#She welcomes you into her kingdom with open arms

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Space

Synopsis: You needed your space, and your knight granted it to you. Warnings: None (yet), Angst, Princess and Aemond's (not so) Secret Relationship, Not proofread (like srsly...pls bear with me, i'm dyslexic) PREVIOUS PART A/N: Pls don't be mad at me 🥹

“You should be resting,” Aemond gritted by your side as you two walked the halls of your home.  You two were headed to the great hall as your family welcomed guests from the neighboring kingdom, and the queen stubbornly summoned your presence. 

The moment you regained consciousness and your fever had settled, the king had decided that the whole of your family must travel back to the capitol, thinking that your ill state was caused by temperature. Aemond was reluctant for you to take such a journey, but he could not outwardly say his concerns. It was a miracle that you were not taken by sickness on the road, and when the whole of you arrived back in your home, Aemond thought you could finally acquire proper rest. However, your mother was insistent you attend court. 

“It’s just for a few hours,” You said softly as you fastened your pace as you were nearing to be tardy for the welcoming of the nobles. “Do not run— you might exhaust yourself! Your heart is al—“ You sighed at your knight’s fretting, “I’ll be fine, my love,” You whispered. “You cannot be so certain!” Aemond protested and held your arm so you would be forced to match his overly slow pace. “A quick jog will not kill me, Aemond! And I’m already late!” You protested. In truth, you were growing quite annoyed with him. 

You felt guilty to feel as such. Others might even think you are lucky to have someone care for you in the way Aemond did, but his dotting manner was almost suffocating! It was bad enough he had restricted your movements so as not to exhaust you, but he went as far as to ration your favorite sweets! You were nearing the end of your patience, and you could no longer humor him with his overly cautious actions. 

You watched as his expression morphed into a frown due to your short but sudden outburst. You wanted to apologize in fear that you might have offended him, but you could not make yourself do so because, for the past weeks, Aemond had placed restrictions upon restrictions, and you could no longer stomach it. “We’re late.” You muttered and continued to walk onward, leaving your knight a few steps behind as he tried to understand your irritation. 

“You’re late.” were the first words her mother uttered to her as you took your place at the right hand of her throne. “Sorry, mother.” You said softly. “Let her be— she needed to rest,” The king suddenly stated, quickly coming to your defense, much to your mother’s annoyance. 

You stood idly by the side as your father motioned for a squire to open the doors so you could receive the newly arrived nobles. You were not even paying attention to your kingdom’s guests; your attention was too focused upon the burning stare of your knight, who stood by the side of the room. You did not even listen to the introductions of the guests; you only stood by your place as your mind paced on how to address Aemond with his paranoia about your well-being. You had thought about writing to your eldest brother to reassure your knight that you are truly fine and have recovered from your fever and that you are allowed to go back to your usual routines, but you were certain Aemond would only ignore your brother’s attempts of convincing him. 

You also tried to go about to your made customs, having tea in the afternoon, running around the gardens, and entertaining the tots that would wander about there or return to your paintings. But Aemond had made you retreat back to your chambers to rest and have an afternoon siesta. It was all too much now; it was as if his care was turning into control, and that was something that you have suffered enough, and you could not take that as Aemond would be another to control you. You wanted badly to share with him what you were thinking; you thought it would be best for him to try and understand. However, you feared he would take offence, and you two would stray back to old patterns of contempt and ignoring one another. 

“Is the feast not to your liking?” Your brother whispered as the welcome feast had commenced and you had barely touched your plate. “No… I just don’t have an appetite.” You smiled, and from your side, you could already feel your knight’s contempt at you not having a proper meal. “Are you tired? It’s fine if you wish to retire early,” He added, and you quickly shook your head. “No, I’m fine brother... truthfully, I’m just waiting for the desserts to be served,” You explained and smiled, and at the mention of sweets, your brother nodded and smiled as it was something so like you to eagerly wait for the sweets to be served. 

“You must eat.” Aemond said lowly from behind you as your brother was enveloped in a conversation with the newly arrived guests. You let out a deep breath as you tried to calm yourself and make your voice sound without irritation. “I am not hungry,” You muttered under your breath, but Aemond heard you perfectly. “Yet you wait for the desserts… There is no nourishment in tarts and cakes, princess. You must eat your supper.” You balled the fabric of your dress in your hands, your eye twitching in annoyance at his insistence. “No.” You said in defiance. You felt as if he were to speak again, but you quickly spoke first, preventing him from doing so. “You are my guard... not a maester to oversee what I eat or do not. If I am only to eat cake tonight, that matter is in no regard to you.” You gritted, at your wits end. 

Aemond was taken aback. Yes, the matter was minuscule, only an argument about cake, but the way you spoke to him... the way you addressed him... it was so cold and unlike you. Aemond blinked as he stared upon the top of your head, willing you to turn to him. There was a twist in his chest at your words, and at that moment, all he wished was to see your eyes and perhaps have you smile at him for the gnawing feeling in him would cease, but you only looked onwards and ignored him for the rest of the night. 

When it was time for you to retire back to your chambers, Aemond tried to speak to you, but there was an air of tenseness, and your cold attitude towards him prevented him from doing so. “Call for Ser Arthur,” You said as you were nearing your door, no ‘please’ in your order, and Aemond frowned as it was so unlike you. “Why?” He questioned. “He is on the night shift.” You answered plainly, but Aemond was still confused. “He is your reliever. You are my guard during the day, and another is supposed to take your post during the night.” 

“No.” You frowned at his insubordination. “No?” You asked, a scowl on your face. “No. I am sworn to you… the matter of time is inconsequential.” You sighed and shook your head, not having the energy to argue. “Just call for Ser Arthur— before I do it myself.” You muttered and closed the door behind you, leaving your knight to stare at where you once stood and question what was happening. 

Aemond reluctantly did as you told and let another guard your door for the night. He had retired to his room in the knight’s towers, tossing in his bed as he tried to find answers at your sudden shift of attitude. It was if another had possessed you and rid you of your good humor. The person you displayed to the that evening was not his princess. 

You were cold, distant, and defiant. Attributes that Aemond must admit that he wished for you to have and display, but not to him. He had wished you would save those rather unpleasing manners when courtiers would come to court you but not when you were addressing him. Then Aemond began to recall the past days, how you were still you sweet and warm with him, but he could not help but realize there was annoyance bubbling within you the past several weeks. He just did not understand the reason for it. 

When morning finally dawned, Aemond hurriedly walked along the halls that led to your chambers, determined to understand and find out the reason for your sudden shift in attitude. However, his stomach pitted as he saw your night guard absent and the room of your chambers ajar. He did not hesitate to step in, and he saw as your bed was already made and both of your cats still asleep in the cushions on the floor, but you were not present. 

Aemond hurriedly left your room, practically running to the gardens as he questioned your absence. It was far too early for you to be awake, but you were gone, and he had no idea where you had gone to. He thought he would find you in your usual spot in the gardens, probably sneaking a few custard tarts before your actual meal, but you were absent from your usual spot. 

Aemond then began to run around the keep. Searcing your solarium and the library, even going as far as the highest tower of the castle as you had a habit of watching the sunsets and sunrises from there. Aemond was at a loss where to find you, so he had no choice but to find your brother instead, Him being the one to break the news that you were once again lost. “Good morrow, Ser Aemond.” The prince greeted as he was training in the tilt yard, his countenance cheery and Aemond dread that he shall be the one to break the prince’s sunny demeanour. “My prince…. The princess is—“ 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you! My sister is in the woods with our cousin. He arrived late last night, and when she was told of his arrival, they arrived for a little excursion for today.” The prince explained and began to hit a dummy with his sword. “So... she is fine? I— Why was I not informed that she was to leave… I sho—“ Aemond began to stutter, in disbelief that you would leave him without notice. “Oh, she did not wish to wake you… seeing how exhausted you must be as you had been accompanying her day and night since she was ill in the north.” 

“You must not fret, Ser Aemond. A militia is with them in the woods; nothing of what had happened before shall transpire. Now, go on, you have the rest of the day off.” The prince smiled and Aemond could onlt give him a curt nod as the pang in his chest returned. 

“I’m surprised you came here without your guard,” Your eldest brother said as you two sat on the ground. The sun was high, and the light was refracting on the still waters of the lake before you two. He heard you let out a heavy sigh as you twirled the handle of your parasol that rested upon your shoulder. “If I’m being honest, I’m quite relieved,” You muttered and turned to the side to see if anyone was in close proximity to hear you and your brother’s conversation. 

“Uh-oh, trouble is paradise?” your brother questioned as he picked at the laid out food between the two of you. “It’s just... he’s become quite overbearing ever since I had that fever... did you know he started to ration my sweets? He had it that I only eat five custard tarts a day! Five!” You exclaimed in annoyance as you bit down on a custard tart. You hear your brother breathe out a laugh and see from your peripheral vision as he shakes his head. “Well, he’s just concerned. He was beside himself when you were unconscious... he cares.” 

“I know he cares… I appreciate that he cares, but it’s just too much. It’s almost paranoia. It’s not as if I’ll drop dead at any moment.” You sighed and traced the embroidery of your dress as guilt was starting to seep its way through. “Try not to jest about that with him,” Your brother advised with a smirk. You breathed out and settled further into the ground, lying down as you stared into the blue sky. “Is this how it's supposed to be?” You questioned, “What?” 

“Is this how this ordeal supposed to be?” You clarified, and your brother was silent for a moment. “I do not know… I’ve never had an affair with my knight before.” You let out a short laugh at your brother’s words. “Don’t call it an affair… I do not like the connotations in that word,” You say and squinted your eyes as the clouds blow away and revealed the entirety of the harsh sun. “Then what is this ordeal then?” You stayed silent for a moment, finding the word as your brother laid on the blanket you two sat upon. “I do not know... but it’s not an affair,” You finally said. 

“When will you reveal it to the other?” Your eldest brother questioned, and at his question, you feel your stomach drop. “I do not know... as long as we can, I suppose.” You admitted. “Do you think they’ll ever approve?” You then questioned, feeling a bit of lightness come over you as you prevented from having this conversation with Aemond. “I do not know… I know father would wish for you to be happy, brother as well... but the council and your mother— they’ll need convincing.” He told the truth. “But the optics too are rather grim… he’s always by your side and is given granted to stau with you in your chambers at night. One would begi—“

You gasped as you realized what your brother wished to say. “No! Nothing— I— nothing like what you insinuated had happened! Ser Aemond is genteel and respectful, noble!” You defended, sitting up in shock. “I know sister, I know. But if it were another to assess the situation, they might question it… It happend to our great Grandmother… there was a trial and all just to prove her virtue.” He remarked. “I would hate to see you in the same situation, sister.”

“Then what am I suppose to do?” You questioned, dread filling your tone. “I do not know... but what I do know is that you should not be so harsh with Ser Aemond... he cares for you tremendously. His actions are not made to suffocate and pester you; he simply cares and wishes the best for you. He loves you sister, it is plain, he does not wish to lose you.” You bit your lip and nodded, finally gaining another perspective on a matter that has been gnawing at you for the past few weeks. 

When you returned to the keep, you made a beeline to your chambers where you knew Aemond would be in his post. Your steps echoed through the halls, and when he heard it, you watched him fold a scroll he was reading and straightened his stance. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” You said softly as you reached him, and he followed you inside your chambers, his expression stony, and he did not utter a word. 

You sighed as he could not even look you in the eye. You tried to speak. Tried to say your peace, but all you could do was go to him and embrace him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry for the way I addressed you last night and how I left without notice this morning. I’m so sorry, Aemond.” You began to blubber, temporarily catching Aemond off guard as you held to him tightly and buried your face on his chest. This was not at all what he had expected. “Why?” 

“I’m so sorry— I just… I felt suffocated the past few weeks ever since I had my fever. I— I just could not understand your side. But now I do… You care for me, you care for me like no one else had, and I was a— a brat for growing annoyed with it and you, but I understand it now. I’m sorry, my love.” You said, your eyes brimming with tears as you were consumed with guilt. 

You breathed in and out heavily, pulling away from his chest to look him in the eye. It was only then that you realized he had not wrapped his arms around you just like had always done before, and his stoic expression did not at all change nor grow soft at your teary-eyed disposition. He looked as if he did not care. 

“You left and acted like a brat because you needed space... from me,” he uttered slowly, as if trying to connect all that you had said and did. “I— I did, but I regret it! I’m sorry, I… I was taking you for granted, but never again, I promise my love.” You said, trying to take hold of his face, but you feel your heart pit as he stepped away from your touch. 

“You need space.” He declared. “I needed space, but not anymore... please I— I’m sorry.” You repeated your apologies again as you watched as no warmness nor care appeared in his eye. You watched as Aemond shook his head, his jaw tightening as he looked away from you. “If you need space, then I shall give you your space then.” You frowned at his statement, trying to reach for him again, but he only avoided your touch. “No—that is not what I mean, I—“

“No, I understand. The princess wants her space... and whatever the princess wants she gets, isn’t that right?” He said coldly, and you could only stare at him as you could not believe that you were having this conversation with him. “Good day, princess.” He then bowed and moved towards the door and ignored your calls as you tried to hinder him. You caught his arm just before he could step out, and you urged him to look at you. Your eyes were in disbelief at what had happened and how quickly the events had unfolded. 

“Please… I’m sorry,” You pleaded, but Aemond only shook his head. “You shall have your space. Goodbye, princess.” Was all he said and stole away his arm, leaving you alone in your chambers with the scroll that fell from his pocket that had the words ‘Come home’ scribbled upon it. 

Tag List: @anuklee @rebeccawinters @bellarkeselection @gayfiretruck @thhriller @wuluhwuhmaster @bittersweetmargarita @jellybeanstacey0519 @ewanmitchellfanatic @aegonswife @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @lee-uh @melsunshine @solatiiium @padfooteyes @nordicmaiden @infernalrusalka @username-is-found @callsigncrushx @livingdead-materialgirl @catherine1x @tanyaherondale @darlingcharling-blog @depressedpolishgirl @roseidol @sapphirevhagar @that-girl-named-alex

[sercphs]

If you were a deity, what would you be the god of?

flora and fauna

you’re friendly and a benevolent force to those who respect you and your domain, but a true force to be reckoned with to those who disrespect or threaten the balance of the natural world. the forest is nothing to fear for those who take care of it, but it isn’t uncommon for people to go missing with only their faces outlined in the bark on a tree.

tagged by: @shackld

tagging: @etherose @dcviated you.

[deadghosy]

WHERE PENGUIN! READER WILL LIVE IN:

Pt5 of Penguin! Reader x Hazbin Hotel

Prompt: The aftermath of the court is where you decided where to live

Note: this will be the final part of the series lol. Sorry if the sections are short, I tried to make it long with the bullet points just being some. 💗

“The court has spoken. The rightful place the reader belongs in, is……” sera say opening her mouth to announce the news.

HELL

Lucifer is fucking happy that sera said that would go with them. Charlie has tears dropping out her eyes as she finally is relived to have you by her side and kingdom. Adam was pissed as he thrown papers on the ground. Lute is screaming mentally as her heart breaks.

Back in hell, every one does a celebration party. You get a bandanna with your name, the scarf wrapped around your neck has the name of Y/N Morningstaryou are officially in the family. Welcome to hell.

Literally you get all the food you love in a week of celebrating before they monitor what you eat 💗

Charlie is such an older sister vibe as she shows you the ropes of being royalty as she gives you an allowance. Which you totally didn’t spend in cookies and cakes. But matter of most is that she even shows you how to run the hotel while you just quack at things from afar. Overall her protective rate is 5/10.

Lucifer may be happy and relived that you can be in hell with him. But he is still worried about your safety in hell as he watches you closely and even has razzle and dazzle to look after you. It’s cute and all for you. But for others, they can tell this man baby’s you so much to the point he even gets you to bed like one. Overall his protective level is 100/10

Vaggie loves teaching you how to use her spear in case the exterminators try to kidnap you. She is always the one who watches you on the playground to make sure you are okay. Her protective rate is 9/10

Husk is the damn grumpy drunk uncle who only has a soft spot for you as you aren’t annoying and is pure. Literally you aren’t a bad kid as you just help clean glasses. PST, he actually bought plastic looking glasses so you won’t cut yourself on accident. Plus he appreciates that you want to help him. It’s just you are so small and he is bigger than you. Overall his protective level is 7.5/10

Angel is like that older brother who knows how to hide bruises. And of course we know why…but like past that imagine you bruised your whole ass knee and you didn’t want anyone to worry for you so you went to angel. He chuckled and took care of it. You are such a cutie that he kisses your head and sends you off. Overall his protective level is 7/10

Alastor loves teaching you about his radio station. He even takes you as a co-host and a regular guest as he makes you quack out a song. 💗 some awesome uncle and nephew/niece moments as he also makes you tea if you can’t sleep. His protective rate is 8.5/10

And the rest of hell, they love you equally as somewhat you bring hope in hell to have them redeemed as they visit the hotel to see you and meet you. Hell, the other deadly sins met you and were in awe at how cute you were. Beelzebub was immediately starstruck as she feeds you some of the best food in hell.

So in the end, you love being in the royal family of the Morningstars. It’s peaceful in the hotel with you around as Angel can now get a lot of days off💗

HEAVEN

Adam is immediately flipping off the two demon royals as he lifts you up in his arms. “SUCK IT BITCHES AHAH!” Adam yells pulling you close to his pudgy body as lute is flipping them off from behind the first man as the two demon royals are sent back in hell.

After exiting court, you are met with getting ice cream with the two angels who were fighting with the demon royals verbally. Adam got you [favorite flavor] ice cream as lute just smiles smugly happy to have you here with them.

Adam has gotten use to you not leaving him like how his other ex-wives did. He won’t admit he feels insecure about you leaving him. But with you now being property of heaven and you living with him personally. He feels like he might actually have a loved one with him. It’s not like romantic since you take form of a gah damn actually penguin. It’s more of a platonically close friendship. He finds you alluring at how sweet you are to others. Even if Adam isn’t. Overall his protective meter is 9.5/10

Lute is still the same ol lute everyone knows. It’s just that she watches you from afar. Keeps tabs on you and where you go. Its like if she’s your personal bodyguard. She always love bombs you in a manipulative way. She just wants you to depend on her. I mean hell, she’s literally crazy at how pure of gold you are in heaven. Her protectiveness level is…200/10😨

Sera is a busy woman, but she keeps tabs on you too. Even sending a angelic guard to make sue you are mentally okay and not unstable of taking you away of your so called “home” down there. But she cares for you endlessly in a mother figure way. her protective meter is 5.5/10

Emily is happy regardless if you went it heaven or hell. This girl literally take you shopping with her as she get you a cute sailor like outfit for your delivery job. She even makes you your own damn basket to give cookies to your regulars with their mail. Overall, this sweet girl’s protective meter 4/10

St. Peter sends you cookies on weekends as it’s the days that you aren’t working as the adorable penguin delivery boy. 💗 St. Peter checks up on you as well as you are just staying home and he comes by just to see if you are liking to live in heaven for years now.

You live with Adam as he and you have some kind of relationship were he wants to look after you. Literally it’s oddly sweet this man has a change of heart kind of. He literally will try to cook only for you to burn out the fire in the kitchen. He’s ordering gah damn take out.

See, me personally you’re still getting stalked a bit from yandere! Lute as she smile smugly seeing you in heaven everyday and replaying the son of bitches face when you got to stay in heaven with them.

The amount of times angels in heaven have gifted you lots of grift baskets for the custody of heaven. It’s crazy as it’s whole bunch of fans just celebrating you staying 💗 it’s sweet but crazy.

Overall you still got your job as a paper delivery person and you get watched 24/7 every day. From afar….😨 but all you know is that you are safe in heaven still missing the people below them.

BOTH

Heaven and hell is shocked, what I mean by that is Lucifer and Adam being shocked. Adam is immediately yelling out profanities at how this is “complete bullshit”. Emily and Charlie did a mutual nod to each other not hating or liking this idea as it seems clear and fair to share you 50/50 like divorce parents.

After court, it was time to hang out with hell only to go heaven for the next day. 😭 honestly, you could stay in hell for a week and go to heaven for another whole week☝🏾😕

Adam gets so salty seeing Lucifer pick you up and take you through the portal to hell. Lute just scowls walking away. Meanwhile Lucifer is still salty as well to share you, he has to be mature as Charlie was just excited to have you the whole week.

HONESTLY IF ITS VALENTINE’S DAY, YOU GET SO MUCH CHOCOLATE AND TEDDY BEARS FROM HEAVEN AND HELL. OMG IMAGINE YOUR BIRTHDAY 😱😨LEGIT A WHOLE CARTOON ASS BIRTHDAY-

You still sleep in Lucifer’s bed when you stay in hell, but there is still a spare room for you. And for heaven you sleep directly in the same room as Adam as he snores holding your chubby and round fluffy body.

Thanks to @gineazu for the idea of this schedule of them sharing reader.

Hell has reader on mondays Wednesday's Friday's and sundays. As heaven has them on tuesdays thursdays and Saturdays like a true ass divorce. But just like I said you could also spend a whole week in hell and another whole week in heaven. And it could repeat.

LMAO JUST IMAGINE THE AWKWARDNESS WITH ADAM HAVING SUNGLASSES WAITING FOR YOU AS LUCIFER IS TEACHING YOU HOW TO CALL HIM IN CASE ADAM TRIES TO “abuse” you 😭😭

You’re literally eating nuggets in the hotel’s lobby until a busted down wall happens as a golden light shines. “Kid, pack ya shit. The shit lord didn’t bring you to me on time.” Says Adam with sunglasses and chewing bubble gum. Lucifer came from the kitchen having lemonade for you only to drop it seeing Adam. “What are YOU doing here!” He exclaims seeing the first man. Adam smirks, “I’m here to collect the bird brain. Duh?” “It’s literally only been 2 days?!” Lucifer retorts.

Yeahh…at first Adam had a problem being clingy towards you and wanting to stay in the blue skies with him.

Honestly it’s funny how Lucifer is the mom who wants to scam the father to make it seem he is abusive as Adam is just a guy trying to be the fun dad. It’s literally tug of war for your affection for crying out loud- 😭

“HAVE YOU SEEN SMILEY?” Is basically the song to describe your relationship between the two places of heaven and hell. It’s so painfully tooth aching and wholesome.

It’s nice spending time with your people in hell and heaven. Like literally it’s cool how you still got your delivery job in hell and heaven at most. Overall you are just happy seeing both of your so proclaimed friends and family. ‼️💗❤️🦆

A/N: I did this because I couldn’t choose lol 💗 hope you guys like this as everyone gets their own happy ending

taglist: @zamadness @ilovelyneysm07 @listenerchan @equkki @ambersison-allejo @froggybich @hah-simp-acc-2 @aria-tempest @chefysawesomeideas @angela075905 @loyx2 @libraryraccoon @indom-eclipse @simpcreator @caffieneaddictt18

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch

Chapter One: My Dream

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Let's celebrate the first episode of season 2 with a new story! I'm publishing this before the show airs, so let's say a tentative prayer in case the first episode is Blood & Cheese. Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: sexism (it's a patriarchal feudalistic society), brief descriptions of childbirth and death related to it, Alicent being delulu.

When Viserys Targaryen's wife, Aemma of House Arryn, had failed pregnancy after failed pregnancy, a girl was a welcomed result. It proved not only to Aemma herself and her King Husband that she could produce a child but to the realm that there was hope for a son, a much-preferred result.

“My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?” - Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

If a daughter were to be born seconds before a brother, it did not matter. He was the heir. If she was born decades before a boy, it did not matter. He was the heir. Or so the realm believed until the reign of Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, Grandson to the Old King Jaehaerys.

Queen Consort Aemma Arryn died in pursuit of something she could not control, screaming, wailing, begging her husband not to cut her open, but he did not listen, for the birth of a son was more important than the life of a woman.

The infant Baelon Targaryen died a day later, leaving King Viserys a widower with only a daughter with the same fair skin and hair as the woman he murdered. The woman who laid slain on her birthing bed, bright blue irises now glassy, blood pooling from her womb, was given a Targaryen funeral along with the Heir for a Day, as her good brother called him, her last surviving child whispering, “dragon fire” through tears, with the encouragement of the same man who lusted after her and the throne.

The result of a mother’s and son’s death gave way to grief and anger. Viserys, blinded by the insults levied against his dead child, broke centuries of tradition and named Westeros’ first female heir Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Daemon Targaryen was furious at the abuse of being cast aside for a girl of ten and four and took to Dragonstone, the rightful seat of the Iron Throne's successor, with his whore, Lady Misery, an enslaved Lysene sold into the sex trade that became the Prince's favorite mistress.

Daemon did not hate his niece. He loved his family far more than anyone believed, so he surrendered when the Realm's Delight flew on her dragon to confront her uncle.

Less than a year later, not nearly long enough to mourn the death of two people, Viserys Targaryen married Alicent of House Hightower, daughter of the Hand and dearest friend to his daughter. The King saw the union as an act of fortunate duty and desire instead of love. On that much, the young Alicent Hightower could agree. Perhaps, he thought, it was a way to ensure his daughter would always have her closest Lady around, but Viserys was a fool . He could not see past his blinding grief and selfish lust that he tore the two girls apart.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's mother was a girl her age, a girl she longed to have to accompany her on Syrax, explore the East, and eat cake, but that was never meant to be. The Gods provided as quickly as they took, and her lifelong confidant viewed her with such hate and distaste that Rhaenyra soon began to consider her the same.

“Stepdaughter,” Alicent called her at the Princess's wedding feast to Ser Laenor of House Velaryon. Her voice laced with enough venom, and her dress so green you would mistake her for a snake. This gave Rhaenyra a sickening feeling in her gut, which soon hardened into one of cool indifference.

And that was how they lived.

Silent and icy indifference as Queen Alicent walked through the Targaryen halls of the Red Keep in Hightower Green, birthing the King his first surviving sons and second daughter.

However, there was a moment of repreave in the Queen's and the Princess's glacial flippancy when her forgotten ally fell pregnant for the first time.

Alicent could not help herself from caring for her old friend during her first pregnancy. She quickly fell back into the role of her Lady, supplying Rhaenyra with food, oils, clothing, and occasionally companionship during the quarrelsome nine moons.

The Queen had almost found it within her heart to forgive Rhaenyra for her lies and false swearing beneath the Heart Tree all those years ago, and she did until the labors when she saw the brown tuft of hair atop a young babe's head.

At the time, Alicent did not have a moment to contemplate what that meant before her friend screamed, holding on so tightly to her hand that she thought it might break as the rest of the infant emerged. The babe's face was so purple and cord wrapped around their neck that Alicent nearly cried, fearing life had repeated itself. The nursemaids quickly cut the blue and pink veiny line that connected the child to its mother, turning the babe upside down and spanking it on the back until its cries rang out throughout Maegor’s Holdfast.

A girl.

There, screaming and curling their once lifeless fist, were you , the firstborn child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, only by a mere moment, finally breathing and wailing as they swaddled you in an embroidered black and red cloth, a boy soon following.

“What shall you name them, your highness?” the eldest midwife asked, nearly as out of air as Rhaenyra.

“We…” the princess breathed heavily, positioning herself in the birthing chair. “We had only thought of a boy with the help of Lord Corlys. Jacaerys,” she panted, her cheeks tinged pink, either from exertion or embarrassment from being so thoughtless. Alicent did not know.

The nurse holding Rhaenyra’s son passed him to her, all eyes lingering on that same flattened-down dark hair. “Shall we wait for the Prince, your highness?” another question, holding the unnamed girl.

“I think,” Rhaenyra groans, shifting her weight to account for the new one, “we shall be waiting for a while should my husband suddenly return from his travels.” She glanced at Alicent, watching her once closest friend pick at the skin of her nails. She grinned, a brilliant idea coming to mind as she ordered the maid to give her daughter to the Queen. 

Alicent's doe eyes widened as she accepted. She peered down at the tiny bundle before her, still crying, purple face now a deep red and full of life. The Queen did not know what came over her as she leaned, bringing the child’s blotchy forehead to her lips, inhaling the unique scent only a newborn has. She noticed the muscles around where the babe's brows should be twitching, opening her eyes to reveal a mirror of Alicent’s own looking at her.

The Queen forgot for a moment that she was not her own and that she should be alarmed that the child's eyes bore no resemblance to their parents. Yet the Queen continued to smile down at the small fidgeting bundle in her grasp, her arms wiggling themselves out of their confines to clench and unclench. The cries now became softer but still there. Sounds that used to cause Alicent great distress now soothe her uneasy soul like a salve to a wound. 

“What shall we call her, my Queen?” Rhaenyra questioned, a crooked smile on her face as Alicent broke from her revere. Her plush lips parted in surprise, looking as if a deer caught grazing alone in a field.

The Queen appeared bewildered, unprepared for such a monumental task; all faces turned to her. “I… I am unsure, Princess. I did not come prepared for such an honor.”

Rhaenyra kept the same lopsided grin on her lips, showing the tips of her white teeth. “Tis all mine. It's an honor to have the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms name my first born daughter.”

“An honor I accept gladly,” Alicent rushed, worried that her refusal would shatter their peace.

She paused, pursing her lips in thought. Despite having three and another on the way, she had never named a child. Helaena was the closest she had ever gotten, a familiar name within the Reach but made to fit the traditional Targaryen spelling. Alicent would have something to herself, one tiny sliver of something that belonged to her, and she was unsure what to do with it. She was confident that Rhaenyra would be content with any name she chose, but she wanted it to be unique, to mean something more than just a word.

Alicent thought of her mother then—her darling mother, whom she barely had a chance to spend life with before a fever took her. A mother that her father said she looked like an extension of, and suddenly, only one name felt right.

The Queen was constantly conflicted about every choice she made, every move. From the food she ate to the clothes she wore, Alicent always worried herself over it, wondering if she had made the correct decision, but in this, she was sure. No man, woman, or God could sway her from this choice. It was right. The Queen could feel it in the marrow of her bones that it was so.

“Aelora.”

Aelora, my light.

The King came bursting moments later, a servant dressed in a crimson gown, white apron, and cap standing anxiously beside him. He immediately went straight into the room, brushing past his wife in favor of his daughter. Alicent felt a sour taste in her mouth at the notion, pulling the quiet lump tighter to her chest.

“A boy and a girl!” Viserys excitedly hollered, Rhaenyra passing Jacaerys to him. Anxiousness settled over the birthing chamber, the midwives and maids observing with worrisome eyes at the head of brown hair. “ Ah! And I see they have inherited my favorite cousin's hair.”

He held the newborn with a reverence Alicent had never seen with her own, and she stepped back into the shadows of the onlookers. She peered down, catching the babe's eyes shut and face slack, still with the fresh scent of birth. She brought you to her forehead again as she took in this brief moment of joy, nose nuzzling the infant’s as she grunted at the intrusion.

“Aelora, the Gods’ Light. My shining light,” she whispered so softly against the babe's satin-smooth skin that it drifted into the air like dust, lost in the wind. 

“Oh, and her eyes, too!” Viserys beamed, hoisting Jacaerys into the air as the wetnurses squealed in terror. “She will make a fine queen one day, and should the Gods allow it, you, a king.” Rhaenyra laughed at her father's antics, already planning the children’s marriage. She was too high on the feeling of birthing not one but two healthy babes, a boy and a girl, no less to care. Alicent's amber eyes flicked to her husband and then to your plump face, a frown pulling her lips.

Aegon had come quickly and without fuss. Though Alicent was merely a girl of ten and six when it happened, the moments leading up to it frightened her thoroughly. She worried her nails down to the quick, the pink fleshy beds exposed and bleeding whenever she would use too harsh of a grip.

She knew of what happened to Aemma Arryn, that the babe was stuck and couldn't turn to leave the womb, at least to the Maester’s belief. He gave the King a choice, not the woman who was writhing in pain as her body contracted, to either let the process play out with the chance that the child and his wife could perish or have him slice her open from hip to hip, dig through her guts and blood to pry the child out. Aemma Arryn had no voice in the matter from what she heard from the midwives, as her husband allowed a man to pull Prince Baelon straight from her womb.

Alicent did not want to face the same fate and prayed to the Mother day after day, night after night, until her knees were yellow and blue, and even then, she continued her efforts. She was alone in all this, with no one to confide in. Her father had told her to do her duty when she expressed concern. He assured her the King would allow no such thing if she did everything correctly. He offered no comfort, and Alicent longed for her dearest Princess. Her prayers were answered when that fateful day came, and the labors lasted no more than an hour.

She birthed a healthy boy with blonde hair and purple eyes, but even then, Viserys did not act the way he was now with Rhaenyra's children. A means to end all the uncertainty of an heir, her father said in words of solace. She hadn't understood what he meant then. Rhaenyra was the heir, crowned Princess of Dragonstone, and Lords swore allegiance to her across the realm. To Alicent, there was no uncertainty until there was.

Until Otto Hightower planted the rot that festered and spread in her mind that the girl she grew up alongside, the girl she spent so many days and nights with, the girl that had said she would forget her duty and fly off across the world eating nothing but cake with her friend by her side, would murder Alicent's children so they could not depose her reign.

She did not believe Rhaenyra was capable of cruelty, but then again, she had once considered her incapable of lying to her and was proven wrong.

She began to fuss as if the infant in her embrace could sense the Queen's unrest. Her delicate little face scrunched up as Alicent bounced her softly, cooing soothingly. She smiled despite her unpleasantness within, unfazed by the sudden outburst, unlike when Helaena had her fits as a child. Her daughter would have to meet her niece and nephew, along with Aegon. Aemond was too young. She wouldn't be able to keep a close eye on him.

Though he was half the size of Aegon when he was born, he had grown twice as fierce. At barely three years old, his nursemaids had to ceaselessly follow the moonlight-haired boy less than a step away lest he jump down a flight of stairs just to see if he could. Once, when Alicent dismissed the servants from Aemond's chambers as he readied for bed, she turned her back on him for a singular blink, and he opened his balcony doors and climbed over the railing to get a better view of the night sky. Alicent remembered how he kicked and screamed as she yanked him from the ledge, saying words and phrases she never knew, even at the age she was now.

“My Queen,” the wetnurse called like she had repeated herself as Alicent looked at the girl. “The young Princess needs her first feeding.” The woman held out her arms for her to hand over the fussing bundle, a calm but concerned expression on her face.

Alicent refused, curling her limbs as the babe squirmed, her cries becoming ear-piercing screams. She knew the child needed to eat but could not force her body to release the girl. It was as if her very bones denied the movement that was not keeping the hungry infant close to her. The fleeting thought that Alicent could feed the girl herself crossed her mind, but she shook it away, realizing the ludacrisy of it. It was improper for a woman of nobility to nurse their child. That's what the maids were for, the Queen told herself.

The wetnurse peered at her curiously, walking a pace closer, but Alicent stepped back as if she attempted to harm her. “The King has not held her yet,” she protested, looking towards her King-Husband in an attempt to prolong her time.

“All is well, Alicent. What kind of King refuses to let their babe grandchild eat?” he jested, tilting his head to the side playfully and exposing a gaping smile. It made Alicent want to vomit.

When she doesn't move to listen, the Queen stared at her husband like her silence could serve as a rejection of his words. Viserys sighed as Rhaenyra watched with piqued interest, wordlessly handing Jacaerys to another maid.

“Alicent, give her the child.”

She hesitated again, her brown eyes flickering to Rhaenyra when she did not offer for Alicent to stay while the maids worked. Once again, she mused bitterly, watching the infant intently as she relented. I give my dream away to you. A dream that was never indeed mine.

The Queen bowed to the Princess, congratulating her on the success as she took her leave, hand splaying over the swollen stomach of her emerald green gown. It felt too tight, the once smooth fabric now itching at her skin, the fine hairs on her arms catching between the threads.

How stupid she was to believe in Rhaenyra’s kindness. She felt like a girl again, the same girl who stood beneath the Weirwood, listening to her friend swear on her mother’s memory that she had not lain with a man, only to find out there was moontea delivered to her chambers.

A sudden kick was sent to the Queen's abdomen, halting her brisk pace as she doubled over within the pale redstone hall. Ser Criston Cole arrived moments later, helping her rise to her feet. She soothed the afflicted area with her palm, no doubt the cause being her own making. Despite the growing life inside of her, the Queen has now done it four times. Alicent believed the moment she laid her wide amber eyes on yours was the closest she had ever felt to being whole with someone in her life. It’s as if the child's very being was now a part of her, and every moment she was away, it felt as if she was missing a piece of her soul.

Rhaenyra flaunts and does as she pleases, lies, and tricks all she pleases. It made Alicent furious with a rage she had not felt for nearly a decade. Aelora will not become like her mother. The Green Queen will not allow it, even if she has to twist and shape the clay of Aelora's mind into something of her own. Aelora is her dream. She is the Gods' shining light, and Alicent will be damned if she allows Rhaenyra to blacken her glow.

Septon Eustace's Recount of Princess Aelora I Targaryen's Early Life

The young Velaryon princess, later taking her mother’s namesake, grew into a spritely and mischievous child, playing jests on her Septa and Prince Aemond with the aid of her brothers and the eldest of the Queen’s children, Prince Aegon. She did not develop into a traditional Targaryen beauty with blonde hair and violet eyes; instead, she had a golden chestnut crown with eyes to match. Many said she resembled Queen Alicent, though if anyone made the error of voicing it, they faced Princess Rhaenyra’s wrath.

Though her features were plain by Targaryen standards, the realm rejoiced in her beauty. Lords and ladies commissioned portraits of her countenance throughout the kingdom, proudly displaying a halcyon halo of red rubies adorning the top of her divine facade. The common folk coined the name “The Gods' Light” for the sweet girl. A glimpse of her was as close as one would get to the Maiden, and they cherished it whenever Princess Rhaenyra's faction made rare journeys to the Grand Sept.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

I'm excited to write for my favorite war criminal, Visenya Incarnate, Aemond Targaryen. I'm just super happy to write Aemond smut! I'm also taking a different approach to this story because it will solely be based on the show (to the best of my ability), not the book, and will be released with the same progression. It will have accounts of the reader's life through the eyes of the Maester's. Of course, there will be some cannon divergence and whatnot, considering we're introducing a new character into the fray. This fic will also be a lot darker than what I've written in the past, including content such as childhood sexual assault and the after-effects of it, self-harm, depression, suicide, and unhealthy sibling dynamics/relationships.

This story is told from the second person's perspective. The reader only has a name for the sake of a title and the description of Strong features.

Y'all have no idea how fulfilling writing has been for me. It's given me purpose when I've felt like I had none. It's helped my mental health by giving me an outlet for self-expression and a good source of distraction from all the worries I have in life. I wish I could get paid for this!

I hope y'all will enjoy the story as much as I will writing it, and of course, thank you so much for taking the time to read this. You genuinely have no idea how much your support means to me, but I will continue to express it in the best way I know how. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Ps. Alicent's mom's name is unknown in the show and the book, so I'm creating a name that combines my original idea with traditional Targaryen spelling.

Pronunciation: Uh-lore-uh, Ae-lore-uh

Origin: Latin

Meaning: dream, dreamer, shining light.

Biblical Meaning: God is light, God's light.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf

[allpiesforourown]

Based on harem member SY au

Sy is basically the empress in the shadows, the unofficial empress (but he doesn't know that)

He's the one that takes care of majority of the wives while the emperor's away.

Bingge always thought it was his first 3 that takes care of them and the rest vying for his attention. And while true, the first 3 has the councils authority, the final say, rules the kingdom and uphold the rules of palace while the delusional wives lie, cheat, and sabotage to sit next to their husband

It was sy who kept the peace of majority of them. The wives who are smart enough to realize quickly (or slowly) they were just thrown away. He's the one that helps their hometown in their time of need, listens attentively about their home, stories, and rants, suggests way to revitalize their homes, and new found economy. Especially when the world's been merged and many homes struggle with beasts, demons, and making ends meet. Sy was there, with his emence amount of knowledge and emphaty helps them find happiness again even trapped behind walls.

(And when they had children, he was the one who welcomed them with open arm when their husband left them once more)

Bingge, who has just returned from his horrid trip to the other world, noticed he wasn't happy, wasn't loved, and went out to search for his own shizun not knowing he was already there all along

(not that the wives would let him. Both good and bad wives wish to keep him out of their husband's sight. For the good, sy is too good for their husband. For the bad, they know they'll lose by a landslide if they meet. And if they killed him, the other wives and their children would be out for blood)

I think Ning Yingying as first wife is very helpful and always there for her fellow wives but at the end of the day there's only so much she can do without going against Binghe’s rules. Shen Yuan isn't first wife and therefore has more freedom, so wives can go to him for more nuanced situations

For example:

Random wife is being stalked -> she goes to Yingying, who will immediately dispatch a guard to kill anyone who dares harass a wife of the emperor

Wife's brother wants to save her from the castle -> if yingying hears about this, it's her duty to have the man killed regardless of what she personally wants to do. Even if the woman isn't in danger and doesn't want her brother dead, that's just what happens if you try to take a wife away from the emperor and it's a rule Luo Binghe says she must enforce. For a situation like this the wife would go to shen yuan instead of the first wife, and shen yuan would deliver a letter or arrange a secret meeting for them.

[heartfullofleeches]

[Tldr: Big spider wifey Yan and sweetie little human darling]

W...women... Tiny, kind-hearted Darling who welcomes the bitter rightful hier to their kingdom with open arms after she returns centuries after her trial and execution. Her new form frightens most, but Darling finds her piercing glowing eyes and ashened skin to be quite gorgeous. All those extra limbs she's grown would be wonderful for hugs. As the kingdom runs itself mad trying to find ways to defend themselves from the evil queen, Royal Darling is in their garden creating a bouquet of their favorite flowers to gift to her upon her arrival.

"You there... I've come to take what's mine. Give me my throne or I shall take it along with your head."

"...Okay! When is the wedding?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"T-the wedding?..... Seeing as I am the current ruler the only way you can become Queen now is if we are wed... Oh, is that not what you intended? I'm sorry... "

Darling knows the pain of being rejected by their people as well. Their dislike for their ruler has never reached the same scale as the former Queen's treacherous flock, but had there been anyone else left in Darling's family the crown would have been theirs. Nearly all of Darling's kin had been whipped out by some mysterious plague. Darling is all that's left and there have been whispers throughout the kingdom how unfit they are to wear the crowd for how soft hearted they are."

"hm, you are stronger than you appear. I suppose I can humor you for the rest of your natural life. I and the rest like me will outlive you and your people for eons...."

The Queen planned on killing Darling the day of their wedding. Did this fool truly believe she would want the last remaining member of that bastard bloodline who betrayed her to stay alive? It would be a spectacle for all to see, yet - as they day arrived her withered heart had changed its tune. Everyday since the Queen had agreed to Darling's proposal they waited outside her door with a fresh bouquet and handpicked fruits from their garden. They asked their servants to add minerals and rose petals to her water whenever she bathed so that the cracks in her skin hopefully never worsened. Though she never spoke back much in the beginning, Darling spoke to her as if they were already married.

It was almost.... endearing.

"Do you take this....woman to be your wife?"

"I do."

"And do you take this person to be your spouse?"

"....I do."

How humorous is it the Queen's rage was snuffed by a descendant of the people who made her as she is now. The new queen carries her adorable spouse in her arms every which way she goes. If her spies hear even a word of someone speaking ill of her angel for giving into her wishes so easily she'll have their tongue ripped out and fed to the hounds. The flower crown's Darling makes for her decay within a day's time atop her head yet she wears them with pride till the final petals falls.

[thelien-art]

Fëanáro, Nerdanel & Telperinquar

Latest portraits

Sons of Fëanáro - Children of Ñolofinwë - Ñolofinwë, Anairë & Grandchildren - Children of Arafinwë - Arafinwë, Eärwen, & Grandchildren

HC:

Feanor: Feanor dresses in pale colors like Miriel. I like to think Miriel dresses in light colors, not necessarily white. I don´t think he adorns himself with a lot of jewelry, just enough for him to be stylish, but not more, as he cares more about making things for those he cares for than himself, and if it is for himself, he would rather focus on something more practical, like lamps and machines.

Nerdanel: I have a surprising lot of thoughts about Nerdanel, one of them being that she´s a very loud Feanorian stan, although there´s a lot she thinks is plainly stupid she still supports her husband(ex??) and most of his ideals fierily. I think she dresses much more plainly than other Noldor, but will not necessarily turn down the option to adorn herself in jewelry. While I think she eagerly awaited her crowning, I don´t think it ever came, and she therefore never really had the possibility to wear a crown (not circlet she could still wear circles) as Finarfin was crowned when his brothers left. I don´t think that married in, in the Noldor royal house, could wear crowns before they themself was crowned kings/queen, even if it was just over a smaller piece of land. This left her to never wear a circlet as she was waiting to be crowned queen which never happened, meaning she never wore something on her head. She still wore royal braids and such, as that was accepted. All this leads her to be called Ríantaú by those who are against Feanor**. * She ends up going to Formenos and taking in all the Feanorian loyalties over the ages, becoming a queen at the end although never crowned, and known as a bitter woman because of her sons' departure.

Celebrimbor: I don´t read Celebrimbor as a naive person, rather I read him as someone who bears a lot of guilt, and in some cases let it control him, even if he was not the one at fault, this makes it easier for him to welcome everyone when the second age begins, after all evil was destroyed right? That was what the Valar said, and it does harm to everyone to throw someone out in the wilderness. I do believe he was aware that Annatar was a Maia of Morgoth, I also believe that while he didn´t think Annatar was all good, he believed in himself that he could make Annatar a better person. When Celebrimbor is reborn he ends up seeking out Nerdnal, who welcomes him in her city with open arms where he stays most of his time. On jewelry, I was helped by a lot of people (@lulukeskywalker pointed out that Eregion was named after the hollie trees it´s said to have) with the holly HC some might have heard about him, and it comes from that Eregion had a lot of hollie trees, which is a very sweet note professor, thank you for that, so I, of course, had to give him some holly themed jewelry. On a last note of jewelry, I tried to give him something between art nouveau and brutalism, to give him his own style. - note Celebrimbor follows second age fashion, therefor having his braids at the back instead of both at the front and back. - note Celebrimbor´s circlet is very intentionally inspired by Maglor´s.

Other HC:

I like to think that both Thingol and Finwe ruled their land as Empires, meaning that there were smaller kings and queens under their rule, while the rest, like Owlë and Ingwë ruled as only kings. I think it makes most sense with Thingol but I also like it with Finwe as his family was so big so it would make sense. - examples would be the roman empire and Scandinavia around year 0 to year 500 where the really where no kingdoms as we see them today but many small kings and later one king over the small kings. *

**Ríanta = To crown/Coronate: Quenya - Ú = Without/Destitute of: Quenya - Ríantaú = Without crown/Crownless: Quenya

Grey, mostly a pale grey close to white, is the mourning color for the Eldar´s as it´s associated with Nienna.

[angelremnants]

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART TWO.⠀LATE JUNE NIGHTS

summary : After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through. Inspired by Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

pairing : James ''Bucky'' Barnes x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), slow burn, eventual romance, pure fluff, mentions of past trauma, themes of healing, banter, teasing, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 13.4k

author's notes : So, I lied. I said this next part was going to be the continuation AND ending of this fic.. Long story short, I went overboard (again) and wrote way much more than I had initially planned (I decided last minute to incorporate sexy time for the last part because I'm feral). Anyway, I highly recommend reading the first part beforehand, as it provides essential context for the following scenes.

Writing about Wakanda makes me miss my home country—listening to All the Stars (one of my fav' songs, btw) especially makes me miss all of the amazing summers I spent there, so I took a bit of inspo from them while writing some parts of the story.

I'd also like to adress an immense thank you to @stilleobjection for helping me get set on major components of the story. Live, laugh, love my moots<3

(ao3 version)

The sparring matches had ended on a high note, leaving everyone in good spirits. Shuri, still grinning after her mock victory over you, clapped her hands.

“Alright, white boy, Sparky, we’ve got plans for you today,” she announced, exchanging a glance with T’Challa. “Something is cooking back at the palace, so we need you two out of the way while it’s being perfected.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Out of the way? Should we be worried?”

The king chuckled as he clasped Bucky on the shoulder in camaraderie. “Not at all. My sister thought it would be good for you both to explore a bit of Wakanda’s countryside. It’s a chance to unwind after the training session.”

Shuri tilted her head toward a guide waiting nearby. “We’ve got quads—well, Wakandan versions of quads—prepped for you. Trust me, they’re fast, safe, and a lot of fun. And since I don’t trust you two to behave, I’ll be joining.”

“Wait,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes. “Why do I feel like this is part of some elaborate scheme?”

Shuri gasped, feigning offense. “White boy, I’m shocked you’d accuse me of such treachery. This is purely for your benefit. You should be thanking me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, let’s do it. But if this is a setup, Shuri, you’re paying for the therapy.”

With that, the three of you followed the guide to an open clearing where two sleek quads—futuristic in design and gleaming in the sunlight—were parked. They looked like something out of a sci-fi film, with smooth, aerodynamic lines and holographic controls.

Shuri, clearly in her element, hopped onto one of the bikes with ease. “Aren’t they beauties? Vibranium-powered of course, eco-friendly, and ridiculously fast.” She patted the handlebars of hers. “You’ll thank me later.”

As she excitedly hopped onto one and began rattling off specs, you noticed Bucky standing back, arms crossed, staring at the vehicle like it was some alien artifact. He crouched down, inspecting the engine with a furrowed brow, his metal fingers tapping lightly on the side as if trying to figure out its secrets.

“It’s not going to break down, old man,” you teased, watching him lean closer.

“I’m just saying,” he replied, gesturing to the sleek design. “Engines like these don’t look like they belong to anything real. Where’s the exhaust system? The carburetor? This thing looks like it’s from outer space.”

Shuri, standing next to her quad, rolled her eyes. “It’s vibranium-powered. No carburetors, no exhaust. Welcome to the 21st century, Grandpa.”

Bucky gave her a flat look. “I like machines I can understand. Motorcycles, for instance. You know, things that don’t look like they’re about to fly off into orbit.”

Shuri smirked, leaning casually against her quad. “Don’t worry, white boy. It’s not as fragile as your Harley. And you might even like it if you give it a chance. Just try not to overthink it, alright?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky shook his head, muttering something about "vibranium death traps" under his breath.

Finally, he climbed onto his quad, still inspecting the handlebars as if they might suddenly sprout wings. “How’s it feel?” you asked, watching him warily test the controls.

“Like it’s about to insult my mother,” he muttered.

Shuri groaned. “Just start the thing! I promise you’ll survive.”

The ride began with a burst of speed as the quads hummed to life, their engines emitting a low, futuristic whirr that reverberated through the open air. The path wound through Wakanda’s breathtaking countryside, a kaleidoscope of vibrant greenery and golden sunlight that spilled across the landscape. Rolling hills stretched into the horizon, dotted with clusters of wildflowers in colors so vivid they looked almost unreal. Tall trees arched overhead, their bioluminescent leaves shimmering faintly in the soft light, as if breathing with life. Crystal-clear streams meandered alongside the trail, their waters catching the sunlight and scattering it like a thousand diamonds.

The air was crisp and cool, carrying the earthy scent of freshly turned soil mingled with the subtle sweetness of blooming flora. You breathed deeply, letting the scent wash over you as the wind whipped past.

“How’s it feel now?” Shuri called out, her voice cutting through the hum of the engines. She glanced back at Bucky, her tone half-challenging, half-playful.

Bucky, despite his earlier reservations, seemed more at ease now. His broad shoulders were less tense, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly, though his tone suggested he wasn’t about to heap praise on the machine just yet. The wind caught his hair, making him look a little less like the stoic soldier and more like someone who might actually be enjoying himself.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the rush of adrenaline making your heart race. “This is incredible! How fast can these go?”

“Fast enough to outrun your doubts, Sparky!” Shuri quipped, her grin evident even from a distance as she twisted the throttle and sped ahead.

The three of you carved your way through the trails, the quads kicking up soft plumes of dirt in their wake. Every so often, you paused to admire the scenery—expansive meadows that seemed to stretch forever, their grasses swaying lazily in the breeze, or ancient-looking rock formations jutting proudly from the earth like guardians of the past.

Shuri acted as a guide, pointing out landmarks with unrestrained enthusiasm. “That hill over there? It’s where some of the first Wakandan warriors trained with vibranium shields. And that tree? It’s older than most of the royal palace!” Her knowledge was infectious, her voice laced with pride and affection for her homeland.

Meanwhile, Bucky couldn’t seem to resist his inner mechanic. Every so often, he’d pull his quad to a halt and hop off, crouching down to inspect its parts like an overprotective grandparent. “These controls are too smooth. It’s like it’s driving itself,” he muttered at one point, tapping a finger against the engine casing.

“That’s because it is smart tech, white boy,” Shuri teased as she rolled up beside him. “Honestly, you’re acting like an old man trying to figure out a smartphone.”

Bucky shot her a withering look, but there was no heat behind it. “I’m just saying, machines like these don’t need to be this complicated. Give me a Harley, and I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t long before the shenanigans began. Shuri, ever the troublemaker, led the charge.

“Think fast!” she shouted gleefully, swerving sharply to kick up a spray of dirt and grass that splattered across Bucky’s quad.

Bucky coughed, glaring at her as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Seriously?”

“Just keeping you on your toes, Grandpa!” she replied, her laughter ringing out like music.

You decided to join the fun, veering your quad closer to Bucky’s and revving the engine in a sharp burst. He startled slightly, giving you a side-eye glare that quickly softened into something resembling reluctant amusement.

“You too?” he asked, his voice tinged with exasperation. “What is this, ‘Pick on Bucky’ Day?”

“Every day is ‘Pick on Bucky’ Day,” you teasingly shot back with a grin. “You’re just an easy target, old man.”

Not one to back down, Bucky suddenly accelerated, cutting you and Shuri off in one swift motion. “Alright, if that’s how you wanna play,” he said over his shoulder, his voice carrying the smallest hint of a challenge.

What followed was a chaotic race through the trails. The three of you took turns speeding ahead, cutting each other off, and kicking up clouds of dirt. Shuri, ever the daredevil, led you both through a narrow trail with low-hanging branches that forced you to duck and weave to avoid getting smacked in the face.

“You could’ve warned us, Shuri!” you shouted, laughing despite yourself as you narrowly avoided a branch.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she called back, her voice dripping with mischief.

Even Bucky started to loosen up, his posture relaxing as he swerved around a sharp corner with surprising skill. At one point, you caught him grinning—an unguarded, genuine smile that made him look years younger.

Eventually, the path widened, revealing a breathtaking scene. A shimmering lake stretched out before you, its surface reflecting the pastel hues of the early evening sky. Steam rose lazily from parts of the water, hinting at natural hot springs, while rocky cliffs framed the area like an artist’s masterpiece. A few open-air huts dotted the shoreline, their thatched roofs blending harmoniously with the natural surroundings.

Shuri pulled to a stop and hopped off her quad, stretching her arms overhead with a content sigh. “Welcome to paradise!” she announced grandly. “The water here is the perfect remedy for sore muscles—and bruised egos.” She shot a pointed look at Bucky, her grin as wide as ever.

“This is amazing,” you said, your gaze sweeping over the tranquil scene. “Did you plan this, Shuri?”

“Of course I did,” she replied smugly. “You think I’d let you two wander around aimlessly? Now, go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

The lake was even more breathtaking up close. Crystal-clear water stretched out in a shimmering expanse, its surface rippling gently as steam curled upward from the edges of the natural hot springs. The rocky cliffs surrounding the area glistened with dew, the rock faces streaked with veins of vibrant minerals that reflected the fading light like jewels. Overhead, the sky deepened into a tapestry of purples and gold, scattered with stars beginning to peek through. The air here was warm and heavy with the scent of mineral springs and blooming wildflowers, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

A few open-air huts lined the shore, their thatched roofs blending seamlessly with the landscape. Inside, simple benches and woven baskets hinted at their purpose: a place to change or rest before enjoying the rejuvenating waters.

Shuri was already peeling off her outerwear to reveal a sleek bodysuit underneath, the kind of practical yet stylish attire that only Wakandan design could pull off. “Don’t just stand there gawking. The water’s calling, and I’m answering.” She didn’t wait for a response, striding toward the lake and stepping in without hesitation. “Perfect temperature, as always,” she called over her shoulder.

You watched her for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?” You weren’t exactly prepared for a swim, but that wasn’t going to stop you. Stripping down to your underwear, you stepped into the water, the warmth spreading over your skin like a comforting embrace.

Bucky, however, stayed firmly on the shore, his arms crossed as he eyed the water warily. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he muttered.

Shuri, already chest-deep in the water, shot him a look of mock disbelief. “What’s the matter, white boy? Afraid your arm’s gonna rust?”

Bucky raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “It’s titanium. It doesn’t rust.”

“Then you have no excuse!” Shuri countered, splashing water in his direction for good measure. “Come on, don’t be boring. Even Grandpa needs to have fun sometimes.”

You laughed, wading deeper into the water until it lapped at your shoulders. “She’s got a point, you know. What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll have fun?”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you and Shuri said in unison.

Finally, with a muttered curse under his breath, Bucky relented. He pulled off his jacket and shirt, revealing the solid planes of his chest and the intricate design of his titanium arm, which gleamed even in the dim light. He hesitated for a moment before removing his boots and pants, leaving him in just a pair of black briefs.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering over him before quickly looking away, your cheeks heating. Shuri, of course, caught it immediately.

“See something you like, Sparky?” she teased, her grin devilish as she waded closer.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, your attempt at nonchalance failing miserably, though your face betrayed you with its growing warmth.

Shuri wasn’t done, though. She tilted her head, the playful gleam in her eyes making you dread whatever she was about to say next. “Don’t worry about it. I saw him watching you earlier when you were stripping down, too.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes widening. “Shuri!”

“What?” she said with a shrug, her grin widening as she gestured toward Bucky, who was already halfway into the water and thankfully out of earshot. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one doing some ogling tonight.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Why do you always have to do this?”

“Because it’s fun,” she replied with a wink. “And you’re just so easy to fluster. Besides, I’m practically doing you a favor. Now you know he’s looking.”

You peeked between your fingers, your gaze instinctively darting to Bucky, who was settling into the water. His broad shoulders gleamed under the dim light, and you hated how quickly your eyes lingered.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, sinking lower into the water to hide your embarrassment.

Shuri’s laughter rang out, light and carefree. “You’re welcome!”

Bucky stepped into the water, his movements cautious at first, but he seemed to relax as the warmth enveloped him. “You two are insufferable,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smirk betrayed him.

“It doesn’t stop you from following us,” you shot back, splashing water in his direction.

What started as playful banter quickly devolved into a full-blown splash war. Shuri was the obvious instigator, as always, her cunning grin practically a warning sign as she cupped her hands and sent the first wave of water crashing toward you.

“You’re going down, Sparky!” she declared, her laughter echoing over the surface of the lake.

You retaliated immediately, scooping up water and hurling it back at her, though your aim wasn’t nearly as precise. “Oh, you want a fight? Let’s go, Princess!”

Bucky, who had been trying to stay out of the line of fire, quickly found himself dragged into the chaos. A rogue splash hit him square in the face, and he sputtered, shaking his head like a drenched dog.

“Is this what you call diplomacy?” Bucky grumbled as he shielded himself with his arm.

“Wakandan diplomacy is very hands-on,” Shuri replied, her laughter echoing across the lake.

“Alright, that’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and mock-menacing.

The next second, he sent an impressive arc of water flying in Shuri’s direction, catching her mid-laugh and soaking her from head to toe.

“Hey!” she yelped, wiping water from her eyes. “You’re gonna regret that, white boy!”

From that moment on, all bets were off. Shuri was the obvious victor, her technique unmatched as she sent wave after wave of water at you and Bucky. Her speed and agility made her nearly impossible to hit, and her laughter only seemed to grow louder with each successful attack.

You tried teaming up with Bucky to overpower her, but it was like trying to outsmart a hurricane. “We need a strategy!” you shouted, ducking behind Bucky for cover as Shuri sent another splash your way.

“Strategy?” Bucky replied, his brow furrowing in mock disbelief. “We’re in a lake. The only strategy here is survival!”

Shuri, grinning wickedly, used your moment of distraction to launch her most devastating attack yet—a double-handed splash that drenched you both in a massive wave.

“You call that survival?” she teased, her hands on her hips as she waded back a few steps, looking far too smug.

The water glistened around her like liquid silver, the bioluminescent glow of the surrounding foliage casting soft light on her triumphant form. You and Bucky exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between you.

“Truce?” you whispered.

“Truce,” he agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Together, you turned on Shuri, launching a coordinated attack that finally managed to take her by surprise. She shrieked as two simultaneous waves of water hit her, but her laughter was still loud and carefree.

“Alright, alright! I concede!” she said, holding her hands up in surrender, though the grin on her face made it clear she wasn’t entirely serious. “But don’t think I’ll forget this, you two.”

The three of you stood there, panting and laughing, the water rippling gently around you as the tension of the day melted away into the cool embrace of the lake. It was a quiet haven, the cool water lapping gently at your skin, but Shuri’s excitement quickly shattered the calm.

“Alright, I’m bored now. Let’s play Pirate Ship,” she declared, her eyes shining with mischief. She swam toward you both, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “It’s a team game—just like chicken, but with a twist. One person is the pirate ship, and the other two are the crew with one trying to take it down and one giving it directions.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Pirate ship?”

“Yeah,” Shuri said, her voice full of energy. “It’s simple. Bucky, you’re the pirate ship. You’re the one we have to knock off balance.”

Bucky looked at her with a bemused smile. “I’m the pirate ship, huh? Alright, I’m game.”

Shuri turned to you. “And you’ll be the first crew member, perched on his arm like a lookout. I’m the second crew member, and my job is to throw you both off balance—knock you out of the game.”

Before Bucky could protest, Shuri swiftly lifted you from the water, her hands steady as she helped you onto Bucky’s broad, muscled arm. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his arm for balance, and you felt a rush of warmth at how strong and solid he felt beneath you. The water swirled around both of you, the gentle waves adding an extra challenge as you settled into place, hands gripping his shoulders for extra security.

“There we go,” Shuri smirked, positioning herself in front of the two of you. “Try not to fall off, pirate.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and determination. “I’ll hold my ground. Ready?”

You nodded, gripping Bucky’s shoulder with a steady hand, trying to ignore the flutter of your heart as you realized just how close the two of you were—your body pressed to his in the stillness of the water, your chest lightly brushing against his, and his steady arm holding you firmly in place. You had to concentrate, but your mind kept wandering back to the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

Shuri lunged at you first, attempting to knock Bucky off balance. She was quick and agile in the water, and her first attempt sent a shiver of movement through Bucky’s body. But he held strong, his arm steady beneath you, his muscles tightening as he countered her push. You gasped slightly as you leaned into him for support, feeling the strength of his body underneath yours. His hand rested on your knee as he held you in place, his grip firm but gentle, like he was guiding you through a delicate dance.

“Easy there, Buck’,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, just for him. “You’re doing great.”

Bucky shot you a playful grin, but there was something deeper in his gaze—a quiet intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ve got this,” he muttered, voice low, as he took a step forward, shifting his weight just enough to keep himself balanced.

Shuri’s second attempt was faster, a blur of motion as she surged forward, trying to get a grip on Bucky’s shoulder. You felt your balance teeter as the water surged around you, but Bucky’s hand shot out just in time, pulling you back into place. His fingers brushed against your skin as he steadied you, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“You’re not getting us that easily,” Bucky murmured, his voice surprisingly husky as his eyes flickered down to you, searching your face for any sign that he was doing okay. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, and for a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you, the closeness of your bodies, the way he was so careful with you.

But before you could respond, Shuri lunged at him one more time. This time, her strategy was sharper and more aggressive, and Bucky’s arm gave way under the pressure. You lost your balance as Shuri grabbed hold of his shoulder, throwing both of you off-kilter. The next thing you knew, you were slipping from his arm and tumbling backward into the water with a splash.

The cold water shocked your senses for a moment, but before you could even panic, strong arms encircled you, pulling you back to the surface. You found yourself face-to-face with Bucky, his hands steadying you as he kept you afloat. His blue eyes locked onto yours with a quiet intensity, his breath warm against your skin as you both clung to the moment.

“You good, dove?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, the hint of concern there, though you knew he wasn’t worried about anything other than making sure you were okay.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as your heart raced. “Yeah, just… didn’t expect you to catch me like that,” you said, your voice quieter now, as if the game was suddenly secondary to the warmth of his presence.

Bucky’s hand remained on your waist, a steadying anchor as you floated together, the water around you both barely making a sound. He didn’t pull away, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded—the playful banter, the game, the world itself. It was just you and him, suspended in time, your chest brushing lightly against his as you shared a quiet moment in the lake.

Shuri's teasing voice sliced through the comfortable silence that had settled around you and Bucky, her tone playful and laced with mischief. “Aww, isn’t this romantic,” she called from where she bobbed lazily in the water, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she floated a little too close, clearly enjoying the moment a bit too much. “But we should probably head back. Sunrise isn’t going to wait for you lovebirds.”

The spell that had wrapped around you and Bucky shattered in an instant. You felt the weight of the moment break as Shuri’s words brought a flurry of laughter bubbling to the surface. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to gather your bearings, feeling the playful spark of the moment slip away, yet, in a way, you didn’t mind. It was impossible to stay serious when Shuri’s teasing grin was so infectious.

You groaned, letting out a dramatic sigh as you pushed yourself upright in the water. “Let’s go, white boy. Don’t want you rusting after all,” you teased, your voice light but still holding onto the warmth of the moment.

Bucky’s eyes rolled at the nickname, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He turned to you, his blue eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna call me that too.”

You grinned back, your heart still fluttering from the closeness you’d shared. “Impossible,” you replied with a wink. “I like the sound of it.”

Bucky gave you an exaggerated sigh, his hand reaching up to run through his damp hair as he shook his head. “I swear, I’m surrounded by trouble,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no malice behind his words—just a quiet affection that spoke volumes, even if it was wrapped in sarcasm.

Despite his mock grumbling, he followed your lead, swimming toward the shore. You matched his pace, your muscles still pleasantly sore from the game, but the gentle push of the water made it feel like the whole world was moving in slow motion. The distance between you and Bucky narrowed as you both swam side by side, the warmth of his presence a silent comfort, even with Shuri’s teasing commentary still echoing in the background.

Shuri, of course, didn’t let up. “You two make quite the pair,” she called, paddling along next to you. “I might need to start charging for this level of entertainment.” Her voice was full of laughter, but there was something else there too—an undercurrent of fondness for both of you, as if she was delighted by the connection she could clearly see growing between you and the soldier.

You shot her a playful glare. “Don’t make me make you regret learning how to swim.”

Her grin widened. “What’s the saying the white folks say again? Ah yes, ‘shiver me timbers’.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle beside you, the sound soothing and warm, as if he was finally letting the earlier teasing roll off his shoulders. The smirk he gave you was enough to make your heart skip again, the quiet moment of camaraderie between the three of you filling the air.

As the shoreline grew closer, Bucky’s smirk softened, and his expression turned a little more serious, though not in an uncomfortable way. He gave you a side glance, his voice quieter now, and tinged with something almost shy. “Thanks, by the way,” he said, his tone laced with sincerity. “For, you know, hanging in there with me.”

You blinked, surprised by the soft vulnerability in his words. “Of course, Bucky,” you said, your voice gentle. “You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?”

Bucky met your gaze, the softness in his eyes matching the quiet connection you felt. “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he teased lightly, but there was warmth behind it. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

For a moment, you simply floated there, the water still and peaceful around you, the air filled with unspoken understanding. Bucky had always been a complicated puzzle, but right here, right now, it felt like you were finally starting to fit together.

Shuri, ever the interrupter, glanced over at the two of you with a knowing look. “Alright, alright,” she said, pushing herself up from the water as she began heading toward the shore. “You two are sickeningly cute, but seriously, we should get going before we turn into fish.”

Bucky took a look at you, and this time, the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips was genuine, not mocking, but something softer—something real. “Lead the way, little one,” he said with a grin, his voice warm and affectionate as he gestured for Shuri to go ahead.

⠀

The day’s warmth lingered as you and Shuri made your way to the huts nearby, your bodies tired but relaxed from the playful lake game. The sky was beginning to darken, hinting at the coming sunrise, and there was a subtle excitement in the air—soon you’d be heading straight to the palace.

As you reached the hut, you noticed the men’s and women’s changing areas were naturally sex-separate, allowing for a quiet moment of privacy before the more formal events began. You started to step inside your designated hut, but Shuri held you back with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Wait up, Sparky,” she said, her voice dripping with playful curiosity. “We need to talk.”

You raised an eyebrow but followed her inside the small, private space. “About what?”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Shuri replied, giving you a knowing look as she crossed her arms. “I saw the way you and Bucky were looking at each other out there. That moment—the way he held you steady. You two have something going on, don’t you?”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “We’re just friends, Shuri. Nothing more.”

She tilted her head to the side, unconvinced. “Friends, huh?” she said, dragging out the word. “Then why do I sense a little more than that? Hmm? You didn’t look like ‘just friends’ when you were practically on top of him in the water.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

You let out a soft groan, trying to hide the warmth in your cheeks. “Shuri, we’re really just friends. We’ve known each other for a while now.”

Her eyes widened with exaggerated interest. “Oh? Tell me everything. How did this magical friendship start?”

You took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Well, it’s not all that exciting. I first met Bucky during a workout session at the compound—he was just sitting off to the side, hydrating or whatever. I’d been working out with some of the agents, and I was parched, so I grabbed a bottle of water. I didn’t notice him at first, but when I went to leave, I accidentally bumped into him, spilling some of the water on him.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “I was mortified, but he just laughed it off, saying, ‘You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.’ It was such a small, funny moment, but I remember it so clearly.”

Shuri leaned in, clearly intrigued. “That’s it? That’s how the great Sparky and the white boy became friends?”

You nodded. “Pretty much. But we ended up running into each other again a few months later when we were both assigned to the same mission. It wasn’t planned or anything. Our superiors noticed how naturally we clicked, so after that, they kept putting us together. We just kind of... became friends after that.”

Shuri raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. “Became friends, huh?” She shook her head with a smirk. “There’s something you’re not telling me. The way you two interact is way too comfortable for just a friendship.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “There’s nothing else. Trust me, we’re just close friends who get along well. He’s been through a lot, and I get it. I’m just... here for him. That’s all.”

Shuri didn’t look convinced. She started pacing back and forth, tapping her chin. “Hmm, well, I’m still not buying it. You two have some serious chemistry, whether you admit it or not. You’re telling me that’s all just... friendship?” She exaggerated the word with air quotes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Shuri quickly cut you off. “I won’t let you leave this hut until you spill the tea. You can’t hide behind your ‘just friends’ act forever, Sparky.” She grinned playfully, clearly enjoying herself.

You groaned again, feeling the heat rise to your face. “Fine. There was a... moment, but that’s it. He just... makes me feel comfortable. It’s hard to explain.”

Your cheeks burned at the remembrance of that embarrassing move you’d unconsciously pulled. The kiss to his cheek—it had been a simple, spontaneous act of gratitude, but now, in the quiet of your room, you felt your heart race at the memory.

The day had been long, and you found yourself in your quarters, trying to unwind after an exhausting debrief. As your gaze wandered, it landed on something familiar—an old mechanical wristwatch sitting on your desk. It was an heirloom, passed down through your family, and it had always been a symbol of resilience to you. But recently, it had been failing—stopping intermittently, refusing to tick when it should, and making it clear that it needed repair.

You had tried to fix it yourself, but no luck. You hadn’t wanted to take it to the techs; it was too personal. You’d quietly hoped it might somehow start working on its own, but it never did.

That evening, after dinner, you placed it down on the desk and ran your fingers over its familiar face, as if trying to find some connection to the past. But just as you set it aside, a knock at your door startled you.

Opening it, you were surprised to see Bucky standing there. A tool kit was slung over his shoulder, his usual quiet but determined expression on his face.

"Hey," he greeted you with a small, awkward smile. "I—I saw the watch earlier. Thought it might need a little... tune-up."

You blinked, taken aback for a moment. "Bucky? You... know about watches?"

He shrugged slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More than a few, yeah. Before... well, before everything happened, I worked on mechanical things. Cars, watches, motorcycles—anything with gears."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You're telling me you're not just a soldier, but a mechanic too?"

He chuckled softly, a slight warmth in his eyes. "Not just. I used to spend a lot of time fixing things. Figured I might be able to help."

You gestured toward the desk, where the watch lay, still as ever. You hadn't realized just how much you'd been staring at it, silently wishing it could work again.

"I didn’t expect you to notice it," you said quietly, moving to pick it up. "But I—I can’t seem to fix it myself."

Bucky stepped inside and set down his tool kit, his movements slow and deliberate as he began working on the watch. His fingers were steady, his focus intense. There was a calmness in the way he worked, similar to how he handled everything else—with precision and care. But this was different. He wasn’t handling a weapon; he was working on something delicate, something important to you.

The rhythmic sound of his hands moving as he adjusted the gears filled the room. You watched him, the quiet and his attention to detail stirring something deeper in you. The way his brow furrowed in concentration, how his fingers moved without hesitation—it wasn’t just about fixing the watch. It was something more.

“How’d you learn to do this?” you asked softly, your voice quieter now, full of curiosity.

“I had to,” he replied, his gaze still fixed on the watch. “In the army, you don’t always have what you need. I learned how to fix whatever I could get my hands on.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. There was something different about the way he spoke—like every skill, every moment he’d lived, had shaped him into who he was now. This wasn’t the Bucky you were used to—the soldier with a shield or the man in battle. This was another side of him, a gentler one, one that didn’t require fighting to prove his worth.

After a few minutes, Bucky stopped working, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a small smile. "All fixed."

You carefully took the watch from his hands and examined it. The hands were moving again, ticking steadily, as if it had never been broken. When you reached to take it, your fingers brushed against his for just a moment, and the world seemed to slow. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze—his blue eyes locked with yours, and there was something in the air, unspoken but understood.

You broke the silence, your voice soft but sincere. "You really didn’t have to," you said, still holding the watch in your hands, its ticking now a steady comfort. "But thank you, James. This means a lot."

Bucky’s gaze softened, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It was nothing. I’m glad I could help."

You stood up, the watch still in your hand, and took a small step toward him. The space between you felt charged now, electric. Without really thinking, you leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his cheek—just a brush of gratitude, but it felt more than that. The gesture lingered longer than you intended.

The moment you pulled away, you realized your mistake. Bucky stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. For a split second, the room was thick with unspoken tension, and the heat of his gaze made your heart race. You couldn't look at him.

"I—uh—well," he stammered, clearing his throat. "I didn’t expect that."

You quickly regained your composure, your heart still pounding, but your voice steady. "You fixed something important to me. I wanted to show my thanks," you said, though you could feel the rush of warmth on your cheeks. "You’ve done more than I could’ve ever expected."

Bucky’s expression softened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. He nodded, though he couldn’t quite meet your gaze. "You’re welcome, dove," he said, his voice low. "Anytime."

Your cheeks were still burning, and you quickly opened your arms, pulling him into a quick, grateful hug. It was over in an instant, but his warmth lingered in the space between you. When you pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel the heat of his presence.

"Thank you," you said again, quieter now, more to yourself than to him. "For everything."

Bucky nodded but didn’t speak. His soft smile returned, but there was something else in his eyes—something deeper, like words weren’t enough. He didn’t say anything more as he turned to leave, but as he stepped out, you opened the door and hastily shut it behind him, your heart still pounding in your chest. You leaned against it, eyes closed, feeling the rush of blood in your face and the thick, lingering tension that had settled in your room. You didn’t know what had just happened, but one thing was certain: that kiss had shifted something between you both. And now, you weren’t sure what to do about it.

You shook your head, as if to chase the thought away. Shuri nodded sagely, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I knew it! Something’s going on.” She gave you a dramatic wink. “Don’t worry, I won’t force you to admit anything else. But mark my words, Sparky—there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

Before you could say anything else, Shuri clapped her hands together, grabbing your attention. “Now, enough of this. You look like you need something to wear for the palace. I’ve got just the thing.”

You blinked, confused. “The palace? Aren’t we heading there soon?”

Shuri grinned. “Yes, and no offense, but what you were wearing isn’t quite appropriate. You’re heading into Wakandan royal territory, and I’m not going to let you go in looking like a tourist.” She quickly rummaged through a nearby chest, pulling out an intricately designed outfit. “Here, you’ll look stunning in this. It’s cultural, beautiful, and fits with the royal occasion.”

You took a step back, eyeing the garment she handed you. It was a royal Wakandan-style dress, the fabric shimmering with patterns that reflected the country’s rich heritage. The deep blues and golds complemented your skin tone perfectly, and the intricate beadwork along the neckline made it clear that this wasn’t just a casual outfit—it was something special.

“This is beautiful,” you said, genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness. “But are you sure I can wear this?”

Shuri shrugged. “Of course. You’re as much a part of this country as anyone. Don’t even think about it. This will be perfect for the palace.”

As you changed into the dress, Shuri stood by, watching you with a playful grin. “You know, I bet Bucky’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that.”

You shot her a warning look. “Shuri, stop.”

But she was already walking out the door, clearly satisfied with her teasing. “I’ll meet you outside, Sparky. We’ll make an entrance, trust me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you finished getting ready, feeling a strange mix of nervous excitement as you adjusted the dress. Shuri’s antics aside, something about the night ahead felt different. The palace awaited, and you had a feeling that no matter what happened next, things between you and Bucky were going to shift, one way or another.

You stepped outside the hut, feeling the cool air of the evening settle around you as you made your way toward the gathering area. The sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the land, the fading light reflecting off the distant peaks of the mountains. The air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, the transition from day to night making everything feel a little more magical.

As you reached the edge of the clearing, you spotted Bucky standing there, his back to you. He was dressed in a traditional Wakandan outfit as well—his dark attire highlighted with silver accents, the intricate patterns on his chest and sleeves shimmering under the dying light. The fabric seemed to move with him, like it was alive, giving him an almost regal presence.

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something about the way he looked tonight—so different from the soldier you knew. The colors of his outfit and the strong but gentle lines of his form made him appear like he belonged here, among royalty and tradition. The fading light of the sunset seemed to soften the sharp edges of his usual demeanor, and in that moment, he didn’t look like someone haunted by his past, but rather, someone who had found a place in this world.

He turned as he heard your footsteps, his eyes immediately locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. The setting sun illuminated his features, casting a warm glow across his face, making the familiar blue of his eyes stand out even more.

“You look… great, dove,” he said, his voice low and sincere, his gaze never leaving you.

You felt your heart flutter, the intensity of his words making your cheeks flush. Before you could think of anything to say, Shuri appeared at your side, her grin wide as she observed the exchange. “Told you,” she whispered under her breath, clearly pleased with the effect your appearance had on him.

You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves as you turned toward the palace. The walk ahead felt like a new chapter—one you weren’t sure how it would unfold, but you couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened next, it would change everything. And just as you and Bucky walked together toward the palace, the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted with the soft colors of twilight, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

⠀

The grandeur of Wakanda’s capital was one of the many things that could never fail to take your breath away. Towering structures of gleaming stone and glass rose from the earth, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The skyline shimmered with a blend of advanced technology and rich tradition, a city that harmonized its ancestral heritage with cutting-edge innovation. The air was heavy with the scent of spices and incense, mingling with the hum of machinery that made everything in Wakanda run with such fluid precision.

You couldn’t help but notice the vibrant markings on the faces of the people you passed, intricate designs painted in vivid colors that told stories of their lineage, their roles, and their connection to the land. It was clear that no one here was simply a passerby. Every person had a story, a purpose. The colors marked their identity, their culture, and their pride.

As you entered the palace, the sheer scale of the hall left you speechless. Massive stone columns rose to the ceiling, adorned with vibrant carvings that depicted the history of Wakanda—their ancestors, their battles, and their triumphs. Statues of past rulers and revered warriors stood solemnly along the walls, some holding ceremonial spears, others adorned with colorful beads, each symbolizing a different tribe’s history and honor. In the center of the room, massive holographic displays flickered to life, depicting abstract representations of Wakanda’s values—its strength, its unity, and its future. The air was electric, a seamless blend of tradition and technology.

You could feel the weight of Wakanda's history in every corner of the room. The way the ancient stone floor felt cool beneath your feet, and the vibranium that coursed through the very walls of the palace, pulsing with life. A soft, melodic hum filled the room, as if the palace itself was alive, welcoming all who entered.

The large hall of the palace was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, which streamed through massive windows, casting intricate patterns of light on the stone floors. The air was thick with anticipation, as the people of Wakanda gathered to witness the beginning of a new chapter in the history of their nation. The room was a perfect fusion of old and new: towering statues of past kings and queens stood side by side with holographic displays that shimmered with information, adding a layer of modernity to the ancient stone.

Wakandan warriors, adorned in ceremonial attire, stood at the edges of the room, their bodies marked with vibrant paints and designs that spoke to their clans, their history, and their strength. The designs were no simple decoration—each stroke carried meaning, telling a story of survival, legacy, and honor. The air was thick with the weight of tradition and culture, yet there was an unmistakable hum of technology coursing through the space. It was as if the room itself was alive, blending the spiritual and the technological into a perfect harmony.

In the center of the hall, a large circular platform had been set up, its surface marked with more designs—symbols of unity, power, and transformation. It was here that the ceremony would take place, where the destinies of two outsiders would intertwine with that of Wakanda. The people of Wakanda stood with reverence, waiting in hushed silence, as their king, T'Challa, walked to the front.

T’Challa’s presence commanded the room. The black panther suit that adorned him, regal and imposing, made it clear that he was both a warrior and a king. As he took his place, his eyes scanned the room, filled with pride for his people. He held the wisdom of his ancestors, yet there was a modern sensibility in his leadership. Today, he was not just a monarch; he was a protector of those who had fought for his country, and he was about to welcome new members into that fold.

At his side stood Shuri, her vibrant energy a stark contrast to the quiet strength of her brother. Okoye, standing at attention beside them, watched the crowd with a protective gaze, while M'Baku’s massive form loomed at the far side of the hall, his powerful presence impossible to miss.

And then, seated on a throne of gold and ebony, was the Queen Mother—Ramonda. Her regal presence exuded wisdom and compassion, a mother’s strength tempered by years of experience. She was a queen not just by birth, but by the force of her will, her calm demeanor a guiding light for the nation. Her eyes, sharp yet filled with warmth, scanned the crowd, but when they landed on you and Bucky, there was a spark of something deeper—a recognition of the weight of their journey, and the transformation that lay ahead.

Flanking her were several elders and respected leaders of Wakanda, each dressed in ceremonial garb and bearing the weight of their wisdom and responsibility. Shuri stood at your side, her grin wide as she observed the ceremony. She had been teasing you and Bucky ever since you’d arrived, her excitement palpable, but now, even she seemed to hold a reverence for what was about to take place.

The Queen’s gaze shifted between you and Bucky, her expression unreadable, before she spoke, her voice resonating like a deep, soothing melody. “Welcome to the heart of Wakanda, White Wolf, and Silver Fox.”

The words hit you both like a wave.

The ceremony began slowly, with the sound of a drumbeat filling the air, its rhythmic thumping echoing through the hall. The drummers, positioned at the back of the room, beat in time with the energy building in the space. Their rhythm matched the heartbeat of Wakanda itself, steady and unwavering.

As the drumbeats echoed, the elder who had been tasked with guiding the ceremony stepped forward, holding a sacred artifact—an intricately carved bowl, filled with a shimmering powder that seemed to catch the light. The elder held the bowl high, and the people of Wakanda rose in unison, chanting softly in a language older than time itself. The chants reverberated throughout the hall, weaving a sense of unity among everyone present.

T'Challa's voice broke through the chants, strong and steady. "Today, we gather not just to honor two individuals, but to witness the transformation of the past into the future." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of history. "James Buchanan Barnes, you stand before us, not as a man shackled by your past, but as a hero who has chosen to fight for the future."

Bucky, standing tall beside you, felt the eyes of everyone in the room upon him. His expression was resolute, though his hands clenched slightly at his sides. He had come a long way from the man he had once been—the Winter Soldier, lost to Hydra’s control—but now, surrounded by the people of Wakanda, he stood as a new man, a free man.

An elder approached Bucky with a pendant in the shape of a wolf’s head, crafted from the finest Vibranium. The pendant shimmered in the light, catching the glow of the surrounding candles. It was a symbol of his rebirth, his transformation into the White Wolf, the protector of Wakanda, and a man who had reclaimed his humanity.

As the elder placed the pendant around Bucky’s neck, he spoke softly but powerfully. "We welcome you into our legacy, White Wolf. This pendant, forged from Vibranium, will be your guide. It will protect you, strengthen you, and remind you of the path you have chosen. With this symbol, you become not only a part of Wakanda’s legacy, but a part of its future."

The elder then applied ceremonial markings, bright red and gold, to Bucky’s metal arm. Each stroke was precise and deliberate, representing his journey, his struggle, and his victory. The markings were a blend of art and function, combining ancient tradition with the advanced technology of Wakanda. The Vibranium in his arm shimmered with new energy, reflecting the changes that had taken place within him. The pendant and the markings on his arm connected him not just to the country, but to the people, grounding him in his new identity as the White Wolf.

When the ceremony for Bucky concluded, the elder moved to you, and the room’s energy shifted. Your heart raced in your chest as you felt the weight of the moment. The people’s eyes were now on you, waiting, watching. T'Challa’s gaze, though warm and respectful, carried the strength of a king. There was no denying that your journey had been just as profound, if not more so.

The elder, holding a beautiful bracelet crafted from Vibranium, stepped forward. They called your full name in a solemn tone, "Your resilience, your strength, and your unwavering commitment to healing are a testament to the power of the human spirit. You have fought for your freedom, for your people, and for those you hold dear. Today, we honor you as one of ours, Silver Fox."

The elder gently placed the bracelet on your wrist, the Vibranium glowing faintly under the light, as if responding to your very presence. The designs on the bracelet mirrored the ones etched into Bucky’s pendant—symbols of strength, transformation, and unity.

"As this bracelet binds you to Wakanda," the elder continued, "so do your actions bind us all to a future of hope and healing. You are now a part of this land, and this land is now a part of you. You, too, have earned your place in Wakanda’s future."

You bowed your head in gratitude, humbled by the honor bestowed upon you. The people of Wakanda stood once again, this time not only recognizing Bucky’s bravery but acknowledging your strength and resilience.

T'Challa then stepped forward, his voice firm and resolute as he addressed the room. "Today, we honor those who have shown us what it means to fight for something greater than ourselves. Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, and [Y/N] [L/N], the Silver Fox. You have proven yourselves worthy of our respect, and of our future." His eyes flicked to you both, and there was something in his gaze that spoke of the trials ahead, but also of the hope that lay within them.

The Queen Mother, Ramonda, rose from her throne, her presence commanding the room’s attention. She was dressed in an elegant yet powerful gown of deep green and gold, the fabric flowing like a river of life, and her crown glinted with the subtle beauty of Vibranium inlay. Her eyes, filled with the wisdom of ages, fell on you both, and you felt the weight of her gaze, a mix of authority and nurturing kindness.

"Your journeys are not your own," Queen Ramonda’s voice rang out, deep and steady. "You stand here today not only for yourselves, but for the generations that will come after you. The strength you’ve shown, the resilience you've demonstrated, is a gift to Wakanda. And so, we recognize you—not just as individuals, but as part of our family, part of the legacy of this great land."

With her words, you felt something deep within you stir—a connection not just to Wakanda, but to a greater purpose. She smiled gently at both you and Bucky before turning back to the assembly. "It is my honor to welcome you both, [Y/N] and Bucky, into the heart of Wakanda. You are family now, and we will stand together, as one."

As the ceremony came to a close, Shuri flashed you a wide grin. "Told you it would be unforgettable," she said, stepping forward with an impish smile. Okoye, ever the protector, nodded approvingly, and even M'Baku gave a brief but respectful nod in your direction.

The air hummed with pride, unity, and the undeniable sense that this was only the beginning of something much larger. The ceremony had concluded, but the festivities were only just beginning. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the grand hall was transformed into a vibrant celebration of life, culture, and unity. Candles flickered in every corner, casting a warm glow over the room, while musicians began to play a lively rhythm on drums, flutes, and other traditional instruments. The sound of the drums reverberated in your chest, a deep, powerful beat that seemed to carry the very spirit of Wakanda.

You stood near the edge of the hall, still processing the significance of the ceremony and the honor bestowed upon you. The weight of the Vibranium bracelet on your wrist was a constant reminder of the new chapter in your life. But for now, the room buzzed with the energy of celebration. Laughter and chatter filled the air as people from all walks of life came together to rejoice in the moment.

Bucky, standing beside you, was visibly more relaxed now, a small smile on his face as he looked around the room. His hands were still touching the pendant around his neck, the wolf’s head symbol of his new identity. You could see that the ceremony had meant a great deal to him—this was more than just a formality; it was a true rebirth for him.

“Do you know how to dance?” you asked, nudging him playfully.

Bucky chuckled softly, looking at the dancers in the center of the room. “I’d like to think so but it’s been a little over fifty years since I’ve done some, so don’t expect much,” he replied with a grin. “But I think I could manage, with a little help.”

Before you could respond, a burst of laughter rang out behind you. Shuri had bounded over, her excitement infectious. She had already shed her ceremonial attire and was now in a more casual outfit, her vibrant energy still radiating from her. “Come, Silver Fox, don’t just stand there!” she called. “Join us! It’s time to dance!”

You hesitated, but Shuri grabbed your hand, pulling you into the center of the room. The music grew louder, faster, and the rhythm was infectious. The Wakandan dancers, moving gracefully in perfect harmony, invited you to join in. You couldn’t help but smile at the warmth of the moment, the energy of the people around you making it hard to stay still.

Shuri spun around with ease, and for a moment, you lost yourself in the beat, the swirl of vibrant colors, and the ancient movements. The dance wasn’t just about rhythm—it was a celebration of culture, a connection to the land, and a testament to Wakanda’s resilience. Each step was a piece of history, passed down from generation to generation, and you could feel the weight of it all in every motion.

During the dance, you caught a glimpse of T'Challa and Queen Ramonda standing nearby, both watching the celebration with approving smiles. T'Challa, his posture regal and composed, caught your eye and gave you a small nod, his expression warm. Queen Ramonda stood beside him, her presence as commanding as ever, but her face was soft as she watched the joy unfolding around her. Okoye stood off to the side, watching over everyone with a watchful gaze, her arms crossed over her chest but a small smile tugging at her lips. Even M'Baku, usually so stoic and serious, was tapping his foot to the beat, a twinkle of enjoyment in his eyes.

Shuri, not one to be outdone, suddenly appeared in front of you, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “You’re doing well, Sparky,” she said, before twirling around and laughing. “But I bet I could teach you a thing or two.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Princess?”

Shuri grinned devilishly. “Oh, you bet it is.” She spun once more before turning to Bucky with a playful look. “Hey, White Wolf! You’ve got nothing on me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of his new title. “You know,” he said with a hint of amusement, “I think I preferred ‘White Boy.’”

Shuri paused, a mock gasp escaping her lips. “Mother, do you hear this? He’s insulting his own nickname!” she exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up. “White Wolf is majestic, regal, a perfect representation of his new identity. White Boy? What is this, a beach vacation?”

Queen Ramonda, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smile, let out a soft chuckle. “Shuri, dear, you are always so dramatic,” she said, her tone affectionate but firm. “Perhaps White Wolf has more gravitas, but White Boy has its charm. There’s no harm in both.”

Shuri huffed, but there was no real anger in her tone. “I’ll have to get used to it, I suppose. But mark my words, Mother—White Boy had a much better ring to it. It's simple and to the point.”

T'Challa, who had been listening to the exchange, chuckled softly. "Let us leave the nicknames to Shuri, shall we? As long as it brings honor to the warrior, that is all that matters." His voice carried an amused but gentle authority.

The conversation shifted to lighter matters as Shuri and T'Challa continued to banter back and forth, with Queen Ramonda watching over them, her serene smile never faltering. The warmth between the family was palpable, a testament to their unity and shared history. Even Okoye, who typically kept her distance from casual conversations, seemed to relax a little, her lips quirking up at the sight of the playful exchanges.

The music swirled around you as the dancing continued, and for a moment, everything seemed to blur into a whirl of color and rhythm. You found yourself moving with the flow of the crowd, caught up in the energy of it all. But even amidst the revelry, your eyes kept drifting back to Bucky.

He was standing a little off to the side now, watching the dancers with a small, amused smile on his face. His usual guarded demeanor had melted away in the warmth of the celebration, and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying the moment, despite his earlier hesitations about dancing.

You caught his eye and, with a playful grin, motioned for him to join you. “Come on, White Wolf,” you teased, using his new title with a grin. “You’re just standing there. Time to show off those moves.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “I told you, I’m rusty in my moves.”

“No excuses,” you countered, pulling him gently into the center of the room, where the dancers had formed a loose circle. You had no idea what you were doing, but that didn’t matter. The important part was being together, in the moment. “If I can do it, you can too.”

He laughed, but the sound was warm, genuine. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone soft and amused. “You’ve got me.”

With a deep breath, he tried to mimic some of the movements you were making, his arms stiff at first, his steps slightly offbeat. But something was endearing about his attempts—he wasn’t exactly graceful, but his effort was enough to make you smile. You found yourself laughing along with him, not in mockery, but in genuine joy.

“Not bad, not bad,” you said, teasing him as you twirled away from him before pulling him back. “You just need a little more flair.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Flair? I thought we were just supposed to move to the beat.”

“Moving to the beat with flair is a whole different level,” you said, laughing again. You grabbed his hand, leading him into a spin that ended with you both standing close together. His breath caught for a moment, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked down at you, his eyes soft.

Bucky’s smile softened, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Hey, I’m—uh, I’m glad I am here. With you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit breathless. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering just a moment longer. “I’m glad, too.”

As you moved together in the dance, a perfect balance of lightheartedness and closeness, everything else seemed to fade away. The music, the laughter, the people around you—none of it mattered. At that moment, there was only the two of you. No past, no struggles. Just the here and now.

Bucky chuckled softly, breaking the silence between you two with a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I think I’m starting to remember this whole dancing thing. Might have to make it a regular occurrence.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if you promise to keep improving.”

He smirked. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep dragging me onto the dance floor every time.”

With a laugh, you leaned in just slightly, your face a little closer to his than it had been before. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The music swirled on, and it felt like the world had slowed down just for you two. As you both continued to dance, laughter and warmth filling the space between you, there was a simple, undeniable truth—you were exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

⠀

After a long and eventful evening, you found yourself in the quiet of your apartment, the warm evening air of June drifting in through the open balcony doors. The sounds of the city—distant chatter, the hum of cars, and the occasional burst of laughter—filled the background, soothing in its familiarity. You were curled up on one of the loveseats facing the starry night, a book in your lap and a plate of strawberry-covered chocolates within arm’s reach. The soft light from the moon illuminated the pages of your book, but you found your mind drifting more to the stars than to the words.

You heard the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the soft thud of footsteps. Looking up, you saw Bucky standing there in the doorway, his dark hair still slightly damp from his shower. He wore a simple pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt—his version of pajamas, just as casual and comfortable as yours. His gaze softened as he spotted you, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest.

“Hey, Silver Fox, you planning on eating all those by yourself?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in playful accusation as he crossed the room toward you.

You grinned, raising the plate slightly. “I might. They’re too good to share.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a seat next to you, his gaze flicking to the plate of chocolates. “Strawberries, huh? You know, if you keep eating those, you might turn into one.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I could think of worse things.” You reached for one and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweet, decadent taste. “Want one?”

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Why not?” He reached for one of the chocolates, biting into it with a smile. “Guess I can’t resist.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night, the only sound being the rustling of the pages of your book and the occasional crunch of chocolate. Bucky seemed to be content just being there with you, as if this simple moment of normalcy was something he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Do you ever think about what we’ve been through?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but steady. You didn’t look at him immediately, but you felt his attention shift as he processed the question.

Bucky let out a long breath, his gaze drifting to the stars. “All the time,” he said quietly. “Some days it feels like I can’t escape it… like I’m still trapped in that past. Like it’s following me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words. You’d been there, in that same mental prison. “It’s hard,” you said, your voice low. “I spent so many years running from my past, trying to forget what I was made to do. But you know what? You’re not defined by what happened to you. You’re defined by what you do now. Who you choose to be now.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you, searching your face as if trying to read the sincerity in your words. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep moving forward some days,” he said, his voice tight with a rawness you hadn’t heard from him before.

“You are,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “You’ve already taken the hardest step—admitting that you need help, that you want to change. That’s the hardest part. The rest will come with time. You’re not that man anymore. You’re the White Wolf. You’re… you.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, it was like the weight on his shoulders lifted just slightly. He let out a breath, glancing down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. “I never thought I’d get a title like that,” he said with a small chuckle. “I mean, who would have thought Bucky Barnes, a guy who can’t even remember most of his own life, would end up with a ceremony and a nickname like that?”

You smiled, leaning back into the cushions. “I think it suits you,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “I think White Boy was a little more fitting, though.”

Bucky laughed at that, a deep, throaty laugh that seemed to ease the tension between you both. “Maybe I should’ve kept that one,” he said, his voice still full of humor. “At least I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole... 'ceremonial' aspect of it. Steve would've been proud.”

“Yeah, well,” you shot him a sly grin, “Steve would have been proud, but you know, he never could resist calling you ‘Buck.’ Not that he ever had much room to talk with his Cap persona.”

Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically. “I swear, that man and his shield. Always had to remind everyone of his title. I never needed a title to know who I was. I remember him being all tiny and as thin as a twig.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “You’re right. You were always the guy who saved his ass in a fight, and he gets all the credit.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” He let out a small laugh too, leaning back slightly and stretching. “But hey, it’s Steve. He’s got that whole ‘leader’ thing going on.”

Your smile faded a little as you watched the stars, your thoughts turning inward for a moment. “It’s not easy to forget, though,” you murmured. “The things they made us do.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look. “I know. But we’re not defined by what we were forced to do. We’re defined by what we’re doing now.”

You nodded, appreciating his words. “It’s funny, though. Everyone thinks they know you from what they’ve seen on the surface. But they don’t know everything. No one knows what it’s really like to survive what we did.”

He turned his gaze toward you. “Yeah? So, what was it like for you? I never really got the full story.”

You let out a breath, leaning back into the cushions, letting the weight of the question settle over you for a moment before answering. “I got trafficked to Southeast Asia when I was really young by an extremist group. They took kids like me and put us in a concentration camp, training us to fight. To become soldiers. It was like the Hunger Games. We weren’t seen as children. Just tools, you know?”

Bucky’s face softened, his eyes filled with sorrow and a silent understanding that only someone who had been through something similar could truly grasp. “Jesus. How did you… survive all that?”

Your voice dropped to a whisper, the memories still painful, even after all this time. “I was fifteen when S.H.I.E.L.D. rescued me. They raided the compound, took me in. But it wasn’t easy. For years, I had flashbacks, panic attacks. I could barely trust anyone, let alone let them help me.” You paused, letting the weight of your past hang in the air for a moment. "But S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t treat me like a broken weapon. They saw me as someone who could heal. They got me therapy, helped me recover. I trained as an agent, but I wasn’t just a soldier anymore. I was... something more. I spent years figuring out who I was again. I’m still figuring it out."

Bucky’s eyes softened even more. “So you’ve also been through hell.”

You nodded, locking eyes with him. “I have. But I’m here now. And I’m not that soldier anymore. Just like you, James. We’ve both come a long way.”

Bucky sat back for a moment, his eyes staring off into the distance as he processed your words. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he were comparing your journey to his own, seeing the parallels in your stories. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with mutual understanding, shared pain, and healing.

Finally, his voice came low and sincere, with a weight that carried more meaning than you expected. “I get it now,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at you, like he was seeing you in a new light. “I always thought I was the only one who went through that. That no one could possibly understand the kind of hell I went through. But you... you went through something just as brutal. And you made it out. Not just made it out—healed. That’s… that’s something. It takes real strength to do what you did. To come back from all of that and still keep your humanity.”

You felt your heart tighten at his words, but there was no sadness in them. Instead, it was admiration. Respect. You hadn’t realized just how much of an impact your story had on him until that moment, until you saw the understanding in his eyes.

“James, you’re not broken. You’re not the man they tried to make you into,” you said softly, reaching out to rest a hand on his. “Neither of us are. What we went through, it doesn’t define us. It’s who we are now, who we choose to be going forward.”

Bucky stared at your hand for a moment, then met your gaze again, his eyes wide with something between awe and gratitude. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through it without you, dove,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the one who showed me it was possible to heal, to still be something good after everything. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m… I’m starting to believe that I can too.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “You already are, Buck’. You’re already healing. You just need to believe it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet was comfortable, not awkward, as Bucky’s words seemed to settle into your chest, a warm weight that felt like something shifting inside both of you. He understood now. He saw the strength in you, the same strength that had once seemed impossible to find in himself.

Then, with a small, almost hesitant smile, Bucky spoke again. “And to think, I thought I’d be the experiment and teach you how to get through all of this.”

You smiled softly at that. “You’re a work in progress, Barnes. But you’re getting there.”

He chuckled quietly. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, dove.”

You laughed, nudging him again. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Bucky laughed, but it was a lighter sound, the weight of the conversation lifting a little. He leaned back against the armrest, still holding your hand, but this time, it felt different. Less like a lifeline and more like an understanding, a bond between two people who had walked similar dark paths and were finally finding their way into the light.

The quiet between you grew, not awkward, but warm and heavy with unspoken emotions. The soft hum of the city below seemed distant, a background melody to the quiet connection you shared. Reaching for a chocolate-covered strawberry on the plate between you, you held it up, your smile turning playful.

“You know,” you began, studying the glossy chocolate coating, “this kind of reminds me of life. The strawberry is the tough stuff—the tangy, bitter parts you have to get through. And the chocolate?” You grinned. “That’s the healing. The sweetness that makes all the hard stuff worth it.”

Bucky raised a brow, leaning slightly closer. “So what you’re saying is, we’re both just strawberries trying to coat ourselves in chocolate?” His lips curved into a lopsided smirk, the teasing glint in his eyes unmistakable.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Not exactly what I meant, but sure. If that helps you sleep at night.”

Before you could take a bite, his metal hand reached out, swift but deliberate, and plucked the strawberry from your fingers. His smirk widened as he held it up to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate bite. His eyes never left yours as he chewed, and there was something almost maddening about the mischievous twinkle in his gaze.

“Hey!” you protested, feigning offense as you leaned forward. “That was mine.”

He shrugged, holding out the remaining half toward you with an innocent tilt of his head. “Sharing is caring, dove.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but despite your mock irritation, a smile tugged at your lips. Leaning closer, you took a careful bite, the rich sweetness of the chocolate blending with the tartness of the strawberry on your tongue. You leaned back with a satisfied hum, but before you could savor it fully, Bucky’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve got some chocolate,” he murmured, his tone softer now, almost tender.

You blinked as he reached out, his metal thumb brushing the corner of your lip with a featherlight touch. The sensation was fleeting, yet it sent a small shiver down your spine. Then, before you could react, he brought his thumb to his lips, licking away the smudge of chocolate with a casual ease that left your heart pounding.

“Not bad,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a small smirk, as though entirely unaware of the effect he was having on you.

You swallowed hard, your thoughts scrambling for something witty to say, but the words caught in your throat as Bucky’s gaze softened. He leaned in slightly, his movements slow and deliberate, his attention flicking between your eyes and your lips.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, as though he was afraid of breaking the moment.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

His lips brushed against yours with a hesitance that made your heart flutter, as though he were trying to pour every unspoken word, every unacknowledged feeling, into that single, delicate moment. There was a warmth to his touch, not just physical but something deeper—a quiet reverence that made you feel seen, understood in a way you hadn’t expected. His lips were soft, yet there was a firmness in the way he pressed them against yours, as if he were grounding himself at the moment, testing its reality.

It wasn’t hurried, not the kind of kiss borne out of passion or desperation, but one that carried weight, and sincerity. He kissed you with an almost fragile hope, like he was afraid that pushing too hard might shatter whatever fragile thread had brought you both here. His breath mingled with yours, faint and steady, a subtle reminder of how close you were.

Your hand drifted to his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him, to this moment. His shoulder felt solid beneath your touch, a quiet reassurance of his presence. You leaned in, tilting your head slightly to deepen the connection, mirroring his pace. The sweetness of the chocolate and the faint tang of the strawberry lingered between you, blending with the warmth of his kiss and creating a sensory memory you knew you wouldn’t forget.

His hand—flesh, not metal—came to rest lightly on your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers curled slightly, cradling your face as though you were something precious, something worth holding onto. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a conversation without words, an exchange of trust, of vulnerability.

When he pulled back, it wasn’t sudden. He lingered close, his lips barely grazing yours as his breath warmed your skin. His forehead dipped to rest lightly against yours, his eyes still closed as if he were savoring the moment, reluctant to let it end. You stayed there for a moment, the world around you fading into nothing but the soft sound of your breaths and the steady rhythm of your heartbeats, perfectly in sync.

When he finally opened his eyes, the blue of his gaze was deeper, softer, filled with an emotion you could barely put into words. He looked at you like you were something sacred, something that had started to piece together parts of himself he hadn’t realized were broken.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his arm. “You okay?” you asked, your voice gentle, a little breathless.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips curving into a shy smile. “More than okay.”

His hand lingered on your jaw for a moment longer, his thumb tracing the faintest line along your cheek before he pulled it away, his gaze never leaving yours. You weren’t sure what would come next, but for now, this was enough. This was everything.

“You’ve got a weird way of sharing strawberries,” you teased softly, your voice barely above a whisper, though it carried a warmth that matched the steady thrum in your chest.

Bucky let out a chuckle, his lips quirking into a shy smile. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a weird way of making metaphors. I think we’re even.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the past seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet promise of what could come next.

PART ONE. l NEXT PART.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.

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The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure. 

You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey. 

As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words. 

‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar. 

The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed? 

“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.” 

“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--” 

“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.” 

The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him. 

“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through. 

“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within. 

The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further. 

The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin. 

“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--” 

“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.” 

“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists. 

The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths. 

You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee. 

“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.” 

“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--” 

“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.” 

“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--” 

“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.” 

“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.” 

The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.” 

“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.” 

She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.” 

“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--” 

“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--” 

The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up. 

“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips. 

“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.” 

“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?” 

“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance. 

“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.” 

“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly. 

“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues. 

“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--” 

“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!” 

The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you. 

“Go, fetch wine,” he relents. 

You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him. 

You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue. 

You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid. 

You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving. 

You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him. 

“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides. 

The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly. 

“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps. 

“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?” 

The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.  

“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt. 

“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?” 

Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you. 

“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath. 

As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber. 

You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy. 

You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall. 

Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze. 

“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.” 

“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.” 

Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts. 

“Wait, what happened?” She mopes. 

“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.” 

“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.” 

Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead. 

“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses. 

“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.” 

He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold. 

“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.” 

“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.” 

“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine. 

Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind. 

The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no. 

“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise. 

You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose. 

“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.” 

“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,” King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.” 

“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!” 

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says. 

“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.  

As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair. 

“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.” 

“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.” 

“Let the maid go,” the king grits. 

“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.” 

Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.” 

“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.” 

“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks. 

You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly. 

“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.” 

The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples. 

“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises. 

“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.” 

The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself. 

“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?” 

Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?” 

[themareverine]

Top Eight | worst!Logan x namelessfem!OC

warnings: mentions of sex, body insecurity, weightloss, confidence issues, domestic bliss and fluff, namelessOC has blue eyes.

a/n: in celebration of me discovering I've dropped eleven frickin' pounds off the BMI chart, I decided to share the news with Logan, and yourself. please enjoy my domestic fantasy. this really isn’t a drabble but I’m classifying it as such.

There’s little better God has created in the world than coming home to a house alive with music, laughs, and the thick swirl of joy chasing the air. Fall hangs out the window in a tapestry of orange leaves, skittering to the ground on chill winds, cluttering the sidewalk like ill-fitting, everyone’s-a-little-different puzzle pieces.

Blankets of fog have hung in the air every morning. Leaves and grass are wet, burdened with thick, cold mud that stings—the type of cold that sinks all the way down to bone, should you be standing between it. And Logan tries to remember a time when, as a child, he didn’t care about the frigid mud between his toes—didn’t mind the mess, innocence of childhood wrapped up in exploration and whimsy.

Simpler times. Suburban life greets him at the door of what, at one point in his life, would be knife’s edge unfathomable—a duplex. Butter yellow with little white trim around the windows. Big oaks in the front and back yard, primly divided by white privacy fences so tall they challenge heaven. Summer had proudly boasted a colorful troop of flowers in that window box facing the street, the one that allows for the smallest peek into his small kingdom, if you looked hard enough. Prepared for winter, adirondack chairs have been swept away into the garage, all traces of outside living shut up for the Goliath of winter that looms with each passing day. 

The corner of his mouth tips up at the arrangement proudly displayed on the front door. It’s Fall Y’all! hangs in his face, all domesticity. Glitter and pumpkins, a cute little red-and-white-pickup. Evidence of a woman’s touch, more and more. Bearing down on his life like Egyptians chariots forcing Moses against the sea, every day he approaches the house— there’s a little more charm. A little more whimsy, order. More color and life and more her, all things he never in his longest, maddest dreams would begin thinking were missing from him. But now they are so familiar, such welcome soldiers to his little army of living, that he can’t imagine going without. 

And Logan will never not love the fact he doesn’t have to knock on this door. He opens it, twisting the knob that’s cool against the thick callouse of his hand. Jacket heavily draped over his arm, habit knocks his boots against the doorframe, adding to the collection of scuffs already there from the hundred other times he’s done this same thing. And it is the same come-home routine, but he doesn’t mind. Shake his head at whatever seasonal decor greets him on the door. Slip in, knock his boots. Hang his jacket on the hook behind the door, with his keys–next to hers. Because she’s been home all day, working on that frickin’ computer, making her little creative world run in the little ways she does that he’ll never understand. 

About to shed his vest, Logan pauses. Claws on wooden floors from the 50s flick his attention down, to his feet. The ménage à trois of three scampering sets of paws tip up the corner of his mouth into a small smirk, watching the troop of hair, wagging tail and slobber all bull rushing him like cannonballs. And they are not small creatures, by any stretch—a bloodhound. St. Bernard. Doberman, all looking at him with bright eyes as if he’s the best thing they’ve seen all day. 

Which is the farthest thing from true, because she’s been here. Locked up in his Fort Knox all hours of sunshine, doing all the things he’d give his right arm to spend his days doing with her. Domestic bliss. It’s sick, really—kinda insane. For a man who has prided himself the last 200 years on destruction, a man who has traveled through time to claim a world that isn’t his, it’s disturbing that this idea of life is so…saccharine. Perfect. Eden. 

Scratching behind each set of ears, movement in the heart of the house triggers his gaze up. Down the corridor to the kitchen, where he cal all but taste what’s for dinner. It floods him with a warmth he can’t quite put a finger on, rousts something in his guts that is good. Fire that’s delicious, heat that promises. Standing, he manages off his boots, all three canines looking at him. Expressions cocked, they wait. Expectantly. 

“Where is she, fellas? Mama ‘round somewhere, huh?” A flick of his hand beyond them sends the troop off like a shot—slipping and sliding on the pretty rugs she’s laid out in the foyer, sending them against the walls in fat piles of fabric that makes his eyes roll. On socked feet, he fixes them. She likes them pretty and neat, and if she likes it, well—whatever his girlie wants, she gets. 

About to call for her, he doesn’t expect the slingshot of curl that attacks him from the front room, “Hi, babe!” Out the french doors like a racehorse, her girlish smile and bright eyes assault him less than seriously, bouncing laughter loud and fresh and strong, like mountains on an open-sky day. Very suddenly the events of his day are improved, work all but forgotten as she wraps her arms around his middle. Rests her chin against his chest, looking up at him with the full weight of the universe hanging in her eyes. In heartbeats, she manages to change another Thursday into the Thursday—the Thursday to challenge all others even known to his existence.  

And since he’s known her, that’s what she is–changing. A fresh wind, moving clouds and rearranging the sky. Rivers that carry him away to faraway lands, anywhere that isn’t the onyx abyss of his memories, which are so black and white and unalive without her. His hand moves to run fingers through curl, which are still damp from a late-afternoon shower. Color that lingers on her cheeks matches that barely-there smattering of that vanilla protein powder she loves on her lips when he kisses her. Means one thing, his favorite thing—the thing they’d been doing for nearly six months. 

Greeting her with a smile and a, “Hey, baby,” will never tire to infinity. Leaning back against his arms cradled around her midsection, pressing her close, Logan all but craves the sparkle of sapphire hanging out in her eyes. They catch his, holding him hostage—every day he has to rediscover how to breathe. Think, move past the ache in his cock that she somehow manages to produce at a subliminally level just by existing. 

And his lips part to ask her about her day, another part of this thing they call life. Until she reaches around to the back pocket of her jeans, her favorites, the one’s she won’t stop wearing and has at least three extras squirreled-away to that spot in the closet they don’t speak of. That spot next to the neon-colored heels he knows she thrifted but hasn’t ever shared, the lingerie she’s holding onto that’s been driving him itchin’ mad since he’d peeked at it. And while he adores everything about her, her ability to wait for just the right moment to share things she’s excited about has to be one of his favorite things on the planet. 

“So, before you speak,” her finger comes to press against the seal of his lips, other hand proudly producing a folded square of paperwork between her index and middle finger, “I have amazing news. The biggest news–the best news of the whole week.” Her brows bounce, emphasizing her excitement as her low lip curls in. Logan watches her bite the inside of her cheek, thinks it’s just about the sexiest thing in the world aside from the little scrunch of her nose, how her glasses sit a little lopsided from where she’s rested her forehead against his chest. 

Really all he could use right now is another taste of her to make his week, but, he plays the adjective game. “Oh yeah?” A chuckle rattles the adamantium of his ribs as she steps out of his arms, takes his hand to guide him into the kitchen. She releases him only when her socked feet hit the wooden floor, making a show of sliding to a stop opposite the island from him. 

Babytalking the dogs at her feet, his sweet little thing of a girl backs up against the sink, her tongue teasing the front of her bottom teeth as she unfolds the paper. It’s like magnetism, the way he wants her–he’s drawn, like creatures to fire, around the island. To her side. Touching her, breathing in her closeness. And he prays to God it will always be like this—he’ll always want her, she’ll always look at him like he has been carved from bronze. That this little life in Hoboken, New Jersey, never says die. 

“I had a doctor’s appointment today,” the little lilt in her tone is so clear, they’d hear it from Mars if anyone had the brains to listen, “and, I just have to say this, Logan—really. This has to be like, a top eight life moment for me, what I’m about to tell you.” Playing with a dog-eared corner of the paper, her eyes flick up to hold his in limbo, again. Smiling eyes have all but chiseled away any remaining stone of his heart, and he’d gladly carve whatever may remain out of his own ribs and give it to her, should she ask, “And I’ll say this as a warning. If you aren’t nearly as excited about this as me, well—I’ll be forced to divorce you and move in with Wade and Althea.” 

And he laughs at her. His single favorite quality of life since running into what’s-his-face-pool and saving this realm has been the rediscovery of laughing, of feeling beyond the numbness. She made him laugh the day he found her, discovered her like some fool digging around the dirt of the everyday, and she hadn’t stopped. And Logan Howlett has never taken pride in being a hardass, but—his ass is a little less hard, these days. How could it be. Her standing there, looking like she does? Wanting him, seeking him? Him? The damn Wolverine—the worst Wolverine. 

His brow pops to attention. “Is that right?” His finger crooks one of her belthoops, tugging her hip against his gently, “a little harsh, but, I accept your terms, taskmaster.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling and his chin gestures to the paper. After a second of weighing her words, he snags her chin between his fingers and gives her a Really? expression. “Hold the fuckin’ phone—a top eight? You have a top eight list of life events?” He snorts, “And I didn’t know about it?” 

Her eyes flash with brazen darkness enough to shame the witching hour. A firm nod, even between his fingers. Her hip pops out, just a little. “Mhm, eight.” Still holding the paper, she offers a blatantly over dramatic look of desire, her head tipping back just a little as she brushes close. Done-up nails gently graze through his facial hair, before she flashes him eight—a palm, thumb and index finger somehow still managing to hold the paper keeping him in suspense. 

Beginning to tick off fingers, he listens with amusement. Driver’s license, college. Her first publication as a freelancer. Her first car payment. Paying off her student debt, meeting her idol, Charles Xavier, a man who’s work on mutant and human coalitions she’d been devouring since forever. Meeting him, marrying him and buying a house. Technically that was nine, but, she explained—a bunch of life events landed under the Logan tab, which made him chuckle and shake his head. 

“Finished?” He nods to the paper again. “You gonna tell me this life changing, top-eight news or what?” For a second his heart does an all-stop as she nods, the corner of her lip tucking in under her teeth.

From here Logan can taste the adrenaline in her blood, the joy—the buzz of something pumping through her like a pistoning locomotive, charting new territories. And before he can think, before he can bridle his own wagging tongue, “You pregnant, darlin’?” punches off his tongue like a cage fighter.  

Two things he should’ve known off the shot—pregnancy announcements usually involved a piss stick, not paper. Two, that something so mountainous would not have waited for him to breeze through the door. Not her style, not by a country mile—she’d stopped off at his job site with lunch just to announce the last payment on her student debt, complete with cheesecake and those cute little pocket bottles of Jack Daniels. She made a big deal out of everything, and he wouldn’t have –could not survive– it any other damn way. 

Slackjaw, for a second he thinks the hinge of her jaw might start swinging before she hauls off to slap his shoulder, the rings on her fingers passing by in a blur of turquoises, yellows, oranges and silvers as a squealing, “Logan!” shoots out of her like the fountain of youth—makes him laugh, again, as he grabs her hand in his and hauls to his lips. Presses a kiss to the heel of her palm, “No, Wolvie—haven’t managed to knocked me up quite yet, thanking you.” And that name—it punches the wind right out of his lungs, sends every ounce of mutant fucking blood right to his cock, all at once. 

It’s not a serious thanks, he knows. Been off-the-cuff talking about getting pregant for a handful of months, tossing the idea back and forth. It was the reason behind the duplex, family planning—and he hadn’t fought the idea of redoing the spare room. Shoving her office into the corner of their suite. It’d been a year, she was thirty, now, had been ringing off these walls like a canyon echo. Biological clock ticking off the walls of her womb, apparently, even though she didn’t fucking age—thanks to mutation, his mutation left behind in her blood a lifetime ago. 

Source of one too many arguments back and forth, they hadn’t quite decided to make an effort not to get pregnant. An ugly IUD hung between them like unscalable Mount Olympus. Hands up in surrender, he tries not to chuckle as she plants the paper in between them, in both hands. Sapphire blues cast down to it, triggering his attention downward as well. A heartbeat before her head pops back up, all smiles and piglet pink cheeks. 

“Guess who just knocked eleven points off the BMI chart?” And there it is.

Certainly a different tone of subject than the one before, Logan can’t help the look of surprise that smacks across his face—she is all but giddy. Pressing the paper to her chest, she rising on toes and begins to bounce, like a rabbit, up and down in a way that springs her hair every direction. Her shrieks of excitement are loud enough to wake the dead, but, he’d have a better time freezing hell over, if he’d wanted to. Spinning in a exuberant circle, the ruckus sends all three of their dogs into the kitchen, bouncing around her like she’s deserving of worship. A goddess. His goddess. 

She’d only been killing herself in their garage gym since they’d bought the place a little over a year ago. Plagued with one of those New Year’s resolutions, she’d committed to exercise like a duck commits to water—and Logan hadn’t ever seen someone try to hard, not in a long time. Never one really faced with the issue of having to maintain physical maintenance, thanks to genetic mutation, a workout regiment hadn’t really ever crossed his mind—natural circumstances kept him lean. He’d been alive for 200 years, could abuse his body any way he wanted, and it just–was. A lucky son of a bitch, but, he’d never paused to consider that it wasn’t that way for everyone else. 

So when she’d all but pleaded for a home gym, he’d folded fast. Like a bad hand. Her body had certainly never been an issue between them—he worshiped every curve, could build monuments how often his mind drifted to just fucking her within an inch of sanity. Each scar, every single solitary divot, right down to the pores on her face. Not magazine beautiful or classically Hollywood, her own admission had almost gutted him. 

A girl-next-door, down-to-earth pretty sent him to pieces in ways that Logan would sooner carve out his open spine than share—she ravaged him. Like a dog, licking at the marrow of his bones. The weight of her eyes alone, cutting through his misgivings, trailblazing his insecurities as a man. She was perfect in every phenomena, every realm and bend of time. Designed for him, by Christ Himself—the most gorgeous fucking thing on two legs, he didn’t need billboards or Vogue or the silver screen to set standard yet untenable to the majority. Determined long ago that there’d never be another for him, that he could never love any other soul–worship anatomy—quite like he did her. 

He’d never complained. Hell thrived with such foolishness. He bought the gym equipment, though, mostly because he knew in the long run, it would be better. If not for him, then for her—he was happy. HEr happiness may as well have been the air his body craved. He’d set up the gym on a weekend, learned to park his Jeep outside. Had learned to help her bandage injuries and balance proteins and carbs, listened to her cry over numbers on a tiny scale that didn’t really matter. But, never complained. 

And Logan had noticed the change about her anatomy—the little definitions of curve, the way she moved. She didn’t always, but he knew—when he held her close, made love to her. Difference, even in its smallest form, was still changing. Lighter on her feet, stronger when it came to helping do whatever it was she determined to assist with. Her clothes fit a little differently, the line of her jaw a little sharper. But, skies above that was her confidence. 

Always had opposed his reserved and calculated stoicism, a spicy little firecracker of a thing that took what she wanted and could talk to fenceposts. But, she’d always sparkled differently. It was like weighing the moon against the sun—she just sparkled better. Moved a little sexier, blazes a little hotter. Not quite the North Star, but a close second—somewhere in his guts he feared she’d wake up one morning, realize she was hot as sin, and leave his ass for what’s-his-face from the Greatest Showman or someone on television. 

Her fingers curl into his arms as she bounces a little more on her toes, pride all but beaming from the pink dusting across the bridge of her nose. “Me, it’s me!” Childlike laughter bubbles out of her like a brook, hot and alive, and he can’t help the swell of pride. “After eight fricking months, it’s me,” she blows out a breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “y’know, honestly, I didn’t think any of it was actually doing all that much—i’ve only dropped thirty pounds on the scale, which doesn’t seem like a lot in eight months, but–you were right, Lo! It turned to muscle, you were right!” 

He nods, smile growing to a painful wide that he isn’t sure is amusement, or pride. “‘Course I was right,” he stresses, his tone low as he dips his head to brush his nose against the end of hers. Smiling into the kiss she presses to his mouth, he lifts an arm into flex before grabbing her chin between his fingers and taking her full attention, “Don’t get definition like this not knowin’ what you’re talking about, baby.” Lies. Teasing lies. He hadn’t so much as thought of a fucking dumbbell since that time before some God-forsaken war. 

Pouty lips pull her eyes back to his, and he can see the muscle in her jaw tick with the effort not to grin. Heartbeats, and his arms snake around her middle again, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt. “I’m proud of you, kid,” and he hasn’t called her that since God knew, likes the way it darkens the little flush on her cheeks. “Guess I’d better work a little harder keeping you close to home. Can’t have you skippin’ out on this whole little domestic thing we’ve got going,” he shrugs a shoulder, “what would the dogs do without you?”

Giggling again, her shoulders pop up and down in a little happy shift, he takes her arms and guides them around his neck, “The dogs, huh? Is that right?” Her nose scrunches up again, eyes snapping to life as she steps onto his toes, enough for him to shuffle them out of the kitchen, towards the living space, “You think I’d leave you just because I get sexy?” It’s not a serious question, the flutter of low lashes testifies as he stops them in the middle of the living room, toes curling into the plush carpet as her head cants to the side, like a curious puppy. “And lose my bet with Wade? Don’t know me at all, do you, Wolverine?” 

God only wishes. He knew parts of her the world would never. And he smiles, snorting a little at the thought of their entire relationship hinging on a bet with Wilson, the fucking idiot he is. That feels like a lifetime ago, riding life out in a dingy apartment. Blind Al as company, Wilson as a fucking landlord. If he counted back every red cent he’d paid in rent, it wouldn’t be enough for a grocery run—small mercies. Lifting a hand between them, he crooks a finger, chuckling as she eyeballs it for a second, weighing her options. 

“I like to think I do,” and he does. She’s given him everything. And if she hasn’t—well. He can fix that. “You don’t got any secrets left, do you, darlin’? You’ve already seen my soul—only fair you let me see yours.” Tipping her chin up, he kisses her slowly. Angles his head for whatever depth he can pull her from, keens a little when her breathy moan chases the heat lighting up his adamantium skeleton like an inferno. Tasting the trace of that fucking protein mess on her tongue nearly brings him to his knees, fingers carding through her hair for as much purchase and possession he can find. 

“I do have one,” she manages, a little breathless between nipping at his bottom lip and fighting with the buckle of his belt. With a Jezebel shove of her hand, she sends him down to the cushions of the couch—it protests, accepting his weight.

From beneath low lashes, her ocean blues trace the details of his face as she knees onto the couch, swings a leg over him. Pelvis to pelvis, her weight is divine. Lights him up like a damn electric wire. He can feel heat in his chest chasing after the adrenaline in his blood, can taste her, even from here. 

Grabbing the front of her t-shirt between two fingers, he tugs her a little closer. 

“What’s that?” 

She chuckles, shifting a flirty shoulder. “My IUD? Gone,” she snaps her fingers, biting the corner of her lower lip. Eyes cutting to his mouth, she doesn’t hesitate–a heartbeat and she’s kissing him deeply, milking every little ache and moan creeping up the back of his throat. She sighs a little when his hand presses against her womb, thumb tracing the gentle spot beneath her belly button. “How’s that make you feel, Wolvie honey?” A light, flustered chuckle as he tucks hair behind her ear, rubs a curl between his fingers.

“Think you can handle a mini you making a mess of the world?” 

Knocking his head back over the edge of the couch, his hands find her waist. Stills her before he closes his eyes, relishes the way she lathes her tongue along his pulse. And he’ll never know how it really makes him feel, because feeling is all but a rush of adrenaline when it comes to her—everything and nothing, a floating abyss of pleasure and home that, from the beginning of time, man has tried to describe. It’s all wrapped up in limbo, though–limbo and his ribs, jeans and a pretty face. 

 “Not sure,” his hand tucks behind her head and he flips them, forcing her into the couch before she can protest—before she and her eleven-points-off-the-chart can challenge any idea other than what he’s about to do to her.

“”Think we should find out, darlin’.”

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

HEY GWORL GUESS WHO IT IS 💫. I'M BORED ASF DOING REVISION SO IMMA GIVE YOU A FIC PROMPT 😊😊

Okay so Baldwin doesn't realise this but he has severe separation anxiety from you, and one day you go away to visit a sick relative and he's so lonely all day and he's just mooching about the library and the stables etc etc. When you come back in the evening you realise just how much he missed you and you feel bad about leaving him and you both fall asleep curled up together 💗 (Also you don't HAVE to do this but when they're cuddling at the end of the day Baldwin's golden hair has to be out and you're running your fingers through it when you're reassuring him)

I KNOW YOU'RE SUPER BUSY SO PLZ IGNORE THIS IF YOU HAVE TO DW 🙏🙏

♡ Beautiful Boy - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Maddy!! Thank you so much for the request girl this is so cute 😭. Havent heard from you for a while, I hope youre doing well 🩷! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: F/n = Fathers name. I use that term in this oneshot 😅

TW: Leprosy, Separation Anxiety

It had been a few years since the marriage between the king of Jerusalem and the daughter of Lord f/n.

In the time the two had been married, there was rarely a day they spent apart. Every moment of each day was spent together, whether it be in conversation or comfortable silence.

Baldwin, who before his wedding was used to a life of solitude, welcomed the company with open arms. He loved having not just a wife, but a companion who he could share each and every one of his deepest thoughts with.

After so many years of being alone, he was finally whole. He adored being around y/n and she adored being around him. They were perfect for eachother.

But it was not until one day that the young king realized just how much the absence of his wife affected him. He knew that he missed her when she was gone, even if it was for only a few minutes. But he was not aware that her absence could possibly destress him until y/n’s father fell ill.

It was necessary that she went to see him, despite Baldwin not being able to attend by order of his physicians.

“I will be back before sundown” y/n told him with a smile as she mounted her horse.

“I promise you”

“Very well, just please be safe,” the young king replied.

Baldwin found himself fighting back tears as she rode off into the desert, leaving him to watch her disappear into the horizon. He thought about what to do while she was gone.

It was a slow day in the kingdom, not a whole lot to do. Usually on days like this, he and the queen would sit in their shared chambers, playing chess, reading together or just talking about anything.

But not today.

First, Baldwin headed for the library. He ascended the stairs, stopping a few times to catch his breath on account of the mask that restricted his breathing more than it already was.

Cursing under his breath, he finally made it to the library. Baldwin walked silently through the rows and rows of books, wishing that his wife was there to look with him.

Once or twice, he even caught himself calling out her name to come and see an interesting paper he found, only to be met with silence. With a heavy sigh, Baldwin began to descend the stairs once again after finding no cure to his loneliness amongst the books.

He went to the stables, the courtyard, even the kitchen before returning to his chambers after a few hours.

Taking a seat at his desk, the young king felt tears well in his eyes. He felt so alone without her. So anxious and strangely vulnerable. What was happening to him? A man should not rely so heavily on his wife for such things, but he did.

Baldwin pondered this for a while and just when he felt as if he would finally cry, the chamber doors opened and y/n entered the room with a smile.

“Hello darling, how was your day?” she asked cheerfully, putting her bag down.

Baldwin rushed to his wife, wrapping his arms around her neck and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Oh- you missed me did you?” she chuckled, startled by his sudden affection.

Baldwin did not reply, just hugged her tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. Y/n returned the hug, rubbing her husband's back gently. She reached up and pulled his veil off to reveal silky blonde curls before running her hand through them, scratching him behind the ear and over the scalp.

Baldwin groaned softly at the feeling of her hands working away the growing migraine in his head.

“It's getting late, why don't we get some rest hm?” y/n said softly, the young king only nodded in reply. 

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

Baldwin did not let go of his wife a single time as they were getting ready for bed. He was either holding her hand or resting his chin on her shoulder, so y/n never got more than a foot away before he was back by her side.

It was amongst this and his greeting that made y/n realize he had missed her much more than she believed he would. Baldwin had always been somewhat clingy but this hurt her heart. He was so deeply attached to her that it made her never wanted to leave his side again.

Once in bed, Baldwin was very quick to snuggle into his wife.

“You missed me today huh?” y/n said gently, running her fingers through his hair.

Baldwin nodded.

“I missed you too, my love. But I am back now, and I will always come back. No matter how long I'm gone”.

The young king looked up at his wife and smiled. She loved seeing his smile without the mask. He had the cutest little smile and his bright blue eyes always glowed when he looked at her.

Y/n kissed her husband's forehead, pushing a golden curl away from his eye. She cupped his mottled face in her hand. In return, Baldwin nuzzled his cheek into her palm, looking up at her with a dreamy smile.

“You're so beautiful Baldwin” she whispered. “My beautiful boy” 

“I love you y/n” the young king said, the dreamy smile never once leaving his face.

“I love you too Baldwin. And I always will”.

Y/n held her husband close to her that night as he dozed off to sleep in her arms. She waited until he was fast asleep before closing her eyes, just to ensure that he was alright.

Before long, both the young king and queen were sleeping peacefully, curled up together in each other's embrace.

Exactly where they wanted to be.

[fanged-fanfics]

*BOLTS TO YOUR INBOX*

hiya!! i really love your work and am glad that you are feeling better, even if its a little bit! welcome back :3

could i request red son with a S/O he’s known since he was a kid, but only as an adult did he confess to them?

❤️🔥 Flickers Left Unsaid — Red Son x GN Reader Fic 🔥❤️

Genre: Fluff || He/she/they pronouns for Red Son, they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🔥୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

Though he often refrained from admitting it, the flame prince was rather emotional. However, that's not to say that he was particularly good at managing said emotions. She felt very intensely, anger like a wildfire and joy like fireworks. But expressing these feelings, processing them, or reasonably resonating with them? Much less common for the princess.

You, somehow, had stuck by him when he was a particularly rambunctious and chaotic kid. His parents saw you as someone to keep their kid distracted while they planned his future, so you were allowed at the Demon Bull Kingdom whenever you pleased. Red Son delighted in your visits as a kid, always excitedly holding you by the wrist and dragging you everywhere. She wanted to show you every single scrap of metal they'd find, and displayed great enthusiasm n having you witness her majesty. But there was something a little more to it, something that stuck with the demon for many years to come.

She remembered a particular instance where you were playing his favorite game, Kingdom Battles. He'd set up obstacles, having designated areas for where each 'Kingdom' was, and you'd be his most trusted right hand, helping them take over the world. After a vicious fight with a mock dragon made of cleaning materials, Red Son had excitedly taken you to his 'castle' to announce to her loyal subjects of stolen home objects that you'd returned safe and sound. In the middle of narrating and acting out the joy of the monarchy, you'd said something that caught her attention. "You're such a great king, Red Boy! I can't wait to be part of all this for real someday!"

And though it had all been a game, just a young royal and his pal playing pretend, in that moment it felt very real. You were genuinely his closest and only friend, so having you in these big, important positions only felt right. And he'd always brag about how they'd be the king someday, so it made sense. He'd given you a bright smile that day, already mentally planning how he was gonna convince his mom and dad to let you rule beside him.

Things... didn't quite end up going as planned. Red Son was still merely a prince, and he'd had a few arguments with his parents over you for so long. But things were getting better. Red Son was flopped on his bed, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes. They'd never had the chance to tell you how she felt back then. When they were young, they had no idea what it was. She assumed the flutters in her chest and warm feelings were some demon biology thing or something. But he knew now, and he was all too aware of it. He ruminated over his feelings for what felt like the 50th time that hour. Sure, he was still abrasive, but he was much more controlled than he was a kid. This shouldn't be so hard, right?.... Gods this was going to kill her. But they were pulled out of their own thoughts at the sound of the door being knocked, making him shoot upright immediately.

"Darling, your friend is here" Princess Iron Fan announced, not even sparing a glance as she held open the door. You entered, giving her a polite "Thank you, ma'am" before the door was closed, leaving you and Red together. You walked in, flopping on the bed next to her "Whew. I thought their lectures were never gonna end". Red Son smiled, laying back with you "Did they try to convince you to leave again?". "Not quite, but they did go on a lot about how a prince 'should' associate himself with others" You answered. Red Son rolled his eyes "They can complain all they'd like, you're still welcome over anytime". "Thanks, Redsy" You smiled, making that extra soft warmth fill Red Son's chest once again. He was almost on pins and needles from the idea of actually doing this.

"So, why'd you call me in? Get bored of royal junk again?" You asked. This was it. That was her opening. Red Son took in a shaky breath, slowly sitting up once more. "No, I... I have something I need to discuss with you" they said softly. You sat up as well, a concerned frown on your face "Shit, did something happen? Are you okay?". "Yes, I'm alright, it's nothing like that" Red Son replied, waving their hand a bit. They felt a little heat to go their cheeks as they added, "But it is... rather personal". "Ohhh" You responded. You sat cross-legged, scooting in closer "Hey, you know I won't tell anyone, yeah? You can tell me anything". Red Son nodded, giving you a thankful smile. She was sure the pink hues to her face were growing noticeable, but he purposefully tried not to think about it.

He took in a deep breath, taking your hands in his. "Do you remember that game we used to play when you'd come over? With um-". "Flareblast Kingdom?" You responded, chuckling at the memory "Yeah, of course, why?". "Well... I've been thinking a lot recently. We've known each other for so long, and... I want to fulfill my promise that I made back then" Red Son said. He was speaking a little slowly due to some stammering, but you nodded a little as you followed along "Which is?". Red Son took a second to collect herself. They took a chance, moving one of their hands to gently cup your cheek in her palm. "I... want you to be a part of my kingdom. This one" they began, adding in, "Mother and father have said I can appoint my own staff now, but with very limited positions. I- I want you to be my advisor, in real life, and-" he nearly got choked up on his nerves, but he pushed through "If- If you'll have me... I want you to be mine. My- partner, for life"

Red Son had turned their face away from you, full of anxiety and worry. He knew this was probably a massive shot in the dark, and that there were many more appealing than a hotheaded royal. He felt like his heart was in his throat, and he was almost tempted to immediately apologize. But that's when he felt you plant a soft kiss to his cheek. Her hair sparked, a puff of smoke and flames coming up in surprise. They turned to look at you as you giggled from the reaction, gently cupping the hand Red still had on your cheek and leaning into it. "I'd be glad to. You'll need someone here to keep you sane. And besides..." you smiled warmly "I love you too"

Red Son blushed even more, nearly all of his face entirely pink. They were stunned for a moment before hugging you tightly, burying their face in your shoulder. "I- I love you too," he finally said, hugging you close. He felt elated as you returned the hug. "I love you more" You replied playfully, causing the princess to chuckle as she nuzzled into your neck "That's impossible". You huffed in amusement, patting her back "Is too. You're just too stubborn to accept it". Red Son let that one slide, too wrapped up in the feeling of being in your arms to mind. You stayed there with them, holding them close as you enjoyed his warmth. "You gonna tell your parents?" You asked. "I'll tell them you're my new advisor, yes. The rest..." Red Son trailed off with a smile "they'll figure it out. For now, I just want to be here with you"

[povofjustme]

 The Queen of Death

(2/?)

Fandom: house of the dragon

You read about it many times as a kid

Legends say the island was filled with the strongest and most dangerous warriors

Men and women

The king and Queen throne and crown were made out of there enemy’s

They believe that they are there own ruler, they don’t need the king of king landing telling them what to do

They wear there colors with pride (purple and black)

“The live will walk but the dead will rule”

Mortensen is the family name - the meaning of death

If you were in war with them, just hope you said goodbye to your family

And you could never find them unless they want to be found (they give off Dothraki vibe but without the rape and slavery)

“Who are you?”

You looked around the beach you landed on, your eyes landed on a tall dark longed hair man and your heart stopped when you looked at the man.

“Am y/n Velaryon, I was flying when a storm hit and I seem to land here”

“Velaryon you said” a different voice come out, he seem to be wearing and crown made of bones

“Yes, will half Targaryen… your grace ” y/n

“And the dragon, yours?” Same voice

“Yes, your grace” y/n

“And you survived the storm?” Same voices

“It seem so… your grace”

While you were talking , many people of the kingdom started to come out to see you and your dragon

“ Well my dear, you seem to be the chosen one. I am king Alejandro Mortensen and this my eldest son, Prince Miguel. Please come inside and make yourself at home. You most be cold”

They welcome you in with open arms

Your got to meet King Alejandro family, his wife Queen Mariana, his second Elders princess Sofia and husband youngest prince Antonio

The Queen had got you a room made and had you changed in a more traditional Mortensen clothing.

Princess Sofia and you were the same size so while trying on clothes and got to know each other a little but you still had your guard up

They had asked you to join them for dinner to get to know you better

King Alejandro (bigger version of khal drogo) became king when he was seven and one and meet the queen when he was two and one. They fell in love and he married her

Queen Mariana (looks like Ellaria Sand) come from a small house. She ran away from a marriage that her father tried to force on her. She found herself in the storm as well and landed on this island. The restless history.

Prince Miguel was the one who found you on the beach. You found out he was a year older than you. And was to inherit his father’s. While looking at Miguel, he had this dark look to him. But every time your eyes met his light up a little.

Princess Sofia always had a smile on her face, with much attitude. She seem to be pulled towards you.

And Prince Antonio how to Playboy feel to him. But very open to you about himself. No filter.

“so y/n, what brings you to the island of death?” Antonio

And you couldn’t hold it in any longer , you spent months at Kings Landing, holding in the words in your head, and you only been to this island for less than a few hours, and the pain and emotions were gone

you felt peace here

So you told them everything

To the cheating husband, the best friend’s baby and you going mute

“ I never wanna go back well maybe when I’m stronger but for now I need to find somewhere to call home”y/n

“ you can stay here as long as you need” Miguel

“Really”y/n

“ we need more warriors like you” king

“ l’m not a-“y/n

“ Yes you are and don’t tell yourself that. I see myself in you y/n, we will help you get stronger. Is that right Miguel?” Queen

and since that day, the queen and king has took you as their own

you’ve missed your mom and dad dearly, but you needed a new start for yourself

days turn into weeks, two weeks, turning into into months to months turning into years

and you changed

Miguel told you about the history of the death island. Whoever is to survive the storm, the dead who believes you to be the chosen one.

His father and great grandfather and his great great great grandfather wife all come from the storm. The women came at their weakest point and at the end became the strongest queens

And now you are a warrior and soon to be a wife

Miguel and you fell in love, you’ve never knew you could after Harwin.

It took you a year for you to open about your feelings

He was always good to you, even with the hard look on his face

He will make sure you eat before practice, ask about your day even on his busiest days. And helped you with the wounds that you got from sword fighting

He got on Vermithor good side and always found away to get the dragon some food without flying back in the storms

He taught you everything you know, to hand on hand combat, to fighting with a sword. With him, you became one of the strongest warriors on the island.

He was known to be the most dangerous human on the island. Killed many people and went to war for the first time when he was one and five and lead them to win (Very much Drogo vibe)

And the queen herself molded you, teaching you their language, helping you learn the traditions.

She pushed you and Miguel together with any chance she got, like she said, she sees herself and you and only wanted the best

So after a few years being on the island, you married the heir to the death island.

Now you are known as Princess Y/n Velaryon Mortensen……

Throughout the years, you and Miguel had three children and one on the way 

Your twins boys Jośe and Juan and your baby girl Isabella

You loved your children, only wishing your mother and father could see them

One day, you and Miguel was walking hand-in-hand with your children on the beach, when you saw Vermithor flying away in a hurry 

“Momma, where did Ver go” Jośe asked

“I not sure my love but he always come back” y/n

Vermithor didn’t come back for 2 weeks

A note on the side of his saddle

Leana Velaryon is dead…..



@dramioneforevertilltheend @classicsimpforaaronwarner @ayamenimthiriel @hikaerys

(I hoped you like part two, hold on to your ass bc part 3 in going to be something)

[the20thangel]

The Pearl of the Realm

Summary: This is a one-shot connected to my series, The Dragon and The Raven. Little Princess Aemma has been born, and many celebrate her entrance into the world. Calling her the Pearl of the Realm. Looking into a glance of a House receiving the news of the birth of the little princess.

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

Ravens flew across the seven kingdoms. All brought the glorious news of the Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, giving birth to a new princess—a new realm’s delight to grace the whole of Westeros and the Houses Targargeyn and Velayron. The Princess named Aemma in honor of the Crown Princess’s late mother, Good Queen Aemma. Her mother and father eagerly greeted little Aemma. 

As one raven descended towards the Riverlands, it was met by a weirwood tree teeming with crows and ravens. The Blackbird found its way into an open window, greeted by the sight of a striking lady with raven hair and piercing grey eyes. She was a Northern beauty, her tall stature and profound cheekbones accentuating her grace and beauty. Her smile, more of a permanent smirk, hinted at her fierce nature, making her the epitome of a Northern woman. 

The lady named Erena Reed, now Blackwood, was the Current Lady of House Blackwood; noticing the raven, she raised her arms to welcome the bird to land. Cooing at the creature dear to her family, she caressed its wings momentarily before taking the scroll from the raven’s legs. Erena thanked the raven before releasing it back to the outside, watching the raven circle twice before landing on the weriwood tree. Smiling, Erena walks back to her chair, asking for a maid to bring her husband, Samwell Blackwood, and to let him know that a raven had arrived from Kingslanding. 

Erena opened the letter, grinning at its contents. She chuckled as Samwell walked in tow with his younger sister, Alysanne Blackwood, and two maids carrying two babies. Samwell smiled at his wife. Walking towards her, he grasped her hands and kissed them. 

“My Love, what news does the Dragon King bring?” pondered Samwell. 

Erena smiled, greeting Alysanne before answering her husband, “There were two letters, one from King Viserys and the other from my cousin, who is part of the Golden Cloaks. Both bring marvelous news: Our Princess has safely given birth to her second child.” 

Samwell raised an eyebrow as Alysanne clapped in delight.

“Oh, what news indeed… perhaps the spare heir for the princess or the new heir for lord of tides?” Samwell pressed on as he took a seat, accepting a babe from the maid.

Erena hummed, allowing the second maid to place a twin in her arms. Smiling, Erena kissed the child’s chubby cheeks. Feeling his mother's kiss, little Benjicot opened his eyes, staring at his mother before yawning, snuggling into her embrace, and returning to sleep. 

“No, Sam, a little princess has been graced to the realm. A beauty from the accounts of her grandsire and my cousin. Kingslanding is celebrating the little pearl of the realm.” 

“Oh, another dragon princess, how wonderful. Do you think she will have a dragon?” asked Alysanne as she wiggled her finger to the babe in Samwell’s arms. 

Little Davos followed his aunt’s finger momentarily before growing bored and fussing. Samwell hushed his son, rocking him back to sleep.  Chuckling himself, Samwell thought Davos was always the fussiest twin. 

Erena shook her head, “No, according to my cousin, when the little Princess was born, she quickly bonded to Good Queen Alyssane Targaryen’s dragon, Sliverwing. The smallfolk have started praising the little Princess, claiming she will be like her grandmothers, Queens Alysanne and Aemma. Of course, not all are singing praises.” 

Samwell snorted, “Let me guess, The Green Hightower queen and her snakes of allies?” 

The Blackwoods did not love the Hightowers, for that family believed higher than others, especially those who still followed the Old gods. Blackwoods also had enough blood of the first men to follow the ways of the first men in fulfilling their pledges, and they swore loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra and her family. 

Erena laughed tauntingly, making little Benjicot jump in his sleep, “apparently, she was green like her horrid dresses, filled with envy that the little Princess is a beauty of actual Valyrian descent and bonding with a glorious dragon. Mainly because none of her four children have had a dragon as a babe.”

The Blackwood family laughed at the Green Queen’s jealousy. The childish act of being jealous of little children for being born into genetics made them bond to dragons. As the Blackwoods came down from their laughter, Alysanne remembered King Visery’s letter. 

“Good sister, was the letter from King Visery just the announcement of the birth of Princess Aemma?” 

“Ah, no, the King is also hosting a week-long celebration for Princess Aemma’s birth, causing more strife for the Hightower queen.”

“A week's worth? Are the celebrations soon?” inquired Samwell. 

Erena said, “In about two moons, rumors that the King wanted them to take place earlier, but Princess Rhaenyra expressed two moons of peace for her and her family before the realm comes to celebrate.” 

“That's perfect; two moons will allow enough time to prepare everything for the journey to Kingslanding,” explained Samwell, standing. 

The Lord of Raventree Hall kissed his Heir, Davos, and placed him back in the arms of the maid before leaving to call his council to prepare for the journey. 

Erena smiled at her husband’s excitement, glancing at Benjicot. Who knows, she thought, perhaps you both will meet the little Princess when you are older, Ben, maybe you can become a squire in her mother’s household. She smiled as she continued to rock the babe in her arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess Rhaenyra collapsed in her birthing bed, tired, and she shed happy tears at hearing the sounds of her new baby’s cries. Allowing the midwife to place her child in her arms, the Princess began to sob as she stared at her daughter’s face. Her daughter, although tanner, had the same face as her late mother. She was beautiful; her hair was white like snow and curlier than hers. She was perfect, thought Rhaenyra, glancing up to see Leanor walk nervously into the room. Both were still awkward with each other in their marriage. 

Rhaenyra placed her daughter into Laenor’s awaiting arms. As the Sea Dragon stared at the little Princess, he began to cry, still not being used to the idea of ever having children. Laenor knew he would gladly double down and give his life for his daughter…and his son. Just then, Prince Jacaerys walked in with his grandparents, who all eagerly wanted to see the Princess. Queen Alicent sniffed dryly, staying towards the back and watching the family crowding the parents from a distance. 

Viserys took the little Princess into his arms, with Rhaenys and Corlys standing at either side, shedding tears at the little beauty, who briefly opened her eyes to show the same purple eyes as her mother. Laenor raised little Jace, who was awed by his little sister, and the family was all happy. 

Unfortunately, the happy moment was broken when Alicent walked forward and glanced at the Princess. 

“Interesting how the little princess doesn't share many similarities to her father or Grandsire?” questioned Alicent, staring cooly at Rhaenyra. 

Rhaenyra glared but did not need to speak because Princess Rhaenys spoke faster. 

“Nonsense, your grace. My granddaughter has a mix of her parents' skin tone and the famous white Velayron hair and curls, unlike us Targarygens' waves or straight hair. She happens to hold the face of her late grandmother Aemma,” explained Rhaenys, turning her purple eyes coolly to Alicent’s green, who flushed at being called out. 

Alicent’s face only grew redder when Visery’s cried out. 

“My Aemma has returned to me, daughter, if I may, no more tremendous honor you would grace me if you named our little princess after your late mother.” cried Viserys as he stared at his sweet daughter. 

Rhaenyra smiled tiredly, nodding in agreement that her daughter would be named after her beloved mother, the true queen of her father. 

Laenor praised, “Princess Aemma, the pearl of the realm!” 

Viserys cried more as he exclaimed, “A true pearl; as princess of the realm, we need a week of celebrations to welcome her…”

Alicent gasped, “My love, surely that is too extreme, a week for a princess; we should not need to be excessive-”

“Aemma is worthy of that and more Alicent; she is the realm's Princess and the daughter of the Lady of Dragonstone. All must come and celebrate our newest family member!” countered Viserys. 

Alicent grew green with envy as she hurriedly curtsied and walked out of the room, not wanting to spend another minute in the room. She was upset that everyone was swooning over a bastard princess when her daughter was only given a small feast. 

Rhaenyra followed the retreating green gown before returning to her family. She giggled as Jacaerys waved at his little sister, growing annoyed that little Aemma did not wave back. Yes, little Aemma was indeed a pearl in her mother’s eyes.

[more-than-just-her-light]

Rayllum memory loss fic idea:

You remember how, back in season 3's Dragonguard, when she decides to stay and fight, all Rayla asks of Callum is for him to 'remember her?'

What if, after Rayla leaves during the time skip between seasons 3 and 4, Callum suffers a severe head injury that leaves him with almost complete and total amnesia?

Everything is just gone: his name, his childhood, his parents, Ezran. Maybe even basic knowledge such as the names of the five kingdoms. The only scrap of memory he has, due to hand-wavy magic shenanigans, is his connection to the Sky Arcanum.

Luckily, he has a loving and strong support system in the form of Ezran, Soren, Corvus, Opeli, etc. They band together to help Callum recover from his injury and tell him stories about his past. Yet somewhere along the way they neglect to inform him about one Very Important Detail: Rayla.

It's not something they plan. But they look at this-this new Callum, light and carefree. They've already had to tell that him his mother and fathers are dead-it sparked nothing in Callum's mind and gave him nothing but a sense of loss and regret. None of them can bare to tell Callum that the girl he loved left him.

So life goes on. Callum slowly rebuilds his life: he reforges his brotherly bond with Ezran, becomes closer friends with Soren than he was pre-memory loss, regains his knowledge of magic via intense studying. Opeli puts him through prince lessons, and he excels at them in ways he never could before.

In addition to re-establishing his old bonds, he makes new friends too! One of them being Barius' niece, Taylor.

All in all, by the time of his seventeenth birthday, Callum's pretty happy with his life, and he's at peace with the fact it looks like his memory will never come back.

Then Rayla comes back.

Now, Rayla doesn't know what she was coming back to. Would Callum be happy to see her? Angry? Would he turn her away and tell her never to come back? A million scenarios are running through her head.

What she doesn't expect is for Callum to look at her like she's a stranger and ask her who she is.

At first she thinks he's joking around. A mean joke, but she gives it a pass. The longer he 'pretends' not to know her, though, the more hurt she gets until she's yelling at him.

In the midst of Rayla's ranting she brings up Ezran and Soren, and Callum is quick to go get them to clear up the confusion. Cue the king and his Crownsguard being overjoyed to see Rayla before their joy quickly shifts into horror, and they guiltily explain to Rayla the situation regarding Callum's memory.

Rayla experiences a myriad of emotions: horror that the boy she loves was hurt so badly, guilt that she wasn't there to help him recover, and grief that he no longer remembers her, let alone loves her.

Only of course she couldn't be more wrong.

Callum is drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Just looking at this beautiful elf girl makes him happier than he's ever been. His heart is racing, his stomach is doing flips. All he wants is to wrap his arms around her in an intimate embrace, and he only just manages to stop himself from doing so and limit himself to timidly holding her hand at random intervals.

Rayla is flustered by Callum's behavior towards her. Even her best case scenarios upon returning to Katolis didn't have him being so open and affectionate and, dare she say it, even flirty. She's torn between being pleased with the attention and feeling guilty because if he actually remembered her, there's no way he would be so welcoming.

Right...?

Cue the events of season 4 and beyond with an amnesiac Callum actively pursuing a reluctant Rayla.