Well,, I’m deciding to post these, even tho the art style consistency and continuity are nonexistent and im super unhappy with how bald looks in the second one… but this was actually the first time I sorta successfully managed to draw panels. First one is from apr-may last year, the rest I have been trying to draw for months… 💜
The smile that grows on Baelor’s face is the most beautiful thing he ever laid his eyes on. My reward, after all… To stand guard and watch over you… But Dunk does not smile. His skin burns where the prince touched him. The realisation sets in, blade-sharp, tearing his flesh apart.
Plot: Y/N is a damsel who captures the heart of a rogue, misunderstood prince named Aegon Targaryen in 14th century England… with no civil war to disarray the family.
It’s fluffy, very mediæval like; smut; long post.
(+21)
***
The bells are heard. The sound echoes through the county, reaching the ears of high and low born alike. It indicates that another part of the day comes with other demands to attend.
You are occupied this first part of morning, busied hands using the needle skillfully. You are followed by your mistress’s other ladies, for the task given is about producing a tapestry. The scene chosen to be sewed usually is biblical, but the princess of Wales is too fond of Greek allegories to let them be prevailed over by her piety.
It’s all about a story concerning a damsel of pure heart who captivated the heart of Apollo. He struggles to conquer her, as far as you know it—which you don’t know much, preferring chansons and sweeter stories to old “pagan” ones.
“My ladies, we are required at court”, the voice of your mistress breaks the pleasant silence that has been helpful in the work. Lady Rhaenyra is dressed in her usual clothes, lately preferring black robes in opposition to the Queen’s green ones.
“There is a lavishing meal to be offered by the king, my father. Dress yourselves the best for we expect my husband and our children to return from the hunting trip.”
You quickly stand, prompted to do as told. Quiet and introspective, you are overshadowed by the usual bubbly and chatty ladies, whom you judge to be far prettier—and snobbish to be around.
Discreetly you part of the others, preferring the way that leads to the gardens. It’s when you and him cross paths first.
Aegon is the king’s second son, treated as the presumptive heir by many in spite of His Grace’s evident preference over Rhaenyra. Often overshadowed by his siblings’s gifted minds and brilliant sword skills—as is the case of both Aemond and Daeron—, this prince found solace in wayward manners overlooked by the court.
However, out of people’s sight—and mind—, he is a fragile, broken prided man. Aware of his flaws, Aegon is lost in thought, not really preoccupied in masking his lostness underneath arrogance when he bumps into you.
“I am sorry, lord…!”, your words die by half an agony when seeing whom you collided to.
The prince is about to retort something, irritated by what he judges as being caught off his guard, when he looks at you. A lustful man, drowned in the darkness of his heart and slaved by his flesh desires, he suddenly feels the weight of his sins just by looking at you.
Your wide-eyed gaze, your red lips that form in a small “o”, the shyness behind your delicate features… signs of a sweet tempered soul. A rogue he is, but Aegon is a poet when he is not too occupied being someone everyone expects him to be.
Your y/c curls that are partly loose in rebel-ish locks that run free like a cascade behind your back, reinforce your heart-shaped face, matching the y/c that paints your eyes.
So mesmerized, like struck by the arrow of an invisible Cupid—oh, winged being! Shall thou be the one to receive the blame for this another misfortune that befalls my fate?!— he forgets his own selfishness.
“Lady”, his voice comes out unusually dusky, carried out by a different sort of embargo.
You, hardly before a royal company who is not the mistress you serve—albeit discreetly so—, too are affected by this intense and disruptive encounter.
To stand before a Targaryen prince equals to stand tall before a living dragon. You are afraid of the fire, even though part of you is led to wonder what would be like to be burnt by it—a sinful thought you are quickly to dismiss, though.
“Lord”, you lower your eyes down to the floor and, recalling manners, dip to a curtsy.
Your heart is troubled by this view, this singular captivating instant where destiny seems to play with one another. Thus you wish to disappear, trying to get your steps moving you out of the way.
But someone like you must not be lost out of his sight. Softening, Aegon says:
“I apologize if I scared my lady. Never before I saw such a handsome creature of your sex.”
You lift your gaze, carefully checking your emotions.
“I fear to doubt the sincerity of your words, lord. Nonetheless, you find in me with honest gratitude for an unworthy praise.”
“Unworthy praise?”, there is a shadow of smile playing in the prince’s lips and you suddenly remember his bad reputation—so to preserve yours, you begin to walk away, but to your dismay he follows. “I believe many poets have described your beauty, Madame. Your gracious moves, your cascade locks and your y/c eyes are unmatched!”
Rather unaccustomed to be praised like this, you think wise to stop this before it goes to a path where there is no going back. Thus you sigh heavily and, retracing your steps back inside the castle, you say:
“Lord, I ask you to save your praises to someone of your station. Little I am in comparison to a prince like you. Leave me be, this I ask. And forget my existence.”
Aegon is left thus annoyed, almost angry, by a rejection that never before occurred. But if you think that by preserving your heart of his misdemeanors, you’d soon know how wrong you were…
After all, the Cupid had other intentions where you and the rogue prince are concerned…
***
The following day he finds you again. Here’s the scene he sees through his eyes: a damsel of long y/c locks in blue, long sleeved silk gown twirling and dancing merrily with her lady companions. She seems oblivious to the attention her presence attracts and this itself inspires a new sensation of despair in this prince who is used to have it all.
According to hierarchy, a prince like Aegon should court and espouse his womanly counterpart. But where men know rules, what is to say concerning their hearts and desires?
Somehow, his overconfidence breaks him. Aegon is more than acutely aware of the glances bolder ladies cast him—some of them even married by now. But you? Too busy dancing, smiling merrily as if bumping to the kingdom’s next king was a random encounter designed by fate.
Aemond, seeing the melancholy his brother is, takes no more than few moments to realize the cause and says:
“You’ve had women in your bed before. Why is this one an obstacle for you?”
“She is not like any other, Aemond.”
“Certainly far less wench like”, says the other slyly.
Aegon shoots his brother a glare.
“She is anything but worthy a comparison as this, Aemond.”
“Then pursuit her already”, Aemond retorts, not inclined to these courtly games. “What’s there to lose?”
“My dignity”, he grumbles, detesting his fragility.
Aemond doesn’t bother responding the drama. He shrugs his shoulders, occupying himself with his secret liaison as their sister Helaena casually passes by, giving the prince a long, meaningful look.
***
At the gardens, the prince is after his damsel once more. This time, he hopes to look far less obnoxious than before. He is determined to have you by every means—even if doing so requires reason to acknowledge some spell cast on him to humble this proud lord.
Here he is. Ready for a chase.
And here you are. Prompted to be chased.
‘Tis all fair in the game of love, is it not?
“Lord Aegon”, you cry out before the sight of the handsomest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on, even if he’s the devil himself. “My prince!”
“‘Tis I who should bend my knee before my lady, not otherwise”, says the king to be, quickly helping you stand.
One touch is enough to electrify both parts, with neither knowing what to do.
“I know naught about my lady”, whispers he, thirsty for you.
And you cannot withdraw of his presence, because it burns too much and it feels good to burn this bright.
“My name is Y/N”, you give in partly.
Because his eyes are locked with yours, the purple there is in his irises seemingly holding the color that paints yours—as if pressing you against the wall is the solution to denude the soul you refuse to give.
But Gods be cruel. You want him too.
“Lady Y/N”, you’d think he smiles because he gets what he wants and is soon leaving you, but what do you know, sweet child of summer? “I am Aegon. But my friends call me Egg. May I have the honor to get to know you?”
That sharp side of yours is ready to rebel. Your reasonable self recollects his scandals, prompted to riot. But when you dive in these purple eyes… every resistance dies.
So this is how defeated your pride is.
“Aye, lord. Though I do not think I am interesting to a prince such as you.”
“Allow me to disagree, my dear.”
Locking arms with him never seemed so sinful. And yet here you two are, finally in harmony.
“Here we are”, you smile at him. “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere? Perhaps with your wenches?”
Aegon snorts at your sharp tongue. Indeed, sharp as a blade, under which he would gladly let in his skin crave.
“Nay. They interest me naught”, and when gazing at you this broken king feels whole.
Indeed, it all indicates that this could not have been arranged by other than a divine being. Never before this attraction crossed the limits of the flesh and soul.
Aegon has no explanation for reason cannot conceive why you have messed up with him. And you two barely met.
“Do you like poetry?”
He asks.
And it all begins with this.
One simple question.
Your heart skips a beat. Your lips pull out a smile.
“Aye, lord. I do.”
This is how it begins.
***
The chase must follow the typical etiquette: poems here, poems there, no matter the longing, the lord must be after his lady in between court sessions, gardens plays and theatrical dancings.
No one seems to think this is going truthfully far more than a mere court love fare.
“A day without the sight of you is a divine punishment”, says the besotted Aegon, surprisingly tamed by your sweet temperance. “It pains me physically to be distant of you.”
You two are underneath this pomerade this day. It’s sunny and cloudless. The scenario is ilidic, dreamy like. With none to trouble the peace of this day, you count the Gods as your witnesses.
In the summer breeze, you dress in the colors of autumn, embellished with the jewels he gifted you.
Leaning your head against his shoulder, you drown in his words, paradoxically warmed in this sinful contact against his protective body, locked in his arms.
“You tend to exaggerate the words, my dearest”.
“Hardly exaggerated these are when they truthfully express how I feel towards my lady. Imperfect I may be, but not the love you inspire me.”
You turn lightly at him. The tenderness in his gaze is genuine and it makes you beam. Seeing the delight in you inspires Aegon likewise.
For the very first time there is peace within and when he kisses you, serenity is exhaled.
But it only lasts briefly. For soon passion ignites and his old self comes to surface—albeit in a different manner than before, not the rogue he used to be.
However, temptation comes, sinfully so. Where is, one might wonder, the resistance of conscience? Nowhere to be found, for sure.
You want more and so does he. Though inexperienced, you move to his lap, striding over him, moved by a strange instinct never before known that now takes the reins of you.
Aegon smirks at the urgency with which you now kiss him, leaving aside decency and prudence. His hands take the opportunity to play with your braid, resting thus in your hips all the whilst his lips follow the rhythm dictated by yours.
Your hands are now wrapped around his neck, your fingers hesitantly play with his short locks. Decorum is not in your mind when these move impatiently to his chest and before he knows…
“Oh!” Aegon throws his head back, eyeing you with a mix of pleasant surprise and lust.
But something about his “oh” confuses you. And you stop what you are doing.
“Why’d you stop, dear Y/Nickname?”, he inquires when seeing the deep shade of pink that colors your cheeks.
You lower your gaze, noticing the unlaced pants that are nearly showing his manhood. Your blush deepens.
“I’ve never done this before.”
Aegon blushes too. Has this courtly love gone too far? The prince fears the answer.
“I lament that it has caused you embarrassment of any kind”, he rests his chin over your shoulder, trying to read your composed face.
“This is not about embarrassment, my love. You should be properly praised. Come here.”
Saying so, Aegon helps you laying down in the grass. He soon follows, on his elbows by your side. You giggle softly, blushing to be under his intent gaze, but every smile dies when his lips touch yours, barely brushing before moving to your jawline and neck.
When his tongue moves to your neck, this prince is soon eagerly showing his devotion to you. He wants to make this memorable—even if this isn’t about consuming the aching passion that burns in each of you.
You sigh heavily, playing with his silver locks all the whilst his tongue takes his time against your neck. Only then his right hand moves to your chest, brushing his fingers over your nipples quickly—much to your dismay, for this new discovered feeling, sinful as it is, makes you want to explore it further. How to voice it, though?
The confusion that is your mind is solved when his hand is now lifting gently the skirt of your gown.
“Very bold of you, Egg”, you admonish him in a playful tone, short breath cut the moment he rests his hand over your womanhood.
When Aegon lifts his head to meet your gaze, his hair dropping over his forehead giving thus a sensual look, you feel already dropping wet.
“Should I stop, milady?”, he side smirks, perceiving what is not being said by your red-ish lips, but so clear behind your y/c eyes.
Your blush is the answer he needs. Aegon chuckles, before pecking your lips.
“If we best not engage in this intercourse, voice me your denial and I shall respect it”, he vows it.
You, however, meek by nature—and sinful, if taken in consideration the words of the clergy—find too much tied to this experience to refuse him.
In other words, it’s to say you want him.
Badly so.
As if this prince is capable of reading your thoughts, Aegon chuckles quietly. He dives in your lips, slowly kissing you, letting your tongues intertwine perfectly.
But he wants to see you. He anxiously wants to see the effect he has on you.
And here you are. Right under his command, experiencing new experiences, you burn the dragon fire.
“Oh!”, your eyes are barely open, eyelashes fluttering as bliss opens pave to Heaven.
Aegon too is aroused when finally having a taste of you. Knowing too that he’s giving this to you only makes his bone ache. But it’s about you, his lady. The one woman who made possible his redemption.
By the time you are arching your back, sounds resulting from this pleasurable intimacy, he comes to your aid like the dreamy knight he’s become.
One kiss is enough to seal this spiritual vow you and him now exchange.
But a question is yet to be answered… What will be of the two of you?
Omg yes I can give you the rundown! It’ll just be a “short” oneshot fic like Love Thy Neighbour or Don’t Worry Darling so nothing too crazy but something creative and unique and new for me to try! And hopefully just the same for you all to read :)
Basically I fell down a youtube rabbit hole and ended up watching a mini documentary on sex in the medieval era and it was really fascinating to me and inspired me to write a little something based in that era! I even want to try changing my writing style a little to feel a little more poetic and old-englishy to really help feel like you’re pulled into the setting.
As for the plot, it’s going to take place in 1382 and follow George as a young peasant in Norfolk (I love realism and 85% of the population in that era were middle to lower working class!) and along his journey to go explore London and meeting interesting people along the way. When he arrives, he becomes a live-in apprentice at this man’s shop where he will stay for a few years learning all he can of this specific trade…being paid only in free room and board and this ‘education’. Lo and behold, however, this master has a daughter 👀 and scandalous things ensue 👀
There are also details laced throughout about the lingering effects of the 1381 Peasants Revolt and how that affects George, his livelihood, and people around him.
This is the first snippet where I am debuting my OC, Frederick! Also, a big shout-out to @rainy-writes for roleplaying this idea with me!
Frederick Masterlist
The sun was just setting under the skies of Ridire when Frederick took his horse, Ainmire, out for a ride. He mounted the great, black stallion and headed to the nearby forest. The world seemed much more quiet and peaceful at night, and there were special herbs to forage that were best harvested when the sun went down.
Ainmire’s hooves clopped against the dirt path, and the trees above Frederick swayed gently in the evening breeze. Frederick breathed in the fresh air. It was nice to get away from it all.
Ainmire came to a sudden halt, his head turning to some rustling undergrowth.
“What is it, boy?” Frederick asked, following his gaze.
A whizz through the air, and a dart had pierced Frederick’s shoulder. Ainmire neighed in fright, raising his front legs and throwing Frederick off. He hit the ground with a thud. He couldn’t tell whether the sounds of his horse’s hooves were growing distant because he was being abandoned, or because he was slipping into sleep. Maybe it was both. He propped himself up on his elbows but immediately crashed back down. A masked figure came into his blurry field of vision, and then, darkness.
…
The sound of muffled, distorted voices roused Frederick from sleep. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids remained stubbornly shut. After a few moments of fighting, he finally willed them to flutter open.
“Hey there,” the figure from before greeted.
Frederick peered up at the figure through his fringe. A woman with wavy blonde hair and calculating brown eyes looked back at him. Though her lower face was masked, Frederick could sense she was wearing a smirk underneath.
“Who… are…you?” Frederick asked with effort.
“Let’s go with Carina,” the woman said, “yes, that’s a pretty name. Almost as pretty as you. It’s a shame really, all things considered.”
Frederick tried not to let his fear show on his face.
“Who hired you?” he asked.
“Smart boy,” Carina praised, “I guess you’ve put two and two together. As for who hired me… it’s nothing you have to worry about.”
“If I’m a dead man, then I deserve to know.”
“And you will know, as you’re going to meet him soon. I’m only a delivery service today. He wants to see the light leave your eyes, or something dramatic like that. All I care about is getting paid.”
She stood, circling him. Frederick had been trying to test the strength of his restraints- as if drugging him wasn’t enough- and to his dismay, they were very well done indeed.
She came back around, twirling his own dagger in front of him.
“Where’d you get this little trinket, hm?”
“A gift from my father,” Frederick said, “who I’m sure is looking for me.”
Her eyes crinkled at the outer corners. Another smile.
“Then we better make this quick~”
Without warning, she jammed the dagger into his thigh. Frederick cried out, unable to stop himself.
“I thought,” he panted, “you were just a delivery service!”
“Oh I am, but he requested I soften you up a little, he doesn’t want you fighting back after all.”
She twisted it into his flesh, and the scream that escaped him would surely be heard by anyone in the vicinity. Carina cursed.
“Someone probably heard you,” she said, slapping him upside the head.
“My apologies.”
She shoved a balled-up rag in his mouth, then secured it with a cloth around his head. She yanked the dagger out roughly. His pained screaming never made it out of his throat.
“That’s better, much better,” she said, “now we can-”
There came a banging at the door. Not a knock, something much harsher. Carina’s eyes narrowed.
“Open up in the name of the king!”
A familiar neigh followed the command. So, Frederick hadn’t been abandoned after all.
“Do you have a horse or a bloodhound?” Carina hissed, “no matter. If they take me down, you’re coming with me.”
The door splintered into pieces, a mace ramming through it. Down the steps came a great many Ridirian guards, followed by King Hrethric himself.
“Release the prince of Ridire or die,” he ordered.
“Yes, your majesty, right away your majesty,” Carina mocked, “or we could try my way.”
The held the dagger to Frederick’s throat, and the guards froze.
“If anyone touches me, I’ll kill him,” she said.
“Hmph!” Frederick tried.
“This is what’s going to happen,” Carina said, “you’re going to provide me with a carriage, and then…”
As Carina spoke, a strange scent started to fill the air. The guards pulled cloths over their mouths and noses, as did the king. Carina blinked slowly, then crumpled to the ground. The dagger nicked Frederick’s skin, but no more damage than that was done. The guards surrounded Carina, their weapons all pointed at her.
Hrethric rushed over to Frederick’s side, removing his gag. His breathing was labored, and the wound in his thigh was dribbling crimson. The king cupped his son’s face while a few more guards worked to remove his restraints and stop the bleeding.
“Frederick, can you hear me?” Hrethric asked.
“Y-yes,” Frederick mumbled.
“Stay with me, Son,” Hrethric said, “we’re getting you out of here.”
Once the wound had been wrapped tightly in cloth, Hrethric lifted Frederick into a bridal carry.
“Take the assassin to the dungeons,” Hrethric ordered over his shoulder, “find out who hired her.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Frederick was placed back on his horse, propped up against his father’s chest. They took off back to the castle.
…
Frederick wasn’t sure when he had passed out, but he woke up to the scent of herbs and the sound of running water. He blinked slowly. He was inside the castle’s medical wing, in a soft bed with clean linens. He looked down at his thigh to see it was neatly stitched up and bandaged. He breathed a sigh of relief.
His mother, Queen Morgana, came rushing in, followed by Sir Galiot, his personal knight since childhood. King Hrethric was already there, sitting by the bed.
“Frederick,” Morgana said, kissing him on the crown of his head, “we were worried sick.”
“Lad, you gave us quite a fright,” Galiot said, “you had no business running off without telling someone.”
“I’m sorry, Galiot,” Frederick said, “I just wanted some… alone time.”
“Well you could get plenty a that here in the castle! Not out in the woods where there’s an assassin behind every tree!”
“Thank you, Galiot,” Hrethric said, “let the boy rest.”
“Aye, your majesty,” Galiot said, “just had to say my piece.”
“There aren’t usually assassins in Ridire,” Frederick said, “we need to launch an investigation.”
“And we have,” Hrethric said, “and until it is finished, you will be remaining in the castle.”
Frederick stared wide-eyed at the king.
“Father-”
“It’s too dangerous to do otherwise.”
“Father, you mustn’t let your fear control your choices-”
“Mind your words, Frederick,” Hrethric said sharply, “you still address the king of Ridire, not to mention your father. What sort of parent would I be if I let you get killed?”
Frederick opened his mouth to argue, but after a stern look from the king, he reconsidered.
“I apologize, I meant no disrespect.”
Hrethric sighed.
“Please rest. Galiot will stay with you until you have healed. Chef Augustin is making your favorite soup, and I expect you to eat it.”
Hrethric stood, leaving to go make his orders official.
…
Carina’s body lay in a pool of blood that stained the stone floors a deep crimson. Two guards lay propped against the dungeon wall, sleeping darts in their necks. The secret of whoever wanted the prince of Ridire dead was safe.
Summary : What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?
This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too…
Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailed warnings.
Chapter warnings : Fluff, little bit of angst, Smut
Chapter Word count : 4767
Note : This is a collaboration between both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.
We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.
Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.
Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89
Stolen Crown Masterlist
Want to read more:
Jay’s Masterlist
Roonyxx Masterlist
She dances.
Alone in her room, half naked, she dances to songs that only exist in her head here. Songs she remembers skipping so often on the radio because she likes nothing more than rock, and still…
In that castle, between stone walls, the music she misses now is some of this sexy mainstream electro thing her world can do so well, something with maybe a latin rhythm, a song she could play loud in Dean’s car to make him grumpy.
She barely slept and kept thinking about everything Dean said -that armor and fur bearded version of Dean- what he said with such certainty. And, waiting in her bed or swaying to the silent music, she missed her Dean, his smile, his little habits and the jokes he makes…
She thinks about what she knows : She loves Dean, her Dean, her hero, everything he does, every one of his little habits, with all her heart ; and the queen loves hers just the same way. She also knows the knight loves his queen passionately. And yet…
Even the idea is appealing, that can’t mean that her Dean has this kind of feelings for her. Not Dean, it’s ridiculous. He never showed anything like this, and she is far from being a queen, right ?
It can’t be as simple as that anyway…
She holds her own body in her arms like she was dancing with someone and moves her hips the best she can, like she was Shakira or any of those perfect women that could deserve a man like the one she yearns for.
In her head, Dean is here. Wearing flannel and his big boots, hands on his jeans, light scruff at his cheeks. He’s watching her like the men look at the pretty girl dancing in the music videos and a ray of sun from this radiant morning is hitting his beautiful smug face.
She’s smiling for herself, trying so hard to forget about everything now, focusing on the song in her head, trying to remember the Impala’s smell and the feeling of Dean’s short hair through her fingers.
She is doing this to survive. Home is far, and there is a chance she never sees it again. There is a chance music is lost forever, beer too, the impala and chocolate… There is a chance her friends, and him, are lost forever.
So she sways her hips to give herself a moment of peace. She just dances.
But just the moment she is finally starting to feel in a soft carefree transe, bringing the man she loves so much closer in her dizzy mind, the heavy door loudly opens and the maids freeze at seeing her holding herself in her undergarment.
And just like that, the moment dies.
“Your Majesty ?” the noble Head calls her during the Council.
And even if her mind is still invaded by Dean and blurry with the lack of sleep, she answers.
“I am not agreeing to such measures” she states calmly. “That would destabilize the balance of the powers between the army and the justice system. If Justice makes us unfair, then it has to be changed, and not our hearts.”
She learned that from the man she loves. Fate or not, God or not, world order or not… If it doesn’t feel right, it has to be changed. If Dean Winchester can defy every plan of Heaven and Hell, she can change unfair laws.
In this world like in her own, he makes her stronger.
She sits in that throne with a very different state of mind now. She holds the kingdom’s reins for the queen, for the knight, she holds on for herself and for what’s fair.
She is not just faking anymore, she is ruling. For love, she is ruling.
She pushes a thin strand of her hair that got free from her crown, and looks at Sam from her higher seat, putting her hand on the arm of her throne again.
“I demand that the Men of Letters work on a reform of that Justice will all depend on, and expound it to the honorable Council. How long shall it take, sir Winchester ?”
“I…” Sam thinks. “A deep reforming of that part of our Laws would be a colossal amount of work, your Majesty. I would dare ask for three months.”
She turns to the knight standing at her right for a split second, just needing to feel his charisma wrapping her to keep her back straight and chin high, then to the people in the back of the room.
“I give you two months” she states, making Sam nod. “I count on you.”
“Reforming Justice ?” Dean whispers next to her before he takes a piece of bread.
She looks up, searching the diner room for hostile looks but nobody seems suspicious anymore.
“I am the queen” she states.
“You are not” he murmurs.
Turning to him, she lets her eyes enjoy the perfection of his face.
“Do you disagree with my decision ?” she asks.
“It is not my place to agree or disagree” he says low, ripping a piece of chicken from the bone in his plate.
“Your place is to obey, and I asked a question.”
His eyes come up to meet hers.
“Not because you are getting incredibly good at this role, I forget anything” but as she doesn’t move, waiting for an answer, he sighs. “I agree with your decision, as usual, your Majesty.”
“Do you think the queen would ?”
“Well you think like my Queen, do you not ?” he says with a kind smile.
She thinks like the queen indeed, and she loves Dean like the queen loves him. In each and every word he pronounces, she can tell he is thinking of this every second that passes. Just like she can’t stop thinking of his words.
He is in love with you.
Once again, her heart flutters with hope just for an instant -the hundredth since he pronounced those words- before every rational thought crushes this nonsense.
“I do think like the queen” she smiles. “I was right about the shirt.”
“You were.”
A frown appears on his confused face, like he just couldn’t process his beloved queen holding his stolen shirt at night, smelling his and snuggling into it.
“And I am right about you having to become king” she chuckles behind her cup of wine.
His green eyes widen and he looks around.
“Do not say that in public !” he whispers angrily, only making her smile a little more.
His face turns a little grumpy in a very, slightly amused, specific way, and her heart breaks.
He looks like Dean.
The knight always looks like Dean, yet, usually, the tiny differences between them are enough to make her remember who he isn’t… But that expression is Dean. It is him, the love of her life, his face is screaming it.
A strand of his longer hair falls on his forehead in a little crook but she can’t unsee the man she misses now. As hard as she tries, Dean seems to be looking back at her.
“Your face has the prettiest shape” she whispers. “It would deserve to be visible.”
His eyes search her features.
“My face ?”
She looks down, taking grapes, to hide the intimacy of their conversation between the casual diner going on.
“Dean shaves his beard shorter than yours” she states with her love strangling her. “Is it a knight rule or anything ?”
He keeps staring at her, and even she is aware no one is supposed to look at the queen like that. After a long second he finally answers.
“No.”
Finally, her favorite moment of the day.
She sits on her huge fluffy bed, getting relaxed by the warm light of the fireplace, looking at the place of the mattress that she knows hides the knight’s shirt.
How many nights the queen must have waited to take it, sad that it was slowly losing his smell.
How did she even got it ? In this world, people don’t own a lot of clothes, and it must, for sure, have been harder for the queen to get it, than it was for her to just make a shirt or a henley disappear during laundry day…
Curious, she bends, strangled by the corset tirelessly compressing her lungs, and takes the piece of cloth from its precious hiding place.
It is a large whitish shirt, with little ropes on the front. She looks at it with a smile, imagining Dean in it, looking so romantic like in movies.
She buries her face in it. It doesn’t really have a smell anymore but the idea that it was against his chest just makes her comfortable for a moment… Comfortable enough to forget this is not, in fact, the right Dean’s shirt.
The big door opens a little and the knight sneaks in discreetly, before closing it cautiously. In a guilty jump, she lets it fall on her knees and looks up.
“I…” she clears her throat. “I didn’t think you could come tonight.”
He looks at her, then at the shirt on her lap, making her ears burn.
Something is different about him. He looks like… He looks like Dean ! Is she becoming crazy ? Seeing what she needs the most like a mirage !
“I did not think it would be possible either” he states with his hands on his back, leaving a long silence fills the room before he speaks agan. “Do you miss him that much ?”
“Wait” she understands what was bothering her. “Did you shave ?”
His body answers for him : His tongue comes to moist his plumb lips and his pretty eyes meet the floor.
“I wanted to try” he says shyly.
Her breath wants to get deep, but the dress she is wearing, and the million of emotions she’s feeling are making it impossible.
“You look even more like him” she states, getting up to put the shirt under the mattress again. “It’s… confusing.”
The knight walks a little closer in the large room, putting his sword on the biggest table, by the wooden door.
Her mind is playing tricks for the first time since she got here, making him her Dean, in a costume maybe… Noticing the strength of his thighs under those pants, the width of his shoulders…
“There is something I do not fully understand” he says, breaking the deep silence. “You keep saying that in your world, people are free to be with whoever they like so… Why have you never been with him ?”
She swallows hard, tugging at the ropes in her lower back as she can, dreaming of getting free of that dress.
“I told you” she states. “He doesn’t want me.”
“But you want him.”
“Yes, but… He has to want it too” she frowns.
“Even if he does not love you, which I do not believe a second… You also said that people could just lay together without marriage” he shrugs. “So why not asking for a night with him ?”
Her eyes widen for a second before she starts laughing.
“Wait” she chuckles. “You’re saying I should just ask for sex ? I can’t do that !”
“Why not ?” he asks with a confused look on his face.
She sighs, and starts untying her hair in a grunt.
“Would you, if the queen asked for it ?”
“My Queen would not…”
“Cut the crap” she cuts him. “She needs your smell to sleep, she certainly even touched herself in the best places thinking of your hips between her thighs.”
“H-” he tries to protest, apparently too flustered to find his words. “When you yearn for him, is that what you do ?”
She blushes more and rubs her face.
“Yes…. I know what you think : filthy, sin, unholy and shit…” she looks away from his heavy glare, touching her hair like it could make her brave. “You have to understand, I imagine him in every kind of circumstances, holding me, dancing with me, looking at me. I imagined him saving me a thousand times since I got lost… And, yes, when I feel the urge to caress… myself… I also imagine his hand. It’s not dirty, it’s love.”
“I fight it” he sighs with a defeated tone.
“Fight it ?”
“When I… When I find myself in the arms of a pretty maid, when I give in to my…” he searches her face, like he was genuinely trying to find comfort or advices. “I do not want to have unholy thoughts about her Majesty… I just… Sometimes I close my eyes and wonder if her… core would be soft and w-warm, I… For God’s sake forgive me, I…”
When she sees him struggling with his confession, ready to take it all back and leave, she walks to him, putting a soft reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“No, De- Sir, it’s really normal.”
“You said you shared a house with D-Dean” he stammers on his name, confused by the whole situation.
“I do.”
“And that you were close friends” he finishes. “So I get you get to laugh with him or take his hand when the days are dark.”
At his word, she cautiously takes his hand, and notices he is trembling.
“Much more than that actually” she admits. “It happens that I fall asleep in his arms on a couch, or share a bed during a hunt…”
His eyes trace her face with an intensity that makes her shiver, and the irregular light of the fire seems to make his eyelashes dance.
“I am not allowed to touch her hand” he states, looking down at her fingers around his palm. “I am barely allowed to look at her most of the time. I… I do not know how her skin feels.”
At his words, she shivers, imagining a world where Dean would be that unapproachable.
A log falls in the fireplace, changing the light slightly. The knight’s jaw is clenched, and his breathing is a little faster than she has ever seen it.
Maybe if he knew… Maybe if he broke the walls in his head that makes her that sacred, he would just allow himself to talk to her.
In a gentle move, she lifts his hand, making him look up at her face with questions in his eyes.
“Just let me” she whispers, putting her lips softly to his knuckles to put a kiss here. “There, is that how you imagined it ?” she says against his skin.
But he doesn’t answer, his burning green eyes are staring at her lips on his freckled hand like it was some kind of breathtaking miracle.
“Touch my shoulder” she asks.
“I…”
Seeing his hesitation, she guides his fingers to the point where her shoulder joins her neck.
“Doesn’t she feel human ?” she murmurs, shivering at his touch.
“My Queen” he sighs under his breath.
“Dean” she almost whines. “I miss you so much…”
Saying that, she comes closer, putting her body against him, and her face in his neck, to imagine her hero has finally returned and is holding her.
The knight hesitates, his body tensing like he was going to throw her away for a second, like he was going to get furious… But she is not afraid of him.
“Hold me, please” she begs. “Just a hug… Hold me.”
And so he does.
His strong arms wrap around her tighter than expected, gripping her back with his burning hands.
When a knock on the door resonates, the knight jumps out of her arms and goes hide in the dark of the room.
“My Queen ?” a maid asks through the door. “May I change you for the night ?”
“I did it myself !” she lies, not wanting Dean to leave.
“Well have a great night, my Queen.”
She waits for a second, watching at the door like it could burst open, and when she turns again to tell the Knight it is safe again, she finds him right next to her.
His pupils are blown wide, staring at her with an expression that she has never received before from such green eyes, it is lust and passion.
His big, slightly trembling hand comes up to cup her cheek.
“Y-Y/n, my Queen” he whispers on a shallow breath, like he has been holding it for years.
She leans into his touch and sighs.
“My Dean” her hand comes up to cup his against her face.
She looks up at him through her eyelashes and catches him looking at her lips with a deep desire, a desire she will probably never see again, not on her Dean at least.
“Kiss me” she whispers to the strong knight, standing up on her tiptoes and cupping his face with both her hands, trying to pull him closer to her.
She can feel him resisting.
“Please Dean…” she begs him.
“I-I can’t… I won’t be able to stop” his voice is wavering, she can hear the battle inside his head, the rational thoughts against the sinful ones.
“I don’t want you to stop” she pleads with him.
“I…” she can feel his breath fanning over her face, she tilts her chin up to brush her lips over his.
A growl vibrates through his chest when he pulls her flush against him and presses his lips on hers, with an eagerness she has never tasted before. She wraps her hands around his neck and winds her fingers through his hair.
His tongue invades her mouth, exploring all of her for the first time. And she gets totally lost in him, lost on those lips she dreamed of for years.
His hands slide down his chest and she starts to tug at the leather and metal clasps. She moans loud as he kisses down her neck, his slight scruff scratching her sensitive skin.
“Dean…” she mewls, her hands still trying to find a way to his skin in the maze of furr, metal and leather.
With every breath she takes she can feel the constricting corset around her that steals oxygen from her lungs. She takes off her top dress. Revealing her tightly pressed cleavage to him.
His eyes widen and his hands are firm on her waist as a deep groan leaves his lips, he bends down to kiss the swell of her breasts that pools over the corset. She tilts her head back at the sensation and tugs at his hair.
“Take it off, now” she groans. “Please.”
“Yes my Queen” he hastily twists her around and puts both his hands in between the cords of the corset.
He bends forward to bite at the shell of her ear, with a deep growl he rips open the corset and frees her. She takes a deep relieved breath as the constricting fabric falls to the floor.
His hands wrap around her body and come up to cup her boobs through the thin shift she is wearing. His face is pressed into her neck, kissing and licking.
“Finally” he groans.
He turns her back around and takes a brief pause to look at her.
“You are the most beautiful woman to have ever existed” his hands hold her by the waist.
She can feel her face heating up at the compliment and the way his eyes are gliding over her body.
Because she can feel his love, a love so strong that she thought only existed in the books. She can feel his desire warming the room, the castle, the whole world.
Dean. Dean Winchester even if it isn’t the one she yearned for, Dean is looking at her like she was a miracle…
And her own love seems to be making her glow. Every cell of her skin shining with a burning desire, she stares back at him, panting slightly, free of the corset… free of hiding.
“Dean” she says as she puts her hands on his armored chest. “I want to see you, feel you, please.”
He nods his head and works off his belt, the fur overcoat and chest plate soon follow. Her fingers find the strings of his leather shirt and unties them quickly so he can slip the shirt over his head and push his pants down his very muscular thighs.
They are both standing in their underwear now, chest heaving and eyes dark. She looks him in the eyes as she starts untying the very last cords of her shift, his eyes are fixated on her delicate fingers.
She drops the shift to the floor and sees him swallow hard. He drops on his knees in front of her and holds her hips, his face leans forward so he can kiss her stomach.
“My Queen, you are more beautiful than the sunset” he keeps kissing her stomach and her hand finds its way into his golden brown locks.
“Stand up Dean” she waits for him to stand up before she continues.
“Take off your clothes” she orders in what she doesn’t realize is her royal voice.
He simply nods and obeys her order, taking off his white shirt and underwear. Her eyes glide over his chest, and sees a familiar symbol, he also has the anti-possession tattoo.
She steps closer to him and her fingers trace it, with a confused look.
“It is the Kingdom’s crest” he answers her unasked question.
She looks up at him with a smile and takes his hand to her hip where her own tattoo is.
“In my world it is for protection” shivers run down her spin as his thumb runs over the small tattoo on her soft skin.
Her eyes inspect him further, how can she not, the man she dreamed of for years is naked in front of her, well almost him…
Her hands glide over the many thin scars and bumps, it reminds her of her Dean. For each scar she imagines another story how her warrior hunter must have earned it.
His hands glide up her sides, a little frown when he touches a long scar on the side of her ribs.
“I am a warrior” she states, “Your Queen won’t have as many scars as me.”
“Your skin is so soft, even softer than I imagined” his voice is low and carries this tenderness in it she hasn’t heard before, it reminds her of her Dean when he is patching her up.
“I want you Dean” her hands glide down his broad shoulders and chest, over his strong stomach to his very hard cock and wraps her hand around him. “I need you.”
She can feel him twitching in her hand as he moans at the feeling. She starts to slowly pump him in her hand, enjoying his shape, weight and size, and imagining her Dean in her fingers, biting her lips.
His hand cups the back of her neck and pulls her closer for a passionate kiss, she can feel him letting go, she can feel the love in his kiss, the love he has for her.
He walks her back until the back of her knees hits her big bed behind her and drops down on it , making her let go of his impressive length. She watches him as he stands in front of it, his hand replacing hers around himself.
He looks at her with dark eyes as he pumps his cock like he couldn’t miss the friction for a second.
Loving the effect she has on him more than anything on the world, she gives him a wicked smile and spreads her legs. Her hand goes down to caress her own folds. A little chuckle escapes her as she sees his eyes widen on her.
She bites her lip and pushes two digits inside her tight core and a moan of his name escapes her.
“Dean…” suddenly she feels his strong fingers wrap around her wrist to pull her fingers out.
“I need you, now” he growls as he takes place between her legs.
She takes his cock and threads the head through her slick.
“Yes… P-Please” she’s panting already.
“I am here my love” he wraps his hand over hers on his cock and guides himself inside.
“O-Oh Lord…” a strangled groan brusts from his throat as he splits her open.
“F-Fuck De… Y-you’re” her eyes squeeze tight at the stretch of his girth. “S-so big.”
She takes a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of him. A little pain mixed with an intense pleasure, and the waves of ecstasy making her sweat.
When she relaxes around him, her walls throbbing, it feels like he reaches places of her body she never felt before.
“Y-you are rather tight, my Grace” he leans over her, caging her head between his arms as he bottoms out.
She wraps her legs around his hips and pushes him even deeper.
“Take me Dean, m-make me yours, let go baby” she wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close, afraid that he’ll disappear.
He pulls all the way out, leaving just the tip in and slams back in her with a strangled groan.
She moans loudly, head going back, mouth wide open. He quickly reaches out and covers her mouth with his big palm.
“Ssssh, my love. No one can hear us.”
She nods under his hand as she understands the problems it would bring if they got caught.
He thrusts his ships again, a little less hard this time. But so deep inside her, he reaches spots no one ever did before, he feels like no one ever did, like love.
She is biting his shoulder to keep quiet, teeth, lips and tongue as hungry for him as her core is, tasting him and testing his strength… She pulls him flush against her, his sweaty chest on her, skin rubbing skin in the most delicious way.
His thrusts become faster and she lifts her legs higher on his waist so he can go even deeper.
“Y-Yes Dean… Fuck I’m s-so close.”
“I… me t-too” he moans into her ear, she can feel him redrawing but she wraps her legs tight around him, caging him.
“N-No inside me, p-please” her pussy walls are fluttering around his twitching length, ready to receive his cum.
He tries to resist a second, groaning in her neck, barely fighting her legs keeping him deep. He must never have let go this way, she knows that, but she needs it, she needs him completely.
“Come baby” she insists.
At her words, he comes hard inside her, she can feel the ropes of cum shooting against her walls, painting her insides white.
“D-Dean.. Y-yes” she holds her breath to contain her loud moans when her orgasm hits her hard, but bites his shoulder when she fails to do so.
He buries his face in her neck, putting his lips around her skin but doesn’t bite nor suck, she thinks because he wouldn’t dare to mark his Queen.
“Y-Y/n…” he moans in her ear.
Panting, caressing each other’s sweaty skin, they come down.
She strokes his back and lifts her head to see what she is feeling. His back is covered in many, thick white lines, deep scars that are the reminders of his horrible past, and of the danger they are in.
The whips…
Her hands stop and she swallows hard, a sharp pain reaching her heart.
“No, please continue. It does not hurt anymore, please I need your touch” he pleads with her in a vulnerable voice.
“Yes…” she agrees. “Dean…” she continues in a hum of his sacred name.
After a few minutes of the most delicious silence, she feels him move and hesitate.
“What is it ?” she asks in a soft voice.
“I… I am afraid of…”
“I can’t get pregnant” she cuts him. “I have something to control that.”
He frowns and looks up, searching her face.
“I will have to explain that to you” she smiles.
His hands caresses her side and his face falls in the crook of her neck again, his perfect plump lips leaving little kisses on her neck. And in the perfect transe of him, she feels herself finally relax totally, and her mind ease.
“Dean ?” she chants, almost sleepily.
“Mh ?”
“Can you stay ?” she whispers, holding him.
“You are safe, my Queen” he states against her temple. “You can fall asleep. I am here.”
