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illyrianshadow · 3 months ago

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Flirting in the Dark

Summary: Cassian convinces you to help him retrieve an item from his brother’s room. It doesn't quite go as you had planned.

Warnings: none really, slightly suggestive comments and a hint of smut if you squint (the tiniest hint). Just bat boys being silly.

A/N: Just something a little bit light hearted. I wrote this in one go after waking up this morning as I needed to get it out of my head. Enjoy the silliness. Comments very welcome I love to hear your thoughts.

Edit: you ask and you shall receive, part 2 here x

—————

Cassian looks at you with a familiar hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Come on sweetheart. Light of my life. The most beautiful female in all of Prythian.”

You roll your eyes at his words, a small smile on your lips. You continue making your breakfast, trying to manoeuvre around him as he’s trying to block your path.

“Your flattery doesn’t work on me Cass. Also you forget I have known you for way too long to go along with any of your schemes.”

And you have. Being childhood friends you have been there through all of his terribly planned out pranks and plots.

He sighs but by the look in his eyes you can tell he isn’t going to give up anytime soon.

“You don’t understand, I NEED that dagger. It’s technically mine anyway, Az stole it from me. I just need you to distract him for a little bit while I go into his room and grab it. I’ll be stealthy, I promise. I’ll go in through the window. No harm done.”

You don’t mean to but you start laughing and you snort at the vision of a 200 pound Illyrian trying to stealthily push himself through a window.

You grab your cup of tea and lean against the counter.

“Stealthy? Cass, I love you but being stealthy is not really your vibe. You’re better off leaving that to the professional spies, like Az.”

His eyes light up at your words, and you can see some unspoken plan forming in his head. He claps his hands together. You immediately regret everything you’ve just said.

“Or like you! That’s it, change of plan. I’ll go distract Az, you sneak in through the window to get the dagger.“ He looks at you with pleading eyes, pouting.

The Lord of Bloodshed, looking at you like a stroppy child that won’t stop until he gets his way.

You groan. “I did not become a trained spy for this court to aid you in your stupid pranks, you overgrown bat.” but you’re caving, and you know Cassian can tell.

“I’ll take you out for dinner, my treat. Anywhere you want. And I’ll wash your dishes for a whole month.”

You roll your eyes, taking a small sip from your tea as if you need to think about it for a minute. You don’t. And Cassian knows it too.

“Come on, I know you want to.”

You sigh. “Fine, but I pick somewhere expensive AND you buy my outfit.”

He looks at you with a big grin on his face. “Done.”

—————

This is stupid. Utterly ridiculous. You swear softly to yourself as you look from the little balcony you are standing on to the window of Azriel’s room on the left.

Ever the gentleman he had traded rooms with you a while ago, giving you the one with the balcony and moving into the smaller one without himself.

Which meant getting in through his window was going to be a lot more challenging than you had considered.

Thank the mother he had left it open.

—————

After an embarrassing struggle with the window and a small freakout about heights, you’ve made it into Azriel's bedroom.

Your courage in your little mission wavers as you look at the collection of daggers displayed on a big table against one of the walls. Cassian had described the one you are looking for to you in great detail but looking at the overwhelming amount of weapons, this is going to be a challenge.

The Spymaster is a grade A hoarder. Perfect.

You make a system in your head as you start looking, getting so wrapped up in the task at hand that you don’t notice the small shadows slipping in through the crack under the door.

You’re a good spy, but this ridiculous search has made you leave your guard down. Also Azriel is the one that trained you. It’s a lost cause to begin with.

Then out of nowhere the room goes dark. A soft curse leaves your lips as you try to look around for a way to escape. It’s no use. You’ve been caught.

Well, that didn’t last long. You should’ve known, Cassian is a terrible liar.

You suddenly feel a presence behind you, lips hovering right over your ear. You shiver at the feeling. “Looking for something love?”

Azriel moves closer, wrapping one of his arms around your waist as he presses you against him to keep you in place. There’s no making a quick escape now.

Not that you could get away anyway with the room being as dark as it is.

Your breath hitches at the pet name and you lean back slightly, savouring the feeling of Azriel’s strong chest pressed against your back.

“Just admiring your collection.” you reply casually, knowing damn well that Azriel can see right through you.

“Is that so?” he whispers back, lips touching the shell of your ear before moving down to the spot in your neck he knows drives you crazy.

This isn’t new territory for the two of you, but there is usually a lot more alcohol involved.

“Then why did I just get dragged out of my room by Cassian pretending to have a very important, non-existent laundry crisis he needed my help with?”

You really should’ve given the general some pointers. A laundry crisis, really? Why did you agree to help him again?

He spins the two of you around and before you realise what is happening you are pressed against the wall on the other side of the room, Azriel hovering over you.

The darkness has cleared slightly.

“What is he looking for?” He asks, staring into your eyes with an intensity that makes your knees feel weak.

“Nothing.” You squeak, voice an octave higher than it should be.

His scent is overwhelming your senses and it’s becoming more and more difficult to not keep staring at his lips.

He smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He moves even closer, lips hovering over your own, almost touching. “I don’t believe you.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath while trying to block out the male in front of you. His body presses even closer to your own and his lips find their way to your ear again. “If you tell me I’ll reward you.”

You shiver as you feel heat begin to pool in your core.

“I’ve been trained never to reveal my secrets on a mission.” you reply, voice surprisingly steady considering your current state.

“Since it was me that trained you I think it’s okay to make an exception.” Azriel mumbles, as his lips trace the outline of your jaw.

One of his hands starts moving up your side, making small circles up towards your breast. He stops the movement just underneath and rests his hand there. Tease.

He pulls his lips away from their position on your jaw to look into your eyes again. His pupils are blown and you can tell it’s taking him a lot of strength to not just devour you then and there.

You smirk. “You okay there Shadowsinger?”

“Never better.” his voice comes out rough.

You can’t take this any longer.

“He wants the dagger you stole from him.” you mumble as you move one of your hands to trace the outline of his wing. He hisses in response, pressing a knee between your legs to push them apart so he can settle in between them.

“Does he now?” he grumbles. “I’ll have you know he lost that dagger in a bet, fair and square. I didn’t steal anything. It’s not my fault he’s such a sore loser.”

He presses against you and the feeling of his evident arousal makes your cheeks flush. His hand starts moving again, slowly tracing the outline of your breast before softly grazing your nipple. You let out a small whine.

Your eyes find Azriel’s again and you are about to crash your lips to his when you hear a loud knock on the outside of his door.

“LET ME IN, I’M TAKING MY DAGGER BACK.” It seems like Cassian is getting desperate and has decided to resort to his favourite way of getting what he wants, violence.

Azriel presses his lips to yours and slowly bites down on your bottom lip. “Don’t go anywhere, we aren’t finished.” he whispers into your mouth. Then he steps away from you and light floods the room again.

Azriel is going to kill his brother.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #azriel smut #sort of not really #cassian #cassian fanfic #azriel fanfic #hehehe

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dragonsareawesome123 · 1 month ago

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"The choice of name took Lomeli by surprise. To derive one's papal title from a virtue - innocence, piety, clemency - rather than from a saint was a tradition that had died out generations ago. There had been thirteen Popes named Innocent, none of them in the last three centuries. But the more he considered it, even in those first few seconds, the more he was struck by its aptness - by its symbolism at such a time of bloodshed, by the boldness of its declaration of intent. It seemed to promise both a return to tradition and yet a departure from it - exactly the sort of ambiguity the Curia relished. And it fitted the dignified, childlike, graceful, softly spoken Benítez to perfection." -Conclave (2016), Robert Harris

Conclave (2024) dir. Edward Berger

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shinedoitsulikeabright · 7 months ago

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I love the idea of every god that agreed to free Ody helping him out during 600 strike

Because, let's be honest, as cool as the song is, there is no way in hell a mere mortal could ever do that to Poseidon. I mean, he's on the same power level as Zeus ffs.

So, I like the headcanon that he received divine help. Just imagine:

Zeus finds the whole thing hilarious so he provides thunder and lightning to set the mood and complete the aesthetic. Seriously, his brother is getting tortured with his own trident by a puny human who's taunting him with his own philosophy. It doesn't get any more ironic than that.

Apollo and Hades unknowingly have the same idea; Apollo provides a sick beat while Hades releases those 600 souls from the Underworld so they can be the chorus.

Ares is taking over since Athena is busy recovering. After all, she did promise him bloodshed (plus he already hated his uncle prior to this event due to the whole Alcippe incident).

Hera isn't super keen on Poseidon either (since he too is a serial cheater on his wife) so she just watches in amusement. After Ody says "next to my wife" she just sends Zeus a glare.

Aphrodite sparks that flame of love he feels for his family and comrades in Ody's heart, giving him additional strength.

Hermes and Aeolus are watching from the side, eating popcorn and probably filming it so they can show Athena (and so they can later have blackmail to taunt Poseidon with).

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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It is over and everything is lost. This is the refrain repeated by Armenian families as they take that final step across the border out of their home of Nagorno-Karabakh.

In just a handful of days more than 100,000 people, almost the entire Armenian population of the breakaway enclave, has fled fearing ethnic persecution at the hands of Azerbaijani forces. The world barely registered it. But this astonishing exodus has vanished a self-declared state that thousands have died fighting for and ended a decades-old bloody chapter of history.

On Saturday, along that dusty mountain road to neighbouring Armenia, a few remaining people limp to safety after enduring days in transit.

Among them is the Tsovinar family who appear bundled in a hatchback littered with bullet holes, with seven relatives crushed in the back. Hasratyan, 48, the mother, crumbles into tears as she tries to make sense of her last 48 hours. The thought she cannot banish is that from this moment forward, she will never again be able to visit the grave of her brother killed in a previous bout of fighting.

“He is buried in our village which is now controlled by Azerbaijan. We can never go back,” the mother-of-three says, as her teenage girls sob quietly beside her.

“We have lost our home, and our homeland. It is an erasing of a people. The world kept silent and handed us over”.

She is interrupted by several ambulances racing in the opposite direction towards Nagorno-Karabakh’s main city of Stepanakert, or Khankendi, as it is known by the Azerbaijani forces that now control the streets. Their job is to fetch the few remaining Karabakh Armenians who want to leave and have yet to make it out.

“Those left are the poorest who have no cars, the disabled and elderly who can’t move easily,” a first responder calls at us through the window. “Then we’re told that’s it.”

As the world focused on the United Nations General Assembly, the war in Ukraine and, in the UK, the felling of an iconic Sycamore tree, a decades old war has reignited here unnoticed.

It ultimately heralded the end of Nagorno-Karabakh, a breakaway Armenian region, that is internationally recognised as being part of Azerbaijan but for several decades has enjoyed de facto independence. It has triggered the largest movement of people in the South Caucasus since the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Azerbaijan has vehemently denied instigating ethnic cleansing and has promised to protect Armenians as it works to reintegrate the enclave.

But in the border town of Goris, surrounded by the chaotic arrival of hundreds of refugees, Armenia’s infrastructure minister says Yerevan was now struggling to work out what to do with tens of thousands of displaced and desperate people.

“Simply put this is a modern ethnic cleansing that has been permitted through the guilty silence of the world,” minister Gnel Sanosyan tells The Independent, as four new busses of fleeing families arrive behind him.

“This is a global shame, a shame for the world. We need the international community to step up and step up now.”

The divisions in this part of the world have their roots in centuries-old conflict but the latest iterations of bitter bloodshed erupted during the collapse of the Soviet Union. The Karabakh Armenians, who are in the majority in the enclave, demanded the right to autonomy over the 4,400 square kilometre rolling mountainous region that has its own history and dialect. In the early 1990s they won a bloody war that uprooted Azerbaijanis, building a de facto state that wasn’t internationally unrecognised.

That is until in 2020. Azerbaijan, backed by Turkey, launched a military offensive and took back swathes of territory in a six-week conflict that killed thousands of soldiers and civilians. Russia, which originally supported Armenia but in recent years has grown into a colder ally, brokered a fragile truce and deployed peacekeepers.

But Moscow failed to stop Baku in December, enforcing a 10-month blockade on Nagorno-Karabakh, strangling food, fuel, electricity and water supplies. Then, the international community stood by as Azerbaijan launched a 24-hour military blitz that proved too much for Armenian separatist forces. Outgunned, outnumbered and weakened by the blockade, they agreed to lay down their weapons.

For 30 years the Karabakh authorities had survived pressure from international powerhouses to give up statehood or at least downgrade their aspirations for Nagorno-Karabakh. For 30 years peace plans brokered by countries across the world were tabled and shelved.

And then in a week all hope vanished and the self-declared government agreed to dissolve.

Fearing further shelling and then violent reprisals, as news broke several Karabakh officials including former ministers and separatist commanders, had been arrested by Azerbaijani security forces, people flooded over the border.

At the political level there are discussions about “reintegration” and “peace” but with so few left in Nagorno-Karabakh any process would now be futile.

And so now, sleeping in tents on the floors of hotels, restaurants and sometimes the streets of border towns, shellshocked families, with a handful of belongings, are trying to piece their lives together.

Among them is Vardan Tadevosyan, Nagorno-Karabakh’s minister of health until the government was effectively dissolved on Thursday. He spent the night camping on the floor of a hotel, and carries only the clothes he is wearing. Exhausted he says he had “no idea what the future brings”.

“For 25 years I have built a rehabilitation centre for people with physical disabilities I had to leave it all behind. You don’t know how many people are calling me for support,” he says as his phone ringed incessantly in the background throughout the interview.

“We all left everything behind. I am very depressed,” he repeats, swallowing the sentence with a sigh.

Next to him Artemis, 58, a kindergarten coordinator who has spent 30 years in Steparankert, says the real problems were going to start in the coming weeks when the refugees outstay their temporary accommodation.

“The Azerbaijanis said they want to integrate Nagorno-Karabakh but how do you blockade a people for 10 months and then launch a military operation and then ask them to integrate?” she asks, as she prepares for a new leg of the journey to the Armenian capital where she hopes to find shelter.

“The blockade was part of the ethnic cleansing. This is the only way to get people to flee the land they love. There is no humanity left in the world.”

Back in the central square of Goris, where families pick through piles of donated clothes and blankets and aid organisations hand out food, the loudest question is: what next?

Armenian officials are busy registering families and sending them to shelters in different corners of the country. But there are unanswered queries about long-term accommodation, work and schooling.

“I can’t really think about it, it hurts too much,” says Hasratyan’s eldest daughter Lilet, 16, trembling in the sunlight as the family starts the registration process.

“All I can say to the world is please speak about this and think about us. We are humans, people made of blood, like you and we need your help.”

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pomegranatelifethis · 1 month ago

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A Crimson Dawn

The air in your chambers was heavy with the scent of lavender and old parchment, a fragile sanctuary woven from silk drapes and the soft glow of candlelight. You sat by the arched window, your fingers tracing the delicate embroidery of your gown, oblivious to the world beyond the stone walls of your kingdom. The distant clamor of steel and the cries of men were but faint echoes, dismissed as the clamor of routine drills. Your brothers, ever protective, had ensured your world remained untouched by the chaos that bled across the borders. They called it love, but the locked door at the end of the hall felt more like a cage.

You were the youngest, the cherished princess of Eryndor, raised on tales of chivalry and starlit balls, your heart a garden of dreams yet to bloom. War was a concept as foreign to you as the shadowed lands of Gotham, your enemy across the sea. Your brothers—Cassian, the eldest, with his stern brow, and Lysander, the scholar with ink-stained fingers—had shielded you from the whispers of bloodshed. Even now, as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of fire, you hummed a soft melody, unaware of the storm that had already broken your kingdom.

---

In the heart of Gotham’s war camp, Prince Damian Wayne stood amidst a sea of crimson banners, his armor slick with the blood of Eryndor’s knights. The battlefield stretched before him, a tapestry of ruin—shattered shields, broken blades, and the lifeless forms of those who dared defy him. His men called him the Red Lord, a title born from the rivers of blood that followed his blade and the unrelenting fury in his emerald eyes. To them, he was a demon, a force of nature cloaked in obsidian steel.

But to Damian, this war was not for conquest or glory. It was for you.

He had seen you only once, at a diplomatic summit two summers past, when the air was sweet with peace and the halls of Eryndor rang with laughter. You had stood beneath a chandelier’s golden glow, your smile a beacon that pierced the shadows of his guarded heart. You were purity incarnate, a vision of grace in a world he knew only as cruel. He had watched you from afar, memorizing the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke, the way your laughter danced like music. He had been a prince of Gotham, heir to a throne forged in iron, but in that moment, he was merely a boy, struck silent by a longing he could not name.

When Eryndor’s king rejected Gotham’s alliance—rejected *you* as a bride for Damian, citing his blood-soaked lineage—the prince’s heart had turned to ash. The war that followed was a fire kindled by that rejection, a desperate bid to claim what his soul demanded. He would tear Eryndor apart if it meant you would be his.

The door to your chambers rattled, startling you from your reverie. You turned, expecting Lysander with his usual stack of books or Cassian with a lecture on court etiquette. Instead, the door remained shut, the lock unyielding. A faint shout echoed from the corridor, followed by the unmistakable clatter of armored boots. Your heart quickened, though you didn’t understand why.

“Cassian?” you called softly, rising from your seat. “Lysander?”

No answer came. The shouts grew louder, punctuated by the sharp ring of steel. You pressed a hand to your chest, your breath hitching. The world beyond your door was unraveling, and for the first time, the weight of your ignorance pressed against you like a physical force.

Your brothers had locked you away three days ago, their faces pale and drawn. “For your safety,” Cassian had said, his voice tight. “Stay here, little dove. Trust us.” You had nodded, ever obedient, believing their promises of protection. But now, as the castle trembled and the air grew thick with the acrid scent of smoke, doubt crept into your heart.

Damian carved his way through Eryndor’s stronghold, his sword a blur of death. The guards who stood between him and you were no match for his wrath. He had planned this assault for months, every move calculated, every sacrifice weighed. Gotham’s forces had crushed Eryndor’s armies, and now their castle was his. But victory meant nothing until he found you.

He stormed the upper towers, his heart a war drum in his chest. The rumors of your brothers’ desperation had reached him—how they had hidden you away, shielding you from the truth of their defeat. It only fueled his resolve. You deserved better than to be caged, better than a life of ignorance. He would free you, even if it meant staining his hands with more blood.

A final guard fell before him, and Damian kicked open the door to the royal wing. The corridor was lined with portraits of Eryndor’s kings, their eyes seeming to judge him as he passed. At the end of the hall, a heavy oak door stood barred, its iron lock gleaming in the torchlight. He knew you were behind it. He could feel it, as surely as he felt the ache in his bones.

You flinched as the door shuddered, a deafening crack splitting the air. The wood groaned, then splintered, and the lock gave way with a scream of metal. You stumbled back, your gown catching on the edge of a table, your eyes wide with fear. The figure that stepped through the wreckage was a nightmare made flesh—tall, clad in dark armor, his cape dripping with the crimson of battle. His face was half-hidden by a helm, but his eyes… his eyes burned with a fire that stole your breath.

“Princess,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent, as he removed his helm. Dark hair fell across his brow, and those eyes—green as jade, sharp as a blade—locked onto yours.

You didn’t know him, yet something in his gaze felt achingly familiar, like a dream you couldn’t recall. “Who… who are you?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He took a step closer, and you instinctively retreated, your back pressing against the cold stone wall. He stopped, his expression softening, though the blood on his armor gleamed in the candlelight. “I am Damian Wayne, prince of Gotham,” he said. “And I have come for you.”

“For me?” Your mind spun, grasping for meaning. “Why? My brothers—”

“Your brothers are defeated,” he said, his tone gentle but unyielding. “Eryndor has fallen. But you… you are safe now. With me.”

The words made no sense. Fallen? Defeated? Your world, so carefully curated, shattered like glass. “I don’t understand,” you said, your voice breaking. “Why is this happening?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He wanted to tell you everything—how this war had been for you, how his heart had waged its own battle long before the first sword was drawn. But you were trembling, your innocence a fragile thing he feared he might break.

“Because I love you,” he said at last, the confession raw, unguarded. “And I would burn the world to keep you safe.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. Love? This stranger, this blood-soaked prince, spoke of love as if it were a vow written in the stars. You should have been afraid, should have screamed for your brothers, for the life you knew. But something in his eyes held you captive—a truth that stirred the untouched corners of your soul.

The Red Lord had come for you, and the world you knew would never be the same.

#damian wayne x you #damian wayne x female reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian x reader #yandere damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #dc x you #dc x reader

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mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes · 20 days ago

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hi hiiii, i want to req a fic for tfatws bucky plsss! r and buck are close friends/partners, r is injured then passed out after a mission and bucky worries so much he actually cried 😞 bucky loves her but haven't told her so after she woke up he tries to tell her

thank you for the request! this is such a cute request and i hope i gave justice to it <3

your blood and his name | bucky barnes

summary: after a brutal bloodshed and the fear of losing you, bucky has to tell you and he can't keep his feelings hidden for longer.

warnings: extreme hurt/comfort, angst, blood, gore, use of Y/n, crying bucky barnes (it's a legit warning okay?)

pairing: you and bucky barnes (best friends)

author's note: i haven't written in a really long time, so this is my first step to get back on track. i'm really sorry if there are any writing errors. also requests are open!

words: 3k (oof)

divider by @toastray

Usually, it was the white lights that caused the prominent and incessant burn behind Bucky’s eyes. However, right now the thought of you, consumed his mind; flashbacks and rewinds of how the blood massacre went down, ways he could have stopped it, prevented, saved you somehow. It was a simple mission, if not something they hadn’t already faced together previously.

The warehouse was cliched; Out of grid, middle of nowhere, blended amongst the darkness of the woods as it adorned a rusted red. Illegal activities, extract data, stolen SHIELD tech—everything they had dealt with before. Both of them had to sneak in, take down guards, only 17 workers detected—all taken down with simple tactics, all of them practiced relentlessly through yours and his sparring sessions. He winced at the casual nature, remembering you laughing and betting with him on how you would take more agents than he could.

“Barnes, you will owe me a sushi dinner at the new restaurant down the block.”

“Of course, Doll. But not before you owe me your beautiful homemade cheesecake.”

You had smirked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “You know, you should’ve asked for something else. Something I wouldn’t have already loved making for you over lunch.”

“ True, true. But Doll, you can’t find something I wouldn’t already give you.”

He had winked at you before breaking in. Before everything; Before, you got shot right over the liver; Before you had loudly groaned and called out his name; Before he could even reach you. It was fast. He had a breath caught in his throat as an extraction team came in, ready to take over while all he could do was try to keep you awake as blood oozed greedily all over his hands. Your gasping breaths, cruel squeaks erupting from your throat, weak whispers as you only called out his name. His name.

“Sweetheart, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

“It hurts, Bucky” You squeaked, tears gushing in your pained eyes. “I know, baby. I know, but we’re reaching there, okay? I promise you it will be over.”

Your skin was discoloring, turning paler by the second. You looked at him, a melancholic feeling setting in your eyes. “You know, I really looked forward to that sushi dinner.” You jokingly smiled, but it hit him like a train. His ears were ringing, everything around him was spinning, as if he was being engulfed into a whirlpool in the middle of the Pacific. But all he could do was focus on you. Your pulse. Your heartbeat. The one and only anchor. “How’s Friday, Doll? Will you wear that pretty red dress for me, hmm?” He asked you, but his body was repulsed. The overwhelming metallic of your running blood had reached his lungs and he could almost taste it on his tongue. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bucky.” You hummed weakly. Your calloused hand brushed against his stubble, your cold thumb resting on his cheekbone.

Bucky couldn’t breathe. He took your hand in his and kissed it, tucking it at his chest, right above his afraid heart. “Always, sweetheart.” Your smile was starting to weaken, your hold on Bucky–loosening. Water stained his cheeks, “No, Doll. I need you to stay awake, okay? We’re almost there. Eyes open for me, okay sweetheart…Y/n, Y/n!”

Sam had rushed to the hospital almost a second later, having to hold Bucky back from entering the OR. He didn’t say anything nor did he offer. He just held him as he cried into his arms. He sobbed, his body wracking, thrashing, losing control. He trembled like a little boy left in the wind; He took deep breaths—inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth—just like you had softly told him to when you came to his apartment in the middle of the night because he was having a panic attack. He tried to think about happy thoughts—coney island, late night dinners with Sam and you, impromptu movie nights cuddled with you—but how could he? When the only person who consumed his thoughts was you. You with your beautiful laugh, ungraceful snorts and insane cravings that he would help you satisfy at 3 in the night. Your unruly hair, soulful eyes and those messy and un-ironed clothes when he would come in the middle of the night to your place with ice cream. Your uncalled-for inappropriate remarks, your soft reassurance and your warm hugs.

Just you.

Consumed. Addicted. Constant.

How was he supposed to remain when all of that was tainted. Your blood on his hands, staining his gear and suits, the touch of your cold skin against his as you could only look at him, call for him, talk to him. He wanted to peel it off, his skin that your blood had seeped through. But all he could do was sit there because right now he inevitably, brutally and suffocatingly smelled like you.

He did not imagine it like this.

He tried to not imagine it at all.

Because if he did want to smell like you, then he wanted it because of how your scent had taken over his body after sleeping and cuddling with him. He wanted to be engulfed in your smell after wearing the hoodie that you had stolen from him. He wanted to be drunk on your laugh as you danced with him in the kitchen. After you clung onto him like vice, giggling into his ears as the wind sliced around you during a late night bike ride.

It wasn’t like a freight train–fast and unstoppable.

No. It was rather like a beautiful and unrushed unfolding of feelings, crumbling of walls, the inevitable habituation. The slow intimacy of being truly known, of being taken care of, of being seen as not what he was, but instead who he is. Defying the constant insecurities, hitching of breaths as you told him that he deserved peace. He was not a murderer; He was a victim. Understanding that while he may never ever be normal again, understanding that the Winter Soldier will be an inescapable part of him, Bucky Barnes was human.

It scared him to death, really. He tried to not fall, he really did. But you were so powerful, so constant, so loving. Made him believe that he was capable; Capable of peace, love, care, friendship, being a human—not the killing machine HYDRA made of him. You put him back piece by piece, step by step, one act of love, acceptance and friendship to another.

He was yours.

He belonged to you.

He loved you.

And now, he may never get to tell you that he did.

“Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky looked up, his cheeks profusely stained, nose most evidently red–a much lighter shade than that which had stained his clothes—his body completely rigid, yet somehow, absolutely overwhelmed. He cleared his throat and got up weakly. “Yes, uhm,” He cleared his throat, voice still croaking, “Doc, is she–is everything okay?”

“It’s critical.”

Bucky didn’t know his heart could shatter more.

“She took a heavy shot near the liver. It’s a miracle that it didn't penetrate the liver. There is heavy damage; we have stopped the internal bleeding, there are no signs of infection but there is some damage to other organs. She might need more surgery if the damage proves to be heavy. Otherwise, she will be fine.”

Bucky was just about to exhale until—

“That is, if her vitals remain stable through the night. We have done all we can, Mr. Barnes, but now it’s up to her—whether she can brave the storm. We won’t know until she wakes up.” The doctor patted Bucky on the back and was about to leave. Bucky almost let him go. “Doc! Can I, uhm, stay with her?” Bucky asked, his heart aching for you.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes.”

_______________________________________________

Everything hurts.

Pain surged through your body, as if the recognition of it, the realization of it was more damaging than the events that led up to it. Body was somehow numbed, but it still felt like a thousand needles were being pricked into your body. Also, why did your ears feel heavy, as if all the air in the world had taken their throne in them? You struggled to move, as if caged in one place, but really you knew you were not, which made it worse, considering that you were on your own—helpless. Were you alone? Your vision was blurred, still getting familiar to the harshness of the hospital’s white lights, right above your body. Hospital? Oh god. A nightmare of a memory penetrated your mind; An unwelcome, piercing and agonizing one at that.

You relived it. The hot, burning shot in your stomach; the blurring of voices—loud, chaotic, alarmed. Blood starting to gush out of your body as the unforgiving bullet made space for itself, invading your flesh, as it selfishly and obnoxiously radiated pain throughout your body. A bitter and metallic taste had taken over your mouth and your body trembled heavily. You were about to collapse when only one name slipped through your tongue; it seemed almost rehearsed, your mouth had been accustomed to calling out this name, like a habit—constant and always there for you. The name brought a warm feeling which crept its way under your ribs, through your throat, settling itself in your stomach. Even with everything going on, this name was the only one that brought a sense of comfort.

“Bucky,” You croaked. Your throat had gone absolutely dry, the drought draining your ability to speak. Your vision became clearer, the white walls around you visible with the blue blankets that coddled you. You were at the hospital. The pain had mostly vanished, but your head was still screaming—screaming for some kind of solace.

“Bucky,” You called out again, as if his name was ingrained into your brain. The bluest eyes, as if the ocean itself rested in them. The sweetest smile in the whole world. The scent of gasoline, sandalwood and that musky perfume you had picked out just for him. God, he smelled good. “Sweetheart, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

Oh, his voice. It consumed your brain—not like a parasite, no. But like a sweet scent—like being in an enormous field of flowers. But the voice came in flashes, like a memory tormenting you.

You sat up. Your senses were coming back, like a wash after a long day.

You looked around the hospital room, taking in the scent of the floor detergent, the nauseating and pompous germ free atmosphere, bustling of patients and doctors and then your eyes finally landed on the buff presence right next to you. Your tactile sense overwhelmed you, but Bucky’s hand encompassing yours made everything better. The warmth spread through your body, red tinting your cheeks. He had lulled away, his eyes closed, but not completely—as if he was hesitating to let himself completely fall into the arms of slumber. His body rested uncomfortably on the wooden chair which stood stoically—doing absolutely nothing to accommodate his body.

Bucky mumbled incoherently and squeezed your hands. You winced shortly and then giggled at his form.

His eyebrows were scrunched up, forehead adorned with lines of worry that you wished to run your fingers over so he can relax. You started to rub soothing circles on his hand with your thumb. “Bucky, honey?” You softly called out his name, your voice still raspy. You gave him a small smile when he started to stir up. “Hey,” You said.

His eyes went wide at your consciousness and he jumped up, almost frantic. “Are you okay? Do you need something? I should call the doc—”

“Bucky! Calm down, will you? I am okay—as if a bullet can take me down. Really thought you got rid of me?” You teased him, his demeanor intriguing you. But Bucky’s face softened at your comments and he came back to you. “I would never want to get rid of you, Doll, you know that.” He said as he tucked some of your strands behind your ears. You breathed in his expression, the unbearable softness behind his eyes, the genuinity laced with concern in his voice and something that completely took over his face—something that had you utterly dumbfounded. Because this was Bucky; Yes, he was the White Wolf and one of the most notorious ex-assassins ever, so you can understand if you can’t decipher his emotions. But no, this was your Bucky. Bucky Barnes was never just your colleague. He was never the 110 year old man with a vibranium arm with a traumatising past. No, Bucky was so much more than that; So much more than just a partner, or a colleague. He was the man that came to your aid in an instant when there was a slight quiver in your voice. He was the man that still loved ferris wheel rides and eating cotton candy. He was the man that you had held in your arms time and time again when his ghosts haunted him.

You knew him.

So, when you felt dumbfounded by his expressions, it was…safe to say, disturbing. All you wanted to do was run your hands through his hair and understand why he looked at you like that. Why he looked at you in a way that had your whole face crimsoned and completely hot, in a way that made your stomach do somersaults. Both of you realized you had been gazing at each other for way too long and cleared your throat. However, you winced, your throat still completely parched and Bucky’s concern for you rose again. “You okay? Do you need me to call the Doctor?”

“Can you get me water please?” You asked him and he immediately nodded. Water splashed down your throat, blessing your throat and you smiled at him weakly. “How long have I been out?”

There was a short pause. “15 hours.”

“Oh.”

Another pause. A moment of excruciating silence. “You scared me to death, Y/n.”

Your heart skipped a beat. His voice came out cracked, full of fear and misery. “God, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t wake up.” You gasped, the vulnerability in his voice hitting your core. “Bucky, it wasn’t something all of us hadn’t dealt with already.” You whispered, hoping to calm him down. But, it frustrated him even more. “That doesn’t matter, Y/n! You–” His breath hitched. He looked like he was having one of his nightmares again.

“You bled out on me, Y/n. It was everywhere; God, it wouldn’t stop. You just kept on saying my name and I couldn’t do anything! I couldn’t do anything—You almost gave up on me, Y/n…Your skin, your eyes, everything had turned pale.” Bucky cried, a sudden desperation in his voice.

“I am right here, Bucky. I am still here breathing, see,” You took his hand and placed it on your heart. “Still alive, honey.” Bucky breathed, unshed tears in his blue eyes. “I can’t live without you, Doll.” He confessed and you gasped. A breath caught in your throat.

“I can’t live without you. And I can’t let you go, ever. Not without telling you—”

“Tell me what, Bucky?” You whispered, your whole heart stopped just for his next words. He panted, looking at you with the same expression that you couldn’t decipher.

“I love you.”

Tears gushed in your eyes—you couldn’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth. It seemed as if he had just placed his whole body, heart and soul in those three words. “Doll, you need to say something—”

Your lips crashed over his, the longing, yearning and pining taking control of your actions. It wasn’t sweet, no. It was desperate, an urgency to it that knocked the air out of both your lungs. You grabbed at his clothes, tugging him closer, needing to touch him, as if his kisses were the oxygen that you were cruelly deprived of. A low groan erupted from Bucky’s throat, his mind hazy—he was only focused on the movement of your lips against his. Bucky devoured your lips; addicted to the taste—like powdered sugar on blueberries.

Both of you were running out of breath, panting as you sought more of each other, wanting to dive deeper into each other.

Bucky slowed his kisses; he pecked them incessantly, not wanting to let go of you. He slowly took your bottom lip between his teeth while gazing in your eyes, holding breathtaking eye contact, tormenting you with the slide of his tongue across it. You gasped again and voiced a low moan between your pants.

“Bucky…”

He could drown in the pretty sounds you made for him.

Just him.

“God, Doll, been waiting so long to do that.”

You took his face in your hands and giggled against his lips. “Me too.” You said, bashfully. You and Bucky just stayed there, foreheads against each other, reeling in the kiss, the moment, the confession. It was a comfortable silence albeit a heavy one. Where you both tried to catch your breaths while gaping at each other. Bucky’s eyes scanned your face, indulging himself in every little detail, as if he was an artist, getting ready to paint a picture perfect portrait of you. He memorised your small breaths and their patterns; your eyes, which admired him so lovingly, as if he was carved out by God—just for you; the red of your cheeks and your pretty swollen lips.

You cleared your throat. “You know, you still owe me that sushi dinner on Friday?” You teased him shyly. He chortled, rolling his eyes in elation. He shook his head and then kissed your nose.

“It’s a date, doll.”

You grinned as he brought his lips back to yours, blending and molding perfectly against each other.

He could finally breathe again.

thank you anon for my first Bucky Barnes request! This will be added to my masterlist after I make it. thank you and love to all <3

296 notes · View notes

eraenaa · 1 year ago

Text

King of My Heart

King Aemond Targaryen x Queen Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Marriage, miscarriage, and the monarchy… how would you and your husband fare to them all?

Warnings: Mature, Softer Aemond, Mentions of Miscarriage, Fluff, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proofread

Word Count: 5,929

A/N: Final part (maybe) of But Daddy, I Love Him and Mine, but could be read as a standalone. Based on an anonymous request where they wanted "a scenario where the reader enters her period and fears Aemond will be disappointed that she's not pregnant yet but he comforts her and takes care of her" and a photo of a fan art sent by 1ssah-blog

War did not commence, but the heir to the seven kingdoms was altered. As the iron throne rejected your grandsire, Viserys the First, your mother, Rhaenyra, rejected the seat that was promised to her. A shocking turn of events that was an outrage to her loyal supporters and to her husband. Declining her right to the throne meant her heir, Jacaerys, will as well have no claim upon it. In consequence, the throne was given to her half-brother, Aegon, the squandering prince who had no wish for duty, ultimately abdicated the most powerful seat of the realm. Passing the responsibility to your husband, who took the opportunity eagerly.

You were not certain how to take this turn of events. Though you were eased as this not caused further strife and bloodshed upon your family, you did not know how to receive this great responsibility you were never prepared for. You were never readied to become queen.

It was as if all the events, private or otherwise, were tidal waves hitting you one after the other, suffocating and whirling you around. Whatever reservations and dilemmas you had were hidden, for you did not want to dampen the happiness in your husband. He never uttered it, but you knew that deep inside, he greatly wished for the throne. And you believed that it would be entirely selfish of you to make known the doubts that presented themselves the day it was announced that Aemond would be the ruler of Westeros.

“I have a surprise for you,” You hear him say, your mind regaining focus. You placed your gaze upon your King husband, who sat across from you. This was the first supper you had together in private after all the debacle for the throne had been settled. Yours and his new title have proven to take a great deal of both of your time that you started to scarcely have time to enjoy the private presence of one another. “What is it?” You asked, placing a small smile on your lips. “Once you finish your meal, I shall show you,” He replied, and you gave a nod. Once your plate was emptied, you frowned as your husband helped you to stand, placing a cloth on your eyes. “Aemond, what is this?” You questioned, feeling his cold hand take yours as he led you out of your chambers. “Like I’ve said, it is a surprise,” You hear his smirk through his words, and you silently and blindly followed him through the halls of the keep.

When he made you halt in your tracks, you felt the cloth around your eyes loosen. Aemond stood before you in the throne room, obstructing your view from the surprise he had commissioned. When he stepped to the side, your furrowed brows shot up, and your lips parted in surprise. The renowned iron throne that stood lone in the middle of the hall was now in the company of another. The king’s throne was now accompanied by the queen’s. “Is… is that for me?” You asked hesitantly. You hear Aemond let out a chuckle and guide you to step closer to the iron thrones. “Of course it is, you after all are my queen,” He hummed, enjoying the way you were still enveloped in surprise.

You were silent as you gazed at the newly made seat, one specifically made for you. You could not believe that your husband would disregard decades of tradition and alter the most powerful and fearsome seat in the realm to make place for you. Aemond gazed at you as you still gazed at the seat. He knew his decision to add a seat for his queen would not be well received by the others; he could not find care. He could not stand as you were stood by the side during long trials and engagements. He felt uneasy as you stood far beyond his reach, your usual place next to him desecrated and sacrificed when he needed to sit on the throne. He often had the urge to just perch you on his lap during those long days of meetings, restless as he was constantly missing your touch, but he knew that would simply mortify you.

“Come, sit on your rightful place, my queen,” Aemond said, pulling you towards the iron thrones. You bit your lip as he made you sit on the cold metal. Surprised that the swords did not prickle or offer you any discomfort. “How does it feel?” Aemond asked, taking his own seat, his hand finding yours and him intertwining them. “Odd,” You say truthfully. Aemond hummed as his thumb caressed your soft skin, “Best get used to it, my wife. This is your rightful place.” He said, and you were not entirely certain how to receive his words. A part of you was growing warm and familiar with this title, but a bigger part of you was still doubtful as to what it entails.

Aemond frowned as he heard no reply come from you. He turned towards you and saw that your gaze was once again far off. “What is it? What’s bothering you,” He asked, leaning closer, his fingers guiding your head to face him. You show your head and place a tight smile on your lips, “Nothing,” You say, hoping he will be convinced, not wanting to worry him and add to his burden, for he already had to shoulder the burdens of the realm. “Do not lie; tell me, what is it?” Aemond asked, tone now serious. You shook your head again. “Truly, it is nothing. I was just thinking about the preparations for your coronation,” You say, “Our coronation,” Aemond corrected, and you nodded, “Yes, our coronation,”

“Do not fret and tire yourself with the preparations, my light. Another could see to it, perhaps my mother or ma—“ You shook your head for what seemed the hundredth time that day. “No, this is my responsibility,” You say, and Aemond sighs. “You are overworking yourself. You think I have not noticed, but I have. You retire to bed later than I do, and you start your day earlier than I; you must not exhaust yourself,” Aemond fretted. “I am hardly exhausting myself— my responsibilities are nothing compared to yours,” You say, making Aemond sigh. “That is not the point,” he said, your concerned conversation toeing the line to an argument.

“You are quite fragile, my light. The whole of your family— even with their contempt for me, they still warned and accustomed me to the fact of your sensitivity, at how easily you are exhausted and taken by sickness. I cannot have you be overworked and burdened by tasks that could be delegated to others,” Your heart warmed at the concern showed by your usually stoic husband. “I just want everything to be perfect for your day,” You say lowly. “Our day,” Aemond once again corrected, his mind now growing suspicious at the fact that you only recognized his change of title but not yours. “Yes, our day,” you once again repeated.

When the two of you retired to your chambers once more, Aemond studied you with his keen eye. Only now did he realize that something had turned different; there was a shift in you that you had greatly disguised. Greatly so that only now did Aemond come to realize it. He tried to recall the whirlwind of events, from your mother rejecting the throne, then to his brother abdicating it, and finally, him being announced as the successor. He could not precisely point as to when, but as he recalled those days, he realized a spark in your eyes had dulled, and its sudden dullness was not the result of exhaustion or anything in regard to the succession of the crown. Something else was bothering you, and it seems to be of great magnitude, but you did not share it with your husband.

Aemond clutched you closer to his chest, burying his nose in your hair as you slept in his arms. He could not find rest as his mind was running with the thought of what was bothering you and why you had not confided with him. What secrets were you hiding from him? Why had you suddenly felt the need to keep quiet of your thoughts? Aemond’s heart beat loudly in his chest even though he was simply lying down, his thoughts running with the uncertain and devouring his insides. He must know the truth of what it was you hid from him.

You hastily ran through the halls of the keep, tardy for your meeting with the small council as you were preoccupied with your earlier engagements. You stood before the door of the room, hindering the guard from opening the doors as you tried to catch your breath, wanting to be composed as you entered the room. But you frowned as you heard the voices of men discussing you.

“My king… it is just that it has been a year since your marriage, and the queen has yet to produce an heir,” You felt your heart pit as you heard the words of a lord. “The court is starting to question the… the matter, and tongues are wagging that perhaps the queen’s womb is unsuited to carry a child,” You swallowed thickly as you still stood by the doors, listening to their quiet discussion that spoke of your fears that were unknown to anyone but you. Aemond kept silent as he stared down the men before him, “My king, the lineage for the crown has been altered twice in less than a year; its stable foundation created by the conqueror had faltered. And with this talk of the queen unable to produce you a son… it would not take long before the other houses to question the stability of the Targaryen name, as well as her validity as queen.” You felt vile climb your throat as your heart, achingly pitted in your chest. You were supposed to attend the meeting, but after hearing what they had said, you could not find the strength to do so.

Aemond clenched his jaw as the lords before him were threading the line of impertinence. “My wife, your queen, is still young. She is but eight and ten. Our heir shall come in due time; I will no longer hear of such speculating matters when there are other business we must attend to.” Aemond gritted, laying the subject to rest, but a foolishly bold lord still spoke. “Your majesty, your wife’s duty is to produce you heirs— to produce the next king of this realm. That must be her top priority, and as of now, the kingdom is witnessing her flail at this duty that a simple broodmare could do,” Aemond felt his eye twitch in great irritation, his insides alight with fiery rage at the words spoken against you. Aemond turned to Ser Criston Cole, who stood by his right and gave a knowing look, the knight stalking towards the lord who dared offend his queen.

The knight took the lord’s arms and bound them behind him, “You have not only offended your queen but her husband as well; for such impertinence, you shall stay in the dungeons for a fortnight and your house stripped of its title and land,” Aemond relished at the lord’s protest and desperate pleas as he was dragged out of the room of the small councils and into the dungeons. “Let that be a lesson to you all— the moment I hear about such disrespectful speculations about my wife, I will not hesitate to administer such punishments,” Aemond warned and watched as the lords before him nervously nodded.

When the meeting ended, Aemond questioned as to why you did not show. He returned to your chambers in search of you, and there he found you curled in your shared bed. Aemond silently walked towards you, his being wholly satisfied as you took his concern and decided to rest. But that satisfaction quickly disappeared as he saw your tear-stained cheeks and your slightly quivering lips as you slept. Who must answer for your sadness? What had led you to such a state? Why had you not run to Aemond for comfort just like the times before?

Aemond soothingly ran his hand through your hair, making you twitch and lead you to open your eyes. Your eyes widened as you realized Aemond had returned and caught you in such a state. “Why are you crying? What has bothered you?” Aemond asked, determined to know what plagued your mind that caused this unwelcome shift in your demeanor. Your lips agape to speak of a diversion, and Aemond already knew it. “Do not say that it is nothing when it is clearly a lie. Tell me the truth of it, wife.” He said sternly, but he quickly regretted it as tears quickly streamed from your eyes. “I failed,” You cried almost incoherently. Aemond’s eye widened as he made you sit up and took you into his arms, and you cried onto his chest. “W—what? You had not failed,” He tried to reassure you about a matter he was still to know of.

“I have! And the kingdom is starting to take notice!” You wailed, and Aemond took your face into his hands, imploring you to look at him. “I have failed you as your wife… I am failing as queen,” You cried, and Aemond felt his heart twist painfully inches chest to see you in such a state and hear you utter such false words. “I do not understand, my light,” he said quietly as you sniffled and tried to control your sobs. You took in big gulps of air as you tried to form the words explaining the events that happened and were kept hushed during the debacle for the crown.

“I was with child,” You say quietly, feeling the shock in Aemond as the words leave your lips. “During Aegon’s short reign, I learned that I was carrying our child. He was only a moon old, the maesters said, and I was waiting for an opportunity to share with you the news,” Aemond clutched you closer to him as he felt you tremble. “But the lineage was changed once more, and we both were busied to the point where the only time we saw each other was when we slept,” You say as tears continue to stream. “And when the day finally came that we were not too busied with our duties, where I could finally tell you that we were to become parents… I lost the babe,” You cried in shame and tried to turn away from Aemond, who sat before you in great shock.

You readied yourself for his rage and contempt. You knew he would not take this matter lightly; you believed he would blame you for being so careless and for failing, which is why it was a shock to you as he once again pulled you to him, burying his face in your neck as he uttered apologies. “Why are you apologizing? I was the one who had failed you,” You asked. “Failed? My light, you could never,” Aemond said softly as he embraced you tightly. “I was the one who had failed you— I was too busied with the crown that I have neglected my duty to you,” Aemond said in guilt. You breathed out heavily and shook your head, running your hands through Aemond’s silvery locks soothingly.

“Why did you not tell me?” Aemond asked after a short silence. You sighed and lowered your head, “I was ashamed.” You said plainly, “I could not burden you with this matter when you were already burdened by the troubles of the kingdom.” You explained further, hiding the matter because you knew if you uttered it, it would only prevail and actually become true. Aemond removed his face from the crook of your neck, “You should never hide such matters from me. The burdens you carry are the only burdens I truly care to know of and solve.” He said reassuringly, placing a kiss on your tear-stained cheek, tasting the salt that streamed from your eyes. “You’re not angry? Or at least disappointed? I…” You trailed as Aemond hushed you by kissing your lips. “Swear to me you will never hide such matters from me again; promise me that you will always come to me when anything— even the slightest of things bothers you,” Aemond implored and you bit your lip as you nodded your head. Aemond gave a curt nod to your agreement, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“But…” you spoke, “But what if I truly fail? What if I cannot provide you with an heir?” You fretted, knowing that your main royal duty was to provide your husband with a child. Aemond licked his lips at your question, pondering over a future where you two had no offspring. “Then the crown passes to our next of kin,” Aemond shrugged, and you were speechless by his nonchalant manner. “My light, I want for us to have children, I do. But I want you more. If we cannot produce an heir, then so be it; just as long as I have you, I’ll be perfectly and entirely content,” Aemond murmured, and your heart that loved him fell into a deeper love you never thought to be possible. “Do you truly mean that?” You asked, searching his eye. A part of you doubted his words, thinking it was only uttered to comfort you. “Of course I do,” He said genuinely. Though a part of him will always long for a child, to be a father that he never had, a greater part of him longed for you. He would rather have you constantly by his side, without the prospect of an heir, than have his line to the throne secured but without you.

You gazed up at your newly crowned king as he placed a tiara of rubies atop your head, a small smile grazing his face as he crowned you his queen. The eyes of the kingdom upon the two of you who were lost in each other eyes. The cheers that rang loudly died in your as you could only focus upon Aemond. It had been almost two moons since your admittance of what had transpired during the settlement of the crown, and since then, you and your husband had made it your mission to set aside time for each other, to not only focus on the demands of the realm but as well as your marriage. You placed a small smile as your husband guided you to take your seat on the throne next to him, the kingdom bowing and kneeling to show their fealty to their new king and queen. Yours and Aemond’s hands clasped around each other to show your solidarity for the kingdom as well as each other.

“How are you finding the festivities, my king?” You asked with a small smile, your heart pounding happily in your chest. “You out did yourself in the preparations, my light… but as my name day celebration, I am counting down the hours until we are left in the privy of our chambers.” You bit your lip as your husband whispered the words in you ear, your cheeks blooming in heat. “Well, just as I have said on your name day, you must be patient and obliging to our guest, dearest husband,” You grinned, and Aemond felt content to see how the liveliness in you began to return. “Very well then, but I shall deny any lord that asks you for a dance,” You let out an amused breath and nodded your head, “Very well, who am I to go against the orders of my king,” You teased and moved to stand.

“Where are you going?” Aemond asked, his gaze turning upward, his hand refusing to let go of your hand. “To greet my mother and siblings, I still have not spoken to them ever since their arrival,” You say simply; Aemond chewed on his cheek and nodded, reluctantly removing his hold of your hand, but his eye followed you as you gracefully made your way through the hall towards the nearby table that housed your kin.

“My queen,” Your mother greeted with a teasing curtsy, and you bit your lip as a wide smile appeared on your lips. “No titles are needed; I am merely your daughter, mother,” You smiled and embraced her, “Where’s father?” You asked, and just as the words left your lips, you heard him clear his throat behind you, your eyes beaming in delight as he held your sister. The babe soundly sleeping on his shoulder, “Little Visenya,” You cooed. Your father placed a kiss on your temple that was adorned with your newly appointed tiara. Your heart warmed at how he still attended your coronation, even though the debacle of the crown had left him entirely enraged, and the kingdom had begun to speculate that he and your mother had separated; of course, all of those were just mere rumors. The birth of your sister only solidifies your parents’ union.

“I placed them by the fireplace in your chambers, as you had requested,” Your father whispered to you in ancient tongue as he placed your sister in your arms, and you smiled at him with gratitude. “Thank you,” you say lowly and patted the back of your sister, who began to stir in your hold, giggling softly as she buried her face in your neck, her silver hair tickling your skin. You took a moment to catch up with your siblings, grateful to the gods that the change in succession did not alter your relationships with them, especially your bond with Jacaerys. You returned to your seat next to your husband, whose gaze had never left yours, your sister still in your arms and slowly waking, her violet eyes planted on Aemond as they peeled open, but Aemond’s lilac eye was entranced upon you, who presented him with such a sight that made his heart grow warm.

“I believe she wants to go to her king,” You say as Visenya reaches for your husband, her little babbles reaching your ears as her eyes were completely entranced on Aemond. Your husband swallowed thickly as you placed Visenya in his arms, him tensing as your sister was placed in his hold. “She likes you… one of my siblings likes you!” You beamed as Visenya started to giggle in your husband’s hold. Aemond shifted his head as the babe in his arms tried to take hold of his eye patch. You laughed quietly and reached for Visenya’s arm that was reaching for Aemond’s eye patch and placed on kiss on her little hand that smelt of talc and milk.

“She quite reminds me of you when we were children,” Aemond hummed, his gaze shifting between you and the babe. “Why? Because of her adorableness?” You hummed, brushing away the stray hair from Visenya’s face. “No, because she’s already covered in frills and precious gems. A spoiled little princess just like her sister was.” He said, noting the bracelet of gold and opal around her pudgy arm and the fine silk and lace of her clothes. You narrowed your eyes at your husband, flashing him with pretend annoyance that made him let out a laugh, catching the attention of your guests as he never displayed such glee so openly before.

Just like always, with any feast attended, you and your husband were the first to retire for the night. Aemond sighed longingly as you placed a chaste kiss on his lips before you disappeared into the adjacent room to disrobe. “I have a surprise for you,” Aemond heard you utter as he, too, removed the armor he wore. “Really?” He asked in amusement, “Yes,” You answered and returned to the main chamber in just your shift. Aemond raised his brow as he followed you to where you stood behind the fire. The light illuminated behind you and caused him to see through your shift, his needs for you presenting themselves greatly.

You turned to the fireplace and saw the box your father had left, bending down to take hold of it and present it to Aemond. “What is it?” Aemond asked as you stood before him with a rather large box in your hands. “You open gifts to find out what they contain, my prince. Has the late hour turned you simple?” You teased, watching as your husband rolled his eyes. He shook his head as he took off the cover of the box, a frown adorning his handsome face as he saw what you had presented him with. “Dragon eggs? What f—“ You giggled as Aemond’s face fell into shock, his mouth hanging wide in realization of what your surprise was.

“You’re… are you…” Aemond could not form words properly as he was enveloped with surprise. “You’re with child…” he said in amazement as he regained his composure. “You’re with child; you’re carrying our child,” he said once more, eyes wide and delighted. “I am,” you confirmed with a wide smile. Aemond could only move to kiss you as his mind was still discombobulated with the most joyous news. “There are two eggs… why are there two eggs?” Aemond questioned as your lips parted, his eye flying downwards to the box you still held that he then took and set down on a nearby table. You bit your lip as Aemond ran his fingers through the scaled shell of the dragon egg.

“I might be wrong… but I just feel as if I am carrying two babes,” you say lowly, fearing Aemond would find your statement ridiculous. He did not; his smile only grew as he pulled you towards him and kissed you once more. “You’re carry my children,” Aemond stated fondly, joining you in your suspicion that two lives grow in you. “I am,” You confirmed once more and felt him lay his hand flat on your abdomen; you gazed down as your husband kneeled before you, laughing as he enthusiastically placed his ear on your stomach that will be soon swollen with your children.

“Thank you, my light,” Aemond said tenderly against your abdomen. You cupped his cheek and bent down to kiss him. “I love you,” you said against his lips with a smile. “You will make the most wonderful father,” You added, and Aemond rose to his feet with a handsome smile on his lips, but that smile of glee turned to mischief, and your eyes widened as your husband placed his hands on your behind, squeezing the plump flesh. You melted in his arms as his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, your king leading you to your marital bed and laying you upon it gently as his lips kissed your neck. Aemond was conscious of not placing any of his weight upon you, but you missed the feel of his body against yours, pulling him closer to you, even going as far as wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him closer.

“I will crush you and the babes,” Aemond laughed as you whined at the gap between your bodies. You grumbled as you tried to pull him closer to you, but he was insistent on not placing any of his weight upon your body, especially your abdomen. “Aemond,” You whined, wanting to feel him against you. Aemond shook his head with a wide smile on his lips, a devilish thought presenting itself. Aemond tried to move himself atop you, but you circled your arms around his neck and tried to keep him in place. Aemond let out a laugh once more and moved to carry you, him switching your positions, him the one to lay on the bed, and you were atop him.

You stifled your moans as Aemond was underneath you, your core perfectly aligned with his throbbing length, and his hands cupped and played with your mounds. You let out a loud moan as Aemond pinched the buds of your breasts, smirking to himself as your heavenly moans echoed through the room.

“Such a beauty you are, my queen,” Aemond hummed as the dim candlelight illuminated your face. You ground your hips against Aemond’s trousered length, desperate to feel pleasure. “Aemond… please,” You moaned as you still feel him place most of his attention on your tits. “Say what you want, my wife… tell me what you need, and you shall have it,” Aemond hummed as he thrust his hips upwards, watching as your lips turned into an ‘o’. “You, I want you. I need you, please, Aemond,” You said desperately, content as you felt Aemond hastily undo the laces of his trousers, feeling his length against your skin.

You breathed heavily as you slowly sank down on his length, Aemond watching you with great awe. You looked down on your husband through hooded eyes, and you reached forward to take off his eye patch, wanting to see him fully. Aemond hissed in pleasure as the head of his cock brushed over the spot that made your head tilt back, your eyes roll in pleasure, and your moans turn louder. Aemond placed his hands at either side of your hips and felt your cunt clench around him painfully, a sensation he knew all too well and one that meant you reached your peak. “So quickly?” He breathed out in awe, your back arched as you try to regain your thoughts as you were quick to come undone by just sinking on Aemond’s cock.

The thought you tried to take hold of slipped out of your mind once more as Aemond trusted in and out of you at a slow, tantalizing pace. His hold on your hips was tight and quite possibly bruising, but you preferred it that way. You loved it when your husband left his mark upon your body. “Aemond… faster, please, my love,” You pleaded, and Aemond was quick to oblige your request, slipping in and out of you at a faster pace that made you come undone quickly once more. Aemond continued to watch in awe as you bounced atop him. You leaned down and met your lips with Aemond as you feel his cock twitch inside you and his thrust growing sloppy. You caressed the risen skin of his scar as you kissed him and as he fucked you, only parting your lips as Aemond was taken by his release and moaned your name as he came undone.

“I love it when you moan my name when you come,” You say with a grin and place small kisses on his neck and chest. Aemond hummed and tangled his fingers in your hair as you lay on his chest, him still inside you. “Do you wish to hear it again, little light?” Aemond hummed, making you let out a laugh before quickly nodding.

Aemond sighed in contentment as his gaze was planted downward. In his arms was your son, sleeping soundly as he clutched a dragon egg. Aemond gently ran his hands through the small head of your child, Prince Aemon Targaryen. He had his father’s hair and his mother’s eyes, a warm, almost golden brown that had the capability of entrancing Aemond. He placed a chaste kiss upon his son’s head as he walked through the keep, barely paying attention to his subjects who greeted and bowed before him as all his attentions were on your son who will soon celebrate his first name day.

Aemond reached his intended place, the great hall where all were bussed with yet another celebration. “My light, I have warned you time and time again, you must rest,” Aemond chastised as his arm wrapped themselves around your waist. His palm resting upon your swollen belly for you were in the middle stages of your third pregnancy. “I am not tired. And besides, the celebrations are set for tomorrow, and the preparations are still halfway made!” You said frantic, looking around the barely dressed up hall. “Where are the twins?” You asked as you looked around for your children.

You looked towards Aemond, and in the silence, you both hear quiet giggling to your right. You and your husband made quiet steps toward a long table and noted the giggles grew louder. Aemond handed to you your son, Aemon, as he bent down and lifted the cloth cover of the table to reveal the twins, your elder son, Daemion, who you named after your father, and your daughter Elaena, named after your husband’s sister. You smiled widely as their laughter rang loudly when Aemond scooped them in his arms and lifted them off the ground, peppering them with kisses, your husband no longer that conscious in showing his affection out in public ever since your first pregnancy four years ago.

“Did you get my sister’s dragon egg, Father? Can I see it?” Elaena asked, peering at Aemond, her lavender eyes widening in plea, and you walked closer towards them and brushed away a lock of her hair that resembled yours from her face. “Of course, you can, my love,” Aemond said, and he turned your twins towards their younger brother, who clutched the egg whilst he slept. “The baby inside mother’s belly is not a girl! It is a boy!” Daemion then declared, his violet eyes in a furrow as he disagreed with his sister. “No! It is a girl! Mother told me herself! Right Mother?” Elaena turned to you for confirmation, and you watched as Daemion was on the verge of a fit.

Aemond watched with great love in his eyes as the scene unfolded. “I believe what I said was I only feel that it is a girl. We will not be certain until the babe is born, my sweet,” You said and watched as Elaena puffed, “I want a sister!” She whined, crossing her arms and frowning. Aemond chuckled as your daughter was an exact copy of you in childhood. “And you shall have one. Even if the babe in your mother’s belly is a boy, we will shall not cease until we give you the sister you wish for.” Aemond spoke and kissed the cherubic cheek of his daughter, who was on the verge of tears, the little princess unaccustomed to not getting what she wanted.

“And you accuse me of spoiling our children,” You shook your head with a laugh as Aemond set the twins down, who readily ran around the hall once more. You beamed at your husband and fixed the askew crown atop his head, his arms once again circling your frame, and his head moved to kiss your lips. “Do you truly believe it to be a girl?” Aemond whispered as you two parted, him readily believing your intuition about the child you carry because he had come to learn it was impeccable. “I do. And I’ve already had a name for her,” You said, and Aemond raised his brow. “Hm… and do tell me about this name you had not asked my thoughts upon,” He said, and you smiled widely. “Eraena.” You said, and your husband hummed, pondering over the name for a moment. “Is that truly the name you wish?” Aemond asked, and you nodded. “Then Eraena it is,” He agreed and kissed your lips, the great love and joy in his heart that was emptied just years before translated in his kiss.

Here's the fan art sent! (CTTO)

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