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sports-on-sundays · 8 months

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prince not so charming / CL16 / PART 5

Warnings : Nausea, vomiting, mention of sex, nudity (not described much), giving birth (not described much), switching from second to third person once at the end

Summary : Charles x princess!reader - Charles and his princess face the possibility of a child.

Author's Note : This is the last part! Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this, as this little series was my first bit of writings on tumblr ! If you enjoyed it, and are a fan of football or F1, I encourage you to check out my pinned post, because I do take requests ! But overall, special thanks from the bottom of my heart for everyone who read, liked, and reblogged this! And enjoyed it!

Here is the link to part 4, which contains a link to part 3, which contains a link to part 2, which contains a link to part 1.

Whoosh. Clip clop clip clop clop clickity clop clip. Fwoom. People chatter all around you, and some passionate individuals further from you scream out towards the track as the chariots go by.

All the noise and dust. You feel thankful for you umbrella, protecting yourself from the sun that could be beaming on you.

You're used to this. You've been to a few more of Charles' races since you married. It's something you're interested in watching. Not to mention that it's also supporting your husband of course.

So you're used to this.

So why, today, does it all seem to be to much? Why does the dust seem a little too hard to breathe, the sun a little too hot, and the sounds a little too loud?

You rub your head, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling out of your stomach. But there's nowhere for it to go.

Oh goodness. How much longer until this race ends?

You keep your mouth clamped shut as you feel anxiety sink in. You feel nauseous... And tired... So tired... And frankly, weak.

Please, Charles. Hurry up. I need this race to finish. I'm not feeling well.

The heat spins, making everything blend together into a mush of colors, and then your hand clamps over your mouth in panic. The umbrella drops from your shaking hand as you run out of the stands, tripping on your pink skirts multiple times. You don't care. You're sure they're now all dirty on bottom, but you just have to get out of here as fast as you can.

The moment you're out, you can no longer hold it back. In a corner, you vomit, tears coming from your eyes along with it, in shame of running out like that, and of throwing up in public like this, just on the ground.

You're glad your hair is tied up in a tight bun.

Finally, you finish, gasping. You stand there, feeling terrible, as your legs shake, your head spins, and your lip quivers. You breathe deeply, unsure of what to do, when suddenly your savior arrives.

Your savior also just happens to be your husband.

"Y/n!" he exclaims after taking in the scene. He runs to you, wrapping his arms around you.

"Charles, I don't want to get you sick..."

"It's okay," he says right away.

"How did you know where I was?"

"Someone told me you ran out so quickly right after I finished the race, so I came looking for you. Let's get going home, then, and get you in bed."

"Ch- Charles...?" you ask softly, glancing to Charles in the eyes, before looking back down at your fidgeting folded hands in your lap. You're sitting on you and your husband's bed in your nightgown as he finishes up getting ready for bed. "I need to... tell you something."

"Of course," he says, looking up in concern. "Anything, Y/n. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... I think you should sit down for this."

Charles' eyebrows scrunch together as he sits down next to you, setting his hand on your thigh, giving it a little squeeze. "Yes?"

"I... I... Uh- hm, I think I might be... Charles... I think..." You exhale deeply, before finishing quickly, "I think I'm pregnant."

You must say it so suddenly, it takes Charles a moment to process. He sits, staring, eyes wide for a moment, before saying, a smile lighting up his eyes in excitement, throwing his arms around you, "Oh, my goodness... I don't know what to think... I-!" He squeezes you tighter, showering your cheeks with kisses, saying, "That's good! That's good, isn't it?!"

You nod slowly, feeling stress set in even further. "Y- Yeah..."

"How do you know you're pregnant?"

"Well, I don't know... But I should have gotten my period at least twice already, I think... And I haven't. And as you know, I haven't been feeling well... I don't know when I got pregnant, but... Maybe two months ago roughly?"

"We got married two months ago," Charles points out simply.

"Well, yeah, but... We slept together after the wedding."

"I suppose you're right... I think the midwives have ways if testing it, you know."

You shake you head 'no' slowly. "I think we should just watch it for now."

"Wait, turn around-" Charles suddenly says.

"Charles, it's not the time. I'm trying to get dressed. We're already going to be late, no?"

"It's okay. Just turn around. Please."

You sigh, doing so, and suddenly, his strong, big hands are on your stomach, feeling around. Then they cup a tiny little...

A little bump.

You exhale suddenly in surprise, your hands going to his shoulders.

"Oh, no... My goodness... You really think...?" you stutter softly.

"Yes, I do really think... I think? We should ask the castle's midwives. They have those tests."

You shake your head 'no', though. "We should wait and see if it grows into... well, if it grows into an obvious pregnant belly. I just... I just want to keep this between you and me for now."

"Of course. We'll just keep watching it."

Over the next weeks, the bump grows, until you're sure it must be what you thought it was from the beginning. Once you and Charles verbally decide this with each other, it's like he can't contain his excitement.

At every opportunity, he's kissing your tummy, placing his hands on it. When you cuddle in bed, it's the center of it all. Nonstop, he's talking about how excited he is, and how he can't wait. How he's going to take care of you and the baby. How he wonders if it's a boy or a girl. How he hopes he'll be a good father.

You keep telling him not to get too far ahead of himself, even though soon enough you know the secret of your pregnancy will have to get out. After all, something like that becomes hard to hide after a while.

You love the feeling of his warm hands and loving kisses on you, though. The fact that he has nothing but excitement calms some of your fears over the whole situation.

"May I speak for a moment, please?"

The table goes quiet as all eyes go on Charles. You know what he's about to do. You spoke it over. Regardless, you're still nervous about it for some unknown reason. You know there's really no reason to be...

Right?

But all those eyes on the two of you...

"Me and my beautiful wife are proud to announce that we're going to be having a child."

Those at the table are your family. Charles family, and your father. Both Charles' mother and your father's faces light up with pride. Lorenzo says, "Oh, Charles, that's wonderful!"

And of course Arthur's action is to lean forward (staining his royal white suit in his plate of food) to see if he can see your middle.

Lorenzo quickly orders the youngest Leclerc brother to have his seat and pay attention, because he got food all over his nice shirt.

You sigh of relief. You knew everyone would be very happy to learn of the news. But for some reason, you were still anxious. You're so glad it turned out.

You recline, eating some toast Charles brought to you after you complained about wanting some, licking the blue jam off your fingers, watching and listening as Charles sits at his piano, playing a nice little tune. A song he's apparently creating. He looks elegant and handsome there, sitting straight, his fingers moving over the keys so naturally, looking so relaxed.

King of like an angel, maybe.

But then it happens.

And you're reaction is to sit for a moment, eyes wide, before squealing, "Charles!"

Right away his fingers leave the keys of the piano, and he stands up, looking at you in concern. "Yes, my love? Is everything okay?"

You stare at him. "'My love...?'" you ask. Up until now, all he's called you is 'my wife', 'my princess', or simply, of course, just your name.

"Oh... I said that out loud?" he chuckles, after realising you're okay.

"Yes, you did!" you laugh, both hands resting on your pregnant tummy.

He smiles, sitting next to you. He pulls you onto his lap, placing both hands over yours. "That's how I think of you. I call you that in my head. Guess I've just never spoken it. I thought you would think it's too sappy. But I'm sure you already think I'm too sappy." He kisses your cheek from behind, before gently licking the edge of your ear.

"Oh, stop that!" you giggle

He huffs, but gently leans his chin on your shoulder with a nod. "Anyway, why did you call me over? Do you need something?" He leans back.

"No," you say, remembering with an excited smile. "But the baby moved, I think!"

Right away, Charles hands move under yours, and he sits there, just waiting, until suddenly he also feels it. "Y/n!" he gasps in excitement.

"I know!" You giggle softly again.

He hugs you tight, sighing in contentment.

From then on, every single night in bed, he takes to whispering. Whispering to the child inside of you, and rubbing your tummy. In the beginning, he whispers sweet-nothings in English, but soon enough, he's muttering in his own native language. You always love it when he speaks his language. It puts you right to sleep every night.

"Charles, I can't be going to a wedding!"

"But... we have to go. I know this person too much. If I don't go, that would look terrible. And it would look even worse if I went without you!" You can tell Charles is panicking (as much as he can panic. His panicking is like your moderate worrying) as he paces back and forth, and suddenly, guilt hits you.

"Charles," you sniff, stifling a sob as you look away. "I'm so sorry... I'll try more t-"

"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa," he suddenly says, slipping down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay. Sh, come on now, it's okay. I'll figure something out..."

"I'm so sorry... You're so stressed, and now I'm crying and you're trying to pretend this isn't bothering y-"

"Hey, it's all right. I just don't want you to cry, okay?"

But you can't help but cry more, "I'm sorry..."

He hugs you tighter. "You're dealing with a lot right now. It's hard carrying a baby. I know you're going through the effects of that."

"I've been aching so much lately..." you sniff.

"I know. It's a lot. I know. I could never be as strong as you are. I could never do that. It'd kill me. You're extremely strong, and I haven't told you that enough, but I'm very proud of you."

You sigh, snuggling into his warm body with a nod. "Thank you... Charles, I'm sorry for overreacting. I am only a little over halfway through this pregnancy. I can still go to a wedding with you. It's okay."

"Are you sure? The last thing I want to do is put you through discomfort."

"No, it's okay. I know I'll be with you. So I'll be okay."

He smiles softly at this comment, rubbing your lower back, where he knows you've been aching a lot. "Okay. Okay."

Lately you've just been staying around home (Charles worries about you going to his races, so you stopped until the baby is born), and mostly just wearing nightgowns or housecoats, so getting a dress to fit around your growing bump is a tiresome pain. Of course the servant girls gush over the baby soon to be born, which just drives you crazy. Only Charles is allowed to gush over it like that. (He does, too. Quite often.) And the chest area of your new dress has to be made larger, as well, of course.

While you're not excited about your growing chest and tummy as much, Charles definitely has been.

"Charles," you breathe, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I'm tired. Can we go? And itchy."

He kisses you and nods. "Of course."

The whole way home, you sleep on his shoulder.

"I had an idea," Charles claims, walking into the room.

"Be quieter," you mutter. Your hands are on your tummy, feeling as the baby inside you move. It still amazes you...

There is a baby growing inside of me.

Charles changes into more comfortable clothes and lays down next to you, putting his hand next to yours.

"What's your idea?" you ask him.

"I'm always touching your tummy. And you are too."

"Sure?" you ask, looking to him. You can't help but laugh softly when you see the little excited hope in his bright eyes. "You're adorable. What's your idea?"

For the past seven months, as you are now that far into your pregnancy, Charles has had that look. He's been so excited. Super protective over you and the child within your womb. He can't wait to be a daddy. And you're sure he'll be a very good one.

Probably a better parent than you'll ever be, anyway.

"I got this scented oil, and I thought it might feel good if I rubbed it on you."

You smile. "Sure. Why not?" You sit up a little, still reclining, as he sits up all the way. You're already wearing underclothes, your belly exposed.

Of course Charles (for no other reason but the desire in his eyes) decides that in order to do this, he must also remove your bra.

Okay, Charles.

But it feels good. It really does. He rubs all over your chest and tummy, and you lean back, letting him, inhaling the sweet scents of the oils.

You sit in the garden by yourself, rubbing your tummy.

The midwives say five weeks.

That number has hit you like the chariots Charles races in.

In five weeks or less, I'll be giving birth to our child.

A year ago, you would have never imagined being here.

You're terrified.

"Y/n?"

You sigh. Charles. How does he always seem to find you? He doesn't let you be upset. He's way too good at comforting.

He sits down next to you in the bench. It's chilly outside, but winter has passed, and you know spring is coming soon. You're wrapped in fur coats. He wraps an arm around your back. "Are you crying?"

You nod slowly.

"Oh, my love," he says, softly trying to wipe some of the tears away with his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Giving birth. It's coming so soon."

"I know it is... Why are you scared of it, though?"

"Charles, I don't think you know this. But there's a reason why you've never seen my mother. She passed away years ago. She passed away giving birth to me..."

Charles hugs you tight.

"Sometimes, I wonder how she was. What kind of person was she? What kind of mother would she have been? Was she a proper lady? Did she like athletics? Did she mind a little bit of dirt? Did she have a good sense of humor? My father never talks about her. I always wonder and..." you sniff. "I don't want you to have to tell our baby how I was, or what kind of mother you thought I would've been."

Charles sniffs as well, although he's not crying. "It's... please do not worry about such things. That was twenty-five years ago. Our midwives are very good. Experienced, skilled, and they know what they're doing in order to keep you and our child safe. I would never let anything bad happen to you. Or the baby." He places a hand on your tummy. "I love you both too much."

"But, Charles, what if there's not anything you could do about it? What if no matter how much you love me, it still doesn't work out, and your heart is broken anyway? I'm sure my father told my mother the same kind of things you're telling me before I was born..."

"Y/n, please. Just stop. I know it will be okay. I know we will get through. I know that in five weeks, you'll be sitting with a healthy little newborn in your arms."

"But what if I'm not? What if you're sitting with a healthy newborn in your arms, c- cr- crying? Because I'm-"

"Stop!" Charles suddenly yells, pulling away from you.

You stare at him in awe.

This is the first time he's ever yelled at you.

He continues, voice still raised, "You'll be okay! So will the child, and so will I be! Everyone will be safe and healthy, and everything will go as planned! Okay?" He's on the edge of screaming, his hand gripping your shoulder too tightly. "So stop worrying about nothing!"

You swallow, nodding.

Maybe he's worried, too. And instead of crying about it...

He's yelling about it.

Maybe he's trying to convince not only you of his words, but also himself.

This makes you cry more.

Immediately Charles suddenly softens again, and practically whines, "Please stop crying..." He sighs. "Please..." His head drops onto resting on your pregnant belly, which is now very firm. He stays in his position, but says, suddenly his tone bright, "Let's talk about something else!"

You stare at the back of his head, with his light brown messy hair that's in need of a trim.

When did you start loving this man so much?

You let out a shaky sigh.

In the past minute, he went from comforting, to angry, to panicking, to in a cheery mood.

What?

He continues, "I think after the baby is born, and after your father can no longer rule, Lorenzo will allow us to move to your island, where we can rule together! Doesn't that sounds good, Y/n?"

You shrug and nod, wiping away a tear. "Yeah, that will be nice... That would be... nice. It's what I want. Thank you for working for that for me, Charles."

"Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" he asks right away then.

You shrug. "I don't know. I'll be happy either way, I guess. I think you'll be a great father, Charles."

He smiles, and chuckles softly. "I hope so, my love. You will be a lovely mother. I can picture you with our baby, drinking from your breast... Your hair falling over your shoulders. Your skin shining golden. The love in your eyes. I'm quite attracted to the concept of you being a mother, Y/n."

You laugh softly. "Clearly. And I doubt my skin will be shining, but we'll see about that, I suppose."

"What are you thinking for names?"

You think a few seconds. "I don't know. Maybe if it's a boy, we could just name him after you. You know, Charles."

"I think our kid should have his or her own name. I don't want them to be named after either of us."

You nod. "Got any ideas, then?"

He shrugs, saying casually, sitting up finally, "For a boy, Jules might be okay."

"Why Jules?"

"My good friend and godfather. That was his name. Really the best man anyone ever met."

"Oh... I-"

"Anyone would be honored to be named after him. Either way, I don't know, though. You have to be okay with it too, and you idin't even know him. Got any ideas for a girl's name?"

You think for a few seconds. "For girls, I've always liked Eleanor. Ella would be a cute nickname. I also like Charlotte. And for boys, Jadon... or James. Something like that. But I don't know. We'll see when the baby comes, I suppose, no?"

He shrugs. "Yes, I suppose so, huh?

For the next weeks, because of Charles care about you, he always wants the midwives near you. Unless he's near you. He loves being alone with you, and gets excited at every single sign that the baby is just around the corner. At every sign, you get more anxious. When false labor starts, Charles stays with you whenever he can, and always makes sure midwives are close to help you in case...

Well, in case it's time.

The anxiety you feel is terrible, but you hide it from Charles.

Despite all the pain you feel as the days go on, and the heaviness of your large pregnant tummy, you prepare a bed for the baby with Charles, and other things your child will need.

You try to push out all your worries, but it's very difficult.

To hear his wife say the words, "It's now. I'm going to have the baby. Soon!"

That's kind of scary.

He gets the midwives right away, and she gets settled in the room they've prepared for her for the birthing process.

My nerves. Oh goodness, these nerves.

Charles' nerves could be cut with a knife.

"Charles, I'm scared."

"It's going to be okay. Just relax," are the words he manages.

Of course, he hates to hear those words, 'Charles, I'm scared,' come from his beloved's mouth. The wavering way it comes from her soft beautiful lips sends a sinking feeling into Charles' chest.

And then the process begins. The midwives try different positions with her, despite her wish to just lay down.

Charles keeps his hand in hers the whole time. It's like as if time stops in that little room, until Charles sees the sun rising outside the window.

How long has it been?

Please. Please, I need this baby to be born soon. She needs this baby to be born soon.

"Keep pushing."

Charles swallows as his wife cries, squeezing his hand tight and continues to moan in pain.

Oh God. Oh goodness, love.

Please... Please... Please make it.

You gasp when you hear the crying of your baby. Charles hand slips out of yours, and you watch as he walks across the room to the midwives. You're so tired, you don't understand what's happening.

You get a sudden sinking feeling.

"Is the- Is the baby okay? A- Alive?" you ask in panic, gripping the bed.

But the tiny little baby is placed into your arms. "Say hello to your baby boy, Princess Y/n."

You feel a tear slip from you eye as you look at the tiny little baby in your arms.

That you and Charles made.

You know, the one that's been causing you problems for the past nine months.

This little guy.

You've grown so much in these past nine months.

You feel Charles arm come around your back.

I can never let anything happen to this little beautiful, innocent, perfect child. I will never let anything happen to him. I can't. I love him too much.

Charles kisses the side of your head.

You sit, rocking the child slowly, for who knows how long, before he starts feeding from your breast. Charles rubs your back softly. "It feels funny," you softly giggle.

Charles laughs softly, too, taking your hand and gently rubbing it. "What did I tell you? I told you it would all turn out, didn't I?"

"Yes," you sigh. "Yes, you did. It was hard, and now I'm so tired I feel like I could pass out, but we made it. All three of us made it."

"You don't have to tell me how hard it was. I was here the whole time," Charles teases, but his smile becomes slightly more faint as he mutters with such love, "I'm so proud of you... It was terrible to watch you in such pain... I knew the least I could do was stay with you no matter what."

"It was hard. One time, you left to go to the bathroom, and I got worried. You know, I begged for you. The midwives told me you'd be back soon. And everything turned out, Charles, didn't it?"

"Oh, my love," he breathes in the sappiest tone. He kisses your cheek again, and you can feel the emotions radiating off of him- excitement, relief, pride, tiredness, desire, but most of all, love. "You should have believed me when I said everything would be okay."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Because here we are. Three of us. All safe and sound."

"Yeah... Three," you smile at the child in your arms.

After quite a long time, you hand your son to his father. Charles holds him, rocking him back and forth. Such contentment.

The way he holds him with that little smile down at the tiny little being. So much love and protection. So much fatherly love.

"I love you," Charles whispers softly, and you know he's talking to both of you.

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violettduchess · 1 year

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A/N: A break from all the angst! Here are the winners of the Valentine's Day Kiss Headcanon poll. And a special guest from Obsidian who slipped his way in 😘

Princes x f! reader

I wanted these to be shorter but that was not it's destiny so here we are at 2.5k words.

Happy Valentine's Day whoever reads this! Sending you all lots of love 💜

Morning: Chevalier

The morning sun has dared to reach tentative fingers through the windows of Chevalier’s bedroom. You feel the warmth caress your face and a sigh, soft as silk, escapes you. The day is calling and you know at some point you’ll have to answer. But there is a strong arm holding you tightly against a warm body, one that is curled around you, heavy with sleep. Carefully you turn under the weight of his embrace, pulling your leg out from under his. A small grunt of annoyance is all your movement elicits. Without opening his eyes, he adjusts his hold on you, pulling you close again.

This close, in the pale light of morning, with him still swimming on the edge of sleep, you have a moment to study the face you hold so dear. The almost boyish fall of his pale hair. The sharp line of his cheekbones. The perfect curve of his lips. His lashes are long, framing eyes that to you have come to be the very definition of the word “blue.” They hold the sky at its brightest and the ocean at its most fierce and flawless sapphires and glacial ice all within their beautiful depths. Your hand rises to gently cup that face, to feel the soft skin of his cheek, the curve of his jaw. Your palm cradles him and your heart grows warm with love and affection and pride that you can call this man yours. “Chevalier,” you murmur. “We should get up.”

His eyes open slowly. In them you can see denial. He does not want to get up yet. He would attack the dawn with his sword if he could. He breathes out, stretching his long legs and buries the face you had been so admiring into your bare shoulder. His mouth is warm against your skin when he finally speaks. “Not yet.”

With a smile you reach down, your fingers finding his chin and tilting his face back up. He allows it because it is you. “We really should.” Not able to help yourself, you lean down, capturing his lips in a kiss. Again, only you would ever be allowed to take him prisoner. His response is slow, each movement languid, savoring the feel of your mouths together, of the way your lips lock and unlock. You are the one who deepens the kiss, shifting yet again in his arms, pushing yourself up. Now you are not laying parallel but rise above him, your hair falling to curtain his face.

He reaches up, gathering your loose hair, winding its softness around his hand, all the while kissing you back with an intensity that screams high noon and not mid-morning. You feel the hold he has on you and gasp, your lips leaving his to curl into a smile. He growls, catching your lower lip between his teeth, not wanting you gone even a moment, holding you in place for a heartbeat before releasing you. “Not. yet.” His repeated words are rough with need, sliding over your skin, mirroring the feel of his palms on your body.

This was not quite how you expected to wish him a happy Valentine’s Day. You had plans for the day…. and yet you give yourself over to the trembling ache of wanting him without a moment's hesitation. Everything else can wait.

Afternoon: Leon

You can only feel when the carriage finally rolls to a stop because your eyes are bound by a strip of dark red silk. It’s been hours, rocking back and forth in darkness. You hear Leon open the door and then feel as he takes your hands in his, his hands calloused and strong. Your fingers curl around them tightly as he carefully leads you down and out of the carriage, your boots touching solid ground. He exchanges a few words with the driver and you hear the rattle of the horses’ harnesses, the departing clip-clop of their hooves, muted as they travel over dirt and not cobblestone.

Holding your hands in his, he pulls you along, laughter threaded through his voice like golden strands. Just a bit further he says as the ground under your feet begins to incline and you find yourself clearly walking uphill. He does not allow you to stumble. You are safe in his guidance. You trust him implicitly.

“Leon….I don’t know if I can go much further.” You’re only half jesting when you say the words, your legs starting to shake from the climb. He stops walking and lets go of your hands. A split second passes and then your feet leave the ground. He’s scooped you up into his arms, carrying you as he continues on. Warmth for him blooms in your heart as you wrap your arms around his neck, trusting him to the ends of the earth and back.

The air around you grows cooler, delivering misty kisses upon your skin. Although you are still going uphill, his pace doesn’t slow until you feel the way his hold on you changes, the ground leveling out. Carefully he sets you down and then moves behind you, his touch never leaving you so that you remain steady on your feet.

“Alright, my love. On three. One. Two. Three.” The silk slides off of your eyes and when you finally open them, your breath catches in your throat. You’re standing at the top of a hill, one stretching itself as tall as possible. From your vantage point, you can see down across the lush green fields that blanket the rolling hillside. They are laid out like a green carpet, all the way down to the town. From this height, the buildings you are so familiar with look like miniatures. Even the palace, gleaming white in the midday sun, looks like a child’s magical toy. As you take it all in, you remember a day almost half a year ago, when you had been visiting Leon in his office, admiring a weathered map that hangs on the wall.

“What’s beyond here?” you had asked, pointing to where the map’s green lines ended, blurring into the faded brown parchment. Leon had looked up and smiled slowly. “Shall I show you someday?” You nodded, smiling that smile that sent his heart spinning. And now, when the snow had melted enough, here you were.

“You remembered.” You turn your gaze away from the view to another stunning sight: Leon beaming, your joy lighting him up from within. He reaches for you and you move into his arms, natural as breathing, like falling into a dream. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close against him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” His voice is soft with affection, the sweet, low tone one he only ever uses when speaking to you. You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against the soft material of his cloak, feeling safe and warm and above everything, loved.

Evening: Clavis

You’re sitting in the salon, a warm fire blazing in the hearth, throwing soft orange and yellow light across the rich, dark wood and luxurious red velvet of the room. Clavis has disappeared, promising you one last treat. You wonder if your stomach will be able to handle “one last treat”. He’s spent the entire day showering you with little gifts, all of them food. A pancake breakfast with deep green and purple pancakes with some kind of blueish syrup. Lunch was a soup that actually glowed. (He swore it was supposed to do that.) And dinner? You’re not too sure. He claimed it was stew but the meat felt very chewy and the sauce was a bright orange you are certain does not exist in nature. But you ate it. Each meal, every bite. And you thanked him for his effort because you know he did it to make you happy.

But now as you wait for him, hands resting on your abdomen, you find yourself hoping he didn’t make something like the purple “bunny” he had created for your birthday. The one made out of some kind of jelly-like substance that left you smiling through a roiling, queasy stomach for several hours. And had tasted oddly like grass.

The wooden doors open and Clavis enters, holding a silver serving platter, covered by a silver dome. You push yourself upright even as your mind sends silent prayers to whoever may be listening that whatever is under there, it isn’t gelatinous. He kneels in front of where you are sitting on the couch, his eyes two golden pools sparkling with excitement. “Ready, my dear?” You draw a breath, trying to keep your smile steady and positive. “As ever.” He reaches around and removes the silver dome to reveal…

“Clavis….” The word is drawn from your lungs on a gasp. Laying on the silver platter is a small clay heart. It’s a pale lavender but it has a shimmer to it, as if it had been dipped in gold dust. A small hole has been made at the top, run through with a thin strip of soft, black leather. You reach out, taking the necklace in your hand, your heartbeat quickening. When you turn it over, you notice the initials etched into the back. Yours and his, in his signature loopy handwriting. When you look up at him, you see something for the first time today: nervousness shades his smile, uncertainty sparking in the gold of his eyes. “I thought of going to the royal jeweler, but then I remembered you talking about the craftswoman in town who makes these kinds of things and how much you loved her work. With the right persuasion, she helped me make this.” He licks his lips, forcing a smile. “If you’d rather have a gemstone, we can–”

He is cut off as you throw your arms around him, pressing your lips to his lips. And then his cheek. And then his chin. And other cheek. And forehead. And lips again. Again and again and again you kiss him anywhere you can until the both of you topple over onto the plush carpeting and he breaks out into laughter. “So my darling likes her present.”

You hug him to you tightly, your eyes closed so they miss the way his cheeks are tinged pink. Your reaction has both thrilled him to no end and surprised him. Sometimes....he can hardly believe that you are his. He returns your embrace, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. His heart beats a rhythm in his chest. I love you, it says. I love you. And yours answers in return: I love you too. I love you too.

Midnight: Gilbert

Valentine’s Day is not a holiday they celebrate in Obsidian. And so you have not mentioned it at all. You went about the day, business as usual. Together you and Gilbert inspected the latest garrison and spoke to its leaders. You met with a group of merchants promising seeds which have been bred to thrive in harsh conditions. You made the rounds of the palace while Gilbert tended to his correspondence. Now, as night falls, you stop by his study to check on him, your hand running over the nape of his neck, comforting and tender. He sends you to bed with a tired kiss to the back of that hand. He has work to do and you, Häschen, cannot help him. He would be happier to know you have gotten rest.

The study door closes behind you and you pause, leaning back against it. You could go to bed as he asked….but you don’t. Because you have an idea. So Gilbert writes, his black feathered quill scratching quietly on parchment, making notes in the margins of letters, and you make your way through the dark stone halls of the palace toward the room at its very heart: the kitchen. Gilbert writes. You work some magic.

It is hours later when Gilbert’s quill finally rests. He stands, stretching out his stiff limbs, one hand rubbing at the corner of his dark red eye. A country teetering on the brink of war requires constant vigilance. A role he understands he must play. But sometimes, wrapped in the secrecy of night’s darkest hour, he wishes he could set it down. The quill, the sword, the weight of Obsidian. And simply be with you.

He is bathed in shadow as he walks toward his bedroom, pushing open the dark, carved double doors. He moves silently, not wanting to wake you, but then he sees the candles still burning and you sitting on the edge of the bed, draped in a dressing gown of pearlescent white satin, holding a plate with something small and dark on it in your hands. He tilts his head, curiosity overcoming exhaustion as he walks over. “What’s this?”

The bed dips as he sits down next to you, his gaze traveling from the plate to your face. You clear your throat. “This….is a small tradition in Rhodolite. It’s Valentine’s Day.” You glance at the small clock on his nightstand, an ornate thing made of silver. “At least for another few minutes. And traditionally, it’s a day to celebrate love with cards and flowers and chocolate.” You shrug your shoulders, feeling suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. “I didn’t have time to make a nice card and flowers are hard to find here but I knew there was just enough chocolate left from what I brought with me to bake you a cookie.” You had only enough chocolate to make one cookie, a heart-shaped chocolate oatmeal cookie with chopped nuts and raisins inside. Not necessarily what you would enjoy but you knew they were all flavors Gilbert held dear.

He studies the cookie for a moment, silent. You wonder if maybe you’ve made a mistake. Maybe he just wants to go to sleep and not eat anything. Maybe he does not want to hear about a holiday from the country that is threatening his with war. Anxiety swells your heart and at the same time squeezes it with icy chains of uncertainty. This was a bad idea. Why did you even think it would be-

Gilbert lifts the cookie to his lips and takes a bite. His eye closes as he chews and you watch his face, the movement of his jaw. You notice the way his expression softens. There is peace in a face far too used to suspicion, to calculation, to hiding behind smiles and sharp words. There is bliss for a mind that has to think around a thousand corners. A mind that can now, in a moment of respite, simply enjoy the taste of something that you, the woman he loves, has made for him.

He finishes the whole thing with his eye closed. When it is gone, you reach out and take the plate from him, setting it down on the nightstand. When you lean back, he reaches for you. His kiss tastes like chocolate, like the richness of night, like the velvet softness of a love returned.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #ikepri leon #leon dompteur #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikemen headcanons #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #happy valentine's day #violettwrites

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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 5 months

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Truth or Dare (6)

Summary: What started off as an innocent game of truth or dare between two noble born sisters, Y/N and Margaret “Peggy” Carter, quickly turns south when Y/N meets Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes. 10 years later Peggy is getting married reuniting the bunch, tensions rise as the sisters engage in truth or dare one more time before Peggy is married.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not Beta'd. Sorry for the long wait. If you want to be added to the tag list, please leave a comment saying so below. Let me know if I missed anyone.

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 6

Clip clop. Clip clop. Clip clop.

Each thud of the horse’s hooves hitting the dirt below reverberated in the open meadow. The sound was a stark contrast to the duke’s usual return. Typically, when returning, Bucky didn’t care about drawing attention to himself. No one paid him any attention anyway. This time was different.

Beyond the cloud of dirt, Bucky could make out the shadow of a man leaning against one of the horse stalls. Gently pulling the reins, his sleek black horse slowed into a trot. The cloud of dirt faded behind them. Drawing closer, Bucky could make out the honey locks and strong jaw beyond the rich fabrics clinging to the man. Steve. Bucky wasn’t sure if he recognized the man because he wore the face of his old best friend or because of the status that came with the clothes he now wore, the clothes Bucky once wore.

When he arrived at the stalls, neither man said a word as Bucky dismounted the horse. Bucky made quick work unfastening the saddle while stealing a glance at the new prince over the horse’s back. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, putting Bucky on edge. He didn’t know why Steve had been waiting for him, watching him.

Sensing the silent judgment radiating off Steve in waves, Bucky’s control burst. Stomping around the front of the horse, he snarled, “If you have something to say, just say it.” His words were hard, but his hands were gentle as he removed the horse’s bridle. The horse blinked back at Bucky, unfazed by his loud outburst.

Steve kept mute, wondering if Bucky would confess something if he remained silent long enough. In return, all he got was a lot more stomping and grunts as he closed the wooden door, sealing the horse behind it.

Lifting a hand to block the sunlight from his eyes, Steve asked. “Where’d you go?”

Bucky shrugged, wiping the dirt from his leather-clad palms. “You came all this way just to ask me that?”

Steve frowned, folding his arms across his chest. ”Just answer the question, Buck.”

“What are you doin’ here?” Bucky countered.

“Can a guy just check in on his pal?”

While Bucky’s mouth remained frozen, his eyes scanned Steve from head to toe, searching for a tell. Growing impatient, Steve pushed himself off the wall, taking a step forward. “Where’d you go?” He asked again.

Bucky ran a gloved hand along the stubble on his chin. “Out for a ride.” It wasn’t a lie, but Bucky knew that didn’t answer Steve’s question. Bucky stalked away from the horse stall and headed straight for the castle.

Bucky got three feet before a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Bucky, stop.” The brunette spun around, knocking Steve’s hand off his shoulder in the process. “I know.” Bucky stilled, his eyes cold enough to make Steve freeze. Ignoring his chilling gaze, Steve sighed. “Tony sent word that you’ve been lurking outside of his house. It’s bad enough he lost Pepper in the war. You have to stop this obsession with him and Gail.”

The duke straightened his shoulders, clenching his fists. His mind pressing rewind on the moment Tony took a flail to the arm of his last statue. The moment Gail looked at him like he was the bogeyman. They deserved each other.

“I know you, Buck. You’re going down the wrong path all on your own this time. Whatever you’re plotting has to stop. Now.”

I do. I do. I do.

The two words ghosted on Peggy’s lips in a silent prayer. Cast back at her through her wine glass, her scarlet-stained lips wrenched into a grimace. Had the youngest Carter been marrying a gentleman without status or of equal status she would have been fine. Instead, she was marrying the forthcoming king. As a countess, Peggy was already under the spotlight, but her engagement added more pressure. Like sand descending to the base of an hourglass, every wedding planning event taunted her, a countdown until she would lose her privacy and be expected to produce an heir. She needed a proper send-off to her youth, to up the stakes of truth or dare.

Steve would never approve of such a risky game, not when the fate of their kingdom relied on him. Peggy didn’t want to sneak around Steve, but her need for an adventure was too great. If she couldn't find the excitement she craved, settling for living through others would suffice. The countess’s grimace turned into a mischievous grin. Clink. She tapped her wine glass against the glass bottle. Cheers.

A sea of green and pink swarmed Y/N’s vision as she entered the queen’s garden. The orchids were in full bloom this time of year, but the queen’s statue in the center remained the main focus. The carefully etched marble eyes followed Y/N throughout the garden. It didn’t matter that Y/N wasn’t alone. As soon as she caught a glimpse of the queen's icy stare, she realized she was under scrutiny. The silent judging eyes and pressed lips were an expression Y/N had become familiar with. It was a mask Amanda Carter wore around her daughter. It was the same expression Peggy or Steve had adopted at the mention of Bucky. Like everyone else, Y/N was sure the late queen would side with the majority on an introduction to her son; it was a bad idea. Despite the warnings attached to the former prince's name, Y/N wasn’t worthy of an official introduction to her son.

Walking through the queen’s garden with another man hadn’t been on her to-do list, but the prince insisted. T’Challa’s presence the past few days had been welcoming. His kindness had been a slap in the face. It was genuine, not a front in the public eye like her parents often reverted to. Given time, she could envision herself falling in love with the prince. If only Bucky would stop invading her thoughts.

“She’s beautiful.”

The comment caught Y/N off guard. Her eyes sliced toward the prince standing beside her. She scanned him from head to toe. His eyes remained trained on the statue, his face contorted in admiration. The back of his right hand rested in his left, clasped behind his back. T’Challa was a tall man, but between his rigid posture and monochrome black outfit, he grew a few inches with one glance.

“A marvelous queen,” he continued.

“Was,” Y/N corrected.

T’Challa’s lips curved into a tender smile. “In my culture, death is not the end. It’s more of a stepping off point.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it,” Y/N hummed. Making eye contact with the statue once more she wondered if that was true. Did Bucky have anyone in his corner, looking out for him?

Making eye contact with the guard pursuing them, T’Challa extended his elbow. Accepting the silent gesture, Y/N latched onto the prince’s arm. His gait turned brisk, creating a massive distance between the guard and them.

“I am not foolish enough to think you love me,” T’Challa began. Y/N's eyebrows skyrocketed. Before she could open her mouth to protest, the prince continued, “Nor do I love you.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked, but part of her was relieved. Sure, her mother would be disappointed she wouldn't marry a prince like Peggy, but it wasn’t what Y/N truly wanted, who she wanted.

T’Challa chuckled. “The king’s son, you fancy him.”

Her attempt at ripping her hand from the prince’s arm failed. Wakanda’s prince held his other hand firmly over hers, maintaining the appearance of a couple. He could hear the faint sound of metal rattling behind the pair. With enough distance between them and the guard, T’Challa reassured her. “Don’t fret. Your secret is safe with me.”

Y/N's shoulders dropped, her eyes trained on the cobblestone beneath her feet. “How did you know?’

“The way the two of you evade one another in public. It’s the same way my friend Nakia and I perform in public.”

A gasp tumbled beyond the woman's lips. The lighthearted way he spoke, as if there were no consequences for their actions, had her head spinning.

“Why are you telling me this?” Y/N whispered.

T’Challa glanced at the woman beside him. “I like you, Y/N. A marriage between us would be profitable to both kingdoms. Between you and your sister, the alliance between our kingdoms would be powerful. An alliance by blood. Since we are in identical situations, I figured we could have our own partnership.”

Y/N's heart thrummed beneath her bodice. She tentatively opened her mouth to speak, her shaky voice betraying her, “What do you propose?”

T’Challa smirked at her choice of words. “We wed. We honor the marriage when it comes to politics and the eyes of the public.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“We are free to see whoever or do whatever we want.”

Mulling over the idea, she frowned as the castle came into view along with other lively bodies. So many things could go wrong, but her focus remained wholly on what could go right. This might be her only opportunity to have something with Bucky. If her parents married her off to anyone else, she was confident they wouldn’t offer her the same arrangement.

After gnawing at her bottom lip, Y/N asked, “Is that a formal proposal?”

Y/N stood motionless at her bedroom window. The imaginary rock on her finger weighed her down more than she had anticipated. As a child, the idea of wearing a ring from the love of her life excited her, but now, when she imagined a ring on her finger, she saw nothing but a shackle. One her status would trap her in. Forever stuck in a loveless marriage. It would be the performance of a lifetime, for a lifetime.

An image of the dark-haired duke flashed through her mind. Would Bucky accept the terms of this new relationship? He didn’t seem to mind Natasha’s career choice, although her performance was exceptional. He had snuck backstage to fuck her. Was that what Y/N had condemned herself to? A life of sneaking around?

A knock at the door had Y/N stepping away from the window. She had only taken a few steps when the door swung open.

“Y/N!” Peggy shouted, racing toward her. The costly fabric of Peggy’s skirt bunched between her fingers.

Bracing herself for the impact, Y/N was able to keep the two of them upright when her younger sister collided with her. Y/N gasped for air crushed between Peggy’s arms.

When Peggy finally pulled away, her hands trailed from Y/N’s biceps to her hands. Pulling both Y/N hands toward her chest, Peggy squealed, “Congratulations! Mother just told me the good news. Steve and I are so thrilled! T’Challa is a great choice.”

Y/N froze. She knew? “What?” Y/N asked exasperated.

Peggy tipped her head, staring at her sister through her eyelashes. “T’Challa asked Father for your hand. Father accepted.”

Y/N gulped. “And Steve knows?”

Peggy rolled her eyes, “Of course! Mother has become the town crier, alerting everyone that not one but two of her daughters will be queens one day.”

Y/N’s stomach churned. It was idiotic of her to think she would have a chance to break the news to Bucky when she couldn’t talk to the man in public. If her mother hadn’t told him, she was sure Steve would.

“The kings are going to sit down soon and discuss the terms of the alliance. Steve and T’Challa will modify it when they are kings.” Noticing the faraway look on Y/N’s face, Peggy squeezed her hands. “None of that matters. I’m just glad you’re going to be taken care of.”

Y/N wanted to ask Peggy if she and Steve had the same arrangement, but she couldn’t without giving her and T’Challa away.

Wide-eyed, Y/N replied, “T’Challa hasn’t even asked me yet. I haven’t said yes.” Y/N knew it was a pointless argument. Her father had accepted the proposal on her behalf. She would be engaged to T’Challa by the end of the week.

Peggy led Y/N to the bed decorated in rich fabrics. When her sister sat beside her, Peggy sighed, crossing her legs. “I know it’s a lot of pressure, but it will be worth it. Trust me. You need a distraction, and I know just the thing.”

Y/N stared blankly back at the younger Carter.

Peggy inched forward. “Truth or dare?”

Y/N huffed a laugh. If there was one thing that could keep Y/N distracted, it was a dare from Peggy. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Dare.”

Peggy licked her lips before a devilish grin overshadowed her angelic features. “I dare you to visit the pleasure house.”

Dumbfounded, Y/N hissed, “The whore house?! Margaret Carter, have you lost your mind?”

The brunette shrugged and then collapsed the rest of her weight on the mattress. She gazed at the ceiling, kicking her dangling feet like a schoolgirl disclosing a secret at a sleepover. Then she rolled onto her side, propping her head into her hand.

The older Carter resembled a fire-breathing dragon. Peggy swore she could see the steam seeping from her sister’s ears.

“Not as yourself, of course.” Peggy rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing. “Look,” she narrowed her eyes. “I overheard the help discussing that the prince will be there.”

“T’Challa?”

Peggy squeezed her lips in a thin line. “Steve.”

Squeezing the bridge of her nose, Y/N moaned. “You want me to spy on your fiance?”

“Some of the guard’s garments are in the washroom. I’m sure something will fit you.”

Y/N scowled. “You’ve gone mad. Why don’t you spy on Steve yourself?”

Peggy pushed herself into a sitting position, twiddling her thumbs. “He’ll recognize me. We’ve spent too much time together. He’ll never expect you, let alone recognize you.” A coy smile graced her lips, “Unless you surrender.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @supraveng @kandis-mom @xycnsstuff @mcu21lover19 @saltedcoffeescotch @unaxv @raven1234321

#bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #royal au

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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Midnight Blades {7}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: You face the aftermath of your actions and not all of it is as you expected Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, spanking, edging, bondage, orgasm denial, cum play, blood play, knife play, FLUFF WC: 1869

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

Aemond’s silhouette stood at the end of the dock, the flaming torches behind him making him appear even larger than you knew his frame to be. The ripples of the evening breeze across the water seemed to radiate from him as if the rage he held had erupted into the physical universe and you absorbed it all as you stood at the bow, holding the stare you knew was fixated right back at you.

“The prince, is he a good husband to you?” Ser Negan asked quietly as he stood beside you, the place where you had grown accustomed to being filled by Aemond. “If you fear his retaliation for this day, tell me now, before we dock.”

“No, I do not fear him.” You patted his hand that was resting on the pommel of his sword, the other holding the scabbard and he let them fall to his side with a nod. “He is not like the rest of them; I have freedoms that others do not and he accepts me for who I am.”

“He would be a fool not to, princess.” With a pat to your shoulder, Ser Negan walked back to where the sailors were preparing to dock while the rest of the fleet anchored in the harbour and rowed long boats to the camp erected along the shore.

As the ship was moored beside the waiting prince you placed your boot on the rail and accepted his silent hand, letting him keep you stable as you made the small jump to the dock. “I hope you enjoyed your adventure, my love,” he said quietly as he tucked your arm into his elbow. “You should say your farewells, I am not sure you will be able to make the ride down here any time soon.”

You held your head high and walked away from the ship, refusing to address him as you heard the clear threat in his words. He would not break you, that was the promise you made yourself and your father, so you took your place on his stallion with dignity and raised your fist to the stars - the night erupting with cheers from the ships before Aemond spurred his horse away.

He could probably feel your stomach rumbling for food as you sat in front of him on his horse, the silence tense. You decided he did indeed possess the knowledge you were hungry when he took the long route through the city to the Red Keep, ensuring he passed by the street vendors with the most delicious smelling food.

“Clever of you to learn High Valyrian,” he broke the silence first and you smiled to yourself in triumph at the small win. “But there was nowhere to land Vhagar. I had already given the order for her to return to the Dragon Pit.”

“That is good news, my prince,” you said sweetly, not believing a word from his mouth, “it would be a shame to have lost control of your dragon, not once but twice.”

“Be serious for one moment,” Aemond growled, exasperated by your attitude that had easily regressed back to those early days after arriving in King’s Landing. “My brother forbade your visitation with the Scythian army. I am trying to balance protecting you and keeping you happy but you continue to spit it back in my face. You dove from my fucking dragon, Y/N.”

You flinched at the sound of your name on his lips and looked down at your lap where his hands lay with the reins, just as it had been on Vhagar. The emptier streets were silent save for the rhythmic clip-clop of his stallion’s hooves on the stone and a pit settled in your stomach as you realised the position you had put him in.

“You terrified me.” His fists tightened around the reins at the admission and you would have welcomed the pain if he had decided to thump them down on your thighs. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fucking breathe knowing I killed you too.”

His words were barely a whisper by the time he finished and he silently crossed under the open archway into Red Keep, dismounting the moment the stable boy appeared. You felt sick as the light of the sconces shimmered in his eye with unshed tears and you didn’t feel worthy of his touch as he helped you down with his hands on your waist.

“My apologies, Aemond,” you choked as you placed your palm to his cheek. “I did not think you cared so deeply for me.”

He pressed his cheek further into your touch as he savoured the gentleness of it. “You are infuriating, impulsive and frighteningly fearless.” He reached up and pulled his leather patch from his head, an action he rarely did when out of the privacy of your chambers. “I see you, princess, and you are beautiful.”

You traced his scar with your thumb as you cupped his face to draw him closer to your height. He didn’t dare blink as you tipped your head back to place a kiss over the raised red ruin before pressing your forehead to his and sharing his breath.

“I see you too.”

–

The air was charged with the remnants of rage and the overwhelming rush of desire the courtyard confessions had brought. Maids and guards darted aside as the turbulent storm, that was you and Aemond rushing to your chambers, passed by.

Your dress was still damp and the salt had shrunk some of the material, hindering Aemond’s access until he grew frustrated and unsheathed his dagger. You stumbled back against the table as he cut the outer layer and grabbed it with his hands, tearing through the shift beneath like a man possessed.

“Laehurlion qrīdrughagon,” he ordered with the same air of command he used to bend his will to his dragon. Your legs went weak at the sound of the language rolling off his tongue and you turned away from him, gripping the table's edge. “Good girl.”

Aemond dropped to his knees behind you and you felt his warm breath on your thighs before he ran his tongue over your aching core, dipping the tip in teasingly and humming at the taste. You waited for more but his lips trailed over the swell of your ass before he buried his teeth in the meat of it, a surprised scream tearing from your lips. The table shook as your hips jerked away from him, spilling the wine and tea across the meal that had been laid out before your arrival.

“You should get used to standing, sweet wife,” Aemond chuckled darkly. “Sitting will not be comfortable when I am done with you.”

He rose to his feet and crossed the room to the bed, taking two lengths of rope from the trunk at the foot of it and tying them around the posts at the head of it. “I did warn you.”

You licked your lips as he threw his tunic to the floor but left his leather riding pants low on his hips and the lace undone. Though he was lean, the defined muscles beneath the surface held a formidable strength and your mouth went dry at the sight of him standing with the rope, ready to deliver his punishment upon you.

Your teeth bit into the pillow and absorbed your scream as Aemond’s leather belt lashed across your bare ass once again.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothed as he ran his hands softly over the welts left in his wake. Your skin was burning but he blew cool air across it before kissing his markings, adding his teeth to the thick lines already showing. He tugged your hips and pulled you onto your knees so your ass was high in the air and felt for the moisture leaking from your slit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are dripping for me.”

Aemond licked his fingers before the belt was discarded, his leather pants with it, and he knelt behind you, spearing you with his cock as you wrapped your hands around the bindings and tried to look over your shoulder to see him. A slap landed on your tender skin and you gasped as you pushed your hips back to take him as deep as your body would allow.

“Does my little whore deserve to cum?” Aemond asked as he pulled back, leaving the leaking tip of his cock at your swollen entrance. “I don’t think you do, not yet.”

You fought against the bindings to push back onto his cock but they were secure and tight with no leeway to move closer to him. It was the grunt from his lips and the brush of his fist that had a whimper filling the air. He was pleasuring himself and your cunt was merely a hole to receive his release.

“Please, Aemond, I need you, I need to cum,” you begged as his hand pumped along his shaft and the head seemed to swell before warmth flooded you and he slammed himself deep within your core.

Aemond’s deep moan reverberated through you as he withdrew and replaced his spent cock with his long fingers. He captured the cum the leaked from your cunt and pushed it back in, curling his fingers as he did and riding them over the soft spot that had you writhing once again.

The pressure built and you could hardly breathe as you smothered yourself against the pillow. Every muscle coiled tightly and your body began to tremble, it felt as if the room were suddenly on fire as sweat broke across your skin.

“Oh Aemond!” you screamed as the pleasure overwhelmed you and you collapsed to the mattress with body convulsions in waves to your release.

The ropes were slashed and your raw wrists dropped to the bed before Aemond rolled you over and grinned at the lazy smile on your lips, your eyes half closed with exhaustion.

“So beautiful.”

You expected him to join you in bed, accustomed to the warmth of his body as he cocooned you and gently massaged the aches away, but he went to the table and attempted to salvage some food, bringing a small plate back with him. “Open.”

You parted your lips for him and let him feed you a small helping of grapes and dried figs, nipping at his fingers with a defiant smirk as he recoiled his hand back. “You marked me, but I have yet to leave mine on you, dear husband.”

He looked at his chest with a quirked eyebrow, the scars from your blades as well as the marks from your nails contradicting you. Ignoring his cocky attitude, you took the plate and placed it on the bed before grabbing one of the many hidden daggers.

“It is time to collect a debt you owe me,” you purred as you knelt before him and leant down to place a kiss over his heart, the same place you would mark your initials upon. “Now, you are mine too.”

Aemond shivered as you ran your fingers through the small trail of blood pooling on his chest, his voice thick with emotion, “I was yours the moment you threatened my manhood.”

Click here for Part Eight

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @mariamyousef702

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fic #aemond smut #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

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aquagirl1978 · 10 months

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Lightning Crashes - Gilbert von Obsidian (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Part of the Late Spring Tryst event held by @xxsycamore

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Prompt: sex in the rain

Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI

Rain pelted against your face as you looked up into the dark and dreary sky. What is taking so long? you asked yourself for the umpteenth time as you paced around the courtyard.

Knowing his proclivity to hide his secrets, you, of course, feared the worst when you woke up earlier to find Gilbert already gone. You had searched every corner of Obsidian Castle – the kitchen, the throne room, even the greenhouse – before marching into Walter’s quarters, demanding to know where he had snuck off to this time.

“He had business to attend to at the border. Something about paying a visit to that Rhodolite prince he so often keeps company with.” Walter told you as he waved you away, suggesting it might be dark before Gilbert returned.

As soon as it grew dark, you became restless and decided to wait for Gilbert in the courtyard. Surely, he would be back soon as the day was nearing its end. Minutes turned to hours, and worry began to settle inside the pit of your stomach.

Lightning flashed through the sky, lighting up the castle before the heavens opened up to the roar of thunder. “Lovely,” you sighed as the first raindrops fell upon your head.

“Oh, this is useless,” you announced to no one in particular when you suddenly heard the clip-clop sounds of horses’ hooves striking the cobblestone pavement. Wiping your forehead free of your wet bangs, you approached the carriage, waiting for its passenger to exit.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Gilbert greeted you as he opened the carriage door, his smile turning to a frown upon seeing you in such a state.

“Where were you?” you asked briskly.

“I was called away by Clavis.” he replied as he stood face to face with you, his demeanor cool like the rainy chill in the air. “But I presume someone already told you that. Or you wouldn’t be standing out here, drenched, like a sad little rabbit.” He tapped his cane on the ground, punctuating his words.

You stood your ground, glaring daggers at Gilbert. When you didn’t make a move, he laughed.

“Was the little rabbit scared?” He tilted his head in that cute, puppy dog way that almost made you forget why you were mad at him. “You know you have nothing to be scared about.”

“Nothing to be scared about?” you asked, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I have everything to be scared about.”

The rain poured down your face in streaks as you beat your fists against his chest. Ignoring the chill in your rain-soaked skin, you continued fruitlessly, punching Gilbert until he took your hands in his, ending your assault on him.

His red eye glittered in the dark grey of the storm, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, his mouth silencing your cries. His arms wrapped tightly around your body as his tongue probed your lips, seeking entrance into your warm mouth. Your balled fists fell limply to your sides, your body melting into his.

His fingers dug into your back as he pulled your body closer to his, needing the warmth that radiated from your body. He groaned softly as his hips pressed against yours, a faint outline felt despite his layers of clothing.

Kisses grew eager and needy; his mouth began to wander, his lips seeking your neck. Tilting your head back, your throat exposed, granting him the access he sought, Gilbert fastened his mouth along your pulse point, his teeth sinking into your soft, sweet skin.

Your body shuddered against his, the pain bright and sharp, much like the love you had for one another. Cradling his head in your hand, your fingers twisted through his damp locks as he pressed a soothing kiss upon your fresh mark. He pulled back, his eye locking on yours, his smile soft as he stroked your sensitive skin with his thumb.

His mouth, now warmed, crashed against yours once more, his hands rough as he lifted you into his arms. Throwing your arms around his neck, you deepened the kiss, inviting his tongue to enter freely. Your eyes drifted closed, his tongue tickling yours, neither of you mindful of the storm raging around you.

Your eyes flew open when your back was pressed against a cold, stone wall.

“I can’t wait,” he whispered between kisses, his words causing your heart to race.

You pulled back and stared him in the eye, your mouth unable to say the words you wanted to ask.

“No need to worry, little rabbit. No one will come looking for us out here in the rain.”

He ran a palm down your thigh and under your skirt, sending shivers up your spine. Arching your back, you let out a soft sigh as his fingers teased your most sensitive spot. Sliding a finger inside, your core flooded with warmth as he began to stroke you.

Your hips pressed against Gilbert’s, the firm outline in his pants, now more prominent. Your head dizzy with pleasure, your hand fell from his shoulder to his waist, your fingers trailing the line of his belt. Slipping a hand inside, you enjoyed the soft sounds Gilbert made as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

With passion burning bright in his eye, Gilbert removed his hand from between your legs, leaving you whimpering for his touch. Guiding one leg around his waist and then the other, he pushed the layers of your skirt out of the way and then proceeded to free his erection.

The moment his tip touched your slit, your body quivered with anticipation. Gilbert held your gaze as he pushed inside, his eye on you and only you as he stretched you, filling you, until he was fully sheathed inside.

Your legs squeezed his hips when you were ready; burying your face in the crook of his shoulders, you dug your nails into the thick fabric of his damp cloak as he began to thrust inside you.

Warmth filled your body as Gilbert ravished you, leaving you grateful for the cool chill of the rain on your heated skin. Gasping for air, Gilbert pushed his body tighter against yours, pressing you harder against the cold stone wall of the castle.

With a loud groan, Gilbert sunk into your body, spilling his seed inside you as your shared pleasure took over.

Breathless and boneless, your head fell back, exposing your bare neck for Gilbert to leave one final love bite. Collecting you in his arms, he smoothed your skirts as he carried you back to his room, your body pressed tight against his chest under the cover of night, free from any watchful eyes.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @umi-adxhira @bellerose-arcana @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage

#late spring tryst ccc #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #ikemen fanfic #ikepri fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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merakiui · 1 year

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Ok so omegaverse au right? Omegas are controlled by the government as a precious commodity. Darling is an omega that was controlled by the state as soon as he presented as an omega,taken by his family and groomed to be a perfect little omega for there next chosen alpha. And I just 👉👈 rly think that would go nicely with yandere malleus ok. There’s not nearly enough asks about him!!!!

What if it’s something like a government-sanctioned auction that allows wealthy alphas and betas to bid on well-kept omegas? So long as the bidder swears to provide the omega with safety, stability, and a comfortable home environment, everything that happens at these auctions is fair game. However, no one’s going to dare bid against the Draconia heir once they realize his bodyguards have been sent to buy an omega for his sake. And soon you’re in the clutches of Silver and Sebek, the former who assures you everything will be fine and the latter chastising your anxiety. “You ought to be honored to be my lord’s omega!” he exclaims, but it’s impossible to feel honored when you’ve never even met this figure before.

You’ll sit across from both men in a horse-drawn carriage, listening to hooves clip-clopping against slick cobblestones. Rain batters the carriage windows, falling in torrents from a sky darkened with gloom. You watch the city fall away into oblivion, and soon dense forests take over your vision, sharp, protruding brambles and thorns tangled amidst the trees.

Once you arrive at a grand, gothic castle, you meet a petite man who introduces himself as Lilia, and though you’re certain there’s something off about him he’s kind enough—full of life and enthusiasm as he looks you over with bright, wine-colored eyes. He has you bathe almost immediately and your rags are switched for those of fine silks. You feel like a completely new person when you spy your reflection in the mirror. Lilia insists on preparing a feast to commemorate your arrival, but he’s quickly persuaded otherwise by Silver and Sebek. Instead, Lilia takes you through the castle, pointing out unique structures, panels of expensive stained glass, certain rooms that hold fond memories, and much more. He keeps your attention pulled taut with each story, and when lightning flashes in a crackling arc in the sky you flinch. He chuckles at your fright and muses aloud about how the prince will simply adore you.

Come dinner, you’re escorted to an expansive dining room with a vaulted ceiling and arched windows, each curtain drawn back to let in the moonlight. All sorts of dishes have been set along the length of the table, and it looks like it should fit more than two people. Someone’s already waiting at the head of the table. He’s taller than you imagined, with sleek horns and piercing green eyes, and he looks through you with an unreadable expression. Lilia gushes over how he’s already taken a shine to you, but there’s no indication in his expression that suggests he likes what he’s seeing. Lilia and the others leave the two of you alone before you can even think to raise any questions.

You force an awkward smile, lower into a stiff bow, and ask if it’s all right to sit closer to him. The fae prince, whose eyes glint strangely at that query, hazards a small, measured smile. With a flick of his wrist, your chair moves on its own until it’s situated directly near him, and you follow on your own two feet.

You don’t have much knowledge of fae customs, so you’re not sure what you’re meant to do or if you’re meant to indulge in any of these luxuries. You almost give the man your name, but he holds his hand up to silence you. Instead, he chooses a name for you. “Little omega,” he calls you. It’s spoken so softly, a cherished set of words filled with tenderness. You suspect you’ll be hearing that alias plenty of times in the near future.

When you look so sweet and defenseless, it’s nearly impossible for Malleus to resist wanting to make you his forever. And with your lack of knowledge on the fae, he doesn’t have to try very hard to trap you. Not that there’s any need for that at this moment. After all, you belonged to him the minute Silver and Sebek decided you would be the one for their prince.

#twisted chit chat #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #yandere twst

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foundtherightwords · 2 months

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The Firebird - Chapter 7

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: some injuries (no gore though)

Chapter word count: 4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7 - Crossing the Mountains

They departed before dawn, while Simeon was still snoring on the stove. They left some tea, cheese, and a bottle of kvass for the old man by way of thanks. Then, putting the little stone hut behind them, with Zhara flying ahead and Paul following behind, riding one of the donkeys and leading the other by its reins, they scaled the slope that led into the heart of the mountains.

The road climbed steadily, becoming narrower and narrower the higher they went. By contrast, the trees and bushes were reduced to dwarfish versions of themselves until they disappeared altogether, and there was nothing around but bare rock walls, rising toward the sky on one side, blocking out the sun, and dropping down on the other, toward the ground strewn with more ragged rocks, far beneath. Up ahead, there were yet more rock walls, sheer, dark, forbidding. It was a lot colder as well—it may be summer down in the valley, but here, winter seemed to never have left, and snow still clung to the rock faces high above their heads.

Paul's entire body was on alert, his ears strained for the smallest sound, his eyes strained for any movement, but there was nothing save for the hiss of wind through the cliffs, the monotonous clip-clop of the donkeys' hoofs on the rock, and the flashes of red and gold from Zhara's wings, the only flashes of color in that cold gray world. How is one supposed to prepare for a threat when one doesn't know where it is coming from? He tried to remember what the tales of Nightingale said about how the mythical robber was defeated, but they were always so maddeningly vague. He could only hope that Nightingale would see that they had nothing of value and decide not to target them.

And so it went all day. They stayed the night at another shelter, though this one was all but abandoned, with no cozy stove or tea kettle, no furniture of any kind, only an empty stone hearth. At least the wood box next to it was full, though the wood had been there a while; it was damp and took a while to catch.

While he watched the flames struggling to take hold, Paul recalled something about the tales of Nightingale the Robber. "Are there any poppies around?" he asked Zhara.

"Poppies?" she repeated, lifting an eyebrow quizzically.

"It's what Ilya Muromets used to stopper his ears against Nightingale's whistle," Paul explained, only realizing how idiotic he sounded as he was saying it.

Zhara's lips twitched, but she didn't laugh. "Why poppies?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I don't know. It's never explained." He paused, then added, "It always bothered me as a child."

"No, there are no poppies to be had around here, I'm afraid," Zhara said. "And I don't think we can count on Ilya Muromets or Dobrynya Nikitich to rescue us either. My brother has captured Alyosha, so it's only a matter of time before he catches them as well. Besides," she added, sadness returning to her eyes, "haven't you learned that those tales don't always unfold the same way here?"

The next day was more of the same, only the cold was more biting. It was so cold that Paul's teeth started chattering despite his thick cloak, and Zhara had to return to her perch on his shoulder to give him some extra warmth. By mid-afternoon, however, a patch of blue sky showed overhead as the cliffs became a little lower and the peaks in the distance became closer. A dark smudge on the horizon suggested a forest in the valley below.

"We're nearly through!" Paul said, relieved. Zhara nodded at him and flew on ahead.

There was a sharp sound, like the screech of a bird of prey, only much more piercing. It went straight through Paul's ears and down his spine, making him shrink back in fear. The donkeys kicked and screamed, and Zhara's wings faltered.

As its echo died off amongst the cliff, a strange, dry, crackling noise immediately followed. Paul was looking around, trying to figure out where this new noise was coming from or what it meant, when a clump of snow hit him on the head.

Confused, he looked up.

To his horror, he saw an entire cliff of snow breaking off on their left, sliding down the mountainside, slowly at first but picking up speed as it went, headed straight for them.

"Watch out!" he yelled. Jumping off the donkey, he tried to pull both animals back, out of the path of the avalanche. The one behind bucked up and ran in a blind panic down the slope. Paul dove after it. The reins ripped out of his hands, burning his palms. The mass of snow was close, so close now. Zhara swooped down and headed the donkey off to stop it from plunging into the gorge below. Right before she could reach the animal, the snow hit. The last thing Paul saw was the red and gold of her wings, then the snow crashed over his head, and the whole world disappeared in a stinging, blinding, choking wave of white.

A moment later, or perhaps a lifetime later, Paul lifted himself out of the snow and shook the sharp crystal out of his wig. He discovered that, either by a stroke of luck or by managing to jump out of the way in time, he had escaped the worst of the destruction. One of the donkeys stood next to him, calm as ever, taking no heed of the snow covering its head. The other one stood a little further down the slope, buried up to its shoulders in snow, but looked otherwise unscathed.

Another screech rang through the ringing, buzzing hum in his ears. Paul looked around wildly, bracing himself for yet another avalanche. A shadow swept across the snow. A giant bird—no, not a bird, but a man—or was it a man? Paul couldn't quite tell. It would be most accurate to describe the figure as a half-man, half-bird creature, covered in feathers of the same mottled gray as the rocks around them. It had human arms, only these arms were also covered in feathers. A pair of wings extended from its back, and instead of human feet, razor-sharp talons extended from its legs.

As this creature plunged low, Paul glimpsed a craggy face, with cruel yellow eyes and a hooked nose. While Zhara retained her human eyes even as a bird, this creature's eyes were more bird than human. Paul cowered. The creature sailed over his head, and, before Paul could blink, closed its talon around the saddle of the other donkey, the one standing further away. With a powerful beat of its wings, the creature rose into the air, taking with it the donkey and all the supplies on its back, leaving behind only the echoes of the poor animal's frightful screams.

Paul clutched at the remaining donkey, too terrified to move. That must have been none other than Nightingale the Robber himself. Paul could only be thankful that he and the remaining donkey had been so well hidden by the snow that the robber hadn't seen them, or perhaps he wasn't interested in them.

It was a long time before his heartbeats slowed and he could breathe normally.

And then his heart dropped again.

He couldn't see Zhara anywhere.

He jumped up, all thoughts of Nightingale the Robber gone from his head. Where had she been before the avalanche struck? When had he last seen her? There had been a flash of gold...

He remembered now—she had been trying to stop the donkey from running away. He scrambled down the slope to where the lost donkey had stood, calling out for her. "Zhara!" Though the snow had been churned up like a sea of foam, he could still make out the four hollows of the donkey's legs. Getting to his knees, he started digging into the snow around the area. The cold stung his palms where they were scratched by the reins, but he barely even noticed. "Zhara!" he called again, his heart hammering in his chest while he kept digging and digging, not caring that Nightingale may come back. There was no sign of her. His hands found rock underneath, and he turned and dug in a wider circle. Still nothing. Could she have been swept all the way into the gorge? Could she have been thrown against a rock and gotten injured? Could Nightingale the Robber have taken her somehow? Each possibility was more terrible than the last, and they all squeezed Paul's heart in a cold grip.

But there was nothing else to do, so he just kept digging in the snow until his fingers were too numb and he was too tired to stir another muscle. The sun was going down, shedding a pale pinkish light over the snow. Paul leaned against a boulder and tried to breathe some life back into his frozen hands, missing Zhara's comforting warmth on his shoulder. The last rays of the sun died away. At that very moment, he saw a faint gleam beneath the snow, like the sun seen through the clouds, a mere few feet away from where he sat, and when it disappeared, there was a shape under the snow—the shape of a girl.

Paul bounded across the snow and rushed to her side. Plunging his still-frozen hands into the snow, he touched skin, cold and stiff as marble. His heart shot to his throat. He scraped the snow away until he unearthed Zhara's prone form, her skin nearly as white as the snow around her. He brushed the hair out of her face with a shaking hand and saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were blue.

"No, no, no..." he mumbled, stripping off his cloak and wrapping her in it. "Zhara? Can you hear me?" There was no movement. But she was made of fire! The snow couldn't hurt her, could it? Only... he had no idea how long she had been buried in the snow. Even the strongest fire would be weakened by that.

Leaning close to her lips, he felt a weak breath touching his ear, and some of his fear lessened. She was still breathing. He needed to get her somewhere safe and warm. Scooping her up in his arms, Paul trudged up the slope, and, after securing her on the back of the donkey, headed into the cold and the dark to find shelter.

He eventually found another stone hut nestled between two cliffs. It was almost as empty as the one from the previous night, though there was a small bed with a straw tick on it in a corner. Paul tipped the entire content of the wood box into the hearth and fumbled with the tinderbox until a fire blazed in the grate. He then dragged the straw tick off the bed, placed it directly in front of the hearth, and gently laid Zhara down on it. She remained inert, with only her chest moving up and down in a shallow breath, getting shallower by the minute. The crackling fire made no difference to her condition at all.

What to do? What to do? He knew he had to warm her up, but how? He went through the meager supplies they had left, took all the clothes he could find, and piled them on her. When that didn't seem to help, he dug through the packs again and found a bottle of some alcoholic-smelling liquid. He tried a sip. It was horrible, sickly sweet, with a bitter, herbal aftertaste, and was so strong it burned his throat and made his eyes water as it went down. But as it settled in his stomach, warmth started stealing through his veins, making him feel like he, too, could shoot fire out of his fingertips. Yes, this could work.

He lifted Zhara into a sitting position and carefully tipped the bottle to her lips. She didn't stir, but he felt her throat move, so he poured a little more in. There was a spluttering, and Zhara bolted up in his arms.

"Dear Alkonost and Sirin!" she exclaimed. "What is that?!"

Paul let out a sigh of relief. "Some sort of liquor Afron gave us," he said. "It'll warm you up."

"Get me d-drunk, more like," she muttered. Then her teeth chattered, and a violent bout of shivers took over her until she was shaking from head to foot, so much so that she had difficulty swallowing a few more gulps of the liquor. It frightened Paul to see her so frail, she who had always been so full of life and of fire—literally. He drew her toward him and vigorously rubbed her hands and arms and back, to get her blood flowing.

Gradually, her trembling subsided, and some of the diamond-blue pallor faded from her lips, though her face was still wan, and she still shivered from time to time.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Hmm." She nodded, nestling closer to him.

Paul's hand slipped under the cloak and grazed her bare skin. Though it was not back to her usual warmth, it was no longer marble-cold, and suddenly he was aware that she was practically sitting in his lap, and his arms were wrapped around her in a tight embrace. Embarrassed, he drew his hand away and set her back down on the straw tick.

"Wh-where are you going?" she asked.

"Oh, I—I'm just—I'm going to—make myself a bed—over there," he stammered, pointing to a corner of the hut.

"D-don't be silly. It's fr-freezing. This m-mattress is big enough f-for the both of us."

Paul hesitated. It really was cold—the moment he turned away from the fire, he could see his breath. Plus, Zhara was still trembling, and the fire felt nice on his hands and face. He gingerly sat back down. Zhara settled into his arms again with a contented sigh—had she always fitted there so well, so naturally? Paul felt a strange urge to run his fingers through her hair, damp from the melting snow, and he had to ball his hands into fists.

"Nightingale took the other donkey and half of the supplies," he said apologetically.

"'s alright," Zhara mumbled, turning her face into his chest. "You saved me."

"I—I didn't do much," he said, trying not to notice how close her mouth was to the open collar of his shirt, how her breath was tickling his skin.

"You did. Thank you, Pavel Petrovich."

It was the first time she'd uttered his name without a hint of mockery or teasing. "Please, call me Paul," he said.

She didn't reply. Certain she had fallen asleep, he carefully lowered himself to the mattress without letting her go.

"I'm sorry I called you a burden, Paul," she whispered.

Paul's heart stumbled. He looked down at Zhara, wondering how he'd ever thought her otherworldly or uncanny. There, snuggled up in his arms, with her eyes closed, her lips, which had started to flush pink again, slightly parted, and her hair falling across her freckled cheek, she looked utterly human, more real than anything he'd ever seen. His name sounded so sweet in her voice that he wanted to ask her to say it again and again. But she needed her rest. "It's all right," he managed. "Go to sleep."

"...You too."

And he did.

***

Paul woke with something tickling in his nose. The window of the hut was a light gray square, and there was a pile of ash and half-burned logs in the hearth. At some point during the night, the fire had burned out, but he was still warm as toast, and he soon discovered why. He was on his back, with Zhara draped over him, her limbs tangled up in his, her hair and his cloak wrapping around them both like a blanket. The tickling in his nose was one of her stray locks. And, to his horror, she was bare under the cloak, all the clothes he wrapped around her having fallen off, and he could feel the hard nubs of her breasts through his shirt, while her thighs were pressing perilously close to the hardness between his own legs. He jumped up and shoved her away as though they were both on fire—which was not far from the truth.

Thankfully, the sun came up just then, and poking out from under the cloak wasn't the indignant face of a girl but a beak and a pair of amber eyes blinking blearily at him. Somehow she managed to look irritated, even as a bird.

"Nightmare—sorry," Paul mumbled, scrambling to cover himself.

Zhara wriggled her neck and shoulders in a gesture that Paul had come to recognize as the avian equivalent of a shrug, and, tucking her beak under her wing, she went back to sleep.

She spent most of that day asleep, burrowed into Paul's pocket under his cloak as usual. He would check her from time to time to make sure she was comfortable, and was heartened to feel her warmth returning. The frigid air and the snow also receded as they descended the mountains, and that night, when they stopped at another shelter, the air was practically balmy.

"How are we going to secure Tsarevna Elena's hand in marriage?" Paul asked over their supper, which consisted of bread and some dried meat—the best he could do under the circumstances. He was only grateful that Zhara had had the foresight to divide their supplies evenly. "Are we simply going to present Afron's suit on his behalf?"

Zhara, who seemed to have recovered completely, much to Paul's relief, didn't mind the meager meal. "No, that's not going to work," she replied, chewing her meat thoughtfully. "Her mother, Tsarina Kostroma, is half-leshy, and thus very proud."

"Half-leshy? Is that even possible?" Paul asked, thinking of the leshy's inhuman physique. Zhara gave him an exasperated look, and he threw up a conciliatory hand. "My apologies. Pray continue."

"Well, Kostroma is very protective of Elena. Other than a few official court functions, she never lets Elena do anything or meet anyone. She keeps her all but locked up." Paul was quiet, thinking of his own mother. Was Elena's mother protecting her, or did she simply want to avoid sharing power with her daughter, like his mother?

"A marriage with Afron would be greatly beneficial," Zhara continued, "as it would join both kingdoms, but Kostroma would never hear of it."

"Having met Afron, I can't exactly blame her," Paul said mildly.

One corner of Zhara's mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "I agree, but we're not tasked with making Elena fall in love with him."

"So what are we going to do then?"

"How does it happen in those tales of yours?"

"Prince Ivan kidnaps her."

"Well then, we shall kidnap Elena."

Paul stared at Zhara to see if she was in earnest. She grinned. "We shall think of something." It was less than reassuring, but somehow, when she said it, he believed her.

When it came time for sleep, there was a bit of a fuss. Like the shelter the night before, this stone hut only had one rickety bed, which Paul insisted that Zhara take.

"But you've wanted to sleep in a bed for so long," she protested.

Paul may not be heroic or noble, but he couldn't bear the thought of being discourteous. "What, and let a lady sleep on the floor? I'm not some savage!"

Zhara sat down on the straw tick. "We can always share," she said. "It won't be the first time."

Though she said this quite matter-of-factly, Paul could detect—or thought he could detect—the slightest hint of a tremor in her voice, a conscious effort to sound nonchalant. It sent a flush throughout his body, starting from somewhere below his waist and spreading all the way to the very tips of his ears. He would not have a repeat of that morning's humiliation.

"I shall sleep on the floor," he said in a voice that invited no further discussion.

Later, as he was wrapped up in his cloak on the floor in front of the bed, Paul suddenly said, "Am I supposed to fall in love with Elena?" He didn't understand what made him say so; only the question of love had been on his mind lately, and he had gotten so used to speaking his thoughts aloud when Zhara was a bird that he was doing the same even when she was human.

"Why did you ask that?" came Zhara's voice from above him.

"That's how it happens in the tale. Now, I know nothing has happened exactly like it does in the tale so far, but—"

"I can't predict the future, you know," she said, sounding amused. "Why don't you meet her and decide for yourself?"

"I don't think you can simply decide who to fall in love with."

"Is that so?"

"My mother has been forcing me to choose a bride amongst the princesses of our neighboring kingdoms." He had never talked much to Zhara about his mother or his life, whether out of a misplaced sense of pride or simply because it was painful to mention such things, he did not know.

Zhara turned over, her eyes glimmering in the firelight. "What are they like, the princesses of your world?"

"I've never met them," he said with a shrug. "Their portraits were sent to my mother, and she picked out the ones she deemed suitable for me."

She propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him. "So you must decide if you can fall in love with one of them... based on their pictures?"

"I don't think love has anything to do with it."

"I suppose you're right," she said, lying back down with a sigh. "My father married my mother for love, and look how that turned out for him. She broke his heart."

They were both silent for a while, him staring at the fire, her looking up at the rafters of the hut, lost in their own thoughts.

"Still, though... I rather wish I could marry for love," eventually Paul said. It was a foolish notion, of course, a boy's dream. But he couldn't help it. In the stories, the hero and the heroine always fall in love at first sight and live happily ever after, never quarreling, never having to worry if they were good enough. How could he not want the same?

"Perhaps you'll meet someone here," Zhara said quietly, almost too quiet to be heard.

But he did hear her. Startled, Paul twisted his head to look at her. She had closed her eyes and appeared to be asleep. He turned back to the fire, trying to let the cracking and popping of the flames clear his mind. He didn't know how long he lay there. The fire was in danger of dying out and his thoughts were no clearer than before, when he felt something warm on the side of his face, warmer than the fire. Zhara's arm had dropped over the edge of the bed, and her fingers were brushing his cheek, almost like she was caressing him. Not daring to breathe, for fear of waking her up, he reached up, ran his hand gently over her arm, stroking the smooth skin on the inside of her wrist. And, pressing that warm, soft hand against his temple, he felt the wild thoughts in his head calm at last. He didn't remember falling asleep.

Chapter 8

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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mlpwhatifs · 6 months

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What If 1.925: Twilight was just a figment of Princess Celestia's imagination?

"Twilight, could you go deal with Tirek II for me if you so please?" Celestia rung a bell.

A spectacled Raven Inkwell sighed, kneeling at her Princess's hooves. "As you wish, my Princess. I must remind you, we have no records of this Twilight Sparkle that you refer to myself and my sisters by."

"Alright, Twilight," Celestia shrugged, swallowing another bite of her cake. "Oh, and could you remind your babysitter that the Crystal Heart needs to be watered thrice daily as well?"

Raven saluted. "One of my sisters has already communicated with Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. There is no issue to report regarding this task."

Celestia tapped a hoof idly against the arm(foreleg?)rests of her throne. "Ah!" she suddenly burst, "That reminds me, how's that brother of yours, my dishonorably-discharged-for-medical-reasons student? He still making googly eyes at Cadance?"

Another Raven stepped up beside Raven and whispered something in her ear. Raven stiffened up, nodding at Celestia. "Prince Shining Armor of the Crystal Empire has been married to Mi Amore Cadenza for years, Princess. They have already produced children."

"Grandchildren!" Celestia cheered, clapping her hooves together in excitement. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Twi? Fetch me my guards, I must attend the baby shower at once!"

Raven reached a hoof out. The second Raven beside her floated a communicator into her grasp. "Prepare a chariot, the Princess intends to travel. We need full accommodations and a nurse onboard. It is not necessary, but it may be the Princess's preference for the Royal Chef to also be present. As a reminder, all references to the chef must be done by the name 'Pinkie Pie', lest we upset the Princess."

She paused. "Also, notify Mi Amore and Shining Armor of her highness's arrival in advance. They must prepare for yet another baby shower. We already know well what happens if there is not one to attend."

Raven passed the device back to her sister before bowing again. "It is done. Is there anything else that you request from your faithful student?"

"Nope! Just Tirek."

"As you wish."

Raven knocked on the door. She stepped back, waiting a minute. Then two.

She knocked again, checking her watch as she glanced at a third Raven Inkwell that stood beside her--this one a pegasus.

And about half a dozen more of her sisters behind her.

A loud thump emanated from behind the door, followed by a groan. Heavy hoofsteps clip-clopped up to the door.

"Celestia again?" Tirek's tired voice came in muffled mutters. "Doesn't she believe that the all-powerful Tirek is in Tartarus or whatever that place is?"

"The Princess believes that your next-in-line has come to rampage. I have brought my sisters to assist in the relocation. We hope it will not inconvenience you as much as it had the first time."

The door creaked open as Tirek let the Raven Collective enter. He yawned, scratching his side as he watched each mare pass his belongings out into the hallway.

"What about everyone else in the apartment?" he yawned, stepping aside for his sagging mattress to be carried out. "Don't they have to relocate too?"

Raven gave a brief nod as she passed. "You know well the size of the Collective. The other occupants of the complex are also being assisted as we speak."

Tirek watched as his cart of possessions was loaded onto the train. He turned his head, glancing one last time at the unassuming apartment that he'd called home for the past three years. It wasn't too bad of a place, to be honest. Yes, it was drab and dull--nothing like the gaudy mansion he'd been placed in for show the first time around.

Those acting days were over, anyway. The constant need to hire himself and other actors to stage worldly threats to distract the Princess was far more draining on Equestria's resources than it was to simply pass along rumors and demolish derelict buildings. It worked to the nation's benefit, in a sense--the Princess remained placated by her delusions of a student, while at the same time the decaying infrastructure of the countryside could be allocated the resources needed for redevelopment.

His eyes shifted to the line of carts lined up behind his own, each one hauled by four, no, six of the same mare.

He always wondered where they came from.

In the distance, a deafening explosion marked the end of the derelict building.

The Raven Inkwell that stood beside the open doors of the train's cargo truck lifted a radio to her mouth.

He could just barely hear the words she muttered.

"Sparkle has arrived. The target has been eliminated. Report back to the Princess via dragonfire at your assigned time."

#rq: Forcalor #mlpwhatifs #my little pony #what if #writeblr #ask blog #tumblr writers #mlp #Princess Celestia #Raven Inkwell #mlp tirek

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vivaresmala · 1 year

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Duncan has been on my mind a lot recently, so I tried (and failed) to write smt for him. I chose his escape attempt number 1005th with a drawing to go with it >:3 /hj since Duncan always searched for a way to run away from his responsibilities mother .

Plus a bonus doodle of him interacting with Barry (who belongs to @fumikomiyasaki ) and William (belongs to @/squidwen )

This is NOT an excuse to present Willow and practice drawing horses. DEFINETELY

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Duncan spurned his horse into a gallop, looking behind him one last time to make sure he wasn't heard. He could feel the branches and leaves brushing over his head as Willow and him went farther and further away, and the castle behind them became a blurry shape, half-swallowed by the fog that gave the Isles their name. To think I used to be scared of it when I was little ,Duncan thought.

The small bits of forest he could see started to become less and less thick, until the prince could see only grass around them.

<<We're almost there Willow. We might be able to make it this time!>> he caressed the horse's mantle, pulled the reins and Willow's mellow trotting came to a halt. Duncan hopped to the ground deftly, reached for one of the bags that were saddled with him. He found that his hands were more clumsy than usual as he fumbled around the bag. He'd never stopped to think about what he was doing before, and all his doubts came back . For a moment he looked behind him, remembering the letter he had found on his mother's working desk, he had needed only to look at the words 'Royal Sword Academy' to know what was in it. Duncan pursed his lips and silenced his thoughts, taking out clothing and putting it over his own, to hide his vest.

Then he reached over Willow once again, took off his saddle and patted the horse. He only had to walk a little more to reach his destination. However something was amiss, and soon the prince was stretching over the edge of the sea, searching for the ship.

He cursed under his breath, and cursed again and loudly when he heard the clip-clop of horses, and for a moment he thought of running back to Willow and try to outrun them .

<<My prince, you best come with us. Your mother was already wroth when she heard of your little plan.>> Duncan frowned, and the woman who spoke gestured towards the other knights with her

<<The captain came to confess as soon as you left him his payment. All of the Isles know of your attempts to escape, and few of them would dare go against your mother.>>

The young man gritted his teeth, and swatted away the hands of the knights that tried to seize him and mounted to one of their horses, more calmly than he'd felt

<<let's just go back.>> he said sullenly, and their captain nodded, her eyes still gleaming with suspicion. As they rode back in silence, Duncan noted that they had him surrounded, all sat stiffly with hands on their weapons in case he tried to ride off alone.

<<Your horse is a smart one,we saw him running back to the castle even without you.>> Duncan nodded, still bristling with anger, so much so that he couldn't hold back from asking

<<Mom is sending me away, isn't she? To some boring academy and forget me!>> now it was the captain's turn to nod as Duncan got the urge to cut his way through the nights and disappear into the forest.

<<Maybe going to that Academy won't be so bad. Might be the queen and you just don't get along.>> she suggested. He was about to reply , but he bit his tongue and thought about it for once, though his mind was still on escaping. Then,he felt a sliver of hope. After all, wouldn't it be easier to run from a school than his mother's castle?

#I change artstyles constantly so I tried another one for the doodles #god I love this idiot sm #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst original character #oc #twisted wonderland oc #twisted oc #rsa oc #Duncan Ignitus Phato #royal sword academy #the drawing that destroyed my phone and storage

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phiixomath · 1 year

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🎉🦄

Keith clutched the present bag to his chest. He wiped a sweaty palm on his lap and shifted — unfortunately unable to get very comfortable in the car when it was full of five other people — as a knot twisted in his stomach. The bright blue gift wrap was quite distracting, though, and he glanced down at it, worrying at his bottom lip and smoothing down his suit jacket.

Lance had insisted his ten-year-old niece would love anything since she frequently jumped from interest to interest, but Keith really wanted to get her something special. Something she’d cherish. He wracked his brain for days then, miraculously, managed to overhear from Lance's mother that she had recently gotten into art and was saving up to buy paintbrushes.

Now, this Keith knew.

He’d been painting for years, had gone through the painstaking, bank-breaking process of graduating from whatever he could scrounge to, eventually, professional-grade materials. Lance’s niece was young so he didn’t want to overwhelm her, but he went ahead and purchased a nice assortment of painting tools and wrote a small guide on his best tips to getting started to go with it.

He’d felt confident, but as they neared Lance’s house he couldn’t help the nagging doubt that he’d bought something left something out or it just wasn’t what she would want any more.

He took a deep breath and settled back against the seat as much as he could. Hunk sat next to him and smiled reassuringly, bringing his arm around the headrest so Keith could lean back fully. Keith returned the smile and took another grounding breath.

Just then — the clip-clop of hooves against the asphalt.

What?

Everyone in the car sat up, leaned, or manoeuvred in some way to look out the window, see Lance absolutely speed past them on a pristine white horse clad in a long cape and unicorn horn.

“Huh — Lance?” Hunk called, the first to gain the ability to speak while Keith was sure his jaw was grazing his lap. Shiro slowed the car and Hunk called out again. “Lance!”

Through the rear view mirror, Keith saw Lance's form come to a stop. He was more quite far, but Keith could make out the horse’s hind legs raise before lowering and swiftly turning to make their way over to the car. The clip-clopping grew closer until Lance was just a few feet away and dismounted. He walking up to their car with an easy smile.

“Hey, guys!” Lance stuck his head through Keith's window and Keith immediately flattened against his seat, heart beating embarrassingly fast. “Hey, Keith.”

“Hey.”

“Looking good, man.” What. Oh, right, he was wearing a suit. (Lance’s niece wanted to host a themed party and went for fairy tales, which made the unicorn horn make sense. Albeit interesting and creative, the theme left him stumped but he ultimately settled on a typical suit and hoped it would pass as a prince or something).

“Thanks,” Keith replied, feeling his face heat. Lance grinned.

“What are you doing out here?” Pidge asked, but not before casting Keith a knowing look. Keith ignored it in favour of hearing Lance explain.

“There was a mix-up with the bakery, so I’m just gonna go pick something else up real quick.”

“With…”

Lance tilted his head in confusion then brightened. “Oh! This is Macy!” He tugged gently on the horse’s reins until her face appeared alongside his outside the window. She whinnied, shaking her mane, and Keith startled when the rough hairs struck his nose. Lance laughed, sudden and loud, and carded a hand through her mane as he sent Keith a sympathetic grimace.

“Sorry." Keith gave him a look but the edge of his mouth still quirked up. "Really, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said, unable to hold back a smile when he reached out to stroke Macy’s muzzle. She leaned into him and Lance softened.

“Aw, she’s happy to see you," He cooed.

Keith feigned a scowl at the change in his voice and Lance feigned a pout. He broke character and chuckled, when his eye caught on the bag in Keith’s hands.

“Is that —"

“— Uh.”

“Oh my God, Keith! That’s — that’s amazing! Holy shit." He gasped, eyes searching what contents of the bag he could. "This is exactly the type of stuff she’s looking for!”

Keith breathed a sigh, half at the lost surprise and half in relief. “I’m glad. I really hope she’ll like it.”

“She’ll love it, are you joking?” Lance pulled on Macy’s reins again as he backed up from the car. “When we open presents before cake, you’ll see. She’s gonna love you.” He punctuated each word and held Keith's eye before turning to smile at everyone. “I’ll see you guys at the party!” Everyone voiced a similar sentiment and he smiled.

Keith turned his face as far as he could out the window, half to see Lance easily pull himself up on Macy and half to hide his smile from the others.

#this SERIOUSLY got away from me but i had so much fun #thank you for the hilarious prompt image brynn @howlsmovingass on twt #i wrote this in a bit of a rush but i'm really happy i was able to ngl #anyways ty for reading! reblogs are appreciated sm :)#klance #vld #voltron #voltron fic #fixxfics #drabbles from twitter #lance mcclain #keith kogane

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ladysternchen · 6 months

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Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- The Feast

The soft clip-clop of their horses’ hooves sounded muffled on the leaf-strewn path, and yet loud in their wary ears. It felt strange to have left Doriath and its protection, and Mablung truly couldn’t believe that only a few decades ago, they had roamed these lands freely in their hunts. It felt like another Age.

“Well, it IS another Age.” Beleg had pointed out when Mablung had voiced his concerns upon their parting. Everything was changed now, new and wondrous, but also bright and merciless. Gone was the brilliance of the stars, for even when the moon was not out in the night’s sky, it still seemed to dim the starlight, that had, for so long, been all light they needed. Even worse -in Mablung’s mind- was the sun, garish and loud. He had never thought that one could hear light, but he could. Everything seemed loud now.

“Is this really the light you once wanted to lead us to?” they had asked their King when the sun had first risen, but Elu had not answered them. His gaze had been upon the new light, looking deeply troubled.

“It is, and yet is not.” Melian had answered in her husband’s stead, seemingly sharing his unease without being able to explain further.

It might yet be, Mablung thought now that he rode beside Daeron, that I shall grow to love the sun and its light and sparkling colours. Daeron had assured him he would, as the minstrel had seemed to accustom to the brightness much quicker, just like Lúthien. Yet as for now, Mablung could not, feeling suddenly as a stranger in the lands that were his home. The Eldar they were called after all, the star-people, not the people of sun or moon.

Mablung was rather roughly shaken out of his musings as his horse halted suddenly, nickering softly. Between his stallions black rimmed ears, he could see colourful tents in the distance. So they had reached their destination at last. He glanced sideways at his companion. Daeron seemed at the same time apprehensive and excited, and Mablung thought he felt the same. He was very curious about the Noldor and their tales, and honoured to be sent as emissary by the King, but still he felt his heart beat somewhere in his throat- what was he, a captain, a warden, supposed to do at a feast that was meant for the great?

Hours later, when the sun that had been starting to rise when they had arrived had already begun its journey towards the western ocean, Mablung found himself alone among the crowd for a moment. Daeron had left to play with Maglor, and so Mablung took the time to let his gaze roam over the scene before his eyes. He could not look his fill at all the colourful hangings and the lamps that were already emitting a soft light, though there was no visible flame within them. And then, of course, at all the different colours and styles of the Noldor’s raiments. Proud and in fiery red stood the princes of the house of Fëanor, with their father’s many edged star embroiled upon their chests. Blue and silver were the colours of the King and his house, cool and fair as the moonlight. Only the Princess deviated from this, being clad all in pure white. The children of Finarfin were clad in green, gold and a silky fabric embroiled with many shimmering pearls, that seemed blue at times, at others green or grey. Mablung recognised it with ease as the craftwork of Olwë’s wife, or at least as craftwork done under her tutoring. They had all marvelled at it, so very long ago, and not a few had wondered whether Uinen had not taught her to weave the sea itself into fabric.

Beside Finrod, who wore so much jewellery that his whole figure seemed to sparkle, Mablung spotted Círdan, and his heart ached with remorse once more. True, Círdan had waved away his and Daeron’s words of regret, and had embraced them both with joy, but Mablung still felt guilt burn within himself. Kind and forgiving as Círdan was, there was no denying that Elu had abandoned the Falas, to hide his people behind Melian’s magic. Mablung had often tried to reason with himself, that they had all been too wounded, too exhausted, too much reduced in numbers to achieve anything but to be utterly destroyed in the quest to free the Falas, and that Eglarest and Brithombar were well walled, but the fact remained that they had abandoned them, and be it with the heaviest of hearts. Elu had not bidden Mablung to bear Círdan any apology, but only to invite him to come to Menegroth if he would, so that Elu could seek his pardon himself. Círdan had gladly accepted the invitation into Doriath, so Mablung willed himself to truly believe that Círdan held no grievances against them.

Mablung had let his mind wander, and so did not immediately realise that Fingolfin himself approached him now. He started as Fingolfin spoke, but quickly made to bow to the King, so as to hide his surprise. At the first glimpse he had had of him, Mablung had felt a fierce, piercing pain to his heart, for Fingolfin was the very image of Finwë as Mablung remembered him, safe perhaps that his bearing was much quieter and sterner than Finwë’s had ever been. Soon, however, that pain had been replaced by a sense of unease. There was something strange about all the Noldor, something secretive. They did not mention Finwë or Valinor with even a word during all the talks, nor explained aught about their true motives of their coming back to Middle-Earth. It had been exactly the same with Eärwen’s sons when they had come to Menegroth, and that, together with Queen Melian’s reservations against the Noldor in general urged Mablung’s heart to caution.

Funnily enough, as he now talked to Fingolfin -being questioned a little about Doriath in general and their strife with Morgoth and about Mablung’s position within the realm- he realised that the King, too, was not altogether at ease.

“It seems I underestimated you, Captain Mablung.” Fingolfin said at last “I will be honest with you, I was a little dismayed to find that of the venerable realm of Doriath, none but two messengers had come. But you are not only messengers, it seems?”

Mablung smiled for the first time, shaking his head at that.

“We are, and again are not. You see, lord, our realm is protected by our Queen’s power, as surly you are aware. But she herself cannot with certainty leave her realm now, and our people do not trust Bauglir to remain in Angband forever, and thus will not risk tearing our protection asunder. And the King would not attend a feast such as this without his Queen.”

Mablung was so focused on how to word his answer, in order to at once assure Fingolfin that it was no discourtesy by Doriath’s royal couple not to come in person and at the same time not reveal too much about Melian’s enchantments, that he almost missed the flicker of pain that streaked across Fingolfin’s fine features. He wondered what grief lay there, and what had happened to Fingolfin’s wife to make him and his children come hither without her. But that, truly, was none of his business, as it was no business of Fingolfin’s that the true working of the Girdle was far more complex.

“I see.” Fingolfin said now, apparently overcoming his brief moment of weakness. “So it fell upon you and Daeron to represent your realm. I must say, I would not have thought it possible to ever witness a display of music keener and more skilful than that of my nephew, but it seems that Daeron is more than his equal.”

Again, Mablung inclined his head, smiling.

“Daeron is more than just a skilled minstrel. He is also our lore-master, and there is none who knows more about the history of our people, safe King and Queen. But most of all, he is close to the King, as am I. We both are honoured with our lord’s unlimited trust.”

Something softened in Fingolfin’s solemn face.

“Good.” he said, before biding Mablung farewell for the moment, who sighed with relief. Whatever stood between their two kindreds, he did not yet know, but at least there were no animosities between them now. He smiled to himself as Daeron and Maglor again began to play together. Elu himself would certainly not have done any better at keeping things friendly, and for that, Mablung was quite pleased with himself.

#yet were its making good for this #silmarillion fanfiction #ao3 #chapter 11 #mereth aderthad #mablung #daeron #fingolfin

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lawsonsummers · 2 years

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About bosphorus cruise

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#Bursa tour #Sapanca tour #bosphorus cruise #princes islands #tour from istanbul

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travelinghobby · 2 years

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Salzburg for free: how to live it up in the city of Mozart and Maria for nothing

Salzburg can feel terribly grand, with its parade of palaces and squares, where the prince-archbishops once wafted around and horse-drawn carriages clip-clop past evoking the glory days of the Hapsburg Empire. So it comes as a (very pleasant) surprise that you can see so much of the city without spending a single cent. Mozart symphonies, skipping Marias (as in The Sound of Music), gorgeously…

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 2 years

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Rest Your Weary Hands Part 1

Prologue

Requests are open

Warnings: The reader is an overworked health professional, mentions of a bad diet, brief mentions of gambling, proper health care (screw the capitalist health care system), time period typical treatment of women and girls.

1,467 Words

Comment if you want to be tagged.

Queen Aslaug walks into your little Healers store with one request, help her son. Said to be blessed by the gods, you find your life becoming more and more intertwined with the young prince as you do your best to ease his pain. It will soon be apparent that outside forces have other ideas.

"Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop"

You could hear the sound of horses close by, more than a couple. You hoped it wasn't the local stable owner, he had enough money that he could just buy medicine with he felt sick rather than do what you told him.

Maybe if you ate a carrot every now and then rather than all that meat, you wouldn't have a constant stomach ache.

You could see them through the window now, that was not the local stable owner.

You rushed to the door to open it before they got here. It was Lady Asluag, her son Ubbe and some of her men.

You went out of your way to act like they were anyone else, while inside, it felt like you had swallowed a nettle bush.

"Welcome My Queen, Price Ubbe. What brings you to my store today?"

They walked in and looked around. The space wasn't tiny, but it wasn't large either, there was a wood bench with ingredients dotted along it, behind which was a small kitchenette, a small table and two chairs, plants in pots hung from the ceiling and were scattered around the room and the room was filled with light due to the many windows.

"I'm sure you've heard of my youngest Son?" she was looking at you like you were a stone in the road and she was figuring out how to get past you.

"Only that he suffers with terrible pain, is that why you're here?" she nodded, more interested in the flowering plant in the conner than you.

"Yes, I spoke to Ulf this morning and he says you work miracles" you were already reaching behind you to get something off the shelf.

"Oh no, only Christians believe in miracles. I simply use what the Gods give us from the land" She looked at you right in the eyes and smiled.

So that was a test

She took a good look at you, focusing on the tie in your hair, it was the same one from her dream.

"No charge this time around, rub it on Ivar's legs twice a day when he, gets up and when he goes to bed, a small handful each time, if it starts to smell or turn a strange colour, throw it out and come and get more, it should stay fresh for 2 months but keep the jar away from the fire."

Ubbe spoke for the first time.

"No charge? he seemed confused.

"Yes, no charge. You have no idea if it works and I will not swindle anyone. If you wish to pay for it, do it when you come to get more" The Queen looked slightly perturbed at that.

"Right then, thank you miss, I'm sure we'll be back soon" she was turning on her heels and leaving your store the moment she stopped speaking, Ubbe stayed a breath longer.

"Do you have a name, Dove?" You wanted to glare and him but you knew better.

"Y/n, My Prince" and with that, he was gone.

"Tora tells me the Queen was here today" your Father's tone was accusatory as usual.

"Yes Father, she was. She just wanted something for her Son. And no, I don't have any more coins, you will have to wait till the end of the week to visit the gambling house again."

He looked like he was about to get up and hit you.

"Fine, little girl. When she comes back I expect a bigger payment." you would have to deal with that issue another time.

********

You were in your garden picking herbs for the day when you saw Ubbe ride up in his horse. He parked the tall black animal over by the water and hay you had left out and walked over to you.

"Mother asked me to bring your payment, she says that since using your cream Ivar has been sleeping much better."

You looked up at him, he was very tall, even more so with you crouched on the ground.

"But it's only been a few days, I insist she waits a little longer, at least until you know it's not upsetting his skin."

"The Queen gave no room for argument Dove." you stood up so you didn't feel so small.

'That will be three bronze coins then, one is for the jar and you'll get it back if you bring the empty one back."

"That's it!?"

"Yes My Prince, that's it. The ingredients come from the earth, I can't imagine the gods will be please with me if I take advantage of that."

You were now walking together back to your store, he was regarding you in a way that didn't seem insidious.

"Someone will be in to get more in the next fews days."

Already, oh poor Ivar.

"Of course I always have some of that salve ready."

************************************************************************

Aslaug was wracked with worry, Ivar's legs were aching less but now he kept saying his feet were freezing. The dreams hadn't reduced but they were better, she felt less urgency upon waking.

"I will go back to the healer, I'm sure she'll have something.

Aslaug decided to go alone this time, she didn't miss how you looked at her Son, like he was a danger and she wanted you to be relaxed, not ready to be robbed.

She walked in like she owned the place.

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?" You nodded and went to flip the ornament on your door so people knew you were busy.

"Yes in the back, would you like some tea?"

She nodded again and walked into the small room.

"How can I help today my Queen, has Ivar had a bad reaction to the Slalve?" She looked worried.

"No, the opposite. He's been doing much better but the cold is giving him more trouble." You were unsure of how to correct her without seeming rude.

"That's actually good news, although you won't like the solution" She tipped her head for you to continue.

"The cold isn't giving him more trouble, it's just more present now that his legs aren't aching as much."

You took a deep breath and kept going.

"You can help him but it won't be pleasant, at least for the first few weeks. As part of the long term solution, Ivar needs to eat more foods that encourage blood flow, like fatty fish and leafy greens."

You gave her a stern look.

"The other part is the painful one, he needs better blood flow so someone will have to rub his legs quite hard to encourage it to return to his feet. At first, it will be very painful, he will probably tell you it feels like his feet are in a fire, that will pass and it will start to feel good but only if you keep going."

She didn't seem upset and it didn't feel like she was going to dismiss you.

You gestured for her to go back into the front room.

"I have a cream you can use that will help. Make sure it only goes onto his feet and continue with the other cream as normal."

It was in the same size jar, but the cream was a deep brown.

"Four bronze coins for this one, one for the jar of course, but this one contains more hard spice."

She handed you the money without question.

"How is it used?"

You reached back again to grab some cream from a sample pot.

"You only need a small amount for each foot, you want to rub it on towards his toes and press like you're trying fight off frost bite."

You lifted the bit of cream on your hands towards her.

"May I show you on your hand?"

She reached her hand across the bench in a wordless yes.

Aslaug noticed the warmth of the cream right after it touched her skin. You began to press hard towards her fingertips, it was not unpleasant at all, in fact, it felt great.

"This doesn't hurt" She almost scoffed her reply.

"That's because your hands are already warm, if it gets to the point where Ivar can't take it, leave the cream on his skin for 15 minutes, then go back. Once you start, stopping will do more harm, as much as he cries and complain, if he wants to feel better, he has to keep at it."

Your tone left no room for argument, she knew she had to do what you told her.

"Oh and y/n, I may need you to start seeing my Son in person, you will be paid well." She was back to her cool dismissive tone, and then she was gone.

At that moment, you felt the gods hated you.

Part 2

Tag list

@ladynightshade30 @katshuya @istorkyou @smears-and-spots

#ivar the boneless #fluff #ivar x reader #ivar lothbrok #ubbe ragnarsson #vikings fanfiction #vikings #reader insert #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson #vikings fic

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randonauticrap · 2 years

Text

꧁༺ 𝓐 𝓢𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓸𝓷'𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 ༻꧂

Pairing ~ Chevalier Michel & Belle/Reader

Warnings ~ Violence, Blood, Grief

Word Count ~ 2k

“Chevalier!” you croaked, your voice hoarse, still filled with disbelief at the sight in front of you. Your whole body trembled as you held his weakened form in your arms. His breathing was ragged and labored as the smallest stream of blood trickled from his pink lips and onto the skirt of your dress. It pooled in a crease and stared up at you haughtily, as though to say, “This will be all that’s left of your lover when I’m gone.” A soft sob escaped you as you gripped the fur on his cape and pulled him closer to you.

“No..” you whispered angrily, clenching your fists in the soft pelt as the tears began to fall. “Not after all of this, NO!” you wailed, burying your face in the crook of Chevalier’s neck. As waves of lamenting crashed into you, a soft touch on the back of your head caused you to raise up and look at the second Prince, who was smirking up at you, eyes half-lidded and skin pallor.

“Stop your crying,” he said, almost gently, as his fingers tangled into your hair. “Simpleton.” His breathing quieted and his hand fell limply into your lap. You wanted to listen to him, you wanted to rip your heart from your chest to stop this feeling that overtook all your senses. But as Chevalier, your Chevalier, lay quietly in the grass before you, you could no longer stop yourself.

You wept.

The tears drained most of the life from your body and you crumpled in a pile beside him, clutching to him as the salt on your face crusted over. Once the pain ebbed into a dull ache, all that was left in your heart was desolation. Your body throbbed in time with the beat of your heart and you listened to the birds chirping in the trees around you, blissfully unaware of the grisly scene below. You wished you could be one of them, chirping happily at the pretty blue sky that reminded you too much of Chevalier’s now empty eyes. You blinked away the remaining tears and gazed down at your lover, stained in his own blood.

“It should’ve been me,” you whispered to him softly, stroking his blond hair. “You were right.” you choked out. “Love really has no purpose. And I wish you hadn’t loved me. You’d still be alive.” In the absence of Chevalier’s voice to chide you, your anguish twisted into a form of fierce anger.

“It should have been me.” you gritted, clenching your fists once more. “But damn if I won’t do what you would have done if it were.” you rose with determination and hooked your arms underneath each of Chevalier’s. “I..” *pull* am not… *pull* leaving you here!” Slowly, you dragged Chevalier’s body out of enemy territory, pausing to hide you both anytime footsteps approached. You didn’t care how long it took you, you would return your lover’s body to his brothers; to his kingdom; to his people. You couldn’t save him, but you could tell his story. You could ensure his legacy, and make sure that no one in the kingdom of Rhodolite would ever forget Chevalier Michel’s name, not because he was a beast, but because he was a hero. Tears threatened to blur your vision once again but you rubbed them away furiously, intent on making good on your promise before you allowed your emotions to overtake you another time.

It wasn’t long before your body began to tire - Chevalier was much bigger than you - but you ignored the pain. It was nothing in comparison to the pain Chevalier must have suffered for you; the least you could do for him in return was this. You dragged him several more feet until you heard the clip clop of horse shoes. You froze, then tugged Chevalier into the brush nearby. “Shh…” you whispered, as though he would listen to you, and crouched over him.You observed several knights in Obsidian’s colors accompanying a man on a horse. He was clad in all black and sported a patch over his left eye. You squinted to get a better look, attempting to keep your breathing as measured and shallow as possible. They were looking for someone, and you could only guess that that someone was either you or Chevalier. You clutched Chevalier's cold hand in your own, as some perverse form of comfort in this position of uncertainty, and watched silently as the knights and the man on horseback moved on without so much as a glance in your direction.

The air left your lungs slowly and you deflated into a sitting position at last, giving Chevalier's hand a squeeze as you did so. "Not much further to go, Prince Chevalier." You murmured, finding it easier to believe - if only for the moment - that Chevalier was merely unconscious, and would wake up at any moment to scold you for acting so ridiculous. You would give just about anything to hear that condescending tone again, the gentleness of his eyes betraying the harshness of his words. But you shook your head, as though it would release you from your thoughts, and looked upwards to the darkening sky.

"We better get a move on." You decided, crawling to your feet and getting ahold of Chevalier's arms yet again before trudging toward the village. Just as night fell, the entrance to the village came into sight and you were able to make it the rest of the way at a fairly steady pace. As you approached the soldiers at the gate, you propped Chevalier's limp form upon your shoulder, wrapping his arm around you to keep him up.

"Please," you pleaded with the armed soldiers as you approached. "It's Prince Chevalier, please help..." your words were cut-off by a familiar sing song voice filling the night air.

"Ah well if it isn't Belle and the Brutal Beast returned to us in the flesh. I see-"

"Clavis!" You screamed. "Clavis, please, please help me." Your desperation halted the third Prince where he stood as he took in the sight before him. You and Chevalier were both completely blood soaked, and-

"Gods," Clavis whispered as he broke into a run. Once he reached you, he threw Chevalier's other arm over his shoulder and told you where to go. You nodded, tears streaming down your face again, but you did not stop. You would not stop. Once you reached the building where they had set up a new temporary med sight, you saw Luke barreling straight for you and the other two Princes.

"What happened?!" Luke cried, pulling Chevalier's weight off of you and lifting the second Prince into his arms and onto a stretcher.

"He saved me." You murmured, staring at the unmoving Prince. "He saved my life. I couldn't leave him there, Luke. I couldn't-" you choked on your tears and buried your face in your hands.

"It's okay," Luke wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. "He's home now. You both are, you're safe now." Somehow Luke's words released the dam of emotions that had been swelling inside you, and they mushroomed over into sob after sob. You wailed into Luke's soft clothes and gripped him tight, as though he alone was keeping you from falling apart. But you knew better; you had already fallen apart. You fell apart the moment you lost Chevalier.

You heard the volunteer nurses fussing I the background. It had all been white noise for awhile, but several words bled into your conscious ears, "heartbeat.." "alive,"

Alive?!

"Chevalier?!" You cried suddenly, pulling away from Luke. "Is he alive?!"

"Barely." One of the nurses responded. "But yes, he's alive."

It was as though someone had breathed life into you again, and the room around you finally came into focus. 'He's alive,' Your mind spun with sudden intensity and the voice of each nurse, wounded soldier, and concerned friend exploded into your ears and rang through your head gratingly. You clutched your head, laughing deliriously through the sharp pain.

'He's alive.' The words repeated in your head over and over and over again and you found your legs losing their strength. "Luke," you called. "I can't-" but it was too late. Your vision dimmed into utter blackness and you felt your body thump against the floor as you hit.

There was no one and nothing around you, only white; an expanse of nothing but pure, blinding white. “Once a simpleton, always a simpleton.” a familiar voice reached your ears and you turned. There he was, in all his glory: Chevalier Michel, the white tiger. Clad in white regalia with his fur cape, he frowned down at you.

“Chevalier…” you gasped, his regalness taking your breath away even now. “Am I…dead?” you whispered, stealing a glance at your bare surroundings.

“What a foolish question.” Chevalier retorted, striding to your side in as little as two steps. He took your chin between his gloved fingers and tilted your face up to meet his as his eyes bore holes into you. “You are not dead. But you are in a sleep that no one can wake you from but yourself.”

“So you…”

“I am not the real Chevalier, no.” he remarked, answering your question before you asked it.

You sighed, your face falling ever so slightly. Chevalier chuckled in response. “Your every thought shows plainly on your face.”

“Who said I was trying to hide it?” you quipped and the Prince looked slightly taken aback.

“You can see him, you know.” he murmured, capturing your attention. “If you so decide, that is.”

“I can?!” you cried, looking into the visage’s eyes. “How?”

“Wake up.” he replied simply and turned away from you.

“But how?” you moaned softly and your head drooped.

“Use your mind, simpleton.” Chevalier’s voice rang in your ears, but his image was already gone. He sounded…gentle. You closed your eyes and imagined his beautiful face as he said the words to you, the discomfort of the forceful poke he gave your forehead, and the heat of his body as his arms encircled you. You wanted that back; your Chevalier. You relaxed in the comfort of the vision you had procured for yourself and let that feeling of safety wreathe you and coax you into slumber. When you opened your eyes next, the first thing you beheld was Rio’s worried expression.

“R- Rio?” you mumbled softly, blinking the obstructions from your eyes that had gathered in sleep.

“Belle?!” Rio exclaimed.

“She’s awake?” you heard another voice laced with concern.

“Luke?” Sure enough, the 8th Prince came into your line of vision only seconds later.

“Belle,” he sighed in relief. “We weren’t sure if you were going to wake up.”

“I’m awake…” you mused aloud; less of a statement and more of a reassurance to yourself that you made it back. “Prince Chevalier,” you started.

“He’ll be okay, thanks to you.” Luke assured you.

“Thank the gods.” you breathed. “Can I see him?”

“You need to rest, Belle.” Rio said. “You can visit Prince Chevalier tomorrow.”

“Alright,” you caved, mostly because your muscles were more sore than you could ever remember them being before, and all you felt like doing was going back to sleep.

Rio forced two bowls of soup down you before he allowed you to nap again, but once your eyes closed for the evening, they did not even attempt to open again until the next afternoon. “Ah so our Miss Belle has awoken.” Clavis’s delighted timbre had returned and he bounced over to your side as you sipped the broth of your soup.

“Hello, Prince Clavis.” you greeted him, for once not irritated or troubled by his overtly happy countenance. “Thank you for helping me the other night. I don’t think I would have been able to get Che- I mean, Prince Chevalier here without you.” The sides of his lips turned upwards in a mischievous smile.

“I see you got quite comfortable with my brother on your way back.”

You glared at him, reminding him just how thin the line he was traipsing on was. He laughed, but let it go and waved his hand as though to wipe the conversation away. “Have you seen Chev today?” he asked, resting his elbows on your bed and crouching down beside you.

“No, not yet.” you replied.

“You want to?”

Your eyes brightened and he laughed obnoxiously. “I knew you would. Bring the broth with you, I’ll take you to him.” You nodded and threw the sheet off of your legs and swung them over the side of your bed. You tried to stand up but your legs did not want to permit it. You threatened to keel over, but strong arms held you fast. “It wouldn’t do you any good to get hurt again before seeing Chev, now would it?” Clavis chided you gently as he helped you steady yourself.

“Thanks Prince Clavis.”

“Clavis is fine, I feel far too much dignity when you call me prince. And we all know dignity isn’t my style.” he winked and you laughed, appreciating his efforts to distract you as you winced at the pain in your feet.

“This is ridiculous,” a new voice reached your ears and you looked up to see an exasperated Jin headed your way. “You’re going to see Prince Chevalier, right Belle?”

“Yes,”

“Well then, come here.” Before you had the chance to protest, the first prince had lifted you into his arms.

“Jin!” you yelped in surprise, but wriggling out of his iron-clad grasp was impossible. “There’s no need to make such a fuss over me.”

“Nonsense, you’re our Belle. What else would we do with you?” Jin chuckled and carried you into the next room. There was a single bed big enough for two in the corner of the room, next to the window, and there lay Chevalier, his eyes closed.

“Chevalier,” you whispered. Jin put you down gently in a chair next to the bed and pulled you closer to it. “Thank you, Jin.” you smiled up at him gratuitously and he patted your head lightly before taking his leave.

You stared at your lover’s unmoving form. He was clean now, all traces of blood had been washed away by the nurses caring for him, and he seemed as though he was sleeping peacefully. Your eyes flicked to his chest and you released your pent up air as you watched it rise and fall consistently. You wanted to feel it; his heartbeat. You had to make sure it was real and that he was alive, because as you watched him sleep, you couldn’t help but feel his cold skin and see all the blood from the bullet he took…for you. You crept closer to the bed until you were in reach, and stretched your hand out, placing your palm tenderly against his chest.

Your eyes fell closed and a smile spread across your face as Chevalier’s heart beat against your hand, the thrumming the most comforting feeling in the world. You gasped and your eyes flew open when you felt warm fingers wrap around your wrist. He hadn’t moved anything except his hand, but you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You are scared far too easily, Belle.” he murmured softly.

A surprised laugh left your mouth and you sat down on the bed. “Only when it comes to you.” You moved your hand to grasp his own and stared down at him, stroking his hand with your thumb. Light found your eyes again at last when he opened his to meet you with his gaze.

“Well since you are here, be of some use. Lay with me. I need warmth.” he said, his icy blue eyes betraying the love he intended to hide from you. You smiled and nodded, climbing into the silky sheets beside him and allowing him to engulf you with his strong embrace. You breathed in the soothing smell of vetiver from his body and snuggled closer to his soft skin, burying your face in his neck. “Do not tempt me, Belle.” Chevalier warned, fingers raking through your hair.

“You couldn’t move that much right now if you tried, Prince Chevalier.” you giggled.

“I would find a way.” he retorted and nibbled on your earlobe, eliciting a sweet sigh to drip from your lips.

“Let’s sleep,” you chuckled, resting your hands against his firm chest as you situated your head into the crook of his arm. “We’ll both feel better if we do.” Several silent moments went by after that, and you had almost slipped completely into a blissful sleep when you heard Chevalier’s quiet whisper next to your ear,

“I already do.”

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince chevalier #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #chevalier fanfic #prince chevalier #chevalier michel

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