#we see her go to the North to fight

[shoplifting]

one piece kaiju au save me

[phantasmicfish]

So I saw Dune Part 2 yesterday and I was initially super crushed because of the deviation from book canon but the more I think about it the more I sorta like it…

So without further ado here’s a list of stuff I liked about Dune Part 2:

- all the scenes initially of Paul growing closer to the Fremen. You can clearly see that they become friends, accept him as a Feydakin, that they’re laughing, joking, hanging out. (And contrast that to the end of the movie, where Paul has no more Fremen friends, only followers. In the book, this is echoed, where Paul recognizes that he has lost his friends to the Muad’Dib religion. Take book Stilgar, who truly embodies this… by the end of the book, Paul says: “I have seen a friend [Stilgar] become a worshipper.”

- giving Chani explicit rejection of Paul’s messiah status was an interesting choice. Chani’s main thought over part 2 is that they don’t need religion to save them, that through Fremen power and desert power, the Fremen can save themselves. She recognizes that this fanatical worship can be a vehicle to control and enslave her people, and I sorta wish we saw Paul lean into that more… that they found a way to stay together and ‘fight’ the prophecy together based on Chani’s ideals…

- also, I love how engrained this rejection of religion and prophecy is in her character. Book Chani takes no issue with her Fremen name, Sihaya (desert spring), but movie Chani hates it “because it’s part of some prophecy.” Later, we see that despite her rejection of prophecy and religion, that the prophecy does indeed come to pass— the tears of desert spring save Him aka, Chani saving Paul after he drinks The Water of Life. (Interesting how Jessica has to force Chani to save Paul using the Voice… another example of Jessica explicitly forcing Paul to become the messiah).

- adding more depth to Fremen culture— the South being the more religious fundamentalist tribes vs the North being more secular. Early on, the movie paints this immediate divide between the tribes of Fremen who accept Paul and Jessica versus those who treat them as offworlders (who murdered Jamis). In the books everyone accepts Paul and Jessica after Paul bests Jamis and Jessica quotes some scripture, but I think it makes more logical sense that there’d be friction over these two random offworlders coming in

- I love love loved Paul speaking at the meeting of the Fremen tribe leaders in the South. He fully accepts his messiah status, exercises his power of the Voice + his prescience as a way to command all the Fremen under his name

- I’m a big fan of omitting the two-year time skip, so with that I’m glad Leto II was skipped over entirely. I always felt that Leto II was an unnecessary character addition to the book, especially when he just dies and everyone sort of goes “oh well” and moves on, so I’m glad it’s omitted.

- another interesting choice was to paint Jessica as a straight up villain in comparison to the way her book counterpart was not. The movie Jessica we see here is seemingly corrupted by the Water of Life: she walks around talking to herself (Alia) and scheming Paul’s ascent to Lisan-Al Gaib. She knows about the Holy War, which is the very thing Paul is trying to prevent, yet she expresses no concern about bringing it to fruition. (Probably because Jessica knows it’s impossible to prevent, but still.) The very last line of the movie, where Alia asks Jessica what’s going on and Jessica says “The Holy War has begun” is just total villain in my mind— explicit acceptance of the Holy War, like it’s just another stepping stone in her plan. Plus, the fact that Paul has visions of Jessica leading him into this period of great starvation totally cements her as a villian.

- going off of that, I like that we see Jessica undergoing actual agony when she takes The Water of Life. When book Jessica and Paul take The Water of Life they accept it calmly and without obvious pain (book Jessica was sitting with her eyes closed, as if sleeping), so this physical reaction that Jessica has to the poison adds to the idea that The Water of Life did change her in a negative way.

- I feel like so far we’ve been introduced to Alia as just a weird talking fetus who’s been consorting with Jessica, so Paul’s vision where Alia says “I love you” really strikes home, that she really does care for Paul which we might not have understood otherwise

[entitled-fangirl]

Flames in snow.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Summary: the reader and Jace go to Winterfell to gain the support of the North. Cregan is not the same little boy they met all those years ago. But his son is quite similar to his father: his hair, his eyes, his love for the reader.

A/n: based on an ask! also... part 2 in the future?

Masterlist

..................................................

"Prince, Princess," Cregan acknowledged as the Valeryon siblings entered the Hall. 

Jace grinned, his sister trailing behind him.

Cregan had not seen the family in what felt like eons, when they were small children. Now, they were adults. 

Though life had been cruel to them, it did not show. 

"Lord Stark," Jace said in a cheery notion. "I thank you for your hospitality. We are most grateful that you have housed our dragons."

Cregan nodded, stepping to them. "The honor is mine. It is not often that the future of the realm steps through Winterfell's threshold."

Cregan didn't miss the way the young woman's brow quirked up at his choice of words.

"We come in the name of Queen Rhaenyra," Jace clarified, not bothering with small talk again. "The rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

Cregan looked confused, and Y/n finally spoke up. 

"Prince Aegon Targaryen II has usurped our mother's throne."

"And you are asking me if I will help fight your war, Princess?" Cregan quirked. 

She nodded.

"Let us not discuss such heavy matters while the dragon riders remain weary. Rest, and we will discuss further on the morrow."

…

The Princess walked the long halls of Winterfell, exploring it herself as the sun began to set. 

She paused her steps when she heard a small cry.

Though she was no mother, instinct kicked in, and she began to locate where it was coming from.

And she found it.

On the floor of the corridor was a young boy, not older than four. He sat and cried, the smallest bit of blood running from his knee.

She moved to him, lowering herself to the ground, "Let me see."

The boy looked up with puffy eyes, letting the woman help. 

A servant rounded the corner, her eyes widening at the sight, "Princess, please… allow me-"

"-That is quite alright. I have it handled." She declined politely. She turned back to the boy, "And what is your name?"

The boy sniffled, "R…Rickon."

Rickon. 

She'd heard that name before.

In her studies from childhood. 

Rickon Stark, the past Lord of Winterfell.

This was Cregan's son.

She let out a breath, "Oh… that's… that's a lovely name. My name is Y/n."

She helped the boy stand and the two walked slowly to the boy's chambers.

"Am I going to lose my leg?" He asked with a sniffle.

"Heavens, no. It takes much worse to best a Stark. Do you believe a mere scrape would take down your father?"

He shook his head, "Papa is strong." He gained a sudden enthusiasm, "One time, he fought a wolf! And… and he took his sword," he mimicked the motion, "and he drove it through its heart!" He looked back up to her. "Have you ever done that?"

She shook her head, "I can't say I have. I don't have a sword."

"Oh, yeah." He said glumly. "You're a girl."

She tilted her head, "Well… I may not have a sword, but I have my own weapon." She paused dramatically, "I have a dragon!"

The boy's eyes lit up, "A dragon?! Papa does not have a dragon."

"Only children with dragon blood get a dragon. You, young Stark, have wolf blood in you. That's something of importance as well."

Finally at his chambers, he slumped in one of the chairs, "But it's not like a dragon."

"No," she countered. "But if everyone had the same blood, what would make each of us special?" She grinned as she kneeled in front of his chair. "You know, dragon blood gets quite cold up here. Do you get cold, Little Lord Stark?"

He frowned and shook his head. 

"Exactly. Wolf blood does not get as chilled."

"Is your dragon here?"

She nodded.

"Can I meet him?"

"Her, sweet boy. Silverwing is a girl."

"Can I meet her?"

She tilted her head, "Maybe before I leave. Until then, let me clean you up and put you to bed."

So caught up in the conversation, he had forgotten his little scrape entirely.

…

"Might I be curious enough to ask why the Princess is roaming the castle at so late of an hour?" Came a voice.

She jumped, turning to see Lord Stark standing with a small grin on his face. "Pardon me. It's not my place to wander."

"It's quite alright. My home is yours for as long as you'll have it."

She nodded, unsure of what to say to the man.

"You've grown," he finally said.

A soft giggle escaped her throat. "We are not children anymore, my lord. I'm afraid we'll never be."

"Aye. But I dare say that is not a bad thing." He tried to hide the way his eyes flit over her frame. His body naturally stepped towards her.

"I… I was quite saddened to hear of the loss of your wife."

Cregan nodded, taking another step. "I know. You wrote me. Remember?"

A warm smile came across her face. "I'm starting to. I do not remember what I said-"

"- 'May there be warmth in the cold, and flames in snow. May you be bundled in comfort anywhere you go. If not, I will ride with my dragon high, to bring it myself when the time is nigh.' "

Her smile faltered a bit, "You remember that so clearly?"

Cregan's felt his heart jolt. "I've always remembered you clearly."

An involuntary breath left her throat. 

The two stared at one another, an obvious tension coming over them. 

"I… I shall return to my chambers," she finally whispered. 

Cregan snapped from his trance and nodded, backing away from her, "Aye. Sleep well, Princess."

"Good night."

…

Things seemed to repeat themselves, because she found Rickon again in that same hall as before. 

"Lord Rickon?"

Rickon's head turned and his face lit up.

Y/n sat next to him, looking at what he had to play with.

It was wooden horses, through beaten from its time in the little boy's hands, they were carefully carved. 

Someone made them with care.

"Might I play with you?" She asked nicely.

A horse was thrusted into her hand.

"Papa does not play with me. He does not want to," Rickon finally said.

"That's not true, boy," she tried to reason. "Your father is just… needed by many people."

"I need him."

She felt a pain in her chest at the boy's honesty.

She understood the feeling very well.

"One day, little lord, you will be just as needed as him, and you will understand. Until then, I'm afraid there's little to help ease the pain."

"You help."

A noise almost escaped her throat. "Yes, but… I am not here forever."

The young boy sighed. 

"I wish you could be."

…

The three stood around a table, trying to come to an agreement on an alliance. 

"I have troubles of the other side of the Wall to consider, my prince. I cannot afford to turn my back to it with winter approaching."

Jace sighed, "What good would guarding the Wall do if there is nothing to protect?"

"Jace," Y/n butted in, "Be reasonable."

Jace turned to her, "Sister, the queen needs an army."

"So does the Warden. He knows his people's needs better than us."

"Thank you, Princess," Cregan offers. His gaze stays on her for a second too long. "I have 2,000 graybeards at your disposal. They've seen far too many winters."

"And you'll not march with them?" Jace asked in frustration.

"I will stay until the time is right," Cregan countered. 

"Stay with Rickon, you mean?" Y/n asked softly. "You're staying behind for him, yes?"

Cregan's eyes mixed with confusion and surprise. "You…"

She flushed. "Perhaps that was too forward of me, my lord. Forgive me."

"No, you…" his eyes softened, as well as his voice. "You are the one he has been discussing so gleefully?"

The confusion shifts to her, "I'm sorry?"

"Rickon, he," Cregan lets out a soft scoff. "He has been completely enamored with someone. I didn't know who it was, I assumed a servant."

Jace turns to her, "What is he speaking of?"

"I have indeed interacted with the boy, but it has not been that life changing for him surely-"

"-My Princess, Rickon speaks of no one but you."

Rickon ran through the doors, going straight to Cregan.

Cregan abandoned the table to catch his son, raising him up in the air, "Good morning, my boy."

Rickon giggled and squirmed in his father's hold.

Cregan let him down and ruffled his hair, "Go on, Rickon. Your papa has business he must discuss."

"You will not play with me?" Rickon pouted.

The tough lord of Winterfell let out a soft breath. "Forgive me, son. Not this morning."

Rickon's eyes flit to her, and they brighten, "Will you play with me?"

"Son, that is the princess you speak to. She has little time for such things."

"No, my lord," she interrupted. "I'd… I'd quite like the change of scenery. This talk to war is getting to my head. Perhaps chats of horses will be better."

Rickon's eyes light up, and he quickly grabs her hand and drags her from the room to play.

Jace is left in bewilderment. "I had no idea."

"Neither did I."

…

A few hours later, Cregan came to collect the two.

He found them in the courtyard. 

"Rickon!" He called out.

The boy's head shot up and he gathered his things and ran to his father. 

Cregan ran a hand through Rickon's hair, noting the way the princess watched the interaction from afar. "Go wash up."

Rickon went to move, then paused. 

"Can princesses live in Winterfell, Papa?"

Cregan froze. "Why do you ask, boy?"

"The princess should live here."

Cregan smiled, "You like to play with her that much?"

"She's my favorite." And with that, Rickon went into the castle.

The princess stood, seeing Rickon leave and Cregan approach. "My lord."

"Please, princess. I would prefer you call me by my name."

"Yes, my lord."

He tilted his head.

"Cregan."

He grinned at her correction, "Much better."

Her gaze moved downwards towards the object in her hand.

Cregan followed and his breath hitched. 

One of Rickon's horses. 

"He ran off before I could return it," she admitted. 

Her fingers ran over the mane of it, and Cregan felt a fire ignite within him, but he pushed it down to speak. "There is time to return it."

"You carved it."

Cregan's head tilted, "What?"

She held it up, "You carved this. Surely you did."

He reached up and took it from her, sucking in a breath with their fingers brushed. He studied the beat up toy, as if recalling a memory. "Aye. I did."

"It's beautiful work," she commented. "You've always… been gifted."

He felt his ears turn a shade of pink. "I thank you, Princess."

When silence fell over the two, Cregan continued. "When I leave Rickon, and I journey to the Wall, I whittle these little things. It gives me something to do, and in turn, gives him a reason to want me home."

"He wants you home regardless."

Something in him broke. 

"I know."

She placed her hand over his. "You're doing the right thing."

"Then why is it so damn difficult?"

She wasn't sure what to say to that.

But she didn't miss the way his fingers shook under hers, and his eyes taking her in as if something had dawned on him.

…

The two had avoided one another after that, only speaking when necessary. 

But it all came to a close on their last day in Winterfell.

"I have a final proposition, Prince Jacaerys."

Jace's head shot up, "Name it."

"I remain Warden, the North keeps its independence as is…"

Jace was on the edge of his seat. "And?"

Cregan smiled. "I have the princess's hand."

Y/n's shoulders stiffened from beside her brother. "W…What?"

"I want your hand, Princess."

Jace was just as confused. "You… You've not stated these intentions before."

"I understand that, but that does not mean they were not there. She would make a beautiful Lady Stark."

"Cregan," she reasoned. "I could not possibly-"

"-These are my conditions." He said it persistently.

"Cregan, this is my sister we speak of, do not-"

"-Jace. Let me speak with Lord Stark."

Jace looked between the two, then excused himself.

When the door was closed, she began to speak. "What are you doing?"

"I am being sincere, my princess. I want you as my wife."

And sincere he was. Hope shone in his eyes as he looked to her. She gave a hinted smile, "And you're sure?"

His eyes shone brightly. "I've never been more sure of something in my life. You bring a light to my boy, and you're a light to me."

"Cregan, this war-"

"-You will fight with your mother, as you wish, and return to me in Winterfell when the time is right."

She studied him for a while, making him sweat despite the constant chill of his home. 

"I'm happy to marry you, Cregan. For our houses. For your son," she paused to take a breath. "For you."

A wide smile spread across his face. "You've done me a great service."

"It is not service to me," she smiled. "It is not a duty or sacrifice. It is what I want."

"Rickon shall be overjoyed."

"I'd rather you be the overjoyed one in this moment."

Cregan grinned again and moved to her, wrapping his arms around her. His voice lowered, "Trust me, I am." He paused, "You've come through on your promise, you know."

She tilted her head to look at him, "And what is that?"

" 'Flames in snow,' " he grinned as his lips brushed against hers, "You've brought me comfort in multitudes."

......................................

A/n: I have some good ideas for part 2

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[rhaenyra-storms]

Hiii I hope you are well! I would like to request Cregan Stark x reader where he gifts her a direwolf on their wedding night and immediately regrets it when all her attention is on her new pet and not on him. Thank you 😊

this idea is simply so adorable, i love it!!

pairing: cregan stark x f!reader warnings: cregan being a little jealous, he needs attention (<3), brief mention of reader having had sex with cregan, nudity, reader's house is not specified but it's in the north, cregan and reader are a little madly in love words: 1.1k

masterlist

As a child, you had always wondered what your wedding night would be like. You had fantasised about the man you might marry, about the ceremony and what dress you would wear. Your mother had always assured you that you shouldn't dream too much about it, so the reality of things wouldn't potentially disappoint you.

Growing up in the most southern part of the North, you only ever ventured to Winterfell for a big feast. It was also the only time you were able to meet with Cregan Stark who happened to be the same age as you.

Your parents weren't oblivious to the fact that you seemed to get along well with the young lord and it wasn't a surprise to anyone when your marriage was arranged for years later. As you and him came of age, you had visited Winterfell countless times throughout your teenage years. Cregan had now accepted the title of Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, making you Lady of Winterfell after your planned wedding.

Despite your mother preparing you for the worst when it came to an arranged marriage, you were lucky enough to fall in love with the man you had to wed. Cregan was strong, but gentle and he loved to take you on long walks around the Godswood or even in the forest. His hands were calloused from work and fighting, but they always bore a comforting warmth when they gingerly touched your face.

Your wedding night had been a great feast and you seemed to lose yourself in each other when you were finally alone. The sounds from the people still celebrating downstairs had quiet down and so did the steps of guests returning to their rooms in the castle.

Cregan had wrapped his arm around you as you cuddled close to each other under the wolf pelts. You hadn't bothered to put on new clothes anymore, legs intertwined and your fingers moving over his strong chest.

Your husband planted a soft kiss on the top of your head, his hand gently moving down your spine. "I still want to show you something before we go to sleep, my love," he whispered, his deep voice leaving goosebumps on your skin. You tilted your head up, looking for his grey eyes as you were already wondering what he might have to show you in this moment.

You had already received so many gifts throughout the night, but nothing came close to spending time with Cregan, alone. "Now I'm curious," you chuckled and pushed yourself up a little.

His gaze lingered on your body for a moment and he didn't hesitate to steal a kiss from your lips before he climbed out of the bed. He grabbed his undergarments and a robe from the chair near the fireplace. It was hard to contain your smile when you watched the defined muscles in his back move as he covered himself up.

"Stay here. I promise I'll be right back."

Your husband probably wasn't gone for longer than a few moments, but you couldn't wait to see what he would come up with. You sat up against the headboard and pulled the covers over your body, impatiently staring at the door to your room.

After what felt like an eternity to you, Cregan eventually returned with a small puppy in his arms. A direwolf pup if your eyes didn't deceive you.

"You're joking," you gasped and didn't hesitate to open your arms, reaching out for the pup as your husband sat down on the edge of the bed. "You've been talking a lot about direwolves recently, so I thought this would make a fine gift for the new Lady of Winterfell," he smiled, placing the grey puppy down in your lap.

He was small, but his eyes were full with curiosity as it looked at you. "Is it a boy or a girl? This is wonderful, Cregan, thank you," you smiled, squeezing your husband's hand gently before stroking over the puppy's fur.

"It's a boy, but you can choose its name, of course."

It would take you a little to think about a suitable name, but that surely wouldn't stop you from cuddling the puppy all night long. The direwolf seemed to be content in your presence too as it cuddled into you almost instantly, looking up at you with its big eyes. Cregan watched you with a smile on his face and he took the time to drink a cup of wine and undress once more as you scratched the puppy behind its ears and made sure the wolf knew how adorable it was.

You had always admired direwolves and having your own seemed like a dream in this moment. You didn't even notice that your husband settled back into bed with you, laying down on the pillows next to you.

How much time passed until he broke the silence?

It was adorable to see you so happy. He wanted to see you like this for the rest of his life, happiness in your eyes and that adorable smile on your face. But he couldn't help feeling like he might have robbed himself of your attention for the evening and the following days. There wasn't any hard feelings of course, but he also couldn't resist you when you were right next to him.

While you were scratching the puppy under its chin, Cregan sat up next to you, one arm sliding around your waist. You could feel his breath next to your ear, a shiver running down your spine.

"You forgot me so easily," he joked softly, teeth grazing your ear. A giggle escaped your lips and you turned your head to him slowly, the still unnamed puppy stretching in your lab. "Is someone jealous?" You asked, coaxing a laugh from your husband.

"Maybe. A little. I want head scratches too," he grinned, taking your chin between two fingers and tilting your head more towards him. "I just want a few more kisses from my wife before we go to sleep." His voice got a little deeper with each word, his gaze flickering between your lips and eyes.

The puppy climbed over into his lap eventually, but you were too entranced in your husband's eyes to care too much about it. You brought a hand up to brush a loose strand of dark hair back behind his ear.

"Mhm, I'm sure I can arrange that," you whispered against his lips. Cregan closed the gap between you eventually, the kiss gentle, but passionate.

Even though you did continue to play with the puppy for a little while longer, he felt like the happiest man alive as his arms wrapped around you from behind, feeling your figure against him as he fell asleep slowly an hour later.

He couldn't wait to wake up next to you the following morning. And for all mornings to come.

[reasonsforhope]

"In an open-air courtroom set up in a nature reserve in Western NSW, a four-nation clan has secured one of the largest native title claims in the region's history. 

Far from the four walls and formalities of a federal courtroom, Justice Melissa Perry delivered her determination at Newey Reserve in Cobar on Wednesday, recognising the native title rights of the Ngemba, Ngiyampaa, Wangaaypuwan and Wayilwan peoples.

The decision marks the successful end of a 12-year legal battle that began in 2012.

The claim covers more than 95,000 square kilometres of land and water from the Barwon River in the north, to the Lachlan River in the south, the Castlereagh River in the east and Ivanhoe to the west. 

It recognises native title rights including the right to hunt, fish and gather resources, the right to access and camp on land and right to protect places of cultural and spiritual importance.

A legacy for future custodians 

Aunty Elaine Ohlsen, a Ngiyampaa Elder from Cobar and one of the original applicants, said the decision brought her "mixed emotions".

"I just persevered," she said.

"We've been through a lot of trials and tribulations to get here, but I'm someone who won't give up fighting for our people."

"These sorts of things need to happen all the time, because we need to know who we are and where we come from and where we are in this country."

Aunty Elaine hopes the determination will inspire future generations to continue their ancestors' legacy.

"Hopefully, this will encourage them to stay connected to their country, heritage, and culture, and to carry on the hard work we've done," she said.

Vision for the future

Wangaaypuwan man and claim applicant John Shipp recently camped on country with four generations of his family.

He said the recognition of native title meant they could continue to do so without fear of being moved on.

"It's just those little things that give us our connection back to our land, our heritage, our culture," he said.

The native title holders have now formed the Ngemba, Ngiyampaa, Wangaaypuwan Wayilwan Aboriginal Corporation (NNWW Corporation) to manage their rights.

As a director of the NNWW Corporation, Mr Shipp sees the determination as the beginning of a new chapter...

As for Mr Shipp's message to other Indigenous groups fighting for recognition?

"Keep going — it's getting better, it's getting shorter, it's happening, just keep going," he said."

-via ABC News Australia, August 14, 2024

[woso-dreamzzz]

Jessie's Girl III

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Jessie Fleming x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first Jessie nap

You yawn as Magda unstraps you from the car, curling into her warmth against the frigid winter air.

It's early in the morning, much too early for you to be awake, you think. It's early and cold and you're not wearing much but your pjs and a coat to keep you protected from the weather.

You're not even wearing proper shoes, just little slippers that make it look like sharks are eating your feet.

You did not enjoy your early morning wakeup call today, having been exhausted last night after a long day of playing.

You clutch girl-swan and girl-moose as you rest your head on Magda's shoulder while Pernille grabs all the bags out of the back of the car.

You're going to an away game today, up in Liverpool so it was either travelling up there last night or going super early in the morning.

Clearly, the staff had chosen super early in the morning.

It wasn't the best idea, trying to fit that into your schedule but Pernille had purposely tired you out last night so you would sleep the four hour long trip up north.

But, still, getting you up this morning was a nightmare and your steadfast refusal to get dressed this morning meant packing an extra bag of all the clothes you needed to change into when you got there.

"Hey," Pernille says, jostling the hand that's clinging to Magda's shirt collar," You can't fall asleep yet, princesse. Let's get on the bus first."

"Hmm," You say," Nein, Momma."

It's not uncommon for you to slip into one of your other languages when you're tired and neither Pernille nor Magda have to heart to lecture you about it right now.

Magda makes sure to put a little more bounce in her step as she gets to the bus, stepping on and hoping that it's enough to keep you awake.

"Someone not willing to wake up?" Millie laughs when she sees the pyjamas you're still wearing and the massive bedhead you still haven't had brushed out.

"It was definitely a fight this morning," Magda admits, slipping into her seat and forcing you out of your hiding space in her neck," But we're ready to stay awake now, aren't we?"

"Nej."

Magda sighs. "Not even for a little bit?"

"Night-Night."

Pernille swoops in before you can close your eyes though, putting your sippy cup to your mouth and making you take a long drink before she pulls out your favourite goldfish crackers for you to munch on.

"The little miss decided she didn't want to eat breakfast at home," Pernille says to Millie," So we've compromised."

Pernille makes you eat the whole pack and then have another drink from your sippy cup.

"Alright," She says finally, fishing blankie out of your bag and draping it around your shoulders," Do you still want to sleep now?"

She already knows the answer.

The bus will rock around like the car does and the car has always been her secret weapon to get you to sleep. When you were younger and fussy, all Pernille would have to do is pop you in the car and drive around for a bit until you were out like a light.

She knows the bus will have the same affect.

You push your tiny hand against her chest though as a yawn makes its way through your whole body.

"Not-Not with you," You say and Pernille smothers a smile.

"Alright. With Morsa then?"

Magda opens her arms up for you and you poke a tiny finger against her chest too.

"Not with Morsa."

"What? Why not with me?"

You stick your tongue out in answer before Pernille regains your attention.

"Who do you want to sleep with?"

You're still new to Not-Wolfsburg and you don't know everyone that well yet. You know Millie, kind of, because she's Morsa's friend but you don't think you want to nap with her even though she's big and strong and looks like she gives good hugs.

Your eyes scan through the seats as more and more people climb onto the bus. You rule them all out as they pass you so you're not quite sure who exactly you want.

Until Jessie gets on.

You like Jessie a lot. She's warm and cuddly and speaks English you can understand.

"Jessie!" You announce as she slips into the seat on the other side of the aisle to you.

She smiles at the call of her name, capturing your hand for a brief moment before she sits.

"You want to sleep with Jessie?" Pernille checks and your head bobs up and down furiously.

Jessie is the one you want to nap with.

"Alright then."

Pernille lifts you over the aisle into Jessie's arms.

"Wait...what?"

Jessie is sat in a four seater with a table, like how Momma and Morsa and Millie are sitting. Niamh is opposite her, stretched out across two seats, giggling to herself.

"Princesse would like to nap with you," Magda says," She's all ready for bed."

You point at your special slippers. "Sharks eatin' my feet, Jessie," You tell her before yawning again.

"Oh..er..."

"Stretch out, Jessie," Pernille advises," And just let her lay on you. I promise she doesn't moved around much in her sleep."

Jessie does as she's told and lets you find a comfortable position, turning onto your belly and pressing your head against the crook of your neck.

Your blanket's a little bunched up, she notices as the bus engine roars to life and the driver pulls it onto the road.

Carefully, Jessie spreads it out, curving the edges around your body until you're sufficiently covered.

You shuffle a little bit, getting even more comfortable against your favourite Not-Wolfsburg player.

Across the aisle, only ten minutes later, Millie bites down a laugh.

"Looks like both kids are down for the count."

[delulujuls]

the true one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the pt3 of my jace series. i was having few ideas for how to end this one but i got carried away and i even started to feel bad how i decided to solve it.

we will see if i will end this up on here or write another part because man i do really feel bad for aegon:( im not gonna lie, at one moment i started to smell a love trangle forming up here lmao

summary: love lifts you up, but it can also hurt you. in case of dragon princess and young prince from dragonstone, love saved westeros from war, but it broke one heart that was already broken enough. a shattered heard from someone who since the beginning wanted love, not the crown.

warnings: mentions of sex, nothing crazy though

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. cregan stark aka the-best-wingman-in-whole-westeros and aegon 'the broken boy' targaryen)

King Viserys did not engage in many wars during his reign, for he was considered a wise and good ruler. However, those that were unavoidable, he almost always managed to win. There was one battle he unfortunately could not win, and that was the battle with his illness.

Death came for the good king shortly after his 52nd Name Day, leaving Westeros without a ruler. There were two candidates vying for the Iron Throne, each equally certain of their right to it.

Many believed that Rhaenyra, the king's first child, was the rightful heir to the throne. However, because she was a woman, the crown fell to Aegon, Viserys' eldest son. Ultimately, he was proclaimed the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but not everyone agreed with this decision. One of those who did not was Rhaenyra herself.

The Princess of Dragonstone, believing there had been a misunderstanding, began to gather allies around her who were willing to support her claim to the throne. Aegon, of course, did the same. At some point, however, there was no more talk of a peaceful resolution, and gathering allies turned into gathering armies. A cold wind blew over Westeros, heralding not only the coming winter but also war.

The most distant from the sunny King's Landing to the south was the North. There lay many settlements rich in resources and armies, which were now more valuable than gold. Both Rhaenyra and Aegon had no intention of wasting time. They had to secure allies faster than their opponent.

"You will go North," Rhaenyra told her eldest son. "Lord Cregan is closer to your age than mine. I am sure you will find a common language."

Jacaerys nodded silently and embraced his mother. He understood the weight of the task entrusted to him and intended to fulfill it to the best of his ability. Similar words Alicent Hightower directed to her eldest daughter when she visited her in her chambers one evening.

"Me?" the young princess asked, sitting in front of the mirror and brushing her hair. The maid who had been doing it earlier quickly left the room as soon as the queen appeared. "You have the King's Best Sword and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at your disposal, and you want to send me to the North?"

"Aemond may wield a sword skillfully, and Ser Criston may be an envoy of even the Father himself," she said, gripping the back of the chair her daughter sat in. "But they are still men. They are driven by the desire to fight and pride."

When she looked at her daughter's face in the reflection, the girl merely shook her head.

"The people of the North must see the sacrifice we are willing to offer. You will not gain their support by intimidating them with a dragon but with gentleness and a good heart, burning with zeal and the desire for peace."

"The desire for peace," the girl scoffed. "You want to send me there to gather people ready to go to their deaths."

Alicent lowered her gaze. She looked at her daughter's bright hair, flowing down her back like liquid gold. She took it between her fingers and began to braid it.

"You are betrothed to the king, soon to be his wife and queen of the Seven Kingdoms," she said. "You will present yourself to them as the king's prudent right hand and future good queen. No one warms the image of a ruler better than his wife."

"Rhaenyra doesn't need to send anyone to the North to gain their support," she replied, glancing at her mother in the reflection. "You know well that no one will stand by the usurper."

"Perhaps not by the usurper, but by the future queen, they might."

The young princess knew that her mother left her no choice. Knowing that her journey was doomed to failure, she mounted her dragon the same day and set off in the direction from which the cold, winter-foretelling wind blew.

The eldest Targaryen princess and the prince of Dragonstone had not seen each other since they had celebrated Rhaenyra's 32nd Name Day together with King Viserys. Much had changed since then. News of the king's death spread across Westeros, and the Targaryen family split in two. Nothing indicated that the young princes, bound by feelings, would ever meet again. Certainly, none of them expected to meet hundreds of miles from home on frozen ground.

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, knew this well. Ravens informing of the visit had reached him from both King's Landing and Dragonstone. The Small Council, in which the Wolf of the North sat, tried to dissuade him from the crazy idea of bringing both warring sides to Winterfell. However, Cregan was hopeful that Jacaerys was not driven by his mother's spirit and that the young princess was not a reflection of her cruel brother. He believed he would see dragons dancing while playing on the snowy sky, not waging war. He believed that youth and good hearts would prevail.

The prince of Dragonstone arrived in Winterfell first. Vermax swooped down from the sky with a roar, causing the inhabitants to watch the winged beast in horror. Neither the dragon nor its rider had any ill intentions. The same intentions did not drive the young princess, who arrived in the capital of the North shortly afterward. Just as the relatively small Vermax instilled fear in the people, so did the sight of the massive Vermithor prompt many to clasp their hands in prayer. May the Old Gods watch over the North.

When the Bronze Fury descended from the sky, Lord Stark and Prince Velaryon were on their way back from the Wall. They learned of the guest's arrival only when a rider came to meet them, announcing the arrival of a dragon.

"A dragon?" Jacaerys furrowed his brow and looked questioningly at the host. "Another dragon has come to Winterfell?"

"Yes, my prince," Cregan replied, urging his horse forward. "Let us hurry, we must not keep the guest waiting."

The young princess was informed that Lord Stark would soon arrive and was taken from the cold and invited to the chamber set aside for her stay in Winterfell. She removed her warm cloak and sat by the fireplace, rubbing her cold hands. She had been uncertain during the journey, but now she began to feel genuinely nervous. What was her mother thinking, sending her here?

Jacaerys remained silent throughout the return journey, gripping the reins so tightly his fingers went numb. Who had come to Winterfell? Had his mother sent someone after him? If so, why? And if it wasn't Rhaenyra, someone from King's Landing must have come North. Aegon? No, that would be too prudent. Aemond? Had he come to secure allies? And why had Lord Stark accepted this so calmly? Was it an ambush?

When they arrived at Winterfell, they headed straight for the castle. Instructed which chamber the guest awaited in, they went there immediately. Jacaerys' heart pounded wildly, and he did not share Lord Stark's calm demeanor. When Cregan knocked and pushed open the heavy door to one of the chambers, Jacaerys felt his heart leap into his throat. Hearing the knock at the door, the young princess felt the same. She took a deep breath and rose from her seat, smoothing her tunic with her hands. She looked up at the entrance and saw a tall, young man. She guessed that the steely-eyed youth was Lord Stark. However, he was not alone; someone else entered right behind him. The princess could not believe her eyes. She felt as though her mind was playing tricks on her after the exhausting journey.

"Jace?" she spoke uncertain, almost questioningly.

Jacaerys was in such shock that he felt as if his legs had grown roots into the ground.

"Princess," was all he could stammer out as she quickly approached him and hugged him tightly. The young prince closed his eyes and returned the embrace strongly. Feeling her in his arms, her hair tickling his face, he realized it was not a dream. It was truly her.

Cregan smiled at the sight of the dragons lost in each other's embrace. He knew he had no reason to worry. Kindness and youth would always prevail.

Still holding the girl, Jacaerys glanced at the Wolf Lord. Cregan smiled at him and quietly left the room.

"I thought I would never see you again," the girl whispered after a moment, pulling away and cupping his face in her hands. Tears shone in her violet eyes. Jacaerys took her hands and kissed each one.

"I feared the same," he admitted, not hiding his own emotions.

The pair sat by the fireplace, talking animatedly. They held each other's hands tightly the entire time, as if afraid that one might disappear at any moment.

They talked for a long time, forgetting the world around them. They spoke of what had happened to them since their last meeting, about the events that were tearing their family apart, and about the looming war. When their conversation turned to more serious topics, a servant entered the room, announcing that Lord Stark invited them to dinner. The Dragon Princess and the Prince of Dragonstone joined the Wolf of the North. The dinner was sumptuous but did not have many guests. The dining room hosted only the three of them.

"I hope you don't hold this arranged meeting against me, your Highnesses," Cregan said, pouring them wine.

The princess shook her head while eating, taking a sip from her goblet.

"It was a bold move, my lord," Jacaerys admitted. "I guess you had no certainty about how it might end."

"Indeed," Cregan acknowledged. "But I felt that neither of you held the dark values that sometimes blind your families. Luckily for me, and even more for the people of Winterfell, I managed to avoid making another Harrenhall here."

"You can't deny your courage, my lord," the girl smiled, glancing at him. "A bit of madness too."

Cregan smiled at her words and raised his goblet in a toast.

"I hope we can reach a good understanding together."

The princely pair also raised their goblets in a toast. That evening, there was no lack of wine and ale, and the topic of the impending war, though important, was left for another day. That evening was spent on more pleasant and mundane conversations. It did not resemble an evening where three representatives of different values gathered, but rather three friends.

As the wine started to buzz in their heads and the table was cleared of food, Lord Stark declared it was time to retire. After wishing each other a good night, Jacaerys went to escort the princess to her chamber. He held her securely by the waist to prevent her from falling, as their legs wobbled like reeds in the wind. The pair giggled quietly in each other's arms, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"Stay with me," she whispered when they reached her chamber. "I guess the nights are exceptionally cold here."

"How could I refuse you, princess," he smiled, and she returned his smile and pulled him inside. On unsteady legs, she walked to a small mirror and sat down, beginning to undo her hair. Jacaerys approached her and gently, with great reverence, began to help. He carefully untangled her braids, occasionally glancing at her face in the mirror. Their eyes met frequently, eliciting soft giggles. The young prince had never stopped having feelings for her, feelings that had blossomed so vividly when they spent time together on Dragonstone. The young princess couldn't recall a day when she hadn't thought of him. Her heart, which she was supposed to give to another, loved the Velaryon youth unconditionally.

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he whispered. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, feeling as if he held velvet in his hands.

The girl smiled and stood up, facing him. She touched his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Jacaerys did the same, pulling her by the waist closer to him with his other hand. He noticed a necklace with a three-headed dragon, each head holding a green emerald, around her neck. The young prince's face saddened.

"Have you already married him?"

"No," she replied. "And I still don't want to."

Jacaerys looked up at her, about to say something, but she kissed him impulsively. Realizing what she had done, she wanted to pull away and apologize, but the young prince caught the back of her head and deepened the kiss. She cupped his face in her hands, returning each kiss.

"Marry me, princess," he whispered. "We'll run away to where the map doesn't reach. Away from all this."

The Dragon Princess smiled and nodded, kissing him tenderly in response. Their wine and ale-soaked lips exchanged deep kisses, and their hands clumsily removed each other's clothes. Shortly after, they found themselves in a fur-covered bed, lost in each other's embrace. They didn't think about whether what they were doing was wrong. What was wrong was marrying someone you felt only fear and hatred for. The young princess knew she could never feel for Aegon even a fraction of the feelings she had for Jacaerys.

As night turned to dawn, the pair lay entwined together. Their naked, sweat-drenched, and kiss-marked bodies lay intertwined, almost as one. The girl pressed her cheek against the prince's chest, stroking him gently, and he held her, tracing patterns on her bare back with his fingers.

"Let's get married here," she said after a while. "Here, in the Godswood."

Jacaerys smiled sleepily and hugged her tighter. "Do you think Lord Stark would agree to that?"

"I think he'd be the first to bless us."

The young prince chuckled softly at her words. The girl lifted herself and looked at his face.

"I love you, Jace," she confessed almost in a whisper. "And I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

The boy smiled and cupped her face. His heart swelled at her words. The love he saw in her eyes was boundless.

"I love you too, princess. I would give my life for you."

The next day, even before the three of them sat down for breakfast, Lord Stark knew what had transpired in one of his castle's chambers. He had heard that the bed in Jacaerys' room remained unmade and that he had arrived at the dining hall in the company of the princess. Cregan would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased. He hadn't realized the feelings the pair of dragons had for each other. It turned out that love could indeed conquer war. Still filled with apprehension, Jacaerys decided to present the Wolf of the North with the idea of marriage.

"Who am I to dissuade you from this idea?" he replied. "I will gladly lead the princess to the wedding myself."

That same day, in the Godswood, the wedding ceremony took place. Compared to weddings held in the Faith of the Seven, it was modest. Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, fulfilled his promise and led the dragon princess to the Weirwood tree, where her Velaryon prince awaited her. Beyond the wall of the Godswood, two large dragon heads watched, occasionally breaking the silence with squawking and growling.

The witnesses to the wedding were dragons, the Wolf of the North, the Heart Tree, and the Old Gods, who silently observed the marriage. Dry leaves rustled in the icy wind, and snowflakes settled on the rosy cheeks of the soon-to-be-married couple, who became husband and wife after a brief ceremony.

"So, it is done," Lord Stark smiled. "But what kind of wedding would it be without a feast?"

The newlyweds exchanged smiles and, holding hands, followed the Wolf of the North towards the castle. That day, the specter of war had to wait as well.

However, the next day, the issue of northern allies and whose side they would take had to be addressed. The dragon princess represented the greens, while Jacaerys the blacks.

"Have your lords side with us," the princess proposed during a Small Council meeting, gripping her husband's hand tightly under the table. "Not with Aegon or Rhaenyra. Let them withdraw from this battle for allies."

"With all due respect, princess, are you planning to fight? To be a third party in this conflict?" one of the men at the table asked.

"There will be no war," Jacaerys interjected. "And even if there were, it wouldn't be the North's war. They won't participate in what's happening in the South. This will weaken the military forces."

"We can't be neutral," another man stated. "Lack of a side is worse than betrayal. What if someone less benevolent than you comes on a dragon and razes us to the ground?"

"No one will do that," the princess assured. "I guarantee your safety."

"I do too," Jacaerys added. "The capital must understand that this conflict has no higher purpose and will only bring unimaginable misery."

"I'm afraid, Your Highnesses, that neither Princess Rhaenyra nor King Aegon will relent," one of the men replied. "Do you think your marriage would dissuade them? The King could annul it at any moment."

"The King can continue doing what he does best, drinking himself into oblivion and fucking whores," the girl snapped, involuntarily squeezing Jacaerys's hand harder. "If the news of the wedding isn't already on its way to the South, it will be soon. Tomorrow we'll head back and announce that the marriage is a peace treaty. And if that doesn't impress anyone, we'll send a message to all who have allied with both Aegon and Rhaenyra to withdraw their commitments. I swear by the Seven, no one, given the choice, will go to certain death. The fight between dragons will bring nothing else."

The princess's words brought silence among the gathered. After a moment, Lord Stark stood up and drew his sword, kneeling before the girl.

"You can count on me, princess. The Stark family will side with the young couple."

The dragon princess smiled and nodded to him. Grateful, Jacaerys did the same. Soon after, each of the men at the Council meeting followed the Wolf's lead. The girl's passionate and convincing words withdrew not only the Stark family but also the Umbers, Karstarks, Mormonts, Boltons, Ryswells, Reeds, Hornwoods, and Cerwyns from the conflict. And it was just the beginning.

That same day, ravens were sent to all who had castles from the Wall to Moat Cailin, from the Stormy Shore to Widow's Watch. Each message was signed by the young couple and the Wolf of the North himself.

"I wish you much perseverance, Your Highnesses," Cregan said before they mounted their dragons. "But I believe you will manage to dissuade us from war."

It might not have been appropriate, but the girl hugged him tightly in farewell. Cregan had done unimaginable things for them in just a few days. The Wolf of the North smiled and hugged her back.

"I've never met someone with a heart like yours, princess," he admitted. "You have my word that the North will always protect it."

Jacaerys extended his hand to him, but Cregan hugged and patted him on the back. The Prince of Dragonstone smiled and returned the embrace.

Two dragons left Winterfell, but the icy wind carried them for a long time. That same wind brought news of the wedding to the South shortly after, before they had traveled even a quarter of the way.

"May the Seven protect us," Alicent sank into her chair when the maester came to her with the news. She strictly forbade anyone to speak of it, especially to Aegon. She quickly sent for the Hand.

Otto laughed when he heard the news. His daughter, however, found no humor in it.

"Brilliant," he remarked, filling his goblet and taking a sip of wine.

"Brilliant?" Alicent thought everyone had lost their minds. "She broke off the engagement. Aegon could burn Dragonstone to the ground when they return."

"If I were Aegon, I'd pack the crown in the finest cloth, seal it with the best wax, and send it to Dragonstone immedatiely."

Alicent shook her head and buried her face in her hands. Otto did not share his daughter's pessimism.

"Or better yet, he should place it on dear sister's head himself when she returns from Winterfell," he corrected. "The girl circumvented a code we didn't even know existed."

"She caused a catastrophe!" Alicent exclaimed, looking at her father in disbelief. "She was Aegon's betrothed and the future queen. She was only supposed to go North to gain allies!"

"And she decided to end the war," he replied. "We definitely placed the wrong child on the throne."

Alicent shook her head in disbelief. She didn't know if her father was joking or if he genuinely saw no problem with the situation.

"So what should we do?" she asked, looking at him.

"First, we should wait for them to return and announce this joyous news," he said.

When the dragons reached the South, they decided to separate. Jacaerys returned to Dragonstone, wanting to personally deliver the news to his mother not only about the marriage but also about the withdrawal of the northern armies from the war. The princess returned to King’s Landing and immediately made her way to Aegon’s chambers.

She didn’t know if the news had reached her brother, but she decided to handle the matter herself and as a priority. A small dagger hung at her belt, and she had no guards with her except for the two standing in front of Aegon’s chamber doors. The men greeted her and bowed slightly, but she dismissed them as soon as she stood in front of her brother's chambers. She took a deep breath to muster some courage as she raised her fist and knocked on the door.

When a voice from inside instructed her to enter, the young princess pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. Aegon stood before a large mirror, dressed in armor. Three men were fussing around him, making adjustments, adding and removing parts of the armor. Three guards stood beside Aegon, talking animatedly with him. However, when they noticed the princess, they bowed, and the two tailors did the same. Aegon saw in the mirror’s reflection a figure he hadn’t seen for several moons. He smiled and turned, taking a sip of wine from the goblet he held.

"My brave, sweet sister," he said, stepping down from a small stool. He was drunk, as always. "Did you secure the North for me, my dear?"

"I need to talk to you," she approached, glancing at him. "In private."

"You heard the future queen, out!" Aegon commanded, waving his hand. Shortly afterward, the room was empty except for the siblings. The young king finished his wine and set the empty goblet aside, stepping closer to the girl. When he was within arm’s reach, he raised his hand to touch her cheek, but she pulled her head back.

"I hoped that your visit to the North would cool your temper a bit," he admitted, lowering his hand. "But i see that even the harshest cold can’t chill a dragon."

"I married Jacaerys," the girl said quickly, almost as quickly as if she had shot an arrow from a crossbow. Her voice didn’t tremble. She raised her eyes to her brother’s face. "I won’t be your wife, Aegon."

The boy snorted, but seeing her serious expression, he couldn’t help but laugh.

"What did you do?" he chuckled. "Repeat it, because I must have misheard."

"We got married in Winterfell, and Lord Stark decided to withdraw from the war. His vassal lords too, and the whole North was given the same choice."

Seeing that his sister wasn’t joking, Aegon wiped the smile from his face. His eyes, though glossy with alcohol, looked at her in shock. His eyelid twitched.

The young princess clenched her jaw. However, she didn’t take a step back. Her muscles tensed involuntarily, readying for a fight or flight. Aegon, however, didn’t say a word. He was the first to retreat. He reached for the goblet and poured himself some wine, drinking it greedily. The girl expected anything. She was ready for his screams, insults, and threats. She was even ready for him to raise his hand against her. But Aegon did none of that. He sat on the stool he had stood on moments ago and gripped the goblet in his hands.

"Why did you do it?"

The princess didn’t expect to hear that question. Now it was she who felt as if she had misheard.

"To weaken and humiliate me?" he asked, raising his eyes to look at her. "Or to hurt me?"

"I love him," she admitted sincerely. She wasn’t lying. It had never even crossed her mind to strike at her brother in such a way. "And he loves me. He is kind to me."

Aegon lowered his gaze, staring at the goblet in his hands. Despite the armor he wore, despite the title of king he held, he felt like a rat. His reaction surprised the girl. To such an extent that she didn’t know what to say.

"Would I be incapable of loving you?" he asked after a moment, looking at her again. The girl couldn’t meet his eyes.

"You only fill me with fear," she admitted quietly.

Aegon’s eyes roamed her face. He recalled a time when he had gone too far and threatened her with a knife, the times he bullied and intimidated her. He lowered his gaze. You fill her with fear, monster, he thought. You are a monster, Aegon.

In silence, the girl raised her eyes to her brother’s face. Deciding that the conversation had no chance of continuing, she turned to leave his chambers.

"I'm sorry," his voice called out behind her. The young princess turned and looked at her brother. Aegon’s cheeks were wet with tears. "I apologize for everything I did to you."

"I was never your enemy," she replied. She couldn’t muster anything more to say.

She quickly left her brother, heading to her chambers. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation with her mother. She needed to recover from what she had just experienced.

Nevertheless, Westeros managed to dispel the looming specter of war. The wind from the North brought only winter, not bloodshed. Every few days, ravens arrived at Winterfell with news that another castle had joined the young dragons’ marriage and withdrawn from the war. Families from the east, west, and south did the same, sending their assurances directly to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra and Aegon had to abandon the conflict. Viserys’s eldest daughter even planned to go to King’s Landing to reconcile with her brother and acknowledge him as king. The same day she planned to set out, a messenger brought her a small chest.

"What is this?" she asked, glancing at the young man. She accepted the gift uncertainly.

"From King’s Landing, Your Grace."

Jacaerys stopped his mother’s hand as she reached for the latch on the chest. "It could be a trap."

"Would Aegon want to kill me in such a way?" she looked at him with amusement. The young prince hesitantly withdrew his hand.

Rhaenyra opened the box and had to blink several times. She reached into the chest and pulled out a crown. The same one her father had worn on his head.

In shock, she looked at her son and niece, who were as astonished as she was.

"Aegon returned your crown," the girl said quietly.

"It doesn’t have to be Aegon," Jacaerys shook his head. He didn’t believe in any good intentions from his uncle.

The girl took the crown from Rhaenyra and examined it in her hands. In several places, she noticed fingerprints stained with wine. She had no doubts.

"It was Aegon."

[0mg-bird]

i would love it if you did a fic about bob finally introducing his shyer!girlfriend to the daggers! cute teasing, fluff, all the works <3

unrelated, but would you ever consider making a masterlist?

Hi! Thank you for the ask! And yes, I will be working on a master list soon, it just takes too much work for me to do as of this moment 😭. Bear with me y’all! I’m new at this! Anyway, here’s the story, hope you don’t hate it <3

Bob Floyd x Shy!Girlfriend Reader

“No.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Absolutely not, Robert.”

Bob sighed, leaning against the door while he watched you comb your hair. He’d brought up the idea he’d been toying with all day, only to get the answer he suspected he was going to get from you.

“Honey, it won’t be horrible. Look, the squad wants to meet you, and I want to introduce you to them."

He's hard to resist, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes of his. You understood his reasoning, but the idea of being surrounded on the beach with a bunch of cocky aviators...well, that was something you didn't really like the idea of.

You groan, looking at his reflection in the mirror before fully turning to face him. You give him a pouty look, one that makes him come forward and hold your face in his hands. "They're not gonna like me." You say, muffled from the way your cheeks are squished in his hold.

"Yes they will." He says.

"I'm boring."

"Your the most interesting thing in the world, honey."

He was always so sweet with his words, he calms your nerves every time. You know it means something to him to have his squad know who his girl is, so you try and be brave, pushing your worry out of your mind. You smile reassuringly. "Okay." You say. "It's a date."

Bob smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips, then your forehead. "It'll be a good day, I promise."

As you get into his bed, surrounded by the scent of him, he pulls you closer. "Maybe then they'll stop saying I'll never get laid." He states, making you look at him with disbelief.

"What, are we in middle school?" You ask.

He lightly chuckles. "You're gonna see the level of immaturity these guys have on Saturday, then you'll understand."

And when Saturday came, you gripped onto his hand like your life depended on it. You wore a white baby doll dress over your bikini, your sandals in your hand as you walked across the sand. As the two of you come closer, you see the group of pilots all gathered, setting up camp.

"Well, look who showed up." One of them call out as you come to join them.

You immediately blush at the amount of eyes on you They all look you over, almost like they were detectives and you were a case they needed to crack. You get introduced to them and quickly come to learn just what Bob meant, this group of the best fighter pilots in North America were no better than kids.

"I uh, I brought some snacks if y'all want some." You say, laying out multiple floral tupperware containers that were filled with homemade goods. Immediately, the boys were on it, fighting over who got what. They reminded you of seagulls.

Natasha, who was the most excited to meet the girl who Bob spoke about non stop, is yelling at the boys to mind their manners. "You wouldn't even think they were functioning adults." She jokes, making you smile.

You wait till the last minute to take your cover off, looking at the well built bodies around you made you retreat to modesty as a defense. You didn't put on your usual bathing suit because Bob said you should wear his favorite one. One that showed more skin, one that drew more attention to you. Stupidly, you agreed with him and put it on. You regret that decision now.

"Aren't you hot?" Nat asks as she pulls her tank top off.

"Oh no, I'm good." You say, giving her an awkward smile and then dig in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen.

You didn't really think it'd be embarrassing to pursue the routine you always have with Bob when you come to the beach, so as he, Hangman, Coyote and Rooster stand, talking about something way above your pay grade, you come to Bob's side. You try not to interrupt their conversation, but words slowly start to slow and they get distracted by the way you pull Bob's glasses off his face. You squirt some of the sunscreen out and into your hands, then you gently apply it to his face. The three others stop and watch, faces full of amusement as you make sure he has an even coverage. Bob doesn't mind, he was never one to be embarrassed of the loving acts you do for him, so you find it strange when you turn around and see the guys watching you.

"That's awfully sweet of you." Coyote comments, and you make the mistake of taking him literally.

"Bob, do you get your mom to fly in and do it for you when she's not around or do you just risk the sunburn?" Hangman teases, making the other two laugh.

You look at the tall aviator. "Sunscreens important, Jake, do you need some? I could help you with it or I'm sure your boyfriend here could do it for you." You say, motioning to Coyote.

Rooster bursts with laughter, wheezing at the joke you make, and behind you, Bob stands with a proud and smug look on his face.

Jake fumbles with his words, in disbelief that you’re being outspoken.

Back at your beach blanket, you clip your hair up and look around, making sure no eyes were directly on you as you pull your dress off and drop it into your bag. Any previous jokes that some of the boys made about Bob finding a goody-two-shoes for a girlfriend, are immediately regretted when they see how great you look in a bikini.

Payback looks ultimately confused. "Anyone else wondering how Baby on Board gets to sleep with a girl like that?" He asks out of ear shot from you.

"Probably because he's not a total dick like you are." Nat suggests.

"Bobby?" You get his attention as you lay on the blanket, holding up the sunscreen, silently asking him to get your back so you can tan for awhile.

At the sound of the name, some of the boys laugh, making you blush.

"Hey, Bobby, will you get my back next?" Fanboy teases, making Bob glare as he sits beside you. "Did he just glare at me?" He asks, in utter disbelief that Bob was capable of it.

Bob undoes the back of your suit, gently running his hands over your bare skin. "Are you good here for awhile? We're gonna play a game of dog fight football." He asks.

You turn your head to look at him. "I'll survive."

He ties your suit back together, then meets your lips as you lean up to kiss him.

It was peaceful, laying and watching the aviators goof around, running up and down the beach. You had no idea that the questions being asked between plays were all about you.

"What'd you do in order to win her over?" Rooster asks, grunting as he throws the football.

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Bob huffs, blocking Fanboy so he can't intercept.

"She's cute, doesn't talk much though." Fanboy adds.

"She does, just not to people she barely knows." Bob defends.

As Hangman runs by, he pauses. "Be honest with us, Bobby, you ever get bored of her?"

Bob looks at him like he's crazy. "Never. One of these days, Hangman, you'll learn that crazy bar girls don't make girlfriends. Maybe my girl's shy but she's a whole lot better than whatever new girl you can't make stick around."

The ones around them laugh at Hangman getting called out for the second time today.

"Jokes aside." Rooster says. "I'm happy for you, man, she seems good to you."

Bob looks back at you lazily reading a book, your feet kicking back and fourth in the air behind you. "Yeah, I really like her...actually I'm gonna ask her to move in."

They all gasp.

"We'll say a prayer for you man." Coyote shakes his head.

At some point, you had rolled onto you back and let your hair down, sunglasses on your face as you rest your eyes. Though, your sun is covered by a shadow after a while. You open our eyes, gazing up at the man who's standing above you. You prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Hi." You grin, watching as Bob pulls his sweaty shirt off, revealing his toned upper body. You move your sunglasses down your nose to get a better look, then take them off entirely.

"Hey, you ready to go into the water?" He asks, making you shake your head.

"I'm good on dry land, sailor."

Bob gives you a smirk. "Now, that's just not going to do."

"I'm okay here, Bobby, go have fun with your squad, they're already in the water." You say.

"So you want me to join them and leave you here?" He asks, making you nod in agreement.

He hums, pausing before leaning down and scooping you into his arms. You gasp, flailing in his hold but his grip is too strong. "Bobby, no! Put me down!"

"Not a chance."

You form a death grip, arms holding tightly around his neck as he makes it to the water with you. "Don't do this." You laugh loudly.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"No! Bobby!"

He loosens his grip, pretending to drop you, making you yell and tighten your grip around him even more. The dagger squad starts chanting ‘overboard’, and you feel the cool water slosh up against you as Bob walks further in.

“Bobby!”

“One.”

“No, baby, please.”

“Two.”

“Robert Floyd!”

“Three!”

He falls sideways into the water with you, making you sink under before you pop back up, wiping your eyes. You can’t help but laugh, splashing him as he pops up in front of you.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, wrapping your arms around him.

He grins boyishly. “Sorry, honey.”

The squad watches as the two of you swim beside each other.

“So…Bob is getting laid.” Coyote says.

“He’s the only one who is.” Rooster adds.

[enwoso]

i have a request for awfc x teen reader

basically reader is quite a shy and anxious person who hates getting in trouble so they never speak up and always do as they’re told, even if it negatively impacts impacts them in some way e.g. helping clear up at the end of training even if it means they miss their bus home and have to walk. r also doesn’t talk much and therefore hasn’t made any friends on the team as they’re so shy. one of the older players (maybe kim or viv?) notice this and take reader under their wing to try and bring them out of their shell. basically just a very cute fluffy fic

YOUR NOT ALONE — arsenal wfc

i feel like this doesn’t really flow the way i wanted it to so soz if it’s choppy but enjoy!

masterlist

north london was were you lived, but it wasn’t home. home was in the north, nearly four hours away from london in manchester. that was home.

not london where you didn’t know anyone, where you were all alone at a new team.

and it wasn’t that you disliked north london, the people were actually quite nice and some days it was actually a lot warmer than living in the north. but nothing compared to being home in manchester. where your friends were, your family, your childhood club.

you in some way felt like you had been abandoned, you’d been let to go by man city your childhood club. a club you thought you’d be at until you retired but they didn’t even fight for you when arsenal put the deal in, they let you go as if you meant nothing to the club.

meaning when your first day at arsenal came around, you closed yourself off to everyone. you were already a pretty shy person to begin with but now trying to talk to you was like trying to draw blood out of a stone — impossible.

you kept yourself to yourself, and made sure you stayed out of trouble. helping the coaches tidy up after training even though it meant you missed the last bus that went past your apartment which would mean you would have to do the thirty minute walk back.

you would stay and watch were you could improve your game even though it meant you were pushing your self far too hard and then getting frustrated when you didn’t see the progress you wanted to see.

the team had began to notice your behaviour and had tried their best to involve you in everything possible but you were having none of it.

the most any of the girls had heard you talk was a light hum just acknowledge the person so it didn’t seem like you were being rude.

“we need y/n to be fully apart of the team as i think she feels like she is still and outsider” kim said thinking out loud as they watched you help the coaches pack up for the evening. picking up the coloured cones as you hummed on to whatever the coach was saying. you weren’t much of a talker.

“does she always do that?” leah asked as she looked towards kim and beth who nodded.

“she always offers, just like she always offers to fill everyone’s waters and other little things around the facility’s it’s like she does it just so she can avoid us” beth raised her eyebrows as the three took another glance over to you.

“i’ve tried just talking to her but she not really full of words” kim sighs as leah nods she had tried too along with a few others but nobody could seem to get more than a hum or a small smile out of you.

“she’s just a kid, it’s gotta be hard for her getting let go by her childhood club like she meant nothing and then to be in a place miles from her family, it’s natural that she’s not gonna be comfortable around us” viv butted in after hearing the trio talk about you, a few sympathetic nods being done from the three.

viv had been amongst those who had tried to talk to you, she hadn’t gotten many words from you but instead of asking the usual questions of how you finding london which made you want to scream every single time someone asked you as you had run out of ways to lie and say you were loving it.

instead viv asked about you wanting to know you on a personal level not just on the outside and what would be the obvious to ask.

“like leah cmon imagine how heartbroken you’d be if arsenal let you go after being here for so many years-“ viv pointed out as leah hummed feeling her heart pang a little. her blood was arsenal and she doesn’t think her heart would be able to handle if she was playing for another team.

“okay first of don’t put that in the open, but i can’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling” a sad smile rushed over leah’s features as viv nodded.

“exactly”

“why don’t you take her under your wing vivvy, she’s said in countless interviews that she looks up to you. so i’m sure if there’s anyone who would be able to crack her shell it would be you-“ beth put the idea into the open, now viv wasn’t opposed to the idea but she also didn’t want to overwhelm you cause that could push you further from the team.

“i’ll try”

the next day had came and gone, viv had been watching you throughout the day trying to pick the best time to chat to you but a good time never seem to come around. viv telling herself tomorrow she would do it

viv had stayed late to chat with the physio about her knee, the rest of the team long gone as training had finished already. well so she thought.

“hey kleintje what you doing here so late? training finished an hour ago?” viv asked as you looked up from your phone, you were watching your few minutes from the last match you played. analysing each pass, each touch, each movement to see what you could work on next.

“missed my bus” you mumbled very quietly viv almost missed what you said. viv nodded to herself as she took a seat next to you on the bench peering over slightly at what you were concentrating so hard on.

“that’s a stupid thing to do” viv blurted out, immediately regretting it when your head snapped up with a puzzled look on your face, a frown flashing across your lips.

“well cause all you doing is focusing on the negatives” viv shrugged as you still held the same look on your face, “like don’t get me wrong it’s helpful but i bet you, you have twice as many negatives in your head than positive things you did in the match” viv continued as you slowly nodded, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

“but how will i know how to get better if i don’t focus on what needs to be improved?” you asked quietly, your phone falling into your lap. viv was a little shocked, not by the question but by the fact that you hadn’t just hummed at her.

“cause you end up focusing on trying to get the bad better that the what was good starts to get bad and you enter a cycle that you can’t get out of” viv explains as you do your signature hum, you weren’t just thinking about football now.

you were thinking about how your life had changed in the past months and how much you had focused on the bad and never gave it a second thought about what was good.

“so your saying i should focus on the positives?” you trailed off staring into the distance in front of you as viv nodded, not that you saw it.

“yeah, your not alone y/n. we’re a team. we’re here to help you” viv pointed out, “and that’s not just with your football skills either” she lightly bumped your shoulder with hers a smile tugged at your lips nodding alone to what viv was telling you.

“thanks viv” you smiled sincerely, you felt as though your eyes had really been opened and you hadn’t have your self a chance at your new chapter, you hadn’t gave london a chance yet.

“no problem kleintje, now come on let’s get you home. it’s getting late”

it had been a few weeks since the conversation between kim, leah, beth and viv and progress had definitely been made. viv had managed to take you under her wing, showing you the ropes introducing you slowly to others so that it didn’t overwhelm you.

you had started to come out your shell more, you didn’t sit by yourself anymore at lunch or on the bus.

instead you’d found yourself sitting steph and kyra for lunch as you discussed your dream holiday of one day going to australia as they gave you recommendations as well as promising that when you do finally go they will happily be your tour guides.

and on the bus during away day you’d found yourself sitting with lotte quite a few times, the way she spoke was similar to viv it was wise words and someone you could listen to for a while as well as lotte being able to sit and listen to you and give you good advice if you truly needed it.

it was game day today, as you walked into the ground with viv. having gotten a ride from viv and beth to save you from having to get the bus. beth had spotted steph and leah in front, running off towards them.

“so do you think london could start to be home?” viv asked, her heart beating a little harder as she asked the question. the topic of london being your home still being very raw.

“it’s becoming home, it’s not quite there yet-“ you paused as some worry came over viv as she began to stutter.

“-but i think it will be home” you finished with a smile as you looked up at viv a sigh of relief coming over her as she swung her arm around your shoulder pulling you in a little tighter for a side hug.

“kleintje you had me worried for a minute but i’m glad your starting to feel more comfortable here, just remember your not alone. we’re a team for a reason” viv nudged you as you nodded taking in every word viv told you as you walked into the stadium.

“got it”

“anyways are you excited about your first start? imagine you score-“ viv said with a hopeful look as you slightly shook your head. you were happy about the start but scoring wasn’t the main focus of today. you were just happy to be getting minutes instead of the scrappy ten final minutes you were used to at the moment.

“excited, nervous? the goal won’t happen though so don’t get you hopes up” you dismissed as viv rolled her eyes playfully opening a door for you to go through.

“gotta have the belief kleintje!”

and maybe somewhere you had some belief cause that’s exactly what happened. you scored your first goal for arsenal, when the ball hit the net you froze. you were expecting for it to go over but when it didn’t you didn’t know what to do.

reality was brought back to you when you were surrounded by your teammates who were lifting you up in a circle as the crowd cheered. a big smile on your face as you looked around spotting vividly on the bench and sending her a knowing look as you tapped the your chest where the arsenal badge was. viv giving you a knowing nod that she understood.

your teammates lifted you down back onto the ground as they all patted you on the back or the head as you soaked up the moment a little longer walking back to your starting position.

“we’re so proud of you, our superstar!”

“get in y/n”

looking around and seeing the fans chanting and having a good time it felt for the first time since you made the big move you felt like you weren’t alone, these people that you were lucky enough to call your teammates and friends were your new family.

and maybe just maybe arsenal and north london was your new home and you weren’t mad at the idea.

in fact you loved the idea.

yourusername

liked by bethmead and 629,015 others

yourusername forever grateful for my found family❤️🤍

comments

viviannemiedema we love you kleintje!!

leahwilliamson our superstar ⭐️

kyracooneycross yeahhh for our very own 🌟

[jamespotterismydaddy]

The Wolf's Betrothed

dark!aemond x niece!reader

summary: prepare to be kidnapped by your delulu uncle

A/N: this is based off a request that asked for non-con so this is the closest i've written to it but i still think it's dub-con??? idk pls lmk what you think

TW: MAJOR DUBCON, incest, smut, knife kink, blood kink,, breeding kink, forced marriage, murder

word count: 1,929

You feel content. Cregan Stark is a good, honourable man and he will make a fine husband, is what you continue to repeat in your head as your carriage makes its way to Winterfell. You travel without your family, being sent early to meet your husband to be and you’re nervous. You met few Northernmen on Dragonstone and you fear the cold, but you know it’s for the best. This alliance could be the thing that puts your mother on the throne. Though, as you get closer to your destination, a sense of dread begins to set in. 

That’s when you hear it, the beating of wings, shortly followed by screaming. The carriage comes to a halt so swift that you’re thrown from your seat.

“Princess!” One of your handmaidens exclaims as she helps you back up.

“I-I’m alright.” You say as you find your footing. You make your way to the door. “We must go.”

“Perhaps we should wait for the guards?” The other girl says nervously.

“They’re as good as dead.” You say as you throw open the door. Your men that are left, fight for their lives against the few green soldiers. They don’t need many when they have a dragon. You glance up to the sky and see her… Vhagar.

“Fuck.” You murmur as you hop to the ground, your handmaidens on your tail as you begin to run towards the forest.

You pant as you go, trying not to trip on your long skirts, snow filling your boots. You know you need a plan but the only weapon you have is a small dagger and you’ve never been a great talent in hand-to-hand combat.

You’re close to the treeline now, barely 200 yards away. You know Aemond won’t torch it if he thinks you’re in there. All you have to do is make it. To. The. Treeline.

But you don’t. It goes up in flames in front of you and you have to turn and shield your face from the heat. Your handmaiden, who was in a much less elaborate dress than you, made it further, and she goes up in flames with it. You turn, grabbing the hand of the other girl and begin to go south before you see three men waiting for you. You turn north and begin to run but you don’t make it far before Vhagar lands in front of you.

“No…” You breathe out as you backup, your handmaiden clinging to your arm. You know you’re caught now.

Two men catch up to you and grab you each by the shoulders, giving you no time to draw your dagger as Aemond descends his dragon.

“Dōna mandianna.” (sweet niece) He says as he approaches. “Sepār hae gevie hae nyke mōrī ūndan ao.” (just as beautiful as I last saw you) He tilts your chin up gently.

“Release my bride. You can do as you wish with that one.” He says to his guards as he glances at your handmaiden. The two men grab her.

“Princess, help me!” She cries out as she’s taken away.

“She’s no threat.” You say to your uncle, glaring up at him.

“My men deserve a reward.” He says offhandedly and you begin to wish she had died in the fire as well. You wish you died in the fire. His hand comes up to caress your face. “I have missed you.”

“I miss my brother.” You say with hate in your eyes.

“Hmm, an unfortunate circumstance.” He replies.

“Kinslayer.” You spit out at him.

He sighs and puts his hand on the small of your back. He is courteous with you, for now, as he leads you toward Vhagar. You let him, biding your time. He straps you in in front of him, his fingers gentle with you, as if you are the most precious thing he has ever laid his hands on.

No chance to jump then. You think to yourself, wishing you could’ve taken him with you once Vhagar was high enough to make the fall fatal.

You don’t speak to each other as he takes you closer to Winterfell. You look solemnly at the scorched land. It’s a pity to see, especially since it is the start of Spring. It should have been the start of new life, not the end of it. He holds his hand out to help you down the dragon and you accept it, glad that he chose not to make you grovel. You know he could. You know he’s not above such things. He keeps his hand on the small of your back as he leads you through the castle, the place crawling with Greens.

You arrive at Lord Stark’s chambers, Aemond letting you in. You’re slightly surprised when you don’t see Cregan but you think perhaps that your uncle is keeping him in the dungeons instead. “And what of my husband?” Aemond freezes when you use the word. 

“That cunt wasn’t your husband.” He says lowly.

“Wasn’t or isn’t?” You ask, not fully believing that he would kill the lord of Winterfell. You back up slightly. Aemond may be in front of the door but you wish to put some distance between you.

“I would not let them trap you with that mutt.” He says as he steps forward. You step back. “You deserve someone worthy of your status.”

“Aemond…” You breathe out, your eyes well with tears.

“It was always meant to be you and I. I’ll take care of you… I love you.” His eye gleams, his words full of possession.

You’re aware that you’ll only have this one chance so you reach for the sheathed dagger. You know you can’t kill him, but you can break him. You lift the blade to your throat in one quick motion but it’s too late, Aemond’s hand is on yours before you can break skin. He yanks the dagger from your hand and throws it to the side.

“Why would you do that!” He looks manic, frightened as he holds your wrists in his hands.

“Cregan!” You cry out as a last resort. You know it’s futile but it’s the only thing you can think of. “Cregan!”

Your uncle slams a hand over your mouth, hot rage in his eyes. “Stop screaming for him! He’s dead! I killed him.” His other hand falls to your waist. “If it is a husband you yearn for, I can fix that.” He takes the hand off your mouth to grab his own dagger.

“I don’t want any husband. I want him!” You slam your fists against Aemond’s chest.

“No you don’t!” He shouts back and he shifts behind you, pulling your back to his front, holding his dagger to you with one hand and your chin with the other. “It is that silly feminine loyalty. But don’t worry, it will be towards me soon enough.” 

He holds your face tightly and lifts the dagger to your lip, cutting ever so gently. Just enough to get a drip of blood. He lets you break yourself free and run to the door so he can slit his own lip. You yank on the door handle but it’s locked and before you can even turn, Aemond’s hand is in your hair, pulling your mouth towards his. The kiss is messy and bloody but by Old Valyrian standards, you are wed. Your uncle barely gives you a chance to come up for air as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You whimper slightly as he sucks on your lip, mixing your blood further. 

“You didn’t think I was going to bed you without making you my wife first, did you?” He says so softly, the kind look in his eyes misplaced. “I would never do that to you.”

“Please don’t.” You beg him.

“Why must you look so frightened? I only want to make love to you, to my bride.” He moves behind you, nimble fingers undoing your dress. “I don’t like it when you fight with me. I want us to be happy.” He tugs the gown down so you’re only in your shift. Just the sight of your ankles, your shoulders is enough for him to go crazy with lust. He can feel himself growing in his trousers the longer he looks at you. “My beautiful girl, ñuha ābrazȳrys.” (my bride) He coos, mesmerized by you.

You’re pulled in for another kiss and you nip at his lip. He groans as he parts his mouth from yours.

“Be gentle with me and I shall do the same with you.” You know it’s a warning, a warning that you should most definitely heed. “We will have more time to play later, darling but for now, we must consummate immediately.” He says as he leads you to the bed by your hand. He places a palm on your tummy. “I shall pray to the Gods’ that my seed takes tonight.”

“Of course, husband.” Your voice is emotionless but he still seems pleased by your words.

He smiles and then lifts off your shift. His cold fingertips trace over your breasts and collarbones, and down to your navel before he hooks them on your small clothes and pulls them down. “Your beauty is unmatched, my love” He says as his eye runs over your body. “Lie down on the bed for me.” He watches you walk and obey as he undoes his trousers. Your husband doesn’t take any of his clothes off, only pulling his cock out and beginning to pump it as he gazes at you. You’re nervous as he is incredibly well-endowed but you are inclined to believe that he won’t be rough with you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He says as he climbs between your legs, noticing your fear. “It won’t hurt for long.” He takes a moment to rub his cockhead over your cunt, using his precum as lube before slipping in.

You gasp at the intrusion, the feeling of your maidenhead breaking as he defiles you but he doesn’t move at first, only peppering kisses across your face that are almost… comforting?

“I’m going to move now.” He says and begins to slide in and out, causing you to wince.

“Not yet, it hurts…” You say to him but he just runs his thumb over the cut on your lip.

“You can take it, darling.” He replies as he thrusts in and out of you. He licks the blood off his thumb before using it to rub your clit. You hate how you enjoy the feeling. “Good girl.” He says as he begins to pick up speed. He rubs harder, clearly far too close to cumming himself and not wanting to be the only one. “I love you.”

You turn your head away as he says it and he begins to fuck into you harder, pinching your clit now and causing you to scream. If he can’t make you love him, then he can just make you cum. 

As soon as he feels you begin to squeeze your walls around him, he finishes, sheathing his cock as deep as he can inside of you in hopes of breeding you.

“My perfect wife.” He admires as he runs his fingers through your hair. He presses a kiss to your lips before resting his head on your breasts so he can listen to your heartbeat.

You lie there, confused. Part of you wants him to fuck you again, the other part hopes he falls asleep so you can drive his own dagger through his heart.

Oh the woes of newlyweds.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 7 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

[hedgehog-moss]

Do you know much of the history of the town you live near? I noticed some very old-looking stone buildings in your photos from the cow parade - does much of the town look like that or were those heritage buildings?

Unfortunately almost every town has some Ugly Modern Houses, but they're usually in the outskirts, while the centre is quite preserved. It's mostly ~200yo houses though, with the occasional very old house (like, 17th century). The towns that used to have a castle often still have a mediaeval layout, with a cluster of houses and narrow streets; sometimes (remains of) ramparts. And every village worthy of the name has the mandatory mediaeval church in the plaza (except mine which has a modern Victorian Gothic church that's like 150yo, but we have the ruins of a mediaeval monastery to make up for it)

One little local history fact I know is that this town that had the cow parade was named after a Central Asian tribe that invaded the region ~1,600 years ago and later helped fight off Attila when the Huns were invading! The cows don't know that. I love knowing where place names come from (unless they mean stuff like "by the river" which is boring.) I went to visit a Gallo-Roman site recently and there was a sign displaying some text by Julius Caesar in which he listed all the Celtic tribes he defeated here, and I thought it was so cool that some of these names are still familiar because they are preserved in place names. The Roman invasion days, two millennia ago, already feel quite faraway but by then the Celts had already lived here for centuries—I wish the specific Gallic tribe that started farming around here in the Iron Age could know that 2,500 years later people are still farming in this place that's still named after their tribe.

Your question made me realise that what I associate with "appreciating local history" is like, going to see the ruins of some 2nd century Roman thermal baths or temples or learning that a town was named after a guy who owned the place in 847 AD, and I don't pay enough attention to the 16th century houses near my dentist's office or the 12th century church in front of the vet clinic. I should appreciate these time periods more! I do love the look of mediaeval towns with their tiny tortuous streets that make life difficult for people who drive stupidly big cars. And I love mediaeval castles, though I've only visited 2 of the 150-or-so castles (not counting the ruins) this region boasts (I use 'boasts' ironically, there's another region nicknamed "the 1001 castles" so our score is pitiful.) (They don't actually have 1001 castles, they're lying, it's like 600, plus some glorified manor houses that don't count)

Last-minute addition: I drafted this reply last weekend and today I saw some ruins in a town where I went to have my spring water analysed, and decided to pop by the town hall to learn more. I learnt that the ruins are what remains of the town's castle, which "successfully resisted many English attacks" (that's what they always say) and was then offered by the King to a courtier in the 1450s, and the courtier hated it because it was 400 years-old and cold and draughty and falling apart so he never lived here. The town hall lady was so unimpressed by her town's attractions it was funny—I imagine if I'd been a tourist she would have tried to sell it to me more but knowing I live nearby she was like, well our town has a 13th century church like everyone else and here's our "castle" that's a ruin now and that was already a ruin in Joan of Arc times. To add some fun fact about their castle she said that a Valois Queen had slept there for a few nights at some point and I said eagerly "Queen Margot?" and the woman said "... no it was in the 1300s. Queen Margot went to [better castle farther North]", in such a humble tone that I felt bad for accidentally pointing out that unlike [Rival Town] they got one of those obscure Valois queens no one cares about.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter IV: Never Going Back Again 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond answers your performance of 'Dreams' by singing yet another newly composed song during rehearsal. This time, you can't contain the rage he elicits within you.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, smut, hatesex, rough sex, oral (m. receiving), spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, P in V, choking, degradation, manhandling

Word count: 4880 A/N: Thank you always to my love Justine, @theoneeyedprince for helping me by having a look at the edited version 🩵

Bringing Aemond’s old hoodie on tour feels like harbouring a shameful secret.

You’d felt weak enough when you spontaneously brought it with you when you moved out of your shared flat. And when you realised it was the only thing that could make you fall asleep any time anxiety weighed heavy on your chest.

So when you packed your suitcases to tour the Seven Kingdoms, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave it behind. But the shame of still needing it; still needing the memory of him, resulted in you storing it away somewhere no one would see it, least of all yourself. 

Until you sought it out. 

You wake up still curled on the side of the large bed, Aemond’s scent encompassing you.

How long will his smell linger on the fabric?

Soon, it’d disappear and you’d have no trace of him left. 

You reach Winterfell the next day. Luckily, you’re allowed a small break before the next performance, leaving you some time to explore the city and rehearse with the band. 

You spend your day sightseeing in the capital of the North; grabbing coffee with Helaena and window shopping around the bustling city centre. 

Despite the quick friendship you had established after joining the band, your relationship with Helaena has become greatly strained following your separation from Aemond. 

You know she hates the tension and the fighting. She has a habit of closing off and retreating whenever she feels uncomfortable, and having two band members in an infected conflict is not something she finds easy to navigate. You still love her like a sister, and you know Aemond holds her dear as well, so you try to spare her from it all, even if your attempts aren’t always successful. 

“We’ll be late for the rehearsal if we don’t leave soon”, you tell her as she’s eyeing a pair of sparkly firefly hair clips. She nods absentmindedly in response and picks up the clips, 

“I know, I know. Let me just get these”, she answers with a smile, heading towards the register.  

Helaena pays for the newest addition to her endless collection of insect trinkets, and you leave for the venue you’ll be performing at in two days; Winterfell Arena. 

This is going to be your biggest show yet. 

When your management booked the arena you were scared of not selling enough tickets to justify such a large space. But you’d been pleasantly surprised by the interest shown in the North. The last tickets had just sold, and it would be your largest audience to date. 

Entering the arena, you’re taken aback by its sheer size. You can’t believe you’ll be performing in a place like this, and to a sold-out crowd. You’re suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of nauseating anxiety. Will you be able to give them a worthy show? 

Will you be good enough? 

The constant self doubt that plagues your mind had been easier to handle when Aemond was by your side. He’d always been your biggest supporter; chasing away all your inner demons with his reassurance. 

He always made you feel better. 

Now, you were left alone and with nothing but doubt keeping you company. You miss having someone to soothe you by your side. 

Miss having someone to confide in. 

To rely on. 

The stage’s larger than any you’d ever been on before. You try to shake the nerves taking over you, but it’s hard not to get overwhelmed by the size of the hall. It’s intimidatingly large. 

You and Helaena begin to set up and prepare for tonight’s rehearsal, and Jace, Erryk and Aemond drop in one by one to join. You’d expected the latter to have his usual gorgeous companion on his arm, but he surprises you by showing up alone, five minutes after the time you’d all agreed upon and without saying a word. 

It isn’t like him to show up late, and you can feel the stress radiating from him, though he stays quiet. 

You know he’s been working on yet another song for the new album, and today he mentioned in the group chat that he’d like to play it for you during rehearsal. 

He’d sent you the name; ‘Never Going Back Again’. 

Is it about his relationship with his grandfather?

When Aemond told Otto Hightower that he wanted to quit working for him at Oldtown Solicitors in order to fully focus on his music career, his grandfather had nearly cut all ties to him. 

In a particularly weak moment, he’d even given you a call, insinuating that you were a bad influence on his grandson,

“I let him entertain this silly band for the sake of Helaena and Aegon! I even let him do a minor in history at the university I financed. And yet, he meets you and suddenly wants to give that all up to record an album? Talk some sense into him, won’t you?” 

Aemond had been furious when you told him about the call from Otto, making it clear to his grandfather that he’d never go back to working with him or in property law. He’d been prepped and groomed since birth; the perfect heir to carry on the Hightower legacy. Not as flaky or unreliable as his older siblings. Always the dutiful son. 

Aemond moves across the stage to grab his bag, pulls out a water bottle and places a tablet on his tongue.  

You realise he must’ve been late due to the pain of his eye injury flaring up again. Despite his recent awful behaviour, you can’t help but feel bad for him. 

When you first started dating, you’d been scared of asking about his eye. Evidently, it was a sore subject, and you didn't want to pry. Eventually, he told you about the car accident he was in when he was 10. 

He’d been in the backseat of the family's car with his nephews, engaging in a petty fight. As the driver tried to de-escalate the situation in the back, he lost control of the vehicle, crashing it into a large tree by the side of the road. 

The only casualty from the crash was Aemond’s left eye. A piece of metal from the car had come loose during the crash and flung back through the window, creating a scar going from his forehead down to his cheek; robbing him of his vision and permanently causing him pain. 

When you started dating, you made sure to learn his routine and preferences, to make it easier and less unbearable for him when the nerve damage caused intense pain to shoot through his head. 

You still remember. 

He likes the room cool. He always lies on top of the duvet on his back, letting the chill air sooth his aching skin. Unless you’re there. Then he used to lie on his stomach next to you; one armed wrapped around your waist and his head on your chest. You’d thread your fingers through his silky hair with the softest of touches, stroking his head until the pain killers drag him into slumber. 

It had been in one of those moments that he’d first told you he loves you. 

You look over at Aemond as he makes his way towards his guitar, picking it up and experimentally playing a few chords to check the volume. 

Did he manage the pain by himself now? 

Or did he lay his head on Alys’ chest, hugging her? 

Does she run her fingers through his hair? 

Does she let them trace the outlines of the beautiful sharpness of his face? 

Over his cupid's bow, nose bridge, cheekbones?

Does he lay his head on her chest, letting the drum of her heart lull him to sleep? 

Does he allow her to come as close?

You go through the set list, discussing the order of both your older and newer songs. 

Jace, Helaena and Erryk all praise your performance of Dreams, asking you to perform it each night moving forward. 

Helaena, standing next to her brother, leans towards him and mumbles, “Your back-up vocals really make the chorus shine”, while offering him a gentle smile. 

Aemond replies with a hum and moves to stand by one of the microphones with his guitar in hand. His usual stoic yet quietly commanding self returns when he starts to play without any explanation or introduction, fingers plucking the strings with precision. He sings, 

‘She broke down and let me in’ 

During recording, you’d briefly glanced at the words in the recording studio, huffing a laugh at his audacity. They definitely sting more on stage. Your face turns hot and you can’t decipher if it’s from humiliation or anger. Maybe both. 

He really is a dick. 

‘Made me see where I’ve been’

‘Been down one time’

‘Been down two times’ 

‘Never going back again’ 

Any sympathy you’d felt for him; any longing you’d felt for him, vanishes as he sings. Another song about you, this time in the form of the final nail in the coffin that is your marriage. 

And he had the nerve to ask you not to perform Dreams anymore? 

‘You don’t know what it means to win’

‘Come ‘round and see me again’ 

Back at the hotel room, rage makes your entire body feel hot and restless. 

How fucking dare he? 

Never going back again? 

First, he’d sung about how you broke his heart and now, he paints you like you’re the plague; like a sickness to avoid. 

All you want to do is call Alysanne and spew out all the pent up emotions storming inside of you. 

You place your phone on the nightstand and roughly shove the charger inside, fingers tapping furiously to call Alysanne.

She doesn’t answer and you call her again. Still no answer. 

You’re so restless you can’t sit down, irritation making your skin feel hot and hands tingly. 

What if you asked him to not play the song? That’s what he’d asked of you. 

Unable to stay still, you grab your key card and shove your feet into a pair of white hotel slippers, heading down to where you know Aemond’s hotel room is. 

You reach the door and knock on it firmly while your feet shuffle from side to side impatiently. 

You're not sure what you’ll tell him, the rage inside guiding you instead of your senses. 

Aemond opens the door, face unreadable and eyebrows raised in question at your sudden visit. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of green joggers and your gaze briefly flickers down to take in his shirtless stature. 

“Really? Never going back?”, you question and move in closer. The heavy hotel door shut behind you, and suddenly it’s only the two of you, in his room. 

He neither answers nor moves, and you’re standing so close that your clothed chest bumps into his naked one. You crane your neck to look into his eyes. His stern demeanour doesn’t quite reach them, gaze softer than you’d imagined. 

Anger still guides you, and a pathetically spiteful idea prompts you to slowly kneel before him, still standing impossibly close and eyes never straying away from his.

“Not even if I do this?”

Your face is level with his crotch as you look up at him. He’s always loved this sight; you at his mercy. But not now. Now he’s at yours. 

You slowly lean forward and press your lips against the exposed skin of his torso, fleetingly kissing him right by his happy trail, just above the hem of his trousers. 

You’ve missed the soft smoothness of his flesh; a tender veil over the hard muscles hiding underneath. So contradictingly beautiful. 

Aemond stays unmoving, eyes staring at you with a scorching intensity. You know he won’t stop you. If he didn’t want this, he’d have let you know by now. 

So you press another kiss right under his navel, and feel sickly delighted by the barely-there shiver vibrating from him. 

Slowly, and with light kisses to his stomach, you reach for the hem of his joggers, letting your hands softly pull down the fabric and reveal his manhood. He’s already half hard, and you have to bite back a smile. 

Never going back again? Yeah right. 

Your eyes never leave his as your delicate kisses trail downward, towards his cock, yet never making direct contact with it. 

His face still is as impassive as always, but he’s now grown so hard his tip is leaking precum, fuelling your actions. 

You haven’t been this close to him in months and it almost feels intoxicating; his smell encircling you. 

You want to see him lose control; you need to see him lose control. Need to hear him beg for you. 

Plead for you. 

Come for you. 

You squeeze your things together at the thought, arousal making an ache drum between your legs. It’s an addictive thought; imagining him pleading for you. Begging for you. Needing you. 

You want him to want you. 

He still hasn’t moved, or said anything. You take his silence as an invitation to continue. 

Want him to want you. 

Still locking eyes, you slowly graze your lips over his skin until your mouth is by the base of his cock. You know he won’t give you the satisfaction of letting you in on what he’s feeling, but that’s alright. 

You’ll force it out of him. 

Your hand travels up his leg and moves to grip his cock, now so hard it’s aching to be touched. You work in long, firm strokes, just the way he likes. 

The staring contest continues. You know his stoic appearance is meant to frighten you, but you know him too well. You can see the cracks appearing already. 

Eager to push him further, you slowly open your mouth and let your tongue out, gently swiping it over his leaking tip to collect the glistening beads of precum. You feel the proof of his arousal on your tongue, and you see his gaze flicker down to observe it in your mouth as you unhurriedly close your mouth and swallow. 

He stays silent, but you see his jaw twitch. 

He likes it. 

Growing bolder, you move your lips back to the tip of his cock, kissing it in a far too innocent manner before wrapping your lips around him and sucking firmly.

In the briefest of moments, his eyebrows knit together and he closes his eyes.

The satisfaction you feel at his clear arousal goes straight to the thrumming between your legs, and you briefly squeeze your thighs together. You move your mouth lower, placing feather-light kisses down his length before gently swiping your tongue over his balls. 

You can hear the restraint in each laboured breath he huffs through his nose. 

Your soft lips envelop one of his balls, and your hands continue to stroke his length. You know he loves this; loves when you get down on your knees and worship him. 

You let your tongue massage every inch as it rests in your mouth, and when you let out a moan, pure theatrics to make him succumb to you, Aemond’s jaw goes slack and his lips part uncontrollably. 

Just a little further and you’ll break him. 

You’ll win. 

Perhaps the look in your eyes let him in on your scheme. 

Perhaps he’s too close to continue. 

But when he grabs you by the hair and yanks you off of him, it takes you by surprise. 

“About to cum, baby?”, you mockingly ask.  

He clicks his tongue and grabs your forearms to pull you up so you're standing in front of him again. 

Still not saying a word, he tries so hard to appear stoic, but you can see the storm brewing within him. A sudden push to your shoulders causes you to stumble backward and land on Aemond's soft hotel bed. 

“Let’s see how fucking wet you get from sucking off the man you hate”

His voice is both calm and taunting at once. His hands come up to the sides of your leggings, pulling them down with force, taking your underwear with them.

You know you’re wet, but you really don’t want him to know that. 

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

You try to press your legs together, but one of his large hands finds its place on your mound and cups it perfectly as one of his fingers slides down between your folds to meet the silky wetness there. The fact that his hand seems to fit against you perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, amplifies your desire. And rage. 

“Having my balls in your mouth made you that wet, huh? Still so dirty, baby”, he teases, emphasis on the pet name to match your previous mock. 

You let out a yelp as his hand briefly leaves you to land a quick smack on your exposed clit. His cocksure expression flashes by before he grabs your hips again to place you on your stomach, bare ass receiving a smack as well. 

He works quickly, sitting down next to you on the bed and pulling you towards him. He places your middle on his lap, and lets his hand come down to land another smack on your asscheek. 

His hand stays on your soft skin, lingering a bit longer than you’d anticipated, before travelling down between your thighs to meet your neglected centre. 

“You like that too, don’t you?”, he asks as he catches your clit between his fingers and press harshly. 

It stings. 

It feels good. 

You press your lips together to prevent any sounds from escaping, racking your brain for a way to gain back control. 

Aemond’s fingers begin to draw firm circles and your mind starts to feel foggy from want. Without thinking, your hips begin to move in tandem with his fingers. He chuckles. 

“I know you inside out”, he triumphs, but as you move your hips, you can feel how achingly hard he is beneath you. 

You know him too. 

You pull away from his lap, sitting back on your haunches on the bed, and remove your cardigan, then your tank top, and finally your bra. 

You manage to startle Aemond by your sudden move, and you seize your chance at dominance by placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him down, so he lies on his back on the plush, white sheets of the hotel bed. 

You straddle him, and move one hand down to pull down his sweatpants once again. Revealing his cock, you encircle him softly before placing his length between your folds, dragging your wetness all over him. You bite back a moan as his cock pushes on your clit again and again, hips move back and forward. 

Aemond seems lost for words as well, undoubtedly enjoying you moving against him. 

His seeing eye flickers wildly to take in your naked body, damaged eye not able to keep up with the rapid movements. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink. You momentarily feel mesmerised by his beauty. 

The realisation that you’ve missed seeing him like this, missed being with him like this, pierces your heart painfully and your hips still. 

You don’t want to think about the sadness inside. You want to break him. Like he broke you. 

Up until now, it’s been a constant fight for dominance; a never-ending back and forth. But you got him now.

“Beg me to fuck you”, you command, voice slightly out of breath. Aemond’s eyes are fixed on your heaving, naked chest.  

“What?”, he questions, like he doesn’t understand what you’re asking.

“Beg”, you repeat, voice more demanding as your breathing calms, 

“Beg me to fuck you, Aemond”

Though confusion had briefly flashed over his face, it’s now set in fury. 

His eyes narrow.

Without answering you, he places one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist, manhandling your body down on his cock in one swift motion. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, much to Aemond’s satisfaction. He grins victoriously. 

Fuck, it’s been so long. 

He begins bucking up into you in an instance. The firm hold he has on your body feels bruising, and his fingers dig into your flesh meanly so that you won’t move. 

He angles his hips, and each stroke touches your sweet spot. You bite down on your lip to hinder the moans that are fighting to escape. He’s essentially fucking you on his cock, and it feels so good you can’t think clearly anymore. 

“Come on, I know you can’t keep quiet”

He pushes your body down harder, bucking his hips up faster. You can’t help but move with him, it feels so fucking good. 

You’re still not going to come. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He’s gonna come. 

You clench down on his length each time he slides in and you see the tension in his jaw; the vein bulging out at the side of his neck. 

Maybe if you push him just a little bit further? 

“Oh, Aemond”, you moan as you throw your head back, tightening your muscles again, gripping him like a vice. 

He’s always loved getting praised. 

The hand he’d placed on your shoulder moves to your throat, engulfing the entirety of it. His fingers press down on the sides, 

“Shut up” 

His grip tightens. The movement of your hips begin to falter as the restricted blood flow to your head amplifies your pleasure. You bite your lip harder not to moan. 

He knows exactly how to get you. 

He continues to fuck up into your dripping cunt, ignoring your change in pace. Each stroke of his cock within your walls feels like pure ecstasy; like sparks of sheer pleasure shooting through your body. 

His expression is infuriatingly smug and you realise you must look completely blissed out as he uses your body. 

You feel the familiar tightening in your lower stomach, the sign that your peak is approaching rapidly. 

No no no, he can’t win! 

You pull away from the grip he has on you, abruptly getting off him, internally mourning the pleasure you rob yourself of. 

He needs to come. He needs to break first. 

You sit next to where he’s lying on his back, hand moving down so that you can work his length again. 

Aemond catches on to your scheme quickly and uses his strength to push you away, manhandling you so your face’s down in the mattress and ass exposed. 

He pulls on one cheek, admiring your wet and wanting centre. When he shoves back inside with an exaggerated tut, you can’t take it anymore; the pleasure’s just too much.

His touch feels too good, no matter how harsh it is. 

You try to push your face as far as possible into the bed, hoping Aemond can’t hear the moans you can’t contain any longer. 

The loud smacks of his hips against your backside and the lewd, wet sounds coming from your cunt fill the room. 

It’s so aggressively erotic. 

One of his hands finds your clit and as he starts massaging it with vigour, his other hand moves towards your head. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back so you are facing him. The grip hurts; like a thousand little needles assaulting your scalp. 

“You’re gonna come, I know it. Don’t you fucking dare not look me in the eye when you do”

You’re stuck in his painful grip, yet your orgasm’s racing towards you, making you clench down on his length and moan louder and louder, no longer able to hide the effect he has on you. 

The hand in your hair moves down to grab your breast roughly, nipple pinched between his fingers. You find it hard to keep your body up as pleasure makes it feel like you're floating, but Aemond’s arms around you makes it impossible for you to move. His face moves to press against yours; cheek to cheek, 

“When you sing your silly little songs about what a player I am, remember that no one else can make you feel as good as I do”

And you’re gone. The orgasm hits you so hard you almost black out. It makes your entire body jerk uncontrollably, and if Aemond hadn’t been holding you, you’d be on the floor. 

He keeps fucking your through your orgasm, breathing heavily and grunting at the intense way your walls contract around him. 

As the movements of his hips turn sloppy and frantic, you feel his face move to press between your shoulder blades, arms still holding you tightly, like he’s hugging you from behind. 

Or trying to crush you. 

You can’t decide which. 

You stay like that for a few moments. The room is quiet, save for your shared heavy breathing. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity between the two of you and feel too exposed, regret storming inside you like in icy waves.  

Shit, what have you done?

Aemond loosens his grip around you and lowers you down on the bed much gentler than how he’d touched you before. 

You stay on your stomach, burying your face in the bed as you feel Aemond shuffle behind you, softly tracing a hand down your back before getting up and making his way towards the adjacent bathroom. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Hearing him turn on the faucet, you quickly get up from the bed. 

You have to get out before he comes back. 

You frantically look for your clothes, scattered all over the hotel room floor. Trying to be as quick as you can be feels impossible when your legs still feel far wobbly, and your mind way too fuzzy, to cooperate.  

You hear Aemond turn off the faucet as you pull on your leggings and underwear. You can’t find your bra, and you don’t even bother looking for it before pulling on your tank top and cardigan hurriedly. 

You just need to get away. 

Away from Aemond. 

You step into your slippers and dart out the front door as you hear him emerge from the bathroom. 

Not patient enough to wait for the elevator, you head towards the emergency exit and climb the two stories up to your room. 

As soon as you're inside, you toss the hotel card key on the desk by the window and throw yourself on the bed, body jolting from the force. 

You want to cry. 

You want to scream. 

You want to go to sleep and realise this was all just a fucked up dream. 

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, now fully charged and with a few messages from Alysanne, asking you how you are and if you’d gone to the cafe she’d recommended by Winterfell Central Station. 

You press her name and the small telephone icon, hoping she’ll pick up. 

“Hi honey, you okay?”, she answers, voice evidently concerned from your sudden call. 

You usually stick to texting, or pre-scheduled face-time dates. 

“I fucked up”, you say, barely above a whisper. You hope that she’ll know what happened without you actually having to say the words. You don’t want to speak it into existence. 

“Did you kill him?”, she jokes and you let out a hollow laugh. 

“Worse”, you say, and Alysanne sighs on the other end.

“Was it good?”, she asks after a long pause, making you let out another snort. 

“What do I do now, Aly? I was just going to push him a little and now-”

“That’s your problem. You always want to get a reaction out of him. What happened to just focusing on yourself?”

Her words feel patronising, like you’re being scolded by your parents. Yet you know she is right. You stay silent and mentally search for a reply; any excuse for your behaviour. 

“Yeah”, you sigh in resignation. 

You know you fucked up; that you’ve acted childish and petty. Still, the satisfied afterglow of experiencing the best orgasm you’ve had in months leaves you feeling a bit less anxious. 

Alysanne tries to distract you by asking about Winterfell, the tour, and what you’re planning on wearing for the big show tomorrow. 

It feels good to talk to a friend without holding anything back. Even if you appreciate Helaena’s company immensely, you know she’s being pulled between you and Aemond, and you’d rather not add to her suffering. 

As Aly tells you about the guy she went on a date with last night, your phone buzzes. 

You briefly glance at your screen, ready to swipe the notification away, when you notice it’s an email from your solicitors office. 

You say a quick goodbye to Aly, open the email and quickly scan through the overly formal text. Your eyes flicker over the screen, taking in what’s written. 

…finalised… 

…shared assets… 

There’s a PDF at the bottom of the email. You click on it, seeing the document you’d left for Aemond in your flat over three months ago. The empty space you’d left next to your hurried signature is now filled in, reading; 

Aemond Targaryen. 

A/N: Thank you for reading 🫶 If you wonder about if he signed the papers right after she left his hotel room; it’s a pdf with his signature, I imagine he actually signed it before leaving for the tour and it just reached her solicitors now.

[entitled-fangirl]

When it matters most.

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!wife!reader

Summary: Aemond goes to Winterfell to recruit his sister and her dragon for the Greens. Cregan will not allow that.

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

...........................................

"DRAGON!"

Y/n and Cregan make eye contact, immediately standing from their seats at the table. 

Y/n runs to the window, while Cregan makes quick work of tying his cloak and moving to the door. 

Vhagar. 

She rushes after her husband, not caring for the proper clothing to shield the cold. 

She makes quick work of falling in step with him, grabbing his arm. 

Cregan's jaw clenched, a fear evident in his eyes. "Stay indoors."

"No."

Cregan's eyes close and he stops walking. "I said. Stay. Here."

"It is my brother. I will not let you go alone."

He takes a long and steady breath as he turns to her. His hands cup her face, "My beautiful wife, I do not care if it is our fiercest enemy or our greatest ally, you will stay indoors until I deem it safe for you."

A defeated look came to her eyes as Cregan released her. He gave her a final look before continuing on his path.

She watched him go, her gut wrenching with each step that he took.

Cregan had declared the North an ally of the Blacks only two moons ago. It made no sense for Aemond to suddenly appear in enemy territory.

She moved back to the dining hall, watching with bated breath from the window. Though she could see nothing now, she hoped that perhaps she'd gain a glimpse of what was to happen.

Soon, a servant entered the room, "Princess, Prince Aemond is within the castle walls."

Her blood ran cold. She turned her head to the servant. "In… Indoors?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Where?"

"I do not know." "And Cregan?"

"I am unsure."

She rested a hand on her forehead. "Very well, thank you."

The servant left, shutting the large doors behind her. 

If something had happened to the Queen, Jace would have written to her. She was sure of it. Someone would have.

But to ride straight to Winterfell was bold of Aemond regardless.

Riding into any enemy territory was bold. 

"Where is she?" Aemond's voice echoed down the corridor. 

A shudder ran down her spine at the sound of him so near. 

She abandoned the window, moving to the door. 

Does she dare try to leave? Or would that place her right into his hands?

In the skies, she would never run. Even against Vhagar, Silverwing was quicker. More agile. She'd have a fighting chance. 

But in the halls of Winterfell? She had nothing. 

She moved away from the door, looking around in panic. 

Without thinking, she ducked under the table, pulling her legs to her chest in hopes that she'd go unseen.

Sure enough, Aemond threw open the doors to the dining hall. 

She could tell it was him by the pace of his stride alone. 

The clicking of his boots neared, and she found herself holding her breath. 

The boots came into her line of sight, pausing in front of her. 

She wanted to scream when his knee hit the floor and his eye was suddenly trained on her. 

"Sister," he hummed lightly.

"Aemond," she whispered.

"You must get better servants," he mused. "Yours sing like canaries."

"Where is my husband?" 

His brows shot up, "Dunno. I haven't seen him."

Where was Cregan?

"Come out from there, dear sister."

"No."

A hummed resonated in his throat before he spoke, "Still stubborn as before. I had thought the North would drive that out of you. C'mon."

She shook her head, anger rising her her. "Leave, Aemond."

He sighed, "Be difficult then."

His hand encased her ankle, dragging her out with ease. 

She let out a scream as she sat up and began to pry his hands from her. 

Aemond was used to combat and seemed completely unfazed by her fighting. "Listen to me, sister."

She continued to fight until he straddled her, holding her arms above her head.

"Why must you always fight me?" He seethed.

She stilled, a fire lit behind her eyes, "The North has only hardened my heart to you, brother."

"īlon share ānogar, mandia," he growled. (We share blood, sister.)

"Nyke northern." She whispered. (I am Northern.)

He grunted in frustration, pushing himself off of her and standing. He pinched the bridge of his nose in anger, "You fight against your family. Against me."

She sits up, brushing off her dress, "I fight for the true heir. You and I both know we were not made out of love. Father did not care for us. Rhaenyra is to be Queen. Not Aegon."

"Watch yourself-"

"Aegon did not wish for this!" She yelled. She then used the table to help her stand as a thought came to her. "You are only here for my dragon. I thought you'd come to fight for Aegon, but no." She neared him, daring him to do something. "You only fight for yourself."

A hand shot out, gripping her throat tightly as the other rested over the handle of his dagger. He spoke through gritted teeth, "Do not speak of what you do not know."

"Might I remind you of the same?" Cregan's voice suddenly chimed in. 

Behind Aemond stood Lord Stark, Ice poking into the Prince's back.

"Tell me why I should not spear this sword into you now and end this war entirely?" Cregan threatened.

Aemond's jaw clenched as he stared at his sister who remained motionless. 

Finally, he let her go, cursing himself lightly when she dropped to the ground and coughed. 

"Turn yourself around and face me properly," Stark commanded.

Aemond did so with a look in his eye that could kill. "You command your prince-"

"I command the Green traitor scum that dared invade my home and threaten my wife."

"I still hold the fiercest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms," Aemond taunted. "What will stop me from burning all of the North down?"

"Then your war will be lost before it even begins," Cregan said lowly. "For I will hunt you down. And where a Stark leads, the North follows."

When Aemond stepped forward towards the Northernman, the tip of Ice rested against his stomach, the threat still there. "I am only here to return my sister to King's Landing."

"You touch her, and you die by my hands, Prince."

Aemond's head tilted, "So scared you'll lose the war?"

"Hardly," Cregan reasoned. "You're just not touching my wife."

"She," the prince pointed, "Is a Princess and a dragon rider first. Not your little northern wife."

"And yet she didn't choose you, did she?" Cregan mocked softly, enjoying the anger radiating from the man. "She chose to stay."

"She has no choice," Aemond gritted his teeth.

"And still she didn't choose you," He smiled. He looked past the prince, "Alright, pretty girl?"

Y/n looked up at the two, her fingers massaging her neck where bruising had already begun to show, "'m fine."

Cregan took that for an answer enough before turning his attention back to Aemond, "Leave before I change my mind."

Though filled with hatred, Aemond had no defense. He stepped away, his eye not leaving the Lord. "You'll regret this." He turned to his sister, "You'll wish you'd chosen differently."

She spoke up, her voice hoarse, "I shall see for myself."

Trying to force a unbothered tone, Aemond hummed, "Very well."

He then turned back on his heel, retreating from the hall.

The moment he was gone, Cregan abandoned Ice, kneeling in front of his wife, "Gods, what did he do to you?"

She held his hands, keeping them from wandering over her is panic, "Just some bruises. I promise. I'm alright."

"Forgive me. He had snuck past us men entirely and through the doors before any of us had even spotted him."

She shrugged, "You came when it mattered most."

"Aye," he smiled. "I always will, my girl."

She leaned forward, connecting their lips gently.

He groaned against her. "I always will."

..............................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Wolf & The Wildling

Part 2 to The Woman Beyond the Wall, last part.

masterlist

Summary: One year after Cregan’s near death experience with the wildling woman he met, he returns beyond the wall to find and recruit her in hopes of fighting alongside him for Rhaenyra Targaryen at the start of the Dance of Dragons.

cw; smut af come on you know me, really rough cregan, overstimulation, bit of angst but a happy ending :3, talks of SA, childbirth, no use of Y/N but an x reader,

stop not me getting emotional at my own story bc i imagined the end of scott street by PB playing at the ending😭am i a cornball?? anyways, thank you to the anons in my asks for the inspo, i wasn’t even really sure how to continue this story, although i knew i wanted more for cregan and his wildling, you guys gave me the inspiration i needed to give them their ending! tag list: @rebeccawinters

Every day Cregan hadn’t gone back out there felt like another day wasted.

He struggled to do his duties, struggled to sleep, fight, listen, do anything that required attention from him.

And yet despite their rather harsh separation, Cregan still thought of her with every free moment he had. It didn’t help many lords were also insisting the Warden of the North marry a noble daughter. He knew he had to do his duty, but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

It had been so long since he’d seen her that he’d begun to forget his favorite parts about her. It felt as if her strange laugh no longer echoed in his mind, as if he could no longer envision her scarred yet still smoothed skin.

He had the dagger with him always. It was like keeping a piece of her with him. He remembered the pain so vividly, could still feel the throb in his shoulder if he thought about it too hard.

Yet, the ache was nothing compared to the painful thought that always seemed to stay in his mind.

Would he ever see her again?

He couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had greater plans for them. He prayed that they did.

“My Lord.” A voice interrupted Cregan from his thoughts. He stood, turning to face the person. “A raven has arrived from Dragonstone.”

Cregan took the scroll from the maester, quickly opening it to reveal its contents. It was a letter from Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was sending her son in hopes of gaining the support of the North, and requested Cregan have an audience with her heir, Jacaerys.

He would have to return to the Wall.

He hadn’t returned, much to the dismay of the Nights Watch, since he had nearly died from his wildling’s arrows. Even the thought of going near the Wall made his heart skip a beat. She would be so close, yet so far. He knew he could no longer avoid the wall. His duty to the men there was dire, and he had let his own fears get in the way of that.

As for his lover, he wasn’t even sure she still wanted him. As far as he knew, she hated him; she wanted to put an arrow through his eye, his dagger through his chest. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her again. No lady had ever compared to her. He had found his other half, and now felt empty without her.

If he did find her, what would he even do? They were bonded by love, yet separated by more than a Wall.

The separation would soon not matter anymore.

Winter is coming.

———

A fortnight later

Castle Black

Cregan had welcomed the prince to Winterfell, then accompanied him to the Wall.

The young men walked, discussing terms of Cregan’s service.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing. I need my men here.” Cregan says to his prince.

“Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather,” Cregan twitched at the word wildling. “the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming, to the whole of the realm my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.”

Jacaerys trails off, standing against the guard that overlooked the entire outside of the Wall.

“My father brought King Jahaerys and Queen Alyssane to see the wall. His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross… Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?”

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan finally looks beyond the Wall for the first time in a year, his mind thinking of her for a brief moment, and then the darkness that lies beyond it. “Death.”

“I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters. They are… wellhoned. I can ready them to march at once.”

“If your graybeards can fight, the queen will have them.”

“They’ll fight hard.” Cregan says, his mind once again thinking of his love as he says his next words. “Like Northerners.”

Jacaerys senses something; more words that the Warden of the North wished to speak.

“Is there something else you can offer us, My Lord?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan hesitates. “There is a woman…” He looks. beyond the wall again. “She is fierce, deadly with a bow. If I can find her… I can ask her to lead the graybeards into war.”

“Should she accept, my mother will be more than pleased to have her.” Jacaerys asks.

“My Lord!” Cregan turns, “A raven has arrived… Urgent news from Dragstone.”

Cregan looks at the man holding the scroll, who holds a sight of worry on his face. Cregan quickly opens the scroll, reading its contents.

Cregan looks at the prince, and Jacaerys tries reading the man’s stoic features.

All Cregan can do is hand Jacaerys the scroll, and let him read for himself.

———

Another fortnight passed following the news of the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Jacaerys had left the Wall at once to return to Dragonstone, whilst Cregan began to prepare his graybeards to march.

“My Lord, why must you go back beyond the Wall? The graybeards do not need a leader. I do not think it wise to let them be lead by a woman beyond the Wall, let alone the one who killed the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.” His maester tells him, worried of how the people of Winterfell and the men on the Wall will react.

“They will not know she’s a wildling. Tis’ not important information. All they need to know is she will lead them well into battle. I trust you’ll keep this information I’ve shared with you private, Maester Windell.”

“Of course, My Lord. You can count on my discretion, always, but I fear wonder if this journey is for more than a leader.”

Cregan stops his packing, not wanting to share more information than he already has with his maester. “No, maester. I only am going to help the Queen. I will be back shortly, with or without the wildling. Winter is coming, and I will not get lost beyond the Wall.”

The maester didn’t argue, so Cregan made his fortnight journey back to the Wall, and then beyond it.

He felt fear when his horse took its first steps onto the icy tundra outside the Wall’s gate. He feared he would not find her, feared she may have died, feared she would kill him before he got to kiss her one last time.

The late summer snow was not too harsh yet, but Cregan knew he did not have long to find her before Winter came.

He searched for days for her.

He returned to the spot where he first set up camp, finding the bark where he had carved a dire wolf had been completely torn and shredded by a knife.

When he returned to the cave it was dark, and no trace of her had been left behind. It made it feel like the moments they shared in there never happened.

He felt lost. He set up his camp in the cave, but she had not snuck to it during the night like last time. If she had, she truly left no trace. But, he knew he hadn’t felt her yet. She wasn’t there.

2 weeks into the journey, he had dreamt of her.

He dreamt he was a wolf, hunting, when he finally saw her.

She was sleeping, ever so soundly, beneath a bright red weirwood. He growled at her, and she awoke quickly, immediately grabbing and aiming her bow at him.

She gasped quickly, catching her breath as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

She released the arrow into his eye, and he awoke.

He was sweating despite the cold, and the burning feeling in his eye was lingering.

He rubbed it softly, but then directed his attention back to her in the dream. It was really her. She looked different. She looked stronger somehow, and her hair had grown greatly. She had it in a long, thick braid. There were bags under her eyes, like she had been exhausted from something.

He stood and exited the cave. The sun was slowly rising, but there was a blue hue that made the snow on the ground glisten. He closed his eyes, stretched, and yawned when he heard a sound.

It was a familiar sound… the sound of a bow string being pulled tightly.

He lowered his arms from his stretch, and opened his eyes.

There she was.

There she was.

She knelt on one knee, aiming her arrow at his eye. Her eyes burnt with a fire that he’d never seen, her breathing was quick and angry, her lips turned in a sad scowl, she was fueled with adrenaline.

He smiled, laughing softly. He couldn’t believe she was here. She pulled the string tighter at his sweet smile, her heart breaking at seeing him truly here.

He took a hesitant step towards her, but stopped.

A soft whining sound came from her back.

His smile faded.

She lowered her bow slowly, eventually dropping it completely. She had a fabric diagonal across her body. She moved it underneath her arm, and then twisted it around her body.

Her hands gently found and cradled the babe.

Cregan gasped. He couldn’t believe it.

She softly hushed the babe, tracing her fingers over its face. She whispered soft, comforting words to it. The babe made gentle little noises.

“Is that…” His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him solemnly. His hand covered his mouth.

“This is your son, Cregan.” She finally spoke. Her voice was smooth and melodic, different from how he heard her last time. He stepped towards her, falling to his knees. His whole body was shaking, and not from the cold.

“Does he have a name?” He asks, holding his arms out, hoping she’d trust him enough to hold his son.

She nervously hands him his child, fearful he might take her little babe, her only piece of Cregan, and never return again.

“No.” She says. “I only birthed him a moon ago.”

Cregan can’t hold it in anymore, and begins sobbing. All of his emotions pent up from the last year pour out. He holds the babe close to his chest, sobbing relentlessly.

He’d missed her so greatly this past year and now seeing her here, alone with this little babe, he’d realized how badly he erred. He wasn’t there to comfort her, hold her, help her. She had suffered it all alone.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs.

She stares at him, her face unwavering. She was so angry. She wanted to kill him so bad, to take back her babe and cut his throat.

But, she couldn’t.

He’d broken her heart in such an unimaginable way. She’d cried over him for weeks, and when her blood hadn’t came she knew the worst had happened. But now he was here, holding their babe and sobbing like a child. She didn’t even know Cregan was capable of such emotions. She didn’t truly know him, and he didn’t truly know her.

Her hand found its way to his broad shoulder to try to comfort him. Her other hand moved to cradle his cheek. He rested his face into her hand, spilling wet tears on her.

“Oh, Cregan.” She whispered, wiping the never ending tears from his cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, hushing him like she did their babe. She wrapped her other arm around him, bringing her warm body against his while still being careful of their infant.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I should not have left you. I should have killed those men and brought you home-“

“Sh, sh, Cregan.” She whispers again. “I’m yours, as you are mine.”

Her words send him back into tears. She presses soft kisses to the tears on his cheek, weaving her fingers in his curls that she desperately missed.

“Where have you been?” He asks, minutes after calming down. “I’ve searched these whole damn woods for you.”

She smiles softly, “You think I don’t know that?” He smiles. “Why did you come back here, Cregan?”

He looks down at their sleeping babe, then back at her. “I’ve wanted to come back every day since I have been apart from you… But, I couldn’t find the strength. I regret it more than anything. I regret leaving you, I regret not coming sooner, I-“

She cuts him off, placing her warm lips onto his. Not breaking the kiss, her hands take the babe from him, setting him aside next to them.

“What are you-“

She slaps him across the face, with such a strong hand that he can’t help but stop and look back at her in total shock. She pulls his lips back into her, confusing him with her back and forth attitude. “If you ever leave me again, I really will put an arrow through your eye.”

He smirks, pulling her back into him with his strength. “Now we’re even.” She whispers.

“We were even when you nearly killed me last year.” He says, she growls at him, but they continue kissing. “I wear these scars with honor.”

She tears into his soft clothes, “Take him inside, and then come back out here and make me yours again.”

He pulls away with haste, grabbing his babe gently and walking back into the cave. She follows, right on his heels. He finds a safe spot for their babe, setting the sleeping child down.

He turns, grabbing her by the neck and kissing her, pushing her backwards out to the cold.

“Be gentle with me.” She whispers into his lips.

“No.” Cregan says, ripping off her furs and throwing them on the ground. She smirks, not wanting him to anyway.

He grabs her by her hair and she shrieks. He pushes her down to her knees, and she sits in the cold snow once again. He unlaces his breeches, and she quickly tugs them down with his soft clothes.

She presses her cold fingers onto his pelvis, and she places gentle kisses along his length. She looks up at him with her big, doe eyes. He pulls her head back by her hair again and she gasps. He pushes himself into her mouth, immediately groaning at her warm tongue. She moans around him, placing her hand at what she can’t fit in her mouth. He grabs both sides of her face, thrusting his hips into her mouth, not realizing his roughness. He had missed her so much, and he was so lost in the pleasure of her mouth.

She gagged repeatedly, her eyes flowing with tears. Her free hand rested on his toned stomach for balance, and she scratched her nails into him from time to time.

He pulled her head back with a pop of her lips, and looked down at the little mess before him. Her cheeks were stained with tears, drool spilling from her lips, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the tension between her legs.

He pushed her back into the snow and got on his knees, placing himself between her legs. He wrapped his hand around her throat again, rubbing his fingers at the wetness between her legs.

“You’ve missed me?” He asks.

“I’ve missed that cock.” She teases.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be much to miss soon.” He presses a harsh kiss to her lips, sliding himself into her. She gasps into his lips, trying to pull away to cry out, but he refuses to let her go. He pulls one of her legs to his chest to give him a deeper angle and she whines into his lips. He starts thrusting, fast and harsh, into her healing cunt. His hand moves from her throat to her breast, now round and large with milk than the last time he’d had her.

“Cregan!” She cries out loudly, finally breaking free from his lips. She throws her head back into ecstasy, her hair becoming wet from the snow. Cregan moans loudly, his thrusts sloppy and quick.

“I’m putting another babe in you.” He moans, forgetting why he was there to retrieve her in the first place.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” She says, slapping him across the face. He looks at her angrily, a wolf awakening inside him. He grabs her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks as he fucks her harshly and angrily.

“I’m gonna cum.” She whines, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Don’t.” He says. She gasps, begging and pleading for her release. He slows his thrust, leaving her in agony. She bucks her hips towards him, but he pushes them down, locking her in place with his strong arm.

“I fucking hate you.” She moans.

“Cum for me then, and we can see if that is how you feel for me after.” His thrusts go back to their fast, sloppy pace, and she moans. Her hands grab his wrist, clawing her nails into his forearm.

She hits her peak and moans his name repeatedly. Her fingers dig into the snow again, the other hand digging into his arm. He growls, not stopping and continuing to thrust.

“Stop it.” She whispers, her body shaking at the sensitivity. Cregan doesn’t listen, only maintaining his harsh pace. He lifts both of her legs to his chest, his length touching her womb. “Please, Cregan, fuck!” She whines, tears spilling from her eyes at the overstimulation.

Her fists hit his chest, and yet he continues. She slaps him across the face, over and over again, and he still continues, his face stoic, desperate for nothing more than to see her writhing beneath him.

She sobs as she cums on him again, slapping and hitting him harshly. Her body is a trembling mess, peaking with pleasure and pain. Finally satisfied, he lets his own peak wash over him, filling her to the brim with his seed again, right against her womb. He rests over her, moaning and biting her neck, despite her nails scratching and drawing blood against his neck.

“Cunt.” She moans into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her shaking body. He pulls out, gently, allowing her to rest before he carries her back into the cave, stepping into the hot spring with her in his arms.

She rests against him, and it’s as if they had never been apart. He looks over at their sleeping babe on the ground, smiling gently. He looks back down at his love, his smile fading.

“There is a war brewing in Westeros.” He finally tells her.

“What for this time?” She asks, drawing little shapes on his chest, not seeming to really care about his answer.

He decides to wait to tell her, instead wanting to enjoy the moment with her.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you… before I left.” He says. She sighs.

“Cregan… Do you wish to know why I killed the Lord Commander?”

He looks down at her, confused. He assumed her only reason was she hated crows. She looks up at him.

“Why?” He asks.

She waits before explaining. “He’d come out there before with some of his men. They often hunted wildlings for fun. They’d tell the men back at the wall it was for a hunting exhibition, but really… They were tired of the women from some place called Mole’s Town.”

Cregan was still confused.

“That was years ago, when I was in a tribe… But, the crows just kept coming back… And our tribe refused to leave, because our ancestors had settled there hundreds of years before.” She pauses, “The Lord Commander always said I was his favorite… I left eventually. Turns out I’m safer alone. That’s when I started killing crows.”

Cregan realized he was gripping her arm too tightly, and loosened his hold. What she said changed everything. Men were coming beyond the Wall to force themselves on wildling women. He wanted to be sick. Cregan’s last words to her before he left… that he would kill her for what she did.

Anger ignited inside him, but there was nothing he could do. The Lord Commander was dead, she got her revenge. But, the thought of that happening to her, the words he spoke before he left her alone. It was too much.

She noticed his tension, and placed her hand on his cheek. “My wolf.” She whispered. He closed his eyes and turned away from her touch.

“I’ve failed you… Again, and again, and again.” He says, tears spilling from his eyes.

She straddles him, forcing him to look at her. “Aye. You have.” He looks at her, not expecting brr bluntness. She wipes his tears. “But you’re still mine, Cregan Stark… and I’m not perfect either.”

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her.

“So, what were you saying about the war?” She asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

“There is a war forming between the dragons. It is growing more and more dire.”

“Dragons?” She asked. “Like in the stories?”

“Aye, my lady. Except these are no stories. The dragons are dancing, and the North must stand ready to fight with the true Queen.”

“Queen?” She asks. “Aren’t you King in the North?”

“No, my love. Starks bent the knee over a century ago.”

She leans back to look at him. “Bend the knee to me.”

“I do every time I stick my cock in you.” She laughs, a sweet and gentle laugh, no longer the chaotic one she used to do.

“You’re different.” He says, a smile on his face.

“I am a mother now. My child has softened my witch heart.” She jests.

Mother. The mother to his child, specifically. He couldn’t ask her to lead the gray beards no longer. She needed to return to Winterfell with him to raise their son. His smile fades and she notices.

“You’re different.” She repeats his words. “Why did you come? Truly?”

“You are a warrior… and the North must stand ready.” He looks at her, his eyes worried.

“You… You want me to fight?” She asks, stepping off him and standing. The water stops at her hips, and he tries hard to keep his attention focused on her face. “Just a moon after I nearly died pushing out your fat little babe?”

“No, no, my lady. I do not want you fighting no longer.” He looks at her, taking her hands in his. “I want you to come home… with me. To Winterfell.”

“My home is the North.” She says, taking her hand away.

“No, no.” He stands, resting his hands on her arms. He looks over at their sleeping son. “He changes everything.”

His son would be considered a bastard, by all traits, but he was his son nonetheless. He would raise him as a Stark… as his heir to Winterfell.

“Home is not a place.” Cregan says. “A home is what you make it… My place may be in Winterfell, but it is not my home if you and my son are not with me.”

She sighs. “I’m no lady, Cregan.”

“I know… and I don’t care.”

“I will not watch you marry a noble while I am your whore that you force to work in your castle and fuck at night.”

“I would never ask that of you.” Cregan says, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. “Starks are honorable men. You will be my wife, and my son will be my heir. I will kill any man who ever dares harm you again.”

She stares at him as he continues. “I needed an excuse to come back out here… If I told them I came out here to get you to lead the Northern army, then it raised less suspicion. But, I care no longer. I only care about you.”

“What if I say no? That I won’t join you?” She asks.

“Then I would accept.” He looks at his son. “All I ask is you let me bring him.”

She looks at their son. Cregan continues. “He will never know a cold night, he will learn to fight among men, he’ll have a full belly every time he goes to sleep, he’ll be respected by all those around him… and if you came, so would you.”

She looks back at Cregan. “He will join you.”

Cregan closes his eyes, her hand resting against his cheeks.

“As will I.” He opens them to look at her again.

“Truly?” She nods. He laughs, breathlessly, pulling her in for a deep hug. His fingers weave into her hair, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I will fight for you as well.” He pulled away to look at her.

“No.” He says. “No, I need you with me at Winterfell.”

“Cregan… A queen! You honor me, choosing me to lead your Northern army.”

“I don’t want you to.” He says. “What of our son? You could be gone for years… You could not return.”

She laughs, “My Lord Stark… You’d be a bloody fool to think any man could kill me.”

“This is hardly a war between men, my girl. This is a war between dragons, and none will ever be so bloody.”

“Cregan… I am of the free folk, which means I will always be free. Being free means I have the choice to fight for you… and for a Queen.”

———

Cregan returned to Winterfell a week later, carrying his babe in his arms on his horse, with a wilding woman behind him.

His maester was bewildered at the sight before him. “My Lord… Who is this babe you carry?”

“Maester, this is my son and this woman here is his mother… and my betrothed. She will be leading the graybeards in the war. Call upon wet nurses and maids to help foster our son while she is gone.”

“A-At once, My Lord.” The maester stumbled over his words, giving the wildling one last look before going to do his task.

Later that night, her and Cregan sat in his chambers. His lover couldn’t help but explore and ask questions about everything in the castle.

“What is this?”

“A pen and paper.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you tell the maester a message and then he writes it down and gives it to a raven to send off.”

“And this?”

“A tub.”

“What does it do?”

“Bathes you.” It went on like this for hours, but he didn’t care. He was glad to share with her his way of life. Her naiveness at noble life was sweet.

When they cuddled up in his furs in their now shared bed, she laughed with giddiness. “Ask them to bring more.”

“My love, you’re under four bear pelts and the hearth is at full flame, you’re going to get hot.”

“Hot?”

“Warm, my girl. Too warm.”

“I don’t care. This is all so exquisite. You should’ve brought me here much sooner, you know.”

Cregan simply smiled, looking down at their son in his arms. “Did you have any names in mind for him?”

She hums, resting on her elbow to face them. “Cregan is quite a handsome name.”

“We can name give him a Stark name if you like mine.”

“Like what?”

“How about… Benjen Stark.”

“Benjen.” She whispered, sitting up and touching her son’s dark locks. “I love it.”

Her and Cregan locked eyes, staring at each other in silence. “You don’t have to go, my love.”

“I do.” She says, cradling Cregan’s cheek.

“I wish to marry you, make you Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

“I will be your… Lady… when I return.” She says, unsure of the proper term to use.

He laughs, “Wife. You will be my wife. I can have the maester teach you to read and write upon your return.”

“Truly?” She asks. “Like stories?”

“Stories, history, anything my betrothed wishes to read she can.”

“Betrothed?”

“It means we’re to be wed, at some point.”

She presses her forehead to Cregan’s. “I can’t believe I am here.”

“Neither can I, my love.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and they fell asleep like that, Benjen full and warm in his father’s arms.

Cregan and his love were only able to share a few nights together before it was time for her to march with the graybeards.

“You are strong, my lady. Command these men like you did me, and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

Cregan lifted her onto her horse, and she nervously settled into the saddle. He stepped onto his own, Benjen tightly secured to his chest as the babe was to his mother when Cregan stumbled back upon them.

She took her hand in his, and he pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Come back safe to me, my girl.”

She smirked, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill some Southerners.”

“Goodbye, my sweet boy.” She says, touching Benjen’s hair one last time.

“Take care of our son, Cregan.” He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

“I have a gift for you before you go.”

His master at arms came to him, handing him the freshly made dire wolf crest. He pinned it on her chest, and she looked down, tracing her fingers over the craftsman ship.

“You are a Stark… from this day, until your last day.” He said. She looked at Cregan, pride in her face.

“I’ll make you proud, my Lord Stark.”

He handed her the dagger, the very thing that brought them together. “I know you will.”

With that, she turned and slowly began to leave with her horse.

She turned to look back at them. “By the way, I killed your horse last year.”

Cregan’s smile faded, but then she laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh too. She turned back around, and he looked down at his son, his beautiful little pup. The babe’s big gray eyes staring back at the ones he inherited from his father.

Cregan rode the opposite direction from her. He turned again to look at her one last time, and she turned to look at him too.

He smiled at her, letting the tears fall. She smiled back. He watched her ride the opposite way, and she watched him as he rode back to Winterfell until they could no longer see each other.

He would miss her greatly, but he knew she would return. This parting would not be forever, for they knew that they were bonded by love, seperated by only distance this time. No wall, no duty, no pain would ever come between them again.

He couldn’t wait for her to get back to them so they could start their life together.

Forever.

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

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[eufezco]

UNNOTICED – JOEL MILLER x SHE/HER!READER

SUMMARY – You said something to Joel while he was sleeping that didn't go unnoticed.

she/her!reader || pure fluff + english isn't my first language <3

Ellie passed by you and Joel and went inside, looking for something that you could use to lay Joel down. The man was using his last strengths to not give up in your arms and to keep walking until you both got to the house. One of your arms was around his body, your other one was holding the one he had around your shoulders so he could lay his weight on you until you both tripped and fell into the snow.

“No, no, no. Joel, come on, please.“ You tried to help him up again, but he was so tired and the wound on his stomach was dripping blood on the snow under you two. He raised his head and looked at you. He had to help you. You looked back at him with your eyebrows raised, begging him with no words to please help you. But he couldn't do it anymore. When you saw that he was giving up, you decided to shout Ellie’s name for her to come to your help. You and the girl managed to get Joel inside the house and helped him to lay down on a mattress to finally see what his wound looked like.

“Oh, shit-” Ellie gasped when she lifted up his shirt. Your heart felt heavy inside your chest and for a moment you could feel it beating in your throat. You shook your head, coming back to your senses. Ellie already had time to react. Her hands were pressing a cloth to his abdomen and Joel was groaning in pain, complaining even more when you put your hands on the cloth over his wound as well.

“Leave.“ Joel mumbled. You shook your head, still applying pressure to his nonstopping bleeding wound and not realizing that he was not talking to you. “Leave. Take the gun.” He repeated and grabbed Ellie by the neck of her coat and pulled her closer to him. You looked at him confused, still shaking your head, not believing what he was asking both of you to do. You still seemed to not understand that you had no say in this.

“No, no, no.“ You tried to make him stop talking, but it was like you weren’t there for him. Ellie looked at you, scared and not knowing what to say to Joel but he pulled from her clothes tighter to keep her attention on him. It was going to be easier this way. Ellie and Joel were the rational ones, they know shit happens and that life is not fair, but out of you three, you were the emotional one. You were the one that spent almost two hours locked in the bathroom of Bill and Frank’s house after you found out that they were dead, you were the one that went a whole day without talking after seeing Henry kill himself and his brother in front of you.

“You go and you take her with you. You both go north. You go to Tommy.“ Joel ordered and pushed Ellie away from him, making the girl fall on her ass.

“No. We are not going to do any of that. There’s no way we’re leaving you here.” You told Ellie while using the cuffs of your jacket to wipe away your tears. The girl was not paying attention to you anymore, she was looking at Joel, and Joel was looking at her. Like you, she couldn’t believe what Joel was asking her to do. Ellie stood up, the anger clearly visible on her face as her eyes did not move from Joel's. If that’s what he wanted, he would get it.

“No- Ellie, no!“ Her footsteps were loud as she disappeared up the stairs. “Why did you ask her to do that, huh?! What makes you think that I’m leaving you here?!” You yelled at him and got closer to his face, clutching his jacket in your fists. He couldn’t say anything else, his strengths were all gone to fight with you. His lips trembled while he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and Joel wished to die at that moment so that the last thing he saw was you. Even though if you had tears running down your face and you hated him for asking Ellie and you to leave him to die. You finally released the grip on his jacket as you gasped a ‘fuck’ and covered your face with your hands, trying to think clearly.

“Okay, let me see.” You got on your knees by his side and took his hands to remove them from the cloth covering his wound. Joel let your small hands compared to his cup his big ones before he linked your fingers together and caressed your skin with his thumb. Tears threatened to flow from your eyes again but instead of letting yourself cry in front of him again, you caressed his hand back. 

“Shit... okay- Use this one.” You grabbed a “clean” cloth and changed it for the already soaked-in-blood one. You heard upstairs the drawers being slammed shut and the frustrated sounds Ellie was making. Deep down you knew she would no leave but seeing her so determinate when she went upstairs really made you doubt.

You helped him to press the fabric into his wound. He was mesmerized looking at you while you talked to him with a soft voice trying to keep him awake. Ellie finally came back and it was as if you were seeing an angel carrying in her sweet little hands a needle and thread. You sighed and some tears streamed down your cheeks because of the relief. You were quick to wipe them off as you allowed Ellie to peel the fabric from his belly. You moved closer to his face and caressed his forehead.

"I know it's gonna hurt but you gotta hang in there, okay?" Joel looked at you with his lips parted and a single tear rolling down his cheek. You were quick to capture it with your finger.

Joel turned his head to you, his neck tensed and his eyes closed shut. Ellie wasn’t enjoying this either, she was biting her lower lip trying to control the trembling of her hands so as not to hurt him more. You held his free hand. His other one was squeezing firmly the girl’s jacket. You rested your forehead against his, “It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

He spent the rest of the day sleeping. Ellie and you never left his side, maybe because of the state of shock in which you were still in. You were ready in case something happened to Ellie, Joel would know what to do, and Ellie was prepared in case something happened to you because he would be there to take care of it. But none of you two were prepared for something like this to happen to him, it had caught you totally off guard. Each of you were seated at one end of the room, both of you hugging your legs. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Joel’s chest, making sure that he was still breathing. On the other hand, Ellie was staring at a fixed point. It was exasperating for you both not knowing what the other one was thinking but the lumps in your throats did not allow you to put it into words.

The next day you and Ellie shared the last bit of food you had left and decided to save some for him in case he woke up. You put your fingers inside the glass of water and let them wet Joel’s lips. Ellie checked his wound but it was starting to look even worse. The girl rested her head on your shoulder to have some rest and yours fell on top of hers. Ellie decided to go hunting, leaving you alone with Joel. You checked his temperature by pressing the back of your hand against his forehead and noticed that he was a little hot, so you decided to snuggle up next to him in case the blanket was not doing enough. You placed your head on his chest, feeling it slowly raise and fall, and you hugged his body against yours.

 “I’m lost without you, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go- I can’t do this without you, Joel. I can’t- I can’t lose you. I'm not ready to lose you, please." You lifted your head to look at his sleeping face and you let out a sigh. His expression was peaceful, at least he was not in pain while he was unconscious. His lips were still wet from the water you applied to them before. This was probably so wrong but as much as you didn't like to think about it, you didn't know if he was going to recover from this. His wound was getting worse every day, what if this was the only chance you had? You stroked the hair growing on his cheeks and you moved your mouth closer to his. God, he was even prettier from there. "I love you." You whispered against his lips and pressed yours to his. You fell asleep on his chest until Ellie arrived with two bottles of penicillin and a syringe.

He was different since he woke up. Maybe he thought he needed to be different after everything that happened with David. You liked the grumpy Joel, but you liked this version of him even more. He had been so talkative since he got better, he even mentioned his daughter Sarah a couple of times which was a surprise to you because you saw how Joel reacted when Ellie mentioned his daughter back in Jackson. You asked some questions about her because you noticed how his eyes sparkled every time he talked about his girl. She would’ve loved you, Joel said to you and you almost fell to your knees because of how that made you feel. Sarah still was the most important person to Joel, and him telling you that felt like the best of compliments.

Ellie ran after the giraffe when it left.

“We should go with her.“ Joel said and you nodded, agreeing with him and with a little smile on your lips thanks to the girl being so excited over the animal. Joel looked at you out of the corner of his eye, your eyes were on where the girl had left. The man threw his rifle over his shoulder, ready to go once you caught him staring at you. You looked down, your cheeks getting warm as you walked by his side.

“I heard you.“

“Huh?“

“I heard you talking to me while I was sleeping.“

“Oh.. I don’t- I can’t even remember what I said, I was probably freaking out because I thought you were gonna die, so...“

Joel nodded, pressing his lips together, a sign that he was not believing what you were saying. “I also was conscious when you kissed me.” 

Was it better to deny it and make him think he was going crazy or should you face it? “I'm sorry, I should’ve never done that-”

“I liked it.“ Joel said and you raised your eyebrows. “I mean- I liked you doing that, it’s not like I remember much about it.”

“Oh.“ You said surprised. “Oh.” You repeated again after realizing. You didn’t expect Joel to get angry over a little kiss but you also didn’t expect him to confess that he liked it, much less that he knew that you kissed him.

"I also heard what you said." Joel repeated.

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

"You told me you loved me-"

"Okay, that's enough." You shook your head, annoyed that he was being so insistent about it. You started walking, leaving Joel standing there when he grabbed your arm. He was far from finishing the conversation.

"So you're okay with kissing while unconscious but you draw the line at saying I love you?"

"I told you that I'm sorry!"

"And I told you that you don't have to be."

“Then why do you keep insisting, Joel?“

“Because I know it's not something you said just for the sake of saying it. It’s not because I was dying.”

You narrowed your eyes. With a sharp movement you managed to get rid of his grip on your arm, not in an angry way but in a you got me way. You didn’t like Joel reading you like that, it was as if he could see what was going on behind your eyes, what your head was scheming but most dangerous what you were feeling, and when you were lying. “Have you always been this cocky? Or is it because you've had a near-death experience?”

“Has it always been so difficult for you to accept your feelings?”

“Actually, yes.“

“Even when they are reciprocated?“

“Yes.“

“Wow. You got some serious issues going on there, huh.“ Joel said ans slowly took a few steps towards you.

“You just told me that you liked me kissing you.“

“Is it not enough?“ He was getting closer and closer and you did not want to move away from him.

“No, it’s not. I-“

“You want me to say I love you too?“

You nodded and swallowed nervously. You were the cutest. Joel smiled and held your chin using his thumb and index finger. “I'm not going to ask for your permission either, is that okay?” You nodded to his question, feeling his hot breath against your lips and a tight knot forming in the lower part of your belly. You wanted to complain again and told him that you already apologized for that but his cute way of asking for your consent without asking for it had you wishing for the distance between the two of you to disappear. 

Joel finally crushed his lips with yours. If he was honest, he was a little worried that he had forgotten how to kiss after all these years, but just your lips against him, one of your hands resting on his chest and his big one cupping your cheek felt good enough. Also, you didn’t even have the chance to go any further than that because Ellie appeared, spouting the harshest words out of her mouth once she realized what was going on.