#first Prince prompts round up

[rwrbprompts]

Hello Friends! Here is all the unclaimed prompts. If you want to claim one just let me know ☺️

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

But Daddy I Love Him - Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: Oh hi! First of all, thanks for all the love on my last Jace fic. I'm sorry it's taken so long to post my next, I've had a crazy couple of weeks, but I wanted to make to get something out before this week's episode. I can't believe there's just 3 eps left of the season! I am hoping to get my Jace chapter fic out before then, so I have put most of my focus there. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

TS Prompt #8: But Daddy I Love Him

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Jace and the reader fall in love, much to the displeasure of the reader's father.

Warnings: smut

Jacaerys Velaryon is beautiful.

It is tourney day in King's Landing, and your eyes are stuck to him as he makes his way out into the arena. Around you, there are scattered conversations whispered not low enough, about how the prince has matured in the last year, how handsome he has become.

He has not yet put his helmet on. This leaves his hair out, curls whipping around him in the gentle breeze. He flicks his hair back and there is a chorus of awes around you. You smirk at the reaction.

"The arrogance," your father, Jason Lannister, mutters from your side. You barely spare him a glance, not wanting to remove your eyes from Jacaerys.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"He's showing off," your father says, disgust in his voice.

"It is a tourney," you say, "Isn't that the point?" He doesn't respond, just continues to monitor the arena space.

Jacaerys mounts his horse and with bated breath, you watch as he accepts the lance from the Master of Revels. His opponent is a knight you haven't met yet, a Ser Estermont. He has done well in the tourney so far, though, which makes you nervous.

As both men prepare to make their joust, you lean forward in your seat, needing to see as closely as possible, what is about to happen.

Unlike the matches before, this one is over in one round. Jacaerys aims his lance to the perfect angle, and expertly knocks over the knight from Greenstone.

Applause erupts from the viewing gallery, and you nearly stand up and cheer, you are so relieved about his win. Jacaerys rides around the stands and stops in front of the gallery you sit in. He lifts off his helmet and smiles in a way that makes your heart race.

"Lady Y/N," he says, and you think you hear discontented sighs from behind you. "Might I request your favor, that I may excel through the rest of this tournament?" You smile and reach for your wreath of flowers. For one moment, your father grips your wrist, as if he means to keep you from going. But it does not last long. No matter what your father may think of Jacaerys, he is still the prince, and future heir to the the throne. To deny him would mean scandal.

As you approach the railing, you try to fight off the grin at seeing him. Jacaerys extends his lance so that you may drop the wreath onto it easily.

"Thank you, My Lady," he says, eyes locked onto yours.

"Good luck, My Prince."

He rides off into the arena, garnering more applause from the stands, as you return to your seat. There are jealous eyes upon you. Even your father looks angry. But you pay them no mind. There will be more rounds, and Jacaerys is sure to succeed time and again, which will have him request the favor of more ladies.

Smiling as you sit down, you think of the girls who will bestow upon him their own wreaths. You might even feel bad for them, for surely, they will assume that his attention means he might court them. But you know that his affections lie only with you.

To you, the prince was just Jace, and you had loved him since you were a girl. Three months ago, he had declared his love for you, too, and ever since, the two of you had been hiding your love, waiting for the right moment to proclaim your intentions.

"He did quite well," you say to your father, making another effort to talk up Jacaerys to him.

"Ser Estermont was an easy opponent," your father says, disinterest and dismissal reflected in his tone.

Once the tournament is over, Jace makes his way into the castle. Several lords and ladies stop him on his way, congratulating him on his victory. He thanks them in passing, his thoughts only on getting into the castle, where he knows he will find you.

There is a feast to be held after the tournament, and while most everyone heads that way, he dismisses himself, saying he wishes to change before then.

When he turns down the hallway towards his quarters, the area is empty. The guards that usually stand at his door were at the tourney and are now sitting down for the feast.

You come around the other end of the hallway, your red dress immediately drawing his eye. You glance around cautiously before breaking into a run, launching yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, laughing as his arms settle around you.

"Oh," you say on a breath, pulling back just enough to face him, "You have no idea how worried I was for you."

"Have you so little faith?" he asks with a smile.

"I believed in you," you say, hand to his chest, "But belief doesn't change the fear that comes at watching a lord twice your size sprint at you with a lance."

"I'm alright," he says, his hands running gently along your back. You smile at him and lean in to kiss his lips softly. Jace hums contentedly into the kiss, his arms wrapping tighter around you as he pulls you into a corner and deepens the kiss.

Together, you stay locked there for a long moment, relishing the quiet that is so hard to find. Jace's hands travel through your hair and over your body, greedy to get his fill of you while he has you.

"I should get to the feast," you say softly when you break for air, your forehead pressed to his.

"Stay with me," he says, entwining his hand with yours.

"My father will be looking for me," you say. Jace's smile drops. "I'm trying," you say, "To sway him to our favor."

"I know you are."

"Your victory today should help with that," you say, giving him a small smile. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you, My Lady," he says with a laugh. "I'll see you at the feast."

"Yes, My Prince."

By the next week, your father's attitude still hasn't changed. At the feast, you tried to talk about the prince, but he wouldn't hear anything of it. Jace had even come over to greet your family. Your father was diplomatic and only spoke to the prince for as long as he had to.

"I don't get why he won't give his blessing," you say, looking down at Jace. His head is in your lap, his eyes closed. He is so peaceful at this moment, you hate to bring this up again, but there seem to be fewer and fewer times for the two of you to be together. Even now, you are supposed to be with other ladies of the court, practicing your needlework. Instead, you snuck off to the Godswood to be with Jace amongst the blossoming trees.

"I'd be queen one day," you continue. "What more could he want for me?" Jace opens his eyes and looks at you with a frown.

"It's because of the rumors about me," he says lowly. You want to say he's wrong, but you wouldn't even believe yourself. The rumors of Jace's parentage had only grown in the last few years. It seemed that as he became older, and King Viserys grew sicker, the accusations only multiplied.

"I don't care about that, though," you say brushing your fingers through his hair.

"You should," he says, taking your hand in his own. "There are some who would see my brothers and I slain, rather than see us inherit our birthright."

"All the great houses swore allegiance to your mother," you say, squeezing his hand. "And you are her trueborn son. To do so would be--"

"Treason," he says, "But there are still those who would try it."

"My father wouldn't," you say. "As stubborn as he is, he is loyal to King Viserys, and by extension, your mother." Jace sits up, a serious expression on his face.

"Tensions are high amongst my family," he says, taking your hands in his. "In the entire kingdom, really. I am worried what may happen. Your father is smart, and that is why he must worry, too."

"You all fear something that may never come to pass," you say, "Are we to be separated in the name of what ifs?"

"We are to be separated until we can convince your father that I can keep you safe."

"And how do we do that?" you ask. Jace lays his head back on your lap.

"I don't know," he says.

The room is dark when you enter your father's quarters that night. He sent word to your lady's maid to see him immediately, but she couldn't find you until now, because you and Jace had been intwined in the Godswood all afternoon.

"Lady Clegane said she did not see you today," your father says right away, before you can even greet him. "Were you not to be under her tutelage this afternoon?"

"I don't need to study my needlepoint, Father," you say, stopping in front of him. "No man alive cares how well his wife can stitch."

"You were with the prince, weren't you?" he asks, standing. He towers over you, but you hold your head high, meeting his gaze.

"Why don't you like him?" you ask. He merely shakes his head.

"It is not a daughter's job to pick her husband," he says, "That duty lies with her father."

"And who would you have me marry instead? A lesser lord of the Westerlands? Someone directly under your control?"

"If that is what I demanded, yes," he says, bracing your arms. "I raised you to obey me, Y/N."

"No, you raised me to cage me," you say, tugging from his grip. "I would be Jacaery's queen! There isn't a more advantageous match out there for me. Yet you refuse to even hear us out, because it is not of your doing!" His face reddens, a telltale sign of his rage. You have never raised your voice to him before, and are now slightly scared of what he may do.

"I think it's time you return to Casterly Rock," he says lowly.

"What?" you ask, momentarily stunned.

"Your time in King's Landing is over," he says firmly. "You have become disobedient and careless."

"Father--"

"Do you think I am the only one who sees it, Y/N?" he asks, taking your hands in his desperately. His eyes are wide and pleading. "Do you think no one saw the two of you in the Godswood today? That no one can see the secret looks you exchange? That family is shameless, and I will have you take no part in it.

"I will not allow your reputation to be ruined by the prince's," he says. Tears begin to form at the finality of his words.

"When do I leave?" you ask, setting your jaw as you fight off the tears.

"I'll escort you the day after tomorrow, so you can make your goodbyes," he says. He can't meet your eyes.

"Very well."

Jace is speechless when you tell him. He found you sitting outside of his chambers the next night, tears streaming down your face. He invited you inside, a hurtle the two of you had yet to pass until then, and held you close while you told him your fate.

"We'll only have tonight," you say quietly.

"Maybe it's for the better."

"How can it be when it separates us?" you ask, looking up at him with watery eyes.

"Just for now," he says, brushing your hair back gingerly. "When things relax, we can try to convince him again."

"How long will that be?" you ask, "He'll have me married off as soon as possible, I know." Jace frowns down at you, his eyes searching for an answer in yours, that he knows he can't find.

"I won't stop fighting for you, Y/N," he says. "I promise."

"I won't either."

"We'll find a way," he says. You nod your head, a new wave of tears incoming, and relax into his chest. He holds you in his arms for a long time, his had tracing patterns along your back. The fire is nearly out in his hearth, and the room grows dark quickly.

"When did he say he wanted you back?"

"Fuck what he said," you say, looking at him intently. "I am not leaving your side tonight." With a hand to his cheek, you bring your lips together. The kiss is slow, a bit salty with the tears streaming down your face, but it is all he has ever wanted. He tries not to think about the fact that this might very well be the last time he ever gets to taste your lips, ever gets to hold you.

But it seems that your thoughts go there as well. Quickly, the kiss turns passionate. Your teeth scrape against his lip, like you can take him with you to Casterly Rock. His hands move down your body, to places he hasn't dared to explore yet. As one, the two of you move, so that he has you pinned to the couch, his body atop yours in a way he's only dreamed about before. You moan into his kiss as his body rocks into yours.

“Y/N,” he says breathlessly, forcing himself to break away from your kiss. Your lips are red, swollen from his touch. Your hair is spread out around you in a cascade of curls. It is torture to see you like this and not bring his body clashing into yours again.

“What?” you ask, your hand trailing down his chest, as if you need to touch him however you can.

“We should stop.”

“Why?”

“If anyone ever found out, you would be disgraced. Your father already doesn’t like me, I don’t want to give him any other reason to—“

“I’ll tell you something right now,” you say, “My good name is mine alone to disgrace. Being here with you now, doesn’t change a single thing about my honor.”

"Are you sure?"

"I need you, Jace," you whisper. You are barely able to finish the words before his mouth meets yours again, fiercer than before. He doesn't stay there too long. He needs to taste you everywhere, savor every moment he's got left with you.

His lips move across your face and down your neck. He loves the sounds you make when he bites down softly, the way your back arches your body into his. He sits the two of you up for just a moment, so that he can pull at the laces along your back.

When the top of your dress falls, he stares at your bare chest for a long moment. You smile at him, your skin flushed.

"You are so beautiful," he says. You grab hold of his face, kissing him again as you fall back onto the couch. Jace palms your breast, kneading gently as you whimper into his mouth. You pull at his clothes, too, until you rip his shirt off over his head.

Skin to skin now, Jace breaks from your lips to kiss down your chest. He lingers for a moment on your breasts, but his need to take you is growing too urgent. He moves down lower, tugging your dress down with him until you are fully exposed to him.

"Y/N," he says on a sigh, marveling at the sight of you.

"I love you."

"I love you," he says, dropping his lips to the folds at your center. The moan you let out is nearly enough to send him over, but he won't deny himself the opportunity to feel what it's like to be inside of you. He focuses on your pleasure, kissing the sensitive bud at the apex of your thigh, watching your face with rapt attention, seeing what action makes you cry out, which makes you thrust into him.

When you cry out his name, his watches proudly as your body clenches, waves of pleasure roll through you. Jace keeps up his actions for a few moments longer, tasting and savoring the moment as you come down.

When he sits up, he watches the rise and fall of your chest, the satisfied smile on your face. He kisses your lips passionately, treasuring the little sounds of happiness you make as he does.

He drops his trousers next, rubbing his cock against your slick folds. He presses into you slowly, barely able to keep his control, his need is so great. You gasp as you take him in, grabbing hold of his shoulders. He begins to rock into you, his movements gentle. As your sounds become more frequent, he picks up his pace, until the only sound he can hear is your cries of pleasure, and the collision of your two bodies.

He comes soon after that, his body collapsing on top of yours. For a long while, the two of you lay there, sweaty and happy, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

"Jace," you say on a breath, breaking the silence first.

"Yes, my love?" he asks, his eyes meeting yours.

"This cannot be the last time," you say, cupping his cheek.

"It won't be. We'll find a way, I swear."

It's early morning when you return to your chambers. Your father collects you an hour later, and although the look he gives you suggests that he knows where you were, thankfully, he doesn't say anything.

The journey to Casterly Rock is long, taking nearly three weeks, and the entire time, your thoughts are on Jace. You bring him up a few times with your father, but after the most recent, he stops looking at you, stops speaking altogether, and rides astride his horse, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

When the news of King Viserys's death breaks, you hear it from your lady's maid. You shoo her away when she tries to finish braiding your hair. You know you should feel sad - Viserys was a great king, and had been sick for a long time. The last time you saw him, he looked like a walking corpse, and you had to avert your gaze.

But his passing means that Rhaenyra will be crowned queen. She will return from Dragonstone, where she fled just a week after you left King's Landing, and Jace with her.

You run from your chambers and burst into your parents' quarters, and find them talking in hushed, urgent tones. Your mother turns at your arrival and the look on her face scares you. There is panic in her gaze, mixed with a sadness that seems to grow when she sees you.

"Y/N," she says softly.

"I just heard the news."

"Yes."

"I expect we'll be leaving for King's Landing soon?" you ask, looking to your father. "For Princess Rhaenyra's coronation?"

"My dear," your mother says, a hand out to call you to her side. "Maybe you should sit down."

"What is it?" you ask as she sits you down in front of their empty hearth.

"Rhaenyra is not going to be queen," your father says.

"What do you mean?"

"Aegon has been crowned."

"He usurped the throne?" you ask in shock. "Are we gathering our bannerman? Should we--"

"Y/N," your father says with a sigh, taking your hands as he sits across from you. "We won't be calling our bannerman. We are supporting King Aegon."

"You swore allegiance to Rhaenyra," you say icily, looking between your parents' faces.

"I can't explain it all to you, daughter. There is much you don't understand."

"Uncle Tyland?" you ask quietly. Certainly, your level-headed uncle would see reason, when your father could not.

"He sits upon Aegon's small council," your father says.

"How long has this been planned?" you ask, moving away from your parents. The room suddenly feels too suffocating. Watching them, waiting for their response, you catch a quick look between your parents.

"How long have you known about this, Father?" you ask, stepping closer to look him in the eye.

"Rhaenyra was never going to be queen," he says lowly. "Regardless of the parentage of her sons. Although, that certainly didn't help her cause." You pull back from him, a look of disgust on your face. "And Aegon will make a good king."

"What will happen to Rhaenyra? To her sons?" you ask, the second question coming out broken. He doesn't answer. You look to your mother, hoping for some words of support from her, but she shares the same sad look on her own face.

"You've known this for so long . . ." you say, thoughts racing, "That's why you wouldn't approve an engagement between Prince Jacaerys and I."

"Yes," he says, "And I won't feel sorry for it. He'll be killed, no doubt. I don't want the same fate for you."

"But Daddy," you cry, calling him by a name you haven't in years, feeling as helpless as if you were still that child, "I love him!"

"It's already done, Y/N," he says, pain in his eyes. You let out a strangled sound before sliding down the wall.

"I'm having his baby," you say through a sob.

"What?" your mother asks urgently, crouching at your side. "What do you mean?" But no words come to you. The tears are falling too fast, any words choked by hiccupping.

Eventually, they bring you to your room. They both asked more questions about the baby, but you don't answer them, you can't. You don't trust them.

Your father had known this fate would befall Rhaenyra, would befall her sons. He knew you loved Jace, and he still let it all happen.

The next morning, your mother comes into your room. Her eyes are bloodshot, with dark circles underneath them. She brings you a cup of tea and kisses your forehead, before she says anything.

"Tell me about the baby," she says. "Are you certain?"

"No," you admit, bringing your knees to your chest. "But I haven't had my blood in a few weeks." Your mother nods and looks down sadly at her own drink.

"You'll need to drink moon tea," your mother says softly.

"I won't."

"Then you'll need to get married immediately, and claim the child as your new husband's."

"I won't do that either."

"Y/N," she begins with a sigh.

"You've already slammed the door on my whole world, I won't let you take this one last piece of him I have. If I am to have his child, I will keep it and I won't claim it as anyone else's."

"You'll be ruined," she says. "And if Aegon finds out that your child is Jacaerys's--"

"He won't. Nobody needs to know."

"Your father won't like this," she says gently. "You do not wish to make him angry."

"He's been angry. I've made my decision."

The next week, your cycle arrives, and you cry all day long.

"Sending another raven?" Rhaenyra asks, stepping out onto the cool balcony beside Jace. He gives her a tight lipped smile and nods. "Have you heard back from her?"

"Here and there," he says. He has been sending ravens to you for the past two weeks.

"I'm sorry your feelings fell into the middle of this mess."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Mother," he says seriously. She gives him a sad smile, a palm to his cheek.

"Baela tells me you have a plan to get her out," she says. Jace looks at her with wide eyes. He hadn't technically asked her permission, and what he was doing would be dangerous for their position.

"I know I should have told you," he starts.

"Yes, you should have. I would like to help," she says. She laughs at the bewildered look on Jace's face. "Do you think I would let you suffer here, knowing she's there, probably suffering too? Tell me your plan, Jace."

So he does. He gives her the same instructions he just sent to you. She gives him her support, while offering a few suggestions. She leaves him on the balcony after, giving him space to think over his plan, and to try and quell the hope building up inside of him.

All he is waiting for is one word from you, and he will enact this plan.

A day later, a raven knocks at his window, waking him from sleep. He leaps up immediately to grab its message, and finds just one word, written in your handwriting.

Yes.

On the morning of your escape, you awake with a smile on your face. It has been weeks since you felt anything at all. Your lady's maid enters into the room to ready you for the day, and you greet her, "Good morning."

"Good morning, My Lady," she says, looking at you in bewilderment. You're not sure you've spoken to her since you arrived at Casterly Rock. "I trust you slept well, then?"

"The best yet," you say.

As she moves about the room, getting your clothing together, you make sure to pick out the dullest dress in your wardrobe. When she sits you down to do your hair, you have her tuck your tendrils into a woven braid. Everything for indiscretion, or this plan will not work out.

When you walk into the breakfast room, your parents are gathered around a table. You give them a kind smile, playing the part of the dutiful daughter, knowing that your plans for escape were all laid.

"Good morning," your mother says, an air of suspicion in her voice.

"Morning," you say, sitting down next to her. "Good morning, Father."

"You haven't forgotten about your commitment today, I hope?" your father asks.

"No, I remember I am meeting with Lord Lannys today," you say innocently. He studies you for a moment like he doesn't believe you, but then his expression changes, or he forces it to. He forces himself to believe that you have finally pulled out of your darkness.

"Perhaps I'll accompany you down there," he says, "It's been a while since I have checked in on Lannisport."

"No," you say quickly. "You said you'd let me go with just a few guards."

"So I did."

"I have so little freedom," you say, "Am I to be chaperoned every day of my life?" The look on your father's face is one of remembrance, that this is the behavior he expects from his daughter.

"You will stay close to your guards," he says firmly.

"Of course."

"Our world is not as safe as it once was."

"I know."

"Very well."

You thank him and your mother, and when you bid them farewell, it is bittersweet. You try to see them as the loving parents you had when you were younger, but now you only see the causes of your heartbreak, and know that you're making the right call.

"When will she be here?" Joffrey asks impatiently, for the third time.

"Soon, I think," Jace answers.

"Why has it taken so long?"

"You don't have to wait with me, Joff," he says with a look to the younger boy. "It takes a long time to get here from the Westerlands."

In his plan, Jace had wanted to assure that your route would not be easily followable. The plan was for you to go to Lannisport and get aboard a ship that would take you to Seaguard. From there, you would travel by horse to Gulltown, where the Arryns would assure you passage to Dragonstone.

Yesterday, he got word that you arrived to Gulltown safely. If all went well, you would be in Dragonstone anytime now.

But the waiting was agony. Many times, Jace thought about saddling Vermax and flying out to you, just to get one glimpse of you. He knew himself, though, and knew that if he saw you, even from the air, he wouldn't want to let you out of his sights. He needed to wait patiently.

He was as bad as Joffrey, though.

When he finally sees your ship on the horizon, his heart starts beating faster. He rushes from his balcony and makes his way through the castle. Joffrey tries to keep up, but Jace loses him somewhere along the steps leading down to the shore.

Jace gets to the pier just as the small boat does. He doesn't think he is breathing as you step off the boat. Your eyes are searching for his and when they find him, a smile breaks across your face. You run towards him and he does the same, meeting you in the middle of the pier.

The second you are in his arms, you break down into tears. You cling to every part of him, your hands needing to touch him, needing to know that he is well. He realizes he is doing the same, his hand tangled in your hair, the other on your back.

"Oh, it's so good to see you," you say, pulling back just enough to look him over. Before Jace can say anything, you kiss him quickly, but fiercely.

"I'm so glad you're here," he says, hugging you again. You laugh, squeezing him just as tight.

"You're probably exhausted," he says, taking your hand and leading you back towards the castle. "You've had a long journey."

"Just a month," you say with a shrug, making him laugh.

"Well, you deserve your rest. I'll bring you right to my room," he says, "But there's one thing you'll have to do first."

"What's that?" you ask, furrowing your brow.

"Speak to my mother."

Dragonstone castle is not that much different from King's Landing, but it's unfamiliar, and unwelcoming. At least, the men sitting around Rhaenyra are. As you stand before them, some of your courage starts to slip.

"I am relieved to see you here safely, Lady Y/N," Rhaenyra says with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you say. She stands and moves closer to you.

"I am sorry for having to do this, but seeing as your house has pledged their support to my brother, I have to ask where you allegiance lies," she says, stopping in front of you.

"With you, of course," you say immediately.

"You must know the risks, Y/N," she says, "You could very well be killed for supporting my claim and Jace's." For a moment, you glance back at your prince, and gather strength from his encouraging look.

"I'd burn my whole life down before I listen to another second of my father's scheming, and well before I bend the knee to Aegon Targaryen," you say.

"I love your son very much, I would never do anything to jeopardize his future, or yours, My Queen." Rhaenyra gives you a smile that is so much like her sons. She nods her head.

"Thank you, Y/N. Welcome to Dragonstone."

"Thank you, Your Grace," you say. Before you can even turn around, Jace's hand is in yours. He is looking down at you with a smile.

"Come on," he says, pulling on your hand gently. He leads you through the castle, up to his chambers, which will now be your own, he explains.

Once the doors close behind you, he is upon you, wrapping you in his arms as he kisses you. You smile into the kiss, realizing that this is not a dream, or just a passing moment. You'll get to stay in his arms for the rest of your lives.

"I love you," you say when you break away. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

"You're my lady, Y/N," he says, "And very soon I'll make you my princess. Of course I sent for you. I love you."

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your body into his again as your lips connect again.

"You must be exhausted," he says breathlessly. "You'll want to sleep."

"All I want is right here."

[zaldritzosrose]

Nepenthe (Aemond x Wife!Reader)

Nepenthe – something that makes you forget grief or suffering.

Summary: In the aftermath of the death of Lucerys at Aemond’s hand, Daemon was dead set on vengeance. ‘A son for a son’, that was how the phrase went, and Daemon intended to live by that. It was known that you, Aemond’s wife, were pregnant with your first child. And there was no limit to the revenge Daemon intended to take.

TW: PLEASE READ THESE BEFORE CONTINUING! Mentions of child death (including Lucerys), descriptions of miscarriage/traumatic birth (A special divider has been placed around this scene), strained marriage, depictions of grief and suffering, there is no happy ending here. You have been warned. dead dove, do not eat. MINORS DNI. AFAB Reader. Baratheon coded reader.

Word Count: 3484

The day Aemond had returned from Storm’s End had been nightmarish. You had hoped he would return successful, your marriage to him and the child in your belly enough to persuade your father, Lord Borros, to bend the knee to Aegon.

But the news Aemond returned with was anything but.

Yes, your father had kept his promise and would support Aegon. But everything that happened afterwards was a disaster. While not unexpected, the arrival of Lucerys had sent Aemond on a downward spiral of rage and revenge. Seeing the young Velaryon had brought back the horrors of losing his eye. Of the lack of punishment his nephew had received. Aemond had seen red, threatening the boy and chasing him through the skies over your family home.

So many times, you had cautioned Aemond on his need for recompense. Short of making him vow to forget the slight and focus on you, your marriage and now your child, he had tried his best to leave it behind.

And he had, for the most part. Rarely speaking of it unless prompted. Focusing on aiding his brother in his ascension as King, and you as the mother of his child. Everything had been as calm as it could have been.

Now, it was not.

The tension in the Keep was palpable. Between Aemond and his family. Between Aemond and you. You had taken the death of Lucerys to heart. Not for any affection held towards the young prince, though you harboured no ill will either. But for the slight to your home and your House. You felt embarrassed. The letter you received from your father, that did nothing but berate and insult Aemond’s actions did not help.

Aemond, to his credit, had not spoken of it to you until you would bring up the topic. And today was one of those days.

The council had discussed it, his first time sitting there and the Lords in attendance had done nothing but whine and complain about the war he had now started. Aemond had returned to your chambers seething, pacing the room as he waited for your return.

You were followed by your maid as you entered, the young girl quickly disappearing at the sight of your agitated husband. As the door closed behind her, you watched him. His whole body tense, like an animal circling a cage. The longer you watched, the more you heard him muttering in anger to himself.

“Sit.” you said softly, all but commanding him.

Aemond surprisingly complied. Taking a seat by the fire, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the leather covered armrest. You took the seat opposite, your hand resting gently on the swell of your stomach as you shifted to find comfort.

“The council had words for you, I presume?”

It was only then that Aemond looked at you. Eye raking up from your rounded stomach to your face, etched in concern for him. If there was one thing he adored about you, it was your perceptiveness. Knowing him well enough for him to rarely need words to express his feelings.

“They did.” he answered shortly, though his anger was not directed at you.It rarely was.

You did not expect much more from him. In every instance, Aemond was one to bottle up his feelings until they were unable to be contained, spilling over like lava from a volcano, burning everything around it.

“They did nothing but berate me! As though I sought to kill him, as though I am a child?” Aemond finally let his anger free. 

You understood his feelings, as you understood the council’s. This would no doubt plunge the realm into war. The Blacks would never let Lucerys’ death go unpunished.

“Did you intend to?”

Your question made him tense. It was not something that had really crossed his mind. His sole focus had been preparing to return home, and whatever came with that. He had barely considered the consequences until they were laid out before him

When he remained silent, you asked him again.

“Did you mean to kill him, husband?”

You watched the muscle in his jaw clench, knowing your question was only adding to his anger. But you were not going to leave the topic be. His eye bored into yours as he found the words to answer.

“I only wanted what I was owed.”

There it was. The hurt little boy. But you had heard him complain time and time again that vengeance would get him nothing. That it would never be as he expected. And you did not have the same sympathy you had at the start.

You sat higher in your chair, preparing yourself for the argument you knew would come.But the words needed to be said.

“What did you think would happen, Aemond? You chased a boy on a war dragon!”

You rarely raised your voice, but your tone was enough to spark the fire in him.

“I did not intend to kill him!” Aemond snapped back, wrenching himself from his chair and resuming his angered pacing.

He may not have intended it. But he had done it, and your joined families were now at risk.

“You may not have intended it, but you could have made different choices.” You replied, remaining seated but watching him intently as he paced up and down.

“Not only have you plunged us into war without a doubt. The Blacks will want vengeance for this!”

When he remained silent you continued.

“Do you have any idea what this means for my House? To have a prince killed over our waters?"

Aemond froze mid pace. He had not and a fresh wave of guilt licked at his heart. He had never considered the consequences to you. His wife, the mother of his child.

“I..I did not think…” 

But his words did nothing to stem your anger. It was one thing to hear him imagine taking his revenge, but to now have to live with the consequences was another.

“You never do.”

Aemond said nothing. The mask of cold indifference returned as he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. You had no desire to follow him. Knowing he would return when he was calm.

Though the two of you never spoke of that night again, it was never forgotten. It was a dark cloud on your marriage, on your family, and the realm. It was only a matter of time before the Blacks sought their revenge. 

You would go to bed at night, dreaming of all the possible ways they would seek retribution. Aemond, however, would play that moment over and over again in his mind as he slept. A different outcome each time. None of them good.

It had been a few weeks now. The Keep remained on edge. Aemond had demanded extra guards at your door, and he never left your side where duty allowed him to. In any other circumstance, you would have relished in his attention. But the way he seemed to always hover just to your periphery soon had you feeling claustrophobic.

Soon, though, the Keep settled. War still loomed, but the focus shifted from its catalyst to the path to its end. The guards at your door remained, but you soon stopped noticing them. You tried to return to normal, but the fear still lingered. You knew something was coming.

Aemond had a permanent seat on the council now, a way of earning forgiveness for his actions by helping plan the war he pushed the realm to. It was a fair price to pay, he wagered. Though his thoughts often drifted to what you had said. What a mistake he had made, how he had let his temper cloud his judgement.

The rain outside was usually a welcome sight for you. Reminding you of the constant storm that would batter the walls of your home in Storm’s End. But when Aemond had returned to you, soaked to the skin in that very same rain, it had lost its happy memory. Tainted. 

It was now a physical manifestation of the darkness that lingered around the Keep and your family. Like the heavy cloud had pulled its way from your consciousness to your reality.

Today was one of the days you spent in your chambers. The stiffness in your body weighing on you as your babe grew. More often than not, you were brought soothing teas mixed by the Grand Maester to soothe your aches and pains. The warm, herby liquid was always a welcome reprieve.

Six moons of your child growing inside you. The most recent times coloured dark with war but you were happy nonetheless. Your marriage to Aemond was never going to be simple. He was not an easy man to love, he had warned you of that himself. But you loved him nonetheless.

And your child was the fruit of that. A child that might now be in danger for its father’s actions.

You were sat at your window, ignoring the rain and focusing on the sound of Vhagar in the distance. A sound that should have roused fear in you. But it reminded you of Aemond, so it brought you comfort.

Aemond was sitting in the council and your only marker of time was a servant bringing your tea. You did not recognise this one, but the Keep’s staff changed so often now it barely brought you concern.

“Your tea, my lady,” the maid said softly, placing the stone cup on the sill before you before stepping away.

You thanked her with a smile, taking a sip of the hot liquid and letting out a satisfied sigh. At first, the taste had made you wince, but it was welcome now. Knowing your body would soon ease and relax.

Your eyes remained locked on the city below as you drank. Feeling the warmth trickle down and seep through your joints. Your hand rested on your swollen stomach, stroking soft patterns to soothe your child. If you tried, you could almost feel them through your skin, but you were likely imagining such things.

You did not know when you had fallen asleep, but the searing pain in your stomach woke you with a scream. It was as though your entire body was aflame, your skin clammy and your muscles tight.

You forced yourself to stand, almost dragging yourself to the door and calling for your guard.

“Get the Maester…get Orwyle now!” you panted out, clinging to the door frame like it was your lifeline.

The knight hurried away, loud footsteps bringing him to the council door as fast as he could. His fearful expression the one thing that forced the doors open.

“Grand Maester, you are needed.” The guard’s tone was serious enough to have the entire council turn to look at him.

Orwyle walked quickly to him, but Aemond knew the guard as one he had posted at your door. He knew immediately something was wrong. The guard’s eyes met Aemond’s as he crossed the room behind Orwyle.

“Speak plainly, ser.” Orwyle said gently, before Aemond could speak.

“It is your wife, my prince…”

Aemond heard nothing else, storming from the room and running down the halls to your chambers. He could hear the guard and Orwyle behind him, but he cared little.He could hear your screams before he reached the room, screams of pain.

The door had been left open and you had managed to find your way to your bed. Clammy hands clutching at the bedpost to steady yourself. You heard people enter and you could just about hear the sound of the maester’s voice.

“The babe…it hurts…”

You remembered nothing else, the pain too much as your eyes slipped shut.

Aemond could not bring himself to cross the threshold. The Grand Maester had called for midwives to assist and the room was a flurry. You floated in and out of consciousness, and when you were awake, you did nothing but scream out your pain.

He barely heard the midwife inform the Maester the babe was being born. He scarcely registered your cries of despair. It was too early, even he knew that. 

The Maester instructed the midwives to tend to you while he looked around your room. It was only then his eyes landed on the tea cup. The shake of his head did not go unnoticed by Aemond. Something had happened. 

Orwyle quickly lifted the cup. It was too early for the tea, the routine never faltered. There was something very, very wrong. 

On the bed, you were in agony. Midwives circled around you and every single one looked terrified.

“My lady, you have to push.” The midwife instructed and you shook your head.

“No…no it’s not time. It is too early…” you whined, but your body began to do what was necessary.

Aemond finally moved, making his way to your side. But your reaction was not what he wanted. Your hands pushed him away, stopping him from even touching you. The action was like a knife to his heart. You were in pain and you did not want him. Aemond backed away slowly, watching silently as the midwives tended to you.

What felt like hours passed, your screams and cries never subsiding until the midwives informed you that your babe was born, a boy. But the silence that followed was haunting. 

“Why is he not crying?” you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken.

The midwives remained silent and that only angered you.

“Tell me!!” 

Your shriek was a mix of anger and despair, but it was Orwyle who answered you.

“Your son did not survive. I am so very sorry, my lady.” Orwyle spoke softly, the pain evident in his words.

You refused to believe it, demanding your son to be placed in your arms. The midwife holding him opened her mouth to refuse, but Orwyle silenced her and took the babe himself and handed him to you.

It was only when you held him, did it hit you. Your child was gone.You had not even noticed Aemond was still in the room until he moved closer to you. But you refused him again, wanting no one to touch you including your husband.

Aemond was at a loss at what to do, hovering at your side while you refused to look at him.

It was only when Orwyle said his name did he move.

“My prince,” the Maester whispered, “I fear it was not natural causes that brought this about.”

Aemond’s head turned to look at the Maester in confusion, silently asking for an explanation. Orwyle continued on, holding the stone cup for Aemond to see.

“The tea I brew for her pains, it was not due for an hour if not more. Whoever brought her this…”

The implication was clear. None of this was natural, outside forces had caused this loss. Aemond nodded, taking one last look at you before he left. If you did not want him here, he would not stay.

It had taken a lot of convincing for you to allow your son to be prepared by the Silent Sisters. Barely holding back your anguish as he was taken from your sight. You had watched Orwyle and Aemond speak, even through your grief you were able to deduce what they were speaking of.

The tea. You should have known. When you thought back, you did not recognise the face of the maid who delivered it. Aemond always told you of new staff. It should have aroused your suspicions immediately.

And now your son was gone. Taken from you.You called for a guard to bring you the Maester. You had to know.

When Orwyle arrived, he saw the determined look on your face.

“What did you tell my husband about the tea?”

Orwyle blinked in shock before answering, not having expected that to be the reason he was called.

“My lady, I…” he began and you knew he was going to skirt the question.

“Truth. Now, Orwyle.”

Your tone was harsh, and he knew he had no choice but to answer.

“The tea, I fear, was tampered with.”

He was not entirely sure of the exact concoction used, but he was certain the two events were connected.

“So I was poisoned, is that what you are saying?”

Orwyle could only nod, tears stinging his own eyes as they did yours. Your next request surprised him.

“Tell my husband I need him.”

Aemond was quick to follow your invitation, surprised at Orwyle being the one to deliver it but he went nonetheless. As he entered, his heart almost stopped at the sight of you. Sat before the fire, having had it lit not long ago.

Your back to him as you held a small blanket in your arms. A blanket you had embroidered when you first learned of your pregnancy.

“Orwyle told you?” he asked, fearing what would come next.

You still did not turn to him as you spoke.

“I warned you. I warned you they would take revenge.” You spat the words at him, nothing but hurt and venom on your tongue.

“I warned you nothing good would come of vengeance and now…”

You could not bring yourself to utter the words. Speaking them would make them final and true. You brought yourself to your feet, rounding on Aemond with a fury he had never seen in you before. Your grief had moulded itself into anger. Anger at the gods for taking your son this way, anger at Aemond for causing it, anger at the Blacks for being the bringers of such vengeance.

“You did this.”

Aemond could feel his very heart shatter. You were blaming him? He wanted to argue with you,but he knew you were in pain, grieving. Channelling all of that against the only person you could.

He listened to your screams and rants, his face never changing from its stoic mask. But inside, he felt sick. Was this his fault? Was this the revenge you had warned him of? Would his half sister and her people really commit such a foul act?

Of course they would, he thought. Not they, however, one person would surely stoop to this. His uncle had the ability for such cruelty, there was no doubt. Daemon was the epitome of rage and vengeance.

His attention wandered back to you when you uttered one hurtful line.

“Was the murder of one child not enough?”

The nausea that ate at his insides turned to fire.You were outright blaming him. Placing all of this tragedy on his shoulders.

“Mind your tongue, wife.” he spat back.

Angry that you were blaming him and no other. Angry that you were acting as though he had not also suffered a loss in the child’s death.

“You are not the only one grieving.” 

The scoff you let out in response only fuelled his rage more. He could see the fire behind your eyes. Nothing should be feared more than a grieving mother.

“None of this would have happened if it were not for your age old grudge, husband.”

You wanted him to hurt as you did. To feel the pain you did. You were the victim here, not him. Not in your eyes. Aemond’s jaw clenched and unclenched, wanting to match the vitriol you spewed at him in kind. But it would get him nowhere. He knew that.

Before any words could leave his mouth, you spoke words that felt like a hammer to the already fragile glass of your marriage.

“Get out. I do not want to look at you.”

He felt like he was in Driftmark again. Watching his injury go unpunished. He was losing you, and there was nothing he could do. His mouth was dry, his heart near still in his chest. If you had looked closer, you would have seen the unshed tears in his eye before he turned and stormed out of your rooms.

The door had barely closed behind him when he let his own tears fall. A mix of anger and pain stinging his cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to burn down the world. To force others to feel the pain he did. The pain you felt.

He would not lose you. Not like this.

There was a phrase, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But whoever spoke those words had never met a grieving mother. The anger would burn you from the inside if you let it. And the Baratheon words rung in your mind.

Ours is the fury.

You were to live by those words now. Fury for your child. Fury at your husband. Fury at the ones who had hurt you.

Aemond on the other hand, let the rage burn. Fire and Blood. The Targaryen words had never tempted him more. The world would burn for the pain he had wrought.

No tag list purely because I don't want to unintentionally make people see something they don't want.

If you read it, thank you. I will appreciate any feedback you have.

There will be a part two, thanks to some lovely moots who let me bother them with ideas.

[formulapierre]

His Royal Highness | George Russell

Pairing: George Russell x Royalty!Y/N

Prompt: George settles into life as the Prince of Wales which involves starting a family and having to overcome an obstacle that nobody saw coming.

Warnings: Death, Child illness: Cancer

Word count : 4135

HRH Series: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

HRHPrinceofWales

Liked by BRDC and 1,492,750 other,

HRHPrinceofWales Amazing to finally be back at Silverstone after what felt like years away. Huge thanks to @MercedesAMGF1 and @WilliamsF1 for welcoming me back. Nice to see the inside of @MclarenF1's garage for the first time 😅

Deeply honoured to have been offered the role as President-in-chief of the BRDC after the passing of The Duke of Kent last year and I'm looking forward to working in motorsport once again.

BRDC The honour is all ours 😊

LandoNorris Great to see you again brother, dinner at yours right?

--- CharlesLeclerc Thats what I was told 🤷

View 1850 other comments...

“I didn’t think we’d be back here anytime soon,” George said as our driver pulled into our allocated parking space.

“Neither did I, though it definitely feels different,” You said, unfortunately you both had missed it the past few years so the last time you were here was in George’s final season.

“You won it the last time I was here,” You reminded him.

“I know, it was my favourite race of the season,” He said as the car doors were opened for you.

“Why’s that?” You ask, thanking the footman.

“Because It was my final race in front of my home crowd and apart from Abu Dhabi it was the only race you were able to attend,” He says, making you smile. 

“Why am I not surprised,” You say, rolling your eyes as He takes your hand and you start to walk towards the paddock. You swiped yourselves in before you were ushered towards the Williams garage. The Williams family had a fairly long history with your family so they were always the first stop. You loved seeing George reunite with some of the people that He raced with, seeing that racing spark reignite inside of him.

It wasn’t too long before you were saying your goodbyes to the Williams team and heading towards Mercedes. Lewis had announced that after winning his eighth championship last year he was retiring so there was a bit of a bittersweet atmosphere, knowing that this would be his last race in front of his home crowd. You and Lewis had known each other for years; first meeting at a lunch in 2009 where he had been seated between you and your father, and then when you knighted him in 2021 after He won his 7th championship.

“Lewis,” You said excitedly as he came your way.

“Y/N, George; How are you both?” He asks pulling his ear plugs out after just coming in from FP1.

“Good, excited to be back,” George says, knowing you both shared that sentiment. Lando joined you a few moments later, talking about the dinner George had decided to arrange for all the drivers and their partners at Kensington palace in a few days. Your time in Mercedes was cut short by Adam reminding you that you needed to be in the BRDC clubhouse in a few minutes.

You reached the clubhouse with plenty of time to spare. You recognised quite a few of the faces as you walked in, George seeming to know most of them properly; stopping to greet quite a few of them. Everyone took their allocated seats as the BRDC President David Coulthard stood up on the stage to give his speech.

“Thank you to everyone who managed to make it to Silverstone today. As I’m sure you are all very aware of. Mr George Russell. Or as I've been told to call him, His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales, has been announced as our new President in Chief,” He says and a round of applause moves across the room. “-and although He’s been a member since 2014 we felt we should welcome him back properly,” He adds before George gets up from his seat to give a speech he had prepared.

“Thank you David; I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say thank you to you all for welcoming me back with open arms. It’s been a few years since I last raced around this track and a lot has changed since then,” George says, smiling at you before continuing. “-but racing was, and always will be a huge part of my life and I felt I had to recognise that in some way. So after the passing of The Duke of Kent it felt only right that I take up the mantle,”

Lando.jpg

Liked by PierreGasly and 490,183 others

Lando.jpg Dinner at George's new place...don't quite know if 'new' is the right word...

carlossainz55 Great night, lovely to meet the Mrs Russell properly

-- Charles_Leclerc Mate, you barely spoke to her after you got lost...

--- Lando.jpg Do you think if I stayed they would notice????

Alex_Albon Has anyone seen Lando? we were meant to be getting a cab together...

-- danielricciardo I didn't see him leave to be honest...

pierregasly Thanks for the invite brother, meet up soon 👊

Lando.jpg They found me 🥲

“They should be here,” George says, looking out the window at the drive way, anxiously tapping his foot against the hardwood floor.

“Darling, it's two minutes past seven. Take a moment and breathe,” You say, putting a hand on your husband’s shoulder.

“That’s them,” He says, completely ignoring what you said and rushing to the front door. The doors were open as the footmen had gone out to open their car doors. All of the drivers and their partners had come together so there were only six cars rather than 20, making things much quicker. You and George greeted everyone as they came in, letting Adam show them through to the dining room.

You knew a fair amount of the drivers as they had been there when George was racing; however , some of the younger ones were fresh faces to you, though George seemed to know them. Lando and his girlfriend were the last couple in, talking with you as you entered the dining room. Everyone mingled for a while, chatting to each other as flutes of champagne were handed around; George was thoroughly enjoying getting to see all of his friends again, especially in such a stress-free environment. You were enjoying yourself, getting to know a few of the younger drivers and their partners.

You were mid way conversation with Mclaren's new driver Oliver Bearman when you heard the tinking of a knife against a crystal glass. Everyone turned to look at George who was standing in the middle of the room.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, I’m well aware of how difficult it is to coordinate twenty-something schedules but it means a lot to the both of us that you could be bothered to make an effort,” He says, causing everyone to laugh. “You all look great by the way, Y/N is still trying to convince me that I look better in a morning suit than a racing suit but I feel the jury is still out on that one,” He says, teasing you. “I don’t quite think that five years ago when Lewis first introduced me to Y/N I would have believed him if He had said this is where we would be standing today. So thank you,” He says, raising his glass to Lewis. “Y/N, Darling, I know you said there was something you wanted to say,” He says and now everyone turned to look at you.

“There was; I just wanted to say thank you to all of you. Lando, Charles, and Alex especially. I know that George's decision to retire was not one he made lightly, and probably not one he would have had to make had He not known me. But you three have really made the effort to keep in touch; I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ll walk into a room and find George in fits of laughter over something you had said and it really means the world to me to see him so happy, so thank you,” You say raising your glass to the three of them. “Oh, one last thing…George has told me to tell Lando specifically that there will be no fish served tonight…nor has any of the food been near a fish,” You add and the room erupts into laughter.

“Just the way I like it,” He replies before lifting his own glass. “To George and Y/N,” He says and everyone else lifts their glasses as well. George looks at you as he raises his glass. “Question though…anyone know where I can get myself one of these?” He asks

“You mean a palace mate?” Carlos asks

“Yeah, they’re quite nice. George, do you reckon you could give us a tour? Just so I know what I’m getting myself into of course,” Lando asks and George puts his hand on his shoulder.

“After dinner I will give you the full tour I promise,” He says with a smile as everyone moves towards the table and takes their seats.

You had cut the ribbon, officially opening the new children’s hospital with a comically large pair of metal scissors. You stood with George and the directors of the hospital for some press photos before being shown inside. You greeted some of the doctors who would be making use of all the new equipment that had been installed, slowly making your way to one of the wards. You easily tuned out the snapping of cameras as the ward nurse turned to you.

“Your highness’,” She said curtsying politely. “The children are all really excited to see you, they haven’t stopped talking about your visit for weeks,” She said with a soft smile on her face.

“So these children have been here for a while then?” You ask, your heart breaking a little.

“Yes, this ward is for children currently undergoing treatment for various types of cancer so their stay tends to be much longer than usual,” She says as the door is slid open. As you step inside you are greeted by a room full of smiling faces from patients in hospital beds to siblings, parents and grandparents standing around their bedsides. The room was quite spacious with a small area in the corner with some books and toys in.

The little girl in the first bed was holding up a welcome sign that had been decorated with little tiaras and racing cars.

“We all helped,” She said looking at the other kid.

“It's beautiful, I love the glitter on the racing cars,” You say laughing a little.

“Jackson wanted racing cars so we compromised on the glitter,” She says and you look over to Jackson who just rolled his eyes. You spent your time talking to each child, answering any questions they had for you. After about half an hour George had seemed to have accumulated all of the children around one bed, talking to them about racing. Unsurprisingly, Jackson was the most vocal in the group, proclaiming He was going to be a formula one driver one day.

As He spoke to the children you took the opportunity to talk to some of the parents.

“I am in awe of you all, I don’t even know what I’d do in your positions,” You say honestly.

“We do what we have to do,” One of the fathers says. “When Tilly was diagnosed we were fortunately in a position where we could take the time off of work to be here with her, that's what matters at the end of the day,” He adds and the rest of the group seem to nod in agreement.

“He would make a great father you know,” A slightly older lady said from next to you.

“I know He would,” You reply with a smile, watching as he laughed and joked with the children, doing his best to answer some pretty complex questions about racing.

“He acts the same way my late husband did with our children, had the patience of a saint,” She adds, noticing that he kept asking the kids that were a bit quieter if they had any questions

“You were really great with those kids today,” You say to your husband as you’re getting ready for bed. “All the parents around me said that you were a natural,” You added with a smile as you pulled your pyjamas on.

“I mean there’s always been little kids in the family so I guess I grew up around them,” He says as he rests against the headboard, thumb holding open the pages of a book.

“Have you ever thought about our kids before?” You ask as you switch the main light off before climbing into bed; only Georges bedside lamp illuminating the room.

“I have,” He says with a smile. “I imagine us having three” 

“I was thinking three…” You say at the same time causing you both to laugh. “Well at least that's decided,” You add. George had slotted his bookmark in before putting the book down and turning to you.

“Did you have an idea of when you want these hypothetical children?” He asks, causing you to grin.

“I was thinking we could start trying now…” You ask, running your finger up and down his bare chest.

You threw the covers off of you as quickly as you could, rushing into the bathroom and kneeling over the toilet; you had been feeling rough for days but this was the first time something was actually threatening to come up. 

“Please let me call the doctor,” George asks as he eventually follows behind you, kneeling next to you and holding your hair.

“I’m late,” You admit to him.

“It's two in the morning, you’re not late Darling,” He says with a chuckle.

“No…I’m late, my period is late,” You clarify; it had been a few months since you had started trying so you weren’t entirely surprised when you woke up one morning feeling like this.

“Let’s get you back into bed and I’ll call for the doctor,” He says, kissing the side of your head. You stayed there for a few minutes before that bout of nausea had passed, you wiped your mouth and George helped you back into bed. He left you for a few moments to use the phone in the living room. He comes back a few moments later and sits on the side of your bed. “The doctor will be here in a few minutes and I also sent Adam out to get a few pregnancy tests,” He says, gently rubbing your leg.

“You shouldn’t have woken Adam, we could have gotten one in the morning,” You say as you wrapped the blankets around you tightly.

“Darling, it’s fine,” He says, there’s a knock on the bedroom door and George gets up to open it.

“I’m sorry to need you at this early hour Doctor,” You say as she walks in.

“It’s fine Ma’am, that’s what I’m here for,” She said with a comforting smile. You tell her how you’ve been feeling and she takes your temperature, just as there’s another knock on the door. 

“The pregnancy tests you asked for Sir,” Adam says, handing the boxes to George.

“When was your last period?” The doctor asks, making note of everything you were saying.

“Um .. about six weeks ago,” You say honestly.

“Then my professional opinion is that you need to take one of these,” She says with a slight laugh as she takes the pregnancy test out of the box and hands it to you. You take it from her and head into the bathroom. You peed on the stick, replacing the cap so nobody had to touch it. You hand it back to her and sit next to George on the bed.

“If you need anything else you know where I am,” Adam says before taking his leave. Around fifteen minutes later the doctor got up from her chair with a wide smile on her face.

‘Congratulations Ma’am,” She says handing you the pregnancy test. “I’ll leave you two alone, don’t hesitate to call for me if you have any questions,” She says before leaving as well.

“We’re having a baby,” You say quietly, staring down at the white plastic stick in your hands and the word ‘positive’ written across it.

“I love you so much,” George says ,wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in for a kiss.

KensingtonPalace

Liked by BuckinghamPalace and 3,910,582 others

KensingtonPalace It is with great joy for the palace to announce the news that their Royal Highness' The Prince and Princess of Wales are expecting their first child together.

His Majesty The King was the first to be informed of the news and is overjoyed at the news of his first grandchild.

HRHPrincessofWales 🤍🤍🤍

F1 Congratulations from your F1 family 🤍

View other 7,294 comments...

You made it your first mission today to tell your father; protocol stated that He should be the first to know.

“Father,” You said, knocking on the door to his private office.

“Darling, I wasn’t expecting to see you or George today,” He says standing up from his desk as you walk in, closing the door behind you.

“We didn’t expect to be here today either,” George says with a smile. 

“Right, ok, what’s going on?” He asks, inviting you both to sit.

“Do you want to?” You ask George, a confused expression still written across your fathers face.

“I can do,” He asks and you nod. “Y/n was seen by the doctor this morning, and it turns out that she is…we are, having a baby,” He explains and your fathers face quickly changes into one of joy.

“That is wonderful news, congratulations,” He says, getting up to pull you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you Y/N,” He says, placing a kiss on your forehead. He shakes George's hand before saying congratulations again. For the next few hours you spent visiting your Mother and sister before calling George’s family.

It wouldn’t be a few months until there was an official statement made by the palace, but you were both content in knowing that it was your little secret.

8 months later...

KensingtonPalace

Liked by BBCNews and 6,301,404 others

KensingtonPalace Her Royal Highness, The Princess of Wales was safely delivered of a son at 11.27pm yesterday.

The Prince of Wales was present at the birth and both Mother and baby are doing very well.

His Majesty The King, as well as other members of both families have been delivered the news and are delighted at the birth of HRH.

'After long consideration we have decided to name him Theodore and we cannot even begin to describe the amount of love we have for him' - HRH Prince of Wales

Comments have been limited on this post.

Theodore, Theo for short, was born late last night after around 10 hours of labour. You were so grateful to George who was by your side the entire time, doing anything you needed to. He held Theo as you got dressed, zipping up your dress and slipping on the pair of heels that had been picked out for you. You had been discharged a few hours ago and due to the weather were unable to take the first photos of your new family on the steps of the hospital so it had been moved inside Buckingham Palace

George laced his fingers into yours as you walked into the hall, the flash of cameras starting as soon as they spotted you. There were probably 30 or 40 reporters waiting for you, snapping a photo every time you moved.

“Is there a name yet your highness’?” One reporter asked, His first name had been announced but not his full name. 

“There is,” You said with a smile. “Theodore Henry Philip George, but we will be calling him Theo,” You say, answering the question. You waited a few more moments before turning and heading back into the family room where both yours and George’s families were waiting to meet little Theo. Your Mum and Dad had already had their time with Theo so stayed seated, letting George’s parents coo and fuss over him. George was holding him as you took a seat on the sofa, absolutely exhausted from the past 24 hours.

You were sitting in your private gardens at home; enjoying the warm summer day. Theo, who recently celebrated his first birthday, sitting on your lap babbling at George who was sitting opposite you, waving his cuddly bear around. Theo reached out to grab it only for George to playfully rub it against his chest, erupting fits of giggles from him.

You loved the peacefulness that the last few days had afforded you, you had miraculously had no official engagements to attend to. Which was a very rare occurrence so the both of you were making the most of it. Spending as much time together and with Theo as you possibly could.

A pointed cough interrupted your peace, you looked up to see Adam. In a state you don’t think you had ever seen him in before.

“Adam, is everything ok?” You ask as George gives Theo the bear before turning around.

“Sir, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” He asks George who puts a reassuring hand on your knee.

“I’ll be back in a moment Darling,” He says before walking away with Adam. They went inside and you could barely see them through the window; all you could see was Adam putting his hand on, what you assumed, was George's shoulder. You start to bounce Theo on your knees, trying to distract yourself from whatever was happening inside Kensington. A few moments later George stepped back outside. Diana, Theo’s nanny behind him.

 “Darling, Diana is going to take Theo and then you and I are going to go for a walk,” He says, confusing you even more.

“What, why?” You ask, handing your son over.

“Please, walk with me?” He asks, offering his arm to you. You walk quietly to a more secluded area of the garden, hedge walls high enough that nobody would be able to see you. He sat you down on a stone bench before turning towards you.

“George, you're scaring me, what's going on?” You ask, voice wavering. You noticed that he didn’t try to immediately reassure you that everything was ok, instead he took your hands into his.

“Around an hour ago, your father was rushed into hospital,” He said softly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. Tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.

“Don’t tell me,” You beg.

“I’m so sorry Darling,” He says, swiftly pulling you into his arms, wrapping them around you tightly.

“He’s gone?” You ask looking up at him, and George just nods.

“They think it was a heart attack, He died about twenty minutes ago,” He says, holding you against him, his hand moving to stroke your hair. “I am so sorry My love,” He says again, giving you time and space to feel what you needed to feel; as He knew that as soon as you left the safety of this Garden you wouldn’t be Y/N anymore.

You spent about an hour, sitting quietly and crying into George’s chest, not wanting to face the new reality. When you finally pulled away from him he moved his hand to wipe the tears from your face. 

“Take as much time as you need, there is no rush,” He says quietly; you quickly compose yourself. Letting the fresh air remove the blotches from your tear-stained face before you slowly walked back towards the palace. Diana was sitting on the grass with Theo and quickly stood up when she saw you round the corner. 

“Your Majesty,” She said, curtsying as she held Theo in her arms. Being called that for the first time almost knocked your breath from your throat but you just smiled as She held out your Son.

“Thank you Diana, you may go now,” You say, taking Theo from her. He tried to wrap his little arms around you, almost as if He knew that something was wrong. Now it was the three of you who stood there, all in eachothers arms.

“Ma…Ma…Mama,” Theo said and both your eyes lit up.

“Yes baby, I’m your Mama,” You said, holding him close to you as a mix of happy and sad tears fell from your eyes. George was still trying to process the information from earlier so couldn’t do anything except watch as his wife interacted with their son.

“Ma’am, your car is waiting to take you to Buckingham Palace,” Adam says, interrupting the moment. 

“We’ll be there in a moment, we need to get changed first,” You say, taking a deep breath before you all head inside. As you entered your bedroom you noticed that your mourning outfits had been laid out ready for you. You both silently changed; your long floral summer dress turning into a stiff black dress and blazer. You sat on the edge of the bed as you slipped your heels on, George changing Theo into a more appropriate outfit. Next to your outfit sat a hat box, inside was a black headband with some netting to cover your face; your hands shook as you stood in front of the mirror attempting to place it on your head.

“Pass it here,” George said from behind you, you passed him the headband as He gave you Theo. He gently slid it into your hair, kissing the back of your head when He was done. You quietly headed downstairs, Theo securely on your hip as you held him. Diana had gotten changed and was ready to take Theo as He was coming with you.

The car door was opened and you climbed inside with George quickly following. You knew the drive from Kensington to Buckingham like the back of your hand, you had done it nearly every day for years; but it felt like centuries until you got there. It had obviously been released to the media as there were swathes of people outside the palace, laying flowers in front of the wrought iron gates. The official notice on an easel just inside. As you drove through the crowds of people you could see the tear stained faces, the impact that your fathers life had on his people.

You only hope you’d amount to half of that.

I hope you enjoyed pt.2! There is a part 3 currently in my drafts and that will more than likely be the final part unless I do any mini fics. Thank you all for all your love and support, - E x

[targaryen-dynasty]

REWRITE THE STARS.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader

Aemond arrives at your betrothed‘s funeral. And after being denied your hand in marriage once, he does not come to leave without you.

WARNINGS: angst? mentions of death, mentions of war, hinting at murder, kinda dark Aemond, female reader of House Baratheon (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: Wow, feels weird posting something without smut lmfao. But… 👀 It‘s not mentioned, but someone particular and very jealous might have killed Lord Rosby, seeing that his House had deflected to the Greens at the very beginning of the war.

The body of your betrothed had not even been lowered into the ground by the time the enormous wings of Vhagar casted a dark shadow over the castle of Rosby. 

He had been drowning in his own blood after being struck in his throat by a crossbow from one of the so-called Black’s, or so you have been told, and while the image of it had been quite unsettling, the funeral itself was not too bad. 

Lord Rosby was many years older than you, and you had been betrothed not long before the war started. The Lord himself had asked for your hand in marriage, and with your father still having four more daughters to spare for any kind of political alliance, he had all too eagerly agreed. 

Much to the disliking of the prince, who dismounted his large beast at this very moment. 

He had convinced your father to support Aegon in the war of succession by promising to marry one of his daughters. You had been standing next to your father while your sisters stood lined up for Aemond to choose, and even after stating more than once that you hadn’t been free to marry anymore, the besotted prince had just reluctantly agreed to take the hand of your older sister Floris in marriage. 

Marrying a young prince of a House as noble as House Targaryen seemed far more appealing than marrying an old lord of House Rosby, and for the short time Aemond had stayed in the Round Hall of Storm’s End, it seemed you two had shared the same resentment towards the man sitting on the throne right next to you.

The envy you felt towards your sister had been eating you alive, so much that you had requested for your belongings to be moved to the castle of Rosby just so you didn’t have to endure seeing her face any longer. That your betrothed was not even there at that time just made it better.  

Now your father – and possibly you as well – had to experience the consequences of his pride and stubbornness first hand, it seemed. 

Upon spotting the large dragon in the far distance, a few members of House Rosby had taken their leave to go into hiding, but you and your father stood strong, despite the risk of being bathed in Vhagar’s flames sooner than later. 

For your father, it might have been the belief in his allegiance to the King, but for you, it was your House’s words, ours is the fury – and your fury was solely aimed at the man responsible for your misery. 

The rustling and shuffling behind you indicated that the few people, that had remained at the funeral side, bowed to the approaching prince, their mumbled courtesies not prompting you to turn around. 

“Lord Borros,” his voice was cold and calculated, dragging a shiver down your spine. “I assume you know what I came here for.”

Your father sighed, barely audible to anyone other than you, but even then you refused to acknowledge what was happening behind your back. It was not your place to speak, as you knew you had little say in the matter. 

The steps of Aemond coming closer could be heard, his presence suffocating. "‘Tis clear that she is not to wed Lord Rosby anymore. He was slain in battle, and his death has rendered the marriage pact void,” he stated the obvious, not mincing any words. “I desire to take her hand in marriage now.”

“Lord Rosby is but a day cold in the ground. It is hardly fitting of us to discuss marriage before he is even laid to rest,” your father scoffed, the sharp edge to his voice causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. “Besides, I have already given you the hand of one of my other daughters, Prince Aemond. Your House might do as it sees fit, but mine will not, and one wife is more than enough.”

At his bold statement, your body went rigid, more so as you merely heard Aemond humming in return. 

After that, a short silence descended upon the courtyard.

“Do not allow your foolish pride to cloud your judgment, Lord Borros.” You raised a brow at that, curious to find out what direction this encounter was meant to take. “You will not gain anything by denying it.”

Not watching the moment the knights lowered your betrothed’s body into his final resting place, you turned around. Your eyes drifted from the ground up to the prince standing not too far away, his lips curled, and a steely stare solely focused on your father. 

“Your other daughter is of no interest to me.” His face was unmoving, and his voice as sharp as a steel dagger. “I have made clear what I wanted when I first set foot in your halls, and now, I have come to take it.”

When Aemond turned his focus on you, you could feel his penetrating gaze weight over you, the intensity of his good eye being enough to make you shiver. Yet, there was something about him that lured you in, a pull that was impossible to resist. With the way his lips pulled into a smug smirk, you knew he had noticed the turmoil raging within you.

Aemond jutted his chin forward, addressing your father while looking at you. “I will take her with me with or without your blessing.” The cold determination with which he spoke had your blood running cold. “You may not have the power to deny me the chance to wed her, Lord Borros, but ‘tis your choice whether you allow it to happen in your halls.”

Gathering your thoughts, you raised a hand to stop your father from speaking even before he had opened his mouth, yet you averted your gaze down to the ground, not able to meet either of their gazes. “The war has already been harsh for the Stormlands and the entire Realm, father. I have seen men return, bearing corpses of husbands and sons,” you said, keeping your focus on the ground beneath your feet with your voice unusually stern. “If this is the only way to bring peace to our people, then so be it.” 

You glanced at your father, and the scowl on his face was almost enough to make you retreat. 

Ours is the fury, you remembered. 

“The Lord Paramour of the Stormlands does not bend to the whims of some Targaryen–” 

“Enough, father,” you interrupted him, your voice stern once more. “The Stormlands have been bleed dry, peace is what matters. If my hand is what Prince Aemond desires, he shall have it.”

Your father grunted in disbelief, not expecting you to speak against him and surrender so easily. 

Aemond’s eye drank you in once more, and the smug smirk his lips had held before had returned, adorning his chiseled features. “Very well,” the Prince Regent declared, moving toward you with a hand outstretched. He intended for you to place yours in it, which you did after a second of hesitating. 

Before he led you towards the beast waiting outside the castle’s walls, Aemond turned to look at your father one last time, the smugness fully taking over his stance and demeanor. “I suggest you start preparing for the wedding, my lord, that is, if you wish to retain the title you currently hold.”

The threat hung in the air, gagging you and making it impossible for you to breathe. You did not meet your father‘s eyes, for you were certain the disappointment flashing in them would burden you even more. 

Silence surrounded you two on the walk towards his dragon, safe for the ‘you chose wisely,’ he had mumbled as you passed through the castle’s gates. These three words had your eyes widening, regarding the prince carefully. 

There was a strange lightness in your stomach as you approached the looming presence of the prince‘s beast, happy and afraid for what was to come at the same time. Were you meant to follow the same tragic path other women that had married a Targaryen prince had taken? Or would your future look different? 

An unfamiliar heat emanated from the dragon the closer you got, pulling you out of your thoughts. There was little time for you to adjust to its presence before your now betrothed urged you to climb the ropes leading towards the saddle on its back. 

“I will be right behind you,“ he said, a poor attempt to calm your fluttering nerves. 

With a bow of your head, you hesitantly reached for the thick ropes and started climbing the beast, the act itself proving to be a great challenge.

Aemond strapped you to the saddle, sitting behind you to keep you steady and supported while the dragon moved to ascend into the sky for your flight to King's Landing.

And with one look over your shoulder, you saw the castle of Rosby and its village disappear in the far distance. 

You had yet to find out if you had made the right decision or not. 

[blackhairedjjun]

late night returns - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst with a happy ending, actor!yeonjun x non-celebrity!reader, exes to lovers | word count: 855 | warnings: mentions of being stalked (by tabloids)

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - OVER?: after a mutually reluctant (and unwanted but necessary) break-up, the sender calls/visits the receiver and tells them that they’re still in love with them. (requested by @seolis-world)

author's notes: seoli!! this ended up longer than planned, nag-enjoy ako masyado haha. your trope choice allowed me to bring out my celebrity!yj x non-celebrity!reader thoughts, which are some of my favorite hcs to think about! (also actor!yj after seeing the behind the scenes of the minisode 3 trailer haha) i hope you like this!

‘Love Like Hydrangeas’ Star Choi Yeonjun Stuns in New Red Carpet Photos “Like a Fairytale Prince”: Netizens React to Viral Photos of Choi Yeonjun

you sigh as you read the social media headlines on your phone. yeonjun does look like a fairytale prince, and you admire the embroidered details of his dark suit while zooming in on the latest batch of photos from his new movie premiere. a heaviness settles over you while you scroll through photo after photo, remembering the first time he showed you that same suit weeks before: “i look handsome, right?” he asked you, and when you said yes, he let out a soft laugh that filled your heart to bursting.

that moment in his apartment feels like a lifetime ago, and all it took was one leaked image of the two of you from a tabloid photographer making the rounds on fansites. yeonjun’s agency went overtime trying to do damage control, and it was a miracle that your identity was never revealed. but once the storm settled down, you and yeonjun sat down not in his room but at the agency office. the two of you needed to break up, you both agreed, for your safety and his 一 and with a lingering embrace and one last kiss, you left.

tears prick at your eyes and you toss the phone back to your nightstand; the clock there reads 2:16 am. you cocoon yourself in your blankets, turn to your side, and shut your eyes. you want to sleep, because at least in your dreams you can escape from reality for a little while. yet the more you wish for sleep to come to you, the more it eludes you, and the restlessness only grows worse as you turn from side to side in your bed over and over again.

buzz!

you jolt up at the sound of your apartment doorbell. you have no idea who the hell is calling for you in the middle of the night, but at least it distracts you from your restlessness.

you open the door a crack. “who’s th一”

it takes a second for you to recognize the tall man in a dark hoodie standing in front of you. the dimness makes it hard to see his figure or his features, until you realize that they look all too familiar...

you immediately you throw the door open and sink into yeonjun’s arms. you sob into his chest, your body shuddering from the force of your tears, and he holds you even more tightly as his own tears stream down his face.

“i missed you,” he says, his voice hoarse. you haven’t heard the sound of his voice in weeks, and it only makes you cry even harder.

eventually your sobs calm down to quieter tears, and when you let go of yeonjun you can still see the tear tracks running from his eyes. with your hands still in his, you tug him inside the warmth of your apartment, and there he pulls you into his embrace once more.

“how did you...” you begin, your voice muffled into his hoodie.

“i snuck out.”

“you shouldn’t have...”

yeonjun kisses the top of your head once, then twice, then again and again. his kisses are feather-light and you sigh at his touch. “i love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “i n-never stopped loving you. i don’t一 i can’t do any of this without you. i miss you so much...”

your arms are around his waist and you give it a gentle squeeze. he rubs circles down your back and you hum. his touch sends waves of calm through your body, the heaviness you once carried slowly leaving you.

you recall the red carpet photos you were just looking at and your bliss is interrupted by a million questions. does anyone else know that he’s here? what happens when his agency finds out? or when his fans find out? are you really getting back together or does he just miss you? how would you even navigate the tabloids, the endless stream of gossip? you try to bury yourself even more in yeonjun’s arms but he doesn’t miss the quickening of your heartbeat.

your thoughts are interrupted by another kiss on your head. yeonjun moves you to the foot of your bed and cradles you as you both sit there, a hand making its way through the tangle of your hair. your arms perch around his neck and you nuzzle into him.

“i’ll protect you, okay?” he says. his voice is quiet yet solemn like a prayer. “i can’t... i can’t lose you again.”

you pull away to meet his gaze and you see the same shine in his eyes that you always loved. he gazes at you with such tenderness, and behind his firm words you see the affection that underlies them. he needs you, and you need him just as much too.

“i love you too, jjunie... please don’t leave me.”

“i promise i won’t.”

you still don’t have the answers to your questions, but you’d rather leave then unanswered than have yeonjun leave you again.

[arjudy224]

Alfred’s extra help

Batfamily x new maid part 1

The past couple years haven't been kind to Alfred. Although, he would never admit it... His years have slowly been catching up with him. After a recent attack on the household, Alfred took it upon himself to hire some extra part time help during the school year. The new help just so happened to be a college band kid in desperate need of money. This is how it went.

Jason:

It was the little things, Jason had decided, that made the family enjoy the extra addition to the household. The faint singing that could be heard three doors down as she made her usual morning rounds. Dusting. Bleaching . Sweeping. It didn't matter what she was doing: music always played in her head. If you were lucky, sometimes you'd get to hear it too.

Alfred:

Monday Mornings were Alfred's favorite. After a long weekend of dealing with super-powered vigilantism, Alfred looked forward to the way she would clock into Wayne Manor with shy grin. It didn't take much prompting to get a play by play of how the Gotham U football game went. The Batfamily had never considered her being targeted by Batman's Rogue Gallery until Halftime was interrupted by the Joker emerging from a comically large birthday cake. When reinforcements arrived, they were shocked to discover the entire Color Guard beating the Joker senseless with their wooden rifles. To any outsider, this would have appeared to be part of the choreography with the way each guard member chanted "5,6,7,8 SLAM DOWN."

Y/N couldn't figure out why Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin had all come to check on her until Monday morning when the door opened to reveal a hallway full of smiling Wayne's. Even Damian couldn't help, but give her a hug... after an intense lecture on how dangerous the Clown Prince of Crime was.

Even more confusing was the way Damien's older brother, Jason, would always end up forgetting something at the manor when she worked. After chatting for a couple hours, she would say her goodbyes and silently acknowledge the fact he left empty handed... again.

Damien:

Damien admired the dedication on display. In the early morning mist when she thought nobody was awake, the wooden rifle would make an appearance. With the kitchen wiped down and the oven on self cleaning, all there was to do was wait. Damien admired her resilience when practicing rifle. Each brutal slap of the wood and metal on skin had to be painful, but she never complained when the bruises littered up and down her forearms. She was radiant. In her element, it was easy to get distracted by the crisp rotations on display. One day, he hoped she would feel comfortable enough to show him a few tricks... until then he enjoyed his early morning performances.

Dick:

Dick had warned her against working for Bruce from the beginning. The Bats mood swings could drain even the sweetest of souls. The relentless pursuit of a better Gotham has always been tainted by the blood of those lost. Bruce Wayne was not always known as the nicest guy to work for. Yet, after years of witnessing the tragedies of Gotham... Dick couldn't help, but notice the way her eyes shone with excitement whenever they would visit a new part of the city. The alley Scarecrow tested his fear toxin for the first time now is littered with book shops, ice cream parlors, diners, etc. In each street that’s rooted with trauma, a new sprout of hope grows out of the shadows. The quiet formality that he had grown accustomed to growing up in the Manor faded away. It was a nice change.

Tim:

Tim didn't even notice there was a change in the household until he stumbled into her conversation with Jason for the 3rd time that week. Typically, her shift would have been over at 3pm, but since her classes had been canceled that day she had worked overtime. With Jason's sudden reappearance after months of no contact, Tim took note of the way his older brother's voice deepened ever so slightly whenever she was in the room. Or how during Saturday night patrol they always managed to spot Red Hood "doing business" on a building close enough to the stadium to watch halftime. If anybody questioned it, Jason would have fiercely denied any interest claiming that he was merely "watching out for the Joker".

Tim mostly minded his business whenever she was working. His night life tended to consume most of his waking time, so if he got sleep (big if) he tended to wake up hours after she left. Mostly he appreciated the cute little animals she would make out of the groceries that week. One day, he opened the fridge to a cheese ball that looked like a turkey. Two olives made the eyes and each of the turkeys feathers were made out of crackers. His favorite had to be when she made a Robin out of Bell peppers and Grapes. Tim had left his sketchbook out the night before flipped to that exact drawing. After she had cleaned the kitchen, she left the treat along with a note explaining how beautiful she thought the drawing was.

[minniesmutt]

royal fae jeongin, royal fae reader # 7

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: I.N X READER ☾ ━━━ PROMPT: 7 “I’m not jealous! its just… you’re mine!” ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: ROYAL FAE!I.N, ROYAL FAE!READER, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, ORAL SEX (F. REC), UNPROTECTED SEX, CREAMPIE ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.8K ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     “He looked far too happy to have you in his arms,” Jeongin said as he took his fiancée’s hand and started dancing with her around the ballroom

     “Stop it,” Y/n told him

     “Stop what?” He asked

     “Stop being jealous.”

     “I’m not jealous! It’s just,” Jeongin sighed. “You’re mine. I worked hard to prove to your family and you’re court that I was the prince worthy of your hand in marriage.”

     “And I’m not going anywhere,” Y/n assured him. “I’m yours and you’re mine now Innie. No one is separating us.”

     “Good,” The prince smiled and kissed her forehead.

     “I love you.”

     “I love you too.”

     The couple danced around some more before stepping off the dance floor and making their rounds together, talking with other royals and advisors in the room. It still amazed both of them that at one point their courts were rivals and fate destined the prince and princess together. No more sneaking across borders to see each other in the dead of night. Jeongin could happily move his wife into his home in less than a week now.

     A week until they were married but seeing her in her dress tonight, he didn’t know if he could wait that long. Y/n didn’t know if she could either.

     “Can we step out for some air?” Y/n asked her husband to be

     “Of course,” Jeongin lead her out of the ballroom and down the hall. Away from everyone. Y/n pulled her fiancé into a kiss the moment they were far enough away. 

     “We should skip the rest of the engagement party,” Y/n told him between kisses 

     “I agree,” Jeongin smiled. The two broke the kiss and the prince pulled her down the halls to his room. Locking the door behind them before passing his lips to hers again. 

     Y/n smiled as she pushed off his coat. Starting the domino effect of stripping each other of their formal attire while their mouths fought for dominance. Kisses fell everywhere on the body as Jeongin laid her back on his bed. 

     His lips trailed down her body till he settled between her legs, pulling the limbs over his shoulders as he wrapped his lips around her clit. Y/n moaned as he sucked on her clit. Y/n moaned as she locked her ankles around him. Holding him exactly where he was, even though he didn’t plan on moving.

     Jeongin trailed his hands up her body and grabbed hold of her breasts. Kneading the mounds as his tongue worked on her clit. Moaning into her clit as she tugged at his hair. This was all far different from their old sneak-outs where they had to be quick and then get home before the sun came up. The prince could finally treat his princess how she deserved to be treated.

     “Innie,” Y/n moaned

     “Taste as good as the first time,” Jeongin moaned

     “Tongue,” Y/n begged

     Jeongin knew exactly what she was asking for. He smiled as he dipped his tongue into her as his nose pressed against her clit. The muscle fucking in and out of her, her hips rolling against his face. Her orgasm quickly building then crashing down before either of them knew it. Y/n cursed the fact her fiancé had learned how to make her cum quickly. 

     “In,” Y/n whined as he came up from between her legs and pecked her lips 

     “Whining as if I don’t have the rest of our lives to make you cum as many times as you want,” Jeongin teased

     “Well start slowing down,” Y/n faux pouted at him

     “But you’re the one always begging me to go faster,” Jeongin told her as he pushed himself inside her. The movement kept her from pouting anymore. 

     Jeongin smiled down at his lover as he grabbed her hands and pinned them to the bed. Tangling their fingers together as he rolled his hips into hers. 

     “Get to have you like this for eternity,” Jeongin groaned

     “No more sneaking around either,” Y/n said

     “Gonna let everyone in every court know your mine forever.”

     Jeonign pressed his lips to hers as he let go of her hands. He wrapped his arms around her and rutted into her. Y/n moaned into his mouth as her walls pulsed around him, getting tighter and tighter with each thrust. Wrapping her fingers in his hair as the sensitivity became too much for her. Her second orgasm hitting her and making her shake under him, clinging onto him.

     Jeongin wasn’t too far behind her. Getting sucked into her and cumming deep inside her. Filling her up before almost collapsing over her. Both took a second to come down from their highs. Slowly, Jeongin pulled out and readjusted them so they were both under the sheets and wrapped her in his arms.

     “I should stay here until the wedding.”

     “I’ll have you move in tomorrow then.”

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[miloformula123fan]

okay like 2 months ago, I put out this moodboard, and @evans-dejong replied to it, and im gonna be honest that kind of inspired this whole fic

so

carlos sainz x male!royal!reader

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

carlos sainz x royal!reader

2022 Spanish Grand Prix

“AND George Russell has locked up at the final chicane and Carlos Sainz sails on through BRINGING HIM ONTO THE PODIUM OF HIS HOME RACE ON THE LAST LAP OF THE SPANISH GRAND PRIX. AND WHAT A RACE THAT WAS. Max Verstappen crossed the finish line first, followed by his teammate Sergio Perez, and rounding out the podium we have Carlos Sainz for ferrari.”

It had been a hard race, Carlos spinning in the first 8 laps. But he’d done a very good recovery drive, getting up to the podium.

Y/N couldn’t help but clap his hands as he saw a ferrari and a spanish driver on the podium from the back of the Ferrari garage. He saw himself on the screens, and flashed a winning smile. His mum looked at him with exasperated fondness as he hopped around waiting for the drivers to get on the podium, so she could hand the trophies over. He’d been looking forward to it all weekend, the previous highlight being handing off the pole position award to the other ferrari driver.

“And now to present the trophies to the drivers on the podium, we have Crown Prince Y/N, representing the Spanish Royal Family.”

Y/N could almost feel his hands shaking as he picked up the 3rd place trophy and prepared to hand it over. He ran himself through what he was supposed to do

‘Pick up the trophy, display it to the cameras, don’t drop it, first to the person closest, they’re 3rd place, hopefully you’ve picked up the correct trophy Y/N, then as you’re handing it over, shake their hand, congratulate the spaniard, pose for a photo handing over the trophy, and then walk back. Repeat for 2nd place, they’re the one furthest away, not a Spaniard, repeat for team, it’s the mechanic who looks hella awkward on the really small podium, and finally do it for 1st. Then get out of the way before they start spraying champagne.’

And it almost entirely went to plan. He had nearly kissed the Spanish driver on the podium, because damn he was hot. But otherwise it had gone to plan. 

Well, until, while trying to get out of the way and completing his task, he had gotten sprayed on the back of his new shirt. Damn.

He heard the cheers and yelling stop as everyone realised that he had been hit. Y/N snickered in his head at the thought that people were scared of him, worried that because he’d been hit by some champagne, that everyone would be executed. Instead he laughed it off, grabbed Carlos’ bottle and took a chug before wandering off the podium, laughing at the ruined shirt. His mother chastised him and fussed over him as he walked away laughing.

The Spanish ferrari driver was hot, sue him.

---

2022 Silverstone

“AND IN HIS 150TH RACE, CARLOS SAINZ WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX. HIS FIRST VICTORY IN F1”

Y/N could hear the cheers, the announcement was a little blurred as he hugged Carlos O, Carlos’ cousin and manager, after waving the spanish flag through a gap in the fence, yelling and cheering over the noise of the engines. There wasn’t a lot of celebration in the garage, as Charles, who was contending for the championship, had had a horrible race, but who cared? Carlos had won, at least Red Bull hadn’t won, they were still contending for the championship.

“And what a day for Ferrari, but they won with the wrong car!” Ted shouted into his microphone as the celebrations kicked on.

“I’m sorry?”

“Uhh, sorry to everyone at home we now have Crown Prince Y/N from the Spanish Royal Family. Now Your Royal Highness, what did you say?”

“Well first, my title is Prince of Asturias. Not this ‘Your Royal Highness’ bullshit that you’re trying to lower my status to…”

“Sorry, language for the kids at home.”

“Oh, says you, Ted Kravitz. Hi Kids, my name is Crown Prince Y/N, or the Prince of Asturias, and I’m going to give you a… what’s the word…unbiased view of the grand prix today. Charles and Max were struggling today. Then there was a safety car, and Carlos was given a better strategy. Now, keep in mind kids, this was because Charles was not having a great day. Then Carlos was once again screwed over by Ferrari strategists, however for once in his life he stood up for himself, and made himself a good strategy and won himself the race. His first race win, after 150 race starts. There is no wrong driver to win with for Ferrari, and Carlos deserved that win as much as Charles did. Thanks Tommy.”

“It’s Ted…”

Y/N waited in Carlos’ driver room for him to arrive back from the media. Carlos meanwhile had been told by his cousin that Y/N was waiting for him, and tried to pass off his impatience as excitement over the win. He had barely seen Y/N since the win, being celebrated with his team, but he had spotted him on Carlos O and Carlos Sr. shoulders, cheering with the other Ferrari engineers, and butchering his own national anthem, which was always fun to watch. But he hadn’t seen him properly, been able to hold him and scream and kiss him.

And he couldn’t wait for that.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he reached the door of his driver room. He could sense Y/N behind that door, actually he could hear him, chatting to what he assumed were his younger sisters and parents.

He slowly opened the door, pushing it with his hips as his hands held his water bottle and his trophy.

He watched for a second, not wanting to disturb Y/N, especially if he was saying something royal that he wasn’t supposed to hear. 

Y/N was lying on his stomach on the massage bed, his feet hanging off the end as he had propped his phone up against the wall. His feet were kicked up in the air, swinging backwards and forwards, as his head, which he was holding up by his hands, was bopping side to side as he talked to his family.

“Yeah, so just waiting for him to finish his post race debriefs and media and then he’ll be here soon, and I’ll hang up then, I don't want to scare Leonor again. By the way, Leo, how’s Gavi going? Feel like the last I heard was from some media article about how he wanted to focus on football and didn’t want a girlfriend distracting him, but I'm sure you’ve managed to persuade him otherwise…”

While Y/N was teasing his younger sister, he was cut off by  his (quite unmanly) screams as Carlos grabbed him from behind and hugged him to his chest, swinging him back and forth.

Once he had reassured both his family and the bodyguards who had burst into the room with their guns drawn that he was fine and Carlos had just scared him, he hung up the facetime call and snuggled in with Carlos on the small massage table, and admired the trophy.

“It’s pretty…” his hand hovered over all the details “like you mi amor.”

“...huh, most people would describe me as handsome rather than pretty, mi vida”

“Not me, you’re my pretty boy.”

---

Silverstone 2023

“Hello! You must be Lando!” Y/N walked towards the Mclaren boy and gave him a hug.

“You're the crown prince of Spain.”

“Wow, he’s observant eh Chilli?”

“Mate, i mean this in the nicest way possible, how the fuck did you manage to bag the crown prince of spain?”

“I think the real question you should be asking is how I managed to bag the most attractive f1 driver?”

“Have you seen Fernando?”

“Good point. The most attractive Spanish f1… no no, that doesn’t work. Uhhhh, the second most attractive F1 driver.”

“what?”

"nothing darling, good luck for your race Lando and nice to meet you!"

---

Singapore 2023

“AND RUSSELL IS IN THE WALL. GEORGE RUSSELL IS IN THE WALL AND CARLOS SAINZ IS GOING TO TAKE VICTORY FOR THE SECOND TIME IN AMAZING CIRCUMSTANCES. SO FAR THE ONLY NON RED BULL DRIVER TO WIN A RACE THIS YEAR”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” Y/N couldn’t help screaming through the ferrari garage as the entire ferrari garage erupted as Carlos crossed the line first. His bodyguards were clearly trying to reach him, but he didn’t care as he gave a massive hug to every mechanic and an even bigger one to Fred as he kept screaming his head off.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD YES! VAMOS YES!”

He was gonna lose it. Carlos had won a race. And this one for so many more reasons felt better than the Silverstone win. No disputes about team orders or who was the better driver.

Carlos had done it all on merit.

Once again he was hoisted up on the Carlos’ shoulders to horribly butcher his own national anthem. He could see his bodyguards trying to push through the throng of mechanics, but the mechanics were pushing back equally as hard. Well if his bodyguards couldn’t get through a crowd of overexcited mechanics, then maybe that was a sign he needed new bodyguards. First one’s who could get through a crowd when necessary, but also ones who understood that he could do what he wanted. He saw the cameras, flicking between the 2 of them singing to each other horribly, but he didn’t care. So what if these photos and videos were all over the tabloids tomorrow. 

Tonight was their night.

And nothing could change that.

nothing.

---

Spain 2024

Y/N walked onto the podium again, remembering how 2 years ago he had walked onto this stage and met the love of his life at that time.

Except this time, he was standing with the spanish flag around his shoulders, on the P1 spot, instead of the P3 spot as he was 2 years ago. His smile was bigger, and the cheers were louder, especially with Fernando Alonso in P2.

As Y/N handed off the P3 trophy to a grumpy Max Verstappen, a P2 trophy to an elated Fernando Alonso, who gave him a massive hug and shake as they jumped up and down. Very different from 2 years ago. 

And after giving a constructors trophy to a confused team member, finally it was Carlos’ turn. Y/N smiled as he handed over the trophy, adoring the goofy grin on his face. He also hugged him, and Y/N only cringed slightly at the sweat that was now on his suit.

It’s okay. He was never expected to wear this suit again.

He barely got out of the spray zone before the champagne spraying had begun. At least as he thought.

He let out a very unroyal scream as he felt the cold champagne trickle down his back, turning around to the silence with Fernando having a cheeky grin on his face (this seems hella clunky). The rest of the paddock and the podium was frozen, as if worried that he was going to order Fernando’s execution. Instead, he held his hand out, as his mother passed him a bottle of champagne that he proceeded to spray straight in Fernando’s face.

And then as the champagne started to drain, Carlos leaned over and kissed Y/N square on the lips. First official show of affection, and as Carlos pulled away and flashed the cheeky grin at Y/N, he thought about how the royal PR people would be scrambling to confirm that yes, Carlos was courting the crown prince of Spain.

But he didn’t care

So he leaned in and kissed him again.

Y/N walked onto the podium again, remembering how 2 years ago he had walked onto this stage and met the love of his life at that time.

Except this time, he was standing with the spanish flag around his shoulders, on the P1 spot, instead of the P3 spot as he was 2 years ago. His smile was bigger, and the cheers were louder, especially with Fernando Alonso in P2.

As Y/N handed off the P3 trophy to a grumpy Max Verstappen, a P2 trophy to an elated Fernando Alonso, who gave him a massive hug and shake as they jumped up and down. Very different from 2 years ago. 

And after giving a constructors trophy to a confused team member, finally it was Carlos’ turn. Y/N smiled as he handed over the trophy, adoring the goofy grin on his face. He also hugged him, and Y/N only cringed slightly at the sweat that was now on his suit.

It’s okay. He was never expected to wear this suit again.

He barely got out of the spray zone before the champagne spraying had begun. At least as he thought.

He let out a very unroyal scream as he felt the cold champagne trickle down his back, turning around to the silence with Fernando having a cheeky grin on his face (this seems hella clunky). The rest of the paddock and the podium was frozen, as if worried that he was going to order Fernando’s execution. Instead, he held his hand out, as his mother passed him a bottle of champagne that he proceeded to spray straight in Fernando’s face.

And then as the champagne started to drain, Carlos leaned over and kissed Y/N square on the lips. First official show of affection, and as Carlos pulled away and flashed the cheeky grin at Y/N, he thought about how the royal PR people would be scrambling to confirm that yes, Carlos was courting the crown prince of Spain.

But he didn’t care

So he leaned in and kissed him again.

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m

[dreamlandcreations]

• chapter 1 • ñuha dāria • my queen •

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Daemon is about to meet his match...

Warnings (and some ramblings): physical description vaguely (?) described and implied by relation, not gonna spoil the plot but there's gonna be targcest (come on, it's Daemon), other canon stuff (violence, death/murder, sex, misogyny, calling children bastards), Daemon is about 21 (according to canon, you'll see what I mean), reader is younger by at least two years; twisting up canon: Alyssa died within the year of Daemon's birth, Queen Alysanne is still alive and the Daemon-Rhea wedding has not happened yet, the fight is basically the Geralt vs Renfri fight (if you want visuals bc I suck at describing it 😅), bit of insta love, enemies to lovers (sort of), it's mostly from Daemon's POV, not proofread at all

Series masterlist • next chapter

• 102 AC • Winterfell • The tourney

Daemon was warned to behave before most of the House of the Dragon parted from King's Landing but he was called the Rouge Prince for a reason.

The tourney was held on the second day of their stay and he had not shown himself in public until then, content to spend his first day in the North reading under the heart tree.

Daemon always loved dramatic entrances, always seeking attention that he seemingly only gets when he is misbehaving. So he was ready to wreak havoc during the event that was supposed to be a friendly match between the great houses.

As a prince, he got to choose his first opponent, and who else would it be than a Hightower. He spared a smirk to that cunt of a Hand before he marched ahead to win with brutal precision, sending his opponent's horse and the knight himself to the ground.

The horrified gasps and then the loud cheering from the crowd only made his smirk wider. Daemon looked over the high seats from where the Targaryens, Velaryons and Starks watched the show. He immediately noted three empty seats, two besides Lord Stark - no doubt one of them was his brother's or cousin's whose helmeted figure Daemon had seen in the line of knights - and one by the King.

Since his grandmother, the Queen, was not present due to her illness, the only one who was sending him scolding glares was his brother, Viserys. The old king just sighed at the scene, while Corlys and Rhaenys sat there, amused, like parents watching a naughty child.

The next challenges were won just as easily as the first, although none of them was even remotely close to that savage end the Hightower boy had to suffer.

While the Prince usually didn't bother to watch the others, this time that Stark was drawing attention with his effortless wins. Prompting the people to make guesses and bets if a wolf could win against a dragon. Well, they were about to find out.

The first round shattered his opponent's shield but, to his astonishment, he stayed upright in the saddle. Daemon was smirking as usual but this time a tiny bit of admiration made his eyes glint in a softer light.

He could tell the little wolf would go down in the next round but he didn't expect to be taken with him too. The dragon prince's blood was singing at meeting a worthy opponent who was just as determined to win, no matter the cost.

The boy must have known he had no chance to stay on the horse, so instead of attacking Daemon as would be proper and expected, he somehow hooked his spear under his arm, yanking him back with the force of his own fall.

Both of you heavily landed on the ground, the impact crushing the air from your lungs and making it unable to move for a long moment. The spectating people were holding their breath, waiting to see if you were, well, alive or not.

The cheering was deafening as you got to your feet and proceeded to fight with swords.

Without wasting another second, you marched forward. Stabbing in his direction, aiming for his head and swinging at his neck with the same momentum once your initial blow missed its target.

The prince leaned away from each attack and his sword met yours at the third strike. He let you lead the fight for a few more clashes but he paused to assess you as he blocked a blow that meant to hit his legs.

Daemon straightened and stepped back, pushing your sword away with his and striking down with a high swing of Dark Sister. Your sword met his again, protesting under the finer steel.

To spare your weapon the worst of the hit, you focused on meeting the side of the blade while avoiding the edge and rolling the swords, trying to dislodge the weapon from his grip.

To unsuccessful stabbing attempts later you made a move at his head again. He ducked down, then didn't hesitate to use the opportunity of the few seconds you left yourself open.

You didn't expect a hit by his other hand and certainly not the following kick that sent you to the ground. Unfortunately, this resulted in losing your helmet.

Daemon paused at the sight.

It was no brother or cousin of their host, not even a boy as he suspected from the lighter build of the armour but a girl with the features of a Stark, the infamous wild beauty of the North, Lord Stark's niece by his late sister.

For the second time during this event, a unanimous scandalized gasp was heard from the crowd right before loud the protests of his brother and your uncle reached the two of you as they forbade you to continue the fight.

At that, your still bewildered expression turned into something Daemon was extremely familiar with. Blinding, all-consuming, untamed rage at being denied.

The Targaryen prince grinned wickedly at you but before you could turn your anger on him, he tore off his helmet, throwing it away and subtly nodding at you, giving you the approval to attack him and continue the fight. The answering spark in your eyes before you charged at him made his heart skip a beat.

It was similar to how you started the first time. He let you advance, then half-heartedly attacked back, ending the session with another backhanded slap before he pushed you backwards until your back met the edge of the fighting arena.

"You are holding back." You practically spat the accusation at him through gritted teeth while holding your sword to block his. Although with the way he took hold of your hand, making sure that your blade did not cut into your throat proved that you might as well let go altogether and would still be safe from any harm.

The world around you seized to exist as the prince pressed a little closer. Answering with an infuriatingly smug grin. "It would be unforgivable to hurt a little lady like you."

"You just hit me," you scoffed.

"You'll live."

"If you won't start fighting properly, you will not." The menacingly low threat made chills run down his spine, eliciting a low chuckle out of him that was definitely a mistake.

Then 'the little lady' pulled a knife on him.

Daemon grunted at the pain of being stabbed in his side. He looked at you with disbelief, the blade went through his armour like it wasn't even there. Valyrian steel.

It was enough distraction. You pushed him away, attacking with the dagger and the sword simultaneously and if you were a little less aggravated, you'd be impressed with the way he blocked your attacks with not just his sword but bare hand fight combined before he started to use his sword more like a shield.

Swords crossed, you paused.

Daemon could have swiped your legs, and you could have stabbed him with the dagger again but you were too busy trying to make it a show that you could overpower him and he was just too pissed to let you go easy.

In a blink of an eye, you were kneeling on the ground with your opponent's blade digging into your shoulder. Although he was careful not to cut too deep, he was not above the pettiness of giving you a scar in return for his.

A half groan, half gasp sound was the only indication of your pain and Daemon felt a moment of regret before he was consumed by flames from deep within that seemed to be seeded in the pull he felt towards you from the moment he laid his eyes on you. He found your rage and your inner fire, which was clearly visible in your determination and anger at the present, mesmerisingly beautiful.

He became distracted again. It was enough for you to be able to move and swipe at his leg, cutting him with the dagger before you stood and faced him with a challenging stance.

A few seconds of silent discussion followed, with him letting you know he will give you what you wished for if you continue, warning you that he will not hold back anymore.

You grinned, attacking him, again using both weapons, with some moves applying them like a single extended weapon.

Then he put you in a difficult position. Stopping the dagger by grabbing it, he was forcing you to stay still not by strength but by thrusting you that you would not want to permanently damage him.

If you pulled away now, he would lose at least a few fingers if not his hand altogether. Both of you gritted your teeth, mostly in pain but it showed more like anger, which made it seem like you were practically snarling at the other.

With barely clutching the handles, you pry his hand off enough to only graze him. And it leaves you vulnerable.

You almost lost your weapons when he immediately attempted to disarm you. Then he truly advanced, forcing you to defend yourself and back away. He was relentlessly stabbing and swinging with Dark Sister in your direction.

Then it was over, he took your sword. Holding you at the end of his blade, telling you to yield.

It was only then that you heard the crowd again. Cheering at the incredibly fast and hard-to-follow battle they just witnessed.

Despite the loud audience, Daemon still heard as you sighed with annoyance, keeping eye contact with him as you threw your dagger to the ground, refusing to do more or say the words.

He smiled, this time with pure amusement only. He stepped away, letting you breathe freely and to his further entertainment dropped to the ground to sit and rest or pout like a child. It was hard to guess and that made him enjoy the scene even more.

You were so busy with pealing away the suffocating armour where you could reach and the impending scolding that you knew was coming the moment you tied up your cousin and took his place, that you didn't pay attention when the prince received the flower crown or what he was planning to do with it.

Feeling the crown of winter roses placed on your head, you look up, wide eyes meeting with the Rogue Prince's mischievous gaze as he offers his hand and helps you stand. Without letting go, he bends a little, kissing the back of your hand as he murmurs, "My queen."

Series masterlist • next chapter

[crushribbons]

𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 (𝖓𝖔. 𝖎𝖎)

prompt: [ FIGHT ] our muses are leaders on opposing sides of a war. they have known each other before the war and now their sexual tension is worsened while trying to negotiate a truce. while disagreeing on terms they have rough sex, each one trying to dominate the other. (source)

char: daemon targaryen [house of the dragon] x fem!hightower!oc

warnings: daemon and rhaenyra didn't get together (because i could never endorse infidelity against MY queen) but daemon is still in line for the throne au, oc is alicent’s older sister and grew up in king’s landing as well, SMUT (18+ ONLY), oral (f!receiving), penetrative sex, male manipulator daemon, so canonical daemon.

a/n: this is penance, believe it or not.

The Targaryen rat's smirk would not leave his smug face, no matter what threats she'd been empowered to hurl across the oaken map table at him.

"I do wonder," he began, his words infuriatingly measured and even. Her chest was heaving, she knew it, and she ought not to show how much he riled her. But that smirk. He continued: "Why it is that the unflappable pretender Aegon has sent his aunt to negotiate the terms of his surrender for him."

Her ears flamed red. "Surrender?" she seethed. Daemon was standing, nay, slouching was more the word, against the table as if all this diplomacy bored him, as if the ownership of the entire country configured in tiny marble statuettes in front of them wasn't hanging in the balance. Her sister had warned her what an immovable ass the Targaryen prince would be.

He will not negotiate, he will toy, Alicent had whispered in her ear as the court around them had bustled with preparations for sending her envoy to Dragonstone. We are all mice. He thinks himself the only cat.

"We have no intention of surrender, my prince." She had to spit out the last word, a bitter, oily taste in her mouth.

His eyes narrowed, the first indication he was moved in any way by her presence. "My king," he ordered. Her shoulders did not fall.

She may have wanted nothing more than to see her flighty nephew removed from the seat that he already had nothing more than a tenuous grasp on, but to see this cocky, smug, arrogant usurper in his place...It couldn't be allowed.

Suddenly, Daemon cooed her name, and she dug her nails into the table involuntarily. "You will address me as the Lady Hightower," she said, but the anger in her voice was starting to wain. Memories of Daemon, ten or twelve years prior, taking her face in his hands beneath the Weirwood tree at King's Landing and kissing her deeply before he left to either kill the Crab King or be killed by him, surged through her and set her chest aching.

The tiny part of her that had ached for attention after King Viserys had passed her over in favor of marrying her younger sister had enjoyed the kiss the most, but a swirl of confused arousal had also told her that what she felt when she was near Daemon would not so easily be sated.

They looked across the table at one another, lines etched into their now mature faces, and she knew he was thinking of it, too. Daemon had such a particular way of looking at her, with a downcast face but upturned, ice-blue eyes that were tinted with longing.

"What are the king's terms, my lady?" He finally spoke after several seconds of silence.

"Will you even deign to listen if I tell you?"

Daemon's hand ceased its fidgeting, propped on the edge of his sheathed sword. Then he turned to the attendants lining the wall. "Leave us." Ten small bows and curtsies were given, and they were alone. Daemon rounded the table and made his way towards her. Her heart pounded as he grew closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

"Do you think of it, ever?" he asked when he was standing but a foot away from her. His silver-blonde hair was far longer than when she'd seen him last. "Of that night?"

He refused to show any vulnerability, picking up a navy armada from the map and spinning it idly rather than look her in the eyes. The image of Aegon, eyes ablaze with ideas of bloodshed and glory, on the Iron Throne, came into view in her mind. There was urgency to these negotiations, her family was depending on her. Her sister needed her.

"Yes," she whimpered pathetically. Daemon groaned and shed the last bit of his cool demeanor to close the distance between them and grab her just as he had all those years ago. Their lips met, and if anything, it felt even better, even more perfect and sweet. His were soft, and he tasted of dark wine.

Daemon wasted no time positioning her how he liked, bending down to grab the backs of her legs and lift her onto the table. Her shame was almost potent enough to make her push him off, to clear her head and think of her duty and responsibility to her family, and to Westeros. But then Daemon licked along the edge of her jaw, inhaling as he did so, and breathed, "How a woman born of that pig Otto Hightower can be so intoxicating..."

Her brow wrinkled, and she wished to speak up on her noble father's behalf, but then Daemon was falling to his knees and looking up at her, his normally gaunt face flushed pink. "Let's have no more of this--" He flipped her dress around her waist, ran his hands from her knees up her thighs, marveling at the softness, "--unproductive talk."

"It is only unproductive because you do not pay me any heed," she retorted, but her voice was strained and grew more so when Daemon leaned into her covered heat and pressed his lips and nose to it. Pleasure like she hadn't felt in years coursed through her, mixed with a depraved dash of power and headiness. The heavy iron rings on Daemon's fingers were cold against her exposed legs as he gripped her tighter.

The pretender king ate her cunt until she writhed against the Blackwater Rush and knocked the represented King's Guard onto the ground with her flailing arms. One found purchase in his silver hair, and Daemon glanced up at her and smirked, again, that infuriating smirk!

"I am glad to find you so agreeable, my lady," he murmured while kissing her again, his lips covered completely in her. She wished he wasn’t so easily able to break her.

As Daemon drove into her later that night in the chambers prepared for his guest, he said, “You have not yet told me the terms of your surrender, my lady Hightower. Will you place the crown on my brow yourself?” His hands caged her on either side of her shoulders as he thrust and hit a point inside her again and again that made her scream soundlessly. Sweat beaded between their bodies, the sweet mingling of their breath making her dizzy. Words would not form on her kiss-swollen lips.

The Targaryen rat made her come two more times before the sun had risen. He split her apart and laughed about it, and she begged for more. “Do not leave me, dove,” he whispered in her ear while they lay together afterwards, skin glowing. “This war can only have one outcome. Stay with us here and join in our victory. Join me.”

He will not negotiate. He will toy.

[starsfic]

Xiaotian points out one day that Zhu Bajie, Ao Lie, and Sha Wujing had to have had partners if his family and friends are their descendants. Sun Wukong is eager to spill the tea.

Anon: Monkie kid prompt: Wukong learns about Zhu Baije’s punishment (the love tragedy one) from Pigsy. And makes sure that it doesn’t happen or it ends with Pigsy’s and Tang’s relationship The Zhu Bajie and Ao Lie stories inspired by @twinklecupcake's wives.

A huge chest slammed onto the table, the dust on it thick enough that Xiaotian was sent into a coughing fit. "That's huge," he wheezed. "What's all in it?"

"Oh, a lot," Sun Wukong said, throwing open the chest. He pulled out a bunch of scrolls and loose pictures, what looked to be at least two fancy hanfus, and other stuff. Tang reached for one of the scrolls only for Wukong to slap his hand. The last thing he pulled out looked to be a photo album.

"Now," Wukong said, reaching for the scroll Tang attempted to grab. "I have no idea where Sha Wujing got his kid," He unfolded the scroll to reveal an ink picture. The giant river demon beamed next to a nervous-looking Tripitaka, the taller holding a small demon child. The child beamed with sharp shark teeth. "He just popped up one day and asked if I would basically be the kid's godfather and never asked any questions."

Sandy made a grabbing motion and Wukong let him take the scroll, ignoring Tang's pout. "So, he adopted?" the demon asked.

"Either that or he kidnapped the kid from a bad situation."

Wukong grabbed another scroll and unrolled it, presenting to Long Xiaojiao first. She cooed at the image of her white-haired ancestor in wedding robes, holding hands with a pretty dark-haired girl. "Oh, she's so pretty!" she said, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. "Who is she?"

"She was a farmgirl, living on a farm near the ocean. Ao Lie apparently worked as a farmhand for her dad for several months because he got bored and ending up doing the whole Princess Bride schtick," Wukong said, unfolding one of the robes to reveal the red fabric was stitched with green dragons. "We didn't even get told about the wedding until she was expecting their second kid, although Master insisted on them having a second wedding so we could be there." His smile grew bigger. "They had a big stuffy court wedding where she was apparently so upset the entire morning because she had no idea Ao Lie was a prince and thought she was marrying some random stranger, so they didn't need much convincing."

Xiaojiao's eyes got bigger. "Can I-?" She made grabby hands. Wukong handed over the wedding robe with no protest. She zoomed out of the room and soon returned, striking a pose. Whatever preservation spell was on the fabric was strong, since it looked perfect despite its age. Xiaojiao was a tad shorter than Ao Lie, so some of it dragged on the floor, but it looked amazing.

"What about..." Pigsy sighed, as if the name was bitter on his tongue. "Zhu Bajie?"

Wukong's smile froze on his face. "He...uh...he returned to Blue Orchid, and I helped them find a new place in the countryside since her dad put up a stink," He reached for another scroll, handing it over. "They were besotted with each other. When she got pregnant, they were so happy...But he had a curse to be never happy in love."

Connections did not need further help.

The scroll depicted a scene of wedded bliss, the tiny woman dwarfed by the giant boar, a hand pressed protectively to her round stomach. The artist had caught them smiling at each other, eyes full of love and hope for the future.

Wukong, lost in memories, didn't notice Xiaojiao grabbing the scrapbook. "Is that why you were stalking Pigsy?" she called.

The monkey went stiff. "What?" Tang said.

"There's no need to see that-" Wukong made a grab but Xiaojiao danced back, her grin getting wider.

"Is this their first date-?!"

"WHAT?!"

"I wanna see!"

"I just wanted to help-"

Sandy, watching as his friends, his family, broke into struggle over the scrapbook that memorialized his oldest friends' happiness, smiled. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture.

This could join the rest of the memories of the pilgrims.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the jester wears the crown

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'royalty au' rated e | 18+, minors dni wc: 779 cw: semi-public sex (they don't get caught) tags: king steve, court jester eddie, established relationship, blowjobs

special big shoutout to @stobinesque and @t-boyeddie for the two line suggestions that really helped me form this drabble during a bit of a writer's block. so many hugs for you both!!!

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

The doors opened again, revealing the court jester and a few of the kids who he often dragged into his schemes around the castle.

Steve stopped talking for a moment, distracted by their presence despite his diplomatic conversation.

The plan was for the jester to make an appearance towards the end of dinner in order to distract people from serious conversations, start preparing them to retire for the night, and hopefully keep things lighthearted through difficult conversations. This was a bit earlier than Steve hoped for, but he couldn't find it in him to care too much.

The jester made his rounds, boisterous laughter filling the room from every table. Steve watched out of the corner of his eye as he leaned down to tug something out of his pant leg, causing the guests around him to let out peals of laughter.

One of their more esteemed guests of the evening, a visiting prince, walked up to Steve with a quick apology for interrupting.

"Your majesty, your court jester is hilarious! Where did you find him?"

Steve smirked.

"That's my husband."

The visiting prince looked stunned, giving a small nod and excusing himself.

It wasn't common for a king to marry a man, and even less common for them to marry a commoner. But Steve had been with Eddie for nearly six years before he even had a crown on his head, and nothing would have stopped him from forever with him.

Eddie was good at his job, all aspects of it, from casual fun for parties to easing a room of people into a calmer atmosphere.

Because of this, the room full of people slowly dispersed to their designated quarters including the insufferable king and governor he'd had the unfortunate duty of entertaining all night.

When the room was empty of all people but Steve, Eddie, and the guards, Eddie looked up at Steve on his throne.

"Your majesty, I beg to speak with you," he yelled across the room, ignoring the laughter of Steve's personal guard, Hopper.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly and gestured for him to come closer.

Eddie rushed forward, taking the few steps up to his place above everyone and dropping to his knees.

"I wish to share your time privately," Eddie started.

Hopper coughed next to him, brow raised.

"You wish for me to send my guards away?" Steve asked, playing along with Eddie's theatrics. "How should I know to trust you?"

"I would rather chop my own hand off than harm you," Eddie said seriously.

Steve smiled down at him.

"As you wish." He turned to Hopper and told him to clear the room and ensure no one came in. He was past being embarrassed about their activities in shared spaces.

Once the room was cleared, Eddie made to get up, reaching up to remove his hat, but Steve stopped him.

"Stay. You look good on your knees."

It wasn't the first time they'd done this, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Come here." Steve's voice commanded him in a way he so rarely did. Eddie scooted the two feet it took to be at his feet, eyes wide as Steve looked down at him. "You spent the evening entertaining everyone but me. I'd say it's my turn, wouldn't you?"

Eddie nodded, throwing his hat off his head and leaning forward to unbuckle Steve's belt.

"What do you want from me?" Eddie asked.

"Your mouth. Need your mouth."

The words had barely left him when Eddie leaned forward to untie his pants, get his hand on his cock, and swallow it down in one go.

It never lasted long when they were both this hungry for it, especially not when he was on the throne.

Eddie's mouth was hot, drool dripping down the length of him, probably leaving a mess under him.

They were both moaning, echoes bouncing off the walls. Neither of them cared much about passing guards overhearing; Most guards in the castle were used to tuning out any proof of their insatiable appetites.

"Love, I-"

Steve couldn't hold back his release if he wanted to, the warning coming just a bit too late.

Eddie groaned around him, swallowing down his cum like he would die without it, like he'd been waiting all night for this moment.

He pulled off with a pop, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed as he looked up at Steve.

"Did I service you well enough tonight, my liege?"

Steve pulled him into his lap, his lips hungrily attaching themselves to Eddie's.

When he pulled away, he reached up to the crown on his head.

He placed it gently on Eddie's curls.

"Your turn," he winked.

[jennarations]

Lestappen drabble!

(Max/Charles, 900 words)

Prompts were: ‘Royalty au’ + “Why are you covered in blood?” “Uh. Long story?”

TWO DRABBLE POSTS FROM ME IN TWO DAYS? Unheard of. Insane. anywho it’s another sprint of 30 mins with the tsgc pals! (this is my first time tackling lestappen so i hope i did them justice!)

Charles likes to ride in the evenings.

Usually about the time that most of the grounds are having supper or getting ready to close up operations for the night. It’s just easier that way, considering it’s less people to run into and have to talk to.

It’s not that he hates the attention per se, but a lifetime of people stuttering at you with wide eyes that are immediately downcast for the rest of your conversation really wears on a person, y’know?

So it’s just more peaceful for him to slip into the stable while most, if not all, of the stable hands are at the main structure for supper.

He putters around the squat little building, rustling through the royal tack to find the more worn and comfortable riding gear. His mother says that he should always use the ceremonial saddles and reigns and such, but they’re so uncomfortable for both him and Daphne that he just sifts around until he finds the practice tack.

He’s looking for Daphne’s favorite bit and mumbling to himself when he hears heavy boots slam into the stable.

He hides the gathered tack behind his back and whips around just as a figure makes his way into the small alcove he’s hiding in.

What he expects is a stable hand, hurried and frazzled from forgetting one of their chores that had to be completed before supper. And he would play the aloof prince that was just coming to do a surprise evaluation of the tack room. Perfect plan.

What he doesn’t expect, is piercing blue eyes, strong shoulders, and—

“Why are you covered in blood?”

The man looks down at his hands and darkly stained clothing. Then he looks back up, quirks an eyebrow and clears his throat.

“Uh. Long story?”

Charles makes a frankly undignified noise at that but reaches for a rag anyway and tosses it over to the man in the doorway.

He catches it with ease and begins wiping at his hands hastily.

“Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush.” The man says, looking directly into Charles’ eyes. Then he’s swiping loose fabric and blankets from the nearest shelf and turning on his heel, disappearing as quickly as he came in.

Charles looks at the tack still in his hands, confusion and curiosity getting the better of him at this man who seemed to have no idea who he was.

He tosses the tack down back onto the bench and scurries after the man.

“Wait! Hang on. Please—“ Charles calls after him, kind of thrilled being forced to chase someone for once in his life.

The man glances back over his shoulder but keeps his brisk pace. Then he ducks around a corner of the stable.

Charles’ mind is whirring at this guy, never having been ignored before either. It’s almost fun in a way.

He finally rounds the corner himself and for the second time this afternoon, he finds himself at a complete loss of what he expects to find.

The man is crouching on the floor of the stable, tucking blankets underneath one of the horses.

He looks up for a moment and Charles feels a little tingle run down his spine at the man’s eyes once again meeting his with reckless abandon.

“Is she okay?” Charles motions weakly at the horse groaning quietly in the hay.

The man snorts. “If pushing a thirty pound animal out of your body can classify as okay, then yep, she’s doing great.”

Charles raises his eyebrows at this. Before he can open his mouth again, the man speaks.

“Since you’re here, can you pass me that blanket?” The man says, motioning towards a wayward blanket at Charles’ feet.

Charles squeaks a small little noise at that and automatically grabs the fabric, bringing it over to him. When he passes it over, the man’s fingers brush against his.

“Thank you.” He says, offering a small smile. “Have you ever helped deliver a foal?”

Charles shakes his head mutely, unsure of what to do, or if this guy really has no idea that he’s the prince.

The man nods his head once and then furrows his brows. “Well. Seeing as you’re the one who followed me, I think you’re going to learn today.”

The man starts to bark out little orders of where Charles needs to grip the mare and guides his hands over her haunches. Charles, almost numbly at this point, just nods and follows directions. His brain is running a million miles an hour, but his hands are busy and his eyes keep flitting over to the man’s broad form and bloody hands.

Charles distractedly thinks to himself, Those are some nice hands to be covered in blood, before he can clear the thought from the forefront of his mind.

Once the man has situated all of the tools that they need around the mare’s backside and stopped running around to ensure the blankets are in the right areas, he settles down next to Charles.

“Max.”

“What?” Charles says in a decidedly un-princely manner.

The man gently tugs Charles’ hands to another part of the mare’s legs, flicking his gaze back to him.

“That’s my name. Max.”

Charles nods, trying to keep his hands in the right place.

The man, Max, smirks a bit. “Y’know this is where you tell me your name.”

Charles lets out a surprised noise and bites his lip.

“Uh. It’s, uh Chuck.”

Max nods, placing a steadying hand on the mare’s haunches.

“Well, Chuck, are you ready to meet this foal?”

Max smiles at him, a stray piece of blond hair falling over his forehead. The man is still covered in blood and hay, and Charles honestly thinks he might look like the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

[gd-dollopole]

MERLIN FIC PROMPT

What if Arthur can shapeshift?

Once upon a time, a very powerful magical being had found a way to transform their cells however they wanted to, using magic (very much like alchemy. Impossible, but they were able to find a method to make it work).

Fast forward, the Pendragon line is born, and some far away in their blood, these cells still work.

And then, Arthur and Merlin meet when they’re kids.

Two peaceful reigns, allies and magical, Balinor’s and Uther’s, both together to sign a treaty, when Merlin and Arthur are forced to stay together, annoyed with each other, while the adults do adult things.

They bicker, they fight, they scream at one another, and end up playing together, when one afternoon, Arthur, wooden sword in hand, puffy, red cheeks, hands closed in fists and hair a mess, runs around the castle to catch Merlin, thin, scrawny boy, all bones, ears too large and hair as black as night, yelling at the blonde to stop chasing him.

But then Arthur reaches him, and he lets out a puff of breath.

More accurately, a puff of smoke.

Merlin stands still, a ball of blue light flying over his hand, breathing harshly, ready to smash the ball across Arthur’s face.

They stare at each other, with round and knowing eyes, until Merlin yells, runs across the gardens, and tackles Arthur to the ground anyway.

They’re forced to stay together one way or another, and unconsciously, Merlin helps Arthur control his powers, as much as Arthur can help Merlin control his.

They’re too stupid to understand that a bond stronger than everything else in Albion is creating between them, but they don’t notice many things.

Cue all the shenanigans:

first time Arthur sneezes it happens in front of Merlin. They’re in Camelot, searching for secret chambers in the castle. Since the warlock seems very much like the only one who can call to Arthur’s powers, the prince pops a tail. Long, scaly, red and gold.

Merlin, magic flaring inside him, and giggling, tries to chop it off for fun;

during their teenage years, while Merlin is studying the dragon tongue, he dares Arthur to steal biscuits from the cook, but makes the mistake to be too loud, since he suddenly grows claws, that rip apart his shoes. Needless to say, it doesn’t work, and now they’re being chased by a very angry cook;

Arthur hits Merlin with a mace during training, when the warlock comes to visit him. Arthur puts too much force when sitting on Merlin, and he farts.

Very manly, of course.

While Merlin is too busy laughing so loud the sound reaches all Five Kingdoms, Arthur gets angry, and two wide, long, red wings rip open his armour. Arthur ends up flying over Merlin’s window for an entire week as revenge, hitting it with the end of his sword;

to be fair, Merlin whispers filthy words and makes awful noises resound in Arthur’s ears while he is trying to sleep, all across their two kingdoms;

at Arthur’s coronation as a regent, Merlin visits him, and makes fun of him while he tries to approach a girl. Arthur burns his hair, and Merlin burns his in return.

And then they are adults, two men who somehow, despite their differences, had stuck together throughout all these years.

And one night, Arthur disappears, suddenly, and without notice.

There is a rumour he had escaped Camelot by running.

And Merlin feels the pulse of magic in his veins.

He has no idea if it will work, but the warlock, desperate and scared, calls Arthur to a clearing, and as he regains his breath after screaming for his best friend, Merlin sees a giant, red and gold dragon ascending on the grass, wide paws and claws gripping the ground, nostril flaring hot smoke, scales shining under the moonlight, tails hitting the end of the trees in the woods, and his lean, long body expanding with each laboured breath he takes.

Arthur had only went away for a walk, and while he screams at Merlin for being such a girl’s petticoat, they both stop mid sentence, and stare long at each other.

Or rather, Arthur’s golden eyes widen, and he looks down at a tiny Merlin, who had a similar expression on.

That’s how they both find out that Merlin is Arthur’s Dragonlord.

(this is all inspired by a post that I read so long ago. Merlin is a Dragonlord, and he is in fact the only one who can make Arthur, a Pendragon, see sense, and therefore tame him)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hi💕

I was thinking about a thrope that i always find very cute

Men: why would i want a loyal and quiet woman when i can have blind hatred?

Woman: you think you can get a woman to stick with you ?

Men: * heart eyes* see, that is exactly what i need

Daemon with a reader who is not royal and they met when she kicked his ass while stealing money

Attenzione Pickpocket!

Daemon Targaryen x Robin Hood!Reader

Summary: The commander of the gold cloaks was instructed to track down a thief that was stealing from the nobles. Daemon cared little for the task, up until he, himself, in a word, was stolen from.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: fem!reader, prostitute!reader, ye old misogyny, manhandling, mention of injury, typos, etc.

A/N: ok i wasnt actually sure if this was a req but i kept it because i really liked the prompt. robin hood was the first thing that i thought of and ok its not too much of that but whatever. nonnie your prompt really got mangled but i hope you still like it (: ive been wanting to write for daemon for a while so im tryna manifest a writing streak with this fic. Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui

There is a frantic pounding on my door.

I whine as I struggle to tie the bandages around my torso. I spit out the cloth I stuffed in my mouth to muffle my whimpers, "GIVE ME A MOMENT, GRETA!"

Her panicked and muffled voice sounds from behind my locked door. She jiggles the knob, "but the prince-"

There is a squeak followed by a louder round of knocks. I scramble when I hear the shrill voice a man outside.

"Give me a second," I mutter under my breath as I scramble to put on my shift.

"If you don't fucking open the door, I'm going to-"

His words are cut off by the sound of me undoing my lock and ripping the door open. Daemon Targaryen, clad in his armor and gold cloak, as well as my poor darling Greta, our poor barmaid, barely ten and six, look at me as I huff.

I nod at Greta, dismissing her. She gratefully and wordlessly flees the scene. I turn back to man, "a bit early for your dr-"

Daemon pushes past me, undoing his cloak as he blurts, "you want your coin or not, whore?"

I huff again, straining as I whip back to him, forgetting momentarily that I was rather gravely injured. I hold back a whine as I walk up to him.

Daemon drops his cloak and marches over it. He sits then slumps on my bed. He looks at me and parts his legs. I hold back my chuckle and I sit on his lap, dutifully undoing his armor.

He stops me and takes my hand, barely shaking his head in disagreement. We lock eyes for a moment and pull my hand away when he releases it. I decide then to brush his hair back.

Daemon immediately sighs. I kiss his jaw. His hand comes to my thigh and slowly pushes my skirt up. I mutter against him, "why so tense, commander?"

He rubs the bridge of nose, "there's a thief in King's Landing."

"Mmm," I pull back to raise a brow at him, "and there's a prince in a brothel," I rub his cheek with my thumb, "I can't say I'm surprised."

Daemon clenches his jaw as he wraps an arm around me, "this is different."

"Hmm, let me guess," I brush his lips with my thumb, "did this one steal from our dragonling?"

He does not retort as I play with his lips. I coo, "come now, prince. Surely a pouch of silver is not something you of all people would mourn."

"It was ten pouches. I was moving coin from the treasury."

I chuckle and mutter, "oh, I knew that. Didn't a few golden busts get taken as well?"

Daemon looks at me.

"Didn't you nick the thief in the rib?" I tilt my head.

"I stabbed him," he corrects, "but the fuck was too fast."

"You've just gotten slow," I chuckle, "you were out of breath when you chased me around last week. Remember our playdate, hunter?"

He rolls his eyes.

"I enjoy being your doe, dragonling. I like it when you're in the mood for a chase and a fuck."

Daemon tilts his head and dryly retorts, "I wouldn't have ever guessed."

I chuckle, "Oh, don't be like this. Did it hurt when you fell off your horse? Everyone in the city heard your thu-"

Daemon growls, yanking my hair back, "I did not."

I hold back a laugh.

"Your flies whisper exaggerated accounts."

"Do they now?" I smirk.

He releases my hair and narrows his eyes, "what do you know about that thief anyway?"

I purse my lips and shrug, "what are you here for? A fuck? Or information?"

Daemon does not reply. He does not move either.

"I'm afraid," I tilt my head back, "I can only give you one or the other, dragonling."

He scoffs, "greedy slut."

I raise my brows, "business is business."

Daemon draws out a deep breath. I watch as he puts his hand in his pocket and shows me coins on his palm. He places the coins on my bedside table and mutters, "the thief."

I smile and nod, "the thief it is then."

"Tell me what you know," he says, hand lazily resting on my thigh.

"Hmm," I push his hand off.

He grumbles.

"I was the one that robbed you, prince." I continue, "I was there last night. I watched you get knocked off your horse. I think I saw you even shed a tea-"

A gasp leaves me. His hand comes to my throat. He mutters under his breath, "shut it."

I let out a strained chuckle, "m-make me."

He huffs through his nose and tightens his grip on my jaw. I dig my fingers into his armor and press my thighs together to contain my excitement. My heart quickens. He stares at me for what felt like ages but then releases me.

I catch my breath.

"You liked it last time when you chased me around the streets," I whisper, leaning into his ear. "Would you like to do that again? Shall I wear men's clothing too? A mask? A hood."

"I'm not in the mood for one of your games," Daemon retorts.

I shake my head and pout, "but I am, your grace."

He grunts, "I've been awake since yesterday and you expect me to hound a whore for sport?"

"If you want to get your money's worth," I say as I move off him, "and if you're not boring.

Daemon watches me as I stand and step back. He seems ridiculously irritated.

"Would you like to know a secret prince?" I look at him and tug my shift up slowly.

Daemon's eyes dart to my legs.

"You're not going to get that money back."

He looks up at me and raises a brow, "what?"

"I divided the money across neighborhood."

He tilts his head.

"If you want to catch your thief," I pull my clothes up and show him the cut on my side, "you have to play my game."

Daemon stares for a moment. I drop my shift and smile, really allowing the moment to hook into his mind. I grab my folded clothes, slowly putting them on.

He watches me still as I whimper because of my injury. I raise my brows, "Dark Sister stings awfully. The least you could do is fuck the pain out of my system, no?"

I grab his cloak and toss it to him.

He catches it through his stunned state. For a moment, he looks at me as though he was debating the sincerity of my words.

"I take this as you giving me a head start," I nod and pull my skirt up as I exit the room.