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chromiumagellanic06 · 11 months ago

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The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 29: Complete

MASTERLIST

Summary: Aemond's desires come to truth as Daemon and Naera wed in the way of old Valyria.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: NSFW Content! It's not THAT explicit, only vague kissing and fondling, heavy implications, suggestive themes, breeding kink, etc.

Aemond knocked tentatively on the ebony door, feet shuffling as he turned to his back, then each side, not at all calmed by the endless echoing corridors of the Keep. In his hand he held an ornate box that lay carved with ancient Valyrian runes—the result of his escapades in the King’s Stores, that he had taken it upon himself to deliver to his uncle and half-sister as a marital gift.

And then some. He had a question to ask, assistance to seek from the person he had grown to trust may understand. His half-sister was as selfish as he felt, he knew, and his uncle her husband even graver in his deeds. They were the perfect match, in a way—blood and fire, the epitome of what it meant to be Targaryen. The world would know no peace.

“Come!” He heard Naera scream from within, and he turned the heavy door on its hinges, silent. And entered the solar. It was strewn adrift with papers and letters, books and fresh parchment. Pots of ink sat beside collections of quills, ornate and rough-spun huddled alike, beside bottles of Dornish Red and some strange concoctions in twinkling glass bottles that ranged from the looks of curdled milk to liquid jade. He could smell ginger, at his first step, lemon at his second, and ash and embers when he sat.

Naera sat on her chair, eyes trained on a letter. She read it, expression bearing a soft frown that he realised was the natural way her lips fell, until she smiled, crumpled the pages in her hands and tossed it into the fireplace.

“Good morrow, Aemond.” Aemond turned to the window, one good eye watching the sun make its descent into the waters.

“It is to be evening soon, sister.” Naera followed his gaze to the window, to the haze that would soon be ushered with twilight. Her face glowed differently, he saw. Much had changed since they last met, even if only a moon had turned. As for him.

He’d made his moves carefully, spent stollen moments with the object of his every desire. He’d plucked her flowers she had never held before, told her tales of truth and sometimes even of valour, stollen kisses under the cover of shadowy night, and held to his stealth for protection. It wasn’t enough.

“Ah.” She turned to the door to her chambers, and said, aloud, “The sun sets soon, make some haste, dear groom.” He saw that she still wore a gown of black silk, not the garments of their tradition. He heard laughter from the other side, slurred words in their mother tongue that Aemond couldn’t quite decipher, but he recognised that Naera sat blushing and silent afterwards.

Blushing, for all her warrior-like ways. It was rather different from his sweet true sister’s blushes. Naera seemed scandalised, mischievous, a light flush of red on her cheeks, an embarrassed smile on her lips, but Helaena, Helaena blushed so red he feared he’d have to fetch a maester, turned so high and brilliant, eyes sparkling, lips chapped together that he--right.

He set the box down on the table, “A gift to commemorate your union.”

Naera smiled, inching the box closer to herself for a look. “Thank you—” but the door opened with a shudder.

Aemond’s uncle walked in, scuttered, rather—his steps were hasty. He was dressed in traditional garbs—red and cream, his silver-white hair left free to hang an inch above his shoulders, Dark Sister in her scabbard in his hand.

“No,” Naera covered her eyes, “A Tyroshi priestess once told me that gazing upon your betrothed on your day of marriage is considered ill-luck.” A burst of laughter left her lips.

“And a Valyrian book once told me that I may gaze at my wife as often as I wish.” Daemon left his sword on the table, snatched his wife’s hands away from her face and kissed her lips, with lust and haste, then kissed her forehead, and ran out the door. Aemond watched his back as he left, baffled as to when he had retaken the sword.

“I closed my eyes!” Naera screamed after him. Still laughing, she turned back to Aemond, “What can I do for you, brother?” Brother. He smiled back at her, unable to stop himself.

“Tell me, sister,” he breathed, licked his lips, hesitant. That is why he’d come, he knew. Sure, pay respects to his favourite family members after Helaena, congratulate them on their union, but there was always the other cause. “How can I take her?” Her, her, her; his Helaena, splendid, ethereal beauty wrapped in a promise of treason.

Naera sighed, and he was glad that she’d understood without him having to spend more words.

Naera poured him a cup of wine, water the colour of blood settling into a silver cask, like rubies spilling from a dark slate. Naera froze as she filled it, eyes distant, lost. Then, she asked, voice betraying her dreamy loss of the moment, “Does the Trident have Green Waters?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, handed him the cup and returned to her chair.

Aemond swallowed the wine in a breath, eye not leaving his sister’s face. She had paled, that sickly palour returning to her face. She blinked frantically, sipped a cup of water.

“You cannot take her, Aemond,” Take what you want, she had told him some moons ago—and he realised his folly. It was akin to a jerk to wake him from a long sleep.

Gods, what had he been thinking? He couldn’t take her, how could he? Where would they go? What would they do when men came seeking them? Had he been so blinded by his love, that he’d forgone all practicality? He’d hoped that she’d have an answer but—“You can maybe ask her.” He furrowed his eyebrows, a ghostly pain returning from under his eyepatch.

Naera sighed, “A maiden’s word must be your shield if you intend to have her.” Rapers went to the Wall at best, to the headsman at worst. Disgraceful.

“I do not mean to defile her,” Aemond defended, “I wish to wed her—to—” to see her wear the garbs Naera would at dusk, to drink her blood and hold her hand and vow to protect her for all their lives. That was what he wanted.

Naera refilled his cup, “I know, and she knows. The world does not.”

“You could—”

“What?” His sister’s eyes grew cold and cruel, her voice tuned to injure, to pick at his folly and tear him a regretful wound, “Tell the world that you love her? It isn’t so simple.” Aemond looked down, unable to meet those crystal eyes. Every word she spoke was true, and that hurt. Leave the world, he thought, Mother is the one we need convince.

“You can only love for so long without being loved, brother,” Naera sighed, chin dropping to her palm, elbow banging against the table, “You can only run if she wishes it also.” Run with me, Helaena. We’ll wed in the faith of the Seven or that of the Valyrians. We’d be one heart, one soul—just say the word.

“She wants me, I am certain of it.” She hates Aegon, and knows well that their days near quickly. If only mother saw through her schemes.

“It is only mother, even the King—”

Naera shook her head, “Fuck the King,” he smiled at her brashness, “fuck your mother and your cock of a grandsire,” he felt a pang of shame after the moment passed. He hadn’t defended them, he realised. He agreed with his sister. His mother, fuck Alicent, who wouldn’t see past the grey shroud of duty to gaze at the world in all its colour. Love, was the colour he wished to see, he reminded himself. He had caught a glimpse, now he wanted a full look. “Aemond,” she summoned his wits back to her, “Ask her, confide in her, and run, together.”

Dusk hung heavy in the isle of Dragonstone, a curtain of fog descending on the shores as fires were lit and the Blood of the Dragon gathered near the volcanic crypts. It was a cacophony of red and black, the colours of their heritage—silver hair and purple eyes, fire in their veins, all gathered in respect or obligation.

The priest fanned the coal and flames, ornate chalices and candles gathered by Rhaenyra arranged on a block of rock marbled with red and yellow—it was slab of frozen fire mined from the haunted crypts of the Dragons.

Daemon could hear them murmuring through the fog from where he stood on the sandy beach. He could make out the Hightower cunt’s voice, could see her black gown flapping in the breeze even through the fog, and it only irritated him. The Blood of the Dragon had gathered, so why, pray why had the stupid lanterns joined in? His robes were scratchy and cold, the calm breezes did nothing to allay his urgency. The sun was falling into the sea, a streak of gold and saffron following it, and the mists grew pink and red as though the sky itself bled. It was time

The waves rustled the sands calmly as she took his side. Wrapped in a robe nearly identical to his—cream and ruby, adorned with gold, an ornate headdress laid between her braided silver locks. Beautiful. The curve of her nose, the pink flesh of her lips, her eyes—crystals clearer than diamonds painted blue and red, gods.

His ire vapourized, that familiar panging of his heart returning, thud, thud, his heart now beat only for her, it seemed.

He took her hand wordlessly, her chilled touch sending shivers through him, and in his mind, he spoke a prayer.

Let me hold this hand forever.

The rocky shores bristled against her bare feet, reminding Naera of the time she had scaled the ports of Asshai from the rocky ends. It hurt, but it was worth it. Daemon’s hand was warm in hers, his grasp tight and binding, as they crossed the threshold to where their family waited.

The fires flared when they made it to the clearing, the sky reddened like a maiden’s blush—if the Gods could betray more of their intentions, she did not know how. With the cold of the fog, and the warmth of his hand, the serene calmness of this event came a gradual understanding that this was right. She was meant for this—to be his, to hold his hand, to wield her sword for them, to sleep and wake and live beside him. Her uncle who had never cared for her, but now he cared not what the world said as long as he could have her.

Her family stood around the flames; the two branches of the house split over the priest. Viserys stumbled close, wilting hair and face, though he had a guilty smile on. He’d done this in some hope of companionship, but it had grown into a sickly sort of love, he knew.

He took her hand, clasped it in his cold damp one, and pressed a shuddering kiss to her forehead. Naera smiled at him, watched him return to Rhaenyra’s side��Rhaenyra, who smiled in a way most disillusioned, who stood with her husband, her sworn guards, her children, her court, choosing war even in that moment. Across the priest was Alicent, face contorted in distaste for such old ways, her children at her side, all in red and black, a treaty of peace. Aemond gave her a curt nod when she met his eye, a tingling smile on her lips.

The priest—one of the old Keepers of the Dragonpit who still followed those old doomed gods—began his droning, hymns sung to Meleys, the goddess of love and fertility, to Teraxes, to Balerion—to nearly every god, but Naera cared not. This had been the scene, she knew—Daemon shrouded in fog, silent and still, calmness in his eyes.

The priest handed him a blade of obsidian, a shard of glass as black as night that glowed in its shadowy beauty. He ran it down her lower lip, skin splitting instantly, blood pooling. He dabbed his thumb on that red, red, red beauty, and smeared a straight line on her forehead.

I name you woman, fire in your veins, it meant.

She took the blade, and did the same for him, his blood warm against her thumb as she drew three bent lines on his forehead.

I name you man, blood in your nature.

He traced the dagger over his palm, striking a wound deep and true to stand out amongst all thousands scars that he brandished. A line of red dripped down his skin. Naera traced the same wound on her own palm—Of my own will, I thus give you myself, and their hands joined in a flash of pain and flame.

The priest began, “Hen lantoti ānograr va syndroti vāedroma,” Blood of two joined as one, lifeblood dripping to mingle and mix, tethering them to each other.

The priest wrapped a ribbon the colour of night and light over their held hands, blood dripping down through the binds.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti elēdroma iārza sīr,” Ghostly flame and song of shadows.

He handed Naera a chalice of stone and glass, as dark as night, and she tilted the vessel till salt and iron flooded her tongue. Our blood to bind.

“Izulī ampā perzī prumī lanti sēteski,” Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires.

Daemon mirrored her acts, his face twisting as their blood laced his tongue. He swallowed it bravely, and watched Naera’s eyes. Close, so close.

“Hen jeny māzilarion, qēlossa ozūndesi,” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness.

Naera breathed, breaking into a delicate smile again, “I shall be your side forever.”

He took her other hand, eyes never leaving—lilac and lilac, crystal clear and shallow pools of glass. “I shall hold your hand forever.”

“Synroro ōñō jēdo ry kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time of Darkness and Light.

She inhaled, cold, wet air flooding her nose in a rush, and she gazed, gazed, gazed at him, his eyes that refused to leave hers, the wealth of his wisdom yet to be cultivated, the gift of his existence forever claimed by her. She said, “I will defend you.” Against the night, against the light, against whatever was to come. Against every wish to exile, every spat with the greens, every ill word with the King, she will stand by him, she will protect his honour as though it was her own.

He smiled, though both love and mischief twinkled in his eye, “I will warm you.” When the night was dark and full of terrors, when the end came and her will faltered, he shall be with her, he shall give her fire and light. He will warm her bed and hers alone, warm her body when the cold came, warm her spirits over every loss and share her joy over every victory.

Naera said, “I will give it all up for you.” Dorne, Volantis, Pentos, the Dothraki Seas, Asshai, and her dreams—Yi Ti, the Jade Sea, whatever lays east of the Shadow, the very wonders of the world could be laid abandon. She loved too easily, but even the gods had proclaimed this union as perfection.

“I will never hurt you.” Not as he once had, no, never. He will never disappoint her, never let her down, never leave her behind, never let her think that he could survive without her.

“I will love you.” Daemon’s heart lost a weight he did not know he bore, a delightful, fiery blaze in his chest, a joy uncontainable. His, his, his. She was his, every flicker on her eyes belonged to him, every mocking word his, every act of bravery, every witted word. He loved already, but he could love better, now that she loved him also.

His hand flew to her face, thumb smearing the blood at her lip, red, red, red, and to show that he cared, that he loved, that he was willing to understand, he said, “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

She leaned on her toes and kissed his lips.

His laughter would be her lifeblood, she realised as his heaving breaths reverberated through her chest, made her feel warm, made her feel him, his spirit and not just his body.

“D’you know what they’ll all say,” he spoke into her neck, his nose breathing cool air over the red mark of his bite, “When you grow round and great with my child, again and again?”

She laughed, a fleeting giggle morphing into a ridiculed laugh, “What?” He pulled her into a different corridor, away from their chambers.

“The Princess must really love her uncle’s cock,” the vulgarity made her roll her eyes.

“Maybe they’ll think that the prince has no control over himself,” Naera challenged, “Keeps getting his sweet niece with child, the poor woman.” He pushed her against a wall, cold stone of the corridors of the Keep making her flush and hum, and his hands roamed her flesh like a man starved.

Their lips met, tongues melding, breaths fading until the newly wedded couple panted for breath.

“Poor woman?” His eyes twinkled with the sort of courage that came with deeds best not committed.

“They needn’t know,” she kissed his cheek, arms winding around his neck. “They needn’t know that the idea of bearing her uncle’s seed fills the niece with a selfish joy that she cannot account for.” With a deft flick of his hand, her robes parted, rough linen tearing aloud.

“Oh, but the uncle knows,” he descended on her neck again, “He knows very well how much his niece loves having his spend in her womb.” He hoisted her legs up, lips falling to her breasts.

“Yes, oh, yes he does,” she moaned, wits departing her, fingers tugging at his hair, leading him to the other breast. He complied greedily, nipping, licking, kissing the flesh, leaving red and purple marks on every patch of free skin.

Her garbs were torn and ruined; her headdress abandoned in the hands of Laenor before they had scurried to the corridors in some mad bout of lust. Gods, lust was only one word for what she felt. She felt charged, as though lightning had struck her very soul. She felt fiery, as she often did when he stood beside her.

One kiss to his lips and the sentiment had caught on as a candle-flame blazes into an arsonist’s dream.

Now her swelling flesh was in his hands. She had lapped away the drying blood of his lip, sucked at the tear in his skin till the wound was raw, and now, she was at his mercy once again.

“Daemon,” she called, making him stare into her eyes with his own, lilac flowers and bloody amethysts. Beautiful. His hair was tousled, red streaking his forehead, but his eyes, those eyes that were over a decade older than her own yet were livelier than she had been just moons ago.

“Naera,” he called back, as had become their ritual, and she recalled the sweet bliss of hearing her name from his lips again. Completion, he made her sound complete, made her believe that she could conquer this new land that was marriage and slay this new demon that was mistrust.

Footsteps.

And the moment broke, but he was smiling as he leaned his face close to hers, covering her form from view.

“Fuck off,” he chastised behind himself, swaying his wife slowly. “Can’t you see—” but Naera put a finger to his lips, her eyes trained over his shoulder. Daemon turned tentatively, half-expecting his brother or the Hightower cunt or the cunt lord of hands but no.

He hugged his sweet wife tighter as she gave a subtle nod to Aemond, her half-brother—his sister Helaena’s hand in his, her face caught blushing a bright red, as they rushed through corridors and passageways, hastened and cautious. When their footsteps echoed away, Naera laughed.

“The Hightowers fall on our wedding after all.”

To be, or not to be…

…continued

MASTERLIST

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cherrynwinesk · 2 years ago

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｡･ﾟ♡»Master List«♡ﾟ･｡

English/Inglés

Sapnap;

Come on down to Florida ~ sfw

Come on down to Florida pt. 2 ~ sfw [process]

Girlfriend with Period ~ sfw/nsfw

Toxic boyfriend ~ angst

Georgenotfound;

Girlfriend with Period ~ sfw/nsfw

Toxic boyfriend ~ angst

Dream;

Girlfriend with Period ~ sfw/nsfw

Toxic boyfriend ~ angst

Karl Jacobs;

Toxic boyfriend ~ angst

Roier

Just Relax Love ~ nsfw/smut soft (first time with)

Cuddling with Roier ~ sfw/suggestive

Headcanon's ~ nsfw/smut

Headcanon's pt.2 ~ nsfw/smut

Quackity

Princess Treat Headcanon's ~ sfw / soft (esp/eng)

Lights off ~ sfw / soft

Lights off pt.2 ~ sfw / soft

Polyamory w/ Wilbur n reader headcanon's ~ sfw

Let him work ~ sfw/suggestive

Added to QSMP ~ sfw

Headcanon's w Asían reader ~ sfw

Forever

Yandere headcanon's ~ nsfw/violent

Spreen

Headcanon's ~ nsfw

Cuddling Headcanon's ~ sfw

Cellbit

Cuddling headcanon's ~ sfw/soft/fluff

As u Sleep ~ nsfw/horror

As u Sleep pt.2 ~ nsfw/horror

Wilbur Soot;

Polyamory w/Quackity n reader headcanon's ~ sfw

Boyfriend Headcanon's ~ sfw

Español/Spanish

Quackity

Boyfriend headcanon's ~ sfw/ fluff

Princess Treat Headcanon's ~ sfw / soft (esp/eng)

Baila conmigo ~ sfw

Nihachu

Girlfriend Headcanon's ~ sfw

Roier;

Boyfriend headcanon's ~ sfw/nsfw

Just Relax Love ~ nsfw/smut soft (first time with)

Spreen

Boyfriend headcanon's ~ sfw/fluff

MishoAmoli;

Boyfriend headcanon's ~ sfw/nsfw

Shadoune;

Boyfriend headcanon's ~ sfw/nsfw

Reborn;

Boyfriend headcanon's ~ sfw/nsfw

Anunciando su relación ~ sfw

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worrabei · 1 year ago

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OKAY, hear me out before reading the text below: this blog of mine is just a place, where I can see my progress in many of things, and writing in english is one of them. the deal is - english is not my native language, and my way of writing can look very bad.

if you decide to read my little sketch, firstly - good luck; and secondly, if when you see some dumb mistakes - feel free to comment because learning stuff is fun!

(also I'm like probably need to do a disclaimer or something like this, but I don't know how :D)

well, it's just fluff (?), without any triggers and just something that was in my head for a while. also I'm using the real names on the dream team in this text. actually, all my thoughts slowly became a whole au (this is the right word for it, right?), so if I will be really confident, maybe I write something else....

UGH this is again a super long text, I'M SORRY.

imagine that you've been friends with «dream team» for an almost a three years.

originally you were an employee on a mr. beast team, something that others would call an errand boy (well, errand girl in your case). but despite your small position in a whole team, everyone was simply in love with you. you just were a little shining star, that everybody adored. and beside that, you knew how to do your job. and by one of these hard-working days, you've meet sapnap.

there were a small pause between shooting for a new challenge video, where nick was one of the judges, and it happend that you both had a chance to chat for a little bit. you two find in each other someone nice, almost like a soulmate. when you too start to speak about different topics, including hobbies and favorite things, something just clicked. after a shooting, y'all just spontaneously decided to go for a walk. you both just can't stop talking, and after a hour or so, you find yourself on a basketball court. the day slowly becoming an evening, there only a few people around, and you two with beer cans just lazily playing basketball.

and after that day your life just start change entirely.

after sapnap you've met sunshine with name karl, and then dream, george, even quackity. the boys was also amazed with your warm personality and you all pretty fast become great buddies. you start to show in theirs instagram photos, twitter posts, stories. you've slowly become an important member of their group. staying for a movie night, cook for them, give a ride on your car, making birthday presents, spending time in video games, and eventually joining the streams.

to be honest, chat was kinda aggressive by the first time and full of comments like "omg why are they even let this girl to join, she's just ruining all the fun" and bunch of other not-so-nice words. guys were super sorry that you have to deal with all this hate, but you honestly won't making a big deal out of that. you just continue to show up from time to time, and slowly but surely people realize that your "boring" side was actually a "super caring" side.

and only after this realization everybody understand how cool actually your character resonates with sometimes childish characters of the rest of the group. the memes start to full the internet, boys start jokingly addresses to you like "sweet mother of ours", and you were very audible and visible cringing at the name, but they're just unstoppable.

and after a two and a half years of your friendship, after george finally gets a visa and clay does a face reveal, four of you guys finally moved together.

and that simply become a golden era of your friendship.

you spend mornings with george, when you get ready for work and this man with no sleep schedule gives you company. at the moment that you start making a breakfast, this man just magically appears with his cute puppy eyes, and after the few times when your plate was getting empty for about a fifteen seconds, you just start to cook for you two. imagine: dark room with only one working lamp, you both eating some puffy pancakes, drinking something warm, chatting and silently giggling. it's a little foggy outside, and almost absolute silence. sounds really comforting, does it not? after you finished eating, you give george a small kiss on his head, maybe mess up with his hair and beg him to get some rest.

the days fly by really fast, when you making stuff with dream. join the stream for a moment? sure. what about the new idea for the video/song? tell me everything. maybe you want to go to the shopping together? get in my car, clay. you freely can go to his room when silence in your head gets too loud. often you just knock on his room door shyly, and ask if you can sit on the bed while dealing with work. and he never refuse. also you absolutely love to draw him in the moments when he really focused on something, maybe make him a few more knitted hats or something cute, but stupid. and he absolutely melts at every single touch. you just need to tell him that everything is okay, and he always can find a support in his friends. and he's so thankful for this.

and finally, you want the evenings to never end because you spend them with sapnap. he don't want to show it, but you just see it anyways - he cares about you. of course, that doesn't mean that other guys don't care, but sapnap do it in his own way and you really appreciate it. almost every evening he casually walks into your room, and if he sees how tired you look because of the work, all his appearance softens immediately. with his silent, raspy voice he asks how do you feel. and if your answer not satisfying enough, nick just casually says that he's going to wait you in the car. and that means - this evening going to be awesome. you both have no clue what are you going to do tonight, but that's just more fun, right? basketball court, just like in the old times? eating junk food in the car, while chatting and shouting the songs? skateboarding park, when nick trying to impress you, but just stupidly falls and now you need to bandage all his wounds, while you just can't stop from laughing? (he's trying to act offended, but inside he's all fluff, believe me).

but sometimes you decide to hang out in the house. sapnap picks up some random film, brings more pillows and blankets, you cook (or order) snaks, and you both just simply chilling together after a long day. and I don't need to tell that almost every time the rest of the group decide to join. maybe it's even spontaneously become a movie night? who knows. you can't even blink, and it's 3am already, the third movie silently playing on the back, all the boys sleeping and barely audibly snore. and only you stubbornly want to wait until the credits. and the movie finally ends, you trying to clean up a little, while you judge the main character in your mind. when you come back to the sleeping kingdom, you can't help but smile at the view of three big men just calmly sleeping, and unconsciously trying to hug something. you definitely take a few photos, and when you want to go to your room, suddenly dream wakes up and mid-sleep reach up to you, whispering that he want to cuddle. your heart was not ready for this, and you just can't say "no" to him.

and when you slowly falling into sleep, while warm big hands carefully hugs you, you just think to yourself - oh, how extremely lucky you are.

well, maybe you can skip the next day at work.

...you can't miss how nick and george all morning going to scream that they're absolutely-for a hundred percent-for sure-definitely didn't hug each other all night.

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thatsquitepoggers · 11 months ago

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Accelerate! Sapnap x Stolen! Reader Hc's

Summery: Accelerate! Sapnap x Reader, but the reader is Dream's ex-girlfriend hc's (Yk, like, in the begining of the story, talking abt them racing over her? yeah, that. Thats you!<3)

Fluff(kinda?) and implied and/or very light smut (Also some rickey bobby refrences, cause it fits so damn well.)

Sapnap had always had his eyes on you. And you have always had your eyes on him, too.

Sure, you loved your boyfriend. But, you loved Sapnap's cock more. And he was just so fucking handsome. How could one resist?

So when the race came, you came out onto the track infront and between their cars, holding the flags in your revealing outfit.

Sapnap was loving every bit of it.

And he raced like his life depened on it. But so did Dream.

So when Sapnap won that race, its easy to say Dream wasnt very pleased.

However, you and Sapnap were extreamly pleased.

Eventually, he came up to you. This is how it went.

"What the fuck?!" Dream says, in disbelif how easy you gave him up and started swooning for his best friend. "Could you atleast act like you still love me?!" He says, looking at you with a 'What the fuck' look.

You sigh, putting your hands on your hips as you walk closer to him with Sapnap's hand on your waist, smirking down at you. "Listen, baby. Im gonna be honest." You say, flipping your hair off your sholder. "You cant race anymore. And i date racers, i date winners." You say, as Dreams 'what the fuck' look turns into just more disbelif and confusion.

"And your not a winner anymore" You say, poking his chest. "Yeah, tell em' baby." Sapnap mumbles with a grin. Dream shoots him a glare before turning back to you.

"So, your just leaving me? Over a fucking race?!" He exclaims. Sapnap chuckles. "Hey dude, wasnt that what the race was all about? Who gets the girl?" He says, smirking and raising an eyebrow. "I mean yeah but-" Sapnap cuts Dream off. "Clay, listen. We're gonna get married, and you can be my best man. How about that?" Sapnap says with a smile. You chuckle, smiling up at Sapnap. "Wha- No!" Dream says, that look of disbelif returning. "Im not gonna be your best man!"

(and the scene goes on for a little while longer. Im just too lazy, lol.)

After all of that drama, you and Sapnap just went about your days together.

You two made out very often, and fucked like bunnies

Its a wonder you havnt gotten pregnant yet, cause hes smart and uses protection or just pulls out.

He coudlnt really tell if he loved you, or just thought you were hot.

but he just passed it off as loving you, but his high lebito outweighs that a bit.

He knew you felt the exact same way, though.

You often attened his races whenever you could, and you ussualy stayed in the passinger seat with your foot on the dashbord, and one hand on the handle above the door, your other hand gripping his sholder.

Also, with you coming to the races, you had to pull him away from the flag girls whenever you wernt the flag girl. He made it a habit of flirting with them, and you always had to pull him away, and glare daggers at the girl(s) he was talking to.

But, all in all, you two are just a couple of horn-balls.<3

Notes: Wooo! My first fic! I hope you liked it. Im fucking begging you to send me requests, im not creative.😭 Just look at the rule page first, please<3

#accelerate #dsmp #dsmp au #dsmp fanfic #dsmp x reader #sapnap #sapnap x you #sapnap x reader #sapnap x y/n #dream smp #fanfiction #fanfic #dreamwastaken #dream team

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justanormalfangirlx2 · 2 years ago

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photos of your relationship ft. sapnap

author notes: none of these pics are mine!

dating sapnap:

#dsmp #fanfic #oneshot #dream smp #sapnap #sapnap imagine #sapnap x reader #sapnap x y/n #dream team

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sunshine-on-marz · 1 year ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY DREAM!!!

Here’s some Dream team x reader for the soul

——

For the first time, you and George could both be there to celebrate Dream’s birthday with him. So it’s to no one’s surprise that at exactly midnight you three run into Dream’s room to hug him and smother him with kisses. “DREAM!” George yelled as he jumped onto the blonde’s bed, Dream slowly waking up and mumbling something incoherent. “Baby wake up, wake up! You’re twenty four now, you’re old” You giggle as you hug the man. Sapnap ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek “happy birthday” he whispered. Dream smiles, “you guys are the best thing that’s ever happened to me” he whispers as he wraps his arms around you and George, he pulling you tighter against his chest. Sapnap climbs in bed, cuddling up to Dream’s side. It’s only a few minutes until you all pass out, you sap and George having stayed up, and Dream being tired from being woken up at midnight, but it was worth it. It was the best way any of you could’ve imagined starting the day.

#dsmp #dsmpblr #dsmp x reader #dsmp x gender neutral reader #writing #dreamwastaken #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x you #dream team x reader #dream team #sapnap x y/n #sapnap x you #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x you #georgenotfound x y/n #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound #dream x george

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yettobedetermined7 · 1 year ago

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Image celebrating the new year with the Dream Team and Karl

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flowersforbucky · 1 month ago

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where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan x reader #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett one shot #sex pollen #sex pollen trope #days of future past #xmen #xmen days of future past #xmen dofp

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kumezyzo · 11 months ago

Note

so we all know how it’s currently no nut November… so could you maybe write a smut about reader trying to seducing Sapnap throughout the month of November and him trying his hardest not to break? Like maybe she’d start walking around the house in really short shorts and one of his sweatshirts and he’d just be trying so hard not to take her then and there. Or maybe she’d be extra flirty with Dream and George just to make him jealous and Sapnap would be watching in anger.

It’s be even better if their not in an established relationship and are in the talking phase…

so, the cutest part here is that its not november anymore 🥰🥰 but we all know i suck at answering inbox things. this is also, im realizing now, the same format as every other fucking fic I've written. so, this is ass.

anyway, enjoy! or dont :) m.list

you had been waiting for sapnap to actually ask you out. you'd really been through all the stages, almost every base. whatever you wanted to refer to it as. and then november rolled around.

sap wanted to beat no nut november, he made sure to tell you that on October 31st.

"we have to stop at midnight," he told you, trying to catch his breath as he lay on top of you, naked.

your eyebrows furrowed as you ran your hand through his hair, catching your own breath. "why?"

"november," he said as if it were obvious. he lifted his head from your neck. he planted a kiss on your neck, sucking lightly. "i need to beat dream and george."

you pulled his hair, making him lift his head to look at you. "we're not fucking cause its november?"

"sorry, peach," he grinned, pecking your lips again and sitting up. he lined himself up to your core and slowly pushed in. "shit... thats the- fuck- the bet."

and sapnap kept his promise. you were having a little post-sex make out, and he stopped as soon as an alarm on his phone went off. he got off you completely and went to get you a towel to clean you up. along with clothes to get you to cover up.

you were surprised he actually stuck to the midnight rule. even if the other two boys would never find out. you put on his shirt, and although it usually would make you happy to wear his clothes, you couldn't believe his audacity. you were slightly offended.

sapnap started regretting his decisions almost immediately. he woke up to you with your leg hooked over his own legs. your his shirt rode up, barely covering your bare ass. on a usual day, he'd try to wake you up and fuck you. but he couldn't.

and it didn't help that it seemed like you forgot what pants were. for a week, you only wore shorts. sometimes you would even forget to wear anything under your large shirts. he was having a hard time getting rid of his constant boner.

but what really broke him was when you paraded around his friends wearing nothing. they would try not to stare at you and how you let your shirt ride up your ass. or how you would let the neckline of the shirt hang low to let them see your boobs.

and all he wanted was to was to lose the bet. but his pride was too strong. until he talked to dream about it.

"just fuck her already," he said, running a hand through his hair. "i dont know what you did, but i dont wanna see your girlfriend naked."

"you said a bet is a bet," sap said defensively. "and she's not my girlfriend."

dream looked at him like he was stupid. "That's your problem then. ask her to be your girlfriend and fuck her." he shook his head tiredly. "i think george already lost the bet anyway."

thankfully, the next time you tried to pull something by walking into the living room in only a towel, sapnap was the only one home. you looked disappointed to see it was only him, but still sat next to him as if nothing was different.

so he took it upon himself to grab you and sit you on his lap. you were surprised, to say the least, trying your hardest to keep your towel on your body. he grabbed your wrists, putting them around his neck, causing your towel to fall.

he bit his lip, admiring your bare chest, leaning in to suck on your nipples. you moaned softly, confused, but you still played with his hair.

"what happened to 'no nut november'?" you asked breathily, arching your back into him. he pulled away with a pop, looking at you through the valley of your breasts.

"fuck it," he said easily, kissing your down to your navel.

sapnap ended up taking you upstairs, leaving the towel on the couch. he had you on his bed, down on your elbows with your ass up in the air.

he landed a slap on your ass, squeezing it harshly after. he pulled you roughly to slam against his pelvis. you could feel his dick through his boxers. you grinded against his hardness, moaning when he reached between your thighs to rub at your clit.

"why are you acting like such a little slut?" he asked you, slapping your ass again. "you wanted me to fuck you that much?"

you didnt say anything, moving your hips side to side tauntingly. "didn't you lose your bet?"

sapnap almost came as soon as he was in you. it had been two weeks, but it was excruciating. he couldn't believe he even took the bet. he loved fucking you too much.

"I'm never... taking that- shit- that bet again," he groaned out, gripping your hips tightly.

you moaned, hiding your face into the bed sheets, your back arching when he started rubbing your clit again. "wait until- nngh- wait til next year."

sapnap ended up cumming first. and it was truly beautiful. he moaned loudly in your ear, bending over to pull you closer to him. he tried to not cum inside you, but it was hard to pull out. when he finally did, he came all over your slick covered pussy.

he slid himself back into you, despite being sensitive and continued fucking into you. he needed you to cum around him. he needed to feel the familar fluttering squeeze around his dick.

"come on, peach," he encouraged, whining at the slipperiness. you were so wet, every circle he made on your little nub made a sound. it was so lewd. "cum, pretty girl."

when you did, he almost came again. you squeezed him so tight as your arms gave out completely. he held you up by your hips, pulling out to finish himself off again on the back of your thighs. and once again, he moaned. he whined. and he kissed your shoulders, needing to comfort you and himself.

sapnap tried to clean you up as best as possible with his discarded shirt. then he layed with you, holding you close to him.

"you lost the bet," you told him, feeling proud of yourself. he hummed, kissing the top of your head. his heart was pounding as he convinced himself to say his next words.

"of course," he tried to sound nonchalant. "can't let my girlfriend suffer cause of some bet. couldn't let this pussy miss me too much."

guess what? i also hate this 🥰🥰 -Nony

#sapnap #anon #asks #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap x y/n #dteam #sapnap fluff #sapnap x streamer reader #sapnap smut #smut #dream team smut #dteam smut #sapnap x you smut

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little-diable · 7 months ago

Text

Lightning - Tyler Owens (smut)

I mean, we all knew this would happen. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but I am DESPERATE for him. And as somebody who actually has something to do with studying tornadoes, I had to write this. I am obsessed with this fic, but I doubt this will get much attention, so please actually reblog it if you enjoyed reading it! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tyler and the reader are chasing tornadoes together, but when they have to step back and find shelter, things quickly change between them.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, handjob, kinda enemies to lovers, teasing and all that fun stuff

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (3k words)

Wind was blowing in her face, letting her strands dance in the air while her eyes flickered between her laptop screen and the dark sky. She was surrounded by her team, trying to ignore their shouts as they decided which direction to head in. (Y/n) was torn between too many options, not liking the way this afternoon was playing out.

It was do or die, miss or hit one of the biggest tornadoes they had come across in a while. And yet the second cell that was currently forming gave off a somewhat more promising chance of catching enough data this time around.

“Which way will it be, lightning?” Her breath hitched in her chest as he mumbled the words, front pressed against her back. The hairs on her arms began to rise, fully focused on his closeness, allowing her to pick up on the scent of his familiar cologne, on the way his breath fanned over the back of her neck as if he was about to kiss that very spot.

“Am I dreaming? Is Tyler Owens asking for my opinion?” She slowly turned towards the handsome man. Her eyes instantly found his piercing ones, getting lost in their intense gaze while he shot her one of his signature smirks. Fuck, if he weren’t such an asshole most of the time, she would easily give in to the pull she felt, allowing him to tug her towards his bed without having to fear about the aftermath. But if there was one thing (y/n) was sure of, it was that Tyler Owens was all about playing games, toying with a woman until he eventually grew bored. He was a personification of a thunderstorm, fast moving and never ready to settle.

“Don’t let it get to your head, pretty.” She clicked her tongue with a displeased expression tugging on her features. There was no time left to study him, to curse whoever had created him for making him look this handsome. They had to stay focused, at least until she got the data she needed for her project.

“Alright, we’re heading east.” (Y/n) closed her laptop before reaching for her bag–the bag that was snatched from her grasp before she could protest. Tyler had slung it over his shoulder while tilting his head towards his truck, silently asking her to ride with him.

On any other occasion she would have cursed him, would have told him to fuck off. But today, while being heavily understaffed, she needed any help she could get. And knowing that Tyler drove like the devil himself, she knew she had the best chance of arriving just in time with him by her side.

His smirk grew wider the second she gave in, begrudgingly following Tyler while her eyes found the confused ones of her teammates. She only rolled her eyes at them, raising her shoulders and dropping them again as if she was wordlessly telling them that she was just as confused as they were, not seeing through Tyler’s game just yet.

Silence filled the truck, only a few commands left (y/n) whenever they needed to make a turn, chasing down the roads to catch up with the growing cell. All while the others followed behind them, too slow to catch up with Tyler’s truck. Her heart was pounding in her chest, riled up by the anticipation of chasing another storm – no matter how many times she had done this before, (y/n) would never get used to the thrill, the moments leading up to seeing yet another beautiful though terrifying tornado.

“You alright, pretty?” She’d never get used to the way Tyler called her, dripping with that drawl she loved more than she’d ever admit. (Y/n) didn’t look at him, fully focused on her laptop to monitor the path their tornado took. No word left her pressed together lips, trying to drown out the feeling of his concerned eyes flickering towards her every few seconds.

“(Y/n)?” The use of her name ripped (y/n) out of her trance, letting her wide pupils find his. She only nodded at Tyler, knowing she couldn’t waste any time on the crush she could never speak of, preferring to take her secret to the grave rather than feeding his ego–only to end up with a broken heart in the process.

“Guys, can you hear me?” She held the radio close, speaking to the others while refocusing on the map. All they could hear was rustling, unable to pick up on the reply that was spoken on the other end. Curses clawed through (y/n), she tried to reach their teams again, while swallowing the sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. No longer could she see them in the rearview mirror, telling her that they hadn’t made it down the narrow path Tyler had taken.

The road ahead was muddy, forcing the truck to slither along while Tyler tried to avoid holes and ditches. With one hand clutching the door, (y/n) tried to hold still, not daring to bump into Tyler whose angry cusses filled the truck. Both had their eyes focused ahead, knowing that this had been the wrong choice, the wrong tornado to chase. They were heading straight towards their death if they kept going that way, knowing that without their team by their side, they wouldn’t be able to collect enough data anyway.

“I hate being the one to say it, but we gotta find shelter, lightning.” Tyler’s annoyed groans left her nodding, giving him the green light to take a sharp left to turn towards the town close by. With the slimmest chance to find proper shelter, Tyler kept speeding along, seemingly having a spot in mind. (Y/n) was angry, at herself, at the road conditions, knowing that this situation should have played out much differently. And all she could do was trust the man she had always tried to hate.

“Come, follow me.” The truck was forced to a sudden halt. (Y/n) followed Tyler outside, holding onto her things while he reached for her free hand to pull her along. He guided her towards what appeared to be a barn, a building she paid no attention to as she studied the tornado, getting lost in its beauty for a second. “They built an underground shelter here a few years back, if we’re lucky nobody else had the time to find it.”

Tyler pushed her into the unlocked barn, letting the doors slide close again before he led her down some stairs. She didn’t dare speak, torn between too many emotions. All (y/n) could do was let go of a sigh while being ushered into the empty, dark shelter. It took her a while to adjust to the darkness, letting her hands move along the metallic wall until she found what appeared to be a light switch. She gave it a try, though without any luck, letting herself drop to the ground while Tyler stayed glued to his spot.

If both hadn’t been too deep in thought, they would have realised that this was the first time they were sheltering together, completely alone without any nosy eyes watching them or listening to their talks.

“We should have gone west, I’m sorry.” Her whispers filled the small shelter, luring Tyler closer who plopped down next to her. He fumbled with his phone to turn on the fleshlight, letting it rest on the ground to alight their surroundings. A few boxes were placed against the wall, filled with water and some snacks they hopefully wouldn’t have to use, praying that they’d get out of here fast enough to chase their luck once again.

“There’s always time for another try, pretty.” Tyler reached for her hand to squeeze it before he could stop himself, forcing her eyes to focus on the spot where she now felt a buzzing sensation. She let her head roll towards Tyler, studying the white hat he took off with his free hand, placing it down on the ground, only to comb through his hair.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without that thing on.” (Y/n)’s whispers left him chuckling, a sound that momentarily managed to drown out the roar of the tornado. The howling was an almost comforting sound to them, after years of chasing them, well aware of every little detail.

“Well, you’re one of the few who gets the honour, appreciate it.” She rolled her eyes at him before ripping her gaze off of him. Heat flushed through her at his teasing, a heat that only grew more biting as she realised that they were still holding hands. Her tongue moved along her dry lips, trying to find the right words to break their silence, silently hoping that she could cherish every single second of their time together. As much as she had once sworn to hate him while burying her crush deep inside of herself, she had lost all strength to fight against it, at least for now.

“Why have we never done this before?” Tyler seemed to feel the same longing, drawing her focus back towards him with his question. His eyes had an even more piercing touch to them now, having an invisible tight grasp on her soul she didn’t want to escape from.

“Because you’re an asshole most of the time and I can’t stand being around you for long.” (Y/n)’s sharp reply left him laughing, a loud sound that had an addicting effect on her, leaving her chuckling while shaking her head at the man.

“You wound me, lightning. Here I was hoping you’d finally let me take you out on a date, once this day’s over.” No longer did she laugh, the sound was stuck in her throat all too suddenly.

Did he truly mean it? Was he planning on asking her out? Or was Tyler playing yet another game with her?

“Don’t fuck with me, Owens.” His hand darted out to grasp her chin, forcing her to keep her focus on him before she could even try to turn away from him. For just a second, she watched his gaze flicker between her eyes and her slightly parted lips. Once again her heart was back to racing, no longer focused on the howling wind, the sounds of things crashing outside, but fully and solemnly focused on Tyler.

“Are you scared of this thing between us?” Once again, his question managed to rob her of the air filling her lungs, not expecting him to be this direct with her. A part of (y/n) begged her to cuss him out, to make fun of the question, to escape the avalanche that was about to roll upon them, but the bigger - more desperate - part of her, managed to gain the upper hand, leading her straight towards danger.

“Well, even though you enjoy riding your fears, I prefer to face ‘em. I’m not scared, not of this, whatever this is. But I’m fucking terrified of you toying with me and dropping me the second I’m no longer interesting enough.” He let go of her, only to pull her into his lap, making her straddle his stretched out legs. They held eye contact, wordlessly daring one another to move first, to give in to the pull that was as strong as an F5 they’d happily chase on any other day.

“I’d be fucking stupid to mess it up with you.” She felt his breath on her lips, ghosting over her soft skin like he was giving her one last chance to pull away. A chance she wouldn’t take, letting it pass while finding his lips for a soft kiss that escalated within seconds. With his hand pressed to the back of her head and his other placed on her waist, Tyler held her to him while deepening the kiss.

Their tongues fought for victory, knowing that neither of them would back down from a fight against the other, urged on by their need to gain the upper hand. Soft groans and moans left them while their bodies searched one another’s closeness, knowing that this was something they wouldn’t tell others about, preferring to keep this as their secret.

Her hands roamed his clothed chest, feeling his muscles beneath her wandering fingers while finding her way to his belt. She toyed with the buckle for a moment while her lips were still glued to his, knowing they’d have to part any moment now to inhale some much needed breaths of air.

“You sure you want to do this in here, lightning?” His chuckles left her grinning, while holding onto the question she had wanted to ask for a while now.

“Why lightning?” A kiss was shared between them, much softer than the one before. Her hand was still toying with his belt, slowly undoing the buckle to wordlessly tell him she wanted this much as he did, even though they knew that it was stupid and selfish of them to hide out here while their teams were undoubtedly worrying about them.

“Well, the first time I saw you, you struck me like lightning, brightening my darkest day.” The explanation was cheesy, and yet it still drew heat up her neck. She could only swallow, smile at him and refocus on her hands. Tyler let her move, freeing his hardening cock while his impatient hands tugged on the buttons of her blouse, letting it pop open to expose her bra-clad chest.

“Fuck, you’re a dream.” Her eyes flickered up to his while she spat into her palm, using her saliva to lube him up. Tyler couldn’t stop his moans from clawing through him, fully focused on the way he perfectly fit into her hand, pressed against the soft skin he wanted to feel against every inch of his body. His head rolled back against the wall, eyes closed and lips parted – offering a sight that made her walls clench around nothing, proud for being the one to make him feel like that.

Her hand added more speed to its movements, squeezing him with just enough pressure to draw another raspy moan from Tyler. He allowed himself to relish in her touch for another moment before he gently though urgently grasped her wrist to stop her from moving.

“Will you ride me, lightning?” His accent grew thicker with every syllable, leaving her shuddering while only a soft chuckle managed to leave her. She rose to her feet to shuffle out of her jeans, keeping her eyes focused on Tyler who marvelled at her as if she was the strongest tornado he had ever been fortunate enough to see, fully mesmerised by everything about her. She kept her panties on while finding her way back to his lap, knowing that they needed to hit the road soon, not giving them a chance to do this properly.

“Wait, here.” He reached for his back pocket to pull a condom out of his wallet, letting her rip it open to roll it down his aching cock. Both their hearts were beating in sync, knowing that they were finally about to do something they had been desperate for ever since running into one another for the first time. No matter how much anger and hatred had once grown between them, it was now turning them from opponents to lovers–or whatever it was both were trying to adjust to.

Tyler held onto her as she sank down on him, letting her forehead fall against his shoulder for a second. No words were spoken while they had to adjust, overwhelmed by the new sensation and the whirlwind of emotions buzzing through them like a storm hitting them both. With her hands holding onto him, clinging to the fabric of the shirt he wore, she began to move, fucking herself on his twitching cock with such a passion, Tyler feared he may never want to get out of this shelter again.

“Tyler,” his name left her, a breathy whisper he almost missed, too far gone to focus on anything but their closeness. He palmed her ass, letting his fingertips dig into her skin to leave marks that would remind her of this very moment for days to come. His hips met hers, jerking upwards to make his cock disappear inside of her even deeper, drawing desperate moans from them which dripped with a need for more.

“Attagirl, look at you, fucking yourself on my cock like you were born for this.” She moaned at his words, knowing that her thighs would start aching soon enough, begging for a new position to give herself the needed push to fall over the edge. “What? You’re already getting tired? I should have fucked you in my truck, make you scream my name while the world’s ending around us.”

He pushed her off of him without a warning, leaving her dazed and confused for a second while watching him rise to his feet. With a hand stretched out for (y/n) to take, he pulled her up towards him–only to pick her up and press her against the wall. His cock was pushed back into her, stretching her walls while he fucked her with a fast pace that made both of them see stars.

(Y/n) clawed at his neck, needing to hold onto him while he fucked her closer and closer to the edge. A cocky grin widened on his lips as he felt her walls tightening their grip on his cock. She was close, would let go soon with his name burning on the tip of her tongue, a perfect reminder that she was his from today on, glued to the man who she had once sworn to hate.

“Scream my name, lightning, show them what a real thunderstorm sounds like.” If he weren’t buried deep inside of her, she would have rolled her eyes at him. But (y/n) was too far gone to care about his cheesy teasing, solemnly focused on her arising high and the name rolling off her tongue like a prayer.

And then she came, pushed into an orgasm so strong, (y/n) feared she’d never experience something like this again. It buzzed through every part of her body, stealing her breath as if she was drowning, forcing her heart to skip beats as if she was chased by someone or rather something. Tyler kept fucking her against the wall, urged on by her moans, the sounds he’d never forget again.

Pants kept leaving him while chasing his own high, letting his skin meet hers with every ferocious thrust. And with one last “Fuck” Tyler came, relieving himself into the condom as his smirk returned to his lips. Both were heavily breathing, clinging to the other while coming down from their highs.

“I don’t know if I can walk back to the truck.” Carefully, he placed (y/n) back down on her feet, shaking his head at her with a soft smile thrown her way. Tyler pressed another kiss to her slightly swollen lips before both redressed, knowing that they had to get out of here and back to their team as fast as possible.

“You know I’ll gladly carry you, lightning. I always will, if you let me.”

#Tyler Owens smut #Tyler Owens x reader #tyler owens Imagine #twisters #glen powell #glen Powell imagine #Glen Powell smut

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chromiumagellanic06 · 2 years ago

Text

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 1: A Summons

MASTERLIST

Summary: Princess Naera Targaryen, younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, is summoned back to King's Landing after several years spent in Essos.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: nothing, really

Note: It can very easily be read as an x reader fanfic, guys. Send comments either here, or on AO3

All rights go to GRRM, the creators of House of the Dragon and Game of Thrones. Image credits to Pinterest and the respective owners.

Naera did not like the sea. She preferred the skies.

Yet, obligations were obligations, and appearing before the Court when summoned was necessary. It was necessary to her, however, to spite her father by appearing as late as possible, or reasonable. So, she danced from free city to free city, port to the harbour, finding a sane way to delay her arrival just by another day, if it ensured she have the last word.

From Naath, there was a direct ship to King’s Landing with a stop at nightfall by the Sunspear. She would have taken that ship, but, oh, she could hardly spend more than a moment in Dorne, she was sure before she would be saddened by the memories it brought her.

So, she took a different ship, one headed towards Mereen, and there, she refused one for Volantis, instead opting for one that went to Yunkai, and then, she sailed for Braavos, where she spent half a year in the House of Black and White—not at all by her own choice, of course, before she sailed back to Volantis, smuggled a slave whore out and spent the rest of her journey to Dragonstone in her embrace. She had been fun until she tried stealing from her.

She left her shortly before arriving at Dragonstone and flew her way to King’s Landing. She wouldn’t want to make her father wait, of course. She wondered what he wished to tell her, something he doesn’t think will offend or bother her, so it probably will offend and bother her, but she couldn’t presume. He could be proposing another matter of marriage for political gain, or perhaps he meant to question her on her journeys. It could be anything. Now that she was back in court, there was much to be done.

Many people do not struggle to find faults in the ways the Valyrians, and by extension, the Tararyens, lived their lives. People are almost eager to express their disgust at their “inhuman and incestuous” ways of marriage and tradition, but it is important to remember the unofficial words of the Targaryens, that read true even to their ancestors of Essos, that “Targaryens, like their dragons, answered to neither gods, nor men.”

One may argue that it is right that they do not. In fact, who was ever willing to stand up to them? No god, old or new, had ever scorned the Targaryens during their long and sometimes bloody reign over Westeros, but some followers of the Religion of the Lord of Light in Essos, particularly in Asshai, tend to credit the Doom of Old Valyria as the outcome of their gods’ fury over their “inhuman and incestuous” ways. But, the Doom isn’t relevant to this story, and thus, it shan’t be discussed in length.

The Targaryens were a dynasty descended from the greatest civilisation in the world, and their kings oft ruled with the same grace and servitude as is expected. That is not true for all their rulers, however, as a single mention of Maegor the Cruel, son of Visenya, dismisses any claims that the Targaryen reign was a peaceful one.

The subject of this documentation revolves around the reign of King Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar (though, one may make an argument that considering the majority of the Rhoynar population is concentrated in the territory of Dorne, which is not a part of the Seven Kingdoms as of yet, the titling of the King as the Ruler of the Rhoynars is as true as calling him the King of Volantis, as a minuscule fraction of his true subjects were Volantean), and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms (In reality, Six) and Protector of the Realm, and the troublesome matter of his successorship.

When King Jaehaerys Targaryen, First of his Name, also known as the Old King during the final years of his reign, lost his son, heir and hand, Prince Baelon, he had appointed a Great Council, in the year 101AC, to settle the dispute over his succession. The Great Council’s decision had been followed in the year 103 AC, when the Old King perished, putting the Old King’s nephew, Viserys, over his daughter, Princess Rhaenys.

King Viserys was, by all accounts and evidence, a quiet and traditional man, who loved his family very much. His younger brother, Prince Daemon, was a constant source of frustration for him, but he refused to let his deeds shadow the pact of fire and blood between the brothers. With his first wife, Queen Aemma, King Viserys had two daughters, Princess Rhaenerya, who he later named heir to scorn his brother, and Princess Naera, who better donned the title of Knight than she did princess.

- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’

by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel

Naera was dressed in white, her silver armour gleaming in the noon sun, her silver-white cape fluttering in the breeze when she stepped into the Red Keep. She walked slowly, sauntering, delaying and stalling, as she made conversation with wet nurses and maids, several of whom rushed away at her words and stares, and was even staring out a window, out to the shit-stained streets of King’s Landing, before a Kingsguard was sent to ‘escort’ her to the Throne Room.

His name was Redmond, she learned, Ser Redmond. He had a head full of blond hair and clever green eyes that squinted when observing something in the distance. He was a reader, then, or perhaps damaged his eyes in some other way. It didn’t matter, Naera decided, when Redmond began staring at her armour with a look that neared disdain.

She wouldn’t make a friend of him, then, because she knew that look very well. She also knew his thoughts. Pretentious bitch, he thought, probably, acting as though you earned it when you know you haven’t.

Naera smiled at him, “Would you spar with me later on?” This always caught them off-guard. They reached the door to the Throne Room, the quiet murmuring of people inside making Naera frown. More, and more curious. What did her father want this time?

“Indeed, princess,” Redmond answered after a beat.

“Oh, there’s no need for formalities—Naera is fine. At dawn, tomorrow, then?” She smiled, a thing of dazzle and charm, with the way her eyes crinkled despite her young age.

Redmond smiled politely, hesitantly, his eyes wandering—fake. Naera pulled at the door handles softly, and walked in.

Throughout her life, Princess Naera earned herself many titles, the White Night, the Princess of Dragonstone, the Wanderer of Asshai, the Silver Queen of Highgarden, and much, much more. Her journey through life began on less than glorious terms.

After the death of her mother, Queen Aemma, her father’s second wife, Alicent Hightower, insisted that King Viserys send Princess Naera to Dorne as a way to heal the rift between Dorne and the remaining kingdoms. This was probably for Queen Alicent’s personal gain, as the young Princess Naera had been very hostile towards the Queen, even more so than her childhood friend, Princess Rhaenyra.

King Viserys agreed and sent Princess Naera to spend her youth in Dorne, set to wed the future Prince of Dorne, Prince Raiden Martell. During her time in Dorne, Naera had transformed from the little girl who hid behind the walls of the Red Keep to a lady warrior, having mastered every style from the lance to the water dance. She had been knighted by the reigning Prince of Dorne at the age of sixteen and her knighthood had been recognised by her father, King Viserys I, who proudly proclaimed her the “Second Visenya.”

As a knight, Naera often partook in tourneys and jousts, and although the tourneys of Dorne were far more violent than the ones she had witnessed in King’s Landing, she emerged victorious more often than not. With her white hair and silver armour, her white capes and her silver weapons, she quickly came to be known as the ‘Silver Knight of Westeros’. Adding to that moniker was her dragon with which she had been bonded since birth—Wisetone, a sun-white scaled dragon with a calm temperament to match her calculated, though oft impulsive also, self.

By all accounts, and none more convincing than her many, many letters to Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Naera had been very happy with Prince Raiden, often mentioning how he loved spending time with her in the Water Gardens, writing, “He combs through my hair as I read to him, the feats of Baelon the Dread, or the trade routes in Astapor…” She also wrote, “His eyes enamour me, and he sings to me every dusk—he never bores, though I do not know how.”

The princess also records her losing her maidenhead to Prince Raiden long before their marriage, the deed rumoured to have taken place on the “most ordinary of days and nights, when nothing was strange, not even the moans of a Targaryen princess in Sunspear”, as spoken by the Dornish Court’s fool.

Tragedy struck early, however, when just days before they were to travel to King’s Landing for their royal wedding, Prince Raiden fell ill and died, well within a fortnight. Several in Dorne had the suspicion that King Viserys had commanded his daughter to poison the Prince, but other accounts suggest that Princess Naera had been far too consumed by grief to have done it. There are a few who suggest, strangely, that Naera had taken it upon herself to end the life of Prince Raiden because she grew weary of his calm and “fairy-talesque” personality, wanting someone who could challenge the fire and blood within her instead.

No definitive evidence proves any of the above-noted suspicions, however, it is curious how at the tender age of Eighteen, simply months after her intended’s death, she rode upon her Dragon, Wisetone, and fled to Essos.

In a letter to her sister prior to her departure, Princess Naera wrote that her reason for her journey to Essos was “to grieve, for no cause and no reason can be purer held than that borne out of pain, dear sister”.

Her journeys in Essos are far better recorded by her, in her journals stored at the Citadel in Oldtown, appropriately titled, Times in Essos, by Princess Naera Targaryen, published across seven volumes featuring her adventures in Volantis, Slaver’s Bay, Qarth, the Dothraki’s Grass Sea, Asshai and the Shadowlands, Lys and Naath, as well as her final journey in Essos, which in fact took place years after her return to King’s Landing, to Valyria.

Each of these volumes is heavy with detailed writings of the climate, vegetation, fauna and societies, as well as customs, of the places she visited. Her journal of Valyria, though at times deranged and misleading, provides some of the only knowledge of the vegetation of Old Valyria possessed by the world, consisting of the proper diagrams and descriptions expected of a scholar, which she was revered as.

In her personal diaries and letters to acquaintances around Essos and Westeros, she detailed a string of love affairs she had undergone, ranging from a Dothraki warlord to a sweet noblewoman, daughter of a wealthy Yunkish merchant. When word of her endeavours reached the Westerosi court, however, Queen Alicent Hightower was outraged, insisting upon Princess Naera’s behaviour as being destructive of the reputation of House Targaryen. While the King and his appointed Heir, Princess Rhaenyra, were not particularly bothered by her deeds, King Viserys had been convinced by his second wife to remove Princess Naera from the line of succession, something largely fought against by the Blacks. Princess Naera, however, did not learn of this ordeal until years after, when she returned to King’s Landing,

Princess Naera never truly ‘fled’ from her family, instead keeping her sister well informed of where she went and what she did, and she even wrote to her father, over a dozen times, though he never did respond. Her journey in Naath was cut short by an imperial order sent for her, commanding her to return to court effective immediately, and with full honours. She was furious.

Thus, it is understandable why Princess Naera, who had written to her father of her journeys, to her sister of her triumphs against Dothraki Bloodriders in the Great Grass Sea, or against revered slave-soldiers in the fighting pits of Mereen, and had never received a response from the first, but had been suddenly, unexpectedly, ordered to return to King’s Landing, a city she couldn’t even call home, for no cause explained, reacted as she did.

Princess Naera delayed her journey by several days by taking backwater routes and unnecessary detours. In the end, she arrived in King’s Landing nearly a year after she had been summoned, when the journey should have taken no longer than a fortnight.

Upon her arrival, however, her ire grew.

- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’

by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel

Her shoes hammered against the marble floors of the throne room, dozens of people within going silent as she walked. Her father sat on the throne of swords, his face contorted in tire and body withering with age. A brown-haired woman, dressed in lavish green and gold stood by his side—Alicent Hightower, as did another woman, her hair white and pure, her eyes lilac and smiling—Rhaenyra.

Naera approached the steps before the throne, two White-cloaks, Kingsguards, standing on either side, hands ready at the hilts of their swords, ready to protect the royal Family. Had they forgotten that she was the Royal family?

“Your grace,” Naera addressed with narrowed eyes, a part of her anticipating fury, or abhorrence, but nothing in between. King Viserys raised his chin on his hand, bandaged in a shade of linen matching his skin. The bandaging looked fresh, changed recently.

“What took you so long?” He asked, baffled, eyes wide and fingers outstretched. A flash of a smile bloomed into a grin. Father. He walked down the steps to the throne, examining her with a teasing eye. “My daughter,” he rested his hands on her shoulders, on her cold armour, “You have grown.”

“Considering that you last saw me when I was, well, twelve, I suppose that I have.” Naera smiled back, “you have aged.” King Viserys laughed, something that reversed his life a decade or two, and embraced his daughter.

“Princess Naera Targaryen, the Silver Knight,” said Viserys, “my daughter, how have you been?” Naera smiled, something of joy and recognition, definitely of pride and achievement bursting through her at her father calling her by the name she had earned.

“I believe that there will be plenty of time for that later, your grace,” Alicent interrupted the moment, granting Naera a diplomatic smile, one devoid of any meaning. “You should tell your daughter why she has been summoned,” Alicent smiled again, but there was joy in this smile. It made Naera’s skin crawl.

She stared back at her father, who glanced off at meeting her eyes. His hands dropped from her shoulders, as did his smile from his lips. Father, Naera wanted to sigh. She couldn’t.

“There will be time for that, your grace,” Rhaenyra interrupted, sensing the sudden tension that engulfed them. Naera narrowed her eyes at Alicent, knowing full well that the only reason behind her pressuring her father to reveal his intentions in court was to illicit a response out of her. Whatever their plans were, she wasn’t going to like them. “I believe Princess Naera is exhausted after her journey.”

“Yes, you are right,” Her father beamed again, “We shall dine in my solar tonight, that shall be for the best,”

The political scene Princess Naera returned to, after most of her childhood spent in the liberal calm of Dorne, and all her adulthood in the free lands of Essos was one of tricks and deceit. During her long conversation with her sister upon returning, Princess Naera learned of the sharp divide the noble lords and court officers had classified themselves with—the Greens, supporting Queen Alicent’s claim that her son, Prince Aegon, was the better heir to the Iron Throne, and the Blacks, supported Princess Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, which had been formally ratified by the King also. She learned of the controversy around Princess Rhaenyra’s children, though her sister did not admit to having had an affair. She wrote, in a journal entry that afternoon, “Rhaenyra lies, I can tell—but I do not fault her.”

One crucial thing she had learned was that she had been removed from the line of succession, but by all accounts, the Princess did not agonize over it, nor did she blame her father for his decision. She only stated to her old friends from King's Landing, such as Lady Elysabeth Tyrell, in a letter, that she “had no need or want for the throne.”

The first few hours she spent in Westeros were enough for her to acclimate herself to the society, as she had spent years doing just so in the free cities. She left behind her armour and weapons and donned the obvious black and red of her house when the royal family convened for the family dinner.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

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