how she knew just where to push him, and the comforting rhythm of their existence, together. Y/N was the only one who wasn't afraid to tell him when he was being an arrogant ass. She was his reality check, his compass

He had hurt her, deeply. And he had no idea how to fix it. He was a man of control, of calculated risks, but right then, he felt powerless.

The memory surfaced with a clarity that bordered on hallucination. It was a world of flashing lights, loud music, and a backstage chaos that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. He was there as a Dior ambassador, a role that had thrust him into the heart of the fashion world.

He remembered the palpable tension backstage, a mix of excitement and nerves that hung heavy in the air. Models were being prepped, hair and makeup artists were working furiously, and a sense of controlled pandemonium reigned supreme. Amidst the chaos, he’d spotted her.

She was a vision of focused intensity, her hands deftly manipulating fabric as she conferred with a colleague. There was an aura of authority about her, a quiet confidence that set her apart from the crowd. He could recognize her instantly, even from a distance.

Their paths collided, just as he had predicted, as they both reached for a glass of water on a nearby table. Their hands brushed, a spark jolting through him. For a brief, suspended moment, they were locked in a silent exchange, their eyes meeting across the narrow space.

A shared laugh from a nearby stylist broke the tension. The woman standing beside Y/N turned to Lewis with a warm smile. “Lewis? It’s so good to see you here.”

“Likewise,” he replied, his gaze still lingering on Y/N. “And, might I ask who you are?”

“Right, sorry. That’s Y/n” the woman replied. “She’s a friend, helping around. She’s working with Ferrari; you’d probably meet her anyway”

Y/N looked up, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Hi. Lewis Hamilton, right?!” she said, her voice steady.

He returned her smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve been following your work at Ferrari. Impressive.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?”

“I’m looking forward to working with you next season,” he added, referring to his impending move to Ferrari.

A beat of silence passed between them; a charged moment filled with the unspoken future. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment was gone. The show was about to start, and the backstage chaos resumed.

But as he watched her walk away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths were going to cross again. And he wouldn’t let the moment go.

The morning light was beginning to filter through the curtains when his phone buzzed, breaking the silence of the apartment. A surge of hope and dread washed over him as he reached for the device.

It was a text from Y/N:

I don’t want to fight, not for something so stupid. I miss you.

The message was simple, yet it carried the weight of the thousand apologies he didn’t know how to tell her. She had always been better at words than he’d ever be.

He dialed her number, his fingers trembling slightly.

The phone rang once, twice, before she answered. Her voice, though soft, was laced with a hint of weariness.

"Hey," she said, the word barely a whisper.

"I'm on my way," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I can't sleep without you."

There was a pause, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. Then, a small, almost shy laugh escaped her lips.

"I miss you too, Lewis," she said, her voice softening. "I'll make coffee."

A sense of calm washed over him as he heard her laugh. He was going home.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he promised.

There was another pause. “I’ll be waiting,” she replied, and then, softly, “I’m sorry too.”

He smiled. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I know we will” she said.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lh #lh44 #lewis #lewis x reader #lewis imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you

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vroomvro0mferrari · 7 months ago

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Masterlist

Lando Norris

One shots

Yeah | 0.8K

Summary: After many failed dates, Lando is always the one to comfort you. Perhaps it's time you look for love in a different place, in someone you already know?

First Date | 1.1K

Summary: You're at the club with your friends when you spot the prettiest man you've ever seen. When he notices you and asks you out on a date, it's no surprise you say yes – even though your nerves almost get the better of you.

Panic at the Disco | 1.3K Part 2 | 2.4K

Summary: When you call your brother to pick you up from the club, it's his best friend who answers.

Dutch Courage | 2.9K

Summary: When Max Verstappen invites Lando to celebrate King’s Day with him, he can hardly refuse. Especially when it’s a great opportunity to spend time with the Dutch man’s sister.

Win & Woo | 3.1K

Summary: Congratulating Lando after his first race win is a lot more difficult than you expected. When you finally get the chance to, he reacts differently than you anticipated.

Kiss and Make Up | 5.0K

Summary: You used to get along with your brother’s best friend, but at some point, it all changed. Lando’s rude comments frustrate you to no end, and your brother is fed up with your complaints. Max only sees one solution: you need to make up.

Happy Anniversary! | 4.8K

Summary: When Lando forgets the date of your anniversary, you can get over it. However, the pressure of his job isn’t a good enough reason to excuse all of his forgetful tendencies and lack of attention for you.

Series

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Charles Leclerc

One shots

Awkward Advances | 2.1K

Summary: You are best friends with Alex Albon. When you go to the bar with him and his driver friends, you decide to shoot your shot. But with the amount of drinks consumed, it doesn't go as smoothly as planned.

Oblivious | 2.4K

Summary: Charles has been blatantly flirting with Y/N for months, but she's the only one who hasn't noticed.

Strategy to Your Heart | 4.3K

Summary: Ferrari hasn’t been doing well in the races lately, and Charles has only 1 person he can blame for the bad strategies: you.

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hyperactively-me · 11 months ago

Text

king!ghost x reader -- separation

warnings: none

The weeks pass in a haze of routine and loneliness. You receive reports from the front lines, each piece of information a bitter reminder of the man you love risking his life for your kingdom. The nights are the hardest, the empty space beside you a constant ache. In the mornings, you always find yourself pawing at his side of the bed as if hoping to find some trace of his warmth, only to be met with a cold mattress and unused pillow.

Soap proves true to his word. He’s been nothing short of a good friend, providing you with moral support and protection. He assists you in managing the affairs of the kingdom, ensuring that the transition in Simon’s absence is as smooth as possible.

Every few days, a messenger arrives with news from the front lines. From these small updates, you’ve learned that the Southern Kingdom is, indeed, on the rampage for taking over Kastron’s military for political power and the natural silver mines spread across the land. You’ve also heard some updates from Simon himself, his letters stirring up a mix of emotions. They carry fragments of his true self, his voice reaching out to you across the distance of war. In his words, you find solace and a connection that momentarily alleviates the ache of his absence.

Every day proves to challenge you more than you ever thought you would be in Kastron. You’re tasked with taking the ultimate responsibility of caring for the kingdom from home base, constantly running around attending to various matters of importance. From making sure the royal court was content, to overseeing the distribution of resources to the villages affected by the war, you find yourself taking on tasks you never thought you would. The people of Kastron look to you for guidance, and you strive to embody the strength and resilience they need.

Your mornings begin with a stack of reports, detailing the ongoing developments in the war and the status of the kingdom as a whole. Following that, you often find yourself in meetings with royal councils and the court, detailing your plans to maintain stability and ensure the kingdom's survival. Most advisors are content with the way you’re handling things, but some are more critical than others. The distribution of resources to villages becomes an important aspect of your daily routine. Working closely with a team of trusted advisers, you create strategies to prioritize the needs of villages. Food, medical supplies, and other essentials are dispatched efficiently.

Every night you get ready for bed, your body aches with fatigue, and your mind races with everything you have to do the next day.

As you prepare for another quiet dinner, Soap quietly enters the dining room with a loud knock. Surprised to see him standing outside with a tray of food, you let him in.

“Keeping yer strength up, your majesty?” he asks with a kind smile, setting the tray down on the table.

You return the smile, appreciative of Soap’s thoughtful gesture. “Soap, you’re a lifesaver.”

He chuckles softly. “Well, it’s the least I could do for ya, you’re busy all hours of the day.”

You share a genuine yet wary laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You motion for Soap to sit next to you, needing some company at the dinner table. The aroma of the food wafts through the air, and your stomach, which you realize is far emptier than you thought, grumbles in response.

As you begin to eat, Soap takes a seat across from you. There’s a comfortable silence between you two as you eat, savoring the moment. In the midst of your responsibilities, these quiet, relaxed moments become precious.

After a few bites, you look up at Soap. “How are things at the front lines? Any new news?”

“Aye, the situation is tense. Our soldiers are holding their ground, but it’s been no easy feat."

Concern lines your forehead. “And Simon? Have you heard anything about him today?”

Soap sighs, shifting in his seat. “He’s holdin’ up, your majesty. His letters to me don’t reveal much, but you know Simon—he’s a fighter. We’ll see him back here sooner than you think.”

Fear and hope well up inside of you. “I just wish I could be there with him. This waiting is driving me crazy.”

Soap nods in understanding. “It’s tough, I know. But Kastron needs you here, guiding us through these… trying times. Simon wouldn’t want you risking yourself.”

You appreciate Soap’s reassurance, but the ache for Simon remains. The conversation shifts to lighter topics, distracting you momentarily from the war. Soap shares personal stories, trying to bring a smile to your face.

After the meal, Soap helps you clear the table. As you both stand in the dimly lit dining room, Soap glances at you. “If ye ever need someone to talk to, your majesty, I’m here. I might not be Ghost, but I’ll do my best.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Soap. I appreciate it more than you know.”

He gives you a sincere nod, a silent promise to continue being there for you.

Now in your chambers, you settle onto your balcony, gazing out over the kingdom bathed in the soft hues of sunset. You lean against the railing, studying the expansive view below in quiet contemplation. Yes, sadness and yearning has been quite prominent the past few days, yet you’ve also managed to find pride in your work and how you’ve been handling difficult matters. Ultimately, you’re proud of the way you’ve been managing Kastron in Simon’s absence. Yes, the weight of responsibility still rests upon your shoulders, but a newfound strength emerges within you. The people of Kastron rely on your leadership, and you are determined to rise to the occasion.

As the night settles in, you lay in bed, Simon’s pillow cradled in your arms. It’s a poor substitute for the warmth you yearn for.

Your mind races with thoughts of Simon. How he’s doing, what he’s experiencing on the front lines, and whether he’s thinking of you as much as you are of him.

What a stupid thought, you know he is.

Sitting up, you light a candle and pull out your box full of Simon’s letters. You reach for one, tracing the pad of your finger over the inked lines of his familiar, scratchy handwriting.

As you reread Simon’s words, you can’t help but start to get emotional.

You know he’s more than capable. You know he’s trained for this, specialized in combat and survival. But the knowledge doesn’t erase the worry seeping into your heart, and you don’t think it ever really will.

The candle’s flame dances in your room, casting shadows on the walls as you immerse yourself in Simon's words. As you reach the end of the letter, a particular passage catches your eye. Simon’s words strike a chord, speaking directly to the concerns swirling in your mind:

“My beautiful girl, leading Kastron with a dedication that rivals even the greatest of leaders. I miss you, love, but knowing you're holding down the kingdom gives me strength. Kastron needs its queen, and I need to know you’re safe. We’ll get through this, and I’ll be back in your arms soon.”

A tear escapes your eye, landing on the parchment. A mix of emotions—love, worry, pride—stirs inside you. You fold the letter with care, tucking it back in the box with the others as if safeguarding the precious connection it represents. The candle flickers, and you blow it out, casting the room into darkness once again. In the quietude, you lay back, clutching Simon's pillow once more. Sleep eventually claims you, but dreams are elusive.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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thewulf · 7 months ago

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In the Arms of Fate || Aragorn

Summary: Request - During the war with Sauron, she gets kidnapped and tortured badly by Saruman. Aragorn and the others immediately get on a mission to rescue her and eventually find her barely alive... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write but I really like how it turned out. Thank you for the amazing requests anon, hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,600 +

TW: talks of torture, pain, reader gets taken, general LOTR triggers

In the middle of the raging war against Sauron you found yourself drawn to the Fellowship not only by fate but by your own unique blend of skills and qualities that made you an indispensable member of the group. Aragorn quickly recognized your unwavering loyalty and the depth of your courage. He insisted on your inclusion in the Fellowship. He saw in you a kindred spirit as someone who shared his determination to see the quest through to the end.

Your skills were varied and essential to the success of the Fellowship. As a seasoned fighter you were proficient in various forms of combat. You sported weapons with precision and grace. But it wasn't just your prowess on the battlefield that set you apart. It was also your keen intellect and quick thinking that made you invaluable to the group. You possessed a sharp mind and a strategic approach to problem-solving, often providing crucial insights and solutions during moments of peril. Even Legolas looked to you for guidance from time to time.

Gimli was initially skeptical of your presence in the Fellowship. But even he soon came to appreciate the depth of your skills and the strength of your character. Your friendship with him grew as you shared stories of battles fought and victories won. You formed a bond that transcended the differences between your races. Together you and Gimli formed a formidable duo. Your strengths complementing each other in ways that made the Fellowship stronger as a whole.

With Legolas, your relationship was characterized by playful banter and teasing exchanges. From the moment you met there was a natural rapport between you. It was like a shared understanding that lent itself to lighthearted jests and witty banter. Legolas never missed an opportunity to tease you. His playful remarks eliciting laughter and smiles even in the darkest of times. Despite the teasing there was a deep form of friendship between you. Formed through shared experiences and mutual respect. He loved to tease you, especially about a certain ranger that had captured your heart with ease. It was on one particular eve that Legolas had let you know that he knew too. He wasn’t blind. He caught your longing looks. But he too caught Aragorn staring right back at you.

The evening was alive with the crackling of the campfire and the soft rustle of the forest around you. As you sat beside the fire completely lost in thought, Legolas approached with his characteristic grace, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Ah, Y/N, lost in thought again?" he remarked. A teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. And he likely did.

You chuckled softly turning to face him. "Just contemplating our next move," you replied, though your thoughts were anything but focused on strategy. Instead, they drifted to a certain ranger sitting across the way who occupied far too much space in your mind.

Legolas arched an eyebrow, his keen gaze fixing on you with knowing amusement. "Or perhaps," he suggested with a knowing smirk, "you're pondering a particular king’s pining for you?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his words, and you sputtered in protest. "Wha—no, Legolas, you're imagining things," you stammered. It was a terrible attempt to brush off his teasing with a nervous laugh.

But Legolas only chuckled. His soft laughter mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire. "Oh, come now, Y/N,” he teased, his tone light and playful. "Even the trees can see the way he looks at you. And you him. It's as clear as the stars in the night sky."

You rolled your eyes. Though a part of you couldn't help but wonder if there was a kernel of truth to Legolas's jests. Aragorn's lingering glances and subtle gestures had not gone unnoticed by you. Though you had dismissed them as mere figments of your imagination. "He's just... concerned for my well-being, that's all," you insisted, though doubt lingered in the back of your mind. "We're friends, nothing more."

Legolas's smile widened as his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Of course, Y/N," he replied. His tone dripping with elvish sarcasm. "Just friends."

As he walked away quiet as ever leaving you to figure out you conflicting emotions, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was more truth to Legolas's teasing than you dared to admit. But for now, you pushed aside your doubts instead focusing on the task at hand and the challenges that lay ahead. You couldn’t let that distract you of all things. You had Hobbits to find after all.

As for Aragorn, the dynamics of your relationship were markedly different. From the moment he laid eyes on you Aragorn was captivated by your strength, courage, and insane determination. He found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully explain. His heart skipping a beat whenever you were near. Despite his stoic demeanor Aragorn found himself unable to hide his feelings for you. His affection and admiration shining through in subtle gestures and meaningful glances. Whether it was a reassuring touch on the shoulder or a lingering gaze across the campfire Aragorn's love for you was evident to all who knew him. Maybe except for you.

And though you tried to hide it, the effect he had on you was undeniable. Your cheeks would flush with color whenever he spoke. Your heart deciding to skip a beat at the mere sound of his voice. Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure Aragorn had a way of unraveling your defenses. His presence stirring emotions within you that you struggled to contain.

The Battle of Helm's Deep raged on with unrelenting ferocity. The clash of steel and the roar of orcs echoing through the valley. As darkness descended upon the fortress you stood shoulder to shoulder with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Your heart was pounding with adrenaline, determination, and a touch of fear.

Together, you fought valiantly against the relentless tide of enemies. Your blades flashing in the dim light as you defended the walls of Helm's Deep with all your strength. But as the battle wore on fatigue began to set in and the odds seemed increasingly insurmountable. In the chaos of the fray the enemy's forces surged forward with renewed fury. You were overwhelmed. The defenders of Helm's Deep were overwhelmed with their sheer numbers. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli fought with unmatched skill and valor. Their resolve unbroken even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

In the middle the chaos and confusion tragedy struck for you. As the defenders of Helm's Deep rallied for one final stand you found yourself separated from your companions. Unfortunately surrounded by a horde of wargs and orcs. With grim determination you fought with all your might. Every strike of your blade a desperate attempt to fend off the encroaching darkness.

But it was not enough.

As the enemy closed in around you completely overwhelming you with their sheer numbers, you felt a surge of despair wash over you. Your strength faltered and your movements began growing sluggish as exhaustion threatened to consume you whole. And then in a moment of cruel fate you were seized by the snarling jaws of a warg. You were dragged away from the safety of the fortress just as the offenders began to retreat. You were a prize.

Aragorn's heart constricted with dread as he watched helplessly from afar. His voice lost amidst the din of battle as he called out your name in desperation. His pleas were a cruel reminder of how quickly things could change. With every fiber of his being he longed to rush to your aid. To fight tooth and nail to rescue you from the clutches of the enemy. But the tide of battle had turned, and he had no time to rush after you for he would likely die in the cause.

And so, as Helm's Deep fell silent in the wake of the enemy's retreat. Aragorn's heart weighed heavy with grief and guilt. For though the battle had been won. The cost had been immeasurable. And the fate of his beloved remained uncertain, lost amidst the darkness that lurked beyond the walls of Helm's Deep.

In the grim depths of Saruman's fortress, you endured unspeakable torment at the hands of your captors. From the moment they laid hands on you their cruelty knew no bounds. Their twisted minds delighting in the suffering they inflicted upon you. They reveled in your screams of agony. Their laughter echoing off the cold stone walls as they subjected you to unimaginable pain and suffering. Every blow, every cut, every moment of pain was a sickening game to them. A twisted form of entertainment that they relished with sadistic glee.

But despite their best efforts to break your spirit you refused to fold. With every fiber of your being you clung to life with a tenacity that defied comprehension. You endured their tortures with a steely resolve. Your will to survive burning bright even in the darkest of moments. They tried their best to break you. To strip away your humanity and reduce you to nothing more than a shell of your former self. But still you fought on. Your spirit unbroken even as your body bore the scars of their cruelty.

In the depths of despair, you found a flicker of hope—a tiny ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished. And though they tried to snuff it out. To drown it in a sea of pain and despair, still it burned bright within you. It was Aragorn. He was your salvation. Your thoughts that brought light within your darkness. You couldn’t break. Not when you knew was alive and fighting to see you again.

And so, as the minutes turned into days and the days turned into weeks, you clung to life with a determination that seemed to defy reason. For though they sought to destroy you. To crush your spirit beneath their heel. Still, you refused to surrender, your will to survive burning bright even in the face of unspeakable evil. You began to worry they may tire of you. That they may get bored and kill you despite your efforts to survive.

In the grim confines of Saruman's fortress sustenance was a meager and scarce commodity, doled out sparingly by your captors. Each day you received barely enough to sustain your frail body. The meager rations serving as a cruel reminder of your dire circumstances. The food was tasteless. The water stagnant and foul. Yet you choked it down with grim determination. You did it in hopes of seeing Aragorn again. Maybe just maybe you could confess your love to him for this journey made you finally realize your feelings for him.

You couldn't bear the thought of leaving this world laying bare the depths of your heart and soul to him. And so, even as your body grew weak and your spirit faltered, you held fast to the hope that one day, somehow, you would find your way back to him.

As the news of Saruman's demise spread throughout Middle earth a small bit of hope rose within the hearts of those who had suffered under his tyranny. For you, however, trapped within the depths of Orthanc's dungeons, the passing of the once-great wizard brought no relief from your torment.

Barely clinging to life as your body was ravaged by weeks of unspeakable suffering. You lay in darkness your breaths shallow and labored. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you teetered on the brink of oblivion. Your spirit beginning to falter by the weight of despair.

But in the cruelty of the shadows that engulfed you a faint whisper of hope stirred within your soul—a feeling, a sensation that you couldn't quite explain. It was as if a part of you knew deep down that your salvation was at hand. That somehow, someway, your beloved Aragorn was close and would come for you.

And come for you he did.

Driven by a gnawing sense of unease. A feeling that he couldn't shake, Aragorn ventured into the depths of Orthanc. His heart weighed heavy with dread and determination. Guided by instinct and a love that knew no bounds he searched tirelessly for any sign of your presence. His footsteps echoing through the cold stone corridors as it laid eerily quiet at Saruman’s demise.

And then, at long last, he found you.

Tucked away in the darkest recesses of the dungeons, barely visible amidst the shadows, lay your frail form. Your breaths barely there, faint. Aragorn's heart constricted with anguish at the sight of you, his beloved, so close to the brink of death.

With trembling hands and a voice choked with emotion. Aragorn gathered you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest as if he could shield you from the darkness that threatened to take you from him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he whispered words of love and reassurance. His voice was a soothing balm to your battered soul.

As he held you in his arms as gently as he could he broke down. "Gandalf! Legolas! Gimli! Anyone, help!" His cries reverberated through the silent halls of Orthanc. Each plea in desperation for your salvation. He cried for someone to come to your aid.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cradled you against his chest, his heart breaking at the sight of you—so frail, so vulnerable, so close to slipping away from him forever. He whispered for you to hold on. His voice raw with emotion as he begged you to stay with him just a little while longer. But you remained unconscious. Your breaths shallow and labored, your life hanging by the slimmest of threads.

As Aragorn's desperate calls for help echoed through the halls of Orthanc. His heart broke with fear and anguish. Though finally his cries were answered. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli came running, drawn by the urgency and desperation in Aragorn's voice. Their faces paled at the sight that greeted them. Your frail form cradled in Aragorn's arms, barely clinging to life.

Gimli, his usually stoic demeanor crumbling in the face of such tragedy, sank to his knees beside you. His heart heavy with sorrow. "By the beard of Durin," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "What have they done to you, lass?"

Legolas with eyes wide of shock and horror, approached tentatively. His usual grace replaced by a raw vulnerability as tears welled in his eyes. "Nay, this cannot be," he whispered. His voice trembling with grief. "Not Y/N... not like this."

Gandalf had a grave expression on his face as he stepped forward. His gaze piercing as he took in the extent of your injuries. "We must act swiftly," he declared. His voice commanding. "There is still hope, but time is of the essence."

With a sense of urgency, they rallied together. Their hearts heavy with grief but their resolve unyielding. With shaking hands Aragorn carried you from the depths of Orthanc, his footsteps echoing heavy through the silent halls as they emerged into the light of day.

As time grew short and the urgency of the situation became increasingly apparent, Gandalf knew that swift action was needed to save you. With a wave of his staff and a word of command he called forth one of the Great Eagles. Ancient creatures who served as allies to the free peoples of middle earth.

As Gandalf summons the Great Eagle to take you to Lothlórien Aragorn's determination to stay by your side remained unyielding. With a glance at the rest of the Fellowship he knew that their journey will be swift on horseback as the Great Eagle could not carry them all.

"Aragorn," Gandalf begins, his voice carrying a sense of urgency, "time is of the essence. We must act swiftly to save Y/N."

Aragorn nods solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he turns to Gandalf. "I will take her on the eagle to ensure she receives the care she needs. The rest of you must ride with haste to Lothlórien. I will meet you there." Gandalf and the others exchange a knowing look. Understanding the weight of Aragorn's decision. With a nod of agreement Gandalf turned to the rest of the Fellowship.

"We ride for Lothlórien," Gandalf declares, his voice echoing with authority. "May the Valar watch over us all."

As Aragorn carries you in his arms and mounts the Great Eagle the rest of the Fellowship saddles their horses and sets off towards Lothlórien knowing it would delay their plans to get to Mordor. But for you they knew they had to. With a sense of urgency driving them forward they rode with haste. Their hearts heavy with worry yet filled with hope that you will receive the care and healing you so desperately need.

After what felt like a lifetime to Aragon Great Eagle descended upon the lush treetops of Lothlórien. Aragorn's urgent pleas for help echo through the elven realm. Celeborn alerted by the urgency in Aragorn's voice, rushed forward from the heart of Lothlórien.

With swift steps, Celeborn reaches Aragorn's side just as the eagle touched down. He sees the urgency in Aragorn's eyes and the battered state of your body and without a moment's hesitation he takes you from Aragorn's arms. His expression a mix of concern and determination.

"Bring her to me," Celeborn commands. His voice carrying an air of authority.

Aragorn watches with a mixture of relief and apprehension as Celeborn rushes towards the healing chambers of Lothlórien. His skilled hands cradling you gently. With each step Aragorn's heart pounds with worry, but he knows that you are in good hands.

As Celeborn disappears into the depths of Lothlórien Aragorn's thoughts turn to the rest of the Fellowship who are still traveling on horseback. He knows that they will arrive soon with their hearts heavy with concern for you. He worried for you. For Frodo and Sam who were continuing their journey ahead. For the delay all of this brought. But he couldn’t seem to care about that all knowing the woman he loved was on the brink of death. The woman who was always so full of life may be taken from him far too soon. Before he could confess his true feelings.

With a silent prayer on his lips, he followed Celeborn into the healing chambers. His determination to see you healed burning brighter than ever. And as he stands vigil by your side surrounded by the gentle beauty of Lothlórien, he knows that though the road ahead may be long and fraught with peril. But together you will face whatever challenges come your way

As hours pass in Lothlórien, Celeborn's efforts to heal you are met with frustratingly little progress. Despite his skill and knowledge your condition remains unchanged. Leaving both him and Aragorn filled with growing despair. Realizing that more drastic measures are needed, Celeborn calls upon his wife, Galadriel, for assistance. Together they work tirelessly through the and night. Their combined powers focused on bringing you back from the darkness of unconsciousness.

Aragorn watched with a heavy heart as Galadriel joins Celeborn in the healing chambers. Her presence a glimmer of hope amidst the peril that threatened to consume him. He knows that if anyone can help you it is the Lady of the Wood, with all her wisdom and grace.

Days turn into nights and still you remain unresponsive. You were lost in a realm of unconsciousness from which you seem unable to awaken. Aragorn's faith began to waver. His heart heavy with doubt and fear as he watches Galadriel and Celeborn work tirelessly to save you. But just when all seems lost, a miracle occurred. After a few days of ceaseless effort, Galadriel kneels beside your bedside and offers a rare prayer to the Valar. Her voice is soft but filled with conviction as she calls upon their aid. Her plea echoing through the halls of Lothlórien.

And then as if in response to her prayer, you stir from your slumber. Your eyes fluttering open for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Aragorn's heart leapt with joy as he watches you awaken. His faith restored in the power of love.

With tears of relief streaming down his cheeks, Aragorn gathers you into his arms. Holding you close as he whispers words of gratitude and love. As you lay there finally awake but still weak and fragile, Aragorn's emotions overwhelm him. Tears stream down his face as he gathers you into his arms holding you close with a fierce, desperate grip but gentle so not to hurt you further.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you more than words can express, my love. You cannot leave me again. Please, never leave me again. Please."

His words are a plea. A prayer whispered into the stillness of the healing chambers. His heart ached with the fear of losing you. The fear of facing a world without the light of your presence beside him. And as he holds you close, his tears mingling with yours. He knew that he would give anything to keep you safe. To protect you from harm. As he pours out his heart to you, he realizes just how much you mean to him—how much he needs you by his side, now and always.

"You love me?" you whisper. Your voice barely above a breath as you look up at him, your eyes searching his for confirmation.

Aragorn's laughter fills the air. A warm and comforting sound that washes over you like sunlight breaking through the clouds. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Did I not make it so obvious my wayward love?" he replies, his voice teasing yet tender as he meets your gaze with a smile.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his words. You can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. Galadriel and Celeborn who have been observing the exchange with amusement, share a knowing look, their eyes twinkling with mirth of the love unfolding before them.

But in that moment as you gaze into Aragorn's eyes and share a laugh together all your worries and fears seem to melt away. For in his arms surrounded by the love and support of your companion, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead you will face them with him. Your beloved.

And as the laughter fades into a comfortable silence, you rest your head against Aragorn's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. With his arms wrapped around you, you know that you are home.

As Celeborn and Galadriel summon the rest of the Fellowship, the healing chambers soon fill with the familiar faces of your companions. Their expressions a mix of relief and joy at the sight of you awake, alive and with that smile adorning your soft features.

Gimli with his gruff exterior softened by the depth of his concern, rushes forward to your side. His eyes were brimming with tears. "By Durin's beard, lass! I thought I'd never see you awake again," he exclaims, his voice trembling with emotion as he clasps your hand tightly in his own.

Gandalf had his wise eyes shining with warmth, approaches with a gentle smile. "It is good to see you awake, my dear friend," he spoke. His voice filled with genuine relief. "You have faced darkness and emerged victorious. You are stronger than you will ever know."

Legolas, his fair face radiant with joy, stepped forward with a soft smile. "I am glad to see you awake, mellon nin," he smiled to you. His voice gentle and sincere. "The world is a brighter place with you in it."

Merry and Pippin, their youthful exuberance infectious as always rush to your side with wide smiles on their faces. "You had us worried there for a moment," Merry says, his voice filled with relief. "But you're back with us now and that's all that matters."

Pippin nods eagerly as his eyes shining with unshed tears. "We thought we'd lost you," he admits, his voice wavering with emotion. "But you're a fighter, just like Aragorn said. You'll always come back to us."

As the Fellowship gathers around you with their voices filled with laughter and tears. You felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you. As you were surrounded by the love and support of your friends you know that no matter what trials may come your way you will always have each other.

As the night descended upon Lothlórien after you woke, Aragorn remained by your side as the rest of the Fellowship retired. His love and devotion unwavering as he tends to your every need.

With gentle hands he washes away the grime and dirt of your ordeal away. His touch tender and reassuring against your skin. He cleanses away the scars of battle as his fingers trace each line and mark with care, as if trying to erase the memories of pain that linger there.

As he helps you change into fresh clothes his gaze never strays from yours. His eyes were filled with an intensity of emotion that took your breath away. He spoke softly. His voice a soothing melody that fills the silence of the healing chambers.

"You are my light in the dark," he whispered softly to you. His words a declaration of love that echoes in the stillness of the night. "You are the reason I fight, the reason I endure. Without you I am lost my love."

Tears fill your eyes at his words. The depth of his love overwhelming in its intensity. "And you are mine," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to touch his face. "You are the reason I am alive, the reason I kept going. Even in the worst of times."

As the soft glow of moonlight filters through the canopy of leaves above Aragorn's adoration for you seems to shine even brighter. With every touch, every whispered word, he worships you as if you were a goddess descended from the heavens themselves.

He kneels before you, his eyes alight with reverence. He places gentle kisses upon your hands, your cheeks, your forehead, as if each kiss is a silent prayer to the gods, thanking them for blessing him with your presence. Thanking them for letting you live.

"I am unworthy of your love," he murmurs. His voice filled with sincerity as he gazes up at you with awe. "But I swear to you, I will spend every moment of my life trying to prove myself worthy of you."

His words melt your heart. Filling you with a warmth that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the depths of your soul. You reach out to cup his face in your hands, tracing the lines of his jaw with your fingers. Feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your touch.

"You are more than worthy," you whisper, your voice barely a breath as you gaze into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love reflected back at you. "You are my everything, Aragorn. Without you I am nothing."

As you hold each other close surrounded by the quiet beauty of the elven realm. You know that nothing in this world could ever tear you apart. For in each other's arms, you have found a love that transcends time and space. A love that is as boundless as the stars themselves and as enduring as the ages to come.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 8 months ago

Text

I've been dreaming of the Ambitious King.

Long live the King of Beasts, he who shines like the sun.

He stands atop the heap, clutching victory in his righteous grasp.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

"We've come to finals of the interschool Spelldrive tournament!" an announcer blares over the stadium. "It's down to the wire, and this will be the deciding round. With the scores tied, it’s anyone’s game!!"

A crowd chomps at the bit for a winner to emerge from the field. They lean forward in their seats, clutch onto hope, stuff their mouths with soda and popcorn. This is a show, the players, actors, and they, the audience.

Leona allows himself a smirk.

We’ll give’m a real show-stopper then. That crown is as good as mine.

“What should our strategy be this time, sir?” a teammate—a Scarabia student—asks.

They’re huddled shoulder to shoulder, one student contributed from each of the seven dorms. Their allegiances may lie in different places, but they all wear the same black and violet uniform. They are all Night Ravens, united under one banner: his.

“We’ll finish this in a single decisive blow,” Leona replies, snapping his goggles on. “I’ll take the disc and score us that final point. The rest of you, cover me.”

“You heard the boss,” the smallest player says. It’s Epel, tiny but feisty—a contrast to his big blue eyes and lilac waves of hair. “Don’t worry, Leona-senpai! I’ll fer sure keep’m offa yer tail!”

“That’s what I like to hear, kid.” He raises his head and calls, “Clear!”

And with that, the players peel off into their own positions. The other team, uniforms pristine white and hemmed in royal blue, are patiently waiting. Leona pulls up to the center of the field where the referee and the opposing team’s leader await.

When he looks, he falters.

It’s a face that is frighteningly similar to his own.

The same skin color, the same lion ears and tail, the same construction of the features—if not softer and more friendly. His mane is held up in a ponytail, bright red-orange that fades into a golden yellow. He’s younger than he should be, missing the slight creases under his warm brown eyes and the lines that flank his perpetually smiling mouth.

“Falena?”

An icy dread creeps up from his core. The world around him seems to slow and come to a complete stop.

But this can’t be. My brother is 10 years older than me. He’s no longer a student, he’s—

“Leona? Is something wrong?” Falena inquires with a cheeky grin. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to play against family.”

Annoyance flares up.

Brother or not, Leona detests that smile. The smile of a man that has robbed him of everything.

“Dream on,” he snarls back. “I’m overthrowing Royal Sword Academy and you."

The referee lets the disc drop and blows into his whistle. “BEGIN!!”

"Aaand it's started!!" the announcer declares.

His body instinctively kicks into action. He swipes the frisbee, keeping it afloat in a blaze of blood-red magic.

RSA swarm him, magical pens at the ready.

“Protect him…!” he hears Epel shout. “Protect the king!!”

His team charges, each of them trained on their target. NRC and RSA, reflecting the other, copying movements as they bound around on the field, seeking an opening or cutting it off.

Leona blows into enemy territory, furiously racing to the goal post.

"What's this?! It looks like Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team has already devised a plan to secure victory. They're closing off any aid the RSA team can offer to each other!"

The crowd revs up like an engine coming alive, a slumbering city waking. Blood thunders in his ears, louder than his audience.

"Oh no, you don't!"

"Oooh, and here comes the upset! It's Captain Kingscholar of the RSA team, come to interfere with the game plan!"

Leona swerves, and a stream of fire narrowly misses him. "Tsk!"

A flash of red and gold, and there's his brother at his side. "Sorry, Leona. It won't be that easy."

"Knock it off. I don't have time to play games with you!"

He dives, trying to shake Falena off--but he pursues, relentless in the chase. They thread each other in the sky, trading spells.

Explosions of heat and color. Shards of ice whizzing by, columns of water. Windy whips lashing at them. All-consuming light and darkness.

"This is amazing, folks! We are witnessing a brotherly quarrel the likes of which we've never seen before... Look at that dazzling display of flight technique and spellwork!"

Through it all, Falena' laughs.

So carefree, so cheerful. A knife twists in his chest, and the anger spikes again.

"That's enough...! I'm ending this," Leona snarls.

His magic collects in a single sphere. There is no body to it, no true shape--only a contained vortex of gales. They violently churn in an endless cycle, raising a storm in a jar.

He sends it hurtling at Falena, who moves to conjure a barrier--

Too late.

The ball expands, releasing its energy in one deep sigh. The audience is slammed back into their seats, the players blown to the ground or sent crashing into the bounds of the stadium. They're dazed, confused, scrambling to rebalance on their brooms.

The path, he sees, is clear.

Now...!

He lets out a monstrous roar and blitzes for the goal post. The disc sparkles, charging with power for the final blow as he gallops toward his prize.

The announcer hops back on, his voice frantic. "Could this be it?! Can Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team reclaim the throne from his brother?!"

Noise builds around him. RSA players calling out to each other, NRC players changing his name, the crowd cheering.

It's now or never.

Leona spikes the disc with all his might. It clears, the winning shot like a shooting star. Some golden object encapsulated in a blaze of fire.

The adrenaline in his blood sings with triumph. His tired muscles, his heavy breathing, the sweat upon his brow--badges of honor.

The sound intensifies, joined by whistles and shrieks. Feet stomping, hands clapping. People standing and hugging their neighbors. (Leona thinks he sees Crowley among them, sobbing uncontrollably.)

“This is incredible, ladies and gentlemen! You’ve just witnessed history being made today…! Night Raven College has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, breaking Royal Sword Academy’s 99 year win streak!!"

Leona slowly returns to the ground, dismounting from his broom. He lands beside Falena, who is sprawled on his back and wearing the usual smile.

"Ahahah, looks like you beat me," he says casually.

"... Fool. Get up, you look ridiculous. The acting king of the Sunset Savanna shouldn't be rolling around in the dirt." Leona looks away, but awkwardly offers a hand.

Falena laughs and accepts it, hauling himself up. "That's a funny joke. When did you get a sense of humor?"

He scowled. "I didn't make one."

"Are you still half asleep? And you still beat me?" Falena punches him in the bicep. "That's my talented big bro."

"What... big bro?"

There it is again: something cold and sinister inside of him. The lingering feeling of wrongness.

Suddenly, the adrenaline in him turns toxic, and he feels as though his flesh and bones are burning. Leona seizes Falena by the shoulders and shakes him.

"What the hell is going on... Gaaah!"

A metallic screech fills the stadium. Pain blossoms in his ears, and Leona rushes to guard them, hands dropping away from Falena.

"Oops, sorry! Technical difficulties, folks!" the announcer apologizes. "It looks like even our equipment wants to cheer for Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team, the star player of today! Let's give him a round of applause!!"

They explode with excitement, Clapping and calling out louder than he can think.

"What a judicious young man!"

"He controls such powerful magic with ease...!"

He stands there, shocked, at the rain of adoration. Him, recognized? Respected, saluted, and seen as the wonder he is? Him?

His mind clouds.

What is this,,,?

"Leona-saaaan!!"

He turns, finding his teammates jogging over, Epel at the head. There are members of his own dorm with them--Ruggie, Jack.

"We gotcha now, Leona-san! Thought you could get away without getting your fur ruffled, huh?" Ruggie snickers, then gives Jack a thumbs-up. "Alright, fellas. You know what to do!"

"Hah, the hell is this? I didn't ask for a surprise after working my tail off."

"Sorry, Leona-senpai! Ruggie-senpai's orders!" Jack says very seriously. "This is the only way to give you a proper sendoff for carrying us to victory... You've earned it!"

"1, 2, 3...!"

"Wha...?!"

Leona is seized and hoisted into the air with a collective whoop of excitement. Tossed up, up, up. The stadium lights glaring, sound blasting.

He returns back to his peer's arms, and heaved up again. Down and up, down and up. Each pass makes him more nauseous, blinded and deafened by the dizzying joy.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!!" they chant.

The king... me? Leona fights against it, pushing as hard as he can.

But his body is tired, his mental capacities drained, his emotions worn. The situation, too sweet, too cloying.

I'm... the king... I won. This is my prize.

He closes his eyes and lets himself fall.

This time, for good.

When he opens them again, he swears he sees a dark figure flying high above the stadium. Not on a broom, but floating of his own accord. A pair of horns protrudes him his head, and he glimpses a pair of ghostly white hands clapping.

One additional spectator with glowing green eyes.

"Congratulations, Kingscholar."

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 1 month ago

Text

A Tyrell in the Lion's Den (Part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 2.8k

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x Tyrell!reader

Summary: Y/n navigates the complexities of her new life in King's Landing, contending with the political intrigue and personal dynamics of the Lannister family

Warnings: Mature Themes, Possessiveness

_________________________________________________

The day dawned clear and bright over King’s Landing, the air heavy with the weight of expectation. Word of our wedding had spread quickly, a union that would shake the foundations of Westerosi politics. Whispers followed me wherever I walked, eyes full of curiosity, envy, and, in some cases, fear. Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in the realm, was marrying again, and not just anyone—me, a Tyrell, a daughter of one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the Seven Kingdoms.

The sept was adorned with Lannister crimson and gold, blended tastefully with the green and gold of House Tyrell. It was a show of strength, of unity between two great houses, but I knew the truth beneath the façade. This was not just a marriage of convenience or strategy—it was something far more complicated, more intimate. It was the culmination of everything that had passed between Tywin and me, a union that neither of us had planned for but one that now seemed inevitable.

As I stood in my chambers, my ladies helping me into my gown, I felt the weight of the day pressing down on me. The dress was a masterpiece, a deep emerald green trimmed with golden lions at the cuffs and neckline, an unmistakable symbol of my new allegiance to House Lannister. My hair had been braided and adorned with delicate golden chains, Tywin’s way of showing the world that I belonged to him now.

My heart raced as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, wondering how the world would see me after today. A Tyrell by birth but a Lannister by marriage. A new player in the game of thrones.

“Y/n ,” Margaery said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. She had been unusually quiet, her own ambitions simmering beneath the surface. She was to be Queen, and I her grandmother by marriage—our fates intertwined in ways neither of us had ever anticipated. “You look beautiful.”

I nodded, offering her a small smile, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I wondered how the day would unfold—how Tywin would act, what would be expected of me. The bedding ceremony loomed in the back of my mind, a tradition I found distasteful, but one I knew would be demanded by the court. Still, I had learned enough about Tywin to know that he would not let such a vulgar display take place, not with me. He was possessive, protective in his own way, and I suspected that even the suggestion of other men touching me would not be tolerated.

The sept was filled with the most powerful lords and ladies of Westeros. The great houses had sent their envoys: Olenna Tyrell sat with her usual smirk, clearly amused by the whole affair. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked down the aisle, arm in arm with my father. I had seen her speaking with Tywin earlier, no doubt testing him as she always did, teasing him about the growing bond between our houses.

“Closer than ever now,” I could imagine her saying with that knowing smile. Tywin, of course, would not have been amused, though he respected Olenna’s wit. She was one of the few people who could match him in cunning.

As I approached the altar, I saw Tywin waiting for me, his expression as impassive as ever. He looked regal, powerful, every inch the Lord of Casterly Rock. Yet, when our eyes met, there was something else there—something only I could see. A flicker of warmth, of pride. Perhaps even affection, though he would never admit it.

The ceremony itself was a blur, the words of the septon washing over me as I stood beside Tywin, our hands joined in a grip that was both firm and intimate. As we said our vows, pledging ourselves to each other, I could feel the weight of the moment, the realization that I was now bound to this man in every way. He was my husband, my partner in every sense of the word.

The feast that followed was lavish, as expected. Long tables stretched across the hall, filled with the finest foods and wines. The high lords and ladies raised their cups to us, toasting our union, though I knew many of them were more interested in what this marriage meant for the balance of power in Westeros. Tywin sat beside me, his hand resting possessively on my knee under the table, a subtle reminder of his claim over me.

Margaery, sitting nearby, smiled serenely, though I could see the gears turning in her mind. She was focused on her own future, her own ambitions to become Queen. She glanced at me occasionally, as if to assess my own plans now that I was married to the most powerful man in the realm. I met her gaze, offering nothing but a quiet, knowing smile in return. We were both playing the game now, but we were on the same side—at least for now.

As the feast drew on, I could feel the tension building. The time for the bedding ceremony was approaching, and the lords were beginning to grow restless. I saw the glint in their eyes, the anticipation of the vulgar tradition where they would carry me to the bed, stripping me of my clothes and dignity.

But before anyone could make a move, Tywin stood, his voice cutting through the noise of the hall with the sharpness of a blade. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” he announced, his tone brooking no argument. “Any man who so much as touches my wife will lose his hands.”

A silence fell over the hall, the weight of his words sinking in. Tywin’s gaze swept across the room, daring anyone to challenge him. No one did. The lords averted their eyes, suddenly interested in their food and wine.

His display of authority sent a thrill through me, my pulse quickening. It wasn’t just his power that excited me, but the way he wielded it so effortlessly, the way he made it clear that I belonged to him and him alone. It was possessive, yes, but in a way that made me feel more desired than I had ever been.

As Tywin took my hand and led me from the hall, I could feel the eyes of the court on us, their whispers following in our wake. But I didn’t care. All that mattered now was the man beside me.

Once inside our chambers, the door closed behind us, the tension from the hall melted away, leaving only the two of us in the quiet of the room. Tywin turned to me, his eyes dark with intent, his hands already moving to undo the laces of my gown.

“You are mine,” he said, his voice low and rough as he pulled me close, his hands firm on my hips. “And no one else will ever touch you.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through me, and I nodded, my breath catching in my throat as his hands roamed over my body. “Yes,” I whispered, meeting his gaze. “I am yours.”

He didn’t waste any time, his hands deftly removing the rest of my clothes until I stood bare before him. He took a moment to admire me, his eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin before pulling me to him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

As he laid me down on the bed, his body pressing against mine, I felt a surge of desire unlike anything I had ever known. His touch was firm, commanding, and I responded eagerly, my hands gripping his shoulders as he moved over me.

“I will give you children,” he growled into my ear, his breath hot against my skin as he positioned himself between my legs. “Strong sons. Daughters to carry on our legacy.”

His words sent a thrill through me, and I arched beneath him, my body trembling with anticipation. “Yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his back. “Give me your children.”

With that, he entered me with a forceful thrust, his hands gripping my hips as he began to move with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. Each thrust was filled with purpose, with the promise of the future we would build together.

I clung to him, lost in the intensity of our connection, my body responding to every movement, every word. I had never felt so desired, so utterly claimed, and the thought of bearing his children, of being the mother to his heirs, only heightened my pleasure.

Tywin’s thrusts grew more forceful, more desperate, and I could feel the tension building in him as he neared his release. “You will bear my sons,” he growled again, his voice thick with lust.

“Yes,” I moaned, my body trembling beneath him. “I will give you everything.”

With a final, powerful thrust, he spilled into me, his body tense as he held me close, his breath ragged against my neck. For a moment, we lay there, our bodies intertwined, the weight of our future hanging over us.

But as we lay in the afterglow, I couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of father would he be? If he could be so cruel to his own children, what would he be like with mine?

I pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the man beside me, the man who had just made me his in every way. Whatever the future held, I would face it with him.

And I would make sure that my children—our children—knew love, even if I had to teach Tywin how to give it.

______________________________________________________________

The days following the wedding were an exercise in learning the intricacies of my new life as Lady Lannister. While I had anticipated the whispers and careful gazes from the court, I hadn't fully understood just how much my marriage to Tywin would shake the foundation of King's Landing. It was no longer just a political alliance between Houses; it was a new chapter for the Lannisters, a merging of ambitions and legacies that would echo through the halls for years to come.

Tywin was already at work consolidating his plans, as expected. He wasted no time returning to his role as Hand of the King, and now, with me by his side, he seemed even more intent on securing his family’s dominance. But for all his strength and power, I could sense the slight tension in him when it came to his own children.

Jaime, always the more impetuous of Tywin’s children, had met me with a degree of indifference that bordered on cool curiosity. He observed me, his golden lion gaze flicking over me with the faintest hint of judgment. Yet, for all his disapproval of our marriage, he had not openly voiced it. Perhaps because he, more than anyone, understood his father's pragmatism. He could see what our marriage meant for the Lannisters, but there was something else too—a distance in him, as if he was unsure how to react to having a stepmother younger than himself. He greeted me with a forced smile and the kind of gallant charm expected from the Kingslayer.

“Welcome to the family,” Jaime said at one of our first dinners after the wedding, his tone bordering on teasing, though there was a guardedness behind his words. “It’s rare to see Father so... invested in someone.”

His comment didn’t miss its mark. I could feel Tywin tense beside me, but he made no outward reaction to his son’s veiled barb.

Cersei, on the other hand, was far less subtle in her hostility. Her disdain for me was evident from the first moment I entered the hall as Tywin’s wife. She made no effort to mask her contempt, her lips curling into a sneer whenever we were in the same room. I had anticipated as much; Cersei had lost her position as the only woman in Tywin’s life, and she resented me for it. What I hadn’t expected, however, was the coldness that came with it.

At one point, when we found ourselves alone in the gardens, she approached me, her voice dripping with malice. “Don’t think for one moment that you can replace my mother,” she hissed. “You may be Lady Lannister now, but you are still just another pawn in my father’s game.”

Her words were harsh, but I knew better than to take the bait. Instead, I smiled calmly, refusing to let her provoke me. “I have no intention of replacing anyone, Cersei,” I replied softly. “But we are family now, and it would serve us both better to work together rather than against one another.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more, storming off in a whirl of crimson and gold. I knew she would be a thorn in my side for as long as we remained in King’s Landing, but I wasn’t concerned. I had dealt with powerful women before—Olenna had taught me well. Cersei was dangerous, but she was also predictable.

Tommen, however, was a different matter entirely. Sweet, innocent Tommen had taken to me far more easily than his older brother. His childlike admiration for his new grandmother soon to be sister in marriage was endearing, and I couldn’t help but feel protective of him. He was the boy king, thrust into a world of power and deceit, and yet he retained a gentleness that neither Joffrey nor Cersei possessed.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Tommen asked one afternoon as we walked through the gardens, accompanied by Ser Pounce. “That you’re my grandmother, but also my soon to be wife's sister.”

I laughed softly, ruffling his hair as he beamed up at me. “It’s a bit complicated, isn’t it? But I suppose we’ll have to navigate these strange family ties together.”

He nodded, content with the answer, and I felt a surge of affection for him. Tommen was an easy boy to love, and I knew that Margaery was already wrapping him around her little finger. She was the perfect queen for him—clever, kind, and ambitious. I had seen her ambition grow ever stronger since our marriage, her eyes constantly trained on her future as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Margaery had perfected the art of subtle manipulation. She showered Tommen with affection, and he adored her in return. There was no doubt in my mind that she would succeed where Cersei had failed. Margaery knew how to handle power, how to keep her enemies close while presenting the perfect image of a loving wife.

As for Myrcella, her fate had been one of the first topics Tywin and I discussed after our wedding. There had been talk of bringing her back from Dorne, but Tywin was firm in his decision. The marriage to Trystane Martell was still advantageous, and he saw no reason to disrupt the arrangement. I had questioned him about it, wondering whether he feared for her safety in such a volatile kingdom, but Tywin had been resolute.

“She is safest where she is,” he had told me one evening as we sat in our chambers, his hand resting on mine. “The Martells may hate us, but they will not harm Myrcella. Not while we hold such power over the realm.”

His logic was sound, as always, but I couldn’t help but worry. Myrcella was an innocent girl, much like Tommen, and I didn’t trust the Martells any more than he did. But I knew better than to challenge Tywin’s decisions on matters of strategy. He had spent his entire life mastering the game of thrones, and I had no doubt that he would keep his granddaughter safe, even from afar.

The court, meanwhile, had been thrown into a whirlwind of speculation following our marriage. I was the new Lady Lannister, and though I was born with the Tyrell name, I was now firmly embedded in the lion’s den. Some welcomed me with open arms, eager to curry favor with the new power couple. Others were less enthusiastic, their eyes full of suspicion and jealousy.

Whispers followed me wherever I went, but I had grown used to them. The courtiers may have thought they could undermine me with their gossip, but I had learned well from Olenna. I had my own sources of information, and I knew exactly who could be trusted and who couldn’t.

What surprised me the most, however, was the respect I garnered simply by standing at Tywin’s side. His authority was absolute, and by marrying him, I had inherited a portion of that power. People deferred to me, not just because of my position, but because they feared Tywin’s wrath should they slight his new wife. It was a heady feeling, knowing that I could wield influence over the court simply by being his partner.

But with that power came responsibility, and I knew I had to navigate the court with care. I had to maintain the delicate balance between being a supportive wife to Tywin and asserting my own place in the game. Tywin respected strength, and I intended to prove that I was not just another pawn in his plans.

#fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #a game of thrones #game of thrones #got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #house lannister #tyrion lannister #reader #tommen baratheon #joffrey baratheon

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faenyra · 2 months ago

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Unbowed

part 1 of 3 | martell!reader x aemond | word count: 4.9k | unbowed, unbent, broken

summary: Aemond tries to rally Dorne's Army by meeting with the princess of dorne and during an intense dinner he asserts Aegon’s claim to the throne while dismissing Rhaenyra’s legitimacy, igniting a passionate debate between the two about tradition, loyalty, and power.

In the somber hours that followed the death of King Viserys, a heavy pall of grief enveloped the Red Keep. Shadows lay thick in the halls, where whispers of the late king's reign echoed like ghostly memories. Amidst these dark moments, Aegon was crowned king, an act shrouded in secrecy and deceit, executed without the knowledge of the rightful heir, Rhaenyra.

The coronation took place under the cover of night, a clandestine affair orchestrated by those loyal to Aegon, who saw in the chaos of mourning an opportunity to seize power. Cloaked figures moved through dimly lit corridors, their faces obscured, yet their intent was clear, appoint Aegon as the new ruler while the realm grappled with loss. The Iron Throne gleamed ominously, its jagged edges a stark reminder of the bloodshed and ambition that had always accompanied its seat.

As Aegon knelt before the throne, the weight of the conqueror's crown felt both a burden and a blessing. He had longed for this moment, yet guilt gnawed at him as he remembered Rhaenyra, his half-sister and the proclaimed heir.

King Viserys had favored her, declaring her the future of the Targaryen line, but ambition called to Aegon, intoxicating him with dreams of glory and dominion. Her father had given her the confidence to rule, yet with his death, the very foundation of that promise felt uncertain.

It was in this oppressive stillness that Alicent Hightower, the queen consort, found herself standing alone in the king’s chambers. The weight of the moment hung heavily upon her, her heart pounding in her chest as she beheld the lifeless body of King Viserys I Targaryen. She had watched the king wane over the years, his health deteriorating like the crumbling stones of the castle. Yet nothing could prepare her for the overwhelming rush of grief that swept over her in that chilling instant.

Alicent’s mind raced, grappling with the implications of her husband's passing. She had never been naive to the politics that swirled like a tempest around the Iron Throne; she understood all too well the power struggles that lay just beneath the surface of the court. Rhaenyra, the king's firstborn and proclaimed heir, had been the subject of whispered machinations and political maneuvering from the very beginning. Alicent realized that if Rhaenyra learned of Viserys’ death before Aegon was crowned, the realm could plunge into chaos.

Without hesitation, a cold resolve took hold of her. She was a woman forged by the fires of ambition and loss, and she had no intention of allowing her son's claim to the throne to slip from their grasp. The Iron Throne was not just a seat of power, it was the viability of her family's legacy, a legacy she would protect at all costs.

A woman would never sit the Iron Throne, she made sure of it.

Due to Aegon's glaring lack of experience in ruling, Alicent understood that the stability of her son’s reign hinged not only on his ascension but also on the adept handling of the realm’s intricate politics. The weight of the Iron Throne pressed heavily upon Aegon, and Alicent was determined to ensure that he would not falter in his newfound role. To do so, she summoned her second eldest son, Aemond.

Aemond Targaryen was known for his fierce determination and sharp intellect, qualities that made him a worthy ally in the turbulent political landscape of Westeros. Though still young and brimming with ambition, Aemond had displayed an understanding of strategy and tactics that belied his years. He had learned from the whispers of the court, absorbing the lessons hidden in the shadows of his mother’s ambitions and the lessons from all his time spent reading.

Aemond Targaryen understood the unique position of a second son in the realm, one that came both with opportunity and expectation. He was not the heir to the Iron Throne, but that did not lessen his ambition nor his drive. While Aegon bore the crown, Aemond devoted himself to a rigorous regimen of discipline, both in the art of combat and the pursuit of knowledge.

When he wasn't swinging a sword in the courtyard, his mind immersed in the clashing of metal against metal and the physical exertion necessary to hone his skills, Aemond could often be found in the castle’s vast library, poring over ancient texts, histories of the realm, and accounts of great leaders. He recognized that to rise in a certain way, a second son must cultivate both strength of body and mind.

He read accounts of kings and queens who had changed the course of history with their decisions, studied strategies employed in battles long past, and sought wisdom in the writings of learned maesters. He understood the importance of knowledge as both an asset and a weapon, one that could be wielded as skillfully as a sword. Aemond made notes, scribbling his thoughts and strategies, forging a foundation for his own ascent.

As Aegon donned the crown, it became clear to Alicent that Aemond’s counsel would be invaluable.

When Aemond entered the grand chamber, his demeanor was striking, proud and confident, yet tinged with a hint of curiosity as he approached his mother. He recognized the unmistakable tension that thrummed in the air, the palpable uncertainty that surrounded Aegon’s sudden kingship.

“Mother,” he greeted with a slight bow, his royal bearing on full display, his hands clasped behind his back. “You summoned me?”

“Yes, Aemond,” Alicent replied, her voice both commanding and nurturing. “Your brother is now king, but we cannot afford to let his inexperience jeopardize our family's standing. We must lay the groundwork for a strong reign, and I need your assistance.”

Aemond’s eye lit up with intrigue, his mind racing with the possibilities. “What would you have me do?”

“We must gather allies and bolster Aegon’s claim,” Alicent instructed, her tone firm. “There are those who will oppose us, and whispers of dissent already echo through the halls. We must secure loyalty among the lords and ladies, especially those who might turn to Rhaenyra in her grief.”

Aemond nodded, feeling the surge of purpose flow through him. “I will rally those who stand with us and ensure that our position is secure. Rhaenyra must understand that this is not just a fight for the Iron Throne, it is a fight for the very future of House Targaryen.”

“Indeed,” Alicent replied, the corners of her mouth lifting into a slight smile, a rare moment of pride shining through. “You have the fire of your ancestors within you. Bring our family into a position of strength, but tread cautiously. Diplomacy must accompany strength if we are to maintain the fragile peace in the realm, do whatever you must.”

“I will meet with the Princess of Dorne on Vhagar. I will return with an army,” Aemond declared, a fierce light sparking in his eye as he stood before Alicent. The determination in his voice was palpable, and he could feel the weight of his resolve pressing down upon him.

Alicent's gaze sharpened, the flicker of concern igniting in her expression. “Vhagar is a formidable dragon, but you tread dangerous waters, Aemond. Dorne is not to be underestimated. Their loyalty is fickle, bound more by pride and desire for autonomy than by allegiance to our family.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at her words, but he maintained his composure. “I understand the risks, Mother. But if we can secure the support of Dorne, we can strengthen our position against Rhaenyra's growing influence. They have deep grievances against the crown that we must acknowledge and address.”

“True, but remember Dorne has been hostile to the Targaryens for generations. Their pride is fierce, and their loyalty shifty. You will need more than promises to win them over. You’ll need to listen to their concerns, understand their desires. If you can’t do that, then riding in on Vhagar won’t be enough to earn their respect.” Alicent paced slowly, the ornate patterns in the carpet shifting beneath her feet.

Aemond's frustration surfaced, but he tempered it, recognizing the wisdom in her caution. “I know I must show them we are allies, not conquerors. I aim to offer them something in return for their loyalty, perhaps a stake in the governance of the realm or influence in the council. I’ve studied their customs; I can appeal to their pride.”

Alicent paused her pacing, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “It is good that you have proactive ideas. Still, be careful. They may see your offers as empty words if not backed by assurance of power. You must be ready for anything, political maneuvers, perhaps even outright treachery.”

“I will be cautious, but I cannot allow fear to cloud my purpose,” Aemond replied resolutely. “If we gain Dorne’s support, we will not only bolster our forces but also send a message to all lords of Westeros that our family stands strong. That will sway others to our side.”

“You must hurry then, we wouldn’t want your half-sister to get to Dorne before us,” Alicent replied, her tone laced with urgency. The name Rhaenyra was like a burn to Alicent's tongue, each syllable a bitter reminder of the fractures that had formed within her family. It stung not just because of their rivalry, but because it symbolized all of the chaos and heartbreak that had stemmed from the struggle for power.

A curse.

With that, Aemond took his leave, a sense of duty obliging him forward.

The morning sun was hot and high in the sky, illuminating the Dornish marches in a blaze of gold and amber. The vibrant colors of the desert landscape stretched far beyond the horizon, dotted with the occasional olive grove and the shimmering surface of a distant oasis. Within the great hall of Sunspear, the atmosphere was a dichotomy of cool stone and the heat that enveloped everything outside.

You sat in your seat of power, the raised dais offering a perfect view of your assembled lords and ladies. The great hall was adorned with rich tapestries depicting the history of House Martell, stories of sun and spear, of honor and vengeance. The air was heavy with anticipation as the sound of animated conversations filled the room, blending with the faint rustle of silks and the clinking of goblets filled with Dornish red wine.

A messenger had arrived just that morning, spreading news of the impending arrival of a Targaryen prince. Aemond Targaryen, you had learned. His reputation as the dragon rider who bore the weight of ambition on his shoulders preceded him, and while some murmured of treachery, others whispered of potential alliances.

The lords of Dorne were restless, eager to discuss what this unexpected visit could mean. You watched them from your seat, the sunlight casting long shadows across the hall, highlighting the skin and dark hair that marked your lineage. An air of intrigue hung around you as well, for the decision of whether to ally with the Targaryens, or stand against them, was a matter of personal and familial honor.

“I say we should not entertain any visitor from King’s Landing,” bellowed Lord Santagar of Spottswood, a stout and balding man from the northern reaches of Dorne. His voice rose above the murmurs, drawing your attention sharply. “They come to us only when it suits them, always seeking something they cannot claim on their own!”

Others nodded, sharing glances thick with skepticism. Yet you knew the heart of Dorne better than to dismiss the potential at play. There was a distinct allure to a Targaryen alliance; the dragons and their blood could shift the balance of power. But at what cost?

“And what of our trade routes?” countered Lady Sariya, a shrewd merchant from the southern coast. Her voice was calm but insistent. “If this prince brings an offer instead of just threats, we must be open to dialogue. There are possibilities here.”

The debate surged like the tides, and you felt the weight of your position settle heavily on your shoulders. As the Princess of Dorne, you had a duty to weigh the welfare of your people against the dangers of meddling with the dynasty that had instigated strife for generations.

You cleared your throat, drawing the attention of the hall to your presence. As you rose, the chatter hushed, all eyes turning to you. "My lords and ladies," you began, your voice steady and confident, "we cannot ignore the political currents that sweep through our realm. Aemond Targaryen arrives in search of allies. The question we must confront is not whether we should distrust him but how we can navigate this moment to ensure Dornish interests remain at the forefront."

They looked to you expectantly, a mixture of curiosity and caution evident in their expressions.

"I will meet with the prince, and do what is best for Dorne,"

“The hall is dismissed,” you proclaimed, your voice firm but inviting. “Take this time to rally your families, gather your thoughts, and prepare for the prince’s arrival. We must present a united front, and our strength lies in our unity.”

A small group of your trusted advisors gathered nearby, discussing logistics for the impending visit. You could feel the pulse of your people, the quiet strength that coursed through the land. You had spent years cultivating a resilient spirit among them, and it was time to see how that spirit would hold up in the face of dragons.

As the hall emptied, you remained on the dais, contemplating the weight of the decisions that lay ahead. The great hall, once a venue filled with animated debate, now felt almost sacred in its silence. The shafts of sunlight streaming through the high windows cast intricate patterns on the floor, and you felt invigorated by the promise of the future, no matter how uncertain it might be.

With a final look towards the horizon, you began to plan for the prince’s arrival. Determined and resolute, you walked with purpose towards your chambers, ready to prepare both mind and heart for the meeting ahead. The fate of Dorne rested upon your shoulders, and though the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, you felt an ember of hope igniting within you.

You would meet Aemond Targaryen and in doing so, you would ensure that Dorne remained unbowed, fiercely independent, and as ever resilient.

As you travel atop a horse, your heart beats in rhythm with the footsteps of the horse. You could see the flickering torches being lit along the road that led to the gates, each flame a beacon of both welcome and vigilance. Guards who flank you on either side whilst your atop a horse, ready to defend against threats or welcome the prince as a guest.

As you ride atop your horse, your heart thrums in sync with the rhythmic cadence of its hooves against the cobblestones. The evening air is thick with anticipation, and you can see the flickering torches being lit along the winding road leading to the gates, each flame a dual beacon of welcome and vigilance. Shadows dance playfully in the glow, the flickers illuminating your path and whispering of the night’s unfolding dramas.

Flanked by steadfast guards on either side, their presence a reassuring silhouette against the twilight, you scan the horizon with keen eyes. Their armor catches the light, reflecting the amber hues of the torches, and you sense their heightened alertness, an unspoken camaraderie blending duty and trust. In this moment, you are not just a solitary rider; you are a shield, ready to defend against any encroaching threat or extend a hand of courtesy to the prince, should he arrive as a friend.

Upon reaching the massive gates, you paused to take in the scene. The banners of House Martell fluttered proudly above you, and a crowd had begun to gather, farmers and merchants, children, and elderly folk alike peering through the iron bars, their faces alight with intrigue. Whispers filled the air, speculation about the prince, the Targaryens, and his intentions.

The resounding roar of the dragon echoed through the valley, its massive wings beating against the air like thunderclaps, sending ripples of both awe and trepidation through your heart. As it circled above, the setting sun caught its iridescent scales, basking the magnificent creature in a golden light that made it seem almost ethereal. When it finally descended, landing firmly on the sun-kissed earth, you felt a tremor beneath your horse’s hooves, as if the very ground acknowledged the power of the beast.

Despite being astride your noble steed, you couldn't shake the sensation that the dragon loomed far above you, casting an imposing shadow that stretched across the landscape. The air crackled with anticipation, and a mixture of respect and wariness washed over you. Dragons, after all, were not just mere beasts; they were embodiments of strength and chaos, symbols of their riders’ will.

You turned your gaze to your guards, their expressions a mixture of determination and concern. "Stay by the gates," you commanded, your voice firm but steady. "I will greet the prince alone." They exchanged glances, understanding the significance of the moment, and nodded in silent agreement, ready to protect you from afar.

With a steadying breath, you urged your horse forward, each step bringing you closer to the towering figure of the dragon and its majestic rider. The sun sank slowly in the sky, casting long shadows and bathing the scene in a fiery glow, as if the heavens themselves acknowledged the spectacle unfolding before you.

As you approached, the Targaryen prince dismounted with a grace that spoke of royal blood, his presence magnetic and formidable.

Clad in regal attire, adorned with symbols of his house, he radiated confidence, the complexity of his lineage evident in the air around him. With every beat of your heart, you knew that this meeting could alter the fates of realms and that you stood on the precipice of a new chapter, one that could either forge an alliance or ignite a conflict.

Steeling yourself, you gathered your resolve, preparing to meet the prince's gaze, ready to navigate the intricate dance of diplomacy and power that awaited you.

"Dorne welcomes you, my prince," you began, your voice carrying a mixture of formality and warmth as you looked down from your horse, aware of the height that set you apart.

"I'm honored to be received by you, Princess," he replied, his tone smooth yet tinged with a hint of mischief, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

"I hope your journey wasn't too rough," you continued, feeling an urge to ease the tension that hung in the air like heavy clouds before a storm.

"Vhagar was restless, the Dornish heat riling her," he remarked, his gaze piercing as he removed his gloves, fingers stretching out as if to savor the warm embrace of the sun. His singular eye, sharper than any blade, locked onto yours, assessing and studying, as if trying to decipher the intentions behind your words.

A flicker of amusement danced in his expression, suggesting he found some amusement in the struggle of the mighty dragon against the clime of Dorne. It was a reminder that even the fiercest creatures could be unsettled in unfamiliar realms.

As the moon ascended steadily in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the Dornish lands, the warmth of the day gave way to the cool caress of the evening breeze. The darkening sky lent an air of mystery and introspection, perfect for the delicate business of diplomacy.

Once the prince had settled into his guest room within the palace, his belongings meticulously brought in by your attendants, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. You knew that the complexities of his visit reached far beyond mere pleasantries. This was a crucial opportunity to establish rapport, perhaps even to ensure that the currents of fate could flow in a direction favorable to your house.

Sending word through the palace, you invited the Targaryen prince to join you for dinner. It was an invitation steeped in diplomacy, a gesture meant to soften the tensions that hung in the air between your families.

You chose a gown of crimson red silk, which shimmered like the stars themself, its brilliance reflecting the warmth of Dorne. The fabric hugged your figure, flowing with every movement, while large suns adorned the material, intricately sown with golden thread, an unmistakable symbol of House Martell. Each sun was a reminder of your strength, your heritage, and your determination.

With your hair cascading down your shoulders like wild dunes, soft waves framing your face, you reflected the fierce beauty of your homeland. You adorned yourself with delicate jewelry, golden pieces that glimmered gently, reminiscent of the stars that dotted the night sky. Your reflection in the mirror offered you a sense of confidence; you had prepared well for the task ahead.

As you descended through the stone corridors of the palace, your heart raced with anticipation. The dinner table was set in the grand dining chamber, adorned with fine linens, gleaming glassware, and a cornucopia of flavors that would celebrate the bold culinary traditions of Dorne. The inviting scent of spiced lamb and roasted vegetables wafted through the air, mingling with the fragrant notes of wine prepared for the occasion.

When the prince arrived, you could sense the weight of the moment swaying between you. He entered with a composed demeanor, his attire a contrast of dark elegance against the golden hues of your gown. His entrance was magnetic, and you could feel the unspoken tension fizzling with potential like the air before a thunderstorm.

"Princess," he greeted, his one eye glinting in the candlelit chamber. "You look as radiant as the sun at dawn."

Was his admiration genuine, or was it a strategic maneuver, a calculated charm meant to disarm you in the pursuit of his political aims?

You offered a gracious smile, extending your hand in greeting. "And you, my prince, carry the weight of your lineage with admirable grace. Please, join me at the table."

He sat across the table, his eye glimmering with intrigue and amusement, as though he were relishing the evening just as much as the exquisite meal. When you took your first bite of spiced lamb, a burst of flavor ignited your senses, but the tension between the two of you was palpable, infusing every mouthful.

You glanced up at him, your brow raised in an inquisitive challenge. “Prince Aemond,” you said, pausing briefly to savor the richness of the dish, “I hope you've adjusted well.”

“Of course.” His response was swift, confidence lacing his voice.

You hesitated for a moment, enjoying the way a coy smile played at the corners of your lips, but your curiosity drove you to plunge deeper than mere pleasantries. You found yourself suddenly bold. “Forgive me, my prince, but… why are you here?” you abruptly asked, the directness of your words cutting through the ambiance like the sharp edge of a dagger.

What political advances was Aemond truly seeking? You understood that noble houses were constantly maneuvering for power and influence in Westeros.

Aemond placed his wine cup down with an almost measured deliberation, the sound of porcelain against the table resonating like a tolling bell. The atmosphere shifted as he leaned back slightly, a caution creeping into his posture that hadn’t been there before. It was as if the air between you thickened with unspoken tensions.

“I’m sure the news of King Viserys' death has reached you,” he replied, his voice steady, but a flicker of something darker danced in his eye, perhaps a shadow of frustration or resentment.

“Yes,” you responded carefully, noting the change in his demeanor. “Is your sister Rhaenyra not the ruler? I’ve heard that the Late King had the lords and ladies of the realm proclaim her as the heir to the throne.”

As the words fell from Aemond’s lips, the air between you thickened with a mix of tension and disbelief. His conviction was palpable, and the atmosphere in the room shifted like a sudden storm darkening the horizon. You could feel the weight of tradition and expectation pressing down, though part of you bristled at the harshness of his words.

“Aegon is the true king,” he elaborated, voice rising slightly with fervor. “A son comes before a daughter, Rhaenyra cannot rule. A woman has never sat the Iron Throne. Having her rule is like plunging the realm into the seven hells.”

His expression hinted at a deep-seated frustration, as though he wrestled with not only the expectations placed upon him but also the legacy of his family. A mix of honor and obligation swirled together, obscuring his true desires. You felt the heat of his proclamation, even as a part of you recoiled from the implications.

“Is that truly your belief?” you questioned, challenging the foundation of his assertion. “Or is that merely tradition speaking for you?”

Aemond scoffed lightly, a bitter twist to his smile. “You may call it history, but the realm has long upheld its customs”

“Is that so?” you said, raising an eyebrow at Aemond's pronouncement. There was a firmness in your voice, but also a hint of defiance.

“Believing that Rhaenyra is the true heir is treason and treachery against the king,” he replied, his tone resolute, reflecting the unyielding loyalty he felt toward Aegon.

You felt a surge of frustration at his unwavering stance. “I don’t remember Dorne bending the knee to Rhaenyra, nor to Aegon either. Dorne has always played by its own rules, and the notion that allegiance must come solely from a direct bloodline is one they are unlikely to accept without question.”

"Dorne believes that a daughter will rule if she is the eldest, even if there is a son," you stated proudly, the conviction in your voice echoing off the stone walls of the room. You felt the weight of that truth, one that had been evident in the way Dorne had historically operated, a culture that valued merit over blood in matters of succession.

Aemond's response was immediate, his expression tightening as his hands curled into fists. "Targaryen traditions are different," he bit back, irritation flashing in his eye. "We are not Dorne, we are a house built on the dragons' legacy. Our customs are steeped in the belief that male heirs are paramount."

“Refuse to see Aegon as King, and you have committed treason against the crown,” Aemond stated, his voice cold and fierce as he pushed his chair back, causing it to nearly topple over. The finality in his tone was unmistakable.

He stood tall, looming over you, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, a tempest restrained by thin threads of decorum. “I will burn this place down if I have to, but I will not leave empty-handed.”

Your heart raced at the threat in his words, but you refused to let fear dictate your response. Instead, you drew yourself up, meeting his gaze steadily.

“Do you think threats will sway me, Aemond? If it is power you seek, you will find that intimidation breeds resistance, not loyalty.”

He leaned closer, the air between you thick with tension. "You are playing with forces far gre-”

"Try and burn this place down, you will see that Vhagar meets the same ending as Meraxes, a spear through the eye," you declared, your voice steady, matching his intensity with defiance, cutting him off mid sentence.

An empty threat, perhaps, but it felt good to remind him of the fragility of even the mightiest dragons, a reminder that pride often had its consequences.

Aemond's eye flared with fury, but there was a flicker of interest beneath the anger. You couldn’t help but smirk; the tension crackled between you, thick as a summer storm closing in. “You threaten destruction, but destruction does not frighten me. I have seen the cost of that path, Aemond. You would condemn not just your enemies but your allies and your family to a future of ruin.”

Aemond's eye blazed with fury, but beneath that anger flickered a spark of intrigue, a glimmer that caught you off guard. You couldn’t help but smirk; the tension crackled between the two of you, electric and thick, like the air before a summer storm.

“I hope you know my house words: unbowed, unbent, unbroken,” you declared, the conviction in your voice steady despite the tempest brewing in his gaze.

His jaw tightened, the muscle working as if he were contemplating a response that could easily erupt into conflict. For a moment, the air hung heavy with unspoken challenges, and you braced yourself for his retort. Instead, he pivoted, his long strides carrying him towards the door, a powerful figure moving through the fragile silence.

"Remember mine, princess, fire and blood," he replied, breaking the silence, his voice low and laced with a dangerous intensity, before he stepped through the doorway, leaving you alone with the reverberations of your exchange.

Will you choose to negotiate and seek an agreement with him for the sake of the people of Dorne, or will you refuse and instead pledge your loyalty to the rightful authority, standing with Rhaenyra?

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