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novaursa · 1 day ago

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To Win a Princess (fire and gold)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps. This is the last part of the story. Between Pride and Fire will take its posting schedule.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood and gore)

- Previous part: son's choice

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @your-favorite-god

The morning sun sneaked weakly through the stained-glass windows of the solar at Casterly Rock, casting fragmented light onto the table where Tyland sat. His brows furrowed as he read the missive in his hands, the wax seal of the Hand of the King—Otto Hightower—already broken. The contents of the letter were audacious, to say the least, and the weight of them settled heavily on his shoulders.

You entered moments later, your gown sweeping softly against the stone floor. The expression on Tyland’s face immediately caught your attention, a mixture of frustration and calculation.

“What is it?” you asked, crossing the room to stand beside him. “You look like you’ve just swallowed something sour.”

Tyland exhaled slowly, handing you the parchment. “It’s from Otto Hightower.”

You took it with a frown, scanning the contents quickly. As you read, your face darkened, your fingers tightening around the edges of the paper.

“An alliance,” you said, your voice cold. “And yet again, he proposes that Rhaella marry Aemond.”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes studying you carefully. “It seems Otto hasn’t given up on securing the Westerlands. He sees Rhaella as a key to solidifying their claim.”

You threw the parchment onto the table with more force than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Aemond killed Luke,” you spat, your voice trembling with anger. “He killed my nephew, Tyland. And now Otto dares to propose this… this farce of an alliance? After taking my sister’s throne? It’s an insult.”

Tyland reached for your hand, his touch gentle but grounding. “I know how you feel,” he said softly. “But we need to think carefully about how to respond. Otto wouldn’t send this without a reason.”

“His reason is obvious,” you snapped, pulling your hand away as you began to pace. “He wants to divide us. To pull the Westerlands away from Rhaenyra’s cause and strengthen Aegon’s. He sees Rhaella as a pawn—a tool to secure his power.”

Tyland watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And he’s not entirely wrong. Rhaella’s marriage would hold significant sway over the Westerlands.”

You stopped mid-step, turning to glare at him. “You’re not seriously considering this.”

He shook his head, his tone calm but firm. “Of course not. But dismissing it outright could have consequences. Otto is playing a game, and we need to ensure that our response doesn’t put us in a weaker position.”

Your voice rose, the anger bubbling to the surface. “A weaker position? Tyland, we’re already at war because of Otto Hightower’s schemes! He has no honor, no loyalty. If we even entertain this, it’s a betrayal of everything we’ve fought for.”

“I agree,” Tyland said, standing and crossing the room to meet you. “But we can’t afford to act rashly. Rejecting Otto outright may provoke him into retaliating, and the Westerlands aren’t invulnerable.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling with frustration. “How can you be so calm about this? He’s asking us to marry our daughter to the man who murdered my nephew. The man who defies the very legacy of my family. Of your family now, too.”

Tyland’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “Because I have to be calm, Y/N. For you, for our children, for our House. I understand your anger—I feel it too. But anger won’t win us this war.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I won’t let them take Rhaella, Tyland.”

“And they won’t,” he promised, his voice steady. “But we need to send a response that makes our position clear without inviting retaliation. Let me handle this.”

You hesitated, your heart torn between anger and trust. Finally, you nodded, though your voice remained firm. “Make it clear, Tyland. Make it clear that House Lannister stands with Rhaenyra. That we will not forgive Luke’s death or the theft of my sister’s throne. And that Rhaella will never marry Aemond.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I will. You have my word.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the decision settling over you. Outside, the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the air, a reminder of the world beyond the walls of Casterly Rock—a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

Finally, Tyland returned to the table, picking up a fresh piece of parchment and reaching for his quill. As he began to write, you watched him, your heart heavy but resolute. You had fought too hard and lost too much to let Otto Hightower’s schemes tear your family apart.

The response would be swift, direct, and unyielding. The Westerlands were no one’s pawn, and House Lannister would not be bought.

The sky above Rook’s Rest was a chaotic swirl of fire and smoke, the once-quiet fields below transformed into a battlefield of roaring dragons and clashing steel. The sun had barely risen when Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond sprung their trap, their dragons—Sunfyre and Vhagar—descending from the heavens like twin harbingers of doom. The ground trembled beneath their might, and atop the castle walls, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen mounted her scarlet-scaled dragon, Meleys, preparing to meet their challenge.

But she was not alone.

Out of the western sky came a roar that sent shivers through the assembled forces below. Valtyr, his green-and-gold scales glinting like precious metal, soared into the fray with a ferocious cry. Upon his back, Loren Lannister gripped the reins tightly, his golden hair whipping in the wind. He descended swiftly to join Rhaenys, the younger dragon circling the larger, battle-scarred Meleys like a loyal vassal.

“You shouldn’t be here, boy!” Rhaenys called over the roar of the wind, her voice sharp but not unkind.

“I’m not leaving you to face them alone!” Loren shouted back, his voice resolute. “This is my fight too!”

Rhaenys gave a grim smile, nodding once. “Then stay close and do as I say. We finish this together.”

The dragons roared in unison as the battle commenced. Sunfyre, with his golden scales gleaming in the early light, lunged toward Meleys, his jaws snapping with deadly intent. But the Red Queen was swift, twisting mid-air and lashing out with her claws. The sound of tearing flesh echoed through the sky as Meleys raked Sunfyre’s flank, dark blood spilling like eclipsed sunlight.

Loren and Valtyr dove toward Aegon, who clung desperately to his saddle as Sunfyre reeled from the attack. The younger dragon unleashed a torrent of flame, the green fire licking at Sunfyre’s wings. Aegon bellowed in pain as the heat seared his armor, and Sunfyre faltered, his once-majestic form reduced to a struggling shadow of its former glory.

“Aegon, fall back!” Aemond’s voice boomed from atop Vhagar, his expression twisted with fury. The massive she-dragon surged forward, her ancient wings beating with a thunderous rhythm.

“Not yet!” Aegon roared back, his pride outweighing his pain. But his defiance was short-lived as Meleys struck again, her claws slamming into Sunfyre’s side and sending him plummeting toward the earth.

Aegon screamed as his dragon crashed into the fields below, the impact shaking the ground and scattering soldiers like ants. Meleys circled above, her roar a triumphant challenge, but there was no time to celebrate. Vhagar, older and far more massive, let out a deafening roar and lunged for her.

“Loren, now!” Rhaenys commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Valtyr shot forward, green flames spewing from his maw as he closed the distance to Vhagar. The older dragon turned, her massive jaws snapping inches from Valtyr’s tail. Loren clung to his saddle, the heat and smoke stinging his eyes as he urged his dragon to climb higher, forcing Vhagar to follow.

“She’s too big!” Loren called out, his voice tight with effort. “We need to outmaneuver her!”

“Keep her focused on you!” Rhaenys replied, guiding Meleys into a flanking position. “I’ll strike where it hurts!”

Vhagar roared again, her ancient fury unmatched as she chased Valtyr through the smoke-filled sky. But Meleys was faster, her crimson wings a blur as she swooped beneath Vhagar, raking her belly with a savage strike. Vhagar bellowed in pain, her massive body twisting mid-air to retaliate.

Claws tore through the sky as the three dragons clashed, their roars echoing across the battlefield. Blood and scales rained down like grisly confetti, the once-blue sky streaked with fire and ash. Loren’s heart pounded as Valtyr narrowly avoided another devastating snap of Vhagar’s jaws, the young dragon twisting and diving with desperate agility.

“Hold on!” Loren shouted to himself, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins.

Below, Aemond snarled, his single eye blazing with rage as he guided Vhagar into another attack. “You’ll pay for this, boy!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. “You and that wretched crone!”

Loren’s gaze hardened, his fear replaced by a surge of determination. “Come and try!” he shouted back.

Meleys surged forward again, her claws ripping into Vhagar’s wing. The ancient dragon roared in fury, her massive body buckling mid-air as blood gushed from the wound. But even wounded, Vhagar was a force to be reckoned with. With a final, deafening roar, she lunged forward, her massive weight slamming into both Meleys and Valtyr.

The impact was catastrophic. All three dragons became a tangle of wings, claws, and fire, their riders clinging desperately to their saddles as they plummeted toward the earth. Loren felt the air leave his lungs as Valtyr let out a pained shriek, his body twisting uncontrollably.

“Hold on!” Rhaenys’ voice reached him, her tone frantic.

The ground rushed toward them, the world a blur of chaos and destruction. Loren tightened his grip, his heart pounding as he prayed to the gods for a miracle. Around him, the sky seemed to collapse, fire and smoke consuming everything in its path.

And then came the crash.

The impact was deafening, the earth trembling beneath the weight of the fallen dragons. Dust and debris filled the air, the cries of men and beasts mingling in a cacophony of terror. Loren coughed, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him.

The world came back into focus sharply for Loren with a blinding pain in his head and a metallic taste in his mouth. He blinked rapidly, forcing his vision to steady as the ground beneath him swayed. Smoke filled the air, and the roars of dragons battling nearby were deafening, their cries reverberating across the desolate field.

When his vision cleared, he saw him. Aemond Targaryen, limping slightly but charging forward with a sword gleaming in his hand. His face was a mask of fury, the sapphire set in his empty eye socket glinting with malevolence. Blood streaked down his armor, and his pale hair was matted with soot and gore.

“You’ve overstepped, boy!” Aemond roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “Now you’ll pay the price for your insolence!”

Loren scrambled to his feet, his body aching from the fall, and drew his sword—a finely crafted Lannister blade with a roaring lion etched into the hilt. His dragon, Valtyr, was somewhere in the distance, locked in a deadly struggle alongside Meleys against the massive form of Vhagar. The clash of claws and teeth rang out like thunder, but Loren’s focus was solely on the man bearing down on him.

“I’ll pay no price to a kinslayer!” Loren spat, steadying himself as Aemond closed the gap.

Aemond lunged, his sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. Loren parried just in time, the force of the blow sending vibrations up his arms. Aemond was relentless, his strikes coming fast and sharp, each one pushing Loren further back.

“You think you’re my equal?” Aemond sneered, pressing forward with another brutal swing. “You’re a cub playing at war!”

Loren gritted his teeth, ducking beneath the next strike and countering with a slash aimed at Aemond’s side. The blade bit into the prince’s armor, drawing blood, but Aemond barely flinched. Instead, he laughed—a cold, mirthless sound.

“You have fire,” Aemond said mockingly, his sapphire eye gleaming. “But fire alone won’t save you.”

Their swords clashed again, sparks flying as steel met steel. Loren’s arms ached with the effort of blocking Aemond’s powerful strikes, but he refused to give ground. He could feel the heat of the nearby battle, the earth trembling beneath the weight of the dragons’ struggle.

“You killed Luke!” Loren shouted, his voice raw with fury. “You killed my cousin, and you dare speak of fire?”

“Luke was weak,” Aemond snarled, his strikes growing more vicious. “A boy who couldn’t rise above his weakness. He deserved his fate.”

Loren roared, his anger fueling his movements as he pushed back against Aemond’s assault. He swung with all his might, his blade slicing across Aemond’s shoulder and drawing a spray of blood. Aemond staggered, but his grin only widened.

“Good,” Aemond hissed, blood dripping from his wound. “Show me the lion’s bite.”

Loren lunged again, his strikes faster now, driven by the memory of Luke and the injustice that had brought them to this moment. But Aemond was experienced, his movements fluid as he parried and countered with precision. Their blades locked, and Loren found himself face to face with his uncle, their breaths ragged.

“You’ll never be one of us,” Aemond growled, his voice low and venomous. “You’re no dragon—you’re just a lion cub pretending to roar.”

Loren gritted his teeth, twisting his blade free and delivering a sharp kick to Aemond’s knee. The prince stumbled, giving Loren a brief opening. He swung his sword, the blade carving a shallow gash across Aemond’s chest.

Aemond snarled, his fury evident as he retaliated with a brutal backhanded strike. The hilt of his sword caught Loren across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Stars exploded in his vision as he tasted blood, but he refused to stay down.

With a groan, Loren rolled to his feet just as Aemond bore down on him. The prince’s blade sliced through the air, grazing Loren’s arm and leaving a deep gash. Blood poured from the wound, staining his tunic and dripping onto the ground.

“You’re finished!” Aemond roared, raising his sword for a killing blow.

But Loren wasn’t done. Summoning every ounce of strength, he surged forward, his sword driving upward in a desperate strike. The blade pierced Aemond’s side, the sound of metal slicing through flesh mingling with the prince’s cry of pain.

Aemond staggered back, clutching the wound as blood seeped between his fingers. His eye burned with hatred, but his movements were slower now, his strength waning.

Loren raised his blade, breathing heavily. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain coursing through him. “For Luke. For all of us.”

Aemond smirked through the blood staining his lips. “We’ll see about that, boy.”

Before Loren could strike again, the ground shook violently as the dragons’ battle reached a fever pitch. A deafening roar split the air, and Loren turned to see Valtyr and Meleys locked in a final, desperate struggle with Vhagar. The three dragons tumbled from the sky, their massive forms crashing into the field with a sound like thunder.

The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, knocking both Loren and Aemond to the ground. Loren’s vision blurred as the dust and debris clouded the air, but he forced himself to rise, his gaze fixed on the wreckage of wings and fire.

The battlefield was chaos incarnate. Smoke thickened the air, and the crash of the dragons’ fall left the earth trembling. The clash of claws and teeth echoed across the bloodied field as Valtyr and Meleys struggled against Vhagar, the ancient she-dragon’s ferocity unmatched. In the distance, Aemond and Loren still stood, battered and bloodied, their duel momentarily halted as both stared at the carnage.

And then, another roar tore through the sky—a sound like a clarion call, fierce and unrelenting. All heads turned skyward as Rhaella Targaryen descended on her sleek, sapphire-scaled dragon, Aelirys, his wings cutting through the smoky air like a blade.

Rhaella’s voice rang out, strong and defiant, even over the chaos. “For Luke! For Rhaenyra!”

Her words galvanized the field as Aelirys dove into the fray, his sapphire flames pouring over Vhagar’s side. The larger dragon bellowed in rage, her massive form twisting to face this new threat. Blood already streaked her scales from her struggle with Meleys and Valtyr, but she showed no sign of yielding.

“Rhaella, no!” Loren shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “Stay back!”

But Rhaella was undeterred, her violet eyes blazing with fury. “You need me, Loren! You all do!”

She spurred Aelirys forward, the smaller dragon weaving nimbly through Vhagar’s attempts to swat him from the sky. The clash of dragons intensified as Aelirys struck with his claws, raking deep wounds along Vhagar’s flank. The ancient dragon roared, her massive tail swinging like a battering ram and narrowly missing Meleys, who retaliated with a savage bite to Vhagar’s neck.

Below, Loren turned back to Aemond, his grip tightening on his sword. “It’s over, Aemond,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “You’ve lost.”

Aemond smirked, blood dripping from his mouth as he raised his sword. “Lost? Look around you, boy. This is only the beginning.”

With a roar, Aemond lunged, their blades clashing once more. Loren fought with renewed determination, his strikes fueled by the sight of his sister joining the battle above. The clang of steel rang out as the two young men exchanged blow after blow, their movements growing more desperate and brutal.

Above them, the dragons’ fight reached a fever pitch. Aelirys and Valtyr worked in tandem, the younger dragons striking at Vhagar’s exposed sides while Meleys kept her jaws locked on the larger dragon’s neck. Blood poured from Vhagar’s wounds, staining the battlefield below as her roars grew weaker.

“Keep pushing!” Rhaella shouted, her voice fierce as she guided Aelirys into another dive. The blue dragon released a torrent of sapphire flames, the searing heat scorching Vhagar’s already-tattered wings.

But Vhagar was not done. With a final, desperate burst of strength, she twisted her massive body, throwing Meleys off balance. The Red Queen screeched as she tumbled, her rider clinging tightly to her saddle. Valtyr moved to shield her, but Vhagar’s claws raked across his side, leaving deep, bloody gashes.

“Valtyr!” Loren cried out, his heart lurching as his dragon faltered in the air.

Rhaella’s voice cut through his panic. “He’s strong, Loren! Focus!”

Her words steadied him, and he turned back to Aemond, who was breathing heavily, his armor slick with blood. The prince smirked, though his strength was clearly waning. “Your sister has spirit,” Aemond said, his voice taunting. “Shame she’s bound to fall like the rest of your family.”

Loren roared, his sword slashing through the air with renewed vigor. Aemond parried, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back. “You won’t touch her,” Loren growled, his strikes coming faster now. “You won’t touch any of us!”

Above, Aelirys and Valtyr regrouped, their combined flames engulfing Vhagar in a brilliant blaze. The ancient dragon roared one last time, her movements slowing as her wounds took their toll. Meleys, bloodied but determined, surged forward, her claws sinking into Vhagar’s chest as she drove the larger dragon toward the ground.

Rhaella’s voice rang out again, her tone triumphant. “We have her!”

But Vhagar, even in her death throes, was not to be underestimated. With a final, desperate effort, she lashed out, her massive tail striking Aelirys and sending him spiraling. Rhaella cried out, clutching the reins as her dragon struggled to steady himself.

On the ground, Loren saw his sister’s peril and screamed, “Rhaella!”

Aemond took advantage of his distraction, lunging forward with his sword. The blade sliced across Loren’s side, drawing a deep wound that sent him to his knees. Aemond stood over him, breathing heavily, his violet eye blazing with triumph.

“You’ll die here, boy,” Aemond sneered, raising his blade for the killing blow.

But before he could strike, a shadow passed over them. Valtyr descended like a vengeful spirit, his roar shaking the battlefield as he unleashed a torrent of flame. Aemond barely had time to leap back, the heat singing his armor as he cursed and stumbled.

Loren seized the moment, his hand clutching his sword as he forced himself to his feet. With a roar of his own, he drove the blade forward, piercing Aemond’s side. The prince gasped, blood spilling from the wound as he staggered back.

“You’ll never win,” Loren said, his voice cold as he stepped closer. “Not while we stand.”

Above, Meleys delivered the final blow, her jaws crushing Vhagar’s throat as the ancient dragon fell silent. The battlefield grew quiet, the roars and flames replaced by the crackle of distant fires and the labored breathing of the survivors.

Rhaella guided Aelirys back to the ground, her expression fierce but relieved as she dismounted. She rushed to Loren, who was leaning heavily on his sword, blood staining his armor.

“Loren,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live,” he replied, his gaze drifting to Aemond, who lay crumpled on the ground, his breaths shallow. “But he won’t forget this.”

Rhaella’s expression hardened, and she nodded. Together, they turned to face the battlefield, the cost of victory heavy on their shoulders.

The morning sun cast a pale light over the scorched and blood-soaked battlefield of Rook’s Rest. The acrid scent of charred flesh and dragonfire lingered in the air, mingling with the cries of wounded soldiers and the low growls of restless dragons. Smoke curled lazily into the sky, a grim reminder of the carnage that had unfolded.

Loren sat slumped against a broken piece of stone, his armor dented and smeared with blood, his breathing labored. His side ached where Aemond's blade had struck, the hastily applied bandages doing little to stem the pain. Nearby, Aemond Targaryen lay barely alive, his once-imposing figure now broken and bloodied. His sword rested a few feet from his limp hand, forgotten in the chaos.

The sound of marching boots echoed through the battlefield as Daemon Targaryen, Jason Lannister, and Corlys Velaryon arrived with their respective forces. The banners of House Velaryon, House Targaryen, and House Lannister fluttered in the breeze, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the devastation around them.

Daemon rode at the forefront, his silver hair glinting in the light as he surveyed the scene. His violet eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Vhagar’s broken form, the fallen Sunfyre, and the wounded Valtyr, Meleys, and Aelirys resting nearby. His expression darkened further when his gaze landed on Loren.

“Loren,” Daemon called as he dismounted, his boots crunching against the ash-strewn ground. “You look like hell.”

Loren managed a weak smile, his voice hoarse. “And yet, I’m still breathing. Can’t say the same for Aegon.”

Daemon’s smirk was fleeting as his gaze shifted to Aemond’s crumpled form. “Aemond’s alive,” he noted coldly, striding toward the wounded prince. “Pity.”

Jason dismounted next, his expression a mixture of relief and frustration. “You reckless fool,” he said, crouching beside Loren. “You could have died.”

“I had to,” Loren said, wincing as he adjusted himself against the stone. “We couldn’t let them win.”

Jason shook his head, his tone softening. “You’re too much like your father. Stubborn to a fault.”

Corlys joined them, his sharp gaze assessing the battlefield. “You held them off long enough for us to arrive. You’ve done well, boy.”

Loren gave a faint nod, his eyes flicking to Aemond. “He’s dangerous. If he lives…”

Daemon interrupted, his voice laced with disdain. “He won’t pose a threat. Not in this state.”

Daemon stood over Aemond, his expression a mixture of contempt and triumph. “You thought yourself invincible, didn’t you, nephew?” he said, his tone mocking. “But even the might of Vhagar couldn’t save you.”

Aemond groaned weakly, his one remaining eye fluttering open to glare at Daemon. “You… haven’t won,” he rasped, blood trickling from his lips. “This… isn’t over.”

Daemon crouched beside him, his smirk cruel. “Oh, but it is, Aemond. Your dragons are dead or dying, your brother is ashes, and you—” he gestured to Aemond’s broken form— “are barely clinging to life. Tell me, where’s your victory now?”

Jason approached, his voice measured. “What do we do with him?”

“Kill him,” Daemon said without hesitation, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “It’s what he deserves.”

“No,” Loren interjected, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “Not like this.”

Daemon turned, his expression darkening. “He killed your cousin, boy. Do you really think he deserves mercy?”

Loren met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not saying he deserves it. But killing him now, when he’s defenseless, makes us no better than him.”

Corlys nodded slowly, his tone thoughtful. “The boy has a point. Executing Aemond like this could turn him into a martyr for their cause. It’s a risk we can’t ignore.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he rose, his gaze sweeping the battlefield. “Very well. We’ll take him as a prisoner. But I warn you, Loren—if he becomes a problem, his blood will be on your hands.”

Loren nodded, his resolve unshaken. “I’ll take that chance.”

Jason clapped his nephew on the shoulder, his expression proud. “You’ve got the heart of a lion, Loren. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

As the soldiers moved to secure Aemond, Daemon turned back to the dragons. Meleys stood tall despite her wounds, her blood-red scales streaked with gore. Valtyr rested nearby, his golden-green eyes watching Loren protectively. Aelirys perched on a crumbled tower, her sapphire scales shimmering despite the soot and ash.

“We’ve won the day,” Daemon said, his voice carrying across the field. “But the war is far from over. Gather your strength—we’ll need it.”

Loren leaned back against the stone, his gaze drifting to the sky. The cost of victory weighed heavily on his mind, but for now, he allowed himself a moment of relief.

The throne room sat heavy under the weight of foreboding, its high ceilings amplifying the silence. Queen Alicent sat rigidly on the Iron Throne, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Beside her, Otto Hightower stood, his face a carefully composed mask, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

The air grew heavier still as a messenger entered, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor. He carried a scroll bearing a black wax seal, its edges frayed as though it had been handled with haste. Alicent’s gaze snapped to the man, her green eyes sharp as daggers.

“Speak,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The messenger knelt, his voice trembling as he began. “My Queen… news from Rook’s Rest.”

Otto stiffened, stepping closer as Alicent’s fingers dug into the arms of the throne. “What news?” he demanded.

The messenger hesitated, his gaze flicking between the Queen and the Hand. “King Aegon… is dead. His dragon, Sunfyre, is no more. Vhagar… has fallen as well.”

The words hung in the air like a curse, the weight of them crashing down upon the room. Alicent’s breath hitched, her composure wavering as her mind struggled to process the blow.

“And… my other son?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The messenger swallowed hard. “Prince Aemond is alive, Your Grace, but grievously wounded. He is held captive by the Blacks.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Alicent, her mask of control shattering for a moment. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, this cannot be.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the throne as he leaned forward. “How did this happen?” he demanded. “How could two of our greatest dragons and their riders fall?”

“The Blacks had reinforcements,” the messenger explained, his voice trembling. “Prince Daemon and his forces arrived after the initial battle. Lady Rhaenys fought valiantly, as did the young Lord Loren Lannister. Together, they brought down both Sunfyre and Vhagar.”

Otto’s face darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Loren Lannister… the lion cub. Tyland’s boy.”

Alicent’s hands trembled as she gripped the throne, her knuckles white. “And Aemond?” she pressed, her voice cracking. “How badly is he hurt?”

The messenger hesitated, his eyes lowering. “He is said to be barely alive, my Queen. His wounds are severe.”

Alicent let out a shuddering breath, her chest heaving as tears threatened to spill. “My sons,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “My Aegon, my Aemond…”

Otto placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his expression cold and calculating. “We cannot afford to falter now,” he said sharply. “This war is not over.”

Alicent’s gaze snapped to him, her eyes blazing with anger and despair. “My son is dying, Father! My eldest is dead! How can you speak of war when my family is being torn apart?”

Otto’s voice hardened, his tone brooking no argument. “Because we must. Aegon may be gone, but Aemond still lives. We must secure him and rally what remains of our forces. If we show weakness now, Rhaenyra will seize the throne completely.”

Alicent stood abruptly, her composure unraveling as she paced the room. “And what of my son?” she demanded. “Do you truly believe they will spare him? That Daemon will show mercy?”

Otto’s silence spoke volumes, his lips pressing into a thin line. Alicent’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath coming in sharp bursts.

“We must send word,” she said finally, her voice trembling but resolute. “To retrieve Aemond. Whatever it takes, he must be brought back to us.”

“And if they refuse?” Otto asked, his tone calculated.

Alicent’s gaze hardened, her grief giving way to steel. “Then we will remind them what it means to cross House Hightower.”

The throne room fell silent once more, the weight of the Queen’s words hanging heavily in the air. Outside, the bells of the city tolled mournfully, their somber tones echoing across King’s Landing.

The battlefield of Tumbleton was chaos—a sprawling tapestry of fire, blood, and betrayal. The flames of dragonfire consumed the once-prosperous town, casting a hellish glow that turned the night into day. Soldiers screamed as they fell, their cries drowned out by the deafening roars of dragons above.

Belerix, your massive dragon circled high, his piercing roar shaking the earth below. His molten eyes scanned the carnage, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the scent of burning wood and flesh. Seated firmly in the saddle, your grip tightened on the reins, your gaze fixed on two figures above: Daeron Targaryen astride his cobalt-blue dragon, Tessarion, and Ulf the White, the traitorous rider of Silverwing.

“Traitors to the throne, both of them,” you spat under your breath, your voice filled with venom.

From the western flank, Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke rose into the skies, the pale-gray dragon's wings cutting through the thick smoke. Below, Lannister forces, led by Jason Lannister himself, surged forward, their crimson and gold banners streaming as they engaged the green loyalist forces in brutal melee combat.

“Addam,” you called, your voice carried by the wind as Belerix flanked Seasmoke. “We’ll take Tessarion together. Jason’s forces can handle the traitors on the ground.”

Addam nodded, his youthful face hardened by the firelight. “Understood. But what about Silverwing?”

Your gaze darkened as you turned toward Ulf the White, his dragon circling menacingly near Tessarion. “Silverwing is mine.”

Addam hesitated for a moment but trusted your resolve. With a sharp command to Seasmoke, he veered toward Tessarion, his dragon’s roar echoing as he descended on Daeron.

Belerix bellowed a challenge, his massive wings propelling you forward as you locked onto Silverwing. Ulf turned just in time to see your approach, his eyes widening as Belerix unleashed a torrent of blue-and-gold flame. Silverwing twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding the inferno, but her silver scales were singed, her anguished cry cutting through the chaos.

“Face me, you coward!” you roared, guiding Belerix into a dive.

Ulf snarled, his voice carrying over the wind. “You’re outmatched, Princess! You’ll die like the rest of your family!”

Belerix’s jaws snapped inches from Silverwing’s tail, his claws raking across her flank as the two dragons collided. The impact sent shockwaves through the air, the force nearly unseating you from your saddle. Silverwing shrieked, her blood splattering onto the battlefield below.

Ulf drew his sword, shouting obscenities as he tried to maneuver his dragon. “You think you can stop me? I’ll carve your name into this battlefield!”

“Try it,” you hissed, guiding Belerix into another strike. The massive dragon slammed into Silverwing again, his claws digging into her side as his teeth sought her vulnerable neck.

Below, Addam and Seasmoke engaged Tessarion in a deadly dance. The cobalt-blue dragon twisted and turned, her flames lighting up the sky, but Seasmoke was faster, darting in and out of range with precision strikes. Addam shouted commands, his voice filled with determination as he fought to bring down the younger prince.

Jason’s forces surged through the town, cutting down loyalists and securing key positions. The clang of steel on steel and the cries of dying men filled the air, the ground beneath their feet slick with blood. Jason himself was in the thick of it, his golden armor gleaming as he struck down a charging enemy with a swing of his blade.

Above, Belerix and Silverwing continued their brutal clash. Ulf swung his sword wildly, his strikes falling short as you deftly guided Belerix out of range.

“Enough of this!” you shouted, your voice filled with fury. “Belerix, end it!”

Your dragon roared in response, his massive jaws closing around Silverwing’s neck in a bone-crushing grip. The silver dragon thrashed and screamed, her wings flailing as she struggled to break free. Ulf cursed and shouted, his sword clattering uselessly against Belerix’s armored scales.

With a final, deafening crunch, Belerix severed Silverwing’s throat, her lifeblood spilling onto the battlefield below. Ulf the White screamed in fury and despair, but his cries were cut short as Belerix’s claws raked across his body, tearing him from his saddle and casting him into the inferno below.

You stared down at the lifeless form of Silverwing as she plummeted to the earth, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “One traitor down,” you muttered, turning your gaze toward Tessarion.

Meanwhile, Seasmoke and Tessarion clashed viciously, their roars shaking the heavens as their riders dueled with words and weapons. Addam pressed the attack, his dragon’s agility proving superior as Seasmoke’s claws raked across Tessarion’s wings.

“You’ll regret this, bastard!” Daeron shouted, his voice filled with rage. “You are nothing but a pretender!”

“And you,” Addam retorted, his voice cold and steady, “are a usurper.”

You guided Belerix toward the fray, your dragon roaring as he joined Seasmoke in the assault. The combined might of the two dragons overwhelmed Tessarion, who let out a final, pitiful cry as Belerix’s flames engulfed her. Daeron screamed as he was thrown from his saddle, his body consumed by the fire before it ever hit the ground.

The battlefield fell eerily silent as the last of the Green forces were routed. The sight of their prince’s lifeless body and the fallen dragons broke their spirits, and they fled in droves, leaving Tumbleton to the Blacks.

You landed Belerix near the center of the town, his bloodied claws sinking into the scorched earth. Addam dismounted Seasmoke, his face pale but resolute as he approached.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, your gaze sweeping over the battlefield. “Tumbleton is ours. The traitors are dead.”

Jason arrived moments later, his armor smeared with blood and soot. “We’ve secured the town,” he reported, his tone grim. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

You dismounted, your legs trembling as you steadied yourself.

The three of you stood amidst the wreckage, the weight of your victory tempered by the knowledge of what lay ahead. The dragons roared one last time, their cries echoing across the desolate battlefield as a reminder of the price of power.

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and amber, an ominous prelude to the events unfolding below. The roar of Balerix, your sapphire-and-silver dragon, reverberated across the expanse as he flew alongside Syrax, Rhaenyra’s golden-hued dragon. The capital of King’s Landing loomed ahead, its walls and towers casting long shadows over the city. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, but soon, a darker smoke would rise to mark the beginning of a new rule.

Below, Corlys Velaryon led his fleet into Blackwater Bay, their sails emblazoned with the seahorse of Driftmark. Beside him marched Daemon Targaryen, his dark armor glinting menacingly as he led the ground forces—a combined force of Velaryon soldiers, Lannister bannermen commanded by Tyland and Loren, and the remnants of loyal troops from the Riverlands.

The sight of the dragons overhead spread panic through the streets of King’s Landing. Smallfolk screamed and scattered, soldiers on the walls froze in terror, and bells began to toll—first as a warning, then as a call for surrender.

Rhaenyra’s voice carried through the wind as she turned to you, her silver hair whipping around her face. “This city will fall today, sister,” she said, her tone cold. “And with it, the Greens.”

You nodded, your gaze fixed on the Red Keep, where banners of green still flew defiantly. “Otto and Alicent will answer for their crimes.”

As the dragons descended, Syrax let out a piercing roar, her flames scorching the gates of the city. The wooden beams and metal hinges glowed red-hot, the force of the fire splintering them apart. Balerix followed, his sapphire flames engulfing the surrounding walls, sending defenders scattering.

The gates gave way, and Daemon's forces surged forward, the sound of clashing steel and war cries filling the air. Corlys’s ships unleashed volleys of arrows and flaming projectiles, striking key positions along the harbor to prevent reinforcements from arriving by sea.

As Syrax and Balerix soared above the city, their shadows casting fear onto the panicked masses, you followed Rhaenyra’s lead toward the Red Keep. The Keep stood defiant, its towering walls a stark reminder of the Targaryen dynasty's strength. But today, that dynasty was fractured, and you were here to reunite it by fire and blood.

“Hold back no longer!” Rhaenyra commanded, guiding Syrax to land in the courtyard. Soldiers scrambled to take defensive positions, but their resolve wavered as Balerix landed beside her, his massive form dwarfing them.

You dismounted, your armor gleaming in the morning light. “Surrender!” you shouted, your voice echoing off the stone walls. “Or face the wrath of the dragons!”

Some dropped their weapons, their courage faltering in the face of certain death. Others charged, desperation driving their actions. But Syrax and Balerix were swift, their flames cutting down any resistance as the Targaryen banners were hoisted in place of the green.

As you entered the Red Keep, the halls were eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of battle. Rhaenyra led the way, her gaze sharp as she approached the throne room. The doors creaked open, revealing Alicent Hightower standing at the base of the Iron Throne.

Alicent’s expression was a mixture of fear and defiance as she stepped forward. “You have no claim here, Rhaenyra,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “This throne belongs to my blood.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed as she approached, her presence commanding. “Aegon is a dead usurper. You knew this, Alicent. You orchestrated it. And now, it ends.”

You stood beside your sister, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword. “The city is ours. The Greens have lost. Stand down, or face the consequences.”

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to her daughter. Helaena clutched her children protectively, her eyes wide with fear.

“This is madness,” Alicent said, her voice breaking. “The realm will burn because of you.”

Rhaenyra’s voice was icy. “The realm burns because of you.”

With a final, piercing glare, Alicent dropped to her knees, her Helaena following reluctantly with her chidlren. The sight filled you with a grim satisfaction. The Greens were defeated.

Outside the Red Keep, the banners of House Targaryen flew high once more. Daemon and Corlys entered the gates with their victorious forces, their armor bloodied but their spirits high. Tyland and Loren dismounted nearby, their expressions weary but relieved.

Tyland approached you as you emerged from the Keep, his eyes scanning you for injuries. “You’re unharmed,” he said, his voice heavy with relief.

You nodded, resting your hand on his arm. “It’s done. The city is ours.”

Loren joined you, his youthful face hardened by the realities of war. “And the Greens?”

“On their knees,” you replied, your gaze shifting to the distant horizon. “But this is just the beginning. The realm won’t accept this easily.”

Daemon strode toward you, his smirk faint. “Let them challenge us. We have dragons, and now, we have the throne.”

The sky above King’s Landing was thick with smoke, the scent of victory mingling with the cost it had demanded. As you looked upon the city, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of what lay ahead.

An excerpt from "The Dance of Dragons: A History of the Civil War Between Targaryens" by Archmaester Vaenion

The union of Tyland Lannister and Princess Y/N Targaryen, though initially questioned by many, emerged as one of the most pivotal alliances during the Targaryen civil war. Their partnership, built on mutual respect and shared purpose, not only shaped the course of the Dance of Dragons but also cemented a lasting legacy for both House Targaryen and House Lannister.

Princess Y/N’s betrothal to Tyland Lannister was, at first glance, a surprising match. A calculated maneuver by King Viserys I, it was seen as a strategic alliance to bind the powerful Westerlands to the Iron Throne. Yet, what began as a political union quickly grew into a genuine partnership.

Tyland, known for his cunning and practicality, was often underestimated compared to his boisterous twin, Jason Lannister. However, it was Tyland’s sharp mind and unwavering loyalty that won over the Sapphire Princess. Their secret romance, whispered about in the halls of the Red Keep, became public when King Viserys formally announced their engagement. Their marriage, celebrated with great splendor, brought the Lannister banners into Queen Rhaenyra’s fold when the civil war broke out.

The War and Their Role

While many questioned the decision to involve the Westerlands so heavily in the Dance, Tyland and Y/N proved to be invaluable to Rhaenyra’s cause. Princess Y/N, with her dragon Belerix, was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Her decisive actions at Tumbleton, where she struck down the traitor Ulf the White and Prince Daeron Targaryen, marked a turning point in the war. Her sapphire flames engulfed the battlefield, earning her the title "The Sapphire Flame" among her enemies.

Tyland, meanwhile, played a more subtle but equally vital role. His ability to manage alliances, supply lines, and logistics proved critical, especially during the retaking of King’s Landing. It was said that while Rhaenyra and Daemon wielded fire and blood, Tyland wielded the quill and coin, ensuring their campaigns could continue.

Their children—Loren, Rhaelle, Kevan, Alysanne, and the youngest, Jaeryn—represented the unity of their houses. Loren, the rider of Valtyr, and Rhaelle, who bonded with Aelirys, carried forward the legacy of fire and blood alongside their parents.

Challenges and Triumphs

The war tested their bond, particularly when Loren Lannister defied his mother’s wishes to fight alongside Daemon Targaryen at Harrenhal. Tyland, ever the mediator, balanced his wife’s fiery temper with his measured reasoning, ensuring the family remained united despite the chaos. This dynamic—Y/N’s unyielding passion and Tyland’s calm pragmatism—became the cornerstone of their relationship.

Their support of Rhaenyra came at a cost. Tyland’s defiance of Otto Hightower and the Greens led to threats against his family, forcing him to flee with Y/N and their children to Casterly Rock. Their return to King’s Landing, victorious, marked a triumph not only for the Blacks but for their union as well.

A Legacy Forged in Fire

In the aftermath of the Dance, Tyland and Y/N worked tirelessly to rebuild what the war had destroyed. They strengthened alliances, secured trade for the Westerlands, and ensured that House Lannister’s role in supporting Rhaenyra’s reign was not forgotten.

Tyland’s legacy was one of intellect and resilience, a man who proved that strength came in many forms. Y/N, with her dragon and her unwavering loyalty to her sister, embodied the indomitable spirit of House Targaryen. Together, they were a testament to what could be achieved when fire and gold were united.

Their story is remembered not as one of mere political convenience, but as a tale of partnership, love, and the unbreakable bonds forged in the crucible of war.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #hotd tyland #tyland lannister #tyland x reader #tyland x you #tyland x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #to win a princess

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letternotekisses · 3 days ago

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More👏sugar daddy👏doomfist👏(please)

(nsfw) Akande finds great pleasure in dolling up his assistant. Anything to see you smile, and it’s not like he can’t afford to drop a few thousand on a whim, so he continues to line your wardrobes and dressers as a reward for your continuous good behaviour.

As of recent, though, he’s noticed a new addition in your outfits. Something he hadn’t purchased for you, and it seems neither had any of his subordinates. It’s nothing huge, just a tube of lipstick in a lovely little shade of pink. It’s a small change, but he thinks you’d suit a few more colours to match with your outfits, no?

He then brings you to an expensive makeup store, all the cosmetics laden in grandiose cases that almost intimidates you if it weren’t for Akande at your side. You’re allowed to pick anything you want, but you’re stuck between a decadent plum and a vibrant cherry. An idea forms, and you eagerly insist that he pick out a colour for you. Akande does so with a quirked brow, ever so diligent whenever you’ve picked up a hint of mischief, eventually settling on that lovely ruby red colour that sits beautifully on your lips.

When you make it back to the limousine, the tacky makeup bag is discarded to the side almost carelessly, and it’s shortly after that the big bad Doomfist realises exactly what you’re up to. Although he isn’t complaining, even with vibrant red kiss marks staining his cheeks, nose, lapel and neck. A smirk is tugging at his lips, a smug look roaming his features because you just look so proud of yourself. His gaze stokes a dangerous fire in your belly, and you want nothing but to mark him from head to toe.

It’s not long until his belt and trousers are bunched at his ankles, powerful thighs spread wide on the leather seat as he rests back - suit jacket and button up messily undone - ruby kiss marks trailing his pectorals and powerful abdomen. They taper off around his sharp V-line, crescent indents of your nails in his hips where you steady your grip to swallow him deeper.

Akande’s eyes are sharp, lips parted as he watches himself bulge your throat, a faint ruby ring around the base of his cock that makes him twitch hotly in your mouth. His hand comes to cup the back of your head, his palm warm and heavy as he guides your movements. Your eyelashes flutter as you sneak a glance up at him and he cups your chin to suddenly pull you off of his cock, spit trickling your chin in a messy sheen that has him grunting with the want to paint your face. You pant softly, your swollen and lipstick smudged lips parted mischievously as he throbs heavily against your face. His hand fists your hair firmly whilst stroke him leisurely, as if you had all the time in the world, as if the driver wasn’t sweating bullets behind the thin screen should he dare to interrupt.

Akande cups your face lovingly, squeezing your cheeks so that your lips fall into a pout and he can get a better look at your disheveled state, he hums, ever too pleased with the results of this little trip.

“I think we should try the purple next.” He murmurs softly into your skin, pulling you into his lap and hooking his thumb into your waistline, dragging that little pencil skirt down to your ankles so that he can get his fill.🫶🫶🫶

#katies thoughts 💭#overwatch 2 #asks #overwatch x reader #smut #cw smut #cw mature #requests #akande ogundimu #akande ogundimu x reader #talon assistant reader #assistant!reader #doomfist ow #doomfist x reader #doomfist overwatch #doomfist #i don’t like this #this sucks but i needed to share this thought..

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hawkeyedflame · 2 years ago

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i applied to like.. 15 jobs today.... wish me luck................

#the hawk speaks #i'm honestly a little concerned about my ability to hit my salary goal because my work experience is so disjointed #like.. my clinical work was so hyper specialized that i fear it won't help me much #and my current xp as an RA is limited bc i've only been here for 8 months #so i'm like.. will anyone actually consider me experienced enough to offer me a position at the price point i'm asking LOL #we'll see.. at least i know i'm not gonna be homeless if i just keep working at my current job #so i can afford to not settle this time around

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aquaticmercy · 2 months ago

Text

In Another Life

Summary : Bucky is certain you only see him as a friend. It only took him travelling to a different reality to realise otherwise.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : slight cursing, very slight suggestion of sex, Yelena being a third wheel, and multiversal travel!!!

Requested by : anon

Word count : 3.9k

Note : This was really fun to write. And yes, I slipped Yelena into this because I can. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

“I’ll miss you,” you mumbled as Bucky handed you a knife to sharpen. As he sat there in your living room, the evening light reflected on your curtains, casting a soft shadow across his face. You sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, so close yet not quite close enough. He had asked if he could come over the day before his mission, claiming he needed help sharpening his knives. He has said ‘no one sharpens knives as good as you’. To some degree, you both knew it wasn’t the only reason he was here.

“Weren’t we supposed to see that new World War II exhibit at the museum tomorrow?” you asked, your voice riddled with a tinge of disappointment.

“We were,” Bucky admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. If there was one thing he hated, it was letting you down, especially over a mission he couldn’t refuse.

“Who does Strange think he is anyway— that lunatic wizard?” you quipped, with a little gossipy tone. “Showing up at your doorstep and just… demanding you drop everything last minute?”

A small smile tugged at Bucky’s lips, enjoying this sassy part of you. “It's a bit annoying, but I can’t exactly turn him down.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you worked. “What’s so important that he needs you and Yelena for, anyway? This isn't one of those ‘end of the world’ things, is it?”

Strange had basically asked him to commit theft, and not just any theft— he wanted Bucky to steal something from a multiversal variant of himself in another reality.

Still, Strange had made it sound urgent. It would be most obvious to partner him with you, since you were proven to work well together, but you had just returned from another mission in Antarctica. Both Bucky and Strange knew you needed time to recover.

That left Yelena and Sam. Sam, with his unmovable sense of duty, would’ve questioned every detail and repercussion. He was growing more and more into his Captain America mantle, and that wasn’t a bad thing— it was just inconvenient sometimes. Yelena, on the other hand, would do what needed to be done and ask fewer questions, which was why Strange approached her instead.

If the mission worked out, Bucky would have earned himself a favour owed by one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. That was a card he couldn’t afford to pass up.

Bucky hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of secrets settle on his shoulders. “It’s classified,” he finally said, which was technically true. He didn’t want to trigger your anxieties with the details, especially when he didn’t fully understand the whole multiverse mess himself.

You gave a small nod. You’d been around the hero-type for so long to know there were things you weren’t always allowed to know. Even though you were laser-focused on sharpening another knife, you could tell something was off.

“Are you okay?” you asked, watching his fingers dance along one of the blades, tension flowing through his body like a wave he cannot tame.

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could see the conflicting spark in his eyes. He didn’t mind the danger. But the multiverse, something that was so unknown to him? That was a different kind of fear.

He didn’t want to leave things unsaid with you. Not when there was a chance he might not come back.

He called your name softly. “Can I talk to you?”

There was something in the way your name left his lips that made your chest tighten. Bucky wasn’t the nervous type—not with you, anyway. Your hands stilled on the sharpening stone. “Of course,” you said, setting the tools aside.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at his hands, gathering the courage to speak. “You mean a lot to me,” he started, his voice low but steady.

Your heart skipped a beat. Bucky’s hands reached out to gently clasp yours, the cool metal was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his human hand. It was such a Bucky thing to do, to find a simple, human way to connect, even as he struggled with the mechanical parts of him.

“I need to tell you—”

A loud, insistent knock thundered the door, startling both of you. Bucky’s fingers slipped from yours as you turned towards the sound.

“Yelena!” you exclaimed, standing up.

“Yelena?” Bucky echoed, blinking in confusion.

“Did I not tell you?” you asked, biting your lip. “When you asked if you could come over, I asked if she needed her knives sharpened too. She did, so I invited her. I hope that’s okay?”

Bucky’s heart sank, but he forced himself an unreadable expression. Of course, You’d invited someone else. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to say what he wanted to say, if it ever was. In fact, maybe this was a sign to never tell you.

You invited Yelena, your friend. Which probably meant he was also a friend—just a friend. It probably meant you would never see him as something more.

Before he could respond, you were already at the door, revealing the deadly assassin packed into a 5 '4 vessel of human fury. She gave you a sisterly smile in greeting before her eyes landed on Bucky.

“Hello, Bucky,” she said, her russian accent a little too cheerful as she dropped a heavy duffel bag on the wooden floor with an echoing thud.

“Yelena,” Bucky replied, somewhat coldly. He didn’t dislike Yelena. He knew better than to make an enemy of her. Besides, they had saved each other’s life before. But at that moment, he resented her.

He resented that she had unknowingly interrupted something he might never get the chance to finish.

“Drink?” you offered, already heading towards the kitchen.

“Just water,” Yelena shrugged, flopping down into the armchair with the casual confidence of someone who could kill you with both hands behind her back. As you left the room, Yelena turned her mischievous gaze to Bucky, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“I’m not third-wheeling today, am I?” she teased, pulling out a couple of dull knives and placing them on the table in front of her.

Bucky’s ears burned red. “Shut up.”

Yelena chuckled, twirling a knife like a baby would play with their dummy. “I can see the way you look at her, you know. If you put half as much effort into flirting as you do into those knives, you might actually get somewhere.”

He clenched his jaw, the frustration building. He hated the insinuation that he wasn't trying. But now? He might stop. He might just give up because clearly, he was a friend to you, the way Yelena was a friend. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it is when I’m sitting here watching you blow your chance, Barnes.” Yelena’s tone softened, just a touch, before she glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s oblivious, but she cares.”

Bucky stared down at the knife in his hands, knowing he had to deal with this teasing all day tomorrow. A constant reminder that he will always be too afraid to tell you. “It’s not that simple.”

Before Yelena could respond, you returned with glasses of water in hand, completely unaware of the exchange between the widow and the soldier in your absence. You handed Yelena the glass with a smile and settled back down beside Bucky, completely oblivious to his racing heart.

—

The multiverse… wasn’t as confusing as Bucky had expected it to be.

Sure, he didn’t understand how it functioned or what the exact mechanics were—something about a teenager named America Chavez punching a star-shaped hole through space-time. Or something like that.

But what really threw him off was how familiar this reality felt, how similar it was to his own. The streets, the neighbourhood, the people, the world around him—it was all the same, yet different in subtle, uncanny ways he couldn't quite point out.

America had opened the portal in an alley near Bucky's apartment in this different reality. After he and Yelena stepped through, America warned them: "I will open a portal again in two hours. Don’t miss the window." America was still so young, but she had a grim seriousness in her voice. Bucky wondered what her story was.

Now, Bucky and Yelena sat perched on a fire escape across from his own apartment—or, at least, a version of it. It was the same address as his was in his reality. The mission was simple: retrieve an artefact that belonged to this variant of Bucky—a blue stone embedded in a gold ring—from his apartment in this reality. Strange had briefed them on it: the ring was a powerful protection charm, and he needed it.

He just had to wait until his variant went out for his daily run, slip inside, find the ring, and get out. Yelena would be backup, keeping watch in case things went south. Maybe in case the variant of him decided to return early.

“I can’t imagine your girlfriend approves of this dangerous multiverse stuff,” Yelena quipped, resting her sniper rifle on the edge of the fire escape. “She’s very protective of you.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned bright red. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered, though the title felt strange on his lips.

“Whatever,” Yelena grinned, clearly unconvinced.

Only thirty minutes later, variant Bucky stepped out of the apartment for his run.

“Radio silence unless it’s an emergency,” Bucky instructed before slipping his earpiece in, turning it on. He didn’t want distractions. Not today.

Sliding off the fire escape, Bucky quickly made his way to the apartment. To his surprise, his keys worked just fine. No need for breaking in. As he stepped inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being somewhere both familiar and alien.

Everything was almost identical— just almost. The couch was a lighter shade of blue, the TV a different brand, though it looked the same. It was like staring into an uncanny mirror of his own life.

Focus. He needed to find the ring.

He began searching the usual spots—safes, drawers, anywhere he’d hide something important in his own apartment. But no luck. Think, Barnes, he thought to himself, where would you put a protection charm?

Then, something caught his eye— a framed photo on the mantle of his fireplace that wasn’t supposed to be there. A photo of him and… you.

His breath hitched. It wasn’t just any photo. You were kissing his cheek, a lake in the background. The warmth in your smile, the easy comfort between you both... It was a picture he'd never seen in his reality.

Were you together in this one?

Suddenly, everything clicked. The extra clothes in the closet, the toiletries. In his reality, you had a drawer in his apartment, since you stayed over sometimes, as a friend. But this? This was different. Here, you shared a life.

He spotted a camera, instantly recognizing it as the same model you had back in his reality. He knew he should stay focused on finding the charm, but curiosity got the best of him. Before he could stop himself, he turned it on, eyes shifting through the photos. Image after image appeared—of him and you together. Holidays, long walks, intimate dinners. Kisses and comfortable hugs.

His chest tightened with a hollow ache of jealousy. Was this what he could have? What he might be missing?

Before he could process the feeling, a buzz in his earpiece snapped him back to reality.

Yelena’s voice came through, saying your name urgently.

“What?” Bucky asked. Why would Yelena say your name like that?

“She’s here. She’s entering the building.”

Panic surged through him like a thunderbolt. “Don’t shoot her,” he ordered.

“Yeah, didn’t plan to,” Yelena answered, annoyed that he thought she was thinking of it, “but what are you gonna do? She has keys.”

Of course she does, Bucky thought, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Frozen in his place, his mind raced. What now?

Suddenly, the door opened, and there you were, a version of yourself he had never met before.

“Buck?” the variant of you said, startled, eyes widening. “I thought you’d still be on your run. And why are you wearing your tactical suit?”

You closed the door behind, placing your bag on the couch.

“I—” he stammered, completely unprepared for this, unable to move. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound tangled in his throat. He glanced at your hand. There, on your finger, was the ring. The protection charm.

Of course. He should have known. He’d do anything to protect you.

His mind spun with conflicting emotions— jealousy of his own variant, longing for you back home, and guilt that he was even here.

You took a step closer, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not that I’m complaining about the tactical suit... You know I like it when you wear it to bed.” You flirted with a tender laugh, that soft sound that always made his heart stutter filling the air around him.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned in. It would be so easy to give in, to just pretend for a moment that this was his life, that this variant of you was his. To feel your lips on his.

His hand twitched at his side, wanting to grip your waist, to pull you closer. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let this continue.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, stopping you. “I can’t,” he whispered, voice strained. “There’s nothing I want more. But I can’t.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. The variant of you pulled back, studying him more closely now, noticing the subtle changes. There was a subtle scar on his neck that wasn’t there before. “You’re not my Bucky, are you?”

Yelena’s voice crackled in his earpiece again. She had been able to hear everything. “Bucky, I know she’s your weakness, but we need that ring. Do not tell her—”

Bucky switched the earpiece off, ignoring Yelena’s warning. He’d deal with that later. You deserved better than half-truths.

“This is Strange’s doing, isn’t it?” you asked, taking the revelation surprisingly well. “I thought he was done with all this multiverse shit.”

He nodded, guilt twisting in his chest. “Yeah. But… not your Strange. Mine.”

Silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words. The variant of you looked at him carefully, as if searching for a trace of the Bucky you knew.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved.”

“What does Strange want?” you asked, frowning. “And why is he sending my fiancé to do his dirty work?”

Bucky blinked. Fiancé? His heart stuttered. That ring wasn’t just a charm. It was your engagement ring.

You noticed his shock. “We are engaged in your reality, right?”

He swallowed hard. “No. I—I haven’t even told you, uh, her… how I feel.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “So, all the Buckys are like this then? Huh.”

Bucky’s heart raced, his mind still reeling from the idea that you— at least this version of you—were engaged to him in this reality. It was everything he wanted but didn’t have.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, guilt laced in his whimpering voice.

You tilted your head like you were trying to piece the puzzle pieces together and came to a conclusion that you were safe. As if you convinced yourself that no variant of Bucky would ever hurt any version of you.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “You’re still him. In some way.”

He wasn’t your Bucky, and yet, you spoke to him like he was. You spoke to him with the same compassion, the same love. His eyes flickered to your hand again—the ring.

Focus on the mission, he reminded himself. But how could he? Your eyes followed his stare, and it landed on the gold band around your finger. You let out a small but heavy sigh.

“Strange wants the ring, doesn't he?” you asked. Bucky nodded, feeling his heart twist in his ribs. He didn't want to take anything away from you.

“He said it’s a powerful protection charm.”

The variant of you stood still for a moment, “I know.” You gently slid the ring off your finger, holding it in your palm.

You stepped closer. “If Strange wants it, I know it has to be important. I trust that lunatic wizard— and I trust you.”

You were trusting him— this version of him who wasn’t even yours— with something so personal, something tied to your bond with his variant. “But, it's your engagement ring,” he said. He knew he got what he wanted, but he can't help but wonder why you gave it away so willingly. “I—Your Bucky gave this to you to protect you.”

The variant of you smiled, taking a necklace chain from under your shirt. There it was, the same stone that was on the ring also sat on your chest.

“My Bucky asked this reality’s Strange to split the gemstone,” the variant of you said, “He knows I have this tendency of misplacing my jewellery.”

Bucky can't help but chuckle. His version of you had that quirk, too.

“I’ll explain everything to my Bucky when he gets back. I know he’ll understand.” You hesitated giving him the ring for a second. “On one condition.”

His brow furrowed.

You gave him a knowing smile, one that was all too familiar. One that made his heart swarm. “Go back to your reality, and tell me—her how you feel.”

His heart twisted. He does not make promises he can't keep, especially not to you— any version of you. “I can’t—"

“You can,” you interjected with that stubbornness he knew and loved. “If she means anything to you, you will.”

He stared at you, and no words came out. All this time, he had kept his feelings hidden, afraid of losing you if he told the truth. But here, another version of you telling him to just suck it up.

Bucky’s voice wavered above a whisper. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

A soft laugh escaped your lungs, and you shook your head, knowing something he doesn’t. “Trust me, she does.”

He could tell that this variant of you knew him so well, even if you were from another universe. Slowly, he took the ring from your hand. It felt heavier than it should’ve, weighted with more than just its magic.

“I will tell her,” he whispered a promise, “thank you.”

You nodded, giving him a small, encouraging smile.

Bucky clenched his jaw, putting his earpiece back on.

“There you are,” Yelena’s voice crackled back into life. “Our window’s closing. We’ve got about ten minutes before the portal opens again. Move it.”

A shaky breath left his lungs. “Ring secured. On my way.”

He gave you one last look, his heart full of a thousand swirling emotions he couldn’t even begin to put a name to. “I hope your Bucky knows how lucky he is.”

The variant of you smiled. “I think he does.”

Without another word, Bucky slipped out of the apartment, the ring safely in his pocket.

—

Bucky had knocked on your door after the day of his mission. When he saw you, your name escaped his lips like a prayer as he hugged you.

Now, this was you. Not another version of you.

“Are you okay, Buck?” you chuckled.

Bucky held you a little tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours as he tried to ground himself in the present— this present reality. He pulled back slightly, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he’d seen you in years. The both of you slipped into your apartment, closing the door.

“I missed you,” he admitted softly, though it had only been two days. The words now carried more weight than they ever had before. His mind was still reeling from the alternate reality, from the life he could have had with you, and from what the variant of you had told him. He found some comfort and confidence, knowing that there was a version of him out there who had done what he was too scared to do—tell you how he felt. It was his turn now.

You smiled, but concern flickered in your eyes as you noticed something different in his touch. “You’re acting weird. Did something happen on the mission?”

Bucky hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by again.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Bucky said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but you stayed silent, giving him the space to continue. You’d known him long enough to recognize when he was on the edge of an emotional breakthrough.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped closer, his fingers brushing the side of your arm. “I’ve been afraid of losing you if I told you…”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realised where this was going. You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I care about you more than anything,” he continued, his stormy blue eyes locking with yours, vulnerable and frail. “I’m in love with you, and I’ve been too scared to say it.”

Your breath caught itself before it left your lungs. You could feel the truth of his words in the way his voice wavered, in the intensity of his gaze, in the flutter of his touch.

“I’m sorry if this is too much, too fast,” Bucky added quickly, misreading your silence for rejection. He cursed at himself, wondering if the variant of you had been wrong. “If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was soft and tentative at first, but as soon as your lips met his,the hesitations, the doubts, the fears all fell away.

Bucky’s metal hand settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. His soft lips moving against yours with a mix of relief and urgency, taking each other in for the first time as if it was your last. The warmth of your body against his, the way you fit perfectly in his arms— it was everything he could ever ask for.

You finally pulled back breathless, your foreheads rested against each other as you let the adrenaline settle.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I was just waiting for you to see it.”

Bucky chuckled softly.

You playfully shook your head. “I owe Yelena ten bucks.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“She was here yesterday night, after your mission,” you said, “She bet me that we’d be together by the end of the week. I took the bet because I didn't think you’d feel the same.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as a grin spread across his face. She had been pestering him after the mission yesterday, insisting on knowing what the variant of you had told him. But he had not volunteered any information to her. “Yelena knew before I even said anything? I’m losing my edge.” he teased himself, shaking his head.

“Please, Buck. She’s like a human lie detector,” you quipped, rolling your eyes fondly.

“Well, ten bucks is worth it, right?” he smiled.

You kissed him once more, short, sweet, and fleeting this time. It drew a giggle out of you, “Definitely.”

Maybe one day, he’d tell you about the mission, about the variant of you.

But for now, he only wanted to enjoy the moment.

-end

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yanderenightmare · 2 months ago

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Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, reader's second gender is omega, so there are mentions of pregnancy, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ prequel to this

♡ GN reader

His eyes are garnet and slim—you can’t make up your mind if they’re judgemental or just assessing. Either would be allowed, of course. The point of the date is for him to decide if you’re sufficient or not.

And yet, you’re the one taking him in. His main is ashen blonde, boyishly spikey and wild—not fine-kempt and slick like you’d pictured. He didn’t have any grey hair either, or stubble, or wrinkles. Though he’s still much bigger and burlier than they are, he can’t be any older than the eldest males back at the institution.

He’s obviously an Alpha, and still, it’s so odd.

“You’re young,” you end up saying.

His nose scrunches. “No younger than you.”

It must have sounded accusatory, even when you only meant to point it out for yourself. You probably ought to have said it silently, inside yourself, and not out loud like you did.

And so you apologize, “I’m sorry, I was—I was just expecting someone older…” You try smiling, but the thought of him actually having been older makes your throat tight, and you swallow thickly instead. “Much older.”

He sighs, looks off to the side instead of at you. His brows tighten—you probably want someone who’s already got a house and a car and a boat on a lake, not to mention a good salary and not the intern pay he’ll be living off of for at least the next year or so. His foot taps beneath the table. You feel it in the floorboards. “You disappointed or somethin’?” he grumbles through grit teeth and a slim frown.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, blruting, “No!” You even jump out of your chair, both hands slamming flat on the table, making the napkin-wrapped cutlery clatter within their confines.

Quickly, but too late, you realize you’re causing a scene. Cheeks burning, you look around before settling down again—you’re not making a very good first impression so far.

You take a breath, confessing, “I mean, I’m happy,” You place your hands in your lap and then start fiddling with them. “This way, we can be together for a long time…” Your voice is breathy as you let out a somewhat apologetic sigh, smiling some. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare look up to gauge his expression.

You end up laughing nervously in the silence, feeling the joke arise before you're able to dispel it. “I was afraid I was gonna have to be your nurse soon.”

His foot stops tapping. Then he scoffs.

You perk up again, fumbling over your newest mistake, already apologizing a second time so far, “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re just not what I was expecting—I’m a little caught off guard, is all.”

He huffs, then grins. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize.”

You both sit in silence after that. You pick your nails more. All the questions you’ve prepared are useless given his age—he doesn’t have an answer to how many kids he wants from you. Probably. It somehow feels strange asking him when he isn’t in his thirties or forties or early fifties.

You look at him in askance. It really is odd.

“You can ask—if you’re curious,” he sanctions.

You really want to, but you’ve made enough mistakes already. Your teachers wouldn’t be proud if they witnessed you acting so childish and not as the proper little lady they’ve trained you to be.

“No, I shouldn’t.” You shake your head and look down at your lap.

“Come on, you don’t gotta worry about being rude with me,” he insists.

You bite your lip, feeling fidgety in your chair, peering up at him. “You sure?”

“Hit me.”

The question leaps from your tongue before you have the mind to regret it. “How can you afford this?”

He leans back in his chair. “I can’t—not yet. My folks are paying.”

You hum—that makes more sense. “They must be nice,” you say.

“They try,” he agrees.

There’s a silence again. You don’t have anything appropriate to ask. You were more prepared to talk when spoken to, to answer his questions about your health and hobbies, all silly things that make you cute and likable, but given he’s your age, none of it seems any interesting. It seems he doesn’t have much to ask, either.

“I was unsure about this,” he declares after a while. “To be honest with you, it was all my mom’s idea. I didn’t ask for it…” With a pause, he picks up the menu that had been lying undisturbed in wait for his decision. “But, she tends to be right about most things. So, I think I’ll take the offer this once.”

He lets you decide without ordering for you. Neither of you decide to drink, even though you’re both old enough. The conversation is awkward, but you giggle a couple of times and he smirks in turn. You hadn’t anticipated it—this feeling. You’d anticipated the nerves and the tension—but not this other thing, this sweet fluttering feeling blossoming in your belly, flirty and fizzy. Is this what they call butterflies?

He’s left asking himself the same question.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

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valsverse · 1 year ago

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𐑺 ˖ ࣪ ࿐ྂ I WANNA BE YOURS | percy jackson x gn!reader

percy jackson looks at you like you were the one who put the stars in the sky.

the son of poseidon gazes at you with so much awe and admiration in his eyes that most people would think you had just defeated a minotaur with your bare hands, or cured cancer or saved the world from total destruction, something that would be remembered for centuries to come. but in reality, all you did was toss a few nuts to the squirrels that scurried around camp. percy jackson looks at you in such a way that even aphrodite herself would point and squeal.

though, he'd never admit to that. the only telltale sign of his infatuation is the rosy tint that creeps up the tips of his ears every time you you pass by, and his lips that struggle to stay in a straight line whenever you flash him that smile—the one that makes his heart leap up and into his throat. even after four years of friendship, percy still hasn't figured out how to sit next to you and not be totally in love with everything you do.

it's as though you have some sort of magic power over him—a power that he's powerless to resist. and as much as he'd like to deny it, he secretly revels in the feeling.

but percy jackson would never confess his desires for you—not when kronos is still actively seeking to wipe out the demigod population. he can't afford to display any signs of weakness.

but it's worth it, he thinks, to risk everything just to wrap his arms around you and plant a kiss on your lips that would set the world on fire. yet he knows he can't—not without endangering you. not without putting you in harm's way. so why is it so unbearable to imagine life without you, when you were never really his to begin with?

and in those moments, when his mind is consumed with thoughts of you, memories of your touch and your gaze playing on repeat in his mind, he's left thinking, 'did i imagine it?' did he dream up the way your touch lingered on his arm as you adjusted his armor? the way you looked at him across the dining pavilion before turning away, as if you'd been caught in the act of something secret and sweet? he must have, right? because you would never look at someone like him with such tenderness. not at someone hot-headed and impulsive, someone with so many rough edges. no, you couldn't have looked at him like that. it must all be in his head.

you couldn't have looked at him the same way he looks at you.

despite his best efforts to conceal it, percy's convinced that everyone can see right through him. he knows that everyone can see right through him. the teasing from his fellow campers has been relentless—nicknames hurled his way, each one more unflattering than the last. romeo, hopeless romantic, loverboy..

loverboy.

he's no loverboy. not some kind of lovesick puppy at the mercy of some unattainable crush. no, that nickname is only reserved for the truly whipped, those who are wrapped around someone's finger, glued to their side at all times. he's no..

and then his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, suddenly alert. and there you are, all dazzling and gorgeous, a beacon in a sea of identical orange t-shirts and jeans. you stand out as though a spotlight has been trained on you alone. which is weird because to most people you're just another camper. albeit, an incredibly beautiful camper, but still, just a camper. so why is he so infatuated with you, specifically?

maybe he is a loverboy.

the realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and he almost groans out loud. can't he just carve his heart out and be done with it at this point? isn't that what the poets do?

but since he never really cared for those dead old men taught in school, like edward allan poe or whatever his name was, he'll settle for just daydreaming now. he'll settle for stolen glances across the room and the brush of your hands as you reach for a book. he'll settle for relishing in your little touches and how your lips shine in blueberry chapstick until he's ready. he'll admire the curve of your nose and the triumphant hugs you give him after your team wins capture the flag. he'll settle for it until it's not enough anymore. he'll settle for it until he needs more.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x y/n #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson fluff #pjo imagine #riordanverse x reader

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2tarbell · 4 months ago

Text

COWBOY TAKE ME AWAY

you ask your boyfriend to take a look at your engine…

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

rafe was close to losing his damn mind. how was this thing even still running?

he’s not a mechanic, in fact he finds it all too fuckin’ annoying. but when you looked up at him with those sparkly eyes, asking him to fix your little car, he couldn’t bring himself to turn you down.

so there he was, backwards cap on and sweating through his shirt. he’s already smoked two cigarettes trying to even start to fix the damn thing. the mess that was awaiting him under the hood made him shoot you a look, but you simply furrowed your brows and sighed in that sugary sweet voice ‘jus’ dont know what’s wrong with it’.

he was a sucker, maybe. pussy whipped, for sure.

more than an hour had passed and hardly any progress was made on the deteriorating engine. he was starting to get pissed off, your ‘the chicks’ cd having played three times through, the screen door allowing it to be heard from the player in the living room.

rafe looks over at you again, taking in the way you sat on the steps of the trailer, pen in hand as you mumble to yourself about the crossword puzzle between humming along to the music. barefoot and sitting nice and comfy on the wooden plank. oh, the luxury.

you looked so pretty, and he almost dropped whatever tool he was using when he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra. he cleared his throat, focusing all attention on the shitty state of your motor.

“baby — what in the hell did you even do to this thing?”

your head snaps up at that, pouting and tiptoeing over to him, paper abandoned on the steps. you ignored his protests of heading inside to put on some shoes, stepping over rocks and weeds. rafe shakes his head and leans on his arms as he stares down the engine, praying to whatever will listen to magically tell him what the problem was.

he sighs when your arm snakes around his waist and turns to press a kiss to the top of your head that rests on his arm. your touch was a brief reprieve from the hot sun and difficult task.

“s’that bad?” you mumble, voice meek.

god, he would do anything to make that sad little tone vanish. but he can’t lie to you, not about this. no matter how much he knows you adore this car.

he hums, giving the engine a once over before looking over at you, “well, it— it ain’t great… gonna have to probably replace most of it if y’wanna keep it.”

the whine you let out makes an amused grin form on his lips. you both know you couldn’t afford to replace even half of it.

“well— can’t y’just— just—“

“ohhh, when did you become a mechanic, sugar?”

he whistles lowly at your glare, wrapping his arm firmly around your neck and pulling you in. the sensation of being pressed against his chest, his bicep pressing into your cheek makes a lick of heat shoot up your spine.

“don’t get an attitude w’me, a’ight?” he drawls into your hair, leaving that familiar heat to settle in your tummy. you knew better but whined incoherently, a babble of ‘but— but— daddy—‘. it might cost you some of his softness, but it was just so satisfying to hear him get just a little meaner.

“no, stop poutin’— dad’s doin’ this f’you on his off day, show some gratitude. there is nothin’ else i can do ‘bout the fuckin’ thing, ‘kay?”

he wished there was more to do for the vehicle, but it was about time. hell, you’ve had that thing longer than he could remember. you never were good at admitting he was right, though.

he sighs and shifts to wrap his arms tight around your waist, lifting you slightly on your toes. your hands immediately find his chest and you lean your forward against him, pouting still as his lips meet your temple. you stare at the car, feeling betrayed by something you considered your baby.

all things must come to end, or whatever the hell the saying is. you honestly found that to be complete bullshit as rafe runs a hand over your hip, fingers lightly caressing the skin between the fabric and your jean shorts. his touch was almost soothing.

“poor sweet girl…” his lips press against your ear, a teasing whisper, “what’m i gonna do with you, hmm?”

you huff, maybe a bit dramatically, and turn your head to gaze up at him. rafe chuckles softly at your expression, if anyone else did such a thing, it might’ve felt patronizing. but not him, not your rafe.

you can’t resist a little grin, hiding your face in his chest. he always made you fold too quickly. he coos and it makes you feel fuzzy all over. with a finger under your chin, he lifts your head up to press a sweet kiss to your lips. his are a little chapped and his scruff is starting to tickle your face but you don’t care, needing the comfort of your big, strong man desperately in this moment. his large palms trail down your body to settle and squeeze at your ass.

rafe smiles against your mouth, that tilt of his lips making your own rise. soon enough, you’re giggling and unable to kiss him back. he doesn’t care and presses closer, swallowing those precious little sounds.

he lifts you, hands throwing you up and over his shoulder. he smirks at your squeal and closes the hood with one arm, the other holding you snuggly on his shoulder.

“rafe cameron, you put me down!”

“nuh — uh. think it’s time you thank me, yeah?”

with a smack to the swell of your ass, he walks up the three steps to your shared trailer, already planning on taking you to shower with him. the screen door shuts with a slam and your laughter echoes into the dusty streets of your little neighborhood.

#casually calling rafe daddy/dad THIS IS MY TRUTH #trailerpark!rafe #rafe cameron #fanfic #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fanfic #outerbanks rafe #outer banks imagine #rafe obx #obx smut #obx fanfiction #obx imagine

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alice-everafter · 4 months ago

Text

"Stop moving around, herbivore."

The otherwise heavy silence is broken by Leona's deep timber of a voice. Rolling onto your back puts you in line of sight of his bed, where you can see the Savanna prince half covered in sheets you couldn't even afford to breathe on. He's facing away from you, barely moving. If he hadn't just spoken you'd assume he was dead or something.

"I could hear your squirming from half way across campus. Settle down or get out, you're disturbing my sleep."

"...Sorry." Your throat twinges with the faint reminder of how you got to sleep in the dorm room of Leona Kingscholar in the first place.

After being so rudely ejected from your beloved Ramshackle home on such short notice, possible sleeping arrangements were few and far between. Now, you could've taken Ace and Deuce up on their offer, but Jack was... he was Jack. And only Jack could convince you to stay in Savanaclaw. But, then Leona had to come and say no, and then you panicked cause you saw yourself and Grim on the street. And that panic plus the sleep deprivation from finals lead you to perform your own rendition of "Cotton Eye Joe" outside his bedroom out of sheer desperation.

You didn't even get to the second verse before he bodily dragged you inside with a growl that had you accepting death like an unspoken principle.

The room was once again blanketed in a thick silence. Grim, who slept by your feet, didn't even make a peep. Banging those pots around while providing you backing vocals must've taken it out of him. Poor guy. Out of anyone in this room, he's the one you'd feel the most bad for disturbing.

So, with a sigh, you accept your fate and get up from your collection of floor blankets. Your destination being one of the Savanaclaw couches.

You knew your mind, you wouldn't be sleeping for a while. There was just... too much. Azul and his contracts, Jade and Floyd and their sharp teeth, Leona and his eyes. The ones that once looked at you like you were vermin to crush through the haze of a raging sandstorm. While Ruggie batted and kicked and cried for breath. And you swore his eyes had glazed over as he fell limp and━

"Hey."

You stop, both bodily and mentally, as his voice once again breaks the silence. There's a cold sweat you didn't notice gathering on your back. You turn to find him staring at you with those same green eyes. You can't tell if he's searching for something in you or debating heavily with himself. But, whatever it is, it isn't for long before he seems to come to a conclusion with a rumbling sigh.

"Come here."

What. "What."

"You heard me, come here."

To say you were conflicted would be the understatement of the century. You had just been spiraling not even 30 seconds ago and now the object of your trauma was beckoning you closer like the parent to your distressed child.

"I don't have all day, herbivore. You coming or not?"

"...It's night."

"..."

"Just get over here before I change my mind."

"Right."

He heaves another grumbling sigh as you shuffle across the room. Stood next to his bed gives you a view reminiscent of that time in the greenhouse. Him, splayed across his bed, hair cascading over his pillows. While you're stock still and more than a bit puzzled and kind of scared. Even though you're looking down on him, you don't feel like you have the advantage that you should. He looks almost too calm, too relaxed. Like he's assured of a victory yet to come.

That thought sends a chill up your spine, reminding you of the sweat that persists on your back.

"Well?" He raises a brow expectantly.

You blink, "well, what?"

"Are you laying down or what?"

"...Am I laying down or what?"

"Need me to spell it out for you? Or should I help you into bed?"

"Not necessary."

You don't know what possesses you━whether it's self preservation or annoyance or curiosity or just straight madness━but you get in. You pull back those luxurious sheets and slide beneath them where you're immediately accosted by warmth. Heat seems to be radiating from him like a fire.

The revelation is... not an unpleasant one.

You realize he's still staring at you. But, not intently, not like he's trying to pry a secret from you. Leona never looks at anyone like he means to take their person apart. He simply observes and acknowledges, anyone and anything.

"Think you can finally go to bed and stop flopping around like a dead fish?"

"...Haven't I dealt with enough fish today? And now you bring them up in Savanaclaw of all places. Is no where safe?"

You're surprised when his brows pinch in amusement and a short but gruff chuckle leaves his lips.

"My bad then, for touching on such a tender topic."

"Yeah, your bad indeed."

No one says anything else afterward and he seems to take that as an invitation to turn onto his back. Letting out a deep breath through his nose while nestling an arm behind his head, eyes sliding shut.

Somewhere between you climbing into his bed and him settling down to sleep, the sweat has cooled off your skin. Not to mention the sudden heaviness dragging at your eyelids. Seems that you would be able to sleep some after all.

You turn away and towards the open balcony, towards the spot where you had once laid and Grim continues to snooze. The moon lights up the room, and though it's not the sun, it still feels just as warm somehow.

Speaking of warm, there's a heater pressed to your back. Scratch that, Leona is pressed to your back. And that's his arm, sliding over your hip and resting draped over your side.

It feels like the world hiccups when you feel his next breath puff against your hair. But, surprisingly enough, you're not shaking in your metaphorical boots. Just... very confused, once again.

"...Is this supposed to be punishment for 'Cotton Eye Joe?'"

He says nothing at first, and you begin to fear for your safety before he eventually does.

"Whatever helps put you to bed faster."

That arm over your side moves before you feel his hand settle atop your collarbone. Those same hands that had once brought ruin and pain were now just a small brush away from your neck.

This should terrify you, but it doesn't. Because he's gentle in this moment. His arm isn't an insistent press, it's a steady weight. His hand isn't a branding clasp, it's a soft touch.

There are words left unsaid between you two that his body seems to carry instead. And you drift off with the feeling of his tail draping over your ankles beneath the sheets.

#i guess i have somehow made this into a series #is it possible to get high off positive response? cause that's how i churned out another fic so soon #i listened to haunted by beyonce while writing this fyi #anyway good eats everyone #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst scenarios #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #alice writes twst

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raven-dor · 4 months ago

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you are my moonlight

In which gwayne hightower meets his future wife, and his timing is most unfortunate

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, friends fighting, creepy viserys, horrible timing

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

AN: this could be read as a prequel to come back to me, but does NOT have to be read to understand any context!!

The tourney was in full swing, Y/N sitting eagerly on Rhaenyra’s left. The first two matches had finished rather similarly, with Sir Criston Cole being the winner. What the trio was actually waiting for was Prince Daemon’s match. It was all Rhaenyra had talked about for days and the fact that he’d gifted her a necklace of Valyrian steel, a rare and precious token that many in the realm could not afford. Of course, Rhaenyra and her family were the exception, as they were one of two of the only remaining High Valyrian houses left.

The knights of the realm lined up before the Prince, the Master of Revels, announced the man himself. “Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent.” The prince rode down the line, inspecting each knight briefly. He quickly settled on Alicent’s brother, Ser Gwayne. “For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.”

Alicent grew restless, picking at the skin surrounding her fingers. Y/N wished she could comfort the auburn haired girl herself, but Rhaenyra grabbed her friend's hand quickly, stopping her from further injury. The two men lined up on their respective sides, racing towards each other.

Ser Gwayne released the first blow to the shock of the stands. Y/N beamed, though she did not know why. She hardly knew the knight, only hearing of him through Alicent when she recalled her childhood. The second round was quick, and at the last second, Prince Daemon lowered his joust in front of the horse's legs, causing it to topple over, taking Ser Gwayne with it. She gasped, a hand covering her mouth. She mumbled, knowing Rhaenyra would not stand for any untoward talk of her uncle. “By the seven.”

Ser Gwayne did not move, and Alicent grew more anxious by the second. Y/N reached her hand out, grasping Alicent's briefly. “He will be alright, Alicent, I know it.” The squires lifted him from the ground, walking him over to the medicine tent. He would be transported later to the sept, Y/N assumed. She would have to visit him and keep him company while he recovered.

Prince Daemon approached the Royal apartment, and Rhaenyra instantly approached her uncle. “Nicely done, Uncle.” Alicent and Y/N followed suit, still squeamish from the clearly immoral act.

“Thank you, Princess.” Daemon nodded his head. “Lady Y/N.”

“My Prince.”

He turned to Alicent. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.” Alicent walked away, and Daemon smiled once more at the ward of the crown. “Next tourney, my lady, I shall ask you.”

Y/N laughed. “I look forward to that day, my Prince.”

Alicent returned swiftly, placing her favor on the Prince’s joust. “Good luck, my Prince.” The three girls sat down, waving at the crowd. The tourney had turned sour near after, with three fights breaking out, all ending in death. The knights, who had never seen battle, were bloodthirsty from what she could tell.

Y/N grew nauseous quickly, begging Rhaenyra for pardon so that she did not grow sick. Rushing out of the royal apartment, she decided to visit Ser Gwayne while she still had the nerve. The tent was quiet, with the exception of a few masters concocting ointments. Y/N peaked around the corner, coming face to face with Alicent’s brother. She curtsied, bowing her head. “My lord.” He tried to sit up, but she quickly stopped him. “Please, there is no need to further harm yourself.”

He smiled gratefully. “I must ask for your forgiveness, my lady; I do not remember meeting you.”

“I am Y/N of House Hawthorne. A ward of the crown and a friend of your sister’s.”

“A pleasure, my lady.” He tilted his head. “Has she sent you here then?”

“Alicent remains at the tourney. I-” She blushed, realizing how foolish it sounded. “I saw your joust, and I wanted to see that you were well. For Alicent’s sake.”

He nodded, a smirk growing on his lips. “For Alicent, of course. I must say, I have not heard of House Hawthorne.” She smiled, sitting beside him.

“We are located in the Westerlands, my lord, and are sworn to House Lannister.” She looked closer at his wound, wincing. “Your wound looks rather agitated still. Would you mind if I-”

He shook his head quickly. “Please. I would be most appreciative.”

She stood, sneaking a cloth and an herb she knew caused numbing. Wrapping it carefully, she dipped the cloth in water, tapping it lightly on his skin. “This should numb the pain, for now, my lord. I’ve known this herb to speed the healing process along quite nicely.”

He hummed, closing his eyes. “How did you become so well acquainted with such knowledge?”

“My mother was a trained healer, my lord.”

“Please call me Gwayne.” He peeked through his eyelids, giving her a kind smile. “You’ve all but earned it.”

“Very well, my lo- Gwayne.” She nodded. “If I can call you by your name, it is only fair that you call me by mine.”

He scoffed. “Hardly. That would be highly improper.”

She raised an eyebrow, still delicately tapping the cloth. “Opposed to what you have asked of me?”

He nodded, steadfast. “You are a lady. You should be addressed as such.”

Dipping the cloth back in the water, she laughed. “Hardly.”

“Using my own words against me.” He laughed back. “My, you are a wonder.”

“Y/N?”

She froze, turning around quickly. For some reason Y/N felt guilty, caught even. But seeing Alicent stand at the end of her brother’s bed, her face as pale as the winter snow, made the girl forget her worries. Y/N dropped the cloth in the bowl, rushing to Alicent’s side. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“The Queen. She’s-” Alicent leaned closer, whispering in her friend's ear. “She’s dead.” Y/N gasped.

“I-” Y/N turned back to Gwayne, waving quickly. “It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, my lord.” The two girls rushed off, leaving the knight thoroughly confused.

“Call me-” The girl was out of the tent before he could finish his sentence.

The funeral was a somber affair, as to be expected. Alicent and Y/N stood close by to Rhaenyra, staring at the covered bodies. Syrax, the Princess’s dragon, stood at the top of the hill, waiting for its orders. They stood in silence for the better part of an hour before Prince Daemon whispered in Rhaenyra’s ear, no doubt telling her that she would have to be the one to give the order.

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine as her friend stepped forward, catching a sob. “D-” Rhaenyra took a deep breath, commanding her dragon. “Dracarys.”

The yellow fury let out a great blast, effectively burning her mother and brother’s corpses. Rhaenyra turned away, unable to look at her deceased loved ones. Soon after, the crowd dissipated, leaving Rhaenyra, Y/N, and Alicent still standing by the sight. Y/N stayed back as Alicent approached their grieving friend.

“My lady.”

Y/N turned, smiling lightly at the Hightower. “My lord.”

“I believe last we met, I asked you to call me by my name.” He smirked. “Or am I mistaken?”

She laughed quietly. “I believe the herb I applied made you hallucinate, my lord. You never said anything of the sort.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you would never lie to me, so I shall take your word for it.”

Y/N looked back at her friends, her heart aching.

“She is an unlucky Princess,” Gwayne muttered.

“Yes, indeed. Losing a parent is never easy.”

“I am sorry.” Y/N turned back to the young knight, confusion etched on her face. “It is just- I assumed that with you being a ward of the crown-”

“You would be correct. But it has been so long, I hardly remember what it was like to have parents.”

He frowned. “That is horrible. I lost my own mother just a year ago.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she tried to ignore the shock that rang through her body. “It is never easy.”

She shook her head, placing a hand delicately over his. “You are, unfortunately, correct.”

A cough broke the pair apart, Y/N practically jumping at the interruption. “I could use some company on Dragonback.” Rhaenyra practically whispered. “Would you join me?”

“Of course.” She turned back to Gwayne, curtsying quickly. “My lord.”

The two girls walked up the hill, arm in arm. Alicent looked curiously at her brother. “What are you doing?”

He whipped around, laughing at his sister. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I only meant to say, you’ve taken a recent fascination in Y/N.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And your point?”

Alicent smiled, shaking her head. “Merely a statement, brother.”

The palace gardens were in full bloom this time of year, and Y/N always found comfort in the little corner with a quaint fountain and an outlook of the ocean. Rhaenyra and she frequented this spot often in their youth, and Y/N needed respite from the high tensions at court. She’d been stuck on the same page for what seemed like hours when a voice broke through her focus. “We meet again.” Gwayne bowed his head, grinning much too widely. “My lady.”

Y/N made no effort to stand, raising her eyebrows. “I am beginning to think, my lord, that you have been following me.”

“Not that I am…” He started, sitting at the end of the cushioned chair that she occupied. “But if I was, it might have something to do with the fact that you are still not calling me by my name.”

She laughed. “Is it that simple?”

He nodded. “Quite. But do not worry yourself, I’ll wait.” His eyes sparkled. “My lady.”

Y/N welcomed the challenge; she could sit there for hours, reading and ignoring the handsome knight. She glanced down at her book, ignoring his devilishly handsome smile. “You’ve read that page three times already.” She glared over the top, and he held his hands up in surrender, laughing. “Sorry.”

She looked back down, flipping the page to prove a point. He sighed, standing and walking over to the daisies that bordered the fountain. Picking the fullest one he could find, he stopped in front of the girl, holding it out. “May I?”

“I will not wilt at the sight of you because you are a lord.” She stood, closing her book. “I am not a flower like the thing you hold in your hand.”

He nodded. “You are not.” He raised the daisy, tucking it behind her ear. “You are however, as pretty as one.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she murmured. “You flatter me, my lord.”

“And why shouldn’t I? One should always flatter a beautiful woman when given the chance.” He smiled. “I believe calling me by my name shall suffice as thanks.”

She scoffed, smacking his chest lightly. “You are quite confident, Gwayne.”

“You’ll find-” He stopped, his smile brightening ten fold. “You said my name.”

Y/N nodded, walking away. “I did.”

He followed after, like a lost puppy. “What shall you do with the rest of your day, I wonder?”

She shrugged. “I do not know, but it will most certainly be out of your presence.”

He gasped, holding his chest. “You hurt my heart when you say such things.”

She laughed, stopping and pretending to check him over. “However will you survive?”

“I think it is terminal my lady.”

“And what affliction have you caught, Ser Gwayne?” Y/N forced a giggle back, trying her hardest to behave seriously.

“Lovesickness.” He sighed. “I’m afraid there is no cure.”

She stepped closer, a pink dusting her cheeks. “I shall mourn you then.”

“Well, I’m sure we could-”

“Y/N!”

Gwayne had never hated the Princess Rhaenyra more in his life than that moment. She was a generally tolerable girl, and a good friend to his sister, but in that moment she stood between him and you, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her to leave. He stepped away from you hesitantly, bowing quickly. “Princess.”

The Targaryen made no effort to hide her humor at the situation. “I apoligize for the intrusion. Alicent and I were about to go to the Sept, and I did not want you to think we left you behind.”

Y/N smiled brightly, waving disapointedly to the knight. “Feel better, my lord.”

Alicent tilted her head, yelling back at her brother. “Better? Are you quite well brother?”

Y/N yet again found herself in the gardens, but this time she was here for the soul purpose of seeing Gwayne. She wore her best dress, had her maid’s put her hair up intricately, and even applied some rouge. Not too much, she wouldn’t want people to think the wrong thing. She was a lady, as Gwayne never ceased to remind her. Sitting carefully on the cushioned chair, she positioned herself towards the entrance, waiting for the familiar mop of auburn hair to peek through. She’d begun to think he wouldn’t show when his familiar tenor broke through the tranquil silence.

“My lady, I thought I would find you here.” She lowered the book, her stomach fluttering when his eyes widened slightly. “You look-”

“Gwayne, I-” They both stopped, laughing at their ill timed words. “It seems that we cannot find a moment of peace.”

He nodded, breaking the distance between them. “I have wanted to tell you something for quite some time now. I cannot seem to summon the words to leave me.” He laughed, but his nerves were evident. “It is just…”

“Yes?” Y/N smiled, hating how nauseous she felt.

“I wanted to say that-”

A loud sob rang through the garden, pulling them out of their haze. Gwayne drew his sword, in case the sob resulted in any trouble. Y/N tried to round the corner before him, but he shook his head, leading her carefully through the hedges.

“Rhaenyra?” Y/N quickly left her place behind Gwayne, rushing to her friends side. “Are you alright?”

“She’s betrayed me. I cannot- I can’t-” The princess looked up, glaring at the knight. “Can we go some place else?”

Y/N nodded, her face visibly disappointed. She walked Rhaenyra out of the gardens, sparing Gwayne one last look, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry.’

The castle had been throw off it’s axis by the sudden shift within it’s walls. Rhaenyra was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant Y/N was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant that the once close knit group of friends were no longer a trio.

It had been that way since they were children, almost ten years ago. Y/N not speaking to Alicent meant she could not speak to Gwayne, or so she assumed. She and Rhaenyra had not talked about it much since the day it was announced, always leaving a sour taste in the Princess’s mouth.

Y/N just wished Rhaenyra could forgive her friend for something she had no control over. The Royal Wedding was tonight, and Rhaenyra had insisted that Y/N walk in with the princess, even though she wasn’t family. When Y/N brought this up, her friend scolded her, saying that ‘My father has insisted, I’m afraid. You are his ward, and he has grown to think of you as his own.’

Now, she sat beside Rhaenyra while the ceremony took place, sneaking glances at the brides brother. Rhaenyra had picked out Y/N's dress herself, saying that she needed something worthy of a princess. She was not one to argue and let the Princess do whatever she wanted as long as she was distracted from the day at hand.

Arm in arm with the Princess, she dreaded when they finally reached the hall and had to congratulate the ‘happy’ couple. Poor Alicent, married at fifteen, was not something she wished on her worst enemy. Especially to a man twenty years your senior. The doors opened wide, the crowd quieting at the sight of the princess and her companion. Among that crowd was Gwayne, staring at her with desperate eyes.

Her cheeks turned pink, quickly breaking the contact. Chatter quickly filled the hall once more as Rhaenyra reached the top of the steps, curtsying quickly. “Congratulations, step-mother. Father.”

Y/N shivered. Rhaenyra's tone was as cold as the Wall. She wanted to curse her friend for making her go after that display. She sunk to the floor, bowing her head. “Many happy returns, My Queen, My King.”

Viserys smiled gratefully. “Thank you Y/N. You have been a loyal friend to my daughter and wife. I shall not forget it.”

The young girl nodded, equally disgusted and horrified at what the king had just said. Surely he realized how immoral it was. “Of course Your Grace. I live to serve and provide assistance to my Princess.”

She released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, sitting down beside Rhaenyra. “Could you at least have tried to be nice?”

“I was.” The princess raised an eyebrow, and Y/N almost laughed, realizing her friend was being serious.

“Of course. A jest, my lady.”

Rhaenyra laughed. “So formal.”

“We are at a wedding, Rhaenyra. It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything other than my lady, by the court's standards.”

“Well I am the princess, and I say you call me Rhaenyra.”

“Very well.” Y/N smiled, taking a large sip of her wine. “This will be an entertaining night.”

Besides the occasional snide comment thrown at the obviously overwhelmed bride, the night had been otherwise peaceful. Y/N tried her best to sway Rhaenyra from attacking the queen outright, and she’d been successful. So far. She’d been in the middle of listening to Rhaenyra’s adventure of gathering the stolen dragon egg from her uncle when a cough interrupted.

“Excuse me, Princess.” The pair turned around to see Gwayne staring at Y/N not Rhaenyra. Odd. He had addressed Rhaenyra, not her. “May I ask the Lady for a dance?”

Y/N widened her eyes, looking in between the two. She was sure Rhaenyra would say no or burst out in flames from having to talk to Alicent’s brother, but she simply nodded her head, going back to her meal. Gwayne extended his hand, leading her to the dancefloor. He whispered as they moved, keeping in mind the intruding ears that surrounded them. “I have missed your company, my lady.”

“I have missed yours as well.”

“I know much has happened since we last spoke, but it has not deterred me. If anything, it has made me realize that I cannot stand to be apart from you.” Her cheeks turned pink for the second time that night.

“You are very kind, Gwayne.”

“Yes, well, it is not hard when you are the one I compliment.” He shook his head. “I am returning to Old Town soon. In two weeks time, after my sister settles into her new life.”

Her heart fell, eyes watering. “I hope your journey is swift.” She gulped, mumbling. “I shall miss you in truth.”

He tilted his head, smiling. If she were not in a public place, she would admonish him for smiling at her pain. “What I mean to say is, I am infatuated with you. And I would like to seek your hand in marriage. From the king of course.”

She gasped, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”

“I would like to marry you.” He spoke softly, now fully grinning. “If you would have me. You do not have to say yes, but I assure you, your affection for me will grow with time.”

“With time? Gwayne, I-” Y/N whispered so quietly she wasn’t even sure she’d spoken. “I have already grown to admire you. Much more than a friend should. That is no concern of mine.”

“Ah.” The knight nodded. “Well, that settles it then.”

“Settles what?”

“We are to be married.”

“Yes, well…” She sighed. “You cannot propose to me at your sister’s wedding. It would be improper.”

“Damn impropriety.” He hissed, twirling you as the dance required. “Praytell, when would be a proper time then?”

“Any other day, my love.”

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, her face growing red. “Gwayne people are looking.”

He seemingly did not hear her. “My love.”

“If you are going to tease me-”

“You called me, my love.”

“Gwayne…” She whined, gesturing to the prying eyes. “Can we please leave the floor? People will start to wonder…”

“I desperately want to kiss you.”

Thank the Seven the dance ended then. She bowed quickly. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.” Rushing back to her seat, she stared at the table, shock running through her veins.

“Did he propose then?”

Y/N whipped her head over, glaring at her friend. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. Y/N, I’ve known he was going to propose since I saw him approach you at my mother’s funeral.”

“Rhaenyra, I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t want you to feel betrayed. I had no intention of-”

“Do not apoligize to me.” She placed her hand in Y/N's. “You are my friend. I am happy for you, truly. He is a good man, he will treat you well. I know it.”

“I haven’t said yes, Rhaenyra.”

“Yet.” Her friend laughed. “You haven’t said yes, yet.”

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #team black #team green #alicent hightower #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #x reader #fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #fluff #hotd fluff #literature

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lordprettyflackotara · 7 months ago

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fill the void || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+

It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.

Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.

But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.

It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.

Yuck.

“Am I interrupting?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?

“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.

You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.

“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i’m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.

Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.

“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.

Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.

“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.

So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.

You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.

“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.

The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.

“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.

His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.

“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.

“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.

“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.

“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.

He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.

“Hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”

“Shut up Weasley.”

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley #george weasly x reader #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley #weasley twins smut #fred weasley x oc #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter smut

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bunnys-kisses · 4 months ago

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Can I please get a tiramisu with a side of champagne with an innocent reader and Lando Norris, please. 🙏

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? read the menu! i love the idea of an innocent!reader, that's so cute. with a sugar daddy!lando!! i imagine him being so sweet but then being a little devil in the bedroom! i hope you love this <3

tiramisu ("my little slut to ruin") + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by lando norris (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, fluff, dom!lando, mean!lando (in the bedroom), doggy style, dirty talk (a little degrading), innocent!reader, big dick!lando

lando didn't like the word "sugar daddy", because that implied he was paying you for sex. in all honesty, he felt nervous the first time he had sex with you.

you were a virgin, and he was taking your virginity. not that he really put much stock in the concept of virginity, but he didn't want to ruin your first time. he remembered that he fingered you for what felt like hours because he didn't want to bruise you.

when he did that he said to you, "i know this is stupid to say. but, i'm sorry for having a big cock." he made sure that you were comfortable before he (gently) fucked you. he remembered anxiously waiting while you basked in the after glow of orgasm to get a rating of his performance.

(you gave it 10/10!, even if you were a little sore the next morning)

since then you had grown into knowing what you like and don't like. you were curious as you never had a partner prior and through trial, error and the usage of safe words. you both figured out what you both liked.

lando didn't like slapping you, unless it was on your ass. you didn't like having you hair pulled. you both liked lando ran his mouth, even when his words got more depraved. lando liked when you called him daddy and you liked when he wrapped both arms around you when he took you doggy style. and you both liked after care, regardless of how intense the situation got. you both found comfort in holding one another as you settled down.

so was it really paying for sex if you were both getting off to it and had an open conversation? probably not!

you two had come back from a day of shopping. when most thought about a sugar baby spending their daddy's money. it mostly meant expensive items like diamonds and gold.

but not you. when you were picking up a bulk pack of cotton panties and winced at the price (under 8€), while lando sent you back into the store to get a second pack.

"it's fine, my love." he said as he gave you cheek a little pinch, "they're cute. they have flowers on them." and then scanned the rest of your items when you were away. you were a terrible sugar baby in that regard.

he one time found you cutting out a coupon from the cereal box and when he asked you what was going on. you said, "save us 2 euros." as you cut up the cardboard.

lando found it endearing. you clearly knew how much he was making a year, he could afford spending the extra 2 euros on cereal. but, you wanted to earn your keep.

you put the reusable bag in the bedroom before you got out of your clothes for the day. which meant padding around in a baggy t-shirt and sleeping shorts. you had socks on that were pulled up to your calves, they were a little bit big on you which made you think they were landos.

but they were very comfy as you went back to the couch. you sat down and lando threw an arm around you. he had taken one of the popsicles you bought on your last shopping trip and when you sat beside him, he pointed it towards you..

you leaned over and put your mouth around it, you made a sweet noise at the coolness on your tongue. it was very erotic. you looked up at him and gave the icy treat another lick.

sometimes lando forgot how innocent you were. you didn't know what you were doing when you pulled away and giggled.

"that was really good." you said, "can i have some more?" before he could respond, you happily ate some more of it.

when you pulled away, you could see lando swallow. you asked, "is everything okay, lando?"

he leaned in and pressed a kiss on your lips. the kiss was a big hungry as he felt his cock stir in his pants. when he pulled away, "finish it."

you took it from him, but when you did. he snaked his hand down the front of your shorts and he invaded your space. you yelped a little but moaned when you felt his fingers grazed across your pussy.

you quickly ate the sweet treat before lando took the stick and tossed it over his shoulder before be pulled him into a tight kiss. his fingers continued to play with your pussy.

"you're my good girl, right? my little slut to ruin?" he asked to test the waters if you wanted to go forward with it. he could feel his erection in his loose shorts.

you looked very hot pressed against the leather couch. you nodded, "i'm always a good girl for you, daddy." when lando gave you room, you quickly made your way to the bedroom.

lando thought you were painfully innocent sometimes. the idea that he was teaching you how to make yourself feel good made pride surge in him. it was so cute watching your little behind as you made your way to the bedroom.

he practically tackled you to the bed and rubbed his aching clothed erection against your ass as he palmed your breasts through your shirt, his nose was in your hair.

"daddy!" you yelped.

"you're so good for me. i've taught you how to feel good." he groaned as he continued to rub up against you, "i still have so much to teach you, poor thing can't take all of my cock down her pretty throat. maybe i'll get you a nice pink collar when i train you."

you whined, your panties felt soaked by his closeness to you. his hefty words in your ears as you wiggled under him. you soon felt his hands go to the waistband on your shorts and yank them down.

he continued to rub his cock up against your panty clad ass, he needed his baby girl. it wasn't fair that there were still so many layers on you.

he gave you a little room and watched you undress as he did the same. he stood there, beautiful as ever with his hard cock on full display. once you were naked, he got back onto the bed as rubbed his cock up against your cute little hole.

"you're so pretty like this. on your hands and knees, shiny hole for me." he groaned as he guided his cock into your pussy, bottoming out into you. he held onto your hips and started to thrust.

it was true, you were painfully cute. the perfect baby girl for him, even if he couldn't have sex with you. being around you and your sweetness was more than enough for him.

once he got a steady pace, he then wrapped his arms around you middle as he moved against you. he pressed his cheek up against your back as he rutted against you. the slick sounds of sex paired with your noises filled the room.

lando whispered praises into your skin as he moved. his cock felt so good inside of you, his breathing was heavy as he kept his pace fast. he felt the roll of pleasure in his body and he groaned heavily against you.

his cock throbbed inside of you. your cunt felt like a dream. it made him hot all over. you were painfully cute, even when you were being split by his impressive size.

"please, daddy. that feels so good." you whined as you arched your back. you could feel the pull of him in your stomach. your brain felt mushy, fueled by pleasure as he moved against you.

lando groaned against your skin, "you're the perfect girl for me. i lucked out, fuck. you're so good for me. clipping coupons and letting me fuck your sweet pussy. i lucked out." he kissed your heated flesh.

"please daddy."

"don't worry. i'm not goin' anywhere. i'm not leaving behind something so perfect." he kissed then at your cheek and rested his chin on your shoulder as he fucked you heavily.

his words made you hot all over, he watched you claw at the covers as he continued to thrust into you. he could feel the sweat down his neck as he continued to move.

the pleasure swirled through him as he moved. it all felt so good, it made him painfully hard. your combined noises made him shudder, he knew he wasn't going to last long. and neither were you.

you quickly came with your head in the sheets, your back arched further. you felt your heartbeat in your ears as he continued to fuck you. it was a erotic sight, the two of you fucking in the comfort of your own home.

"my precious girl."

"mmm, daddy." you whined, basking in the post orgasmic feeling.

he clenched onto you and finished inside of you with a hard thrust. he'd make sure you weren't in pain by tomorrow. he slowed down his pace to a still before he kissed the back of your head and whispered that he loved you.

you laid flat on the bed and found comfort in the soft covers as you panted heavily. lando then curled you up in his arms. he spooned you from behind as he kissed at your neck. you were so painfully cute, even when blissed out from the intensity of sex. he kissed at the shell of your ear gently.

"how was that? did i hurt you?"

you held onto his forearms as he held you and replied, "no, no. everything is perfect." you pressed your back further up against you and smiled softly, "you spoil me."

he chuckled and gave you another kiss on the neck, "always. i'll always spoil my baby." he squeezed you a little tighter. that was a promise to you.

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luveline · 5 months ago

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Hi, love! Hope you’re well <3

Could we perhaps have some more single dad Spencer? I miss him and Amanda so much

tysm lovely❤️❤️ —Spencer misses you when he’s not working, so Amy tries to fix that. fem, 1.8k

Spencer thinks about quitting the BAU, sometimes. It was all he ever knew how to do for a long, long time, and the work is important. He’s not too shy to say they need him.

When someone else needs you more, you start to wonder if work is all there is.

“And… kiss!”

Spencer scrunches his eyes closed as Amy leans across to kiss his cheek. She’s decided that every time they finish a drawing, they should kiss. Spencer’s enjoying it very much.

“Good job,” he says, “that was your best one yet.”

“I’m getting good at bugs.”

To their left, they have opened a huge copy of The Modern Encyclopaedia of Bugs: Insects, Arachnids, and Myriapods. Spencer has purchased many, many books in his life, and this was somehow the fifth most expensive, but it’s worth it, because it’s what Amy likes. She loves laying down on her stomach with a pack of art crayons and drawing the intricate details of each creature. She is, as she said, getting very good at bugs.

“I meant the kiss,” he says, leaning forward to tuck her hair behind her ears, mousy brown like his, twice as soft. “But the drawings are amazing every time.”

“If I… if I draw this one for Y/N, do you think she’ll like it?”

“She loves everything you draw her, baby,” he says softly, stroking another stray hair behind her ears. If she wasn’t so busy colouring the leg of a spider in concentrated strokes, he’d pull her into his lap for a cuddle.

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re my baby,” he says, and she is. Spencer Reid has a kid. Who’d ever think it?

The older she gets the more right it feels. He’s a dad. He was always meant to be one to Amy.

“Amy, can I have a cuddle, please?” he asks softly. It’s fine if she says no.

She throws her nice crayons down immediately. Usually he wouldn’t say anything, but they’re a gift from his mom, so he says, “Be gentle with your things,” as she climbs over her paper pad and the encyclopaedia to land in his lap.

“So they’ll last longer,” she says.

He wraps his arms around her in a solid hug. “Exactly. The kinder we are to our stuff, the longer it lasts. That’s why–”

“Why you’re nice to your body,” she finishes for him. “Dad, I know.”

“You know everything.” He closes his eyes and breathes her in. Amy’s hair smells like lavender kids shampoo, her clothes like detergent. They stood in the softener aisle and Spencer, on his knees to match her height, took down bottles for them to smell the caps one at a time until they found the best one, settling on apple blossom and jasmine. “You smell nummy.”

Amy rubs her face into his chest. “What do I smell like?”

“Really clean.”

“So when I’m dirty, I smell yucky.”

“You don’t ever smell yucky,” he mumbles, relishing the weight of her in his arms. “Oooh,” —he grabs her under the arms and ushers her right into his neck— “my Amy, I’m so happy to be home. I missed you sooo much this week.”

“But you’re home next week.”

Spencer has started consulting more and going on cases less. He’s glad to do it, he can afford it, and Amy will never be any younger. He’s never been happier balancing work and family, except…

He used to see you everyday. It’s fine, he’ll choose Amy every time, but he wishes he didn’t have to, because he’s starting to miss you too.

“I’m home,” he says. “For the next sixteen days. Maybe longer, if they don’t need me then. Hey, tonight, I was thinking we’d go swimming.”

Amy makes a strange noise. “Um, well maybe not tonight.”

“Are you kidding? You love swimming.”

“I know, but I don’t want to go tonight.”

“Why not, angel? We can get your pool noodle and the paddle boards.” He lets his nose wrinkle. “Is it your swimsuit? I guess we haven’t got a new one in a long time. We can go shopping first. We can go now, if you want to.”

“Daddy, I asked Y/N to come over.”

Spencer laughs. “What?”

“I texted her.”

Spencer realises she isn’t joking and holds her away from him. “You what?”

“You left your phone in the bathroom,” she says defensively, her eyes on his shirt, “and I was washing my hands and it was boring and I thought you maybe missed her.”

“How could you know that?” Spencer asks.

“Because you talk about her lots, dad.” She shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry! No, no, it’s okay, it’s nice of you to think about me. That’s really kind.” Still, his stomach hurts thinking about it. “Did she… text you back?”

“She said she’s coming over.”

“She did?” Spencer asks. “Did she say when?”

“She said five thirty.”

Spencer checks his watch and feels his heart drop. “Oh my god.” He gets up with Amy in his arms, rushing to the mirror to see them both in their pajama’d disarray. “Oh my god! We need to get dressed. Amy, we need to brush our hair.”

Spencer panics harder than he needs to, but seeing you in fifteen minutes when he thought he might not for another two weeks is stressful. He decides Amy will have to wear new pyjamas, that he’s going to have to put on jeans, and that both of them could have used a shower to tame the mess of their hair, his curly, hers fine. He sprays hers with detangler generously, brushes gently, and plops her in front of the air conditioning unit plugged into the window to dry. He’s barely raked a hand through his own hair when the door is being knocked.

He can’t help squinting unhappily at Amy. She’s totally set him up.

She smiles back, and he feels awful for not smiling too.

“Amy, can you give me more warning next time?” he asks, crossing their living room to the front door.

She smiles wider. “Yes!”

“Okay, thank you.”

He thinks, Ouch, I’m not very nice, then thinks Why would she do this to me? before settling on, Everything's okay. Amy didn’t really do anything wrong, Spencer isn’t mad at her, and you’re waiting on the other side of the door to see them.

You smile on the stoop —how lucky is Spencer to have all these pretty girls smiling at him?— and adjust your bag over your shoulder, the cloth tote bag hooked on your elbow slipping and sliding with a rustle.

“Hello!” you say. “Where’s the little lady?”

“Hello!” Amy calls. “I’m by the air conditioner trying to get dry!”

Spencer lets you in. You nod your head gratefully and put your bags on the sideboard, dumping your keys in the bowl beside his, and offering your now empty arms for a hug. “Hello,” you say, “you smell good.”

Spencer panics. “You smell good.” Your arrival has brought the smell of Chinese food, and your jacket smells like perfume.

“Dad says I smell good too.”

You part from Spencer gently to bend down, meeting Amy at her height, arms out to offer a hug. “I bet you do. Hi, lovely girl, I haven’t seen you in too long.”

You lean into her with care. Spencer suspects you think she’s much more breakable than she is, but you’re sweet about it regardless, giving her back a good rub and humming happily when she hugs you back. She’s way less careful.

“Don’t strangle her, Amy.”

You pretend to choke. Amy laughs like a fiend.

“I missed you,” Amy says.

“Oh, sweetheart, I missed you too.” Spencer knows how good that must feel. “Can I get a good look at you?”

Amy springs away to pose. Her damp hair kisses her shoulders, her pants hide her dirtied socks. Spencer forgets that he wants to impress you and instead sees how cute she is, laughing to himself as she does a swift spin and slips into the side of the couch.

“Spence, she looks so much like you,” you say, grinning. “Don’t you think so?” You catch Amy’s eye. “You’re gorgeous! Can I see another one of those spins?”

Amy spins. You nudge Spencer in the hip. “I brought dinner like you asked.”

Spencer covers his face. “Was I polite?” he asks cautiously.

“You said can I please have my favourite Chinese food and can I please have a soda,” you say, laughing, so at least it’s clear who was really texting you, “so yes, you were very polite.”

“I don’t know what got into me.”

“Guess you really, really, really missed me or something.”

He loves Amy, and he wishes the wood floors beneath you would eat him whole; while it may be obvious that Amy’s posed as her father on the phone, it’s also clear that you, as a profiler, seem to have made assumptions as to why Amy would text you in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you say, watching Amy as she races to her sketching papers and the encyclopaedia, “I really, really, really missed you too. Even though it’s only been two days. Did you get taller?”

“No.” He gets the distinct sense that he’s getting flirted with, but he also doesn’t understand the compliment. “Same height, why?”

“Feel like this is taking much more effort than usual,” you say, your hand on his shoulder as you lift your chin to kiss his cheek.

Spencer follows you on instinct, not to kiss you or anything, but your elbow in his hand, almost begging for another.

“Oh, no,” Amy says.

Spencer feels your elbow but remembers himself, and raises his head. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, scouring her for injuries where she stands in front of you both, her drawing in hand.

“Now you gave Y/N cooties.”

Spencer blushes worse. “Oh, I didn’t kiss her! And I don’t have cooties, do I? I give you kisses all the time!”

“You’re my dad,” she says. “But you’re a boy.”

You pat him on his warm cheek. “He’s a boy, sure, but he’s not gonna give me cooties, don’t worry. I’m not here to see daddy, anyways,” you say, though your hand on his shoulder rubbing softly hints otherwise, “I’m here to see you. Let’s have our spring rolls before they get soggy, yes? Yum!”

Spencer wants you to stay for much more than dinner, but dinner’s a good start. He swoops Amy up to carry her to the kitchen table —she’s such a babe, she deserves princess treatment only.

“Kiss?” Amy asks.

“Thought I had cooties?” he asks.

“Daaaad. I was joking.” And she wasn’t joking, but Amy gets her kiss.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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