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jhuzen · 9 months

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do you have any thirst hcs for grandpapi neuvi? if you do pls share i’m so hungry 🤲

hydro dragonussy [m.reader]

hello hello, guess who’s back to writing again? this is a warmup because i struggled hard in continuing my kaveh request wip and a buncha scenarios for sick reader w genshin men and jing yuan all at once. on second thought… i think i really shouldn’t have written everything all at once. not to mention i’m trying out quotev to publish my yandere oc/m.reader stuff for fun. + yes that is the title. it’s either that or crybaby old man dragon thirsts. you pick.

𖦹 nsfw, neuvi is a virgin old man, underlying mentions of reader being an attorney (we all know i have a bias for them anyway, have you seen my workload series? lmao), switch male reader, switch neuvi, though we’re heavily leaning on bottom neuvi for this one, honorable mentions of cockwarming and thigh fucking, brief mention of double penetration (reader receiving), gentle and rough sex, implied dacryphilia (you), breeding, fontaine rains whether or not he’s sad, his tears are the rain and i will drink them like a hungry eremite in the sumeru desert.

Let’s face it, Neuvillette has no time outside of his work as the Iudex of Fontaine, he’s constantly buried underneath those paperworks, and on top of that, when he’s not tackling mountains of cases, he’s out in the opera, presiding trial after trial when the Oratrice can already do the same thing for him.

So when you appeared in his life all of a sudden, he was new to all sorts of things. In his long life as a dragon, he has had little experience in what you can offer to him. He’s awkward for the first few moments of your relationship.

It’s the same to sex — you’d have to take initiative in every single little thing, show him the ropes like the good commander you are, and he obeys with no complaints. He sees that you enjoy it, and if you’re good at it and you’re willing to teach him, he is an obedient patient.

Old man’s heads are very clumsy at first, teeth scraping against your length while he slowly but surely bobbed his head. He’s slow, but he treats your little guy with so much care. Looking up at you with tears pricking at the ends of his eyes as he tried to please you as best as he could. Obligatory weather report — it’s a light drizzle in Fontaine.

But when you give him head, Neuvillette squirms, it doesn’t matter where he is, he could not keep himself still. It’s always obvious that even you cannot bring yourself to blow him semi-public in his office, just because you’re afraid a poor innocent little Melusine would come inside and see their beloved leader squirming around traumatize them. It would also be bad for his image if you guys get caught, so… sexy times are inside the comfort of his possibly huge home as much as possible.

Sex with him is slow and intimate, very romantic. What did you expect? He’s from Fontaine and they apparently love to romanticize things. Whether or not who’s on top when you guys are doing it, they are a lot more languid in style, like a moment of relaxation between the two of you.

A switch, though preferably a bottom. Yes, that’s right, old man Neuvillette likes to be serviced. He likes it when you’re the one filling him up so good. It’s hot and heavy, just the way he likes it.

He’s a tired man, so he’s definitely a pillow prince— no, a pillow king. He lays there and takes it like a good boy, only gazing at you with those soft eyes, hazy with love and lust while you continued to push into him. He takes your hand in his every time you enter him and he always squeezes your hand tight the deeper you go in.

Call him romantic and a basic man, but he lives for missionary. He wants to see you while he feels you stuff him full of your cock. He only writhes in the beginning while he tries to adjust around you, squeezing you tight inside him while his breath stutters, trying to take you in all at once.

If he’s the one in charge, it’s all the same, he’s gentle with his actions, though, honestly, he’d rather have you ride him instead. He likes to see you in all your glory, with you rolling your hips in such a needy manner while he kept you grounded, holding onto you as he caressed your thighs. It’s perfect for him.

Oh yeah, and this goes without saying — he’s a dragon, so he has two cocks. Fitting him in is a sport on its own, but you graduated with a major in fucking dragons, so you’re good. He’s a bit thicker on the side too, so each time you take him in, you could feel every inch of him, and every throb of his cocks is a heaven sent feeling that courses through your insides.

Please be gentle with him, he is an old tired man who hasn’t had a break. He is so vanilla that it’s boring but his cries are worth it.

He’s a very quiet man too, his moans are shy and light, a gasp here and there and a tiny whimper with every increment of speed adding into your thrusts.

Neuvillette is definitely the type to squirm and get away from you at first, but you just need to keep him still and hold him down by his thighs before you plow into him. He likes it though when you do it, it reassures him that you want to do this with him and that you’re not letting him go no matter what happens.

Another weather report: a good light rain. Not too heavy.

Now that all the sweet stuff is out of the way, rough sex is not as often as the usual vanilla one, but it’s not completely an uninvited guest between you two.

If you fucked him rough and hard, Neuvillette will cry and break. His poor pristine and unmarked body, filled to the brim with your greedy bite marks and hickeys, glowing red and bruising dark purple that leaves him embarrassed when they’re still around if you somehow managed to weasel in a rough session in the morning before he goes to work and you will be reprimanded for it once he’s home, no exceptions.

“No more of these obvious markings,” he’d say with a stern tone, only to end up face down on the pillow with his ass up while you found a loophole and devoured his entire back instead.

He hates that he can’t see you when you go rough on him, because it’s normally him ending up with his face buried into his pillow while he laid on his stomach, his hips being held up by you while you ruthlessly pounded into him without even an ounce of mercy.

He hates it, but at the same time, it does help with keeping his noise down because when you’re doing him so roughly, Neuvillette wails, he cries hard, with those pretty tears of his not letting up. He’d scream to the high heavens and were it not for the fact that your hand was forcing his head down into his soft pillow, the entirety of Fontaine would hear it.

Again, Neuvillette is a tired old man, so something so rough definitely leaves him drained, you’d constantly have to hold him up halfway through your little session.

Fucking him while he’s on his side and his one leg hooked over your shoulder is a great compromise, with how you can both still see each other Neuvillette can immediately turn his head to hide away into his pillow when he realizes he’s being a little too loud on his own good.

He’s definitely the kind to force himself to be quiet. If you fuck him without anything for him to bite into to hide his loud noises, he will cry and be embarrassed through out, barely even managing to cover his own mouth with his hand without an ounce of struggle while his body jerked up and down, following through every harsh punctuated thrust that you made into him. Weather report: Fontaine has a storm.

Neuvillette cries his heart out every time you go rough, full on sobbing and it is such a turn on. The way he makes garbled noises while he would protest into your roughness, hand gently pushing into yours while he asks for you to be gentler and go a little slower, only to cling helplessly into his pillow when his pleas fell into deaf ears.

His tears are just… divine. He cries so prettily and he does it with unwitting grace and class — somehow, he’s just innately beautiful in every thing that he does. There is no such thing as an unsightly sobbing to this man.

Neuvillette makes this soft noise in between a whimper and a gasp every time you hit his prostate spot on and he just shudders in delight, his breath shaky until he can barely think straight.

Gentle or rough, he’s definitely into breeding. Neuvillette has a breeding kink and anyone who thinks otherwise will sink deeper than Khaenri’ah. Stuff him full of your cum and he’s a happy and satisfied man.

It’s not just the feeling of your hot seed pumping him full that pleases him, but being around the Melusines, treating them like his children despite them being just his subordinates has definitely gotten this old man all too paternal. He likes the premise of being able to build a family with you, and he will nurture your children with all his being.

Thigh fucking? Thigh fucking. Though it’s rare, only when he’s really tired but still aches to please you, and even you’re too lazy to move a lot.

Bother him when he takes work at home by making him cockwarm you. He could not concentrate at all — squirming and squeezing around your cock so deliciously while you teased him about getting his work done.

Has definitely tried wall sex with you, with his back against the wall while you held him up. May or may not have happened at the opera after a heated trial when he ruled against your client and you were pissed your streak of wins on that week crumbled into dust. It’s neither your fault but the client’s, but you’re a sore loser and Neuvillette is a stoic judge.

Call him daddy while you fuck into him and he will break, he’ll go slack, his mind numbed when a rush of dopamine just infiltrated his brain every time you’d call him that.

And after all that, aftercare is a must. Treat your dragon well. He did so much for you, and you broke his old man back after fucking him into oblivion. Clean him nice and well, kiss his tears away, and wrap him tightly in a blanket while you hold him.

#I AM #somewhat alive #i honestly planned on posting more works soon if i didn’t hit the classic ‘wow i suck’ moment #i have been doing nothing but scroll though yt shorts help 😭#also play genshin and hi3 because hsr has no content until 30 #jhuzen’s stupid hcs #jhuzen’s shameless filth #genshin impact x male reader #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #sub neuvillette #neuvillette x male reader #neuvillette smut

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sinfullyrosey · 3 months

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How to Tame Your Dragon

Malleus Draconia X Male!Reader

Warnings: Dom!Reader, Blowjob, Deep Throating, Mild Bondage (via a tail), Scent Kink, Degradation & Praise (aimed at Malleus), Rimming, Anal, Orgasm Denial, Malleus is a Simp Needy Sub

I put my whole ass pussy and braincell into this fic lol

The meeting had run a little later than expected, advisors droning on about some new laws drafted up and issues brought forth by the people. Others asking him his input on certain political issues and how he’s going to address them. All was just so draining and mind numbing to the young king.

But all of that doesn’t matter now what with the room having been evacuated of everyone save for himself and his human companion. The very same magicless human he had met at Night Raven College all those years ago and who had now become his partner in marriage.

You.

A mere child of man.

The one who has his heart in your hands and whose vision blesses his thoughts each and every day that goes by. The one who became his first friend, his first adviser, his first and only love.

The same lover who is currently sitting comfortably atop his throne, one leg over the other, your chin resting in your palm as you lean against the armrest. And he, sitting down on his knees at your feet, gazing up at you with unbridled adoration.

A cold look of fake indifference plastered itself upon your face as you leer down at your horned husband. Slitted eyes gaze back up at you, nothing but love and the desire to serve swirling in those gorgeous green eyes of his. He was being obedient, sitting back and waiting for your command.

“Hm, is there something you want, Malleus? You’re staring at me like I’m the last bowl of ice cream in the fridge.”

His expression brightened at your acknowledgment, scooting ever so slightly closer, hands still remaining firmly on his knees. His tail tip wagged slowly in building excitement.

“You, my love. I want you. Only you. Please, if I may, can I pleasure you once more?”

You snort at that.

Such a poetic sap he is. Speaking about you as if you were some fine jewel to be added to his growing hoard. You roll your eyes and sigh out a soft, “I suppose.” making his tail pick up in speed.

You shifted in your seat, moving to push aside your silken, black robe and pull your undergarments down, revealing your now unclothed dick and balls. You were semi-hard, his earlier words having more of an effect on you than you’re willing to admit, let alone acknowledge.

“You may worship my cock like you have done so many times before, but only with your mouth and tongue. You keep those hands away from me or else.”

“Yes, my dear prince. I won’t. Only my mouth shall serve my loveliest briar rose.”

“Good, good. Now, get to it.”

You lean back and watch as the mighty king of Briar Valley, royal fae who all fearfully respected, stuck out his tongue and began to lap at a mere human’s cock like some common brothel whore. His long, darkened tongue licked along the sides and underside, starting from the base and moving all the way to the tip.

You let out a long, blissful sigh as you felt your dick start to harden more under his ministries, his mouth sucking and kissing at the hot flesh. Malleus enjoyed the sounds you were making and worked to get more out of you.

He’d kiss and lick all the way up to the tip before wrapping his lips around your red, swollen head, and suck. He’d suck and hum in delight, sending vibrations throughout your length, making you leak precum directly into his awaiting maw. He began to swirl his tongue around the head and slit, forked tongue gathering as much of your precious cream as he could to swallow and savor.

Malleus could never get enough of anything you had to offer him, cum included.

“Mmmalleus… Oh, you’re doing such a good job…Aah~ Keep that up.”

Your praise fueled and prompted him to go further. Now he started to gently bob his mouth against your length, still sucking and lapping away. He wanted to take in as much of you as possible, to swallow you whole and gift you with all the sweet pleasures you so rightfully deserved from him.

You moaned louder as you felt your cock hit the back of his throat, walls squeezing around you as he gagged slightly. In his eagerness to please, he failed to properly prepare himself to take you. Your blurry eyes started to flutter closed, and you chuckled to yourself at your lover’s desperate mistake.

He attempted to correct himself while still sucking you off without interruption, making you purr in sadistic glee. He knew better than to stop over his own discomfort. No, he would never put his own comfort of yours, too desperate to keep you happy and moaning.

So, you let him, merely relaxing in your seat while he choked on your dick like a good cock-hungry slut. You let out a sigh and continued to focus on the tight, warm mouth you were fucking.

But your eyes suddenly shot back open when you realized a pair of soft, smooth hands were gently stroking your balls in just the right way that you liked. Your panting increased as he cupped the swollen sacks of flesh, rubbing his thumb pads along them and making them tighten and flex.

But as much as you enjoyed getting your balls fondled, you don’t enjoy how Malleus disobeyed you. Just as he started to use his sharp claws to softly graze along the sensitive flesh, you leaned forward to slap his hands away, sending him a stern glare.

“Hey! What did I say about keeping your filthy hands to yourself?! Mouth and tongue only!”

Malleus startled but obeyed. Keeping his hands off of you and slipping your length out of him so he could bow in apology. You continued to scowl down at him and crossed your arms angrily.

“Use your tail to wrap around your arms and keep them secured behind your back. Disobey me again and I won’t allow you to touch me, at all, for a whole month. Understood, Malleus?”

His eyes widened ever so slightly in worry, but nodded his head in understanding, nonetheless.

“Yes, my love. Please, forgive me…” He said, doing as you ordered and secured his tail around his arms behind his back, preventing him from using them any further.

You huff at his sad apology and roll your eyes. Still a bit tiffed, you promptly grabbed at one of his horns, holding it in a vice grip and forcefully shoved his face into your heavy, round balls. The sudden movement caught him off guard as he was met with the sweet, musky scent of your cum-filled balls.

“Since you seem to be so interested in them, then why don’t you put that mouth of yours to good use and lavish them? I might just be willing to forgive you then, my sweet, slutty king.~”

The fae inhaled your scent, the smell of you making his head spin and mouth water. Your grip didn’t let up so he had no other choice but to do as you requested and started lapping at the full orbs. You hummed in approval as his wet, warm tongue worked their magic.

“That’s it, just cover them in your messy drool. Disobedient dragons should atone for their naughty behavior.~”

Malleus moaned, maw giving open-mouthed kisses to the swollen pair. Your scent was filling his nostrils as he sucked on one of the meaty spheres, your large, leaking member resting atop his head.

“Mmm, you taste so divine my love. So sweet and lovely.~ I can’t… help myself…”

Your husband was moaning against you, lost in the euphoria your aroma brought. The sight alone caused a spike of satisfaction to shoot right to your growing ego… and dick. Causing it to twitch and pulse with the need to cum.

So, as much as you were enjoying watching him make a pathetic fool of himself, you still wanted to move things along already. You were getting impatient and he seemed too balls deep to do so himself.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. I want you back to sucking me off, mouth stuffed with my cock.”

You shoved his head away from you, startling him once more from your rough, abrupt nature.

“Now, open up, Mal~” You cooed.

He barely had parted his lips when you suddenly grabbed both horns firmly in your hands and shoved his head all the way down onto your length, forcing yourself into his mouth and down his throat in one swift motion.

The fae’s eyes widened as he gagged from the sudden intrusion, trying to accommodate for the newfound size taking up all of his space.

“MPH! Mm..!”

“Haah, you take me so nicely Malleus, as always. How does that feel, hm? Finally getting what you wanted you needy, little tart? Do I taste good shoved down your throat? Because you sure as hell feel wonderful around my cock.~”

“Mmmph, mm…”

You could see his eyes water at the corners over the strain in his mouth. While he may be struggling to gather his bearings, you knew all too well how much Malleus was enjoying your whole dick in his mouth again, able to taste and smell you so intensely.

His back even arching slightly, body trembling in some places. He was incredibly aroused right now and no doubt his own pair of dick and balls were just bursting to be set free and touched too.

You chuckle and release one hand to push back his bangs and reveal his patterned scales underneath.

“Oh, does that feel good Malleus? I bet it does. I bet that empty, little head of yours is now being filled with nothing but the thoughts of me and what you’d want to do with me, huh? Such a needy, hungry thing you are.~”

You crooned down at him, affectionately running your fingers over the scales, earning a muffled moan from him. You continued your petting, gently scratching your nails at the spot, making his eyes flutter and roll back in pure euphoric, lovesick bliss.

It truly was a sight to behold.

The very ruler of Briar Valley, a proud and powerful dragon fae, renowned for his skills in magic, on his knees for a mere human. The Malleus Draconia, slobbering on the dick of a much weaker and magicless pheasant, and doing so with such submission and reverence!

The thought alone had you grinning down at him, watching his shameful display of swallowing your whole length down as you used his horns as leverage to thrust into him rhythmically. You listened to the sweet sounds of his muffled moans mixed with the slick noise of his saliva and your precum dripping passed his lips.

You sped up your pace once you felt your approaching orgasm reaching its peak. Having long since lost your patience and just wanting to cum already, you focused solely on getting to your release.

And release you did. With a final shudder and the sudden feeling of your body and balls tightening up, your member finally squirted out all that built up emission. Ribbons of hot, creamy cum shot directly down Malleus’ throat, making him gag and struggle to gulp it all down, some still slipping past his dark lips and drip down his chin.

You slipped your still twitching length out of him, using your slick and his saliva to jerk yourself off in order to get every last remaining drop out of you and into his awaiting mouth.

“Keep your mouth open for me. That’s it, nice and wide. Show me that lovely, long tongue of yours. And make sure to swallow every, last, drop.~”

Obeying, he kept his mouth nice and wide for you, sticking his white-stained tongue out and catching any stray drops you oh so graciously gifted him. And once you were all through, he closed his mouth to swallow it all up, savoring the salty-sweet flavor of your essence.

“Good boy.~ You’re just as good at following orders as you are giving them.”

Malleus crooned under your praise; a deep rumble one could mistake for a purr reverberated from his chest. The dragon’s brain was near mush by this point, thoughts of only you rolling around in there. Your taste was still lingering on his tongue and scent wafting in the air, making his head even heavier with the presence of you. It was all so overwhelming yet not unwelcome.

“Oh Malleus~”

At the sound of your sweet voice calling to him, Malleus broke out of his thoughts to give you his full, undivided attention once more.

Only to be met with the sight of you with your back turned to him, body leaning over the throne, and ass in full view, swaying slowly back and forth as to tease him. A lazy smirk and lidded eyes were present on your face.

“Aren’t you forgetting something? I’m not finished being spoiled yet, my king.~”

In a sudden fit of excitement, the fae quickly stood up, untangling his tail from his arms and rushed to remove his own member from his attire in order to spoil you some more.

You let out an unimpressed ‘tsk’ and stopped him before he could go any further and attempt to stick it in you before being properly prepared first. Malleus was no small fellow, after all.

“Ah ah ah, I wasn’t referring to your member, Malleus. I was referring to that sinful tongue of yours.~”

Emphasizing your point, you placed both hands on either side of your tight hole and spread it open, making it wink at your aghast lover.

Malleus halted his previous ministries, licking his lips in lust-filled hunger. Seems like you were making the dragon work for it and wanted him to almost grovel at your feet. And grovel he will, because the moment the wafting scent of your sweet musk reached his nostrils, he was done for.

Immediately returning to his previous position on his knees, Malleus leaned forward to inhale as much of your scent before diving in. And just like with your previous spoiling, he had no scruples with lavishing your hole with his tongue.

You let out pleased sounds with each lap of his dark tongue along your tight ring. Each one opening up the puckered hole more and sending a buzzing feeling throughout your body. The feeling making you let out a satisfied, shaky sigh.

“Such an eager pleaser, aren’t you, Malleus?~” You mused.

The dragon hummed affectionately, sending vibrations that had you moaning and leaning into his touch. His whorish nature only made you chuckle more as you decided that you had also run out of patience and would now move on to the main course.

You turned around and shoved him away, earning a confused growl from the dragon. You simply stood up and gestured for him to sit on the now unoccupied throne. He did so, still confused but still eager to carry out any orders you have for him.

With a grin and now thoroughly prepared hole, you moved aside his robes to reveal his thick, neglected cock, then smoothly made your way into Malleus’s lap. He instinctually placed both hands onto your sides, claws digging slightly into your supple skin. Your ass was rubbing up against his throbbing member, sending his mind into a frenzy.

You looked up at him with lidded eyes, a knowing, seductive smile on your face. You could feel his tip leaking and dick twitch, just begging to fill you up. You gave him one quick, fleeting kiss under his jaw before you, finally, and ever so slowly, sunk yourself down fully onto his awaiting cock.

The sensation had the fae sighing in relief. A deep rumble sounded from his chest once more and you started to tentatively move your hips.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you, Malleus?”

“Yes, my love! I’ve been waiting ever since you first sat down on my throne and demanded I began pleasuring you. I only want to pleasure you my precious briar rose.~”

You rolled your eyes at that, but still kept that same smile.

“Just be a good boy for me now. Behave. No moving or thrusting back. Just sit here while I bounce on this slutty cock of yours. Or else I’ll leave you dry and needy without a second thought.” You playfully threaten, wrapping your arms around his neck as support while you bounced in his lap.

Your lover heard you loud and clear and nodded his head in understanding. He rested his face in the crook of your neck as you bounced vicariously on his dick. He’ll be good for you, he promises.

“Mm, I know you will. Such a greedy dragon, after all. Wanting nothing but my cock, my hole, my attention.”

He crooned at your words, letting out a huff that sent a small, dark cloud puffing from his nostrils. You gently pat his head, keeping a slow, steady rhythm as he desperately restrained himself, shoving himself further against your neck to breath in as much of your scent as possible.

Your fingers slid into his silky locks once more, this time, more tenderly. You lovingly played with his hair as he grew closer and closer to his ineffable climax, soaking up as much of you as he possibly could. And yet, you still took it slow, ceasing your movements whenever you felt he was about ready to burst, and then continuing when he had calmed down. You repeated this cycle until you were ready to allow him to cum.

After all, you planned to savor this moment and milk it, and him, for all its worth.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Smut #TWST Smut #Malleus Draconia Smut #Malleus Draconia X Reader #Male!Reader #I was this close to having this be 3000 words #so close

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queers-gambit · 8 months

Text

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"

prompt: ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.5k+

note: i use 'lover' because it sounds like the original line, 'mother'. also, what the fuck is this, Cherry?

warnings: very much not for minors! deranged characters? blood lust? depiction of grotesque, unhinged behavior. there's cursing, depiction of canon-typical violence and injury, show timeline and spoilers that lead into some VAGUE book references that might produce a slight AU timeline...? character death, obviously Team Green, so, there's some Team Black slander. half edited!

⚠️ season one, episode ten AND book spoilers

PLEASE BE AWARE I AM GOING TO MERGE THIS ONESHOT INTO A SMALL SERIES BUT WILL STILL LEAVE THIS UP

I AM CHANGING LANNISTER READER INTO A VELARYON READER

Rain water beaded against his leather trench overcoat, rolling off him like pellets to leave a scattered trail on the material. His boots splashed in the muddy terrain, dark castle looming tall in the stormy sky, and Mother Nature voiced her displeasure in the form of booming claps of thunder throughout the raging storm.

Long, straight hair turned unruly and crinkled in the torrential downpour; sticking to clothes and clinging to skin. His sword was latched to his weapons belt, bobbing on his hip with every stride he took to approach the Keep of The Stormlands, Storm's End.

"Identify yourself!" A guard shouted through the haze of rain.

You smirked, "Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys Targaryen, the Peaceful, and rider of Vhagar along with his wife, Lady Lannister."

The guards exchanged looks, then the other asked, "What business do you have here?"

"Official business that surely goes beyond your responsibility," you snapped. "We require an audience with your liege lord. Is Lord Borros in? Willing to receive? You'd do well to answer quickly, Vhagar isn't known for her patience - nor is my husband and I."

There was no dispute in leading you into the castle's throne room, members of court lingering in curiosity when they saw the One Eyed Dragon Prince and his Lady Lioness prowl through Storm's End. Lightning struck to flash through the cracks of the eery castle, creating an uneasy atmosphere and making Storm's End feel spookier then it probably was. Aemond smirked when you looked around the semi-empty throne room, the guards instructing you to stay put as their lord was fetched; you looking positively bored.

"You seem to have a natural liking towards our new status, do you not, my lioness?" He mused softly. "The way you commanded the guards to retrieve their Lord for us was very telling of your ease."

"Perhaps. Though I do not like the reason we are here, flexing our status in the first place," you told him with a sharp look. "Surely, there's other alliances to be made, Aemond. Why marry you off to some plain-faced Baratheon bitch?"

"Because war's come for us and we must all sacrifice for the cause," he sighed, staring at you without so much as twitching; letting you approach until standing chest-to-chest. "We require this pact, my love, because we must strengthen Aegon's claim. To use Daeron and I as marriage pawns feels logical given our proximity to the King."

You snarled, "You told me yourself that Aegon did not deserve to be King. Now, we must sacrifice our marriage vows for his claim?"

"I know it is not ideal," he relented, "but it's our current reality."

"Only for now, I sense the tides will turn several times before this is fucking over."

"Hmm."

When Lord Borros finally arrived, he appeared disgruntled by the abrupt arrival of you and your husband, Prince Aemond. He was grouchy, but still welcoming enough; slumped in his chair, eyeing you both, mentioning, "This must be of grave importance to arrive in such a manner, with no warning."

"It is," Aemond answered smoothly, "because war has come to shadow Westeros once more, my Lord."

"Is that so?"

"King Viserys is dead," he informed clearly, "and as such, the natural succession would've passed to the King's named heir, Princess Rhaenyra, but King VIserys had a change of heart. Instead of his daughter, the King wanted his first born son, Aegon II, to ascend the Iron Throne after him."

"And that's to do with me...?"

"The Princess will demand your loyalty, Lord Borros," you stepped in, "to uphold a stale oath your father made decades ago. Come the day, you will be forced to pick sides; yet we simply would like to offer you terms of consideration before hearing Rhaenyra's."

"If the Princess is willing to offer terms, that is," Aemond punctuated.

Borros sat still, then leaned in slightly, "And what are these terms you wish to offer, girl?"

"My Lady-wife has earned the title Princess, my Lord," Aemond corrected sharply, "and will be addressed as such."

Borros nodded stiffly, "Of course, my apologies."

"No matter," you assured. "Tell me, Lord Borros, do you not have unwed daughters?"

"I do, a gaggle of them."

You smirked, "My husband, though not King, is of ancient and rich Valyrian blood. He is happy to uphold customs of his ancestors by taking another wife - so, we offer a marriage pact in exchange for your swords and banners."

"And what of you?"

"What of me?"

"You would just let your husband wed another woman?"

"Who am I to question the will of the Gods?" You mused, figuring you wouldn't tell him how Aemond had already promised never to bed the Baratheon girl. "Should they smile upon this union, so would I. My father, may he rest in peace, before his passing ensured to instill in me a sense of duty and honor, Lord Borros, and with this civil war, we might all do our part to see the end of it."

He hummed, eyeing you both. "All right," Borros half-agreed, "but which of my daughters, hmm? I've four of them - uh," he snapped, "what is this? Someone fetch the girls! Let the Prince see - he may choose to wed whichever he deems acceptable."

"Do we have a deal, Lord Borros?" You asked.

He nodded, "Pending the Princess' terms - my father did swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra, I would do well to honor that by at least hearing her."

"A noble answer," you accepted.

It wasn't a long wait for his four daughters to arrive, an even shorter wait for Aemond to make a decision. There was Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn, and Flora Baratheon - all ripe for the picking. "Well?" Aemond asked you.

You shrugged, "This is your choice, you're the one who has to bed her." His lips twitched in amusement, eyeing the women stood in a straight line. "Fuck's sake - why not kiss them all and chose that way? Leaves less room for surprise later. Plus what're the odds Rhaenyra's sent her envoy? We should solidify Baratheon's loyalty now."

Aemond chuckled, looking each woman over carefully as a guard entered the room. "My Lord," he called, earning the attention, "another dragon has been spotted and is approaching the Keep."

"What did I fucking say?" You smirked at Aemond.

"Receive whoever it is," Borros permitted. "And you? Have you come to a decision? My girl, Maris, there, would make a clever wife."

"I've one clever enough wife and would be overrun with another," Aemond answered wistfully. "The Lady Flora is acceptable."

"Very well," Borros nodded, "and the terms of dowry?"

You watched as Aemond pulled Flora from the line of sisters, standing to the side as he examined her. He told Lord Baratheon the number of Gold Dragons he thought his daughter was worth, the two haggling lightly over prices before Borros accepted that with the threat of war, his son might become preoccupied, so, the seat of Storm's End would be inherited by Aemond and Flora's children.

Thunder rumbled as a deal was struck.

Boots marched down the stone hall and all conversation ceased to await the newcomer with taunt curiosity. Aemond subtly turned to look at you, ignoring his pretty new intended, as a procession of guards marched into the gloomy room. You boldly stared at the arrival, feeling your heart stall in your chest when you saw it was him... That bastard... The Strong Bastard that mutilated both you and your husband a decade ago.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon," it was announced, marching coming to an echoing halt. Aemond chose that moment to turn and present himself to the young prince who haunted your every living and dreaming nightmare. He looked startled to see you both there, the guard ending, "Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Against the thundering storm, Lucerys spoke timidly - as if, any louder and his voice would squeak and crack. "Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother... The Queen."

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King," Borros shot at the young prince. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." He laughed at his own joke, but when none others joined, he asked Lucerys stoically, "What's your mother's message?"

The Strong Bastard just held up a scroll like the spoilt brat he was, a guard taking it from his fingers to walk it to the Stag Lord since the Prince deemed himself too important to hand deliver the message. Lord Borros sighed when he took up the scroll, looking expectingly to his court, then snapping, "Where's the bloody Maester?"

Lord Borros Baratheon could not read, you see.

So, you all waited as the Maester was retrieved; Lucerys sparing spooked looks at you and Aemond - the latter of whom just smirked in amusement. Luke couldn't truly see the disfigurement he caused, but your scars almost glittered in the flashes of lightning to assure him they were right where he left them. You turned to your husband, whispering in his ear, "Remember all those times when you promised me his eye as a gift? When shall we be presented an opportunity such as now?"

He shushed you with a restrained smirk, wanting so bad to entertain your banter - and daydream about doing to Luke what he did to you two. You told Aemond you didn't need Luke to bear a scar like your own, and that's when he promised to give you the Prince's eye.

The Maester arrived when Luke felt uneasy enough to palm a fist around the hilt of his sword, elderly man hobbling up to Lord Borros, taking the scroll, then reading it.

The Maester bent to summarize the letter to his Lord. You smirked at Aemond when Borros snapped, "'Remind' me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact! If I do as your mother bids," he leaned forward on his throne, looking to the side, asking, "which one of my daughters will you wed... Boy?"

"My Lord," Lucerys trembled, "I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed."

"I did not realize betrothal was weighed heavier than marriage," Borros sneered, indicating to you and Aemond, "which means you come with empty hands. Go home, pup, and tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

There was a beat as his words sunk in.

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord," Lucerys informed, sparing everyone one last look before turning on his heel to vacate.

Yet he couldn't just walk away so easily.

"Wait," Aemond called out loud before you could, the Prince halting, "my Lord Strong." You grinned when Luke turned fully and then stepped forward to the edge of his guarded protection, a look of disbelief adorning his features. "Did you really think that you could just fly about the Realm," he continued, taking a few slow, stalking steps forward with you on his flank and Floris stepping further away, "trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

"I will not fight you," Lucerys declared. "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

You giggled to mock the boy's sword skill, wanting to hurt the boy's ego as much as possible. Your husband smirked at you before musing, "A fight would be little challenge." He paused to consider his options. "No," he told Lucerys, reaching for his eye patch and pulling the leather from his head. "I want you to put out your eye," He growled, staring at Luke, sapphire winking in the low torchlight; his arm coiling around your waist to keep you at his side. He explained, "As payment for mine. One will serve," and he flipped back his leather overcoat to reveal a dagger, yanking it free to toss across the distance at Lucerys. It clattered and skidded, the sound ominous between the claps and rolling booms of thunder. "I would not blind you," he told the boy. Then, as if concealing a smirk, he finished, "Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

The ground shook violently when Vhagar landed outside the Driftmark Dragon Pit. The air whooshed your hair back, little feet stumbling back a few paces into the rock wall, hair on the back of your neck standing on end when Aemond dismounted the beast. It wasn't as if you weren't proud or incredibly impressed by his ability to claim the oldest dragon in the known world, but you weren't a Targaryen and dragons made you uneasy.

You could understand animals had minds of their own, and while, yes, Targaryens were closer to Gods than Men because they fly on dragons, you knew they did not control the dragons. They merely domesticated the winged terrors, but you knew the animal could snap at any moment's notice. You didn't like being so close as to become an accidental casualty, so you waited in the mouth of the Pit to give plenty of room between you and Vhagar.

"Well? How was it?"

Aemond beamed at you, "Like nothing I've ever experienced before."

"She's much, much bigger up close," you eyed the dragon watching you both. She was too large in size for the Dragon Pit, but for you, it was a way back into the Driftmark Castle; so, Vhagar was left to her own devices as you and Aemond strode inside.

"You'll have to come flying with me."

"No, no, I like the ground very much. It's safer down here."

"You'll love flying, I can all but promise you."

"If the Gods wanted me in the air, they'd of made me a Targaryen," you teased, both entering the torch-lit passage. "Alas, I am not, so, I think it wise to keep my feet on the ground."

"I'll get you on dragonback with me one day," he smirked. "She's the oldest, you know, and the largest, too."

"I know," you beamed in amusement.

"And she's mine," he whispered, shaking his head and fighting off his grin. You looped your arm with his, giggling your praise over his display of bravery; entering the division foyer of the Pit only to spy Prince Daemon Targaryen's daughters, Baela and Rhaena, with Princess Rhaenyra's sons, Jacerys and Lucerys Velaryon.

"It's them!" One barked.

"It's us," Aemond sneered quickly, understanding confrontation when he felt it. You didn't like this... Something about this exchange felt very wrong; there was four of them, two of you, and you were not their blood relative - so, why be involved at all?

"Vhagar is my mother's dragon!" Rhaena seethed.

"Your mother's dead," Aemond reminded sharply.

You smirked, tacking on, "And Vhagar has a new rider now."

"She was mine to claim!"

"Then you should've claimed her!" You barked in annoyance. "You are not the only dragon-less Targaryen, but you're the one who expects to just be gifted one!"

Aemond sneered right after you, "Maybe your cousins can gift you a pig to ride. It would suit you."

This (rightfully) angered the girls. Rhaena charged and latched onto Aemond but was easily swatted to the ground. At that same moment, her twin, Baela, took the opportunity to jab her knuckle into your nose, sending you into the dirt. "Fuck's sake!" You snapped, Aemond clocking the injury and slamming his fist against Baela's cheek to send her into the dirt, too.

Aemond helped you to your feet as he snarled at the girls, "Come at us again and I'll feed you to my dragon!"

Jace charged, and from there, it was a blur of adrenaline. Before you understood, you were defending yourself from a hurricane of fists and feet; reaching up to grab hold of Rhaena's locs and yank as hard as you could. It gave you a small advantage to get up, see the three others beating on Aemond, and rushed for the fray.

The Prince saw you and pause his resistance to let you grab hold of Baela - also pulling her so hard, a loc or two might've been ripped from her scalp. Aemond kicked Jace, you sent the girls into the dirt, and Aemond managed to catch hold of Lucerys by the throat as he got to his feet. Aemond's hand found purchase on a large rock, standing above them all as you panted from his side; rock raised in threat.

"You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did!" Aemond declared, snarling, "Bastards."

Through his whimpering, Luke sobbed, "My father's still alive!"

For a moment, Aemond appeared disarmed, but then sneered, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?"

This upset Prince Jacerys enough that he brandished a concealed dagger from his sleeve; holding it at the ready, ignoring his cousin's pleas of his name. "Blade in play," you warned Aemond.

Luke was kicked away, Jace was dodged, disarmed, then shoved to the ground. You were all bruised, bloodied, beaten; thinking that despite twice the numbers, you and Aemond managed to hold your own pretty damn well. The Prince lifted the rock again, this time with his sights set on Jace, ignoring Luke scrambling in the dirt.

Pretty damn well until it was too late.

You screamed in absolute horror when a white hot pain flashed across your face when you meant to turn away from the fight. You went down, Aemond looked over in shock and confusion, and in that moment, Lucerys swung his brother's blade again. It cut through half of Aemond's face, the eye being severed in two; blood gushing between both your hands.

Of course, this was the time the White Cloaks arrived - but it was too late. The damage was done. You sobbed uselessly as the knights tried to help you off the ground, trembling violently as adrenaline wore off. You were instantly escorted to the castle's throne room where the Maester and other attendants met you.

Guards posted.

Blood soaked into cloth.

The Queen arrived with the Hand before anyone else - instantly demanding her son (and you) be attended to at once. She listened to the shaky account of events, but it was difficult to get an accurate picture as you and Aemond were both preoccupied with being medically attended to.

You held Aemond's hand as you were both cleaned up. There was nothing to save, Aemond's eye removed and your face being pinched and stitched. Nearly 200 years from now, one of your descendants will earn nearly the exact same scar during the Battle of the Blackwater; a mark that cut through the face from temple, over the nose, to opposite ear.

You listened to the spoiled brats spin their webs, opting to remain quiet in the presence of the King.

However, after Princess Rhaenyra finally showed up with Prince Daemon, after Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lady Rhaenys Targaryen arrived, attention shifted.

" - Didn't just mutilate our son, but the Lady Lannister as well!" Alicent raged.

King Viserys eyed you as if seeing you for the first time, slowly approaching. "My Lady," he spoke softly, "you have not yet said a word this evening."

"It is not my place, Your Grace."

"It is now," he permitted. "Speak, and tell me the truth of it. What happened tonight?"

You swallowed nervously, "The Prince Aemond claimed his dragon, Vhagar, Your Grace, and upon returning, the... Uh, well, the Princes Jacerys and Lucerys along with their cousins, Ladies Rhaena and Baela, were waiting for us."

"Waiting?" Viserys repeated.

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe they wanted to see who had claimed Vhagar," you offered.

"Who hit who first?"

With a sigh, you answered, "Lady Baela hit Prince Aemond first. A solid hook, for whatever it's worth."

Alicent now approached, squatting in front of you and asking, "How did you sustain such injury, Lady Lannister? Come... Speak the truth. Tell us the meaning of this."

"Prince Jacerys brought the blade, Your Grace," you mumbled, "but it was lost in the scuffle. It was Prince Lucerys who offered injury to both Prince Aemond and I."

You could've cried when Rhaenyra, as usual, managed to somehow spin your story into making her sons the victims. Despite being told the four ambushed you two, they weren't even reprimanded because their parents were all so angry that it truly distracted from the present situation at hand. In the end, Queen Alicent snapped and charged to attack, but the Princess Rhaenyra intercepted her before damage could be done.

The blade Alicent stole from her husband's belt was dropped - but not before the tip sliced into the flesh of the Princess' forearm. You were fuming, watching them all leave; you had been seriously maimed, and so far, you had been the one spoken to as if a criminal. Rhaenyra would need stitches, sure, and a broken nose was the worst of their injuries - but Aemond lost his eye, and you?

You felt as if you lost your life because who the hell would want you now? With this scar? This big, fat, noticeable scar that split your face? Sure, your Lannister name would get you places - but not everywhere. Considering your young age, this only left time for rumors to fester and for everyone to notice your injury; being no escape and no where to hide from ridicule.

For years, you would consider yourself damaged. For years, you would mourn yourself. For years, you would sharpen your mind, wit, and intelligence because if you couldn't bring standard "beauty" to the table, you wanted to be able to offer something redeeming.

For years, you would undergo emotional turmoil before your engagement to Aemond is announced; convincing yourself you did not deserve love because your anger made you likened to a shrew. You felt ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside; a product of your environment and experiences. When the promise of marrying your best mate was bestowed, the entire court was shocked by the 180 you both did; where once stony and stoic, both were now soft and kind - but only to one another.

To everyone else, you were both still stony and indifferent. But to each other? You and Aemond would move mountains.

Yet that night on Driftmark would haunt for you for the rest of your lives; no matter the promise of love, marriage, and a 'normal' life. Late nights would be held together, fantasizing about your revenge; considering the future in which you made Lucerys Strong pay for what he did to you.

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

"No," Lucerys barked, looking distraught by the sheer idea of what Aemond demanded. His answer made the amusement drain from Aemond's features, this was a man not often told no. His hand passed you his eye patch for safe keeping; the raging storm outside portraying the tension brewing in the throne room of Storm's End.

"Then you are craven as well as a traitor."

"Not here!" Borros understood fighting words when he heard them - not wanting the repercussions of a dead or injured Prince Lucerys, because, let's face it, Luke couldn't do damage to Aemond even if he tried.

Aemond literally sprang into action, releasing his grip on you, shouting as he strode forward. "Give me your eye," he stooped to snatch his dagger from the ground, "or I will take it, bastard!"

Lucerys brandished his sword for protection, but Borros launched out of his seat to intervene by shouting, "Not in my hall!" This made Aemond skid to a halt. "The boy came an an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon... Now."

You smirked when Aemond just watched the boy flee the hall, hand flipping his dagger expertly before sheathing it. You met his gaze, holding prolonged eye contact to publicly show you were not afraid of him, his looks, his lack of eye, or adoration for him.

"Well, Lord Borros," you mused, turning to the Stag Lord, "looks as if you've chosen in this war."

He huffed, "We can discuss specifics later."

Aemond nodded, "We'll be off."

"Do not - "

"You said no blood shed under your roof," you reminded, "not above."

"The Prince is young and small - "

"We gave him a fair head start." Borros looked ready to rebuttal, but you snapped, "We're at war, my Lord. Either you let the dragons fight in the skies or it'll be your men fighting in the trenches. The choice is yours."

"See that? His woman bites harder than he," Maria scoffed to her sisters, only juuuuust loud enough for her voice to carry across the room. Then she snarled at your husband, "Tell me, Prince Aemond, was it just your eye Prince Lucerys took, or one of your balls, too? You threw a dagger at him and stopped when Daddy said stop," her eyes rolled, "those are not qualities of a man."

You were ready to attack. In fact, you started striding up to Maris when Aemond intercepted you swiftly with a suffocatingly strong grip. "We've more important matters," he reminded you, turning, and promising to send word to Lord Borros before disappearing out of the side door.

"How dare she," you seethed on your way to Vhagar. "That buck-tooth looking rodent dares insult you? Her own Prince? In front of others - oh, the nerve of that family!"

"Bigger picture at work here, love," Aemond mused as he fixed his patch back on, never one to address the things that were bothering him - like when someone hurt his feelings or bullied him over his missing eye.

But you were always ready to bite those that offered insult. You were a Lion in a golden cage, after all.

You grumbled the entire time, reaching Vhagar, launching as discreetly as she possibly could to scan the skies. It wasn't easy to find the Prince because his dragon blended into the storm so perfectly, but once the tiny beast was located, you were locked on. You rode behind Aemond in his saddle, both being harnessed to prevent any unseating; the combined weight never phasing his ol' girl. Vhagar understood they were in some kind of chase, and when she gave a grumble that rumbled over the thunder you flew through, Aemond gave her a command in High Valyrian to quiet herself.

You could see glimpses of Luke turning to search areas you had just vacated; loving this game of cat and mouse. You hoped the anticipation and anxiety of being watched was upsetting the Prince - just so he had a little bit of emotional trauma from this, you know? Just so he had a little taste of the emotional turmoil you had to suffer the past decade.

"Ready?" Aemond asked you.

You squeezed his waist before boldly reaching down to palm his cock through his breeches, hissing in his ear, "Do it, you owe me a gift."

Aemond grinned and directed Vhagar to circle around and fly forward until almost colliding with Lucerys - should he not've steered Arrax lower at the last moment. The close call was enough to make you both laugh, the sound traveling over the noisy nature. Aemond turned Vhagar again, trying to snatch at Arrax with her talons while your husband hurled insults and taunting phrases as his nephew.

With a small groan, you reached for a separate piece of the saddle to hold onto while Aemond drove Vhagar into a nosedive after the smaller dragon. When they came up to a cavern of sea rocks, Aemond was forced to pull Vhagar back before she could crash - but Arrax had no issue navigating into and through the canyon. You were forced to fly above it, searching for your prey once more.

Lucerys seemed to evade you for a time.

"What happens when we find him?"

"I will have the bastard's eye," he reminded you.

"Yes, but what if he resists?"

"Of course he will."

"So you mean to kill him? Is that the plan, Aemond?"

He did not answer you, looking over Vhagar's sides for his prey. He shouted in High Valyrian, "You owe a debt! Boy!"

Suddenly, from your left, Arrax descended upon Vhagar with a vicious spewing of fire that licked your flesh hatefully. Aemond flinched back into your chest, trying to shield yourselves from the heat of the flames, but it was too late. You cried out, whimpering with discomfort when the flames died; marring and mangling your skin. Prince Lucerys was heard scolding his dragon, and for a moment, you felt as if you could see the future because there was no way Vhagar was going to let that kind of disrespect occur and do nothing about it.

The ol' girl gave a rumble before bellowing after Arrax. She turned herself to where the other dragon had disappeared and started to push off as her owner begged and pleaded with her not to. "Serve me, Vhagar, no!" He commanded, desperate to keep his beast under control, but being evident these two wild animals were in an altercation all their own and meant to follow their instinct.

"We want his head still, Vhagar!" You laughed loudly, Aemond growling with a smirk.

"Do not encourage her!"

"Do not try to domesticate a 180-year-old dragon!" You gave a small whoop of excitement. "She's a Dragon of War, Aemond! Violence is what she knows!"

He grunted as he struggled with the reins. However, Vhagar ignored him and made her own turn, pumping her wings twice and then breaking into the morning sun above the storm. For a fleeting moment, it was incredibly gorgeous to be so high in the sky...

And then it was over before anyone could stop it.

Vhagar opened her mouth and gave one chomp around the body of boy and dragon. There was a shrill cry of fear before Vhagar's moan of content, then eery silence settled as half-consumed bits fell to the ground beneath.

"Well," you cleared your throat, staring at the bloody bits falling, "if it wasn't enough that Aegon took her crown, surely, the two of us taking her son will be the push Rhaenyra needs to meet us in conflict."

"No," he cleared his throat, "you were not here - "

"I was, I would not allow you to bear this burden on your own. To take the blame," you met his eye. "I encouraged this just as much, and Rhaenyra will know it was us - she'd never believe I was not involved."

"Can you not be logical right now?" He trembled, leaning his forehead to yours.

"Okay..." You whispered, "Well, could we go see if there's anything left?"

"That's morbid, my love."

"What? You're the one who promised me his eye. I know you didn't mean for this, but the truth is," you smirked, "you did. You knew what pursuing him would result in - your dragon doesn't understand your need for revenge, she understands eat or be eaten."

Aemond sighed, "Too soon for that phrase."

"Noted. Now, c'mon," you encouraged, giving his waist a squeeze. "I know you're curious to see what's left, too."

And he was, so Aemond directed Vhagar back down. It was difficult to predict where the body parts could've ended up, but seemingly, luck was on your side and you descended to the shore. There was a small scattering of remains, bits being washed up or away with every new lap of sea water.

You dismounted and started searching through the remnants, storm still outlandishly raging around you. "Love?" Aemond spoke from behind you, making you jump slightly. He smirked, "Got something for you, my Lioness."

"You do not..." He held up the messily decapitated head of Lucerys "Velaryon", your laugh surprising and genuine. "Oh, we're sooo going to Seven Hells," you sighed, shrugging, "but you know, it doesn't really get worse than what we've already done, so," you motioned for him to set the head down.

"Here," he agreed, using his dagger to harvest Lucerys' eyeballs from the skull you helped hold. When he was done, you chucked the head away before Aemond's bloody hands set both eyes in your cupped, outstretched palms; watching you weigh them.

"You know, Lannisters always pay their debts," you mused, smirk pulling at your lips, "but we also are always repaid our debts. How strange, to hold his eyes and think they were once functioning... In his head, of use, probably full of tears when Vhagar chased him in the sky."

"Hm," Aemond considered, then pointed to your hand. "It's with his eyes, I promise you, my Lioness, the fall of our enemies." He proclaimed, then musing, "Should we give Maris Baratheon one to prove ourselves?"

You smirked, "She said you must've lost your balls, right?"

"Almost positive Vhagar ate Lucerys' so we cannot present her with them."

"Damnit," you pouted. "All right, fine, sure, we might show the Baratheon's we mean war... But I'd like to keep them both, please."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Put them in a jar and keep until I'm no longer angry about what he did to us..."

"So, his eyes are going on our mantle?"

"You bet your sweet balls," you grinned, twirling Lucerys Velaryon's Strong's organs in your hand like a pair of game dice.

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sometipsygnostalgic · 9 months

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Adventure Time new episodes

This is for "Destiny" and "Winter King". I am not making a big analysis, honestly I have no idea where the miniseries is heading, but here are a couple of points I want to make.

So, to start us off, this is obviously Snake on a Nokia phone... the controls for this thing were absolute garbage but it did the job. Is the snake eating little bunnies????

It's interesting that designer bags are the same in both worlds, but that makes sense because this is just another future version of a world Simon lived in.

When I first saw Jay, I assumed he was Finn's baby brother from the Farmworld universe - wouldn't the baby brother be about the correct age??? - but he's actually Finn's son!

Jay and Bonnie are a reference to the episode Puhoy! Their mother was most likely Roselinen. Our Finn had specific reasons for naming them Jay (Jake) and Bonnie (PB). Farmworld Finn named them that too but unless he knew a farmworld PB it's more of a reference than anything else.

Also... against all reason, Farmworld Jake is still alive! Barely!

Finn had a LOT OF KIDS and also his wife his dead. Damn, even in this world. Most of his kids have his or Rosalinen's hair colour but the boy on the right looks a lot like Hunter from the first episode.

Take that as you will...

Like in the original S5 episodes there are farmworld versions of some characters like Choose Goose, Starchy, and Wildberry Princess. So there was probably farmworld versions of most of his friends. We already saw what happened to this version's Simon and Marcy, who both died brutally.

The crown is in the giant crater because it was evaporated by the goddamn nuke. Incredible that any part of it survived, really.

The rest of this episode speaks for itself. It was a fun look at an alternate universe where Finn lived a very different life. His personality here is nothing like our Finn who is a lot more adventurous. Farmworld has taken its toll on our boy.

Onto Winter King...

This penguin boy doesn't seem to be 100% ice. It's possible that his beak was stuck on like a snowman, but it's also possible this is a transformed version of Gunther.

This Ice King's history is very similar to our Ice King's. Most changes were 100 years ago when he transferred the twisted madness to PB.

Can someone explain to me why there is a naked chicken here???? I do not like this at all

I checked out two designs that I thought this place might be referencing. It doesn't look like either but, eh.

Below is Candy Kingdom concept art from 2008.

Below is Candy island from Flapjack!

And below, ironically the most similar looking, is Candy Island from Bob's Burgers.

Some interesting things about this alternate Simon...

This young Marceline with the axe has implications for why this Simon might've turned "evil". Marceline either ran away from him after what he did to PB, or she died at some stage. He made an "Ice Marcy" to replace her.... Young and adorable, just she was when he was Simon. This seems to be his method for dealing with any problems.

His science in this room was interesting... it reminded me of Princess Bubblegum's technology, or the stuff that Simon and Betty were able to make when combining science and magic in the land of Ooo. Honestly I don't feel that he'd have been successful in duplicating the crown, but he was immediately willing to try.

The reason Simon doesn't remember Betty as his great love is because this was an important part of his madness. When he transferred his madness to PB, he also transferred his obsession with Betty.

This is why Candy Queen is so obsessed with kidnapping Ice King and Simon, it's the exact reason why Ice King used to kidnap her!

Also, 10 out of 10 to Hynden Walch in this episode. I was convinced there was a different voice actress for Candy Queen, but upon checking the credits, it really is her. You can recognise her singing well too.

This version of PB has a lot more mastery over her candy elemental magic. It's probably a result of being possessed by the Crown's madness for so a hundred years. You see her doing all sorts of crazy stuff as Candy Queen, though in that state her abilities are a lot more like Ice King's than they are like the insane PB from the Elements miniseries.

It's really funny that PB is like "I'm trying not to dwell on it" about the hundred years thing. AT is very casual like that. Though she's gonna be very sad when she realises Fionna and Cake ripped the faces off most of her candy people. Brutal scene.

And it's funny how she kissed Fionna. She just does that with all her knights. I wonder if there is a Finn in this universe? Ice Prince seemed to expect the Ice girls to save him...

I found it sweet that Ice King really wanted to save someone else he saw as being possessed by madness. It was entirely possible that CQ was just "like that", but he was right on the money, and it shows how he contrasts to his alternate self, who is actively benefitting from this situation even if he gets regularly kidnapped. And it's not like Fionna is doing anything that Finn didn't do to Ice King!

This scene was brutal. Funnily enough I watched Infinity Train book 3 with Kim last night, this reminds me of the moment THAT Simon-- Oh my God, does this always happen to characters named Simon?

Fionna removed the magic from the crown, so Simon aged rapidly, just like in the episode "Betty". Though this time it happened instantaneously rather than across 11 minutes.

I think this is the part where Fionna realises her rampage across the multiverse is genuinely hurting people.

It was VERY CUTE watching Gary Prince (holy shit that name) show off his little Candy Kingdom. There's a lot of elements of PB there, and it parallels how ultimately the Candy Kingdom was PB's own version of the cake - she made all these characters and made little stories for them, which we know from the show was her way of dealing with the world.

What was REMARKABLY FUCKED UP was the shots to Fionna murdering possessed versions of these beloved characters. I mean... they're PROBABLY all still alive, but they are very fucked up now.

I also enjoy how the Lemoncarbs - Tree Trunks calls them that!! - are both here and alive, and superior to Gary lol. And I think Jinx Monsoon's voice acting here fits a lot better than in episode 4 where they tried to do a straight imitation of Lemongrab.

I haven't said much about these two but you can see how they contrast - Marshall just Does things, while Gary procrastinates constantly. And Marshall's behaviour can seem reckless but Gary would've never taken that big step forward without his help. It's funny how Marshall can just call his mother to summon the Lemoncarbs in the middle of the night, and sweet how he'd do that to help Gary.

Then he listens to the autistic boy gush about his characters. Awww.

This world here is obviously a joke about the elusive Adventure Time Babies show that Muto was terrified he'd be asked to make. Hell it's possible he pitched this show to CN once or twice. But Baby Looney Tunes and Tiny Titans are both famous spinoffs of this ilk, and Craig of the Creek got a spinoff about Craig's baby sister.

Simon is still determined to become Ice King again but he wants to "do it right". I still think he's HORRIBLY MISGUIDED but he is starting to realise that, maybe, he is the best version of himself. He could've been a huge ding dong like Ice Prince.

Also Chan is going to be so sad if that's the only time we see Young Finn and Jake.

#adventure time #atimers #fionna and cake

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alicedopey · 10 months

Text

His Princess

(gif credits to its creator)

Fandom: Vikings

Genre: AU, Smut, Dark-ish

Pairing: Soft dark! Ivar x Innocent ! Reader

Words: 1809 (still don't know how to write a drabble)

Warnings: smut, dubious consent, somnophilia, light gaslighting. These warnings are to be taken seriously. Read at your own risk.

Summary: Ivar decides that he is tired of waiting to get what he wants.

A/N : This was written for my 500 followers celebration and I'm like two years late. I know I'm awful. The requested prompts are in bold.

Ivar watched the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully. You were magnificent, laying under the sheets, pure and innocent, like a prey ready to be devoured by a hungry beast. Hungry like he was since he had set his eyes on you and tonight, he was more than ready to devour you.

Cautiously, he sat on your bed, put his crutch against the wall and undid his braces. He took off his shirt, unlaced his breeches and stepped out of them with a wince. This Saxon humid weather was hard on his legs and he could not wait for spring. He slowly lay down next to you and looked at your angelic face. Tentatively, he stroked your cheek and let his hand slide down your neck and lower, until it reached your cleavage. Then, his hand sneaked under your night gown to massage your breasts. Ivar shivered at the contact of your skin.

It was the first time he could feel you without any barrier and it was exhilarating. It seemed to be the same for you because your nipples hardened under his ministrations and you let out the softest moan that went straight to Ivar’s shaft which started to rise and bob against the fabric of your sheets.

Since you were still fast asleep, he took his time to worship your whole body, your skin feeling like silk under his rough fingers. His hands ran down your upper body, exploring your stomach, your navel, your waist until he felt the need to go further. He retracted his fingers and pulled your night gown up. The sight of your pure and untouched body mesmerized him and he gave himself a few minutes to explore it with his eyes this time. When he set his eyes on the junction between your thighs and saw the thatch of trimmed hair protecting your mound, he swallowed with difficulty and licked his lips.

Almost panting, he let his fingers tickle the hair before adventuring himself deeper. He groaned when one of his knuckles touched your wet center. The exploration of your body seemed to have its effect on you as well.

You began to stir this time and he felt your body stiffen under this forbidden touch.

“King Ivar…” Your murmured groggily. “What…” You tensed when you realized what he was doing and tried to scuttle away from him. “No…not here.”

“Yes, here.” Ivar replied softly but firmly, gripping your hips so you wouldn’t budge.

“Anybody could barge in.” You said, panicked.

“Nobody will barge in.” Ivar had made sure of it. The guards were too willing to get some gold in exchange for their silence. Their distaste of this treacherous king who had sold them to the heathens and the fear that this boneless King induced weighed more in the balance than the idea of protecting their sweet and innocent princess.

“We can’t, it’s not proper…”

Ivar cut off any of your protests with a kiss on your lips. “Didn’t you like the kisses and touches we shared before?”

“Yes, but…”

“Don’t worry, Princess.” He cooed and his fingers started to play with your folds to distract you. “I’m going take care of you.”

His thumb rolled on your clit and he felt all of your defenses fall. Your hand gripped the bulging biceps of his other arm and you whined through your gritted teeth.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Princess. Let it all out.” He delved two fingers in your heat while his thumb kept playing with your small nub. He growled at the tightness he found and began slow back and forth motions before leaning over your chest to take a nipple between his lips and suck it wildly. You gasped but put your hand on the back of his hand to encourage him to go on. The Viking smiled against your chest and happily complied, only stopping to give his twin the same treatment. He slid a third finger in your cunt and sped up his movements. Small pants left your mouth and you gripped his biceps harder. His thumb pushed a little bit harder on your clit and you spasmed, letting your body orgasm for the first time.

Ivar chuckled. “You liked that?”

Still too lost in your own pleasure, you simply nodded and smiled. Ivar smiled back at you and retrieved his fingers with a squelch that made you blush. He watched his fingers and licked them greedily, happy to revel in your taste. “Delicious”.

He winked at you then spread your legs wider. He pulled himself up before slithering between them. He pumped his already leaking sex a couple of times and pushed his tip inside. You tried to evade his touch, panicked again but Ivar gripped your hips. “Where are you going? I’m not done with you, yet.”

“But, but...Ivar, King Ivar, this is…”

“Shhh…Princess, look at me.” He ordered you in a soft voice and you did. The unshed tears in your eyes made him feel bad but he knew he couldn’t back down now – and he definitely did not want to. “You liked what I did before, right?”

You slowly nodded. “And you trust me?” You nodded again. “Then it’s alright Princess, I’ll take good care of you.”

He saw the last gleam of hesitation leave your eyes and he smiled to comfort you.

Slowly, he bent your legs and guided them against his side of his hips. He guided his tip closer and lubricated himself with the slick that had gathered between your legs.

“You are ready for me, Princess”. He groaned. “I swear by the Gods you will love it.”

He entered you in one swift motion. You tensed and winced when he went past your resistance. Your hands instinctively pushed against his chest.

“It’s alright, Princess.” He whispered in a soothing voice. “You’re going to feel good in a moment.”

He stilled himself to let you adjust to his size. When he finally felt the tension slowly leaving your body, he began to move. He groaned one more time and refrained himself from going faster. Your walls were squeezing him in the most delicious way. It was different than with Katya and the women he had enjoyed after her.

Hvitserk was right, virgins could be slightly awkward but they were special. Then, he shook his head to chase every thought about his brother away and focused on you and your reactions. Your face was starting to show signs of pleasure, your hands were now sensually stroking his torso and taking the time to explore his upper body. They slowly travelled up his shoulders and went down his back to end up just above the curve of his ass.

Ivar took that as signs of comfort and he thrusted more forcefully in your sweet velvety walls. His eyes almost rolled on the back of his head each time into your welcoming heat. He grunted and fastened his pace, pounding into you. He knew he should be gentler since it was your first time but he could not help it. Your nails sank into his lower back and your hips tilted up to meet his pelvic thrusts.

“Feeling good, Princess?” Ivar asked in a husky voice.

“Hmmm hmmm, yes….”

He looked at your face contorted in pleasure, your rosy cheeks and your parted lips from which escaped the sweetest sounds. He felt himself harden even more and his motions became frantic. He was rutting into you by now, spurred on by your moans and the way your arms ran up his back and pulled his chest against yours.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, that he peppered with kisses. The hold of your legs on his hips tightened and Ivar sensed you were close. Good, because he was too. He sneaked a hand between your sweaty bodies to play with your clit. Your legs shook against his skin and you came, biting his shoulder.

The light pain fueled his pleasure and he let go with a roar, spilling himself inside of you.

“What a wild little thing you are, Princess.” Ivar murmured against your neck and kissed it once he had caught his breath. Yet, he frowned when he heard you sniffle. He raised his head and when he saw your eyes brimming with tears, he felt a tiny pang of guilt tugging at his heart.

“What’s wrong, Princess? Did I hurt you?”

You turned your eyes away from him before answering. “I am ruined”. You sniffled again. “Nobody will marry me. You will go back to your lands and my father will send me to a convent.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Ivar cupped your chin and softly turned your head so that you would look at him. “You are not ruined my princess and I will marry you. Don’t you get it?” He added as he could sense you were doubting his words. “I’m nothing without you. You are my heart, body and soul. I will certainly not let anyone keeping us apart.”

“You want to marry me?” You asked in a tiny voice. A few tears were still rolling down your cheeks but the ghost of smile appeared on your lips.

“Of course.” Ivar replied and kissed your mouth tenderly.

He would lie if he pretended he had not thought about ruining you just for the sake of it. He had found you attractive the moment he set eyes on you and taking your virginity would be a way to defy your father. Nonetheless, he had changed his mind when he realized the looks you were giving him were not out of fear and disgust but rather curiosity. From then on, he did his best to spend some time with you discreetly and as he got to know you, he grew fond of your personality and charming ways. You would make the perfect queen.

“But…what about Father?” You wondered, still unsure. “What if he refuses your proposal?”

“Don’t worry about your father, Princess”. He assured with a comforting smile. “I will talk to him. I am certain he will listen.”

Ivar had planned everything so that he would since he had refused to do it before. Tomorrow morning, your lady-in-waiting would discreetly rush to her King to tell him how she saw the princess entangled in bed with the boneless and wicked Viking. Hearing that, the King would make sure to summon him and order the Viking to explain himself. Ivar would gladly comply to his demand and he would not forget to remind the King that his precious and innocent daughter was probably already carrying his heir in her womb. Maybe this time, the Saxon King would understand that nobody in their right mind would refuse to get King Ivar the Boneless what he wanted and what he wanted was you.

Tagging (feel free to ask to be added or removed): @naaladareia @flowers-in-your-hayr @elenarogersbarnes13 @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @gearhead66 @therealcalicali @peaceisadirtyword @captstefanbrandt @ivarswickedqueen

#vikings #fanfic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #500 followers celebration #@alicedopeys 500 followers

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

Text

misted realities

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Warnings: angst, injuries, mentions of torture/death, mentions of blood

Word Count: ~8k

A/N: based on this request! reader is fae, has earth-based magic.

“You never have time for me anymore,” you fought to keep your voice down, and clenched your fists to hide your shaking hands.

“Gods,” Aelin sighed. “We’re all busy,” she did look exhausted, small circles forming under the Queen’s eyes. Days would go by when the three of you barely passed a few sentences between each other. At least between you and them.

“I know,” you bit down on your bottom lip, willing the tears to disappear from the corners of your eyes. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Don’t cry,” Rowan’s curt tone shocked you. Tears were replaced by anger, beginning to simmer deep inside of you. “You see us everyday.” He’s right, you sleep in the same bed each night. But, as soon as they come in - they’re ready for bed. When they wake, it’s lucky if you have mere minutes to speak with them before they’re gone.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Right.”

Rowan’s eyes rolled, but he strode towards you, one hand braced on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes searched your face, thumb wiping away one of the stray tears. “We’ll talk about this later.”

You took a step back, shaking off his grip.

“It’s always later,” you spit out.

Aelin’s fingertips rubbed at her temples as she glanced at the clock. “We don’t have time for this.”

They never have time, not anymore. In the beginning, it felt like they would always make time for you - always time to go out into the forest, to go into the city, to just exist together. Maybe you were being selfish, they’re the Queen and King of Terrasen for gods sake. But, where they used to seek you out, now you always chased after them and it was getting exhausting. Months of the same thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” you let out a slow breath, but it did nothing to abate the tightness in your chest. Aelin frowned, lips pressing into a tight line. “I’m … I'm just overthinking.”

Rowan’s look said; obviously, but Aelin still seemed a bit disgruntled. She glanced at the clock again.

“We have to go,” she glanced over to Rowan. He gave her a soft smile, shot a nod your way, and looped his arm through hers before leaving the room. You stared after them, at the closed door. Never, they’d never left like that before. Not even a hug, or a i’ll see you later. Or have a good day. You clenched your fists at your side, gripping the fabric tightly.

Space, maybe some time away from here would do you good. Ella had invited you on a trip, one you declined because you thought they would have a free day this weekend. But, at this point, who even knows if they’d want to spend it with you? You couldn’t put everything else on hold in the hopes that they might decide to grace you with their attention. If you remembered correctly, the trip began tomorrow.

Slipping on your boots, you left the castle as quickly as possible - to find her and tell her to add one to the itinerary.

It would be telling, that’s for certain. Either they’d miss you or … maybe realize they were better off without you. You prayed you could handle the truth, whatever it might be.

“I’m leaving for a trip with my cousins tomorrow, I’ll spend the night at Ella’s. It’s an early start.” You stood in the door of the bedroom, fresh out of a bath, a pack slung over your shoulder. She’d been thrilled and shocked you decided to come along. Excited enough you felt some shame - shame that you hadn’t spent time amongst your family. That you’d focused so much on your relationship it surprised them you would go along.

Aelin’s eyes flicked up from her book, her legs stretched across Rowan’s lap. “Be safe.”

How long had they been out here? Not bothering to come say hello to you? Rowan gave a curt nod. It felt like a clear dismissal, and you took it.

You gave them a tight smile, one they didn’t see, and strode for the door - shoulders back and head high. After you’d passed the gates, you realized they hadn’t asked where you were going, or when you would be back.

The Oakwald was gorgeous this time of year. Brannon’s forest. It always felt … peaceful. Like a place you could come to to escape the rest of your thoughts. The trip had gone well, visiting a few old friends in a neighboring province. A week long trip, and one of the best weeks you’d had in a while.

They were in the back of your mind, not consuming your thoughts, not constantly lingering in the front. All of your focus went to your family, your friends, and on spending quality time with them. It was a thing of beauty, and something that left you feeling revived. Alive again. You’d given too much of yourself to them, and received too little in return. King or Queen aside, you deserved more than half-assed attempts and short words. Your last interaction with them had sealed it. Anything you might have had at one point, had faded away. There’s no sense in drawing out something like this. No sense in you desperately begging for any scrap of affection or attention. You had more respect for yourself than that.

You approached the next clearing, and the hair on the back of your neck stood. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Something here was off. You stopped at the edge, one hand palming the knife at your side, and scanned the surrounding treeline.

“Down,” you shouted as a figure moved, your Fae hearing picking up the slight zing of an arrow string pulled taut. They listened, and dove to the ground behind some rocks. With another thought, the ground underneath the attackers shifted, rolling up to knock whoever it was off balance. You dove to the forest floor, arrows still flew, one lodging in your thigh - the other grazing your arm, head knocking against the rocks. Pain shot through your body, sending white spots through your vision - but you gritted your teeth and rolled, righting yourself up to a crouch.

It all happened in seconds. Your right wrist, your dominant wrist, was broken - and you reached for your dagger with your left. You felt Ella’s distinct magic - a shield of wind coming to surround the three of you, and heard the sound of Edde’s bowstring pulling taught, and your own magic acting of its own accord. Sentient, almost. Maybe it was your subconscious guiding it.

The rest passed in a blur, all you knew was fifteen bodies were left by the end of it. Five with arrows through their skulls, others with blue faces - like someone had ripped the air from their lungs, the rest strangled by branches and vines. Looks like the last three had gotten their wits about them and fled. The three of you fought together before, and had spent a magic-less decade together with the Wolf-Tribe. You knew what you were doing. Still, you had gotten lucky. They caught you by surprise.

Edde was scouting the area ahead, Ella looking at your wounds anxiously. Neither of you could heal, none of your magic lent to that.

“It’s fine,” you insisted. It was - surface wounds in all honesty. The biggest risk now was infection. As soon as you got to a healer, you’d be fine. “We can turn back-”

“Going back will add an extra three hours,” Edde said as she entered, a handful of herbs in her hand. She chewed them, before packing them onto the wound on your arm, and ripping part of her shirt. “Crude, but it’ll keep infection away for now.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You winced, trying not to sound like a whining child. If you made it to the next town, someone could easily send a messenger to Orynth with the information. Plus, there were sentries posted there. But … the threat was closer to Orynth, and you did have a moral obligation to inform them of any dangers present. Ella gave you a sympathetic look. You’d given them the run down about the status of your relationship in the beginning of your trip, and they knew you well enough to pick up that you didn’t want to speak about them further.

Edde had a forced grin on her face, “I’m the oldest - and I say we’re going home.”

You appreciated her attempt at humor, and sighed. Neither of them suggested shifting and going ahead - it might have been smart but the three of you were stronger together. Leaving one of them alone with you, injured, would be a risk - having one of you alone would be another risk, and you weren’t taking any of those.

Battered, and bruised, your cousins helped you back to the castle, each of your arms propped over one of their shoulders. Edde had slung you over her shoulder for part of it, but when you sensed her strength waning you insisted on walking. The three of you had worse in the past, you could walk on an injured leg. The pounding in your head was more obnoxious anyway.

Fenrys saw you first. Thankfully. You didn’t want to see Rowan or Aelin yet.

The male told the two of them to stay in place, actually said ‘don’t fucking move,’ and you didn’t argue as he swept you in his arms, mouthing a ‘sorry’ over his shoulder. They both shrugged, sending a knowing glance to each other.

“Is there any chance you won’t tell them?” You mumbled.

“Trouble in paradise?” He teased, his voice strained. You snarled at him, and he snorted. “You know I have to.”

Even if he didn’t have to, he would. He barked an order at a passing sentry, and you kept your mouth clamped shut as he slipped between the folds of the world, your stomach churning.

The poor messenger sent to the Queen and King was shaking. Rowan stiffened. He knew this male to be level headed, calm, and stoic. But here he was - shaking like a leaf, like a soldier after his first blood drawn.

“Y/n,” he started, “is in the healers-”

Aelin shoved him to the side and sprinted out the door. Rowan didn’t wait for him to finish either and took off after her. Their footsteps sprinted down the halls, silent on the stone as they ran faster than they ever had. They cleared through the hallways with ease, hands wrapping around the corners to propel themselves forward.

“We need to stop the bleeding.” One of the healers said, in a firm no-nonsense tone, and you yelped as she began undoing the half-assed bandages, giving an appreciative nod at the herbs. Your eyes shut closed, focusing on anything but the lashing pain coming from your thigh. At least the arrow was lodged well enough that keeping the piece inside stopped any bleeding.

The door flung open. Rowan and Aelin stood there - pure panic and wrath coming from each of them. Rowan eyed both healers, with startling intensity. You fought back the words on the tip of your tongue - to tell them to leave, to get out of there.

“Leave.” Rowan ordered both of the healers instead. You opened your mouth to protest, but he fixed you with a look and you shut it again. Testing him right now - at least in front of the other females, might not be a wise idea.

His predatory attention stayed on you as he made his way across the room. Aelin, however, kept an eye on the women, watching until the door closed firmly behind them, before rushing over to your side.

Rowan managed to stay cool, but Aelin cursed under her breath as she took in your wounds. A broken wrist, a deceptively deep gash on your arm, part of an arrow stuck out of your thigh. You’d cut the rest off to make travel back a bit easier.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you said bitterly. Rowan ignored you - giving instructions to Aelin instead. Who, surprisingly, listened without questioning - fetching whatever items he ordered.

“Tell me what happened.” He ordered, and you paused, tilting your head. He was focused on your wound, magic starting to swirl over your skin. “Now,” he didn’t look up at you.

You let out a low exhale, but told him what happened, recalling every detail you could.

“Does anything else hurt?” Aelin asked as Rowan finished up.

“No,” you said quietly. Your head did, a bit, from impact - but you didn’t want them to think you’re weak, or complaining. The other ones were more serious, but healed almost as if nothing had happened, only scars in their place. You’d be sore for a few days, but that should be all.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Aelin held out a hand for you. You reached to take it, but Rowan cut in - sweeping you up into his arms instead. You stiffened in his hold, but he only tightened, holding you close to him.

They were both silent on the walk back, not that it mattered - you drifted into sleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Aedion took in their report with a grim face, before sending out scouts to locate the survivors. Ones who managed to survive the three of you. Your cousins headed back out with them to show the way. He had instructed them to bring them in alive, if possible.

He’d let them rot in the dungeons, let them fester until Aelin and Rowan got their turn. They wouldn’t make it out of there alive, he knew that for certain.

Rowan had tossed and turned all night. Over the last week, he had no idea where you were or when you were coming back. He could’ve reached out to someone in town - one of your other family members, but he didn’t want to look like a fool. Like an idiot who didn’t bother to ask. Like what he was.

Aelin was right that they were busier than usual, and had been for the last few months. But, they had a free day this weekend - and you knew that, but still chose to leave. They’d cleared that night for you, to get back and spend time with you. When they got there - he could hear you packing, and bitter anger started simmering inside of him. He thought you were running away at the first sign of trouble.

First, you said they never had time for you, and when they did have free time - you left. It pissed him off. If he was being objective, he could see where you were coming from. He’d sworn to himself he’d make it up to you, when things calmed down. Gods, you’d moved in - at his and Aelin’s insistence - so they could spend more time together.

You were younger, and hadn’t settled yet. Maybe he was an idiot - still thinking in years and decades while you were thinking in weeks and months. Three months to him was nothing. But … you didn’t have the full grasp on immortality yet.

Regardless, you were back now - and safe. There’s no gods-damned way he’d let you leave that bed anytime soon. Not until you were completely healed and whole. He propped himself up on one arm, Aelin dozed fitfully next to you, one arm slung over your waist, her front pressing into your back, wrapping herself around you like she might shield you from the world. He brushed a few strands from your face, frowning at the small abrasion on your temple. He’d missed that, but it was mostly healed now - just a light pink scratch in its wake.

In the morning, he’d say his apologies when you woke. You needed sleep now.

“Y/n,” Aelin called, brushing her thumb against your cheek. You let out a slow breath, but didn’t open your eyes. Your heartbeat was still strong, breaths still even.

“Let her sleep it off,” Rowan advised, already pulling a shirt over his head. They’d cleared their schedule as much as possible - only one meeting they wouldn’t be able to miss. He’d already arranged for sentries to be posted at their doorway, with orders to let nobody but them, Fenrys, or Aedion through. Two hours, and they’d be right back at your side.

“Are you sure?” She asked, glancing up at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning, and you’d knocked out around eight last night. In all honesty, if you’d woken up right then she would’ve said fuck it to the meeting. Even though the meeting had been called because of what happened yesterday. Her blood began to boil again. Aedion had assured her they were searching for the ones that had done this to you. And bringing them back - alive. But, given your cousins were on the hunt she couldn’t say what state they would be in. Fae can be especially ruthless where their family was concerned, and the three of you were close.

Aedion stood in the door, partially blocked by Rowan’s figure as she ran a hand over your hair, smoothing through some of the tangled strands. She was surprised you’d even let her help you take a bath. Maybe you were too exhausted to protest. Aelin would’ve preferred for you to yell - to scream, anything besides the quiet silence you’d returned with.

“Edde and Ella are guiding them.” She knew those names - your cousins. “I made them swear to bring them back alive.” Aelin almost laughed that he’d made the two females promise.

“Let me know as soon as they return.” Rowan instructed, and slammed the door in his face.

“That was rude,” she said absentmindedly.

“He can handle it.” Rowan countered, stopping at the edge of the bed. She glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable. Aelin reached out and squeezed his hand. They were both keeping a thin lid on their anger.

“Yes,” he sighed, dragging her back to the present. “Her body needs rest.”

Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A thought had a fire roaring in the corner. You needed to stay warm. It was still early autumn, but a chill had set in overnight, the temperatures dipping to just above freezing. Clouds had rolled in overnight, putting an end to the sunny few weeks they had. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Rowan could tell Aelin was forcing herself not to sprint back to the room. They’d made a tentative plan - check on you, then grab a healer to come do a more thorough check. Something they should’ve done last night, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else near you in that vulnerable state. He’d barely kept his cool with Aedion in the doorway. Only knowledge of your friendship with the male and his blood oath to their Queen kept him from ripping his head off for being too close.

Aelin pushed the door open ahead of him, spotting your form still sleeping on their bed, in the exact position they’d left you in. Something was wrong. You should’ve woken by now - or at least moved. You always tossed and turned in your sleep. But … you had been rather still last night. His pace picked up, overtaking Aelin as he yanked the covers back.

“Y/n.” He called, running a hand down your arm. Cold, your skin was cold. The room is warm - a fire still burning in the corner. Panic rose inside of him - your heart was still beating, breaths still even. He shook your shoulder lightly. He called your name again - louder. Aelin did as well. No response. Nothing.

Aelin had darted for the door, he vaguely heard her shouting something at one of the guards in the hallway, the sound of other footsteps pounding down the hallway, but he couldn’t take his gaze away from you. Your lips, pale and cracked slightly.

“Wake up sweetheart,” he tried keeping his voice gentle this time. Nothing. He shook you again. “Wake up,” his chest tightened, throat constricting.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice vaguely registered, and he felt two hands cover his, holding them still. Aelin’s face came into his view, everything else blurred out around it. “Don’t shake her.” A pure command, rolling from his Queen. He didn’t bother masking any of the emotions in his face, he couldn’t - not now.

He called your name again instead, Aelin slowly pushed his hands away from you. They hung limply at his side. His magic had checked over you at least three times and he couldn’t find anything. Why hadn’t he gotten a healer last night? Why weren’t you waking up? He should’ve asked about the cut on your head. Or have woken you up during the night to check on you. How many hours had he spent staring at you?

He let out a low snarl as a healer stood in the doorway, turning to block her view of your body.

“She needs her help,” Aelin said - gentle but firm. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the healer and took a few steps away. The woman wasted no time rushing towards you. Another healer came in behind her. And another. He tensed at all of the new people - all surrounding you. Touching you.

“Rowan.” Aelin snapped, and he met her eyes. “I don’t like it either. She needs help.”

When was the last time Aelin had been the voice of reason? Perhaps she was more in touch with her human side.

“Reign it in or leave,” one of the healers - a female with a no-nonsense tone and stature barked. He pulled his power back in, unaware he’d let it reel from him. His eyes never left you, as he stood with his back to the wall. Centuries of self-control went into keeping himself in place. One wrong move and -

“Rowan,” he heard Aelin snarl. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from you to look at her. Keep it together. They’re helping.

He took a few deep breaths.

“We need water and clean towels.” The healer in charge announced. One of the younger ones went to move, but she held up a hand and sent a knowing glance to Aelin. Rowan had been a live fuse next to her.

“Rowan, go get them.” She gave the order, but not pulling on the bond. She’d already had to do that once, to get him to stop trying to shake you awake. His eyes narrowed at her, but he listened. He needed something to keep himself from murdering everything within a foot of you. A basic command, to make him feel useful - to serve in the way Fae males needed.

She did wonder how she was the reasonable one in this situation. Not that she was feeling very reasonable. One threatening move from the healers … and she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened to them. The three of them were very aware of how on edge the two were. The one in charge was Fae, the other two humans - and seemed to be taking cues from her. Only focusing on reigning in Rowan kept her from losing her calm.

This kind of fear … only when she’d almost lost Rowan those years ago - when he took the arrow for her, had she felt something similar to this. That’s when she realized he was her… Gods.

No, no, no, a voice inside of her head screamed at her as she dropped to her knees, fingers digging into the carpet. Why now? When she was … The healers hadn’t turned to look at her. Nobody could see the war or anguish in her mind. Rowan returned, abruptly shoving the water and towels into one of their arms before he was at her side, arm wrapped over her shoulders.

“I know fireheart,” he murmured. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know. A hand gripped her chin, and dark green iris’s met her own. “It’ll be fine,” he said with such conviction she believed wholeheartedly. It had to be. She wouldn’t accept any other alternative.

You were in a murky fog, voices blurring over, shapes coming in and out of your vision. You spun in a circle - but it was all consuming. Was this your mind? Had it been scrambled somehow? Last you remembered, you were being tucked into bed by … you couldn’t put a finger on who. Then darkness. A sleep so heavy it pulled you under within seconds.

Turquoise eyes ringed in gold. You focused on them, trying to pull yourself out of this abyss - towards the colors you recognized so easily. Who did they belong to? You couldn’t remember. The fog covered them again. Gone. You deflated. Would they come back?

Fenrys frowned from the doorway. Rowan was pacing, the carpet looked worn where he walked back and forth. Everyone was on edge in the castle. In Orynth really. The scouting party sent word earlier that they’d arrive with the three remaining combatants tomorrow. When he told Rowan - a steely glint he recognized came over the male's eyes. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for them, they’d deserve everything coming their way - and more. They knew who they were attacking. It wasn’t a secret you were Rowan and Aelins partner.

In all honesty, he’s surprised those were the only injuries the three of you sustained. Well, you were the only injured party. Eighteen against three. For humans, the odds would seem astronomical - and likely whoever it was had underestimated the fact that they were going up against well trained Fae warriors. Given how sweet and innocent you look, they probably thought you were an easy target. But, you’d seen the thick of the fighting in Orynth and survived ten years in Erilea with the Wolf-Tribe.

The healers had given you ten days. Ten days before they feared there might be some kind of irreparable brain damage.

More than anything, he wanted for you to wake - to be healthy and whole. Mainly because you were his friend. But, based on his conversation with Aelin the other night … there was more at stake. Once she told him, he realized the blood oath tugged a different kind of loyalty towards you as well.

“Fenrys,” he heard her. He was still in Wolf form by their door, standing guard. Something he did without having to be asked. He blinked three times, using the old code from years ago; ‘are you alright?’

Two blinks, ‘no.’ She pressed her back against the wall, glancing up and down the corridor, before slowly lowering herself to the ground. He hadn’t seen his Queen look this lost in years. She had something to say - something she needed to, and he patiently waited for her to speak.

“I hadn’t felt like this since Rowan took the arrow for me, and that’s when I realized …” Her head fell into her palms. He knew exactly what she meant. Fenrys shifted into human form, taking a seat beside her. “Is it even possible? Is this some sort of cruel joke? Is this my punishment?”

She was bearing her heart, throwing it out on a platter.

“It’s possible.” He answered her first question. The others, he didn’t know how to respond but … he tried. “Having a mate is never a punishment.”

“But .. Rowan.” He could hear the question; ‘is Rowan hers too?’

He leaned his head back against the wall, kicking his legs out in front of him. “Based on his … behavior. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

“Isn’t this typical for Fae?”

The protectiveness, the desire to protect those they consider theirs, when they’re protective and vulnerable. But, he’s known Rowan for decades, and he’s only ever acted this way with Aelin. “It is, but he’s acting the same way he does with you.”

Tension left her body in a giant wave. “What do I do? Do you think he knows?”

Fenrys stilled. Whitethorn would know - he’d at least have a vague idea. He settled on, “he probably knows.”

Aelin looked at him, waiting for him to answer her first question. “When have you ever let anyone tell you what to do?” He teased her. She rolled her eyes, and he could’ve cheered at the normal gesture. Something besides misery and pain.

“I was asking for advice, asshole.”

Fenrys forced himself to focus back on the present. The healer looked like she was about at his limits with Rowan. She shot Fenrys a pleading glance. He really did admire her patience.

“I’ll stay with her.” He heard Aedion from behind him. Backup, that was good. Rowan turned slowly, eyeing both of them with a predator's glance. Finally, he nodded at Aedion - giving his permission. If you were awake to see this, you’d probably rip him a new one. Giving permission for anyone else to be around you. If - when, you woke, you’d be in for a whole different world of territorial nonsense.

Fenrys decided to take some initiative, and taunted Rowan. “You’re getting rusty, cooped up in here,” and shot him a shit-eating grin he knew would provoke a reaction. Sure enough, Rowan stormed out the door, jerking his chin for him to follow. Aedion shot him a sympathetic glance, and he elbowed the male harshly in the ribs. Although he told Aelin her husband probably knows, he’s not going to be the one to bring it up to him. That’s a journey they’ll have to take for themselves. For now, he’ll do his best to taunt some of the rage out of him - maybe make him more tolerable for the rest of them to be around.

One thing Fenrys knows he’s good at, the best at, is pissing his royal Highness off.

“Just come back.” A male said to you. The fog cleared slightly, and a blurry face peered down at you. A male with turquoise and gold eyes. Everything else blurred in and out, but the colors stayed. You could nearly feel the pain inside of them. “I know you’re mad at them, but they love you. They’ve been losing their minds, we all have.” You can’t remember who you’re mad at, or why.

“Edde and Ella are hunting them down. They’ll be back tomorrow.”

The names sparked something in you. A vague splinter of memory you tried to hold on to. Like water, it slipped through your fingers. You tried to speak - to scream, but your voice disappeared in the fog. The eyes withdrew from your view.

“Can she hear anything?” Aelin asked - her voice still tight.

“We don’t know.” The healer dismissed herself.

She was tired of hearing that. We don’t know. We’re not certain. We can’t tell.

Day seven. Three more days, the healers had given you three more days until they feared the damage was irreparable.

But … they didn’t know how strong you were, not like she did. You’d survived ten years in hiding - you’d survived that last battle, the ambush - three against eighteen, survived dealing with her and Rowan’s bullshit. She refused to accept this kind of ending, refused to lose her mate - even if you didn’t know it yet.

She imagined all of the concerns you might have, and all of the ways she would tell you you’re wrong. When you woke, she wondered if the bond would snap for you immediately. Probably not. She hasn’t found a good chance to approach Rowan about it - but she thinks he knows. And that he’s aware she does. Very little gets by him. She told Fenrys because she had to speak to someone, but saying it to Rowan felt too real.

Aelin wouldn’t lose you. But knowing and having loved you, no matter how shitty she was at it, was better than never knowing you at all.

She squeezed your hand. “Come back,” she pleaded, “please.”

Her thumb gently traced your cheekbone. Cold. Over her shoulder, the fire was still going strong. There’s so many blankets surrounding you, she feared you might suffocate if she added another. Neither she or Rowan had slept well in the last week. They slept in shifts, always wanting one of them to be awake in case anything changed - in case you woke. The others ran the castle, letting the two of them get away with making an occasional appearance.

They’d somehow managed to keep what happened underwraps. And they would - until they got their answers. Tomorrow, their new guests would arrive. Along with the rest of her court. She hated that she’d have to divide her attention away from you - to share her attention with anyone else.

The ever changing scent hit the door, followed by a gentle knock. She tore her attention away from you, heavy legs carrying her to the door.

Lysandra knew better than to try and come in without invitation. Even though the shifter was one of her closest friends, she still battled against her instincts to tell her to go the fuck away.

Worry was evident all over the shifter’s face as she glanced at your form, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets. Aelin couldn’t stop the small snarl beginning in her throat. Too long. She was looking too long. Quickly, Lysandra drew her attention back to her, and she shot her an apologetic grimace.

“Any change?”

Aelin shook her head, tears building in the corners of her eyes. She let Lysandra take her in her arms, hold her close and tight.

“She’ll come back.” She didn’t sound too convinced. Aelin abruptly pulled back.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she snapped, and then winced, opening her mouth again.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Lysandra said quickly.

“No. I’m being unreasonable.” Aelin ran her hands down her face, looking back at you. She could still hear your heartbeat. Strong. Lysandra’s eyes dug into her. Her friend was always too perceptive. “Don’t say it,” she pleaded without looking at her. Of course she knows.

“Is he…”

“I think so,” Aelin interrupted her before she could say the actual word. Mate. Even thinking it brought pain - launching right through her chest, ripping it in half. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” Lys’s tone said she very much believes she should talk about it. She’d tell her exactly where she could shove her beliefs if she pushed any further. “You need to go beat the shit out of someone.” Her friend said instead.

Aelin slowly turned her head over her shoulder, raising one brow, “are you volunteering?”

“I’ll find you a volunteer,” she winked at her, before heading out the door.

“Get Aedion,” she shouted after her.

Aelin flexed her hands. Maybe getting out some of the rage would be good. Fenrys and her cousin had alternated taking the brunt of her and Rowan’s pent up frustration and rage. She highly suspected they didn’t trust anyone else to take them on and survive the encounter. She looked back through the open doorway. You’d come back, she knew it.

“It’s been ten days.” You heard a voice. Ten days, you’d heard that over and over again and knew it related to you.

You had ten days to ‘come back,’ you’d figured out that’s what you needed to do.

“Tell me how,” you’d screamed into nothingness. “I want to, help me” But you were lost, wandering around in this blurry half-reality. Voices and faces came in and out, words coming in fragments, sometimes in sentences, but nothing concrete.

“We’ve done everything we can. It’s time to consider if…”

Cries and screams; you’re wrong, she’ll come back, get the fuck out. Doors slammed.

Two faces swarmed above you, clearer than before. Turquoise ringed with gold. Green. A name. They kept repeating a name over and over again.

“Please, love,” a feminine pleaded.

“We need you,” the male one added.

“Help me,” you begged, “help me. help me. help me.”

Twelve days. The healers were still working with you - keeping your muscles from atrophying, pushing nutrient dense tonics down your throat, checking your vitals, using magic to test for other things.

Brain activity, you still had that - but they couldn’t tell how much. Or how much of you would be left when you returned.

The head healer sat down next to her, catching her attention.

“What?” Aelin tried to keep her voice gentle, but had a feeling she failed miserably. To her credit, the woman didn’t look ruffled.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return, your Majesty.”

The woman left before Aelin could ask any more questions.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return.”

You wanted it, now you needed to find a reason. You paced, or at least you thought you did, in this mental prison.

Isn’t wanting it reason enough? There’s something to return to. Names fluttered through your mind. You’d repeated them to yourself over and over again, unwilling to let them go.

Edde. Ella. Fenrys. Aedion. Aelin. Rowan.

The last two felt the strongest. You didn’t know who they were, but knew they needed you. If you disappeared completely, it would hurt them. Would hurt all of them.

You glanced down at your arms, spotting the fresh white scar slashing one of them, and another smaller scar on your thigh. Others littered your body in various places. You’ve fought before, but not like this. Pitting your mind and will against whatever abyss this is.

If it’s an abyss … maybe you need to build a ladder to climb out. You imagined strands of turquoise, gold, and green swirling in front of you, forming a link. As you reached out, they disappeared on touch. Frustration wouldn’t help you now. You would do this. You wouldn’t accept any other option.

Fenrys leaned back against the wall in the dungeon, watching Rowan work before him. Lorcan stood to his left. He wasn’t surprised the male had shown up. He wouldn’t let Elide go anywhere alone, not since there’d just been an attack. Or in general. He wasn’t phased by anything Rowan was doing before them. Or what Aelin had done earlier.

They’d gotten their answers days ago, now it was vengeance.

“She’s their mate.” Lorcan said under his breath, so only he could hear. Not a question. Fenrys didn’t comment. Rowan was enacting the kind of wrath only a mated male could. The three males had already begged for death, several times. He didn’t feel pity, or any inclination towards mercy, but if he did he wouldn’t dare interrupt. Only a fool would.

Part of him wondered if Rowan was making up for time he didn’t get to spend with Cairn. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question. Besides the attack on you, they’d learned several other vital bits of information from the males. At first, they’d made the mistake of bragging. Of what they planned to do to you - speaking to each other. Others might’ve called it stupid to keep them together, but the demi-Fae guards posted could hear every one of their ‘whispers,’ and the things they’d reported made him sick and furious.

They were on day thirteen. The healers said ten. Rowan and Aelin wouldn’t give up. Others had started thinking in if’s, but they refused.

Lorcan nudged him, jerking his chin towards the door. He took one more glance at Rowan, still occupied, and followed.

“What is it?” He crossed his arms as they left earshot. Lorcan had a … look on his face. Strange, considering the bastard usually never showed any kind of emotion. Worried? He wasn’t particularly close to you, and had only met you on a few occasions.

“Do you think she’ll wake?”

“Yes.” He replied instantly. “There’s no other option.”

Lorcan let out a slow breath. “If they lose her …”

“I know.”

They might lose their Queen and King too. Everyone had thought of it, even if nobody dared to voice it.

It wasn’t improving as quickly as you’d hoped it would. But - you could feel it. It was a physical thing, living and sentient almost. You let your fingers run over one of them, colors swirled together and shined. It was warm to the touch, and slid easily over your fingertips. You wrapped your hand around it, and it held firm. You reached for the next. It held.

With the next one, you brought your hand up, your foot settling into the bottom ledge. It was working. You refocused your breaths and tilted your chin up. Endless mist covered your vision, only seeing where your hand landed next.

Trust, you needed to trust that you could pull yourself out. Trust someone would be there to catch you.

Aelin knew she was sleep-deprived, and figured the rustling from the room was a hallucination. She’d heard it several times while slipping out the door, only to rush back in and find you in the same position.

Day twenty. Twenty days of hell, of waiting. There wasn’t anything she could fix, she could only hope and trust you were doing what you could. Gods, she spoke to you as much as she could. Aelin read books, talked about everything and nothing in hopes you would hear. There was only one subject she’d refused to approach, refused to speak aloud. Would that be the key? Could that be the reason you needed? The one that the healer had mentioned. She hadn’t told Rowan about the conversation … she swallowed harshly, and pulled her husband aside. Maybe now was the time to do it.

Rowan read the look in her eyes and kicked everyone out of the room.

“The healer told me that it’s … that she needs …”

“She told me too,” Rowan interrupted her rambling. He gave her a tight smile, and pulled her into his chest. His chin rested on top of her head, and she leaned in to hear her heartbeat. “Are we going to acknowledge it?”

She leaned her head back enough to meet his eyes, and took a breath before she said the thing haunting her mind for the last twenty days. “That we have another mate?”

Rowan nodded. She could see the relief flooding over his features, and imagined the same was showing on hers. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“I know.” She huffed out a laugh. You had two mates waiting for you, when you get back. Two who will burn the entire world down to get you back here if they had to. “We’ll get our mate back.”

Mate. You blinked as you heard the word. So soft you almost missed it. Aelin and Rowan.

You reached another hand, and could see the next ring, and the next. The world cleared around you.

Soft cloth and fur covered you, you twitched your fingers - you could feel it. It was real. It had to be.

Your eyes opened, and you shut them quickly. Too bright.

A few seconds later, you squinted and slowly let yourself adjust.

Gods, how many blankets did one person need? Your entire body was heavy and slow, but you managed to wiggle out from under the cloth mountain, making it to the edge of the bed. Had you been alone this entire time? Had you imagined Aelin and Rowan?

Maybe a stranger had found you and brought you back. But … the room was familiar. Maybe this was another dream, a new reality your mind trapped you in.

You let your feet hit the soft carpeted floor, pressing yourself up to stand. You felt surprisingly steady and took a few tentative steps.

It was sunny outside. Gods, you needed to feel the sun on your skin - even if it’s fake, even if this isn’t real.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, slowly opening the door to the balcony. A chilly wind hit you and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, ignoring the cold biting at your toes and skin as you took a step out. Based on the sun, it’s about mid morning - at least in this dream world. You wandered towards the railing, letting your hands travel over the wood - worn with time but still strong.

Orynth, you recognized the city. Maybe this could be real. But if it was real … wouldn’t Aelin or Rowan be here? Or had they just shoved you in here out of obligation. Maybe the word mate was a figment of your imagination as well. Your mind telling you what you want to hear. Footsteps filled your ears and you whirled around, bracing your hands on the railing behind you.

Rowan stilled. He could’ve sworn he heard a door open. But … lately his mind had been playing tricks on him. Him and Aelin both. He pressed a kiss to the top of Aelin’s head. Now that they’d actually said it out loud, it felt like there was a lot more to lose.

Twenty days. There wasn’t any change - but at least there wasn’t any deterioration. He wouldn’t give up hope on you, he couldn’t. Gods, he couldn’t lose you. Fuck.

He took a step back, running a hand over his face. They’d been out of the room for maybe ten minutes, but he still felt like he needed to have eyes on you at all times, lest he miss something. Even if it’s just a twitch of your fingers. Rowan would give anything for that - for any kind of movement. Your eyes had twitched behind your eyelids at some points, and he knew you were dreaming or seeing something. It gave him hope.

“Let’s go back in,” he murmured, and Aelin led the way back towards the door. She cracked it open and froze, breaths coming heavier, before she shoved it back open, turning to him with pure alarm on her face. He pushed past her.

Gone. The bed was empty. Impossible. Nobody could get in here - they’d been right there. Right outside.

The balcony door was cracked open. Aelin spotted it a second before him, and he’d never seen her move faster. He was right on her heels. Pure terror and dread filled him. Has someone taken you? They could cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. Why the hell had he left you alone?

He barely stopped himself from crashing into Aelin.

You were there. Hands braced against the wood railing, eyes wide in confusion. Awake and standing. Your brows furrowed as you saw them, shoulders tightening.

“Not real,” you murmured to yourself. His heart dropped to his stomach. You looked vaguely like a cornered kitten. They would have to be very careful, considering how close you are to the ledge. Subtly, he let a shield of wind surround them, one that would push you back if you somehow fell past over the edge.

“It’s real,” Aelin whispered, taking a few steps towards you. He fought the urge to rush over there and grab you, to tug you away from danger. You panicked and confused. He should’ve been there when you woke, to see your pretty eyes open again. To tell you how much you mean to him. How he’s thought about you every second. How he never should’ve let you leave on those terms.

You didn’t move towards them, but didn’t try and make more space, and Aelin took that as a good thing. She slowly walked towards you, and he followed a few steps behind.

Aelin stopped a few feet away, and held out her hand.

Ten seconds passed.

Your gaze switched between her hand, Aelin’s face, his. He held his breath.

Ten more seconds.

You took her hand with a cautious smile and tentative hope on your features.

“It’s real,” he repeated Aelin’s words from earlier. He watched your fingers squeeze, and you took another step forwards, closer. Aelin’s other hand came up, brushing against your cheek. Rowan watched as you melted into her touch, eyes closing as you let out a little sigh.

His knees hit the floor, tears openly streaming down his face.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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galadrieljones · 8 days

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Family Units and Foreshadowing in "Too Far Gone" (TD)

I'm not entirely sure what is happening, symbolically, in episode 4.8 "Too Far Gone," but looking back on it now, it is providing a lot of very interesting foreshadowing for the remainder of the series. What happens in 4.8 essentially symbolizes a massive schism in the prior established "family unit," ie: the patriarch, Hershel Greene, is beheaded, and all of his children, devoid of home and purpose, scatter to the wind, forming smaller, separate family units. The "way" in which they scatter is important, as is everything in Scott Gimple's first season as showrunner, and that's what I want to talk about today.

The family units we see escaping the prison foreshadow in many ways the formation of similar units and dynamics going forward, mostly. That "mostly" is important. Here are the groups, exactly as they leave the prison:

Maggie, Sasha, and Bob

Tyreese, Judith, Lizzy, and Mica

Daryl and Beth

Rick and Carl

Michonne

Glenn and Tara

Carol is not at the prison during the showdown with the Governor or when it falls. She has been driven away and exiled by Rick. Though she will quickly converge with Tyreese and the girls, it's important that, at the time of the prison's fall, she is not there.

(Note that in this post, I'm ONLY going to discuss the original main characters who lived at the prison with Rick, under Hershel's guidance, and who lost their home in 4.8. I will not NOT be discussing the new characters who show up between 4.8 and 5.8, ie: Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, or Father Gabriel. I also won't really be discussing Tara, as even though she groups immediately with Glenn, she is not a part of the original family unit.)

We know that Gimple had very specific plans and choices for these groupings, or what I'm referring to as family units. In terms of the situations they encounter, symbolically, let's see what happened and what's still going on, with particular attention to the characters that we know are still alive:

Maggie: Maggie tries to leave Bob and Sasha continuously during her search for Glenn after the prison falls. She searches for Glenn to the detriment of whatever connections she has left, and not once does she consider that her sister may also still be alive. She has a hard time relying on other people and doesn't want anyone else to feel responsible for her burden. Maggie's tendency to isolate herself from and even actively fight those who want to help, and her persistence at going it alone has only worsened over the seasons. Further, and perhaps most importantly, Maggie and Glenn each have a difficult time existing independently of one another in 4b. Maggie refuses to accept that Glenn could possibly be dead, and her lack of acceptance of the current situation, though it is romantic in some sense, foreshadows her current lack of acceptance and ability to move on. The entire fact that they're separated at all is foreshadowing for Maggie's entire future arc. She gets lucky in 4b, finding Glenn again, but she knows now that this is no longer a possibility, as she watched him die, and so her inability to move on, to move forward with her life and to let go of the past has become perhaps her most glaring flaw.

Judith: Judith was just an infant in 4b; however, her situation, basically right up until the final moments of The Ones Who Live 1.6, has stayed almost exactly the same. Raised by surrogates, with surrogate siblings, missing mother, missing father, setting down, then uprooted again and again and again. AND YET, she is somehow immune to mortal danger. Everyone around her is basically willing to die for her. Even when she IS in danger, she is saved and saved again, sometimes without even knowing it. A blessed and well-loved child.

Rick: In "Too Far Gone," Carl saves Rick's life. When the two escape together, Rick is horribly injured and seems to "die." He is dreaming. Carl as Rick's savior, and Rick as the sort of sleeper king is a theme that crops up in both AOW and again in TOWL, when we learn that it was Rick's dreams of Carl that kept him sane and alive for so long while held captive by the CRM. Carl's encounter with the dead canary in "After," I believe, foreshadows his death. The dead canary is a nod to the old adage "a canary in a coal mine," meant to warn coal miners of the deadly presence of carbon monoxide. Carl's death in season 8 is a grave warning for Rick. Losing his dreams of Carl while at the CRM is also one of the main precursors to Rick's most suicidal moments.

Michonne: Michonne escapes the prison alone, because Michonne, though she is a romantic, maternal character, defaults to an intense, very guarded form of safetyism when she loses someone she loves. She shuts down, eschews socialization and all alliances. We see this pattern repeat itself after Rick dies in season 9, and she cuts off Alexandria from both Hilltop and the Kingdom as a means of staying safe. She also initially eschews socialization after she leaves Alexandria and begins her search for Rick, once again, alone. But every single time, Michonne comes around at the behest of her children. After the prison, Michonne finds Rick by tracking Carl in the final scene of 4.9 "After." She then finds Rick again in The Ones Who Live, but only after she decides it's finally time to return home. Michonne, from the first time she shows up at the prison with the basket of formula, is the eternal mother character.

Carol: Carol being outside the fray during the confrontation with the Governor, and seeming to come in from the cold at the perfect moment, is hugely formative for her characterization. Carol finds Lizzy, Mica, and Judith just in time in "Inmates." She also shows up at Terminus just in time in "No Sanctuary." After 4.4 "Indifference," Carol continuously tries to leave the family unit, but it's precisely her tendency toward the fray that often presents her with opportunities to help. In fact, it's precisely because Carol is trying to leave at the end of "Strangers" that Daryl sees the Grady car go by and is able to grab a lead on Beth. Carol also leaves at the end of season 6, which causes her to miss the second major confrontation of the series, with Negan, but it also drives Morgan and Rick to the Kingdom, where they are able to find help with their ensuing war. Carol has come a long way since these old and toxic tendencies toward self-preservation; however, we see now, once again, how she leaves home to go searching for Daryl. She still communicates as a kind of lone wolf, much more so than Daryl does, which is who I will be talking about next.

Daryl: Why have I saved Daryl for last? Well, because of all the characters who are still certainly left from the fall of the prison in season 4, Daryl's characterization has been the least intuitive in terms of how it relates to his prison escape scenario. Though Daryl fights most of the battle alone at the prison, in the end, he is found by Beth. Daryl is rarely found. In fact, he's never found. Usually, it's him doing the finding, which is why I believe that his core desire as a character is, actually, to be found again, ie: I belong with you. Find Me, calling back to the original story he tells to Andrea in "Bloodletting" about the time he got lost in the woods as the child. This has yet to take place.

"Find Me" is actually a great episode to look at in terms of how Daryl's character has unfolded over the course of many seasons. "Find Me" communicates Daryl in a similar time in his life to what happened after the fall of the prison. He's lost a major member of his family, blames himself, and has lost his home because of it. He is wandering around, searching for some sign of Rick, with zero luck at all. HOWEVER, in "Find Me," Daryl is alone. This lasts, of course, until he finds Leah, a poor replacement for Beth, even though, as we learn in season 11, she does kind of look like her. After the Commonwealth situation, Daryl leaves home, once again, alone. Many people thought that he was going to leave with Carol; however, he didn't.

Daryl has never had sustained sexual tension with another character since Beth, and if we count Leah, we should consider that main themes communicated in "Find Me" are confusion, disorientation, and memory loss. The episode also lacks the innocence and Edenic beauty of "Still" and "Alone." It is not about finding love or some light in the darkness. It's entirely about loss.

This could be traced back to season 4, in which Daryl does lose Beth. However, the exact circumstances for him running away from the burning prison with Beth and going on a sacred quest for her at a country club, then going to the backcountry moonshine shack, ending in a screaming match and a physical embrace, a warm, tipsy conversation on the porch, and literally lighting the past on fire does not track with any future situation he goes on to encounter. What I'm saying is, whatever all that was foreshadowing, it hasn't happened yet. The warmth, intimacy, and innocence has been gone from Daryl's life since he lost Beth in "Alone."

To use Norman's own words, there was a "taste" of romance "in the air" from the moment they escaped together, for as long as they were together on the road, and even when they part. The rabbit and the strawberries in the aptly titled "Us," keep the feeling of love and possession and the romantic tension alive between them.

I often think of "Alone" as a love episode. Sasha and Bob, who more obviously kindle a romance and kiss on the train tracks, while Maggie and Glenn search for each other with desperate abandon, are obvious foils for Beth and Daryl. It would not make sense to create an entire episode surrounding finding, losing, and searching for love, and to have only one of those stories be about platonic love. It makes sense because they are all different stories of romantic love.

(For the record, I don't acknowledge people who argue that Bethyl is platonic, or sibling-coded. I don't care how loud they are. There is zero evidence for that sort of dynamic in the actual show, while the evidence to the contrary, re: holding hands using the soulmate grip, Daryl's bridal carry, how he looks at her while he lies in the coffin, his confession, her confused and subtle "Oh"...regardless of how it might make some people feel, is overwhelmingly obvious. Sorry, haters.)

Anyway, on a more "meta" note: Season 4 ends with Beth off-screen, in another dimension. She is out of sight, and nobody knows whether she's dead or alive. Meanwhile, in "A," Rick reunites with his family, and they are at the precipice of a war with the Termites, a group that seems to, in many ways, foreshadow the CRM. This looks a lot like what's going on now, or what's just happened. Daryl is alone, about to reunite with Carol. Rick just reunited with his family. Major General Beale, a nice Gareth proxy, has been defeated.

Many speculated at the time of 4.16's release that Beth might have been taken by the Termites, just as we all speculate now that Beth may be, somehow, with CRM. I believe this means there's something much more complicated going on in season 5, in terms of the Termites, Grady, and their possible connection to the CRM. Since many TDers do actually believe that Grady was a covert research initiative started or at least sustained by the CRM, the foreshadowing, which holds that, while all this other stuff is going on with Rick's group, Beth is somewhere hidden over the rainbow, feels very much in waiting.

So much of season 4b-5a has been rehashed and repeated over the years and was most recently repeated via Rick and Michonne's reunion in TOWL, that it's bizarre to also look back and say, Hey, how the hell does Daryl fit into all this? Daryl, who actually isn't alone in 4b? Daryl, who actually finds and chooses potential for a relationship? Daryl has, over the course of the series, made friends with compatible women. I am talking about Denise, Connie, Leah, Isabelle. However, not a single one has ever maintained sustained romantic or sexual tension with Daryl. Not one has yet to change his mind about the goodness of people. Each of them, he either leaves or loses, and even if he decides to stay (re: in France), it's due to obligation and inertia, not choice. Daryl has not once consciously chosen to settle down or to make a. home, specifically with a woman, since Beth. He has never run away with a woman into a time of innocence and tabula rasa, starting over for the sake of moving forward, finding peace, and burning the past. He has never found peace. He has never let go of the past.

All of this is to predict that he will, of course. He will get his happy ending, which we've basically been told is the thesis for his spin-off, amidst a flurry of hints that this is related to finding a wife and having a family of his own. Not Rick's family. His own family. And when Carol arrives, fresh from her latest escape attempt, and self-destructing via whatever it is she's running from, she will help him get there, just as he will help her find her faith again. So much like what happens in "Consumed" and, to an inverse degree, "Find Me." In both episodes, it's Carol's attempt and desire to run away which drives Daryl to the mysterious location of a missing blond with whom he once shared a dalliance in the woods.

#the walking dead #bethyl #team delusional #beth is alive #beth is coming #beth greene lives

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minaturefics · 1 year

Text

Alive & Alight

Request/prompt from @tolkien-fantasy: Aragorn or Eomer x Reader but the reader is a disabled girl who can't ride horses because of her illnesses, so she becomes a leatherworker who makes saddles instead because that's the closest she can get to working with horses. She gets commissioned by Elrond/Theoden to make Brego or Hasufel a saddle and they fall head over heels for her.

A/N: It's... finally here... idk why I even try to limit myself to <3k words when things just always overflow. I tried to keep the disability vague, and based it on my understanding from a relation of mine. If anything comes off as problematic, please lmk. Hope you all enjoy it!

Eomer x disabled!Reader

Fem reader

Content warnings: Non-graphic/detailed mentions of chronic pain

5.5k words

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The evening sun streamed through the windows into the workshop, casting long rectangles of orange across the workbenches. The sweet, earthy scent of leather lingered in the air above the sharp tang of metal. You rocked the head knife, slicing through the buttery leather. Pain shot through your body and the blade clattered to the table.

Across the room, Deormund looked up from his work, a frown on his face. His dark blonde hair was pulled up in a haphazard bun and stray strands brushed the top of his shoulders. He was burly and stout, but his brown eyes were gentle. “Girl, are you hurting again?”

“I’m alright, sir.” You stretched and shifted in your seat. “I just want to get started on this saddle before we finish for today.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and shook his head. “You’ve had enough.”

“But—”

“There is no nobility in unnecessary suffering, girl.” He laid his awl down and crossed the room. “Come, you should rest.” He ushered you over to a small table in the corner and lifted the cloth covering a basket of bread. “I’ll finish up the cutting.”

You tore off a piece of bread and stared out the window. Horses trotted by, their heads bobbing and their tails flicking. How beautiful they were, with their braided manes and glossy coats. You eyed the riders, just some simple merchants riding back to their villages, and your chest tightened. If only you were able to ride, if only your body did not ache so.

Your eyes wandered to the plains just visible through the thatched roofs. Oh, to ride unhindered through the grass, to feel the sting of the wind, to go wherever your heart desired. You sighed and comforted yourself with the knowledge that you still had the pleasure of working with horses in your craft. You could make them beautiful saddles, comfortable for both animal and rider, could see your work on the backs of the most noble horses.

Voices approached the workshop and your eyes drifted to the entrance.

“Uncle, this is unnecessary.”

“Eomer, it is time for a new saddle.”

“I do not see what is wrong with my own.”

“It is… plain. Future kings do not ride on unadorned saddles.”

Your eyes met your mentor’s and your heart sped up. The prince and the king? You tossed the half eaten bread back in the basket and replaced the cloth just as they entered the workshop. They were dressed in their formal tunics, the gold embellishments glinting against the rich green velvet. Theoden was grinning, but Eomer’s lips were pressed in a hard line.

“Your highness,” Deormund tugged his dirty apron off and bowed deeply.

You forced yourself to stand, wincing as you did so. You managed a short curtsey before the dull throb of pain began to grow.

Theoden gestured at the rickety chair. “Please, sit. I understand that you suffer from an illness.”

Eomer’s eyes drifted over to you and your breath hitched in your throat. He seemed to fill the room in a way that was not evident when you saw him from afar. He was tall, taller than his uncle, and his broad frame seemed to make the room smaller. His gaze fixed you where you stood and for a moment all you could do was stare back into his hazel eyes.

You glanced away, willing your heart to slow, as you lowered yourself back down.

What were they doing at the workshop? It was rare of the king and his family to personally visit merchants and craftsmen. Was it the saddle you had made for one of the Marshals of the Riddermark? Were they dissatisfied? Your fingers twitched on your lap, wishing you had one of your tools to fiddle with.

“I’ve come to convince my nephew to have a new saddle made.” Theoden shot a look at Eomer. “I thought perhaps if he saw the level of craftsmanship that went into the saddles you make he would be won over.”

Deormund nodded and walked over to the bench where the half-finished saddles sat. “These are all hand-carved by our young lady over there.”

Eomer’s eyes met yours again, intense but with a spark of curiosity in them. He joined Deormund by the bench and cast his eyes over the saddles. You fidgeted with your thin apron. Would they be to his liking? To have one of your saddles on the horse of the prince, the future king of Rohan… It would be an honour of the highest regard, one of the greatest compliments to your work and skill. You swallowed as you watched his face.

His brows slowly relaxed and his jaw loosened. He reached a hand out and traced the ridges and grooves of the pattern. “These tell a story,” he muttered, voice full of wonder. “A woman’s journey across the plains, an encounter with another, injured. Caring, healing, building a home together.” He looked at the next one. “And this, of a young boy and his father, from travelling merchants to wealthy shop owners.”

His eyes cut to yours and you nodded. “Horses are the centre of our people. I wanted to pay homage to the way they serve us, the way we work with them. They carry more than just our bodies on their backs, they carry our lives, our stories.”

He held your gaze, his hazel eyes alight with something you could not name.

“Alright,” he said, eyes never wavering from you. “A new saddle, I’ll agree to it. But only if it’s you.”

Eomer paced his rooms, a frown on his face and his hands behind his back. Candles burned around the space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was filled with Eowyn’s perfume, lavender and some Gondorian flower he could not place, and under that, something familiar and comforting that reminded him of their parents.

The last few days had brought back memories he did not know he had.

He had spoken to you about his life as part of your work for the saddle. The memories and stories had come slow and stilted at first, but encouraged by your soft eyes and smiles, they began to unspool and unfurl. His mother’s hands covering his as they stroked the horse, his father’s booming voice as he acted bedtime stories out, racing Eowyn on ponies across the fields.

You had sat there, hands folded on your lap, still and attentive, listening. Once again, he had been struck by how beautiful you were. When he had walked into the workshop and set eyes on you, his stomach had fluttered and flipped. Framed by the window, illuminated by the evening sun, you looked glorious, at home among the leather and tools.

“Daydreaming again, brother?” Eowyn said as she walked into the room and settled on the cushioned bench.

He clicked his tongue at her. “Do not tease me so. I was not daydreaming, I was… thinking.”

Eowyn snickered. “About the young lady who makes the saddles?”

His cheeks burned and he turned away from his sister. “She is… intriguing.”

“How so?”

“Have you seen her work? It is a marvel how she manages to bring stories to life on the leather. Her carving is so intricate, it is nearly unbelievable.” He spun to face her. “And when she speaks of her work, she comes alive, shines almost, like the Entwash on a summer’s day. And when she smiles, I —”

His sister laughed. “Brother, I dare say you are smitten.”

He grumbled and looked out of the window. Could anyone fault him, truly? He was surprised there was not a line of suitors lingering outside the workshop or your home.

Homes and shops dotted the hill of Edoras, flowing down from Meduseld. Little squares of light vanished into the distance and darkness and he gazed out wondering which one of those squares might have been yours. Were you whiling your evening away on your own, or was there another beside you, holding your hand, enjoying your smiles?

His stomach clenched strangely at that thought and he whirled around to face Eowyn. “How goes your project with the healing houses?”

“Well enough. The building you have allotted us is more than sufficient. Our apothecaries are not as well stocked, but the women are well trained.” Her eyes softened with understanding. “Uncle has told me she suffers from a chronic hurt. There is not much we can do, but I will be able to brew a tonic to ease the pain a little.”

“I would be most grateful,” he muttered. He sighed and joined his sister on the bench. “I am seeing her again in a few days. She has sketched out a design, I think. She wishes for me to look over it.”

“Are you nervous to see her?”

He scowled at her. “I am not nervous. I am simply… eager to see what she has come up with.”

“And I suppose your now regularly washed and oiled hair has no relation to your meetings with her?” Eowyn bit back a smile.

Eomer’s eyes darted back to the window. “Nothing at all.”

The late afternoon sun poured over Edoras and the thatched roofs below you gleamed gold. A cool wind swept through the small garden, tossing your hair and tickling the back of your neck. You leaned back against the cushions spread on the stone bench, idly playing with the glass vial he had given you, while he looked over your sketch.

“I feel as though something is missing,” he muttered. “Here, in the later sections.”

You leaned over and peered at the sheets of paper. It depicted the victory at the Black Gate, his reunion with a healed Eowyn, his return back to Edoras. The last panel showed him with his uncle and sister, standing in front of The Golden Hall.“I have never been to Gondor or seen Minas Tirith. Is there something wrong with the way I’ve drawn them?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps there is some part else that also needs to be included.” He handed the parchment back to you. “But the earlier panels are perfect. My parents, my family… you have brought their memory alive.”

You gave him a smile as your fingers tightened around the paper. You looked at the figurines, at the vistas and buildings you had drawn. “I can start on the first few sections. Then perhaps in time what is missing will come to you.”

“May I keep them? Reviewing them might help, I think. And I can show Eowyn as well.” You nodded and he rolled the papers up.

He hummed and looked out at the fields. You followed his gaze and tried not to focus on how his knee was pressed against yours. You could feel the warmth coming off him, could smell his scent of leather and sandalwood.

You thought back to the last couple of weeks, to the hours spent talking to him. There was a fire to Eomer, a passion that seemed to overflow from him, and when he told his stories, he told them with a fervour that roused your spirit. It was no wonder then, that he was one of the Marshals of the Riddermark, no wonder how so many were willing to leave with him when he was exiled.

But there was also a softness to him, a tenderness underneath it all. In the quiet of the evening, by the light of the fire, he had told you stories of his parents and his sister. How they used to terrorise the servants in the house, how they would spend time braiding each other’s hair, how their parents would take them around the villages and towns, acquainting them with their people.

It seemed that he drifted closer to you with each visit. The first time he had sat opposite you, his heavy desk like a wall between the both of you. But soon he sat in the next armchair over, and then some visits later he chose to share the cushioned bench by the window with you. The front of his knees would graze yours, or his hand would rest just a reach away.

You had heard from the gossiping maids at Meduseld that he was yet to find a partner. How was it possible that a man like him did not have countless betrothal offers and arrangements? For a time it seemed as though there were always princesses or noble ladies coming to visit Edoras, especially after Eowyn’s marriage to Faramir.

They were all regal and graceful and soft.

Eomer cleared his throat and turned back to you. “My lady, I was wondering if you had some time to spare after this.”

“I do. Would you like to discuss the design more? Or maybe look over the different leathers that we have?”

“No, ah, I was hoping you’d like to join me for dinner.” His cheeks tinged pink.

“Dinner?” Your finger tightened around the vial. What a strange thing to ask of you. It was not very common for the royal family to invite mere craftsmen and merchants for dinner. Perhaps he was just being polite since the evening was drawing near and he had taken up any time you would have had to prepare a meal.

It had been a long day; carving in the morning and sketching in the afternoon. Your body ached, and you longed for some rest. But Eomer’s eyes were so wide and hopeful, his slight smile so shy and boyish. “I… Um…”

“I understand if perhaps, I am aware you have been quite busy today, if another evening, or morning, would suit you better…”

You smiled at him. “Perhaps in a day or two? I am quite weary today.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded, a smile growing on his face. “Simply let me know and I shall clear my schedule.”

Eomer fiddled with the reins in his hand as the carriage moved towards the small grove by the Snowbourn. There was still an hour or two before sunset and the river glittered in the strong sun. The air was cool and carried the fresh scent of dirt and grass, and subtly, from you just beside him, a smell of cloves from the balm you used on your muscles and joints.

It had been over a week since he last saw you. Your message had come the day after he saw you, deferring the dinner invitation, citing some urgent work that had come up, and he had been left anxious that you had changed your mind. He nearly drove Eowyn mad with his questions and doubts, and more than once she had chased him out of Edoras, telling him to go for a long ride.

But then your message had come a few mornings later, and he was left scrambling to prepare what he had envisioned in his mind. You had mentioned before how much you adored horses and how much you wished you could ride. It had been some months since you were last out of the city, when you and Deormund went to source some leather from the neighbouring town.

He had made certain to load the carriage seat with cushions, to bring a basket of fresh berries and cheese, to plan a path near enough to the city should you wish to return, but far enough that his horse could run unhindered. Everything to make you comfortable, everything just so he could spend some time with you away from the chatter and noise of Edoras.

Just you and him, alone.

He froze in his seat. Was it not proper to do such a thing? Was there some parent he needed to ask permission from? Or even then, were you willing to be alone with him in such a setting? Bema, he should have thought about it more, but from the moment you had accepted his invitation that afternoon his mind had run away with plans and ideas.

He fought the urge to glance at you beside him. Did you simply accept his plan because he was a prince? Perhaps you did not actually wish to come out with him, perhaps you simply felt obliged. Eowyn has berated him more than once about his forwardness and rashness. Perhaps he had overstepped without even realising.

“My lord?” you asked, and he allowed his eyes to dart to you. “Is anything the matter? You have gone stiff and quiet.”

“I was simply thinking.”

“What troubles you?”

He tugged on the reins and slowed the carriage to a halt. He turned in the narrow seat to face you. “My lady, do you truly wish to be here?” You frowned but he continued. “I do not wish for you to feel obligated to… to… accept my invitations simply because I am a prince. I would not wish to —”

You reached for his hand but your fingers curled away. You shook your head. “I feel no such thing. I assure you, I… I do wish to be here.”

His heart sped up. “Well, I am… yes, I… I am glad to hear it.”

“Now, let us go. I wish to stop by the river.” You grinned at him and his chest loosened. “But perhaps… we could go faster?” Your smile turned shy and you glanced away. “I relish the rush of wind in my face, the sight of the land hurtling by.”

“Then perhaps you should take the reins.” The worn leather sat in his open palm.

You reached out, your fingertips grazing his skin, delicate and feather-light. Your hand curled around the reigns and your smile turned sly. “Are you certain? Deormund never lets me with the reins for fear of his life.”

He laughed. “My lady, I have much experience with Eowyn’s wild steering. I beg you, do not hold back. Go as fast as you please.”

You tugged on the reins and clicked your tongue, and before he knew it, he was thrown back in his seat as you laughed above the roaring wind.

You knocked the mallet against the decorative stamp, shifting ever so slightly across the smooth leather. Mountains materialised over the plains, rising above the ocean of grass. You sighed, thinking about the evening out with Eomer racing wild across the fields. It had been exhilarating, the trundle of the carriage, nearly flying with the speed of Firefoot. And afterwards, windswept and giddy, he had taken you home.

You thought of how he lingered in the low light of the lantern hanging by your front door, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed. How he wished you goodnight, his voice low and his gaze alight with something you had not seen in his eyes before.

“Girl,” Deormund said, and you looked up. He glanced away and down at the piece of leather he was working on and fiddled with his knife. “It might not be my place to ask, but that boy…”

“You mean… the prince?”

“Yes. That boy.” He grumbled something under his breath. “Listen child, I am not one for gossip and rumours but even I cannot escape the words flying around Edoras at the moment.”

You flushed a little and glanced away. Deormund was the closest thing you had to a parent, and the weight of his words caused your stomach to turn. Did he disapprove in some way? Was it perhaps affecting the business? “Is something the matter?”

He cleared his throat and you hazarded a glance at him. His face was impassive but his eyes were concerned. “Do you truly care for him?”

Your fingers traced the outlines on the leather idly. “Yes. He is a good friend to me.”

“A friend…?”

You sighed and threw your hands up. “Yes, a friend. I do not know why you prod and poke me so. You are a practical man, sir. Of all people I’m certain that you understand that he and I will be nothing more than friends.”

Your chest tightened as the words left your mouth, the reality of it suddenly tangible in the air. You deflated in your chair, body protesting at the sudden movement from before.

“Girl —”

You shook your head. “There is no use in it. I know the work we do is important, held in high esteem even, but we are still craftsmen. And craftsmen are not equal to princes. Eomer will find another, and she will make a fine queen for him one day.”

You looked at the panel you were working on. It was one of the last ones, and after the saddle was finished, there was no reason for you and him to keep meeting. Yes, Eomer will find someone else, and all that will be left for you will be the ghost of the memories. Would he bring her into the workshop and commission a saddle for her? Will you have to watch as he gazed upon her with love in his eyes?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to push you. It is just… You have seen happier these past few weeks. I thought perhaps I would have to find a new apprentice.”

A new apprentice, of course. Even if Eomer did return your feelings, what of your work? Leather carving was not the work of a queen; there would be no doubt that you would have to give it up. But to sit in hallowed rooms, silent and still, forever staring out at the plains, what sort of life would that be?

You looked around the workshop. It was home, was it not? The worn wooden work tables, the comforting scent of leather, the tools that fit so perfectly in the palm of your hand.

Tears stung at your eyes and you blinked them away. “Do not worry, sir. There will be no need for that.”

Firefoot galloped at full speed. The grass underneath Eomer was nothing but a blur of green. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and dampened the collar of his tunic. His heart pounded in time with his ragged breaths and he tensed his thighs, urging Firefoot to go faster.

“Enough!” Eowyn shouted as she caught up to him. “Brother, enough!”

He glanced at her. Her hair was wild, streaming with the wind, and her eyes were cold and angry. She was braced on her saddle and he knew she was ready to speed ahead and round her horse to cut him off if he did not heed her words.

He tugged on the reins and Firefoot began to slow.

“You’re going to run the horses ragged.” She huffed and shook her head. “What is the matter with you?” The horses slowed to a comfortable trot and she drew close to him. “You have been ill-tempered this whole week. Even uncle does not dare to be near you.”

“It is nothing.” He let out a sharp exhale.

“It is that carver, is it not?”

Eomer glanced at his sister. Her gaze had warmed into something soft and sympathetic. He sagged in his saddle and sighed. “Yes. I had thought perhaps… She seemed to like my company, even said so herself. And yet this whole week all of my invitations have been declined.

“She is well within her rights to do so. I am aware she does not owe me anything, but it does… sting somewhat. I do not know if I did anything wrong, if at all. I know there has been gossip circulating. Perhaps she became aware of my feelings and was frightened away? I do not know, and it drives me to madness.”

“Maybe her pain has worsened this week. She simply may not have the capacity to see you.”

“I know,” he groaned. “But in the past she has told me if that is the case. More than once she had rescheduled our earlier meetings. It is unlike her to be so reticent. Maybe I have just been mistaken about her feelings towards me.”

He stared at the horizon wishing he could just ride and ride and ride.

He had never been in love before, not properly at least. There had been little infatuations, charming women who turned his head, but nothing like the feeling that had now rooted itself inside his heart. How was he to love another when you existed in the world?

Despite himself, he had wandered down to the workshop the day before, just to catch a glimpse of you. He saw you through the window, hunched over the table, working on the saddle. How beautiful you were, your brows creased in concentration, your hands steady and skilled. And when you had laughed at something Deormund said, it took all his willpower not to sweep into the workshop and pull you into his arms.

He sighed and tipped his head back to catch the cool wind. “The saddle will be finished soon. I will not have any excuses to see her anymore, and perhaps that is for the best. It would be too painful to be by her side and not have her. And she does not need to be burdened with my unwanted feelings.”

Eowyn arched an eyebrow. “Are you certain your feelings are unwanted?”

“I think this past week is evidence of it.”

“It is evidence that perhaps she is… avoiding you. But maybe not for the reasons you think.” She gave a laugh, slightly pained and embarrassed. “When The Ring was destroyed and the sky cleared, there were a few days where Faramir kept his distance from me. He… He thought I would ride out to Cormallen to see Aragorn.”

He blinked at her. “You are suggesting that she is acting in a similar way? But I have not shown interest in anyone but her.”

“I am simply saying that you do not know her reasons for sure. It would do you both good, I think, to speak plainly.”

He nudged her foot with his and gave her a small smile. “I will miss you, sister, when you leave.”

She grinned at him. “We still have a couple weeks yet.”

You laid your tools down and swiped at the bead of sweat on your forehead. The second last panel was finished. It showed Eomer’s return to Edoras with his uncle and Eowyn, happy and victorious. You ran your fingers over his carved face and form, unable to stop the small smile from tugging at your lips even as your heart twinged.

Deormund walked over from his station and nodded at the saddle. “You did good work today, girl. Take the rest of the day off.”

You stretched and silently thanked Eowyn for her concoction; your muscles would certainly have been more achy without it. “Thank you, sir. Perhaps I will —”

A shadow darkened the entrance and both of you looked up.

Eomer stood in the doorway, flushed and slightly out of breath. “Forgive my sudden intrusion. My lady, I wish to speak to you if you can spare the time.”

Your eyes darted from him to Deormund who simply inclined his head. “Is it important, my lord?”

“I would say so, yes. Perhaps we could walk just outside the city gates? But if you are not feeling up to it then —”

“I will go with you.” You stood and tried to slow your heart. It seemed that a week apart from him did not abate your feelings for him. If anything, the sight of him just made you long to be by his side even more.

You bid Deormund farewell and followed Eomer out of the workshop. The walk down to the city gates was silent, though many openly stared as the both of you passed. You twisted your hands together and kept your gaze fixed on the plains beyond.

As you passed through the gates, Eomer let out a breath and glanced at you. “Forgive me for taking you out here. I wished to speak to you without the risk of being overheard.”

You nodded and the both of you paused a few paces from the main road. Simbelmynë waved in the breeze, the delicate blooms rippling where they dotted the barrows. The sun was low in the sky and orange spilled across the land. The end of day bustle and the neigh of horses was just audible through the open gate.

You cleared your throat. “What is it that warrants such a precaution?” You took a breath and readied yourself. Was he unhappy with the saddle so far? Had something terrible happened? Was he being sent away?

“My lady, I hope you will forgive me for being forward, but I simply must know.” He looked into your eyes, beseeching. “Have I offended you in some way? It has not escaped my notice how you have been avoiding me.”

You opened your mouth and then snapped it shut. How could you possibly tell him the truth? It would ruin what friendship you had with him. “I… You have not offended me, I assure you.”

“Then what is it?” He looked askance at you before his eyes trailed over to the barrows. “I know I have not hidden my affection for you well. That much is evident by all the rumours circulating. But if I have made you uncomfortable in any way, please let me know. I shall endeavour to rein myself in better.”

“Affection?” You gaped at him. “You…”

He gave an awkward chuckle. “Perhaps I have not been as blatant as I thought I was. Yes, I am quite fond of you. When you started declining my invitations I thought… Well, if you do not feel the same, please tell me now. I will bear you no grudge and we will never speak of it again.”

Eomer returned your feelings? Your heart fluttered but dropped the next moment. “No, I…” Your voice came out strangled. “I can’t.”

His head snapped up, his hazel eyes intense. “You cannot? I do not understand.”

“My lord, I cannot give up my work.” You clenched your skirts in your fists. “I cannot, I will not sit idle and lonely in Meduseld forever removed from what I love so dearly. Not even for you.”

His frown deepened before his face cleared into what looked like relief. “Is that your only reservation?”

You nodded and straightened, ready to counter any argument he may have. “It pains me to be apart from you, but it would hurt more should I never carve again.”

A wide grin split his face and he laughed. “I would ask no such thing of you. I have seen my own sister trapped in a gilded cage, withering and wilting. I would not place that on another.” His smile softened and he reached up, cupping your cheek.

Blood rushed to your face and your eyes fluttered shut. Did you hear correctly? That you could have both Eomer and your work? You felt him step closer and his scent filled your nose. You peered up at him, nearly unable to bear the weight of his gaze. “But… I am not suited to be a princess, let alone a future queen.”

“I could not think of anyone better suited than you. It would be fitting, would it not? That the Queen of Rohan herself saddles the very horses of her people. I know your heart, I have seen it in your work. Your love and respect for our land, our stories, our people.”

“Eomer, I am not… But I am… But what if…”

“Peace,” he whispered, dipping his head as he tipped your chin back. “I will stop your mouth.” His lips hovered a hair’s breadth away from yours, waiting for your permission.

You gave in to the pull of your heart and surged forward. His lips were soft and warm, and he kissed with a passion that left you lightheaded. He tugged you closer, pulling your body flushed against his, and sighed a little when your hand found its place on his firm chest.

He drew back to catch his breath and he laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “By my troth, I love you as I live and breathe.”

You giggled, giddy and delighted. “Are you glad your uncle brought you to the workshop now?”

“I was glad the moment I laid eyes on you. Ah yes, this reminds me.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a creased piece of paper. He unfolded it to reveal the slightly smudged sketch of the final panel you had given him weeks ago. “I think I have discovered what was missing.”

“Hm?” You glanced at him then back at the paper, a little confused. The scene looked perfect, even Meduseld was accurate down to the patterns that decorated the arches.

“You, of course.” He gave you a fond exasperated look. “Bema, I have never met another so oblivious.”

“Oh.” You laughed and pressed your face into his chest. Your feet ached and you leaned a little bit harder on him. “Eomer, may we return now? I am quite weary.”

“Of course.” His smile turned mischievous. “Shall I carry you back?”

“Eomer, there is no need, I—” You shrieked and laughed as he picked you up, his arm under your knees and the other looped around your back. “People will talk.”

He kissed your cheek and started up the road. “Let them talk, then, and let news of their future queen spread.”

---

The line Eomer says before he kisses you is from Much Ado About Nothing

Taglist: @sotwk

#eomer x reader #eomer x y/n #eomer x you #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #eomer #request

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

Text

Sweet Spring Showers

AN: This fic is for Beanie’s Double-Trouble Sleepover #rolling into spring writing challenge. I tried to make it dark, @springdandelixn by my characters refused. Enjoy the smut instead.

Beta’d by @lunarbuck

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and mood board and banner by me.

Master list

Relationship: Queen’s Handmaiden Reader x Prince Loki

Word Count: 3.5k

CW: More fluff than was intended, flirting and banter, casual sex, smut (inc Oral - f receiving, Unprotected PinV sex, fast recovery) Loki has a ‘King/God’ kink, various mentions of norse mythology.

You tripped down the palace steps into the garden, the soft fabric of your dress flowing behind you. It had been a busy morning, and you needed to take a break from your duties as one of the Queen’s maids. Spring was finally here, and the weather was now warm enough to go for walks without having to bundle up first.

As somewhat of a free spirit, you resented the time it took in the Winter to get ready, impatient to just get on with what you wanted to do. Anything that interrupted your ideas and plans was met with a scornful look and mumbling under your breath, much to the disappointment of Queen Frigga, who still hoped you could be transformed into a proper lady. You were lucky that she liked you, or you’d have been kicked out of your position years ago.

You wound your way down the paths, entranced by the early blooming flowers, striving to cover the garden in a blanket of cover. Birds chirped, and you watched them fly to and fro with small twigs and clumps of moss as they set out to build their nests. The sun was high in the sky, and as you stepped under its rays, you felt them warm your skin. The sensation made you smile. Spring really was your favourite season, bringing with it the promise of renewal and new life.

You wandered further, away from the formal gardens and into the more natural area behind them. Thin dirt paths led in every direction, deep into the trees. You knew from experience that they led towards pergolas, follies, and love seats, places to rest and take in the beauty of nature. You decided to head towards your favourite of these places, which was also the most out of the way one. If anyone wanted to find you, to get you to carry out some tedious task, it would take them a while and give you more time to yourself.

Your movements were graceful as you half-walked, half-skipped down the track, skirts still billowing and fluttering in the breeze. You plucked the odd flower here and the odd flower there, placing them into your hair like a crown.

“Beautiful, as always, my dear.”

You let out a startled shriek and spun on your heel, only to find the grinning face and sparkling eyes of Prince Loki fixed on you. He walked out from between the trees with languid movements, a feline-like grace. It was one of the many ways he was different from his brother, Prince Thor. Light and dark. Broad and slim. Loud and quiet. Brash and considered.

You dropped into a deep curtsy, keeping your eyes trained on his black leather boots.

“Your Highness.”

“Oh, get up, please. There’s just the two of us here, in the most informal setting ever.”

You looked up at him as you stood back up.

“Much better,” he purred. “If I ever desire you to kneel, dove, you’ll know about it.”

You raised your hand in front of your face and giggled at his implication.

“I have no doubt that you have any number of people ready to kneel for you, Highness.”

He raised his eyebrow and smirked before offering the crook of his arm towards you. You bobbed a small curtsy and, with a smile, looped your arm into his. You both started to stroll down the track, further into the woodland.

“The problem with that, dove, is that it’s boring. Where is the fun, the excitement, when everyone is willing to bend over backwards to do what you want?”

“Nice problem to have, though.”

Loki chuckled.

“Are you telling me that you don’t have the same problem?”

It was your turn to smirk.

“Me? I’m just a maid, and you’re a prince. I won’t lie, I get my fair amount of attention, but probably nothing compared to you.”

“I fear my mother would have an aneurysm if she knew I was talking to one of her trusted servants about such improper things.”

“You’re beloved mother would roll her eyes and then quietly chastise me - I am known to be the least lady-like of her ladies.”

You let go of his arm and skipped in front of him, spinning around and throwing your arms up in the air.

“She despairs of me, but luckily, I’m her favourite. I just find it difficult to hold my tongue when someone says or does something stupid.”

Loki reached out and snagged your hand and lifted both your arms, twirling you under them.

“How could anyone tame such a nymph as you? I must say you look a lot happier out here than when I’ve seen you by my mother’s side.”

His smile was warm, and you blossomed under it like a flower beneath the sun. Most of the folk who approached you did so in hope of taking advantage of your influence with the Queen. Not that you had much - those people always imagined you had her right ear and were able to manipulate policies and treaties, which was ludicrous. The only thing you could sway was which dress and jewels she wore, and even then you’d say your success rate was less than 50%.

It was nice though, to have a conversation with someone who had no ulterior motive for being nice to you. It wasn’t as though you’d be able to help advance a member of the royal family. His tone was light and flirty, and he was exceedingly charming, and it was fun to have some harmless fun. It’s not like he was really interested. Probably just doing the same as you and escaping the stuffiness of both the palace and your individual roles.

Somehow, when you’d come back to his side, you’d ended up with his arm over your shoulder. You couldn’t say that you minded. It brought you closer to him, and you could smell the scent that was distinctly Loki; leather, sandalwood, and a perfumed musk. It was obvious that he cared for his appearance, but he didn’t primp or overdo it.

“So, is that what brings you out here, Nymph? My mother’s despair?”

“Oh no - not today, well at least not yet. I was going mad being trapped inside over Winter, so now that Spring is raising its head, I decided to venture forth and bask in her beauty.”

“Well that decision was fortuitous, as it allows me to bask in yours.”

With a giggle, you bumped your shoulder up against his side. He really was fun to be around.

“And, if I may ask, my Prince, why are you out here today?”

He squeezed your shoulder with his hand, and you were hyper-aware of the way his long, tapered fingers dug gently but firmly into your flesh. A rush of images raced through your mind, and you fought hard to squash them down.

“Anything is better than listening to my father try to teach my brother about affairs of state. While Thor is very skilled at a lot of things, diplomacy and negotiation are not his strong suites, but you didn’t hear that from me, Nymph.”

You smiled and mimed locking your lips with a key. When he smiled back and brushed your forehead with his lips, you almost expired.

“So where are we wandering too? I take it you had a destination in mind?”

Loki’s question drew you back from the meandering of your own mind.

“Oh? Yes. I quite like the little summer house that’s a bit further down the track. If the weather is inclement, it provides just the right amount of cover, but when it is nice and sunny, it provides useful shade.”

Just then, you shivered, bumps coming up on your bare arms. As you peered up through the canopy of branches above you, you saw that a rather large, grey cloud had come over.

“Oh dear. I think we might need that shelter. That’s the problem with Spring; the weather can turn so quickly.”

The moment the words left your mouth, a large raindrop landed on the end of your nose with a large ‘plop’. Then the floodgates opened. One moment it was dry, the next it felt as though someone was trying to dump a bucket of water over you.

You screeched and with your hands over your head, ineffectually trying to keep your hair dry, you raced down the path, toward your destination. You heard Loki’s footsteps right behind you and the pair of you virtually tumbled through the wooden doors of the summer house, laughing heartily. However, you were now in the shade and with your clothes and skin sodden, you couldn’t repress your shiver of cold. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a desperate attempt to warm up, only to realise that your gauzy dress had turned almost entirely see-through due to the water. The fabric clung to your legs, hips and decolletage, highlighting your soft curves, as well as causing a chill to settle deep into your skin.

You realised that Loki was no longer laughing either, and you looked toward him, only to be trapped in the green of his eyes. They drew you in as they also devoured your form. You were aware of the drumming of the rain on the sloped wooden roof of your shelter. You were aware of the gentle ‘plop’ noise as water rolled off his leathers. You were aware of the delicate movement of his fingers as he took off his emerald cape. You were aware of the beating of your heart as he stepped even closer and threw the sumptuous fabric around your shoulders, drawing you nearer. You were aware of his soft breath as it warmed your chilled lips.

“You are cold, Nymph. Will you let me warm you?”

His voice permeated your senses as if you were in a dream; warm, soft, all-encompassing. There was a tension to the air, but one as delicate as a cobweb. One wrong move, and it would all collapse, leaving virtually nothing in its wake. You took a half step closer, barely a sliver of air separating you.

“Please…” Your whispered plea had barely left you when his lips descended to yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your middle. Your own fingers slid up to his wet hair, tangling in his ebony tresses as you opened yourself to him. He was full of passion, of a strength you’d never imagined, given his usual behaviour, but it was intoxicating, pulling you under his spell.

“Your Highness! Please!”

You breathed your plea into his mouth, shamelessly rubbing yourself against the prominent bulge in his leather trousers. His hands slid down your back, over the swell of your buttocks, to grasp at your soft thighs, lifting you with his godly strength and taking a few strides to place you down on the small couch.

He continued to kiss you while his clever fingers dealt with the clasps of your dress, peeling the damp fabric away from your skin and exposing it to the cool air. Your nipples immediately hardened at the sensation, and then you gasped as his hands moved to your breasts, and his thumbs skimmed over the stiffened peaks.

Your own questing fingers pulled ineffectually at his clothes, the leather failing to yield to you. You both heard and felt Loki chuckle, and with a flash of his green seidr, his clothes disappeared. He pulled his lips from yours, leaning back and baring his alabaster skin to your gaze before grinning and then latching back onto the soft flesh of your neck. You moaned at the pleasure and wiggled your lower half, assisting him in fully removing your clothes. The fabric landed on the wooden floor with a wet ‘splat’, but you were now too focused on other things to care.

Like the warmth from Loki’s lips as they trailed down your next and across your collarbone. Like how one hand rested on your thigh, and his fingers, despite their gentle grip, felt like a brand, marking you as his. Like how the other hand rested, oh so teasingly, on your mound, his index finger toying with the thatch of curls that grew there. Things like how the muscles of his back and chest felt under your eager fingers. He may have been the slimmer of the two brothers, but he was still made of solid muscle, firm and strong.

As Loki trailed his lips down your body, you moaned and squirmed, eager to feel him more intimately.

“Patience, my Nymph. I don’t want to heat you up too fast.”

Part of you wanted to scream at him, but part of you never wanted this to end. You weren’t stupid - this was only a tryst - a way to pass the time and work out frustrations, so you wanted to commit every second to memory.

Loki’s lips on your inner thigh, his nose grazing against your folds had your back arching, your hands firmly back in his hair now. He teased you for what felt like forever, his breath warming your core and promising so much. You threw your legs over his shoulders, trying to urge him to move forward and put you out of your misery.

“Who am I to you, dove?”

His question surprised you, and you lifted your head as he lifted his eyes, full of confusion.

“Your Highness?”

His fingers started to circle your opening with a feather-like touch, and you whined.

“It’s a simple question, my dear. Who am I to you?”

“You are my Prince, your Highness.”

His lips twitched up with a wry smile as his eyes sparkled like the most priceless emeralds.

“Just a prince? Could a man who was only a prince make your heart beat like the hooves of Sleipnir running along the Bifrost? Could a prince make your cunt weep as Freyja wept when she was left alone by Óðr for months on end?

Oh!

Realisation dawn in your lust-fogged mind.

“No, a Prince could not do that. Which means you are my King, Highness. My God.”

“Yes, Nymph. That I am. And I will show you a glimpse of Vahalla.”

He lowered his head again, fastening straight onto your clit, pulling it between his lips and suckling on it. The fingers that had been teasing your entrance slipped deftly inside you, and you keened. Not only was he pleasuring you with no ulterior motive, but he was actually pleasuring you, something that the majority of your previous lovers either weren’t good at, or didn’t care about. No wonder he was nicknamed ‘Silvertongue’.

Loki’s fingers and lips explored you, learning what made you tremble and what made you cry out under him, and when you unintentionally tugged at his hair, he went where you lead, taking you towards that high heady peak, where the oxygen was thin, causing you to go dizzy before you fell off the edge, your body wracked with ecstasy. You cried out his name, over and over, the only word your mind could remember.

“There you go, dove. That’s it. You came so beautifully for me.”

A warmth spread through you at his praise, and you opened your arms, inviting him back into your embrace. You needed to feel him near you, feel his weight on you. You longed to envelop him with your body and return the pleasure he had gifted you. He smiled impishly and crawled up your body, trailing kissing up your heated skin, and when he reached your face, he recaptured your lips, letting you taste your own release. His cock nudged your thigh, and you shifted, wordlessly encouraging him to take what he wanted from you.

Without warning, Loki flipped the pair of you, and you found yourself straddling him as his back lay against the soft couch.

“Are you ready to please your king? Fuck yourself on my cock, and make us both feel good.”

Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you nodded with faux shyness and looked down.

And got your first proper view of his cock.

For a moment you froze, partly from concern, but mostly from want. You wanted, no needed, him inside you. You could almost imagine the delicious stretch, the immense fullness, and your cunt wept more for him at just the thought.

Your hand wrapped around him, learning him as he’d learnt you. You felt every ridge, every vein, and teased his slit with your thumb. When he let out a hiss, you smirked, feeling pride in your chest at making him lose his composure, albeit briefly.

“Norns! You are testing my patience, Nymph. Don’t keep your king waiting…”

You smiled, as mischievous as he’d been only a few minutes previously.

“Good things come to those who wait, Your Highness.”

However, despite your words, you gave in to his entreaties. You rose up on your knees and with your hand, positioned him at your entrance. You teased both of you for a moment, swirling his broad head through your wetness before, spurred on by a brief growl, you slowly let yourself sink down.

The stretch was as good as you’d imagined, and you had to bounce slowly and gently to ease him inside of you. You did so with your head thrown back, your hands holding your own breasts while Loki’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you. When your inner thighs met his hips, you moaned at how deep he was inside you. You lowered a hand to rest on his firm chest, steadying yourself.

“You are definitely a God, Highness. No Prince, no mere mortal, could fill me like this.” His eyes flashed with triumphant amusement, pleasure at you indulging his whims.

Slowly, you rose up, letting him slide from the clutch of your cunt until only the tip remained, teasing your sensitive entrance, before sliding back down to feel him fully again. You repeated the movement, and while your intention was to make it last, the feeling was too intoxicating, and within moments you were riding him fast and hard.

Loki didn’t seem to mind though - if his expression was anything to go by when you glimpsed it from between your hooded eyelids, he was greatly enjoying your abandon. The hands on your waist tightened, and you hoped he would leave marks, so you would have a physical reminder of this encounter for even longer.

With each upwards movement of your body, his thick cock stroked over your walls, and with each counter-movement, his tip nudged over that spot inside you, and the neat thatch of hair at his base scratched wonderfully over your engorged clit. You could feel your orgasm approaching once more, and your movements became more frantic.

When Loki sat up, pulling you to him and burying his head in your chest to suckle on your breasts, you were done for. The pleasure barreled into you, knocking you back off that cliff edge, leaving you a trembling and mewling mess in his strong arms. The world tilted once again, and you felt the soft sofa fabric at your back before your entire focus became how Loki was now rutting into you with hard, feral strokes, chasing his own high. With a shout, he threw his head back, and you saw the veins in his neck pulse in time with his cock that was buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you had an unobstructed view of his torso, and you took the chance to memorise every part that you could see, before he dropped back down, smiling and panting, hips still flush to yours, prolonging the intimacy for as long as possible.

You wound your arms around his neck and smiled back. Coils of his damp hair slid over his shoulder, and a water droplet rolled down a strand to land on your collarbone with a soft ‘splat’. Loki looked at the small puddle on your skin as if becoming aware of both your soaked states for the first time.

“I should fix that.”

Another flash of green and you were both dry. Loki’s hair was now fluffed up around his shoulders. Turning your head towards the sodden pile that was your dress, you saw to your amazement that it was now perfectly dry and neatly folded. You looked back at the Prince and raised an eyebrow.

“Did you just dry us and our clothes off with your magic? Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

He grinned, his expression somewhat sheepish.

“Wouldn’t have been nearly romantic if I had, would it?”

You laughed, unintentionally clenching down on where he was still encompassed by your soft heat. In response, Loki moaned and gave a tentative thrust.

“Again, Highness? Already?” You were both shocked and aroused by his quick recovery.

“Well, I am a God, Nymph.”

His lips captured yours once more as the spring rain continued to fall outside.

Tag List: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @animnerd @strangeprincex @mochie85

#rolling into spring #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki x you #late writes

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writingintheshadowsforever · 2 years

Text

Imagine being the child of Namor and drifting to close to the surface

The number one rule your father made sure you knew to follow and not to break under any circumstances was simple.

Never ever go to the surface for any reason whatsoever.

The surface world wasn't your home and you had no place there. If the people up there were to ever see you. They would try to capture you and look for the rest of your people as well. As the child of the King of Talokan keeping your existence a secret was part of your duty. Those reasonings worked best when you were young and stuck to your father's hip. But the older you got the more independent you came, and for some reason Namor gave you more freedom. While he was very protective of you he still wanted you to get out and know your people. He wanted his kingdom to not only love and adore his child, but see you as his true successor.

But the problem was you were born with the same abilities and features as him. Wings on your ankles and able to adapt to the oxygen in the air. You would watch your father from the water as danced around in the sky feeling the power of the real sun. You wanted to know what that felt like. Namor saw the childlike wonder in your eyes when you watched him, and he knew he had to keep a close eye on you. In order to insure that you kept following the number one rule. But he was a king and sometimes his duties would pull him away from Talokan.

Most of the time he left Attuma or Namora behind to look after you and the city. But this particular mission had to be a big deal because he was taking both of them this time. He left another one of his men in charge of overseeing the city, but asked you to keep a eye out on things as well.

"Really" you asked swimming circles around him in excitement.

"Yes my child come here" your father said in a stern voice. You came to a halt right before him with a giddy smile on your face. "I know you're excited but this no game. You must be on top of everything and keep your eyes open for any kind of threat. While I'm gone I'm counting on you to neutralize any threats that get too close to Talokan."

Your face fell at his last statement a bit worried about the possibility of a real threat without your father around. While he had trained you in combat and helped you learn control over your ability to manipulate water. You had yet to participate in a real battle, or take a life.

He reached out to grip your chin gently bringing your face up to look him in the eyes. "You can do this my child."

You gave him a nod.

He smiled ruffling your hair a little bit, and just like that he set off with his two Generals and a small army.

You spent the rest of that day and the next one stuck in the same routine. In the morning you would wake up early to go around the city checking up on all your people, and later on you would patrol the waters outside of the city. So far the only people you saw were those on a boat and it was a rare occasion. Talokan was located in a part of the ocean that didn't see very much surface life in the waters. So while you were taking your role of leadership very serious. At the end of the day you were still only a teenager, and when boredom set in. Curiosity got the better of you.

The surface was clear not a boat or the sound of a plane in sight. You let your head bob above the water for just a few seconds to catch sight of the beach shoreline. It seemed to vacant of people and it wasn't like you wanted to go onto land anyway. You only wished to test out your wings like you've witnessed your father do so many times. He wasn't here to stop you this time, and no one was here to report back to him.

You took a deep breath gathering up the courage, and willed the wings on your ankles to move. As they fluttered back and forth your body started to rise out of the water. You made it so far as getting the top half of your body out of water. Before a hand latched onto your ankle in a strong grip pulling you back underwater. You let out a gasp attempting to fight the predator off. But then a familiar voice filled your ears making you tense up.

"Y/N what are you doing" Namor roared from below relaxing his grip a little. Once you finally stopped struggling to get him off. When your body was fully submerged in the water again he swam up to look down at you. "Is this what you do when I leave in charge my child? Break the number one rule?"

You looked away afraid to answer him hearing the disappointing tone in his voice, but there was a hint of fear as well.

"I asked you a question answer me" He shouted drifting down so he was on eye level with you now.

"Father I only wanted to practice flying like you do" You finally told him.

He shook his head unsatisfied with your answer. "You risk the discovery of your people for childish games."

You frowned at the accusation. "I did no such thing I made sure there was no one up there that would see me. I was cautious father I swear."

"It doesn't matter I told you the day would com-" Namor started.

"When daddy because you've been making those promises since I was eleven promising to take me to the sky. You always make me watch below the water, and its not fair. If I am to rule one day you must trust me and show the way of the outside world father. I would be at a disadvantage if an enemy came from above and you weren't here" You exploded in anger.

Namor was taken back at your outburst at first. You had never yelled or stood up to him before. Another sign that maybe it was time for him to stop being so overprotective, but it came from a place of love. He didn't want you to be comfortable with the surface world too much, because he was afraid of the possibility of. You venturing out too far without him one day to explore and getting captured. Namor would tear the heavens apart themselves for you.

"My child I only to wish to protect you from harm" He whispered taking your face in both of his hands. You gripped his wrists leaning into his touch. "I know father and I'm sorry but do you think you can start teaching me soon. I promise to never go up there without you."

"Soon my child" he whispered the promise.

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #namor imagine #namor x reader

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acourtofthought · 10 months

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I find it so strange when readers try to pit Elain and Gwyn against one another, acting like one is better than the other when they've had extremely similar journeys so far:

Catrin was always the strong one. The smart and charming one. After our mother died, she took care of me. Looked out for me.

That sounds a lot like Elain and Nesta's relationship right? Where Nesta was the strong one when it came to Elain? Where she looked out for her?

We were raised in the temple as well. I never left its grounds until … until I came here.”

For Elain, I wouldn't say she was quite as cut off from the world as Gwyn was and she did experience the loss of her mother and poverty at a young age however, I don't know that she suffered the greatest burdens that came about from those things as Feyre did (and to some degree, Nesta). So again, both she and Gwyn had a somewhat sheltered childhood.

“I have been broken once before,” Gwyn said, her voice clear. “I survived it. And I will not be broken again—not even by this mountain.” / “A commander from Hybern raped me two years ago. He had his soldiers hold me down on a table. He laughed the entire time.” Tears gleamed in Gwyn’s eyes. “Hybern attacked in the dead of night. We were all asleep when they broke into the temple and began the slaughter.

I think what Gwyn went through hits home for a lot of us and that's why so many connect with her story. But Elain's experience is not less traumatic just because Cauldrons do not exist in real life (technically temples full of fae priestesses harboring a piece of said Cauldron do not exist in real life either). What happened to Elain is metaphorical for anything being done to someone against their will, for having their choices taken away, and for losing the life they planned on and hoped for in the blink of an eye:

"Fear like I had never known entered my heart as the men dragged my sisters, gagged and bound, before the King of Hybern. / But there they were—in their nightgowns, the silk and lace dirty, torn. Elain was quietly sobbing, the gag soaked with her tears. / Elain was shaking, sobbing, as she was hauled forward. Toward the Cauldron. / Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down—/ Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing / Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered.

I've seen it said that Elain's experience was only "being dumped into a Cauldron" therefore it wasn't that big a deal. But that ignores everything we're told of the experience:

Of course, there are risks—the transition can be … difficult. But a strong-willed individual could survive.”

“I saw it,” Rhys whispered. “Felt it. Everything that happened within the Cauldron. / And I saw … felt … what it took from her.” / He met Cassian’s stare unflinchingly, his eyes full of remorse and agony. “Her trauma is …” Rhys’s throat bobbed. “I know,” Cassian whispered. “I guessed,” Rhys breathed, “but it was different to feel it.”

Gwyn and Elain were both forcibly held against their will and had their bodies violated.

“I’ve been here for nearly two years"

We don't know exactly how many months went by from the time Elain was made until she started interacting with the outside world but my guess is about 4 / 5? Elain started getting better after Lucien made an appearance in the NC however she didn't leave the townhouse until it came time to seek shelter for the humans prior to the war.

Elain and Gwyn stayed in a place they felt the safest until it was time to do more. For Gwyn, she wanted to train as it was something her sister would have done and Elain wanted to find a place for the humans:

Nesta straightened her fork and knife beside her plate. “Can’t you spirit them away somewhere south—far from here?” “That many people? Not without first finding a safe place, which would take time we don’t have.” Rhys considered. “If we get a ship, they can sail—” “They will demand their families and friends come.” A beat of silence. Not an option. Then Elain said quietly, “We could move them to Graysen’s estate.”

Gwyn and Elain were both traumatized a second time in the series. For Elain, it was being kidnapped again, stabbing someone and seeing her father's murdered body and for Gwyn, it was being kidnapped and taken into the Rite.

But in both instances, the females stepped up to do what they had to do.

Gwyn waited on its other side, bloodied and in a warrior’s clothes, face filthy and torn, but eyes clear. (Gwyn after leading the beasts to the Illyrians)

And then walked to me and Nesta, who pulled back long enough to survey Elain’s clean face, her clear eyes. (Elain after helping to save Briar and kicking the beasts which saved Briar and Az).

Gwyn showed additional bravery later in the Rite as did Elain when she stabbed the King.

Gwyn has made it known that she no longer wants to take the safe road though we know she's still processing new traumas from the Rite (which probably played a role in why she wasn't sure she'd attend Nesta's mating ceremony) but all that does is set her up for her story. SJM FMCs start at a low point and work their way up.

It is confirmed that Elain still has trauma though she has shown signs of progress since the war. She's out and about in Velaris, helping it's people. She was willing to search for the Trove when even Nesta was afraid to, she joined her sisters in the Hewn City even though the cruelty there bothers her.

Elain is not 100% fine (again, a perfect setup for her own book) but she has had progress that cannot be denied.

And finally, both females stood up to Nesta in SF:

“I don’t need to be coddled. Only spoken to like a person.”. “I doubt you’ll enjoy the way I speak to most people,” Nesta said. Gwyn snorted. “Try me.” Nesta looked at her from under lowered brows again. “Get out of my sight.” Gwyn grinned, a broad, bright thing that showed most of her teeth and made her eyes sparkle in a way Nesta knew her own never had. “Oh, you’re good.” Gwyn turned back to the stacks. “Really good.

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.” / Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.” / “Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked. Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her. And then Elain burst out laughing. Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. / Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

I do think Gwyn and Elain are headed down different paths, Gwyn's being that of a warrior and Elain (in my opinion) one of a healer / peacemaker between courts. And Gwyn definitely seems a bit more irreverent (but not in a negative way, she just doesn't seem bothered by someone's standoffish personality which is why she seems better suited for Az) but outside of that, it's difficult not to note their similarities. Gwyn is bookish what with the research she does alongside Merrill, Elain is canonically wise and observant (so both intelligent in their own ways), they're not as bold and brazen as Nesta or Feyre however there is evidence to support that they too are curious about sex, and they each take solace in creature comforts (bracelet making and singing for Gwyn and gardening and baking for Elain).

When someone insults Elain, they are insulting Gwyn and vice versa and it's too apparent that the reason that happens in the first place is readers are blinded by their ship to pay attention to what SJM has told us about both females as individuals.

Out of the possible pairings I do think Az and Gwyn are more compatible but at this point, she's even more similar to Elain than she is to Az.

#pro elain archeron #pro gwyneth berdara #Elain Archeron #gwyn berdara #gwynriel

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ingek73 · 4 months

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Harry and Meghan in Jamaica are soft-power dynamite. Britain is left with kryptonite William and Kate

Nels Abbey

At times like these, it’s clear that the Sussexes represent a missed opportunity for a UK that needs friends in the world

Fri 26 Jan 2024 11.25 CET

Left to right: the Duchess and Duke of Sussex; the Jamaican prime minister, Andrew Holness, and his wife, Juliet; and its culture minister, Olivia Grange, at the premiere of Bob Marley: One Love in Kingston on 23 January 2024. Photograph: Jason Koerner/Getty Images for Paramount Pictures,

A popular Nigerian adage says “the cow never knows the value of its tail until it is chopped off”. In many tragic ways, this speaks to today’s Britain. From EU membership, to competent leadership, to low inflation, it seems necessary for Britain to lose things to appreciate their importance.

This week, look at Prince Harry and Meghan being feted in Jamaica. See the soft-power skills they carry with them, and think about that Nigerian adage.

In much of the British media, Harry and Meghan are all-year panto villains. But around the world, they could not be more loved – often for the very reasons they are despised in the British media. They are the soft power we could have enjoyed with the increasingly dominant, increasingly self-confident non-white world, especially the Commonwealth.

It’s not just that they are royals. Prince William and Kate headed to “no problem” Jamaica in 2022, and encountered problems aplenty. As their PR fiasco unfolded, they were derided for shaking hands with Jamaican children through wire fences, and for motoring viceroy-style through crowded streets in a fancy Land Rover. At the nightmare’s end, Jamaica basically handed Britain its P45, informing the royals of its intention to be a republic, to “move on”.

View image in fullscreenPrince Harry larks about with Olympic sprint champion Usain Bolt at the University of the West Indies in Jamaica, 2012. Photograph: John Stillwell/PA

Still, Harry has something the royals he left behind and the likes of Chillax Cameron can never have. He has familiarity, an ease with difference – and he has Meghan.

In 2012, he also had the love of the UK press and public. He was praised for his warm embrace of the then Jamaican PM, Portia Simpson-Miller, and was photographed larking about with Usain Bolt. “He has shown himself to be a natural ambassador, a diplomat in a very real sense – one hug from him has (at least partly) dissipated the bad feeling of generations … It is inconceivable that any other royal could have pulled this off quite so effectively,” gushed the Mail on Sunday.

‘God Save the King’ doesn’t fall from Jamaican lips so easily. Soon we’ll be a republic

Barbara Blake-HannahRead more

But that was then, before the British media’s own version of Orwell’s “two minutes hate” became a thing. Now, much of the press sees Harry and Meghan glad-handing and being glad-handed in Jamaica, surfing the love at the premiere of the Bob Marley biopic, and they don’t much like it. “Meghan and Harry pose next to anti-royal Jamaican prime minister who wants to ditch the monarchy and warned Wills and Kate they’ll never be king and queen of his nation – as Charles undergoes prostate surgery and the Princess of Wales recovers in hospital,” thundered the Mail. “The hubris of Harry and Meghan’s Jamaican photoshoot,” snorted the Spectator. “Crown fools: ‘Provocative’ Harry & Meghan spark royal row as they meet Jamaican politicians plotting to oust Charles as head of state,” jeered the Sun.

Britain understood Harry’s value and soft power in 2012, so what changed? Answer: Harry fell in love with, and married, a Black woman. That could have been a boon for this country, here and abroad; instead it’s a might-have-been. And what might have been to our reputational benefit is what has been happening in Jamaica.

The UK headlines and sour grapes tell you one thing: we messed up and we know it. Meghan was, and remains, soft-power dynamite, and all we have now is the soft-power kryptonite of Wills and Kate and the Windsor “firm” that spurned her. Still, that’s us: we never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.

Nels Abbey is a writer, broadcaster and former banker. He is the founder of Uppity: The Intellectual Playground

#prince harry #meghan markle #duchess of sussex #duke of sussex #brf #royals #jamaica #bob marley: one love

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

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Hey sweet Olivia 🥰 have you ever considered writing a Royal AU ? I love the idea of King Bucky and maybe maid or non Royal Reader ! Just thought that’s something you’d like ! Have a great day 💗

Sorry this took so long my lovely 💕

The Cost of Kindness || King!Bucky

Summary: An innocent interaction tears you from your reality and towards a marriage you didn't ask for or want. Warnings: 18+ only, soft!dark Bucky, fluff WC: 3.2k

Bucky’s Masterlist || part one || part two

“Excuse me, sir, you need to pay for that.” Your words were polite but your tone was cool as you caught the would-be thief's hand by the wrist.

His face was mostly hidden by the cloak that wrapped around his shoulders, the hood only revealing a pair of oceanic eyes. The apple fell from his fingers and you caught it before it could land among the rest and bruise them, lowering the sale price even more.

“The cost?” He asked quietly, a satiny voice that seemed too smooth for a man in a filthy, raggedy cloak filled with holes larger than your fist.

His eyes fell to the fruit with longing and you felt sorry for him, looking over your shoulder to see your boss in a conversation with another market vendor. “A smile.”

He blinked slowly as he turned all his attention to you, his hood falling back a bit to reveal a pair of full, pink lips. “A smile?”

“You think it too much, sir?” You teased as you held the ruby red apple up.

“Hardly.” He chuckled, his lips curling into a smile that left your pulse racing and he leant in closer, his teeth biting into the apple in your hand. You were mesmerised by the way his jaw clenched with every chew until his adams apple bobbed with his swallow and you swallowed deeply in appreciation. “I would have been willing to part with a kiss.”

Your lips parted with a sharp intake of breath but before you could respond there was a commotion breaking out as soldiers entered the marketplace. A King’s guard marched towards your stall and you reeled back in fear as he raised his spear, only to stab it into the ground and salut.

“Your Majesty,” the guard bowed, “it is the Queen Mother. She urgently requests your presence in the palace.”

The apple fell from your grasp, the pure flesh landing among the filth on the floor, much like the King entering the lowly marketplace. You fell to your knees in the mud and bowed your head as your eyes filled with fearful tears, begging for forgiveness and leniency for touching him - an act punishable by death. A warm finger curled beneath your chin and tipped your head back to see those bright eyes and you chided yourself for being so foolish. Eyes like that could belong to only one man, King James.

“Stand.” He beckoned as the pressure to your chin increased and you rose up as gracefully as you could.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, I didn’t know it was you. Forgive me.” You whispered as the tears broke the line of your lashed defence, streaking over your cheeks to spill on his hand.

“You didn’t know it was me.” He nodded in agreement, his hand coming to rest on the silver and gold hilt of his sword. “Yet you were still offered your goods for a smile.”

“I did.” Your body trembled as you confessed and you closed your eyes while you waited for him to draw the sword and end your life with one fell swoop.

“Steven, bring the lady to the palace.”

You opened your eyes and saw the guard that had met the King look you over before nodding. A crowd was already gathering and you could hear their whispers spreading rumours as you took the guard's arm that he offered, wishing you could run in the opposite direction.

“He’s made a mistake, I’m no lady.” You pleaded with Steven as you watched the King shrug off his hooded cloak, revealing a fine suit beneath. “I’m just a farmer’s daughter.”

“Just stay calm, take a deep breath.” Steven said before you heard him whisper to himself. “They’re gonna eat you alive.”

You knew there was no point fighting but your pace slowed until Steven’s hold on you tightened and your sandals began to skid through the dirt.

“Listen up, farmer’s daughter.” Steven growled beneath his helm as he turned his ice blue eyes down to you. “The King has given his order, now I am going to deliver you to the palace but it is up to you whether it is on your own two feet or not. I have no quarrels with tossing you over my shoulder if it makes my life easier.”

You sighed in defeat before grabbing your linen skirt and tugging it up so you could march faster towards Steven’s horse. The beast was huge and nothing like the old girl that slowly dragged the plough through the fields at home. This was a royal steed, purebred for strength and stamina in wars, and from the heavy stomping of his hoof he did not seem happy to have his rider replaced.

“Steady, Boulder.” Steven soothed his horse as he ran his palm along its neck before it reared back and snorted, steam exploded from his nostrils like the dragon on his crest.

“She’ll ride with me.”

The King had seen the fear in your eyes as Boulder reared and he pulled the reins in your direction, leading his golden haired stallion towards you. You looked between both horses, their muscles rippling beneath shiny coats and standing at the same height.

“I could walk.” You muttered as you looked to the distant palace. “I promise you, I won’t dally.”

“Nonsense. Now get on.” James ordered as he held his hand down for you.

You looked at the leather riding glove and swallowed the lump in your throat as you placed your hand in his. His strength surprised you and you barely caught the small squeal that built as he pulled your feet off the ground and over the space he left in front of him.

“Wonderful.” You grumbled to yourself as you rearranged your tangled skirt layers and settled into the hard saddle. “This is just perfect.”

“More than you know.” James’ voice was barely more than a whisper before he cleared his throat and clicked his tongue to set his horse off at a trot. “You are going to hear things in the palace that should not be repeated. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand.” You shook your head. “I did one good deed and now I am to be punished. No, your Majesty, I don’t understand anything.”

“You are not being punished.” James sighed, the sway of the horse’s walk rocking his lips closer to your ear. “And, please, when it is just us you can call me Bucky.”

You turned your head away with a scoff and watched the cherry blossoms opening as the sun rose higher over the land, warming the cool spring air. You would have thought the day perfect for a ride, if only you had a choice on where it was you were headed.

The crunch of hooves of the gravel path began to grate on your nerves and your spine stiffened as the towers of the palace began to peek over the trees. You were so rigid that when you felt Bucky’s hands loosen the reins and come to rest on your knees you jerked and nearly fell off his horse.

“Sorry, habit of riding alone.” He chuckled as his hands caught your waist and steadied you back in front of him. “You can hold the reins if you wish.”

You shook your head rapidly at the thought of trying to control such a beast and leant away from them as if the leather bands were a pair of vipers. The retreat pressed your back into Bucky’s chest and you felt his lips brush lightly over your neck, a gasp escaping your lungs at the electric shocks the touch sent down your body.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” He chuckled quietly in your ear, goosebumps prickling over your skin as he once again gripped the reins and laid the fists over your skirt.

Every jostle shifted his hands and your heartbeat harder every time, a similar beat beginning to throb between your legs.

“Bucky?” You asked, feeling his chest rumble with a deep hmmm in response. “If I am not being punished, why am I being taken to the palace?”

His chest rose and fell against your back as he pondered how to answer you until he could see no good outcome for any excuse he gave. “You’ll see.”

The dress you had been gifted was unlike anything you had ever worn before. The fine embroidery told a story with its delicate thread, roses and dragons, thorns and fire. The theme danced around the skirt while the corseted bodice left you feeling breathless but beautiful.

You were desperate to find Bucky and get answers but every time you asked where the King was you were shushed and told to be patient. Patience was not your virtue and you struggled to sit still as the ladies surrounding you tried to arrange your hair that now smelt of rose water and patchouli. You had offered to do it yourself but quickly closed your mouth at the glare reflected in the mirror.

“May I come in?” Bucky asked with a knock at the door.

“It’s your palace, your Majesty.” You replied as you rolled your eyes before you cried out in pain and saw the seamstress waving her needle at you in threat of another poke.

“Everything alright?” Bucky asked as he heard you and pushed the door open. “Oh, wow, you look absolutely stunning.”

Your eyes turned to the floor as you shied away from his heated gaze, your fingers tracing the golden thread of the dragon's head. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

He stepped closer to you and held his elbow out for you to take, your silk gloved hand coming to rest lightly on his forearm. “Did I mention how wonderful you look?”

“It’s the dress.” You mumbled as you followed his lead through the candlelit halls. “It’s very beautiful.”

“It is, but so are you.”

You were sure the silver necklace that hung around your neck would melt from the heat you were producing but the ruby pendant remained set between the valley of your breasts. Unable to form a reply without confirming that he had your mind in a tizz, you remained silent and focused on walking in the heeled shoes that had been buckled to your feet.

“I know I have been secretive about why you are here, and I am sorry for that.” Bucky said as he came to a stop outside a fair of formidable iron doors. “I am also sorry for what you are about to hear but I hope you will forgive me in time.”

The air froze in your lungs as the doors opened and you were led into the formal receiving room that was filled with royal advisors and the Queen Mother. Bucky’s mother rose to her feet as she saw her son, her eye’s barely giving you a cursory glance before she descended on the King.

“What is this I hear of you traipsing through the market like a peasant?” You struggled not to flinch at the icy tone of his mother and instead focused on the feel of Bucky’s muscles clenching in his forearm as his hand formed a strained fist. Looking up you saw his cheek ticking, the shadow of a beard sharpening his jawline as he suppressed his blatant anger. “I have spent the entire month convincing King Anthony to arrange a marriage with his daughter and on the day of her arrival you are nowhere to be seen.”

“You shouldn’t have troubled yourself needlessly.” Bucky stated.

“Needlessly?” She scoffed. “You know the law, you need a Queen to produce an heir if you wish to remain on that throne your father died to put you on.”

Bucky’s free hand came to rest on yours, a small squeeze given as he squared off with his mother. “I need a wife, not a Queen.”

You tried to pull away as Winnifred turned her cold eyes on you but Bucky held your hand firm, his strength overpowering yours tenfold. She may have been shorter than you with her age but she still managed to look down her nose, scrutinising every part of you - even the depth of your soul seemingly. Other than the wide eyed, petrified look on your face there was no way of knowing you were one of the ‘peasants’ from the marketplace, you looked as adorned and pampered as the rest of the ladies in the room.

Turning back to her son, you breathed a sigh of relief that her intense stare was no longer on you. “You would crown a nobody when you could have a princess?”

“I would rather crown a kind nobody than have another frigid bitch living within these walls, mother.”

His fingers tightened on your arm as he felt you trying to pull away. The corset suddenly seemed too tight and you couldn’t draw the air needed into your lungs.

“The poor woman is going to faint. She will never survive Court.” Winnifred laughed, turning her back on the King and walking back to her chair set aside from the pair of thrones centre to the room. “Tell me, darling, the treasury is waning - what dowry do you bring? What can you do to make this union profitable?”

You hadn’t known the country was in a dire financial state, in fact, from the lavish balls that were thrown each month behind the high palace walls you would have thought the opposite. Clearing your throat, Bucky looked at you with surprise as you stepped forward with a sudden fire in your belly. You didn’t want to marry the man you had just met, you didn’t want to be standing in the throne room of the palace, but since that was where you were you had a duty to your fellow lower class people to speak up.

“For starters, tax the rich.” You stated boldly, a chorus of scoffs and mocking laughter circling the room before the previous Queen held up her hand to silence them.

“And when they revolt? How will you stop them from fighting?”

It was your turn to laugh as you shook your head incredulously. “I’m not sure how battles were fought back in your day, your highness, but I’ve never seen the rich or royal fight. You hide in the safety of your palaces while you send poor sons and fathers to their death.”

You turned to look around the room, glad to see at least a few ashamed faces unable to hold your stare until you face Bucky, that same smile he had given you in the market sending your heart racing. His arm curled around your waist and he nodded to his mother before guiding you back out of the room, his grin never wavering as the heavy doors closed behind you.

Pulling yourself from his touch you turned and poked your finger into his hard chest. “You smile at the idea of war?”

“Not in the slightest.” He smiled with a shake of his head. “There are very few people who would disagree with my mother. Ever since I saw you arguing with the forecourt master, I knew there was something special about you.”

Your feet stumbled as you remembered the argument the week prior. The price of hiring a market stall had increased twice in the last quarter and it was getting harder to sell products with the inflation - customers opting to travel further out of the city to where prices were cheaper. There had been an audience to the arguments but you hadn’t paid enough attention to the individuals to notice if there had been a cloaked figure among them.

“Why have you been watching me?” You asked as you backed away from the King, the hem of the long dress tripping you and nearly sending you falling into a tall candelabra.

Bucky surged forward and caught you around the waist, your breasts straining dangerously close to the top of the corset as he cradled your arched back and you threw your arms around his neck in case his strength failed. “Because I require a wife to keep my title, and I think you have the qualities needed in a Queen.”

“I’m not a royal.”

“There is no written law that you have to be, trust me, I have read them all.” Bucky sighed, pulling you upright but keeping you in his arms.

“How can I trust you? I don’t even know you. This morning I was ankle deep in mud selling fruit and now I’m,” you tugged at the dress, falling short on the word you wanted, “this. It isn’t me. I’m sorry but you should marry the Stark princess, your Majesty.”

“Forget the dress, just for a minute, forget the hair and the jewellery, even the palace.” Bucky begged, his eyes glowing bright in the midday sun that filtered through the windows of the hall. “You are brave, everyone in that room has witnessed it first hand. You understand business and commerce, albeit on a smaller scale than a whole country - but it’s really not that different. Most of all, you care about other people - even when there is no benefit to you. That is a rare sight to see and it was the moment I knew you were the one to rule at my side.”

“Bucky, stop.” His fingers tipped your head back and you could feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek, your body ready to betray your mind as he leant in, but you turned away at the last moment. “You claim to know my character but you have yet to ask the most basic information about me.”

“I’m not saying this will be easy, and I promise we will get to know each other with time.” He sighed.

“So you don’t even want to know what my name is? My birthday? Where I live?”

“You think I didn’t find all this out before I arranged our wedding?” He chuckled. “I know everything about you, Y/N. That is why I know you are perfect for me.”

The room began to spin as his confession battered around in your brain. “I can’t marry you.”

“You can and you will.” Bucky promised as he cradled your cheek while you froze beneath his touch. “Your father has already accepted it, with more than fair share of remuneration I might add, so I suggest you do too - and quickly.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and sagged in defeat, knowing your family needed the money as much as you needed your head to live, something that you were at risk of losing if you disrespected the King. “Fine.”

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but we can learn to love each other.” He murmured gently as his thumb stroked your cheekbone. “You can’t deny the spark between us.”

You closed your eyes, the small shake of your head giving him hope as he wrapped his arms around you. There was no way to deny it, in his arms you could almost forget where you were as his scent drove you wild and his touch threatened to set your body on fire. Resting your head on his shoulder you hoped he was right, but only time would tell.

Click here for part two.

——

@nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7 @jmeagin-blog @saranghaey @heavenly-rogers @bibibeauelle @wildcat116 @glxwingrxse @ymasen @thebuckybarnesvault @hoe-4-sebstan @tailsoflightning @avengershoney @hallecarey1 @tonystarksmutgarden @sunflowerfive @tripletstephaniescp @inlovewithbuckybarnes @kamaria-sweet-writes @youngr0se95 @scxrpioscult @ke05 @balekanemohafe @ladiesloveluxury @cjand10 @mogaruke @tenpointsforbucky @matchat3a @prk1990 @misshale21 @pono-pura-vida @buckyisguiltypleasure @thrxshsxbbxth @rachellovesloki @ashenc-blog @winterstorm311 @chaoticevilbakugo @evanstanwhore @pandareesstuff @lonesomewitchking

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfiction #king!bucky #royal au #soft!dark bucky barnes

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