#robert chase x sister!Reader

[chas3supremacist]

big brother, best friend

pairing/s: Robert Chase x Sister!Reader (Platonic, obviously.)

summary: Robert Chase being the best big brother for 1800 words straight despite being through hell himself.

Request - Anonymous asked:

what about older brother/cousin/family friend (basically someone you're close to and grew up with) Robert Chase who hates when people in the hospital try to flirt with the reader. maybe he even gets the rest of house's team + wilson to also prevent them from getting hit on

 cw: overprotective big bro chase!! cat calling, sexual harassment, mentions of child abuse, childhood trauma

word count: 1.8k words

a/n: I love big brother chase!! best big brother on planet earth!! Also, I know that chase canonically has a younger half sister who he took care of, but for the sake of my fic, I'm going to be ignoring that - The reader is chase's full sister! Also, for the first couple paragraphs of this there is little to no dialogue, just backstory! Also I kind of differed from the request so I hope you liked this anon! also this is an absolutely atrocious ending on my part im so sorry

For as long as you could remember, your older brother had looked after you - Despite him being 5 years older than you. He'd try and settle you the best that he could while your father was away on his work trips, and when your mother was drinking and couldn't deal with the two of you and she would lock you in your fathers office. He knew that your mother hated the two of you from a young age, but it didn't click for you - You loved your mom more than anything ever, even if she didn't feel the same way about you.

When your dad left when you and Chase were ten and fifteen, it left the two of you to look after your alcoholic mother - Chase took the brunt of looking after her, since you were still so young. He had taken on more than any child his age should have ever needed to, he was responsible for both you and your mom. He was responsible for making sure that you got to school and picking you up, responsible for making sure that you were eating, that your homework was done. Well, that was until your father made a brief return, only to tell your brother that he was sending you off to boarding school in England, claiming that Chase should be focusing on more important things rather than looking after you since that should be your mom's job. You spent 3 years at boarding school, on your own in a country you had never been to in your life before your brother decided that he would attend seminary in England.

Despite everything that had happened to you in your relatively short life, Chase had always known you to be happy and cheery even in the darkest situations - However, 3 years at boarding school had clearly had a negative impact on how you viewed your life and yourself. You were excited to see your brother, of course you were, but you were nowhere near as happy as you would have been had your father not torn you away from your entire life and made you start a new one at 10 years old. Chase took you out at the weekends when he could, but found himself having 'a crisis of faith' - Meaning he slept with the groundskeeper of the seminary's wife and was reconsidering his commitment to his faith. Upon leaving the seminary, Chase found himself considering returning to Australia to attend the University of Sydney to continue his study of medicine - He felt terrible for considering not telling you and disappearing. But he soon remembered how you were feeling when he had first seen you, you looked exhausted and as if you hadn't eaten in days; Remembering that, Chase knew that he couldn't leave you.

Since then, you had been living with your brother, moving to New Jersey with him since he had went for a job at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital - Unbeknownst to you, your father had called up Chase's boss, Dr House to convince him to give him the job. You had turned 18 the week before Chase started his new job, and since you were starting college, it appeared that you both had something to celebrate. Chase was beyond proud of you, you had gotten straight A's all throughout high school and had received a full scholarship to Stanford Law School in California, where you could at least travel back to see your brother since at least this time you were in the same country - Which you often did. Your drive to become a lawyer was so you could specialise in family law, after talking through your childhood with your therapist, you decided that you wanted to make a difference to children like yours lives before things could go as far as they did for you. Now on your summer break from your junior year, you were going to spend the summer in New Jersey with Chase - He had told you of the new fellows that House hired, Allison Cameron and Eric Foreman. You had teased him about Cameron, saying that you gave it 3 months before they were sleeping together.

You rubbed your tired eyes as you walked through the hallways of the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, you hadn't managed to sleep on your 5 and a half hour flight from San Diego to New Jersey and it was really taking its toll on you - You didn't cope well without sleep, which your brother would attest to. You sighed and threw your head back against the wall of the elevator, exhaling heavily as your backpack weighed heavy on your shoulders. You gave a tight lipped smile to the janitor who stood in the elevator with you, who grinned back at you, giving you an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You looked away from him, opting to look at your legs instead.

"You're a beautiful girl, you know," He told you, reaching out to touch your shoulder. You shied away from him, feeling your heart pound against your chest as you saw his face screw up at you implicit rejection of his advance. "Listen, I'm just trying to compliment you, you don't need to be a bitch about it." He scolded angrily, moving to stand in front of you as you blinked back the tears which burned in your eyes.

"Please just leave me alone," Was all you could meekly manage out as a response to his anger at your rejection. He stepped back as the elevator dinged at your floor, acting as if nothing had happened. As you pulled your hoodie over yourself, you froze as the janitor grabbed your butt. You sighed and shook your head, trying to stop yourself from crying as you stepped out of the elevator and made your way to the diagnostics department. You sighed as you opened the door to the office, freezing like a deer caught in headlights as an older man, who you presumed to be Dr House, spun around to face you.

"Chase, why is there a mini you standing in my office?" 

Chase looked up, a grin on his face as he saw you in Houses office. House knew that Chase had a sister, but he had never met her - Now he wished he had met her sooner.

"Hey," You greeted him, looking out of the office window, fearing that the janitor had followed you to the office. Chase took note of your lack of enthusiasm and how alarmed you seemed to be. He stood and came to hug you, noticing how you almost flinched at your brother stepping towards you - From this alone, Chase knew that something had happened.

"Are you okay?" His big brother instincts were cranked up to 11 as he saw the tears bubbling in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second. You always got this way when something happened, you would try and be brave about it, but the second someone asked if you were okay, you would crumble. Chase knew you were close to crumbling when your bottom lip started to tremble. "Okay, why don't we go outside," You nodded in agreement to chases suggestion, not listening as he apologised to House, who made some kind of snide remark that you didn't care to listen to. 

You managed to hold back the tears until you got out of the office, and that was when you crumbled, breaking down into tears in your brothers arms. "It's okay. Why don't you tell me what happened?" Chase asked you, his heart breaking and anger filling him at the thought of someone making you so upset.

"W-well I got in the elevator to come up here and there was a janitor in there too and so I didn't say anything to him and-and then he called me beautiful," You tried to compose yourself a bit before continuing so that your brother could at least understand you a little better. "And so he like...reaches out to touch my shoulder and I move away from him and then he says that I'm being a bitch because he's just trying to compliment me and then when I left the elevator he grabbed my butt." You explained to him. Chase was beyond mad. How could someone do that to you? To anyone, never mind his own baby sister.

"Did you manage to see his name on his badge?" He asked you gently, not wanting to upset you anymore than you already were. You sniffled as you nodded, rubbing your eyes and nose as you tried to calm yourself down.

"Yeah, it was David, he was like..5'3, bald, had a really weird looking beard," You described to Chase, who nodded as he hugged you again. He'd make sure that he was punished to the full extent Cuddy could punish a janitor, which would hopefully mean that he would lose his job, and have to explain to potential employers that he was fired for sexual harassment. And maybe, just maybe, Chase would pay him a visit. Chase was by no mean a violent person, but if someone messed with his little sister, he wouldn't let that slide - He had once hospitalised one of your ex boyfriends who had sent an explicit photo of you around your school.

Yeah, maybe you didn't have such a terrible big brother.

#Robert chase #hatecrimes md #house fanfiction #housemd fanfic #house md #robert chase x sister!Reader #x sister!reader #angst #house md angst #greg house #robert chase x reader

[claymoresword]

Playing With Fire

Cersei Lannister x Baratheon Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Cersei Lannister is married off to Robert Baratheon but her sworn protector/the King's younger sister, happens to be the person that truly holds her heart.

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: g!p reader, breeding kink (?), cersei and y/n are so morally bankrupt, cheating, size kink, unprotected sex, power play

Note: i have been in a real writing slump lately but for some reason i have no problems writing smutty one shots lol i wonder why that is...

anyway enjoy!

"You sent for me, Your Grace?" You step inside Cersei's chambers to see her seated by her settee, a goblet of wine in hand.

"Yes, y/n I wish to speak with you. Close the door." The Queen says without looking at you and quickly do as you're told.

You folded your arms over your chest, patiently waiting for the Queen to speak.

"Was she worth it?" Cersei finally blurts out, reaching for the flagon on the small table.

Your brows furrow in genuine confusion, unable to meet her halfway.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace?" You pause for her to elaborate, stepping closer.

"The whore you bedded." The woman hisses, and you are left even more perplexed.

Your expression betrays how you are feeling but the Queen remains silent, providing you with no further explanation to her apparent outrage.

"Cersei I have no idea what you are insinuating, but I can assure you, I have not laid with anyone." You state, slightly agitated.

"Do not lie to me. Tyrion told me everything." Cersei retaliates as she slams the goblet onto the table before rising from her seat.

You scowl instinctively before the realization hits you. Your expression merely contorts into an amused one.

You try but fail to suppress the laugh that falls out of your lips, Cersei's admittance only sounding funnier to you the longer you pondered upon it.

The Queen grimaces at your reaction. She extends her arm to strike you, but you stop her with a firm hand on her wrist.

A flicker of regret flashes across her face as she feels your harsh grip on her arm; although she restores her composure as you release it.

"This is amusing to you?" She taunts.

Not in the slightest.

"Yes, Tyrion and I went to a tavern together. Yes, I may have drunk more than I could stomach. But, I did not touch anyone." You explain and your conviction seems to translate as Cersei's heavy stare visibly softens.

"Really?" The Queen's voice shakes.

There she is, the woman you fell in love with.

"You know that I would never." You say, reaching up to place both hands on either side of the Queen's face. 

You let out the breath you were holding as you felt her relax underneath your touch.

"Cersei– it's me and you. Until the end of my days." You whisper, resting your forehead against hers.

"Prove it." The Queen orders, her eyes flitting down to your mouth.

You finally lean in, capturing her lips with your own. Cersei kisses you back fervently, hungrily, almost like she aims to devour you whole.

You are both forced to pull away as you run out of air, you feel Cersei's breath against your skin as she continues to hold you close.

"Is that proof enough for you?" You ask, a smirk playing on your lips, one Cersei reciprocates.

"Not quite." The Queen responds, surprising you by shoving you backwards with some force. You land on her bed as a result.

Cersei lifts her skirts slightly so she may climb onto the bed, she places a hand on your shoulder to support herself as she straddles you.

She kisses you again, this time it is all aggression, teeth and tongue. It snatches the air right out your lungs.

The Queen begins grinding her hips mid kiss and you feel your member stirring at the sensation. Your cock continues to harden everytime Cersei's clothed center rubbed up against it, making it difficult for you to think clearly.

The Queen pulls away and you find yourself chasing her lips before she tugs on your hair, forcing your head back so you may look at her.

"How can I express my apology?" Cersei says and you are too far in a daze to properly comprehend her words.

"What?" You ask, incredulous.

"I acted rashly, I almost condemned you for something you didn't do." Cersei explains and for the second time that evening, you are amused.

"and what– you feel guilty?" Your tone, almost mocking and the Queen rolls her eyes.

She sighs.

"Forget I said anything." Cersei attempts to climb off you but you keep your hands firmly on her hips. 

"I have a few ideas.." You finally respond, pulling her back onto your lap.

When she rests her weight on you again your cock is fully erect, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

You soon feel her hands reaching down to undo the laces of your breeches.

"Do you want my mouth?" The Queen asks with a darkened gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her languidly gather her saliva in her palm before slipping her hand into your slacks. The Queen wraps her fingers around your girth, steadily pumping your length.

"Hm?" Cersei waits for a response but you don't give her anything beyond a groan in pleasure.

"Or is it my cunt that you want? It's warm and wet, all ready for you." She whispers, her lips brushing against your ear as she speaks.

Again you don't respond, merely focusing your energy on not releasing your load into Cersei's hand just yet. 

You reach around, fumbling with the laces of the Queen's dress and Cersei quickly takes the hint. She removes her hand before climbing off you to remove her own dress and you decide to do the same with your breeches along with your doublet, tossing them on the ground somewhere.

Cersei swiftly re joins you in bed and you immediately flip your positions, guiding her head to the pillow so you may situate yourself on top of her.

The Queen merely spreads her legs wider as you neared, your face now hovering over hers.

She leans up to capture her lips with your own, Cersei's moans into the kiss and another rush of arousal settles in your groin.

Your cock was now rock hard, nearly painful. You decide to move quickly.

You disconnect your lips before tilting your head, trailing wet kisses from the Queen's jaw down her neck. You begin sucking on the exposed skin but Cersei tugs at your hair warningly.

"Don't leave a mark." She warns, understanding your intentions.

So instead you move further down, her collarbones, her chest; you begin kneading one of her breasts with one hand while your mouth did all the work on the other.

An unrestrained moan leaves Cersei as you shamelessly took her nipple into your mouth, biting and sucking like your life depended on it. 

The Queen arches her back and you harshly pin her down with your other hand, earning a dissatisfied groan from your lover that makes you grin.

Cersei runs her fingers through your hair again just to grab a fistful of it, forcefully guiding your head back up. You wince at the pain but the Queen connects your lips eagerly, her tongue enters your mouth and soon you don't feel anything else.

Her hand slides down your stomach, when she gets to your shaft, she grips it at the base and you choke out a moan, shocked at just how sensitive you were, making you end the kiss prematurely.

Cersei pulls you closer by the neck forcing you to kiss her again, and you comply, although her hand stroking your cock made it near impossible for you to focus.

The Queen wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you even closer and you understood what she was asking of you, but the next words that fall from her lips nearly makes you lose all composure.

"I need you to fuck me." Cersei breathes out against your lips, her tone dripping with need.

You decide to not deny her any longer; lining up the tip of your cock to the Queen's entrance. With one large thrust your length is fully sheathed inside of her, Cersei's arousal allowing you to do so with little resistance.

The noise she lets out is one of pain but mostly overwhelming pleasure; she will never get used to how big you feel inside of her.

You move your hips again, skillful and deliberate, your aim was to make her feel good; based on the nearly deafening sounds of pleasure emitting from the Queen, it would suggest that you are succeeding.

Cersei's nails are clawing at your back as you plunge your cock deep inside, hitting all the right spots within her. The sounds of her broken gasps and moans every time you move only heightens your own pleasure. 

You feel her hands against your chest mid thrust pushing you back, you nearly mistake it as an ask to climb off her but she pulls you in for a deep kiss as she lifts herself up with her forearm and you quickly understand what she wanted.

You soon sit up without pulling out, guiding Cersei with a hand on the small of her back. Soon she is on your lap again, the new angle makes her gasp, your cock hitting her even deeper this way.

She begins to move her hips with abandon, and you can only watch in awe as you allow her to ride your cock, taking her pleasure for herself.

The Queen throws her head back as her fingers threaded through your hair once again. A way to tether herself as she explores the depths of pleasure your cock is currently allowing her.

"Do you love me?" You ask in the midst of it, biting back a grunt and Cersei finally looks at you.

Open-mouthed, face contorted as she chases her release, she has never looked so beautiful.

"I do." Your lover responds, she doesn't halt her movements only moving quicker, Cersei mantains her eye contact with you as she deliberately clenches around your length, watching your reaction.

"Do you love me?" Cersei retaliates, she is barely able to get the words out, her peak closely approaching.

"My love for you is the only true thing I feel." You reply earnestly, reaching up to wrap your fingers around her throat, and this works to tip her over the edge.

The Queen comes undone around your girth, she screams out as the orgasm rips through her, clawing at your neck and shoulder. The feeling of her walls squeezing your cock painfully makes you reach your own peak immediately after, releasing your load deep inside of her.

Cersei is still trembling as she rests her head against your shoulder, trying to regain her strength.

You trail gentle kisses on her shoulder, now slick with sweat, allowing her the time to come down from her high as you recover from your own.

–

Cersei laid with her back towards you, your arm wrapped around her torso. You were content as she ran her hand up and down your forearm absentmindedly, both of you merely basking in the afterglow.

It was several minutes until the Queen decides to break the silence.

"You can't blame me for worrying about all the women who fawn over you.. you are too good with your cock." Cersei states and you can't help but let out a huff in amusement.

"You could have any woman you desire." The Queen adds, and you recognised the tone, although uncharacteristic. 

It was forlorn and defeated.

"That may be but I desire you." You counter, moving Cersei's hair away from her neck, you plant a kiss against it before moving your arm further up, cupping one of her breasts.

You feel the sensitive bud harden underneath your touch as the Queen lets out a sigh of approval.

"Besides I took an oath of chastity, as far as anyone else is concerned, I must remain abstinent until the day I die." You admit, your breath against her neck.

Cersei hums in response, pushing her rear closer to your front, soon your erection is poking at the flesh of her ass.

"How lucky am I that you are a woman without honour." The Queen quips, extending her arm backwards to place a hand on the back of your neck.

Your teeth grazes her neck before biting down, earning a mewl from the other woman.

"Stop talking." You warn, tightening your grip on her waist before harshly pulling her even closer.

Your shaft, now rubbing against her already weeping cunt.

"Do you surrender yourself to me, completely?" You growl but Cersei doesn't respond, you watch her bite her lip as she lifts her leg slightly, an invitation for you to enter her.

But you were not satisfied.

"Answer me." You order through gritted teeth, the tip of your cock pokes at her entrance and she gasps.

Her grip on the back of your neck now firm.

"Yes.." Cersei finally gives you a response, breathy and submissive.

A triumphant smirk tugs on your lips before you move your hips forward, plunging yourself deep inside the Queen's wanting cunt.

The loud moan of evident pleasure from Cersei urges you on.

You begin thrusting at a relentless pace, your mouth finds her neck once again and you feel the other woman clench desperately around your length as your teeth made contact with her skin.

There is nothing tender about the way you are handling her, and you were both drunk on it.

"My brother was allowed to marry the most beautiful woman in all of the seven kingdoms and I am dealt scraps–" You punctuate your words with each thrust.

Cersei can only afford to gasp and moan in response, the occasional whine from the Queen makes you move even harder, your balls slapping against her ass with every thrust.

"Anything he doesn't want gets passed down to me. Where is his honour?" You groan, your grip on Cersei's hip sure to leave bruises come the morrow.

"You are mine." Your mouth directly above the Queen's ear as you shifted the angle of your cock, hitting a different part of her, the pleasure Cersei feels is almost too much, her eyes roll to the back of her head.

"I am yours." She manages to choke out.

"Please– I am so close–" The Queen adds immediately after, not a beat passes until you feel her cunt convulsing against your cock.

She reaches her peak, intense and forceful and yours washes over you the same. Your vision blurs for a moment as you empty yourself inside of her, Cersei's walls remain clenched around your length as she milks you of every last drop.

Both of your chests are heaving as you carefully pull out of her. 

Cersei turns around, guiding your face down to kiss her, and you do, it is adoring and light, a stark contrast to how you were with her just moments ago.

"I am with child." The Queen mutters as your lips part and you are taken aback.

"I don't think it happens that quickly, my love." You jest and Cersei leans back to stare at you, deadpan.

She quickly guides your hand, placing it atop her belly.

"The Maester confirmed it yesterday– we are having another child." The Queen reiterates and you can help the real smile that tugs on your lips, your chest brimming with pride and love for the other woman.

You lean down to plant several kisses all over her belly, Cersei smiles down at you fondly as her fingers got lost in your hair.

You finally lift your head to look at her, your face hovering over hers once again.

"I love you so much." You admit, and Cersei's smile grows as she moves a strand of hair out of your face.

"I know." 

#cersei lannister #cersei lannister smut #g!p reader #g!p #baratheon reader #fem baratheon reader

[gar6agef1r3]

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐃𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Elvis have known each other since you were little. As childhood friends you had always looked at Elvis differently, but he never seemed to indulge. After years you finally let him go and started to date. Bringing someone home ignites something in Elvis and he decides he wants you.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: NSFW content! MDNI!, jealousy, mentions of alcohol, fingering, Elvis eating you out, Elvis being possessive, profanity, hickey, reader being a virgin, unprotected sex, cream pie, wet ass fucking pussy, overstimulation, giving commands, pet names, hiding your moans, dub!con ( drunk elvis x sober reader )

This is a filthy little thing that NO ONE asked for, and I mean no one. Was listening to Little Sister and sparked the idea. This has to be the longest fic I’ve ever written and I’d do it again.

The two of you grew up together. Your mother died at birth leaving your sister, your father, and you to fend for yourselves until Robert reunited with Gladys at an old high school reunion. She had taken you in as your own and helped your father raise you. You have been friends since you were little, but Elvis never seemed to take a liking to you in that way. It was always your older sister that he was so entranced by. Mind you, Elvis and you were the same age born only a few months apart but it was always the older women that the man would chase after. He was like a puppy when it came to her, following her around the house and bending at her every will.

For a long time, it made you sick, knowing he would never feel anything more than the sibling love he had for you. As you got older those feelings soon diminished and as it so happened Elvis and your sister did end up dating for a short period. At 20 you finally started dating, enthralling yourself in the partner you had. Oddly enough he was very much like Elvis in the way he carried himself and talked in that low slow southern drawl that made your head spin.

Though his hair was a curly mop on his head and his eyes were nowhere near as blue as Elvis’. Nonetheless, you loved him all the same and you gave your heart to him. The two of you had been going out for two months and tonight was the night you were going to introduce him to everyone. You sat in your room reading a magazine, one laced socked foot hung off the bed swinging slowly as you read. You were wearing your favorite light pink dress that you had begged your father to buy, it was the type of dress a young woman would wear that hugged every curve of your body perfectly. It was satin and slipped so softly over your skin bringing out the color of your hair.

There was a knock on the front door you could hear from down the hall. Perking up you quickly slipped off the bed running down the hall, but before you could open it he was already two steps ahead of you gripping the door handle. “My my don’t you look, fine.” Elvis cooed looking your body up and down. You rolled your eyes and pushed him aside. “Never in your wildest dreams.” you poked back with your sugar bell country twang, sticking your tongue out at him. Opening the door your lips curled into the widest smile. The type that made the apples of your cheeks so round and your eyes light up.

The man stood in the door frame dressed in his Sunday best holding a slightly wilted bouquet of white flowers, your favorite color. “Hey, there~,” He said as you stepped aside for him to walk in. You beamed up at him as he walked in and you shut the door behind him. “These are for you,” he said, holding out the flower. You took them humming “They are beautiful Beau thank you.” standing on your tiptoes you reached up to place a soft kiss against his lips which he returned. Elvis cleared his throat grabbing your attention. “Oh, um Beau this is Elvis. Elvis, this is Beau.” your boyfriend extended his hand towards Elvis giving him a gentle smile, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.” he said eye level with the other.

Elvis had his arms crossed over his chest eyeing Beau up and down. He grimaced at the way your partner talked, faking a smile he looked him dead in the eyes and with a monotone voice replied with, “Charmed.” You glared at Elvis as Beau retracted his hand slightly hurt. Kristina bounded the walkway looking at the three of you sensing the tension. She looked over at Beau and smiled “Hi you must be Beau, I’m Kristina.” she said taking his hand and shaking it a bit longer than you would have liked. “So you’re the big sister, huh?” he asked, cocking his head as his curls brushed against his shoulder.

She giggled obnoxiously as she let go of his hand. It wasn’t Beau’s fault he was so good and put sugar on it whenever he spoke. You locked your arm in his and leaned against his arm. You caught Elvis’ gaze and the look on his face spoke thousands of words. Was he jealous? Kristina turned around starting to walk before looking behind her shoulder at the lot of you, her short hair cascading around her face, “Come on Mama and Pops want to meet you too.”

With that, you followed her to the kitchen where Gladys and Robert were finishing up dinner. As you walked in your father looked at you smiling wide, “Oh baby you look beautiful.” he said walking towards you. Shaking your head you smiled letting go of Beau to embrace him. “Thank you daddy.” as he let go he straightened up, he was much shorter than the other and the size difference made you giggle. “You must be him,” he said sternly. “Y-Yes, sir. My name is Beau Daumer. It’s great to finally meet you.” he was nervous, you could hear it in his voice.

Your father nodded looking at the two of you before his face softened, “Welcome to our home.” he said before retreating to the kitchen. “Elvis, come help your Mama set the table!” Glayds yelled, catching sight of you while carrying dishes to the dining room. She nearly dropped the plates when she saw you passing them off to her son beside her. “Look at you pretty girl!” she squealed, walking over to pinch your cheeks and smooth out your hair.

Blushing, you smiled at her before her attention was pulled. She looked at the boy beside you smirking, “You. Come help me set the table.” she said, taking his hand and pulling him away. You watched as he walked away looking back at you a few times for reassurance. Elvis grunted as his mom took the plates from him and shooed him away. For a while, you talked with your father and sister while Glayds and Beau conversed and set the table. You couldn’t help but feel Elvis’ eyes on you quite a bit, be it a side glance or you catch him staring.

Dinner was going well, everyone was getting along and laughing except for Elvis. He made snide remarks whenever Beau would talk or was mentioned and sat in his chair brooding the whole time.

“Did you know he can play the guitar too? He’s so talented with the way he can make that instrument sing.” You said looking over at Beau who put his hand on your thigh. He laughed, shrugging “Yeah, I suppose I’m pretty good with a guitar.” he retorted looking over at you lovingly. Elvis roughly stood from the table scoffing. Everyone looked at him, his mother had a deadly scowl on his face at how rude his action had been. “Could you be any more original? For fucks sake you walk, talk, and act just like me. It’s goddamn embarrassin’!” he yelled before storming off.

“Elvis you get back here right now and apologize!” Gladys yelled before hearing the back door slam. You blinked unable to comprehend the words that just came out of his mouth. Beau looked around landing on you with a concerned look, “I-I better get goin’.” he said his eyebrows knit together as he scanned your face for a reaction. You chewed the inside of your cheek looking up at him and giving him a slight nod. The pair of you stood from the table and he thanked Robert and Gladys for dinner before you two headed for the front door. You walked him out to his car with your socks still on, holding his arm tightly.

You sighed heavily as he walked around to the driver’s side with you tucked neatly under his arm. “I’m sorry for that,” you said grimly looking up at him. He shook his head dismissively smiling, “Nothin’ you can control, buttercup. I’m not mad or nothin’.” Beau was always so understanding it made your insides swirl. “You call me tomorrow, alright. I’ll be missin’ that pretty lil voice of yours.” he cooed reaching a hand up to cup your face gingerly brushing his thumb against your cheek. You nodded blushing as he leaned down to kiss you sweetly. As he drove away you hummed walking back inside to help clean up dinner.

~

Long after Gladys had gone home and your family had gone to bed, you had taken a shower and started getting ready for bed yourself. A long black robe hugged your naked body, your long hair pinned up for you to remove your makeup. As you started to rub the mascara from your eyes you jumped shrieking as Elvis stumbled into the room. “Elvis what the hell!” you whisper shouted rushing out of the bathroom black smeared under your eyes. “Shhhh~” he slurred holding his finger up to his lips before busting out into a laughing fit.

You could smell the liquor from where you stood in the doorframe of your bathroom. Quickly you walked to your bedroom door that was swung wide open and poked your head out to look at the hallways. Luckily no one stirred, so you slipped back into the room and shut the door behind you. “Elvis your drunk,” you said as if that wasn’t blatantly obvious. “So…” he replied leaning against your wooden bedframe his arms crossing over his chest as his eyes scanned your body.

Subconsciously you tucked your robe in more crossing your arms as well. You cocked your weight to one leg letting your hip jut out. “What do you want?” you asked, annoyed with his current state. “Come on sugar don’t talk to me like that,” he said standing up straight, wobbling a bit.

“After what you pulled tonight I believe I can speak to you, however, I damn well, please. And don’t call me that.” you huffed turning your nose up away from him. He walked closer to you, that sad puppy dog look on his face irked you as he stepped up. “Oh, you can’t deny what I said was true. He is a compensation for you. Admit it, Y/N you know it.” his voice was low almost as if he was growling. You felt your face get red hot as anger began to swell in your body.

Narrowing your eyes at him you grit your teeth together. Soon enough all the built-up words started spewing from your mouth, years of repressed feelings tumbling with each passing second. “For years I’ve begged you to look at me the way you look at those girls. The way you always wanted Kristina over me. I prayed every night that one day I might have a chance! But you just kept ignoring me and I finally let it go! I finally found someone worthy! A-And you just waltz in here and act like you’ve had these feelings for me for so long. Well guess what Elvis, you can’t always get what you want!” you spat at him shaking from the anger as tears rolled down your cheeks collecting the black makeup still left on your eyes.

Before you had a moment to catch your breath you left his lips on yours. Your eyes went wide in shock, unable to believe it. His lips were as pillowy as they looked and oh so soft. They entice you just slightly sucking in your bottom lip. Though you could taste the whiskey he had been drinking there was a slight hit of something sweet, like syrup. Lighter than that, more like honey.

You had dreamed of this moment for so long. When you were a little girl watching your first adult movie a man and a woman kissed, in that moment you pictured yourself and Elvis. But why now did you feel so guilty? Elvis was right about Beau being a lot like him, but he was also his own person and you had to love that part about him too right? Conflicted with your thoughts you shoved him away turning your head to the side,” No Elvis. T-This isn’t right.” you huffed. A deep chuckle came from the man as he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, “Lil sis, there has never been anythin’ more right.” you cringed at his nickname scrunching up your nose looking at him again. “Don’t call me that,” you said with disgust.

He tsked leaning an arm against the wall beside you resting his head against his hand. “Alright alright. I’m sorry~” he said sweetly, reaching out

to brush some of your hair from your face. You lingered against his touch for a moment feeling your heart race. “Why now? Is it just because of Beau? You’ve always been all about my sister so why the sudden interest in me?” you asked, trying to make sense of the mess in your head.

“Guess you could say Beau just gave me the kick in the ass I needed. Always took a liking to your sis cus’ she was older I guess. But darlin’ you’ve been growin’ and it has been showin’…” he paused to give you a once over, causing you to blush and smile bashfully looking away from his prying eyes. “Been tryin’ to set myself straight cus’ I was so foolish to not take you when I had the chance. I suppose seein’ you all dolled up ‘round that kids arm made the reality of it all set in.”

His confession made you dizzy as you leaned against the wall. Everything was happening so fast, all that you could have hoped for crashing down on you so heavily. “E-Elvis I’m with Beau and I love him.” you breathed out heavily. Elvis laughed beside you drunkenly at your statement. “What’s so funny?!” you demanded glaring at him. “Love? Baby, you don’t know what love is.” you stood from your place against the wall standing as straight as you bubbling with rage as he towered over your small frame.

“And you do?” he grinned, his demeanor changing quickly as he stepped towards you. Reaching out he gripped your face squeezing your cheeks hard enough to feel a slight sting. His face was close to yours holding you still with his hand. Your brain was screaming at you to move, to do something because this was wrong. So very very wrong. Yet your body let him handle you begging for more as you let a whimper slip. A glint crossed Elvis’ eyes as he heard the sound you made.

His tongue poked out of his mouth licking his lips as the right corner curled up into a devilish smile. You felt your eyebrows turn up in a needy way as his warm breath ghosted over your lips. “I can show you what love is,” he said looking at your lips and then into your eyes again. “You want that, little girl?” a warm fuzzy feeling grew in your stomach making goosebumps crawl over your skin. You hadn’t been with anyone like this, sure you and Beau would make out and he would get handsy but you always stopped him before things got too serious.

Then again you never craved his touch the way you crave Elvis’. “Uh huh,” you whispered nodding your head. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked brushing his tongue against your bottom lip. “Y-yes…” you shuddered, parting your lips further. He hummed kissing you roughly, his free hand wrapping around the back of your waist pulling you in tight to his body. Your hands reached up holding his face and you kissed him back with the same feverish intent.

He was soft in all the right places and firm when he gripped up. His body curled with yours so perfectly like you had meant to be embraced with him like that. Letting go of your face Elvis slipped his tongue into your mouth pushing it against your own. The taste of alcohol no longer bothered you, his touch was so intoxicating in itself. His hands smoothed down your body, gripping at your butt for a moment, his right hand moving around your left thigh hitching it up onto his waist.

You gasped feeling your leg being pulled, your back arching into his hand. Pulling away you looked up at him still holding his face. “I-I’ve never done anything like this before,” you mumbled nervously. Elvis grinned, “I’ll take care of you my pretty thing. Don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’.” he said before picking both your legs up, holding them tightly against his hips. You giggled wrapping your arms around his shoulders grabbing at his button-down shirt. Kissing the exposed skin on your chest in the opening of your robe he walked to your best slowly laying you down on the mattress.

Instinctively you arched your back bringing your legs up squeezing them together. Your hands lay by the sides of your head as strands of loose hair fell around your face. His hands rested on your knees as he looked down at you in awe. “God you are beautiful.” he exhaled, running his hands down your thighs pulling you to the edge of the bed roughly as he met your hips. “Took you long enough.” you teased picking your legs up to press your feet against his chest running them down his body. He inhaled sharply taking you by the ankles softly placing a few soft long kisses against your red-painted toes and feet.

You were utterly enamored by this man; he was right, about everything. Slowly he placed wet kisses down your calves, creeping up until he was at your knees. Spreading your legs open you felt the blood rush to your face. You felt as if you were on fire, the cool of your room brushing against your warm naked cunt. Elvis bit his bottom lip staring at you, “H-holy shit…” You picked your head up from the mattress to look at him slightly.

“You…you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” the sleaze of his words made your stomach flip as you looked up at him. Slowly sinking to his knees on the floor he pulled your body closer to the edge holding each of your legs over his shoulders. Gingerly you watched his hand rub down your thighs, wet sloppy kisses being placed on either of the insides until he reached the soft sink beside your cunt. Elvis’ right hand cupped your aching heat as he nibbled at the skin inside your thighs.

Those soft seductive eyes found your own from his place between your legs, “Can I mama?” he asked in a way that made it seem like he needed it. You nodded quickly, finding yourself wanting it all the same. With a toothy grin, he moved his hand to the side holding your folds open. As his face disappeared your heavy head fell back against the mattress once more, your hands coming up to cup your still clothed breasts. The pad of his tongue traced the length of you collecting your arousal as he went. The warmth of him against your needy cunt sent a shiver down your spine.

Elvis’ flicked the tip over the little bundle of nerves causing your body to jolt a bit. You let out a breathless laugh at the convulsion and the man liked the way you reacted because it did it again causing your body to do the same thing over. He was gentle at first letting your get used to the feeling before his lips locked around your clit sucking you in and circling his tongue. Your moans were sweet and soft in the beginning until his middle finger teased your entrance. You dared to look down at the sight before you while he pushed into you. “Ah~ Fuck Elvis.” you moaned out the profanity feeling his knuckle hit your base, his hard blue eyes boring holes into you.

You saw the corners of his mouth turn up against you as he continued to work his tongue, his finger curling inside against your gummy walls. Arching your back he pumped his finger slowly curling it with each thrust. Picking up the pace your fingers found your hardened nipples and began to rub them. The pleasure from everything was building fast, you could hear the world around you slowly start to fuzz out as he added a second finger to you. Picking his head up, Elvis panted, while his free hand moved to continue stimulating your clit.

“You like that don’t you mama? Like the way I touch you so well,” he said, but you couldn’t respond as the squelching sounds filled the room. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me how you feel,” he commanded, kissing your knee. “Mmm~ F-feel so good.” you moaned the pressure building like a pit in your stomach. Earning a pleased sigh he rubbed your clit faster, fingering you harder until your head began to spin. Within seconds your toes curled and your body tensed, picking you back up off the bed you moaned out loudly as your release washed over you making your legs shake. He continued the same pace until your body subsided and he slowed to a halt carefully removing his fingers to suck the slick off.

He was so crude, yet it looked so good. Standing up off the floor he crawled between your legs his clothed torso pressing against your swollen mound. You dared to open your eyes to see his face hovering over your own, his chin glistening with you. Pressing his lips against your own, the tangy taste of yourself on his mouth made you roll your hips up against him. This earned a low chuckle as he pulled away, “Such a needy lil thing aren’t you.” your body craved the release again.

Gracefully he untied your robe sliding either side open with body hands exposing your body fully to him. Elvis kissed your lips again slowly trailing down the side of your face and neck until he reached your breasts. Cupping one in each hand he looked up at you while he gave the left nipple a kiss and a flick of his tongue. Returning the favor to the right one he groped at them for a moment grinding his hips against you. Just feeling his hardened length through the fabric of his pants made you mewl.

“Elvis…” you breathed looking at him. “Yes mama?” he returned looking up at you from his place on your nipple. “I-…. I need you,” you said hesitantly. “Need me? How so. Tell me baby how do you need me.” he pushed wanting to hear those dirty words on your sweet tongue. “Fuck me, I need you to fuck me Elvis.” you could hardly hold eye contact while the words slipped out of your mouth. Easing himself up he smiled at you sweetly, “See, that wasn’t so bad now was it?” he asked working at his shirt buttons. You watched as he undressed himself, his erection popping from his boxers to slap up against his belly.

He was big, much larger than you expected him to be. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you watched as he stroked the length of himself a few times moving up close to you again rubbing his tip between your folds. He chuckled as his tip rested against your hole, “Even your cunt is needy. Suckin’ me right in.” he pushed into you the pain splitting across your eyes as he pushed in further. His hips were flush with yours as he was seated deep inside you throbbing as you clenched around him. “Oooh so tight.” he groaned as his eyebrows creased together. Leaning over your body one forearm rested on either side of your head, his chest pressing tightly against your own.

Looking up at him he started thrusting his hips slowly, your body still adjusting as you let out a hiss from the pain. It didn’t last as the pain melted to pleasure again, his thrusts getting faster and heavier. “Such a good girl for me, takin’ me so… fucking… good.” his head fell to the crook of your neck, his mouth latching on to the soft skin. Sucking at it you felt him pull his cock out to the tip, the empty feeling making you shutter before he slammed back into you hitting a spot that made you scream. Quickly a hand slapped over your mouth, his face reappearing as he did the same motion over again gaining a muffled scream. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes streaming down your face, but it wasn’t from the pain.

Each thrust earned another muffled moan as he continued rolling his hips in such a saw, slapping his skin down against you with each repeat of the motion. “Shhh baby you have to be quiet, your papa will hear you.” but his words did little to nothing as you wrapped your legs around his bare body. Elvis grunted as he fucked into you, that horrid squelching sound reappearing. You stuck your tongue out to lick at his hand through your moans as he hilted you. Removing his hand he pushed two fingers into your mouth which you gladly sucked on. You could feel him twitch inside of you from the action making him groan. “Look at you, such a dirty lil slut for me. Squeezing me so good…”

Your body begged him to move again as he removed his finger from your mouth. Your hands gripped at his back pulling him in closer. Beads of sweat pooled against his forehead as strands of his thick dark hair dangled in your face. Pressing his head against yours you held his gaze as his arms moved behind your head holding you close. “Going to make you mine mama, all mine,” he whispered before thrusting into you again. Over and over his hips snapped against your own, buried so deep inside as the tip of his cock rubbed at a sensitive spot. Your head fell lip against his hands that held it there, your polished fingernails digging into the flesh of his back. It didn’t take much longer to get you back to the place he had you on his fingers. Your walls clenched around him tightly as a ringing in your ear droned out the sound again.

“Who’s are you? Y/N, I want to hear you say who you belong to,” he said through ragged breathing pumping into you with all the same vigor. You arched your back reaching your climax gripping him tighter, “Yours! Ah fuck~ yours Elvis I’m yours!” you yelled spasming as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. “Good girl. Mine… ahh~ mine. You’re mine… mine…” his voice faded to only moans and groans his thrust becoming unrhythmic until he pushed into you so far you swear you felt a pop. Seconds later a warm gushy feeling filled you up. Elvis stayed seated inside you for a moment his eyes closed with ragged breathing.

Pulling out, you grunted as the warm pool leaked from you. The weight of his body left yours as the mattress creaked from the movement. Laying down beside you, his arm draped across your torso pulling you in close to him. His lips pressed against your temple as both your breathing subsided to normal again. Being there in his arms felt so right, but deep down you knew the trouble you had gotten yourself into would be much more.

#austin butler smut #austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler elvis #elvis smut #elvis fic #elvis x reader #elvis movie #elvis 2022

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Good, Mean, Dog

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader

Warnings: none really, obvious age gap but to be fair i think he’s supposed to be slightly younger in the books

Words: 2921

Summary: The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be.

Sequel: The Doe That Chases the Hound

You gaze up at your ever radiant mother. To all of Westeros she was a great beauty and to her enemies, a force to be reckoned with. Regardless, Cersei Lannister was your mother. She showed contempt for everyone except her children. Call the woman what you will, but Cersei loved her children fiercely. Including you, the only dark haired child among heads covered with fine, golden hair. The only sign that you had come out of Cersei’s womb were your vivid green eyes; Lannister green. You would’ve liked the golden hair of your siblings, then you wouldn’t get odd looks when all four of you were together. None were more scrutinizing than the ones that were received from your uncle Jaime. There appeared to be a question in those emerald pools of his, a question he never verbally asked. He’d offer you distant smiles then would go about his business. Because of this standoffish behavior you preferred your stunted uncle Tyrion, much to your mother’s chagrin. He was much more kinder than Jaime. Your mother didn’t like you spending so much time around her dwarf brother. She told you many times if you wanted to learn something to go to Maester Pycelle, not you drunken uncle. You didn’t like Pycelle for various reasons; one of them being that it always looked like his wrinkled gaze was concentrated on your bosom. Besides, you were looking for a surrogate father-figure. Much like your mother, Robert Baratheon treated all his children equally in the manner that he didn’t pay you any mind either. He wasn’t the fathering type which unfortunately led the terror that is known as Joffrey, run wild and for you to try and fill the void. Cersei claimed very often that Tyrion killed her mother, your grandmother, but you knew that Tyrion didn’t do it knowingly. He had been just a newborn. Newborns didn’t spring from the womb with a dagger in hand. Your mother, you knew, was very stubborn and unreasonable.

In the dark cellars under the Red Keep, you found yourself exploring with your uncle as he showed you a room filled with skulls. Not human skulls though; dragons. They varied in size and there were a few that you could hold in your hand.

“As the centuries went on, the Targaryens chained their dragons up. But dragons need freedom and large areas in order to grow. Without those, the dragons that were able to hatch never grew any larger than a cat.” Tyrion waddled beside you as your fingers felt the smoothness of the skull. With torch in hand he ventured further until you came across a dragon skull that nearly reached the ceiling. You stare at it in awe. “Now that, my dear, is Balerion. They called him the Black Dread. He was the largest dragon to ever live in Westeros. Do you recall the other two dragons which rode with him to battle?”

You think for a moment. “Meraxes and. . . I want to say the other starts with a ‘V’. Um. . . Vhagar?”

Tyrion nods. “Very good.”

“If his skull was this big, imagine his wing span!” You grin which makes Tyrion smile at your enthusiasm. Growing sad at the thought that you would never see a live dragon with your own eyes, you put down the small skull that you had been holding. “Why didn’t they see that captivity was killing them?”

Tyrion regards you kindly and pats your hand. “Because men are selfish creatures. Without dragons, the Targaryens were just like everyone else.” Leading you out of the dark room, you wince at the light.

“Balerion was the one who forged the Iron Throne, right?”

“That is correct.” You continued to speak of dragons, enjoying your leisurely stroll with your uncle. That is until you bumped into your brother.

“You shouldn’t waste your time with the likes of the Imp, sweet sister.” In a condescending manner, Joffrey looks down at his uncle. “Shouldn’t you be in a whore house drunk off your dwarf ass? I’m surprised you’re still sober.” Joff sneers, his lips curling in an unflattering manner while his sworn sword looms behind him like a menacing shadow. The Hound, they called him. Your brother’s loyal dog. There was only one other man who stood taller than Sandor Clegane and that was his brother Gregor whom was called the Mountain for that reason. They were both equally terrifying; Gregor more so than his younger brother.

“That’s not very polite Joffrey. You are to be future king and a king should not speak like such a rotten brat.” Scowling at your younger brother you wished your mother had had the nerve to spank him to correct his terrible attitude. However, Joffrey was her golden son; one who could do no harm. She was blind to the monster he was.

His cheeks turn red. Now he’s glaring at you. “Once I’m king I can do whatever I want. Remember that. I won’t have to listen to a stupid woman like you.”

Fingers twitching, you took a step forward. He instinctively backs away, fear shining in the pools of moss that were his eyes. Joffrey knew you weren’t afraid to strike him. You had done it once before, but your mother quickly gave you a good scolding.

“I-I’ll tell mother.” He squeaks.

“Go ahead. She’ll tell father and he’ll just laugh at you again.” You noticed Sandor watching with slight amusement at the altercation. You wondered if he would try to stop you if you went through with slapping him.

Your uncle clears his throat. “Now children, we must learn to get along.” He holds your hand and gazes at you warmly with his mismatched eyes. “Thank you for defending me, but I can handle Joffrey’s quips. I’m sure your mother would not be pleased to find out that her children were quarreling again.”

“Uncle. . .”

Tyrion kisses the back of your hand. “I must go. I have other business to attend to.” He glances back at Joffrey and the Hound before he leaves.

“What is there to possibly talk about anyway with that misshapen creature?” Joffrey spat.

You shoot him a withering glare. Without answering you turn on your heels in a huff and walk away. But that’s not the end of it. Joffrey continues to follow you.

“I wasn’t done talking to you.”

“Well I was. What’s wrong? Don’t you have some poor animal to mutilate?” You say over your shoulder. He must be bored. And a bored Joffrey is never a good thing.

Ever the loyal dog, Sandor follows after Joffrey as the blonde haired prince continues to pester you. When Joffrey opens his mouth to reply you cut him off.

“Don’t you ever get tired of following him around like that?” You address the question towards Sandor, completely ignoring your brother.

Instead of letting Sandor answer, Joffrey pipes up. “He’s my dog. He’ll do whatever I say without complaint. I think he’ll even hit you if I told him to.” You knew it was meant as a threat but you let out a loud scoff making Joff turn red again.

“They must pay you an awful lot to follow around a twat like my brother.” You hear Joffrey inhale sharply as the Hound lets out a chuckle. You knew you shouldn’t have said that word out loud, it wasn’t lady-like. If your mother heard you say it she’d know immediately where you learned it from and would probably ban your Uncle Tyrion from the Red Keep.

You look over your shoulder and smirk at your brother’s fish-like expression. “Perhaps you should be wearing the sigil of House Tully, Joff. You look like a trout right now.”

If looks could kill you were sure you’d be dead already. It gave you immense pleasure to see the utter hate on your brother’s face. Head held high in triumph, you left him to fume.

*

“(y/n)!”

You’re surprised at who is calling you. Robert Baratheon is outside enjoying the weather while under the shade of an awning. You try to ease the look of shock off your face. “Yes father?”

A meaty hand motions for you to where he is. You’d heard that your father used to be incredibly handsome. Now, however, you found it hard to believe. His face grew red at the simplest of physical tasks and his large belly showed how much he enjoyed the finer things in life.

Several Gold Cloaks, including your Uncle Jaime surrounded him. The only time King Robert was ever alone was when he was with his whores.

You flush at the thought when you approach him. He looks up at you with deep blue eyes; Baratheon eyes. “Good gods where has the time gone. You’re a grown woman now. Your mother used to turn heads as well.” Whenever he spoke of his wife it always held a scornful undertone. “You didn’t even notice, did you?”

Your eyebrows scrunch. “Notice what?”

He laughs. “Bling and beautiful. Many men would value that in a woman.”

Anger licked the walls of your stomach. He knew nothing about you. You were definitely not blind. You knew what he did behind closed doors.

King Robert points to where you had just been. There were a few guards walking about. Nothing unusual about that. “They were staring you down like a succulent piece of meat.”

You blush and that makes him laugh louder. Fingers curling into your palm, you continued to feel ridiculed by him.

’Blind and beautiful.’

“Best way to stop that is by marrying you off. You’re old enough for marriage, right?”

’Fat bastard doesn’t even know how old I am.’

You nod.

He settles back into his cushions and takes a long gulp from his chalice. Wine dribbles down onto his beard. “Been thinking about setting you up with Ned Stark’s eldest boy. I think he’s about your age. Your mother wouldn’t have it though. Says it’s not necessary to marry two children off to Starks.” Robert Baratheon shakes his head. “What does she know?”

You’d have to thank your mother later. You didn’t want to go to the north. You’d heard how cold it gets over there and how dreary it was.

Robert heaves a sigh. “Children are such a hassle.”

’Then why are you talking to me?’

“Off you go then. Be more wary of your surroundings next time.” He pats you on the shoulder and shoos you away. Sadness enters his speech. “Wouldn’t want you to end up like Lyanna.”

Yes. Lyanna. The woman he still yearned for after all this time. The one he’d started a war for.

Kidnapped, raped, and killed.

Definitely wouldn’t want to end up like her. You left your father so that he could gorge himself on more wine and food.

You bounced slightly on top of your mare, smiling as you heard Myrcella squeal in delight. Watching as she had her horse take another jump, her gold tresses flying in the breeze. Under a grove of trees your mother clapped. She looked even more lovely when she genuinely smiled. Tommen followed behind Myrcella on his pony. The bars had to be lowered since the pony couldn’t jump too high. You and your sister cheer for your baby brother as he jumps the hurdle. Joffrey rolls his eyes while on his own mount.

“That was nothing.” He scoffs and to prove his point he has the stable hands set them at the highest bar. He jumps them easily and grins cockily. You pretend that you didn’t see and continue to lavish Tommen with praise.

“You’re going to be a great joister Tommen!” Myrcella chimes in.

Tommen’s round face blushes, but he’s smiling from ear to ear. You wished Joffrey had turned out like Tommen. Your youngest brother was to sweet for words and you loved him dearly. Every so often you would wake up to find him curled up beside you in your bed.

“Yes, I can see it now! I bet you’ll unhorse Uncle Jaime some day.” You nod.

“He’s too fat to joist!” Joffrey argued, hating that the attention wasn’t on him.

That’s when Cersei spoke up. “Don’t say mean things like that Joff. He’s your brother.”

Upset he got off his horse and stomped off to the sidelines, not before fixing a glare toward you.

You wanted to stick your tongue out at him, but your mother was in sight. So, instead you had your mare trot tauntingly in front of him. “Don’t be like that Joff. You’re just cranky. I think you’re overdue for your nap.” You turned Blue Moon away from him. Perhaps it was your own fault for antagonizing him further then turning your back on him, but the next thing you knew you heard something hit your horse; making her shriek and rear up on her hind legs. You hear your mother scream as you struggle to regain control of Blue Moon. Once she has all four hooves back on the ground she’s charging blindly in all directions and scaring the other horses.

All around you became a blur and as you duck your head trying to stay on her. You catch more of your mother screaming for someone to help you. Galloping beside you, you’re able to discern them as the Hound. He makes a grab for your horse’s reins and curses when he can’t reach. On top of his own horse he lunges again and successfully grabs hold. Blue Moon resists at first until other stable boys go to calm her down. Sandor’s strong arms lift you out of your saddle like you weighed nothing and sat you in front of him on his own horse.

“You’re alright now.” He whispers to you.

You didn’t even realize you had been shaking until your back pressed against his chest. Thick arms cage you in as he turns his horse around to where your mother and siblings stood. Alarmed guards had also flocked to the yard, quite useless as they were now. The Hound gets off first and helps you down. You look at his face, his dark eyes making your skin heat up. The scar that plagued the right side of his face in full view as he made sure you were safely on your feet. You felt like a doll when he handled you.

Cersei rushes to you, fear having drained the color on her face. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” If only everyone else could see this side of your mother. The fretting hen. Next to her, Myrcella looked to be on the verge of tears.

Urging a smile onto your face you say “I’m fine mother, thanks to Sandor.” You shoot him a grateful smile that has him turning his face away. He mumbled something incoherent and went back to where Joffrey stood. Joff’s nose scrunches and he turns away.

You notice your mom staring after Joffrey as well, her face unreadable before she turns back to you. Her palm cups your cheek. “Let’s go inside for the evening.”

Obediently you follow her back inside. After supper you made your way back to your room, tired after what had happened that day. Behind you are the subtle sounds of footsteps thumping behind you. You half expected it to be Tommen but they sound too heavy.

“Here to escort me to my room?” You ask once you see it was the Hound. “Might as well. I’m partly worried that Joffrey will pop up from the shadows and kill me.”

“So you knew it was him.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. He had seen Joffrey throw a rock at Blue Moon’s rear. You hadn’t seen him do it yourself, but you had expected as much. When you nod Sandor growls. “That little cunt.”

You chuckle. “Careful. Don’t want anyone to hear you call the future king that.”

“What a terrible king he’ll be.”

“Gods help us all.” Like last time when you smile up at him he turns his face away so that you saw the side of his face that was damaged. “Thank you again for today. Really, you saved me while everyone else was scratching their ass.”

Sandor laughs. “A lady like you shouldn’t use words like that. You’re a princess.”

“Would that make you my knight in shining armor?”

That perpetual brooding face of his returns as he looks at you with serious eyes. “I’m no knight.”

“No. I suppose you’re not. You’re better than a knight. You’re a dog.”

He appears taken aback by your statement. You didn’t know why but his confused expression had your heart pounding. When you reach your room you bid him good night, not before asking him what he wanted in return for saving you.

“I don’t want nothin’.” He merely says.

Why was your heart racing? “Not even a kiss from a maiden fair?” You partly said it as a joke, half hoping he’d actually want to kiss you.

He eyes you warily, unsure of how to respond. “This isn’t a face made for kissing maidens.”

You knew many others in his position would take up the offer in seconds. Either he didn’t find you attractive of he truly wanted you to preserve your virtue. Trying to hide your disappointment you shrug your shoulders. “Suit yourself. My offer still stands whenever you want it though.”

Alone in your room you slump to the ground, your hands touching your burning face.

The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be.

#sandor clegane x reader #the hound x reader #sandor clegane fanfic #sandor clegane fanfiction #the hound #the hound game of thrones #got #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got fandom #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fandom #game of thrones #reader insert #reader insert fandom #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fandom #a song of ice and fire

[randoauthor]

Home. (R.F)

Pairings: Bob x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 576

Author's Note: Oh this was super sweet!

Summary: your house hunting excursion was growing you and your husband tired. Until you found your dream home.

MasterList!

You both were exhausted. Houses were beginning to look exactly the same and you and your husband couldn't decide on the same thing.

Every house was too big for you or too small for him, the kitchen wasn't updated enough, and the bathroom in the master bedroom wasn't fancy enough.

"This backyard isn't big enough," Your husband finally said, "the dogs won't have enough room to run around out there."

You let out a frustrated sigh as the realtor frantically looks for any more available options that fit the two of you and your wild requirements.

"You know," she begins peering at the two of you over the rim of her glasses, "I have one more option, but it is a little out of your price range." You and Bob shared an intriguing glance after today's events you two will look at anything you can get.

Stepping out of the car you two find yourselves in front of a quaint bungalow that overlooked the ocean. Each room is the perfect size for both of you and the moment you looked into your husband's eyes you saw something you hadn't seen yet.

This was your home.

This would be the home you guys find out you are pregnant in for the first time, and the home you bring your daughter into once she is born. This living room will be where she takes her first steps and in the kitchen, you'll show her how to cook her favorite meals.

Robert finds himself walking into one of the empty bedrooms which in seven years' time would become the nursery for your twin boys, only three years younger than their sister. This would be the room where Theodor would break his arm and where Oliver would lose his first tooth.

The back porch will soon be home to plentiful parties where Robert and his fellow pilots would gather around with their children and share stories of their time at Top Gun and all the crazy missions they would go on. The children would stare up at their parents with wondering eyes some of them including your baby girl Violet would eventually find themselves up in the sky following in their parent's footsteps.

You wandered around a bit more before you find the stunning view of the ocean you take a seat on the porch and watch as the sun sets slowly, you'll find yourself here again one day except instead of overlooking an empty beach you'll find yourself watching your husband, your three beautiful children, and your two goldens as they run around passing a football, and laughing as they chase each other around, and once it gets dark you'll call them back up to the house where you've set out the ultimate s’mores table.

Robert wanders to find you sitting there and he joins you, without saying a word. He reaches for your hand and you graciously allow him to take it. Smiling softly you and your husband reach the mutual agreement that it was gonna be your home. The one where the kids grow up and then the grandchildren too.

And 60 years later you and your husband find yourselves on the back porch, in the same spot you sat 60 years prior except now you've got starch white rocking chairs.

"Did we find the right house my love?" your husband looked at you with a smile.

"Yeah," you smile back, "We found out home."

Taglist!

@itscheybaby

@turningtoclown

@daryldixonstorm

@Dilfsandtherapy

@Nickie-amore

@malindacath

@luckyladycreator2

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@malindacath

#robert bob floyd #top gun: maverick #tg:m #top gun maverick #top gun #bob floyd x reader #maverick top gun #bob floyd #robert floyd #lt. robert floyd

[thestagsheadsblog]

Seeing You Again (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader, Childhood Friends

Word Count: 2.4K

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Note: Thanks for all the love on this fic and sorry for the looong delay on this chapter!

"A new letter from the USS Blue Balls came in the mail!"

Hearing your sister's voice from the entrance hallway you dashed out of your room to meet her in the kitchen, snatching the letter out of her hand.

"Read it to me," she requested.

"Absolutely not," you laughed as you inspected the postage. Direct from the Fleet Post Office in San Francisco, otherwise no evidence whatsoever as to where Bob may have been at the moment the letter was posted. 

Emily shrugged and poured herself some cereal. "It's actually really cute that he writes you letters like he's off fighting in the Civil War or some shit. 'My dear Miss Y/L/N'," she teased with an exaggerated good ol' boy Southern accent. "Most guys would just send a picture of their dick and leave it at that."

"Robbie is a bit more sentimental than that," you smiled, tempted to open the letter then and there.

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind a picture of whatever he is packing," she estimated, ignoring your eyeroll and refusal to respond. 

This was the third letter you had received from Bob since he had left. You occasionally got texts and emails from him, of course, but his internet access was sporadic at best and the letters became the most effective way to have a meaningful 'conversation' over the weeks he had been at sea. 

Before he left, you had met one last time in San Diego; his bags packed and dressed in the same khaki uniform he had worn the first night you saw him at The Hard Deck. 

"I didn't know aircraft carriers had mailing addresses," you said in wonderment as he handed you a slip of paper containing details of his carrier, squadron, rank and a San Francisco address in neat script.

"It's more of a forwarding service," he explained. "Anything sent there will get to me...eventually. Just be aware that they may, uh, read everything you send."

You smiled at the blush rising on Bob's cheeks as he talked about the prospect of their private correspondences being read by strangers at the post office. 

"So no snail mail sexting is what you're telling me?" you joked.

Bob laughed and grew impossibly redder. "I don't think they care so much about what my girlfriend has to say to me as they do about security threats but...yeah. They may still read it."

You swallowed and looked up at him with a quirked brow. "Your girlfriend?"

Bob looked back, eyes blown wide in panic. "Sorry...I just thought...you know, the way things were going," he raked his hand through his hair. "I probably should have asked you if that was the case-"

You pulled him down into a kiss to put him out of his misery. He sighed in relief against your lips. 

"Now I can finally tell all the mean girls in 4th period math that Robbie Floyd is actually my boyfriend without it being a lie," you said with a cheeky smile as he pressed his forehead against yours.

While you were elated to know that you and Bob had finally made your relationship official, your joy quickly subsided into an uneasy wistfulness. You hated to see him go. It brought back heartsick memories of crawling to the back window of your mom's minivan, waving at your best friend as he chased you down the street as fast as his legs could take him, until you disappeared around the bend following your dad's U-Haul. You wouldn't see each other again for 17 years. 

The day after Bob's carrier had departed from North Island your mood had matched the gloom of the marine layer that settled over San Diego. Your last message to him on your phone remained unseen. He was officially off-the-grid, your only comfort being a handwritten address to San Francisco. 

You had felt a bit silly sitting down to handwrite your first letter. You hadn't written a personal correspondence via snail mail since your parents made you send letters to Santa Claus at the North Pole. Mailing something to an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean seemed just as whimsical and preposterous. Would he ever read it or, like your letters to the North Pole, would you be sending this letter for your own sake? You had to believe he would, so you took to the task with just as much sincerity as your childhood wish lists.

Lieutenant Floyd, I should have sent this letter 17 years ago, but at least now you finally have proof to show your friends confirming that you have a girlfriend... 

Even though you were more than certain Bob held a deep affection for you, you were still hesitant at this early stage in your relationship; more so now that he was going to be gone for months. You didn't want to wax poetic about your feelings for him, nor did you want to go full pornographic by divulging everything you wished you had done with him before he left. Instead, you approached the letter as though he were just beside you, a form of pillow talk that he could enjoy during his rare moments of downtime, sitting in his officer's berth just below the flight deck.  

You told him how the weather had turned as soon as he left, how Emily had tried to talk you into going to The Hard Deck again (something you were in no way interested in doing without him being there). You told him about how your mom asks how he is fairing more often than she does her own daughters. You updated him on the shows he is missing that you will need to binge together; the latest shitty Hallmark movie with terrible acting you will force him to watch. You confessed that San Diego wasn't the same without him and that you hoped to get a letter from him soon. 

You had frowned as you came to the end of the letter, unsure how to sign off. Your pen hovered over the paper before quickly inscribing Love, and your name. You folded and sealed the letter in an envelope before you could overthink your words and the next day you had popped it into the nearest mailbox, next stop San Francisco.

Weeks went by before his first letter arrived, dingy and banged up as though it went through a war zone. Forwarded to Dr. Y/L/N and your home address. 

In classic Bob style, he was polite and eager in his letter, thanking you for writing to him, expressing how he had hoped to get something from you at every Mail Call, confessing how he was missing you too. He wrote in deliberately vague details about his work and in explicit minutiae on the sophomoric antics of his shipmates. He told you about how long it had taken him to get used to sleeping on a carrier again, to the sound of the catapult and Growlers landing just over his stateroom. He refused in advance to watch the Hallmark movie you suggested (a toothless claim if you ever read one). He explained how it was possible to still feel lonely when you were in close quarters with over six-thousand people. He couldn't wait to get back to San Diego. 

At the bottom of the page, he had signed off Love, Robbie. 

Each subsequent letter was more substantial than the last as though you were both working through your hesitancy - unsure of how much enthusiasm and candidness you could unload on the other without crossing into the territory of a Stage 5 Clinger. By the third letter, Bob had apparently thrown caution to the wind and you marveled at the thick weight of the envelope which you could only assume contained more than just notebook paper. 

Despite Emily's protestations, you set the most recent letter aside in your room to read when you got home from work. The letters deserved to be treated better than a common text for immediate consumption. Half the excitement was waiting until the end of the day, theorizing for hours on what he may have written about or what was included in the envelope that had come from a ship halfway around the world. Your workload at the office always suffered from your daydreams on the days you knew you had a letter waiting at home. 

That night you grabbed a quick dinner, poured yourself a glass of wine and kicked the door to your bedroom closed with a buzz of anticipation. How a long-distance relationship with such sporadic contact still managed to bring you so much happiness was something you might never fully understand, but you knew it had more than a little to do with the comfort of knowing Bob was out there somewhere and he was thinking of you...a lot apparently, if this latest letter was any indication.   

You set your glass on the nightstand and finally tore the envelope open, unfolding Bob's thick letter and releasing a small stack of photographs that fell onto your lap. 

Setting the letter aside for a moment you picked up the photos to inspect them. A smile spread across your face as you looked at the image of you and Bob at no more than eight years old, sitting on the swing set that his father had assembled in their backyard. You chuckled at your gap-toothed grins and the glasses that were too big for Bob's face even back then. The next photo was from Halloween a few years later, each of you in a silly costume and a pillowcase full of candy, with neat cursive on the back confirming Halloween 2000. 

Photo after photo displayed little snippets of your childhood, some you remembered being taken as clearly as if it had been yesterday and others unearthed long forgotten memories of your life on that quiet street. You laughed aloud at a photo of you and Bob smiling innocently with a bucket of water balloons while a soaked Emily sobbed just out of focus behind you. 

"Okay, I need to know what he wrote that's making you laugh so much," Emily's voice came from just outside your bedroom door.

"Come in," you said. "You need to see these."

Emily entered your room and flopped on the bed beside you. You handed her the photographs and turned your attention to Bob's letter. 

"No way," she said in wonderment. "Where did he find these?"

As soon as I told my mom I had run into you a few months ago and we were hanging out she went digging in our attic to find these pictures. She mailed to me on the carrier a few weeks ago. I thought you'd like to see them too. I got a good laugh out of some of them. 

"His mom found them and sent them on to him," you explained as you continued reading his letter.

"He had his mom dig out all these old photos of the two of you?"

"I don't think he made her, but she did."

"And he sent them to you..."

"That's what was in with this letter," you replied.

Emily propped herself up on her elbow and looked at you directly. "Girl," she exhaled. "This man is in love with you."

A blush bloomed on your face, and you found yourself at a loss. You didn't want to brush off her words or deny her theory, but you felt more than a bit overwhelmed. You were certain no one had ever been in love with you before, much less someone of the caliber of Bob. You weren't quite sure whether you were ready to admit that love may be a part of this equation. 

"Like, normally I'd have my doubts because he's on an aircraft carrier with thousands of dudes and of course that could make some men mushy and desperate-"

"There's women on carriers now," you pointed out.

"Yeah, like two," she rolled her eyes. "I doubt many guys on that ship are sending literal hand-written dissertations to their childhood sweethearts every few weeks. Much less ones they haven't even slept with yet." 

You sighed. You felt lucky and elated, but you also wanted Bob to come back. There was a staggering itch of unfinished business between the two of you that these letters were doing little to scratch. If anything, they made it more urgent. 

"If you don't fuck his brains out the instant-"

"Stop!" you laughed, smacking Emily with the nearest throw pillow. 

"I'm serious!" she laughed in turn, blocking the pillow assault with her forearm. "All these letters and being on a carrier for months, he'll probably propose immediately after he cu- Ow! And I'll have to look for a new roommate!"

Emily rolled away, still giggling from your attack. You tempered your own laugher as you picked up his letter again.

"Well, you have a few months to plan for that," you lamented. "He's not going to be back anytime soon."

"More time to build the sexual tension," she sniggered. "Not that you need any more of that..."

You kicked Emily out to read the remainder of Bob's letter in peace. Despite what your sister had claimed, there were no exuberant professions of love in his words, but you had to admit the sentiment was there, nonetheless. He was not writing to just an old friend. These were love letters even if the only time the actual word appeared was just prior to his name at the end of his last page.   

Your wine finished and Bob's letters re-read from front to back for the nth time, you sat down to begin penning your next correspondence. You felt emboldened by Emily's foresight (and the wine, most likely) and wanted to nail down the plans for Bob's return. You wanted to meet him pier-side on North Island. It was an intimate request, something usually reserved for family, but if what Emily suspected was true, it wouldn't be too outlandish. At least you hoped Bob would welcome the offer.

Like your first letter, you stuffed and sealed the envelope before you could second-guess yourself. Bob may very well be in love with you, but you couldn't be one-hundred percent certain, not until he had returned, and you could see where your relationship lead. The only acute certainty you had was that you were unflinchingly, positively stupidly, head over heels in love with Bob. 

Tag List:

@tipsykeen

@user428379isswag

@matterdontminduntildone

@stiles24

@idkeithersstuff

@torus-flatass

@analliedumpling

@straightforwardly

@dilfsandtherapy

@earth-to-lottie

@roosterschanelslut

@airedale17

@milesrooster

@feireads

@luckyladycreator2

@ivyvlair

@turningtoclown

@lass-that-is-gone

@iangiemae

@playswithsquirrellls

#robert bob floyd #bob top gun #bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanfic #lewis pullman

[autismsupermusicalassassin]

Moonlight 🌙

Moon boys x fem reader

Plot: your name is Zed Goodmen Or is it Emmy Brendan or Camilla Martian , your are a daughter of a super hero known as the Moon Knight alongside your twin brother Icarus. After the death of your mother the moon knight , you accepted the role for Artemis the moon goddess as her champion as her moon light (moon knight) or as Emmy mrs. knight. Months after you were chasing the a Greek monster that was summoned by Circe and accidentally transported to a different universe where the Egyptian moon god Khonsu instantly dislike you due to some feud with Artemis, but his avatar the moon knight instantly find you …..stunning . Will you return to your world or you’ll be stuck in this universe forever?

p.s.: you are undisogues of ether MPD or ASSD (the sister to DID)

Warning:( meation of rape, DC comics and Marvel charthers, In accurate depiction of DID and such, Medtation of death , blood, aduse )

Prologue:

Greece many centuries ago,  Artemis the goddess of the hunt, wildlife and the moon, mourns and was not angry at her hunters but she was mad at her half sibling Athena for turning Medusa a rape victim of Poseidon to a monster and other woman and children that were harm by mortals, the worst is the mother of three girls was beaten while she fought off her abuser, hearing the woman's prayers she granted her to live again and become not just her champion, but the one to be name Moon Knight , since then years later from mother to child they take on the mantle of the Moon Knight. while the Gods didn’t respect her champion so she banish herself in her own temple for centuries.  1992, a  archaeologist Mariana Cruz Spector( also known for being the step cousin to Marc and Randall Spector ) was with her friend and partner June Moon (later the Entrances) in Greece where she got poison by a viper near the temple , Mariana was dying in the temple of Artemis where Goddess gave her became her MOON KNIGHT, giving her godly healing, flight, weapons, becoming her champion. During Mariana years as the Moon knight , she fought Wonder woman, fought monster that harm the innocent, killing the evils of  and outsmart Batman. But then she Fallen in love with a man name Robert Brendan and to Artemis Surprise given birth to you Emmy and your twin brother Icarus. Due to knowing what will happen Mariana fear that one of their children will become moon knight, when at the age of 5 you suffer verbal and mental abuse  from you step grandfather and your father’s father  after the death of your father in the car accident, At 7 you were force to be separated  from your brother by your mother due to the fear if anything happen  and the moon goddess was banish and became your pendant unknowing. Years past Emmy now as Zed Goodman  an american graffiti artist/ mythology nerd reunited with your brother and fallowing death of your mother when battling a cult followers of The Titan MENOETIUS after freeing Artemis you Became The New MOON KNIGHT or better yet MOON LIGHT when your zed and when your Emmy MS. Knight. After defeating them along with your brother and his friend Greg , you balance your  school life and superhero life when Emmy and Zed met your other personality or alter Camilla Martian, a protector, seductive to her at least, English lantia ,person who isn’t afraid to kill anybody in order to protect you or if it’s necessary . You  and your other personality or Alters are working together to protector of  people of the night and no one in anyway take your title.....expect one adventure may change her view on being the only moon knight , and now let the story began...... 

 A/N: Are you gals ready ?

#moon boys #moon knight #marc spector x fem!reader #steven grant x female reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #moon knight x fem!reader #moonlight #khonsu #artemis

[mayhem24-7forever]

👀, 🤡, 🎶, 💖, 💞, 🤩

hello love! thank you for sending these so i have something to do on this drive!

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I’m usually so nervous to tease wips like this because I have a history of promising things that I never finish but I have been adding a little to the next chapter of what I have nicknamed the “Potato Flag saga” AKA my Adrian Chase x Flag!reader series Lose You Too. This next chapter is when shit really hits the fan as y/n learns who killed Rick… 👀👀

🤡 What’s a line, scene or exchange that you’ve written that has made you laugh?

I actually tend to go back and forth thinking that this is funny or thinking it’s cringy and wanting to scrub it from the internet but rn i like it. It’s the entire Brie and Brad exchange in No Stressing, Just Obsessing (x) bc I just really loved writing such a chaotic sibling relationship with annoyed but begrudgingly protective older brother with sarcastic little shit younger sister.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on a loop?

I have specific character playlists for each character I write. Recently I was working on a Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson fic and so I was listening to Need You Tonight by INXS (because it’s what I named the fic after), Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler (because it is sooooo Steve Harrington coded fr) and 18 by Anarbor (because it reminds me of Eddie) a lot!

💖 What made you start writing?

The original fandom I wrote for (the HBO war fandom) was just so small that if I needed to write or I wasn’t gonna have a lot to read. Now I do it because it’s a great way of making my maladaptive daydreams actually productive and worth something.

💞 Who’s your comfort character?

This changes all the time because I think I have undiagnosed ADHD and jump from obsession to obsession at an alarming pace but probably Steve Harrington from Stranger Things or Robert “Bob” Floyd from Top Gun: Maverick bc they just make me feel safe and happy and I keep coming back to them time and time again.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Honestly probably Bob from Top Gun: Maverick. He has just enough canon information to get a real sense for his personality but also so much that’s unknown bc he was a relatively small character so I have a lot of room to play around with headcanons and stuff.

Thank you for the ask my love! 💕 I was thoroughly entertained for a long time on this car ride 😂

[runnning-outof-time]

Unrequited | John Shelby x Reader

Request: no

Pairing: John Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) stuck around to help her late friend's partner out with his four kids when she realized that he was in over his head. She finds herself spending a lot of time with his kids, and with him as well. But she doesn't see him in that way.

Warnings: drinking, mentions of minor character death

Word Count: 2633

A/N: bit of a sad one this time...please don’t hate me for it haha. I hope you still enjoy it!!

———

"Let's go, you two, your siblings are waiting for you back home and they can't be trusted in the house alone for too long!" (Y/N) called to the boy and the girl who were chasing each other around the school yard. "Katie and Robert Shelby!" she yelled their names out, making the two freeze and look in her direction. She then waved them to her and they listened, running over to her. "Let's go home," she said after taking one under each arm.

The trio began to walk to their house and (Y/N) listened with a smile as each of them spoke about their days. Soon enough, they were approaching Watery Lane. The kids both immediately ran upstairs as they entered the home, and (Y/N)'s eyes immediately fell on Eleanor, the girl who was just growing out of her toddler stage, and Matthew. He was the oldest of the four siblings and had come home from school a bit earlier than the other two, which was good because he was able to keep an eye on his kid sister while (Y/N) went to retrieve his other siblings. After all, his dad was nowhere to be found. That was rather normal though.

"Matthew, can you please go make sure that Katie and Robert start on their homework?" (Y/N) asked the eldest child, who nodded, lifting himself off the floor and leaving Eleanor playing with her toy. The woman sighed then, swiping the fallen hairs off of her forehead before she moved to the cupboards, looking for something to make these children for dinner.

Oftentimes she didn't know why she was here. Her best friend from childhood, Martha, had died some months ago, and yet she stuck around. Stuck around to help out with the kids her friend had left behind every chance she got. Maybe it was because she knew that Martha's husband, John, was no good at the family aspect of life, and the kids were often left to fend for themselves when he was out and about doing lord knows what with his family members. (Y/N) thought that these kids deserved to have a mother figure in their lives, and she had every intention of being it until she couldn't anymore.

She was busy stirring the pot of soup she had put together when the door to the home opened up and John Shelby walked through it. "Daddy!" Katie exclaimed as she jumped up from where she was sitting to go greet her father.

"Hello, Katie! How are you doing today, sweetheart?" he asked, hugging her tightly. It made (Y/N)'s heart hurt slightly. It was now nighttime, and this was the first time that he was seeing his children today. But he wasn't a terrible father...he just lived a life that wasn't suited for kids.

"I lost a tooth today, daddy," Katie beamed, showing him where her front tooth was now missing.

"You did?" John asked as he looked over to (Y/N) then, sending a smile to acknowledge her presence.

"Yeah...Robert was the one who knocked it out," (Y/N) started, nodding towards the boy, who was a year older than Katie. "They were rough-housing on the couch. He knocked her off and the tooth went flying," she then explained to him how it happened.

"I said I was sorry, dad," Robert spoke up, a slight pout on his face.

"He did, John," (Y/N) assured him before he was able to go into any discipline, "I spoke to him too about shoving his sister off of the couch," she the gave the boy a pointed glare, making him look down at the table in a guilty way.

It was announced then that the soup was finished, and all of the kids sat at the table with a bowl in front of them, quickly eating their food and telling (Y/N) how good it was. After dinner, the kids had all gotten cleaned up and put to bed, and (Y/N) was now left to clean up the table. John helped her, like he usually did. He said it's the least that he could do since she's been helping him so much. The two sat down on the couch in the living area after everything was finished.

"Something on your mind, John?" (Y/N) questioned, peering over at him. He had been staring at the wall for the last five minutes and seemed to be deep in thought.

"I just can't stop thinking about her, is all," he responded, a sigh falling from his lips after his words. (Y/N) gave him a knowing glance. A lot of the nights she spent at the Shelby household would end like this. She acted as a springboard for him to throw his emotions at, knowing that there really wasn't any other person in his family that was looking out for him like that.

"It's tough, I know," she nodded her head, trying to give him some solace. She was shit in these situations. Never knew what to say. She hoped that she was doing enough in just letting him get whatever it was off of his chest.

"Like I can't stop feeling like I'm failing me own kids. Like I'm not doing enough to honor her and keep her memory alive," he continued, (Y/N) nodding along with him as he spoke.

"You're not failing them, John. They understand that you've got to work, that you provide for them. And you're absolutely doing enough to honor her. You tell them stories about her almost daily. They still have her picture. What more can you do?" she told him, hoping some of her words would stick in his mind. This was surely tough on him. He was a single father who had four young kids, and had just returned home from war a little over a year ago. He didn't expect to be in this position. He thought he'd have Martha by his side.

She sent him a sad smile as he nodded and looked at her, his eyes showing that he was trying hard not to let the floodgates break. She never understood men and their hesitancy to show emotion. "Come here, John," she said softly, opening his arms for him then. He leaned to the side and accepted her hug, resting his head in the crook of her neck as she held him tightly. "It's ok to cry, ya know," she reminded him, rubbing his back.

"How do you do it, (Y/N)?" he asked after some time had passed. She furrowed her brows at his vague statement, letting him pull away to look at her with a sniffle. He had no problem with crying in front of her, and she was happy to see that.

"Do what?" she asked for more detail, leaning in slightly as she awaited his response.

"Come here almost every day. Help raise these kids like they're your own. Deal with me and my antics. Doesn't it..." he trailed off, letting out a sigh then, "wouldn't you want to be as far away from us as possible? Doesn't it remind you too much of her?"

"I come here because I know that Martha would do the exact same for me if the positions were switched. Your kids remind me of her. Remind me that there's still pieces and traces of her left on this Earth. I do it because I know that she'd want me to help you," she told him, her eyes not straying from his so that he could see she was being honest. "Do you not want me here?" she dared to ask then, hoping that it wouldn't be the case. She wouldn't know what to do without these four crazy kiddos.

"No. No, I'm happy you're here. I just...I don't know how you do it," he was quick to shoot down her statement, laughing slightly as he finished his own.

"I guess we all grieve in our own ways," she said then, sending him a small smile, "you'll get through it, John. I know you will," she assured him, her smile growing as he sent her one of his own.

——

"Robert! You are not finished with this math work! Please come down here now!" (Y/N) called to the stubborn child who had stormed off because he was getting frustrated with the concept of addition.

"I'm too stupid for it!" the child yelled from upstairs, making (Y/N) sigh and stand from her chair. He was just like his father. The second he shut down and stormed off, it would take an army to pull him back into what he was previously doing. "You ladies stay right here and keep coloring. You're doing a lovely job," she smiled as she spoke to Katie and Eleanor before smoothing out her skirt and going to the stairs.

"Can you please come back down?" (Y/N) questioned softly as she stepped through the open door to Robert's room. He was on the floor, playing with a small wooden horse that one of his uncles had given to him.

"I don't know why I have to do math. It's stupid," he pouted, glaring at the floor.

"It may be stupid now, but you're gonna need math when you grow up. So that maybe you could become an accountant, or a banker," she tried to talk some sense to him, sitting down on the edge of his bed as he spoke.

"Or a bookmaker, like my daddy," he turned to look at her, a grin spread across his face.

(Y/N) sighed but couldn't help but smile slightly. He did have a point. "Yes, or a bookmaker like your dad," she agreed with him, "do you think that he skipped out on his math homework?" she asked him then, hoping that the question wouldn't become a slippery slope into John's other dealings. She didn't know how much his kids did or didn't know about their father.

"No, he probably didn't," Robert gave a defeated sigh, dropping the horse as he stood up from the floor.

"You'll come back down?" the woman asked, hope in her eyes.

"Only if you'll help me, (Y/N)," the child wagered, making her smile.

"Of course I'll help you. Now come on. Let's get this done before your daddy gets home," she said to him, taking hold of his hand as the two walked down the steps and back to the table.

—

The kids were changed and in bed, the table, counter, and stove had been cleaned, and (Y/N) had even managed to fold the laundry that she noticed John had been putting off on doing. She knew she shouldn't have made the agreement on her washing and him folding, because it just ended with everyone having wrinkly clothes. Speaking of John, he hadn't come home yet. It was getting late, and (Y/N) couldn't remember him saying that he'd be out for any particular reason. So she decided to sit at the table and wait, hoping that she wouldn't be there all night.

It was about a quarter to midnight when the door finally opened and John came stumbling in. It didn't take much for (Y/N) to see that he was drunk, and she stood from her chair with a sigh, ready to help him in any way possible. "Are you alright, John?" she decided to ask him, slowly moving over in his direction so that she wouldn't startle him.

"Yes. Just had some drinks," he responded, surprisingly not slurring his words. Maybe he wasn't as drunk as he looked to be.

"I can see that," (Y/N) responded with a slight laugh, reaching out her arm for him then. He wasted no time in taking it, draping his own arm over her shoulders and making her slouch slightly at the transfer of his weight. She then helped him over to the couch, making sure he was sitting properly before she stood up straight. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water?" he responded like it was a question, but the woman only nodded, moving over to grab a glass and fill it from the sink. "Thanks," he said to her, accepting the glass as she handed it over to him. He then set it down on the table in front of him and turned to look over at the woman sitting to his left. "Thanks, (Y/N), really," he nodded then, unable to stop himself from slouching in her direction, his head going to rest against her shoulder.

(Y/N) tried so hard not to freeze up under his weight. They had sat closely like this countless times before. Why was she feeling so rigid under his touch now? "You're welcome, John," she answered, patting his thigh softly. "The kids are all up in bed," she told him then.

"Thanks," he whispered, lifting his head from her shoulder, making her turn to look at him. Their faces were close, and (Y/N) could really only watch as his gaze flicked down to her lips before he was moving in and pressing his against them. She tasted the booze he'd been drinking on his lips for the slight moment that they were against hers before she pulled back.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," she remarked, even though she wasn't the person who had initiated the kiss.

"It did though," was all John was able to say, his eyeline still jumping between her eyes and her lips.

"Why?" was all she could say at first. "Why did it happen?"

"Because I...I like you, (Y/N)," he admitted, his voice just above a whisper.

If this was anyone else, (Y/N) would have been swooning. But John Shelby was sitting in front of her. John Shelby, the husband of her late best friend, Martha. The father of her four children. She couldn't ever see him in that light, no matter how hard she tried. "No, John. I think you like the thought of me," she said then, "you like that I'm around, for both you and your kids. You like that I spend time with you, that I listen to you and that you have someone who you can share your stresses with."

"N-no..."

"Think about it," she cut him off, not wanting him to entertain the idea for a moment longer. She hated to be brash like this, but she couldn't ever see herself being with him in a romantic way.

"Please don't leave me now, (Y/N)," he begged her when he realized that she didn't feel the same.

"I won't ever leave you, John. You and these kids mean so much to me. I just won't ever see you in that light. You meant too much to Martha for me to do that to her now that she's passed," she told him, reminding him to keep his late wife in mind. "I'll be in your life, helping you, for as long as you let me be," she assured him.

Not knowing what to say in response, John leaned forward and opened his arms to her. She closed the rest of the space and fell into them, a slight smile on her face. "I'm fine with that, (Y/N)," he admitted then. His voice was soft, but she still heard his words clearly. "Thank you," he told her, kissing her hair then. The love that they had was clearly still there, even though it was unrequited in the way that John had originally intended. He couldn't be mad at her though. He didn't know what he would do without her in his life, and he intended to keep her in it for as long as he could.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts

Masterlist

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x y/n #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[bobbimorses]

wanda & pietro maximoff’s ethnicity (+magneto’s) & race in comics: a timeline

lately, i’ve been seeing some confusion and misinformation concerning wanda and pietro’s ethnicity, so i’ve tried to make a condensed timeline of their “shifting”/”evolving” parentage and ethnicity citing canonical sources and with accompanying panels. mostly so you know what isn’t new and has been lore for decades. since magneto was half their parentage most of the time (more on that later), some panels center on his ethnicity [he’ll be referred to as magneto for simplicity’s sake bc of his various aliases].

tldr; they were introduced as “vaguely european,” then “unknown but adopted by romani,” then half ashkenazi jewish, then half romani and half ashkenazi, then fully romani, then half ashkenazi and romani again, and are currently fully romani (retcon of a retcon pending)

x-men #4 (1964)

in wanda and pietro’s first ever appearance, they’re from "the heart of europe,” where they were being chased by an angry mob. no additional info.

avengers #31 (1966)

after some avengering, they return to their home village, now said to be in the balkans, and so they’re from southeastern europe. a few issues later, they reveal they were born on “wundagore mountain,” and this village ends up being “transia,” which is a whole country within marvel.

giant-size avengers #1 (1974)

wanda encounters the ww2 hero the whizzer (yes. really.), real name robert frank. he says that he and his pregnant wife, miss america (madeline joyce), had traveled to wundagore mountain for her labor. madeline died in childbirth and the whizzer (yes! really!) ran away in grief, leaving the newborns that were presented to him. wanda thinks he must be her father. since robert frank and madeline joyce are presumably anglo-americans, her ethnicity could have been presumed the same (anglo-ish). it’s still not revealed who raised the maximoffs

avengers #186 (1979)

wanda and pietro learn more of their origin from bova, the evolved cow (roll with it) who was midwife to their real biological mother, magda, who fled shortly after their birth.

the whizzer and miss america were really their intended adoptive parents, because the franks’ baby, unbeknownst to them, was stillborn.

instead, wanda and pietro were placed into the care of a romani couple, django and marya maximoff. at this point, wanda and pietro’s ethnicity remains a mystery (as magda’s is not yet specified and their biological father wasn’t disclosed), but their adoptive parents are a romani couple and they were raised within the romani community.

uncanny x-men #125 (1979)

magneto reveals he had a wife named magda, who readers know gave birth to pietro and wanda, but magneto doesn’t. dramatic irony, baby

uncanny x-men #150 (1981)

this issue introduces magneto’s origin as a survivor of the holocaust (18 years after his first comic appearance). based on several subsequent issues, it seemed clear that writer chris claremont intended for magneto to be ashkenazi jewish, and so most readers assumed he was.

in uncanny x-men #161 (1982) [left], a flashback shows magneto first met xavier while volunteering in israel, and he attends a holocaust remembrance event with kitty pryde (also jewish) in uncanny x-men #199 (1985) [right]:

and, in similar language to the #199 panel, this statement in uncanny x-men #211 (1986) also implies he is jewish:

these are but a few of several examples. however, i suppose it’s never explicitly stated. this will be important later.

vision and the scarlet witch #4 (1983)

magneto says he IS the father (which he learned from local evolved cow, bova). hooray! magda had fled from magneto, who didn’t know she was pregnant, after he killed a mob (responsible for their daughter anya’s death) with his newfound powers. under the assumption that magneto is ashkenazi jewish, this makes wanda and pietro ethnically half ashkenazi jewish

vision and the scarlet witch v2 #5 (1985)

magda is confirmed to be romani (in this unfortunate 80s manner), meaning wanda and pietro are half romani from their mother’s side, and half ashkenazi jewish from their father’s

x-men unlimited #2 (1993)

though readers thought he was jewish before, magneto is revealed to be sinti, a romani tribe in central europe. [supposedly, this is because magneto was being set up as a villain again and marvel feared anti-semitic implications if he were explicitly jewish.] this would make wanda and pietro fully romani.

x-men v2 #72 (1998)

it’s revealed that “erik lensherr,” thought to be magneto’s real name, was in fact an alias, and presumably he wasn’t sinti but needed to have an identity as one to track magda (still sinti!) down. again, he still isn’t explicitly stated to be ashkenazi jewish, but 2 years later the x-men movie comes out. that, of course, opens with young magneto in auschwitz, so now Everyone presumes he’s jewish. which, surprisingly, is only explicitly stated for the first time in x-men: magneto testament in 2008. so wanda and pietro are again half romani (sinti) and half ashkenazi jewish.

this would be the status quo until...

avengers & x-men: axis #7 (2015)

magneto is retconned to be NOT the father. wanda and pietro are retconned to NOT be mutants. is it because marvel comics was trying to separate fox-owned x-men properties from the mcu-owned properties since they were both trying to use the maximoffs? we can’t say for sure--yes. yes it was.

scarlet witch v2 #4 (2016)

wanda and pietro’s NEW real biological mother is revealed to be natalya maximoff, sister to django maximoff, thus making wanda and pietro’s adoptive parents their biological uncle and aunt. their new biological father isn’t revealed, but marvel has said that they’re now fully romani (again), so he must be too? they are also now from serbia, so presumably natalya isn’t sinti like magda.

will this retcon be undone and magneto restored as wanda and pietro’s father since that was their backstory for 36 years? who knows! if so, they will be half ashkenazi jewish and half romani again. right now, they’re fully romani, which they incidentally already were before. comics!

#meta #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #scarlet witch #quicksilver #magneto #erik lensherr #magda #natalya maximoff #long post #this post took a deceptively long time #i can't believe the retcon was 6 years ago #it seems like only yesterday we were all ignoring it...because we were #dadneto again when #x men #just noticed i said marya was their bioaunt #as opposed to django as biouncle and marya married #oops. rip to all the reblogged versions

[ladyviserra]

Not the Same | Robert Baratheon

Pairing: Robert Baratheon x Female!Reader

Summary: Your family visits King's Landing, and you finally reunite with a man who once held your heart.

Warnings: None.

A/n: I found this gif and got an idea.

You grew up close to Vale. Your father has been a bannerman for Jon Arryn. So it meant you grew up close to Eddard Stark and one and only Robert Baratheon.

Now King Robert who once had your heart and seemingly took it to the battle with him. A battle for another woman. It hurt you more than it should as you were close to him, but never as close as his betrothal was.

Not only was she the woman he loved, but she was also the sister of Eddard Stark, Robert's most trusting friend. To you, she was nothing special and yet the whole of Westeros fell to war because of her.

That was your thinking before, but then you weren't as mature as you grew to be, now same like the King you had a family of your own. A husband with who you weren't in love, but had a happy marriage.

You would forget about your moments together if it did come to a day you would meet the King face to face. It was only your husband who was needed however he didn't wish to take only his children and leave his wife alone.

Your children, a boy and two girls loved the King's Landing and found it interesting and different from their home.

Your son was a year older than the prince. You were always proud of him as he was already at his age a great fighter. Reminding you of Robert. There was never a suspicion of your son being Robert's. Sharing his look with your husband yet sometimes you wish he was.

A little part of you wanted to go back to a time where Robert would chase you around for attention, wanting to get as close to you as possible. Kissing your reddish cheeks. You were so close that your father feared you will become pregnant with Robert's child. It never came that far thought.

You didn't just want to be a number. Your confident self wanted to be one and only which you have been to your husband as much as you knew of it.

The moment you saw him, your once beloved Robert you stared in shock. He changed, a lot by the looks of it. You weren’t shocked that losing Lyanna would make him change so much. Yes, he was always a bit tempered and all, but this was very different then you imagined he would be.

He didn't recognize you either, perhaps you have changed a lot too or you were just not important enough for him to remember you.

You didn't stick around for too long and you thought it was for the best. No need to make all the memories come back and become even more painful as they were all playing pretend. No of them will be the same anymore. It is the same that the Robert who held you, heart, doesn't exist anymore. Or maybe it's just a girl whose heart he won didn't know him that well.

#robert baratheon #robert baratheon x reader #robert baratheon x you #henry cavill #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones

[plentyoffandoms]

My Type of Dame (Part 4)

Michael Gray x f/Reader

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: Some swearing.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me.

AU: John is alive because I want him to be.

Main Masterlist ♡ Peaky Blinders Masterlist ♡ My Type of Dame Masterlist ♡ Michael Gray Masterlist

Summary: Michael falls for F/Reader even though he believes they are nothing alike. How wrong can one man be?

Michael Gray's POV:

"Like I said, I'm not going to end anything. I like her too much."

"Good, and here she comes.... Having a good time Y/N?"

"A wonderful time Thomas. Want to dance with me Michael?" She asked with a pretty smile on her face.

"I would love to dance with you beautiful." I held my hand out for her to take and the two of us spent the rest of the night dancing.

Y/N and I have been going strong for months now. We try to spend as much time as we can together, but most of the time I am going to her place.

The children I have gotten to know very well. I have even been learning sign language from Anne so I can communicate with her sister Rebecca.

"Off to Y/N's again Michael?" My mum asked.

"Yeah, it is Rebecca's birthday and Y/N is throwing her a birthday party and I told the children I would be there."

"Those children have you wrapped around their fingers." My mom said with a smile on her face as she lit her cigarette.

"I have gotten to know them yes. A few of the older boys want to be Peaky Blinders but told them that they would have to talk to Tommy about that."

"And how does Y/N feel about that?"

"She told me that it is up to them as they are old enough. That she knows that they will be doing some honest work along with illegal work. No different than what she does." I said to her as I put on my jacket.

"I would say marry that woman but I am pretty sure you plan on it."

"Still a bit too early in the relationship Mum."

"I know but I am just saying you have my blessing."

I shook my head at the crazy woman who I call my mother. Finn came barrelling into the house wondering if I was ready to go.

He was coming along with me. Him and one of the older girls named Lottie have started to date. She turns 18 next month and she is just about ready to move out.

From what I have been told by Y/N is that Lottie will be moving in with Finn and I know she as gotten a job at the library.

Before we left I looked at Finn and asked him if he remembered how to sign happy birthday.

Anne taught me and taught Finn once he told me he would be coming with me today.

He showed me quickly and I was glad to see he got it right.

We got in the automobile and drove the familiar drive that I have come to memorise.

The birthday party was in full swing by the time we got there. Finn and I both signed hi the birthday girl Rebecca and gave her a hug.

She was opening gifts as she was handed them because if she did it after cake, we would be there all day.

Y/N will take a group of children with her for a few days to go to the toy store and clothing stores for them to each buy one gift for the birthday boy or girl.

"Michael!" I heard my name being called. I saw that it was Y/N and I walked towards her and pulled her into my arms for a kiss.

The children made noises around us but I did not care. I never cared, I just smiled.

"Sorry about running late."

"No worries Michael, we are just glad you are here."

The party went on for a few more hours. Rebecca's eyes lit up once we all signed Happy birthday to her. She can read lips but she was just excited that we took the time to learn this for her.

Slowly the party ended. The maids cleaned up as the children went to bed, their bellies filled with cake and ice cream.

Lottie, Finn, Y/N and myself were sitting down after being our feet chasing after the younger ones all day, when Allan, Robert and a few more of their gang came into the house.

Mary the maid was right behind them, trying to get them to be quiet.

"What is going on Allan?" Y/N asked her cousin as her and stood. Finn had his arm wrapped around Lottie.

"The Welsh are coming Y/N. You got to go." Allan said.

I could see the panic on her face. "What about the children? I can't leave them here. They will kill them."

"Get them awake and tell them that we have to go, now!" Allan said. Mary ran out of the room and called for the other servents to help her get the children ready to go.

"Who is coming?" Finn asked.

"Alwyn and his men." Y/N said. I have heard that name, but we don't do business with him.

"Lottie, go help the others. Make sure no child is left behind." Lottie ran up the stairs with Finn close behind her.

"How long do we have?" I asked Robert. I noticed that Allan was ordering his men to stand guard over all the outside entrances.

"Only a few hours." I was told. I walked to the next room where the telephone was and called Tommy.

I explained to him what was going on and that we need to get the children out of here.

"We will be there soon." And he hung up the phone.

"Who did you call Michael?" Y/N asked, trying not to show her fear.

"Tommy, he will make sure that we will get the children to somewhere safe." I held her in my arms.

"Why is Alwyn coming here anyways?" I asked her as she pulled away to go up the stairs to her room.

She changed her clothes quickly and packed one bag. Margaret, another maid took her bag at put it by the front door.

"It is an old feud between our two families that has gone on for a few generations, I don't even know the whole story but every time he comes around, one of us dies."

She said as she was checking on the children. I noticed Finn was running back and forth with luggage and checking on the children.

"The last time we saw him, many of our men and his men died but his men got to the families of our men. They will kill any of us on sight."

I looked at the clock on the wall and realised that Tommy will be here at any moment, so I rushed down stairs and out the door.

Robert was watching over the front door. "The Peaky Blinders are coming to get the children and Y/N."

"Good. Good." He said. I could tell he was nervous but I didn't say anything.

I saw the lights from many automobiles coming down the drive way. Robert and his men had their guns pointed at them just in case.

Tommy got out of the first car. Robert and the other men put down their guns. "Thanks for coming Tommy." I said.

"Anything to get the children safe. They are coming to my house. I have plenty of space. Now let's get them loaded up."

For the next half an hour, each child, young and old were paired off and sent in groups with the Peaky Blinders to Tommy's place.

Y/N had a list with all their names and checked to make sure everyone was accounted for. She even tripled checked it to make sure.

Y/N even had her maids come in her automobile to Tommy's place. She didn't want anyone left behind.

Finn was long gone with Lottie and a few of the other kids.

Y/N and I drove with Tommy and Arthur. "Don't worry love, we have Tommy's place surrounded. No one gets in and no one gets out." Arthur said to her with a soft smile on his face.

"Get some sleep love. Nothing is going to happen to you or any of those kids." I said to her as I kissed her temple.

She leaned against me but didn't fall asleep, too worried about what could happen.

Part 5

Tag List: if you would like to be added, please let me know. @namelesslosers

#Michael gray #michael gray imagine #michael gray x you #michael gray x y/n #michael gray x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

#timothee chalamet #timothée chamalet #the king #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #henry v #king henry #king henry v #prince hal #prince henry #the king 2019 #imagines #hal #king henry v x reader #henry v x reader #timothe chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfic #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x smut

[my-proof-is-you]

I Wonder About You - Pt. 1

Request from @waywardsistersandpie​: 

“Hi Sam!

I was wondering if I could request a really angsty Dean x Reader One Shot based of this?

I Wonder About You

You can break

all of me

but for

Christ’s sake

do not touch

my hands.

Let them be,

for I need them

to hold you

through the night.

I need them

to keep you company

whenever you

feel

like running away

from it all. 

This is a beautiful piece by Robert M. Drake.”

 Summary: Is it possible to love with a broken heart?

How many times can the muscle be shattered and put back together?

How can it pump blood--keep you alive--when it’s held together with pieces of tape and rubber bands?

How can the person that stomps on it over and over also be the one that keeps it from turning to dust?

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Warnings: Angst

*I do not own pics or gifs

Masterlist | Tag Yourself!

“Dean, I swear to Chuck, if you do that again I am going to kill you.”

You could almost feel his smirk as he passed behind you again, grabbing a small section of your hair and tugging.

“That’s it!” You jumped up from your spot at the library table, chasing after him with your mind on revenge. 

One of Dean’s favorite pastimes was annoying the ever-loving shit out of you while you researched cases. He would always start out with good intentions--sitting at the table with you and reading until he was basically falling asleep. But it never lasted. He would get bored and try to find something to entertain him: walking around in his robe and messing with the Men of Letters stuff, fiddling with Baby, going to the gun range, or drinking. 

He usually landed on drinking, and when he did, he became a little pest intent on distracting you from your work.

Sam rolled his eyes as you shoved back from the table, accustomed to the antics of his brother and best friend. 

You chased Dean down the halls until he made a turn that you knew would lead to a dead end. He skidded to a halt at the end of the hall, realization dawning on him when he saw the closed door that he knew led to a supply closet. He slowly turned around, his eyes landing on you, standing behind him with your hands securely on your hips. 

“It’s the end of the line, Winchester,” you said in your best Spaghetti Western voice. 

“You think you have what it takes to go head to head with me, sweetheart?” he responded, taking a fighting stance. 

You felt a little thrill run through you at the sound of the nickname, but pushed it aside as you lunged at him. 

Though the eldest Winchester was tough and had almost a foot of height on you, you were one of the few people who knew his weakness: his ticklish belly. 

You tickled him with all your might while he flailed in an attempt to get away. He couldn’t help it, though. The laughter it caused was incapacitating for him. 

Pretty soon, he slid down to the floor, clutching his sides and trying weakly to push your hands away. 

“I...can’t...breathe,” he choked out between laughs. You lightened up a bit on your tickling, which turned out to be a mistake. 

In an instant, Dean grasped your wrists and flipped you over so he was hovering over you on the floor, your arms pinned above you. 

You were about to complain that he’d tricked you when you caught sight of his eyes. 

The mossy green of his eyes seemed to ignite as he looked into your wide y/e/c ones. Your heart sped up. 

You and Dean weren’t an item. Not that your relationship could really be considered “normal” for two people who were just friends. You were close. You had been for a long time. You’d become Dean’s crutch. Sure, he had his brother. He had his angel-best-friend. But Dean had his problems with them sometimes. He didn’t always like to be vulnerable around them. 

That’s where you came in. 

Ever since the night the two of you were on a hunt alone and you heard his breathing speed up from the adjacent motel bed, you’d been there for Dean at his worst. On that first night, when you crawled into his bed and just held him until the nightmares went away, you became his emotional crutch. 

Nothing sexual had ever happened. Not even a kiss. 

And while you were positive that you were in love with him, you were also sure that he saw you at most as a sister. 

So when he looked down at you with fire in his eyes, your stomach did a backflip. You were so close to everything you had wanted for years. 

You reached one of your hands up, Dean’s grip immediately loosening from your wrist. You grazed the stubble on his face with your fingers. You began to sit up a little, wanting his lips to finally meet yours. 

Fire turned to ice as a look of disgust crossed Dean’s features. He masked it quickly, but you saw it. He got up, clearing his throat and offering you a hand. 

You grabbed it, slightly shocked and numb with confusion. 

“Guess I win this time, Shrimp,” he said with a half-smile before turning on his heel and walking back down the hall. 

You didn’t respond, watching him walk away and feeling another shard of your heart fall deep into the pit in your stomach. 

He could never look at you the way you want him to.  

It didn’t matter, though. Maybe you were crazy. Maybe you were a glutton for punishment. Because you knew deep inside where you’d end up the next time you heard Dean screaming in the middle of the night:

Holding him in your arms.

Forevers:

@malfoysqueen14​ @divadinag​ @lynne1993​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @infj-slytherclaw​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @sammykb1994​ @lilulo-12​ @mellorine-paprika​ @tranquility-or-chaos​ @collette04​ @differentstudentrunaway-e70bf763 @hoboal87​ @bi-danvers0​ @miraclesoflove​ @defenderrosetyler​ @babypink224221​ @fabfan00 @calaofnoldor​ @beatifuldisaster018​ @olyamoriarty @satans-0-spawn​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @supernatural3002​ @lainxcas​ @mylovelydame21​ @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester​ @lovely-lynns-likes​ @ppeachygemss​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @isthataladybug @Emery-nichole-morrison

Deanies/Jensen:

@tftumblin​ @deans-baby-momma​ @akshi8278​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @playingdeep17​ @justanotherwinchester​ @flamencodiva​ @caligraphee​ @emma.penberthy.11 @jxackles​ @kalesrebellion​ @heavensangel45135​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @miufel​ @squirrelnotsam​ @lovely-lynns-likes​ @smokinserious​ @amotleyworld

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural family #supernatural imagine #SPN #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfic #SPN Family #spnfandom #supernatural fandom #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #dean x reader #angst #Supernatural angst #fluff

[mariesdeluluworld]

Nameless Fear (Jon Snow x Reader) Part 1

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙮

𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

"Father, what does this mean?" asked young Y/n Lannister. Her eyes were wide and full of curiosity. Lord Tywin Lannister looked over at his youngest, his calculating green eyes met her (e/c) eyes she got from her mother. Rumors were spread far and wide that Lord Lannister loved and favored his youngest out of all of his children.

"Father, what does this name mean?" Y/n asked once more, pointing her small index finger to the ink scribbled into her forearm. Tywin's eyes traveled to where his child was pointing at and his eyes widened at the name scribbled in her smooth skin. Memories of Joanna flooded his mind as he stared at the familiarity of this situation.

"Father?"

"Come here, Y/n," he commanded. Little Y/n walked across the stone floor to her father, her hair bouncing as she walked. Silence overlapped the two Lannisters, only the faint sound of crickets could be heard.

"Lend me your arm,"

Y/n did as she was told and let her father look at her arm. The pads of his fingers traced her skin, sending shivers up her spine.

"What is it?" she asked in a shy voice. Tywin met her eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "It's a soul mark." she furrowed her brows in confusion. "You don't know what a soul mark is?" questioned Tywin. Y/n nodded. "We haven't covered it yet in my lessons," she said sheepishly.

Of course! Thought Tywin. She's only 6 name-days after all.

"A soul mark is a gift that the gods give very special children, the name of your soulmate. I have one, and so does your brother Tyrion. As well as your Uncle Kevan." Y/n's little hands overlapped one another, her brows were pulled tightly together.

"But what if I don't want a soulmate father?" Tywin sighs and closes his eyes before answering his daughter. "Well, I guess if you don't want one then . . . then you'll never meet them." Y/n opened her mouth but Tywin raised a finger. "But, make no mistake Y/n, when finding your soulmate you will feel like your soul is finally complete. That empty space will be filled, and you'll do everything in your power to keep them safe."

Y/n just stared at her father, her eyes widening at his words. Her small child mind's wheels turning and thinking. "What if . . . what if my soulmate is an enemy? What if he's a . . . a highborn." Tywin's eyes danced with mirth at his child's remark. Even though she was only a child, she still thought about her family more than her own desires. A true Lady of the Rock. Unlike her sister or brothers.

"When the time comes, we'll figure it out. But until then," Tywin cupped her face with his calloused hands. "You will learn, fight, and be a Lannister. A lion. My heir." he kissed her forehead and Y/n closed her eyes, bathing in the pride she was overcome with. She was a Lannister, and Lannister's don't act like fools. They were lions. They were powerful. And she would be the lioness of Casterly Rock.

Years passed since the day Y/n discovered her soul mark, and ever since - she's covered it up. She vowed to never give her enemies a weakness. And the name on her arm was a weakness. She trained day and night, in the training yard, and in her fathers' study. Since the day she was born, she was taught how to be a Lady. The Lady of Casterly Rock, and every day she trained and did her very best. Proving to her father that she was capable of handling the Lannister Ancestral home. On her 10 and 6 name day, she received a letter from her elder brother Jamie Lannister, asking her to come to King's Landing.

"Father," said Y/n as she strutted into her fathers' study in Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin looked up at his daughter, placing his quill down. His green eyes studied her as she walked into the threshold, her head held high, her shoulder back. She walked with grace and confidence.

"Y/n," he said and gestured for her to take a seat. "Father I've received a letter from King’s Landing," she takes the rolled-up parchment out from her dress pocket and hands it to him. "It's from Jamie," Tywin takes the parchment and reads it quickly.

"He wants you to come to King's Landing," he mused. Y/n nodded her head. "Yes, he thinks it would be good for me to come to that rat's nest." Tywin laughed dryly. "Ha!"

He rolls the letter back up and places it on his desk. "Tell me Y/n," he laced his hands together. "what do you think of this?" Y/n sighs before answering. "I think it would be good for me to go. It would help me make friends and allies at court. Also, I may even help Tyrion and Tysha with their children and teach Tysha more about being a proper lady of the court." Tywin hummed. "And, this visit can help me oversee how bad of a King Robert is."

"You don't need to be there to see how bad of a King Robert is, Y/n, everyone in the seven bloody kingdoms knows. The only reason why they aren't starving is because of us, House Lannister." Tywin stood up from his desk, the chair scraping against the stone floor. He walked over to the portrait of Lady Joanna, Y/n's late mother, with his arms behind his back.

"Father?"

Tywin didn't answer, he just stared into the painted face of Joanna. After the birth of Tyrion, the Maester warned Joanna and Tywin that no more children should be born, for it might kill her. But one night, Tywin and Joanna were caught up in the passion of love that they didn't realize Tywin spent himself inside her. Because of that night, Joanna fell pregnant. For nine-months, Tywin was a wreck. He worried and tried everything in his power to help with the birth of his fourth child. But he did not have the power of the gods. Y/n was born during a blood-red dawn. Even on the cusp of death Lady Joanna held her baby girl in her arms while crying. Tywin was there with his wife and daughter, holding Joanna as she became weaker with every passing minute. For the last hour of her life, Joanna held her daughter and spoke to Tywin, telling him that she loved him, and their children.

After her death, Tywin gave his daughter a name; Y/n of House Lannister. The name came from a great Lannister warrior, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister. Unlike all the other Lannister, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister was not just a Lady of the Rock, she was one of the greatest female warriors of Westeros. Her deeds and bravery rivaled Visenya Targaryen. Though she did not ride a dragon, like Visenya, she did ride a Lion. The Lannister Warrior named her lion Leo. And Leo was the warrior's most trusted companion, she raised the lion since he was a cub, and she became like Leo's mother.

Y/n loved her namesake's story, and she too hoped to become like her. When she first heard the story of her namesake from her father, Y/n begged Tywin to get her a lion. It took time but on her 5th name day, she woke up to her father presenting her with an iron key. The key belonged to a cage where a small lion cub sat. Y/n squealed and thanked her father, jumping around and laughing at the sight of the lion.

Everyday Y/n would take her lion cub and train him, fed him, and walked him like a dog. She named her lion Ty, after her father. Ty grew up very fast and soon became Y/n's protector. He never did leave her side, only when he was commanded to by his mother. Ty was tame, but if anyone threatened his mother, the last thing they would see would be a lion roaring and bashing his teeth before going in for the kill.

"You will go to King's Landing Y/n," Tywin turns his head. "and you will observe Robert," Y/n furrowed her brows. "If I may ask father, why?" He smirked. "Because it's been too long for that fat excuse of King has been unsupervised."

Y/n chuckled. "You speak of him as if he's a child,"

"Which he is,"

She smirked at her father. "I have no doubt Father, but why me?"

"Because you and Kevan are the only ones I trust, at the moment." He walks over to Y/n and stops in front of her. "Your siblings have failed me - have failed our House. You, my daughter, are the savior of our House. You shall restore our family name. You will be the Heir to the Rock."

"But I thought Jamie -"

"Jamie will never give up that gold cloak. He would rather serve than become Warden of the West. And Tyrion, he's a dwarf, a drunk, and I'm not even sure if he's my son." Y/n nodded her head. She knew, of course, her fathers' doubts of Tyrion being his son.

"And I shall never give the seat of Warden to your sister's children, Tommen is too young, and Joffrey . . ." he trailed off. Joffrey was sadistic. He loved seeing people in pain, bleeding, and loved to hear their screams. He wasn't fit to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. But he was Heir. And Tommen was a spare.

"The Rock falls to you, Y/n, and I have trained you for this spot, for you to be Wardrenss since you were pushed out from your mother's womb," Tywin said. He placed his hands on Y/n's face, looking into her eyes, Joanna's eyes.

"Make me proud, Y/n. Make our House proud."

Y/n looked up at her father. She was only 16, but she was ready. Ready to prove herself. She was ready to be a Lannister.

"I will Father. I promise. I will make our family, my mother, proud."

And for the first time in a very long time, Lord Tywin Lannister smiled.

"Into the rat's nest we go," muttered Y/n as she got off her white mare. Her red cloak flowed behind her as she walked, her feet moved with purpose and didn't falter. Her shoulders were back and her head held high as she walked over to her family. Cersei, Jamie, Tyrion, and her niece and nephews.

Jamie embraced her first, hugging her tight. "Welcome, sister," he said in her ear. Y/n hugged him back before letting go and greeting her other older brother; Tyrion.

"Hello, Tyrion,"

"Ahh, hello little sister, I hope the ride to Kings Landing wasn't troubled."

Y/n smiled at her brother before leaning down to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. Tyrion and Jamie loved her more than Cersei, the brothers protected Y/n from a very young age. When Y/n was just a girl of seven, Jamie chased away a boy who tried to kiss her - even though Y/n had already slapped the boy and kicked him in his groin - while Tyrion comforted her and lectured the boy before their father could attack him with an open sword.

"Y/n, how do you fair?" questioned Queen Cersei after Y/n released Tyrion and stood up. Y/n met her sister's narrowed green eyes. The Queen was beautiful but old. With Y/n standing in front of her, any onlooker could see how much fairer the young Lannister was.

"I am fine, sweet sister." Y/n turned her gaze towards her eldest nephew Joffrey. His arms were crossed and there was a bored expression on his pouty face. His blonde curls framed his face and created a golden curtain around his Lannister features.

"Hello, Joffrey,"

"Aunt Y/n," A cruel smile appeared on Joffery's face that made Y/n shiver. "I'm so glad that you've come all this way to King's Landing,"

Y/n was about to reply when seven-year-old Tommen squealed in delight at the sight of a large caravan flying House Lannister flags. Y/n's guard's surrounded the caravan, protecting her sweet lion.

"Ahh, Ty's here." Joffery watched as his Aunt's guards stopped and started shouting orders. A man with short copper hair and silver armor with a flaming tree etched on his breast-plate was the one shouting commands to the other guards. This man had bronze color eyes and stood proud as if he was born to lead. This was Ser Addam Marbrands little brother, Eric Marbrand, commander of Y/n Lannsister's guards.

Joffery could hear scratching and something growling from inside the caravan, while Tommen watched in awe. Myrcella clutched onto her mother's arm, fearing the creature that made such noise.

Eric walked over to his Lady and bowed curtly at the royal family before addressing Y/n. "My Lady," Y/n smiled at Eric. "Thank you, Eric, for seeing to my beloved lion's safety," She gave him a small peck on his cheek before walking over to the now open caravan. A blush coated Eric's face before he composed himself and followed after his lady, a hand on the hilt of his sword. He would be damned if anything happened to Y/n, he would die for her, but until then, he shall follow her and protect her.

A large yellow paw was the first thing Tommen saw before he squealed louder, making Joffery scoff and complain about how un-princely his little brother sounded. Although Joffery was too impressed and excited to see his rumored Aunt's "baby".

"Ty!" Y/n said and the blonde lion walked out of the comfy caravan towards his mother. Ty rubbed his face on Y/n's dress while she laughed and smiled at her lion. The big lion purred as Y/n rubbed behind his ear, turning the big furious lion into a house cat.

Tommen tried to walk up to his Aunt but his mother grabbed his arm and stopped him. The seven-year-old prince glared at his mother but Cersei didn't even pay attention, she was too busy glaring at her younger sister.

"Why did you bring this beast?! This thing could kill one of my children!" she scowled. Y/n just sighed and looked up from her lion to her big sister. "Ty would never hurt a child, Cersei, he's trained. And he only attacks unless I command him to."

"Mama, I want to go pet him!" said Tommen. Y/n smiled indulgently at her youngest nephew. "Tommen," started Cersei before Tyrion interrupted her and walked over to his young sister. He waddled over to the lion and he put out his hand for Ty to sniff. "Well, I must say, sister, this is a surprise," he said. "Father let you take this . . ." he trailed off as Ty licked his hand.

"Yes Tyrion, father knows that wherever I go, Ty comes along. Besides, father likes knowing that I have a fierce lion protecting me when he cannot." Y/n giggled as Ty started licking Tyrion's face making the dwarf laugh nervously.

"Tyrion, where's Tysha?" Y/n asks, her eyes looking around the courtyard. "Ah, I see you haven't heard, Tysha is resting. She's just given birth to a girl. Thomas and Janus are with their baby sister as we speak," The young lion smiled at her brother. "Congratulations, brother dear." Tysha and Tyrion have been trying to have a baby girl for a while now and it seems like the gods have blessed them.

When Tyrion was 16 and Y/n 8, he met Tysha near Casterly Rock. She was being chased and almost raped by bandit's and Jamie chased them away while Tyrion comforted the girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was lowborn but Tyrion didn't care about that. Tyrion was born with the name "Tysha" on his wrist, and when they first touched they felt a spark. Tyrion fed her, drank with her, and talked. They fell in love and made love that night. Afterward, she sang him a song and kissed, they were so in love that Tyrion married her without their father's permission. They found a drunken Septon and got married with only pigs to witness their union. They lived in a cottage by the sunset sea where they made love, kissed, and sang. But when Septon sobered up, he told Tywin of his dwarfs' son's marriage. Tywin was enraged that day and only young 8-year-old Y/n could stop her father from doing what he intended to do. She convinced him that if he went through with his plan she would kill herself. She wouldn't stand by and live knowing that her father split up two soulmates. Tywin cried that night and hugged his last living memory of Joanna and promised to never split Tyrion and Tysha up.

The next day he and Y/n went down to Tyrion's and Tysha's cottage and took them to the Rock where Septa's and Y/n taught Tysha how to be a proper lady. That was Tywin's condition, if Tyrion wanted to live in the Rock with his wife, she would become a proper lady. Turns out that Tywin greatly enjoyed Tysha's presence and she soon became part of the Lannister Family, though she and Tyrion would never inherit the Rock. Cersei hated Tysha but then again, she hated almost everyone that wasn't her or was a threat.

"I'm glad, brother, you and Tysha deserve all the happiness in the world." Y/n said before looking at her sister. "If you don't mind sister, brothers, I'm very tired. Would you please show me to my room?" Cersei nodded. "Jamie, show our little sister where she'll be sleeping." Cersei turned and headed back inside the Red Keep with her children trailing behind her with a few Lannister guards shadowing her movements.

"Come, sister," said Jamie sweetly before leading her through the Red Keep.

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #house lannister #lannister reader #x reader #tyrion lannister #tysha lannister #cersei lannister #jamie lannister #tywin lannister

[until-theend-oftheline]

Trusting Fangirl

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Fangirl moment, surprises, Seb and YN being Seb and YN

Word Count: 1300ish

A/N: This is thought of as part of my LLL Universe, but if you don’t wanna read them all it can still be read as a one shot. It’s April 2015.  

Betaed by: None - all mistakes are mine

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You took a last look in the mirror, running your hands over your dark blue cocktail dress. It had an illusion neckline. A flowery pattern covered your chest, an open back and the fitted frame shoved off your curves. Your half up-do and long earrings brought attention to your face only covered in a light make-up. You knew you could wear a paper bag and Sebastian would still think you looked good, but he had gone through a lot of trouble to fly his mom to Atlanta and plan the entire evening just for you. You wanted to look nice for him. You smiled at your reflection. A few months ago you would have thought it would be impossible for you to feel this good about yourself ever again, but with a lot of work and Sebastian’s undying devotion, you felt like yourself again. More importantly, you and Sebastian were happy and in love.

“Honey,” a knock sounded on the door, “are you ready soon?” 

You took a deep breath, turning away from the mirror and headed across the room, opening the door. Sebastian was standing outside wearing a dark blue suit, a black shirt with the first couple of buttons open and his long hair hanging loose. He looked absolutely amazing and a small blush tinted his cheeks when your eyes met and you both realized you had been checking each other out. 

“You look… wow,” Sebastian stuttered, causing you to laugh. You loved that even a few years in, you still had that effect on him. Honestly, he had the same effect on you and you couldn’t wait to spend the evening doing whatever he had planned. 

“You don’t look half bad yourself Seba,” you smiled, stepping forward onto your toes, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

Sebastian wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you close and making you giggle when he chased your lips as you pulled back. He groaned playfully, giving you a small squeeze. 

“Ready to go?” he asked quietly, leaning his forehead against yours and you smiled.

“Where’s our kid?” you asked, enjoying the closeness, trying to prolong it for as long as possible. 

“Mom took her next door. Something about us needing a night alone,” Sebastian pulled a face and you couldn’t help but laugh. You knew Georgeta and there was a strong likelihood she had been way more graphic than that when kidnapping her granddaughter for the night.  

“That does sound pretty good actually,” you grinned, pulling back a little running your hands down his arms. “Unless she managed to scar you for life,” you teased.

“No chance,” Sebastian pulled a face at you before leaning in to kiss you. You giggled against his lips but quickly allowed yourself to melt into him completely. It had taken a while for you to get back to you, but the past few months had been the best of your life. 

“But after,” Sebastian broke the kiss making you chase his lips with a small whine. Sebastian laughed, pecking your lips before reaching out for your jacket on the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders. You smiled, reaching up to caress his jaw. 

“I love you.”

“Love you too. Now come on,” Sebastian grinned, tugging your arm through his and leading you towards the door. He somewhat resembled an excited kid and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Where are we going?” you asked but Sebastian just shook his head and kissed your cheek, tugging a blindfold from his pocket. 

“It’s a surprise,” he grinned at you and you rolled your eyes as he waved the blindfold before you. 

“You can’t be serious?” you complained but when Sebastian just smiled at you wiggling his eyebrows, “Honey we are in Atlanta. You can drive me anywhere and I still won’t know where we are going.”

“Sweetheart. Just humor me please,” Sebastian begged, making you sigh. 

You turned around to let him tie the thing around your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Sebastian laughed, taking your hand and wrapping his free arm around your waist. “Trust me?”

“Always.”

***

You didn’t suffer in silence as Sebastian drove you through Atlanta. You didn’t know the city very well so it didn’t take more than a few turns for you to be completely lost and you didn’t like it. 

“You know I hate surprises right?” You grumbled, causing Sebastian to laugh as he parked the car. 

“No, you don’t,” you felt his hot breath against his neck as he had clearly leaned towards you. You shivered slightly. You had to admit that under different circumstances the blindfold would be intriguing. 

“You’re just nosey. You love surprises when you have no idea they are coming,” Sebastian teased, pressing his lips against your neck, nibbling your ear. You moaned softly, hated the sound of the door as Sebastian jumped from the car, rushing to your side to help you out. 

“Since I am being a very good girlfriend going along with this,” you grinned when he took your hand helping you out. “Think we can keep the blindfold.”

“Wow! Way too much information,” Chris' voice sounded and your cheeks turned bright red as Sebastian laughed and pulled the blindfold from your eyes. 

“Surprise!!”

You were standing in the middle of the Civil War trailer park where a stage with a karaoke machine was set up at one side and a huge barbeque area at the other. Right before you stood your bandmates, a few of your friends, your sister and the entire cast of Sebastian’s movie.

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, looking much like a fish out of water, only for it to dry up completely when Robert Downey Jr stepped out from the crowd. 

“Happy birthday, YN,” Robert smiled and your face turned even redder than the lobsters on the table to your left. 

“I… You… Thank you, I mean… You know my name?” you rambled, causing Sebastian to chuckle next to you and wrap his arm around your waist. 

Chris’ eyes widened at your reaction before a huge grin slid across his face. “You’re a fangirl!”

“Shut up Evans,” you instantly glared at him, blushing even harder when Robert laughed. 

“I hope you are no more intimidated than I get a chance to do a duet with the birthday girl later,” Robert smiled, looking every bit as kind as you always imagined him to be and still you froze again. 

“I… you wanna… with me?” you stammered and this time Rach was laughing along with Chris and a few other people in the crowd, making you blush even deeper. “I’m sorry Mr. Downey.”

You felt Sebastian’s arm tighten around your waist and somehow it calmed you, even if a small part of you still wanted to kill him for not having warned you about this. 

“It would be an honor and call me Robert please,” Robert smiled, giving Sebastian a nod before turning around to wave the crowd towards the barbeque area. “Let’s give the lovebirds a bit of room to breath.” As the crowd started to spread Robert smiled back at the two of you, “see you both later.”

Sebastian gently turned you to face him as people started focusing on the food and the music began playing. “Too much?”

“Ye… No. You could have warned me,” you pouted slightly, but smiling when Sebastian leaned in to kiss it away. 

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise now would it?” Sebastian teased, winking at you and you sighed wrapping your arms around his waist, letting him hug you close. 

“Chris and Rach are never gonna let me live this down,” you sulked, and Sebastian chuckled giving you a squeeze. 

“I’ll help you get them back,” Sebastian promised and you smiled against his chest, before looking up into blue eyes shining down at you. “I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” you reached up running your fingers through his hair, “I’m with you.”

Reblogs spread my work and make me happy. Got a favorite part/line? Did something touch you? Do you relate in some way? Please tell me and make my day.  

Sebastian Stan Tag Team

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