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romanteacism · 2 days ago

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A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: Avenging a person you abhor is quite confounding, is it not? Word Count: 6, 247 Warnings: Protective Aemond, Mentions of Violence, Bullying, Confusion

Prince Aemond passed by Lady Elinora a few times the following day. The girl completely changed as she disregarded and ignored the prince each time they passed one another. Aemond was still amused at her offense toward him. He lingered along the courtyard and saw her pass through the halls as she was on her way to the gardens to have tea with Helaena. Lady Elinora still carrying the jar that housed her rescued butterfly.

As the girl stepped into the gardens, the butterflies quickly found her, accompanying her whenever she was near flowers. “Good morrow, Princess Helaena,” Elinora greeted with a curtsy as a squire assisted her to her seat. “What is that?” Helaena questioned as she saw what Elinora was carrying. “A butterfly, princess. I’m nursing it back to health,” Elinora answered, not including the reason why the pretty insect was injured. “Oh… poor thing,” Helaena hummed and inspected the jar further. “Once, I had a spider who lost two of its legs, and my brother Aemond helped me nurse it back to health… it went to live on for two years,” The princess smiled, but Elinora tried hard to hide her frown.

Why would the prince call what she was doing ridiculous when he, too, had rescued an insect before? Could he perhaps be calling her ridiculous and not her actions? That placed a further dampness in her mood.

The two went on with their tea, with Elinora trying with all her might to forget about Prince Aemond and the offensive comment he uttered the other day, but it seemed impossible as the prince then appeared in their presence. “Brother… are you to join us?” Princess Helaena questioned, and Elinora twiddled with her hair, prying that he was only passing by.

Aemond glanced towards the girl, who did not even give him a glance, an urge to smirk in triumph overcoming him. The prince nodded and sat between the girls, who sat across from one another. There was a tense silence, and Elinora traveled her gaze to anywhere but the prince’s direction.

“I’m surprised you could join us, brother. Is it not the hour of your reading?” Princess Helaena questioned as she poured tea into her brother’s cup. Aemond hummed and shrugged, turning to Lady Elinora, who refused to meet his eye. She was the only one who could actually hold his gaze— before, everyone could not meet him in the eye, which is probably why Aemond was stunned at first, as she did not cower away from his eye. Now that she did what all others did, there was a hint of disappointment in the prince.

“I— if you would have to excuse me… I forgot that I must attend to some business my mother had ordered me earlier.” Elinora suddenly said and abruptly stood as she could not handle the prince's stare. “Thank you for tea, princess,” She smiled and curtsied before taking the jar that housed the injured butterfly into her clammy hand and hastily walking away.

Aemond raised his brow at the girl’s obvious lie. “That’s a shame,” Helaena muttered quietly and stirred the contents of her cup. Aemond could only hum as the scent of lilac and bergamot still lingered in the air.

“I’m surprised you want to watch me train… do you not detest violence, sister?” Edward questioned as he polished his sword, Elinora by his side, holding her jar as she uncharacteristically joined her brother in the tiltyard. The girl gave a small smile and shrugged, “I do not have that much to do,” she said quietly. Edward turned to her, his forest green eyes glancing at what his sister carried. “Another rescue? What happened to that one?” He questioned, used to his sister’s habit of rescuing the butterflies that had followed her ever since she was a mere tot.

“Just an injury; I’m hoping she’ll recover fully,” Elinora smiled. “And how are you so certain that it’s a female?” Her brother questioned as Elinora followed him to a sparring dummy. “Well, you see, for monarch butterflies, the males have a thinner vein pattern, while the females, like her, have more prominent and thicker veins,” Elinora informed and raised the jar to her brother’s eyes for him to see what she was referring to. Edward smiled at his sister, “What a scholar you are, sister. Very well then, why don’t you head on there with your little rescue and watch me train— would not want you to be injured as well,” Elinora was nudged towards a half wall a few meters away from her brother, and she perched herself upon it as she watched him spar.

“Do not even think of it, Aegon,” Aemond warned as he found himself venturing to tiltyard with his brother. Both of them were quick to spot Lady Elinora, who was perched atop the half wall, clutching the jar of the injured butterfly to her abdomen and her dress fluttering as she swung her legs. “There is nothing wrong in making friends, brother,” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“I agree, there is nothing wrong with making friends— but you do not see her as a friend, now do you?” Aemond questioned, and a sinister smirk rose to Aegon’s lips. “Prey— friend, they're all the same,” Aegon shrugged and moved to come closer to the girl, but his brother took hold of the color of his tunic, hindering him. “She is already Helaena’s friend,” Aemond said stoically as he glanced towards Lady Elinora, who was seemingly oblivious to all the stares she garnered from those who trained in the tiltyard. Instead, she was completely focused on the butterfly that Aemond had injured.

“She can use another friend— now, let go, you twat!” Aegon grumbled, but his younger brother only tightened his hold. “You will not come near Lady Elinora, do you understand? You have already cost our sister tens of handmaidens and companions— you will not take another from her.” Aemond bitterly and threateningly whispered in Aegon’s ear. Instead of agreeing, Aegon scoffed and dusted himself off as his brother finally let go. “What do you care anyway? What’s another lost potential friend to Helaena— she’s used to being alone,” Aegon grumbled and turned to his prey to make certain she was still there.

Aemond gritted his jaw and shook his head, refraining from giving in to his urge to turn violent against his brother. Before Prince Aegon could take another step toward the girl, his name was called. “Prince Aegon, the queen asks for you— she is in the king’s chambers.” Ser Criston then interjected. Aegon frowned and turned to Elinora once more, the small smile on her lips as she watched her brother train too irresistible for him. “Tell her I’ll be there in a moment,” Aegon distractedly muttered.

“She calls for you now— says it’s a matter of urgency.” Cole insisted, glancing towards his favored pupil, who stared harshly at his older brother. Aegon grumbled and sighed, brushing against his brother as he retreated and walked toward the direction of the king’s chambers.

“He wasn’t summoned, was he?” Aemond questioned the knight, and a small smirk came to Cole’s face, a knowing look in his eyes as Aemond looked upon Lady Elinora. A scowl presented itself on the prince’s face as he realized the look in the knight’s eyes. He was to speak, but Ser Criston spoke first. “I know… you’re not being kind— you’re not motivated by kindness,” The knight uttered as the younger prince continued to scowl at him.

Elinora hummed as she continued to watch her brother train, growing slightly bored, but luckily, Edward abruptly stopped his sparing as he noticed eyes on his sister. Knights, squires, lords, and even a prince were consistently stealing a glance in his sister’s direction. “That was quick,” Elinora remarked as her brother hastily dropped his sword and assisted her to step down from the half wall she was perched upon.

“Come, let’s get you back to your chambers,” Edward ignored his sister’s remark. “But I have nothing to do there,” She said lowly. “Then what about a round of cards?” Edward offered as they passed the prying eyes of men; Edward would surely be chastised by their parents if he did not remove his sister from such situations.

“Really?” Elinora asked in hope; she was not allowed to play cards; it was too unladylike. “We could even play for money… just don’t say a word to mother and father when I win all your pocket money again.” Edward smiled at how such a simple thing could quickly excite his sister. “That was one time! And you said you’d let me win, but you lied!” Elinora frowned slightly as her brother only laughed at her expense. Edward sighed and glanced behind him to see lords eyeing his sister as they passed. “Come on, hurry— we could at least have three rounds before supper,”

“How are you finding court?” He questioned as he laid his cards between the two of them. “It’s… different,” She said, her voice distant as she was in full focus on trying to beat her brother. “A good different?” He asked further, amused by the focused expression on Elinora’s face—how there was a slight furrow between her brows and how her tongue slightly darted out of her lips. Elinora’s past Septas tried hard for her to be rid of such habits, but they never prevailed.

“I… don’t know. I like Princess Helaena and her company very much, but the other ladies in the court do not seem to be keen on me,” Elinora admitted as she finally laid down her cards. “Hm, everyone has their own time… but what about the lords?” He slyly asked as he was quick to place down a new set of cards, Elinora sighing heavily at how good her brother was at the game. “I do not know— I am yet to interact with them.” She said in truth. “Really? What about the princes?” Edward pried further, overly concerned about how the men in court shamelessly eyed his sister as if she were prey.

“I—“ Elinora trailed as her mind conjured up her interaction with Prince Aemond. “Again, brother, I am yet to interact fully with them. They are pleasing and cordial; they greet me when I pass, but that is all.” She fibbed, chewing on her lips as she placed down her cards. “Very well then… but I urge you to tell me or mother or father when one of the lords or princes gets too close for comfort,” Edward warned, and Elinora mindlessly nodded.

When a new day broke, Elinora was predictably in the gardens again. She held on tightly to the jar that housed the butterfly she had nursed back to health, having the intention to set it free later that day so it could join its flight. Elinora was walking alone in the gardens, minding her own business, but still smiled at those who passed her.

“There’s that freak,” A court lady whispered to her group as she spotted Lady Elinora in the distance, walking along the cobblestone path. “Did you hear that Prince Aegon is intent on her being his Royal Mistress once he ascends the throne? That was supposed to be me!” A lady from house Torrent said in frustration and great jealousy. “That dirty whore! Everyone thinks she is so innocent and kind, but she’s just a devious snake in the grass!” A friend of her’s exclaimed. “Why not teach her a lesson then? Come, let us show her a proper welcome, ladies… let’s see if she’ll still be smiling.”

Aemond frowned slightly as he had been privy to the conversation of the ladies of the court. He once again found himself in the gardens for whatever reason, just in time to catch Lady Elinora walking along the cobblestone path.

Aemond began to think of their words. Was there truth in it? Will Aegon truly make her his whore once he is crowned king? Not only dishonoring his wife and sister but Lady Elinora as well. As much as Aemond disliked Lady Elinora, he did not think her innocence or naivety was a ploy. Ser Criston informed him of how sheltered she was, with this being the only instance she had left the towering walls of Highgarden. Never exposed to the cruelties of the world. And by how Lady Elinora cowered before his brother, the obvious sign of discomfort in her jade eyes as he was too near for comfort made him believe she had no intention of snaking her way into Aegon’s bed.

Aemond was brought out of his reverie when he heard glass breaking, a startled gasp, and women cruelly laughing.

Elinora held back tears as she was shoved to the harsh ground, almost landing on the shards of glass. The butterfly she had nursed back to health crushed under the translucent shards and tore its orange wings. She took in a deep breath, her lips quivering, and she was near to tears, but she reminded herself that ladies are not allowed to show such saddened emotions outside the privy of their chambers, or if ever. So, she took in large breaths to try and calm herself and pry herself off the ground.

The sun that shone down on her grew obscure by the shade of a figure; Elinora hesitantly looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, only to be met with Prince Aemond leading out his hand for her to take. She did so hesitantly, in another dimension of embarrassment as the prince caught her in such a state. As she stood, she looked anywhere except the prince’s eye, shame consuming her.

“What happened?” Prince Aemond questioned even though he perfectly knew the answer. He cast his gaze upon the ground; the butterfly Lady Elinora had cared for was now completly dead as it was crushed by the broken glass. Her gown was also torn by the side, fraying the delicate stitches. “I— I tripped,” Elinora said, not wanting him to know how she was picked on by the ladies of the court. Aemond raised his gaze, expecting to meet her jade eyes, but she simply looked towards the distance. Aemond could not take hold of himself as he raised his hand to grasp the lady’s chin and force her to meet his eye. “You lie.” He stated, never removing his touch on the girl’s skin.

Elinora blinked, her tears threatening to escape her eyes as she was accused of lying by the prince. “No point in denying it; I’ve seen it with my own eye,” He said lowly, and Elinora slightly frowned. “If— If you saw it, why ask me what happened?” She questioned, finally gaining sensibilities and stepping away from the prince, effectively removing his hold on her chin. Aemond shrugged, turning his gaze on the fallen butterfly once more. “It’s dead,” he commented, surprised at how quick you were to crouch down and take the deceased butterfly into your hands. Brushing away the shards of glass, risking to cut herself.

“It’s dead; leave it be,” Aemond said as he caught sight of her sullen face, guilt evident in Elinora’s eyes. “Again, it’s just a butterfly, my lady.” Aemond sighed once more, looking along the gardens to see if any spectators were watching; miraculously, there was none. “Maybe to you, it’s just a butterfly,” Elinora muttered as she moved to walk away from the prince, but he took hold of her arm before she could move away from him further.

“Where are you going?” Aemond questioned, “To give it a funeral.” Elinora said plainly, completely forgetting the humiliation she had suffered just moments earlier. “The butterfly?” The prince asked incredulously. He had witnessed the love his sister had for her bugs, but never once had she gone to the fuss of properly mourning them. “Yes.” Elinora nodded and walked off, the prince trailing behind her. Aemond tried to find a reason— a reason that was enough to justify the actions she was doing just to service a mere butterfly.

Aemond followed Lady Elinora to the edge of a pond, both of them silent as her eyes scanned for a leaf big enough to hold the dead butterfly. As Aemond guessed what she was looking for, he sighed and shook his head. He was the one to retrieve a leaf from a tree branch, silently handing it to her. Fingers brushed as she took the leaf and leaned down towards the pond to let it float upon the water. She gently placed the fallen insect atop it. Elinora blew on the leaf and watched it glide to deeper waters, standing at her full height next to the prince. “Would you like to say a few words?” Aemond asked sardonically, and Lady Elinora threw him her most scathing look that only made Aemond snicker internally.

“Why do you care so much about a mere butterfly?” Aemond then broke the silence, looking towards Lady Elinora, whose eyes were planted towards the pond. She licked her lips and sighed. “You have a dragon, do you not?” She questioned, and Aemond nodded. “You love your dragon, yes?” Aemond frowned slightly. “I suppose,” he added. “You love your Vhagar because she had been bound and bonded with you since you were young,” she stated, and the prince nodded again.

“That is how exactly I feel about butterflies. You might think them of lesser creatures… no actual use, just pretty fluttering things, but they had been my constant companion since I was a child,” Elinora informed, twiddling with her hair as she revealed a part of herself to the prince. “As you had seen, try as I might, I was never once to make friends… the butterflies had always been my companions. No matter where I go, a few of them always seem to find their way to me,” She said sadly.

Aemond wanted to retort the reason why the butterflies followed her was because of the flowers in her hair, but as he saw the sadness in the lady’s eyes and the way how raw her honey voice sounded as she shared with him this facet of herself, the prince held back his tongue.

“I know you wish to laugh at me, thinking this is ridi—“ She spoke, but the prince suddenly took hold of her arm and made her cease to finish her statement. “You cannot think me to be so cruel,” he said. He was. He’s cruel, everyone thinks it, but his cruelty was only bestowed on those who he sees fit. And at this moment, though he still had his reservations about Lady Elinora, he did not think she was deserving of cruelty, not at this moment, especially as she had just felt it moments ago.

Aemond felt odd, like he was suddenly out of breath, as she finally gave him her small smile. But the prince quickly regained focus and removed his hold from her arm. “Come, let me escort you back into the castle, lest the ladies find you again.” He cleared his throat, and Elinora could only nod, walking along with the prince in silence until he delivered her back to her chambers.

“Are you well, sister? It’s almost noon, and you are yet to get out of bed,” Edward asked in concern as his sister was still tucked in her sheets. Elinora was just simply staring out the window, watching as the sun ascended higher into the sky. “Yes, I… I just feel a bit tired,” She lied. She was sad. She was sad about the dead butterfly and how the ladies treated her, but she did not dare to utter it to her brother.

Edward looked around her chambers, his green eyes searching for a specific object that her sister had been clutching the past days. “Where’s your butterfly?” He asked and sat by the foot of her bed. Elinora blinked, momentarily silent. “I’ve set it free,” She fibbed, and her brother only hummed. Edward scooted closer, placing the back of his hand atop his sister’s forehead to check her temperature. “You’re not warm enough to have a fever,” he muttered, and Elinora shook her head. “I’m not sick, brother… truly, I’m just tired. It would seem our days in court finally caught up to me. I just need a few moments of rest,” she smiled sadly. Edward sighed. “Very well then, I shall inform Mother and Father… but we are expecting you at dinner tonight,” He stated.

“I’m certain I shall feel better by then,” Elinora smiled, and her brother gave a nod, finally leaving her chambers so she could sit in solitude just as she wished.

By the other side of the castle, a prince waited by the gardens for a girl who had butterflies trailing her. But as the prince cast his eye upon the near noon sun, he realized that she would not arrive, and she had forgone her usual custom.

He walked around the gardens once more, catching sight of the court ladies who still snickered amongst themselves at what had transpired yesterday. He thought if he should take action— to seek retribution. However, whatever for? Lady Elinora was not his kin for him to seek revenge or punishment. Nor was she anyone of significance to him. Why, then, did he wish to seek justice in her name?

Prince Aemond sighed and shook his head to be absolved of such thoughts. But as the ladies’ voices rang louder in his ears and the insults that spewed from their mouths that were aimed at her expense, Aemond knew in himself that he must do something.

He had a great sense of justice. Something that he had been bereft of since childhood. No justice was given to him as he was cruelly teased and bullied by his brother and nephews, and no justice was served as his eye was taken. He cannot undo the past, and now he was presented with an opportunity to take matters into his own hands, even if the matter did not truly surround him. And so, Aemond devised a plan.

Elinora walked with her family to the great hall, where another banquet with all the courtiers took place. Apparently, it was a custom in the Red Keep to hold such a lavish dinner whenever a new courtier arrived or when another went. This time, it was the latter.

Elinora was guided to her seat by her brother, and she dared not place her gaze on anything but the floor, fearing to catch the eyes of any of the ladies that had shown her such cruelties.

Elinora did not utter a word; she simply listened to those around her. Courtiers speak of business, the food presented, or the weather. However, one particular conversation caught her interest. “I certain they shall be found, my queen,” She heard the voice of a knight she came to know as Criston Cole, followed by the grievous sigh of the queen. “Those jewels are not only valuable in price, but those are heirlooms passed by my mother… the only memento I have of hers… not to mention the other jewels taken in Helaena’s collection,” She muttered in distress, and Elinora silently wished to know more about the concern of the missing jewels, but she was brought out of her eavesdropping state as her attention was called by her Mother.

“Sit straighter, my dear… and chin up. Would not want to look like a hunchback.” She said, and Elinora could only do as she was told, straightening her back and finally casting her gaze on anything except the ground.

When she did, she was quick to lock eyes with a lilac gaze. Aemond saw a bit of shock in her eyes that absolutely amused him, in a lapse of better judgment, with his whole being satisfied as he stirred chaos that was yet to be found; he shot the girl a wink. But after he did so, he realized that he had only one eye, and with the girl unknowing of his intention, Elinora only thought of it as a blink— signaling her to finally look away from the gaze of the prince.

“Have you found them?” Aemond asked quietly as his mother finally sat on her seat, obviously in distress as precious heirlooms and jewels were lost. “No… and I d—“ the queen abruptly stopped as house Torrent went before their table to curtsy, a glimmer of an object quickly catching her attention. Aemond smirked wickedly and raised his chalice to his lips in order to hide his mischievous grin.

Elinora, along with the whole court, watched in still, tense silence as the queen accused the daughter of House Torrent of stealing her precious jewels. The evidence was hanging around her neck.

“I am innocent! I— I was only gifted this necklace! Please, Your Majesty, you must believe me!” She pleaded as knights had a hold on both of her arms. Her house looked upon her in horror and repulsion, for how could she steal from the queen? Queen Alicent scoffed. “And pray tell who would gift you my mother’s jewels?”

Lady Merylle Torrent looked upon the room, looking for someone to pass the blame to. “It came from her!” She exclaimed, pointing to one of her friends who gasped, her hand going to her chest, and she did; the queen caught sighed of a bracelet that belonged to her daughter. “You lying bitch!” The lady exclaimed, and a guard was quick to pull her up from where she stood. “My queen, I swear upon my house that I did not steal any jewels! It… it came from her!” The second accused, lady Cassandra, pointed to their other friend, who had the gull to try and sneak out of the hall, but guards were quick to spot her.

Elinora turned upon her family, each one of them captivated by the scene. The three ladies who had tormented the girl just the day before stood before Her Majesty, restrained by the royal knights as it would seem a small trial had begun and taken place instead of the dinner.

Aemond leaned back on his seat, completely enjoying the display. He basked in the fear in the three women's eyes. His mother was usually a pacifist, never one for confrontation, but Alicent surprised her son today. In truth, Aemond thought his mother would discreetly seek them out and then quietly administer their punishments. But now it had blown into a spectacle, which Aemond was thoroughly enjoying. He moved his gaze towards the girl for whom he had done this, the catalyst as to why Aemond sought justice. He would think she would enjoy it as well. Retribution gained as the girl who mistreated her was humiliated, but he only saw pity in her place jade eyes.

Why? Why would she pity those who had hurt her? Why must she feel sorry for them?

Aemond was brought out of his questioning thoughts as an argument broke out amongst the group of friends, making Aemond momentarily forget about Lady Elinora’s apprehension as strife brewed further.

“My queen, we did not steal your jewels! A… a box filled with pieces of jewelry was delivered to my door, and we thought of it as gifts and shared it amongst ourselves!” A lady stated the truth, but all took it as a lie, even the queen, whose judgment would be most imperative in this situation. The queen shook her head, only now remembering that the whole court was watching the entire scene. “Take them to the dungeons, I shall deal with them at a later time,” The queen whispered, and three girls thrashed and screamed as knights dragged them out.

The queen cleared her throat and flashed a fictitious smile upon her guests as she returned to her seat, her son ready to unfold the second part of the scheme. “You are in no state to handle them, Mother,” He whispered as the feast commenced, those around them trying hard to be rid of the scene they witnessed. “Then what would you have me do?” The queen sighed. “Let me see to it, mother. Thieves are not to go unpunished… no matter their station,” Aemond offered, his eye glancing toward Elinora once more as she pushed around the contents of her plate, pretending to eat. “Very well then… I suppose you’re right,” The queen agreed, and Aemond resisted his urge to smirk.

“Please, my prince, you must believe us, we did not steal any jewels!” Lady Isabel cried along with her friends as they were in the dungeons with the prince, looking upon them with such cruelty in his lone lilac eye. Aemond smirked as he twisted his dagger in between his fingers, enjoying the look of fear in the ladies' eyes. “Oh, I know,” Aemond said, watching as hope formed in their orbs, but it was quick to fade as the smirk’s wicked smirk widened. “I sent them… and you three were just greedy enough to fall for such traps.”

“But— but why? What have we done?” Lady Cassandra cried even though Aemond’s intended punishment had not yet begun. He turned his head towards the guards, giving them a nod to release his intended punishment. He watched with his sinister eye as the women were wrapped in fear as tiny insects crawled upon their bodies, their tiny legs striking horror in them. He thought it was an astute punishment, and they laughed at his sister and Elinora about their love of such creatures.

“Oh, your memories cannot be that short,” Prince Aemond sinisterly said, circling the three girls who twitched through their bounds as spiders and scorpions nestled their way into their dresses. They were non-venomous, of course; Aemond was not that cruel; he just wanted to strike fear into them to make them regret their actions.

“Please… we do not know what we did! Mercy, my prince, please make it stop!” One of them cried, and Aemond clicked his tongue, shaking his head. His silver hair glimmered through the small light provided by the torch a guard held. “Mayhaps you three would think twice before creating outcasts on those who you call ‘freaks.’” Aemond said lowly, waiting as recognition shone through the fear in their eyes.

He chuckled as they thrashed further, but their restrictions made it moot. “Speak no word of what transpired here tonight, or a worse fate would befall the three of you… my Vhagar is quite an insatiable beast, it would be a shame to feed her three pathetic ladies to her,” the prince threatened as he left the dungeons with his whole being amused and satisfied as his plan turned out quite nicely. For the first time in his life, he finally acquires justice. It may not be for himself, but still, it was quite satisfying.

Aemond wasted his time in the gardens again. His sensibilities had not yet had a hold of him as he squandered his free time in a place that he did not care for. But that day, he did have the intention of running into Lady Elinora, hoping she would present him with her thanks as he took the initiative to take revenge in her name. He looked around from where he stood, not seeing a glimpse of Elinora nor the butterflies that were the telltale sign that she was near.

He shook his head and decided to return to his regular routine, walking towards the library and trying to be rid of the thought of Lady Elinora. He had been acting foolish as of late, and she was the reason for it. Aemond grew enraged with each moment of his realization, his body tense as he entered the silent room, and the reason for his irritation was there, seated by a windowsill reading a book.

Aemond had the urge to turn back, to retreat and not subject himself to her presence, but he was once again powerless as his feet carried him forward, delivering him to the girl who sat quietly by the corner. “What are you doing here?” He asked, not accustomed to her not being in the gardens. Elinora looked up, confused at the prince’s query. “Reading?” She replied, uncertain as well because with the book in her hands, it would seem to be obvious what her intentions were.

“You need not hide here,” Aemond stated, looking upon the room that was empty. “I am not hiding, my prince,” Elinora lied, but that seemed to irritate further the quickly irritable prince. “Do not lie, it is unbecoming,” He remarked, and Elinora frowned further. “If you fear the ladies, they shall not bother you anymore… I’ve made certain of it,” The prince smirked, whispering the latter part to himself, but Elinora heard it perfectly.

“What does that mean?” Elinora questioned, closing her book as she sat straighter to meet the eye of Prince Aemond. “It means you should be grateful, I have solved your dilemma for you.” Elinora’s eyes widened in fear. “Did you cause that? Did you…” She could not even utter what the prince had done. “I did.” The prince said proudly, waiting for the fear to dissolve in Elinora’s eyes and turn into gratitude, but her fear-filled eyes only turned to horror.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing? They… they did not deserve to be humiliated for a crime they did not commit!” Elinora said in dread, her usual dulcet tone now finding a new voice. Aemond raised his brow at the girl, “I must admit, this is not the thanks I had expected from you.” He stated and Elinora’s face morphed in disgust before she quickly readjusted her expression. Through her mortified state, the chastising voices of her past septas and their teachings still rang in her mind.

“Thanks? What made you think I would be grateful for such a thing?” Elinora questioned, now standing as she was filled with anxiousness. “Because I had sought out revenge that you are too weak and passive to seek. Honestly, did you not at least feel an ounce of satisfaction as those women who had been cruel to you be humiliated with the eyes of the court upon them?” The prince asked, stepping forward as he had enough of the lady’s ungratefulness.

“Repaying cruelty with cruelty does nothing, my prince. If anything, I just felt sympathy for them… You cannot fight fire with fire,” Elinora remarked, disregarding the fact that the prince called her weak. Aemond scoffed and shook his head. “And besides… it was not your battle to fight,” She added, voice returning to its usual soft tone.

“What an ingrate you are, Elinora. I have done you a kindness, and here you are scolding me for it.” She could not believe his words. “That was not kindness… you say it was a selfless action, but it had only benefited and entertained you. As mean as they were, that was something I would never want to befall anyone.” Elinora whispered as she looked away from the prince’s gaze, it was too unnerving to look upon his cold, icy stare. She looked around the room, trying to find a way out, fearing that her reluctance to thank the prince would mean it was her turn to be harmed by him.

“They were deserving of it.” Aemond insisted, but Elinora just sighed. “You are not a god to decide what they do and don’t deserve, my prince.” She said quietly, trying to step to the side as the prince invaded her personal space, their bodies nearly flushing. “You’re right… I’m no god.” Aemond agreed and he relished upon the shocked face of Elinora as she did not expect him to agree to her statement that was meant to bring him back to earth.

“I’m a dragon prince of the realm… you are new to the court, my lady, so I will forgive you in this instance, but best be reminded, there are no gods here, only dragons.” Aemond said with a menacing smirk, lowering his head towards the girl just so his words were clear, but Elinora only shifted her head to move further away, though it was useless as there was nowhere to turn and the prince’s face was only a breath away from her’s.

Aemond relished in the fear in her eyes, but not in the same way he relished in the fear he saw in the others. His amusement in her fear was not of cruelty but rather just pure mirth. Aemond dared not to move, waiting for the girl to do it in her own accord. They both stood there in silence, one waiting, enjoying the scent of lilac and bergamot, while the other held their breath, not knowing what to do.

“Is that all?” Elinora finally spoke, the prince clearly amused as he had struck fear in her. Aemond hummed, still not giving her personal space, hypocritical as he did what his brother had done. “Could I go now?” Elinora questioned. “No one is holding to your spot, nor are you restrained. You could have gone earlier if you had wished, my lady.” The prince teased and noticed as scarlet crept to the cheeks of the girl, a pout forming on her lips as she frowned and finally stepped off to the side and left the silent room, leaving the prince smirking without cruelty.

Tag List: @sapphirevhagar @dahlias-and-marigolds @shygardengalaxy-blog @m-riaa

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qqueenofhades · 12 hours ago

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I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)

#cbk1000 #ask

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bloodmoonmuses · 10 hours ago

Text

strawberry sunday | lee haechan

genre: lee haechan x reader, established relationship, fluff, drabble (0.4k words)

You’re awoken by the bubbling of your electric kettle, Haechan pouring hot water over tea bags. A yellow mug for you, a green one for him. It’s a perfect Sunday morning- one of those days after a storm where the sun is glistening off puddles and the air is crisp with rain. Where time feels like it’s passing in slow motion, and every limb is laden with languidness. The kitchen window is open, floral curtains swaying slightly in the wind. Haechan is humming to himself, fluttering around on the balls of feet as he prepares breakfast.

“G’morning,” you mumble as you shuffle into the kitchen, a blanket strewn over your shoulders. You cozy up behind Haechan, placing your chin on his shoulder as he plops a few spoonfuls of sugar into your respective cups. Three for you, five for him. You wonder if he’s committed your preferences to memory or if it's a force of habit. You smile into your initial sip, nodding your head as a thank you.

“Was just about to make toast,” Haechan says. He places a chaste kiss on your nose. “Missed you.”

As you take a seat at the dining table, you say, “Missed me? We’ve been asleep for, like, ten hours.” You warm your hands with your mug, loving the bitter aftertaste of the Earl Grey.

Then, Haechan takes a jar of strawberry jam and some butter out of the fridge and places them before you. “And those ten hours were torturous.”

You scoff at his dramatics. “For me, maybe. How has your snoring gotten worse?”

“You hate me,” Haechan concludes as he gets a loaf of bread out of the pantry. “You didn’t even let me tell you about my dream.”

He loads the toaster, then sits across from you at the table, honeyed skin all satiny in its luster. He’s beautiful, even at six in the morning, and your eyes zero in on the space where his jawline melts into the expanse of his neck. You want to put your nose there. Or behind his ear. Or against his nose.

“Let me guess, it was about me?”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but it was weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Like, we were these orbs of energy. Of heat. And I couldn’t tell where I ended and you began. We kept… merging into each other. We were endless.”

The intensity of his words is sliced by the sound of perfectly golden toast popping out of the little machine. You watch as Haechan wordlessly retrieves the bread, bringing the plate back for the two of you to share. As he walks back, you outstretch your arms, making a grabbing motion with your hands. Haechan understands immediately, sitting on your lap and cupping your hands with his own. You place your nose just where you had imagined, that crevice at the junction of his ear and neck, the warmth spreading through your body like wildfire. Any remnants of cold in you dissipate in a shudder- like making a wish on a dandelion.

“Endless like right now?” you whisper into Haechan’s ear. He wraps his foot around your calf, the intertwining of limbs like the most lovesick Girl Scout knot. Like a scarf crocheted in the moonlight. Like a labor of love.

“Mhm.”

He spreads some jam on a piece of toast and hands it to you, turning his torso to leave his hand beneath your chin and catch the crumbs that fall. You take a bite. So hilariously thoughtful.

“What’s funny?” Haechan asks as a laugh warbles through your chest.

“I love you so much.”

a/n: unedited, feedback is always appreciated! thx for reading! <3

#bloodmoonmuses #nct 127 #nct 127 fluff #lee haechan #haechan fic #haechan x reader #haechan imagines #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream fic

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amethystarachnid · 1 day ago

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Thank you for writing my little Tony story 🤍

If it's not too much, can you write a second part for me please? Tony and reader finding out the baby's gender, Tony surprising her with a beautiful surprise proposal, maybe the other Anvegers can even help 🤍 the marriage and the baby's birth? 🤍🤍🤍 I lobe family man Tony too, it's so cute 🤍🤍🤍

Thank you!

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's almost time for the baby's arrival so Tony decides that it's the perfect time to propose, as he drops to one knee you're sure you've found your happy ending,

ᯓ★ TW(s): childbirth

ᯓ★ I love family man Tony so much, matter of fact, I love every character seen as a family man I don't know why lol.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The baby shower is shaping up to be a bigger event than you ever expected, though you probably should’ve seen it coming. With the Avengers involved, nothing is ever subtle. Tony, of course, is no help in scaling things back. In fact, he’s leaning into the chaos, throwing out extravagant suggestions like hiring live performers or setting up a drone fireworks display. You shoot most of his ideas down, insisting that this is a baby shower, not a red-carpet event.

Still, the excitement is infectious. Natasha takes charge of the planning—she’s surprisingly good at it, efficient and precise, down to the last detail. She ropes Bruce into helping, and the two of them become the only ones who know the baby’s gender. The rest of the team, including you and Tony, are kept in the dark, much to Tony’s annoyance.

“I don’t see why I can’t bribe Banner,” Tony grumbles one afternoon as he paces the kitchen. “He’s a terrible liar, anyway. A few drinks, a little sweet-talking, and he’d spill.”

“Good luck with that,” you reply with a smirk, stirring a cup of tea. “Natasha would kill him if he said anything. And you know she could.”

“Fair point,” Tony concedes, though he still looks annoyed. “Still, I’m calling it now: it’s a girl. She’s going to be brilliant, gorgeous, and way too smart for her own good. Just like her mom.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really? Because I’m thinking it’s a boy. Stubborn, full of energy, and probably way too much like you.”

“Not possible,” he says with mock seriousness. “There’s only room for one of me in this world.”

Clint chimes in later that evening when the team gathers in the common room, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he munches on a bag of chips. “I’m betting on a boy,” he says, pointing a chip in your direction. “Gotta have someone to teach archery to. Plus, Stark with a son? That’s comedy gold.”

Thor, who’s been helping decorate the living room with streamers and balloons (many of which are Asgardian-sized), disagrees. “A daughter would be most fitting,” he declares, his voice booming. “She will have the strength of her father and the grace of her mother. A true warrior!”

Steve, predictably, tries to stay neutral. “I think you’ll be happy no matter what,” he says diplomatically, though there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes as he looks at Tony. “That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stark try to handle a teenage girl someday.”

“God help us,” Natasha mutters with a smirk.

On the day of the baby shower, the compound is transformed. There are decorations everywhere—streamers in pastel pinks and blues, balloons shaped like baby bottles, and a banner reading Welcome, Baby Stark! stretched across the main wall. The table is laden with food, drinks, and an elaborate cake that looks too beautiful to eat. There’s even a pile of gifts in the corner, ranging from practical items like diapers and onesies to absurdly expensive gadgets Tony probably ordered himself.

Natasha and Bruce are the picture of calm, though you know they’ve been coordinating the big reveal for weeks. The two of them exchange knowing looks every time someone tries to guess the baby’s gender, clearly enjoying their role as gatekeepers of the secret.

The main event comes after everyone’s had their fill of food and games, including a hilariously chaotic round of diaper-changing races featuring Steve and Thor. Natasha steps forward, holding a small box wrapped in neutral-colored paper. She taps a spoon against her glass to get everyone’s attention.

“All right, everyone, it’s time,” she says, her tone firm but playful. “Y/N, Tony, come up here.”

You exchange a glance with Tony, who’s grinning like a kid at Christmas, and follow Natasha to the front of the room. Bruce joins her, carrying what looks like a smoke cannon with pastel-colored confetti inside.

“Are we sure Banner knows how to use that?” Tony whispers to you, earning a chuckle.

Natasha ignores him and gestures for Bruce to hand the cannon to Tony. “This is simple,” she says. “On the count of three, you twist it. The confetti will tell you the gender. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tony says, his grip tightening on the cannon. He looks at you, his grin softening into something tender. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Ready,” you reply, your heart pounding.

The room buzzes with anticipation as Natasha begins the countdown. “Three… two… one!”

Tony twists the cannon, and an explosion of pink confetti fills the air, raining down in a sparkling shower. The room erupts into cheers, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the cloud of pink with wide eyes.

“A girl,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly as the reality sinks in. “We’re having a girl.”

Tony turns to you, his grin splitting his face as he pulls you into his arms. “I told you,” he says, laughing as he spins you around. “I knew it!”

You’re laughing now too, tears streaming down your cheeks as the team gathers around, offering congratulations and playful jabs. Thor claps Tony on the back hard enough to make him stumble, while Clint pretends to look disappointed but quickly admits, “She’s probably gonna be cooler than a boy anyway.”

Natasha smirks, crossing her arms. “Told you it was worth the wait.”

As the excitement settles and the confetti begins to drift to the floor, Tony kneels in front of you, his hands resting gently on your growing belly. He looks up at you, his expression soft and filled with a kind of awe that takes your breath away.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “It’s official now. You’ve got one hell of a team waiting for you out here. But you know what? Your mom and I? We’re the lucky ones.”

Your heart swells, and you reach down to run your fingers through his hair. In that moment, surrounded by your friends, your family, and the overwhelming love in Tony’s eyes, you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

The nursery preparation becomes a joint project, though you suspect Tony might be using it as an excuse to turn every design meeting into a spectacle. It starts with a simple conversation over breakfast about colors and furniture, but within hours, Tony’s drawing up blueprints for a room so high-tech it could double as a lab.

“Tony,” you say, leaning over his shoulder as he sketches a design for a mobile with holographic planets orbiting a glowing star. “This is a nursery, not the International Space Station.”

He turns to you with an exaggerated look of shock. “Why settle for ordinary when our baby can have the universe in her room? Imagine it—she’ll look up and be inspired every night.”

You can’t help but smile, even as you roll your eyes. “She’s not going to care about any of this for at least a few years. Let’s focus on a crib that doesn’t look like it’s from the future, okay?”

“Compromise,” he says with a smirk. “The crib will be traditional. The rest? Cutting-edge Stark tech.”

Choosing the color scheme turns into its own adventure. You veto pink almost immediately, wanting something more neutral and calming. “What about soft blues and grays?” you suggest one afternoon as you hold up a paint swatch.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Blues and grays? What is she, a baby or a Zen monk? Let’s go bold—deep purples, maybe some gold accents.”

“She’s a baby,” you remind him with a laugh. “She needs soothing, not a nightclub.”

Eventually, you settle on a compromise: a soft starry theme with muted blues, silvers, and whites, accented by golden stars and constellations painted along the walls. Tony insists on installing a custom ceiling projector that will display a moving galaxy, complete with twinkling stars and nebulae, for bedtime. You draw the line at installing an AI assistant in the room—at least for now.

The naming debate, however, proves to be even more challenging.

It starts casually one evening as you both lounge on the couch, flipping through baby name books. “Okay,” you say, running your finger down a list. “How about something classic? Elizabeth? Grace?”

Tony shakes his head. “Too stuffy. She’s going to be a Stark; she needs something unique. How about Nova?”

You pause, considering it. “Nova’s not bad,” you admit. “But it feels… incomplete.”

Tony grins. “Well, it’s lightyears ahead of Grace.”

You toss a pillow at him, laughing. “Fine. What else have you got, Mr. Genius?”

He leans back, pretending to think deeply. “Aurora. You know, like the northern lights.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Beautiful, but maybe a bit too Disney princess?”

The conversation goes on like this for days. Tony throws out names like Vega, Lyra, and Andromeda, while you try to steer him toward something more grounded. Neither of you seems willing to budge, though secretly you both enjoy the banter.

It’s during one of these discussions, late at night, that the perfect name finally emerges.

You’re lying in bed, the lights dimmed, and Tony’s hand rests protectively over your belly as he rambles about constellations. “Sirius is too much,” he says, more to himself than to you. “But it’d be cool if we could tie it back to something celestial. Something meaningful.”

You hum in agreement, half-asleep, when a thought strikes you. “Stella,” you say softly, testing the name on your tongue.

Tony freezes, then sits up slightly to look at you. “Stella,” he repeats, his voice thoughtful. “Latin for ‘star.’ Simple, beautiful, and meaningful. I love it.”

You smile, your heart warming at his reaction. “You really like it?”

“I don’t just like it,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s perfect. Stella Stark. Our little star.”

The next morning, you tell the rest of the team about the name, and everyone agrees it’s fitting. Thor, especially, is thrilled. “A name worthy of the cosmos!” he declares, raising his coffee mug like a goblet.

Even Clint, who usually teases Tony at every opportunity, nods in approval. “Stella’s solid,” he says. “Classy, but not pretentious. Good pick.”

As the nursery nears completion and Stella’s name starts appearing on everything—from personalized blankets to a tiny plaque above the crib—you find yourself growing more excited with each passing day. The walls are painted, the furniture is assembled, and Tony’s holographic mobile is, admittedly, a work of art.

One evening, as you both stand in the finished nursery, Tony wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “You know,” he murmurs, looking around at the room, “we might’ve gone a little overboard.”

“A little,” you agree, though you can’t help but smile.

“But she’s worth it,” he adds, his voice soft as he rests his forehead against yours.

“She is,” you whisper, your heart full.

As the galaxy projector casts a soft glow of stars across the ceiling, you know that Stella is already surrounded by more love and wonder than you ever could’ve imagined.

The shift in behavior starts subtly. At first, you think you’re imagining it—the way Natasha ends phone calls the moment you enter the room or how Clint suddenly has a reason to leave anytime you try to ask what he and Tony were whispering about. Even Steve, who’s usually a beacon of honesty, seems unusually tight-lipped when you catch him and Bruce exchanging cryptic looks during a mission debrief.

Tony, of course, is no better. If anything, he’s the most suspicious of them all. Normally, he shares every detail of his day with you, but lately, he’s been “working late” more often than usual. When you ask what he’s working on, his answers are evasive, laced with a nonchalance that you don’t buy for a second.

“Just tweaking some tech,” he says one evening, typing furiously on a holographic keyboard that he closes the moment you approach. “You know, the usual.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “The usual doesn’t usually involve secretive meetings with the entire team or you hiding your screens from me.”

Tony looks up, flashing you one of his patented grins. “Paranoid much, sweetheart? Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones.”

You roll your eyes, but you let it slide—for now.

The day of the proposal dawns like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony humming softly beside you, his hand resting protectively over your belly, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him. At seven months pregnant, your body feels heavier and more tired than usual, but Tony’s been nothing if not attentive—sometimes to the point of hovering. Still, there’s something in his gaze this morning, a kind of nervous energy that makes you suspicious.

“What’s with the grin?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“No grin,” he says, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “Just appreciating how stunning you look, as always.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, giving him a skeptical look. “If you’re planning something, Stark, I’ll figure it out.”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your belly. “No secrets here, baby girl. Daddy’s just got work to do today.”

That afternoon, Natasha convinces you to go out for some “girl time,” which in itself feels suspicious. Nat rarely suggests spa days or shopping trips, but she waves off your questions with a smirk.

“Can’t a friend treat her very pregnant bestie to some pampering?” she says, steering you toward the door. “Besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do while Tony tinkers in the lab.”

By the time you return to the compound, you’re relaxed but even more curious. The hallways are quiet—too quiet—and the usual buzz of activity is strangely absent. As Natasha leads you toward the common area, your suspicions grow.

“What’s going on?” you ask, stopping in your tracks. “Why do I feel like I’m walking into an ambush?”

Natasha just smirks, tugging you forward. “You’ll see.”

The doors to the common area slide open, and your breath catches. The room is transformed. Soft, glowing lights hang from the ceiling like stars, casting a warm, ethereal glow. A pathway lined with rose petals leads to the center of the room, where Tony stands in a perfectly tailored suit, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. Behind him, the rest of the Avengers stand in a loose semicircle, all wearing knowing smiles.

“Tony,” you whisper, your heart pounding as Natasha gives you a gentle nudge forward.

He takes a step toward you, his usual confidence tempered by the kind of vulnerability he rarely shows. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world fades away.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You’ve already given me so much. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and in just a couple of months, you’re going to give me the greatest gift of all—our daughter.”

You feel tears welling up as he continues, his hand reaching out to take yours. “But before she gets here, I want to give you something, too. I want to give you my heart, my name, my everything. I want us to be a family, officially, because… well, because I love you more than words can ever say.”

He drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and opening it to reveal a dazzling engagement ring. The diamond sparkles like a star, and you can’t help but gasp.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft but firm, “will you marry me?”

For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to speak. Tears spill down your cheeks as you nod, a laugh bubbling up through your emotions. “Yes,” you finally manage, your voice breaking. “Yes, Tony, of course!”

Tony’s grin is so wide it looks like it might split his face. He slides the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly, and then he’s standing, pulling you into his arms. He holds you close, burying his face in your hair as you cling to him.

“You’re crying,” you murmur against his shoulder, your voice teasing despite your own tears.

“I am not,” he protests, though his voice wavers. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening. “Okay, maybe a little. But don’t tell anyone, all right? I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You laugh, wiping at your own tears as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Behind you, the Avengers erupt into cheers and applause, Clint letting out a loud wolf whistle while Thor raises his hammer in triumph.

“About time!” Clint calls out, grinning from ear to ear.

Natasha smirks, her arms crossed. “Told you she’d say yes.”

Later that evening, as you sit together in the nursery, the engagement ring glittering on your finger and Tony’s hand resting over your belly, you can’t help but marvel at how far you’ve come. He looks at you like you’re his entire world, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like nothing could ever go wrong.

“You’re happy,” you say softly, studying his face.

Tony looks at you, his expression filled with a love so deep it takes your breath away. “I’m more than happy,” he says, his voice low and earnest. “You and Stella… you’re everything I never knew I needed.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as the baby kicks gently against his hand. “We love you too,” you whisper, and in that moment, the universe feels just right.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day starts out completely normal—or at least as normal as life gets when you’re living with Tony Stark and the Avengers. You’re lounging on the couch, rubbing your enormous belly, when you feel the first contraction. It’s mild, more like a cramp than anything else, but enough to make you pause mid-sentence while you’re trying to convince Tony that the name Stella is not negotiable for her middle name.

“Everything okay?” Tony asks, looking up from where he’s fiddling with one of his many gadgets.

You nod, brushing it off. “Yeah, just… I think she’s practicing her escape plan.”

Tony chuckles. “Smart kid. Of course, she’s my daughter. She’s already planning ahead.”

You roll your eyes but let the moment pass. That is until another contraction hits—not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. You wince, shifting in your seat.

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Okay, that wasn’t just a practice run. What’s going on?”

You try to play it cool. “I think it might be starting, but it’s fine. First labors take a while. No need to—”

But before you can finish, Tony is up and moving like the house is on fire. “FRIDAY! Get the car! Clear a path! Call Banner! Wait, no, call Bruce AND the hospital! Get Nat to pack a bag—do we have a bag? Where’s the bag?”

You laugh despite yourself, waving a hand to calm him down. “Tony, relax. I’m not even sure it’s—”

Tony is already pacing, pulling his phone out to make calls. “Relax? RELAX? You’re about to bring an entire human into the world, and you want me to relax? You know who doesn’t relax? Tony Stark. I plan. I execute.” He points to your belly. “That tiny genius in there is counting on me!”

Another contraction interrupts your attempt to reassure him, this one stronger than before. You grip the edge of the couch, exhaling sharply. Tony’s eyes go wide, and his face pales.

“That’s it,” he declares. “We’re going now. FRIDAY, where’s the car?”

By the time you get to the hospital, Tony’s nerves are a full-blown circus. He’s barking orders at the nurses, double-checking every piece of equipment they wheel past, and generally acting like a man whose entire world is on the brink of chaos.

“Are those sterilized?” he asks one poor nurse, gesturing to a tray of instruments. “Because I know a guy who can check for microscopic contaminants.”

“Tony,” you groan from the wheelchair they’ve put you in. “Let the professionals do their job.”

“Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “Right. Sorry. Carry on.”

Once you’re settled in the delivery room, the contractions intensify, and so does Tony’s panic. He’s pacing again, alternating between squeezing your hand and apologizing for squeezing your hand too hard.

“Why is this taking so long?” he mutters, glancing at the clock. “Is there a way to, I don’t know, speed this up? I mean, we’ve got science, right? Lasers? Something?”

Your labor nurse gives him a patient smile. “Babies come on their own time, Mr. Stark.”

Tony points at her, dead serious. “I’ll have you know I’ve streamlined multi-billion-dollar manufacturing processes. I could totally streamline—”

“Tony!” you snap, gripping his hand through another contraction. “If you don’t stop talking about lasers and streamlining, I’m going to throw you out of this room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quickly, wincing as your grip tightens. “You’re doing great, by the way. Absolutely phenomenal. Ten out of ten.”

As the hours pass, Tony alternates between being overly helpful and hilariously unhelpful. At one point, he tries to "coach" you through the contractions, repeating advice he clearly Googled five minutes earlier.

“Breathe, babe,” he says, crouching next to you. “In through the nose, out through the—OW!” He yelps as you squeeze his hand, your patience wearing thin.

“I am breathing!” you growl. “You breathe!”

“Right, got it,” he says, shaking out his hand. “I’ll breathe quieter.”

By the time you’re ready to push, Tony looks like he’s aged ten years. His hair is a mess, his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen, and he’s nervously chewing on his bottom lip as if he’s the one doing all the hard work.

“Okay,” the doctor says. “It’s time to meet your baby. Dad, are you ready?”

Tony blinks, his face going pale again. “Wait, me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Just stay next to me and try not to pass out,” you deadpan, glaring at him through gritted teeth.

The actual delivery feels like a blur, but Tony’s reactions are crystal clear. As soon as Stella’s first cry fills the room, he freezes, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. The doctor places her on your chest, and you look down at the tiny, wriggling bundle of perfection. Tears stream down your face as you cradle her, overwhelmed with love.

Tony leans over, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he’s afraid to touch her. “She’s… she’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

You glance up at him, smiling through your tears. “She is.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as if trying to fight back tears of his own. “I’m not crying,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… dusty in here.”

“Sure, Tony,” you say, laughing softly. “Whatever you say.”

He finally reaches out, gently running a finger along Stella’s tiny hand. When she grips his finger, his face lights up like you’ve never seen before.

“Hi, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “It’s me. Your dad. I’m the guy who’s going to spoil you rotten and probably embarrass you in front of all your friends someday.”

You laugh again, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. As Tony leans down to kiss your forehead, then Stella’s, you know this moment—this messy, chaotic, perfect moment—is one you’ll never forget.

The ride home is surprisingly smooth, considering Tony’s usual flair for drama. He insists on driving, despite your gentle protests, and the way he handles the car like it’s made of glass is almost endearing. Stella, snug in her carrier, sleeps through the whole thing, her tiny face scrunched in a way that makes your heart ache with love.

“Are you sure she’s breathing?” Tony asks for the third time, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, Tony,” you reply, trying not to laugh. “Babies sleep. It’s kind of their thing.”

He huffs, clearly unsatisfied. “Well, it’s nerve-wracking. I’m used to things that come with a manual, not ones that just… exist and rely on me not to screw up.”

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The Avengers are waiting when you arrive at the compound, their faces pressed against the windows like eager kids waiting for Santa. Even Clint, who normally pretends to be too cool for this sort of thing, looks uncharacteristically excited.

The moment you step inside, carrying Stella in her carrier, they descend like a swarm.

“Oh my God, she’s so tiny!” Natasha coos, her usual stoicism replaced with pure, unfiltered awe. “Look at her little hands.”

Steve grins, leaning down to get a better look. “She’s beautiful,” he says warmly, his voice tinged with a kind of reverence.

“She’s definitely got your nose, Y/N,” Bruce chimes in, smiling shyly. “Lucky kid.”

Even Clint, who’d joked for months about how he wasn’t going to fawn over “just another Stark,” can’t help but soften. “She’s pretty cute,” he admits, though his grin betrays his attempt at nonchalance.

“Cute?” Tony cuts in, feigning offense. “Try perfect. Absolute masterpiece. My finest work.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “She’s not one of your inventions, Tony.”

“No,” he agrees, his gaze softening as he looks at Stella. “She’s better.”

Thor, meanwhile, looms in the background, looking uncharacteristically nervous. You catch him shifting his weight from foot to foot, his brows furrowed as he watches the others coo and fuss over Stella.

“Thor,” you call gently, motioning him over. “Do you want to meet her?”

He hesitates, his usual bravado replaced with uncertainty. “I am unsure,” he admits, his voice low. “She is so small. What if I… break her?”

Tony snorts. “Relax, Point Break. She’s sturdier than she looks.”

Thor’s eyes widen. “Are you certain? For I have been told I am… exuberant in my movements.”

You can’t help but smile. “You’ll be fine. Just be gentle.”

Carefully, you unbuckle Stella from her carrier and place her in Thor’s massive hands. He cradles her like she’s made of glass, his expression a mix of awe and terror.

“She is… radiant,” he says after a moment, his voice soft. “A tiny warrior in the making.”

Stella squirms, letting out a small gurgle, and Thor immediately panics. “What is this sound? Is she displeased? Have I offended her?”

You laugh, taking her back before his nerves get the better of him. “She’s just waking up. You did great, Thor.”

He exhales in relief, looking visibly proud despite his earlier fear. “Then I shall strive to earn her favor, as a worthy uncle should.”

As the evening wears on, the Avengers take turns holding Stella, each of them surprisingly adept in their own way. Natasha rocks her gently, whispering something soft and sweet in Russian. Steve looks completely at ease, cradling her with a quiet confidence that makes you wonder if he’s done this before. Bruce hums softly, his gentle demeanor soothing Stella when she stirs.

Clint, ever the showman, gets her to grab his finger and immediately declares, “She likes me best. Sorry, everyone else.”

Even Thor eventually works up the courage to hold her again, this time with less fear and more awe.

Tony, meanwhile, hovers nearby, alternating between beaming with pride and trying to direct everyone on the proper way to hold her.

“Support her head,” he says for the fifth time, gesturing like he’s leading a workshop. “And don’t jostle her too much. She’s had a big day.”

“Tony,” you say, placing a hand on his arm to calm him. “She’s fine. Look at her—she’s surrounded by love.”

He glances around the room, taking in the sight of his teammates—his family—cooing and fussing over Stella. His shoulders relax, and a small, genuine smile tugs at his lips.

“Yeah,” he says softly, slipping an arm around your waist. “She’s going to be okay.”

You lean into him, watching as Stella lets out a tiny yawn, completely unfazed by the chaos around her. In this moment, surrounded by your unconventional but loving family, you know she’s going to grow up in the best possible way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day is perfect—blue skies, warm sunlight, and the hum of excitement in the air as friends and family gather in the garden of the Stark estate for the wedding. You stand in the bridal suite, adjusting the lace sleeves of your gown, the soft fabric hugging your body comfortably enough to accommodate the postpartum changes you’re still embracing. In your arms, Stella squirms, her tiny hands tugging at the delicate veil trailing over your shoulder.

“Mommy’s trying to look fancy,” you murmur, kissing her chubby cheek. “Try not to drool too much on the dress, okay?”

Natasha appears in the doorway, dressed elegantly in a flowing gown but still managing to radiate her usual aura of cool confidence. “Ready to knock Tony off his feet?” she asks with a smirk.

You laugh nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Natasha leans in to take a peek at Stella, who’s now gnawing on her fingers. “And what about you, little one? Ready to steal the show?”

“She’s been ready since birth,” you say, smiling fondly. “I just hope she doesn’t start screaming halfway down the aisle.”

The music starts—soft, romantic, and unmistakably orchestrated to perfection because, of course, Tony insisted on hiring the best string quartet money could buy. You step out into the aisle, holding Stella securely against your chest.

All eyes are on you, but your gaze locks instantly with Tony’s. He’s standing at the altar in a sharp tuxedo, his hair immaculately styled, but it’s his expression that floors you. His eyes are shining, his lips trembling slightly as he takes you in—his fiancée, his daughter in your arms, walking toward him like a vision straight out of his dreams.

When you’re halfway down the aisle, you catch him discreetly wiping at his eyes, though his attempt to play it cool is utterly transparent. You can’t help but smile.

“Crying already?” you tease softly as you reach the altar.

Tony’s voice cracks as he replies, “It’s allergies. Don’t get used to it.”

The officiant clears his throat, gesturing for everyone to sit. You pass Stella to Natasha, who holds her with practiced ease, but not before Tony sneaks a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Don’t cause too much trouble for Aunt Nat, okay?” he whispers.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter, a few tears, and vows that manage to be both heartfelt and hilariously Tony.

“I promise to always make you laugh,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “To build you anything you need—even if it’s just a better coffee maker. And I promise that no matter how big our family gets or how crazy life becomes, you’ll always be the center of my world.”

You smile, your heart full as you reply, “And I promise to keep you grounded—even when you’re flying. To stand by you, even when you’re being insufferable. And to love you, completely, for the genius, ridiculous, wonderful man that you are.”

The guests cheer when you kiss, and you can hear Clint shouting something about “finally making an honest man out of Stark,” but you’re too caught up in the moment to care. Tony’s hands are on your waist, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “You’re stuck with me now, Mrs. Stark.”

The reception is lively, filled with laughter and champagne toasts, but the true star of the evening is Stella. At six months old, she’s the smallest guest but easily the most adored. She’s passed from one Avenger to the next, each of them taking turns cooing and playing with her. Steve lets her grab at his finger, grinning like a proud uncle. Bruce gently bounces her on his knee, her giggles drawing smiles from everyone around. Even Thor takes a turn, holding her aloft and declaring her “the mightiest of babes” before you quickly retrieve her, worried he might throw her like Mjolnir.

Despite the joy of the day, you and Tony find yourselves constantly glancing toward wherever Stella is. When you see her reaching for a cupcake, her tiny hand almost toppling the entire dessert tower, you excuse yourself mid-conversation to intercept.

“She’s got your appetite,” you say, placing Stella in her high chair and handing her a safer option—a teething biscuit.

“And your stubbornness,” Tony adds, crouching next to you to adjust her little headband. He kisses her forehead before looking up at you, his expression soft. “We did pretty good, didn’t we?”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him. “We did amazing.”

As the night winds down, you dance with Tony under the fairy lights, Stella dozing peacefully in Natasha’s arms nearby.

“Today was perfect,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

Tony pulls you closer, his hand warm on your back. “Because of you,” he murmurs. “You and Stella—you’re my whole world.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love. “And you’re ours.”

The music swells, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you in your own little world, the rest of the party fading into the background.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Four years later

Four years later, the Stark household is as lively as ever. Stella, now a spirited and endlessly curious four-year-old, is the undeniable star of the compound. She’s sharp like her dad, determined like her mom, and, to everyone’s ongoing astonishment, utterly enamored with Thor.

“Where is Uncle Thor?” Stella demands one morning, her tiny hands on her hips in a perfect mimicry of your stance when you're irritated. “He promised we’d go find worms for the garden!”

You chuckle as you rest a hand on your growing belly. “Honey, Uncle Thor’s busy with work. He can’t always come running every time you call.”

“Why not?” she counters, pouting. “He’s the Mighty Thor. He’s not too busy for me.”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’ve got your daddy’s charm, you know that?”

Tony walks in just in time to hear the exchange, a cup of coffee in one hand and a slightly sour expression on his face. “I don’t know what he’s done to brainwash her, but I don’t like it,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your cheek before ruffling Stella’s hair.

“Uncle Thor is the best!” Stella declares, throwing her arms up dramatically. “He’s teaching me how to lift Mjolnir!”

“Is he now?” Tony says, narrowing his eyes. “I thought I told him no godly powers until after kindergarten.”

Later that afternoon, Thor arrives as promised, and Stella runs to greet him, her excitement so infectious even Tony can’t entirely suppress a grin. Thor sweeps her up, spinning her around like she weighs nothing.

“Ah, my favorite little warrior!” Thor booms. “Are you ready to brave the wilderness?”

“Yes!” Stella squeals, clutching onto him tightly. “Let’s go, Uncle Thor!”

“Wilderness?” Tony interjects, crossing his arms. “You mean my backyard?”

Thor just grins. “Every great adventure starts somewhere, Stark.”

As they head outside, you and Tony watch from the window, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders.

“I can’t believe she picked him as her favorite,” Tony says with mock despair. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“A magic hammer?” you suggest, smirking.

Tony gasps in mock offense. “Unbelievable. After all I’ve done for her.”

“Don’t worry,” you tease, patting your belly. “Maybe this little guy will be Team Dad.”

Tony’s face softens immediately, his free hand coming to rest gently on your growing bump. “He better be,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss it. “Otherwise, I’ll have to build another suit—Baby Iron Man Edition.”

Stella eventually drags Thor back inside, both of them covered in dirt but grinning like co-conspirators. Thor greets your belly with a reverent nod, placing a hand on it like he’s bestowing a blessing. “He stirs with strength already,” he declares. “A future warrior.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “He’s not even born yet, Point Break. Let’s not start handing out titles.”

Stella crawls onto the couch next to you, her small hands carefully pressing against your belly. “Mommy, when will the baby come out?”

“In a few months, sweetie,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “He needs to grow a little more before he’s ready.”

“Will he be bigger than me?”

“Not at first,” Tony interjects, scooping her up onto his lap. “But don’t worry, Stella. You’ll always be the boss. It’s your job to teach him everything you know.”

Stella beams at that, puffing out her chest. “I’m going to be the best big sister ever.”

Tony chuckles, kissing her on the forehead. “I have no doubt.”

The rest of the day is filled with the usual chaos—Stella insisting she help with dinner (which mostly means spilling flour everywhere), Thor recounting dramatic tales of Asgardian battles to an enraptured audience, and Tony tinkering in his lab while occasionally glancing over to check on you.

Later that night, as you’re tucking Stella into bed, she clings to your arm, her wide eyes full of curiosity.

“Mommy?” she asks softly. “Do you think the baby will like Uncle Thor too?”

You laugh, stroking her hair. “Probably. But I think he’s going to like you the most.”

Her face lights up, and she snuggles deeper into her blankets. “Good. I’ll share Uncle Thor with him, but only a little.”

After kissing her goodnight, you return to the living room, where Tony is waiting on the couch, a glass of sparkling water in hand for you.

“Is she down?” he asks, pulling you gently into his side as you sink onto the cushions.

“Out like a light,” you reply, taking the glass. “She was asking if the baby will like Thor.”

Tony groans, tipping his head back dramatically. “That man is a menace.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know you love how happy he makes her.”

Tony’s arm tightens around you, his voice softening. “Yeah, I do. But you know what makes me happiest?”

“What?”

“This,” he says, resting his hand on your bump again. “All of us. Together.”

You smile, your heart full as you lean into him. “Me too.”

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its-time-to-write · 2 days ago

Text

chapter 7

y’all I am SO SORRY this is so late. I’ve been caught up with end-of-year stuff at work and planning for next year. but I’m posting the last two chapters now🙃

I’m not sure how active I’ll be moving forward lol, 2025 is shaping up to be a pretty big year for me, professionally speaking, and that either means I’ll have more free time or less. Idk. But thank you for supporting my writing!!! You guys make me happy🩵🩵🩵

table of contents

found god at your ex’s house

To be entirely honest, the longest and only conversation you’ve ever had with goddamn Keeley Jones was at the Prada show right before you found out about Bean’s existence.

You’d prefer to keep it that way but fucking Madeline is friends with her so now you’re headed to a stupid, awful, horrible girls’ night at her house and you’d rather fucking die.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But your experiences concerning Keeley have been unpleasant at best.

She first caught your notice in a tabloid on a yacht with Jamie and a screaming headline to match your screaming mind. It was two weeks after Jamie came over for the last time and apparently not enough time to get over him.

You’d gone straight to Madeline’s to scream into a pillow.

Then she was in your instagram, and when you had blocked her she appeared in fan edits and fucking WAG accounts. Then she was at the Prada show and in magazines and on the telly. It felt like no matter how much you tried to shut her out, Keeley fucking Jones remained as a painful reminder.

It wasn’t her fault per se, but you hated the role she played in Jamie’s deterioration.

And now Madeline is fucking friends with her.

“What the actual hell, Madeline,” you groan. “Keeley fucking Jones? Are you serious? She’s the fucking worst. AND she’s not to be trusted! The girl hardly has two braincells to rub together.”

Madeline rolls her eyes. “I understand that you hate her. But she’s kind and sweet and actually a bit brilliant. I’m not going to tell her about you or Bean, but she’s not some vile, boyfriend-stealing bitch.”

“I’m not saying that,” you reply as you try to get Clare to burp. “I’m just saying that the girl could stand to grow up a little.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She has. I think you’d like her.”

“Fuck off,” you scoff right as Clare burps. “See? Clare agrees.”

Madeline shrugs. “Clare is three months old. She doesn’t get a vote.”

You wrinkle your nose and say, “You mean unless she agrees with you, right?” and Madeline smiles her most angelic smile.

“All I’m saying is you’re more than welcome to come with me tonight.”

“I’d rather die,” you inform her.

—

Jamie has the day off. They won against Aston Villa on Sunday so he’s supposed to be resting, but he’s never been very good at that.

So he does what any self-respecting person would do and goes to his ex’s house.

He forgets Roy fucking Kent is going to be there until the man himself has opened the door but Jamie musters up some arrogance and breezes right by him. Keeley knows he’s coming anyway, so he’s not going to be harassed by some grumpy old twat.

Roy must be sick or something because he doesn’t say anything. If Jamie weren’t so consumed with his own worries he might actually be concerned.

But he’s not so he sits on Keeley’s couch like he belongs there and lets her hand him a cup of tea before she sits down next to him.

Roy isn’t far off, pretending to read a book but Jamie is abso-fucking-lutely positive he hasn’t turned a single page yet.

But absolutely FUCK it because he needs Keeley’s professional, girl opinion.

“I’ve got a kid,” he says, and both Keeley and Roy do absolutely horrible jobs at pretending they’re shocked.

“Fuck off, how the fuck did you know?” he protests. “Was it Ted?”

Roy and Keeley exchange a Look and it just makes Jamie madder.

“Technically it was Coach Beard,” Keeley says in a mousy voice. “We figured you’d tell us when you were ready, Jamie.”

That’s just confusing. “How the fuck did Beard know?” he asks.

“Kid looks just fucking like you,” Roy says and that makes Jamie mad too because when the fuck did Roy see Clare?

“I saw them on the green when I was with Phoebe,” Roy clarifies and Jamie takes a minute to file that away as Roy Kent’s first-ever non-swearing sentence.

He says, “fucking hell,” because really, fucking hell. He went from not knowing he had a baby to knowing to apparently the whole Richmond coaching staff knowing (and apparently meeting) her.

Keeley asks, “Is that why you’re here, babes?” and her gentle voice actually makes him want to fucking cry so he just nods and puts his head in his hands.

“Don’t know shit about being a dad,” he says, voice muffled, and Roy slams his book shut because apparently he has shit to say.

“Fuck off, Tartt,” he says. “Stop being a little bitch.”

Keeley exclaims, “Roy!” but she’s also curious about what he has to say because she doesn’t do anything else to stop him.

“I fucking mean it,” he continues. “You fucking come here expecting to fucking cry on the couch and be told you’re fucking shit at something and throw a fucking pity party, so fuck off. You might be a shit father, you don’t fucking know, but that girl doesn’t fucking think so and if I were her, I’d hate your fucking guts. So untwist your fucking pants and stop being a fucking whiny little bitch. Go fucking be a dad and if you’re shit, you’re shit. But stop looking for fucking sympathy for something you’ve made up in your stupid fucking twat brain.”

With that he pushes himself out of his chair, swears at his knee, and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to remain silent for the next year since he’s met his word quota.

Jamie looks at Keeley as if to say, Are you hearing this prick? but Keeley just lifts a shoulder and says, “He’s right, babe. You’ve got to actually go do something about it.”

So Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and recounts everything his mum told him over the phone for some extra review.

—

Clare is easy, as far as babies go, but for some reason tonight she’s decided to be an absolute terror. She won’t eat, won’t go to sleep, won’t calm down. She just cries and cries and no matter how many times you check her temperature or her diaper, she cannot get it back together.

It doesn’t help that you’re tired, either. Like, newborn-level tired. And hungry, too. You’d order in but Clare hasn’t even allowed that so you open the fridge as best you can while bouncing Clare up and down. All you can see is a jar of gherkins, a can of soda, and some lemons.

And a fucking banana which must be Madeline’s because you’d rather die of starvation than eat that shit.

Fucking hell.

I am not going to cry you tell yourself sternly, except that doesn’t do anything except allow tears to well up faster than if you’d just let it alone.

You can’t call Madeline because she’s at Keeley’s and you’ll be damned if you interrupt her girls’ night. Madeline didn’t sign up to be tied down and she deserves a non-parent friend, so she’s not an option.

For a split second, you debate calling Jamie. But that’s a level of desperation you haven’t quite reached. You close the fridge and are saved from deciding what to do next by a knock on the door.

Clare wails like she’s being murdered, so you hope it isn’t the police but it isn’t, it’s just Jamie with a bag of groceries. He’s in the house setting up in the kitchen before your brain catches up with your eyes and Clare just cries the whole time.

You know exactly what he’s making before he’s even pulled out half the ingredients. It’s chicken pesto risotto, the dish you always begged him to make whenever he had a moment of free time. Jamie can cook maybe four things in total, but damn he can cook them well. He slices some bread, puts it on a plate with some butter and hands it to you, swapping the plate for Clare so easily that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’s been doing it his whole life. She stops crying the moment she’s in his arms and honestly, you’re too tired to worry about it. You crash on the couch and fall asleep after two bites.

It’s dark out when you wake up, but the lights are on in the house and it’s warm. Someone’s gently caressing the top of your head and saying your name, so you open your eyes to Jamie standing over you.

He’s looking at you with a soft expression, and your heart aches. It all feels too painfully normal.

He says, “Food’s ready,” and holds out a hand for you to grab.

You hesitate for the barest fraction of a moment before taking it. “Little Bean’s asleep in her bed,” he continues. “You hungry? Figured we could eat then you can go back to sleep.”

You nod. “Smells good, J. Are you planning on spending the night, then?”

Jamie shrugs. “I thought- I don’t know, I thought maybe you could use a break.”

He sits next to you at the table. The food’s been set out, and it’s still warm. It’s also the first meal you haven’t been responsible for in a good long while.

“So you’re just here now,” you say. “You’re the kind of person who shows up, cooks dinner, puts the baby to bed and watches telly in the evenings? You could barely handle a relationship, and now you want a fucking family? You can leave me all you want, but I swear to God, Jamie, I will murder you if you hurt Clare.”

It’s frustrating because it feels like you’re at an impasse. Jamie can come back once he’s shown he’s changed, but he can’t really show he’s changed if he can’t fucking come back, can he?

It doesn’t matter that he probably has changed and you know deep down that even he isn’t a big enough dick to abandon his daughter.

Jamie says, “I am. I mean, I won’t. I mean, fucking hell, you don’t have to fucking murder me, yeah? Just give me a chance, like.”

You snort. “Do you even know how to change a diaper?”

Jamie says, “Googled it, didn’t I?” and that makes you genuinely laugh. Of course he did. But you laugh too loud and it wakes up Clare, who lets you know she’s irritated with a shriek. You knock your head lightly against the table and whisper, “Fuck,” before putting down your fork. You push your chair out and Jamie stands, lightning-fast.

“I got it,” he tells you, and you raise an eyebrow.

You reply, “Okay,” because if he’s going to act like a father, he’s going to have to put in the work. And you’re hungry and this is your favorite meal. Besides, what’s the worst that’s going to happen?

So Jamie goes to Clare’s room where she’s sobbing like there’s no tomorrow and you continue to eat while straining your ears to make sure Jamie isn’t panicking.

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for the fact that the worst thing that could happen is Jamie comes back out after ten minutes with a sleeping Clare on his chest and he looks so fucking hot that you want to jump his bones then and there.

Jamie is thankfully oblivious. He sits back down and pats Clare on the back so she doesn’t wake up again.

“How’s the food?” he whispers. “Haven’t cooked in fuckin’ ages.”

“Good,” you whisper back and then you lapse into silence.

“I can stay the night, if you want,” Jamie offers after a bit, and you glare.

“Not like that,” he hastily amends, “I mean if you want to sleep. I can feed Clare and whatever.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Jamie. What the fuck do you want from me? You can’t fucking come back here and play house when you want, and I get it, your dad’s a piece of shit and you don’t want to be like him. But you’re in the fucking Prem, Jamie.”

(“Got relegated,”) he mouths, but you just keep talking. “Fine. You’re in the Championship but everyone knows you at least are making it back to the Premier League and someday you’ll be with a team in the Champion’s League and that’s a lot of travel. It’s a lot of nights alone, and you’re not exactly the kind of person who likes sleeping alone.

Jamie looks offended at that, but it’s true. He’s twenty-six and in his prime.

This whole thing is just one giant circle with no solution.

“Oi,” he says, and he’s got his serious expression on. “I don’t want anything from you. I want you. Not even because of Clare, but she’s mint. I was coming to find you the other night because I wanted to fix things. I told you that. I meant it, I want to get back together. I know I’m hard to love sometimes but swear down, I want to make it work. Keeley’s on me about commitment and shit and I dunno, it sounds nice. I’m fucking tired of fucking around. That shit’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, because a baby and a girlfriend isn’t fucking exhausting as well.”

Jamie wrinkles his nose. “Fucking Garnacho’s having a kid. If that little shit can handle it, I can too.”

You concede. He has a point. “Fine. You can spend the night. I’m going to shower and then pass out, which means you’ve got the dishes and Clare. You can sleep in the guest room, yeah? I’ll set up the baby monitor.”

Jamie smiles, and before you can really think it through, you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say softly before heading upstairs. You’re going to get an earful from Madeline later, but for now you’re going to get good sleep for the first night in a long while.

next chapter

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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