Warm Sand, Soft Hands
Snowflakes In Your Hair
In Sickness And In Health
In Sickness | In Health
The Clone Wars
Ahsoka Tano
Calendars
The Bad Batch
Tech
How do we move on? | Moving on
Crosshair
she's sweet like candy (in my veins)
Copikla
Anything For You
Hands to Himself**
Hunter
Hands to Himself**
Thunderbolts*
Robert "Bob" Reynolds
Lipstick Stamps
Stranger Things
Eddie Munson
she's a, she's a lady (and I am just a boy)
The Bet
All Night Long*
Babysitting Duty
Chrissy Cunningham
i'm in love (with an uptown girl)
Part I | Part II | Part III
The Sandman
Morpheus
Dream a Little Dream of Me
Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV
Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon
Aemond Targaryen
Written Between the Lines
In Between These Lines
We Shall Find Our Answers
Parallel Lines Intertwined*
Where Lions Preen and Dragons Feast**
Two Hearts as Embers
One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul**
Interlude - Meddling With Our Hearts
Fill Me with Love**
Wrap Me In Your Embrace, Quell My Fears
⟢ synopsis. you’re only here to try and understand why bucky’s suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.
⟢ contains. spoilers for thunderbolts*, takes place during the 14 month later period. nothing too crazy, mostly plot. reader is described as female. bob is a cutie!! reader and joaquín are sambucky children of divorce :(
⟢ wc: 9.7k+
⟢ author’s note. wrote this with a vague idea and a dream. i don't know. don't ask pls.
You were here strictly for business.
The lobby was all polished glass, military-grade charm, and propaganda dressed in gold. Cameras flashed like fireworks along the crimson carpet, catching every inch of shine from designer suits and sharp smiles. A towering digital screen looped the promo again: "The New Avengers: Built for Tomorrow." You watched from the fringe as the montage played, the images slicing together in quick succession—John Walker throwing the shield with over-practised precision, Yelena Belova dismantling a room of dummies in under twelve seconds, and Ava Starr phasing through a concrete wall with a smirk. Hero shots. Sanitized. Manufactured. All of them.
You didn’t blink as you were ushered to an elevator.
Growing up, the Avengers Tower never really felt real to you. Sure, you’d seen the photos, the documentaries, the endless footage of press conferences held on its front steps. Hell, you’d even walked past it with your parents whenever you visited New York—but it still felt like it belonged to another world entirely. Untouchable. Almost mythic.
You never imagined you’d walk inside.
And yet now, riding the elevator up with a slow-climbing hum and nerves that prickled beneath your skin, all you felt was dread.
It was a strange kind of emptiness—the feeling of finally reaching something you once admired, only to realize it had been gutted and repainted in someone else’s image. The marble floors had been waxed clean, but the history here wasn’t. You could still feel the ghosts under the polish. Somewhere between the seams of the rebuilt walls and reprogrammed elevators, there was once a legacy. Real one. But it didn’t belong to the people in charge of this event.
You were crammed in with a handful of Congress members and defence contractors, all of whom smelled like cologne and quiet greed. Congressman Gary was there too, smiling too much, already half-drunk from the limo ride there. (He said it would be the only way he’d survive an entire night listening to people praise Valentina Allegra de Fontaine). Gary had been the one to suggest your attendance might smooth things over. It might make the New Avengers feel like someone from Sam’s camp was willing to listen. Get on their good side—that whole thing.
But you were here for an entirely different reason. His invitation was exactly what you needed to get in, though.
Underneath your gown—sleek, formal, and designed to draw no conclusions—you had a mic stitched into the seam of your strapless bodice. Hidden, but live. Your earpiece buzzed softly with Joaquín’s voice, casual as ever.
“If Sam finds out we’re doing this, we’re so dead.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to be overheard as the elevator operator gave a rehearsed speech about the tower’s restoration—how it stood now as a symbol of “unity, rebirth, and strength.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. The tower didn’t feel like a symbol. It felt like a stage.
“He’ll take away your wings at most,” you murmured, gaze fixed forward. “Relax.”
You could practically hear Joaquín pouting through the comms.
“I just got them back.”
“Then let’s not make a scene. Gary said it’d be good optics to have someone on our side here. We’re doing Sam a favour.” A pause. Then, quieter: “I’m surprised you didn’t want to come with me. You’re cleared for field work.”
“No, thanks. As much as I adore red carpet politics, I don’t think I can be in the same room as de Fontaine without committing a felony. Might get myself in trouble.”
“And I won’t?”
“You’re better at smiling.”
“You’ve never seen me smile.”
“Exactly.”
You exhaled through your nose, the tiniest edge of a grin forming before you could stop it.
“Just... try not to piss anyone off for five minutes, yeah?”
You didn’t answer. The elevator chimed. The doors slid open with a muted ding, and you stepped into a wall of flashing lights and artificial warmth.
The event space had been reconstructed on the upper floors, a showroom designed to impress donors and government officials alike. White marble floors stretched endlessly beneath towering banners that hung from the ceilings like monuments. Each one bore the new emblem of the team—sleek and stylized, but hollow. You could see the press eating it up already.
A digital display behind the podium read:
WELCOME TO THE FUTURE.
MEET EARTH’S NEWEST MIGHTIEST HEROES.
Your stomach turned.
“You still with me?” Joaquín asked.
“Yeah.” You nodded once, moving deeper into the room as your eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces. “I’m here.”
“I’m gonna need camera access,” he said. “There’s a chip tucked under the gem on your bracelet. If you can slide that into an outlet somewhere, I’ll be able to map out the floor’s electrical system. Should help me locate the control room.”
“Guy in the chair,” you muttered, lips twitching into a faint grin. It was impressive—his gadgets, his confidence. Typical Joaquín.
Congressman Gary had vanished into the crowd, but you didn’t mind. Better alone than attached to a man who introduced you as a pet project. You plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray, the cold stem grounding in your fingers, and sidestepped toward the edge of the room.
An outlet revealed itself by a floor-length curtain. You knelt, as if adjusting your heel, and casually broke the gem from your bracelet, slipping it into the socket with practiced ease.
“Okay,” Joaquín said, voice clearer now. “Give me a minute to get my bearings. While I’m working on this, try not to look like a loser in the corner. Mingle or something.”
You scoffed under your breath. “Easy for you to say—you can talk anyone’s ear off.”
“You calling me annoying?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Go see if you can find Bucky while I work on this, would you?”
Right. Bucky Barnes.
You weren’t here to mingle. You weren’t here to sip champagne or shake hands or sweet-talk your way into the New Avengers’ good graces. You were here for Sam. And more specifically—for Bucky. Wherever the hell he was hiding.
The plan was simple enough in theory: Get a read on what Valentina was playing at. Try to talk to Bucky. Get ahead of whatever fallout was brewing between him and Sam before it turned into a full-blown civil war again. You’d offered to go because no one else would.
Joaquín was trying to stay neutral (and failing). Isaiah had dismissed Bucky as a long-lost white man with too many ghosts. And Sam refused to speak to Bucky since the news broke about the New Avengers. And Bucky hadn’t said a damn word back.
So here you were. You were the only one left who might still be able to stand in the space between them without setting off alarms, even if you were biased.
You still didn’t understand how Bucky could do it. How he could go from testifying before Congress about accountability and reform, to standing beside Valentina Allegra de Fontaine like she hadn’t personally undone everything they’d fought for. Like he hadn’t been there when Ross tried to throw his friends all in cells. (Sure, you weren't there for it either, but Sam told you all about it; the accords were one of the reasons the Avengers broke up.)
Valentina wasn’t just dangerous—she was calculated. Clever. The kind of dangerous that worked in the shadows, smiling for cameras while quietly tying strings around people’s necks. She had her ex-husband arrested, sabotaged Wakandan outreach missions, and picked through the wreckage of post-blip heroes like she was drafting a fantasy football team. The fact that she now had a unit of enhanced individuals marching under her payroll and calling themselves the New Avengers made your stomach turn.
And Bucky was one of them.
You believed Valentina was guilty the second Bucky first mentioned she’d recruited John Walker. Walker—who had murdered a man in public, with blood still wet on the shield—and somehow walked free. Charges vanished. Headlines redirected. Now he was being repackaged as a hero again, and Bucky was standing next to him like nothing had happened.
You couldn’t wrap your head around it. No matter how many angles you looked at it from, it didn’t make sense. And the more you thought about it, the more it burned in your chest.
What was he thinking?
Why hadn’t he said anything?
Why wasn’t he here?
You pulled in a slow breath as you stepped further into the room, letting the sound of clinking glasses and diplomatic small talk wash over you like static.
The room was grand in a gaudy way—shiny surfaces and marble floors that reflected the chandelier light too harshly. Everything screamed polished excess, like they were trying to distract from the blood under the polish.
You tried to scan the crowd for Bucky, but there were too many faces, too many government suits and PR smiles, none of them him. You told yourself that when you did find Bucky, he’d have some kind of explanation—something to loosen the knot in your chest, something that could push down the rising anxiety. Something that could explain how the man you once trusted was now parading around in a suit under Valentina’s thumb.
Instead, you found Congressman Gary. Or rather, he found you.
He was already three glasses of champagne deep—five, if you counted the shots you’d seen him down on the way—and he beamed like he’d found a shiny toy in a sea of suits.
“There she is,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder like you hadn’t just been avoiding him for fifteen minutes. “You have got to meet some of these people. Big names. Big wallets.”
You were too polite to shrug him off, even as he dragged you into a circle of De Fontaine’s investors. Their grins were just a little too sharp, their eyes a little too eager. The way they looked at you made your skin crawl, like you were a chess piece they hadn’t quite decided how to play yet.
You smiled tightly. Shook clammy hands. Answered vague questions. Nodded while they spoke about “opportunities,” “rebuilding legacy,” and “rebranding heroism.”
One man leaned in closer, his breath thick with bourbon. “You know,” he said, voice oily, “with your background, you’d be a perfect candidate for the new team. Valentina has a real eye for talent, and we’re building something bigger than what came before. Something better. You could help shape it from the inside.”
You swallowed your disgust with a sip of champagne. “I’m not really looking to join anything right now.” That was a lie. You already had a seat in the team Sam was putting together. But he did not need to know that.
He chuckled, as if that wasn’t an answer.
“Okay, I’ve got eyes,” Joaquín said suddenly in your ear. His voice broke through the haze like a rope thrown across stormy water.
You exhaled in relief. “Excuse me,” you told the group, already turning away. “I need to grab a drink.”
They nodded, already moving on to the next opportunity in heels. Gary wasn’t too happy, though.
You drifted from the circle, walking slowly toward the open bar. On the way, you passed a tray of themed hors d’oeuvres—tiny “Avenger” sliders with edible logos, cupcakes shaped like shields and guns.
A mounted camera in the corner caught your eye, its red light blinking lazily above a velvet-draped sculpture.
“See me?” you muttered.
“Yeah, I see you,” Joaquín replied.
“Still no sign of Barnes.”
“Scanning crowd pings now,” he said. “Either he’s ghosting the place or he got another haircut and I can’t recognize him. Which would be so like him, by the way.”
You sighed and accepted another drink from a passing server, something dry and too expensive, and kept moving.
You figured you’d shaken at least six hands tonight that belonged to people who’d love to see your head on a stick—if not for the lucrative optics of you standing here at all. You were an opportunity to them. A symbol. A bargaining chip in a war they didn’t even understand.
Your dress caught suddenly.
You stumbled—only a step, but enough for the chilled drink to slosh dangerously near the edge of the glass. You turned on instinct, hand rising to fix the silk scarf that had slipped from your neck and shoulder.
A man stood behind you, wide-eyed, hand half-raised like he’d been about to catch you.
“I—I’m so sorry,” he stammered. His voice was low, a subtle rumble barely audible over the layers of clinking glass, conversation, and ambient music. “—stepped on your dress. Sorry.”
You blinked, caught off guard.
He looked like he didn’t belong here. Not in the way the others did. No glossy name tag, no designer smugness. His suit was clean, but not flashy. Understated.
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, instinctively adjusting your scarf where it had slipped from your shoulder. You shook out the fabric of your dress around the ankles, heart skipping in the echo of that voice. Something about the way he said it—apologetic, soft, like he genuinely meant it—caught you off guard.
“Sorry,” he mumbled again, even quieter this time, eyes dropping to the floor. His dark hair fell over his face, almost like he was trying to shrink three sizes. You could hear a faint, awkward laugh in his voice. “Uhm… yeah. Sorry.”
He didn’t linger. Just turned and slipped back into the crowd before you could even process anything. No second glance. Just a gentle pivot and a few long strides back into the crowd, swallowed instantly by the sea of shoulder pads, press passes, and sharp perfume.
You stood there for a second, staring after him.
He moved differently from the others. No performative swagger. No politician’s posture. No tray in his hand, so he’s definitely not a server. He was quiet in a way that made you feel like you’d imagined him, like he’d only brushed through this reality for a second before vanishing into another.
You didn’t recognize him.
And you should have.
For all the files you’d scoured, the profiles and photos, the research you’d buried yourself in to prepare for tonight, you’d made it your job to know every player in this room. Who to watch. Who to avoid. Who might be useful.
But not him.
You turned back toward the bar, but your mind didn’t follow. Not entirely.
Who the fuck was that?
You were just about to ask Joaquín to pull a facial scan when something in your periphery stopped you cold.
John Walker.
He was only a few steps away, mid-conversation with some high-level sponsor, until his gaze landed on you. And then he froze.
The look that crossed his face was quick, recognition, discomfort, maybe a flicker of guilt, but he buried it just as fast, turning away without a word. He pivoted like a man avoiding a ghost, ignoring the way the sponsor he spoke to called after him.
“Walker just made a hard left into the hors d’oeuvres,” Joaquín muttered in your ear, low and amused. “You see that?”
You exhaled, more irritated than surprised. “We’re not here for him.”
“Yeah. I think he knows that too. That’s why he’s pretending he’s got important shrimp to eat.”
That pulled a faint smile from you, biting down the urge to laugh.
Typical. The last time you’d seen Walker in person, he was seated in a courtroom with his jaw clenched so tight you thought he’d snap a molar. You’d testified in his case, alongside Sam, Bucky, and everyone else who had to witness what happened in Madripoor—what he did to that man in the square. The shield, slick and red. The silence afterward, heavier than any explosion.
You never fought him. Never had to. But you'd been on opposite sides of that mess, and he knew it. Hell, you’d spoken directly to his discharge. Your words were probably still echoing in the back of his skull.
The way he turned away just now… yeah. He remembered you.
“I’m surprised he didn’t start barking about national security,” Joaquín quipped in your ear again. “Do you think we should trail him?”
You hesitated. You didn’t want to. Just the idea of following in Walker’s smug footsteps made your jaw clench.
But Joaquín pressed, “He might know where Bucky is.”
And that was the problem—he was right. And you hated how much sense it made. Of course, Walker would know. You also hate how Walker and Bucky were probably friends now.
A camera flash caught your eye, and you instinctively straightened your posture, smoothed your expression. No time for a scowl, even if that’s all you wanted to wear.
You adjusted your gown, tugged lightly at the hem, checked the wire hidden at your waist, and started walking in the direction Walker and that ugly barret he wore had vanished.
The crowd shifted around you like tidewater—polished politicians and strategic handshakes, investors with too-white smiles and drinks that cost more than your rent. Every few steps, someone waved. A few shook your hand like they knew you, like you were an old friend they’d been waiting for. A woman asked for a photo. Another leaned in and whispered, “Are you joining the new team?” like it were a secret worth selling.
You deflected with a nod and a vague smile, each interaction leaving a layer of static behind your eyes.
It was strange how quickly the attention shifted now that you were in the spotlight. Recently, you’d spent most of your career standing behind Isaiah while Joaquín and Sam did the talking. You liked it there. It was quieter. Easier to breathe. Now, suddenly, they were holding out chairs for you at the table.
The whole thing felt like theatre. Scripted and glassy. Lines rehearsed. Costumes ironed. Every player doing their part beneath the blinding stage lights.
You still weren’t sure what was worse—that Bucky accepted Valentina’s funding, or that he and his new friends let her call them The Avengers.
Sam was right to be angry. He should be. He’d already turned down President Ross’ private offer to hand him the reins of a military-funded global response team. The same offer that Valentina had repackaged, repurposed, and handed off to people who were too coward to say no.
“He’s on the east end, talking to Ava starr and another woman. I think she’s Valentina’s assistant. Oh—shit. He just pointed at you.”
Your chest tightened. You turned too fast, momentarily losing your bearings in the rotating lights and mirrored walls. East—east—
And then someone stepped into your path.
A wall of a man appeared in front of you so suddenly, you nearly collided with him; broad-shouldered and bearded, dressed in a burgundy suit that looked just a size too tight across his chest.
He smiled widely, eyes bright like he’d been waiting for a moment like this all night.
“I know you,” he said, voice thick with a Russian accent. “I’ve seen you on the televisions. You shake hands with the new Captain America.”
You blinked. “I—uh, yeah.”
“Ah!” He laughed, clapping one heavy hand to your shoulder with surprising gentleness for a man who looked like he could punch through drywall. “Very brave of you. Very good. You look different in person. In a strong way. Like a panther. Or mongoose.”
You tried for a diplomatic smile. “Thanks, I think.”
“Oh! Where are my manners,” he said, dramatically straightening and offering his hand. “I am Alexei Shostakov. The Red Guardian.”
You knew that, but you didn’t know he’d be so... loud.
You took his hand, his grip warm and firm. “Pleasure to meet you, Alexei.”
“Kind. Very kind,” he said, eyes gleaming. “You remind me of my daughter! You have same fire in eyes. Around same age, too—you could be friends! Yelena is always looking for new friends.”
Yelena Belova. That name lit something up in the back of your mind. You’d seen the files. The attempted murder of Clint Barton. Her brief status as an independent threat before being absorbed, quietly and conveniently, into Valentina’s new game.
And suddenly, Alexei’s smile widened even more.
“Yelena!” he bellowed, cupping his hands to his mouth as if you weren’t standing in the middle of a very public, very polished gala. “Come meet new friend!”
Several heads turned. Cameras flashed—bright, blinding. You winced against the burst of lights, regretting everything from your dress colour to your decision to show up at all.
But it was too late. He leaned in beside you, one arm suddenly draped over your shoulder like you were posing for a family Christmas card. “Smile!” he boomed, and before you could protest, he struck a dramatic flex, biceps pressing into your back like steel girders.
You caught a whiff of expensive cologne and vodka.
In the corner of your eye, a flash of short, bleached blonde hair was making its way through the crowd with frightening determination. Elegant, yes—but there was no mistaking the sharpness in Yelena Belova’s gaze. She wore a sleek black suit like it was made of knives, a funky eyeliner design, hair slicked back and every step carved with purpose. And beside her—
Your heart dipped.
Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.
Poised. Smirking. Watching everything.
“Be careful. Yelena is coming your way with Valentina.”
Thanks for the warning, Joaquín. Delayed. But thanks nevertheless.
You stood up straighter, willing your heartbeat to slow down even as Valentina’s eyes zeroed in on you like a predator clocking a foe.
Wonderful.
You leaned slightly toward Alexei, trying not to seem as panicked as you felt. “Can I ask you something? About Bucky Barnes?”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, cutting you off before you could finish the question. “Bucky! Yes, yes. The Winter Soldier. Very cool. Very handsome. Like Soviet James Dean.”
You blinked. “I mean—do you know where he is?”
But Alexei was already on another tangent. “We fought in Uzbekistan once, did you know this? I threw him through a door. He did not like that. But I like him. I like him very much. Quiet, serious type. You know he never answers my texts?”
“Right. Yeah. That tracks.”
And then—
“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” said a voice sharp as champagne fizz and just as bitter. De Fontaine. She cut into the conversation with the smoothness of someone who was always in control, grinning like she knew a secret you didn’t. A glass of bubbly dangled between her fingers, catching the light just enough to draw attention. As if she needed help with that.
“I was just about to introduce you all,” she said, placing a perfectly manicured hand on Yelena’s arm as the blonde finally joined your little nightmare circle.
“What is this?” Yelena asked flatly, eyes flicking between you and Valentina.
Valentina didn’t bother to answer—just gave a smug little hum and tugged Yelena closer, corralling her between you and Alexei. The four of you shifted automatically into position, an unspoken reflex in rooms like this.
You could feel the cameras turning like sharks in bloodied water.
Flashes burst across your vision. The moment was already captured—your stiff shoulders, your frozen smile. A picture-perfect lineup of cooperation.
And you could feel it: this wasn’t a coincidence.
This was intentional.
Valentina leaned in, voice cool and sugary against your ear as more bulbs burst. “I am so pleased to see you here,” she cooed, “considering how close you and Sam are.”
“I mean, I had to come congratulate you,” you said tightly, lips barely moving. “Recreating the Avengers. That’s… big.”
She beamed at the cameras, teeth white and wolfish. “Someone had to.”
“Of course.”
Another flash. Another frozen pose.
You winced. Sam is going to kill you.
Valentina fielded the sudden swarm of questions like she was born in front of a podium—deflecting, redirecting, charming. Every answer was deliberate, each word chosen like a chess move. Stability. Legacy. Global confidence. Alliances.
They lapped it up like champagne, snapping photos, nodding, laughing. You stood beside her, barely blinking, jaw tight behind your polite smile.
You weren’t meant to be part of this show. You were supposed to be on the outside looking in from the in the crowd.
When the flashes finally began to die down and the clamour shifted elsewhere, Valentina turned with that too-perfect, too-white grin. She glanced at Yelena and Alexei like she were dismissing children.
“Would you two mind?” she asked, breezy as ever. “I’d like to have a quick little chat.”
Yelena’s gaze flicked toward you. Not unkind. But cautious. Reading you like a live wire.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her brows subtly knitting.
“Oh, everything’s perfectly fine,” Valentina replied before you could speak, her hand already at your back. “Go fetch a drink. Mingle.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
You barely had time to glance back at Yelena—at the slight, suspicious narrowing of her eyes—before the crowd swallowed her and Alexei whole.
Your earpiece crackled to life. “She’s taking you to the balcony,” Joaquín said, voice low and taut. “There are no cameras there. I won’t be able to see, but I can still hear you.”
There was a pause, then: “I’ll keep looking for Bucky.”
You barely managed a breath of relief before Valentina cut in, sharp and smiling.
“Bucky’s not here tonight, if that’s really why you’re here.”
You stiffened mid-step.
Joaquín swore in your ear. Something heavy hit a surface—maybe his fist against a table—and you heard the scrape of a chair.
“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice light, falsely sweet. “I came to celebrate you.”
You crossed the threshold to the balcony.
It was quieter out here, eerily so. The muffled pulse of the gala was dulled by glass and distance. The cold kissed your skin through your dress. You could feel it biting at your exposed arms, but you welcomed the sting. It was honest.
Below, the city stretched like a glowing circuit board. Skyscrapers hummed with light. Traffic moved in golden veins. It was beautiful in the kind of way that felt removed. Untouchable.
Valentina’s heels clicked once against the stone floor, then stopped.
“Cut the bullshit,” she scoffed, voice low now. “We both know that’s not true.”
You turned your head, slow and steady. Her eyes were already on you. Unflinching.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked casually. “The little Mexican one?”
You flinched—just barely. Your jaw clenched tight.
Valentina smiled wider at that.
You opened your mouth to answer, to lie, to throw her off, to say something clever, but she leaned forward before you could, voice barely above a whisper.
Her lips were close to your collarbone, eyes locked on your chest. On the mic she couldn’t see.
“Hola, Joaquín,” she murmured, velvet-smooth. “¿Cómo estás? How’s the arm? Still broken?”
She pulled back with a grin full of satisfaction. Joaquín didn’t respond—not a breath. But you felt the burn of it in your gut. He heard her. She knew he was listening. And that was the whole point.
She got what she wanted. You could see it in the eyes, the tilt of her head, the calm sip from her glass, the curl of smugness just under her lipstick.
Valentina turned her back to the railing, facing you fully, her glass catching the amber light of the city. Her smile didn’t crack once.
“You know,” she began, like she was catching up with an old friend, her voice silked with charm, “you don’t have to keep playing both sides. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”
You said nothing. Not because you didn’t have something to say, but because the words wouldn’t form. Your brain was too busy calculating exits, signals, whether Joaquín could hear any of this, or if he was already doing something stupid like storming into the gala uninvited.
“You show up with a wire,” she continued, waving her champagne flute like it weighed nothing, “a dress like that, pretending you’re just here to smile for the cameras.”
Her eyes dipped slowly, then back up.
“You do look stunning, by the way,” she added casually. “But we both know you’re not here for the press or to butter yourself up to me or my team. You’re listening. Recording. Digging...”
The flute met her lips again. Sip. Deliberate.
“Looking for Barnes,” she said. “Like he’s going to whisper some grand truth that’ll fix whatever little crisis your friends are having.”
You could feel your jaw tighten. Every word she spoke landed like pressure against a bruise you didn’t want to admit was there.
Valentina tilted her head, studying you with the kind of gaze that belonged in an interrogation room, not a rooftop party. “You’re sharp,” she said. “Good instincts. It’s why Sam keeps you close, right?”
Still, you stayed silent. Because anything you gave her, she’d twist. She already was.
“But let me ask you something,” she said, voice a shade lower, softer. “What’s loyalty really worth—if the people you serve are always the ones left bleeding in the dirt?”
A pulse of heat shot up your neck. You didn’t move, but she saw it.
Of course, she saw it.
“And for the record,” she added, twirling the stem of her glass, “I don’t have anything against Sam Wilson. Poor guy. I pity him, actually. The shit he’s put up with just for carrying that shield—God.”
She clicked her tongue with exaggerated sympathy.
“I’d kill to have Captain America on my team. The real one. Not Walker. That man is a pathetic as it gets. Hair-trigger temper, zero emotional intelligence—”
“Sam would never work with you,” you said, sharper than intended.
Valentina’s smile widened because you finally said something worthwhile. “Oh, I know,” she said, almost gleefully. “He’s a purist. One of the last. His morals are steel-tight. Fucking unshakable. A real Boy Scout. Steve Rogers made a good choice.”
And that was the part that hurt—the part that made you swallow back a flicker of doubt you hadn’t expected to feel.
“Where’s Bucky?” you asked, voice quieter now. “I just want to talk to him.”
She didn’t even hesitate.
“Bucky’s not missing or anything,” Valentina said. “He’s busy. Doing a job for me in Pennsylvania. Cleaning up some loose ends, you know the deal.”
You felt it before you could stop it—that tiny, invisible shift in your expression. Something cracked. Something gave her an answer you hadn’t meant to give.
“That supposed to scare me?” you asked, though it already kind of did.
“No,” she said. “It’s supposed to make you think. About options. About what someone like you could do with the right resources. With the right funding. Imagine it: you with your own team. Autonomy. Access. No more red tape. You make your own shots. We clean up whatever mess you leave behind. And, get this, you even get paid for it.”
You glanced toward the city, anything to avoid her eyes. Lights. Windows. Warmth. All of it felt so far away.
“And if I say no?”
“Then someone else says yes.”
She stepped back, brushing something from her blazer sleeve. “Just think about it,” she said, all silk and sugar again. “We could use someone like you. You belong in rooms like this, you know. Not chasing ghosts, or waiting for Wilson to approve your next move. You’re already breaking. I can see it. You wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t. I’m sure Captain America won’t be happy seeing your name in the headlines tomorrow morning: The Next Potenital Avenger.”
Her smile held, framed in the cold, glittering dark of the balcony. Then she turned and walked past you, the soft graze of her shoulder against yours more intimate than it had any right to be. A mockery of closeness.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said, already stepping back through the doors. “Tell Sam I said hi.”
The glass door shut behind her with a quiet click.
And the cold came in fast.
Not just the air, but the after. The silence. The wrongness of being left alone up here, the wind biting now that you weren’t so focused on not showing fear.
Your body finally remembered it was yours. Your fingers hurt from gripping the railing too hard. You eased your hands free, flexed them, saw the white draining slowly from your knuckles. You still couldn’t feel them.
Your mic hissed faintly to life, and Joaquín’s voice filtered through the static like someone calling out to you underwater.
“…you okay?” he asked, strained. Urgent.
You didn’t answer right away. Your mind was still racing through what Valentina had said, how easily she’d dodged your defences, how easy she was to turn your presence into a publicity stunt, how well she knew you—or at least thought she did.
She must be blackmailing Bucky. That must be it.
You kept staring out at the skyline like it might give you an answer. It didn’t. Just glass and steel and lights that blinked too slow to feel alive.
“No,” you finally muttered.
It didn’t come out strong. It came out cracked. Like the inside of your chest had gone hollow, and you were just now realizing it.
Joaquín exhaled through the comm, like he’d been holding his breath.
“I think legal action is our next step,” he said, tone snapping back into focus like a lifeline. “We can sue them for the name. Trademark it. Or maybe—maybe Sam tries to talk to Bucky again? We’ve still got options.”
You didn’t respond. Not yet.
The railing under your palm felt like ice. You blinked hard, fighting back the sudden sting in your eyes. Not from fear. From frustration. From the way every word she said still echoed in your head, sticky and sharp, leaving splinters behind.
You dragged in a breath.
“…that fucking bitch,” you scoffed.
“Yeah… I don’t like Valentina either.”
You jumped.
The voice came from somewhere behind you, softer, unsure. You spun around on instinct, stepping away from the railing.
That man.
The one who stepped on your dress earlier. He was sitting now, low in one of the patio couches near a sleek electric fireplace that flickered lazily against the dark. The flames glinted off the patio doors and caught the edge of his profile—brown hair, downturned mouth, eyes wide like he was the one who got caught.
You hadn’t noticed him when you came out here. And now that you really looked… you realized why.
He wasn’t trying to be seen.
He sat in the farthest corner of the couch, hunched slightly, knees close together, hands clutched like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like someone had planted him there and told him to wait. The firelight danced across his face, softening him. He didn’t look threatening. Just... startled. And oddly apologetic for existing.
He offered a small, nervous smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like… scare you.”
There was genuine concern in his voice—concern for you, not about you. That was rare.
“It’s fine,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say.
“Who’s that?” Joaquín's voice cracked through your earpiece.
You didn’t answer right away.
Your eyes stayed on the stranger, and for a moment, you debated whether or not to even breathe too loud.
“I don’t know…” You muttered.
“Okay, uh… I’ll try to do a voice match or something—see if anything comes up. Keep them talking.”
The man must’ve noticed the way you were half-turned, the way your fingers brushed against your ear.
He shifted slightly. “Who’re… who’re you talking to?”
You froze. And then, with a wince: “Uh… just… myself. Thinking out loud.”
There was a pause.
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. I do that too. All the time, actually.”
You weren’t sure what to do with that. You weren’t sure what to do with him.
He looked different now compared to earlier. Still awkward, still nervous—but less like he was trying to shrink into himself and more like he was trying his best to meet you where you were. His eyes held yours this time. Not for long, though. They dropped to his hands and shoes after a while. But it was long enough to feel it.
You took a cautious step forward, angling yourself toward the fire, toward him, but still keeping a healthy distance.
“You um… You know Valentina?” you asked. Stupid. Of course, he did. Everyone at this party did.
“Uh… yeah. Something like that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t like… eavesdropping or anything. It’s just—there’s a lot of people in there. And it’s… quieter out here.”
He hesitated, then added: “I’m Bob, by the way.”
His voice wavered, but not from dishonesty. He said his name like he wasn’t sure it would mean anything to you. Like he just told you his name to be kind.
You gave him a nod. Not a smile. But not cold either.
“Hi, Bob.”
A beat passed.
You debated telling him your name. Joaquín would probably advise against it. But you weren’t feeling tactical anymore—you were feeling tired. Bruised in a way you couldn’t name. And maybe you just needed to feel like a real person again. Like someone who wasn’t being puppeteered.
So, after a pause, you gave him your name.
Bob blinked. Then he offered a small, shy smile that cracked at the edges.
“Cool. Hi,” he said, breathless. His brows furrowed as his gaze dropped lower, his eyes catching on your waist, your hips. “Uh—sorry again, about your dress. I didn’t mean to step on it earlier. You looked like you were in a rush and I—well, I was definitely in your way.”
You felt your lips twitch. The barest curve, not sharp or defensive. A faint grin. Delicate. “It’s alright,” you said. “Bound to happen at places like these.”
His head tilted slightly, curious. “You come to stuff like this often?”
“Not often. Just sometimes.”
And it was only then that you realized you’d stepped closer.
Your arms had casually found their place against the back of the couch across from him, hands gripping the cool metal frame as your scarf drifted with the breeze behind you. You weren’t leaning in exactly, but the distance had shrunk.
When did that happen?
You tilted your head, letting your eyes linger a little longer now, more curious than guarded. You assessed him with a little more attention now.
“I’m guessing you don’t come to these events much?”
Bob immediately shook his head, a nervous, breathy laugh escaping his lips like it was running away from him. You could see the cloud of it in the cold night air, swirling and vanishing between you.
“God, no. This is my second one and it’s—it’s been a lot. I think I’m gonna ask to just stay in my room next time.” He gave a little shrug, slouching a bit. “It’s not like I do much anyway. I mean, I’m allowed to talk to people, and I like talking to people, but I’d rather not sometimes.”
That made you blink. Allowed?
The word snagged on something in your mind. There was something disarming about the way he said it, like he didn’t mean to offer that information but also didn’t think it was worth hiding. You couldn’t tell if he was joking, oversharing, or both. But it was too strange to ignore. Like it slipped past a filter that wasn’t built right. It made you hesitate, if only for a breath.
But he wasn’t watching your reaction. He was staring at the flicker of the fire, letting the silence sit between you like it belonged there.
You folded your arms gently across your chest, the smooth material of your dress whispering beneath your fingertips.
“You seem to be talking just fine with me,” you pointed out, softer now.
Bob looked down at his hands. Then back at you. Then away again.
“I… well…” he stammered, voice catching on another shy, almost embarrassed laugh.
And then you saw it.
The blush. A warm pink crawling up from the collar of his white shirt to the apples of his cheeks. Subtle, but not subtle enough to miss. Especially not in the glow of the firelight, which danced over his skin like it had a crush of its own.
“I… yeah, I... I don’t know. Some people are easier to talk to than others, I guess.”
Your mouth twitched before you could stop it.
“Yeah,” you said, “I’d say so.”
The smile that tugged at your lips came easier than you expected. Not just polite. Not guarded. Honest. Probably the first one you’d let slip all night.
Seriously, who the hell is this guy? And why did he make the night feel a little less awful?
He was cute. Not the kind of handsome that announces itself the second someone walks in the room, but the kind that sneaks up on you, quiet, awkward, totally unsure of how much space he takes up and trying not to be a bother. Like he wasn’t used to being looked at for too long and didn’t know where to put himself when he was.
You’d seen a lot of people in this world wear confidence like a costume. Bob didn’t even try. He wore uncertainty like a second skin, and somehow, it made him feel… real.
You liked the way he didn’t crowd you. Didn’t puff out his chest or pretend to have all the answers. He sat with his knees slightly knocked together, most of his hands swallowed by the sleeves of his jacket, like even they were too bold to leave out in the open. Maybe he was anxious. Maybe a little broken in the places that never healed right, but he felt safe. Your gut told you so.
And that made you more nervous than anything else tonight.
You caught yourself watching him again. The way he kept his hands mostly hidden in his sleeves, shoulders rounded forward. His suit was clearly tailored but still seemed a size too big, like someone had tried to wrap him in something expensive just to prove he belonged. And still, it worked.
His hair was brown and shaggy, a bit longer than most people would have it at these events, barely even styled, but you kind of liked it. It gave him a strange charm, even if the loose curls hid his eyes whenever he ducked his head.
You weren’t used to thoughts like this. Not ones this soft. Not ones that fluttered in your chest like nervous birds. Not often. Not like this. Not here. Not in places like these.
You came for Bucky. That was the plan. Show up, find him, talk. Clear the air. Maybe start patching things up with your broken little found family—cracks and all. But Bucky wasn’t here. Valentina played you like a fiddle, and now the whole night had soured. Tomorrow, you’d wake up to press statements and headlines, scrambling to explain why your name wouldn’t be on the next New Avengers roster. You’d spin it clean, of course. That’s what you did.
But none of that mattered yet.
In this strange little pocket of quiet, just outside the hum of power plays and champagne politics, you kind of just wanted something normal. Not mission normal. Not cover-identity normal. Real normal. A conversation that didn’t hinge on leverage or patriotism. A moment that wasn’t already weaponized.
Maybe you could stay for another half hour before you disappeared and joined Joaquín in the van downstairs, counting your losses.
And maybe it was the firelight, a flicker here, a flicker there, warmth and glow dancing in the night that influenced you. But you found yourself leaning forward a little more, walking around the couch, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress. You straightened your spine, trying to will yourself into being brave.
“Would you...” You paused, “um. Do you wanna grab a drink with me?”
Bob blinked, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He sat up straighter at the invitation, startled, like a puppy hearing its name for the first time. His lips parted. For a split second, you swore he looked excited. Maybe even hopeful.
But then he deflated.
His shoulders fell, his expression shifting to a quiet sort of apology as his eyes darted away. “I... I can’t. Sorry—”
“Oh.” You blinked, trying not to let your smile falter.
“I want to,” he rushed to say, almost stumbling over the words. “I do.”
“It’s okay—”
“No. No. I would. It’s just... I’m—I’m sober now.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry—” he added quickly, like he was terrified he’d ruined something.
But you shook your head, even stepping a little closer without realizing it.
“No. Don’t be sorry,” you said gently. “Seriously. Congratulations. That’s a big deal.”
He smiled at that, small and grateful. A little crooked and thin-lipped. It was cute.
“Thanks.”
You hesitated a moment, then tilted your head. “Can I ask how long?”
“Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking upward like he was counting the months with the stars. “I think about a year now. I’ve only really started keeping track since I moved here, so... maybe like, seven? Eight months?”
You smiled softly, your heart unexpectedly warm.
“That’s still a long time.”
He gave a sheepish shrug, and his cheeks pinked again, like he didn’t quite know what to do with your praise. Like no one gave it to him often enough for it to feel normal.
“Some days feel longer than others,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching at his own tease.
You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, quiet, but real.
“What are you…?”
Joaquín’s voice fizzled to life in your ear, cracking the quiet like a crowbar to glass.
“Are you flirting right now?”
You froze, the smile instantly tugging at your lips again despite yourself.
When you didn’t answer, he laughed.
“Oh my god, you’re totally flirting right now! It’s so bad, but you so are! Who even is this guy?”
You turned ever so slightly, subtle as you could manage, and pressed a knuckle into your ear to mute him. Your cheeks warmed in tandem with Bob’s.
Bob blinked. “Sorry… did I, um—was that weird?”
“No, no,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly. “That wasn’t you.”
He just nodded, like your word was more than enough. Like you could’ve told him the moon was fake, and he’d say, huh, never really thought about that before.
You moved to take a seat across from him, the fireplace crackling softly between you like a low, slow heartbeat. The warmth of the flames painted him in golds and ambers, the flickering light catching the softness in his eyes and the loose fall of his hair.
You fidgeted with your fingers out of instinct. And across the fire, he mirrored the motion—thumb twisting around his knuckle, pinky tapping rhythmically against the inside of his sleeve. There was something strangely reassuring in that shared nervousness, like you were both waiting for the same storm to pass.
You let out a quiet breath, tension easing from your shoulders. “You said you moved here? Like, New York?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. His shoulders dipped too, visibly relaxing just a touch, like your voice permitted him to breathe. “I… uh, I lived in Malyasha for a while. But I’m from Florida. Born and raised. Where—where are you from?”
You tilted your head slightly, watching how intently he tried to keep eye contact and how quickly he broke it again. “I flew in from Washington.”
“D.C.?” he asked, and you nodded.
His eyebrows lifted, eyes wide for a split second. “Wow. Do you work in the White House or something?”
You huffed a laugh, smiling into your words. “Sure. Something like that.”
His head bobbed along with the answer.
“So you’re like… a really important person here.”
You laughed again, this time wider. Your teeth showed. It surprised you how easily you let your guard down. “I wouldn’t say that.”
But he was smiling too, softer now. Less anxious.
“You are,” he said, more sure of himself now. “I saw the way people looked at you tonight. Not—not that I was watching you or anything… just, it’s hard not to. You’re, um…”
You saw the moment he lost his words, saw them spill and scatter like marbles across a floor. His blush deepened, blooming across his cheeks in a full, unmistakable deep red colour. He ducked his head, eyes falling to his shoes again, and you watched him fight a shy, apologetic smile.
“…I can see why they’d want your picture.”
And just like that, your heart softened.
You leaned in a little, elbows resting against your knees. “Thank you, Bob. You’re really sweet, you know that?”
Bob looked up again, startled by the compliment, his mouth parting slightly like he didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t sure if anyone had ever told him that before, and if they had, you could guess they didn’t mean it the way you did now.
He didn’t belong here. That much was obvious. Not with people like Valentina, not with cold smiles and polished lies. Not with mercenaries, politicians, and millionaires who hide behind their money. You could see it in the way he sat too stiffly on a velvet chair meant for lounging, in the way he tugged at his sleeves or tucked his hands away when he felt exposed.
“What’re you doing in a place like this, Bob?”
He blinked, tilting his head like he wasn’t sure what you meant.
You smiled, eyes squinting a little as you leaned forward more. “I mean, are you like, a sponsor? Investor?”
The words didn’t even sound right on your tongue, not when directed at him. The image of him swirling champagne and talking stocks was so laughably out of sync with the shy guy currently pressing himself into the couch cushions like he wanted to disappear.
“I don’t think you’re here for the politics,” you added, and there was a touch of something playful in your voice.
He chuckled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Me? Gosh, no. I don’t… I don’t do politics.” He scratched the back of his ear, sheepish again. “That’s Bucky’s thing. I’m here for my friends.”
And just like that, your whole world tilted.
Your smile dropped before you could stop it. A subtle shift, but you felt it everywhere: in your spine, in your lungs, in the weight of your hands resting suddenly still on your knees.
You straightened. Slowly.
“…You know Bucky?”
The question came quieter than you intended, and Bob must’ve heard the change, the sudden stillness in your voice. His smile faltered, and he went still, too, sensing the tension without understanding it. His posture shrank, as if unsure what he’d stepped into, as if trying not to take up more space than he already had to upset you.
He nodded, a cautious kind of affirmation. “Yeah. He’s my friend.”
That stunned silence stretched long between you.
“I… I know he’s your friend too,” Bob added quickly, the words spilling out like he was trying to fill the void before it grew too wide. His voice was quieter now, softer around the edges, almost apologetic. “I heard you talking about him to Val, I—I thought maybe…”
You weren’t sure why he kept talking. Maybe because you hadn’t said anything. Maybe because your smile had disappeared too fast, and he could feel the way the mood had shifted even if he didn’t know why. His nervous ramble wasn’t meant to hurt, you could tell that. But it did. It did because the moment he said Val, something in you knotted tight again.
The warm glow you’d felt around him moments ago started to dim, curling in on itself like a candle snuffed out mid-flicker. Your heart gave a small, stupid lurch—embarrassed at how quickly you’d let your guard down. Of course he knew Bucky. Of course he was close to Valentina. The pieces slid together too easily now, fitting into a picture you didn’t want to look at.
You tried to pull yourself back together, quickly and quietly. You reminded yourself this wasn’t supposed to be about comfort. It wasn’t about soft smiles or normal conversations or maybe asking someone out for a drink. You came here with a mission, no matter how personal it was. To find Bucky. To set the record straight. This—this moment of peace with a stranger who felt safe—wasn’t supposed to happen.
He called her Val. Like they were friends. Like they knew each other beyond just work. Like he wasn’t just some shy, nice guy who complimented you under his breath and blushed when you smiled at him. Jesus, were you that easy?
A strange bitterness bloomed in your mouth. Not anger, more like disappointment. At yourself, maybe. For forgetting, even just for a second, what kind of place this really was.
You stood up.
The decision was sudden, impulsive, a small motion made louder by the way Bob flinched. His eyes followed you, something tentative and uncertain flickering across his face.
You reached for your earpiece, thumb brushing over the button to unmute Joaquín.
But Bob stood, too. Slowly, almost clumsily, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow you or stay where he was.
“Did I—did I say something wrong?” he asked.
You froze. Your fingers stilled over the earpiece. You hadn’t expected that.
You turned, not quite facing him fully, but enough to catch the look on his face. His brows had drawn together, confusion etched faintly into his expression, and one of his hands was lifted just slightly, hovering in the air between you like he’d started to reach out and changed his mind halfway through. There were still several feet of space between you. The fire crackled low between you both, casting shadows across the expensive furniture and marble tiles.
“I’m sorry if I did,” he said, voice smaller now. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
That stopped you. “No… you didn’t…” You said, the words stumbling out, half-formed. You didn’t know why you tried to soothe him. Maybe it was the way his eyes had gone wide or the way he seemed to dread the thought of you walking away just when he was finally starting to settle into himself. It stirred something in you. Something that made your chest tighten.
You could’ve said never mind. You wanted to. Pretend his words hadn’t struck a nerve, hadn’t made your heart twist in your chest. But they did. It bothered you.
Bob blinked at you. “Oh,” he said, so gently it almost got carried off by the breeze.
A silence fell between you again. You wrapped your arms around yourself against the wind as you turned to look at him.
“Who are you, Bob?”
He straightened, caught off guard. “I’m... I’m Bob,” he said. “Just... just Bob.”
You tilted your head. “That’s it?”
He opened his mouth like he was about to say more, but nothing came out. His lips parted, then pressed shut again, the words retreating back into him like they were scared to be seen. He just shrugged helplessly. Like that’s all he had left.
And yet he kept looking at you like he was begging you not to go. Not yet.
You sighed, bringing your fingers up to your temple, pressing cold skin to your warm forehead. There was a pulse pounding there now, dull and insistent.
“I just…” You started, voice cracking faintly. “I came here looking for Bucky. I thought maybe I could get him to come home.”
“Home?” Bob asked carefully, his eyes soft.
“Yeah. With Sam. With us.” You hesitated, glancing through the tall windows behind him. The light inside spilled gold across the floor, where laughter echoed and people clinked glasses without a care in the world. Your eyes landed on the group you’d been avoiding all night—Bucky’s new team, huddled together with drinks, grinning like it was just another night to celebrate.
It made your chest hollow out.
“Ever since he joined Valentina’s little fuckass team or... whatever this is,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the gala behind you, “everything’s just been so... shitty.”
You looked back at Bob, surprised to find that he’d stepped a little closer. Just enough that you could see the way his jaw twitched, like he was working through something he didn’t know how to say.
“Sorry,” you muttered, suddenly self-conscious. “Not to, like, dump all that on you.”
The cold bit into your arms. You rubbed them quickly, wishing you’d brought a coat.
“It’s not...” Bob started, and then, more firmly, “It’s not a fuckass team.”
You blinked. “Sorry?”
“They saved me,” he said, voice trembling just a bit. “Lena. Bucky. The others. They’re my family. We... we take care of each other.”
You stared at him, something icy curling low in your stomach. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said again, earnest. “I know it probably doesn’t look like it from the outside, but... they gave me a chance when no one else would. They didn’t treat me like I was broken. They... saw me.”
You wanted to believe that. You really did. But it felt like trying to swallow glass.
“Right,” you muttered, too tired to argue. “I have to go.”
You turned, reaching for your earpiece.
“Wait,” Bob said suddenly, like he’d only just realized this was goodbye. “Will I... will I see you again?”
You paused, fingers still hovering near your ear. The balcony lights flickered faintly behind you, and the sound of the city buzzed low in the background, as if the world were holding its breath.
You didn’t turn around right away.
Part of you wanted to say no. Make it easy. Clean.
But when you finally looked back at him, at the boyish worry carved into his face, the way he stood there with his hands half-raised like he didn’t know whether to reach for you or let you go, you felt that ache again. The one that whispered that maybe, despite everything, he meant what he said. That maybe there was still something worth salvaging in the strange, quiet warmth you’d felt earlier. Something real.
And you desperately wanted it to be real. You wanted it to mean something.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Bob swallowed. Nodded like he understood.
But his eyes lingered on you like he hoped the answer might change.
uhh, this was amazing? i was supposed to sleep and instead decided to read this masterpiece, everything about it was sooooo good (the dialogue, the tension, Valentina being a b*tch) 💛💛
Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader
Word count: 3,4k
Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*
Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.
Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!
I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.
There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.
Masterlist | Read on AO3
Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all.
No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.
The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room.
During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.
But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.
“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.
“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone.
Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously.
“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.
“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”
Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights.
“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”
Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.
“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”
Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.
“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay.
At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food.
Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.
“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.
“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”
Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own.
“You never get in the way, Bob.”
His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor.
“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic.
“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”
He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.
“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”
He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-
Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.
But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute.
By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…
You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.
“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.
He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal.
“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.
“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.
“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous.
And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.
“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”
He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.
At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor.
After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.
“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you.
He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together.
“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.
“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”
It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.
“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”
He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.
“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”
Your face fell in confusion.
“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.
“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”
He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.
“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.
Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.
“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.
And that’s how he ended up here.
Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.
As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.
“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.
Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.
“I-I’m so sorry, I-”
You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.
His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then…
He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…
Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.
“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”
Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.
“B-But it’s true.”
A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.
“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”
Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.
“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.
He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.
“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.
Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”
Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek.
“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.
He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.
“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.
Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.
“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”
His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.
“Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.
“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.
All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.
He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.
Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring.
“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.
“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?
“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.
He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end.
“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.
The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.
“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment.
Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.
“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”
“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips.
“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”
Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.
“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.
“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.
You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely.
“You deserve it, Bob.”
It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.
“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”
Hey people, I have finally returned! I’m so sorry for being away for so long, life got in the way (and some stuff happened that when I wasn’t busy I had no motivation to write), but now I’m back (hopefully for good 😅😅). I just wanted to address a few things:
Anyone who sent in requests about being added to taglists will be promptly added (I’ll try to answer each comment individually, but in case I don’t get around to that, bear it in mind that you will be added to the taglist)
‘Written Between the Lines’ is still going to be updated! Their story is not over yet, I have several ideas for a few more installments already, I just need to get my thoughts in order and actually sit down to write it.
‘The Ballad of Green Snakes and Honey Badgers’ on the other hand is unfortunately being put on hold for the time being (indefinitely), as I’m currently very disheartened (and honestly very pissed off) with the universe this AU is part of because of that c*nt its creator and how she directly contributed the stripping of trans rights in the UK (honestly if you vibe with anything that woman says unkindly fuck off my blog). I may come back to this story in the future, as I have quite a few ideas for it still, but at the moment I would say it’s unlikely.
Once again I apologize for being away for such a long time, and hope you like what’s to come!
Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader
Word count: 3,4k
Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*
Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.
Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!
I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.
There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.
Masterlist | Read on AO3
Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all.
No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.
The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room.
During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.
But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.
“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.
“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone.
Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously.
“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.
“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”
Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights.
“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”
Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.
“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”
Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.
“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay.
At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food.
Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.
“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.
“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”
Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own.
“You never get in the way, Bob.”
His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor.
“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic.
“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”
He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.
“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”
He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-
Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.
But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute.
By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…
You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.
“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.
He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal.
“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.
“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.
“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous.
And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.
“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”
He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.
At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor.
After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.
“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you.
He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together.
“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.
“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”
It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.
“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”
He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.
“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”
Your face fell in confusion.
“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.
“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”
He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.
“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.
Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.
“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.
And that’s how he ended up here.
Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.
As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.
“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.
Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.
“I-I’m so sorry, I-”
You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.
His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then…
He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…
Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.
“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”
Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.
“B-But it’s true.”
A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.
“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”
Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.
“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.
He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.
“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.
Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”
Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek.
“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.
He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.
“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.
Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.
“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”
His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.
“Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.
“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.
All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.
He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.
Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring.
“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.
“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?
“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.
He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end.
“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.
The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.
“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment.
Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.
“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”
“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips.
“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”
Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.
“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.
“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.
You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely.
“You deserve it, Bob.”
It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.
“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”
Summary: short and sweet story of how easy it is to fall for Viktor’s charms.
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, fluuuuufffffffff, pre canon and canon events, Reader has ZERO details just that she’s shorter than Viktor and her last name is Kiramman, lots of kissing, p in v, fingering, oral(F!), vanilla loving sex, English isn’t my first language<3
Word count: 5.49K+
An: first Viktot ficcc!! i can make a part two but I need to know your thoughts on this first so comment and tell me what you think babiessss! Reblogs and comments are so appreciated<3333
“Lovely seeing you again, Miss Kiramman!” Professor Heimerdinger waves at you, his little ball of fur following him until they both stand in front of you, “It has been so long since our paths have crossed! What have you been up to?”
“Professor!” You say, smiling brightly at the man, folding your hands before you, “Oh, you know me! Studying, trying to keep up with my mother’s expectations, and attending a few meetings with her. The usual Kiramman business.”
“I’m sure she’s giving you a run for your life!” He jokes, laughing loudly, “At least we know the seat will be left in the right hands! Cassandra has raised a gem we can surely appreciate in the future.”
“You’re too kind, Professor,” you smile down at the man, easily conversing with him, “It’s a shame I no longer have classes with you, I’d love to relive the pranks we pulled on you back in the day.”
“Hush you!” His little dog jumps up and down your legs, hitting your heels gently as your grin matches Heimerdinger’s expression, “You are all grown up and soon, you will join me in my adventures around the city.”
“Maybe, if you are nice enough to get me into more Council meetings,” you flatten your hands over your long blue dress, leaning down to look eye to eye with your ex-professor. After all, a Kiramman will have a seat there, yeah? I would need to know everything!”
“Ah, I see what you are trying to do, young woman,” the man softly chuckles, patting your arm slowly, “I wish to do so, you are bright and smart. Maybe I can talk to Mel Medarda about it to soften the Council. But I would love to have you in my classes as well! I enjoy young and curious minds like yours!”
“That would be lovely, Professor,” you straighten your back, locking your fingers through each other, smiling softly, “You know where to find me, I’m always eager to help—“
“Professor?”
A soft, thick voice of a man interrupts your conversation, the clinking of his cane reaching your ears sooner than your eyes can see him, and when you turn around, you are not disappointed by what you see.
Leaning on his cane, there stands a tall lean man, one hand wrapped around the books while the other keeps his balance. His neatly brushed brunette hair stands in a way that makes his face more angular.
He is captivating, and the way his eyes scan you curiously sends a shiver down your spine.
“Viktor, my boy!” the professor announces, excitement dripping from his voice as he practically bounces towards Viktor. You learned the captivating man’s name. “Come, come! Meet Miss Kiramman!”
“Kiramman?” Viktor asks slowly, moving closer to where you are standing. His eyes hold the same small curious glint from earlier. “As in… Y/N Kiramman?”
“That’s right,” you reply softly, goosebumps rising on your skin with the way he mumbles your name, each syllable falling from his lips like honey, “A pleasure to meet you.”
You stick your hand out to him, taking a step closer so you are at an arm’s length, having a better view of his face — closer, he looks much more beautiful. He has a different type of beauty, you think, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, tired amber eyes, and moles adorning his face.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he mumbles quickly, huffing when he struggles to hold the books up with the hand holding his cane. But you realize his legs are stronger than relying fully on the cane, and after a few awkward seconds, he reaches out and wraps his long fingers around your hand, shaking it gently while he keeps his eyes locked on yours. “Professor talks a lot about you, Miss Kiramman.”
“Only good things, I hope. " With one last squeeze, you retrieve your hand, letting your gaze wander over his face as he does the same. You find two moles kissing his pale skin.
“The best actually. It is not every day that Professor praises someone for their work,” he raises a soft eyebrow when you chuckle, the corner of his lips twitching while he also takes his time staring at you, before he is pulled out of his mind by Professor’s voice, handing the books to his right hand and clutching his cane with the other.
“Miss Kiramman is an honorable woman in our Academy! So are you, my boy!”
The three of you start walking toward the end of the hallway, Heimerdinger ahead of you while you and Viktor walk shoulder to shoulder, listening to your professor’s rambling.
“So, which class are you in?” You ask him quietly, trying not to interrupt the little man in front of you, “I’ve never seen you around before.”
“I graduated a few years ago,” he replies, his soft eyes falling on your face once more as the two of you follow the professor, “Now I am working as the Professor’s assistant.”
“Wow, I never thought anyone would accomplish a job like this,” you reply, calling Heimerdinger as you smirk at Viktor, watching as his cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “You didn’t tell me you had an assistant! I thought that was only reserved for me.”
“As smart as you are, your mother had beaten me to it and set you up for great success,” the short man shrugged and turned around to look at the two of you. “Viktor, on the other hand, is a bright man, a genius perhaps. I could not simply let him get away from me. It is not every day we get to see smart men like him join us from the Undercity.”
“Professor…”
“Our new Golden Boy is from the Lanes,” you beam at him, watching him raise a soft brow at you again — his way of showing his happiness perhaps — and chuckles, “How interesting.”
“I’m merely an assistant, not a remarkable person,” he says, but you can see it in his demeanor that he loves being recognized and appreciated, “You would have fit the position perfectly, but unfortunately I am not going to give it up for anything.”
“Good, you shouldn’t,” you say, taking a step closer to him, and looking up at him with soft curiosity. “You wouldn’t get here if you didn’t have anything to offer, so I know you must have such interesting theories to invest in.”
“I do,” he breathes out, the proximity making him nervous a little, you can tell, but he pulls himself together immediately, leaning down a bit so he can get closer as well, “That’s why I have permission to go to the labs.”
“As I said!” Professor jumps between the two of you, forcing you both to break the stare and look down at him, “A brilliant mind he has, but he is stuck with me and my classroom! Now if you excuse us, I have a room full of enthusiastic students who need to get their hopes crushed!”
“Have a great day, Professor,” you shake his hand before looking back at Viktor, finding him leaning on his cane, an endearing look on his face as he waits for you to address him as well, “Enjoy your day, Viktor.”
You extend your hand for him to shake, instead, he hands the books he is holding to Professor and reaches to grab your delicate fingers in his large palm, pulling your hand up to his surprisingly soft and a little bitten lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.
“Until our next meeting, Miss Kiramman,” with a caress of his thumb over the back of your hand, he lets go and steps back, nodding before he follows the Professor into his classroom.
“Well well well,” you lean on the doorway, watching Viktor shuffle through the papers. He sighs tiredly and turns his head to look at you, his eyes softening slightly as he watches you walk towards him slowly.
“Miss Kiramman,” he calls you, leaning back on his chair as he drags his eyes to your face, cocking his head to the side while he watches you rest your palms on his desk, resting your weight on them, “What can I do for you?”
“That’s so mean, Viktor!” You gasp, enjoying how he raises his eyebrows playfully, shaking his head as he looks at you and waits for you to continue, “I don’t need anything! Can’t a girl just enjoy your company?”
“Not this girl,” he replies, a large smile threatening to take over his face when he sees your small pout, “And girls do not enjoy my company because all I can talk about is the Academy.”
“Well, this girl enjoys your company,” you say, rounding his desk to lean your bottom on the edge of the desk, standing in front of him with a soft expression, “and that’s not true! We’ve talked a couple of times and you are wonderful to talk to even though you get so excited about your theories that you forget about everything else around you.”
“It must be interesting to you too because I’ve managed to keep you around with nothing but my wits,” he says, standing up slowly, keeping himself straight with his hand finding their place next to your hips on the desk, “Now, tell me, Miss Kiramman, how may I be of service?”
“For start,” you breathe out, swallowing the nervousness as he looks at your face with those beautiful honey eyes, “You can call me by my name, I think we are past the formalities now.”
“Is that so?” He asks, frowning a bit but you can see the smug smirk on his face growing as he looks at your face, his lean body inching closer to you with each passing second, “Okay then, Y/N… what else?”
“I’ve heard there is another student around here they’re calling him The Golden Boy,” you whisper, his steely gaze making you nervous in a good way, “How did you let this happen?”
“I don’t care about anybody else as long as…” He reaches up with one hand to caress your cheek with his knuckles, his thumb catching the edge of your bottom lip slightly. “You call me your Golden Boy.”
“Really?” It comes out with a hushed tone, but the way your eyes light up seems to be Viktor’s undoing, “Even though I’m a Kiramman?”
“Especially then.”
“How romantic,” you say and lean into his touch when he cups your cheek, letting himself relax as your warmth seeps into his cold hand, “Will I see you soon?”
“I don’t think I can ever get rid of you,” he chuckles when you slap his arm gently, sending you off with a quick smile as the students start piling up in the classroom.
You were supposed to meet with Viktor tonight to go over a few things for your exams, but Jayce Talis, your sister’s mentor or whatever he was, had blown up his house with whatever experiment he was doing.
You are not sure why your mother told you to go and check up on him and scold him after the humiliation he had to endure in the Council meeting and in front of the entire academy, but saying no to Cassandra Kiramman was not for the weak, so with determination to get this over with, you walk to the ruined door of his apartment.
“Jayce,” you call out, finding him sitting on one of the chairs near the ruins of his apartment, head held between his hands before he turns around and looks at you, standing up immediately.
“Hey!” He waves awkwardly, shoulders tensing as he looks at you and waits for you to say something but he beats you to it and starts rambling, “Listen, I had no idea what those people were doing here—“
“You tried to blow up my sister,” you shrug, enjoying how you add to his rambling with how stressed out he is.
“I swear I didn’t, I’m so so sorry, they are trying—“
“Cait is hurt, y’know?” You feign a pout, entering his apartment to look around and you see something — or someone rather — who you did not expect to see here.
“Oh no! Listen, please please tell her that I am deeply—“
“Viktor?”
“Hello, darling,” he says, his voice so soft and welcoming that you have to stop yourself from leaping into his arms in front of Jayce. So with slow and steady steps, you go to him, gently running your fingers up and down his arm as you look at him questioning.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, looking between him and Jayce with a raised eyebrow, “Especially with him? The man who tried to blow up my sister.”
“I did not!”
“What are you doing anyway?” You move away from Viktor, ignoring Jayce’s little voice in protest as you scan the board and glance at the notebook in Viktor’s hands, “You know it’s illegal to continue this research, right?”
“We do—“
“You can’t tell anyone, please, Y/N—“
“Who said I’m gonna do that?” You look at Jayce, offended a little at how he thought you would expose them, “For someone who tried to blow up my sister—“
“I’m gonna kill myself, I swear—“
“I think his research is worth exploring, what do you say, Golden Boy?”
Viktor looks up from the notebook, clearly not anticipating you asking him for his input on the situation, but when he looks at your eager eyes and cocked hip, he smiles and nods, looking back at Jayce whose lips are parted in shock.
“So, what are your plans?” You ask and make yourself comfortable on the desk that Viktor is standing next to, waiting for some explanation on what they were doing before you interrupt them.
“We have to stabilize the diamonds first,” Viktor tells you and stumbles slightly to stand next to the board but Jayce’s whine stops him from talking.
“We have to get my notes first, we can’t let them destroy my entire research! That’s my entire life in those labs! We need to go to the Academy first and retrieve them.”
“That’s a… dangerous idea,” you say, sighing loudly, “But there is no chance for the two of you to go any further if you don’t read what’s in there.”
“How can we get inside though? We know where my stuff is, but we can’t get into Heimerdinger’s lab without—“
The jingling of the keys makes him pause and you look at Viktor with a huge grin, looking back at Jayce who is clearly shocked by the revelation.
“Perks of being Professor’s assistant.”
“Great! Now let’s go—“
“You are not coming,” Viktor says with a stern voice, his gaze hardening when you frown at him, jumping down on your shoes to move and stand in front of him.
“Of course I am! You can use my help in the lab—“
“We can, darling, I know that,” he grabs his cane and takes a step closer to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “You’re bright and smart, we will need your help later, but if we get caught, I don’t want you getting in trouble, especially as someone as important as you.”
“Alright, but be careful, please!” You wrap your arms around him and hug him close, breathing his woody scent in when he keeps you tucked in his arms and presses a kiss to the side of your head, “Make sure you hide from the Enforcers who are on the nightly strolls.”
“We will, darling, we will.”
You laugh alongside Mel as she tells you about how she was the one who caught the boys sneaking into the labs near the morning and told them they had one night to prove themselves that they could do something extraordinary.
“I’m quite glad Heimerdinger told me to join you here,” She tells you, looping her arm through yours as you wander in the Academy’s hallways together, “I’ve missed talking with someone like you. Elora is there for me, but you… are quite interesting to converse with.”
“I take that as a compliment,” you say, gently squeezing her arm in agreement, “I’ve always wanted to talk to you, you know? Mother says I should get to know more of the Counselors but none have shown any interest in me besides you.”
“You’ll get used to it, believe me,” she sighs, stopping you slowly, turning you around with her hands on your shoulders, “Council meetings have not been this serious but now… the prospect of magic scares everyone. If Mr. Talis says he is capable, then we should only wait and see what he can do.”
“He has Viktor, they are both pretty amazing when it comes to science. I believe in them, but… let’s all hope they keep it under control and don’t hurt themselves.”
“I understand, and I hope as well—“
The loud bang cuts Mel’s words off, and you both look at each other before walking toward the source of the sound, finding Heimerdinger screaming at the boys while the two of them are… hovering.
“What’s going on?” You ask, stepping closer to the blue light surrounding the lab. Not only them but other objects are also floating around. The light comes from the stone in the middle of the room, and you realize they have successfully stabilized it.
“You did it, boys!”
“Can you stop hovering for a second?” Heimerdinger groans, shaking his head from side to side.
“I’m not sure how to do that, Professor!” Viktor speaks, floating upside down before he reaches for an object you can not see.
You turn around and look at Mel, finding her staring at Jayce with a small smile before she says her goodbyes to you and Jayce and leaves with Professor so the boys can get back on the ground peacefully.
“We need to get back down, Jayce!”
“I’m on it, just make sure you… swim to the edge so you won’t drop down on your leg!”
“Be careful!” you wait for Jayce to turn off the stone or somehow get it under control and when he does, Viktor lands on his bad leg, groaning as he tries to stand up by gripping the edge of the desk.
You run towards him, grabbing under his arms to help him on his feet. Viktor leans on you, his leg pulsing with pain while you try to lead him to the chair near you but he stops you and asks for his cane.
“I’ll be back soon,” He tells Jayce and nods after he grabs the cane from you and holds your hand in his, this time he leads you out of the room, closing the door before he pushes you against the hallway wall softly and crashes his lips to yours.
He abandons the cane on the floor and puts his hands on your waist while his lips melt into yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, quickly kissing him back in a state of surprise and relief, thinking how finally you are getting what you wanted ever since you met him.
You thread your hands through his hair, tugging at the gorgeous unruly strands softly as he pushes his tongue past your lips, tasting your morning tea eagerly, humming as he squeezes you closer to him.
He breaks and gasps for air, leaving you panting and leaning back on the wall, pulling him with you so he rests his forehead on top of yours. You look at his face; amber irises covered nearly fully with his pupils, bitten lips swollen and bruised due to the feverish kiss you just shared.
“You’re so beautiful, Viktor,” you mumble, his lips only a breath away, and you finally catch him laughing, pecking your nose as you giggle.
“That was supposed to be my line,” he whispers, moving his face to your neck, ghosting his nose over the side of your shoulders, “You are a goddess, nothing compares to your beauty.”
“Sweet talker,” you gasp when he latches his lips to your neck, sucking on the thin skin until he is sure he has left a red mark, licking the tender spot before blowing a bit on it, “Fuck, Viktor—“
“I have to go, but come tonight,” he says, cupping your face in his hands, kissing you one last time before he grabs his cane, “Come to my… room. We should definitely continue this, darling.”
He leaves you panting and smiling like an idiot, while he walks inside the lab with one last smirk.
You are buzzing with excitement as you knock on Viktor’s door, fingers clutching the bag of food you brought from home to eat with him, feeding him a little since you are sure he didn’t have the time to eat anything.
“Hello, darling,” he opens the door, leaning on the door frame, pushing the door for you to walk inside, “Oh, what do you have there for me?”
“Hi, handsome,” you lean to kiss him on the lips, biting your lip when he hums and looks down at you with hazy eyes, “Dinner from the Kiramman kitchen!”
“Sounds wonderful!”
You look around his room, loving how every corner of his room represents him; a full-size bed in one corner, a huge area for studying adored with books and a lovely dark oak desk and a sort of living room with couches and table in front of them.
“I love your place!” You tell him, placing the bag on the table before grabbing his hand and pulling him behind you gently to sit on the couch, “Let’s eat! I can’t do anything with an empty belly.”
“You look lovely,” he says without taking his eyes off of you, reaching to brush your arm slowly while you unpack the food, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Me too,” you stop, turning around to look at him, “It was so hard to focus on what my mother was saying while all I wanted was to be with you.”
“You have me now, darling,” he pulls you to him, and you cuddle his side, kissing his shoulder over the loose brown T-shirt he is wearing, one hand coming up to caress his chest while he plays with your hair, “How was your day?”
“Dull because I only got to kiss you once,” you rest your head on his shoulder, exhaling softly when he reaches and pulls your leg on top of his, caressing your thigh slowly, “How about you?”
“We worked on the stone a bit more, but we were so tired we kind of ditched it for tomorrow, and now my day is much better thanks to you.”
Viktor leans down and captures your lips in a delicate kiss, his fingers squeezing your thigh while you move your lips in sync with each other.
He guides you on top of him, straddling his thighs while his hands roam your back, gently moving under your shirt while you press yourself to his body more, your chest grazing his even with your shirts between them. Viktor’s fingers trail from the bottom to the top, following the path of your spine, drawing mindless shapes on your skin.
You break the kiss and lean back a little, grabbing the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head, giving him better access and revealing your simple blue bra to his hungry eyes.
You can feel his excitement from beneath you, his desire growing with each second as you grind yourself down on him, sitting on top of him — minding his bad leg — so sweetly and it takes everything in him not to rip the rest of your clothes and pin you to the couch.
“Can I?” You ask, playing with the neckline of his t-shirt, letting your fingers gently caress his collarbone while you wait for his answer. He nods breathlessly and reaches to grab the bottom of the fabric, pulling it over his head, and revealing his white undershirt underneath.
“Why am I not surprised?” You giggle and drop your forehead on his, making him chuckle as well before he reaches to pull the undershirt out of his sweatpants.
“I’m always cold, I need some sort of shield for all hours of the day,” he explains, pulling the undershirt off as well and leaning back on the couch when his chest is bare. He waits with bated breath for you to say something, but when he sees how you are ogling at the newly exposed skin, his face heats up and he covers the shyness by pressing his lips to yours, gently lifting you off him so he can stand up and extend his hand to you, “You deserve more than a stupid couch, come on.”
You grab his hands and he pulls you on your feet, gently leading you to his bed while stumbling on his bad leg, and your heart sores when he turns around and holds your face in his hands.
“I’m sorry I can’t carry you to the bed.”
“Don't be sorry, I can’t carry you either,” you say and he shakes his head, laughing while he leads you to the bed, gently lying you down on the soft mattress before crawling on top of you, kissing a path from your stomach to your neck, his hands wandering over your body desperately.
“I need more, Viktor,” you gasp when he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your chest over your bra before reaching around you to unclasp it effortlessly, and you push the straps down quickly, throwing the bra somewhere in his room.
He sucks in a sharp breath when his eyes fall on your breasts, leaning down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, flickering his tongue over the hardened bud while one of his hands goes to your other breast and squeezes it deliciously.
You spread your legs so he can settle between them comfortably, and make sure you are both on the bed by the end of your adventures. Arching your back, you push your chest further into his face, groaning when he bites down and pinches your nipple between his fingers.
Viktor hums as little whines start falling from your lips when he lets go of your boob and starts kissing the valley between your breasts, making a beeline toward your pants with soft kitten kisses. He doesn’t need to say anything to make sure you are okay with where things are going because you are already unzipping your pants and raising your hips.
Viktor smiles against your belly, pressing one last kiss before he pulls your pants off and drops them on the floor, taking his time with dragging your panties down your legs. You try to close your legs shyly but he wraps his fingers around your thighs and pushes them apart, saying a low ‘tsk tsk’ in disapproval which sends a huge wave of arousal into your core.
“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, kissing your naval while he caresses his thumbs over your inner thighs, “Unfortunately, I need to have a taste before I prepare you.”
He leans down and licks a stripe between your soaked folds, humming at the bittersweet taste, but he can’t stop now that he has had a taste. He dives headfirst into your aching cunt, pressing his nose into you as his tongue circles your entrance before licking his way up to your throbbing clit.
“Fuck, Vik, please—”
“Don’t beg, darling,” he says, voice muffled by your pussy, “I will give you exactly what you want.”
His fingers join his tongue’s movements, one long elegant digit prudes your entrance before he pushes it inside gently, his eyes never leaving your face as you keep your body up by your elbows and sigh loudly, throwing your head back when he closes his lips around your buzzing nerves and starts suckling on it, moving his finger in and out of your needy hole slowly.
You open your eyes to look at him, the sight between your thighs is so tantalizing that you fear it would vanish if you look away; Viktor’s hair is in every direction, and his amber orbs are solely on your face while his lips work their magic. Upon seeing your blissful face, he adds another finger inside, curling both of them inside you while he picks up the pace, needing to see you fall apart with his hands.
“So good—fuck, Vik…” You moan out his name so softly when his fingers hit your sweet spot, making you shudder and close your thighs around his head, and he takes this as his cue to keep his tongue drawing quick circles over your clit. The squelching sound of his fingers fucking your cunt draws the last straw, the knot that was forming in your core finally snapping and you gush around his digits.
“Sweetest girl, no wonder your mother keeps an eye on you,” he whispers, wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he looms over you, pulling you into a deep kiss so you can taste yourself on his lips, groaning at the contact.
“Sit on the bed, please,” you say, kissing his cheek a few times before helping him out of his sweats and gently guiding him to sit against the headboard, “You’re so handsome, Vik, I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
“I would love that,” he replies, cheeks tainted pink and it gets even worse when you bite your lip and look down between your bodies; his cock standing proudly on his lower abdomen, leaking with precum and ready to burst at any given moment.
“Tell me if your leg hurts, okay?” You say and straddle him, grabbing his cock and stroking him a few times before lining him up with your soaked cunt, holding your head as the thick head slowly breaches your walls.
“Forget about my leg,” he groans and grabs your hands and leads them to his shoulders leaning toward you a bit as you sink on him, breathing in your moans and little whines with every inch that you take inside, “C’mere, darling.”
You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in a deep kiss, sighing into each other’s mouths when you sit on him completely. Viktor claws at your waist, his tongue meeting yours in a deep passionate kiss when you start grinding on him, moving your hips front and back.
“So pretty, Miss Kiramman,” he breaks the kiss to whisper, his lips brushing against yours with each word, but what truly becomes your undoing is his honey-colored eyes that stare into your soul with a tenderness only he can manage to show to you, “I will never take you for granted, my gorgeous girl.”
“V-Viktor,” you stutter, bouncing on him faster now that you are feeling a bit more confident, his cock reaching the depths of your core and nudging all those spots that make you see stars, feeling the same knot form again, this time much faster than before, “I’m… I’m so close!”
“Then let go for me,” he puts his hand behind your head and pulls you into his arms, holding your face on his shoulder as he starts thrusting up inside you as best as he can without putting too much weight on his bad leg, hammering his cock in and out of your swollen hole.
Your orgasm seeps through your body like a warm wave of the sea, crashing into your veins softly yet steadily. You cling to Viktor, tightly wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close as you quiver on top of him, walls tightening around his girth like a vice that throws him off the edge.
He pulls out of you with haste, fingers closing around his cock and stroking himself until he finishes on your back with a loud groan of your name, his dick throbbing as he breathes in your scent.
He leans back on the headboard, pulling you down with him until you are lying down side by side with your legs intertwined, his damaged one resting on top of yours as you both caress and kiss each other, finally basking in each other’s proximity.
“I think I’m falling for you,” you say, tracing a line from his shoulder down to his chest, your eyes meeting his in a second, “Don’t look too enthusiastic, we won’t do it on my bed anytime soon.”
“I don’t think I can ever do it in your house because even imagining meeting with Cassandra Kiramman makes me anxious,” Viktor pulls you closer by his hand on your waist, kissing your forehead gently, “Not to mention I like her daughter, so that would be so awkward…”
“You like me?” You ask, biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning, but failing miserably when he chuckles and nods.
Aaaaaaa, I loved this!! I’ve been dying to read whatever you had been preparing for Viktor, and honestly I loved every second of it! They are so cute, him being worried for her when him and Jayce are about to go commit actual ✨crimes✨ is so so sweet 🥹🥹
And the smut?? Him calling reader Miss Kiramman was honestly so so sexy!! 🥵🥵
Anyways, thank you so so much for writing this, you write amazingly, and I cannot wait to see what else you might have in store!! 😊😊
Chapter VIII - Wrap Me In Your Embrace, Quell My Fears
Summary: You receive the most wonderful news from the maester, and you must share them with your Aemond. But, even though you should be happy, why do you suddenly feel so… afraid?
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Word count: 2,2k
Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); discussions around the topic of pregnancy and childbirth and fears and anxieties that come with it
Notes: Soooo, here we are! This is just some short (at least shorter than other chapters) and cute (if not a little angsty) thing I had in mind for these two for a while now before going forward. Do bear in mind that this chapter (and a few others to come) contains talks around the topic of pregnancy and childbirth and fears and anxieties that come with it, so if this is not really your cup of tea, proceed with caution.
Anyway, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you all had a great start to the new year!
Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3
You knew you should be happy, ecstatic even. Yet, the only thing you felt as one of the maesters gave you a little congratulatory pat to the back of your hand was fear. Spine chilling, paralyzing fear. Why were you suddenly overcome by dread, to the point where you whimpered when the closing of the hardwood door that led to your chambers signaled the maester’s departure, almost calling after him, begging him to stay with you.
This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Something you craved for so dearly it almost brought tears to your eyes when you couldn’t get it the first few times around. So why, why were you feeling like this now that you finally got what you wished for?
You could go to your mother for advice. You knew she would understand, but lately she had been swamped with petitions and audiences, never catching a break. You didn’t want to add even more to her plate. Alternatively, you could search for comfort in your good mother, or even send a raven to Dragonstone, where your good sister now resided. Alicent, and especially Helaena, would understand, help quench your anxieties, and they weren’t as bound by duty as your mother. Hells, you could even send word to Driftmark and ask your grandmother Rhaenys about it.
But you couldn’t, not really. Or at least you felt like you couldn’t. No matter how many excuses you made up in your mind for hesitating to look for help, even just for someone to talk to, the undeniable truth was that you were ashamed. Ashamed of what exactly, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but ashamed nonetheless. You couldn’t help but feel guilty over your own emotions, that you felt the need to hide them from your mother, the one who had carried you in her womb and watched you grow.
But that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it?
And the guilt grew even stronger, now feeling ashamed over the shame you were feeling. How could you feel this way? How could you forsake the very life growing within you like this? It made you feel like a failure, and you had yet to actually start on this journey, if this was any indication of how you’d be as a mother than you had already failed in your own eyes.
So lost inside your own mind you had barely heard the door opening and shutting once more. In your unrest you had taken to pacing around the room, now standing close to the window that overlooked the bay.
“Ābrazȳrys?” you heard the soft, amiable voice of your husband sound from the threshold “What are you doing up? You should be resting.”
Aemond took a step closer, crossing the distance between you. He held so much love in his eyes, so much care, you knew you had to tell him. He deserved to know, this wasn’t something that regarded only you.
So you took his hand, so callused from years upon years of sword training and dragon riding, and pulled him to sit beside you on the mattress.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, concerned, before you could even begin “Did the maester stop by like I requested?”
For a few sennights now you had been feeling… odd. Not necessarily bad most of the time, just different. First came the fatigue, feeling more tired than usual at the end of each day, sometimes falling asleep even before supper could be served. It had regretfully caused you to miss your secret sparring sessions with your husband on more than one occasion by now. Then came the nausea; most days it stayed just that, only an uncomfortable stomach churning feeling that would usually go away on its own, before resurfacing the following day. Only once did it actually evolve to something more, which resulted in you not being able to keep down the seafood casserole served at supper that night. You tried brushing it off, claiming some of the ingredients must not have been as fresh as the seller insisted, but Aemond was unconvinced as you were the only one to experience such a thing after the meal.
Then the final and key indication that something wasn’t quite right was the fact that your moonsblood was late. Where you’d typically get your flow almost precisely on the second weekend of each moonturn, this moon it hadn’t come yet. Suspicion and excitement arose within you, and when Aemond suggested that a maester be called to check on your symptoms, which you had previously written off as a bug or a cold and that it would go away on its own, you didn’t think twice before accepting.
Now you wished you could pinpoint where all that excitement had gone, for all you felt currently was apprehension. But you steeled yourself, for you had news to share with your husband.
“He did.” you grabbed his hand, settled over his thigh, and his thumb instinctively started brushing over your skin in a calming motion.
“And?” he pressed, concern still evident in his tone “How serious is it?”
“Not as bad as anything you are picturing, valzȳrys.” you chuckled but it came out shaky “He did have something important to say though, after his assessment.”
His eyebrows raised, his hand squeezing your own in reassurance as his eyes urged you to continue.
“Aemond,” you took a steadying breath, your hand giving his a squeeze back, more for your sake than his own, before carrying on in a hushed whisper “I am with child.”
You could see the exact moment the words got through to him, his mind processing what you’d just told him. His eyes shone with unbridled happiness, shimmering under the light coming in from the window, his lips curving up just the tiniest bit, a radiant smile threatening to break out on his features. But he must have seen something, noticed a tiny movement in your own face, for all those signs vanished, replaced by a furrow of his brows in concern.
“What is it, my love?” he asked, voice so tender with worry, and all that guilt you had been carrying came crashing through once again, knocking the breath out of you.
You didn’t realize that tears had started streaming down your cheeks but one moment you were staring at your husband, and the next you were sobbing uncontrollably against his chest, one of his arms snaked around your waist, keeping you close to him inside the safety of his arms, and the other around your shoulders, a hand to the back of your head. His lips were pressed against your temple, whispering soothing, caring words onto your skin.
Oh, he had been so happy. He was so elated and in your selfishness you took that from him. It just added to the ever growing pile of shame you were feeling, making you cry even harder.
“This is wonderful news, is it not? Should you not be happy?” he whispered once your wails had calmed to mere sniffles, his voice betraying how utterly confused he felt.
“I-It is, I am!” you hiccuped, and he gave a peck to the top of your head “I just…”
“Ñuha zaldrītsos, ȳdragon naejot nyke kostilus.” he said, pulling back so he could cup your cheeks between his palms, his thumbs catching leftover tears that still refused to dry. The tenderness, the love in his face made you realize he wasn’t angry, or resentful towards you. He was just confused and worried. He wanted to help you. But he couldn’t do so if he didn’t at least know where you were coming from.
“I am scared.” you whispered, finally.
His face gave nothing away, but from the way his palms slid from your cheeks to your jaw, his fingers scratching gently at the spot right under and behind your ears, he wanted you to explain. He wanted to understand.
“I have helped my mother deliver three of my younger siblings, Aegon, Viserys and Visenya. And Aemond…” you bit your lip just remembering the smell of her birthing chambers “She was in so much pain. It would take hours, Viserys’ took almost an entire day. And there was so much blood.”
You could still hear her screaming in agony, could still feel her hand gripping onto your own so tightly you worried your fingers might crack under her strength.
“And Queen Aemma, my grandmother?” you rapidly continued, your breath quickening as you remembered your mother telling you about her own mother. You didn’t have to tell him, he knew. Gods, the whole realm knew “But nearly every lady, every woman goes through this, do they not? My septa has once told me that the birthing bed is the women’s battlefield, so why do I feel so afraid? And what gives me the right? Almost every woman before me has been through this, and certainly many will do so after me, they make it seem so easy but in truth I am terrified.”
Aemond couldn’t quite say he understood the feeling, as a man that wasn’t a burden he had to carry. But he caught a glimpse into your emotions and could see were you were coming from. When he was little he had passed by where his own mother had been locked away in her chambers, bringing Daeron into the world, and he would never forget her screams, even muffled by the closed door. Even if he never truly understood what it was like he knew that you needed him to at least understand you.
“Fear is rarely a rational thing, I believe.” he started, trying to grasp onto something more concrete he could offer you “Not every lady shows it, but from my limited experience on the matter I could say most, if not all, also experience this fear.”
“B-But… they make it appear so easy, so effortless. My mother, even, she seemed so prepared.” you argued, almost defeated “They make it seem like pushing out babe after babe is nothing but a blessing from the Gods.”
“And perhaps it is.” he added, but quickly reverted to his original argument. That was not what you needed to hear right now “Perhaps they never say otherwise because they think exactly like you.”
You averted your gaze in surprise, like the thought had never crossed your mind in the first place.
“What I know is Helaena was terrified as well, when she was pregnant with the twins.” he continued “She would not say anything for the most part but one night she admitted it to me. She also confessed she did not wish to go to mother with such matters because she feared mother would see her as a failure of a woman.”
It was similar to what you had felt. Helaena understood. You weren’t alone in your fear.
“But when she had Maelor she was less scared, having known what to expect. Scared nonetheless, but less so. Mayhaps it was the same with your own mother. You ought to remember she did carry and deliver six children.” he jested, bumping into you, but his arguments made sense.
As a small, hesitant smile started growing on your face, Aemond nudged his nose against your cheek.
“I know it is not customary for the father to be present for the delivery of his children, but maybe I could-” he started but you were quick to cut him off.
“Yes, please!” you nodded enthusiastically, gripping both of his hands in yours “Please, stay with me when the time comes. I do not wish to be alone.”
He smiled sadly then.
“You would not be alone, even if I was not there. Your mother would be with you, even my own would gladly assist you. Perhaps you could even send for Helaena.”
“Still, I would feel safer with you.” the determination in your voice indicated that your word was final, and the adoration in your eyes as you stared at him made something warm, prideful, cozy even grow in his chest, making his heart clench in joyous comfort.
You felt safe with him.
Not because of his dragon, the largest one alive, or because of swordsmanship. Him.
“Then I will be there.” his determination matched your own, before he remembered your worries over the late queen “And I will not let anything happen to you.”
“Husband…” you chuckled “You should not make promises you cannot keep.”
“Oh, but I will.” he smiled, smugly “Nothing will happen to you as long as I am by your side. I will fight the Stranger himself if I have to, if he dares try and take you from me.”
“Aemond!” you laughed, fully laughed at his antics, and he couldn’t help but join you.
As you both calmed down, you felt your heart twist in blazing, scorching love. Whether for your husband or for your child, you couldn’t tell. You just needed him to know. So you rested your forehead against his, leaving a soft, gentle peck on his lips.
“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha vīlībāzmio.” you whispered, your breath fanning his skin.
“Se avy jorrāelan, ñuha rhae ōño.” he answered in kind before pulling back “I mean it.”
He then pulled one of his hands from your grasp, laying a palm protectively over your lower stomach.
“Nothing will happen to you as long as I live.” he said, fierce in his resolution “To either of you.”
Even though you were still fearful for what would come, some of your worries settled, for you truly believed him.
High Valyrian translations:
- ābrazȳrys - wife
- valzȳrys - husband
- ñuha zaldrītsos, ȳdragon naejot nyke kostilus - my little dragon, talk to me please
- avy jorrāelan, ñuha vīlībāzmio - I love you, my warrior
- se avy jorrāelan, ñuha rhae ōño - and I love you, my ray of light (meant as in ‘sunshine’)
Summary: After catching sight of you several times being a sweetheart towards different children, Aemond wishes for a babe of his own, to finally take a step further into growing your family, and he is hells bent on doing it tonight.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Word count: 3,8k
Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; fingering; switch!Aemond (in this chapter he is truly dom!Aemond); breeding kink
Notes: Okay, this was kind of rushed, but it is because I’m about to go on a trip until the new year and I didn’t want to end the year without updating this story. So here it! Please let me know what you think!!
Anyway, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Happy holidays, and I’ll see you all next year! Enjoy!
Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3
It was driving him mad. Absolutely downright insane. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
In all his years living inside the Red Keep in King’s Landing, Aemond had never realized how many children inhabited the castle along with everyone else. Most of the time the children, especially the babes, were kept separated from court, and even when the older ones did attend, they remained quiet because, as his mother had once told him many years ago, ‘children were meant to be seen, not heard’.
Even then, he didn’t typically interact with most of the kids. Sure, he enjoyed the company of his sister’s children, Jaehaera in particular, but other than that he did not really speak to other people below adolescence. What he didn’t account for was how much you seemed to spend your time with children.
Everywhere he went you seemed to have a child not too far from you; either a babe in your arms, a toddler propped on your hip or a child clinging to your skirts, you seemed to attract every child in the vicinity. When you weren’t helping Rhaenyra with Visenya, cradling her close to your chest, you were teaching Aegon and Viserys how to bond with their dragons. You even started spending time with Helaena’s children; more than once he caught you in her chambers, playing with Jaehaerys or brushing Jaehaera’s hair, or bouncing Maelor in your arms. Sometimes he even saw you interacting with one of the servants’ children, giving them your undivided attention.
The most unexpected for him, however, was what the sight of you with a child, whoever they were, made him feel. Anytime Aemond would lay eyes on you laughing and making silly faces towards a child, or consoling a crying infant his heart clenched and something in his stomach twisted. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, couldn’t properly give this feeling a name, until the day he caught you bouncing Visenya in your arms, humming under your breath. A lullaby, he recognized, one his own mother used to sing to him many years ago. That’s when it hit him fullforce, the meaning behind the heat pooling low in his stomach. spreading to his chest, crawling up his neck and warming his cheeks.
He was horny.
Aemond was honestly taken aback by how turned on the thought of you with a child, more specifically, with his child made him feel. He felt his cock twitch at the image his mind conjured: you, carrying his child in your womb, stomach swollen and heavy. As your hums gave way to words, outright singing to your sister now, the image changed, now another child, a toddler, a mop of white hair atop their head and eyes so much like yours, sprawled at your side on a bench, head on your lap as you read to both them and the child still inside you, book propped on your prominent bump. The strength of the pleasure brought to him by the thought was so great he had to lean against the nearest wall in order not to fall over.
The two of you had been married for over a moon already and his seed had yet to take root, as the ladies in court insisted on reminding you, much to your visible displeasure. It wasn’t for lack of trying though, oh no, but sometimes these types of things take time, as Rheanyra reminded you once. But even her words could not prevent the disappointment that had taken over you once your moonsblood arrived a little over a sennight after the wedding. Aemond had never seen you this disappointed before, not even when your mother had scolded you after finding out you had kicked Aegon years before (even though he very much deserved it), and you had spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude. He had eventually found you sulking in the Keep’s library, thumbing at a book he knew you had already read, having skipped supper.
“Wife.” he had greeted “You were missed at dinner.”
“I am not hungry.” you pouted, and had you not been thoroughly upset, he would have found it charming.
Sighing, he had taken a seat next to you, gently grabbing one of your hands and pulling it towards his lips.
“We can try again.” he laid a soft kiss on your knuckles.
“I know. I just-” it was your turn to sigh then “I was just so hopeful.”
“I know. As was I.” his thumb started caressing the back of your hand “But we keep trying. We do not stop trying until I have fucked my seed so far into your womb it has no other choice but to take root.”
You chuckled at his antics, growing flustered at his crass words.
“And besides,” he placed a short yet hungry kiss upon your lips “it is not like the ‘trying’ part is displeasurable for either of us, if my memory serves me right. You were actually quite…” he mockingly paused, pretending to look for the right word “vocal about it last night.”
Although your cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, you had kissed him fiercely in return, not necessarily disagreeing with him. He then proceeded to take you right there in the library, with you bent over the hardwood table, the book you had been previously reading long forgotten. Aemond was sure grandmaester Orwyle had entered the room at some point but he couldn’t bring himself to care a single bit, too distracted by his cock nestled upon the damp warmth of your cunt.
At the time he hadn’t realized how much the thought of you carrying his child impacted him, but now? It was all he could think about. It was a raw, almost primal need, one which set his blood aflame, like dragon fire. He wanted, no, needed it. At the same time, a softness enveloped him when such thoughts arose in his mind, him caressing your swollen stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your, his, unborn child; sleeping on his back with a tiny babe sprawled on his naked chest, right over his heart, one of his large palms over their back, covering the entirety of their little body and protecting them from the dangers of the world.
It all came to a head one afternoon, his sparring session with Ser Criston running later than he predicted, causing him to miss lunch with you. So he set out to find you, intent on making up for his mistake, but he couldn’t find you anywhere inside the palace. After inquiring about your whereabouts to some of the servants they pointed him in the direction of the gardens. And the sight that greeted him almost knocked him off his feet.
You were sitting under the weirwood tree, your back against the harsh bark, Helaena slumped against the tree next to you, deep in slumber. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera laid at your side, both with a head laying against each of your thighs, while you cradled baby Maelor with one arm against your chest. Your free hand was interwoven in his niece’s soft locks, caressing her scalp. For a moment he figured all three children, like their mother, were asleep in your lap, and although that seemed to be the case for both his nephews, he soon heard Jaehaera’s soft, tiny voice speak up to you, her eyelids heavy and droopy.
“I ran into Lady Baratheon after tea.” she said “Me and brother were running in the halls and I bumped into her legs.”
Aemond watched as your lips curled into a smirk, picturing the two children running around and causing mischief, much like the two of you once did in your youth.
“And what did she say?” you questioned.
“She went” and the little girl produced a scoffing sound, almost ridiculous coming from her “and said we should not be running, that we could hurt someone.”
It was your turn to scoff then, as if the notion that two small children could hurt a grown adult was ludicrous.
“She looked angry and said I should stop behaving like that, that it was too un… unla…”
“Unladylike?” you supplied for her, your smirk no longer present, a gloom look crossing over your features.
“Yes, that!” she giggled, then her expression turned slightly sour “She said it is no wonder I am so q… qu…”
“Queer?” you gritted out.
“Yes, that I am queer just like my mother.”
Aemond felt his blood boiling in his veins at the jab directed not only at his niece, but also at his sister. It was true that Helaena was different, had always been, but it never ceased to enrage him how the people, and mostly, the women on court would treat her. The younger ones would exclude her from their endeavors at best, and at worst they would pretend to be interested in her and then proceed to whisper foul things about her behind her back. The older ladies would often treat her like a child, infantilizing her and speaking to her in a sickeningly sweet and paused tone that he knew she loathed. It was one of the reasons he was so thankful for the way you treated his sister; unlike his mother, who pretended nothing was different about her, you acknowledged it and embraced Helaena’s differences, the things that make her who she is. He was glad that Helaena found a dear friend in you, not failing to notice that since your arrival at the Keep she had been visibly more relaxed and less lonely.
“Jaehaera.” he had barely noticed that your fingers had stilled their movement in her hair or that your expression had hardened “You know what you should do next time Lady Baratheon, or anyone for that matter, says something like that about you or your mother?”
“What?”
Your previous smirk returned to your features then, mischief swimming in your eyes.
“You kick them in the shin.” you shook your head “Or better yet, you call for me and I will do it for you, that way you will not get in trouble.”
For a single, brief moment, Aemond could have sworn his heart ceased beating, were it not for the loud ringing in his ears. Warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and travelling up his neck, to his cheeks heating up the tip of his ears, all the while that same blood boiled in his veins, traveling down and making his cock twitch.
For a fleeting moment he felt lousy for the reaction such a tender moment between you, his wife, and his beloved niece arose in him, but the feeling was brief, for the very next moment he was rushing to your shared chambers, like a man on a mission.
He was hells bent on getting you with child that very day, and the Seven be damned if they didn’t give him what he wanted.
Your afternoon spent with your good sister and her children left you feeling refreshed, regardless of the foul feeling your conversation with Jaehaera elicited in you. If you were being quite honest, some of the women in court irked you, always meddling into other people’s business and treating others, including those of higher stations than them, as if lesser than. Lady Cassandra Baratheon was one of those women, so you didn’t feel a single drop of remorse about the advice you had given to your cousin, now niece.
The only thing about your day that had not been so enjoyable was the fact that your lord husband had skipped lunch. It wasn’t so much that his absence itself bothered you, although you did enjoy spending time in his company, it was just that at times he got so in his head that he often forgot to take care of himself. A few hours into the afternoon you had thought you had caught a glimpse of him in the outskirts of the garden but where you were expecting him to join the lot of you, he had completely vanished by the time you properly glanced his way.
That was over a half hour ago, where you now strided towards your chambers to clean up for supper.
Or that would have been your plan, had you not been surprised by a warm body practically colliding into you the moment you crossed the threshold, one large hand tangling in your hair and the other snaking around your waist. Lips captured your own in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clashing and a warm tongue brushing over your bottom lip and into your mouth.
“Ābrazȳrys, finally.” he moaned, pulling back only a fraction, just enough to look at you for a moment before connecting your lips again.
“V-Valzȳrys…” you tried speaking as he pulled you further into the room and pressed you even more against himself, closing the door behind you, but his kiss was relentless, his lips moving to your jaw and down your neck, titling your head to give him better access to your skin.
It was then that you noticed the state of him: his hair down, a few messy strands out of place, the first few buttons of his doublet undone and something hard was poking your navel. Pulling back a bit, as much as his grip on you would allow, you noticed that his breeches were unlaced and pulled down slightly, his cock out, hard and glistening, which told you he had been tugging at it for at least a while now.
He pulled you back in, mouth latching against your shoulder as he sucked and nibbled on the skin.
“Aem…” it was when you felt his hands moving to your back, clawing at the laces of your dress, that you pulled back and held his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “Aemond, what has gotten into you?”
He sighed then, leaning into your palms, before coming closer and leaning his forehead against yours.
“I am putting a child into your womb tonight, my love.” his warm fanning against your lips, his words making your heart skip a beat “I do not care how long it takes, ot how many times I have to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, my seed is taking root inside you tonight.”
It was your turn to kiss him desperately then, something primal fueling your actions. Something about the way he spoke, about what he spoke of, lit a fire in your stomach that pulsed in your core. He met you in the middle with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours as he resumed his task.
He turned you around then, pushing you towards the foot of the bed. His hands were a contrast with the way the rest of his body was moving, gently moving your hair out of the way so he could nibble on the skin of your exposed neck harshly. His other hand softly untangled the laces of your dress, all the while he grinded his exposed cock against your clothed ass.
“What brought this on, if I may ask?” you asked breathlessly, yet still curious about his behavior.
“Seeing you, with them,” he moaned and grinded into you more forcefully at the thought, and you could feel his cock twitch violently against your behind “I want that for us, for you.”
You softened then, a warm and fuzzy feeling taking over your heart. You wanted that too, as you had once told him, you wanted a family of your own, you wanted to share this with him. And it seemed he wanted it just the same.
You couldn’t dwell on it for too long though, because soon enough your dress was loose enough for him to push it off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your feet, quickly followed by your underclothes. You went to turn around but a pair of large hands on your waist stopped your movements.
“Stay.” he whispered against your ear, and you could do nothing but nod.
The sound of heavy fabric rustling behind you let you know that his own clothes were being discarded, which was confirmed when you felt the entire plane of his naked chest pressed against your back, his heavy cock nestled on your ass as he wrapped both arms around your middle.
“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he spoke against the shell of your ear before nipping at your earlobe “Muña hen ñuha riñar.”
It made your heart clench and heat climb up your spine, a gush of something warm spreading between your thighs.
His hands moved then, softly caressing your skin as they went before settling, one on your lower back and the other right between your shoulder blades. A light of pressure of his palms caused your knees to bend, hitting the soft mattress, your upper body bending at the waist as you placed your hands on the bed to help support your weight. He knelt behind you, gently rearranging you so you scooted further on up on the bed.
For a moment nothing happened and time seemed to pause around you. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed besides the two of you in this very moment.
Then you felt it, his hands holding your thighs as his hot breath tingled against your glistening folds before his tongue made contact with your cunt, licking a broad stripe against your folds. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue circled your clit, moving back up and circling your entrance in the same manner, dipping only the very tip inside. His movements were slow yet sharp, precise, like he knew your body inside and out.
You whined, him mouthing at the entirety of your cunt, pulling your folds between his lips, before his lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently. Your arms started trembling, forcing you down to your stomach with your forearms flat on the mattress, his grip keeping your ass up. He plunged not one but two fingers inside you, eliciting a sharp cry from you as you tried to move away from him, though again his grip on your thighs wouldn’t let you. He waited a moment for you to adjust, one of his thumbs gently caressing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in high valyrian, before slowly, very gently starting to move his fingers out of your cunt before pushing in again.
In a few moments he was clawing against your warm walls as if his life depended on it, probing, searching for that spot that made your mind spin and knocked the breath out of your chest. Hot molten pleasure was pooling in your stomach, spreading through your limbs and up your spine when the pads of his fingers brushed against it, sending a twinge of pleasure travelling all through your body. The mounting pressure in your navel kept growing and growing with each pass of his digits, making sweat drip from your brow and heat settle in your cheeks.
A harsh tug of his lips, sucking harshly on your clit, was what sent you over the edge, the coil snapping and sending waves upon waves of pleasure through you, stealing your breath from your lungs. He barely gave you any time to think, though, the familiar sound of him sucking his fingers clean followed by his cock poking at your entrance. Then you felt two hands settling in each one of your shoulders, pulling you back towards him and onto his cock in one swift thrust, your previous release offering no resistance.
You moaned loudly, your ears ringing as he started pounding into you, his hands moving to your hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as his hips met your ass repeatedly, your own loud whines and his groans and grunts the only other sounds you could make out.
The pleasure was quickly rebuilding, not having fully receded in the first place, but after a few moments he slowed down to a stop, a whine of disappointment ripping from your throat.
“No,” he panted, his own breath stilled “this will not do.”
Your disappointment was short lived however, as he quickly flipped your around, manhandling you on your back and pushing your knees to your chest. He hurriedly thrust inside your cunt again, positioning himself so your legs slotted perfectly over his shoulders and his chest was flush against your own, pushing down on you, before resuming his erratic pace.
It was dizzying, your head was spinning and you could barely catch the words he was speaking against your skin, both his hands cradling the sides of your face as his cock slipped in and out and in and out of you over and over.
“Ñuha dāria, sīr vok,” he groaned, pressing even further into you and, in turn, pressing you even more into the matress “kesā tepagon nyke hen riñar, kessa ao daor?”
You could only nod, feeling that familiar pressure climbing and coiling ready to burst at any moment. At the same time, an immeasurable wave of love exploded from your heart at the thought, making you clench tightly around him, pulling a hiss from him.
“Tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār.” his own voice was trembling, one of his hands leaving your face to circle your clit in short sharp circles “G-Give it to me and in turn I will give you however many babes you might want.”
You cried out, the coil of pressure snapping once more and making molten heat, scorching like dragon fire, filling your mind, waves of pleasure radiating from your core to every part of your body, taking over all your senses and enveloping your very being. He was quick to follow, thrusting sloppily into your cunt as his cock twitched violently, shooting ropes of his warm seed, painting your damp walls, his body collapsing over your own.
As you came to your senses you could feel him mouthing gently, almost lazily at the skin around your breast. When he noticed you staring at him he raised his head, his lips meeting your own in a sweet, soft peck.
“Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos.” he smiled tiredly, his whole face lighting up beautifully.
“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha zaldrīzes.” you answered in kind.
After a few moments regaining your breath you pushed at his shoulder gently, so he could get off of you, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Where are you going, ābrazȳrys?” he jested, a mocking smirk taking over his features as he thrust his now softening cock shallowly into your cunt “I told you I would get you with child by the end of the night, and I intend on making good on my word.”
By the looks of it, you’d both end up missing supper that evening, as you were in for a long night
High Valyrian translations:
- ābrazȳrys - wife
- valzȳrys - husband
- ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen
- muña hen ñuha riñar - mother of my children
- ñuha dāria, sīr vok - my queen, so perfect
- kesā tepagon nyke iā lot hen riñar, kessa ao daor? - you will give me a lot of children, will you not?
- tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār - give it to me, then
I love love love your house of the dragon and the sandman fics you have done.
Will you be writing more of Morpheus?
Also will we finally see those babies Aemond is all horny and desperate for?
I would love to see it. I love that couple so much and the way you write it is so good.
We need more of that fic. With all the family especially when Aemond finds out she is pregnant. He will become to insanely happy but so protective and possessive just like a dragon I bet. Love that story.
With how much he has put in her it wouldnt surprise me if she ended up with triplets. Hahahaha imagine how smug Aemond would be. Three headed dragon for a symbol as well. He will be telling everyone this is why his love, his wife, his queen it meant to be the queen.
hi! I’m good, how are you?
firstly I’d like to thank you so so much for reading! it means the world to me!
about Morpheus, I unfortunately haven’t been able to write for him in a while (not for lack of trying), I’ve just been really disheartened with this character and the show, no idea why. I do have some stuff for him in my wips that I’ve been trying to get back to, so there might be some things coming soon, but in general I am not writing for him at the moment, I’m really really sorry! (but who knows, with season 2 coming out this year I might get some burst of inspiration preceding its release!)
as for Aemond, well it appears to be your lucky day, my dear, ‘cause there is a chapter on the way set to be posted later today! should we expect to see some more baby talk? you’ll have to wait and find out! (also, your triplets idea was so fun! I can just imagine Aemond going around claiming that his children are the three-headed dragon, or perhaps the Conquerors reborn)
anyways, thank you so so much again for reading! 😊😊
Summary: After catching sight of you several times being a sweetheart towards different children, Aemond wishes for a babe of his own, to finally take a step further into growing your family, and he is hells bent on doing it tonight.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Word count: 3,8k
Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; fingering; switch!Aemond (in this chapter he is truly dom!Aemond); breeding kink
Notes: Okay, this was kind of rushed, but it is because I’m about to go on a trip until the new year and I didn’t want to end the year without updating this story. So here it! Please let me know what you think!!
Anyway, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Happy holidays, and I’ll see you all next year! Enjoy!
Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3
It was driving him mad. Absolutely downright insane. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
In all his years living inside the Red Keep in King’s Landing, Aemond had never realized how many children inhabited the castle along with everyone else. Most of the time the children, especially the babes, were kept separated from court, and even when the older ones did attend, they remained quiet because, as his mother had once told him many years ago, ‘children were meant to be seen, not heard’.
Even then, he didn’t typically interact with most of the kids. Sure, he enjoyed the company of his sister’s children, Jaehaera in particular, but other than that he did not really speak to other people below adolescence. What he didn’t account for was how much you seemed to spend your time with children.
Everywhere he went you seemed to have a child not too far from you; either a babe in your arms, a toddler propped on your hip or a child clinging to your skirts, you seemed to attract every child in the vicinity. When you weren’t helping Rhaenyra with Visenya, cradling her close to your chest, you were teaching Aegon and Viserys how to bond with their dragons. You even started spending time with Helaena’s children; more than once he caught you in her chambers, playing with Jaehaerys or brushing Jaehaera’s hair, or bouncing Maelor in your arms. Sometimes he even saw you interacting with one of the servants’ children, giving them your undivided attention.
The most unexpected for him, however, was what the sight of you with a child, whoever they were, made him feel. Anytime Aemond would lay eyes on you laughing and making silly faces towards a child, or consoling a crying infant his heart clenched and something in his stomach twisted. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, couldn’t properly give this feeling a name, until the day he caught you bouncing Visenya in your arms, humming under your breath. A lullaby, he recognized, one his own mother used to sing to him many years ago. That’s when it hit him fullforce, the meaning behind the heat pooling low in his stomach. spreading to his chest, crawling up his neck and warming his cheeks.
He was horny.
Aemond was honestly taken aback by how turned on the thought of you with a child, more specifically, with his child made him feel. He felt his cock twitch at the image his mind conjured: you, carrying his child in your womb, stomach swollen and heavy. As your hums gave way to words, outright singing to your sister now, the image changed, now another child, a toddler, a mop of white hair atop their head and eyes so much like yours, sprawled at your side on a bench, head on your lap as you read to both them and the child still inside you, book propped on your prominent bump. The strength of the pleasure brought to him by the thought was so great he had to lean against the nearest wall in order not to fall over.
The two of you had been married for over a moon already and his seed had yet to take root, as the ladies in court insisted on reminding you, much to your visible displeasure. It wasn’t for lack of trying though, oh no, but sometimes these types of things take time, as Rheanyra reminded you once. But even her words could not prevent the disappointment that had taken over you once your moonsblood arrived a little over a sennight after the wedding. Aemond had never seen you this disappointed before, not even when your mother had scolded you after finding out you had kicked Aegon years before (even though he very much deserved it), and you had spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude. He had eventually found you sulking in the Keep’s library, thumbing at a book he knew you had already read, having skipped supper.
“Wife.” he had greeted “You were missed at dinner.”
“I am not hungry.” you pouted, and had you not been thoroughly upset, he would have found it charming.
Sighing, he had taken a seat next to you, gently grabbing one of your hands and pulling it towards his lips.
“We can try again.” he laid a soft kiss on your knuckles.
“I know. I just-” it was your turn to sigh then “I was just so hopeful.”
“I know. As was I.” his thumb started caressing the back of your hand “But we keep trying. We do not stop trying until I have fucked my seed so far into your womb it has no other choice but to take root.”
You chuckled at his antics, growing flustered at his crass words.
“And besides,” he placed a short yet hungry kiss upon your lips “it is not like the ‘trying’ part is displeasurable for either of us, if my memory serves me right. You were actually quite…” he mockingly paused, pretending to look for the right word “vocal about it last night.”
Although your cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, you had kissed him fiercely in return, not necessarily disagreeing with him. He then proceeded to take you right there in the library, with you bent over the hardwood table, the book you had been previously reading long forgotten. Aemond was sure grandmaester Orwyle had entered the room at some point but he couldn’t bring himself to care a single bit, too distracted by his cock nestled upon the damp warmth of your cunt.
At the time he hadn’t realized how much the thought of you carrying his child impacted him, but now? It was all he could think about. It was a raw, almost primal need, one which set his blood aflame, like dragon fire. He wanted, no, needed it. At the same time, a softness enveloped him when such thoughts arose in his mind, him caressing your swollen stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your, his, unborn child; sleeping on his back with a tiny babe sprawled on his naked chest, right over his heart, one of his large palms over their back, covering the entirety of their little body and protecting them from the dangers of the world.
It all came to a head one afternoon, his sparring session with Ser Criston running later than he predicted, causing him to miss lunch with you. So he set out to find you, intent on making up for his mistake, but he couldn’t find you anywhere inside the palace. After inquiring about your whereabouts to some of the servants they pointed him in the direction of the gardens. And the sight that greeted him almost knocked him off his feet.
You were sitting under the weirwood tree, your back against the harsh bark, Helaena slumped against the tree next to you, deep in slumber. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera laid at your side, both with a head laying against each of your thighs, while you cradled baby Maelor with one arm against your chest. Your free hand was interwoven in his niece’s soft locks, caressing her scalp. For a moment he figured all three children, like their mother, were asleep in your lap, and although that seemed to be the case for both his nephews, he soon heard Jaehaera’s soft, tiny voice speak up to you, her eyelids heavy and droopy.
“I ran into Lady Baratheon after tea.” she said “Me and brother were running in the halls and I bumped into her legs.”
Aemond watched as your lips curled into a smirk, picturing the two children running around and causing mischief, much like the two of you once did in your youth.
“And what did she say?” you questioned.
“She went” and the little girl produced a scoffing sound, almost ridiculous coming from her “and said we should not be running, that we could hurt someone.”
It was your turn to scoff then, as if the notion that two small children could hurt a grown adult was ludicrous.
“She looked angry and said I should stop behaving like that, that it was too un… unla…”
“Unladylike?” you supplied for her, your smirk no longer present, a gloom look crossing over your features.
“Yes, that!” she giggled, then her expression turned slightly sour “She said it is no wonder I am so q… qu…”
“Queer?” you gritted out.
“Yes, that I am queer just like my mother.”
Aemond felt his blood boiling in his veins at the jab directed not only at his niece, but also at his sister. It was true that Helaena was different, had always been, but it never ceased to enrage him how the people, and mostly, the women on court would treat her. The younger ones would exclude her from their endeavors at best, and at worst they would pretend to be interested in her and then proceed to whisper foul things about her behind her back. The older ladies would often treat her like a child, infantilizing her and speaking to her in a sickeningly sweet and paused tone that he knew she loathed. It was one of the reasons he was so thankful for the way you treated his sister; unlike his mother, who pretended nothing was different about her, you acknowledged it and embraced Helaena’s differences, the things that make her who she is. He was glad that Helaena found a dear friend in you, not failing to notice that since your arrival at the Keep she had been visibly more relaxed and less lonely.
“Jaehaera.” he had barely noticed that your fingers had stilled their movement in her hair or that your expression had hardened “You know what you should do next time Lady Baratheon, or anyone for that matter, says something like that about you or your mother?”
“What?”
Your previous smirk returned to your features then, mischief swimming in your eyes.
“You kick them in the shin.” you shook your head “Or better yet, you call for me and I will do it for you, that way you will not get in trouble.”
For a single, brief moment, Aemond could have sworn his heart ceased beating, were it not for the loud ringing in his ears. Warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and travelling up his neck, to his cheeks heating up the tip of his ears, all the while that same blood boiled in his veins, traveling down and making his cock twitch.
For a fleeting moment he felt lousy for the reaction such a tender moment between you, his wife, and his beloved niece arose in him, but the feeling was brief, for the very next moment he was rushing to your shared chambers, like a man on a mission.
He was hells bent on getting you with child that very day, and the Seven be damned if they didn’t give him what he wanted.
Your afternoon spent with your good sister and her children left you feeling refreshed, regardless of the foul feeling your conversation with Jaehaera elicited in you. If you were being quite honest, some of the women in court irked you, always meddling into other people’s business and treating others, including those of higher stations than them, as if lesser than. Lady Cassandra Baratheon was one of those women, so you didn’t feel a single drop of remorse about the advice you had given to your cousin, now niece.
The only thing about your day that had not been so enjoyable was the fact that your lord husband had skipped lunch. It wasn’t so much that his absence itself bothered you, although you did enjoy spending time in his company, it was just that at times he got so in his head that he often forgot to take care of himself. A few hours into the afternoon you had thought you had caught a glimpse of him in the outskirts of the garden but where you were expecting him to join the lot of you, he had completely vanished by the time you properly glanced his way.
That was over a half hour ago, where you now strided towards your chambers to clean up for supper.
Or that would have been your plan, had you not been surprised by a warm body practically colliding into you the moment you crossed the threshold, one large hand tangling in your hair and the other snaking around your waist. Lips captured your own in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clashing and a warm tongue brushing over your bottom lip and into your mouth.
“Ābrazȳrys, finally.” he moaned, pulling back only a fraction, just enough to look at you for a moment before connecting your lips again.
“V-Valzȳrys…” you tried speaking as he pulled you further into the room and pressed you even more against himself, closing the door behind you, but his kiss was relentless, his lips moving to your jaw and down your neck, titling your head to give him better access to your skin.
It was then that you noticed the state of him: his hair down, a few messy strands out of place, the first few buttons of his doublet undone and something hard was poking your navel. Pulling back a bit, as much as his grip on you would allow, you noticed that his breeches were unlaced and pulled down slightly, his cock out, hard and glistening, which told you he had been tugging at it for at least a while now.
He pulled you back in, mouth latching against your shoulder as he sucked and nibbled on the skin.
“Aem…” it was when you felt his hands moving to your back, clawing at the laces of your dress, that you pulled back and held his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “Aemond, what has gotten into you?”
He sighed then, leaning into your palms, before coming closer and leaning his forehead against yours.
“I am putting a child into your womb tonight, my love.” his warm fanning against your lips, his words making your heart skip a beat “I do not care how long it takes, ot how many times I have to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, my seed is taking root inside you tonight.”
It was your turn to kiss him desperately then, something primal fueling your actions. Something about the way he spoke, about what he spoke of, lit a fire in your stomach that pulsed in your core. He met you in the middle with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours as he resumed his task.
He turned you around then, pushing you towards the foot of the bed. His hands were a contrast with the way the rest of his body was moving, gently moving your hair out of the way so he could nibble on the skin of your exposed neck harshly. His other hand softly untangled the laces of your dress, all the while he grinded his exposed cock against your clothed ass.
“What brought this on, if I may ask?” you asked breathlessly, yet still curious about his behavior.
“Seeing you, with them,” he moaned and grinded into you more forcefully at the thought, and you could feel his cock twitch violently against your behind “I want that for us, for you.”
You softened then, a warm and fuzzy feeling taking over your heart. You wanted that too, as you had once told him, you wanted a family of your own, you wanted to share this with him. And it seemed he wanted it just the same.
You couldn’t dwell on it for too long though, because soon enough your dress was loose enough for him to push it off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your feet, quickly followed by your underclothes. You went to turn around but a pair of large hands on your waist stopped your movements.
“Stay.” he whispered against your ear, and you could do nothing but nod.
The sound of heavy fabric rustling behind you let you know that his own clothes were being discarded, which was confirmed when you felt the entire plane of his naked chest pressed against your back, his heavy cock nestled on your ass as he wrapped both arms around your middle.
“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he spoke against the shell of your ear before nipping at your earlobe “Muña hen ñuha riñar.”
It made your heart clench and heat climb up your spine, a gush of something warm spreading between your thighs.
His hands moved then, softly caressing your skin as they went before settling, one on your lower back and the other right between your shoulder blades. A light of pressure of his palms caused your knees to bend, hitting the soft mattress, your upper body bending at the waist as you placed your hands on the bed to help support your weight. He knelt behind you, gently rearranging you so you scooted further on up on the bed.
For a moment nothing happened and time seemed to pause around you. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed besides the two of you in this very moment.
Then you felt it, his hands holding your thighs as his hot breath tingled against your glistening folds before his tongue made contact with your cunt, licking a broad stripe against your folds. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue circled your clit, moving back up and circling your entrance in the same manner, dipping only the very tip inside. His movements were slow yet sharp, precise, like he knew your body inside and out.
You whined, him mouthing at the entirety of your cunt, pulling your folds between his lips, before his lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently. Your arms started trembling, forcing you down to your stomach with your forearms flat on the mattress, his grip keeping your ass up. He plunged not one but two fingers inside you, eliciting a sharp cry from you as you tried to move away from him, though again his grip on your thighs wouldn’t let you. He waited a moment for you to adjust, one of his thumbs gently caressing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in high valyrian, before slowly, very gently starting to move his fingers out of your cunt before pushing in again.
In a few moments he was clawing against your warm walls as if his life depended on it, probing, searching for that spot that made your mind spin and knocked the breath out of your chest. Hot molten pleasure was pooling in your stomach, spreading through your limbs and up your spine when the pads of his fingers brushed against it, sending a twinge of pleasure travelling all through your body. The mounting pressure in your navel kept growing and growing with each pass of his digits, making sweat drip from your brow and heat settle in your cheeks.
A harsh tug of his lips, sucking harshly on your clit, was what sent you over the edge, the coil snapping and sending waves upon waves of pleasure through you, stealing your breath from your lungs. He barely gave you any time to think, though, the familiar sound of him sucking his fingers clean followed by his cock poking at your entrance. Then you felt two hands settling in each one of your shoulders, pulling you back towards him and onto his cock in one swift thrust, your previous release offering no resistance.
You moaned loudly, your ears ringing as he started pounding into you, his hands moving to your hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as his hips met your ass repeatedly, your own loud whines and his groans and grunts the only other sounds you could make out.
The pleasure was quickly rebuilding, not having fully receded in the first place, but after a few moments he slowed down to a stop, a whine of disappointment ripping from your throat.
“No,” he panted, his own breath stilled “this will not do.”
Your disappointment was short lived however, as he quickly flipped your around, manhandling you on your back and pushing your knees to your chest. He hurriedly thrust inside your cunt again, positioning himself so your legs slotted perfectly over his shoulders and his chest was flush against your own, pushing down on you, before resuming his erratic pace.
It was dizzying, your head was spinning and you could barely catch the words he was speaking against your skin, both his hands cradling the sides of your face as his cock slipped in and out and in and out of you over and over.
“Ñuha dāria, sīr vok,” he groaned, pressing even further into you and, in turn, pressing you even more into the matress “kesā tepagon nyke hen riñar, kessa ao daor?”
You could only nod, feeling that familiar pressure climbing and coiling ready to burst at any moment. At the same time, an immeasurable wave of love exploded from your heart at the thought, making you clench tightly around him, pulling a hiss from him.
“Tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār.” his own voice was trembling, one of his hands leaving your face to circle your clit in short sharp circles “G-Give it to me and in turn I will give you however many babes you might want.”
You cried out, the coil of pressure snapping once more and making molten heat, scorching like dragon fire, filling your mind, waves of pleasure radiating from your core to every part of your body, taking over all your senses and enveloping your very being. He was quick to follow, thrusting sloppily into your cunt as his cock twitched violently, shooting ropes of his warm seed, painting your damp walls, his body collapsing over your own.
As you came to your senses you could feel him mouthing gently, almost lazily at the skin around your breast. When he noticed you staring at him he raised his head, his lips meeting your own in a sweet, soft peck.
“Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos.” he smiled tiredly, his whole face lighting up beautifully.
“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha zaldrīzes.” you answered in kind.
After a few moments regaining your breath you pushed at his shoulder gently, so he could get off of you, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Where are you going, ābrazȳrys?” he jested, a mocking smirk taking over his features as he thrust his now softening cock shallowly into your cunt “I told you I would get you with child by the end of the night, and I intend on making good on my word.”
By the looks of it, you’d both end up missing supper that evening, as you were in for a long night
High Valyrian translations:
- ābrazȳrys - wife
- valzȳrys - husband
- ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen
- muña hen ñuha riñar - mother of my children
- ñuha dāria, sīr vok - my queen, so perfect
- kesā tepagon nyke iā lot hen riñar, kessa ao daor? - you will give me a lot of children, will you not?
- tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār - give it to me, then
Summary: Aemond seeks you out so you can go on your first study "date" together, but you have yet to speak to Oscar about what happened the previous night and the agreement you made. But as things go better than expected, you might just end up attracting more attention than you'd prefer
Pairing: Slytherin!Aemond Targaryen x Hufflepuff!Tully!Reader
Word count: 3,4k
Warnings: none
Notes: Oof, okay here we are, finally! I wanted to get this done sooner but got caught up in a lot of stuff and ended up writing quite slowly, BUT I did manage to get it out before the year ended so that is that.
I’m quite excited for this story, and have quite a bunch of ideas for where I’m going with this. The only thing I think is worth adding in terms of additional context for this chapter is that I decided to keep the fact that the Targaryens are dragonlords and can ride dragons. But because of that I cannot add any dragons to the Tournament Tasks, as it would be seen as unfair and possibly count as an advantage to Aemond.
Anyway, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, happy holidays, and I’ll see you all next year! Enjoy!
Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3
You were fucked. There was no sugarcoating it. You were absolutely fucked.
After Aemond had left the library, leaving you behind to pick your jaw off the floor, you headed straight to the Hufflepuff common room. You were determined to tell Oscar everything that had happened down to a T, but you took one look at him, staring at you with that sweet and hopeful gaze and immediately chickened out, opting to quickly retreat to the girls dorm where he couldn’t reach you.
And now as you headed for breakfast you knew you should have told him. You had agreed to breakfast with Aemond, which meant he would come find you and Oscar would find out you had agreed to Aemond’s stupid plan when you had promised him you wouldn’t. Perhaps it would be easier to search for Aemond directly at the Slytherin table, that way you could stave off the inevitable conversation you would need to have with your brother.
But he was nowhere to be found. Not at the Slytherin table, nor those of the other houses. Not even near the professor’s table where he would sometimes walk up to in order to strike up conversation with one professor or another (what they talked about was beyond you, no matter how curious it made you). He was absolutely nowhere to be seen, throwing a wrench in your plans to intercept him before he could find you.
Resigned, you walked slowly to the Gryffindor table where Davos and your brothers were already seated. Considering that both Cregan and Alysanne were also seated at their house’s table, quite a few seats down from the three boys, you suspected Kermit and Davos had chosen to seat there for your sake, to simultaneously keep the couple out of your sight and avoid a situation like the night before but also not to force you to stay within close proximity of them. You were thankful really, while Cregan was not the first thing on your mind at the moment it still stung to see them being happy together.
“Hey!” Kermit greeted you, his mouth full of sausage “How are you on this fine morning?”
You knew he was trying to divert your attention from some people, and while it wasn’t entirely working, you were grateful for his attempt, for him. For all of them.
“Eh,” you shrugged trying to appear nonchalant while taking a seat across from him and Kermit “could be better.”
Oscar waited until you were comfortable next to him and had already filled up your plate before leaning ever closer to you.
“So, how was it?” he spoke, his voice low.
“How was what?”
Oscar scoffed, a deadpan stare thrown your way.
“You know, the whole thing with Targaryen?”
Your heart stuttered in your chest, fear gripping at it as you pondered your answer. Oscar was going to be so disappointed when he found out. God, you didn’t want to lose the respect of one of the few people who you had left. You sighed, deciding it was better to tell him now than let him figure it out on his own later.
“Uhm, actually-” you started, but it seemed the universe had other plans.
“Lads,” Aemond’s voice cut you off, your name rolling smoothly off his tongue before pointing to the spot on the bench next to you “is this seat taken?”
He didn’t even wait for an answer, already sliding in next to you way closer than necessary as the boys stared at him flabbergasted, their jaws dropping. Oscar was the only one who got over his surprise quickly, his eyes narrowing in your direction in a way you could practically see the cogs turning in his mind.
“Targaryen.” Kermit greeted coldly “You seem a bit lost, the snakes’ table is over there.”
“Tully,” Aemond answered in kind, although his tone carried less venom in comparison “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“And what could you possibly want here?” Davos chimed in.
Through their whole exchange you couldn’t properly focus, the feeling of Aemond sitting way too close to you pulling your attention away from the conversation at hand. His leg was flush with yours on the bench, the entire length of his thigh pressed against yours and his shoulder bumping into your own pulling your whole focus towards him.
“We are heading to Professor Orwyle’s class then we are going to study together.” your attention was pulled back into focus as Aemond said your name.
“You two? Study together?” Oscar was still more skeptical than Kermit and Davos.
“Yes,” the Slytheirn boy shrugged, nonchalantly, and for a moment you feared he was going to reveal your whole ruse but he surprised you even further “I promised to help her with her History of Magic studies and, in turn, she’ll help me brainstorm ideas for the first task of the Tournament.”
Oscar seemed unconvinced but let it slide in favor of eating his breakfast in peace, but one glare from him in your direction let you know that you had a lot of explaining to do later on. Your twin and your cousin seemed to get distracted by the mention of the Triwizard Tournament, starting to animatedly argue about past editions (or, in Kermit’s case, sulk, as he had applied for the Tournament and eventually lost the role of Hogwarts’ champion to Aemond, something he was still somewhat resentful about).
You tried going back to your breakfast, hell bent on not attracting any more attention back to yourself and your current incredibly awkward situation, but that quickly went out the window when Aemond leaned even closer to you, his breath fanning your ear.
“It seems Stark and his new girl are staring.” he whispered, and you could tell from his voice alone that his lips were turned up in a smirk.
And true to his word, both Cregan and Alysanne were staring at your little group, more specifically you and Aemond. Alysanne seemed a little weirded out by the whole exchange, but ultimately shrugged, going back to her cuppa. Cregan on the other hand looked positively bothered by the sight, his eyes narrowing even further as Aemond cheekily bumped his shoulder against yours, as if he had simply whispered a funny joke to you.
As much as you loathed to admit, and even though it went completely against what you had told Aemond last night, a bittersweet satisfaction started growing in your chest at the reaction you elicited from your ex-boyfriend. While you didn’t wish to make him jealous, you truly wanted nothing to do with the guy anymore, you didn’t mind shoving in his face that you had already moved on from him, that his actions didn’t bother you at all (even though in reality they did).
“I would say our little… plan is already working, don’t you agree?” Aemond continued whispering, his warm breath tickling your ear.
You hummed in agreement, finishing the rest of your breakfast in silence. You’d occasionally see Oscar glancing at you quizzically from the corner of your eye but he didn’t say anything else. You felt awful hiding things from him, but what could you do? Come clean to your brothers and cousin and just hope the rest of the Gryffindor table simply didn’t hear a thing? No, the less people knew your little stunt with Aemond was a ruse the better. You’d tell him later that night.
After you were both done eating, Aemond pulled you up and out of the Great Hall, regardless if your brother Kermit, who was usually your partner for Potions class, wasn’t finished yet.
“I’m sure he can partner up with Bracken for today’s class, can’t you Tully?” he asked, knowing full well your brother truly disliked Aeron on behalf of Davos.
You felt eyes on you all the way down to the dungeons; people from every house were staring at the two of you, the way Aemond’s palm rested on you just shy of the small of your back, pushing, no, guiding you forward. If this was an indicative of a pattern that would remain present the rest of your time together, you just knew it was going to be a long day.
It was, indeed, a long day.
During Professor Orwyle’s class the hairs on the back of your neck refused to go back to their usual position, a prickling sensation on the back of your mind telling you everyone was staring at you. And it wasn’t just your self-consciousness making things up in your head: more than once you caught another student glancing your way, quickly averting their gaze once they realized they’d been caught. The only one who was brave enough to keep on staring even after being noticed was Maris Baratheon, and by the glint in her eye you simply knew it couldn’t mean anything good.
You couldn’t shake the uneasiness that being in the spotlight brought you. And Aemond? He didn’t seem to give a flying fuck.
“Stop fidgeting,” he said, completely unbothered as he led you through the hallways towards the library. The walk had been made even longer than usual for he had to take a detour to grab something from the Slytherin common room, giving other students ample opportunity to continue their scrutiny.
“Everyone is looking at us.” you spoke, voice lowered to try not to attract more attention to yourself.
“No, they aren’t.” he said, walking between rows of bookshelves and collecting an assortment of different books.
“Yes, they are!” you said in an exasperated whisper, trying to keep your voice down in order to not attract any attention from Professor Strong, the librarian (though rumor has it his true ambition was taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts class over his brother).
“Then just don’t mind them.” he shrugged, turning around towards you and placing the ever growing pile of books on your arms with a sigh “Look, let them stare. The more people see us together, the more believable it becomes. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
No, that’s what you wanted! you thought, but given your feelings towards Cregan’s reaction this morning you knew he was right.
“Now stop worrying and go find us a table, I’ll be there in a second.” he was off before you could question him further, leaving you to carry the books to the nearest table.
Aemond returned quickly enough, carrying yet another book with him. This one though was unlike any you had ever seen before, its hardcover weathered, either from old age or from excessive use you couldn’t tell.
“What is that?” you nodded towards his hands.
He placed the tome on the table as he sat down in front of you, staring at you quizzically.
“A book?”
“I’m not stupid, dragonbrain, I know it’s a book!” you snapped at him, offended “I just meant which book.”
He hummed, amused at your snippiness, and pushed the book towards you.
‘Secrets Of The Dark Arts And How To Spot Them, by Archmaester Gyldayn.’ the cover read, and something dawned on you.
“This is from the Restricted Section.” you stated, to which he hummed in agreement, not bothering with a verbal response “How did you even get this?”
Aemond stared at you then, really stared at you, his one good eye settling on your face with such an intensity you had to look away. Something in the way he looked at you intimidated you now, whereas in the past, before, you felt safe under his gaze. Seen.
“I asked Mister Strong to open the Restricted Section for me.” he said casually, breaking his intense stare to flip over the pages of one of the other books he had selected.
“And he did? Just like that?”
His lips curled in the tiniest of smirks, but something about it felt… wrong. Bitter almost.
“The perks of dating his much younger step-sister I guess.”
Ah.
That made sense. You always suspected Alys Rivers was related to Professors Harwin and Larys Strong, but could never make the connection.
“Okay,” he stopped flipping the book, seemingly having found the page he was looking for. You weren’t going to probe any further, but if you had any intentions to, this was his way of signaling the previous conversation was over “We’ll start from the beginning.”
Glancing at the open book he turned towards you, you caught a glimpse of a familiar painting, three white-haired siblings atop their dragons with their wands raised.
“The Conquest?” you questioned, pulling the book from his hands “That’s First Year material.”
“I know, but it’ll be easier to catch up on the more recent content if you have a stronger base.” he explained, and although all he was saying made sense, it still vexed you somewhat.
“But I already know all of this!” you whined, immediately regretting it, for it made you feel childish. Once upon a time you had been sure he wouldn’t judge you for such a thing, but now? You barely knew him anymore.
“I know for a fact you doze off in almost all of Professor Mello’s classes.” he replied, smugly.
Something weird, a feeling you couldn’t quite place, stirred in your chest at the thought of him noticing you in class, but you quickly brushed it off.
“I didn’t pick this up from Mello’s class.” you countered, and his face fell for a moment.
Your summers leading up to your First Year were more often than not spent in the Targaryen’s household. At the time you were quite close with two of the white-haired siblings, Aegon considering himself too old for your childish antics and Daeron too young to join in yet. At the time you’d even go as far as to call Aemond your best friend, before Helaena inevitably took the title after… everything. Back then, he’d spend his days showing you paintings and illustrations of his ancestors, of Aegon I and his sister-wifes arriving from Old Valyria and founding Westeros as it was known today. Although the Targaryen family lost a lot of their former glory (even though they remained quite influential still), it was clear Aemond was proud of his roots, a glint in his eye whenever he mentioned most people from his bloodline.
He grew silent, as he couldn’t deny what you were saying. You wondered if you were wrong to bring this up, for you felt incredibly unprepared to open this specific can of worms right now, but it seemed the feeling was mutual, as he grabbed the book from your hands and propped it up on the table, the pages facing him so you wouldn’t peek.
“Alright then. If you say you already know all of this,” he smirked once more, and you started rethinking your choices leading up to this moment “how about a pop quiz?”
It wasn’t as bad as you were expecting. You managed to get through the whole of The Conquest without fumbling, all the way to when Aegon defeated the dark wizard Harren the Black in his castle, Harrenhal (which some believe was demolished, and Hogwarts was built on top of its ruins). After that point, though, the details started getting a little confusing, your mind jumbling dates and locations into an incomprehensible mess inside your head. Aemond then promised to help you study from then on out, little by little, three times a week.
“We have till the end of the year to turn you into a History of Magic expert,” he had said.
“Till Christmas, you mean.” you pointed out, remembering your previous agreement, to which he shrugged, humming a ‘whatever you say’ under his breath.
You started collecting your things, but paused when he didn’t follow suit, only picking up another book from the pile. Herbology.
“That’s certainly… an interesting selection.” you commented, only now noticing the different subjects all the books covered.
“I have some research to do.” he said, not taking his eyes off the page.
Something he had said earlier came to the front of your mind.
“She’ll help me brainstorm ideas for the first task of the tournament.”
“Is it about the first task?” you questioned, genuinely curious.
He hummed in agreement.
“Do you have any idea what it will be about?”
He shook his head with a sigh, finally looking up at you.
“I do have a hunch, but it’s fickle. A hypothesis really.”
“Do you need any help ‘brainstorming ideas’?” you quoted him.
He chuckled, amused.
“Next time perhaps. You did well today, you deserve your rest.” your cheeks felt warm under the praise, and you had to look away from him for a moment “But I will be taking you up on that offer. If I remember correctly, you used to be quite good at solving puzzles.”
It was strange, really, how much he still knew about you even after so long without speaking to one another. You’d have to get used to it again.
After saying your goodbyes you headed back to the Hufflepuff common room, a light feeling in your chest. The ‘study date’ had gone well, not at all as bad as you had predicted it would be, unashamed stares from other students aside. But then a cold, bitter guilt replaced that nice feeling, damping your mood slightly.
You had to tell Oscar. He deserved to know.
Feeling determined, then, you entered the common room, resolute in looking for your brother. But, (un)fortunately, you didn’t have to look very far, for you found him sitting in one of the couches facing the entrance of the common room, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“How was your study date with Aemond Targareyn?” he questioned, his voice hard.
Panicking, you gripped his upper arm, not minding his yelps of pain as you pulled him to a distant corner, away from the other students.
“It wasn’t a date.” you hissed.
“No?” his voice held a hint of sarcasm “Because Kermit said you two were awfully close in class-”
“It wasn’t a real study date.” you interrupted him, keeping your voice down and mentioning for him to do the same.
“How so?” he still seemed mad, but at least now he was whispering as well “You just pretended to study?”
“No, the studying part was real.” you averted your eyes from him, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment “It was the date part that was fake.”
“Again, how so?”
Time to come clean.
“Yesterday Aemond asked me to…” it sounded stupid now that you said it outloud “pretend we’re going out together. And it will culminate in me being his date to the Yule Ball.”
“What?!” he squeaked, and you shushed him, worried about people overhearing your conversation “So he wants you to be his pretend girlfriend?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“And you agreed?!”
“I panicked, alright?!” you already felt stupid enough about your decisions without him scolding you like a child.
“What does he even get out of this?” he asked, exasperated “And what about Alys Rivers?”
“His admirers backing off, I think. And apparently they broke up over summer.” his jaw dropped “I know, surprised me too.”
His face softened a fraction, finally getting over the shock.
“And what’s in it for you?” his tone dripped concern, and you felt your heart clenching with love for your younger brother.
“I-I’m not sure, exactly. To show Cregan I’m no longer hung up on him? To prove to people I’m not pathetic?”
“You are not pathetic.”
“Sometimes feels like I am.” you shrinked into yourself a bit “You know how much it hurt.”
Oh, he knew. He was the one who found you after you had read Cregan’s letter, curled into a ball on your bed, clutching the roll of parchment to your chest as tears steadily ran down your cheeks.
“I know.” he placed a gentle hand on your arm “But do you think this is a good idea? This is Aemond Targaryen we’re talking about.”
You smiled at his worried face, ruffling his hair.
“I can look after myself, you know.” you grinned at the grimace that covered his face as he tried to fix the mess that you had made of his locks “It wasn’t all that bad today. And besides, it’s only until Christmas.”
He still seemed hesitant, but slowly nodded.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful with him.”
Your grin softened, pulling him in for a comforting hug.
“I promise.”
He squeezed you back and you knew everything would turn out okay in the end. You just had to endure it until Christmas.
summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.
Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity
word count: 5.2k+
warnings: angst & fluff! English isn’t my first language<3
a/n: loviessssss welcome to the first chap of my summer romance! I hope you love this as much as I do when I’m writing it! Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🥹🍊 and very special thank you to @namelesslosers for betaing this for me<33🩷
Dividers by @/firefly-graphics
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Updates: every Saturday!
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Chapter 1: runaway bride
He shouldn’t be stressed, should he?
Everything is in the right place; groomsmen are standing behind him while fixing each other’s coats and reassuring him, bridesmaids are in front of him as they talk and giggle, the guests are whispering and the priest is tapping his fingers on his watch.
Alys is a few minutes late, but it’s just a few minutes, there’s nothing to worry about. Aemond knows she must be even more stressed than he is. It’s their big day after all and naturally, the bride is the more anxious one. Surely that’s true, right? But why are his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat uncontrollably, why is rocking on the ball of his feet? He can’t be that nervous.
He looks around, finding his mum biting her nails. She searches around the room, looking for someone, anyone, to come and tell her about her bride-to-be’s whereabouts. His eye finds Helaena, watching as she caresses the flower petals before meeting his gaze, smiling broadly at him. He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes to convince her he’s doing alright. He is alright, just a tad bit too stressed for everyone’s liking, especially Helaena who can sense his nerves buzzing with excitement and fear.
The church Alicent chose for his wedding has been used by Targaryens for years and passed on for generations. The walls covered in royalty tapestries of mythical Valyrian gods have seen many weddings and unions, and now, they will see his wedding.
He sighs, wanting to run his fingers through his hair but remembering his hair is in a low bun and his Mum would kill him if he ruined his perfectly done hair. He sighs again, looking up at the ceiling, his brow furrowing in worry.
What is taking her so long? She should have been here ten minutes ago.
Aemond turns around and looks at Daeron, their eyes meeting for a brief second before his younger brother nods and walks to the corner of the hall before slipping out the door without any hesitation.
“Don’t worry, brother, she’ll come around,” Aegon says, his breath stinking with the three glasses of champagne he’s had from the bar in the garden attached to the church grounds, where they will host the party.
“This isn’t another simple date she can be late to. This is our wedding, Aegon!” He exhales shakily, his voice barely above whispering.
He knows he is right, even Aegon knows he is right, but there is little they both can do. They need to wait for her to show up eventually. She will, won’t she? Of course she will, it was Alys who was too eager to marry, start a family, and take a step towards their shared dreams. She reassured him of his hesitation, and he agreed to do this with a heart full of love.
“Sir,” the priest calls him, “I’m needed for another ceremony in about an hour and the ride there will take a long—“
“She will come,” Aemond’s response is more of a reassurance to him than the priest, “you must have seen this more than us, Sir, the bride always shows up.”
“Yes, yes, my apologies,” the man nods his head, going back to do whatever he was doing before.
With every second that passes and Alys doesn’t show up he grows more restless, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. Aemond is a closed-up person, not really used to showing his feelings and emotions outwardly, but now, he is tapping his foot on the ground while his eye swipes at the guests, finding his half-sister’s family behind his Mum — he averts his eye quickly. The last thing he needs is to get furious over his sister’s goblins.
“What is taking her so long?” He hears someone say from the guests, even their stupid gossip is not enough to distract them from how late the bride is. He is growing desperate at this point, the muscles in his shin are growing tired with how fast he is tapping his foot on the floor, his fingers can no longer fidget with his coat instead his nails are digging into his sweaty palm.
Please, please, Alys, just open this door… He thinks to himself before spotting Daeron sneaking inside the hall with you on your toe. He watches as the two of you make your way toward Helaena, whispering something in her ear before she and Daeron leap out of the hall in a second, catching everyone’s attention.
The hall grows noisier, and the hushed whispers turn into loud accusations and questions; “Where is the bride?”
“I have always known she was problematic!”
“Eight years older? How scandalous!”
“How did Viserys Targaryen let his son marry her?”
“I have heard she has quite the reputation with men, always after their money—“
Now his hands are shaking, he hides them by locking them behind his back before he looks in front of him, trying to mask out the noise. Aemond catches your eye, watching as you give him a reassuring smile before taking slow steps towards him.
“Hey you.”
“Hey…” he replies as best as he can without his voice breaking, “you look beautiful.”
“So do you, little nerd!” You reach to fix his bowtie, trying to calm him down a bit, “not so little though, right? You’re getting married before me!”
“Yeah, I’m younger and I beat you to it,” he chuckles a little, silently thanking you for keeping a leash on his nerves.
It’s always been like this since the two of you remember. Growing up close to the Targaryens as Helaena’s kindergarten friend until now, you have grown to know each of the siblings like the back of your hand, especially Aemond who was a constant presence in your games with Helaena since he could walk — sometimes it feels like you are his best friend and not Helaena’s with how attentive you are to him. As much as he wishes for that to be true, he knows the bond you share with his sister is something so precious and special that no one can break it.
“Just so you wait, Aemond, you won’t be invited to my wedding when the time comes!” You tease him, trying to lighten his mood, reaching to fix a few strands of hair that have fallen out of his bun.
“That’s not fair—“
Everyone falls silent when the door is pushed open, revealing a heaving Daeron and a very anxious Helaena. You both turn around to look at the siblings, meeting them halfway with Aegon following you closely.
“We…” Helaena starts, but she can’t talk. Something bad must have happened for her to be so speechless.
“What?” You ask gently, resting your hand on her shoulders in hopes of trying to get her to talk.
“We found Alys,” Daeron looks at Aemond with an unreadable expression, “but she…”
“Spit it out for fuck sake!” Aegon whispers through gritted teeth, his hand shoved in his pockets as he waits for Daeron to finish his sentence.
“She doesn’t want to get married,” Helaena blurts out, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looks at Aemond with sad sympathetic eyes.
“Hel, this is insane. Did she say it herself—“ you say, frowning slightly.
“Criston is holding her back from running away. There’s a car parked outside, I think—“
Aemond can’t listen to these words anymore, so he pushes past his siblings and you, jogging out of the church towards the attached garden, finding Cole and Alys tangled in a messy fight as she tries to escape from his grasp.
“Alys!” He yells her name, making the couple freeze, but in a second, she knees Cole in his stomach and runs past him, her long white dress drags across the grass as she bolts out of the gates too fast for Aemond to be able to catch up, and once he does, he watches the car leave.
The noises around him vanish, and all he can hear is the thumping of his pulse in his ears, and the sharp breaths he takes. The world around him seems to disappear, and his good eye follows the path the car is taking, his fingers are tingling, his chest rising and falling rapidly while he tries to regain his grip on himself.
He sighs, finally his senses coming back as he looks around him, finding you, his Mum, and his siblings running towards him. Aemond doesn’t wish to talk to anyone, he wants to stay invisible, for the world to swallow him whole and keep him away from the humiliation that is about to be unleashed on him.
“Darling—“
“Aemond—“
The group reaches him, Alicent cups his face in her warm hands as she looks at him with tears stinging her eyes. Aemond can see how devastated she is about him, how she desperately wants to say something and ease his pain but the words are lost in the air when she opens her mouth to utter them.
He reaches and holds her wrists gently, pressing her palms against his cheeks as they silently communicate their emotions — no words need to be said, they understand, Alicent understands his pain, and he knows that she would take it away if she could.
“We should tell the guests,” Aemond says before letting go of his Mum’s hands, striding past his siblings and you towards the salon attached to the church, finding many of the guests already there — his half-sister and her kids with a few other relatives.
He knows they are waiting to hear more of this mess just to taunt him and make his day worse. Everyone knows they are looking for one mistake from him and his family to ruin their reputation, and now, with Aemond Targaryen’s runaway bride, they must be ecstatic.
“What happened, nephew? We thought we were invited for a traditional wedding, but all we see is a lonely groom—“
The glare Aemond gives his uncle and nephews is enough for them to shut up. He tries to put up a strong front, head held high and hands folded behind his back, but if you squint you can see how his resolve is crumbling with each second that he spends in their presence.
He decides not to give in to their silly games and walks towards the bar before he snatches the pack of cigarettes on the stool, leaving the room without saying a word. His mind is foggy as he tries to walk past everyone, he is handling many things at the same time but the bitter and heavy feeling in his chest crushes his strength to process it.
The sound of chatter and gossip fades away as he walks through the back garden of the church; a few little benches and a fountain in the corner hidden from the eyes of the guests with a wisteria tree.
This area could have made a romantic core memory for Aemond and Alys if only things had gone differently…
With a deep sigh, he sits on the ground, his back against the fountain as he fiddles with his bow tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, his coat falling on the ground next to him. He opens the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out before he reaches in his pants for a lighter — something he is sure you’d scold him for as you always do, teasing him lightheartedly about his obsession with lighters.
When he inhales the smoke, his mind gets clearer, and he can think a little better, but he is not sure if he would really like to do so. His ex-fiancé left him just a few minutes ago, and his mind fills with dreadful thoughts.
Was it him?
Was he too young for her? Too immature?
Did she change her mind because she loved someone else?
Was he too strict and selfish?
Was it really him who brought this on himself? On his family?
He blows out the smoke, resting his elbow on his knee as he reaches to untie his bun, his hair falling freely around his shoulders while the droplets of water land on the soft silver strands from the fountain.
It is the beginning of the summer, the spring chill of the weather is replaced with an increasing heat, the birds chipper and he can see the peachy hue of sunset in the sky from between the leaves of the tree.
He feels numb, a dull ache in his chest blooming as the reality hits him. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette, throwing his head back, and letting his hair fall inside the water fountain. He sniffs, closing his eye to keep his tears from flowing down, the storm of his thoughts wrecking his mind once again.
He loves her, she was his everything from the start — his first kiss, first girlfriend, first fight. Alys was his everything, and now, she is nothing but a memory, a memory he wishes to wipe away quickly.
How can you claim to love someone and leave them without any remorse?
There is guilt and sadness, but mostly it’s the doubt and self-hatred that makes him want to sob. Many questions are swirling in his head about how he is the reason she has left. Maybe she was right about leaving him, no one would like to be the wife of a man who deals with heavy pain daily.
He takes another drag, relishing in the feeling of the soft evening breeze that kisses his heated skin, cooling him down a little. The smell of smoke grounds him in this world, making him forget about the mess that is probably happening in the church. He is sure his siblings and Mum are trying their best to talk to Alys’ relatives and other guests, explaining the situation in a hurry.
“Your suite must have cost thousands,” you say casually, announcing your presence as you walk with your long dress in hand, careful with how uneasy your heels feel on the soft grass, making your way to where he is sitting.
“Nothing compared to the decorations she ordered,” he scoffs, putting out his cigarette on the edge of the stone of the fountain before he straightens his neck and looks at you.
“Yeah, I saw them,” you sigh, fisting your skirt before sitting next to him, shoulders touching subtly, “she has a very… interesting taste. Who’d thought a lawyer would be into witchcraft?”
“She likes things no one can understand,” he says, gazing up at the wisteria tree, “I also paid for the dress you are getting wet grass stains on—“
“That was irrelevant because Hel bought it for me! She knew how much of an ass you’d be about it,” you chuckle a little, watching as a ghost of a smile finds its way to his face before it falters and his eye drops to the grass, the smile no longer visible.
“Yeah, maybe that’s why Alys left,” he scoffs in disbelief again, shaking his head a little as he thinks of every bad trait he has, considering all of them could be the reason she decided she was better off without him.
“Her loss,” you say softly, “you are too funny, little nerd, even for someone who can be a stuck-up ass sometimes.”
“You are lucky my sister loved you enough to keep you around because I’d get rid of you the second I could,” he mumbles, huffing out a small laugh when you punch his biceps playfully.
“That’s not nice, Aemond!” You laugh together, rubbing the place where you hit him, “You love me too, that’s why you will never get tired of me,” saying this, you can see his shoulder tensing — love, what a weird word to use.
Does he love you? Does he even love anyone?
Maybe he does, but it wasn’t enough to keep his fiance with him.
Maybe his love was too much for Alys to bear.
“How did you find me?” He asks, his voice hoarse and thick, “I was trying to be invisible.”
“Give me that—“ you grab the pack of cigarettes from him, pulling one out and waiting for Aemond to light it for you. You inhale a puff, handing it back to him before looking up at the sky, “do you remember when you’d steal my books and go into your old stables to read?”
“I do, no one could find me,” he takes a drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he talks, “but you did.”
“I believed you would do it because you wanted someone to look for you,” you look at him with soft eyes, “and I always did. Your siblings had no idea where you would go, but I knew you like the back of my hand. Or maybe I just wanted my book back!”
He matches your smile, but you can see the pain in his eye, this is not a time to beat around the bush. He wishes to let it out — whatever it is. Perhaps it’s anger, frustration, betrayal, maybe it’s his ultimate desire to vanish into thin air to save himself from the press and humiliation that he’ll be going through.
“What did I do wrong?” He asks, and you must be able to see the agony he is in, he is in grave distress, and the cloud of doubt is causing a tornado in his head that will kill the remaining of his confidence, “did I not give her enough love, show her how much I wanted her?”
“You gave her your heart, something you would never do for someone you didn’t like,” you reach and squeeze his shoulder, “you did your best, gave her your everything. We all saw how devoted you were, it is not your fault.”
“Then why? Why?!” He asks desperately, looking at you with his wide teary eye, the ocean blue orb staring into your soul with need, “I thought I was everything she wanted, she said it herself—“ he looks away before he can cry, throwing his head back to stop the tears from falling, putting the cigarette between his thin lips.
“You are more than enough, Aemond—“
“She wasn’t worth it, was she?” He cuts you off, “she took me for granted,” he sounds so little, so fragile, and he feels so.
“You loved her! I’m sure, Aemond, that your love for her was so beautiful and precious, it was Alys who couldn’t be better.”
“She was the one who wanted to get married as soon as possible…” he whispers, closing his eye as he talks with the cigarette between his lips, “even Aegon made fun of me for not saying no to her, he said I needed to grow up and not give in to her whims.”
“Aegon is a little shit, he can’t even keep one girl in a one-month relationship. He should be the last person on earth to get advice from,” You nudge his shoulder, grab the cigarette, and pull it away from his lips, “loving your partner is not a crime. So what? You liked spoiling her, did you not?”
“Yeah, I did…” he says, looking back down at his fingers rubbing over the fabric of his pants, “Alys used to tell me I was a kid too, that I needed to grow up or else I wouldn’t be a good husband.”
“Oh, Aemond…”
He averts his gaze towards you, tears brimming in his eye, “I did everything I could,” he is helpless, the gut-wrenching feeling is eating him alive.
“Don’t bottle it up, little nerd,” you reach and push a few strands of his hair behind his ear, “you can cry, I’m here.”
And he does; he rests his head on your shoulder and starts sobbing quietly, tears falling on his scarred cheek.
“I’m here,” you whisper, wrapping your arm around his shoulders, making him feel safe enough to pour his emotions out.
Aemond has been avoiding the situation as best as he can; ignoring his grandfather’s calls, not leaving the house for a few weeks, and trying to get a hold on his life again.
All his efforts are in vain.
He still lives in the same apartment in Rosby he and Alys bought a few months ago, their photos and pictures hanging on the walls, the bed they used to sleep on together, their bathroom, their kitchen — everything feels like an old movie reel, a twilight zone he doesn’t know if he likes to leave or embrace and drown in it.
Aemond has been keeping contact with his siblings throughout the past week, refusing their help to come and live with him for a while, saying he wanted some time alone to figure out what he wished to do from then on.
The media is filled with pictures of him standing outside the garden catching the car speeding away — how the paparazzi get there? No one knows but the fingers are pointed at his half-sister and uncle. The pictures are all over the news and the internet, mainly using his Targaryen name to drag him into the dirt.
He plops down on the couch, unlocking his phone only to be greeted with thousands of texts from his Mum and Daeron, begging him to come home and stay the summer with them in Targaryen residency. It’s not an idea he hasn’t entertained before, in fact, he would like to go back home and take some time off for himself. So he texts Alicent and tells her he’ll move in with them for a while until he is better and ready to come back to this forsaken apartment.
He starts packing a few hours later, dirty clothes thrown into the washing machine while he sits on the floor with a huge suitcase ready to be filled. Suddenly his phone starts ringing, startling him greatly. He reaches for the phone on the bed, looking at the screen to see who’s calling him. You. Your name lights up his phone, making him smile a little, thinking probably the word has spread like wildfire.
“Hey,”
“Hey yourself, little nerd!” You say enthusiastically, “heard you wanna move back into your Mum’s place.”
“Hmm, yeah,” he sighs, securing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he talks to you, “a change would be nice, especially for the summer.”
“Then you’re in luck!” You reply, “Hel asked me to come and spend the summer at the mansion too!” he chuckles when he hears you groaning over who knows what before continuing, “Anyway, I’ll come to your place whenever you want so I can help you pack whatever you’d like to take there and then drive to King’s Landing.”
“Sounds great, I really appreciate the offer,” he agrees, grabbing the phone as soon as the washing machine stops, “I’d like it if you could take some time and come here tomorrow?”
“Of course, just send me the location, alright? The sooner we pack, the sooner we can have some of Aegon’s magnificent cocktails!”
“Urgh, that loser will be home too?” He feigns a groan, breaking character when he hears your snort.
“Stop being mean to him, he makes the best Sex on the Beach!” You both chuckle, knowing you are right, Aegon does make the best cocktails known to humankind, “We’ll have fun there, and I’ve missed Vhagar so much!”
“I missed her too,” Aemond says fondly, “thank you again for helping me out, I wouldn’t have reached out if you didn’t call me.”
“Oh I know, that’s why I called. You can always count on me! Anyway, I’ll come tomorrow and help you pack.”
“Alright, thank you, I’ll text you the address,” Aemond says, grabbing the basket to empty the wet clothes from the washing machine.
“See you tomorrow, Little nerd!”
“You should have told me you have a Chevy Camaro, I doubt we can fit anything in this little car!” you hug and greet him when he opens the door, “I brought my things too if it’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, sure, the sooner we pack, the sooner we can leave!” He replies, grabbing your suitcase’s handle, and leading you inside his apartment, “Don’t worry, my car has carried much larger things. This is nothing.”
“Whatever you say! Now— woah, you are packed already?” You look around the room, a few boxes neatly put on top of each other and labeled, one backpack and another half-filled suitcase on the floor.
“I just need some help with my clothes and whether I should…” he points at the framed photos on the walls, photos of him and Alys, “throw them out or send them to her with her belongings.”
“Well, I think you should give it some time before you do something you might regret,” you squeeze his shoulder lightly, “it seems we can go tonight, right? You don’t have many things left to pack.”
“Yeah, just a few clothes! You can get the snack while I put them in the suitcase—“
“No, no, lemme fold your clothes! You should start putting the boxes away, I’ll get everything ready,” you pat him on the chest, walking towards his bedroom to fold his clothes for him.
He nods silently and thanks you before he grabs the boxes and leaves the apartment. You both work quickly, taking a break and having tea together, you ask about how he’s holding up, and he dismisses your questions as best as he can, not really wishing to entertain the thoughts that’ll disturb him.
“Aemond, do you want to bring your books too?” You ask him, groaning as you drop the heavy box on his bed, “because I doubt we’ll have enough space to take all of these with us to King’s Landing.”
“Just those that are already tucked away!” He yells from the kitchen, finishing cooking for you, “We’ll finish it after dinner, c’mon.”
“Okay,” you sigh tiredly, not really expecting the packing to drag on for so long. After all, he said he only needed a few clothes, not half of his wardrobe with his expensive watches and sunglasses.
“I think we have packed enough for at least ten spontaneous parties Aegon will be throwing this summer,” you mutter, sitting behind the island in the kitchen.
“I doubt he’d let an occasion like my birthday let go so easily now that I’m back home,” Aemond shrugs, handing you a plate, “he mostly ignores the occasion but I’m sure he and Mum will do something, and make a huge deal out of it. That’s why I need to be prepared.”
“Well, it’s the first birthday in a while that I’m attending too so it better be something good!” You tease him, thanking him for the delicious meal.
“It will be, or at least Mum’s plans will be great. She has Daeron as her non-assigned assistant now that I’m gone and they make quite the duo. They always host the best gatherings together.”
“Alicent is a perfectionist, of course, she’ll be the best person to throw a birthday party for you,” you agree with him, “but you can’t deny that Aegon’s parties are always better! He’s reckless, and the drinks are the best.”
“Only the best for the oldest Targaryen son, right?” He sighs again, looking down at his plate, “Sorry, it slipped my tongue, I shouldn’t have said it.”
“It’s okay,” you reach and rub his forearm, “you’re dealing with lots of things now, I understand, we all do.”
“I hope I don’t ruin your summer with us with my stupid sappy attitude,” Aemond jokes — or at least tries to.
“Sappy or not, you are my best friend’s brother, and I watched you grow up! There is nothing you can do to make my time with you miserable,” you smile at him softly, finishing your plate before you both stand up to get ready and leave, “I’ll take care of the dishes, you go close your suitcase and we take whatever’s left to your car.”
Time passes quickly and you find yourself getting inside Aemond’s car later than you expected. He makes sure everything is packed and safe both in the apartment and in the trunk before he gets inside the passenger seat — he can’t drive at night because of his eyesight so you’ll drive to King’s Landing. It’s not a long ride fortunately; four hours by car and you’ll be there in no time.
Aemond, despite trying to keep up with the conversation, falls asleep halfway through the road, and you let him take a nap before you arrive there and get bombarded by questions left and right.
When you pull in front of the entrance gates, Cole is already waiting for you, ready to take your bags out and park the car even though someone else could be doing it.
“Hi, Cole,” Aemond greets him with a thick voice, rubbing his sleepy eye before he gives Criston a halfway hug, patting his back.
You shut down the engine, get out of the car, and greet Cole after you hand him the remote, following Aemond in the path leading to the entrance door with a few boxes in hand as you help him take a few of his belongings inside the house.
Alicent is already waiting in front of the door anxiously, slowly rubbing her throat and neck as she waits for Aemond to reach her before she brings him in a tight embrace, not minding the sharp points of the boxes digging in her sides — just having her son with her is enough to remedy all of her pain.
“My darling,” she tears up a little, caressing his hair and kissing his cheek, “I’m so happy you decided to come home, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Mother,” he pulls back a little to put the boxes down and hug her completely, resting his head on top of hers as she wraps her arms around him.
Everyone is interrupted when a series of barks echo in the house, and in a second, a huge fluffy black Chow Chow jumps on Aemond, licking his face happily. Vhagar, oh, how he missed his old lady. He chuckles and scratches behind her ears, ignoring all the stares as he reunites with her.
“Babyyyyyyy!” Helaena squeals before she runs towards you to help you with Aemond’s things, kissing you and giving you a side hug, “Thank you for agreeing to come! I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun together.”
“Thank you for having me, lovey!”
“I’m so thankful you helped him, darling,” Alicent pulls away from the pair nearly lying on the floor while one of them is having his face licked, her hand caressing your back as she draws you in her arms as well, “Thank you for bringing home, I’m in debt to you—”
“Oh, no, it was nothing!” You look at her before giving Aemond and Vhagar a cheeky smile, “It was the least I could do, I’m glad I could help.”
“Come, come! You must be tired, your rooms are ready. Cole will take your bags,” she says, leading the way with Aemond who has his free arm wrapped around Daeron, and Vhagar jumps next to his feet while you and Helaena follow them.
“Aegon is asleep, you know him, he has big plans for this summer, especially now that Aemond can use some distraction,” she bumps her shoulder to yours, “meaning we’ll have the time of our lives!”
“Yeah,” you smile at her before looking ahead of you, catching Aemond turning around to give you a quick smile, “What a summer it’ll be.”
i finally FINALLY have the time to catch up on this story that, from the first chapter alone, I can already tell is going to be great!
oh the tension, the angst, the betrayal! i’m really really curious to know why Alys dipped when she was the one who wanted to get married in the first place? if there was a reason at all
and should i expect some summer romance between Aemond and reader? is Alys going to come back and possibly get in the way of things? is it going to come to an end when summer inevitably ends? i’m so excited to find out!!
thank you so much for writing this, i can’t wait to read the rest!!
Ettore / waking up to their partner giving them oral on a fine Christmas morning / smut where Ettore and reader have been sneaking around to bone, he often just grabs her and has his way with her, so to cheer him up on what would otherwise be a depressing Christmas on the ship she surprises him with a bj 💕
Desperate
Ettore x reader
Words: 1.9k
Warnings: smut, blowjob, dub-con, tw: Ettore
A/n: ayy my first time writing for this freak :)
Main Masterlist // Christmas Masterlist
It started in the showers.
Ettore had been staring at you for weeks, just as he had every other girl on the ship, but where Boyse would scream at him and Mink would shove him away, you’d stare back. You couldn’t help it.
He’s younger than the other men on the ship, perhaps the youngest, which makes you all the more curious as to what he’s been sentenced for. You guess it might be something to do with the way he stares, the way he stalks around the ship like an animal, keeping his chin down like he’s trying to be less conspicuous. He’s not hard to miss, tall and slender, with three matching tattoos, one on each arm, the other on his neck underneath his jaw.
It was late in the night cycle, soft snores coming from the other bunks in your room. Moments of privacy were rare so you’d made a habit of seeking solitude under running warm water when the rest of the ship was asleep. Or they should have been.
You were standing in the doorway of your dorm when you spotted him, lingering in front of the shower room. It was too dark to see if he was smirking or not but the nervous feeling fluttering in your stomach told you he was. You were frozen to the spot, towel clutched under your arm, shoes off and feet bare against the cold floor. You knew the most intelligent thing to do would be to go back to your bunk…
But curiosity got the better of you. It keeps getting the better of you.
There’s not much to be excited about in a place like this. The days come and go with the alternating harsh white and the dull blue of the daylight cycle. From the few viewpoints on the ship there are no days to see, only night, only the void of deep space, and you wonder what the point is in pretending like the twenty-four hour cycle of Earth matters all the way out here. Months tick by on a calendar. Seasons and holidays become a distant memory. It all drives you insane, the dull colours of the walls, floors and ceilings, wearing the same red uniforms, eating the same tasteless food, the constant hum of the ship’s engines.
But there are ways to distract yourself. You tried the Box at first, but once you were finished using it you’d go back to your bunk and dream of heat and breath, real human hands on your body, skin on skin.
Intimacy between inmates is strictly forbidden on Dibs’ orders. She says it interferes with her ‘research’ and would distract you all from your tasks at hand, as if any of the people on this ship are here for scientific purposes. You think she likes it, having control over all the inmates like this, calling you to the lab every day, one by one. She has all these different tests “to keep track of your health,” she says. It’s bullshit. She’s picking her next victim.
Maybe that’s why Ettore excites you so much. He looks at you with a hunger and a want you’ve not known since you were first incarcerated. Maybe that’s why you let him grab you that night in the showers. You had walked into a room filled with billowing steam, the silhouette of his body visible through the grey. You stood right night to him, watching him staring at you out of the corner of your eye. It was like showering with a knife to your throat. His hand brushed over your hip and you flicked him away. Then he made his move. He had you by the elbows and pushed your front against the wall, thrusting his cock against your cunt until you were wet enough. It hurt at first but he showed no concern when you cried out. Once he got deep enough the pain subdued and faded into pleasure. It was quick and vulgar but it was bliss.
The showers are a good place to fuck, no cameras and no prying eyes. You find other corners of the ship, or rather Ettore does, dragging you into a storage unit or one of the abandoned labs without warning. As your trysts become more frequent he becomes somewhat more attentive, circles on your clit when he fucks you, his hands and lips and tongue on your breasts, lately he likes to prop you up, get on his knees and make you come with his fingers and his mouth.
It can’t be affection, whatever it is you feel for him. There’s no use for that on a suicide mission in deep space. You exchange pointed looks in passing or feel the occasional hand on your back. Sometimes you even make small talk. Besides, you don’t think Ettore would be capable of it. He’s more of a primal being and sometimes you think it rubs off on you, just the need to be close to another person, to chase something that’s forbidden.
The calendar tells you it’s December, getting close to Christmas. There’s no concept of that on the ship. You’ll never know snow again, you’ll never hear a Christmas song or taste sugar and rich cuts of roasted meat. It’s the same routine over and over and over.
On the morning of the 25th you’re on laundry duty, stripping the bunks in each dorm. You spot Ettore on all fours, shirt off, wiping the floor with a cloth. You watch the lines of his muscles tense as he works to get a scuff out, brow slightly damp with sweat. He’s already noticed you, looking between the floor and you.
Anticipation rises in your belly.
You make sure the two of you are alone first. The hallway is empty and so are the dorms while the rest of the inmates are fulfilling their duties around the ship, then they’ll gather in the mess hall for morning rations– as close to morning you can get here.
Your steps towards Ettore are slow, shoes echoing softly through the hallway. You see him pause and place the cloth down.
Once you’re standing over him he sits back on his haunches, lips parted, eyes wide.
“It’s the 25th of December,” you say.
Ettore shrugs. “So?”
“I have something for you.”
He looks skeptical. “What?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He frowns. “Are you gonna tell me then?”
“That ruins the purpose of a surprise. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
He doesn’t care to check your surroundings. He’s on his feet in an instant, inching closer to you, fingertips pawing at your waist through your uniform.
You brush his hand away. “Not here,” you hiss, and lead him into one of the dorms.
The lights are dim, beds stripped down to the mattress. You hear the whirr of the mechanism that closes the door as Ettore’s body presses into your back. He keeps his hips close to your backside with a wide palm over your stomach, dangerously close to the hem of your shirt.
His lips are tantalizing against the shell of your ear. “What’s this something you’ve got for me, hmm? Wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”
You pry yourself out of his touch and turn to face him. His eyes are dark and desperate, and he’s never one for patience when he wants something. He walks into you, backing you against the ladder of the bunks.
You reach your arm out to stop him. Something in his expression lights up at the challenge and panic surges through your chest because you know that if you don’t take your chance now, he’ll take it for you. But he stops, eyes fixed on your face as you trace down his bare torso, over the ridges of his abs, his surprisingly soft skin, the burning heat coming off him.
He shudders when your fingertips brush over his navel. A part of you is proud of yourself, tugging on the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down as you lower yourself to your knees. Ettore sighs when he realises what you intend to do, cradling the back of your head as you free his hardening cock. The sound of his breath only stirs the rising feeling in your gut, the thought of the sounds he’ll make when your lips will touch him, the way his jaw will fall open.
You can feel him pressing your head closer to the tip but you push back. You tilt your chin up and your eyes meet.
The hum of the engines is deafening. No other living thing is within earshot in the empty room, the empty hallway and beyond that a lifeless void. There is just your heartbeat pulsing in your ears and the sound of Ettore’s impatient breaths.
He likes to be in control. He likes to press you against the wall and restrict your movement in any way he can, clasping your hands behind your back or above your head, gripping your body to use it as he pleases. He likes to scrape his teeth over your neck and you often have to tell him to stop because you can’t afford him to leave a visible mark on your body, no matter how much he wants to.
“Let me do this, for you,” you whisper.
He relents, stops pushing, but keeps his hand where it is.
You run your tongue along the underside, feeling how he shudders when you reach the tip and tease it with small, sparse licks.
Ettore holds onto one of the rungs on the ladder, his hips jerking like his body seeks more, but he stops himself. You glance up to see his lips pressed together and his eyes closed. You withhold a smile, deciding you like him like this, desperate.
You take him slowly into your mouth. Ordinarily he’d be the one positioning you on your knees, sliding his cock between his lips after fucking you. The taste of your own arousal would pool on your tongue, mingling with his own release when he was finished. “Take it. Swallow all of it,” because you’d be dead if Dibs discovered any consequences.
You don’t want to rush this. He’s heavy in your mouth as you inch along his length, gently pulling back and taking more with every bob of your head.
Ettore’s sighs catch in his throat, dangerously close to groans. As demanding as he is he knows there are limits in this awful place. You never know who might hear, even through a closed door. But with every sound he makes, you want more, an infuriating pressure appearing at your clothed cunt as your hand traces down between your legs.
You hear a dark chuckle as Ettore’s fist closes in your hair. “I think you like this,” he says, pushing on your head again, bucking his hips into your mouth in a slow rhythm, “like it when I use that perfect little mouth?”
He’s upping the pace, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust. You try to take it, tell yourself to breathe.
“Take it, just fucking take it,”
Your eyes are hot and stinging with tears. You look up to him in a desperate plea. The light from the hall is faint, his face scattered with shadows catching on the harsh line of his jaw, the curve of his parted lips. He looks dark, hungry.
Your hand has slipped under your uniform and your panties, circling deftly over your clit.
“Fucking knew it,” Ettore says with a grin.
You can only keep your mouth open and brace yourself with a hand on his thigh. The sounds are lewd and thrilling. You gather wetness with your fingertips to draw yourself closer and closer to your own release.
Suddenly Ettore pushes himself to the hilt, your nose pressing against his stomach as he comes. Within a few heartbeats your own climax washes over you. Ettore slips himself out and you try to catch your breath, limbs numb, a warmth dripping from the corners of your mouth and running down your chin. You feel like an utter mess.
Ettore wipes his thumb over your skin and lifts your gaze up to him. “You’re pretty like this.”
“Did you like the surprise, then?”
He tilts his head, a hint of playfulness in the curl of his mouth as his fingertips dig into your jaw. “Not much of a surprise, was it? I already knew you were a little slut.”
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