Mia

[seamirrors]

Found this at work, lol.

[itsaintmebabe]

i. importance

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: daughter! reader confronts jack about always spending time at the hospital and never making time for her

pairing: jack abbot x teenage daughter! reader

warnings: use of medical terminology, descriptions of a hospital setting, probably incorrect medical scenes

notes: another jack abbot x daughter! reader fanfiction because i’m having sm fun with them!!! if you have any requests feel free to ask! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / next

You had grown to hate the sight of the ED.

It wasn’t always like this. When you were little, the emergency department had felt almost magical, bright lights, fast movement, people in scrubs who always seemed to know exactly what to do. You used to sit in the corner with a juice box, swinging your legs off a chair that was too tall, watching your dad move through the chaos like he belonged to it.

Back then, you told anyone who would listen that Jack Abbot was a superhero.

My dad saves people, you’d say, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Now, all you saw when you looked at the ED was everything it had taken from you.

The older you got, the more time Jack seemed to spend inside those walls and the less time he spent at home. Birthdays cut short. Dinners gone cold. Promises made with good intentions and broken just as easily.

You wouldn’t call him a bad father. That felt unfair. You knew, logically, clinically, almost, that he was trying. That people needed him. That emergencies didn’t pause for fireworks or family dinners.

But right now?

Right now, he’d made you come all the way down to the hospital on the Fourth of July because he’d forgotten his dinner at home.

A week ago, he’d promised you something different.

We’ll watch the fireworks together this year, he had said, already halfway out the door, keys in hand, voice distracted but hopeful.

You had nodded, pretending you believed him. You didn’t. And, of course, it went exactly how it always did.

“It’s gonna be a busy night,” he’d said yesterday, not even looking up from his phone as he scrolled through the staffing schedule. “Holiday weekends always are. Fireworks injuries, drunk driving… they’re gonna need all hands.”

You had just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for him to realize what he was saying. Waiting for him to connect the dots.

He never did.

So now you were here.

Walking through the sliding glass doors from the ambulance bay, the noise hit you first, monitors chiming, voices overlapping, the distant roll of a stretcher moving too fast over tile. The air smelled the same as always, antiseptic and something sharper underneath, something that never quite left.

You didn’t hesitate. You knew where everything was.

Your feet carried you straight toward the nurses’ station, weaving automatically around a paramedic pushing an empty gurney back outside and a nurse scanning medications into a chart. Someone nearby was calling for a set of vitals to be repeated; another voice asked for a respiratory therapist to come to room five.

Same chaos. Different day. Dana was exactly where she always was, behind the desk, glasses low on her nose as she looked over a chart.

You tightened your grip on the paper bag in your hand, Jack’s dinner, already cooling, and reminded yourself to look annoyed. To stay annoyed.

Before you could say anything, Dana looked up. Her expression softened instantly.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite Abbot.”

A smile spread across her face as she pulled off her glasses and stepped out from behind the counter, not even hesitating before wrapping her arms around you. The irritation you’d been holding onto slipped, just a little.

You melted into the hug before you could stop yourself, your forehead resting briefly against her shoulder. For a second, just a second, the noise of the department dulled, like the world had given you a break.

Then she pulled back, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes as she pushed your hair back to really look at you.

Dana had always been like that, like she could read everything you weren’t saying. You didn’t have the energy to fake it completely. Not with her.

You met her gaze, and whatever you were feeling must have shown, because her expression shifted, something more careful now, more concerned.

“How are you?” she asked softly, voice dropping just enough that it didn’t carry past the desk.

You let out a quiet sigh, glancing down for a moment as if the answer might be somewhere on the floor.

“I’m good,” you said, finally looking back at her, forcing a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Dana didn’t call you out on it. She just hummed quietly, one hand dropping from your face to your shoulder, giving it a small, grounding squeeze.

“Mm-hm,” she said, not convinced in the slightest.

You let out another sigh, sharper this time, frustration bubbling up at how easily she could read you. You hated that, how one look and she just knew. No pretending, no brushing it off.

Dana didn’t push.

She moved back behind the counter, slipping her glasses back on as she picked up the chart she’d been reviewing. Her eyes flicked over it quickly, pen tapping once against the paper before she glanced back up at you.

“You can sit at my station,” she said, already half-focused on what was in front of her again. “Jack’s gonna be a while, he just got called into a trauma.”

That did it. The irritation came rushing back, hot and immediate.

“Of course he did,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Because why wouldn’t he be?

You moved around the counter, dropping into the chair beside her. The paper bag crinkled as you set Jack’s dinner down on the desk a little harder than necessary, like it had personally offended you.

A trauma. Of course that mattered more.

You pushed off lightly with your foot, letting the chair spin just a little as you glanced out across the ED.

From back here, everything felt different, closer, louder, harder to ignore. Phones rang intermittently. A printer spat out labels in short bursts. Someone nearby was drawing up medication, flicking a syringe to clear air bubbles before heading toward a room.

You got bored of looking around almost immediately.

There was a time when all of this felt fascinating, like every movement meant something important, like if you just watched closely enough, you’d understand how everything worked.

Now?

It was just noise.

You stared straight ahead for a moment, eyes unfocused, before glancing back at Dana. She was still looking down at the tablet in her hands, scrolling through a chart, completely locked in.

“Hey, Dana?” you said.

She hummed in response, not even looking up.

You hesitated for half a second before asking, “Can I watch Netflix on your computer?”

That got her attention.

Dana looked up slowly, giving you a really? look without saying a word. You immediately flashed her your most innocent smile.

It didn’t work.

“That look doesn’t work on me anymore, missy,” she said flatly, already looking back down at her tablet. “And you know the answer is no.”

“Oh, come on,” you pushed, leaning forward slightly in your chair. “You know it’s gonna be, like, an hour. You used to let me all the time.”

“Yeah,” Dana replied, scrolling again, completely unbothered, “when you were eight. You’re seventeen now. Why don’t you just go on your phone?”

You slumped back dramatically. “Because it never works here. Please, Dana, I’m gonna die of boredom.”

She huffed out a small laugh at that, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she said, glancing at you again. “I can give Jack his dinner when he comes out.” She paused for a second before adding, a little more gently, “Aren’t you supposed to be watching fireworks with your friends tonight?”

And just like that, the smile slipped.

It wasn’t dramatic, no big reaction, no sudden shift, but it dimmed, like someone had quietly turned down a light.

Because how were you supposed to explain that?

That the only reason you were here, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a place you couldn’t stand, was because you hadn’t seen your dad all day?

That you had canceled on your friends, on actual plans, on something normal, because for once, he’d said he’d be there?

We’ll watch the fireworks together.

You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at the edge of the paper bag without really thinking about it.

“Yeah,” you said after a second, your voice quieter now. “I was.”

Behind you, a monitor alarmed again, sharp and insistent, followed by hurried footsteps and a voice calling out for a doctor.

The trauma room doors were still closed. Still busy. Still more important.

You leaned back in the chair, forcing your expression back into something neutral before Dana could look too closely.

“Guess not anymore,” you added, trying for casual and missing it just slightly.

Dana’s brows knit together, her mouth opening like she was about to ask what was really going on with you, but before she could, a familiar voice cut across the noise of the ED.

“Look who it is! The brooding teenager finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

Robby.

You didn’t even have to look up to know it was him.

A second later, he appeared at the counter, leaning casually against it like he had all the time in the world, even with everything happening around him. His scrubs were slightly wrinkled, a pair of gloves tucked into his pocket, stethoscope slung loosely around his neck.

He looked down at you expectantly, waiting for the usual reaction, some sarcastic comment, an eye roll, something.

Instead, all he got was a small, half-hearted chuckle and a quick smile before your gaze dropped right back to your hands.

You picked at the chipped burgundy nail polish on your thumb, scraping at the edge until it lifted.

Robby’s expression shifted almost immediately. It was subtle, but it was there.

Because this wasn’t you.

“Damn,” he said lightly, trying to recover the moment, though his tone had softened just a bit. “That’s it? No comeback? I’m losing my touch.”

You shrugged one shoulder, still not looking up. “Maybe.”

Across from you, Dana watched the interaction closely.

Robby glanced up at her, eyebrows raising slightly in a silent what’s going on?

Dana just gave a small shrug, lips pressing together, she didn’t know either.

A call rang out overhead, “Respiratory to trauma bay, now” and somewhere behind Robby, a monitor alarm escalated into a sharper, more urgent tone before being silenced.

The trauma doors still hadn’t opened.

Robby followed your line of sight for half a second, then looked back at you, something more serious settling in his expression.

“You waiting on your dad?” he asked, gentler now.

You nodded once, still focused on your nails, picking at another chipped edge.

“Yeah.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to.

Robby exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight against the counter. “He’s gonna be tied up for a bit,” he said. “That one’s… not quick.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look up.

Just kept picking at your nails like if you focused hard enough on something small, it would keep everything else from spilling over.

Behind him, the trauma bay doors finally swung open for a split second, just enough to catch a glimpse of movement inside. A team clustered around the bed, voices overlapping.

“Pressure’s dropping—”

“Get a chest tube tray—”

“Where’s Abbot?”

The doors shut again just as fast. Robby went still for half a beat. Then his eyes flicked back down to you. And this time, he didn’t try to joke.

Inside the trauma room, Jack finally had a second to step back, not fully disengaging, just enough to take in the bigger picture. The team was moving fast but efficiently. Monitors were cycling, numbers updating in real time. Someone was setting up for a chest tube, sterile packaging torn open and dropped onto the tray.

“BP’s still soft, eighty over fifty,” a nurse called out.

“Hang another liter,” Jack replied automatically, eyes already shifting.

He glanced out through the glass. A habit. A quick scan of the department, making sure nothing else was crashing, nothing else needed him, and that’s when he saw them.

Dana. Robby. And someone sitting at the station.

His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to place the figure and then you turned in the chair.

“Shit,” Jack breathed, the word barely leaving his lips.

He checked the wall clock without meaning to.

8:57 PM.

He’d called you at the start of his shift. Told you it would be quick. Told you to just drop it off.

He knew you hated being here. He just… hadn’t thought it would turn into this.

Hadn’t thought at all, really.

Jack dragged a hand briefly over the back of his neck before looking back at the team.

They had it under control for the moment.

“Hey, you got this for a sec?” he said, already stepping backward. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Shen replied, not looking up as he worked.

Jack didn’t wait.

He pushed through the trauma room doors, the noise of the ED rushing back in immediately as he made a beeline for the nurses’ station.

“Ah! Just the person we were waiting for!” Dana called out as soon as she saw him, her tone light, but her eyes weren’t.

Robby looked at him next.

Then quickly over at you.

Then back at Jack.

A look passed between them, something silent, something questioning.

What’s going on with her?

Jack frowned slightly, not understanding. He didn’t have time to ask.

Because you were already moving. You didn’t say hello. Didn’t hesitate.

You pushed up from the chair, grabbing the paper bag off the counter and walking straight toward him.

“Hey, Bear, sorry I had you wai—”

The words were cut off as the bag hit his chest, your hand pressing it into him just firmly enough to stop him.

“It’s fine,” you said, your voice tight, controlled. “See you in the morning.”

You forced a small, tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

And then you were gone.

Turning on your heel and heading straight for the ambulance bay doors without waiting for a response.

For a second, Jack just stood there.

Holding the bag.

Watching you walk away.

“Bear—” he started, the word coming too late, too quiet to catch you over the noise of the department.

The doors slid open.

Then shut behind you.

And just like that, you were gone.

Jack exhaled slowly, something heavy settling in his chest as he stared at the empty space where you’d been.

Jack didn’t think.

For once, he didn’t calculate, didn’t prioritize, didn’t run through the list of everything that needed him more.

He just went after you.

“Shen’s got it,” he muttered, already pushing through the ambulance bay doors.

The noise dropped the second he stepped outside.

Not gone, just… distant. Muted by the open air.

Fireworks cracked somewhere overhead, bright flashes reflecting off the concrete and the side of the ambulances lined up along the bay. The smell of smoke drifted faintly through the air, mixing with the lingering scent of antiseptic that clung to him.

You were already halfway across the bay, walking fast, head down, shoulders tight.

“Hey!” Jack called. “Bear—hey, wait up.”

No response.

If anything, you picked up your pace.

He jogged the last few steps, reaching out and catching your wrist, not hard, just enough to stop you.

“Hey—”

You spun around immediately, pulling your arm free like his touch burned.

“What?” you snapped.

Jack blinked, thrown, not by the volume, but by how sharp it was. How done you sounded.

“I just—” he started, trying to find his footing, “you didn’t have to leave like that.”

You let out a breath through your nose, shaking your head slightly like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“No, I didn’t have to come at all,” you said.

The words landed heavier than you probably meant them to.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “I said I was sorry. I got pulled into a trauma—”

“I know,” you cut in quickly. “I know, okay? You don’t have to explain it to me. I’ve been around this place my entire life, remember?”

There was something almost mocking in that, like the knowledge didn’t make it better, just made it worse.

Jack exhaled, slower this time, trying to keep his voice even. “Then you know I didn’t have a choice.”

You laughed, short, hollow.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding like that proved your point. “Exactly.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you never have a choice,” you said, your voice rising just a little. “There’s always something. There’s always someone. There’s always a reason you can’t just—” you stopped yourself, pressing your lips together.

“Can’t just what?” he pushed gently.

“Be there,” you snapped.

Silence stretched between you for a second, broken only by another firework popping in the distance.

Jack ran a hand over the back of his neck, tension settling in his shoulders. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back immediately. “You told me it would be quick. You said I could just drop it off and we’d go home.”

“I thought it would be,” he said. “I didn’t plan for a trauma to come in—”

“But it did,” you interrupted. “It always does.”

That hit something.

Jack’s expression hardened slightly, not angry, but defensive now. “People don’t schedule emergencies.”

“I’m not asking them to!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “I’m asking you to stop acting like I’m just… something you can fit in when it’s convenient!”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I come second to everything in there.”

You pointed back toward the ED, the bright lights spilling out through the open doors behind him.

Jack followed your gesture for half a second before looking back at you. “That’s my job.”

“I know it’s your job!” your voice cracked now, frustration bleeding into something sharper. “God, everyone always says that like it’s supposed to make it better.”

“It should,” he said, a little firmer. “I’m helping people—”

“And I’m your kid!” you cut him off, louder now. “I’m supposed to matter too!”

The words echoed slightly in the open space.

Jack stilled.

You swallowed hard, blinking quickly, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.

“I canceled on my friends tonight,” you admitted, your voice shaking now. “I had plans. I had an actual night where I wasn’t just sitting at home waiting for you to maybe show up, and I canceled because you said—” your breath hitched slightly, “you said we’d watch the fireworks together.”

Jack’s face fell.

“I meant that,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” you laughed again, but there was no humor in it now. “When? Between patients? While you’re checking someone’s vitals?”

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer again, softer this time. “I’m trying—”

“No, you’re not,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re trying there. You’re always trying there.”

The words hung heavier this time.

A louder crack split the sky above you, a burst of light illuminating everything for a brief second, the ambulances, the concrete, the distance between you.

Jack looked at you like he wanted to fix it.

Like he just didn’t know how.

“I didn’t ask you to cancel your plans,” he said carefully.

“No,” you said, your voice dropping, quieter but more cutting. “You didn’t. You just said something for once, and I believed you. That’s on me, right?”

Jack flinched at that.

“Don’t—” he started, but you shook your head again.

“I’m tired,” you said. “I’m tired of getting my hopes up every time you say something’s gonna be different. I’m tired of coming down here and pretending I don’t hate it, just so I can see you for five minutes in between everything else.”

Jack opened his mouth—

The ambulance bay doors slammed open behind him.

“Dr. Abbot!” a nurse called, breathless. “We need you, he’s crashing. Pressure’s dropping, they’re preparing to intubate—”

Time seemed to split. Jack turned halfway toward the voice, instinct pulling him back inside, then he looked at you.

You let out a quiet, defeated laugh, stepping back.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding toward the doors. “Go. Something more important.”

Jack’s head snapped back. “Hey, don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” you asked, almost exhausted now.

“Don’t make it sound like that,” he said, firmer. “This is someone’s life.”

“And I’m your kid,” you said again, softer this time, but somehow worse. “I’m supposed to be your life too.”

That one didn’t come out as a yell. It came out honest. And that’s what made it hurt.

The nurse hovered awkwardly near the door, urgency written all over her face. “Dr. Abbot—”

Jack closed his eyes briefly, jaw tight.

When he looked at you again, there was something heavier there. Guilt. Conflict. Helplessness.

“I do care,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Your expression didn’t change.

“If you cared,” you said, barely above a whisper now, “you’d stay.”

The worst part?

He wanted to.

You could see it in the hesitation. In the way he didn’t move right away.

But then another shout from inside. And reality snapped back into place. Jack glanced toward the doors, then back at you.

“I have to go,” he said.

Wrong answer.

You nodded once, like you’d already expected it.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

Another firework burst overhead, bright and loud and completely ignored.

Jack lingered for half a second longer, like he might say something else, like he might fix it but he didn’t.

He turned. And ran back inside.

Leaving you alone in the ambulance bay, surrounded by noise and light and everything you weren’t watching.

[asoiaflors]

Haunting you, Baelor & Maekar Targaryen

pairing: baelor targaryen x wife!reader, maegor targaryen x wife!reader

summary: you have haunted them since you passed, in light and dark, in sound and silence. they scarcely move on and try to raise two boys how you would’ve, but your absence is impossible to ignore. you were lost forever, your memory surviving upon their own. you are dead. until you enter baelor’s solar 13 years after they buried you.

tags/cw: fem!reader, grief, unexplained resurrection, death in childbirth references, mourning of a partner, angst with a happy ending, maekar kind of hates himself and aerion, i kind of ignored daeron’s existence, new writer!!

a/n: hello! this is my first post :) comments are appreciated, i love hearing from everyone!

The years weigh heavy on the princes as they pass, both men who mourn the very same loss. The very same wife.

You met them when you were all young.

They both took affection to you and despite how it was predicted they would clash over it, they did not.

Within moons of first meeting either prince at court, you were being courted. The heir to the Iron Throne and his prince brother wished to marry you.

Baelor had become fond of taking walks with you in the gardens, slowing his pace to match yours as you alone brought a smile to his lips. With you, he did not need to always be his best and say the right thing. You had been as easy to speak to as breathing, making him spill his true thoughts rather than the polished ones expected of a prince. He did not have to bear any thought alone. Ones of sadness, anger, joy, annoyance, fear, you welcomed it all.

He remembered the first true day of spring, the day the flowers flourished. You had laughed at something he said, and he felt as if his life was finally perfect. He slowed, bending to pluck a flower from its bed. His movements were slow, respectful, as he tucked it behind your ear. He was careful of your hair. Your handmaids had done it beautifully that morning.

He had made sure to tell you so.

Maekar courted you with gifts, trips to vendors or personally requested items.

Your favourite had not been the dresses or the jewels, but the horse. A pretty, well-bred white mare that was fit for a lady like you. He had made sure that the animal was trained as much as his own, for she was to be saddled by a future princess.

He felt smug when you took a liking to the horse, of course he did. He knew what you liked and how to make you smile.

It gave him an excuse to see you more, as well. You rode frequently with him, trotting along through paths as you pretended you did not notice his gaze upon you. Or how it took you a moment to convince him that, truly, you did not need him to give you his cloak. You were warm enough. And he was the one to lift and lower you on the horse, his hands lingering at your waist fleetingly.

You were a rarity of a person, one who did not annoy him.

Two men and one woman in a union was unheard of, but who could question the crown?

But now, you haunted them.

Maekar feels you when he just wakes in the morning. The very first few moments of consciousness when he forgets that you have died, when his mind is in a blissful state of ignorance. When he swears that he can feel the familiar feeling of your hair upon his fingertips, that you are lying just beside him.

When that haze breaks, when he remembers that such a thing is impossible, it feels as if his heart shatters once again. For the rest of the day, he wears that grief on his face. He scowls at most who dare speak to him and rolls his eyes in irritation when Baelor attempts to smooth it over.

Baelor felt you in the sound of silence in the nursery after you passed years ago. Now, he faintly hears your screams in the wind as it whistles through the window. His fingers tighten into fists at his side as he stares out at the Blackwater Bay, a sigh leaving his lips as he tries to banish the thoughts from his mind.

The solar has become the source of his refuge since your death, it is where he spends his nights instead of sleeping. He had refused to rest after your death, burying himself in his studies so that he could not properly think. And he wishes not to return to your bedchambers. He cannot stand to step into a room you once shared, your absence feels hollow within every place you once occupied.

He closes his eyes for a moment, pulling his hands behind him to clasp together. He allows himself to feel that ache for only a moment longer before he gathers it together to tuck away. He wishes to appear composed before Maekar, for he did not know how his brother would handle anything if he was angry too.

He turns from the window and lazily strolls to where Maekar sits by the hearth, hoping his brother would do him a favour and gather his emotions before he spoke. He did not enjoy getting cursed at, no matter how used to it he was at this point.

“Valarr handled the petition well for a boy of five and ten, father seemed pleased,” Baelor says, tilting his head slightly as if trying to read his brother’s mood.

Maekar snorts at his words, slouching on the chaise.

“He has your steadiness, Gods help him,” he groans, rolling his neck as if older than he is. Grief has aged him. The loss of you has hardened him into something snappy and annoyed, someone who has patience for little these days.

Who cares for what lord fucks what whore when the woman he loved had died before him?

“Aerion has been less… sharp recently,” Baelor tries to bring up carefully.

His forehead furrows at his own words, thinking of their youngest son. Sharp, spoiled, and yet, he has reigned himself back lately for reasons the Prince of Dragonstone could not quite figure out.

Suspicious, he thinks, especially for a boy of that age.

“Fucking thank the Gods for that,” Maekar responds, lifting his head to narrow his eyes at his brother. His lips lift in a small, mocking smile. “Perhaps your last lecture finally worked.”

Baelor shakes his head, a small smile of amusement touching his lips. He tries his best to treat both boys the same, despite how they require such different attention. Valarr mirrored him in both colouring and steadiness, training to be his heir under both him and the king.. while Aerion earned Maekar’s attitude if it had no restraint.

It causes Maekar and Aerion to clash often, especially since the boy had hit his teenage years.

But both children came from you, which made them both his. Both cherished.

“I wish to give him something to do, to burn off all that… energy, for certain,” he says, lowering his gaze onto the stone floor as he thought. His tongue runs over his teeth, a habit he had picked up from his mother.

He begins to think of what, where and whom can temper Aerion. It seems an impossible task.

“Let me deal with him,” Maekar argues, though sounding reluctant at the idea. He shifts on the chaise as he lays his head back upon the headrest, sighing.

The younger man felt guilty, he always did when it came to Aerion.

Aerion was his.

While Baelor always argued that they shared the same parents, that both Valarr and Aerion’s features could have come from either of them, that they didn’t know who sired him— Maekar claimed responsibility for him.

For it is only he who could father such a child. A child who killed you, a child who grew into such a menace. A child who seems to mirror only his worst and not enough of you to help. At times he regrets lying with you at all, for mayhaps if he had not gotten you with his child, you would still be alive. Mayhaps if he had never allowed himself to touch someone so precious, you could be living. Like you deserve.

He had given you the babe that killed you.

He would forever hate himself for that, and unfortunately, he could not deny how angry he was with Aerion as well.

“If you wish,” Baelor relents to his brother. He rarely had the energy to fight his brother’s self-loathing lately, although he was keeping a close eye on when he seemed to use that anger on their younger boy.

He does not care what others say about his son. Aerion had yet to harm anyone— besides the natural victims of a prince’s sword. He will take action himself if it ever extends past that.

All he wishes to do is to honour your memory, properly. He knows Aerion does as well.

The door to his solar opens, a sound he recognizes but does not focus upon. Servants came and went often, cleaning, retrieving. And the day was mostly over by now, so he was not expecting to be called upon by any lords nor his family. Hopefully, he thinks.

It would only be their luck that Aerion has gone wild again sneaking around, or perhaps he has started a fight.

But even in the midst of his thoughts, he does not disregard the intruder— for when they do not move from their place at the entrance, he turns his head to see what they need from him or his brother.

The way his posture straightens as if struck and his expression falters from the amused, plain look alerts Maekar that something is wrong.

His gaze joins Baelor’s at the door of the room, and his body rises from his reclined position before he can stop himself. Shock and doubt pull at his body, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what he sees.

It was you. Alive. You, the wife who died years ago birthing their second son, now standing before them, and looking as if not a day has passed at all. As if the light had never left your eyes. You looked the same.

Your hair, your eyes, Gods, even the gown.

It was impossible.

Baelor’s fingers twitch as his eyes travel the dress you stood in, the exact one they had buried you in. Maekar had picked it out because he was unable to, a light blue colour that reminded him of the sky when King’s Landing’s nicest days were occurring. As if a call to how most of your earliest memories together were under the open sky.

He is caught in the memory of how he had traced the embroidery on that very dress as he said his final goodbyes.

You had looked so lovely, as if you were merely sleeping. The blood was cleaned from your skin, and your hair combed to make you look presentable.

The longer they stare, the further your expression morphs. You look thoroughly confused, eyes slightly clouded as you struggle to process this odd awakening. You had woken up on the cold stone floor of a room within the castle you did not recognize, and memory had carried your feet here— where you knew one of your husband’s would certainly be.

But something has changed. They look different. You struggle to comprehend why they look so different.

“Are you—” Baelor attempts to speak, but is interrupted. Disbelief sits heavy in his chest. It couldn’t be you.

“This is cruel,” Maekar says flatly, pushing off the chaise at once as his hand drops to the dagger at his hip. He was ready to draw and strike down the stupid fuck that thought it was amusing to imitate his darling girl. “Whoever you are—”

But you step forward into the light at his voice despite his threat, and the life in your body is unmistakable. Your skin was not dull as it had been when your last breath left you, your eyes moved back and forth between them, holding a soul, holding emotion.

Baelor chokes on a breath as he sees you. He moves forward slowly, his legs unsteady beneath him. His mind knew that he would not be able to handle the loss of you twice.

His eyes were glazed over with a wet sheen of tears and grief, locked on you. All of his emotions show plainly on his face, the very opposite of a prince at court. He is a husband in mourning.

A man hoping.

You watch him too, wide eyes taking him in. Baelor looks older. He has lines in his face that had not been so prominent before, and silver touched the dark hair of his beard. And Gods, his hair, it was gone. It was so short you knew your fingers couldn’t run through it.

“You.. you,” he shudders. He lifts his hand, stopping just short of your cheek. His knuckles only hover over your skin, hands still shaking faintly.

He tells himself that this is a dream, and he shall wake heartbroken once more.

But your warm breath brushes his thumb and it is as if something within him snaps. He closes the gap with haste, finally trusting what his eyes were telling his brain. His hands come up to cup your jaw, callouses meeting the softness of your skin in desperation. His touch is warm against your skin.

“You’re real,” he breathes, awe touching his voice. Tears build at his waterline, truly wetting the beautiful mismatched colour of his eyes. Emotions claim him at the realization that his love is here. Here in front of him.

Your breath caught at the tone, and before you can respond “of course I am real”, Maekar reacts.

“Fucking Seven Hells,” Maekar says hoarsely as he moves forward, the dagger slipping from his grip and hitting the floor with a dull clatter. He is on you in a moment— you feel his hands on your waist before he fully settles in your vision. His grip is desperate like his brother’s, clinging to you tight as he holds your gaze.

As tight as he had held you the day you bled out in his arms.

“What is.. I don’t understand,” you mutter, wide-eyed and confused. Your hands settle on Maekar’s chest, fingers curling into his tunic to ground yourself in the familiarity of him. He presses his forehead into yours firmly, as if trying to merge the two of you into one so he never parts from you ever again.

This brings you closer to him and you truly get a look at him as well. His face is touched by time worse than his brother's, as if grief carves itself deep into his soul. He looks as if he smiles less than you were used to, as if a frown had settled upon his lips that refuses to budge.

Baelor’s hand falls to settle over the nape of your neck, your hair tickling his thumb. His digit moved back and forth over your skin, basking in the privilege of being able to have his hands upon you again.

“You don’t understand? My love, we buried you,” Maekar scoffs in something that almost sounds like a laugh, because he did not sob. He sucks in a sharp breath as he thought of that dreadful day. “I watched earth cover your coffin and I…”

You frown, because the idea of death happening to you was an impossible thing. Unbelievable. Because you are standing right here, alive. You try to find an argument for this madness, but as you try to recall your recent memories, you only get glimpses.

“I’m sorry,” your voice breaks, beginning to feel their grief as if it were your own. It was so raw, so real in the way that forced you to believe you had died based on their sadness alone— besides how you can clearly see their age.

Having to accept that you had died, and what it had done to the men you love quickly begins to make you dizzy. They look so upset, so weighed down by their sorrow. Your expression tightens, betraying your distress as your thoughts spiral.

You had died.

Your train of thought wanders to your children. Last you remember, Valarr was starting to teethe, just learning to stand as he called for you in coos. Your second babe…

Did they live? Was it a girl or a boy? Did they even know you?

And selfishly, you wondered about the men before you. If they moved on.

If so many years had passed, what did that make their love?

“The children,” you breathe in a panic. “Valarr and the babe—”

“Wife, look at me,” Maekar demands, voice insisting. How he recognizes the familiar, nostalgic, sight of his wife losing herself in a mess of thought. He will not have you panic when everything is finally right. “You are alive, you are safe.”

You lean into him, calming slightly. You are torn between ignoring him to start thinking of everything again; your death, your children... and listening to him.

“Breathe,” he whispers. How easy it came to him to be gentle again.

You chose to listen. To focus upon the fact that you are safe here, in their arms. You are alive.

Your breathing takes time to slow but focusing on their even ones helps, as it always has, and it is silent for a moment. You allow yourself a moment to be selfish, although you do not forget how the thought of your children calls for you.

Baelor presses his forehead against the side of your head, closing his eyes at the peace of having you here. After a moment, he speaks:

“Valarr is five and ten now, a man, most would say. He is good with a sword and almost more studious than me. He is kind and harbours your smile and your love for stories,”

“Oh Gods,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you listen to Baelor’s voice. Your son was a stranger, you had not gotten to raise him and he did not know you at all.

Your son who was just a babe,

“And the babe. He is a boy, one we named Aerion. He has Maekar’s temper but your heart. He enjoys histories on dragons, although he insists he is not like Valarr, who ‘listens to silly tales’,” he finishes. You can hear the smile on his lips.

Maekar, who is watching you closely, sees the way your expression crumples again and immediately snaps at his brother to shut his fucking mouth. His hands slide to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer until you are firmly pressed against him. He ducks his head to bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and feeling how alive you are.

“Sorry,” Baelor apologizes, his voice a whisper.

He does not speak further as his free hand finds your chin, tilting it gently so you look at him. He needs to see you, needs to lay his eyes upon you after so long of picturing you from memory alone. His breath stutters as his eyes find yours once more, and his lips twitch into a smile at the sight of you.

His love has never wavered. He has never even imagined taking another wife after you had passed, no matter how many times he was approached with the idea. He could never vow himself to another the way he had you. And there was no true need to.

Your hands rose, one slipping around Maekar’s shoulders as he held you close, and the other touching the back of Baelor’s neck. You feel how you have to reach higher, further, to embrace them now. Your fingers slipping over muscle and a broad figure shaped by training.

They both relax at your touch as if finally at peace. Baelor’s eyes close and he leans forward to rest his forehead upon your own while Maekar’s body feels just a bit heavier against you.

“You owe us,” Maekar mutters into your skin, reluctantly lifting his head. He scowls weakly at how his brother has you. He swats at Baelor’s hand so he will let go of your chin and remove his head from yours. Baelor obeys reluctantly, knowing Maekar’s desperation is as great as his.

Maekar’s eyes settle on you once more, his breathing slightly uneven as his pulse stops rushing. “I almost forgot how beautiful you are,”

He lets the words settle, giving him confidence to claim your lips. He is like a man starved, using his grief and turning it into something fierce, something biting. His fingers dig into your waist with the familiar roughness, as if willing his hold alone to keep you here.

You kiss him back, pulling him closer by your grip around his shoulders. Your neck started to wane under the pressure of his lips on yours, for he is consumed by the passion of touching you once more. It is a pressure you are familiar with.

“Years,” Maekar rasps as he parts from you to breathe, settling his forehead on yours again. “You owe us years.”

“You owe us nothing,” Baelor corrects, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the space behind your ear before nipping your earlobe. Once he has your attention, his other hand grasps your neck gently so he is holding it with both hands. He uses his fingers to influence the direction of your head, tilting it back so he can kiss you too.

He pauses, however, just before his lips touch yours, staring for a moment to prove, again, that you were real.

You move forward to capture his lips yourself, closing the gap for him.

He was gentler than Maekar, but still firm enough to compete. He holds the anger for the years lost, the hunger that he had buried with you. It morphs into something deeper after a moment, reverence and worship for the woman he had thought he had lost forever.

He does not let you move, does not let you go. Although you are not protesting. He holds you steady.

Maekar growls quietly at the sight. He had always been the kind of man who wished for you to be his alone. But he would never do that to his brother.

He sees you both smile into the kiss at his sound of protest and it only makes his irritation deepen. The sound of you laughing, however, as you part from Baelor, causes any and all ire to leave his body. Both of the men freeze. It was a noise they had not heard for years.

“I missed that,” Maekar whispers, lifting a hand to cup your face. His grip is firm. He then corrects his own words, as if the first try was not right. “Fuck, I missed you.”

You lean into his touch.

“I will not leave you,” you tell him, forcing conviction into your voice to soothe your husband. Both your husbands. For even if you are unsure of your promise, you would never allow them to see that. “I will not leave any of you again.”

“I would not survive it twice,” Baelor whispers, his voice wavering slightly at the idea. His knuckles brush up and down your spine, as if wishing to assure you he was here without attempting to step over his brother’s moment.

“… never leaving my arms again, my sweet love,” Maekar mutters as he captures your lips as if he cannot live without you. His hand moves underneath your jaw to steady you.

Baelor longs to kiss you again as well, yet even in moments like this, his mind is rational. He cannot help it, for it was how his thoughts have been molded since he was young. He was meant to think past his emotions, past how utterly undone he felt.

He chose his moment to speak when the two of you parted, although it is only so you can breathe. He knows in his heart that the moment you get your thoughts to yourself, they would wander back to Valarr and Aerion. How you would wish to see them.

And he does not want you to traverse those thoughts alone.

“Darling,” he says softly, and awaits for your attention to return to him naturally. “Would you like to see both boys?”

You gasp softly at the thought, torn between fear and desperate longing.

“Fuck that,” Maekar snaps, the anger directed at his brother. Baelor sighs in frustration at the denial, narrowing his eyes in challenge to it. His hand slips around to rest on your abdomen, ready to pull you from the other man’s grip if need be.

“She is a mother too,” he argues for you. You had the right to see anyone you wanted, especially your children.

“I’m not letting her go,” Maekar hisses. The last time he let you go it had been because he was pried from your body by three men. He was not doing it willingly now.

“Maekar,” you say, lifting your hands to cup his face. Under your touch you could feel the harshness of his skin that was born of stress, and the faint prickle of his beard that you were unused to. You gently trace the lines that have etched their way into his expression.

He looks so angry, you thought sadly.

Nothing like the smug prince you had known who laughed when he teased. Who somehow managed to be awkward around you, when everyone else insisted that the prince was an arrogant man.

He had been the one to teach Valarr to babble ‘mama’.

He had been the one massaging your feet when the weight of pregnancy weighed upon your body.

You took a moment to mourn the man you may never see again, one of your thumbs brushing over the scars embedded within his cheeks. He had changed, they both had, and you had not gotten to change with them.

“No, wife,” he insists. His voice was raw with anger, with grief. He is allowed to be selfish, especially compared to the children. He had known you longer, and he believed no one could love you as fiercely.

“Maekar, please,” you plead, attempting to ease his anguish with the softness of your love. Despite your fear that they may not even recognize you nor like you, you need to see them. It hurt to think of losing anymore time.

You can see when your begging works; his gaze drops from yours for a moment, his jaw flexing in restraint.

“Fine,” he relents, cupping your jaw again. “But I am not letting you go.”

You smile, placing a kiss on his cheek to distract him from the idea of claiming your lips another time. You linger, thanking him with your touch. Apologizing wordlessly for the reason that he felt the need to guard you so fiercely.

Baelor pulls you back towards him, which separates you and Maekar temporarily.

Your older husband takes your hand in his grip, lifting it to his lips. He looks at you with a small smile on his lips, and pain lingering in his eyes. He presses a kiss to your knuckles gently.

“We will settle holding your hands, sweet girl,” he promises for he and his brother both, his voice soft with care. He slips his fingers in between yours to secure his grip as your hand drops down to your side. Maekar wishes to argue being restricted to merely holding your hand, but he only presses his lips together to display his irritation.

Baelor is the one who guides you forward, leading you to your son’s bedchambers.

For the first time in many, many years, the corridors did not feel haunted.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it

[da2019]

A prince and a dragon

Pairing: Valarr Targeryan X Reader (referred to as 'you')

Sequel to: You Must Be His Nursemaid

Summary:

Ashford Keep hums with quiet stories. A prince settles beside the hearth with his son and the small dragon that hatched in the boy’s cradle. A hedge knight named Duncan the Tall accidentally wanders far deeper into royal business than he ever intended. Somewhere in the keep, Prince Valarr Targaryen is calmly reaffirming a truth the realm would do well not to forget.

His wife is no nursemaid. She is the woman he chose, and he will not have the world mistake her place.

Word Count: +12K

Warning: There is swearing, courtesy of Maekar and Raymun.

Reader addressed as “you” | Fluff | Established Relationship | Domestic Bliss| Son is Named | Dunk Being Socially Catastrophic | Secondhand Embarrassment | Maekar Being… Maekar | Mild Canon-Typical Rudeness | Dragons (very real) | Kind of follows the TV Show

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Duncan had not, in fact, run out of courage or his sense of self-preservation, though he had come dangerously close to walking himself straight off a cliff of his own making. By the gods, mistaking the lady wife of Prince Valarr Targaryen for a nursemaid was the sort of blunder that ought to end a man’s day very quickly, perhaps even his life if the wrong ears heard of it. Yet somehow he still stood in the middle of Ashford’s bustling yard, very much alive and only moderately humiliated, though the weight of the mistake pressed heavily upon him. The truth of it still rolled through his chest like distant thunder. A prince’s wife. The mother of a prince’s son. Gods above.

His heart beat so fiercely he could feel it hammering in his throat, each pulse a reminder of just how badly he might have blundered. Duncan swallowed hard and drew in a slow breath through his nose, though it did little to quiet the wild pounding beneath his ribs. “Phew,” he muttered under his breath, half to steady himself and half in disbelief.

That had been a damn whiplash.

Across the yard, he watched the lady retreat toward the keep, her young son clutching tightly to her hand as they crossed the packed earth together. The boy’s small boots kicked up pale little clouds of dust as he hurried beside her, nearly trotting to keep pace with her longer stride. They moved through the courtyard as though carried along by the living current of the place, slipping through clusters of servants and stable hands with quiet ease. Now that Duncan knew who she was, he noticed details that had escaped him moments before. Two guards followed a few steps behind her, neither tense nor hurried, but watchful all the same, their presence subtle yet unmistakable. Servants stepped aside without being asked, lowering their eyes or turning their shoulders just enough to clear her path.

Mother and child gradually vanished into the busy swirl near the great doors of the keep, their figures swallowed by the press of people moving in and out beneath the tall stone archway. Ashford’s yard churned with noise and movement. Stable boys shouted to one another near the stables where sweating horses were being led down from the road, their flanks dark with travel and their breath steaming faintly in the cool air. Somewhere beyond the walls, a blacksmith’s hammer struck iron in slow, steady blows that rang faintly through the courtyard like the tolling of a bell. Servants hurried past Duncan, carrying baskets heavy with folded linens or trays piled high with bread, and steaming trenchers of food, bound for the keep’s kitchens and halls.

The air smelled of damp earth churned by hooves and boots, of horse sweat and leather tack, and beneath it all drifted the warm, mouthwatering scent of roasted meat from within the castle. Duncan remained where he was for another moment, rubbing the back of his neck as though he might somehow knead the memory out of existence. His fingers caught in the coarse hem of his tunic, twisting the rough cloth nervously while he tried to quiet the uneasy churning in his stomach.

Gods preserve him. Speaking to a prince’s wife as though she were some poor servant girl. The thought made him wince. He might as well have walked up and slapped a dragon across the snout.

The sharp voice that cut across the courtyard came without warning, snapping through the noise like a whip crack.

“The princes be needing their bloody hands washed!” someone barked from somewhere near the keep doors, the tone brisk and utterly unimpressed with whatever chaos the day had already produced. The command rippled through the busy yard at once. Another voice answered hurriedly from somewhere nearby, breathless and obedient. “I’m on my way, ma’am!”

Servants shifted course, and people scrambled to clear paths through the growing press of bodies. The everyday clamour of Ashford continued around Duncan. Still, now the sounds seemed louder and sharper, every shout and clatter blending into the restless energy of a castle preparing for a great tourney.

A wooden crate struck the ground with a hollow thud as someone dropped it in haste. A servant swore loudly when a wicker basket tipped sideways, sending a dozen red apples rolling across the dirt in every direction. Boots scraped against the packed earth as people scrambled to retrieve them, while others simply stepped over the fruit in their rush to get out of the way.

The sharp voice rang out again, louder now and edged with authority that brooked no delay. “Move! Move! A carriage is comin’ through!” Heads turned toward the keep at once. The great wooden doors groaned open on iron hinges, the heavy timbers creaking like old bones as they swung wide. The sound carried across the courtyard, deep and slow, and for a brief moment, the steady hum of the yard faltered beneath it.

Servants scattered aside as a carriage rolled toward the entrance, its wheels crunching over gravel and loose stones. The horses tossed their heads impatiently, leather harness straps creaking with each step. In the brief confusion, the doorway stood momentarily unguarded. The maid who had been summoned inside hurried through the entrance with quick, practiced steps, her skirts gathered in one hand as she slipped past the threshold without so much as glancing behind her. Duncan hesitated only for a heartbeat. Then he followed. He slipped in after her, ducking his head slightly as he passed beneath the heavy arch of the doorway.

No one stopped him.

Inside, the air changed at once. The bright sun and noisy heat of the courtyard fell away behind him, replaced by the cool stillness of thick stone walls. Torchlight flickered along the corridor, its wavering glow throwing long shadows across the floor and up the rough-hewn masonry like dark fingers stretching toward the ceiling. The scent of beeswax lingered in the air where candles had burned low, mingling with the damp mineral smell of old stone and the distant aroma of roasted meat drifting from the kitchens somewhere deeper within the keep.

Duncan’s boots struck the floor more softly now against the worn stone, the echoes of his steps swallowed by the corridor’s heavy silence. Ahead of him, the maid moved quickly along the passage, clearly accustomed to navigating the castle’s twisting halls. Duncan followed the same route, keeping a careful distance behind her as though he belonged there as much as any other servant moving about the keep.

The corridor curved once around a thick supporting wall before opening toward a larger chamber ahead. The light there burned brighter, and voices drifted toward him, low and serious. Duncan slowed.

Curiosity tugged at him like a hook set deep beneath his ribs. He edged closer to the doorway, keeping to the side where shadows clung thickest against the wall, and leaned just far enough to see inside. Within the chamber stood Prince Baelor Targaryen, heir apparent to King Daeron II and the Iron Throne. His posture remained composed despite the tension in the room, though the lines around his eyes suggested a weariness that ran deeper than simple travel. Opposite him stood his brother, Prince Maekar, broader-shouldered and far less patient in temper.

Lord Ashford hovered near the long table between them, his brow creased deeply as he studied the princes with obvious concern. The table itself was cluttered with rolled maps, cups of half-finished wine, and a scattering of small wooden markers pushed aside during the course of the discussion.

“The spring rains have swollen many of our streams,” Lord Ashford said carefully, choosing his words with the caution of a man who knew he stood among princes. “Perhaps the young princes have only been delayed?” Prince Maekar exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Fuck me.”

The words came out flat and blunt. He scoffed openly, the sound edged with frustration.

“Delayed,” he repeated. “They’re not delayed.” Prince Baelor lifted a tired hand to his temple and rubbed it slowly, as though the conversation had already begun to press against his patience. He allowed one of the servants to remove his riding cloak, then dipped his fingers into the washbowl held up by a servant girl, glancing toward his brother.

“Do not curse our gracious host.” Maekar turned his head and gave him a look of pure irritation. “I said fuck me, not fuck him.”

His gaze swept across with clear displeasure, taking in the maps, the cups, and the worried faces gathered around the table. “It’s not his fault Father bade us attend this miserable circus.” Baelor let out a quiet sigh, the sort that came from long familiarity with his brother’s temper.

“Might we discuss this another time?” Maekar folded his arms across his chest, the leather of his sleeves creaking faintly with the movement. “I say we go hunting.”

“Daeron has done this before,” Baelor replied with patient calm. “You should not have commanded him to enter the lists.” Someone somewhere near the table hissed a sharp sound for quiet, though whether the warning was meant for Maekar or Baelor was not entirely clear. In the shadows beside the doorway, Duncan drew in a breath a little too loudly.

A young woman standing just inside the corridor turned toward him. Lady Gwin Ashford. Her face was pale beneath the torchlight, and her eyes were wide with the sort of anxious tension that had settled over the entire keep. She leaned slightly toward Duncan, lowering her voice until it was barely louder than breath. “The prince’s sons are missing,” she whispered. Inside the chamber, Maekar’s voice rose again, sharper now. “You’d be more concerned if it were your son,” he said harshly, “or even better, your grandson, I wager.” Duncan blinked. The single word escaped him before he quite realized he had spoken.

“Oh.”

Lady Gwin’s eyes flicked quickly, her attention snapping to the voices within as though afraid she might miss something important. The torchlight along the corridor cast a pale, uneasy glow across her face, and the tight line of her mouth deepened as she listened. When she spoke again, her voice dropped even lower, barely more than a breath. “Probably dead,” she whispered. The words struck Duncan harder than he expected. His shoulders stiffened instinctively, and he leaned a little closer, as though he had misheard her.

“Dead?”

Lady Gwin did not look at him this time. Her gaze remained fixed on the chamber doorway, her expression darkening with a kind of grim resignation that seemed far too heavy for someone so young. “Wars have started for less.”

The quiet sound of wine being poured drifted into the corridor, the soft splash of liquid filling a cup. The murmur of voices rose and fell in low discussion, mingling with the creak of chairs shifting against stone and the faint rustle of fine cloth as the gathered lords adjusted their positions around the table. Torchlight hissed softly along the walls where oil burned low, the wavering glow throwing restless shadows that stretched and shrank across the floor. For a brief moment, the tension in the room settled into an uneasy silence that often followed dangerous words. Lady Gwin turned back toward Duncan.

Her gaze swept over him quickly, sharp and assessing, taking in his towering height, his broad shoulders, the rough-cut tunic and worn boots that marked him plainly for what he was. There was nothing delicate in the way she studied him, no soft courtesy or noble restraint.

“You’re big and stupid,” she whispered bluntly.

Her hand lifted halfway between them as though she were seriously considering whether to shove him out of the doorway herself. Before Duncan could even begin to form a response, she spun sharply on her heel, skirts swishing softly around her ankles as she hurried down the corridor. Within seconds, she disappeared around the bend of the passage, leaving Duncan alone once more in the shadowed archway.

Prince Baelor’s voice rose again, calm and measured despite the strain beneath it. “They have only been missing a day,” he said. “No doubt Ser Roland will turn him up, and Aegon along with him.” Prince Maekar answered with a sharp snort of disbelief. “When the tourney is over, perhaps.” Baelor did not seem moved by the remark. “Daeron belongs on a tourney field no more than Aerys or Rhaegel.” Maekar’s mouth twisted in faint disdain. “By which you mean he’d sooner ride a whore than a horse.” “That is not what I said.” Someone in the room let out a quiet groan, the sound thick with weary resignation, as though the conversation had wandered down this same bitter road more than once before.

Maekar sank into a chair with a harsh scrape of wood against stone. The movement carried the restless energy of a man forcing himself to sit when he would far rather pace the room. His temper simmered visibly beneath the surface, each word edged with frustration. “I do not need to be reminded of my son’s failings.” His voice hardened as he spoke, the quiet restraint of it somehow more threatening than anger shouted aloud. “He can change. He will change, gods, be damned.” Then Maekar added, cold as iron, “Or I swear I’ll see him dead.”

Outside the doorway, Duncan felt a chill crawl slowly down his spine, prickling across the back of his neck. He had been so intent on the conversation that he did not hear the small footsteps racing down the corridor behind him.

The child came barreling forward with the reckless enthusiasm that only a little boy with royal blood, and the freedom it allowed him to wander, could manage. He was clearly intent on some urgent and important mission known only to himself. His boots slapped lightly against the stone as he hurried along the hall, breath puffing in quick bursts with the effort of his run. Duncan shifted his weight absently as he listened to the voices inside the room. His arm swung back. His hand brushed against something small. Very small. “Oof.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Duncan’s head snapped around at once.

Before Duncan could gather his thoughts, Prince Maekar’s voice crashed across the room like thunder. “You.” The word rang sharply through the room and echoed off the stone walls. “Who are you?” Duncan froze where he stood, every muscle in his body tightening. Maekar’s voice sharpened further, cold irritation hardening into something far less patient. “What do you mean by spying on us?” The scrape of wood against stone followed as the prince shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. The sound carried throughout with a harsh rasp. “Show yourself.”

Duncan instinctively looked down before he moved. It took him a moment to understand what he had just bumped into.

The young princeling.

The same boy he had met earlier in the yard. The son of Prince Valarr. The son whose mother Duncan had so brilliantly mistaken for a nursemaid.

The boy rubbed his forehead where Duncan’s arm had clipped him, pressing his fingers dramatically against the spot as if he had suffered a terrible injury. His cheeks puffed into a round little pout, pink beneath the wavering torchlight.

The child looked up at Duncan, studying him with wide, bright eyes. One blue and one brown, though Duncan barely registered it until the torchlight caught them. Then the boy turned his gaze toward the doorway where his grand-uncle had spoken. A look of determination settled across the boy’s tiny face, the sort of serious resolve only children seemed capable of summoning for the smallest of causes.

He planted both hands firmly against Duncan’s side and shoved with all the strength his small body could muster.

Duncan did not move so much as an inch.

The boy tried again, pushing harder this time with a determined grunt of effort, his small boots sliding slightly on the stone floor as he strained. The result was exactly the same. Duncan remained planted firmly where he stood, solid as the castle wall itself. Still, the princeling seemed perfectly satisfied with the attempt, as though he had accomplished something very impressive indeed. Duncan let out a quiet breath. So much for slipping away unnoticed.

Resigning himself to the situation, Duncan stepped forward into the doorway. His head appeared first beneath the arch of the entrance. “Ummm…,” Duncan began awkwardly, his voice catching slightly in his throat as several pairs of royal eyes fixed upon him at once. “My lords, I do apologize for my interruption.”

He shifted his weight uneasily, suddenly aware of how enormous and out of place he must look standing there. The chamber was filled with princes and noblemen dressed in fine cloth and polished armour, while he stood before them in travel-worn clothes and scuffed boots, looking every bit the hedge knight he was.

“I, um…” He cleared his throat again, trying to steady himself beneath their scrutiny. “I have asked Ser Manfred Dondarrion to vouch for me so that I might enter the lists,” he said. “But he has refused to do so.” Prince Maekar stood in the middle of the room and stared at him as though some particularly strange animal had wandered in. His brow furrowed, and his mouth twisted slightly in disbelief. “Who?” Maekar snapped. “What the fuck is going on?”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Before the tension could rise any further, Prince Baelor lifted a calm hand. The gesture was quiet but firm enough to halt the moment before it could turn uglier. His expression remained composed as he looked from his brother back to the towering hedge knight standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“We are the intruders here, brother,” Baelor said gently. Prince Baelor let his gaze rest on Duncan longer, studying the towering hedge knight who stood awkwardly near the doorway. Then he inclined his head slightly and spoke with calm authority.

“Come closer, ser.”

Duncan obeyed at once, stepping fully inside. The light from the torches along the walls flickered across the stone floor as he moved forward, his large boots sounding dull and heavy against the worn flagstones.

Behind him, the small prince suddenly popped into view from the doorway with unmistakable pride written across his face, as though he were entirely convinced that he himself had successfully shoved the enormous knight into the room.

Prince Baelor’s expression softened immediately when he saw him. “Vaelor,” he said, surprise warming his voice. “What are you doing here?”

The boy hurried forward eagerly, his small boots tapping briskly across the stone floor. In one hand, he clutched a small wooden horse, the toy carved simply but lovingly, its legs worn smooth by play. The prince’s brown hair caught the torchlight as he ran, light brown against the darker stones of the walls.

“Hello, grandsire!” Vaelor said brightly as he reached him. “Papa sent me to ask you for permission.” The boy struggled adorably with the word, stumbling slightly over the syllables, though he pressed on with determined seriousness while Baelor looked down at him with clear amusement. “I brought Ser Duncan here as well!” Without hesitation, he lifted both arms expectantly. Baelor did not hesitate either. He bent and lifted the boy easily, settling him comfortably against his side with the natural familiarity of a grandfather well used to such small interruptions. Vaelor beamed proudly from his place in Baelor’s arms, clearly delighted with himself and his announcement. From his elevated position, he looked around as though suddenly remembering that other people were present as well.

“Hello, grand-uncle,” he said cheerfully, giving Prince Maekar a small wave with the hand that held his wooden horse. Maekar blinked at him once, clearly unprepared to be greeted in the middle of an argument. After a moment, he grunted something that might have been a greeting. Vaelor continued without waiting for a reply. “Hello, Lord Ashford,” he added, turning slightly in Baelor’s arms to wave again. His gaze drifted briefly toward the man dressed in black standing off to the side beside the table. “Hello, ser.” The boy seemed perfectly satisfied with his greetings and immediately pointed toward Duncan. Baelor gently caught the small hand and lowered it. “We do not point,” he murmured softly. Vaelor’s lips puckered at once. “Sorry.” The apology came so earnestly that Baelor could not help the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Prince Maekar watched the exchange with the weary expression of a man who had endured such moments many times before and had long since run out of patience for them.

Lord Ashford could not help but stare in open disbelief. It was a strange thing to look upon this small boy and remember what he represented. The child’s birth had already begun to restore the fading influence of House Targaryen, for his cradle had hatched a living dragon. That dragon now rested somewhere under Ashford’s roof, and with it came a responsibility Lord Ashford had never imagined when he agreed to host a tourney for his daughter’s name day. Vaelor, however, seemed entirely unaware of the weight he carried on his small shoulders or what he represented. Like any boy his age, he leaned forward again with renewed enthusiasm, clearly determined to finish the purpose of his arrival.

“I saw Ser Duncan outside,” he said proudly. “He is to be a knight, grandsire. I am excited to see him in the joust. Maybe he can face Papa.” Baelor lifted his gaze from the boy and looked toward Duncan again. Taking that as his moment to speak, Duncan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, ser… I have asked others too. And others as well. They say they know not Ser Arlan of Pennytree. But he served them, I swear it. I have his sword and shield.” Lord Ashford gave a short scoff from beside the table. “Sword and shield do not make a knight.”

Baelor and Maekar exchanged a brief, thoughtful look. Baelor absently stroked the child’s hair as he did so, his fingers moving gently through the soft strands. “Then you will recall the Grey Lion’s true name,” Baelor said calmly. “I have no doubt.” Duncan blinked, caught entirely off guard. “Um…” Baelor supplied the answer without hesitation. “Ser Damon Lannister. The Grey Lion. He is Lord of Casterly Rock now.” Duncan nodded awkwardly. “So he is.” Baelor continued as though discussing the matter were the most ordinary thing in the world. “And he enters the lists upon the morrow.” Prince Maekar shook his head slowly while chewing on a handful of nuts he had taken from the table, his jaw working lazily as he studied Duncan with open disbelief. “How can you possibly remember some fucking hedge knight who chanced to unhorse Damon Lannister sixteen years ago?” Baelor answered without irritation. “I make it a practice to learn all I can of my foes.” Maekar snorted softly, now seated comfortably and almost lazily in his chair to Baelor’s left. “And why would you deign to joust with a hedge knight?” “It was many years past, at Storm’s End,” Baelor replied. “Lord Baratheon held a hastilude to celebrate the birth of a grandson. The lots made Ser Arlan my opponent in the first tilt.” He folded his hands loosely as he continued. “We broke four lances before I finally unhorsed him.” “It was seven,” Duncan blurted suddenly. Maekar barked out a sharp laugh. Duncan flushed immediately, realizing his mistake the moment the words left his mouth.

“I be… believes…” Baelor smiled faintly. “Tales grow in the telling, I know.” Then he added gently, “Do not think ill of your old master, but it was four lances only, I fear.” Duncan nodded quickly. “It was four. I do apologize.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his fingers brushing the rough cloth of his collar. “The old man used to say I was thick as a castle wall and slow as an aurochs.” Baelor waved the matter aside with an easy gesture. “No harm was done, ser. Rise.” Duncan straightened.

“You gave him back his horse and armour and took no ransom,” he said earnestly. “Ser Arlan often said you were the soul of chivalry… and that one day the Seven Kingdoms would be safe in your hands.” Prince Maekar made a low sound of irritation under his breath. Baelor shook his head slightly. “Not for many years yet, I pray.” Duncan suddenly realized how that might have sounded and hurried to correct himself.

“No, I… I did not mean the King should…” “You wish to enter the lists,” Baelor interrupted gently. “Yes,” Duncan answered quickly. “The decision rests with the master of the games,” Baelor said, “but I see no reason to deny you.” Lord Ashford nodded in agreement. “As you say, m’lord.” Relief washed through Duncan so quickly that he nearly sagged with it. “Your Grace—” Maekar waved a dismissive hand as though swatting away a bothersome fly. “Very well, ser. You are grateful. Now fuck off.” Prince Maekar’s words landed like a thrown stone. Prince Baelor sighed faintly and gave Duncan an apologetic look, as though he had long ago grown used to smoothing over his brother’s temper. “You must forgive my brother,” Baelor said calmly. “His sons went astray on the road here, and he fears for them.” Duncan nodded quickly, trying his best to appear respectful while still recovering from the sudden hostility. “Of course,” he said quietly. Then, after an awkward pause, he added, “Um… I trust they will not be found dead.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Prince Maekar turned his head slowly toward him, staring at Duncan as if he had just grown a second head. The look on his face clearly said, What the fuck did you just say? Baelor, meanwhile, simply studied Duncan with mild curiosity, his expression thoughtful rather than offended, as though trying to decide whether the large hedge knight was truly as foolish as he seemed or merely nervous enough to speak before thinking.

“Ser. You are not of Ser Arlan’s blood?” “No.” “Then you must find a new device,” Baelor said calmly. “A sigil of your own.” “I will,” Duncan said earnestly. “Thank you again, Your Grace. I will fight bravely. You will see.” He bowed awkwardly and turned toward the doorway, eager to escape before he managed to say anything else foolish. But just as he reached the threshold, a small voice stopped him. Prince Vaelor had slipped down from Baelor’s chair and hurried after him. “I look forward to seeing you in the lists, Ser Duncan,” the boy said brightly. “Mama and I like tall knights.” Duncan felt his face grow warm despite himself. “Thank you, m’prince.” He bowed again and quickly made his escape down the corridor before anyone could notice the colour rising in his cheeks. Behind him, as he hurried away, he heard Vaelor speaking again in his clear little voice. “He thought Mama was a nursemaid.”

Prince Baelor closed his eyes briefly, as though appealing silently to the Seven for patience.

Prince Maekar, however, snorted despite himself as he watched his grandnephew enthusiastically act out the scene, the boy gesturing animatedly as he tried to demonstrate exactly how the very large hedge knight had somehow mistaken a prince’s wife, the mother of a dragon-blooded heir, for a servant while they were at the stables.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

You and Valarr were shown to your bedchambers and left at last to settle yourselves after the long ride. The corridors of Ashford’s keep had been cool and dim, their stone walls swallowing the sounds of boots and whispered instructions, but the room prepared for you was warm and bright with firelight.

The hearth had already been lit by attentive servants who had clearly anticipated your arrival. Flames licked lazily at the stacked logs, filling the room with a soft amber glow and the faint scent of burning oak. Smoke curled upward through the chimney while the warmth pushed back the lingering chill that clung to travellers fresh from the road. You did not miss the way the servants bowed as you passed. It was not the shallow courtesy offered to passing nobility. Their heads dipped lower than that, and their eyes lingered with something nearer to reverence.

You understood why.

You were the mother of the boy whose egg had hatched, the woman who had given the realm its first living dragon in generations. In a court that still whispered of lost Valyria and the long silence of the dragon pits, such a thing carried weight.

The dragon had been widely welcomed by House Targaryen. When the egg hatched, celebration had echoed from King’s Landing to the far corners of the realm. Lords whispered of omens and old prophecies while maesters penned careful letters full of speculation. Smallfolk spoke of it in taverns and markets with wide eyes and lowered voices, as if even saying the words too loudly might wake something ancient. Within Valarr’s own family, the reaction had been more complicated. There had been joy, of course, and a fierce pride that the blood of their house still carried the magic of dragons after so many quiet years. Yet unease lingered beneath the celebration. Their house possessed only one living dragon now, and with it came a single child who carried both its promise and its danger. Some wondered what that might make Vaelor in the eyes of ambitious men, and whether such a gift would one day draw more enemies than friends.

But when the boy passed safely through his sixth name day, the bells of King’s Landing tolled.

A great feast was held, and afterward a grand hunt in his honour. To live to that age while carrying such a thing was no small matter. Many children of lesser importance had died younger.

For House Targaryen, it meant the dragon still lived.

For the realm, it meant something else besides. Men had begun to hope again.

Valarr knew well enough what hope could do to men. And to dragons.

For the first time in generations, a dragon lived again among the blood of the dragon.

For Vaelor, it had already placed his life upon a very different path. A boy with a dragon would never fade quietly into obscurity. Even here at Ashford, the servants had begun speaking of him differently since the egg hatched. When the boy passed through the corridors, heads turned, and whispers followed. He was no longer simply the prince’s son. He was the boy with the dragon. And you were the woman who had given him to the world. Beside you, Valarr walked with the quiet certainty of a prince who had nothing to prove. His hand rested firmly at the small of your back, guiding you through the doorway with easy familiarity.

Firelight flickered along the stone walls and polished wood furnishings, casting the room in soft gold and shadow. Heavy tapestries muffled the outside air, their woven threads stirring faintly whenever a draft slipped beneath the door. Somewhere deeper in the keep, a distant voice called an order, followed by the clatter of armour and the muted laughter of men settling in for the evening. Inside this room, however, there was only warmth. You helped him remove his riding cloak and gloves, your movements gentle and practiced. The heavy wool slid from his shoulders with a quiet rustle, still holding the bite of the cold wind from outside. Dust from the road clung faintly to the dark fabric. Valarr stood patiently while you worked, watching you with the quiet fondness of a man long accustomed to the comfort of your presence. The firelight caught the pale strands of his hair and turned them to molten silver.

When the cloak was set aside, he drew you into a warm embrace, his arms settling around your waist as naturally as breathing. The long ride, the noise of the keep, and the weight of watching eyes all seemed to fade in that moment. He leaned down and kissed you, slow and familiar. You lifted a hand to his cheek, your fingers brushing along the line of his jaw with easy affection, tracing the faint roughness where travel and wind had touched his skin.

You simply stood there, close and content, while the fire crackled softly behind you. Nearby, your son’s dragon had been discreetly brought inside and now rested near the hearth.

The creature circled the warm stone floor with small, impatient huffs, its claws clicking faintly as it searched for the perfect place to lie. Its wings shifted restlessly at its sides, the thin membranes catching the firelight like dark glass. Like all dragons, it favoured heat and flame. After a few determined turns, it finally dropped down beside the fire with a satisfied plop, curling its long body tightly like an oversized cat. Its tail wrapped neatly around itself, and a faint rumbling breath escaped its nostrils as it settled.

Yet for all the legend bound up in the blood of the dragon, the creature itself proved oddly unimpressive, at least so far. Rather than the fearsome terror people imagined when they spoke of dragons, this one seemed content with a far simpler life. It ate, it slept, and it played. Beyond that, it showed little interest in grandeur or menace. There was something faintly ridiculous about it at times, the way it sprawled beside the fire or chased after scraps like an overeager hound. More than one person had privately remarked that the creature behaved less like a legendary beast and more like a very strange dog.

Vharyx, however, had taken to Vaelor strongly. It followed the boy wherever it could, trotting after him through corridors and chambers with stubborn determination, its small claws clicking sharply against stone floors as it hurried to keep pace. If separated for too long, it grew restless. At times, it released sharp, impatient screeches that echoed through the halls of whatever castle you occupied. On occasion, it snapped irritably at anything unfortunate enough to be nearby, clearly displeased with the absence.

Yet the moment it spotted Vaelor again, its entire demeanour softened. Its head would lift, its eyes would fix upon the boy, and all its agitation would vanish as though nothing had happened at all. It had also taken quite a liking to Valarr. On more than one evening, the creature had climbed onto the bed beside Vaelor while the boy lay tucked beneath his blankets, listening wide-eyed as his father spun tales meant to quiet restless thoughts before sleep. Valarr spoke of wandering knights and distant castles, of bold rides beneath bright banners and princesses clever enough to outwit kings. His voice grew softer as the fire burned low, the stories stretching into adventures only a child could imagine. Curled beside the boy, Vharyx settled into the blankets with an odd patience, its tail twitching lazily as if it listened to every word.

Strangest of all, the dragon allowed Valarr to scratch it around the ear. The prince did so often, and the creature responded with surprising contentment. When Valarr’s fingers found the spot just behind the ridge of bone near its jaw, the dragon leaned into the touch with a low rumble deep in its throat. Its eyes half closed as if such attention were the most natural thing in the world, as if this ritual of story and gentle scratching were simply another part of life beside the hearth. You watched those moments with a mixture of warmth and careful distance.

You loved your husband and son dearly, and you understood well enough that the blood you had married into carried traditions older than most kingdoms. Dragons were not simply beasts to them. They were symbols, power made flesh, living echoes of a past the Targaryens still claimed as birthright. The dragon belonged to your son now, and that truth carried weight far beyond the quiet comfort of this chamber. You would guard that birthright fiercely if you ever had to. And yet, despite the pride you felt when you looked upon Vaelor and the creature that followed him like a loyal shadow, you could not pretend complete ease in its presence. You treated Vharyx as part of the household, a strange and fiery companion that seemed as attached to the boy as any loyal hound.

Still, you remained quietly aware of what it truly was. It was, after all, a fire-breathing creature from your dear husband’s ancient family bloodline that would one day grow larger than the child it followed so faithfully. At present, the dragon barely reached your hip, curling easily beside the hearth like a sleepy cat, but even so, you preferred not to be left alone with it for long. You glanced toward it briefly before returning to Valarr. When you finished setting aside his gloves, smoothing the creases from the leather, you said, “Vaelor went to see his grandsire. He says he wants to visit the market outside the tourney grounds. Apparently, someone mentioned a travelling puppeteer from Dorne, and now he is quite determined to see it.”

As you said, you cast your husband a pointed look, one touched with quiet amusement. Valarr only hummed in response, though the corners of his mouth threatened to betray him. He lifted his fingers to his upper lip as if to hide the smile tugging there, but the warmth in his eyes gave him away all the same.

The dragon shifted slightly at the hearth, letting out another contented puff of breath as the firelight danced across its scales. Somewhere in the distance, a trumpet sounded faintly across the grounds, announcing another knight’s arrival for the lists. Valarr listened in silence, the corner of his mouth slowly lifting in quiet amusement. His gaze drifted toward the small dragon as it puffed out a sleepy breath and shuffled even closer to the warmth of the fire.

He grinned at the sight of the creature settling so proudly beside the flames. You followed his gaze and watched the dragon arrange itself like some spoiled housecat claiming the warmest place in the room. The firelight danced across its scales, catching faint hues of green and bronze where the heat touched them. You exchanged a quiet shake of the head before laughter escaped you both, low and fond.

“Yes,” Valarr said after a moment, the amusement still lingering in his voice. “Father will probably allow it. Though he will no doubt assign twice the number of guards to follow our son about. He would sooner fortify the entire market square than risk the boy wandering off.” His expression softened briefly at the thought, but then a more focused look settled over his features.

“But be ready for tonight,” he added. “I enter the lists.” The words carried an easy confidence, yet beneath them lingered the quiet gravity. A prince riding in the lists was never simply sport. Knights watched. Lords judged. Reputation travelled farther than any horse. You pressed your lips together for a brief moment before stepping closer.

Valarr had seated himself in the high-backed chair before the hearth, the carved wood dark and polished with age. Firelight warmed his face and caught in the pale strands of his hair, turning them almost molten where the glow touched them.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

You came to stand behind him and rested your hands gently on his shoulders. The warmth of your palms seeped through the fabric of his tunic. He reached up without looking and took one of your hands in his, lifting it to his lips.

“Of course,” you said softly. “Our son would never miss the knights jousting. Lances shattering, banners flying, and seeing his father ride into the field. He will cheer louder than anyone.” Warmth lingered in your voice, but the corner of your mouth soon tilted upward with quiet mischief.

“Oh yes,” you continued, your tone turning dry and openly sarcastic, “and I cannot wait to sit there for hours watching knights sweat under metal and leather while the crowd roars for it all. Truly thrilling.” You shifted your grip on his shoulders slightly. “And I get to enjoy the spectacle while buried beneath three layers of silk and velvet.”

Valarr snorted and laughed, low and genuine, shaking his head. He knew exactly where you were coming from. Tournament days were a grand display for the realm, but for those trapped in the stands beneath the sun, wrapped in ceremonial finery, the glory was often less comfortable.

You smiled faintly at his reaction. “He loves you very much,” you said after a moment, softer now. Valarr pressed his cheek lightly against your hand where he still held it. “And I love you both dearly.” He glanced up at you, warmth shifting into quiet amusement. “Just be careful at the market, all right? And make sure he does not drag home anything too large for the carriage.” He chuckled quietly. “Do you remember the wooden horse?” You laughed softly at the memory. Vaelor had once thrown a magnificent tantrum when he had not been allowed to bring home an enormous carved horse he had spotted at a fair, howling until half the square had turned to stare. Valarr had solved it in the most princely way possible, commissioning a nearly identical horse once you returned to King’s Landing.

Now the thing sat in Vaelor’s chamber, forgotten in a corner and gathering dust where the novelty had long since worn away. You leaned down and kissed the crown of his head, your lips lingering there for the briefest moment as if sealing the comfort of the room around you.

Then there was movement outside door. Boots shifted against the stone corridor, followed by the muted clink of a guard adjusting his spear. A respectful knock sounded, and a voice announced from the other side of the heavy oak door that the young prince had returned.

Both of you turned toward the entrance.

The door opened with a soft creak of iron hinges, and Vaelor burst inside with the unstoppable energy that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Mama! Papa!”

He crossed the room in a rush of small boots and bright excitement, the heavy door swinging shut behind him as he hurried forward. Without hesitation, he clambered up onto his father’s lap, scrambling over Valarr’s knee until he had secured his place as though the chair had always been meant for two. Valarr steadied him automatically, one arm sliding around the boy’s back in easy habit. From there, Vaelor immediately turned his attention toward the hearth, and the little dragon stirred. Vharyx lifted its head at once, sensing the boy’s presence even before the sound of his voice had fully settled in the room. Its eyes opened slowly, bright and curious, green as moss after rain, the firelight flickering across their glassy surface. It stretched its neck forward, sniffing toward Vaelor with quiet interest. Its small nose twitched as it drew in the familiar scent of the boy. Satisfied, it released a soft puff of breath that stirred the ash near the hearth, then lowered its head again and curled itself more tightly beside the warmth of the flames. Its eyes drifted closed once more as its breathing steadied, firelight dancing across the small ridges of its scales.

Your thoughts were broken when Vaelor suddenly grabbed his father’s cheeks in both small hands. The boy pulled his father’s face down toward his own with determined enthusiasm. Valarr let it happen, indulging him without hesitation, and touched his nose lightly to Vaelor’s. The simple affection unlocked a fit of bright, helpless giggles that rang throughout and bounced softly off the stone, as if even the walls could not help but listen.

“Papa, I have so much to tell you,” Vaelor announced, pulling back with his eyes shining, cheeks flushed from running and excitement. Valarr chuckled and swept the child’s pale bangs from his forehead with gentle fingers, smoothing the unruly strands back into place. His other arm stayed firm around the boy’s back, a steady anchor that kept him safe even as he wriggled and bounced with the need to speak every thought at once.

“Grandfather agreed for Mama and me to go into the market,” Vaelor rushed on, the words tumbling out faster than breath. “I want to see what’s there. I heard there’s a puppeteer from Dorne, and all sorts of sellers and people. I want to see everything.” His voice spilled forward in a bright rush, each new detail chasing the last, until something in him seemed to remember that certain things must be said properly. He drew himself up with sudden solemnity, small shoulders squaring as if he were a knight making a vow before a king.

“But of course I will be back in time for your joust,” he finished, speaking with the grave certainty of a promise sworn in a hall full of watching lords.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

The scent of burning oak and beeswax lingered in the air, softened by the cool evening breeze that slipped through the narrow arrow slits high in the wall. Somewhere beyond the door, footsteps echoed faintly along the corridor, followed by the hush of servants speaking under their breath as they moved about their duties. Valarr smiled at the boy’s declaration and settled deeper into the chair, keeping one arm snug around him as though the child belonged there by right. His voice warmed as he answered, the ease of it making the words feel like truth instead of flattery. “Of course. I look forward to seeing you and your mother in the stands.” Then a quieter note of teasing slipped in, light as a feather, but deliberate enough to make Vaelor sit straighter. “I fear I might not perform properly if the two of you were not there to watch.”

Vaelor’s eyes widened immediately, struck by the seriousness of it as if he had been handed an important duty. “You would not?” he asked, leaning forward as though the fate of the whole tourney might depend on the answer. Valarr pressed a hand to his chest in exaggerated solemnity, the sort of performance only a child could fully believe. “I fear not,” he said gravely. “A knight must know his family is watching. Otherwise, his lance may wobble, his horse may stumble, and he may look rather foolish before half the realm.” Vaelor gasped, scandalized, as if the thought of his father looking foolish was an insult to the crown itself. “Well, that simply will not do,” he declared with firm authority. The outburst stirred the small dragon resting by the hearth. Vharyx lifted its head from where it had been curled beside the fire, pale scales catching the orange glow of the flames. Its moss-green eyes blinked slowly as it regarded the pair , then it stretched its narrow neck forward, tail flicking lightly against the stone floor as curiosity drew it nearer.

Vaelor noticed at once and pointed with delighted urgency. “Oh. Look, Papa. Vharyx is awake again.” Valarr followed the gesture with an amused smile as the dragon rose onto its forelegs and padded across in a slow, deliberate walk. Its claws clicked softly against the stone, each step careful as if it were aware it was walking into something important. When it reached Valarr’s boots, it paused and tipped its head upward toward the boy perched above.

Vaelor leaned down without hesitation. “Hello, Vharyx,” he said warmly. The dragon answered with a low rumble that seemed too big for such a small body and nudged the boy’s hand with its nose, as if confirming that yes, this was his boy and this was where he belonged. Valarr’s quiet laugh deepened at the sight. “Careful,” he warned, though the fondness in his tone gave the warning away. “If you give him too much attention, he will follow you all the way into the market.” Vaelor’s face lit up at once, as though that sounded like the finest plan anyone had ever spoken aloud. “Can he come?” he asked immediately. From across the room, you laughed softly. “Absolutely not.” Vaelor twisted toward you in mild outrage, as if you had spoken treason. “But he likes markets.” You stood near the tall window where the last pale light of evening brushed the edge of your gown, watching them with gentle amusement that did not soften your refusal. “Vharyx likes chasing chickens and chewing boots,” you replied dryly. “Neither of which the merchants will appreciate.” Valarr laughed openly at that, warm and easy in the quiet chamber, and for a moment even the air felt lighter, as if the keep itself had relaxed around the hearth.

Vaelor frowned thoughtfully, weighing your words with the careful consideration of someone forced to accept a great injustice. At last, he sighed with the weary maturity of a much older man. “Fine,” he said. “But I will tell him everything we see.” Vharyx huffed softly, as if accepting the arrangement, then lowered itself beside the chair. It curled its tail neatly around its body and settled at Valarr’s feet like a loyal companion, eyes half-lidded but attentive enough to prove it was still listening. Vaelor leaned forward again, excitement returning in a rush, as if the dragon’s agreement had reminded him of everything else he still had to report.

“Oh, Papa, you should see the banners outside the tourney field,” he said quickly. “There are so many knights. I saw armour with suns, birds, and trees, and even one with a fish. And there are tents everywhere.” His voice dipped slightly, conspiratorial, as if secrets were the real treasure of a tourney. “And I think one knight fell off his horse earlier.” Valarr lifted an eyebrow, the expression balanced perfectly between interest and amusement. “Did he now?” Vaelor nodded gravely. “Yes. Right into the mud.”

His enthusiasm only grew as he continued, words tumbling out in a breathless pile of sights and sounds: squires darting like startled sparrows, vendors calling over one another, sugared almonds and roasted apples, bright cloth snapping in the wind and the restless stamp of horses waiting their turn. Then he stopped suddenly, face brightening as though a lantern had been lit behind his eyes. “Oh. And I met the tallest knight I have ever seen.” That caught Valarr’s full attention. Not because height alone mattered, but because a prince learned early that a child’s small gossip often carried sharp edges beneath the sweetness. “The tallest knight?” he repeated, voice still gentle, but now listening differently.

Vaelor nodded vigorously. “Yes. He was huge, like a tower. And he had very strange clothes, not really like the other knights. But he was built like one, I think.” Valarr’s gaze drifted, thoughtful, as if he were sorting through every man of unusual height who might be wandering Ashford’s grounds. Hedge knights seeking fortune. Sworn swords riding under unfamiliar banners. Men with nothing but their arms and their nerve. “And what did this very tall knight say to you?” he asked. Vaelor straightened proudly on his father’s lap, preparing to deliver the most important part. “Well,” he said, careful as if he were telling a story meant for the singers, “he thought mama was my nursemaid.” Valarr blinked once, slowly, then turned his head toward you. “Oh?”

Vaelor hurried on, eager to explain before anyone could interrupt, the way children did when they sensed the grownups had become suddenly interested. “He talked to her for a while,” he said. “And he called her sensible. I think he thought she was very good in character.” He paused, searching his memory, then brightened. “He said you must be very sensible.” Vaelor beamed as he explained it, interpreting the encounter through the generous and uncomplicated logic of six years. In his mind, sensible meant kind. Trustworthy. The sort of person knights noticed. The sort of person knights liked. He did not omit the nursemaid part, because to him it had simply been another detail, no more sharp than the colour of a banner.

Across the room, you pressed your lips together carefully. The expression was controlled, not quite a smile, not quite anything you wanted to name. Candlelight caught the edge of your face near the window, drawing a faint shadow across your cheek as you listened. Valarr went very still beneath his son, but only for the space of a heartbeat. Then he leaned back in the chair, one brow lifting just a fraction higher than the other, calm settling over him with the deliberate ease of a man who knew how to wear restraint like armour. “A nursemaid,” he repeated, mild and thoughtful, yet not empty of meaning.

His hand rose without thinking and brushed a stray strand of silver hair from Vaelor’s face, gentle and practiced. The tenderness of the gesture did not match the sharpening focus in his eyes. “Tell me,” he said, voice still patient, still warm, “what did this very tall knight look like?” Vaelor shifted happily, pleased that his story had become important enough to earn questions. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stepped forward first. Your gown briskly touched the ground as it swayed with your motion against the stone as you crossed towards your husband and son. One hand came to rest atop Vaelor’s head, smoothing his hair in an absent, affectionate motion. Your other hand settled lightly against the back of the chair, the touch calm and grounding, fingers resting there with easy familiarity. “It was a misunderstanding,” you said softly. “I did not correct it. He was a good and kind knight.” Valarr did not answer at once.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ The room held a quiet pause, and only the crackle of the fire could be heard. Somewhere down the corridor, a door shut with a distant thud, the sound echoing faintly through Ashford’s stone as if the keep itself had just swallowed a secret.

Vaelor blinked up at both of you, sensing something had shifted but not knowing why. Valarr kept his arm secure around the boy’s back, holding him safely in place, while his other hand moved without conscious thought and found your fingers where they rested on the chair. His hand closed around yours automatically, instinctively and familiarly, as if he could not help but claim you even in the smallest ways. Valarr lifted your hand and pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles, a habit he had never quite abandoned, no matter how many years had passed.

“Kind, was he?” he asked at last. Vaelor nodded eagerly. “Yes. Very tall. Very big. And he talked nicely to Mama.” You squeezed your son’s shoulder gently, the small gesture meant as reassurance, and Valarr’s gaze lifted to you again across the soft glow of the hearth. “A misunderstanding,” he repeated. “Yes,” you replied softly. “He believed I was a nursemaid. I saw no reason to embarrass him.” Valarr’s mouth curved faintly, though there was little true amusement in it. The fire crackled quietly behind him as he shifted in the chair, adjusting Vaelor more comfortably against his chest. His arm settled securely around the boy, drawing him close as though reminding himself that the child was here, safe and warm and untouched by the sharper edges of the world outside these walls. “Vaelor may have enjoyed himself,” he said, measured and composed, “but I confess I do not appreciate you being mistaken for someone in service.”

His tone remained even, yet the meaning beneath it carried weight. This was not pride alone. It was the quiet understanding of how the realm worked, how quickly strangers placed others into neat little boxes without ever seeing the truth of them. “You are a princess of the blood through marriage,” he continued quietly, his eyes steady on yours. “You are the mother of my son. You are the woman I chose above all others.” His hand closed more firmly around your fingers where they rested near him. The pressure was gentle, not painful, but certain, as if through that simple contact he meant to remind both you and the world of the place you held beside him.

Then his voice softened, and with it came a deeper note of pride. “You are also the mother of the prince whose dragon hatched.” The firelight flickered across his face as he spoke, catching the quiet certainty there and the fierce tenderness he rarely showed before others. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. “The realm may praise the dragon as a miracle returned to the world,” he said, “but it was you who carried him. You who bore him. You who brought that miracle into the world.” Vaelor brightened instantly at that, delighted by anything that sounded like praise of you.

“Mama made the dragon prince,” he declared proudly, as though this settled the matter far more cleanly than any speech ever could. He looked between the two of you with growing certainty, brow furrowing as he worked through the problem with the grave seriousness only a child could manage. “Mama is not a nursemaid.” Valarr’s expression softened at once. He brushed Vaelor’s hair back from his forehead again, the motion slow and gentle. “No,” he said warmly. “You are right. She most certainly is not.” Vaelor nodded with deep satisfaction, as though the world had been corrected and set neatly back into its proper order. Valarr’s gaze returned to you after a moment. The warmth remained there, though something more watchful sat beneath it now, quiet and thoughtful.

“I do not begrudge the man his ignorance,” he said after a moment. “A hedge knight, perhaps. Or someone who has newly come to court. Not every man knows every face.” His fingers drifted absently through Vaelor’s hair as he spoke, smoothing the soft strands while the boy leaned comfortably against him.

“But I do not enjoy the thought of you being mistaken for someone beneath your station,” he added more quietly. “Not when men are already hungry to forget what you are, and what you have given.” You sighed softly. There was more fondness than frustration in the sound.

“It truly did not trouble me,” you said gently. “He meant no insult.” Valarr studied you for a long moment. The firelight caught faintly in his eyes, reflecting there like small flames. “That may be,” he admitted at last. “Yet it sits poorly with me.” Vaelor tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Papa?” Valarr lowered his gaze at once. “Yes?” “The tall knight was very nice,” Vaelor said earnestly. “He helped Mama when someone dropped a basket. And he talked to me too about horses, jousting and cats.” A little of the tension eased from Valarr’s face, if only because the child’s sincerity made it hard to hold sharpness for long. “Did he,” he asked, softer. “Yes,” Vaelor said proudly. “He said I must take good care of Mama.” Valarr let out a quiet breath through his nose, half a huff, half a reluctant acknowledgment.

“Well,” he said dryly, “he is not wrong about that.” Vaelor beamed, delighted that his mysterious knight had said something correct. Valarr leaned forward and rested his chin briefly atop his son’s head, the gesture instinctive, protective, intimate. Vaelor settled under it as though it were the safest place in the world. “I am not angry,” Valarr said after a moment, looking up at you. “Only protective.” His voice softened further, and in it was something plain and undeniable, the kind of truth that did not need poetry to be heavy. “You are my wife,” he said simply. “I would prefer the world remember that.”

“I know,” you answered gently. Valarr’s arm tightened slightly around Vaelor, drawing him a fraction closer as the hearthlight flickered over the quiet chamber. “And if this towering mystery knight should happen to cross my path in the lists tomorrow,” he added thoughtfully, “then perhaps I will remind him, politely, what station you hold, and whose protection you stand beneath.”

Vaelor’s eyes widened with instant delight, already imagining the spectacle. “Oh. Papa, you should joust him.” Valarr’s chuckle was low and warm, the last of the sharpness tucked away again beneath control. “Perhaps I will.”

Valarr let the words hang a moment longer than he needed to, as if tasting them, as if deciding how much of himself to show while Vaelor was still perched happily in his lap. The fire hissed softly as a log shifted, sending a brief flare of light up the chimney, and for an instant the shadows on the walls leapt like dark banners in a wind. Vaelor, satisfied with his report and the very important conclusion that you were not, in fact, anyone’s nursemaid, began to wiggle again, already half pulled toward his next thought, his next adventure, his next question.

You stayed where you were, one hand still resting on your son’s head, the other close enough to your husband that your fingers could brush his shoulder if you wished. The warmth of fire made your cheeks feel softer than the road had allowed, and yet you could still feel the keep beyond the door, the hum of it, the way it held its breath for the tourney to begin. In the corridor outside, someone passed with a murmured instruction, and the faint clink of metal suggested a guard changing post. It was a castle preparing itself for spectacle, and for consequence, and you knew too well that the two often wore the same face.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

At Valarr’s feet, Vharyx shifted and resettled with a small, indignant huff, as if offended that its nap had been interrupted by talk of markets and towering knights. The dragon’s tail curled tighter around its body, and its eyes slid half-shut again, though not entirely. Not while Vaelor was still laughing. Not while Valarr’s hand moved, absent and familiar, to stroke the boy’s back in slow, grounding passes. The creature listened in its own way, not to the words perhaps, but to the quiet rhythm of the room and the calm that wrapped around the child it had chosen.

Valarr’s gaze lifted once more to you, quieter now, and the look held something that did not belong to public halls or tourney stands. It was the look of a man who had chosen you and would keep choosing you, even when the world tried to rename you into something smaller. He did not speak his thoughts aloud, not with Vaelor right there, bright and innocent and full of trust. He only tipped his head slightly, as if to say that he had heard you when you called it a misunderstanding, and that he would let it be that, for your sake, but he would not forget. Vaelor’s eyelids began to droop at last, the excitement burning itself down into a soft, stubborn drowsiness. He fought it with all the pride of a child who refused to admit he was tired, blinking hard, sitting up straighter, trying to keep his head from tipping forward. His small fingers found Valarr’s sleeve and clutched it, as if anchoring himself in place would keep sleep from creeping up behind him. “I will still tell Vharyx everything,” he mumbled, voice suddenly thick at the edges, the way it always became when he was close to losing the battle.

“You will,” Valarr promised, gently, and the words sounded less like amusement now and more like devotion. “You will tell him all of it.” Vaelor made a sound that might have been agreement, might have been a yawn; he tried to swallow, and then his head dipped briefly against his father’s chest before he jerked it back up with offended determination. You watched it with a fondness that ached, the three of you gathered around a hearth that made the world feel smaller, safer, almost simple.

Outside, the keep continued to move and murmur, the tourney grounds waiting, the lists being prepared, banners snapping in the wind beyond the walls. Somewhere out there, a hedge knight with strange clothes and a foolish tongue was walking around Ashford thinking himself lucky to be alive, and he was. He had no idea just how quickly luck could turn, not in a castle full of princes, not when names carried weight, not when the mother of a dragon’s rider could be mistaken for anything at all. Valarr’s fingers tightened once, briefly, around your hand where it rested near him, a quiet claim and a quiet comfort all at once. When he spoke again, his voice was mild, almost lazy, as if he were only making conversation by a warm fire.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, “I will look a little more closely at the men in the lists.” He did not say why. He did not need to. Vaelor, already slipping, blinked up at him and smiled, small and sleepy and utterly certain of the world. “Good,” he whispered, as if this solved everything, and at last his eyes closed for a heartbeat too long. Vaelor shifted against Valarr’s chest, his earlier excitement finally giving way to the slow pull of sleep. His small fingers still clutched the front of his father’s tunic, though the grip had loosened. His eyes blinked heavily. Then he looked up at the two of you with sudden seriousness, as though remembering something important. “I love you, Mama,” he said sleepily. Then he turned his head the other way. “And I love you, Papa.” The words were simple, spoken with the complete certainty only a child could manage. Valarr’s arm tightened around him automatically, and you felt your chest soften in that quiet way such moments always brought. “Well,” Valarr murmured gently, brushing the boy’s hair back, “that is very fortunate.” Vaelor blinked at him. “Why?” Valarr smiled faintly. “Because we love you just as much.”

Vaelor seemed satisfied with that answer. His head tipped forward again, settling comfortably against his father’s chest as the warmth of the fire and the soft murmur of familiar voices finally pulled him the rest of the way toward sleep. Valarr waited a moment, making certain the boy had truly drifted off, before rising carefully from the chair. He held Vaelor close against his shoulder as he moved to towards the bed, the child’s small arms still loosely wrapped around his neck.

The bed had already been turned down by the servants, thick blankets folded neatly back, and the pillows fluffed high beneath the carved wooden headboard.

You stepped ahead of them, smoothing the covers as Valarr lowered Vaelor gently onto the mattress. The boy barely stirred, only shifting slightly as his head found the pillow. Valarr drew the blankets up over him with careful hands. In sleep, the child looked smaller, curled in the middle of a bed far too large for him. Then again, he was sleeping in his parents’ bed tonight, and even so, the wide mattress and heavy coverings seemed to swallow him whole. A faint softness touched Valarr’s expression as he looked down at him, the sort of quiet fondness a father rarely showed in crowded halls or before watching eyes.

Behind you, Vharyx had already noticed. The little dragon trotted across the floor with quick, determined steps, claws clicking softly against the stone. When it reached the bedside, it stretched its small forelegs up against the mattress with a soft chirping sound.

You laughed quietly and helped guide the creature up onto the bed. The dragon scrambled awkwardly over the blankets before settling itself squarely atop Vaelor’s lap as though that had always been its rightful place. After a moment of circling and fussing, it curled its tail neatly around its body and lowered its head. Vaelor made a sleepy sound but did not wake. One of his hands drifted lazily across the dragon’s back, resting there without thought. Vharyx rumbled softly, perfectly content. The day had finally caught up with them both.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Vaelor had been lying down for his nap, his dragon and closest companion purring softly atop him, curled like a contented cat. Valarr and his wife did not doubt that, at some point during the boy’s sleep, he would accidentally kick the poor creature away for producing too much heat beneath the blankets. Even so, the dragon would only shift aside and settle again nearby, never truly bothered by the boy’s restless movements. It had already learned that Vaelor’s presence was worth a little discomfort.

Often, it simply crept back again once the boy had settled, curling beside him with stubborn devotion as if nothing had happened at all. Valarr spoke to his wife in a low voice, careful not to stir either the sleeping boy or the dragon that guarded him. “I want you to enjoy the market,” he said gently. “But take care, and exercise caution.” His gaze lingered on you with quiet concern. “Especially now.” The meaning in his words needed no further explanation. “You are carrying our second child.” His voice held no command, only care.

For all the praise the realm gave the dragon, for all the reverence his family had shown you since Vaelor’s egg hatched, Valarr sometimes thought the greater miracle had never been the creature sleeping beside the hearth.

It was you.

You who had given him a son. You who now carried another child beneath your heart. The realm might marvel at dragons, but Valarr knew well where the truer wonder of his life lay. He did not allow himself to dwell long on darker thoughts. Even the briefest imagining of losing you left an empty place in his chest. Some things a man simply refused to consider. For he knew, with a certainty that unsettled him in his quietest moments, that if you were ever taken from him, much of the light in his world would vanish with you. And that was a loss he could not bear.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

The tourney camp had begun to quiet as dusk settled over Ashford. The last light of the sun bled low along the western sky, painting the distant hills in dull copper and shadow. Between the long rows of pavilions, cooking fires flickered and spat, sending thin streams of smoke curling lazily into the evening air. The smell of roasting meat drifted through the camp, mingling with the scents of horse, leather, and trampled grass. Somewhere, a group of squires laughed too loudly over a dice game, while farther off, a minstrel plucked half-heartedly at a lute as men settled themselves for the night.

Duncan the Tall stood beside Thunder near the watering trough, rubbing the great horse down with slow, steady strokes of a worn cloth. The stallion drank deeply, the hollow rhythm of water sloshing against the trough breaking the quiet between them. Dunk worked methodically, more out of habit than necessity, though his thoughts wandered far from the task. The day had left him with a strange sort of feeling in his chest, one he could not quite name. Thunder snorted softly and tossed his head. Dunk sighed.

Raymun Fossoway wandered over a moment later with two cups of ale in his hands. The young knight moved with easy confidence, his green-and-red surcoat loose over his shoulders and his hair still damp from a quick wash. He offered one of the cups to Dunk without ceremony. “You look like a man who has just remembered something unfortunate,” Raymun said, studying him with mild curiosity. Dunk accepted the cup gratefully. “D’ya know what?” he said after taking a long drink. “I met Prince Valarr’s wife today.” Raymun blinked. “…You what?” “In the stables in front of Ashford Keep,” Dunk said. Raymun stared at him for a long moment, the way a man might stare at someone who had just claimed to have wrestled a bear and won. “And you are still alive.” Dunk frowned slightly at that. “She seemed nice.” “Nice,” Raymun repeated slowly. His eyes widened as the word left his mouth, his lips pursing in disbelief as if he were testing it for poison. Dunk nodded, perfectly serious. “She had a little boy with her. Brown hair with these pale streaks through it. Eyes didn’t match.” Raymun groaned aloud and dragged a hand down his face. “The prince’s son.” “Aye,” Dunk admitted.

Raymun leaned forward and planted both hands on the edge of the trough as if steadying himself against the weight of what he was hearing. “Tell me you did not embarrass yourself.” Dunk hesitated. Raymun closed his eyes. “…Seven save us.” “I thought she was a nursemaid,” Dunk said. Raymun’s head snapped up so quickly it was a wonder his neck did not crack. “You WHAT?” “I did not know who she was at the time,” Dunk defended, spreading his hands helplessly. Raymun stared at him with a look of horrified fascination, as though Dunk had casually confessed to kicking a lion. “And you just… walked away afterward?” Dunk shrugged. “She was kind about it.” Raymun shook his head slowly, clearly struggling to understand how the man before him had managed to blunder into such danger and emerge untouched.

“Her brother wasn’t with her, was he?” “No.” “Any sworn swords?” Dunk considered that. “Well,” he said carefully, “I did see one of the Kingsguard nearby.” Raymun froze. For a moment, he said nothing at all. “…Nearby,” he repeated faintly. “Fuckin’ hell.” “Aye.” Raymun stared at Dunk for a long moment in complete silence. Then he laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was unbelievable. “My friend,” Raymun said at last, clapping Dunk heavily on the shoulder, “you are either the luckiest hedge knight in the Seven Kingdoms…” He took a long drink of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “…or the gods simply enjoy watching fools wander into danger.” Dunk frowned down into his cup. “I was polite.” Raymun grinned. “That,” he said, “is probably the only reason you’re still breathing.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

[eu-nicola]

27 letters - valarr targaryen

summary: valarr dies and you find twenty seven letters that he made for you

words: (2,9k)

warnings: death, depression

The ink had run in some places.

You held the letter between your trembling fingers, sitting on the floor of the room that had been Valarr’s, surrounded by scrolls you never should have found. The wood creaked beneath your knees, and dust floated in the rays of sunlight filtering through the window. Outside, the mourning continued. The bells had stopped ringing three days ago, but the silence they left behind was deafening.

Valarr had died a week ago.

The Great Spring Epidemic had taken him, along with his brother and thousands more. You had fallen ill too, had delirious with fever for days, but you survived. Sometimes, in the darkest moments of the night, you wished you hadn’t.

The oak wooden box had been hidden at the back of his wardrobe, behind layers of cloaks and armor that no one would ever wear again. You had found it by accident while sorting through his belongings.

And then you saw it. A simple box, unadorned, with your initials carved into the lid. Your heart had stopped.

Now, with twenty seven letters scattered around you, you felt it would never beat correctly again.

My dearest cousin,

Today you turned fourteen. I saw you at the banquet, laughing with your brothers, with flowers in your hair. You wore that blue dress that makes your eyes look like the sea in summer. Father toasted to you. I raised my cup and pretended the wine was the reason my cheeks burned.

I could not tell you that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I could not tell you that every time you laugh, I feel as though I can breathe for the first time all day.

I am seventeen. I am the heir’s heir. I must be perfect, controlled, worthy. And yet, when I look at you, I am only a fool in love with his cousin.

I will never send this to you. But I needed to write it, even just once. I needed it to exist somewhere, even if only in ink and parchment: I love you.

Always yours (though you will never know it), Valarr

A sob escaped your throat. The letter trembled in your hands. Fourteen years old. You were fourteen when he wrote this. You remembered that day, remembered the blue dress, remembered searching for him with your eyes throughout the entire banquet, hoping he would ask you to dance. He never did. He had left early, and you had thought he was bored, that you didn’t matter to him.

But he had been here. Writing to you.

You took another letter with trembling hands.

Today Father announced that he will begin looking for a wife for me. A suitable alliance, he said. A union that will strengthen the crown.

I saw you go pale when he said it. Our eyes met for a second across the council table, and I had to look away because I feared everyone could see the truth in my eyes.

I wanted to scream that I had already chosen. That the only wife I want is you. That I couldn’t care less about politics and alliances when all I desire is to wake each morning by your side.

But I am a coward. I am a damned coward who places duty above his own heart. Like a good Targaryen, isn’t that right? Always duty. Always honor.

What good is it to be a prince if I cannot have the one thing I truly want?

Tonight I drank too much wine. Aegon found me in the gardens and asked what was wrong with me. I almost told him. Almost confessed that I am in love with his sister, that I have been for years, that every day that passes without being able to touch you is an agony.

But I didn’t. Because what would change? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I love you. And that has to be enough, even if it is slowly killing me.

V.

You remembered that day too. You remembered how Valarr had avoided your gaze for weeks afterward. How he had stopped seeking your company. You had thought he had finally matured, that he had outgrown the closeness of childhood, that he no longer considered you important.

You had felt abandoned. Alone.

And all this time, he had loved you.

Tears fell freely now, staining your mourning dress. You took another letter. And another. And another.

Years passed through those letters.

Letters from when you were sixteen and nearly married a lord from the North. Valarr had written ten pages that night, the ink smeared in some places by what could only have been tears. He begged you not to go so far away. To stay. The betrothal was broken for political reasons, and his next letter was one of pure joy and relief.

Letters from when you fell ill with fever at eighteen. He had been in your room day and night, and no one had questioned it because you were cousins, because it was proper for family to care for one another. His letter from that time read: “Today I held your hand while you delirious with fever. You said my name. Only my name. Over and over. Were you saying it the way I say yours in the darkness of my room? Or was it only the delirium? I will never know. But I kissed your knuckles when no one was looking and prayed to all the gods, old and new, that you would live. They may take me, but not you. Never you.”

Letters from when you turned twenty and danced with him at the summer tournament. An entire letter dedicated to how your hand felt in his, to the scent of your hair, to the thirty seconds in which he held you in his arms during the dance.

“For thirty seconds, I pretended you were mine. That everyone in that hall knew I belonged to you and you belonged to me. When the music ended and I had to let you go, I felt as though my heart was being torn from my chest. Lord Caswell asked you to dance afterward. I had to leave the hall. Aegon found me being sick in the gardens, though it wasn’t the wine. It was the image of his hands where mine should have been.”

You were sobbing openly now, your entire body shaking. How had you not seen it? How had you been so blind?

Every lingering glance. Every accidental brush of hands. Every time he searched for you in a crowd. Every time he grew tense when another man paid you attention.

They were not coincidences. It was love. A desperate and silent love that he had carried alone for years.

You took one of the last letters. It was dated six months ago. Your hand trembled so badly you nearly dropped it.

Today Father spoke to me about your possible betrothal to Lord Tyrell’s son. I watched your father and mine discuss the terms. An excellent alliance, they said. It will secure you a good future.

I excused myself from the meeting and came straight here. My hands tremble so much I can barely hold the quill.

I cannot do it. I cannot watch you marry another. I cannot stand at that ceremony and watch you pledge your life to someone who is not me. I cannot imagine another man touching you, kissing you, sleeping beside you.

For the first time in my life, I am considering being selfish. I am considering going to your father and asking for your hand. The Targaryens have wed cousins before. It would not be scandalous. It could work.

But what if you do not feel the same? What if I have misread every smile, every shared moment? What if you see me only as a cousin, as family, and nothing more?

The thought of confessing my feelings to you and seeing rejection in your eyes terrifies me more than any battle. I would rather love you in silence for the rest of my life than risk losing you entirely.

I am a coward. I know it. But you are too precious to me. I could not bear to ruin the little of you that I have.

Perhaps in another life, in another world, I was brave enough. Perhaps in another life I told you what I feel and you returned it. Perhaps in another life you are mine.

But in this one, I can only love you from afar and pretend that it is enough.

Yours, always yours, Valarr

“You stupid coward,” you sobbed, pressing the letter to your chest. “Foolish, stupid coward. I… I also…”

The betrothal to Tyrell’s son had never come to pass. You had refused it. Because deep in your heart, though you had never dared admit it fully, you had been waiting. Waiting for Valarr to finally see you. To finally say something.

But he never did.

And now he never could.

You took the last letter. It was dated two weeks before the epidemic began. Your hand trembled so badly you nearly let it fall.

My beloved,

Today I made a decision.

I am going to tell you. I am going to confess everything. This cowardice has lasted too long. I have wasted years, precious years in which we could have been happy, because I was afraid.

But last night I had a dream. I dreamed I was an old man on my deathbed, and the only thing I regretted was never having told you that I loved you. Never having kissed you. Never having fought for you.

And I woke with absolute clarity: I would rather have your rejection than spend my whole life wondering what might have been.

Tomorrow is the spring festival. I know you will go to the gardens at sunset, you always do. I will find you there. And I will tell you everything.

I will tell you that I have loved you since you were fourteen and I was seventeen. I will tell you that every woman my father has presented to me fades in comparison to you. I will tell you that the thought of spending one more day without you knowing what I feel is unbearable.

And if you reject me, I will accept it. But at least I will no longer carry this secret alone.

I am terrified. I am more frightened now than before any battle. But I am also… hopeful. For the first time in years, I have hope.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will change everything.

I love you. And tomorrow you will finally know it.

Forever yours, Valarr

The letter fell from your hands.

The spring festival. You remembered that day.

You had gone to the gardens at sunset, as always. You had waited, sitting by the fountain, watching the last light of day fade. But Valarr never came.

Because that morning the epidemic had begun. The first people had fallen ill. By sunset, panic had already spread through the city. The festival was cancelled. The castle gates were closed.

And two days later, Valarr fell sick.

“No,” you moaned, folding over yourself. The pain was physical, an agony in your chest that left you unable to breathe. “Please, no…”

He had planned to tell you. He was going to confess everything. After years of silence, he had finally found the courage.

And the illness had taken him before he could.

You had sat beside his bed during his final days, already ill yourself but refusing to leave him. You had watched him delirious with fever. You had held his hand. You had wept over his motionless body.

And all that time, these letters had been here. Waiting.

You did not remember much of his last moments. Your own fever had been too high. But there were fragments.

His hand squeezing yours.

His lips moving, trying to say something.

You leaning closer, begging him to fight, to stay with you.

And his last words, barely a whisper that in your delirium you had not fully understood: “I… love… you… always…”

A cry tore itself from your throat.

He had said it. At the end, he had said it.

And you had been too ill, too lost in your own fever to understand it fully. You had thought it was the delirium. That it was family love. That you were hallucinating.

But no. Those were his last words. His last confession.

And you had never been able to answer.

You lay down on the floor of his room, surrounded by his letters, and wept. You wept as you had not wept since his death.

You wept for the lost years. For the words never spoken. For the kisses never shared. For the future you would never have.

“I loved you too,” you whispered to the empty air. “I did too, Valarr. I always loved you. Since we were children. I loved you when you were seventeen and I was fourteen. I loved you when you avoided my gaze. I loved you when we danced. I loved you even when I thought you would never see me that way.”

“I loved you. I love you. I will always love you.”

But he was not there to hear it.

The room remained silent, except for your sobs.

Days later, they would find another letter. One he had begun writing the morning he fell ill, before the fever consumed him entirely. It was incomplete, only a few lines:

“My love, I do not feel well. But it does not matter. Today is the day. Today I will finally tell you that…”

The quill had slipped across the parchment after that. A line of ink dragging down the page before stopping abruptly.

That was the moment the fever struck him, the moment your fate with him was sealed.

Three weeks passed.

Three weeks since you found the letters. Three weeks since your world collapsed entirely.

At first, no one noticed anything unusual. You continued fulfilling your duties. You attended family dinners. You smiled when it was appropriate. But your handmaidens whispered quietly that you barely touched your food. That you did not sleep. That you spent hours locked in your room doing nothing but staring out the window.

Your father attributed it to grief. You had been very close to Valarr, after all. It was natural that his death would affect you deeply.

But there was something else. Something rotting inside you.

Every morning you woke and remembered he was gone. That he would never be there again. That they had wasted whole years because both of you were too cowardly to speak. Every night you read the letters over and over until the words blurred from so much handling, until you could recite them from memory.

You began to grow thin. Your skin took on a sickly pallor that had nothing to do with the epidemic you had survived. Your eyes sank, ringed with dark shadows. You walked through the castle corridors like a ghost, present but not truly alive.

The maesters examined you. They found nothing wrong. No illness. No fever. Your body was perfectly healthy.

But your heart was dying.

You stopped eating almost entirely. Food tasted of ash. You stopped speaking beyond what was strictly necessary. Words felt pointless when the only ones that mattered could never be said in time.

At night, you lay in your bed and wondered what the purpose of continuing was. Valarr was gone. The future you never knew you wanted until it became impossible had vanished. You would live, marry another, grow old… but there would always be this emptiness. This constant, dull ache that would never heal.

The fourth week, you stopped getting out of bed. You simply saw no purpose in it. Your body no longer responded as it should. Not from illness, but from surrender. Your heart beat slower and slower, as though it had finally decided it had suffered enough.

Maester Yandel came again. He checked your pulse, looked into your eyes, examined every part of you. He turned to your father with confusion on his face.

There was nothing medically wrong with you.

But you were dying all the same.

In the early hours of the twenty eighth day after finding the letters, your heart simply stopped. Without pain. Without struggle. Like a candle extinguishing softly when no wax remains.

Your handmaiden found you in the morning, lying peacefully in your bed, hands folded over your chest. On your bedside table rested the oak wooden box with your initials, and a single letter open beside you.

The court was shaken. You had been healthy. Young. There were no signs of illness. The maesters could not explain it. They spoke of delayed complications from the epidemic, of fevers that returned silently, of weakness of the heart.

But your family knew the truth, though they never said it aloud.

You had died of a broken heart.

Your father found the letters when they were preparing your room. Twenty seven love letters from a dead prince to a princess who was gone. He read them all that night, and for the first time since Valarr’s death, the formidable Maekar Targaryen wept.

He understood then what had happened. The silent love. The wasted years. And his daughter’s inability to live with that knowledge.

He ordered that you be buried with the box. That the letters remain with you forever.

In the family crypt, your tomb was placed beside Valarr’s. It had not been planned that way originally, but your father insisted.

If they could not be together in life, at least they would rest side by side in death.

[itneverendshere]

Have a request for bartender!reader ! What if readers ex boyfriend reached out to her and was trying to get her back and Rafe catches wind of it? Something along those lines

thank you for the request!!! love writing a little jealous rafe. hope you like it! 🩵

when you say you love me, know i love you more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe stood at the edge of the beer pong table, a cocky grin tugging at his lips as he lined up his shot. His arm stretched out, elbow angled just right, ready to sink the ping-pong ball in one of the red cups sitting across the table. He had already sunk three cups in a row, and Kelce was losing his mind over it.

“Come on, man, don’t choke,” Kelce teased.

“I don’t choke,” Rafe shot back, his eyes flicking up toward the cup before he tossed the ball.

It arced through the air, spinning before landing with a satisfying plop into the last cup on the opposing side.

Kelce whooped and threw his hands in the air while Rafe just smirked, acting like it was nothing.

“Game over,” Rafe muttered, turning to glance around the room. It was the kind of scene he had grown used to, but tonight was different.

Tonight, he wasn’t just here to mess around.

He was here with you.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, standing by the bar, chatting with some friends. You laughed at something, the sound cutting through the noise of the party and making his chest tighten in a way that still caught him off guard.

Even after months, you still had him twisted up in knots. He could admit it to himself—he was down bad for you.

You had that way of looking at him like no one else did. Like you saw through all the bullshit he tried to hide behind.

And somehow, you still wanted him.

He couldn’t even remember what it was like not having you in his life.

The way you looked at him? It made him feel like he was more than just some rich spoiled guy trying to get by.

But then, over by the bar, some guy had sidled up next to you, talking a little too close, leaning in like he thought he had a right to.

He couldn’t hear what was being said, but the guy’s body language was enough.

Dude was smiling, leaning in, acting way too familiar. You weren’t exactly pushing him away, but Rafe could tell by the way you kept looking around that you weren’t into it either.

You were probably just being polite, like you always were.

“You gonna shoot or just stand there glaring at that dude?”

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Kelce nodded toward you. “The one talking to your girl. Might wanna check that out. Looks like she might need a little saving.”

Rafe’s gaze snapped back to the bar.

The guy was still there, still talking, and something about it made him start to seethe. Some random asshole thinking he could just swoop in and talk to you like that while Rafe was right here?

No.

Without a word, he pushed past Topper and Kelce, his long strides eating up the distance between him and the bar.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, he wasn’t about to lose his shit—he knew you hated when he got all worked up.

When he finally got close enough, he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you back into his chest without hesitation.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, loud enough for the guy to hear. “Everything alright over here?”

You instantly relaxed against him, your hand coming to rest on his arm as you glanced up at him with a smile.

“Yeah, we’re good,” you said, but there was a little tension in your voice. “Just, uh—”

Before you could finish, the guy—who clearly had zero self-preservation instincts—just smirked, like he found the whole thing amusing.

“Oh, you must be the boyfriend.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, sizing the guy up. “Yeah, and you are?”

There was a brief pause before the guy extended his hand like he was being friendly or some shit.

“The ex, actually,” he said smoothly, like he didn’t just drop a bomb. “Name’s—"

Rafe didn’t hear the name. All he heard was the ex.

His grip on your waist tightened as he stared at the guy, eyes narrowing. The ex? This was the dude who used to be with you?

You quickly placed your hand on his chest, like you were trying to diffuse whatever was happening in his brain.

“Baby, it’s fine,” you assured him, looking up at him with those eyes that always calmed him down when he was seconds away from losing it. “He’s just saying hi.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything, just stared down at the guy—your ex. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell this guy to fuck off, but the way you were looking at him, the way your hand was resting on his chest, it was enough to keep him in check.

Barely.

If it wasn't for you he'd be heading fist up into a fight.

The ex gave a half-assed smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you two get back to it. Just thought I’d stop by, you know, say hey.”

Rafe’s eyes didn’t leave him until he turned and walked away. The second the guy was out of sight, he exhaled slowly, his grip on you relaxing as he let out a frustrated breath.

“Fucking seriously?” he muttered under his breath, looking down at you. “That was your ex? I didn’t even know you had an ex.”

And that was entirely his fault.

When you first started seeing each other, the thought of other guys being with you made him want to be sick, so he never asked about your dating history. The less he knew the better. 

“Yeah, I just didn’t think it mattered. It’s not like he’s been around, and I didn’t expect him to show up tonight.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed as he processed that, his eyes still looking in the direction where the guy had walked off. He hated how that word—ex—seemed to have a hold over him now. It wasn’t even that he was jealous of the guy himself.

Rafe knew you loved him.

You had made that clear more than once. It was the fact that the guy had history with you, that he had shared things with you before Rafe even came into the picture.

It woke something possessive in him.

“When did you date him?”

“I was, uh, seventeen. Maybe eighteen?” you started, your fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on his chest. “It was a long time ago.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with that.

“And?” His tone was calm, but you could tell by the way his grip on your waist tightened that he wanted more.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go.

“We broke up when he went to college. He… cheated on me,” you added, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but Rafe stiffened at your words.

“He cheated on you? That fucker cheated on you and now he’s just strolling up, acting like he’s got the right to even talk to you?”

You reached up, gripping his face to pull his attention back to you.

“It was years ago. He means nothing to me. You know that.”

But he wasn’t letting it go that easily.

His hand came up to cover yours, his fingers threading through yours, “Yeah, but the fucking nerve of that guy, thinking he can just show up after what he did—”

You couldn’t help it—you started giggling. Rafe blinked down at you, confused for a second as your laughter caught him off guard.

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the giggles, but it wasn’t working. “You sound more heartbroken about it than I do.”

Rafe’s expression morphed into one of disbelief.

“’Course I am,” he snapped, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He hurt you, 'm gonna break his face in half if he even tries to come near you again.”

That only made you laugh harder, the warmth in your chest growing as you looked up at him. The fierceness in his voice, the way he was all riled up because of something that happened years ago—it was ridiculously cute.

“You’re sooo cute when you’re protective,” you teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair slightly.

Rafe’s scowl deepened, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“I’m being serious.” His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, his protectiveness practically radiating off him. “No one gets to mess with you. Not then, not now.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know, baby. And I love you for it.”

He grumbled under his breath, but you could tell he was softening, his hand running up and down your back in slow, reassuring strokes.

“Yeah, well, don’t let that asshole get too close again. I’m not responsible for what happens if he does.”

It made your heart skip a beat because even when he was all tough and possessive, there was something so warm and safe about being in his arms.

“Baby, you’re so serious right now,” you murmured, your fingers absentmindedly tracing little shapes on his bicep. You tilted your head up to look at him, “I mean, come on, you know you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Rafe’s blue eyes flicked down to meet yours, and he raised an eyebrow, not convinced.

“Oh, really? ’Cause I’m pretty sure your ex just tried to hit on you right in front of me.”

You let out a chuckle, standing up on your tiptoes to nuzzle into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. “You know he doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

You felt Rafe exhale as if he needed to hear you say it again just to make sure. “Damn right,” he muttered, “But if he tries again—”

You cut him off with a playful kiss, your lips pecking softly against his, and he immediately melted into it, his fingers pressing into your spine. When you finally pulled back, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, you couldn’t help but tease him a little more.

“So, what’s it gonna take to calm you down? Do I have to keep kissing you until you stop thinking about knocking him out?”

Rafe smirked, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips.

“I mean, you could try,” his earlier grumpiness gone, “Might take a while though.” His thumb brushed over your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your body leaned into his touch.

God, you loved this man.

“Don’t be greedy.”

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against your ear in a way that made you want to leave the party as soon as possible.

“I was such a gentleman back there, wasn’t I?”

“Mhm, a real knight in shining armor,” you nodded, but you couldn’t deny how much you adored him right now—especially when he was acting all possessive but trying to play it off.

“You know what they said, a gentleman in the streets, a freak in the—”

“Okay, you’re not drinking anymore.” You faux pushed him away, pretending to be exasperated. 

"C’mon, ’m not even drunk," a playful grin spread across his face, "You love it when I’m a little bit of both though."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile pulling at your lips was undeniable. “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.”

Rafe just grinned, that cocky edge in his eyes, knowing full well you weren’t immune to him. "You know I’m right."

His confidence was ridiculous, but also incredibly hot.

“Alrighttttt, Mr. Beer Pong Champ,” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, but the way your body instinctively pressed into his made it pretty clear you weren’t unaffected. “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

“Too late for that.” He smirked, his hands slipping lower as he pulled you closer. “I think you like it when ’m a little possessive.”

You bit your lip, “A little, sure. But don’t go getting all caveman on me.”

He chuckled, dipping his head down “I’ll try.”

You swatted at his chest, laughing, “Rafe Cameron, you’re impossible.”

But before he could answer, Topper walked up with that knowing grin of his, clearly having watched the whole thing from across the room. 

“You guys done playing Romeo and Juliet over here?”

You shot him a look, your cheeks heating up just a bit. “Shut up.”

Rafe just rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered. “Sorry we don’t all have to third-wheel it like you.”

Topper snorted, crossing his arms.

“Please. I’m good. Just thought I’d check if you’re gonna join the rest of us or if you’re planning on spending the rest of the night whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears.”

You gave Rafe a look, trying to suppress your smile because, honestly, you knew Topper wasn’t wrong.

You’d probably ditch the rest of the party if you could.

“We’ll join in a bit,” you said, turning to Topper with a grin, “Once Rafe is done showing off for the night.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

“God help us,” Topper muttered, but he was smiling. He pointed toward the other side of the room, where Kelce was still hyped up from the beer pong win. “The other team wants a rematch, by the way. Say they’re not going down without a fight.”

Rafe looked over,  “They’re dreaming.”

Topper shrugged. “Figured you’d say that.” He shot you a look, eyebrow raised. “Guess that means you’ll be stuck watching him crush everyone for the next hour.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Rafe gave you a playful squeeze, his grin still firmly in place. “You love watching me win.”

“Mm-hmm, sure.” He wasn’t wrong. Once Topper was gone, you turned back to Rafe, raising an eyebrow. “So, are you really gonna make me watch you play another round of beer pong?”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss your temple, “Only if you want to. Or we could get out of here. Your call.”

Your heart missed a couple beats at the way he said it, all suggestive and teasing, making it very clear what he meant.

You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes “I think I’ve seen enough beer pong for one night.”

“Good choice,” he murmured, and just as he said it, his hand slid lower, giving your ass a firm squeeze—definitely more than a playful pat.

At this point, his touching and the need for constant PDA barely phased you. You loved it.

With one last glance around the room—just to make sure no one was watching too closely—you grabbed Rafe’s hand, giving him a look that said exactly what you were both thinking.

“Let’s get out of here.”

[seamirrors]

I literally just want to read some fluff or angst... Why the fuck is my entire page full of smut? I don't want to read this.

[farfromharry]

Baby Norris | LANDOLOG 033

Summary: Sweet moments caught on camera during Lando's 9 month journey of becoming a father.

Lando Norris x Reader

w/c 13,331

a/n honestly its like i forgot the concept about halfway through so pls just ignore that, thanks!

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

2025-01-15 14:09:31

The video began with a wide shot of the Norris bathroom. Y/N wasn’t yet in frame but shuffling could be heard just to the side of the camera. Only seconds later did she appear, a watery smile on her face that told the viewers things were about to be emotional. Y/N had featured in Lando’s vlogs before, but not too often and certainly not on her own.

This was a different type of video. Lando didn’t even know she had his camera.

“Hello, I don’t even know if anyone will be watching this video, but if you are…hi.” She had to admit she was actually a little nervous. Her hands were trembling, which was probably noticeable on camera. “Lando’s training right now, so I thought I’d film this moment for him.”

She let out a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She puckered up the test that was ‘cooking’ on the counter, showing it to the camera like she was doing some kind of regular makeup haul. “I just took one of these- well, a few of these actually.” She chuckled to herself. The woman wasn’t leaving any room for doubt, she would take a thousand pregnancy tests if it meant she got a solid answer. “I’m waiting for the result, and it’s taking forever, and I’m so nervous.”

The timer on her phone was ticking down, but to her it felt frozen. It felt like she had been in this bathroom for an eternity.

“I want to surprise him, if it’s positive, but I really would have liked him to be here to hold my hand right now.” It sounded needy, but the comfort of her boyfriend was a magical thing. He had an effect on her nervous system that she could never explain with words. He soothed her, silenced all her worries with a simple look. She could have really used that kind of love right now.

Y/N took a seat on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest. Like this she looked small, almost like she was afraid. She was trying to hide from what this all meant. Obviously she was an adult, but since she turned 18, since she met Lando and began building her life with him, they’d had fun. They spent their days being carefree, without any real responsibilities. But a baby? That was a huge obligation. A baby would rely on them for everything. They couldn’t be selfish, careless adults anymore. No, they would have to be parents.

She didn’t know if they were ready for that. But they might have to be. Her commentary in this moment wasn’t exactly exciting for the viewers. They probably wouldn’t want to hear her thoughts right now anyway.

“I don’t know what I’m hoping for.” If you’d asked her a couple years ago she would have panicked, probably thrown up at the thought of having a baby, but she was starting to like the idea. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, she was 24, with a lovely partner and a home. She could do this. “I think I’ll be happy if it’s positive. This is scary though, right? Can you ever really be prepared for this?” She was rambling now.

The alarm on her phone blared, cutting her off like it was fate. Her eyes went wide, heart in her throat. Did she have the courage to get to her feet and check what they said?

“I’m so scared,” she admitted, really to no one but herself. She breathed through her panic, taking deep breaths until she felt like she could get back onto her feet. She eyed the camera. “I guess it’s now or never.”

Once she was on her feet it was clear how her eyes shone with tears as she looked over the results of the various tests. They all said the same thing. If the camera didn’t already know by her reaction what the answer was, they definitely did when she turned it around and showed them all off.

When she turned the camera back to her, the tears had already begun to fall. “I’m pregnant.” A sob bubbled up in her throat as she finally said the words out loud. She hadn’t expected to get so emotional. She would blame that on the pregnancy hormones she just found out she has.

She set the camera down on the counter so she could bury her face in her hands. Crying on film like this was a little embarrassing.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. As soon as she moved her hands the camera could see the bright grin on her face. She was going through practically every emotion a person could go through in the span of a couple minutes. None of this felt real. “Fuck, I’m having a baby.” She froze. “I probably shouldn’t swear if my future child is going to watch this, sorry.” It was a moment her and Lando would look back on and laugh at.

The odds of there being any physical signs of pregnancy already were slim, regardless she pulled up her shirt and turned to the side. Her eyes were focused on her reflection. She swore if she squinted she could see how her belly swelled- she was probably just seeing things. Her hand settled over her stomach and a pleasant warmth spread through her chest. Contentment.

“Hi baby, I’m your mum.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-01-26 09:25:22

Lando had been out all day for something to do with Quadrant, which gave her all the time in the world to prepare to tell him her big news. She had her first ultrasound that morning, getting a small clip of the monitor when connected with her belly. There wasn’t much to see, but it was still surreal nonetheless. The second the heartbeat sounded through the room, the tears began to fall. The thumping sound was rapid. Their baby.

She left the doctor’s office with a picture of their baby tucked into her bag, one she was going to use in her masterplan to surprise Lando. It was nothing big or fancy— they had enough glamour in their lives to last a lifetime— some things had earned the right to be small, intimate

She was excited about it from the second she got home. It felt like the hours between now and when he finally walked through the door around 6pm, stretched on for far too long. It was probably her excitement speaking. He must have known something was off when she was throwing herself at him before he even managed to close the front door behind him.

The man eyed her suspiciously, dropping his bag by the door. Over the years he had been victim to her tricks and tiktok pranks plenty of times. More than enough to know when she was plotting. He had to tread lightly. “What are you up to?”

Her smile was blinding. “I have a surprise for you.”

His eyes narrowed. “What did you do? Is this another tiktok thing?” He started looking around wearily. “Is something gonna jump out at me?” His expression resembled something of a deflated balloon. It made her chuckle.

“No. This is a… nice surprise.” The muttered ‘I hope’ went unheard by his ears. Y/N moved into the kitchen, grabbing the box off of the counter and flashing the camera a sneaky smile. Genuinely it was a miracle Lando couldn’t hear her heart pounding.

A plain box in her outstretched hands paired with that menacing twinkle in her eyes, did nothing to soothe his fears. He was still convinced something was going to jump out of the box and bite him. But, she said it wasn’t like the other times and he trusted her with his life. Against his better judgement, he opened the box, albeit slowly just in case anything was alive in there.

Cake was the last thing he expected to see. A plain, small, white cake with something swirled in icing in the middle. When the lid was fully up he could finally read it. His heart stopped beating. Baby Norris October 2025.

Baby Norris.

Baby.

They were having a fucking baby.

For a minute Y/N thought he was going to bolt. His face couldn’t stop on one single emotion, until suddenly he just wasn’t displaying any.

“Are you being serious?”

She moved the cake into one hand and used the other to pull the sonogram from her back pocket, bringing it to where he could see it. He took it from her, examining it like he was trying to figure out if it was real. He had to keep reminding himself to breathe because he was scared if he didn’t he would forget how.

For the first time since she’d met him, she couldn’t read what he was thinking. He was hiding his emotions pretty well right now. She was terrified. She nodded shyly. Her mind flicked back to the camera currently filming from the counter. If this was to go sideways, it was going to record the whole thing. She didn’t want to have to relive the moment that ruined them.

In case she had to do some damage control, she placed the cake on the counter, swallowing as she tried to psych herself up to hear that he didn’t want this. Just as she thought things were going to blow up in her face, he laughed, a watery laugh that she had heard too many times before. The tears started coming only seconds later. Lando was crying freely.

He didn’t say anything, just opened his arms and almost ran at her. Her laughter could be heard even from where it was being muffled by his hoodie. It was the joy of a woman who was truly happy.

His head was tucked into her neck, the typical Lando Norris hug. At this angle the camera could see the way his eyes sparkled and he simply couldn’t stop smiling. That grin was unmovable. He tilted his head so his mouth was beside her ear. “I love you so much,” he whispered, placing a kiss on her temple. Once the kisses started they didn’t stop. One on her head, 2 on her cheek, another on her nose, over and over again until she was squealing and trying to writhe out of his arms.

“Lando!”

When he finally parted from her, she realised she had never seen happiness like it. He was finding it hard to believe this moment was real.

“You are the best part of my life,” he confessed. Sappy Lando wasn’t a common occurrence. Sure he was loving, romantic, cosy, but sappy Lando was reserved for the moments where he truly felt like his heart would burst if he didn’t express his love. This side of him wasn’t one she saw often, but was by far one of her favourites. It gave her an insight into how much he really loved her, and if he was telling the truth, which she had no doubt about, it was a scary amount. “Thank you for choosing me. For choosing to love me, to give me this. You have no idea what this means to me.”

They had very briefly touched on the topic of kids before, usually in very late night conversations about their future. She knew he wanted kids someday, but she hadn’t realised being a dad meant this much to him.

When he kissed her he poured his soul into it. The passion shared between them in such a simple act was utterly breathtaking. She almost lost her balance. Would have if his hands weren’t there to steady her. For a moment they just breathed deeply together, trying to catch their breaths after such a kiss.

Y/N thought a bit of humour would be good to ease them back into a more chill atmosphere. “Is now a good time to tell you I was filming this whole thing?” She smiled shyly.

His cheeks would be hurting by the end of the day with how much he was smiling. “Everyone already knew I was goner for you anyway.” That much was true.

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-03-09 20:38:16

It had become a habit now for either of them to pick up Lando’s camera and film baby related updates at a second’s notice. They liked knowing they could look back on these soft moments between them, that their child would be able to see they came from a loving family. It was important to them.

Lando was due to leave for Australia in no later than 2 days, that was the warning he’d been given. He was soaking up all the time he could cuddled up to his lover before he had to give it up for a few weeks. They would be reunited at the end of the month, before they were due to jet off to Japan together, but 2 weeks away from her was too much for him. He didn’t know how he would survive.

It was hard to tell where he started and she ended. Their legs were tangled together, one hand on her belly, his head tucked below her chin and her nails scratching lightly at his back. It was comfortable.

She was on the verge of falling asleep. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was heavy. He wasn’t positive she was actually awake.

His focus was on other things. His eyes were watching her belly, narrowed like he was trying to figure something out. There was no way he could come out and say what he was thinking without potentially insulting her. But he was positive there was a swell to her belly that wasn’t there before. It would be the first time either of them saw any noticeable signs of pregnancy and he believed it was rather exciting.

“Y/N?” he whispered. He hoped she was still awake. He got a hum back in response. There wasn’t much energy behind it though. Ever so lightly he stroked his hand over her stomach. The man was in a trance. “Do you feel that?”

She managed to just about crack her eyes open, peering down at him like he was crazy. She would love to just fall asleep but of course he wasn’t going to let that happen so easily.

He guided her hand over the path his own had just taken. He saw it the moment it hit her.

She suddenly perked up and his first thought was to reach over to their bedside and grab his camera. He set it to record, pointing it at their faces that were now displaying wide grins.

“What do you see, gorgeous?”

Y/N felt like she could cry. Pregnancy hormones were already getting the better of her, but this moment would have made any soon to be parent emotional. “Our baby.” When the light hit just right the camera was able to capture the way tears shone in both her’s and Lando’s eyes.

The curly-haired man flipped the camera, pointed at the place where their hands had naturally intertwined on her stomach.

The angle was probably horrible. No one would be able to see what they were talking about, he couldn’t even see through his tears to know what the camera was seeing, but Lando didn’t care. The whole point of the vlogs was to capture the emotion, not the perfect shot. He wasn’t trying to be some artsy videographer this time around.

Things were starting to feel more real now.

Lando was excited, more excited than he ever had been for anything before. He dropped the camera, needing a free hand to wipe away his falling tears. But it was still recording.

“We’re having a baby.” He said it like he hadn’t already known. With all the joy of when he’d first found out. She beamed, bringing her free hand to cup his cheek. There was this dreamy look in his eyes, like she had hung the moon. Never would he be able to put into words how much he loved the woman before him. This time when he spoke his voice was airy, like he was in disbelief. “We’re having a baby.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-03-11 08:15:03

“Lando’s leaving me.” She had been this dramatic all night prior to his day of departure. A sigh could be heard just off to the side. Moments later he was wrapping his arms around her and smothering her cheek with kisses. The couple wasn’t always one for PDA, but the video they were creating felt like an exception. Maybe just this once it would be okay for the world to see how much they adored one another. For their future child to see that mum and dad truly loved each other.

“‘M not leaving you, I’m going to work.” 

Regardless of the technicalities, she was still going to spend the weeks they were apart pouting. 

“Exactly.” She was frowning, a sight he couldn’t stand to see. If it was up to him he would either take her everywhere or never leave her. Being apart from her was the worst part of his job by a mile. Even worse now that he knew she was carrying their baby. What if something happened while he wasn’t there? He was going to be halfway across the world, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do from there if she needed him. 

Packing his suitcase was not a chore he enjoyed, but it was certainly made harder when his lovely, pregnant girlfriend was so desperate for his attention. She wasn’t letting him forget. He put down the clothes he was supposed to fold and tuck into the case, heading over to the bed where she was lounging under her fluffy blanket. He didn’t waste any time climbing under it with her and wrapping his arms around her body.

She made a happy noise, melting into him. “Nevermind, I’m happy again,” she informed the camera. She didn’t see how he rolled his eyes but the camera definitely did. 

“You’re a bad influence,” he grumbled. 

What followed was a lot of shifting from Lando. He pulled the blanket off of her at least 3 times, poked her uncomfortably more than once and just didn’t seem to settle. She was starting to regret pining for his attention. “Can you sit still?” she hissed. 

He froze, but little did she know he had finally worked his way to the place he wanted to be. His head was by her stomach, looking up at her with the most innocent eyes he could muster. If he looked at her like that, how was she supposed to stay mad at him? 

She eyed him warily, like she wasn’t sure what he was doing. He was just being Lando. 

He didn’t leave her in the dark for much longer. His mouth was planted right next to her stomach, where their baby would be made at home for the next few months. And without an ounce of self consciousness, he began to speak. “Hi baby, it’s your dad.” His voice was so gentle. 

Her heart clenched at the tender moment. She turned the camera so it focused on him, wanting to have this not only engrained in her memory, but forever captured on film too.

“We don’t know if you’re a girl or a boy yet, or what your name’s gonna be… but we do love you already.” He was caressing her skin lovingly. “We can’t wait to meet you. I already know everyone’s gonna be so excited about you.” It was true. They both had a strong feeling they were going to break the internet when the news got out. The plan was to keep it quiet at least until the birth, but they didn’t know how realistic that was considering how nosey some people come be. And their families, well their families would probably be ecstatic. 

A baby was certainly going to be a surprise for people. No one knew they were trying for a baby, not even them. This was coming completely out of nowhere. But they hoped people in their lives would be proud at how well they were adapting. 

Y/N was the first to know and even she was surprised with how quickly Lando had taken to the news. He had gone from thinking a baby was something that might ruin his life, to embracing it, even planning for it. She had a sneaky suspicion he was more excited than she was. Which was a crazy thought.

Lando placed a gentle kiss right in the middle of her stomach, just over her clothes, where he assumed their baby’s heart or maybe head might be. “Love you. I’ll see you when I get back from Australia.” It was a promise.

His eyes flickered back up to his girlfriends, finding the camera in her hands and the tears lining her eyes. He grinned. “Are you crying?” His heart was so full. The whole world would one day see how he softened for her. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She smiled. “I’m just so happy.”

“You’re happy?” She nodded, sniffling so loudly that the camera could probably hear. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling in his chest right now. “Good. Me too.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-04-01 11:21:49

The video began with an extreme zoom in on Lando’s face. Y/N was laughing, he was grinning, trying to steal the camera from her hands. They were sitting next to each other, on a plane it seemed. It was loud, wherever they were. They looked happy.

“Baby’s first holiday,” Y/N cheered quietly. There was obviously someone else on the plane. They were trying to keep it quiet.

His brow furrowed. “I don’t think this counts.” 

“What, why not?” 

He couldn’t believe the two of them were about to get into a philosophical conversation about what counted as a first during their baby’s development. “I think they have to be fully formed and you know, like, born.” She didn’t know. She had never done this before. Neither had he though, so she was happy to believe whatever she wanted because she knew very well that he was clueless on the subject.

“What baby?” 

The looks that crossed their faces were nothing short of comedy gold. Lando looked like he had literally seen a ghost. They thought they were being quiet, obviously not quiet enough though. His head whipped around to face Oscar, smiling shyly at the bewildered look on the man’s face. They were planning on keeping this a secret for a bit longer, but plans changed. It looked like they were going to have to tell Oscar a little early. 

“Surprise,” Y/N said. 

The Aussie looked like he was going through a hundred emotions. It was the most Y/N had ever seen him react to something. “What, you, your–” His brain couldn’t comprehend it. His teammate was just so… Lando, he couldn’t imagine him as a father to a real human baby. The man he knew was childish and wore mismatched clothes, sometimes even forgetting to feed himself. The idea of him being entirely responsible for a child was crazy. 

Oscar sank back down into his seat, taking a minute to let this news sink in. He was muttering under his breath. 

The couple laughed, leaving him to have a minute. A short time later, he turned back around to look at them, a softer expression on his face. “You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, not expecting him to literally launch himself at her for a hug. Her laughter was loud and she lost her grip on the camera as she wrapped her arms around him. Lando reached for it from the floor, pointing it at the 3 of them. “I guess Oscar knows now.”

That seemed to grab his attention. “Am I the first to know?” He was going to be so incredibly smug about that if it was the case. 

Lando rolled his eyes. Max and his parents were never going to let him live this down if they found out. Which was pretty much inevitable. “Yes. We were meant to keep it quiet.” It was a slight weight off his back if he was being honest. He was terrified he was going to be the one to slip up and ruin everything. He had a fear of mentioning it by accident in the middle of an interview or something. But luckily, she had done it first. Something he was going to hold over her while he could. “But somebody had to go and spoil it.”

She huffed, swatting his arm. “Shut up.”

“Nope. I’m just glad it wasn’t me. You need to own up to your mistakes.” They shared a look. She knew he was only teasing. She also knew he was absolutely right. If he had been the one to spill it by accident, she would have rinsed him for it. The look was something tender. Something to say she knew he wasn’t really annoyed with her. It was all fun.

Watching them brought a smile to Oscar’s face. He had to clear his throat just to remind them he was there. He didn’t want to have to be witness to their PDA if they forgot about him. “I’m happy for you.” He raised his fist to bump into Lando’s. “Congrats man.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-05-05 20:56:22

Miami was fun. Another trophy to add to the collection and another podium to add to his stats. As the pair flew back to the UK, they were on a high, they started scheming. By the time they landed, they had a plan and it felt right. It was time to tell their families. 

As always, when they pulled up at the Norris household unannounced, they were greeted with open arms. Cisca was always happy to have her son home, even more so her daughter-in-law. She thought there was something up with the surprise visit, but she didn’t voice her suspicions straight away. She would wait, see if they wanted to come clean. She suspected a proposal, but without seeing a ring she couldn’t be sure. 

Nothing happened straight away. They acted as normal as they could for hours, until Adam caught them whispering like giddy teenagers in the kitchen. They had to do it now before they exploded. 

Lando set up the camera on the mantel in the living room, mouthing a little ‘oh my god’ that stemmed from pure nerves. While Y/N coaxed them all in. His hands were trembling with the excitement of it all, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. This had been their secret (beside’s Oscar) for 4 months now. Of course he knew it was real, but somehow telling others made it feel so much more authentic. Y/N felt a little nauseous and she was inclined to believe it wasn’t to do with the baby. She knew her boyfriend’s family loved her, but there was still a little part of her that worried they wouldn’t be as happy as the 2 of them were. 

The mother of 4 sat smugly beside her husband as the couple fumbled around, clearly up to something. She had been right after all. She knew her boy better than he knew himself. 

“Okay,” Lando rubbed his hands together like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, before finally setting one on Y/N’s back, “We have news.”

His sister rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Flo, be nice.” 

The girl in question scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Well, some of us have stuff to do and he’s dragging this whole thing out. It’d be quicker if he just got to the point.” Her brother squared his shoulders slightly, like he was about ready to start a fight with her. Lando would never lay his hands on a woman, but his sisters didn’t count. They weren’t women, they were little demons that made it their mission to embarrass him. 

“You can talk to your boyfriend later, this is our moment, Florence.” That was a piece of information that was supposed to be a secret, a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. He only knew because Y/N had told him after Flo told her, not maliciously in any way, but Y/N told her lover everything. 

The younger sibling gasped, sitting upright as her cheeks flushed and she avoided her parent’s eyes. “Y/N! You weren’t supposed to tell!” The two that hadn’t gotten involved were loving every second of the bickering. 

She looked sheepish. “I’m sorry.” She truly hoped she hadn’t betrayed the girl’s trust. 

Cisca was losing her patience with the kids. “Florence, we’ll talk about that later,” the girl grumbled and sunk further into the sofa, “Can you two please just tell us what’s going on?”

Lando visibly softened as he remembered what they were doing this for. He looked at the woman by his side and was so overcome with love for her. The words tumbled past his lips with ease, like they were meant to be spoken. Everything felt so right. “We’re having a baby.”

Considering the fact she knew something was up, this hadn’t crossed his mother’s mind even once. The tears started to fall instantly. Lando awed, wrapping the woman in a hug in an effort to comfort her. How was her baby having his own baby already? It felt like just yesterday she was holding his hand as they crossed the road, singing him lullabies to make sure he got to sleep okay. Now she was due to be a grandmother? 

While the mother and son had a moment, the rest of the Norris family swarmed Y/N, practically drowning her in hugs. She didn’t know if she had ever felt so loved before. 

She could have sworn the 2 Norris girls were crying, over the moon to be an auntie again. Oliver was happy his own daughter was going to have a friend and Adam was sort of relieved. 

Even though his youngest son was a grown man, 25 years of age, sometimes he worried that he was too focused on racing. He was proud of Lando, endlessly, for fulfilling his dream in such a cut-throat sport, but sometimes he wondered if he would ever have anything other than motorsport. He’d had to be focused his entire life. He had already missed out on so much. Then he met Y/N and he became a little less worried. Now though he was going to experience fatherhood, something arguably greater than any lifelong dream. If Lando thought he loved winning, he would be in for a surprise when this baby arrived. Nothing else was going to matter the second he held that baby for the first time. 

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” Adam whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple lovingly. 

She sniffled, trying not to cry but the pregnancy hormones were a lot. Recently the woman had found herself emotional over things that weren’t even remotely, well… emotional. It was driving her insane and she had another 5 months to go. 

The driver was quickly tackled by his siblings, all in different stages of glee. Their father watched on with a bright smile. He was a patient man, he could wait for his special moment with his boy. As for their mother, she made her way over to Y/N who was just taking the camera down. It captured their interaction perfectly. 

“Are you excited?” Y/N asked, shyly. 

The older woman didn’t say a word, just pulled her into a hug that left her breathless. Cisca had so much love to give and she was more than happy to be on the receiving end of some of it. “I’m overjoyed. Thank you.”

Her brow furrowed. “What for?”

“For loving him, for completing him,” she let out a sigh that could only be described as dreamy, “For just being you.” Lando had a few relationships/flings over the years that she hadn’t approved of, but Y/N? She considered her one of her own. She was elated he had found someone that fit him so well. Someone he could start a family with and feel nothing but content. “I’m so happy it’s you.” She kissed her cheek, taking a second to really look at her like she almost couldn’t believe this moment was real. There was going to be another baby Norris soon and she couldn’t wait. 

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-05-25 16:53:20

The couple had been unsure whether she should attend Monaco or just watch it from their apartment. Her bump was certainly more prominent now and they weren’t ready for the world to know. Was it worth the risk just to watch him race in person? The chances of him winning at Charles’ home race were slim to none anyway. But then she had found the perfect orange top, just flowy enough not to make anything obvious unless you knew what you were looking for. 

In his driver’s room before the race, she had been worried, turning every which way in front of the mirror to double check the camera’s wouldn’t be able to tell. As for Lando? He was amused and documented the whole thing. 

He zoomed in on her, watching through the lens as she smoothed the material down around her bump. She frowned, her palms growing more sweaty. She wished she could just throw on a hoodie or something but the weather wouldn’t allow it. She would probably collapse from heat exhaustion. 

“Are you sure you can’t tell?”

“Baby, yes.” He had already said it a thousand times. “This is a good quality camera and it can’t see a thing. It is picking up your wrinkles though.” It was just teasing. 

She scoffed, glaring at him and then examining her face closely in the mirror. “I don’t have wrinkles.” The way she’d been frowning had in fact brought on the start of a wrinkle or two and she quickly smoothed them out. He could be an ass sometimes. She would have loved to just let it all go and not care, but the internet and media outlets were harsh. They would scrutinise her the second she stepped foot outside. “What if they notice how big my boobs have gotten? That’s a sure sign of pregnancy.”

“Or a boob job,” he muttered. He raised his free hand in his defence when she shot him a deadly look through the mirror. “I hope they don’t notice your boobs cause those are mine.”

The claim was full of confidence. 

One eyebrow raised. “Are they now?”

He turned the camera around to him, pointing his finger right down the lens. “You know it, I know it and the world knows it, baby.” She had no idea how she tolerated him sometimes. 

As soon as Lando settled in the car, she forgot all about her worries. He was on pole; In Monaco; The track that was famous for having limited overtaking opportunities. It was almost a sure win. All she could focus on was the thumping of her heart that grew quicker with every lap. He was going to do it. He had to do it. 

By the time lap 78 rolled around, he was still number one. Monaco, the most prestigious race on the entire calendar and her man had just won it. Y/N pulled out the camera before she even knew what she was doing. She aimed it at the screen she had been watching, then back to herself and the way she was ugly crying. “He won,” she sobbed. She would blame the tears on the baby no doubt, but she would have reacted like this pregnant or not. 

As much as she would have loved to go and watch the podium ceremony, it didn’t feel like a smart idea. Instead she stayed back in his room, watching it play out on the TV; just her and the camera. He looked like he belonged on that top step. She didn’t know if she was ever going to stop crying. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been this happy,” she whispered. That probably sounded bad considering she had recently discovered she was with child, and her child might see this video one day, but she just couldn’t believe today was real. Her boyfriend, the love of her life, was a Monaco Grand Prix winner. He was a history maker. One of the few. The pride in her chest was overwhelming. She would probably hide when Lando watched this back, made to feel shy for how she so freely expressed her love for him. He was nothing if not a tease when it came to her feelings. 

It was another 30 minutes or so before Lando made it back to her and she could feel the joy radiating from him before he even stepped foot into the room. When the door opened, the trophy was clutched tightly in his hand and he smelled of a weird mix of sweat and champagne, the smell of victory she supposed. 

As soon as the valuable was safely on the ground, so as to not have another broken trophy incident, he launched himself at her. She barely had time to set the camera down on the massage table before he broke that too. 

She loved him and his affection dearly, but he was drowning her in his stench. “I am so proud of you, but baby you stink.” Her laughter came straight from her chest, real and infectious. He found himself chuckling along. 

He cradled her face. His touch was gentle, like she was made of literal glass. “Just let me love you a bit. Then I’ll shower, promise.” 

That was okay with her. 

The TV was still playing replays in the background. She heard part of his post-race interview again, the part where he talked about winning this for his family. People assumed he meant his parents, his siblings, but little did they know he was quietly dedicating this historic win to the family he and Y/N were in the process of creating. It made her swoon.

“I can’t believe you won.” Even though he had been the one in the car, leading the laps, crossing the finish line first, he didn’t believe it either. “You really did it.”

His happiness was all encompassing. It felt like he was wrapped up in a blanket of triumph that he wouldn’t be able to take off any time soon. And if he was being honest, he wouldn’t want to. He wanted to ride this high for as long as he could possibly drag out– just before people got sick of him talking about it. In his mind it seemed like the perfect time to add to it, to properly bring her into his happy bubble. 

“Marry me.”

She laughed, loud and watery. “What?” His words caught her off guard. It wasn’t what she always dreamed of with a proposal. He wasn’t down on one knee, there was no romantic build up or speech, there was no ring worst of all. But at the same time, she wouldn’t have wanted anything different for them. “Are you serious? Actually, scratch that, are you insane?”

His smile was wider than she had ever seen before and his eyes crinkled to match. “Insanely in love with you. Come on, marry me.” She had never seen him quite so genuine.

She searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty, but she was coming up empty. Lando had never been more sure about anything in his life. If there was one person he would want by his side for the rest of his life, it was Y/N. It wasn’t that she was unsure. There was really nothing more she would want. Her anxiety was creeping in though. Was he just saying this in the heat of the moment? Did he actually want this or did it just slip out?

One look at her and he could tell she was spiralling. “I have a ring at home.” That information made her perk up. She did most things at home, his washing being one of them, how could she have missed an engagement ring? “I bought it months ago and hid it in my suitcase ‘cause I knew you wouldn’t look there.” At least that cleared up her confusion. “I’m serious about this, Y/N. I want nothing more than to be able to call you my wife.” 

She let out a breath, then laughed and practically melted into his arms. “There was no way I was ever going to say no.” He was going to marry her. She would soon be married to a Monaco winner. How many people could say that? “That ring better be huge with the paycheck you’re gonna get from this.”

He threw his head back with a laugh. “Only the best for you, baby.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-06-19 10:03:42

Lando had been home from Canada for 3 days when she decided she wanted to know the gender of their baby. It wouldn’t change how either of them felt towards the little foetus growing in her belly, but liked the idea of knowing. She didn’t want some big party or anything that had the chance to go horribly wrong. She wanted it to be just them, quiet, intimate. He was more than happy to make that happen. 

The only person he had allowed to know was his sister. Despite the way they bickered, they did get along really well and he knew he could trust her with this. The envelope containing the important slip of paper from their doctor was given to her, seen by only her and the woman who made the cupcake.

Flo dropped it off at their place and then it was just them, ready to find out.

She set up the camera, the two of them perched on the floor of their bedroom. It all looked very cosy. Neither of them had been awake very long, choosing to spend the day lazing around their apartment. Lando was in his pyjamas; a pair of checkered blue bottoms and an old shirt that might have been his dad’s at some point. Y/N opted to be warmer, donning a pair of plain joggers and a soft hoodie any eagle-eyed fan would be able to tell was his, paired with some fluffy pink socks to keep her feet warm. To many she would appear in too many layers for the Monaco weather, but she liked being snug. 

Lando’s hair was messy, a little flat, but she hadn’t given him time to fix it. It was a reflection of her own that was tied back. He had a sleepy grin on his face and a hand on her knee. Not possessive, just resting there like it was made to fit. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

It was more nerve wracking than she thought it would be for some reason. Their baby would be loved eternally regardless, but that didn’t make it any less scary. “Ready.”

He picked up the small bun, holding it to her mouth for her to take a bite. She barely sunk her teeth into the sponge when he was smushing it against her mouth. She coughed quickly, then laughed, a laugh that was pure shock. “You dick,” she huffed. But she wasn’t really angry. If she was actually angry she would have killed him by now. 

The man was laughing, the loud gremlin-like laugh he did when he just couldn’t help it. She didn’t waste a second. Y/N lunged at him with the rest of the cupcake gripped in her fist. They ended up in a pile on the floor, her on top of him with a flattened sweet treat between them. They were making a mess but neither of them really cared to acknowledge it. She was the first to get up, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. 

The sight in front of her was amusing. She had got him back, arguably worse than he had gotten her originally. Only once they were both covered in icing and sponge did they remember what they were doing. Her eyes went wide when she saw the pink covering the lower half of his face. He must have seen it around the same time. His entire expression changed. 

“A girl?”

She nodded, bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to keep her tears at bay. She wanted to know how he felt about it before she let herself get excited. Some men didn’t want daughters and she truly hoped Lando wasn’t going to be one of those people. Luckily for her, he rubbed at his eyes and the tears began to fall. Before she knew it he was borderline sobbing. He should have been the one comforting her, but now it was the other way round. 

The woman cooed. “Lan…” She clambered into his lap, wrapping her arms around his head. He didn’t even need encouragement to bury his face in her neck, he just went. He clinged to her, like he was afraid she would disappear if he let go.

It didn’t matter that tears were soaking the material of her hoodie or that they were covered in sticky icing, this moment would be cherished. She cast a quick glance to the camera, almost like she was in The Office, showcasing with her expression how much she couldn’t believe this. This kind of reaction was the thing you saw in fairytales, not real life. 

“Are you happy?” she questioned. 

He nodded rapidly, then finally pulled away so she could see his face. The smile he was wearing was huge. “I’m so happy.” He brushed away the few tears of hers that had dripped onto her cheeks. “Are you?” 

“Yeah.” She kissed him softly. This was better than anything she could have dreamed of. 

He leaned forward and stole another kiss. There was a tugging sensation in his chest, like he was being drawn to her. If he thought he was clingy before, he was going to be even worse now that he knew he had a little girl on the way– a mini Y/N. If she resembled her mother in any way he feared he would never use the word ‘no’ again. She wasn’t even born and he was already wrapped around her finger. 

“A little you,” he whispered. 

She hummed, resting her forehead against his. Neither of them acknowledged that the camera was still rolling, but it didn’t matter anymore. “A little me.” 

They breathed softly together, just enjoying one another’s presence. He brushed a little bit of icing from her cheek, not that it made much of a difference at all. “You had a little something,” he joked. 

Y/N giggled. “Oh really?” she teased. 

He kissed her one more time, just for good measure and then his gaze fell to the camera. “She’s gonna watch this and think we’re disgustingly cute, you know.”

She couldn’t say she was upset about that. If their child knew her parents were truly and hopelessly in love, Y/N would actually sleep better at night. Not everyone could say the same. “Good,” her hand drifted down to her belly, “Our little girl.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-07-10 13:02:39

The summer break was a welcomed bit of time off. Y/N and Lando felt like their schedules were just too busy to actually spend a good chunk of time together. But now he was free for almost a month and they were going to spend every waking minute together. First up, they had to make a nursery that was the perfect place for their baby to live in. Well, Lando did. 

Y/N was using the excuse that she was 6 months pregnant to do as little as possible. She was happy to sit in the little rocking chair in the corner and tell him what to do. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d listen to every word she said. 

When picking a theme she was adamant it couldn’t be car related. No doubt their lovely girl was going to have Formula 1 centered in her life for a long time, Y/N wanted to give her the chance to at least have a space that was an exception to that. Lando had grumbled, but gone along with it anyway. He could understand what she was talking about at least. Instead of cars or racing, they had agreed on wildflowers. It was going to look like walking through a gorgeous meadow, animals and all. 

Music played softly while Lando built the furniture. He looked like the epitome of manly. Y/N didn’t know if she had ever been more attracted to him. 

“You know, if there wasn’t already a baby in me-”

He gasped like he had been scandalised. “The camera’s still on, you dirty dog.”

She chuckled, but admittedly her cheeks did begin to burn. She wasn’t quiet in her love and attraction for her fiance, but there were certain things she would like to keep private about them. Their sex life for example. “I’m just saying, you look really hot.”

The expression on his face was painfully smug. “Yeah? Is it the DILF energy?”

Her face twisted into one of disgust. “Never say that again.”

He winked. “No promises.”

After the crib was done, Lando took to painting the walls. They settled on a soft pink colour, something cosy and yet still colourful. 

Y/N was thoroughly enjoying having her feet up while he worked hard. Occasionally she would offer him a snack, a piece of fruit, a sandwich, some chocolate. She already seemed to have the mum thing down. It was all incredibly domestic– other than the occasional horny comment that made her ears burn. 

“Baby, could you pass me that roller, please?” He had quickly realised that handpainting was going to take far too long. There was no harm in trying other methods. But he had a plan, a sneaky one at that. Just as she turned away, he dipped his palms in the tub of paint and grabbed her bum.

“Lando!” she screeched. There were 2 hand prints now painted onto her pyjama bottoms, right on her backside. He grinned cheekily, offering her a wink as he ducked away from the swat she tried to aim at him. The camera could clearly see the 2 marks made by paint and she was sure the internet would have a field day with them when they found out. “Harrassing a pregnant woman, unbelievable.”

When he was sure she wasn’t going to try and hit him again, he placed a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. Her nose scrunched and she grumbled under her breath, but she loved it. They both knew that. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It took a couple days for everything to be finished in the nursery, but it was certainly worth the wait in the end. After the paint was on the walls, Lando banned her from entering the room. The fumes, he said. She probably would have been perfectly fine, but he was taking her health and safety very seriously. He wasn’t going to risk anything happening to her. He also wanted there to be some element of surprise. 

He was making her close her eyes, camera in hand so he could really capture her first impression properly. Lando was proud of himself. With a little help from his mum, he had turned the room into any child’s dream. It looked lovely, cosy and bright. He could already picture their girl in the crib he’d built for her. 

“Are you ready?” His voice was so close to her ear that it startled her. He chuckled at the way she jumped.

“Yes.”

When did Lando ever make things easy? “Are you sure?” There was nothing he loved quite like teasing her. After all these years he knew how to perfectly push her buttons too. 

The woman sighed. “Yes, Lando.”

“Positive?”

“Oh my god, just show me!”

He was grinning now. He pushed open the door and guided her in. His heart was beating rapidly, nerves swirling in his stomach, scared that she might not like it. Her pulse was equally as quick, but she was filled with excitement. 

When she finally opened her eyes the tears were instant. She couldn’t even control them. 

The nursery looked a million times better than she could have predicted. The flowers, handpainted by Lando and Cisca, looked perfect. The stuffed animals decorating the nursing chair were so cute and squishy. The pictures on the walls of forest animals, the bunny and the deer, made her heart swoon. She never knew Lando had such an eye for interior design, especially given how bachelor-y his apartment was when they started dating. Maybe she didn’t give him enough credit where it was due. 

She hadn’t said anything yet and that was worrying him. He was terrified that she hated it. “What do you think?” His voice was quiet and she could hear the insecurity lingering in his tone. She threw herself into his arms, not caring how the camera was squished between their bodies. 

“I love it. You did such a good job.”

Lando’s face visibly lit up. “Yeah?” He was glad. He took the camera, setting it on top of the drawers and out of the way. Their future viewers would now have a full view of the newly decorated nursery. “I might have one more surprise.”

He took her hand and led her over to the crib. There was a new addition waiting inside that she hadn’t seen before now. Her eyes widened and her heart grew at least 3 sizes. “Is that Mr snuggles?” Her childhood stuffed bunny, the one that had gone everywhere with her until the age of 12. She thought it was still in her room back at her parent’s house, but clearly he had worked some of his magic. 

Purely the fault of the pregnancy hormones (not true), she was getting emotional over everything. She tucked her face into Lando’s shoulder, enjoying the way he stroked her hair. He was always so gentle with her.

The man nodded. “I had your parents send him over a couple days ago. I thought baby girl would love it because her mum loved it.” 

Her heart clenched. This man meant everything to her. “Thank you.”

They were quiet for a little bit, just enjoying the moment, holding one another. “Can you believe she’s going to be here soon, in this bed?” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. His heart felt so full and she hadn’t even arrived yet. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to feel when she was finally here. Fatherhood was already so intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough. 

Y/N leaned back into him, sighing happily and blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I can’t wait. She’s going to be so loved, Lan.”

The moment was so intimate and pure. The camera caught them in each other’s arms but their voices were too low for it to pick up the volume. That was something that would stay between them, just how they liked it.

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-07-18 15:28:33

Lando had decided a babymoon was absolutely necessary. Just him and her, no families, no racing, no interruptions, before their baby arrived and shook up their whole lives. Y/N had to admit, the idea of the two of them on a yacht off the coast of some gorgeous island for a week? It was enticing. She hadn’t needed much convincing.

As soon as she found herself lounging on the deck, soaking up the sun (ogling her shirtless fiance behind her sunglasses mainly) she knew she had made the right choice.

Lando was filming her, she could see that out of the corner of her eye, acting like he was in some kind of wildlife documentary. She was trying not to smile, not wanting to encourage him, but as soon as he started doing the David Attenborough voice, she cracked a grin. 

“And here we see the expecting mother in her natural habitat…” 

She turned her head his way, pushing her sunglasses up so he could see the amusement on her face. “What are you doing?” There was no doubt in her mind that he was zooming right in on her face. She would probably grimace at the sight when she watched the footage back, even when he insisted she looked utterly perfect. 

“I’m taking a video of my gorgeous, radiant, breathtaking, sexy–”

“Lando.”

He beamed. “You look beautiful right now. The way the sun’s hitting you,” he groaned, a sound that startled a laugh out of you, “It’s a photographer's dream.” The point of the baby vlog wasn’t to be pretty or aesthetic, it was to document their love throughout the pregnancy. But sue him if there were some beautiful shots of his lover thrown in there. 

A plan had already been formed when he got to his feet. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t just throw a pregnant woman in the ocean. No one needed to outright tell him that was a horrible idea. But he could ask politely. 

The menacing sparkle in his eye as he sat beside her was enough for her to know he was up to something. The man was far from subtle. 

“What do you want?”

“Come swimming with me.” Lando’s voice was sickly sweet. It was all in a bid to coax her into agreeing. When it came to him and those puppy eyes of his, she never stood a chance. One of his hands was on her bare leg, warm and safe. The other was still angling the camera in her face. She was seconds away from swatting it out of his hands. “Guys, she doesn’t love me. Let it be known that she hates me.” The teasing was exactly what he needed to finally get under her skin. 

With a quick move she took the camera out of his hands and turned it around on him. Considering it was part of his job, he was more than used to being on camera. Irritatingly he was also incredibly photogenic. So he simply smiled, looked as handsome as ever. She sighed as she looked at him on the screen. How was this man all hers?

“Come on,” he begged.

“Fine.”

Lando set the camera up on the deck. Rather dangerously too. She wouldn’t be surprised if it fell into the water at some point– a devastating loss considering what was on the camera. He was adamant everything would be fine. As soon as she saw the footage of them swimming, it was worth the risk. 

The water was nice. A relief from the scorching heat. She let herself float, enjoying the way baby girl kicked like she herself was trying to swim away. It made the woman laugh. Lando was watching her. It was impossible not to notice the pair of eyes burning into her. In a weird way, she knew what was coming. If she didn’t make it known soon that he was about to make a bad decision, the day would take a nasty turn. Insulting a pregnant woman was a horrible idea. 

“If you make one whale joke I’ll drown you.” It was a threat. A serious one. If he knew what was good for him he would take it seriously. He quickly closed his mouth, looking rather guilty. No joke was made. She had trained him well. 

Even if he couldn’t use humour to get her attention, he still wanted to bother her. It wasn’t exactly bothering per say, he just liked being with her. Being next to her. She felt him creep up beside her. Had no problem with the way he wrapped his arms around her. Despite inviting her to swim, they weren’t actually doing much swimming at all. 

A kiss. That was what he was after. She should have known, though she was happy to give it to him. 

“Baby girl likes the water. She’s kicking like crazy.” Their hands moved together over the swell of her belly. As if the girl inside knew her dad was there, she kicked harshly at his hand. Quite a few times. If it wasn’t bringing so much joy to both of them, she would only be focused on how badly it hurt her ribs.

The smile on her lover’s face made it all worth it. It was surreal. There was really a baby in there. “Maybe we’ve got a footballer on our hands,” he suggested. Another athlete in the family was the last thing she wanted, but at least football had less chances of a fiery death than Formula One. Although if she was a natural footballer, she definitely didn’t get that talent from her dad. He had little to no co-ordination with his feet. It was actually rather funny. 

“Doesn’t get that from you then.”

A scoff, then a splash of water aimed at her. 

“Lando!” She splashed him right back. 

That simple retaliation had started a downright war. It would be a miracle if their laughter wasn’t heard by those on the nearby island. Surely anyone would know they were just 2 crazy kids in love. Who could be mad at that?

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-09-21 17:29:04

The setup of the camera was much like the day Y/N found out she was pregnant. The circumstances too. She was in the bathroom, stressed, Lando nowhere to be seen. Only this time the stakes were higher. Was she about to have this baby on their bathroom floor?

“So, I might be having the baby early.” The fear in her voice was overwhelming. If you couldn’t already tell just from the look on her face, you definitely could the moment she opened her mouth. “Lando’s not here, he’s in Azerbaijan, literally just got out of the car.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.” 

The talking was more for her than anything else. Obviously the camera couldn’t help her, nor could those who would end up watching the video. It would all be over by then. Putting her thoughts out into the air helped calm her for some reason.

“I called one of my friends, she’s on her way to take me to the hospital. I also called Lando’s mum ‘cause I panicked.” The woman had given her the best advice she could. There was only so much she could do from another country. How she wished she could be there holding her hand when her son couldn’t. 

It looked like it all seemed to hit her at once. Her face fell. “Fuck,” she mumbled. “I might be having a baby today.” 

A phone ringing interrupted her freakout. Lando. Finally. 

Turns out he was fairing no better than her. His voice immediately came booming through the speaker. Panic lacing his tone. “Are you okay? What am I supposed to do? I’m so sorry I’m not there.” It was easy to picture him right now. Running his hands through his hair. Pacing up and down his driver’s room. He probably hadn’t stayed for the podium celebrations. Maybe even on his way to the airport. The last thing he wanted was to miss the birth of his first born, to leave his lover on her own for this. Only a monster would do such a thing. He wasn’t a monster. No, he was devoted to her. 

“I’m okay. Getting a lift to the hospital soon.”

That didn’t make him feel any better at all. “Fuck.” He was struggling to grasp just one thought at a time. Being there with her was the biggest issue. There was no quick way of getting to Monaco from where he was, not even if he left right this second. Lando prided himself in being pretty good at taking care of Y/N, but right now he was at a loss. How did he make this situation better? “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing you can do, but it’s okay. I’m gonna be fine.”

As suspected, Lando was on his way to the airport and he only had a very short amount of time before his flight. Even though it was the very last thing he wanted to do, he said his goodbyes, wished her luck. She would update him every step of the way. That was a promise. He was with her in spirit. And she couldn’t do this without that knowledge. 

The hospital, as expected, was nerve wracking. A pregnant woman experiencing potential labour meant she was at the top of the emergency list. Seen right away. It felt like every test in the world was being run on her and yet no answers were being given. Lando’s texts were coming through rapidly, every few seconds, but she didn’t have any updates for him right away. It would be nice if she did. 

Once the doctors deduced that she wasn’t actively about to give birth, things died down a little. Pain had stopped rippling through her body hours ago, but they didn’t stop running tests. Pregnant women were much more at risk of everything. They had to be cautious. She didn’t know how long she was going to be here. The doctor’s face was a welcomed one. 

“Good news, Miss Y/L/N, it was a false alarm.”

Her eyes went wide. A weight lifted off of her shoulders. “Really? So, I’m not in labour?”

The kind doctor shook her head. “No. False labour is very common at this point in pregnancy. It’s her way of making sure you’re ready for the big day.”

This kind of thing had been mentioned in the pregnancy books she’d read, but she hadn’t anticipated it to feel so authentic. Everything in her believed she would be having their baby today. It had all felt so real. “She’s okay then?”

A soft smile. “She’s perfect. A healthy baby who’s going to stay with her mum a bit longer.”

Y/N chuckled. She was grateful. There were certainly more desirable circumstances that she would like to give birth in. Preferably ones where her fiance was present and not currently losing his head 37,000 feet in the sky. 

“We would like to keep you in for the night, just for some monitoring. If that’s okay?”

She nodded. “That’s fine.”

But nothing was really fine until he got there early the next morning. His flight landed around 6 and he made it to her bedside by 6:35. No time was wasted on his behalf. He knew it was a false alarm, she had texted him during his flight, but it didn’t make him any less panicked. Even the smallest of things normally could be incredibly dangerous in the late stages of pregnancy. He was worried about her.

There seemed to be 101 forms to sign to get her discharged. She would just be happy when she could go home and finally climb into her own bed. 

The camera picked up again once the pair of them were home and relaxed again. Hours had passed. Lando had flown home immediately, a 12 hour flight that felt like days knowing she was at home and scared. The hospital had kept her overnight, just for observation. Once they were positive it was just a mishap, they allowed her to head home and nothing else unusual was going to happen. Luckily Lando had arrived by that point. 

Since they got back into their apartment, they hadn’t moved from one spot. The sofa was probably molded to fit them permanently now. 

Y/N sighed, exhausted from the chaos. Yet she still smiled into the camera, even if her head felt heavy and she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to stay awake. 

“No baby yet,” Lando explained, “Still safe inside for now.” In the very corner of the screen, eagle eyed viewers might be able to see how his thumb was rubbing gentle circles on her belly. It was soothing for both her and baby girl. A kiss was placed to her head. “Quite a big scare though. And a very long day.”

There was a hum from Y/N. She curled further into him. “She’s dramatic, just like her dad.”

The curly-haired man let out a scoff, but unfortunately she was right. He was a drama queen and there was enough evidence online to back up her claim. There was no use in arguing. So he let her win. He would always let her win.

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-10-20 02:54:32

The camera was focused on Y/N, sitting on the sofa, free hand holding some kind of ice cream while there was frantic rushing in the background. Lando’s frantic rushing. The simple shot sort of perfectly described their personalities. 

She smiled at the camera. “So, I’m in labour and Lando’s losing his mind.” She was finding it rather funny. Though she looked far too calm for a woman who was due to give birth today. She turned the camera around, catching him just as he zipped past to grab something from the bedroom. Usually she would have had some sympathy, but she had been telling him to pack the hospital bag for weeks and he hadn’t. Really this was all on him.

But she wasn’t laughing for long. A wave of pain rippled through her body, the woman almost dropping her ice cream in the process. She certainly would have cried if she had done that. 

Her gasp was so loud that it startled her lover. “Lando.”

He knew just from the strain in her voice that she was having a contraction. In an instant he dropped everything, rushing over to her and offering his hand out. She took it as soon as she could reach, squeezing to try and relieve some of the sharp pain running through her body. 

The man frowned. He hated the idea that she was in pain. If he could take it away from her, he would do so immediately. As gentle as he could, he brushed some loose hair out of her face, kissing her forehead. It didn’t take the pain away but it did make things a little better.

When the pain passed, she let out a sigh. “Thank you.”

One more kiss was placed on her head for luck and then he got back to his frantic packing. Despite the nerves building up, she did manage to let out a brief laugh. He was done as quickly as he could be and then all his attention turned to her. Y/N was actually rather impressed with how well he was taking charge of the situation. 

The moment her water broke he helped her change, sat her down and handed her a tub of ice cream that she had been munching away on ever since. Everything else was handled by him. She didn’t have to lift a finger.

Now that he was done, he kneeled down in front of her, making sure her eyes were on him. “How far apart?” 

The only job she had was to time how far apart her contractions were. Then they would know when to head to the hospital. “6 minutes.” That meant they had to leave, like, now. She was supposed to tell him when they were 10 minutes apart, so he had some sort of warning at least. But he was already doing so much that she didn’t want to add to his stress. Unknowingly she had made it even worse by not telling him sooner.

Despite his job being to drive at 300km/h every weekend, he had never driven as fast as he did to the hospital. Without a doubt multiple speeding tickets would be coming through the post soon. He was almost positive every dad must be like this when their partner was giving birth, but the look on the nurse’s faces when he came rushing into reception like a crazy person said otherwise.

“My fiance’s in labour.”

People started to quickly understand his panic. So much was happening at once that he could barely keep up. Lando ended up following the doctor around like a lost puppy, just waiting to see where they would take her. He was glad when they finally got her into a room where she could have some privacy. It was too risky being out in the main bit of the hospital for too long. There were too many people around, too much opportunity for someone to spot them and break the news they’d been so good at hiding. 

Laying in the hospital bed with a doctor checking how dilated she was, she looked incredibly sad. The woman was pouting, a sight that made him chuckle. This was one of the brief moments where the contractions had halted, which meant he was allowed to joke. 

“Why did I let you do this to me?” she whined.

“Because you love me.” 

She huffed, a quip of some sort on the tip of her tongue ready to fire back at him. And she would have had she not been hit with another wave of shooting pain. 

He offered his hand to her, which she didn’t hesitate to take. The first squeeze made him regret everything, but he wasn’t exactly going to reject her when she was suffering far more than he was. He would do anything she needed him to to make things better for her.

She was slowly losing her mind laying there waiting for this to be over. And the worst part was no one could give her a straight answer of how much longer this was going to take. No one knew. It was different for everyone. But they did know baby girl wasn’t coming anytime soon, that much was a guarantee. They were going to have to wait this out a little longer. She hated every second of it. And he was no better. 

His hand was one squeeze away from the bones being shattered. It would be wrong to blame her for it though. She was definitely going through a lot worse. “Looks like baby girl is still gonna take a while yet,” he told the camera. At the reminder Y/N shot him a glare. It was to tell him to shut up. Lando thought it best to turn the camera off before she literally ripped his head off. Or said something that got him in trouble with his PR manager. He sent the camera one final grin. One last smile before he became a dad for real. It was all so exciting. “See you on the other side.”

. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🧸ྀི

2025-10-20 21:34:59

The next time the camera turned on, things were much quieter. The chaos had died down. Y/N was no longer in agony. And they were both officially parents. There was a grin on Lando’s face that looked permanent, like he’d tattooed it on there and it had zero plans of disappearing any time soon. His cheeks physically hurt from it.

From what the camera could see, they were lying on the bed together. He had climbed behind her, letting her rest against his chest as she was more comfortable that way. It was clear she was holding something, cradling their baby. They looked happy. Tired, but happy.

“Everyone say hello to Rosie Norris.” The camera panned down, but her face stayed hidden. A baby, tiny, wrapped in a pink blanket, so content in her mother’s arms. Lando was in love. 

His life was so public that they had agreed they wanted to keep some things private. The whole reason they had kept her pregnancy secret was so they could properly enjoy it. Little Rosie was another thing. Other than a brief glimpse at her where they couldn’t prevent it, they wanted to give her the most normal childhood possible. No invading cameras, no massive crowds. The 2 of them would try their very best to keep her out of the spotlight. 

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off of the sweet baby. 

“She’s healthy, cried her eyes out for the first 15 minutes of her life.” The pair laughed. She had barely been in the world for 3 hours and she was already bringing such light to her parent’s lives. “She’s perfect and we’re obsessed.”

Anyone could tell that they were truthful. Lots of people had kids, but Lando and Y/N were meant to have children. They were born to be parents. Their entire being belonged to that little girl. Already she had them wrapped around her tiny finger. 

There wasn’t much to film or say to the camera. Both of them wanted to be present. Actually in the moment. Not much was happening now the chaos was all over. Still, he didn’t turn the camera off. He let it run, sitting it on the table beside the bed, capturing the first few moments of this new family. It was sweet. A piece of video that would be cherished. 

His head leaned against hers, ignoring how her hair was still damp with sweat. There had been enough times where she had done the same for him after a particularly hot race. 

They were talking mindlessly, discussing anything that came to their minds just to pass the time. The camera could barely hear them with how low their voices were. That didn’t upset them though. It was just another thing that could be saved just for them. At some point Rosie cooed, letting her parents know she was finally awake and vying for their attention. 

Green eyes, identical to her dad’s, were staring right at them both. Y/N didn’t know when she would stop falling in love. Every new little detail that she discovered had another part of her heart dedicating itself to Rosie. Soon enough she was positive that little girl would be her entire being. She would be perfectly happy with that. 

Lando literally shed a tear. “She’s looking at us.” He was so in awe. This was his child. Half him, half Y/N. They had somehow created her and now got to appreciate that for the rest of their lives. “She looks just like you.” With the most gentle touch he could muster, the man traced his finger over her tiny cheek. It felt like if he didn’t keep checking she was real every now and then, she might disappear.

“She has your eyes.” There was no denying that. One might be able to drown in them if they looked too long. Y/N didn’t know how to look away.

It was quiet for a while. She was on the verge of falling asleep. Lando wasn’t helping with his warmth and the way he was stroking her hair. It had been a long day and as much as she wanted to stay awake and watch their girl exist forever, she had to give in to the sleep she was fighting sooner or later. 

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, blinking slowly. 

After some brief fumbling, he was more than happy to take Rosie from her arms so she could get some sleep. It was definitely deserved after the day she’d had. With the baby tucked up in his arms, he placed a quick kiss on Y/N’s head and then took a seat in the comfy armchair in the corner of the room. The camera watched as Rosie and him would spend the next few hours snuggled up together exactly like that, with him gazing down at her like she had hung the stars. It was the start of a new chapter in his life that he was finding himself utterly infatuated with.

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

[webslinger-holland]

Rope, Respect, and the Red Guardian | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts*

Summary: Since finding out that his daughter is dating, Alexei wants to be as involved as possible in their blossoming relationship. He gives them a good serious fatherly talk, offers unwanted advice, and even provides a gift basket?

Warning: 18+ minors DNI, Alexei being himself (slightly vulgar), suggestive content in reference to smut, references to condoms and kinks, mentions of godlike stamina, another good old fashioned sex talk, things get a little heated in the bedroom, teasing...teasing...teasing

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Alexei's Daughter Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Type: Oneshot (but can be read as a continuation of 'The S*x Talk')

The clock on the wall reads 9:49am, but Alexei has been up for hours. Still clad in his smelly tank top, boxers, and rugged brown bath robe, he was waiting patiently for his daughter to wake up from her — as he called it "beauty sleep." He munched on a bowl of Wheaties and ignored the evident drops of milk in his beard; the box with his face on it sitting proudly beside him.

The sound of the door closing upstairs alerted him instantly. He quickly scooped the last few bites into his mouth and rushed the empty bowl back over to the sink. He could hear footsteps coming down the stairs so he quickly grabbed the cups of coffee that he prepared beforehand and hurried back to the table.

Alexei placed the two cups of coffee across the table from him and took a seat himself, grabbing the tablet to pretend like he was busy reading some news article about himself. He briefly glanced up at the couple who entered the kitchen, seeing that they were no longer hiding the fact that they were sleeping together since the cat was already out of the bag.

"AH! If it isn't my favorite superhero couple," Alexei exclaimed with a broad smile on his face and his hands in the air.

Bob, who was still sporting his loose fitting blue pajamas, padded after his girlfriend into the kitchen. His hair was slightly ruffled and he failed to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes, but he offered a soft smile nonetheless.

Then there was Alexei's daughter who was still mad about the fact that now everyone knew about their relationship on the team. She wanted to give her father the silent treatment, but she knew that only meant he wouldn't stop pestering her until she gave him the time of day. She sent him a small warning glare.

"I made coffee," Alexei told them. They approached the table with great caution, suspiciously eyeing the two cups of coffee in front of them. "Sit, sit! We talk, no?" Alexei smiled.

"Dad," Y/n began. "Please don't make this weird."

"I don't make things weird; I'm a cool dad." Alexei claimed, looking slightly offended. She rolled her eyes. "Always cool."

All the while, Bob brought the cup of coffee up to his lips for a sip only to wince at the flavor. He drew it away and stared at it in shock.

"W-What's in this? Gasoline?" Bob coughed slightly.

"Vodka. How else am I supposed to get through the day?" Alexei explained and Bob awkwardly lowered the cup back down.

The room proceeded to descend into an awkward silence between the three of them. Naturally, Alexei is glancing between the two of them with the biggest smile on his face and patiently waiting for either of them to speak. And while Y/n chooses to ignore him, Bob finds interest in the grooves of the table and keeps his hands in his lap.

"Alright, enough ignoring me. We talk." Alexei said a little louder than intended. He leaned across the table and offered his open hands to the pair of them; Bob, for some reason, takes his hand.

For a moment, it looked like Alexei was about to break down in a fit of tears. He just felt so happy for the both of them, especially his own daughter. He found back tears as he spoke to them.

"So...you are dating," Alexei smiles fondly at them. "My beautiful daughter who is a former Red Room assassin with a pretty impressive kill count—"

"Dad," she warned.

"And you... Bob." Alexei notions to him.

And Bob perked up hearing his own name.

"The most powerful super beings ever created! The one who holds the power of a million exploding suns, but also has the ability to cover entire continents in darkness. Very powerful, no?" Alexei narrated and Bob offered a tight lined smile.

"Okay— " Y/n began, knowing he was about to cross the line.

"You two would make such beautiful babies," Alexei sighed with a shake of the head.

Hearing this made Bob's eyebrows shoot up in slight shock; his face growing a deep shade of red that couldn't be hidden even by his own darkness. Beside him, Y/n let out a groan of defeat and buried her face in her hands to spare herself further embarrassment.

"Now. We all now what happens when two people start kissing and making the googly eyes at each other. Eventually, things...escalate if you know what I mean," Alexei sent an all knowing look to Bob.

"I don't think I can do this," Y/n muttered to herself in her hands.

"And so! It is my duty as your father— " Alexei emphasizes seriously. "...to ensure you are being safe."

"Safe?" Bob made a small strangled noise.

"Yes. So I give you some advice, no?" Alexei nodded. He held up a single finger to make his first point. "First, always stretch before anything intense. Flexibility prevents injury, don't forget that. You do not want to cramp mid-thrust — trust me; my hip has never been the same since 1989."

"Dad! Please stop talking, I'm begging you." Y/n pleaded with him. Her face was more red than it had ever been before.

"Next, hydration! You must hydrate. Electrolytes are very important for the sex. Do not let passion rob you of proper fluid balance."

Bob made a face of slight disgust.

"And finally...it would be wise to consider soundproofing your rooms. Your sister shares a wall with you. And she has a gun, Bob. A gun," Alexei continued with a look of complete seriousness on his face.

"Alexei!" Y/n shouted over him, knowing that using his name would get his attention. "That's enough! If you say one more word, I will not hesitate to tranquilize you."

Shoving his chair back loudly, Alexei stood to his full height and stared down at them angrily. He muttered something in Russian under his breath. "Ungrateful children. I try to give them wisdom and they threaten violence. No respect for the classics."

Leaving the room meant the young couple were left in complete silence. Still feeling like she could die from pure embarrassment, she can't even bring herself to look at her boyfriend. When Bob does look at her, he's a little pale in the face and he offers a small smile of encouragement.

"Well...that went well." Bob claimed.

In the late hours of the evening, the two of them find themselves alone in the bedroom. It felt like it was another rare moment of silence, tenderness, and vulnerability. They've kissed before; they've slept together before. But this time— it's a little different. All the tension melts away and it's just them enjoying the moment.

It's just them, heartbeats pounding as if threatening to break loose and hot breath fanning their faces. Her fingers comb through his wavy locks of soft hair and his hands are reverent at her waist. Their lips mold together perfectly; their walls slowing coming down.

Pulling away, Y/n looked at him with a hint of nervousness behind her eyes. "You're sure?" She wondered.

"Never been more sure," Bob breathed. He drew her in again and kissed her deeply.

Slowly, Bob shifted his body over hers and Y/n pulled him down with her until she was laying against the bed sheets. Their hands fumble to remove any article of clothing in the way; lips still chasing one another. He kisses her until she forgets her own name and shifts to brace his knee between her legs.

A harsh knocking on the door caused both of them to nearly jump out of their skin. Their heads snapped towards the door and their failing to catch their breath.

"W—What now?" Y/n groaned in slight frustration and Bob couldn't shake just how red his face was.

"My solnyshko (little sun)," Alexei's voice is trying to lure her from the other side of the door. "I have a surprise for you!"

The banging on the door only continued. He called their names countless times, not caring if it meant waking every in the tower.

"Just ignore him," Y/n begged and used her fingers to turn his jaw back to her. She tried to kiss him so he'd forget about the man behind the door, but the banging just kept going.

"You are ignoring me!" Alexei shouted. "I know you are! Don't think I won't break this door down."

Naturally, her eyes shot wide open in sudden realization. Her father totally would break down the door if she didn't answer it and it would be even more embarrassing to find his daughter naked in bed. So, she hastily clambered out of their bed and threw on a loose button up shirt.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm coming," Y/n called back to him and Bob sat up in bed.

He leaned back against the headboard and gathered the blankets around his waist for a bit of modesty. He grabbed a throw pillow next to him and placed it directly over his lap to hide the evident tent under the blankets.

Finally, when she went to open the door, there was no shock to see her father standing there with a broad smile stretched across his face. She made sure to keep the door cracked open just far enough for him to only see her.

"What do you want?" Y/n asked coldly, staring up at him unamused.

"Hello to you too," Alexei scoffed slightly. He tried to peer over her shoulder, knowing who else was hiding in the room. "Hi Bob!"

"Hi Alexei," Bob responded, but immediately regretted it.

"I'm only going to say this one more time: what do you want?" Y/n drew his attention back to the matter at hand...quite literally too.

In his hands, Alexei held a large woven basket filled to the brim with things and gifts and ribbons and tissue paper. He looked so proud of himself and he offered the basket to her, but she didn't take it.

"For you," Alexei explained. "I present you with the gift...of responsibility and maturity."

"You rehearsed that, didn't you?" Y/n asked with narrowed eyes.

Alexei nodded enthusiastically. "I did! It was good, wasn't it?"

"Why are you giving me this?" Y/n motioned to the large basket still in his hands. She watched him begin to rifle through the things.

"It contains protection, pamphlets, vitamins, and—" Alexei pulled out a small action figure of himself. "A reminder that strength is restraint."

"Dad," Y/n sighed in defeat. "I really don't think—is that a fire extinguisher?"

"Yes! For when things get too hot," Alexei winked and Bob joined his girlfriend's side now, fully clothed in his pajamas.

"Is that...rope?" Bob asked, peering into the basket.

"To tie down any unstable emotions," Alexei explained one of his countless metaphors. He observed the blank looks on their faces and rolled his eyes. "I had to get creative; I don't know all your kinks, Bob. I wanted to cover all bases."

"Laminated consent form," Y/n took out some small forms. "Where the hell did you get a laminator?"

"Two copies!" Alexei ignored her question, smiling proudly. "One for legal records. The other for... emotional closure."

Reaching into the basket, Bob pulled out a nice green candle. He brought it to his nose and took a sniff; his eyebrows shooting up in surprise because it was a pretty pleasant scent.

"I also included a scented candle — 'Siberian Snowstorm.' Very calming, very romantic." Alexei wiggled his eyebrows.

Suddenly, Alexei remembered one of the most important things he wanted to include in his generous gift. He reached down and grabbed a large box beside the door, basically shoving it into Bob's hands.

"And of course — these!" Alexei beamed with pride.

"A box of...100 condoms?!" Bob read the label in shock.

"Dad!"

"He's a god! I assume he's got great stamina, he's going to want to go multiple rounds," Alexei tried to reason with them and Bob flipped the box over to read the back.

"Where do you even buy 100 condoms?" Bob asked with furrowed brows.

"Ebay," Alexei replied blankly.

"And...they're glow-in-the-dark?" Y/n read over his shoulder. She scrunched her nose.

"So he doesn’t disappear on you again and turn all dark," Alexei motioned to him as if it made all the sense in the world to him. The absurd items just kept coming.

The next thing was two giant liters of water; each of them respectively labeled 'his' and 'hers.' He shoved them into his daughters hands and pointed to them seriously.

"This is very important. Hydration is vital during all activities — combat, missions, and even romance." Alexei added. "One liter each. Filtered. Room temperature. You’ll thank me when you’re not fainting after the sex." He joked with a laugh.

"You didn't by chance include any vodka in here?" Y/n wondered curiously. "You know...so I can drink to forget this entire night all together."

"What do you take me for?" Alexei looked offended. "That's in my thermos." He raised his own flask and sent her a wink.

Finally, shuffling to balance the entire basket in his hands, Alexei practically thrusted it into Bob's chest. He recovered quickly and accepted the basket awkwardly.

"Here Bob," Alexei said. He gave a firm nod of approval. "Protect her. Respect her. Hydrate her. The thermos is BPA-free."

"Oh my god," Y/n rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Thank you?" Bob accepted it slightly confused. He held onto the basket tightly and laughed nervously. "It's kinda heavy."

And Alexei's smile dropped; the tone now becoming dead serious. "That's the weight of your responsibility. I will end you if you hurt her."

"Noted," Bob swallowed the heavy lump at the back of his throat.

Smile returning, Alexei proceeded to slap a firm hand on Bob's shoulder. His laughter resonated through the hallways like a boom and they both winced from it.

"Good boy! You’re strong, polite, weird hair. I like you," Alexei laughed. He finally made his exit and sent a wave over his shoulder. "Enjoy your sex! Let me know if you need anything."

The door slammed shut for the evening and the lock was firmly put in place, not that it would have really mattered in the end.

In the morning that followed the disastrous night, Bob found himself shuffling into the already occupied kitchen for some morning coffee. He yawned quietly, looking like a man woh only got two hours of sleep because the rest of the time was spent in sin.

At the table, Alexei and Yelena sat beside each other eating bowls of their cereal. Without missing a beat and without looking up, Yelena made a comment that made Bob freeze.

"...You walk funny."

Alexei's head shot up and Bob was startled into a full body flinch.

"I — what—?! I do not —" Bob fumbled over his words.

"A limp is a limp, Bob. You can't hide it from me," Yelena sang, still not even bothering to look up from her book.

"You didn't stretch before?" Alexei asked him in shock.

"Want us to ice your back now and save time?" Yelena offered with a sneaky smile growing on her face and Bob blushed hard.

Her sister proceeded to enter the room with a similar looking limp that did not go unnoticed by her family. She spared them a quick glance and brushed her hand against her boyfriend's arm tenderly.

"Good morning," Y/n called to the rest of them.

"It certainly is for you," Yelena winked all knowingly.

Part 1 Here

[daystarpoet]

★ ⎯a soldier's solace. part ii

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader. Bucky x wife!reader. Bucky x fem!reader.

Tags: husband bucky. Fluff & comfort. Secret marriage. New Avengers!bucky. Thunderbolts spoilers. You guys LOVED part one, so here is part two. Thank you so much for the support.

Synopsis: The secret's out; Bucky Barnes is married. After allowing the Thunderbolts in his own home, they all learn to fall in love with the same woman as him. Featuring our favourite white kitten.

Warnings: possible grammar and spelling mistakes. Not proofread. No use of y/n. Worse than my usual work, something quick & written w my phone.

I do not consent for my work to be uploaded onto other platforms or translated. Reblog to support.

The Thunderbolts sat now completely patched up and clean. The only thing missing was a warm plate of food—which certainly was on its way. The house was filled with the delicious aroma of a sizzling pot of vegetables. You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, humming to yourself as you cut down some carrots and stirred the soup.

Bucky watched with a tired smile, the corner of his lips pulling upwards. He’d seen you do this a hundred times before, and it never got old. Something about the domesticity of the situation made his heart flutter.

“That actually does smell good,” for the first time in the last couple of hours, Ava smiled—along with the rest of the team. Never in their lives had they seen Bucky’s eyebrows hang so loosely, with no worry whatsoever. And to even push their amazement further, Alpine decided to make yet another appearance.

She meowed softly as she rubbed her head against Bucky’s hand, which lazily hung from the couch. “Hey, Alp,” his hand moved to acknowledge the small animal, brushing his fingers against her tiny nose bridge. She watched with curious, distrusting eyes, curling against the soldier’s arm as if her tiny body would have been able to shield him from the strangers.

Alpine Barnes was very clearly her father’s daughter—that was what you had said. Everyone else outside your home—minus a few other people like Sam—were met with a loud hiss and a distasteful look. He scooped the cat into his arms, gently placing her on his chest and allowing her to curl up against his neck.

The little white cat missed him when he wasn’t home—whenever he was sent on a mission that lasted longer than a day, she’d start to grow particularly adamant about scratching the couch and chewing on Bucky’s shoes.

Bucky had found Alpine some years ago, right when he was coming home after the whole Flagsmashers ordeal. He had found her scrounging for food in some dark street in Brooklyn, completely drenched, probably cold, and definitely scared.

Something in the wary blue eyes of the tiny animal spoke directly to him. Without thinking twice, he picked her up, and embraced her with the warmth of his leather jacket, her head sticking out from inside.

“So you have a wife, and you have a cat?” John inquired, breaking the silence, to what Bucky just shrugged. “Just don’t try to pet her—unless you want your burrito shield scratched, that is.” A collective snicker was heard across the room, making you raise your gaze away from your vegetables. “Hey, I got a new one, a better one this time!” He retorted, in an almost offended tone.

“James, be nice. What kind of team dynamics are these?” You half-scolded your husband, earning an amused huff in return. “Very interesting ones, definitely,” Yelena replied, eyes watching over Alpine’s tail movement as Bucky ran his vibranium fingers through her hair.

“Well, I tried to help us all become friends. Gain team unity and everything. But Mr. Soldier doesn’t want to attend our boding sessions,” Alexei sounded almost outraged at Bucky’s refusal to attend his very dear meetings. You shot Bucky a glare, silently questioning his distaste towards Alexei’s wholehearted intentions of forming an actual emotional team.

“Don’t worry, him and I—we’ll have a chat about his team appreciation.” You reassured, your voice just sharp enough, the sound of the kitchen knife against the plastic board punctuating your words. “Sweetheart—” Bucky tried to intervene, raising one arm in your direction. “No, James, they all seem so nice. So far, very good guests, none of them dripped blood over my new carpet.”

That was, yet again, a strange thing to witness for the Thunderbolts. Bucky was completely at his wife’s mercy. How could he not be, though? After Steve left, Bucky thought he was meant to ‘make amends’ and walk alone forever.

Until you walked in and swept him entirely off his feet. He was not expecting it, and he sure as hell wasn’t prepared for it. But you had, and he was immensely grateful for it.

You held his metal hand as if it was nothing to be afraid of, and every time he made a self-deprecating joke, you laughed alongside him instead of scolding and lecturing him about ‘how much he was truly worth’. Love hadn’t been on the table for him, at least not since the 1940s. There was something about his old-fashioned charm that lured you in.

This could be seen all over your house, since most of your furniture consisted of old, second hand items from the past century. One of the first things you had done, upon beginning to date Bucky, was introducing him to thrift stores. Naturally, when you got married, you went out of your way to find 40s items to decorate the house—to make him feel at home, too.

“Okay, dinner’s almost done!” You exclaimed with a smile, approaching the group once more. They all cheered, now that the adrenaline had worn off, and that they were completely healed, hunger was truly starting to make itself present.

ou sat on the armrest of the couch Bucky was manspreading on, his hand moving to the small of your back, keeping you in place and brushing comforting circles with his thumb. “You’re surprisingly normal,” Ava smiled appreciatively. “Uhm, what?” You questioned, brow raised in confusion.

“No, no, it’s good, we just figured that if Bucky was ever to date someone it would be—I don’t know—someone brooding and dark like him,” John shrugged trying to defend his point of view. That last part was true; you were the complete opposite of your husband. You owned a flower shop, and you baked, you greeted everyone with the most radiating of smiles, and never once treated a customer rudely.

“I think we might have to steal you away one day, have some girl talk.” Yelena suggested, Bucky shooting daggers in her direction. “You’re not—” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before you eagerly agreed, “that sounds fun.”

You placed a hand on his bicep, a gentle touch of reassurance; you were not going to disappear on him just because you became friends with his team. You were there, for him, always, and that alone allowed him to breathe.

From the kitchen area, your phone rang, signalling the soup was ready to be served. You hurriedly stood up, taking long, quick strides to your usual spot. “Alright, you five, hope this is good enough for your New Avenger taste buds or whatever.”

The first once to receive a bowl was Bucky, who blissfully took spoonfuls of the liquid, loving nothing more than his wife's cooking. The rest followed along, instantly amazed and grateful for the warm, homemade meal. “Told you she was good,” said your husband proudly, a smirk on his face as he stood up to place a peck to your temple.

“The food is wonderful, and she is incredibly nice,” Yelena added, a smile slipping through the clear exhaustion. In just a matter of forty-five minutes, an entire team of ex-criminals and mercenaries had warmed up to you, the same way as Bucky once had. Nobody resisted the appeal.

“Maybe we should even bring Bob to meet Mrs. secret wife here one of these days.”

[seamirrors]

Hello, I'm serching for a tommy shelby fanfiction. It was not on tumblr but on wattpad.

It was a tommy shelby x oc. The oc was a single mom to a boy. I think it was the boy who died because of the crystal in season 3. They had multiple children together and I think the last chapter was in season 5.

[seamirrors]

Me tonight because I couldn't start doing the presentation a week earlier.

[shimabshahin]

Please help me spread the campaign. Or donate even a little🍉🇵🇸🙏

Donate to Help Shima’s Family Find Safety in Gaza, organized by Enaam Elkhalili

Beloved friends, family, and kind-hearted supporters. Hello, I'm Shima ,a Mot… Enaam Elkhalili needs your support for Help Shima’s Family F

If you can't donate please help to get the campaign to the largest number of people..

https://gofund.me/b0450bfb

Hi palestine supporters 🇵🇸

I am Shima from Gaza,

Hope my message finds you well..

I’m simply don’t want to die, I want to live I want to give my children a better life. Help me to escape from Gaza❗️❗️

My home, along with all my cherished memories and dreams, was destroyed. Now, homeless, I struggle to find a safe place for my children.

Our situation is indescribable. the hopelessness of being unable to protect my family, and the desperation of not being able to provide for my children weigh heavily on me.

Please share, repost or donate to my family Please do not ignore my message 🙏🏻🍉🍉

Your donations are important for our survival.

[kookntae4ever]

This is me. Kinda jealous of all the writers who can write quickly because I can't.

[windwardstar]

[Image description: a kid in a cheap gold star costume. Text edited onto the star says: world's slowest writer. End description]

[seamirrors]

Hey guys,

I am searching for a fic and would appreciate it if you could help me!

It was a fic where Tommy and the reader were married and Lizzie got jealous. Lizzie killed her through a spell and later on married him.

Tommy and the reader got one daughter i think and lizzie and tommy got Ruby. Lizzie and Ruby were always jealous because Tommy still loved the reader.

I hope you can help me! I have been searching for it awhile now!

Thank you in advance!

[seamirrors]

Ghost Whisperer

pairing: platonic!Klaus Hargreeves x ghost!reader, platonic!Ben Hargreeves x ghost!reader

warning: description of death, mention of drug consum

summery: You were a ghost damned to wander around the earth until your case was finally solved. Sadly you had no hape that it would ever happen, that was until you met a certain Ghost Whisperer.

You were okay.

At least that was what you were telling yourself in your last minutes on this earth. Even thought the evidence was clear, you were still in denial and couldn‘t believe that they would do something like this. At the same time you were trying to put pressure on your stab wound, noticing that your blood sickered through your hand not stopping anytime soon.

It took a few more minutes with the pain but finally it clicked that you were about to die all alone because someone stabbed you and not because of old age like you had always hoped. The chance to have your own family one day was ripped away from you the moment that knife was pushed into your gut and there was no chance that anyone would ever hear you so far out and away from the next city.

You that about your family and how they would react the moment the found out you were dead. Your poor mother would probably fall into a depression or focus only on other people. And your father? His rage would be untameble. After all you were their only child and were loved over anything else. Yes, they spoilt you but it was out of love.

The last thoughts of yours before you closed your eyes forever where of your parents.

————————————

When you awoke you were in an alley in the middle of the city and full of surprise you looked down on yourself no blood was found on your outfit. The outfit was still the same one that you were wearing the night you were murdered.

With fast steps you walked out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. You tried to talk to the people that were walking by but it was like they were ignoring you or maybe they didn‘t see you.

Day after day you tried talking to people for about a month. The monment the month ended you decided you would try again, for your own sanity.

That was 20 years ago.

————————

In those 20 years nothing really changed for you. You were still walking around the earth without being seen. You traveled and watched over your family and like you predicted their reaction was just that. The didn‘t get a divorce thankfully ut their dynamic wasn‘t the same after your dead.

You were back in your hometown and wandered away from your family’s home. Of course you didn‘t pay any attention to your surroundings since you were a ghost and no one in the last 20 years payed you any attention. So it was a suprise when you walked into someone.

You let out a gasped and landed on the floor and it seemed that the person before you wasn‘t spared either. When you started to focus on the person before you you noticed that it was a young man with asian features who looked equally suprised as you.

For a minute it seemed that all you two could do was look at each other. Full of confusion and surprise.

You started to get from the floor and he did the same. Taken a step towards him he questioned the young man :" You can see me?"

He studied your face while telling you:“ I‘m a ghost and it seemed you are too.“ You nodded your head. After all what he said about you was true. “Then why are you still here and not on the other side?“ he questioned.

So you started to tell him why you were still here and can‘t wander to the other side. You explained your murder and that you can only wander across when you killer was behind bars. But that since you were a ghost you would be forced to stay on this side like you did the last 20 years.

Ben, as he told you his name was, nodded his head at your explanation and told you that he knew someone that yould help you cross to the other side. Without any other word you followed him.

———————

It turned out that the 'someone' was his brother and that said brother was able to communicate with the dead if he wasn‘t high. You understood why he would turn to drugs ,after all you couldn‘t imagine for it to be pleasant to talk to a bunch of dead guys.

Understandably he wasn‘t to eager to help you when Ben explained your situation and that was what he told you.

So you turned to the only thing that you told yourself you would never do, begging.

"Please Klaus! I wouldn‘t be asking if I had another choice but it has been 20 years and I‘m desperate to finally be able to close this final chapter of my life. My parents deserve to know what happened to their only child, please.“

It was silent for a minute until he muttered an 'okay'.

You could have kissed him.

——————

It took you guys a week until your killer was finally catched.

You rold Klaus evereything you need to know about your murder. Clues and everything else, including who you thought was the killer. As it turned out it wasn‘t your best friend like you thought all these years, it was actually your partner who grew jealous of your close friendship to her and so in jealous rage she stabbed you.

All of this years you blamed her since you couldn‘t see the killers face but they had the same jacket in that she had and the same friendship bracelet. It was hard to find out that you blamed her ,while at the same time it was your partner. The same one that you were so in love with.

You thanked Klaus and Ben for their help and crossed to the other side. But still in the end…

You were not okay

[seamirrors]

Pairing : Kelly Severide x female!german!reader

Summery: You visited your family in Germany and your boyfriend missed you.

You were a firefighter who was born and raised in a small town in Germany. In the end you decided you didn‘t continue living in Germany so you moved to the US ,Chicago specifically.

To be honest ,moving to Chicago was the best decision you ever made ,even if you terrible missed your family. Shortly after arriving in Chicago for the first time , you wrote an application for the fire academy and you were granted the opportunity to do the test. You passed it and after finishing the academy you were transferred to firehouse 51 on Truck 81.

At the firehouse you met the people who now are more like family to you then friends and also the person who was now your boyfriend of three years.

It had been two weeks since your last shift since you had visited you family back in Germany. Most of the time the only way you were able to see them was through facetime. You sadly didn‘t have alot of time to fly over and visit them and they didn‘t have the kind of money to book a flight.

Anyway you landed back in America about an hour ago. Your boyfriend thought that you would be back tomorrow ,so you thought you would suprise him. Of course you knew that he was on shift at this exact moment and not wanting to have all your stuff with you,the first thing you did was getting a cab and driving towards your shared apartment and dropping your stuff of ,before showering and changing quickly.

Then with no detour you drove your car towards the firehouse. Arriving there you saw that squad was currently on a call which makes you go to the common room and you saw that everyone, aside from squad ,was there. Sylvie was the first one to spot you which made her squeak.

Everyone looked in her direction and then into the direction where she was looking. All you could hear were gasps and cheeres and you felt arms that were slung around you ,Sylvie.

"What are you doing back already ? I thought you were supposed to be arriving tomorrow.Since when are you back?“ Brett continued to rambled ,not really letting you answer her questions. Meanwhile you were given hugs from everyone of your little makeshift family.

You all continued talking and twenty minutes later you all could hear Squad arriving back at the firehouse. The others didn‘t stop talking ,while you were awaiting your boyfriend’s presence. Luck was on your side that day because Kelly was approaching the common room and didn‘t sit directly on his chair.

His stare was directed to the floor as if he was thinking about something. Maybe about the call they just came back from. You cleared your throat and it was like everbody around you went silent. His head snapped up and he stared at you in disbelieve.

The Lieutenant could not belive his eyes. It felt like eternity since he last saw you in person, even thought it was only two weeks. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone but you, when you were alone.

Walking towards you with fast steps he embraced you tightly and he seemed to forget that you weren‘t alone in the common room. You hugged your boyfriend back,happy to see him after two weeks away.

Matt who knew his best friends ,started to guide the other people out of the room to give the two of you a little more privacy.

While still embraced , you finally greeted your love in your native language:“Hallo mein Schatz“ Kelly shivered because of it, loving when you spoke German to him. "Hey,“ he mumbled back. Finally after several minutes you wiggled out off his arms and set on the long table ,where you all normaly ate your lunch.

" How was your trip?“ Severide asked you ,wanting to know everything. You were just about to answere the Lieutenant when the alarm went off.

" Squad 3, Truck 81 ,Ambulance 61…“

The man jumped up directly and gave you a fast kiss on the lips before running toward where the trucks where. With a smile you watched him go.

You couldn‘t help but be excited to work again.