Content : smut, 18+, f receiving oral, penetration, slight praise, jealousy, mentions of virginity
Summary : Anthony is jealous of a friend that dances with you at your wedding. He decides to offer to make you feel just how much he loves you.
Word Count : 1.5k
A/N : hi everyone! this is part 2 to Come Away With Me. I hope you enjoy and pls reblog if you enjoy, it is one of the best ways to support your favorite writers!
Read Part 1 here
You twirled on the dance floor effortlessly, the music pounding in your ears as your dance partner sailed across the floor with you. Your white, pearled veil was buttoned at your delicate wrist and there has been a smile plastered on your face since the moment you woke up. Anthony Bridgerton and yourself, married at last.
At this particular moment, you were not quite sure where your husband was, and you were dancing with an old family friend, Horace. He has always had a bit of a crush on you, but you made it quite clear that friends are all you would ever be. Still, he seemed genuinely delighted at your marriage and was letting nothing but praise about Anthony fall on your ears. You were smiling so much that your cheeks hurt, and as you curtsied at the end of the band’s song, you glanced around for Anthony, finding him looking absolutely furious standing with the Duke of Hastings. You frown slightly, and start to make your way towards him when you are apprehended by Eloise and Penelope.
“So.” Eloise says.
“So.” You reply, smiling at her.
“Welcome to the family Bridgerton, where all we care about is status and looks.” Anthony’s younger sister quips. Penelope grimaces, leaning forward in front of Eloise to grasp your hands affectionately.
“You look absolutely lovely, y/n. Anthony is lucky to have as stable and respectable a woman as you.”
You smile at Penelope and give her a hug before moving on. Suddenly, Anthony is by your side, pulling you to the dance floor. You follow happily, happy to have him hold you in his arms. His arm encircles your waist and he pulls you so close. The tips of your noses touch and he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Does Horace truly think that he can dance with my wife all night? He should not even be touching you, let alone thinking of you.” He says bitterly, the jealous tone seeping through prominently.
You blink. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am quite serious.”
“It was just a dance, Anthony.”
He spins you once before pulling you in again, leaning his head down to brush his lips against your ear, causing you to shiver at the unexpected sensation.
“I am the only one who should be touching you. I want to sink myself into you so badly, this ball cannot be over soon enough.” He whispers gruffly, nipping at your ear lightly.
You blush a deep crimson, your panties becoming wet at the thought. You had never been with a man, but you could not wait to explore Anthony, and more importantly, let him explore you. “Behave, Anthony, or I myself will not make it through the whole night.”
Pulling back from you slightly, Anthony studies your face, a glint in his eye. You did not know what this look from him meant, but you supposed you could guess. Anthony leans down to whisper in your ear again. “Mingle a while longer, darling, then meet me in the powder room where you dressed before the ceremony.” You blush again, nodding against him. He holds you at arm’s length and bows, kissing your knuckles while looking directly into your eyes.You hold his gaze, the heat at your center threatening to boil over if he continues to look you over in such a way.
You turn away from him, letting your fingers slip through his as you move along the crowd, mingling with the guests. You were blissfully happy, excited to have your closest friend as your husband, enamored that he truly had never looked at another since that night in the garden when he confessed his love for you. Smiling to yourself, you glance around slowly, watching your loved ones dance, drink, and speak to one another. You lock eyes with Anthony again, and you notice he had already been watching you. He raises his glass to his lips, quirking an eyebrow at you over the crystal rim. You smirk at him, looking around you before confidently leaving the room to go to the powder room. The chaise lounge was just as you left it, the light floral blue fabric inviting you to sit.
You sat, nervously patting your hair, using the looking glass to your right to ensure that your makeup was still intact.
“Thought you could run away from me, hm, Mrs. Bridgerton?” You startle, turning to see Anthony leaning against the door, looking at you hungrily. Your ass bumps into the vanity, the look in his eyes exciting you and making you slightly nervous. “I’m sure Horace wishes he was here in this room with you instead of me.” Anthony scoffs, and you frown.
“I do not care what Horaces wishes.”
Anthony approached you, curling a finger under your chin to tilt your head up to look at him. “Good girl.” He says, and you feel that tingling at your sex again, this time more intensely. He seems to notice the change in your mood, because he lifts you up and sets you on the chaise lounge and sinks to his knees in front of you, capturing your lips in a kiss as he does so.
Smiling into the kiss, you sigh slightly in disappointment as he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. He looked so ready to give at that moment, sat on the floor between your knees. “Are you quite alright with this, darling?”
You nod, looking into his eyes. “I trust no one more than you, Anthony.” He presses a kiss to your temple before reaching behind you to unbutton your dress. He stands you carefully, helping you out of the pristine white material, and pushes you into a sitting position, even more gently. You were shaking in anticipation, wondering what it would feel like, how Anthony would feel against you and inside you.
Anthony lays you back gently, spreading your knees apart and looking at you. He stares at your pussy, and you start to wonder if something was wrong. “Is everything alright?” you ask worriedly, and Anthony looks up at the sound of your voice.
“More than alright. You just have such a pretty little pussy.” He drawls, kissing up your thighs. You squirm, the wetness between your thighs growing. You hear Anthony snicker to himself, and then his mouth is on your cunt, licking gently. You gasp, your hands immediately going to his hair, and Anthony takes this as his signal to lick and suckle more quickly and more firmly.
“Oh, my god, Anthony.” you moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy.
Anthony keeps licking, his fingers reaching out to stroke your bud, making your breathing become heavy. He inserts one long digit inside your cunt, looking up to watch your face as he curls his finger inside you, becoming hard at the sight of the ecstasy written across your face. He pulls his finger out of you and you open your eyes, watching as he unsheathes his cock from his pants. You stare, then roam your eyes up as Anthony draws closer, settling himself above you.
He peppers your face in kisses, sucking at your neck lightly. You writhe a bit and hum, reaching up to run your hands through his hair, but you could not take it anymore, you leaned your head up and captured him in a nasty, tongue and teeth clashing kiss. Your breathing became heavy as you kissed your husband, and you could feel him stroking the head of his throbbing cock along your folds, and the heat and wetness still grew inside you.
Finally, finally Anthony pushed himself into you, his long fingers grabbing at one of your hips, hard. He gasps slightly, giving you time to adjust before sinking into you entirely, slowly dragging his thick cock in and out, hitting the rough patch inside in an agonizingly slow pace that was making your head swim. Your eyes start to roll to the back of your head, and then Anthony picks up pace, pushing into you a bit harder than before. It feels so good that you can’t help but whimper quietly and moan his name over and over again.
“Viscountess,” he purrs, “I am going to make you feel so good that you will be doing more than just whimpering.” He starts to slam into your hips, and instinctively you buck and roll into him, your pussy clenching tighter and tighter as he continues to pound into your cunt. He had said he was going to sink into you and he had, and you could not be happier about it. You gasp sharply as your core tightens again, and Anthony speeds up, capturing your lips in a kiss.
“Anthony, I-I…” you stutter, unable to put words to how you were feeling.
“I know darling, just let go and I will join you.” he whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your eyes explode with stars and you come off of the chaise lounge with an arch in your back. Anthony rides your high with you, pumping into you until he stills, muttering “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good, darling.”
At last, the two of you are breathlessly lying on the chaise, and Anthony lifts his head, stroking your cheek. “I am honored to have satisfied you, my love. I want nothing more than to make you happy.”
You smile at him, brushing a piece of hair off of his forehead. “I am blissfully happy.”
CW : smut, blowjob, cum eating, fingering, p in v, slight breeding kink if you squint, spitting in mouth, jealousy
Word Count : 1.4k
Summary : Sick of other women hitting on him, you finally take initiative.
A/N : holy shit i took this and ran. shoutout to @fricks for the idea of the cum eating --- anyway MDNI!!!!!!!!!!!! i've also had this divider saved so if anyone knows who made it pls lmk so i can credit ok thx
Satoru’s panting seemed to ignite every nerve in your body. His blue sweater shoved up past those glistening abs, black sunglasses perched precariously at the tip of his nose as he gazed down at you. You, who sat between his toned thighs, perfectly pretty and manicured nails squeezing his leg just right as you swallow his length.
Maybe giving your best friend a filthy blowjob wasn’t on your list of things to do tonight, but you couldn’t take the way other women looked at him. Like they had a chance with him. Like they would ever be able to replace you and the spot you hold in his life. So, when you saw that girl in the little black dress drape herself over him tonight, you decided it was time to act. The thought flares another possessive urge in you, and you relax the muscles in your throat, until you feel the slick red tip of his cock brush past your uvula.
“Fuck - shit - hah-” Satoru hisses above you, one hand gripping the covers of his bed tightly, the other landing in your hair. Your mouth was so full, the stretch so agonizingly good that you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You pull back a bit, just to spit a fat glob onto his dick, rubbing the mess you made along his length so you could take a breath.
Satoru’s bright blue eyes are glassy, and he looks like he never considered you might want him this way. That all the late nights and tears and laughter were just the building blocks of your friendship. And he was prepared to take it, really, he was. Being in your life was better than not, so he kept quiet.
But right now? With your eyes like a siren’s, that black cherry tinted lipstick leaving a ring at the base of his cock…he was a goner. Completely done for. “Baby, fuuuck…” He whispers as he watches the fresh manicure (that he gladly paid for, what good was having money if he didn’t treat his best friend?) travel along his dick, eyes traveling from your hand up to your eyes.
You smirk, leaning forward again to lick a stripe from the base to the tip, bobbing your head slightly as you take him in again, hand pumping what wasn’t in your mouth. Satoru clenches his jaw, long fingers moving from your hair to wipe the tears from the corner of your eyes, smearing your eyeliner. The sight makes his hips buck into your mouth, and you hum. The vibrations make Satoru’s head fall back slightly, chest beginning to heave as he tries to restrain. Tries to pull away, but the pointed almond shape of your nails, painted his favorite shade of blue, hold his thighs tightly, maneuvering your head to chase his cock.
Satoru groans “I’m so close, I - shhh-” He says, your name spilling from his lips as he spills into yours. You moan, thighs squeezing together as he releases into your mouth. It’s hot, salty, but unmistakably him. He hisses, chanting “Take it, take it all, fuck, fuck, fuck -” while you collect every last drop of his cum.
When he raises his head to look at you, you smirk, rising, straddling his lap.
“You, um, didn’t have to - ngh.” He moans, just as your lips crash into his, forcing him to take his own load back as you push your tongue into his mouth, He lets out a guttural sound, reaching down to pull the short skirt you’re wearing over the curve of your delicious ass as he swallows every last bit of the cum you return to him, the mixture of fluids bringing his cock to harden again.
Looking down at him as you smirk, you pry his mouth open, thumb toying with his bottom lip. Just as he rips the delicate lace of the thong you’re wearing, you lean forward. There’s a tense, charged moment. You’re soaked, folds sticky with arousal and aching for his fingers, his tongue, his cock, whatever he would give you. Your eyes meet, and as yours flick down to his open mouth, his fingers move.
You spit into his mouth just as his fingers part your folds, finding you wet and ready. For him,all for him. Your lips clash again, and he pushes a finger inside you, crooking it, moving faster when you whimper against his mouth. You can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass, and you moan again, hands moving to tangle in the messy strands at the back of his head. Satoru grunts, and gently inserts another finger, making your hips buck. The way he made you feel had your hips moving of their own accord, riding his fingers like a dog in heat.
“Fuck, ‘Toru, feels too good.” You mutter, breaking from his kiss as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. You feel him hum, his chest rumbling.
“Need…” he mutters, thumb finding your clit, pinching lightly. Your hips buck, your syrupy walls locking his fingers in a vice grip as you come undone. “Thaaat’s it.” He whispers, mouth dropping kisses to your shoulder over and over.
When you lift your head, you find him already studying you. It’s another pause, like you both know this is something neither of you are coming back from. That you belong to each other fully. Satoru takes the glasses off and tosses them, large hands landing on your hips as he stands, flipping you on to your back and hovering above you.
“Tell me you want this just as badly as I do.” he whispers, Adam’s apple bobbing as you look up, watching as those gorgeous white lashes flutter dangerously.
You nod, but he squeezes your hip. “Words, pretty girl.” He says, watching your face, every expression, for anything that might reveal to him that this was enough, that you didn’t need anything more.
“I want you.” You whine, hips wiggling a bit to entice him. “So fucking bad, ‘Toru.” You say, lipstick smeared mouth turning down slightly in a pretty pout.
Satoru’s breath hitches, gazes raking over you quickly before hitching your thighs around his waist. You feel the mushroom tip of his cock rubbing along your slick, your own breath faltering as he notches the tip to your entrance, slowly pushing himself in.
The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Sure, you’ve had sex, and yes you knew Satoru was big while you were sucking him off, but feeling your spongy walls suck him in and accommodate you, you swear you could cum right there.
“Ah, baby don’t squeeze. Gonna cum ‘fore I can even move.” Satoru gasps, holding himself still until you start to wiggle, signalling for him to move. He does, pulling out slowly at first before slamming back in, making you whine and buck your hips.
That’s when he smiles. That devastatingly gorgeous smirk that’s been directed at you more times than you can count. Your hand shoots up, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss, tongues and teeth clashing as he ruts into you, faster and faster until he’s gasping out.
“C’mon baby, give it to me. Give it to me. Want you to cream all over this thick cock, want you to -haaahhh, fuck-” Satoru’s voice cracks as you clench, your orgasm building.
“So good, don’t stop. Don…stop…” You whine, a high pitched noise leaving the back of your throat as you clench down around him, triggering his second release.
The thought of him leaking out of you spurs you on, and your hips buck, fluid squirting from you and coating your thighs and his abdomen, leaking into the sheets below. Satoru groans, forehead dropping to yours.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Didn’t know I just needed to let some random woman paw at me at the bar to get you in my bed and clenching around my cock.” He says breathlessly. You open your eyes, half lidded and tired now.
You poke his nose, your other hand coming up to brush the hair from his forehead. “Just don’t let anyone do it again.” You murmur. “Mine.”
Satoru’s eyes soften at that, and his knuckles brush your cheekbone softly. And as you fall asleep, you hear him whisper.
“Yeah. Yours.”
A/N : Here I am again, just coming out of nowhere with a new fandom to write for. Been seeing a lot of HCs that Sanji would still flirt with other women after being taken, but I think the opposite (he just needs someone to be serious about him ok)
Contrary to popular belief, as soon as Sanji had you, other women left his mind. Sure, he knows they're pretty, but something about you has Sanji watching every movement, attuning to every need.
In short, he loves to make sure you're taken care of.
That's why, when you enter the tavern on the rainy island, standing beside Nami, you freeze in your tracks.
Cigarette dangling from his lips, that half smirk you know so well...and it's trained on a woman that's not you. A small, strange, strangled noise comes from your throat, and you immediately feel Nami's hand on the small of your back.
You felt like the world was spinning, like the floor beneath you was going to give out. Breath catching, you spin on your heel and leave the tavern, right as Sanji looks up to see you.
"Merde..."He mutters, moving faster than Nami had even seen him. He whizzes past Nami, the smell of smoke and spices whipping by as if he were in one of his cooking frenzies.
You were walking down the cobblestone street, boots clunking on the stone. Your jaw was clenched, your steps heavy. You hear someone calling your name, and you try to speed up once you realize it's Sanji.
"Damn it-" Sanji mumbles, finally catching your wrist and tugging you to a stop. You jolt a bit, unexpecting him to actually catch up to you.
When you whip around, Sanji almost falters, not expecting to see your face bathed in such hurt.
"Baby -"He says.
"What?" You snap. "I know that stupid little smirk of yours that you get while you're flirting."You hiss at him.
Sanji frowns, curly eyebrows pulling down in an expression unknown to you. "I wasn't flirting with her, I was telling her I was waiting for the most beautiful creature to walk this island -"
"Oh save it!"You cut in. "Do you forget that I know exactly how you are or used to be before we got together?" You cross your arms after pulling your wrist from his grasp.
Sanji frowns again. "I...is that what you really think of me?" He asks you softly, a look of hurt running across his face.
For just a moment, panic bubbles in your stomach. You never wanted to hurt him, but you were too angry to think straight at the moment.
Sanji softly releases your wrist, taking a step back.
"Who....was that, then?" You ask, voice clipped.
With a frown on his perfct lips, Sanji shrugs. "I dunno. She asked me to buy her a drink and I said no."He shifts his weight from one foot to another. "You can ask Mosshead."
You feel bad, suddenly, and your face burns with shame. "I-"You snap your mouth shut, embarrassed and upset with yourself. "I'm sorry." You mumble, turning your gaze from him.
Sanji is still frowning. "I am too. I'm sorry it looked that way and I'm really sorry you don't trust me."
Your gaze snaps to his, quickly. "That's not -"
"Isn't it? You ran before I could even say anything, darlin'." He says, hands in his pockets now. "I thought I made it pretty clear how I feel about you, but I suppose you don't believe me." He says softly, eyes flickering to yours, searching your face for something you didn't know how to give him knowingly.
"Sanji.." You say, unable to form a coherent sentence. Why couldn't you speak? You cursed yourself silently, upset that you couldn't say what was on your mind at the moment.
"I...don't want to hear it. I'll see you on the Sunny." He says, voice a bit choked. Without another word, he walks away from you, leaving you stanfing in the street light's soft glow.
Frowning, you return to the Sunny, rushing to your quarters and pacing immediately. What did you do? Did you just fuck up your relationship because you were being insecure? Sanji didn't deserve the way you snapped at him, and the fact that he told you to ask Zoro proved to you that he was speaking the truth.
It wasn't until much later that you heard the boys return, laughing and stumbling. You give it a few moments, deciding to venture to the kitchen, where you knew Sanji would be.
He was there, his back turned to you, scribbling furiously. He didn't seem to be drunk, but he was partaking in very aggressively writing the menu for the next day. You could tell by the way you could hear him muttering measurements. He heard you, before he saw you.
"What?" He asked gruffly.
Usually, when you entered the kitchen, he immediately asked if he could get you something. The absence of the familiar question lets you know that you hurt his feelings.
"Sanji.."
"Yes, what, angel?" Even upset with you, he still called you a pet name. That made you feel even worse. Nervously, you cross the kitchen, rounding the kitchen island to stand in front of him. He keeps his eyes trained on his menu, but you speak anyway.
"I'm sorry." You rush out. "I saw you standing with that girl and thought of all the times before we were together that I saw you flirting in taverns and I got insecure. I'm not half as pretty as some of these women and I got so jealous seeing another girl who was obviously interested in you-"
Sanji stands abruptly, and your words falter. You watch as he rounds the kitchen island, large hands coming up to cup your face.
"Contrary to the belief of everyone on this ship that I'm unable to resist flirting with everything that moves, all I see is you. I go to sleep thinking about you, I wake up thinking about you, I skip having as many cigarettes as I do, because of you. You are the center of my world. I plan the menu around things I know you like. Haven't you noticed that there haven't been any mushrooms in your dishes for weeks?" He asks.
Your eyes flicker over his features. He looked so eager, so sweet. "I'm so sorry - so so sorry." You cry out, leaning up to pepper his face with kisses. "You're so sweet to me, I don't deserve kindness like-"
Once again, he cuts you off, kissing you softly. It's not heated,sloppy. It's a soft, reverent, adoring kiss. And it's just for you.
A/N : I’m so normal about Sanji and the way he would 100% be devoted to one person once he found them. You can rip this hc away from my cold dead hands. This was a request! Hope you enjoy!
You weren’t oblivious. You noticed that when you hummed, or sang, or made any sort of melodic noise, Sanji always somehow appeared directly next to you. Of course, you weren’t exactly sure why he enjoyed listening to you hum and sing, but he wasn’t bothering you while you went about your daily tasks, so what does it matter if he always stopped to listen? Besides, he was cute, and you enjoyed his presence.
Today, you were looking through the amalgam of shirts and pants you told Nami you’d mend for the boys. It was a sunny day, no clouds as far as you could see, so you decided that you would sit on the deck, singing softly to yourself as you mended your crew’s garments in the warm breeze.
“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…” You sing lightly, humming the rest of the tune to yourself. Surprisingly, Sanji didn’t appear. You thought it a bit odd, but supposed he was probably cooking or off offering drinks to Robin, who was deep in research lately. But little did you know, he was scheming.
“C’mon Brook, can you do me this favor?” He asks, cigarette stuck between his teeth. One hand was stuck in Sanji’s pants pocket, and he looked at the skeletal musician. Brook heaves a giant sigh, and holding up his violin, gives Sanji a somber look.
“Oh, I just love, love, yohoho! I suppose I can do that, as long as you cook my most favorite dish??” He says, his mouth opening comically wide.
“Yeah, sure Brook, whatever you want, I’ll make it. Can you please just play this song tonight when I bring her up to the deck?” He asks, shoving a sheet of music at the 9 foot tall skeleton man.
Brook takes it and looks over the music. “What a lovely song, are you going to propose?”
Sanji sputters, fumbling for a moment. He catches his cigarette as it nearly falls from his mouth. “No - I’m trying to impress her, not scare her off!” He says, waving his hand at the musician. “Just play the song, okay?”
Brook nods, already picking up his violin. Sanji breathes a sigh of relief, hoping that you would say yes to stargazing tonight.
After dinner, you find yourself intercepted by Sanji on the way to the sink. He takes the plate from your hand and sets it on the counter next to the sink. He had promised Zoro 50 beris if he did the dishes tonight.
“Would you care to accompany me to the deck, mon ange?” He says, extending a hand to you. You look at his hand, then his face. His visible blue eye looked so earnest and so incredibly hopeful that you slipped your hand into his almost immediately. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you wonder if this was the right time to tell him how you feel. Underneath the stars was romantic, right?
You’d tell him, you decided, even if he rejected you, even if it made things awkward.
But as soon as the two of you step on to the deck, something magical happens. You noticed candles placed strategically, casting a warm yellow glow to the main deck. And Brook was there with his violin, striking up the most beautiful version of “Once Upon a Dream” you’d ever heard.
You look at Sanji. “So, you did hear me singing earlier..” you day softly, and the blonde lovecook blushes, stepping into the middle of the candlelit space.
“I did. May I have this dance, mon trésor?”He asks. The way he says the pet name, so softly, quietly, like he was afraid you might say no. Well, it melted your heart all the more.
You step forward, your long, flowing pants sweeping across the deck much like a skirt would. When your hand slips into Sanji’s, you feel a jolt. A spike in your heartbeat, a chill across your skin. He pulls you in, and as the music swells from Brook’s violin, he wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand holding yours to his chest. You sway to the violin music, when Sanji’s voice brings you from your thoughts.
“I must admit, I had a reason for setting this up.” He begins. You smile at him, an encouragement that he can say what he needs. “I am extremely taken with you.” He rushes out. “I like you so much, I can’t even begin to explain it.”
You know he’s telling the truth, the way he’s looking at you suggests hearts blooming in his pupils. He watches you, a bit nervous. Did you feel the same? Would you walk away right now?
Instead, you lean in. “Sanji…can I kiss you?” The question almost makes him stumble, but he nods. You give him a smile, and slowly, hesitantly, press your lips to his in a sweet, chaste, first kiss. He melts into it, the arm around your waist pulling you tighter. When you pull back, resting your head on his shoulder, you hum to the song, and Sanji swears if he died right then and there, he’d die a happy man.
Content : depictions of death, grief, upset, last confessions, minor mentions of injuries, recovery, moving on, reader is gender neutral
Word Count : 1.2k
A/N : This was devastating to write and I made myself cry writing it. I hope you like it and to listen to the song I used for inspiration, click the title. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed my work, and send any requests you may have my way.
Space and Time - Portgas D. Ace
It was almost like you sensed it, when the brightest flame you've ever known was snuffed. In the middle of fleeing from battle, you spin, watching as Portgas D. Ace shields his little brother from harm.
You watch in horror as the magma fist pierces his body, your ears ringing as if this was a bad dream. You couldn't comprehend what you were seeing. Your feet move on their own, dodging any allies' hands that may stop you. Not this. Not him, it couldn't be.
"Ace!" You scream at the top of your lungs, over the sound of Luffy's enrage and anguished cries. "Ace!"
Your knees hit the ground, scraping harshly as you scramble to him, turning him over. Your hands come up to his freckled face. Your best friend, your anchor, laying before you, dying. Tears burn the corners of your eyes, and he weakly looks up at you and Luffy.
He struggles, pulling Luffy closer weakly to murmur to him. "Thank you for loving me." He concludes, and with a face absolutely swathed in grief, Luffy sobs, his face upturned to the sky. Ace's dark eyes slide to yours.
"Hey, little flame." He says affectionately.
You swallow, shaking your head at the nickname he had given you so long ago. "There has to be something we can do, Marco-" You start, but he interrupts you.
"No, baby." He says hoarsely. "He burned me too badly." He says softly. You stop, tears flowing hard, harder than you've ever cried before. "Listen to me," Ace says softly.
You reach out to him again, thumbs lightly stroking the freckles across his face. "Always," You choke out, and a weak hand grasps your wrist.
"I can feel I don't have much time. But I need you to know. How much you mean to me-" He says, wincing hard as the pain overwhelms him. "I love you. I love you so much." He says, tears pricking the corners of his own eyes now. "You've been my whole world and-" he chokes a bit, gritting his teeth. Willing himself to continue. For you. "And I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
You let out a choking, sobbing noise. You lean down shakily, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your forehead collpasing to his shoulder. "I love you too, so much. Since I met you. I love you so much."
You hear Ace whisper your name hoarsely once more, and you lift your head, ready to give him whatever he needs in the last moments of his life.
To your utter devastation, the mischief that you were used to sparkling in his eyes was gone. There was no light there anymore. Just the shell of who he had been. You scream, sobbing, cursing.
"No, no, no, Ace! Please!" You sob, cradling his face.
You feel two hands grasp your wrists, and you look up, feeling feral, bewildered, like a cornered animal; into Luffy's devastated face.
"He's gone! He's gone - he's not coming back!" He shouts, and you let out what Luffy thinks is the most heartbreaking wail he's ever heard, collapsing into his chest.
In the ash and remnants of fire, Luffy holds you as you collapse in his arms.
When you awake, you're on what you recognize to be the Polar Tang's infirmary. You didn't know what time it was, but it seemed to be either late evening or morning, judging from the purple-blue of the sky you could see from the bed you laid in. You gasp, sitting upright, tears springing to your eyes again when tattooed hands gently push your shoulders back down.
You look up through bleary eyes to see Law, who gave you a sympathetic squeeze of the hand as he watched the events rush back to your fragile mind.
"Where's Luffy?" You croak, and Law gestures coolly behind him.
"Went on a rampage, had to sedate him before he ripped all his wounds open. You had minor injuries but grief seemed to knock you out."
Your head drops to your hands, unable to answer him. You sob, shoulders shaking as you think of Ace. Of his last words to you. What he told you. Law clenches his jaw and looks away, feeling as if this was a moment you needed for yourself. He retreats slowly back to what he had been working on, leaving you to feel what you needed. You were hurting badly, but you appreciated the space to grieve.
Weeks have gone by, and you pull the orange cowboy hat Luffy had left in your possession down to cover your eyes as the Polar Tang docked into the island you'd be leaving for your training from.
To your surprise, a letter was waiting for you at the post when you went to send word to Robin, who you'd be joining in training. The letter was surely addressed to you, and scrawled messily.
You'd recognize that scrawl from all of the messy notes he'd leave on the Sunny for you - meant to ask you to help him find a certain place in town or just give you a smile. Zoro.
With shaking fingers, you unfold the note, swallowing hard when you read the words written there. "I'm so sorry." It says.
So there it is. You figure the death of Portgas D. Ace has made it to the papers. You keep your head ducked, trying not to sob out loud as you make your way to the small private dock Robin informed you that the guide would wait for you at. You would get stronger. To make him proud of you.
When you run off the boat and into Robin's arms, sobbing, she strokes your hair and whispers that Ace always loved you, and always will, no matter where he was now. You thanked the stars that night that you had the Strawhats crew that had always cared for your wellbeing so deeply.
You fall asleep that night clutching Zoro's note, like it was the only thing that could comfort you in this emotional turmoil. And if you were being honest, it kind of was.
Two years after Ace's death, Robin and yourself made your way to the dock on Sabaody Archipelago, where the crew had agreed to meet after vigorous training.
You felt different now. The string of Ace's hat was around your neck, the body of the cowboy style bouncing lightly against your shoulder blades as you walked, ensuring that a piece of him was always with you. You were stronger now, more skilled. There were nights where you'd sit and watch the stars, when the wind would whisper and you swore you heard his voice lilting "little flame". But the hole in your heart was beginning to mend. You were fragile still, but you decided you didn't want to leave this world without letting those you cared about know how you felt. Not after Ace.
So, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't feel wrong when you spot the Sunny, and you run directly into the arms of a green haired swordsman, who wraps his arms around you as tightly as he can, lifting you while whispering how much he had missed you into your ear. You wanted this space and time with him.
And when you donned your orange hat and sat on the head of the ship next to Luffy, he slings an arm around you, pointing at the sunset that reminded you both of the bravest man you knew.
no outbreak | dad’s best friend | mutual pining and lust
Pairing : dbf!Joel Miller x Female Reader
Warnings : mdni 18+, pining, mutual longing, fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names, age gap (reader is 26, Joel is 48)
Word Count : 2k
Summary : A quick trip home to say hello for Easter leaves you breathless when Joel Miller makes his presence - and his needs - known.
Your dad throws his arms around you in an impossibly tight bear hug, and you grunt, rolling your eyes before lithley wrapping your arms around him in return.
“You know, you saw me last month, dad.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you pull back. Your dad chortles in his very “dad” way, and shakes his head.
“Too long, buddy. Too long.” He says, ruffling your hair like he used to do when you were a kid. You swat his hand away and laugh, rolling your eyes.
“Are you gonna pester me all day, or can I come inside?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Your dad grimaces, making his nose crinkle as he steps aside for you.
“Jeeeez, grumpy.” He mutters, but you just laugh as you haul your duffel bag into the foyer. Your brother wasn’t coming home this holiday, so you figured why not? Don’t want the old man to get lonely. You set your duffel bag at the foot of the stairs, wandering into the living room as you slide your jacket off.
“Hey, darlin’. Long time no see.” A gruff voice rings out, and when you look up, you freeze. It was Joel. You knew Joel, you’d known Joel for a long time. He was your dad’s closest friend, he had moved into your neighborhood the summer you turned 16. But this felt different.
He had a blue flannel on, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at you. The sun filtering through the window hit his graying hair and you felt…breathless. You clear your throat and nod.
“Yeah, hey, Joel.” You say quietly, offering a small, sweet smile. His eyes flicker and you look away just as your dad comes back into the room, handing Joel a beer. You roll your eyes and glance at the TV. Of course, spring training, baseball. You sit on the arm of your dad’s recliner, eyes trained on the tv for a moment, then you sigh and stand up. “‘M gonna put my things upstairs.” You mutter, hauling your large duffel bag onto your shoulder again. You had taken the train to your dad, and you felt gross. A shower would wash everything away, including the weird flutter in your stomach that you felt when Joel had looked at you earlier.
Joel. Why had you reacted that way when you heard his voice? It was as if all your senses had stopped working as soon as you saw him. No, as soon as you heard him.
You drop your bag in your old bedroom, rifling through and picking out a pair of shorts and an oversized crewneck. You pad your way to the bathroom, turning on the water, making it as hot as you can stand it.
But it’s no use. It doesn’t help. Anytime you close your eyes to wash your face or rinse your hair, you keep replaying the moment Joel called you darlin’. Not that he hadn’t called you that before, but something about it felt…different. When you step out of the shower, you pat yourself dry and run a comb through your wet hair, drying your body until you can pull on your shorts and sweatshirt.
Picking up your discarded clothes from the floor, you shuffle back to your room and throw them in the closet. You hang the towel on the back of the door and stretch. While Joel is still on your mind, you feel admittedly more fresh-faced than when you arrived.
The golden sun looks so enticing that you grab the latest book you had been devouring, deciding to head out to the enclosed back porch. Heading down the stairs, you stop briefly at the bottom, where your father and Joel continue to watch baseball.
Taking a deep breath, you pass, heading through the kitchen to the enclosed back porch, heading for your favorite spot, the couch. Peach colored, pilling, and old, it was the coziest couch you’d ever sat on, and it was your favorite place to read. You sit, tucking your feet underneath you and cracking your book open. You bend the spine, smirking a bit at the look of horror your book-loving best friend, Dolores, had given you when you cracked the spine of the book.
Humming contentedly, enjoying the Texas sunshine coming through the window, you get lost in your book.
So much so, you almost don’t notice when Joel leans against the doorway. Almost. Dragging your eyes from the heavy boots, to the jeans that hug those absolutely delicious thighs, all the way to the patch of chest hair peeking out of the top of his blue flannel, and you feel your mouth go dry as you settle finally on those dark brown eyes.
“Now what are you doin’ out here, all by your lonesome?” He asks, stepping all the way into the porch and shutting the door quietly behind him.
You raise an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.” You say, untucking your legs and swinging them to the floor. You watch Joel scan your legs and smirk a bit.
“Your dad’s snorin’ like hell in there -” He says, rolling his eyes and eliciting a bubbling laugh from your lips, which earns you a smirk before he continues. “So I came to see what a pretty thing like you’s doin’ out here.”
You stop, heat flushing your face, and if you had to admit it, your core, too. You press your thighs together, trying not to let on how much he’s affecting you.
But he must know. He must know, because he advances even closer to you, and you swallow as he stops right in front of you, close enough for you to touch.
“So. What are you doin’ out here?” He asks.
“Reading. What’s it look like?” You reply back, holding your book up briefly.
"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes shifting down to where your extra large sweatshirt brushes the top of your thighs. "Be a sweet girl and spread those pretty thighs for me."
Your mouth goes dry, as he leans down, one arm on the cushion behind you and one on the armrest, caging you in. Heat pools to your core and your gaze becomes a bit bleary as you stutter “I…what?”
“Now c’mon sugar, do I need to ask twice?” He whispers, gruff voice smooth as honey as he takes one, large calloused hand brush against your collarbone before running up the expanse of your neck, gripping your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his.
God, you almost moan, with how incredibly aroused you are. You lean back, legs falling open without much thought. No thought about where you were, that Joel was your dad’s best friend, just pure longing for the man with his hand around your jaw.
You see the smirk on his face and he brushes his lips against yours, muttering. “Sweet girl, you need to give me permission before I do anything.”
Eyes fluttering you nod. “I..yes.” And then he’s on top of you, lips claiming yours greedily, nudging your legs gently back up onto the couch, settling himself to hover over you.
You kiss back, hand instinctively finding purchase in his hair as you both breathe heavily through the carnal lust that’s driven you to this point. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your ass to help him pull them down.
Tilting your head back, you feel Joel kiss the column of your throat and you gasp a bit, letting out a little strangled moan. You had no idea just being kissed could light every sense you had on fire, making you feel like you were drowning in longing.
Joel trails a large hand along your thigh, higher and higher until swiping across the wet spot on your panties. “Jesus, mama, so wet for me already?” He teases and you huff out a breath.
“Did you come out here just to tease me? Because I can -”
“Easy.” He says softly. “Easy. Let me make you feel good. No more teasin’, sugar, I promise.” Joel runs two fingers lightly on the outside of your underwear, pulling a whimper from you that he easily swallows with another kiss. It’s slower, more sensual this time, like he was building you up for the next sense he’d plunge your body into.
He carefully pulls your underwear to the side, using his thumb to stroke your puffy clit. You gasp a bit, smiling into the slow, sloppy, sensual clit. Joel hums, enjoying that your body was so responsive to him. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before dutifully entering your mouth, kisses slow and saccharine while he made you feel absolutely filthy elsewhere.
“God, so fuckin’ wet -” He murmurs, fingers rubbing along the seal to your pussy, eyes lighting up with desire when you squirm underneath him.
“Please -” You gasp. “Need you, I really need you inside me.”
Joel smirks, and then one thick finger pushes inside you slowly, pumping. The soft, squishy sounds of your pussy around his finger has you in a haze, and your lips leave his, head falling back against the cushion behind you.
“Eyes on me.” He growls, using his free hand to snake into your hair and pull your face to his.
With half lidded eyes, you whimper, mouth falling open in a silent squeal when he adds a second thick digit, curling upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion against the spongy walls of your pussy. Biting your lip, you reach down and grasp at his wrist, but he doesn’t relent. Pulling his fingers out of you, he makes sure you're watching as he brings them to the flat of his tongue, licking them clean.
Your pupils are blown wide, and when his fingers reenter you, you want to cry from how good it feels. You buck your hips, breathing heavily as you feel the tension in your core quiver, and Joel speeds up his ministrations, watching your face closely as your breath hitches. His thumb presses hard to your puffy clit, making you whimper, biting your lower lip so hard you think you draw blood. He rubs, hard, all while curling his fingers so perfectly.
“That’s right, mama. Give it to me. Come all over my hand, huh?” He whispers, dragging his nose down your jaw, pressing soft kisses there.
You can’t take it any more, your eyes flutter, your head falls back, and your thighs close, walls clenching around the thick digits of Joel Miller’s hand.
Joel whispers sweet nothings in your ear as you come, sweet girl, pretty baby, sugar, doin’ so good for me.
As you shake and shudder from the orgasm he brought you to, you open your eyes to see those dark brown ones watching you.
“Hey there, sweet girl. Welcome home.” He says, pressing one small, tender kiss to your lips.
You blink. “H..hi.” You croak, a bit breathless as he slowly pulls your panties back aside, sliding your shorts back up. He backs up, using gentle hands to help you sit up again, placing your book in your lap. He stands up, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. Joel faces you, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you next time.” And with that, he kisses your cheek and disappears back into the house.
You sit there, breathless, aroused, and mildly confused. Next time? You lick your lips, head falling back onto the couch. Maybe this visit home would be worth it.
Opening your eyes, you shakily pick up your phone, immediately calling Dolores. You needed advice. "Lola?" You say immediately.
You needed more of Joel Miller. And that thrilled and terrified you.
no outbreak | dad’s best friend | mutual pining and lust
Pairing : dbf!Joel Miller x Female Reader
Warnings : mdni 18+, pining, mutual longing, fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names, age gap (reader is 26, Joel is 48)
Word Count : 2k
Summary : A quick trip home to say hello for Easter leaves you breathless when Joel Miller makes his presence - and his needs - known.
Your dad throws his arms around you in an impossibly tight bear hug, and you grunt, rolling your eyes before lithley wrapping your arms around him in return.
“You know, you saw me last month, dad.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you pull back. Your dad chortles in his very “dad” way, and shakes his head.
“Too long, buddy. Too long.” He says, ruffling your hair like he used to do when you were a kid. You swat his hand away and laugh, rolling your eyes.
“Are you gonna pester me all day, or can I come inside?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Your dad grimaces, making his nose crinkle as he steps aside for you.
“Jeeeez, grumpy.” He mutters, but you just laugh as you haul your duffel bag into the foyer. Your brother wasn’t coming home this holiday, so you figured why not? Don’t want the old man to get lonely. You set your duffel bag at the foot of the stairs, wandering into the living room as you slide your jacket off.
“Hey, darlin’. Long time no see.” A gruff voice rings out, and when you look up, you freeze. It was Joel. You knew Joel, you’d known Joel for a long time. He was your dad’s closest friend, he had moved into your neighborhood the summer you turned 16. But this felt different.
He had a blue flannel on, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at you. The sun filtering through the window hit his graying hair and you felt…breathless. You clear your throat and nod.
“Yeah, hey, Joel.” You say quietly, offering a small, sweet smile. His eyes flicker and you look away just as your dad comes back into the room, handing Joel a beer. You roll your eyes and glance at the TV. Of course, spring training, baseball. You sit on the arm of your dad’s recliner, eyes trained on the tv for a moment, then you sigh and stand up. “‘M gonna put my things upstairs.” You mutter, hauling your large duffel bag onto your shoulder again. You had taken the train to your dad, and you felt gross. A shower would wash everything away, including the weird flutter in your stomach that you felt when Joel had looked at you earlier.
Joel. Why had you reacted that way when you heard his voice? It was as if all your senses had stopped working as soon as you saw him. No, as soon as you heard him.
You drop your bag in your old bedroom, rifling through and picking out a pair of shorts and an oversized crewneck. You pad your way to the bathroom, turning on the water, making it as hot as you can stand it.
But it’s no use. It doesn’t help. Anytime you close your eyes to wash your face or rinse your hair, you keep replaying the moment Joel called you darlin’. Not that he hadn’t called you that before, but something about it felt…different. When you step out of the shower, you pat yourself dry and run a comb through your wet hair, drying your body until you can pull on your shorts and sweatshirt.
Picking up your discarded clothes from the floor, you shuffle back to your room and throw them in the closet. You hang the towel on the back of the door and stretch. While Joel is still on your mind, you feel admittedly more fresh-faced than when you arrived.
The golden sun looks so enticing that you grab the latest book you had been devouring, deciding to head out to the enclosed back porch. Heading down the stairs, you stop briefly at the bottom, where your father and Joel continue to watch baseball.
Taking a deep breath, you pass, heading through the kitchen to the enclosed back porch, heading for your favorite spot, the couch. Peach colored, pilling, and old, it was the coziest couch you’d ever sat on, and it was your favorite place to read. You sit, tucking your feet underneath you and cracking your book open. You bend the spine, smirking a bit at the look of horror your book-loving best friend, Dolores, had given you when you cracked the spine of the book.
Humming contentedly, enjoying the Texas sunshine coming through the window, you get lost in your book.
So much so, you almost don’t notice when Joel leans against the doorway. Almost. Dragging your eyes from the heavy boots, to the jeans that hug those absolutely delicious thighs, all the way to the patch of chest hair peeking out of the top of his blue flannel, and you feel your mouth go dry as you settle finally on those dark brown eyes.
“Now what are you doin’ out here, all by your lonesome?” He asks, stepping all the way into the porch and shutting the door quietly behind him.
You raise an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.” You say, untucking your legs and swinging them to the floor. You watch Joel scan your legs and smirk a bit.
“Your dad’s snorin’ like hell in there -” He says, rolling his eyes and eliciting a bubbling laugh from your lips, which earns you a smirk before he continues. “So I came to see what a pretty thing like you’s doin’ out here.”
You stop, heat flushing your face, and if you had to admit it, your core, too. You press your thighs together, trying not to let on how much he’s affecting you.
But he must know. He must know, because he advances even closer to you, and you swallow as he stops right in front of you, close enough for you to touch.
“So. What are you doin’ out here?” He asks.
“Reading. What’s it look like?” You reply back, holding your book up briefly.
"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes shifting down to where your extra large sweatshirt brushes the top of your thighs. "Be a sweet girl and spread those pretty thighs for me."
Your mouth goes dry, as he leans down, one arm on the cushion behind you and one on the armrest, caging you in. Heat pools to your core and your gaze becomes a bit bleary as you stutter “I…what?”
“Now c’mon sugar, do I need to ask twice?” He whispers, gruff voice smooth as honey as he takes one, large calloused hand brush against your collarbone before running up the expanse of your neck, gripping your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his.
God, you almost moan, with how incredibly aroused you are. You lean back, legs falling open without much thought. No thought about where you were, that Joel was your dad’s best friend, just pure longing for the man with his hand around your jaw.
You see the smirk on his face and he brushes his lips against yours, muttering. “Sweet girl, you need to give me permission before I do anything.”
Eyes fluttering you nod. “I..yes.” And then he’s on top of you, lips claiming yours greedily, nudging your legs gently back up onto the couch, settling himself to hover over you.
You kiss back, hand instinctively finding purchase in his hair as you both breathe heavily through the carnal lust that’s driven you to this point. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your ass to help him pull them down.
Tilting your head back, you feel Joel kiss the column of your throat and you gasp a bit, letting out a little strangled moan. You had no idea just being kissed could light every sense you had on fire, making you feel like you were drowning in longing.
Joel trails a large hand along your thigh, higher and higher until swiping across the wet spot on your panties. “Jesus, mama, so wet for me already?” He teases and you huff out a breath.
“Did you come out here just to tease me? Because I can -”
“Easy.” He says softly. “Easy. Let me make you feel good. No more teasin’, sugar, I promise.” Joel runs two fingers lightly on the outside of your underwear, pulling a whimper from you that he easily swallows with another kiss. It’s slower, more sensual this time, like he was building you up for the next sense he’d plunge your body into.
He carefully pulls your underwear to the side, using his thumb to stroke your puffy clit. You gasp a bit, smiling into the slow, sloppy, sensual clit. Joel hums, enjoying that your body was so responsive to him. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before dutifully entering your mouth, kisses slow and saccharine while he made you feel absolutely filthy elsewhere.
“God, so fuckin’ wet -” He murmurs, fingers rubbing along the seal to your pussy, eyes lighting up with desire when you squirm underneath him.
“Please -” You gasp. “Need you, I really need you inside me.”
Joel smirks, and then one thick finger pushes inside you slowly, pumping. The soft, squishy sounds of your pussy around his finger has you in a haze, and your lips leave his, head falling back against the cushion behind you.
“Eyes on me.” He growls, using his free hand to snake into your hair and pull your face to his.
With half lidded eyes, you whimper, mouth falling open in a silent squeal when he adds a second thick digit, curling upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion against the spongy walls of your pussy. Biting your lip, you reach down and grasp at his wrist, but he doesn’t relent. Pulling his fingers out of you, he makes sure you're watching as he brings them to the flat of his tongue, licking them clean.
Your pupils are blown wide, and when his fingers reenter you, you want to cry from how good it feels. You buck your hips, breathing heavily as you feel the tension in your core quiver, and Joel speeds up his ministrations, watching your face closely as your breath hitches. His thumb presses hard to your puffy clit, making you whimper, biting your lower lip so hard you think you draw blood. He rubs, hard, all while curling his fingers so perfectly.
“That’s right, mama. Give it to me. Come all over my hand, huh?” He whispers, dragging his nose down your jaw, pressing soft kisses there.
You can’t take it any more, your eyes flutter, your head falls back, and your thighs close, walls clenching around the thick digits of Joel Miller’s hand.
Joel whispers sweet nothings in your ear as you come, sweet girl, pretty baby, sugar, doin’ so good for me.
As you shake and shudder from the orgasm he brought you to, you open your eyes to see those dark brown ones watching you.
“Hey there, sweet girl. Welcome home.” He says, pressing one small, tender kiss to your lips.
You blink. “H..hi.” You croak, a bit breathless as he slowly pulls your panties back aside, sliding your shorts back up. He backs up, using gentle hands to help you sit up again, placing your book in your lap. He stands up, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. Joel faces you, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you next time.” And with that, he kisses your cheek and disappears back into the house.
You sit there, breathless, aroused, and mildly confused. Next time? You lick your lips, head falling back onto the couch. Maybe this visit home would be worth it.
Opening your eyes, you shakily pick up your phone, immediately calling Dolores. You needed advice. "Lola?" You say immediately.
You needed more of Joel Miller. And that thrilled and terrified you.
Silver Springs - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader/Roy Kent x Fem!Reader
Silver Springs - Jamie Tartt xFem!Reader, Roy Kent x FemReader!
Content - angst, flirting, friends to lovers, love triangle
Word Count - 3k
Summary - Whilst Jamie is in the throes of preparing for the Man City game, Roy tries to show the reader that he's noticed her past just being the coaches’ assistant, even if it makes him feel guilty.
Read Part One Here
A/N - Part 2 of this love triangle fic, let’s gooooo. As always like and reblog if you enjoy and let me know what you think <33
It had been about a week since Jamie had kissed you, and things weren’t official. You couldn’t say you weren’t disappointed, but you understood the mental stress he was under with the upcoming Man City match. Being able to be intimately close to him was enough, because you knew he needed the comfort. Sitting on your couch and stroking his hair as you felt his breathing become deeper made you more than content.
You sigh slightly to yourself and open your laptop, your color coded calendar coming to life. You glance to the corner of your screen, looking at the time. Bright and early with plenty of time to move appointments and schedule other needed meetings. You sat at your desk in the small room off of Ted and Beard’s. Your deskmate wasn’t there yet. He actually grunted every time you called him your “deskmate”, but annoying Roy Kent was one of the perks of this job.
“Hey, love.” You would recognize his voice anywhere, and you look up to see Jamie leaning on the doorframe. He crosses the room and gives you a sweet peck on the lips, then plants another kiss on the top of your head. He crosses through your office to the locker room and you smile to yourself. What a perfect start to your day, a kiss from the man you had wanted to be with for so long. You look back to your screen and start moving appointments, adding in the important dates Ted left on a football shaped sticky note, including the latest visit from Henry.
A slight thud on your desk has you tearing your eyes away from your computer screen. You see a take-away coffee cup with the name “RAY” written in big, scratchy letters. You look up, greeted with a glowering, bushy eyebrowed face. “Can I help you…Ray?” You grin gesturing to the coffee cup.
“Fuck’s sake.” He grunts. “I brought you coffee.” He scoots the coffee cup closer to you, and you raise an eyebrow, Roy Kent was bringing you coffee?
“Thank you…but why?”
“What do you fuckin’ mean why? Cause you’re nice and you’re always bringing everyone else coffee.” He says gruffly, dropping his iconic black leather jacket onto his own chair, revealing his tight fitting black tshirt underneath. You take a sip of the coffee to avoid gazing at him, you had eyes and knew he was fit. You were pleasantly surprised at your drink.
“How’d you know my order?” You say, taking another delighted sip of your drink. You watch Roy’s jaw jump slightly and he shrugs.
“Must have just picked up on it.” He says nonchalantly. In reality, he snooped around your desk the night previous, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. That sounded insane. He felt like a terrible person. He and Tartt were on good terms again, friends even, and here he was trying to win over the girl he knew Jamie was mad about. He was a prick. And a bad friend. But he couldn’t help it. Something about you drew him to you, and you made him want to open up to the possibility of being in a serious relationship again.
You smile slightly at Roy’s back, flattered that he had done this for you. You were still a bit baffled as to why. It’s not as if Roy wasn’t nice to you, he was. But usually he answered you in growls, not full sentences. “Well…I really appreciate it. I didn’t have time to grab coffee this morning before getting to work.”
Roy turns to look at you, one corner of his lips ticking upwards. “Don’t mention it.” He says. “Seriously, fuckin’ don’t.” You openly laugh at this and turn back to your computer screen.
“What is all that shit anyway?” Roy asks, and you can feel him cross the tiny space to stand over your shoulder. When he leans over and places one hand on your desk and one on the arm of your desk chair, you feel your heart skip a beat. Which was dumb. Why would that be your reaction? You ignore the feeling and shrug.
“This is how you get your extra physio appointments, how Ted has time to review game footage every other day, and how Beard knows when it’s time to exchange his library books.” You look up at him. “It’s all color coded for every member of the team. I’m pretty proud of it, if I do say so myself.” You give him a small smile and go back to typing in the extra appointments Ted had asked you to put in.
“Fuck.” Roy says, watching you work the schedule around. “Now I understand why Ted said he didn’t know which way was up without you.”
“Aw, you talk to Ted about little ole me?” You flash him a teasing grin and his heart wrenches. Fuck you and your stupid, pretty grin.
“Uh…” Roy starts, coughing slightly to cover his embarrassment.
You pat the hand resting on your desk before you continue typing. “I’m just kidding, Roy.”
Roy clears his throat, but still hadn’t moved from his spot. He seemed content to watch you work, which was unusual for him, but you didn’t mind. He was a little close, sure, but if he wanted to watch you put in appointments and move Sam’s restaurant re-opening for him then who were you to tell him no?
“Love?” You look up at the sound of Jamie’s pet name for you and smile brightly at him.
“Hi!”
“Am…I interruptin’ somethin’?” Jamie asks, pushing his hair back with his headband, looking from you to Roy. Why was Roy so close to you? That made him feel uneasy, but he wasn’t sure why. He knew that you had feelings for him, but he hadn’t made anything official. He supposed he couldn’t blame you for exploring your options. His eyes meet Roy’s, who clears his throat and straightens up, away from you.
“No.” Roy says gruffly. “I was just looking at the insane color coding she has in there.”
Jamie nods slightly, looking to you, who he was relieved to see, only had eyes for him. He crosses the room to you, kneeling in front of where you sat, and you look down at him, eyebrow raised. He grins at you.
“I jus’ wanted to come see if you wanted to have lunch with me today.” He says, ignoring Roy completely at this point. You nod enthusiastically, pushing a strand of hair that came loose from the headband back.
“Course I do.” You said, smiling at him. “Meet you at the kebab place around the corner?” You ask, to which Jamie nods. He glances at Roy, who is pretending to be preoccupied on his phone and presses his lips to yours in a sweet, soft kiss.
“Great. See ya then, darlin’.” You smile as you watch him walk out, quickly turning back to your work. Next on the agenda, emails.
“So.” You hear.
You turn towards Roy’s voice. “So..?”
“You and Tartt, yeah?”
You shrug. “Nothing is official yet.” You say nonchalantly, trying to hide just how giddy you were about Jamie openly kissing you and referring to you as “love” or “darlin’”.
“Not fuckin’ official?” Roy says, incredulous. This was news to him.
“Not yet.”
“Why the bloody hell not?” Roy crosses the room again and peers down at you.
You look back up at him and wave your hand absentmindedly. “Jamie is already stressed about this upcoming match, I can wait until his head is completely clear to have a serious conversation.” You pick up your coffee cup again, taking a sip of the delicious hazelnut latte.
But you nearly choke when Roy leans down, one hand on each of your chair’s armrests, caging you in. His face is inches from yours.
“That’s fuckin’ dumb, babe.”
You lower the coffee cup from your lips, studying his face intently. Your heart was pounding. Babe? What was he doing? Never in the entire few years you had been here, had the Roy Kent paid so much attention to you.
“Hm.” You say, quirking an eyebrow. “And why is that dumb?”
Roy smirks slightly. “Because if I had you, I wouldn’t even fuckin’ hesitate to claim you.”
You realized you were holding your breath and you laugh nervously. “O..oh.” You say, swallowing. “Well I don’t think Jamie is hesitating to claim me.” You look into his face, because he was making it impossible not to notice how handsome he actually is. Sure, you weren’t public with your relationship, but Jamie didn’t hide how he felt about you, at all.
“Maybe not here. But I would be shouting from the fuckin’ rooftops if I had someone as nice as you smiling pretty at me like you do Jamie.” You can see him studying your face, and in reality, Roy’s heart is pounding. He’s getting a bit too carried away here and he didn’t know when or how to stop.
“Maybe you could have someone with a pretty smile if you weren’t such a grouch.” You counter, leaning in closer to him, aware now that you were having some sort of effect on him. You watch him swallow, his eyes flicking down to your lips. You smirk at him.
He growls in response, catching you completely off guard that you had elicited such a sound from him but making you smirk even more. You press a single finger against his lips, standing up as you push him back.
“See? Grouch.” You tease, moving your finger but before you can rest your hand at your side again, Roy looks down at you, catching your wrist in his hand.
“Fuck’s sake, woman.” He says, almost breathlessly. You look up at him, fluttering your eyelashes innocently, but trying to deny the fact that you liked how his large hand had caught you. The look on your face was all it took for Roy to back you into a wall, his lips on yours. One hand with his fingers splayed across your hip, digging greedily, almost possessively, the other letting go of your wrist to yank you closer to him, if that was even possible. The kiss was sloppy, heated, needy. The heat of your body pressed against Roy’s was making your head cloudy. When he deepens the kiss, your breath hitches and a slight moan escapes your lips, causing Roy to smirk into your lips.
You felt so bad that you kissed him back. When Roy pulled away, he immediately lets go of you.
“I…I shouldn’t have fuckin’ done that.”
What were you doing? What about Jamie? “I..shouldn’t have kissed you back.” You whispered, wide eyed. Roy has stepped back and away from you, but he’s watching you with such a look of longing. “I’m the worst girlfriend ever.” You say.
“Not his girlfriend, technically.”
You shift your gaze and focus your eyes on him. “What?” You say.
“You’re not his girlfriend officially.” Roy grunts, before stepping closer to you again. “I get if you don’t ever fuckin’ speak to me again. Just don’t tell me you regretted that.”
You gaze up at him. No, you’re not Jamie’s girlfriend. But Jamie is everything you ever wanted. And it made you feel horrible that you didn’t regret that little kiss-attack. You shake your head slowly, watching as Roy came close to you again, hovering above you, his torso pressing into you. “Please.” He says.
The gruff, broken plea in his voice makes your knees weak and you shake your head. “I can’t tell you that.” You say, clearing your throat and straightening up, your breath slightly heavy.
“Even if I know you don’t?” He says grabbing your chin, looking into your eyes.
Your eyes flutter closed and you breathe out. “Yes.” You hated him right now. How did he manage to get a rise out of you so quickly? You pull your face away from his grasp and push yourself off the wall. “I need to go.” You say bluntly, gathering your laptop and your bag. Roy steps back and watches you go, rushing out the door.
You cannot believe what had just happened. You were so distracted that you run smack into someone in the carpark, their arms grabbing you and steadying you.
“Woah, love, what’s wrong? You look like ya’ seen a ghost.”
Jamie. Because of course it was Jamie. You can’t even look him in the eye and he moves his head to catch your gaze. “M’startin’ to worry here, darlin’, what’s wrong?” He asks again, his grip tightening a bit on you. He had a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. Like he knew what was coming next.
“We can’t be together.” You say bluntly.
Jamie blinks once, then twice. “What?”
“You deserve someone better than me.”
Jamie still looks dumbfounded, but was becoming almost desperate to find out what you were talking about. “Please tell me what you’re talkin’ about, because I’m gettin’ a little scared.”
“I…” you look away from him again. “I kissed Roy. Or…he kissed me.”
Jamie winces. “Y-what?…kissed Roy?”
“It just happened. And we can’t be together because I’m a horrible person for doing this to you.” You pull out of his grasp, but Jamie grabs you again. “Jamie, please let me go.”
“No.” He says, simply, grabbing your chin much like Roy had done minutes before. “I’m not pleased, but this is almost like karma for how shitty I’ve been in the past.” He shakes his head when you open your mouth. “Do ya care about me?”
“Of course I do.” You almost sob, looking at him with the most pathetic eyes he’d ever seen.
“I know ya do, or you wouldn’t have told me right away.” He kisses your forehead. “M’not happy about it. But I can’t say I blame ya for exploring options when I haven’t even asked ya on a proper date.”
You groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “You being so understanding is making me feel worse. I know we’re not officially together or whatever the hell -“ you pause and look at him. “But I feel so, so, awful that it happened.”
Jamie shakes his head. “Stop that. M’not going to turn my back on you. I’ve cared about ya too long to let the messy beginning of what we’re tryin’ to figure out be the end of us. Besides, I did this same thing to Roy when he was with Keeley. Sometimes you just…like who you like.”
You stare at him. “You’re spending too much time with Ted.”
Jamie actually throws his head back and laughs at that, rolling his eyes once before pulling you in. “Now that you’ve kissed me coach I guess we’re even. Cause I used to be with Keeley and the two of you are thick as thieves.” He really didn’t blame you for any of this, but was making a mental note to maybe punch Roy in his face later. He couldn’t say it didn’t hurt, the thought of you kissing someone else. But he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of what he knows is meant to be. He knew that was corny, but with you he wasn’t worried about any of that. He wanted it all, the house, the love, the kids in the future.
“I’m sorry Jamie. I really am. All I could think about was how much of an asshole I was being.” You look up at him, realizing he’s already gazing at you.
“Be me girl. Officially.” He says.
You blink. “I thought you weren’t ready to have a serious conversation until after the match?”
“Don’t care about any of that anymore.” He says. “Me dad, me reputation with Man City. Don’t matter.” He mumbles into your hair. “Only you matter to me.”
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Okay, ya believe me? Or okay, ya wanna make this official?”
“I want to be yours, Jamie.” You catch the smile on his face and he leans in, cradling your face. The kiss he gives you is so different from what you had experienced with Roy. This was slow, sweet, and loving. Jamie pecks your lips, once, two, three times, and when he pulls back, he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You sigh, contentedly.
“That’s me girl.” He whispers, holding you close. You realize that this, with Jamie, was what you wanted. He kisses along your jawline, and you can’t help yourself, you smile. “Knew I could coax that gorgeous smile outta ya.”
Jamie was infatuated with you, and if he was being honest, completely in love with you, and had been since you had been the only one willing to speak to him when he initially came back to Richmond.
Jamie leads you to his car, and when you both get in, he pulls you across the center console onto his lap, sliding his large palm up to cup your face as he continues to kiss you. You were breathless, tangling your hands in his hair.
When you both finally pull away, you smile. Jamie tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, just like he did that night in the bar. “I’ve waited so long to be able t’call ya mine, love.” Jamie murmurs, your noses touching.
You stay like that, Jamie nuzzling you in his lap, while you think about everything that had happened. But you knew that nothing made you feel better than when Jamie held you. You stroke Jamie’s hair absentmindedly. You just hoped that you weren’t truly as terrible as you still felt.
You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of Jamie’s presence. This was more than enough.
Content : tenderness, flirting, friends to lovers, love triangle, jealousy
Word Count : 1.7k
Plot Summary : Out at a quirky themed bar with the team, Jamie approaches the reader to apologize for what he deems as dickish behavior. Flirty words turn to a tender moment, but the reader doesn’t realize someone else is pining after her.
A/N : This was a fun piece to write! Still on my Jamie Tartt bs, bc I love him so much. As always, pls like and reblog if you enjoy it, and let me know if you would possibly want a part 2??
Music drifted through the speakers in the tiny, hokey, Southern American themed bar, and you sighed, eyeing Ted and Beard singing along jovially. You took a sip of your sickeningly sweet sweet tea, just the way you liked it. You had come along to London with Ted and Beard to continue your job as their personal assistant. Let’s face it, they needed help keeping up with everything that needed to be kept track of, and you were the one for the job. Sure, you were younger, but you had proven yourself a capable office manager back in Kansas.
Your view of the two men was obstructed by another, admittedly more handsome man. Jamie. Your breath hitches slightly, and you cover it with another sip of your drink. You had grown a friendship with the young player, and considered him someone you could go to for anything and everything. What Jamie didn’t know, however, is that you had deep feelings for him, and care about him more than anyone else.
“Hi Jamie!” You chirp, setting your empty drink glass on the bar. Jamie peers at you, looking at the drink you had sat down. You rarely drank alcohol, so this was a rare form for you. You follow his gaze, snorting slightly. “It’s sweet tea, no alcohol. What brings you to my dingy little corner of the bar?” You ask, stepping a bit closer to him, feigning needing to hear him better.
“I came to apologize.” He says, his lips close enough to brush your ear. You pull back, eyebrows knitting together out of concern.
“Apologize for what?” You ask, going through every interaction you had with him recently, coming up short. “You’re worrying me, Jamie.” You say, studying his face.
“I feel like I’ve been a prick lately, and I’m sorry. I’ve been stressed about the Man City game, and you know me dad-”
You hold up a hand to stop him. “Jamie, you haven’t been a dick to me at all, ok? I get that you’re stressed, and your dad sucks. But you haven’t been any less kind to me than you’ve always been.” The hand you held up moves to squeeze his hand.
“You’re too good for me, love.” He says back, lifting your hand to his and kissing your knuckles slightly. You try to pretend that your heart didn’t skip a beat, and you just roll your eyes at him.
“Please. You flatter me.” You wave your hand away, as if to say he needn’t mention it, that’s what friends are for.
But Jamie moves closer to you, your torsos almost pressing into each other. In this dingy bar, the low light accentuates Jamie’s handsome features, and you gaze up at him, an eyebrow raised.
“I really mean it. Even when I was bein’ a little prick all the time when you and Ted and Beard first got to Richmond, you were nothin’ but nice to me.” He shrugs. “And I never thanked you.”
“You really don’t have to thank me, I’m glad I forced you to be my friend.” You flash a grin at him, which makes him laugh, looking away from you slightly while he absorbs your presence. When his gaze finds yours again, it’s considerably softer.
“Darlin’, I was putty in your hands the first time you bossed me around.” You snort incredulously, and he laughs. “I was. You got on me arse about being on time and it kicked me into gear.”
“You were stressing Ted out, and a stressed out Ted is a stressed out assistant.” You confirm. “Jamie.” You say, looking at him. “Did you really come to seek me out just to tell me you’re glad I yelled at you the first week we met?”
“Of course not. I needed an excuse to come talk t’you.” He murmurs, absentmindedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.
“You never need an excuse to be near me.” You breathe out, and you’re faintly aware of a slow, sweet country song playing in the background. You clear your throat, drawing back slightly from him, “I love this song,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear and trying to change the subject at hand.
"You're as smooth, as Tennessee whiskey, you're as sweet as strawberry wine..." the old jukebox plays, and you close your eyes a moment.
Jamie doesn’t respond, he takes your hand delicately and leads you to the small dance floor. Your heart pounds, wondering what this change in Jamie is all about. Of course, the two of you were friends. But he had never been so tender with you. You were usually the one giving hugs, patting hands, brushing hair away…did he actually mean to be this sweet and touchy-feely with you? Or was he drunk? Jamie draws you close, holding one of your hands to his chest while the other wraps around your waist. He rests his head against yours and murmurs something you can’t quite hear.
“Hm?” You manage to squeak out, a little more high pitched than you meant to be.
“I said, I always want to be near you. I know you only think of me as a friend, and I get it, but I wanted you…”He clears his throat, “wanted you to know.” He finishes.
You pull your head back to look him in the eyes. “What makes you think I only think of you as a friend?” You say softly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I don’t.”
Jamie knits his brows together. “You don’t?”
You can’t help but let out a laugh. “No! Why would you think that?” You look into his eyes again, and the sight of you making eye contact seems to instantly soften his gaze again.
“Because you’re…well, you.” He says. “Always seemed too busy to get involved with an athlete, not to mention one that you’re friends with.”
“I must be good at hiding the fact that I am desperately drawn to you, then.” You say, causing Jamie to smile and press a kiss to your temple. “Jamie.” You say.
“Yea?” He responds, rocking the two of you gently to the music.
“Kiss me.”
Nothing else needed to be said. Keeping a hold of your hand pressed to his chest, Jamie draws his face back to look at you. When he sees that you’re being serious, he presses his lips to yours. Slow, sweet, longing. You bring your free hand up to rest lightly at the back of his neck, and when he breaks the kiss, you keep it there. It’s intimate, familiar.
Jamie pulls you close again, resting his head against yours. “I guess this makes us more’n friends, yea?” He whispers in your ear.
You laugh, nodding along. “I guess so.” You reply, blushing happily as the two of you danced in the low light.
“Good luck gettin’ rid of me, love.” He says playfully, peppering your face with kisses as you laugh.
A low growl escaped the burly man’s lips as he watched Tartt slowly spin you on the dancefloor.
You seemed to be deep in conversation, and he feels Ted and Beard both looking at him.
He sighs, setting the beer bottle in his hand down on the bar with a clink signalling the cowboy hat clad bartender to swap it out with a fresh, full one.
“I heard a growl there, Roy.” Says Ted, who then looks over Roy to catch Beard’s attention. “What’s got this one more riled than a junkyard dog, Coach?” Beard jerks his head towards you and Jamie, swaying slightly to the music, and Ted breaks into a smile.
“Well hey, isn’t that nice?” Ted says, earning a glare from Roy. “By that look I’m collecting that you don’t think that’s nice.” He states.
Roy just grunts again in response, lifting his bottle to his lips, his eyes watching you.
Beard shrugs. “Seems like you might have a crush.”
Ted nods knowingly. “Well, I could have told you that, Beard. You seen the way Roy looks at her when she comes into our office? Like she’s the sun, I’m telling ya.”
“Oi, shut it, you two.” Roy interjects, “and don’t pretend I can’t see the sly look the two of you are about to give each other. I’m not in denial about it.”
Ted and Beard look at Roy, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. Rushing him would just get them a “fuck off!”. So they had learned to wait.
“The thing is- I know she’s special. And clearly Jamie does too. Clearly we have the same taste in women.” Roy grunts as he watches Jamie pull away to look you in the eyes. He clenches his jaw, trying not to appear more jealous than he already was. “She’s just…she’s great. And I like her, okay?”
Ted and Beard exchange another look and Ted clears his throat slightly. “Listen Roy, we know she’s great. Wouldn’t know which way was up without her, but maybe you should actually try talking to her if you want her to like you.”
“How do you mean? I talk to her!” Roy says indignantly.
“Grunting in response to questions she asks you isn’t considered talking to her.” Beard chimes in, Ted nodding along and pointing to his long time friend.
Roy isn’t listening though. He’s watching Jamie lean in and kiss you, your hand reaching to cradle the back of his neck. It felt like everything stopped. He didn’t realize just how much he liked you until he saw you happy with someone else. Thinking that should be him. And that made him feel like an utter prick.
"Modern Aemond story where the reader gets nastily cheated on by her boyfriend (ex boyfriend then I guess?) and Aemond helps her get over it? Maybe with prompt 64 ("I love the way you look when my fingers are inside you") & 85 ("I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget this guy's name")?"
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A/N: Ohhhhh boy, here we go! Thank you so much for the request, lovely anon ❤️❤️
This fic is NOT part of the Home for the Holidays series, so don't read it as a continuation of that--that would be very confusing. After you read this, lmk if you can tell I majored in history in college lmfaooo.
As per usual, not beta-read but thoroughly edited.
The prompt list used is linked here!
~ Reblogging fics is the best way to support your favorite creators! Reblogs are highly appreciated, especially if you are on my tag list ~
Feel free to submit requests as well! I love them.
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You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve this.
You’d done everything for your boyfriend–ex-boyfriend now, you supposed–from cooking and cleaning to doing his fucking laundry, and none of that had been enough to stop him from cheating on you.
When he’d said the pair of you needed to talk a few days ago, you’d told yourself it was nothing to worry about, that he’d genuinely wanted to discuss something.
You couldn’t have been more wrong.
“I thought you had a right to know,” he’d said, “I’m sorry.”
As if that somehow absolved him of fucking every other girl on campus. Asshole.
You’d been a mess for at least a week after–you still were, honestly–but life went on, whether you liked it or not. Part of life, such as it was, included attending class, doing your exams, and everything else that went along with your final semester of senior year.
Needless to say, you were less than thrilled to be stuck working on a group project with your academic rival–and bane of your existence–Aemond Targaryen.
Of the entire History program at your university, you were constantly the top two in your department. Both of you were incredibly competitive, which only exacerbated the tension between you as you jockeyed for the highest score in every one of your classes.
You’d been paired together on a project by your Imperial Russian History Professor–which you were certain was some kind of sick joke on his part–and had yet to make any progress on it whatsoever. Both of you had been putting it off, but as the due date quickly approached, you resigned yourself to working with him, if only to survive the semester.
That was, however, proving to be much easier said than done.
He insisted that your project had to be about Peter the Great, while you pushed for Catherine the Great instead.
This argument was only the latest of many, but you thought you might lose your mind for real this time.
“The project is about a great Russian,” he sneered, “Catherine was from Germany. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Oh my God,” you snarl, “I cannot believe you're being this obtuse--she was a foundational Russian leader, regardless of where she was from," you roll your eyes.
"Anyway, everyone is going to do a project on Peter. That's such an obvious choice."
“So you would prefer to present on the woman that fucked a horse?” he questions you dryly, a smirk forming on his lips, watching your reaction to his words.
“You know that was a rumor made up by men who were afraid of a powerful woman,” your voice raises slightly, your face heating up in frustration.
Aemond tilted his head in amusement, his eye glittering in victory at the rise he'd managed to get out of you. You clenched your jaw, taking in a deep, calming breath through your nose.
“You're impossible,” you say shortly, annoyed that he’s managed to get under your skin.
“And you're insufferable.”
“Oh, fuck off, will you?”
“No, you're acting like a child.”
“Oh, I’m acting like a child?” you hissed, though your petulant tone did nothing except prove the accusation correct.
“You are," he confirmed, looking so smug that you wanted to slap him across his pretty face. "What’s the matter?” he taunts, “Are you having issues with that little boyfriend of yours that’s always picking you up from class?”
That did it–you burst into tears. You tried to hide your face behind your hands, not wanting him to see you cry, even though it was a bit late for that now.
“Oh, shit,” Aemond’s eye widened, suddenly looking uncharacteristically panicked at your outburst. He scratched the back of his neck nervously, project now very much forgotten–you guessed someone having a mental breakdown in front of you would do that.
“Did, uh…did something happen?” he asked, clearly struggling to find anything to say that might soothe you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you this much. I was just giving you a hard time,” he winced as you hiccuped, trying to swallow your sobs.
“No, I’m sorry. It's just…” you sniff. “You definitely…don’t want to hear about this, but…he cheated on me…sorry, I’ll get it together, I just–” you rooted through your school bag, searching desperately for some tissues.
“Hey, hey, no, don’t worry,” Aemond’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, “I was being a dick. Here,” he hands you a pack of kleenex, watching your face cautiously. “Listen, you’re wicked smart–it drives me up the wall, believe me–and you seem nice--when you’re not talking to me, anyway,” he smiles faintly, and you let out a watery laugh at his joke.
“If he cheated on you, then he’s a bastard, alright?” he continues. You nod silently, wiping your tears away, though your breath still comes in sharp little gasps.
“It’s alright if this is too weird, but my apartment is super close by,” he tells you after a beat. “We could go there, and I could make you some tea, maybe? That always helps my sister when she’s upset.”
You stare at him incredulously, not believing that Aemond Targaryen, of all people, was being so nice to you. You’d expected him to laugh at your tears or, at the very least, to pack up his things and leave you there. Not this.
“You can say no,” he blurts out, taking your silence as a denial. “I just wanted to offer–”
“No, no, I’d like that,” you manage hurriedly, snapping yourself out of your doubtful thoughts. “Tea sounds...good.”
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Aemond’s apartment is incredible. It’s so ridiculously lavish that you think perhaps you’ve finally lost it and have started hallucinating.
His building had a doorman, of all things, and the elevator played soft jazz on the way up. You shouldn’t have expected anything else from the designer-wearing prince of King’s Landing University, but you were still thoroughly baffled.
The inside of his apartment was equally posh, with polished granite countertops and solid wood furniture glowing under the warm lighting.
Aemond toed off his shoes at the door–they were Gucci, you noticed, because of course they were–and set about putting a kettle on while you snooped around his massive bookshelf that occupied half of the wall in the living room.
His books were what you expected: history texts, a collection of philosophy books, and oddly enough, a copy of the Communist Manifesto by Marx–but one particular section of the shelf caught your eye: it was all Jane Austen–Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Mansfield Park, Sense and Sensibility.
You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.
Grinning broadly for the first time in days, you seized the copy of Pride and Prejudice and padded over the kitchen.
“Big romance guy, huh?” you teased, holding the book aloft. “Who would’ve thought? Aemond Targaryen is a softie.”
His face turns a shade of scarlet you hadn’t thought was humanly possible. “Austen has lovely prose,” he grumbles, snatching the book from your hands, “don’t make me regret inviting you over.”
“Oh, come on!” you laugh, grabbing for the book, stumbling when he pulls it out of your reach. “I love Jane Austen; I’m just surprised you do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re all ‘I’m Aemond Targaryen, and I wear black leather, even in the summer. Don’t look at me, or I’ll kill you’,” you lower your voice in a poor imitation of his. “I never had you pegged as a romantic.”
“I don’t sound like that,” he complains, “and I can be extremely romantic, thank you.”
“Really? You? Romantic? Since when?”
“Since always. Just because you’ve never witnessed it doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he grouses, setting the book down on the counter and turning back to the stove to pour hot water into the pair of mugs he'd set out.
“Hm, I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snicker, accepting the mug he offered you gratefully.
“Well, now that you’re single, who knows? Maybe you will, ” he quips back, arching an eyebrow at you. It’s your turn to go red, and you internally curse him for it, forcing a derisive laugh at his words.
“Yeah. Sure.”
You’d always thought him good-looking–how could you not with his shoulder-length silver hair and broad physique? His only flaw was his eye patch, which made him more attractive and mysterious. If it weren’t for how aggravating he typically was, you’d have had a crush on him long ago.
“Was he?” Aemond asks, regarding you curiously over the top of his cup.
“Who?”
“Your ex,” Aemond clarifies. “Was he a romantic?”
“No,” you answer truthfully. “Quite the opposite. He actually forgot my fucking birthday this year.”
“And you stayed with him?”
“Fuck you.”
“Hey, I’m just asking,” Aemond grins at your sharp reply, unphased by the look of irritation that was spreading across your face. “It doesn’t seem like there’s much to miss about him, is all.”
You sigh, setting your mug aside. “There isn’t,” you admit after a beat. “I was planning on breaking up with him after the semester ended, honestly. He just beat me to the punch.”
“Hm.”
“Have I mentioned that I hate it when you just hum like that?” you snark, “Just talk like a normal person.”
He outright laughs at you, teeth flashing in the kitchen light. “Yeah, I think you’ve mentioned,” he leans on the counter easily, “once or twice or a thousand times.”
He sips at his tea again slowly, savoring it. “Well, from what you’ve told me, he was a cunt,” he comments airly, making you huff in reluctant laughter. “It sounds like you just need something to take your mind off things. A distraction.”
“Yeah,” you scoff, “I’m sure King’s Landing Tinder has only the best to offer.”
“Hm,” Aemond emphasizes his hum, grinning at the look of annoyance that crosses your expression in response. “It doesn’t--believe me. I was suggesting something more immediate.”
You snap your gaze to him, confusion coursing through you. Surely he couldn’t be implying what you thought he was?
“What do you mean?” you manage to ask, nearly choking on your words.
“I mean,” he says, setting his mug aside and advancing on you slowly like a predator might approach their prey, “that I think there’s more to our little academic rivalry than meets the eye.”
He’s so close to you now that you’re sure he can hear how erratic your breathing has become.
“I think that you’re attracted to me, and now that you’re single, we have a chance to do something about it.”
You’re frozen before him, your mouth hanging open in shock, and your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You want to laugh at him or to tell him that he couldn’t be more wrong, but that would be a bald-faced lie.
His eye lights up at your silence, a grin spreading broadly across his face. “Oh, you are attracted to me,” he looks triumphant, the same way he looked when he won a debate in class or scored better than you on an assignment.
“You’re annoying,” you say lamely, in lieu of outright denial, stepping backward, “and I don’t like you.”
“Perhaps, but you do want me,” he extends a hand, grasping at your hip gently, holding you in place, preventing you from continuing your retreat. Your breath hitches in your chest at the contact, and you swallow harshly, unable to tear your eyes from his sharp-featured face.
“Am I wrong?” he breathes, his face only centimeters from yours, “Because if I am, I’ll walk away. But I don’t think I’m wrong.”
You blink rapidly, your lips parted in disbelief. He was right.
As your attraction to your ex waned, you’d told yourself that the excited flutter of your heart when Aemond walked into your classroom was adrenaline in anticipation of the argument that was to come.
You realized now just how wrong you’d been.
He was so close to you that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. His hand on your side felt like it was burning a brand into your skin, marking you as his, and you found a strange delight at the thought.
You tried to tell yourself that this was a bad idea, that it was too soon after a breakup to hook up with someone, especially if that someone was Aemond. The excuses you tried to think of became weaker with each moment that passed with his gaze on you, dripping with desire.
“No,” you rasp, “No, you’re not wrong.”
“In that case,” he breathes, tugging your body in towards him, “if it’s alright with you, I'm going to fuck you so hard that you forget that guy's name."
Your eyes widen in shock at his lewd words, your lips parting slightly, a pathetic little whimper escaping you against your will. Your body floods with heat, pussy clenching, and god, you didn’t think you’d ever wanted someone so badly.
“I don’t think you can,” you challenge, rising on tiptoe to bring your faces closer together, drinking in the sight of his dilated pupil and slightly flushed cheeks. “But if you’d like to try, be my guest.”
It’s like your words are a starting gun for him, and he drags you flush to his body without hesitation, claiming your lips in a filthy, depraved kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and his fingers bite into your skin, but the twinge of pain only serves as encouragement. You bite at his lip, and he grunts, a hand sliding down to palm your ass roughly, his tongue invading your mouth possessively.
You whimper at the thrill his touch sends through you, gripping his shoulders tightly, and he seizes you by your hips, lifting you onto the counter and slotting himself between your legs. You spread them willingly, letting him press himself against the apex of your thighs, and he growls like a wild animal.
He pulls back slightly, leaning just out of reach, his lusty eye raking over you, biting his lip in condescension as you try to chase after him, desperate for his kiss. “Eager, are we?”
He looks so fucking smug that you want to slap him.
Before you get the chance to throw a scathing retort at him for his insolence, he’s on you again, fingers weaving through your hair and pulling, snickering under his breath when you moan.
His mouth is hot and wanting against yours, and you think that if he doesn’t touch you–really touch you–soon you might explode.
You reach between you, grabbing firmly at the prominent bulge in his pants, and his lips falter against yours, unable to keep himself from reacting to your touch. It was your turn to grin in satisfaction, touching him through the fabric with long, purposeful strokes.
“It would seem,” you smirk, delighting in the shuddering gasp he made at the contact, “that I’m not the only one who’s eager.” You punctuate your sentence with a harsh squeeze, and he curses loudly, seizing your wrist in his hand, stilling your movements.
“You’re only just figuring that out?” he quips, though the starved look on his face makes the retort fall flat. “C’mere,” he grasps your ass, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter, grinding himself against you agonizingly slow, shutting you up with another fiery kiss.
You’re so lost in the feeling of his lips and hands that you’re barely aware of it happening, but somehow, you end up in his bed.
Both of you are half-naked, your clothes abandoned haphazardly somewhere in the hallway, and you’re desperate as he trails blistering kisses down your chest, your stomach, and your thighs. He yanks your panties off entirely, his eye locked shamelessly at your soaked cunt. The fucker licks his lips at the sight of it, and you whine, moving to close your legs, flustered.
“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, grabbing your knees in his large hands. “Keep them open, pretty girl. I want to see how wet I make you.”
He trails his fingers up from your knee to your dripping folds, running his middle and index finger through them, and you tremble at his touch, the muscles in your thighs tensing. He finds your clit with ease–something your ex could absolutely never do, no matter how many times you tried to show him–and you cannot control the way your hips buck up into his touch.
You want him inside you now, but he seems to delight in torturing you, even outside of the classroom.
His touch on your bud is far too gentle to get you anywhere but just firm enough to drive you insane. Slowly–too slowly–he teases the tip of his finger at your entrance, exhaling heavily as he eases it in, watching it disappear inside you, his lip bitten between his teeth.
He pumps his finger experimentally, eye flicking between your pussy and your face, gauging your reaction with the same calculated stare he gave you when you'd made a particularly salient point in an in-class discussion.
You want to stay quiet, to deny him the satisfaction, but then he starts to truly fuck you with his long, thick digit, and you can’t focus on anything besides how good it feels. He slips a second into your clenching heat, his expression half-feral as you keen at the intrusion.
"Fucking hell. I love the way you look when my fingers are inside you," he groans, his eye fixed on his fingers pumping steadily into you, wetting his lips appreciatively. “So fucking pretty.”
You whimper, bucking into his hand pathetically, desperately seeking more friction. He seems to know exactly where to touch you, and you’re quickly losing control of yourself, your gasps and whines increasing in volume no matter how hard you try to keep them in.
“I can feel you clenching around me,” he murmurs, flicking his gaze up to your face. “You’re so tight; did that bastard even fuck you?”
He doesn’t wait for you to respond.
Instead, he leans down, pulling his fingers from you and licking a broad stripe up your cunt. He makes his annoying little hum at the taste, but it’s not so aggravating now.
It’s fucking hot, for some reason, and you reach down, grasping at the back of his silver head, holding on to him for dear life as he devours you.
He plays with your clit, his fingers drenched from your slick, and plunges his tongue inside of you, and you give up on even trying to stay quiet. It was no use.
“Fu-uck,” your voice cracks into a pathetic squeak, your fingers tightening on his hair and pulling. You can feel him laughing at you, the thrum of it sending shockwaves through your body, and as much as you hate him for it, you couldn’t–wouldn’t–stop him now. It all feels so incredible that all you can manage is: “Please. More."
He fucks you with his tongue eagerly, as if nothing in the world could please him more, and you can already feel your orgasm building in your gut. To your displeasure, he removes his tongue from you, but you’re swiftly placated by him replacing it again with his fingers, swapping places with his mouth and suckling at your clit harshly.
“Fuck, you’re sensitive,” his smug voice is muffled by your pussy, and you can only whimper in response. “Are you going to come already?”
By way of response, you arch up off of the bed, coming apart with a cry, gripping at his hair so tightly that you think you must be hurting him, but he just sucks harder, his fingers driving into you steadily, easing you through your high, watching you in satisfaction from between your thighs.
He draws back, grinning at you, his chin glistening with your slick.
“What was his name again?” he asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
You frown at him hazily, momentarily confused as to what he means.
“Your ex?” he prompts, eye glittering in self-satisfaction. “Don’t tell me you forgot already? Was I that good?”
Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you realize what he meant.
“Fuck you,” you manage to gasp out, your chest still heaving.
“Yes,” he stands, removing his underwear, the last barrier between you. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs, the tip of it flushed and glistening with pre-cum. “I intend to do just that.” He digs through his bedside table, retrieving a condom and rolling it down his length hurriedly.
Lowering himself above you, he takes your lips in a heated kiss, palming your breast, his fingers tweaking lightly at your nipple. You can feel him smiling against your lips when you sigh in pleasure, and you curve into his touch eagerly.
“Do you still want me to fuck you?”
For a moment, you think he’s teasing you again, and you open your mouth to make a sharp retort. When you look into his eye, however, you see only tenderness–a gentle question as to whether or not you still want to go further.
“Yes,” you croaked, suppressing the swell of emotion threatening to overcome you at such a small show of respect, “I do.”
He slips a hand between you, guiding his swollen tip to your entrance, pushing into you slowly and pausing to give you a moment to accommodate his size. It felt so good to be filled like this, with his weight crushing into you, his hot, thick cock twitching within your cunt.
You nod to him, and he bends to kiss you tenderly, pulling out of you slowly and sliding back in again, keeping his pace subdued at first.
“I thought you said you were going to fuck me,” you challenged. “As good as you feel inside me, this is not fucking.”
He lets out a pleased grunt and slams into you hard, grinning at the pleasured yelp you make at the force of it.
The pace he sets is brutal, hips slapping against yours, your tits bouncing with every harsh thrust. He kisses down your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin, squeezing at your breasts with the hand he isn’t using to hold himself up above you.
You moan desperately, planting your feet on the bed and bucking up to meet him, trying to get him still deeper. He gets the hint, hoisting your legs over his shoulders and using the new angle to drive down into you, leaving you at his mercy.
“Tell me how it feels,” he demands raggedly.
“So good,” you warble, far beyond trying to hide behind a veil of indifference, “you’re so big.”
His eye lights with something dark and primal at your praise, and he lowers one of your legs, drawing the other up higher, dropping his head to take your lips into another all-consuming crush, drinking down your cries of pleasure.
“Aemond, please,” you whimper against him, “please touch me. I’m so close.”
Somehow, he understands what you mean, plunging a hand down to where you are joined, using your wetness as a lubricant to rub your clit in quick, harsh circles, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.
Your cunt clenches around his cock, your legs trembling from the effort, tears gathering at your waterline from how exquisitely painful the pleasure he’s giving you is.
“I’m never leaving this sweet pussy–fuck,” he snarls. “So. Fucking. Good,” he punctuates each word with a rough snap of his hips.
You come with a loud, broken cry, your body shaking beneath him, and he groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him as you reach your peak, his thrusts growing sloppy, slamming into you one, then two more times before he shudders, spilling into the condom with a choked moan.
After a moment, he gently releases your leg, his head hanging heavily, his pale chest heaving from the exertion, eyelashes fluttering, a lazy, satisfied smile creeping across his features.
“Are you alright?” He breathes. “I wasn’t too rough with you?”
“Not at all,” you manage, “I’m not alright, though. I think you fucked me too well.”
He snickers breathlessly at the compliment, slowly pulling out of you, pressing his lips to yours delicately, a sharp contrast to the sex you’d just had. Your heart aches at the sweetness of the gesture, and you return the kiss, hoping that he feels the same rush of emotion that you do through it.
He rises unsteadily, disposing of the condom quickly and pulling a pair of sweatpants over his hips. He returns your panties to you and hands you the cotton t-shirt he’d been wearing, grinning at you sheepishly.
You pull both on, uncertain as to whether he expects you to go now that you’ve fucked, but your question is answered when he lays back down beside you, tugging you firmly against his warm, bare chest.
A loud, indignant meow sounds from the doorway, and you jump, taken off guard. You quickly find the source of the noise: A large, elderly black cat glaring into the room as if to say, ‘Hey, can you keep it down?’
Aemond chuckles, rising again from his place beside you. “I fear I forgot my manners,” he tells you, scooping that cat into his arms and carrying her back over to the bed. “I would like you to meet my lovely roommate, Vhagar.”
“Hello, Vhagar,” you coo, extending a hand for her to sniff. To your delight, she slams her head up into your palm, erupting into loud purrs. You smile, scratching the old girl behind her ears gently, and she closes her eyes, leaning into your touch.
“Hm. Well, that’s unexpected,” Aemond muses, stroking a hand down her back affectionately. “She doesn’t like many people. You should be flattered.” He leans back into the pillows, regarding the pair of you curiously.
“I suppose this means you’ll have to come by here more often then. For her sake,” he teases, though you’re sure you hear a hint of sincerity in his voice.
“I suppose I will,” you reply, turning to look at him. “Strictly for Vhagar.”
“Naturally,” he studies you, choosing his words carefully before he speaks again. “Would you stay here tonight, perhaps?” he asks, “for Vhagar?”
“Hm,” you mimic his characteristic teasing hum. “Just for her?”
“Not just for her,” he replies without hesitation. “I think it’s safe to say that we both are…aggravatingly fond of you.”
You lean towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and then to his lips.
“In that case, I suppose I’ll have to,” you murmur. “But this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to outdo you in class.”
He chuckles under his breath, stealing another swift peck. “That would be no challenge. As much as it pains me to admit it, you’re far better than me at history,” he kisses you again.
You nuzzle into his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “Well, if we took a romance novel class together, I’m sure you’d emerge victorious,” you mumble.
He snorts, pressing a kiss to your head.
“Oh, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Vhagar creeps up the bed, curling, and settles heavily into Aemond’s lap with an audible huff, and you snuggle deeper into his embrace.
The three of you lay in comfortable silence, and as you begin to doze, you think to yourself that perhaps you ought to write your bastard of an ex-boyfriend a ‘thank you’ note.
Without his indiscretions, you might not have ever felt so complete.
You really didn’t know what you’d done to deserve this.
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re: aemond's bookshelf with Marx on it: long live aemond the comrade!! (i didn't make this, i found it on twitter ages ago so creds to whatever genius was behind this gem)
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Like this fic? Read my other works here!
Personal Rec: A Dragon Without Wings mini-series (contains spoilers for future seasons of HOTD)
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General Aemond Tag List:
(Comment or message to be added. Note: this tag list is for ALL my Aemond works, so if you are only on the list for A Dragon Without Wings, please let me know if you’d like to be on this one too!)
Come Away With Me - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Content : fluff, kissing, slight "argument"
Summary : Anthony cannot sleep after realizing he is in love with you. He asks you on a midnight stroll through the garden, confessing his feelings for you.
Word Count : 1.5K
A/N: hi everyone! I had a lot of fun writing this fluff piece and I hope you enjoy it. if you like it, pls reblog and let me know if you would like to see more <3
Anthony Bridgerton usually had the quip of “Very well, I thank you for inquiring” with a slick smile when asked the question “How do you sleep at night?”. He was a rake, devilishly handsome, and if he saw a woman he might want, all he had to do was quirk the corner of his mouth to have her falling to pieces over him and his perfectly styled brown hair.
Tonight, however, was different. Anthony wasn’t sleeping well at all. No, Anthony Bridgerton had come to the realization that he was desperately in love with one of his dearest friends. You. And he had to tell you immediately. He pulled himself from his bed and threw on an overcoat. He did not much care how he looked, only that he had to see you immediately. He knew it was risky, court season was a breeding ground for scandal and theatrics. But he couldn’t take it any longer. You only lived next door, and he didn’t care who saw the two of you strolling through your family’s luscious and sprawling garden. What better place to confess his feelings than in the place where the two of you used to frolic as children?
Stealing around the back door, he throws a small stone at your window, hoping that you would wake, or a better circumstance, that you were still awake. He has never felt this way before. It is strange. And scary. He did not like how his heart felt as if it were beating out of his chest every time he thought of you. You, who were sunshine and light and the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on. Anthony had never acted upon these feelings that he knew, deep down, had always been there. He couldn’t bear to face rejection from one of the loveliest people he has ever had the pleasure of knowing.
So there he stood, pacing slightly while waiting for the sight of your face to appear in the small window above him. Finally, you appeared, and he registered the look of shock upon your face.
You pushed the window open slightly, leaning your head out. Your hair was pushed behind your shoulders, the light blue nightgown you wore accentuating your figure nicely, and Anthony swallowed at the amount of your chest he could see from your leaning figure. “Anthony?” you half whisper, concern taking over your features. “Are you alright?”
“I cannot sleep. Come away with me, down to the garden for a stroll?” He replies, attempting to be as friendly and casual as possible. You raise an eyebrow, thinking this is an odd request, simultaneously thinking that he would not be at your window at this hour unless it was something urgent.
“I shall grab a coat and be at your side shortly.” You say, closing the window and disappearing from view. Anthony chastises himself for his heart’s refusal to settle.
You slowly come through the kitchen door that leads into the garden, closing it quietly so as to not wake your slumbering family. You make your way towards Anthony, smiling slightly at the disheveled, messy state he was in. Whenever you were out in public together, he was also so put together, so observant, so…well, so him. Anthony offers his arm to you, and you place your hand in the crook of his elbow, savoring the warmth your fingers find there. You had been infatuated with Anthony since you met him. He had always been confident, intelligent, and daring. But he was rakish, and could be condescending and a know-it-all as well. It was best to protect your heart from hurting by loving him silently from afar.
“What could be on your mind at this hour, Viscount?” You say, nudging into him slightly with your shoulder. In all the years the two of you had known each other, he had never come seeking you so late. You glance at him, trying to gain a read of what he would say next.
“I am having a terrible time falling asleep, I thought I would ask a beautiful lady for a stroll, is all.” He replies softly. He stills seems as if something is bothering him, but you knew that you wouldn’t know until he was ready to tell you. You blush at his compliment, rolling your eyes.
“Well, I suppose that you are lucky that I was up so late reading.”
Anthony nods softly, leading you towards a stone bench near the lovely fountain in the middle of the garden. You sit, watching as he hesitates between sitting next to you and remaining standing. He chooses to sit next to you.
“Y/n.” He says, a much more serious tone overtaking him.
“Anthony.” You say back, mimicking him.
He cracks a smile. “You make it utterly hard to have an important conversation, darling.”
Darling. He had never called you that before. You focus your eyes on him again, wondering what this could all be about. His dark eyes focused on yours, flicking to your lips before settling on the whole of your face. The cold of the stone bench was pressing in to you, and the intensity of Anthony’s gaze had you nervously awaiting whatever it is he wanted to speak to you about.
“Y/n…I cannot deny it anymore. I am in love with you. You are the light that shines on a dull day for me.” Anthony says, releasing a breath that finally stilled his aching heart. And to his dismay, you laughed.
You laughed, and laughed. But when you realize that Anthony’s gorgeously dark eyes had not left you, you stood up quickly. “This is not a funny jest, Anthony.”
He stands up as well, hurt marking his perfect face. “I do not jest you, y/n. I could not. I wish for your hand.”
“My hand?” You ask, voice rising an octave. You look around wildly, the muted colors from the garden swirling in your mind. Shaking your head, you exhale. “All of the women at court, and you wish me to believe that you wish to take my hand?”
“Yes.”
You laughed again, this time a humorless sound. “You have not even looked my way in such a manner since we first came to know each other.”
Anthony’s nostrils flared. This was not going at all how he had planned it to go, and he was offended that you thought he was telling you a lie. “This is not true. You shine brighter than the sun. It is not my fault you have never noticed my gaze following your every move.”
You flushed, looking down at your feet briefly. He had been watching you, and you had never even noticed.
“I find it hard to believe that a lady as beautiful and intelligent as yourself has trouble believing that I could love you.” Anthony says softly. He knew of his reputation. He knew he had gone around with many girls. But he also knew that none of them ever filled the shape of his arms like he knew you were meant to.
“Anthony. You are a rake.” You say bluntly, starting to become frustrated. “You certainly cannot blame me for not falling at your feet and thanking you for your affections, when we both know quite well that I may not hold your interest in a fortnight.” You paused. “Perhaps less than that.”
Anthony’s eyes widen slightly at this outburst and he looks at you, then looks down and away, focusing on a barely budding rosebush across the fountain. When he turns to look at you, his gaze has softened, and you have never seen such a vulnerable look on his face.
“I would go through the very circles of hell to change your opinion of me.”
Your breath left your body. You studied his face, realizing that he was not jesting you. He meant every word he said. Anthony stepped closer to you, towering above you. Looking down into your eyes, he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek. Without even thinking, you lean in to his touch, as if you had been craving it. He leans in, hovering just above your lips.
“Forgive me for taking years to bring you to the garden at this hour.” He whispers.
You felt intoxicated by his proximity. You looked him in the eyes, your own eyes roaming his face. “I am quite sure if you place your lips on mine…”You pause. “That my opinion of you may change greatly."
Anthony smirks, an expression you knew all too well. He closes the gap between you, kissing you softly, deepening it lightly when he wraps an arm around your back. When he finally pulls away, he is smiling broadly.
“What is it, Anthony?” you whisper.
Anthony leans down again, pressing his forehead to yours. “I cannot wait for you to take the name Bridgerton, is all.”
“Oh, so you assume I say yes to your proposal then?” You ask, a joking tone covering your voice, as you gaze into his eyes. You both knew yes was the only answer.
Anthony laughs, shaking his head slightly as he captures your lips in another sweet kiss, the moonlight caressing the two of you as you relish each other’s presence.
Come Away With Me - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Content : fluff, kissing, slight "argument"
Summary : Anthony cannot sleep after realizing he is in love with you. He asks you on a midnight stroll through the garden, confessing his feelings for you.
Word Count : 1.5K
A/N: hi everyone! I had a lot of fun writing this fluff piece and I hope you enjoy it. if you like it, pls reblog and let me know if you would like to see more <3
Anthony Bridgerton usually had the quip of “Very well, I thank you for inquiring” with a slick smile when asked the question “How do you sleep at night?”. He was a rake, devilishly handsome, and if he saw a woman he might want, all he had to do was quirk the corner of his mouth to have her falling to pieces over him and his perfectly styled brown hair.
Tonight, however, was different. Anthony wasn’t sleeping well at all. No, Anthony Bridgerton had come to the realization that he was desperately in love with one of his dearest friends. You. And he had to tell you immediately. He pulled himself from his bed and threw on an overcoat. He did not much care how he looked, only that he had to see you immediately. He knew it was risky, court season was a breeding ground for scandal and theatrics. But he couldn’t take it any longer. You only lived next door, and he didn’t care who saw the two of you strolling through your family’s luscious and sprawling garden. What better place to confess his feelings than in the place where the two of you used to frolic as children?
Stealing around the back door, he throws a small stone at your window, hoping that you would wake, or a better circumstance, that you were still awake. He has never felt this way before. It is strange. And scary. He did not like how his heart felt as if it were beating out of his chest every time he thought of you. You, who were sunshine and light and the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on. Anthony had never acted upon these feelings that he knew, deep down, had always been there. He couldn’t bear to face rejection from one of the loveliest people he has ever had the pleasure of knowing.
So there he stood, pacing slightly while waiting for the sight of your face to appear in the small window above him. Finally, you appeared, and he registered the look of shock upon your face.
You pushed the window open slightly, leaning your head out. Your hair was pushed behind your shoulders, the light blue nightgown you wore accentuating your figure nicely, and Anthony swallowed at the amount of your chest he could see from your leaning figure. “Anthony?” you half whisper, concern taking over your features. “Are you alright?”
“I cannot sleep. Come away with me, down to the garden for a stroll?” He replies, attempting to be as friendly and casual as possible. You raise an eyebrow, thinking this is an odd request, simultaneously thinking that he would not be at your window at this hour unless it was something urgent.
“I shall grab a coat and be at your side shortly.” You say, closing the window and disappearing from view. Anthony chastises himself for his heart’s refusal to settle.
You slowly come through the kitchen door that leads into the garden, closing it quietly so as to not wake your slumbering family. You make your way towards Anthony, smiling slightly at the disheveled, messy state he was in. Whenever you were out in public together, he was also so put together, so observant, so…well, so him. Anthony offers his arm to you, and you place your hand in the crook of his elbow, savoring the warmth your fingers find there. You had been infatuated with Anthony since you met him. He had always been confident, intelligent, and daring. But he was rakish, and could be condescending and a know-it-all as well. It was best to protect your heart from hurting by loving him silently from afar.
“What could be on your mind at this hour, Viscount?” You say, nudging into him slightly with your shoulder. In all the years the two of you had known each other, he had never come seeking you so late. You glance at him, trying to gain a read of what he would say next.
“I am having a terrible time falling asleep, I thought I would ask a beautiful lady for a stroll, is all.” He replies softly. He stills seems as if something is bothering him, but you knew that you wouldn’t know until he was ready to tell you. You blush at his compliment, rolling your eyes.
“Well, I suppose that you are lucky that I was up so late reading.”
Anthony nods softly, leading you towards a stone bench near the lovely fountain in the middle of the garden. You sit, watching as he hesitates between sitting next to you and remaining standing. He chooses to sit next to you.
“Y/n.” He says, a much more serious tone overtaking him.
“Anthony.” You say back, mimicking him.
He cracks a smile. “You make it utterly hard to have an important conversation, darling.”
Darling. He had never called you that before. You focus your eyes on him again, wondering what this could all be about. His dark eyes focused on yours, flicking to your lips before settling on the whole of your face. The cold of the stone bench was pressing in to you, and the intensity of Anthony’s gaze had you nervously awaiting whatever it is he wanted to speak to you about.
“Y/n…I cannot deny it anymore. I am in love with you. You are the light that shines on a dull day for me.” Anthony says, releasing a breath that finally stilled his aching heart. And to his dismay, you laughed.
You laughed, and laughed. But when you realize that Anthony’s gorgeously dark eyes had not left you, you stood up quickly. “This is not a funny jest, Anthony.”
He stands up as well, hurt marking his perfect face. “I do not jest you, y/n. I could not. I wish for your hand.”
“My hand?” You ask, voice rising an octave. You look around wildly, the muted colors from the garden swirling in your mind. Shaking your head, you exhale. “All of the women at court, and you wish me to believe that you wish to take my hand?”
“Yes.”
You laughed again, this time a humorless sound. “You have not even looked my way in such a manner since we first came to know each other.”
Anthony’s nostrils flared. This was not going at all how he had planned it to go, and he was offended that you thought he was telling you a lie. “This is not true. You shine brighter than the sun. It is not my fault you have never noticed my gaze following your every move.”
You flushed, looking down at your feet briefly. He had been watching you, and you had never even noticed.
“I find it hard to believe that a lady as beautiful and intelligent as yourself has trouble believing that I could love you.” Anthony says softly. He knew of his reputation. He knew he had gone around with many girls. But he also knew that none of them ever filled the shape of his arms like he knew you were meant to.
“Anthony. You are a rake.” You say bluntly, starting to become frustrated. “You certainly cannot blame me for not falling at your feet and thanking you for your affections, when we both know quite well that I may not hold your interest in a fortnight.” You paused. “Perhaps less than that.”
Anthony’s eyes widen slightly at this outburst and he looks at you, then looks down and away, focusing on a barely budding rosebush across the fountain. When he turns to look at you, his gaze has softened, and you have never seen such a vulnerable look on his face.
“I would go through the very circles of hell to change your opinion of me.”
Your breath left your body. You studied his face, realizing that he was not jesting you. He meant every word he said. Anthony stepped closer to you, towering above you. Looking down into your eyes, he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek. Without even thinking, you lean in to his touch, as if you had been craving it. He leans in, hovering just above your lips.
“Forgive me for taking years to bring you to the garden at this hour.” He whispers.
You felt intoxicated by his proximity. You looked him in the eyes, your own eyes roaming his face. “I am quite sure if you place your lips on mine…”You pause. “That my opinion of you may change greatly."
Anthony smirks, an expression you knew all too well. He closes the gap between you, kissing you softly, deepening it lightly when he wraps an arm around your back. When he finally pulls away, he is smiling broadly.
“What is it, Anthony?” you whisper.
Anthony leans down again, pressing his forehead to yours. “I cannot wait for you to take the name Bridgerton, is all.”
“Oh, so you assume I say yes to your proposal then?” You ask, a joking tone covering your voice, as you gaze into his eyes. You both knew yes was the only answer.
Anthony laughs, shaking his head slightly as he captures your lips in another sweet kiss, the moonlight caressing the two of you as you relish each other’s presence.
Warnings/Content : longing, angst, flirting, terms of endearment
Summary : Aragorn arrives to ask you, a studious woman with a love for the land around you, to help the Fellowship find how to best navigate the coming leg of their journey. When Boromir shows interest in you, Aragorn has some...feelings about it.
A/N : This is currently a stand alone fic, but I will be continuing it with the hopes of turning it into a mini series. Enjoy!
Word Count : 1.7k
You sat quietly in your small cottage, the trees rustling gently in the breeze as you mend your garden apron. There was a hole in the floral-patterned front pocket where you gathered the produce from your small front garden. In front of you, various maps and quills were spread out on your desk. You studied maps religiously, and knew the land in and out. You breathed it, you lived it, and you loved it. You loved the feeling of the dirt beneath your toes as you gathered carrots from the garden patch, and at the moment you enjoyed the quiet peace that came with mending your personal items.
You finished up your apron and set it on the desk, flexing your neck side to side as you finally looked up. The strain was a bit bothersome, but you had suffered worse and were not too worried about it. Standing up, you bring the apron to the back door, hanging it gently from the golden doorknob. You hummed to yourself, shuffling into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. Tea sounded nice, and you searched through your cabinet for the perfect blend.
Living in between Lorien and Fangorn Forest was interesting at times, but your small cottage was cozy, quaint, and perfect enough for just you. You loved watching the birds and rabbits, and you loved it when you saw some of the elves out hunting. You pulled out a green tea blend and placed it into your mug. You startle slightly when the kettle whistles, so deep in thought you almost forgot you were waiting for that high pitch. You pour the hot water into your mug, bringing it up to your lips to blow lightly on your beverage when you hear a knock on the door.
You furrow your brow, curious about who could be at the door. Moving to your faded blue front door, you set your mug of tea on your desk as you move to the front. You open the door, surprised at who you find there.
“Lossë nin.” He says, quietly. You blink. And then you blink again.
“Aragorn?” You breathe. You glance over his shoulder, noticing a ragtag group of men standing across the front garden, near your gate. Your eyes slide back to Aragorn, your eyebrow raising.
“We need your assistance, y/n.” He says, and you motion for him to come in. You tilt your head at the group, then motion with your arm for them to follow.
After introductions are made and you are all settled into your small, warm living room, you look around at the group.
“We would be honored if you would assist us in finding the best route forward.” Aragorn says. You cannot believe that he would even think he would have to formally ask you. You nod deeply, quickly standing to grab the large map you keep for navigational purposes.
“You do not need to ask, Aragorn.” You say, spreading the map out in front of the men. You notice the hobbits gather close near your elbows, too small to see around the larger men and Gimli. You run your fingers over the weathered map, feeling as if your fingers were following a groove that had been traced there from excessive use by your seemingly endless studies.
“We are here.” You point. “You will have to take the boats to keep along Nen Hithoel, and go along the hills there, Emyn Muil.” You move your shoulders slightly. “This will be the best path for you, seeing as you have the Halflings here.” You smile down at them, and the ones called Pippin and Merry grin back at you enthusiastically. Your eyes travel back to Aragorn, who is nodding silently, looking down at the map. His dark hair falls forward, concealing his face.
You have known him so long, and yet you have not seen him in quite a few years. You had spent every moment together when he was last around. You bit your lip at this memory, remembering the upset you had felt and expressed to him then. He had left, leaving your heart aching. You were not quite sure why it had hurt so, it was not like Aragorn was a lover. He was just a friend.
Aragorn nods once more. “Yes. This is what we will do. Many thanks to you, y/n.” He looks up at you, blue eyes sparkling. He gives you a small smile. You smile back, then look around at the rest of the Fellowship.
“Well gentlemen, you must stay for rest and food. I will not hear of you leaving without. I have just made a lovely mutton stew.” You swore you could hear the Halfling’s stomachs rumble.
“Beautiful and hospitable!” roars Gimli. “Where have ye been hiding this lass, Aragorn?” You laugh openly, amused at the dwarf. Aragorn shakes his head at Gimli, as if to say “You are too much”.
Boromir claps a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “Beautiful indeed, and I am sure she is a delightful cook as well.” He smiles at you, the glint in his eye almost mischievous.
You raise an eyebrow in return, waving your hand. “Who? Me? I am quite flattered, Boromir.”
At this, Aragorn clenches his jaw shut tightly. You pretend not to notice.
After supper, you watch Boromir wrestle with the Halflings, Pippin and Merry. You find it sweet. He treated them as if they were younger brothers. Legolas was whittling quietly while he listened to Gimli speak about dwarf women and what they were like. Frodo and Sam were next to you, looking at your garden. Sam was a gardener himself, and he was delighted at all of the different produce you grew. You told him to take what he wanted, so they may have food for their journey.
You did not know where Aragorn was. Boromir glances up at you and smiles, and you smile back.
Boromir makes his way over to you. “Lossë nin.” He says, mimicking what Aragorn had called you earlier. Legolas turns his head at this, brow raised.
You laugh lightly, unable to tell him that term is something Aragorn and Aragorn only called you. You hear Aragorn scoff, and you realize he was leaning against your front door. He pushes himself off the worn, weathered door, and stalks around the backside of your cottage, where the flowers rested. You blink. You look at everyone else, who in turn stare at you. You clear your throat and turn, quickly following after Aragorn. As you disappear around the moss covered stone wall, you hear whispers.
“That’s a term of endearment, Boromir.” Legolas whispers. You bite your lip, the urge to speak to Aragorn growing prominently.
Aragorn stands among the flowers behind your house, silent. You walk to his side, staring forward just as he does.
“What is it you want?” He says, and you turn your head at this.
“I do not have want for anything, seeing as this is my house.” You retort. He closes his eyes briefly at this, then turns to you.
“My apologies. I do not like it when others call you by the name I affectionately gave you.”
You narrow your eyes. You did not know why this bothered him so, but his apparent possession over you had something bubbling in your chest at the moment.
“How affectionate was the giving of this nickname? I do not find myself bound to you.” You say, your nostrils flaring. Aragorn’s jaw tenses again and he looks away from you briefly.
“We both know that I cannot be bound to you in the way that you wish, y/n.” He clenches his fist, and you can tell he is trying to control his emotions.
“You cannot or you will not?” You challenge. You did not know what had come over you. Perhaps it was the years missed, perhaps it was because he acted with jealousy and you secretly enjoyed that. Before Aragorn has the chance to answer, you move to another topic. “I have decided that I will accompany you on the next leg of this journey.”
Aragorn fully turns towards you now. “You cannot.”
“You cannot tell me-”
“I can and I will.” He says without letting you finish. He steps closer to you, his blue eyes blazing as he gazes at you. You look back at him defiantly, refusing to back down. He usually did not get this close to you.
“No. You cannot. I am the person to bring along. I know the route better than anybody. I am a valuable resource.” You state calmly, looking up at him. He leans in, his lips mere inches from yours.
“You are more than a resource to me, lossë nin.” He glances down at your lips, his eyes trailing up to meet yours. You swallow, becoming weak in the knees.
You steel your e/c eyes on him and give your response. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I think you know that.”
“We both know.” He says, leaning just slightly closer again. “But I cannot lose you.”
“It is not only about you, Aragorn.” You say, your tone becoming slightly heated. “I am able to make my own decisions, and if I choose to accompany the Fellowship as your guide, I shall.”
He shakes his head before you finish what you are saying. He is sighing, exasperated. “You…always so stubborn, y/n.” And then he cups his large hand around the back of your neck, and oh. Aragorn is kissing you. You kiss back, tasting the sweat and tears and hardship that has brought him to this point. You slide your hands up his chest, your delicate hands cradling his face. He deepens the kiss slightly, his arms encircling your waist and pulling you close. All too soon, the kiss is over and your head is reeling. You step back from him, breathless. You do not give him the chance to continue holding you.
“This changes nothing. I will be accompanying you when dawn breaks.” You inform him. He looks at you. But he doesn’t look disappointed, he looks almost peaceful, as if your lips had been just what he had required on this long journey.
“Please.” He says, as you start to walk away, back to the others. “Do not let Boromir call you as such, again, lossë nin.”
You tilt your head. “Perhaps he can bestow his own endearment upon me.” You retort, enjoying the opportunity to toy with Aragorn, who always seemed so stoic. You do not give him a chance to respond before you return to your front garden, wondering where this Fellowship would take you.
Summary: A few weeks after the end of winter break, you take a road trip to see your not-boyfriend Aemond. Oh, how you both missed each other.
Warnings: NSFW, oral (f receiving), fingering, (unprotected) p in v sex, a tiny hint of a praise kink, tiny tiny hint of mdom, drinking, NO use of 'y/n', I wrote their college experience to be American because idk what European university is like and I did not feel like researching it for a smut fic
Rating: Explicit (18+ / Minors DNI)
Word Count: 3.5k (apparently I'm allergic to writing short drabbles)
First: tysm @doingfondue for the request 🥰🫶🏻
Second: OH MY GOD YES. Since we’re still a little ways away from Valentine’s Day, I made a couple of little tweaks to your request, I hope you don’t mind!
Read the rest of my fics here!
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A/N: This story takes place within the same universe as my Home For the Holidays series, but you don't need to have read any of those for this fic. This is some standalone smut babeyyyyy.
Not beta read but has been edited multiple times.
~ Reblogging fics is the best way to support your favorite creators! If you reblog my fics I will do a little jig in your honor. You won’t see it but just know: a little jig is taking place. ~
Prompts used:
Prompt 39: “I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly” and Prompt 100: “we’ve been at it like rabbits and you’re still horny”
Prompt list used is here!
Please feel free to send me asks with requests--I love 'em. If you have made a request already, I will get to it ASAP :)
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Winter break had come to an end all too quickly.
One moment you were in Aemond’s arms, reveling in the fact that he loved you just as you loved him, and the next, you were packing your things back into your car, preparing to return to school.
Since you went to Maidenpool College and Aemond attended the prestigious (and extremely expensive) University of Dorne, the pair of you had decided against making anything official. The distance would make things far too difficult to visit one another regularly, so you were taking things slow for now.
Still, you had no intention of sleeping with anyone else, and it pained you to think of Aemond fucking around on campus, as far-fetched as that fear was.
The pair of you texted daily, sending tweets that you thought might make the other laugh, discussing your classes, and in Aemond’s case, complaining about his roommate. He lived off-campus in a posh apartment with Aegon and had a neverending list of grievances with his older brother, ranging from minor annoyances to outright near-violations of his peace and privacy.
You became accustomed to his texts and lit up embarrassingly every time your phone buzzed with a notification, hoping it was him.
Now, here you were at the beginning of February, just weeks after term started, already visiting your not-boyfriend in Dorne.
Aemond had been waiting outside his apartment when you arrived, his hair pulled back into a man-bun, looking absolutely delicious. It had taken all of your strength not to jump his bones right there on the street corner, and when he’d taken your bag from you and kissed you hello–you were a puddle.
Unfortunately for you, you’d both agreed to accompany Aegon to one of his frat’s infamous parties that night, so you only had enough time to get dressed and do your makeup.
Getting utterly destroyed by Aemond would have to wait for now.
That brought you here, standing in the kitchen of a frat house, drinking with Aegon. The second Aemond had excused himself to the bathroom, his brother had swooped in, shot glasses in hand and a wicked grin on his face.
“Cheers!” Aegon crowed, swigging down his tequila shot and slamming the glass on the counter triumphantly.
“Cheers,” you followed suit with equal enthusiasm, wincing at the burn of the liquor and shoving a slice of lime into your mouth to mask the taste.
Aegon opened a beer, his violet eyes glittering in interest as he regarded you.
“So,” he smirked at you suggestively, leaning against the counter next to you, “what’s the deal with you and my brother?”
You stared at him incredulously.
“What do you mean?” you questioned, grabbing a beer from the large cooler as well, taking the bottle opener from his hand.
“I mean,” Aegon leaned closer to you as if to tell you a secret, “are you fucking?”
You nearly choked on your drink, and a hot prickle of embarrassment spread across your body at his boldness.
“You’re disgusting,” you told him dryly, instead of an answer, taking a deep drink from your bottle, looking around desperately for Aemond to save you from the conversation.
Where the hell was he?
“So you are?” Aegon’s eyebrows shot up, “I didn’t know the twat had it in him.”
“Oh my god, Aegon,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, “can you please shut the fuck up?”
“What? It’s true! I knowww you didn’t come all the way down to Dorne for a ‘sleepover’,” he made air quotes with his fingers, giggling drunkenly at your irritation. “I just want to know if I’ll need earplugs to sleep tonight or not.”
“Hey,” Aemond’s voice sounded from behind you, and you sighed in relief, turning to face him.
He sidled up next to you, placing his body firmly between yours and Aegon’s, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned back against the counter. Your stomach twisted at the brief contact.
Christ, you were horny.
“Hey, we were just talking about you,” Aegon drawled, smiling widely at your panicked expression.
Aemond’s eyebrows flashed upwards, turning his attention to you with a little grin. “Oh?” he hummed. “All bad things, I hope?” he slipped an arm around your waist, resting his palm against the small of your back.
“The worst,” you tease, suppressing a delighted shiver at his touch. He looked incredibly hot tonight, a black t-shirt hugging his biceps, hair still in its loose bun from earlier. The cheap, multicolored disco ball sitting on the table nearby sent pretty colors dancing across his sharp features, and–fuck, you were staring. Again.
Aegon cleared his throat loudly, interrupting your train of thought. “Well, while you two finish eye-fucking, I’m going to find some tail,” he commented, picking his beer up and taking another swig. “The day my baby brother gets laid and I don’t is the day I die.”
Aemond glares at him, his mouth twisting downward at his brother’s choice of words.
“You know, you could just say women?” you point out dryly, but Aegon only laughs and pats you on the top of your head before stumbling away towards the dance floor.
“Sorry about him,” Aemond grumbles sourly. “He’s already a terror when he’s sober, and when he’s drunk…” he gestures at Aegon, who has somehow already taken up residence next to a pretty girl with reddish hair who seems shockingly delighted to be on the receiving end of his attention.
You shake your head in vague amusement, leaning into Aemond’s touch, happy to have him back by your side. “Don’t worry about it, seriously,” you assure him, “I was friends with him in high school long enough to know about his…habits.”
Aemond snorted in appreciation at your choice of words, removing his hand from you to pour himself a rum and coke. You missed his touch immediately.
“Aemond Targaryen! You came!” a cloyingly sweet voice called from behind you. You turned towards the source, finding a dark-haired girl, a little shorter than you, beaming at your not-boyfriend. You bristle reflexively at the flirtatious smile on her face, reminded again that you had no official claim on Aemond.
“Floris,” he smiles with a polite wave. “Good to see you.”
“I thought you didn’t do parties?” she teased, her blue eyes flicking back and forth between you and Aemond in a clear attempt to assess who you were to him.
“I don’t,” he confirmed, “but this is a special occasion. My…” he gestures to you, unsure of how exactly he should refer to you, “...friend from high school is in town, and Aegon convinced her that we had to come.”
You hate the way that ‘friend’ sounds on his tongue, and you hate the way Floris lights up at the sound of it even more.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here–that you’re both here,” she corrects herself with an apologetic glance at you, “and it’s nice to meet you!” she beams.
“Nice to meet you too,” you give her a fake smile, hoping it doesn’t look as artificial as it feels. You attempt small talk, asking her about her major and where she’s from, gathering that she knows Aemond from a philosophy class they have together. She’s quite nice, you discover, but you cannot shake the nagging jealousy that claws at your chest when she looks at Aemond.
You down the rest of your beer and most of a vodka lemonade before the conversation is done, and you’re heavily tipsy by the time she excuses herself to the dance floor to join her friends.
“Hm,” Aemond grins at you, his eyes sparkling with barely-suppressed mirth.
“What?” you grumbled sourly, watching him open a beer for himself, taking a long drink before he answers you.
“You’re jealous,” he points out, much to your chagrin.
“I’m not.”
“Hm,” he reaches out to you, a large hand curling around your hip, tugging you closer. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you were.” You take a gulp of your drink in lieu of an answer, and his grin grows wider. He pulls you flush against his body, burying his face in your neck, dragging the point of his nose down it, and inhaling your perfume.
Between the alcohol, his proximity, and how annoyingly attractive he was, you were already stupidly turned on. Judging by the growing hardness poking into you, so was he.
"Have I mentioned that you look incredible tonight?" he hums against you. "Because you do. There's no need to be jealous, babe."
“How about we get out of here,” you whisper breathily, fluttering your eyelashes at him, “And I can show you just how not jealous I am?”
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Twenty minutes later, you were back in his apartment, pressed against his front door. He kissed you like he was starving, his hips rutting against you wildly. Your head was spinning, overwhelmed by him–his touch, the musky scent of his cologne–and you reached up, curling your fingers into his hair, the tie holding his bun in place coming loose, his silver tresses spilling around his shoulders.
You use your grip on his hair as leverage to pull him closer, nipping at his lower lip, delighting at how he canted his hips against you in response.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he growls against your mouth, trailing the tip of his tongue across your swollen lower lip, fingers flexing against your hips possessively.
“Yes,” you whimper, your voice sounding pathetic to your ears, “I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”
He groans loudly, pulling you away from the door and hoisting you up, your legs wrapped around his waist. He carries you down the hall to his room and kicks it shut behind him carelessly, and deposits you on the bed. His gaze dripping with lust, he yanks his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion, discarding it carelessly, exposing his lithe body to you.
You followed suit, eyeing him appreciatively for only a moment before he was on you again, sucking at the top of your breasts, his teeth scuffing at them, sending prickles of combined pain and pleasure coursing through you.
“Perfect tits…been dreaming of them, I swear,” he snarls, fumbling behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra. Neither one of you was drunk necessarily, but you were just hazy enough for your inhibitions to be lower than normal, and you moaned loudly at his words, pressing your hands up against his burning chest to push him over onto his back so you would straddle him.
“Fuck,” his eye is focused shamelessly on your exposed breasts, and you feel his cock twitch below you, spurring you on. You bite at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder, grinding down into his growing arousal, sucking a bruise just below where the collar of his shirt would sit. Your pussy clenches at the shaky sigh that he releases at the sensation, and another wave of desperation overtakes you. You undo the button and zip of his black jeans without pretense, shoving your hand into his boxer briefs to grasp him by the base of his cock, and he bucks up into your touch.
You slowly begin to jerk him off in your hand as much as the confines of his pants would allow, but you quickly grow impatient, tugging both remaining layers halfway down his legs before he sits up to do the rest so that you can remove the rest of your clothing as well.
“Lay back,” he commands, his voice raspy with desire, “let me taste you again. It has been too long.” Whimpering at his words, you comply, your eyes widening further when he drops to his knees before you, pulling you towards the edge of the bed and burying his face between your thighs without a shred of hesitation.
You yelp in surprise at the suddenness of the contact, but it dissolves almost immediately into a low whimper as you melt back into his blankets. He moans at the taste of you, lapping at your damp cunt eagerly, his fingers biting into the curve of your ass, holding you so tightly to his face that you worry distantly if he can breathe with how deeply he’s shoved between your legs. Your blood is on fire, and you cannot hold back the loud, lewd sounds that fall from your mouth. He was right–it had been far too long, and your body felt like a live wire, pulsing with pleasure.
“Aemond–oh Aemond,” you wail, slapping a hand over your mouth as he plunges a finger into your heat, driving it in and out of you, working you open.
“Mm, don’t keep quiet,” he groans, resting his face against your thigh to stare up at you, another finger sliding into you with ease. “We’re the only ones here; I need to hear how good I’m making you feel.” You drop your hand to the side, letting it fall away from your mouth, feeling yourself grow impossibly wetter at his instructions.
Satisfied, he returns his mouth to your mound, drawing the flat of his tongue from his fingers up to your clit, drawing slow, torturous circles around your swollen bud. You wriggle your hips against him, your cries growing louder and louder, the alcohol clouding your mind emboldening you.
“That’s it,” he mumbles, his fingers slamming deep into you, “you sound so fucking good–fuck baby.”
You whimper loudly at the pet name, staring down at him with your mouth hanging open desperately. You’re so close already, your hips bucking against his mouth with abandon, no longer caring if you’re smothering him. He suckles at your clit, gazing up at you steadily, making dead eye contact as he drags you closer and closer to the edge, curving his fingers inside you just right.
You don’t know if it’s the eye contact, his touch, or the fact that you’ve been having wet dreams about him since the end of winter break, but all at once you’re coming, falling back into his bed once more with a loud cry. Your back arches up as you finish, and he groans, fucking you through your orgasm with his fingers, watching you fall to pieces above him.
You come back down, expecting him to remove his fingers and replace them with his cock, but instead, he lowers his head back between your legs with a devious grin. Your eyes widen in surprise as you realize that he intends to keep going, and your whines become wails, no longer making any effort to keep quiet.
Aemond makes you come twice more before he is satisfied, and your legs tremble as he guides you back further onto the bed, lowering himself back over you, his hot, heavy length dragging through your soaked folds. You’re so fucked out already, but you can’t help but roll your hips against him, pulling him down by the back of his neck to kiss him deeply.
His lips taste like you–warm and salty–and you hum, pleased.
“How badly do you want me to fuck you?” he growls lowly, his dick slipping back and forth against you, coating it in your slick, the head teasing at your oversensitive clit, sending tiny jolts of pleasure down your spine.
You moan in response, your head too fuzzy to formulate an answer, bucking your hips upward instead. He draws back slightly with a soft ‘tsk’, removing the gentle pressure of his tip against your bud, making you cry out in frustration.
“Use your words, love,” he taunts, “I need your full consent to ruin you.” He delivers a light slap to your throbbing cunt, just hard enough to sting, and you think you might go actually insane if he doesn’t get inside you right now.
“Aemond, please,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from your screams of pleasure, “I want your cock–I need it.”
“Good girl,” he slides into you in one smooth roll of his hips, and your eyes roll back in your head, the walls of your pussy spasming around the intrusion, pulling a pleased grunt from his lips.
“Just like I remembered it–fucking hell,” he gives you a series of shallow thrusts, giving you time to adjust to his size–not that you need it after you’ve come on his fingers and tongue three times already tonight. “You’re so tight, so good,” he groans, his head hanging heavily, taking his lower lip between his teeth.
He starts to fuck you in earnest now, long strokes hitting so deep inside you that you feel as though your spine has turned to custard, your body pliant and willing beneath him. Your cunt squeezes around his length, and he raises his head to look you in the eye, his pupil blown wide with lust, snapping his hips into you with purpose. You cannot fathom how he remembers exactly what makes your body respond, but he does, and oh, it is wonderful.
Your whines slowly rise in volume with each thrust, the slapping sound of his balls against your ass filling the room. He slips a hand between your bodies, rolling your bud between his fingers deftly, his breath coming in rough pants as you tighten around him in response.
He pulls out quickly, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness of your cunt. He flips you onto your stomach with ease, and seizes a handful of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart slightly to see your glistening pussy, groaning in appreciation at the sight, guiding his dick back into you, agonizingly slow.
He fucks you prone, his length somehow hitting even deeper from his angle, the pleasure almost too much for you. He lets out a series of staccato grunts, driving into you so hard it takes your breath away, and all your can do is grip at his sheets, moans slightly muffled in his mattress.
“Aemond,” you call out his name pathetically, moving your hips backward as much as you can, given your current position, lost in wave after wave of delicious euphoria.
“Oh, come on,” he taunts you. “You can get louder than that, I know you can.”
“Please, please, please,” you squeal, arching your back to give him a better angle, nearly blind from how incredible it feels when the head of his fat cock bullies the rough patch buried deep inside you.
You’re too sensitive to hold out for long, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re coming undone around him, your body shaking violently from the effort, your mouth opening in a soundless scream, eyes screwed shut as he keeps fucking you, cursing at the feeling of you orgasming around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.
“Oh–oh fuck,” he groans. “Yes, yes, yes–oh,” he breaks off into a whine, slamming his hips into you hard, his fingertips digging harshly into your ass. His cock twitches deep inside of you as he comes, his body stuttering against yours, nearly collapsing on top of you but catching himself with one arm, holding most of his weight up. You moan at the feeling of his load shooting deep inside you, wriggling your hips back into him to try to get him still deeper.
He stills above you at last, and his forehead presses between your shoulder blades, his breath coming in rough pants, fanning over your back. You shiver in delight, still too far gone to form a coherent sentence.
“Fuck,” he whispers after a moment, pressing his lips against your skin, “I missed you.”
He pulls out of you slowly, exhaling regretfully at the loss of your warm, tight heat around him. He lowers himself down beside you, meeting your eyes with a lazy grin, pulling you up to his chest to kiss you slowly.
“I missed you too,” you breathe, your eyelids fluttering weakly. “So much.”
“Will the pair of you shut the fuck up?” Aegon’s voice rings out indignantly from the other side of the door, pounding a fist against it twice, jolting the pair of you from your post-orgasmic haze. “You’ve been at it like rabbits all fucking night, and you’re still, somehow, horny. I need to sleep!”
Your eyes widen in surprise, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. Aemond looks similarly flustered, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink, his lips parted in shock.
“I didn’t think he’d come home tonight,” he whispers to you, “I thought–”
You dissolve into giggles, burying your face into his chest at the utter absurdity of the whole situation, and his chest rumbles with a low laugh as well, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. The two of you lay in silence for a moment, catching your breath and enjoying each other’s closeness.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Aemond murmurs into your hair, breaking the silence. “This whole ‘taking it slow’ thing…”
“Hm?” you look up at him curiously.
“I think we should just go for it,” he says plainly. “Unless you’ve stopped being in love with me?” he raises an eyebrow, a smile playing across his lips.
“I am still very much in love with you,” you confirm, beaming.
“Then you won’t mind if I start introducing you as my girl?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Hm. Good,” he leans down to kiss you again, gently this time, fingers buried deep in your hair, massaging your scalp. “Because I have every intention of doing so.”
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Warnings/Content : longing, angst, flirting, terms of endearment
Summary : Aragorn arrives to ask you, a studious woman with a love for the land around you, to help the Fellowship find how to best navigate the coming leg of their journey. When Boromir shows interest in you, Aragorn has some...feelings about it.
A/N : This is currently a stand alone fic, but I will be continuing it with the hopes of turning it into a mini series. Enjoy!
Word Count : 1.7k
You sat quietly in your small cottage, the trees rustling gently in the breeze as you mend your garden apron. There was a hole in the floral-patterned front pocket where you gathered the produce from your small front garden. In front of you, various maps and quills were spread out on your desk. You studied maps religiously, and knew the land in and out. You breathed it, you lived it, and you loved it. You loved the feeling of the dirt beneath your toes as you gathered carrots from the garden patch, and at the moment you enjoyed the quiet peace that came with mending your personal items.
You finished up your apron and set it on the desk, flexing your neck side to side as you finally looked up. The strain was a bit bothersome, but you had suffered worse and were not too worried about it. Standing up, you bring the apron to the back door, hanging it gently from the golden doorknob. You hummed to yourself, shuffling into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. Tea sounded nice, and you searched through your cabinet for the perfect blend.
Living in between Lorien and Fangorn Forest was interesting at times, but your small cottage was cozy, quaint, and perfect enough for just you. You loved watching the birds and rabbits, and you loved it when you saw some of the elves out hunting. You pulled out a green tea blend and placed it into your mug. You startle slightly when the kettle whistles, so deep in thought you almost forgot you were waiting for that high pitch. You pour the hot water into your mug, bringing it up to your lips to blow lightly on your beverage when you hear a knock on the door.
You furrow your brow, curious about who could be at the door. Moving to your faded blue front door, you set your mug of tea on your desk as you move to the front. You open the door, surprised at who you find there.
“Lossë nin.” He says, quietly. You blink. And then you blink again.
“Aragorn?” You breathe. You glance over his shoulder, noticing a ragtag group of men standing across the front garden, near your gate. Your eyes slide back to Aragorn, your eyebrow raising.
“We need your assistance, y/n.” He says, and you motion for him to come in. You tilt your head at the group, then motion with your arm for them to follow.
After introductions are made and you are all settled into your small, warm living room, you look around at the group.
“We would be honored if you would assist us in finding the best route forward.” Aragorn says. You cannot believe that he would even think he would have to formally ask you. You nod deeply, quickly standing to grab the large map you keep for navigational purposes.
“You do not need to ask, Aragorn.” You say, spreading the map out in front of the men. You notice the hobbits gather close near your elbows, too small to see around the larger men and Gimli. You run your fingers over the weathered map, feeling as if your fingers were following a groove that had been traced there from excessive use by your seemingly endless studies.
“We are here.” You point. “You will have to take the boats to keep along Nen Hithoel, and go along the hills there, Emyn Muil.” You move your shoulders slightly. “This will be the best path for you, seeing as you have the Halflings here.” You smile down at them, and the ones called Pippin and Merry grin back at you enthusiastically. Your eyes travel back to Aragorn, who is nodding silently, looking down at the map. His dark hair falls forward, concealing his face.
You have known him so long, and yet you have not seen him in quite a few years. You had spent every moment together when he was last around. You bit your lip at this memory, remembering the upset you had felt and expressed to him then. He had left, leaving your heart aching. You were not quite sure why it had hurt so, it was not like Aragorn was a lover. He was just a friend.
Aragorn nods once more. “Yes. This is what we will do. Many thanks to you, y/n.” He looks up at you, blue eyes sparkling. He gives you a small smile. You smile back, then look around at the rest of the Fellowship.
“Well gentlemen, you must stay for rest and food. I will not hear of you leaving without. I have just made a lovely mutton stew.” You swore you could hear the Halfling’s stomachs rumble.
“Beautiful and hospitable!” roars Gimli. “Where have ye been hiding this lass, Aragorn?” You laugh openly, amused at the dwarf. Aragorn shakes his head at Gimli, as if to say “You are too much”.
Boromir claps a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “Beautiful indeed, and I am sure she is a delightful cook as well.” He smiles at you, the glint in his eye almost mischievous.
You raise an eyebrow in return, waving your hand. “Who? Me? I am quite flattered, Boromir.”
At this, Aragorn clenches his jaw shut tightly. You pretend not to notice.
After supper, you watch Boromir wrestle with the Halflings, Pippin and Merry. You find it sweet. He treated them as if they were younger brothers. Legolas was whittling quietly while he listened to Gimli speak about dwarf women and what they were like. Frodo and Sam were next to you, looking at your garden. Sam was a gardener himself, and he was delighted at all of the different produce you grew. You told him to take what he wanted, so they may have food for their journey.
You did not know where Aragorn was. Boromir glances up at you and smiles, and you smile back.
Boromir makes his way over to you. “Lossë nin.” He says, mimicking what Aragorn had called you earlier. Legolas turns his head at this, brow raised.
You laugh lightly, unable to tell him that term is something Aragorn and Aragorn only called you. You hear Aragorn scoff, and you realize he was leaning against your front door. He pushes himself off the worn, weathered door, and stalks around the backside of your cottage, where the flowers rested. You blink. You look at everyone else, who in turn stare at you. You clear your throat and turn, quickly following after Aragorn. As you disappear around the moss covered stone wall, you hear whispers.
“That’s a term of endearment, Boromir.” Legolas whispers. You bite your lip, the urge to speak to Aragorn growing prominently.
Aragorn stands among the flowers behind your house, silent. You walk to his side, staring forward just as he does.
“What is it you want?” He says, and you turn your head at this.
“I do not have want for anything, seeing as this is my house.” You retort. He closes his eyes briefly at this, then turns to you.
“My apologies. I do not like it when others call you by the name I affectionately gave you.”
You narrow your eyes. You did not know why this bothered him so, but his apparent possession over you had something bubbling in your chest at the moment.
“How affectionate was the giving of this nickname? I do not find myself bound to you.” You say, your nostrils flaring. Aragorn’s jaw tenses again and he looks away from you briefly.
“We both know that I cannot be bound to you in the way that you wish, y/n.” He clenches his fist, and you can tell he is trying to control his emotions.
“You cannot or you will not?” You challenge. You did not know what had come over you. Perhaps it was the years missed, perhaps it was because he acted with jealousy and you secretly enjoyed that. Before Aragorn has the chance to answer, you move to another topic. “I have decided that I will accompany you on the next leg of this journey.”
Aragorn fully turns towards you now. “You cannot.”
“You cannot tell me-”
“I can and I will.” He says without letting you finish. He steps closer to you, his blue eyes blazing as he gazes at you. You look back at him defiantly, refusing to back down. He usually did not get this close to you.
“No. You cannot. I am the person to bring along. I know the route better than anybody. I am a valuable resource.” You state calmly, looking up at him. He leans in, his lips mere inches from yours.
“You are more than a resource to me, lossë nin.” He glances down at your lips, his eyes trailing up to meet yours. You swallow, becoming weak in the knees.
You steel your e/c eyes on him and give your response. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I think you know that.”
“We both know.” He says, leaning just slightly closer again. “But I cannot lose you.”
“It is not only about you, Aragorn.” You say, your tone becoming slightly heated. “I am able to make my own decisions, and if I choose to accompany the Fellowship as your guide, I shall.”
He shakes his head before you finish what you are saying. He is sighing, exasperated. “You…always so stubborn, y/n.” And then he cups his large hand around the back of your neck, and oh. Aragorn is kissing you. You kiss back, tasting the sweat and tears and hardship that has brought him to this point. You slide your hands up his chest, your delicate hands cradling his face. He deepens the kiss slightly, his arms encircling your waist and pulling you close. All too soon, the kiss is over and your head is reeling. You step back from him, breathless. You do not give him the chance to continue holding you.
“This changes nothing. I will be accompanying you when dawn breaks.” You inform him. He looks at you. But he doesn’t look disappointed, he looks almost peaceful, as if your lips had been just what he had required on this long journey.
“Please.” He says, as you start to walk away, back to the others. “Do not let Boromir call you as such, again, lossë nin.”
You tilt your head. “Perhaps he can bestow his own endearment upon me.” You retort, enjoying the opportunity to toy with Aragorn, who always seemed so stoic. You do not give him a chance to respond before you return to your front garden, wondering where this Fellowship would take you.
MAJOR spoilers for Fire and Blood and future seasons of House of the Dragon.
enemies/reluctant allies to lovers, off-screen death (I don't know what else to call it) mentions of war, violence, blood, poverty, both reader and Aemond have tons of trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, the TINIEST bit of fluff, canon-compliant for the most part, Alys Rivers doesn't exist, as excited as I am for her to appear in the show.
Rating: M (minors DNI/18+)
Word Count: 6.5k (approximately)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The summary is below the cut to avoid spoilers for those who don't want to see them.
A/N: Last warning: Spoilers ahead. There is a part two (NSFW of COURSE), which is linked above, as well as a part three (WIP) but this can be standalone. I swear, I edited this at least 10 times, and every time I look there's another thing that I'm like "oh I should change that". Reblogs and comments are appreciated <3
Summary: In the year 130 A.C., Aemond narrowly escapes the Battle above God's Eye with his life. Wounded and desperate, he is found by a common girl of the Riverlands who cannot bear watching someone die, knowing that she could have changed that outcome. She rescues him, the Dance of Dragons comes to an end not long after, and the Targaryen prince finds himself a fugitive in the country he so recently ruled.
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As a child, you believed the legends that claimed that Targaryens were closer to gods than men.
As the only daughter of a simple farmer, you were raised with very little. Though it was not the abject poverty that many smallfolk suffered, there were many nights in your youth when you went to bed hungry or boiled and ate the dirt from your family’s empty garden.
You worked long, tireless hours, pushing yourself until your hands were raw, scrubbing the boards of the floors, and digging through frozen earth to salvage the few measly potatoes you managed to grow in your barren plot. Your father used to tell you stories of princesses and dragons at night before bed.
When you were a girl of nine and ten, your father died from a bout of Winter Fever.
You were left with the house and the land, managing to keep it only because the land was too useless for any local lords to seize.
Measly as it was, it was property and a means to survive–a luxury most could not afford. You lived alone for nearly a year following, managing to just get by, despite the battle for the Iron Throne that raged across the land and the skies.
When you met Aemond Targaryen, you could see that he was no god, nor was he like the princes from your father's stories. He was just a man on the brink of death.
The Targaryen civil war had shaken the Riverlands to its foundations, and even princes could not avoid its consequences, so it seemed.
The local rumor was that, above God's Eye Lake, his uncle, Daemon Targaryen, leaped from the back of his dragon, the Blood Wyrm, onto the ancient dragon, Vhagar, and put his sword through the missing eye of his nephew.
Miraculously, Daemon’s sword had not gone through Aemond’s eye but had slashed almost through his upper arm on the same side of his body as his empty socket.
Those stories were the only reason Aemond was alive today. He was safest if he was thought to be dead.
It had been months since you first found Aemond washed ashore at the edge of the river nearby–how he had managed to get that far, you did not know. He was covered in a thick layer of grime and blood, a large cut on his left arm, so deep that you could see bone. You would not have recognized him if it were not for the sapphire that gleamed where his left eye should have been.
Though you held no love for the Targaryen family–Greens or Blacks–that had so recently terrorized your homeland, you chose to try to save him.
Your father always insisted that you had to help every person you could. Upon his deathbed, he implored you to do everything in your power to help those in need, and you swore to the Seven and your father that you would be so.
How could you have guessed that the first person in need of saving from the Stranger's embrace would be a former Targaryen prince?
When you first brought Aemond into your home, you did not think he would survive the night. His wound was deep and badly infected, and a fever burned through him, his body shining with a perpetual sheen of sweat. You lay him in your father's old bed and dressed his wound as well as you could, sewing it back together without finesse.
Miraculously, after weeks of care, the prince pulled through.
When he awoke, he had been volatile, angry, and anxiety-ridden. He was prone to outbursts at the smallest provocation. You could understand why–after all, he had nearly lost his life countless times in recent memory, along with almost everyone he had ever loved.
He shied away from your touch like a wounded animal when you dressed his injuries, refused to meet your eyes, and flinched whenever you shut the door behind you too loudly.
He tried to run away on many occasions, desperate to return to King’s Landing; to his family. He grew more agitated each time you stopped him, insisting he was in no condition to travel or fight.
His left arm was useless now, unable to hold a shield. Daemon had slashed through muscle and tendons, and despite your best attempts to mend them, you both knew he would never again be the warrior he had been.
Aemond only stopped trying to leave when he received word of the death of his sister, Princess Helaena.
Then came news of his baby brother, Daeron, who was burnt and cut down in the heat of battle. When he learned of Daeron, he’d locked himself in your father’s old room for two days.
The Gods seemed hell-bent on making him suffer, as only months later, Aegon the Elder was murdered at the hands of his small council–accounts differed as to who committed the crime–and their mother was imprisoned in the Red Keep, or so you heard.
Blow after blow came, and he bore each one, covering it up with apathy.
With everyone he cared for either dead or impossible to reach, his determination to return to the Crownlands began to wither.
As much as he wanted to, he could not save his mother, as maimed and hunted for as he was, and you convinced him to wait–at least until he was healed–before marching off to King’s Landing on a suicide mission.
Surprisingly, he agreed to your terms.
Your little town was crawling with soldiers–all loyalists to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Black Queen. They’d been there for a while now, in lesser numbers, but after the death of Aemond’s older brother, their banners–Starks, Karstarks, Cerwyns, Umbers–nearly drowned out the familiar Tully sigils.
When you inquired about the northerner's presence, all you could gather was that they were hunting for traitors to the deceased Half-Year Queen, with Prince Aemond among them.
Now, the prince in question sat in your kitchen, half-healed and as surly as ever.
He wore a crudely made eyepatch–his previous one lost in battle–and his long white hair hung down his back, bedraggled and uncombed.
“Aemond,” you call, catching his attention while you spoon some broth and vegetables into a bowl. “Dinner.” You step towards him, holding it out.
“I’ve told you,” he grumbles, accepting the soup. “Prince Aemond.”
“You have my apology,” you gaze down at him sardonically, “my Prince.”
Though his rageful outbursts had grown less frequent as time passed, he was no warmer towards you. He traded anger for bitterness and, until very recently, did not speak unless necessary.
You serve yourself a bowl and sit opposite him. He doesn’t look at you, focused solely on his food.
“I hear that the Blacks have cemented their position in Kings Landing,” you tell him after a moment, watching him closely to gauge his reaction. “For good this time.”
He sniffed in distaste, swallowing a few more bites of soup before he replied. “Who sits upon the throne?”
“Aegon the Younger,” you tell him, “he is to be married to Princess Jaehaera in an effort to reconcile the two factions of your House.”
“They would not dare marry my niece to that usurper’s brat,” he half-snarled, more to himself than to you. “My mother would never allow it.”
“Your mother is a prisoner,” you remind him, “I do not believe that she is in the position to allow anything.”
You do not flinch when his good eye settles upon you, burning with fury.
“You should not speak of her so,” he said coldly.
“I merely speak the truth,” you raised your eyebrows, “I meant no offense to the former Queen Consort, I assure you.”
“You commoners are so quick to call insults the truth,” he mocks. “you ought to show some respect.”
“Why?”
“I am a dragon rider, the blood of Old Valyria,” his grip tightens around his spoon.
“You are not a dragon rider,” you remind him venomously, eyes narrowed, “not anymore.”
Although Aemond escaped with his life, the great Vhagar was not so lucky. She had plummeted into the lake, the Blood Wyrm’s jaws locked around her throat.
You remembered how loud their roars had been, how they shook the earth when they hit the water, sending a geyser up hundreds of feet into the air.
Months ago, he could have had your head for speaking to him as plainly as you did now, or at least your tongue. Now, all he had the power to do was glare at you in useless rage, stabbing violently at his vegetables in sullen resignation.
“In any case, with the new King in mind, however, we ought to do something about your hair,” you continued, attempting to defuse his ire.
“Surely there will be a hunt for any remaining members of the Greens, to ensure that their rule goes unchallenged.” You ignored his agitated gaze and rested your hand upon your chin. “There are very few men with white hair and a missing eye in Westeros. You will die if the Northmen discover you.”
“You shall not touch my hair,” he replied shortly. “If the Stranger comes to me because of something so trivial, I shall welcome him gladly.”
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A week later, he sat in front of you stiffly while you took a blade to his sliver tresses.
Part of you mourned the loss of such beauty, but the satisfaction you felt at desecrating a piece of the Targaryen legacy won out in the end. Their family had taken so much from Smallfolk such as yourself. As much as you did not want Aemond to die, that was where your care for him ended.
“Be careful, will you?” he hissed, jerking away from your touch. “You’re cutting my hair, not skinning me alive.”
You rolled your eyes in annoyance, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back against the chair again. “I have to cut it close, my Prince,” you snipped, “if you wish to avoid detection, I suggest you stop being a baby and hold still.” He huffed in response, but he stopped moving as you commanded.
“There,” you sighed, dusting off the fragments of silver from his shoulders with your hand. “That was not so difficult, was it?”
He glared up at you from where he sat as you circled to his front, examining your handiwork. He was not quite bald–you couldn’t cut his hair that close to him with your dull knife without cutting his scalp–but it was at least short enough to be hidden beneath a hat until you could steal some Pentosi dye from an unsuspecting merchant in town.
In spite of yourself, you giggled, earning another foul look from Aemond. “What do you find so funny?” he snapped.
“You look like an egg,” you informed him through your badly suppressed laughter.
You weren’t wrong–the short crop of white left on his head was all that remained of the glorious mane he had previously sported, and his long, pale face had never looked more ovoid than it did now.
Aemond clearly did not find it quite as funny as you, and he stood abruptly, his chair toppling over with a loud clatter.
“Are you quite finished?” he looks angrier than you’ve ever seen before–quite a feat, for him–advancing upon you. “Throne or not, I am of House Targaryen. I will not be laughed at by some common who-” he snapped his mouth shut, cutting off his insult. Your laughter died upon your lips instantly, your temper spiking.
“Go on,” you taunt him, narrowing your eyes at him, “finish that sentence, my Prince.” He kept his lips pressed together tightly. “A common whore, is that what you were going to say?” you pressed him, your fists clenching at your sides. “It is no secret that you resent me for saving you. Believe me, I wish I had not either,” your voice shook, but you pressed on, “but I did, and I will not accept insults under my own roof. Not when I have fed and bathed and healed you for months–at my own financial and physical expense, might I add.”
If you had not known better, you might have thought you saw regret in his pale eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a raised hand.
“I have heard quite enough from you, Prince Aemond,” you spit his title like an insult, “I am going to care for my garden, which I have used to feed you, and then I will return to cook dinner for you. Good day.”
With that, you spin on your heels, stalking out of the house, your head held high. Your heart beats wildly in your chest from the confrontation, adrenaline coursing through your veins.
What you had done was stupid. Angering a volatile, entitled man was prodding a hornet’s nest, Targaryen blood or not. Still, you did not regret it. It felt good to see the shock on his face when you told him that you wished that you had left him to die on the riverbank.
You returned to your home hours later, three potatoes, and one bedraggled carrot in your hands, dirt caked beneath your nails.
Aemond sits at the table, spine straight as a rod, hands folded on the table in front of him. You do not acknowledge him, instead setting about cleaning and preparing the produce. You wished you had meat–any animal would do at this point–but it was expensive, and you had never learned to hunt, so you were stuck eating dirty vegetables.
Behind you, Aemond clears his throat, attempting to get your attention. You ignore him, playing at deafness as you cut the potatoes into neat cubes. You hear him sigh, and then, at last, he speaks.
“I have been…ungrateful,” he begins, his words stilted. “You have shown me kindness when others would have let me bleed to death in that accursed river.”
You pause your movements, making it clear that you were, in fact, listening.
“I am…” he chews on the next word, “sorry.”
You turn to face him, crossing your arms and staring at him, stone-faced. He clenches his jaw, his eye searching your face for any semblance of a reaction, but you refuse to give him one, raising an eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘Well? Go on.’
“I also want to…apologize…for my behavior earlier. I should not have–” Aemond shook his head imperceptibly, “I would offer you an explanation, but that answer does not justify such vile words.”
You exhale slowly, unfolding your arms, studying him for any hint of insincerity or mockery, but find none. He swallows heavily under your gaze, looking almost embarrassed, but he continues to speak anyway.
“I should like to offer you payment for all you have done for me.”
You tilt your head at him curiously, finally allowing a tiny smile to cross your lips. “Payment?” you questioned, speaking at last, “forgive me, but what do you have left of your riches, my Prince?”
He snorted at your words, but you could have sworn it was nearly a laugh. He turned his head away from you, his right hand moving to cup his eye patch. He fumbles at it for a moment, angled away to block your view, turning back at last with the sapphire cradled in his palm.
You’ve seen it before, lodged in his eye socket, but you can still scarcely believe your eyes. Before Aemond, you had never seen a gem of that quality, let alone that size. You could survive for years on what money such a stone would sell for.
“It is not much,” he places it upon the table carefully, “but it is valuable.” He looks sheepish, observing your wonder at such luxury.
“My mother gifted it to me when I was a boy. When I lost my eye after claiming Vhagar, she had it carved by the finest jeweler in King's Landing,” he continues, voice softening at the mention of the former Queen.
“Forgive me,” you murmured reverently, “I rarely see such fine things with my own eyes,” you explain, reaching a hesitant hand out towards the rock. “May I?” you paused, flicking your gaze to him.
He gave you a tense nod, watching as you examined the sapphire under dim candlelight. His stare was intense and focused, and your skin prickled beneath it. You set the stone down on the table.
“You said you could offer an explanation for your unkind words,” you prompt. “I should like to hear it, my Prince.”
“My answer will not please you,” he warned, “you shall think I am foolish.”
“I already know that you are foolish,” you prod, offering him the ghost of a smile, “I promise you, whatever you say to me will not affect that.” He frowned at your words for a moment, then heaved a resigned sigh.
“When I lost my eye, I thought that was the worst of what I might endure in my life,” he shook his head. “Now I have lost much more. My siblings, my mother, my dragon, my ability to fight, and now the last symbol of my birthright: my hair. When you cut it off, you laughed,” his voice is suddenly very small, “I was…embarrassed.”
“I see,” you regard him for a moment, hating the way that guilt begins to gnaw at you at his words. “I owe you an apology, too, then,” you say, “I did not intend to dredge up old wounds.”
He looks at you incredulously, as if he had never been apologized to before.
“For what it’s worth, I think it suits you,” you gesture to his head, “the short hair, I mean.”
His eyes glitter with unknown emotion, and he opens his mouth to reply but is interrupted by a sharp rap on your front door. You stand up immediately, eyes widening in panic. No one ever came out this far from town after dark.
A heavy dread starts to build in your chest.
“Go,” you hiss to Aemond, who looks just as tense as you feel. “Hide beneath your bed. If no one sees you, they shall have no reason to report us.”
He does as he’s told without a word, and you take your time approaching the door, buying him as much time to conceal himself as you could.
You peer out the window as a second, more aggressive knock sounds at your door, and your heart drops to your stomach at what you see.
Northern banners.
Fuck.
Steeling yourself, you open the door, fixing the most pleasant expression you could manage upon your face.
The Northman at your door is big and broad. His dark hair is tied away from his face, and his gray eyes peer at you from under thick wiry brows. Behind him are five more Northern soldiers, fanned out.
“Good evening, my Lord,” you address him, dipping your head in respect.
“Good evening, Lady,” the Northman replies, his voice gruff. “I am Lord Brandon of House Cerwyn. I apologize for disturbing you so late, but I am afraid the matter is urgent.”
“There is no apology necessary, Lord Cerwyn,” you force a smile, praying to the Seven that it looks believable enough to fool him. “How may I be of service?”
“We received word that a usurper was spotted in the Riverlands,” he explains, “a one-eyed man. Have you seen anyone fitting that description?”
Your heart clenches in your chest, and you fight to keep your expression neutral.
“I do not believe I have seen any one-eyed men about, Lord,” you murmur with a dip of your head.
“I do not doubt you, Lady, but are you certain?” he presses. “I implore you to think carefully–it is of the utmost importance that we detain him. If he is still alive, that is.”
You feign deep thought, frowning as though you were struggling to remember something important.
“We search for Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed Kinslayer,” Lord Cerwyn continued, studying your face for any semblance of reaction. “He is quite dangerous and if he lives, he must be found and dealt with.”
“My Lord?” you feign confusion, “It is well known in the Riverlands that Aemond Targaryen perished at the hands of Prince Daemon above God’s Eye Lake. If you search for him, the best place to look would be in its depths. I hear there is a sword through his skull.”
Lord Cerwyn smiles at you patronizingly, as though you were a silly child. “That may be so, but until we find such a thing, he remains a threat.”
“I see,” you simpered, leaning into the role of the fool he seemed to take you for, “well, I do hope you will find him. Justice must be swift.”
“Indeed. If you do see anything, we are staying just outside the walls,” he pointed in the direction of the town. “Please do not hesitate to come to us–there are handsome rewards for anyone with any information.”
“I am grateful for your service, Lord,” you duck your head respectfully.
“I thank you for your assistance,” he returns your nod.
Lord Cerwyn and his soldiers disappear down the road, and when they are out of sight, you release a breath that you had not realized you were holding, locking the door tightly behind you.
You tell Aemond everything–Lord Cerwyn, the Northern troops, and the reward offered for information about him.
When you finish, he leans against the table, regarding you curiously.
“You lied to the Northmen on my behalf?” he questions. “Thoughtless of you, really. You know they will take your head if they discover you have harbored a traitor. ” For once, you see no real anger in his eyes, and you realize that he’s trying to make a joke.
“Would you like me to chase after them and tell them I have found you?” you snicker when he blanches at your words. “I could rebuild this entire house with the money on your head.”
“You are most wicked.”
Although he does not smile, his eye glows with amusement, and you cannot force yourself to ignore the not-unpleasant twisting of your stomach when he gazes at you.
“Will you tell me something?” you asked after a moment, steeling yourself.
“Tell you what?”
“The Northman called you ‘Kinslayer’,” you watch his face harden but you push forward anyway. “I have heard the rumors, but I do not believe such accusations blindly. Is it true?”
He looks so sad, so vulnerable that you regret having asked.
“It is true,” he says softly, not meeting your eyes.
“They say that you cut out Prince Lucerys’ eyes and presented them to a Baratheon girl upon a bed of seaweed,” you tell him.
“That,” he says, expressionless, wounded, “is not true.” He pauses and then mumbles something inaudible.
“What?” you ask.
“I said, it was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lost control of her.”
“Of who?” you knit your brows in confusion.
“Vhagar. I wanted to scare him, to get revenge for the eye he took from me when we were boys,” he said quietly. “His little dragon was frightened. He burned Vhagar, and she ate them.”
Your stomach drops in horror at his words, sickened at the thought of the boy being devoured whole.
You press your lips together, doing your utmost not to show any judgment or fear at his confession.
“I kept the lie going. It was too dangerous to admit that riders do not control their beasts, and who would believe me anyway when there were no witnesses that night save Vhagar?”
“I see,” you speak finally, and he glances up, incredulous.
“You are not disgusted?”
“No. I wouldn't say I’m pleased,” you make a weak attempt at levity, “but I am not disgusted. We have all done unforgivable things in this world. All have made deadly mistakes. If anyone would know that, it is the Smallfolk of Westeros.”
He looked at you, still as a statue, and for once, the eye that gazed upon you softened.
════════════════════════════════════════════
Over a month later, you dared to venture into town to sell Aemond’s sapphire.
You would have gone sooner, but the Riverlands were still shaken by the promise of dragon fire from the heavens and cold steel from the ground. Now that the Starks and their bannermen were here, people were even more suspicious than usual, eager to betray one another for a few coins or a scrap of bread.
Mercifully, you reached the market with little trouble, taking quick, quiet steps and keeping your head bowed.
You were delighted to find that had been correct–the sapphire fetched a pretty price. The merchant you sold it to had not believed it was real, questioning you sharply on where you, a commoner, had acquired such a gem. You told him it was a family heirloom, and after nearly an hour of inspection, he paid you well.
You had never seen so much gold in one place. You had enough to buy meat from the butcher for the first time in months, two new bolts of cloth to make more clothing for you and Aemond alike, and fresh, healthy vegetables. You actually paid for the brown hair dye you initially planned to steal and, to your pleasure, found that you still had more money than you had ever seen in your life.
You return home with a spring in your step.
“My Prince?” you call out, shutting the front door behind you. On cue, Aemond’s head pokes out from the doorway to his room.
“I have a surprise for you,” you grinned impishly, holding the bottle of dye out to him. “To help you stay hidden. Sit. I shall do it for you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he grumbles sarcastically, though he seats himself before you, submitting to you without complaint.
Ever since the pair of you exchanged apologies a month ago, he had been much easier to get along with. He spoke more often, even hinting at humor at times.
You work the dye into his hair, drenching it in the stuff and rubbing at it, ensuring that no fragments of white shine through. You do the same to his eyebrows, leaning close to his face, your brow furrowed in concentration.
You can feel his eye upon you as you work, but you do your best to ignore it, with little success.
“You can call me ‘Aemond’ if you like,” he speaks, forcing you to meet his eye. “You were right, after all. I am a prince no longer.”
“Are you sure, my Prince?”
“I am sure,” he rolls his eye at your teasing, a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. “In fact, I would prefer it.”
It occurred to you that this was the closest to happy you had ever seen him, and for some reason, that realization made your cheeks prickle with heat, suddenly all too aware of just how close the pair of you were.
“Very well then, Aemond,” you try his name experimentally. It felt good to call him by it, familiar. He hummed, his eyes flicking to your lips, watching them form the syllables,
“Would you say it again?” his voice is low, husky. You swallow hard.
“Aemond,” you repeat. Your voice comes out in a whisper. He leans in closer to hear it, close enough that you can see his eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. You can feel his breath upon your lips, and he reaches up to you, watching your reaction intently as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your blood roars in your ears, and the air feels thick in your lungs.
His eye is focused upon you with a frightening intensity, and it occurs to you all at once that he means to kiss you.
You straighten up swiftly, clear your throat, and retreat from his side.
“We should...we should wash the dye out of your hair, before it becomes too dark,” you manage, not meeting Aemond’s eye, though you can feel him watching you still.
You’re reeling internally.
He meant to kiss you, and you very nearly let him.
Your heart twists at the thought of it. Of how his lips would feel pressed to yours, to your face, to your body–
You shake your head to yourself, trying to clear your sinful imaginings.
‘You do not care for Aemond,’ you told yourself, ‘you are merely doing what is honorable: protecting someone who, at this minute, cannot defend themselves.’
‘Nothing more.’
════════════════════════════════════════════
In the morning, you rise early, intending to avoid him as much as possible.
You spend the day in the woods nearby, foraging for mushrooms to cook with throughout the month. You enjoy the solitude, staying out far later into the evening than you intended, reveling in the utter quiet.
You return home only when the sun begins to set, reaching home as the last rays disappear from the sky.
Panic rises in your throat when you realize that Aemond is not there. Two months ago, you would have guessed that he had run away again, but now, you feared the worst.
You make up your mind to go into town and ask anyone if they’ve seen a one-eyed man with brown hair, but you’ve scarcely thrown your cloak back around your shoulders when you hear a shout outside your home.
“Lady? Are you home?” you recognize the voice of Lord Brandon Cerwyn, the Northern commander who knocked on your door the month previous. You consider not answering, but then he calls out again. “We have a one-eyed man here; he says he knows you.”
Aemond.
You’re outside in a flash and are greeted by banners bearing wolves and a handful of large, bearded soldiers arranged behind their Lord, who grips Aemond by his upper arm.
“This man claims to be your husband,” Lord Brandon drags Aemond forward roughly, “though just a month ago, you told me that you had seen no one-eyed man in these parts.”
Your eyes are locked upon Aemond, fear running cold through your veins. He was an idiot, you were certain of that much.
“My Lord,” you acknowledge the man, your mind racing to come up with something to say. “Forgive me, it has been so long since my husband lost his eye that I forget it is missing,” the lie sounds inauthentic, but you set your jaw and hold Lord Cerwyn’s gaze steadily. “As you can see,” you continue, gesturing to Aemond’s head, “He has the dark hair of a man of the Riverlands.”
You are lying through your teeth now, but you’re in far too deep to back out. Your heart thunders in your ears, and you clasp your hands tightly to stop them from shaking.
Lord Cerwyn does not believe you, you can see it in his face, but he cannot voice it. Not yet. With Northerners and their honor, he would not accuse you of lying, or Aemond of being Aemond unless he was perfectly certain. His mouth twitching in displeasure, he reaches forward, shoving Aemond in your direction.
Aemond stumbles, but you catch him by his forearms, your gaze locking with his for just a moment before he straightens, though he does not let you go. Through the material of your dress, you can feel his fingers trembling.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Lord Brandon says, signaling to his soldiers to retreat, “for your…cooperation.”
You clutch Aemond tightly, holding onto him until the Stark banners are out of sight. The second they are gone, you drag him back towards the house, hating that tears prick your eyes at the thought of him being taken away from you. Of him being executed. Once safely inside, you throw his arm from you, fear being rapidly replaced by anger.
“I cannot believe you! What were you thinking?” your hands are shaking again, this time in fury.
“I grow weary of spending my time locked away,” he snapped, irritation blooming across his face. “I simply wished to go for a walk.”
“While there are Northern troops at the door? Do you wish to die so badly, Aemond?” you interrupt sharply, fuming.
He falls silent, and you scoff, stalking away from him to empty the contents of your bag onto the table.
“I am sorry–” Aemond tries to apologize, cowed. You round on him, gaze heated, and cut him off again with a smack to his good arm.
“You are so incredibly stupid,” your voice is too loud, but you don’t care, “Aemond, you could have gotten yourself killed–gotten me killed.” Your chest is tight, and you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, make him promise that he’ll never endanger the pair of you like that again.
Instead, you crumble, hugging him tightly, your ear pressed to his chest.
“I am sorry,” he whispered again, a hesitant hand settling upon your hair. He pets you awkwardly, trying to soothe you as you shake against him.
“I do not want you to die,” you admit, your voice slightly muffled by the rough material of your late father’s shirt that he wore. Your throat constricted with emotion and you tighten your fingers in the fabric, clinging to him like a lifeline.
His weaker arm curves behind you, holding you as tightly as the frayed muscle would allow, and his large hand presses against the small of your back, fingers splayed wide.
You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily at the comfort.
When he speaks at last, his voice is barely audible. “You are right. I was a fool,” he mutters.
He pulls you tighter to his chest, hand cupping the back of your head with more certainty when you make no move to pull away from him.
The pair of you stay that way for a while until both of you stop trembling.
“You cannot stay in Westeros,” you whisper, barely audible “you must leave.” He stiffens at once, stepping back from you, his face stony.
“No.”
You blink, surprised at the quickness of his rejection of your idea.
“I will not leave Westeros without my mother,” he says shortly, “I will not abandon what is left of my family.”
“Aemond–”
“I said no.”
“Aemond, you risk too much by remaining here. You will be of no use to your mother if you are dead,” you sigh, exasperated.
“I will not flee. I am no coward,” his tone is cold, and you are reminded of how he used to speak to you many months ago, before you knew him.
“I do not think you a coward,” you defend yourself. “It is not cowardice to stay alive.”
“I do not wish to leave, and you cannot make me do so,” he insists, his gaze hard. “The matter is finished.”
Your frown deepens, but you refuse to fight with him. Instead, you shake your head in irritation, stalking away to your bedroom in silence.
You prepare yourself for bed, ignoring when he follows close behind you, leaning against the doorframe.
“What do you want?” you bristled under his stare, refusing to meet his eyes.
“You are angry with me,” he states. “Why? Because I do not bend to the will of a commoner?”
You turn to him then, hot, furious tears filling your eyes. You hated to show any weakness in front of him, but after all that had happened today, the past several months even, you could no longer keep them at bay.
“I am angry,” your voice wavers, “because you are self-centered and cruel.”
“Self-centered?” now his face is clouded too. “I speak of saving what remains of my family and you dare to call me–”
“You and your family,” you interrupt him, wiping your tears away roughly, “are not the only people in Westeros. The Targaryens, including you, have taken much from the rest of us common folk for over a century.”
He deflates, having the decency to at least look ashamed, “I know,” he says, staring at his hands. He sucks in a deep breath, like he's preparing to plunge underwater, and manages to choke out: “I was out of line.”
You are surprised by his admission, but do not say anything, refusing to be the one to break the silence that followed.
“I have not been entirely honest with you,” he speaks again after a pregnant pause.
You look at him curiously, prompting him to continue.
“The reason I do not wish to leave is…more complicated of a matter than what I have shared with you,” he scratches his head uncomfortably, stalling. “I confess, I have become…accustomed to your company, and I do not yet wish to leave it.”
Your face grows hot at his words.
“Accustomed? Careful with your flattery; I may begin to suspect that you care for me.”
“And what if I do?” Aemond touched your face softly, his fingers barely brushing against you.
You stare at him in shock, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. Your skin is burning wherever he touches you, and you want more.
You cup the back of his hand in yours, pressing it more firmly into your cheek, your eyes fluttering at the warmth of his palm.
“That would be most foolish, Aemond,” you murmured.
“Perhaps. Though I believe you already know that I am indeed a fool, do you not?” he searches your face intently, the corner of his mouth turning upward.
Your chest is tight, but you do not move, allowing him to step closer to you.
He bends his neck, his nose brushing yours, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and then he’s kissing you and oh, you’re kissing him back, months of emotions overwhelming you; your sense of reason.
You grasp at his short hair, tugging him impossibly closer. He grunts in surprise, nipping at your lower lip, smiling against your mouth when you gasp.
He flicks his tongue across your lips, carefully coaxing them open, and his tongue into your mouth. You respond in kind, surrendering yourself to him completely, your mind wiped blissfully blank.
You pull back, gasping for air, and he chases your lips, pressing chaste little close-mouthed kisses against them, making your head spin.
You giggle–a sound you had not made since you were a girl–and he leans his forehead against yours, and he smiles–not a suggestion of one or a smirk; a genuine smile.
You feel as though your breath was knocked right out of you at the sight of it.
For the first time since you met, you believe the rumors that Targaryens were closer to the Gods, for no mortal person could be quite so beautiful as he was when he looked upon you so.
“Hm,” he hums in pleasure, holding you close again, “I was afraid of this.”
“Of what?”
He kisses you again slowly, hungrily, devouring you.
“That if I tasted your lips, my dear Lady,” he murmurs against you. “ not even the Gods, old or new, could take me away from you.”
Maybe In Another Lifetime | Arthur Morgan x Reader
In which Arthur missed you after leaving, and you’re unsure if you can forgive him.
Warning : smut
You had a rough night. And when you said rough, you meant it. You’d been serving drunkards all night long, and when Charlotte finally came in to serve the patrons of the Rhodes Parlour House after you, you sat at the bar, exhausted.
You sipped at your drink, people watching. You didn’t mind the regulars of the bar when you didn’t have to fetch them drink after drink. In fact, the amount of colorful people that passed through the bar made your life all that more interesting. You’ve met fur traders, gunslingers, and antique collectors alike. Your e/c eyes scan the bar again, turning slightly when you hear someone new arrive. You didn’t think much of it, it was more than likely another nightly visitor.
The tinny piano was being played by an inebriated guest, but you liked the music, it actually wasn’t half bad. You turn to get a look when you realize there’s a new figure sitting a few seats down from you. He’s tall, broad, and he’s wearing a cowboy hat. The stubble on his jaw was dark and complimented him. You knew him, but pretended you didn’t. He seemed to have noticed your staring though, because in an instant he was up and sidling towards your seat. He was taller than you remembered and about ten times as handsome. You kept your eyes on the mug in your hands and set your jaw tight.
“Is that anyway to greet an old friend, y/n?” His gruff voice asks. You almost snort, but doing so would pique his satisfaction and he’d give you that smile. That smile that tore your heart to pieces the last time you saw it.
“If you were an old friend, I would have greeted you.” You said bluntly, turning your head slightly to glance at him. You see the smirk on his face and he takes your response as an invitation to sit down. His back facing the bar, he chuckles lowly.
“C’mon darling, don’t be like that. I’ve missed ya a lot you know.”
You turned to face him fully now. He had been gone three months. You knew he wouldn’t change. He loved being an outlaw more than he wanted to be with you. It was a hard truth to swallow, but you had made peace with it. But, god, did it hurt seeing him look so devastatingly handsome in your bar once again. “Arthur. You can’t expect me to be overwhelmed and fainting in to your arms, do you?” You ask him, the hint of a smile playing on the corner of your lips. “You had that once but the open road and that lil gang of yours was more important.”
Arthur wasn’t expecting this response. He clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching. You wondered why this had struck a nerve, because he had been open about it when he first swept you off your feet. He stood up abruptly. “Walk with me?” He says, his voice calm and steady. You eyed him up and down. He only talked like that when something was on his mind. Against your best judgement, you still loved him deeply, wanting to be the person he could run to for comfort. You nodded, falling into step beside him as he lead you out of the saloon and down the road.
You walked in silence awhile, glancing at him. He truly was even more handsome than he had been three months ago, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it his attitude? Or was it just the fact that your broken heart had ached so longingly to see him once again? All of these thoughts and more swirled in your head, when suddenly the wind was knocked out of you as you were pinned in an alleyway to the side of a building. You looked up, breathlessly.
Arthur stared down at you, his chest pressed against you. “I’m sorry darlin’, but I needed to hold ya and I couldn’t do it in the middle of that bar.” You furrowed your brow as you looked up at him.
“That’s quite bold of you, Arthur.” You say, tilting your chin up defiantly. He licked his lips, glancing away from you before gazing down again. “You want so badly to hold me, and yet you just up and left me. I don’t know if you should get the privilege to hold me.” You say, trying to deny that it felt so nice to have his strong arms wrapped around you again. It made you feel safe, secure.
“Please, honey. I never shoulda let ya go.” He says, his voice rough and tinged with sadness. That’s all he says. That’s all he has to say, before you crush your lips on to his, loving the way it feels. You missed this sensation more than anything in the world. Arthur is surprised at first, but he kisses back just as fervently. You’re hidden from street view against the building, so he presses into you more firmly, his large, calloused hand sliding up to hook the back of your neck. You moan slightly into his mouth, deepening the kiss.
“You’re lucky you’re so handsome, Morgan.” You pant as you kiss his neck fervently. You hear the deep rumble of his laughter as he caresses your jaw with the side of his face, finally placing tender kisses there. You pull his face back to yours, your fingers tangling into the brown tendrils of hair above his shirt collar.
Arthur’s hands are roaming you, your ass to your waist and finally to your breast. He dips his head down, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there, and you gasp lightly. He takes this as a good sign and hikes your skirt up your leg, his hand inching toward the wetness growing between your legs. You whimper into his mouth, unable to control your urges any longer. His hand slides up the dripping wetness, fingertips dancing lightly. Your legs shake slightly and you buck your hips. He grins, pulling back to look at your face. You look at him hungrily, reaching for his belt.
Arthur takes the hint, shimmying your undergarment aside, picking you up with ease and backing you into the wall behind you. “P-please.” You whisper, eyes searching his.
You hear his pants unzip, and a slightly shuffling before you feel the head of his cock teasing you. An electric pulse runs up your body and you throw your head back. It had been so long since he had touched you like this. You didn’t care you were in an alleyway and you didn’t care that all he has to say was the word “please” to have you come undone in his arms. Arthur continues to tease you, and you can feel his cock slick with your wetness. You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud.
Arthur slowly pushes inside of you and your body’s nerves come alive. It feels better than anything, and you lower your gaze to meet his again. He pushes himself to the hilt, slowly looking you up and down. He smirks slightly, and starts to move.
You had to admit, seeing Arthur and having him inside you wasn’t what you had in mind for this evening, but you couldn’t be happier that this is how it turned out. You whimper again, causing Arthur to speed up. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, all you can do is try to pull him closer.
“Fuck,” you whisper. “Arthur you’re so good…” you trail off, lost in a cloud of bliss. Arthur grins into your neck, trailing kisses up and down. He moves against you, moving one of his hands to cup your ass. He squeezes, then reaches in between you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit while his thick cock slides in and out of your folds. You buck your hips into him, back arching. He keeps going, putting slightly more pressure on your clit. You grab a handful of his hair, knocking his hat off in the process. He pulls his cock out slowly, then thrusts back in even slower.
“You’re driving me wild, darling.” He growls, slamming his hips into yours. You moan again, burying your head in his neck to muffle the sound.
“Arthur,” you moan as you feel your insides tightening. He hears the strain in your voice, picking up his pace. The girth of his cock has you in near heaven, and your eyes roll back into your head as your roll your hips forward into his dick. “Please, just a bit more.” You beg, and Arthur matches you as you roll your hips into him, speeding up.
As if you had never been apart, you both become undone, moaning and panting as your legs shake. You whimper into his ear and he grabs you by the throat, forcefully kissing your lips. You melt into him, spent and satisfied from your rendezvous.
You’re still catching your breath when he pulls your face close to his again and whispers. “Run away with me.” He says.
You almost believe him. “Maybe in another lifetime.” You whisper back.
